New Jersey White Trash

I put some songs online

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 04:28:00 +0000

Go to www.garageville.net and search my first and last name to hear 'em.

I sometimes use evil skills to perform acts of goodness

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 20:24:00 +0000

I know many of you are shocked and appaled at the turn this blog has taken. Before I started to reveal my sordid past, I could tell by the nature of many of the comments I received that my readers had an attitude of: "This person seems helpless, clumsy and in no way in control of his life.... therefore I can like him, and will support his ham-handed attempts at social normalcy"

Now, it seems that my past includes behavior that goes beyond harmless misfit. I have willfully hurt others, and all in the name of a laugh! I'm not a harmless person at all! It seems I have no need for your pity! To hell with me and my mischevious behavior, I say!

But my evil behavior has at times been used for good.

In 1995, The sunday manager at the 7/11 near my home in Milford CT was locked out of her office. She was fretting at the cash register.

"Want me to try to open it with a credit card?" I asked?
"OK, give it a try," she said in desperation.

I might add that I hadn't actually carded into a locked room on my own before this, but I had seen associates make it work a handful of times. That story is for another day.

My first attempt was successful. Thus, I began my slow turn from a life of amusing myself with petty crime to a life where I used my larceny skills to perform acts of heroism.

In fact, she gave me a handfull of dollars from the register, and a free slurpie (which I kept till last week, when I threw it at Wes)

Today, I went to move a piece of furniture to the house my inlaws are renting when they move up to help us with the baby (due in oct. boy). The keys had slipped out of my pockets and were lying in the parking lot of my apartment.

So, using past skills, I managed to open a window and break into the house and deliver the furniture.

I tried to steal a car

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 02:07:00 +0000

The summer ‘92, a bunch of us were at a friends house, drinking and playing Risk. It was late, and only two of us were left in the game plus a spectator because I have some photos from that night.
“Want to go steal a car?” my friend said.
“Yeah!” I answered.
Stealing a car sounded not only cool, but impossible. A situation like this is kind of a game of Criminal Chicken – who’s going to blink first?
We were both a little too ballsy for this game.
We walked out onto the street. My friend held his hand in his sleeve and tried the doors of cars (always lock your doors – there may be future college graduates in the neighborhood). We walked for a few blocks. In the younger days of drinking, I didn’t miss the beer soon enough to want to turn around. Today, I can’t imagine wandering the streets looking for trouble without at least a bottle in each pocket and one in my hand.
Finally, the door opened. It was a chevy nova from the early eighties.
I slipped into the passenger side, and my friend into the driver's seat.
“Now what?” I asked, my heart beating.
“I’m going to hotwire it,” he said.
“Do you know how to do that?” I asked, heartbeat kicking it up a notch.
“Sure. You cut the wires,” he cut the wires. “and touch them together like this.”
He touched them together. Nothing happened.
Today, I’m fairly certain that that’s not how you hotwire a car. I think you’re supposed to use a screwdriver to break the top off of the ignition and then twist it with your hand.
After a few minutes of trying, a light went on in the house. We leapt out of the car and ran back to my friend’s house.
Our risk game was still on the table. We had to finish. I don’t remember who took over the world before we went to sleep on the couches in the other room.

The next morning, as we pulled away, I was fairly certain that there was a car in the cul-de-sac where my friend lived with a young guy and an older guy, the young guy pointing at my car. I drove without looking back.

Technically, cutting some kid’s wires doesn’t count as stealing, just vandalism – kind of lame, not really funny, gives the impression of some personal vendetta. I can’t help but think that if we were to have gotten caught, “We didn’t mean to ruin the starter, we were just trying to steal the car for laughs,” might have gotten us out of it, if the kid were cool (very VERY cool)

Which makes me wonder: Are there many detestable crimes that we hear about that would have been kind of cool if they hadn’t been interrupted before completion?

The first thing I ever stole - chocolate pudding

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 10:38:00 +0000

I volunteered at a soup kitchen when I was 16 years old, and that was where I stole my first thing. It was a huge can of chocolate pudding. God, I love chocolate pudding.

I really stole it because it was funny – in fact, that’s the only reason I steal anything. An adult authority figure found out and made me return it. At the time, I argued that it was chocolate pudding, and there was nothing nutritious about it, so what was I really taking from them?

Today I’d argue that I was allowed to eat as much chocolate pudding as I wanted while on site – even if that meant a whole can - and that they throw the can away after they open it. So what’s the hangup with time and space? The results are the same.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have stolen the can of chocolate pudding from a soup kitchen. There really isn’t much room for elaboration on that sentiment, either.

A close fight call in college, and a tale of stupid people asking questions

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 01:59:00 +0000

My freshman year, I went to Brandeis University. At some point early in the first semester, I hooked up with a nice young lady basically kissing her for a little while. She lived on my floor, and we had met again at some campus event, and returned to the dorm room. Weeks later, I was in a crowded apartment which was part of a party taking place at the on campus apartments across the street from the main campus. Out of nowhere, some large gentleman pushes through the crowd, followed by a smaller guy who was saying, “That’s him.” The big guy grabs me by the neck and pulls me outside while the smaller guy says “You hooked up with so-and-so, and now I’m going to kick your ass.”

There were four of them. They brought me a little away from the party. I remember trying to stand up straight while this guy held me by the neck. I don’t remember the dialog, but when this guy let go of me there was some sort of accusations of ungentlemanly behavior on my part. The shorter guy accused me of forcing myself on her.
“But all we did was kiss,” I protested.
“She says you FORCED her to kiss you,” he insisted.
“She says I forced her…. to kiss me?” I answered, hoping that my implicit accusation of idiocy would be correctly interpreted by his friends as a reason to back off, and not (also correctly) be interpreted as further reason to kick my ass.
For some reason, I don’t like to back down when threatened. It’s always a gut reaction, without reasoning behind it, but if I had to justify it, I’d say that most people don’t want to go to jail or be criminals. And that people who aren’t afraid to cross the line don’t need provocation – in other words, if someone is pathologically violent, they’re liable to be that way no matter what.
A bully gets more mileage out of having someone who is afraid of him than actually fighting. His posturing gives him what he wants without his having to turn criminal. A group of guys like this gets more kicks of watching someone scurry to run than having someone who they’re going to have to deal with every time they cross paths, whether they find it easier to fight or not. And there is the law thing. I don’t know how well this works outside of a school setting where disciplinary action can be taken.
I happen to guess that the back story was that this young lady’s paramour saw her leave the party with me that night and demanded to know what happened. I suspect he had reason to assume that more than kissing went on, based on her own habits (nothing in my habits at the time suggested anything other than kissing ever goes on!). I also remember that after kissing for a while, she asked if my mouth was getting tired, which in retrospect, I think might have been a message that I should have progressed by then. In my innocence, it hadn’t crossed my mind that that option was on the table with this person I barely knew. Seeing his violent and controlling streak, I think her excuse under the gun was to tell him that I forced her. Maybe she wanted him to see us leaving together. Who knows? Women do things.
I also think that upon meeting and interacting with me, the group of fellows he chose to socialize with may have realized the preposterousness of her story. I was trying to stand up for myself, but I certainly never come across as tough and aggressive, especially when I’m shaking in my sneakers. In 1991, I was still thin and noticeably muscular, but I still don’t think I amounted to the kind of person that justified bringing out the possee to deal with – remember in my previous entry, someone managed to break my foot during a routine wrestling drill.
I remember the big guy rolling his eyes and punching his fist into his palm, making some kind of threat to keep away from her. I made some response that they couldn’t tell me who to keep away from, and she lives on my floor. (I had every intention to keep away from her, but not to tell these guys it’s because of them).
Then they let me go with a warning. I think I went back to the party and downed a few – it was early in my drinking career – and that was enough to send me wandering through campus, inserting myself into groups of people and telling them the story. It was still early in the year, so everyone was getting to know each other, and I really didn’t know anyone too well.
My roommate later told me that that guy was from Medford, which he said is a ‘tough neighborhood’. I confronted him in class the next week and in a rather supplicant manner told him I don’t want any more trouble. He kind of dismissed it, but I knew it was over. I’m not sure gathering the gang to attack me made him look in the best light – he may have had some huge stud in his mind based on his jealousy.

A short related story. We used to hang out with this guy brad. I couldn’t stand the guy, but he was in love with one of the other guys we hung out with, and he had a car, so he inserted himself into our activities by making them possible. So we drove over to Tufts (which is in Medford, hence the relatedness of the story) and Brad rolls down the window and asks some guy, “Are the girls here hot?” I always half cringed and half laughed when he did stupid shit like that. Cringed because he had no intention of being funny – he though that was a real question.

Myself, I ask stupid questions of strangers all the time, but mostly for my amusement, kind of a reality show thing without the TV. Like the time after a show when I asked some guy in a pizza place in Hoboken, “Do you ever wake up in the morning and think ‘I don’t wanna go to work!’ [with a whine]?” (after my song of the same name) And he responded calmly. “No. I like my job.” Which made me laugh.

So I half laughed because I find it kind of funny to ask people moronic questions. So this guy answers. “Yeah! And they’re easy as shit!”
We all laughed, but what was really funny was how anxious Brad was to find a party to go to, based on this guy’s answer. I realized the answer was designed to match the question.

Brad had a habit of saying stupid things to people when we went to other colleges. Once, we were on the Harvard campus, he asked a student whether this was a good school. The thing about him is that he had no clue that this could possibly be funny if you’re self effacing – if you’re asking the question is part of the joke. But his intention was to make Harvard students feel insecure. The joke was just dumb. And that is a lot coming from me, because I’m a master of asking dumb questions – but it is an art and must be used sparingly and this guy was an embarrassment. I used to sometimes ask people if they knew how to count to four. But that question throws my motives into question – which is part of the art of asking absurd questions. Brad’s motive was always clear, and embarrassing.
Another funny part of this was another guy who Brad spoke to, implying he was a student at Harvard.
“Oh yeah? Then what did you think of president Rutabeger’s speech?”, challenging his claim. As though the rest of the world actually sees hubris in claiming to go to Harvard when you don’t.
Only at Harvard would someone react with such mocking at someone claiming to be a student there – Brad’s (and I swear, that’s really his name) stupid question somehow got trumped by an even stupider answer!

An outline

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 12:39:00 +0000

For those of you wondering the spirit of the post below, I'm trying to create a retrospective of more outstanding things that I've experienced. Outstanding in that I don't think many people have gotten beat up, and that someone getting beat up generally makes for a better story than the "I saw such and such movie/tv show yesterday" or, "I went somewhere where everyone has been or seen, and here is a photo of it" entries we all tend to do.

Other chapters to come:
-Almost getting beat up in college and beyond
-Encounters with the police
-Things I've stolen or tried to steal

Here are a bunch of stories about getting beat up as a kid.

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 20:30:00 +0000

There was one kid I was friends with in grade school, but somehow we drifted apart. In later grade school, I was playing at a mutual friend’s house, and he made comments along the lines of “I used to be friends with him but I don’t like him.” Specifically for me to hear. At one point, I was running in the woods and tripped, falling flat on my face. “Good,” he said, running past. I wasn’t really impressed – I had been picked on by bigger and better kids.
We were playing some kind of tag game where this bicycle was base. I was holding onto it, and he came by and started trying to push me off of it. He wasn’t bigger than me. From there, it turned into fisticuffs. We ended up rolling on the ground, where he had me pinned. So I tightened my fingers where they were, which just happened to be right in this kid’s eye. He screamed, and cried a little. I don’t remember what he said, but he let me go and started ranting about how I shouldn’t have done that.
At the time, I had a rabbit foot keychain that I kept attached to my belt loop. We separated, and when he got a few feet of distance, he said, “So much for that lucky rabbit’s foot” and came swinging and kicking at me. Apparently, the rabbit foot was pretty lucky because an open palm on my end kept him at bay, knocking him to the ground.
I was more hurt (emotionally) and humiliated that this guy decided to pick on me than anything else (and kind of psyched that I essentially kicked his ass.) I went home crying. All I know is I had a dirt bike, whatever age that made me. It was kind of young.

In seventh or eighth grade, in science class, another kid who I had never really been friends with told me he could kick my ass. I told him he couldn’t. It kind of required a response, and it’s not like I could have agreed – that would have been like giving him permission! After school, right out front, he showed up to fight. Two whole classes of boys stood behind him, waiting to watch. I don’t remember how I got out of that (sorry) but I know nothing happened fight wise then, except my own terror – and humiliation.
Next, it was lunch time, and there he was with the boys from two whole classes behind him. (Nobody stood behind me). He walked towards me and pushed me. Stronger. I stood tall as I got pushed backwards. He pushed again. My heart was pounding. I didn’t feel like there was really any choice in the matter. I pushed back with all my might. He went back with my force, and then took another step back, winding up to chase me. The wind up, I think, was designed to give me a head start in running – which I took. I don’t think he really wanted to kick my ass, and I have no doubt that that’s probably what would have happened. I mean kicking someone’s ass is criminal. I’m fairly certain that on another occasion this same guy stole my bike, which I had been too lazy to lock – in my defense, most kids did not lock their bikes outside the school, and abandoned it in the stream, where the police found it.

In fifth grade, another kid from my neighborhood asserted his ability to kick my ass. I had no choice but to go outside the way he had (although maybe I did, but avoiding something like that only escalates things – I think some kids are averse to being criminals in the long run, and my running allows the fight to morph into a chase, which is more amusing for everyone and less criminal for him.) I walked out and in about two moves, he had me in a headlock with a bloody nose. Two other kids were watching. My mom was waiting right in front of the school with the car. I was an easy bleeder, so she didn’t suspect anything when she saw the bloody nose.

In eighth grade, we used to carry all our books under one arm. A bunch of guys kept grabbing my arm to make me drop my books. Finally, I let them fall and started swinging at this guy’s face. I missed. Twice. He put his hand on my shoulder, which I, heart pounding, threw off twice again, stepping into a defensive fighting position. The third time, I realized his gesture was meant to calm me down. As I walked away, two girls giggled to each other, for my benefit, “How do you swing and miss a face? It’s like trying to turn on a light and missing the switch.”

Another time, some kid stole my unicef money.

Another time, I got chased home by neighborhood kids throwing snowballs.

Another time, a neighborhood kid stood on my own jungle gym, throwing acorns at me.

Similar to the first story, there was one boy who was a grade older who used to pick on me in boy scouts. He was kind of a loser in retrospect, but what the hell did I care at the time? Like I had to time to differentiate the social status of one tormentor versus another? So he grabs me and holds me face down in the snow at some boy scout outing. So, like my fingernail in the first story, I just bit his hand. He pulled away in pain and started whining about how I was a pussy for biting him. I don’t know, I guess he should have kicked my ass for it if he was so tough. Another summer, somehow or other he got voted assistant scout leader for my little group. He harassed me a lot, once threatening to confine me to my cabin, as though he had such authority. Years later, we were both on the wrestling team. I remember he was given a varsity jacket out of pity, since he wasn’t varsity – like I said, loser. (I sucked at wrestling too, but I quit senior year, and would never have asked for a pity jacket!) Once, during drills, he threw me in a way that resulted in my breaking my foot. In all honesty, I think that was more my clumsiness than his intention – his clumsiness too, of course.

In eighth grade, I started lifting weights. No one ever physically picked on me in high school, and eventually I got big – people do outgrow beating people up.
Years later, I was visiting my friend Lou at Temple University in Philadelphia. We decided to go wander around near the Penn campus. At some point during this little excursion, we became pretty drunk, as was the nature of such visits. As it turns out, this guy who broke my foot went to Drexel, and we happened to run into him and his friends. He said hi to Lou.
“Who is this?” I asked, realizing that I was supposed to know the guy.
“This is so and so. From high school” Lou said.
I didn’t remember.
“Remember me? We were in boy scouts and wrestling,” he said friendlily, standing close to me.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Didn’t you break my foot?”
He stammered, and his friends laughed and made ominous noises.
“Lou,” I said, punching my open palm and smiling. “This guy broke my foot during wrestling.”
“Didn’t you…” I turned and realized that he had retreated to the other side of his little group.
“He broke my foot,” I said with a laugh. “Lou, I should…” by then, the group had moved on laughing at the guy.

I happened to go to the same college with the guy who put me in the headlock and gave me the bloody nose. Pretty much from after that point he had left me alone, and I think we verged on friendly-ish in high school – as I said, most people moved on from it by then. We were friendly whenever we ran into each other on campus, but weren’t friends as such. On my 21st birthday, the same guy Lou came up to visit and we ran into this guy, who was very friendly upon encountering two former schoolmates. As it was my 21st birthday bar crawl, I was more than a little drunk, and this reunion sparked me to say, “You beat me up in fifth grade!” He basically just left – I don’t think this guy was scared, I just don’t think he wanted any part of such a conversation. What can I say? That’s what I remembered him for. It might have been a little wrong for me to hold on to that, but if he had lent me his skateboard in fifth grade, I might have remembered him for that.

Bad as it is for kids to pick on each other, I felt worse about bringing it up to this guy (not the other guy, that was fun). It was fifth grade. I suppose I shouldn’t feel bad – it’s worse that I still carried it around than that he had to hear about it. It’s just that I felt kind of maladjusted for carrying something like that around.

I finally made it to the location from my dreams. And saw a porcupine.

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:34:00 +0000

A little over a year ago, I mentioned that I had discovered the location of a mountain escarpment that had appeared in my dreams for years - I had gone camping there as a child and once as a teenager, but when I dreamed about it, I didn't realize it was a real place. I finally went back. It's the escarpment at North-South Lake campground in Haines Falls New York. I'm glad I remembered this place because it is a fantastic camping location. Great hiking - dig the pictures at Katterskill Falls, where the clouds encompass the mountains. There are countless other trails, including ruins of hotels that have been long abandoned. The site itself obviously has a lake for lazy canoeing and kayaking, plus fishing. The sites are each individual enough to keep the site itself interesting. I'm pretty sure I randomly picked a site from my childhood, because I rememeber being in love with a gigantic rock that was behind this one. The next year, my parents assured me that we had gotten the same site, but I was disappointed to discover that (as was my parents habit) they were just kind of making that up. After this weekend, I think they meant that were on the same loop, because I remember my disappointment at not having the rock being replaced with a facination with the lake (further on down the loop), where our site was that year.
I saw a baby bear in someone's yard on the way up, and at night, when we were hiking up to the escarpment, we saw a porcupine.
I used my superior sense of direction to find the top of Katerskill Falls from a random location in the woods, since I didn't remember where to park to find it, which makes for a good vibe.
To top it all off, I finally got to play my banjo by the fireside.

North Souuth lake trip

Trends in British fantasy adventure stories

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 00:37:00 +0000

I always knew my man Walt was the real life Indiana Jones. And that is why I like being under his tutalage in the blogosphere. Which leads me to my trends-in-literature observation of the week. This week, I have observed that our favorite time traveling clinician, Doctor Who, borrows a charming plot device from another paragon of British scifi/fantasy.

My favorite part of the Lord of the Rings books is the very end where the hobbits return to the shire. (this scene was unfortunately omitted from the movie in favor of really long boring scenes with the likes of Kate Blanchette and a bunch of other characters who are never developed enough to warrant so much screen time. It's almost as though that series would have needed to be longer for them to work!) The peaceful hobbits had been overrun by evil men. Having fought along side with Middle Earth's finest warriors and generals, Frodo et al are easily able to mobilize the hobbits in a way that swiftly dispatches of the ruffians. It is an inspiring moment. One of the charms of Lord of the Rings is that the heros are not the main actors in the battles. They are like children allowed to accompany grown ups on a great adventure. This of course makes the books easy to relate to for average readers. Who wouldn't want to be allowed to accompany and assist great men doing something great? And who wouldn't like to believe that they'd be changed to reach a potential they only dreamed of in their own lives for having done so?

I just saw the preview for next week's Doctor Who. Apparently, Rose has, since leaving the Doctor, become the leader of some world saving fighting force. Martha Jones, upon leaving the Doctor's service, moves on to lead Torchwood. And of course, Sarah Jane Smith is leading her own team of Earth saving adventurers.

On another note, I actually like what they're doing on earth. It's actually reminiscent of future earth stories, only they're present day. But, they've already introduced the idea of alternative realities - such as the one Rose is in - so it need not contradict our own experience.

Spoiler alert. Invasion of the bad movie stylings snatchers.

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Wed, 28 May 2008 00:51:00 +0000

The only thing worse than Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull has been the reviews of the movie. Seemingly, they all miss an obvious point.

I had left the theater feeling empty and perplexed. The plot was nonsense, and unlike other Indiana Jones movies, I summed it up by saying “Nothing awesome happened.”
Raiders had been a perfect movie. Temple of Doom had weaknesses. There was no archeology, for one (why would an archeologist ancient remains to a gangster for a diamond?), and the protagonists were completely reactive – they merely reacted to changing circumstances without real direction, as opposed to the other two where the characters choose to undertake a challenge and followed a self directed path, facing challenges as they arose. But for all its weaknesses, Temple of Doom was nothing if not a series of one awesome and memorable scene after another. The song and dance in the beginning. Entering the Indian village. The interactions between Willie Scott and the jungle animals. The dinner scene. The heart getting ripped out. The mine shaft chase. Indy cutting the bridge. Most scenes in between. Most dialog was memorable. The characters were loveable.
In Last Crusade, the banter between Sean Connery and Harrison Ford was top notch, and the supporting cast was as well (especially the guy who also played an art plunderer in Dr. Who’s City of Doom episode).

But Kingdom of the Crystal Skull had none of this, and seemingly didn’t try. I couldn’t even understand what they were trying to do.

Finally, I read one line in a blog review, and “got it”: “….the entire shift of the movie went from the adventure series of the 30's (as originally intended) to the sci-fi B-movies of the 50's…”

Now, I got it. While the first three movies were homages to movies that everyone holds in high regards, this was a spoof of movies that are generally considered to be terrible. Each scene was a slice of what might have happened in such a movie. While it is absurd that someone might survive a nuclear blast riding in a fridge in real life, it is not absurd that someone might do the same in a bad 50’s sci-fi movie. Every bad and inconstant scene can be explained in this way. At one point, blacklisting was the enemy. In another, communists. Why? Because each scene was a spoof of a different movie type. Killer ants. Crazy old hermit. Psychic bad guys. Aliens.
In the originals, the hero wears a fedora, like a Humphrey Bogart movie. His younger heir in this movie, wears leather and rides a motorcycle like Marlon Brando in the Young Ones or James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. (and he’s obsessed with coming his hair, while Indy is insistant about wearing a hat)

This movie was more similar to Kill Bill than Raiders, which I believe holds up without the 30s movie analogies.
The difference between Crystal Skull and Kill Bill is that Quentin Tarentino’s masterpiece was based on an obvious love for the second rate movies he ‘spoofed’ He took all the good qualities from a rather horrendous group of genres, kung fu, blaxploitation, and westerns, polished them and reset them in a way that proved their worth. The values and effects that were buried in the camp of the 70s were used to their maximum potential. Everything in Kill Bill is in those movies, but most people can’t get past the other lousy qualities of those movies.

In Crystal Skull, I get the idea that Speilberg holds the 50s spacesman/ redscare/ giant monster movies in contempt.

This understanding did soften my disappointment in the movie, although I still think Spielberg did a disservice to the series.

It is rather artistic what he did, and I don’t think I’ve heard it mentioned before. He did something similar in War of the Worlds. Another nonsensical movie, taken at face value. One moment the aliens are wantonly killing humans by the thousands. The next, they’re painstakingly searching for two random individuals hiding in a basement.
But War of the Worlds wasn’t really meant to be an integral movie. (at least I hope not – I’m worried about letting Spielberg handle sharp objects or drive or whatever one doesn’t let mentally incompetent people do if it was!). It seems to me that it was quite purposefully meant to be a series of vignettes demonstrating to a younger generation what it might have been like to live in Europe during World War II. In reality, these shorts weren’t even meant to be related. First, Blitzkrieg. Next, hiding in the attic from Nazis. After that, being separated from a loved one during battle. Finally, being rounded up in a cage being brought to who knows what horrible fate.
I think he did a good job in that respect, but might have done a service by spelling it out for the audience. I believe this was his goal because Spielberg has a history of chronicling World War II experiences.

Perhaps Sean Connery sat this one out because they were a few years away from stepping on sacred ground?

I have solved my dire reading situation

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Wed, 14 May 2008 02:45:00 +0000

No more about Atlas Shrugged. That book is so massive that even after I put it down, it somehow lives on!
I think the thing to remember is that the contractors who build the homeless shelter do as much if not more for the people inside than the people who run it. More importantly, their good is objective, while social interventions can be corrupt. For example, the guy who put the nails in the roof literally and inarguably did that, while inside could be a completely mismanged and dangerous place. The people raising funds for the building of the shelter have completed something objective, but the builders themselves could build the shelter without the fundraisers, while the fundraisers could not build the house without the builders, engineers, and suppliers. Do we often think of construction workers as people who dedicate their lives to helping the homeless? No, but they literally do more to help the homeless than anyone else! They turn homeless people into homeful people! If there were no builders, everyone would be homeless. If there were no fundraisers, a small percentage of the population might be homeless. I don't know why it should be one versus the other though. The Rand argument comes in when people try to diminish the role of industry in improving peoples lives. Suppose a guy drives a truck full of food to a town - it's full supply, for some reason - and feeds the 90% of the population who can afford to pay him, while community workers work to make sure the other 10% get some of the food as well. The truck driver may become rich, and people might look to him to feed the rest. But why would it be up to him to make sure that additional 10% get food? If the other 90% won't help, why would he, who fed 90% of the town be held in contempt for the 10% he did not feed?

The real world is of course more complicated, but also simpler, I think. Simpler in that I don't think it would be that hard to find agreement for some people to chip in so that that the alzheimers patient could eat, and the legless guy with no money, and the guy with the mental age of a four year old, and heck, even the chronically drunk guy would probably get a pass. That's kind of how it works now.

But no more about that! I pushed it away. For those of you following my reading travails, I have settled on Toilers of the Sea, by my man Victor Hugo, who has never let me down so far, and on the side Plato’s Republic. I feel like I should probably write a paper or something on the Republic, since it’s a college type of book, but the philosophy writing style of the book-about-which-I-will-write-no-more, along with Candide earlier this year got me interested in philosophical discourse in general. I’m not really hooked yet, but still interested. I think I like the slow and methodical way the writers make their points. Instead of long run on sentences, they explore each point before moving on to the next which either debunks or elaborates or both on an earlier point. Patience seems to be the permeating feeling of the Republic, because they haven’t said much yet, but I suspect they are going to say so much more (than not much). I haven’t picked up on a thesis yet.

Toilers of the Sea has a playful tone, full of the kinds of details that characterize the writer. A tongue in cheek description of the causes of misunderstanding of a person’s nature. It’s early, but as of now, Toilers of the Sea has washed the bad taste that a Thousand Little Pieces and Atlas Shrugged left in my mouth.

More career development musings

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:39:00 +0000

I occasionally wonder whether it might be worthwhile to pursue a PhD to follow my drive for knowledge? I’m not sure. One can write without credentials. But what of the dialog? Where do I test my foil? Most importantly, who wants to hear from me? In an academic program, you’re paying someone to listen and answer back. As a professional academic, you earn a situation where you’re paid to be published, and are expected to defend your ideas. I enjoy this kind of activity.
What would my focus be? Sociology seems obvious, as it is permeative - it applies to many different situations. But who are sociologists? Of what use are they? “Quick! Get me a sociologist!” makes no sense. As before, I’m not attracted to the idea of self sustained knowledge.

In fact, I long to create. Not a work of art, but some kind of systematic construct. I suppose an ideal job would be director of publications and conferences for some kind of think tank or institute. The other side is that I'd like to be more involved in business development. I’ve often said that I am one good idea away from starting my own business. The conference industry is a good place to be at the moment, but I guess now my reflections serve the purpose of defining the endgame.

I think I pulled the trigger too fast when I decided to go into Journalism. I hadn’t been trained in what makes a ‘good’ news story. The sensationalism that permeates the media is the driver of success in the news industry. My skill has been to see beyond that sort of nonsense – to the drives that direct human behavior. Innate drives for attention, money, servitude of various sorts. This is not to say that people are not driven by positive reasons, but their story is not often the story in the news. It is obviously more newsworthy for an entertainer to take an interest in New Orleans for a few months than it is for the Red Cross volunteers who serve disaster victims weekly. But in all honesty, their story isn’t that large. It’s a story of individual lives – often pathetic lives. Little about the higher concepts that excite the populace.
In all honesty, there is not that much that happens on a day to day basis that is particularly interesting or important. But a newspaper can’t wait for newsworthy events. And the politicians and marketers who are hungry for publicity don’t wait either.
I suppose it takes at least a modest level of discretion for a casual reader to recognize a trumped up ‘slow news day’ story. But you quickly gain discretion when journalism is your chosen profession.

Becoming jaded by the press is an old story – not particularly newsworthy – but it helped derail my career pursuits. I enjoy investigating and writing, but straight journalism wasn’t for me. Honestly - have you ever read a newspaper cover to cover? Imagine having to seek out, research, and write whatever story is on page B-27? Ugh.

My first job out of graduate school was as a case worker in the New York foster care system. The city hires independent contract agencies to manage the children and foster homes
It was often my role to represent the agency in court. It was up to the judge and ACS to determine the fate of the children, whether they would be sent home, remain in foster care, or whether some other intervention was necessary. I never really understood what my goals were. I think it was more objective than I really understood. At the agency, I used to flinch when called upon for my opinion.
The first client I had, Baby Boy Lastname (what babies are called when they’re taken from the hospital before being names) was born to a drug addicted prostitute. I met her once or twice, but she really wasn’t looking to get this child back.
Within my first few weeks of work, I met with the father. He was a short young black guy. I mention that he was black because one of the only things I remember was him telling me something to the effect that he was defiant because of the guy who had been dragged to death in Texas. At some point he told me has a gun. I think it was more of a posture than a threat – that was how I felt about it at the time.
I had a hard time thinking past myself. I felt like I was handling the situation wrong. It wasn’t until years later that I became able to realize that angry or difficult people had their own issues. Especially those who have displayed behavior that has their children taken away. At the time, I felt like I had brought his anger upon myself, or that by handling the situation differently, I could have avoided the antagonism.
It is the default preference for the system to search out a relative who can care for a foster child, called kinship care. The purpose is to avoid separating the child from the family.
There was a grandmother who was willing to take the child. She lived in Brooklyn, by Prospect Park. It was a railroad apartment, and tight quarters. The crib would have been in the middle room.
I was acutely aware that I was used to a middle class upbringing, and that acceptable living conditions differed for those less fortunate – when it comes to keeping a family together. Something didn’t feel right about the home, that was for sure, but I wasn’t sure how to objectively assess the home.
So, I was ill prepared for my first case meeting, where the program director asked if it was an acceptable placement for the child. My chest fluttered. I didn’t know what to say. What stood out in my mind wasn’t the home, as much as the grandmother. She seemed very tentative. She smiled nervously like someone who is desperate to be accepted. Outside of the home, the mother was in and out of the picture. I seem to recollect something about the father skipping town. I don’t think he really did, but either way, he was pulling himself out of the picture. I couldn’t be sure that the mother or father weren’t going to show up at the grandmother’s house. Neither were allowed unsupervised visits. With the grandmother’s uncertainty, I couldn’t be sure that this placement was what it was supposed to be. But I could be fairly certain that this infant would never be raised in his own family if he didn’t stay there. As an infant, perhaps he could be out of the system before he knew anything.
None of this made me sure of what was right. In retrospect, my decision seems more sound than it did then. I went with my gut and said, “No” the baby’s grandmother wasn’t a suitable placement.
I felt awful because I didn’t feel like I had gotten the appropriate guidance to make that decision. I didn’t quite understand my role, that my opinion was only one factor. Again, the problem of not thinking beyond myself.
It was months and cases later that I first had to appear in court about a client. I was there to represent the agency. I remember the judge asking me how many children were in the foster home in question.
“Four,” I answered. It was a pretty matter of fact question. (The legal limit, I believe was for a home to have no more than six foster children)
“What is this, a business?” The judge asked angrily and accusingly.
Again I had the desire to shrink into my skin. Did she think I personally had decided on how placements work? Did she realize that it is difficult to find a family willing to take in an additional child was a constant search? I think she may have strong opinions about the system and decided to blurt it out from the bench. I didn’t even understand at the time what I think she meant now – that the foster mother, not the agency, was treating it like a business, getting paid for having more children. But the law was the law, so I don’t understand what snapping at me was meant to accomplish. I was fairly new and not comfortable making decisions about what kind of placement was acceptable beyond safety and basic needs. I hadn’t seen enough placements to know what was typical, good, or bad. I hadn’t seen enough movement within the system, or worked with enough peers to have an idea of the reasonableness of any placement. By this point, I knew that actions weren’t taken solely based on my own recommendations, and I had no choice to trust the other members of my team, and more importantly my supervisor and other more experienced workers involved in the decision.
Still, I’m not comfortable passing responsibility onto another – especially, since if something went wrong, I would be first in line for accountabiljavascript:void(0)ity, rightly so.
I wonder. Is it correct for a system to rely so heavily on the judgments of minimally experienced 25 year olds for decisions about the lives of children? I always thought my role was more appropriately one of information gathering, with the decisions being made by the leadership – the judges and program directors of the world. I had thought that my presenting them with facts should have been sufficient. I still do. I still look to older, more experienced people for insight.

I'm twice defeated. I really really need something to read.

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 10 May 2008 01:12:00 +0000

I abandoned A Million Little Pieces. Man, did that book suck! It’s about a guy who keeps throwing up and fighting with people. Now, I’m quitting Atlas Shrugged, despite a good start.

I had forgotten: The Fountainhead had profoundly influenced the way I thought as a teenager. I read it in school at the age of 16. The Ayn Rand Institute gives free copies to high school teachers as a way to keep Rand’s philosophy top of mind. I thought it was interesting when I read this NYtimes article: that the writer hadn’t connected the lead paragraph which says Atlas Shrugged ranks 388 on the Amazon best seller list with a much lower paragraph which states that the ARI buys and distributes 400,000 copies each year. 400,000 copies would certainly up the ranking. Political organizations often buy their own books to up the ranking.

Originally, I had written about how I was enjoying Atlas Shrugged. But 600 pages later, I had to abandon it. I made it almost to page 800, and it became too laborious. It had become cumbersome about 400 pages earlier, but I wasn’t completely turned off, but now it’s too much. Her characters are so uninteresting and unhappy – she says they’re happy, but never describes them as happy. But mostly, it’s a boring story.

There were things that kept my interest early on. Some of her antagonists were familiar to me – the world is full of useless people harping on their needs, but these are mostly peers, none of them are truly needy. Also, the book is science fiction. It takes place hundreds of years in the future, as surmised to mention of technologies lost ‘generations’ ago, and the fact that every country except America is called People’s Republic of….. Also, there seems to be no threat of war. This setting makes the characters completely unrealistic behaviors and unfamiliar tropes seem part of this future world, but she really goes lord knows where with the story.

Rand seems to think need is amorphous, as though someone can ‘need’ a yacht, but I think basic needs are fairly obvious – food, shelter, safety, healthcare. I think that’s about it. A moral society can see to it that those things are available without crippling everyone. Beyond that, she seems to paint a picture that if people were all purposeful in their activities, there would be plenty to go around for everyone. In her utopia, basic goods are exceedingly inexpensive.

Someone on TAB’s blog said her followers often have a ‘piss off’ attitude towards people who are unable to take care of themselves. But Rand does mention them with pity. It’s people who are unwilling to take care of themselves who she opposes.

I'm familiar with what her followers believe, and frankly, I'm fascinated. Because, they apparently didn't read the same book I was (quit today approaching 800 pages). For example Alan Greenspan was noted as a big fan of hers. Yet, the Utopian society touched on in Atlas Shrugged ran on the gold standard. Greenspan was the head of the Federal Reserve. the Fed is the organization that the use of the gold standard was meant to criticize. He would be analagous to Robert Stadler, the physics professor who was hated by the heros of atlas shrugged (They often 'shudder' at the thought of him. ) Stadler was hated because he used his genius for a government agency rather than the private sector. Greenspan's life was dedicated to supporting an organization that was contrary to Rand's philosophy as well.

Homelessness and basic needs are clearly used as a scourge in Atlas Shrugged to illustrate how government regulations hurt society - To illustrate the greatness of free markets, she uses common social problems as examples of how the world is hurt when free markets are constricted. If one could morally say 'piss off, too bad' to people living in dilapidated or subhuman conditions the book wouldn't make any sense.

Rand barely mentions truly needy individuals, instead, focusing on manipulatively 'needy' individuals - "I 'need' price controls so my business can compete". Those are the bad guys, and their actions make life worse for the truly needy. For example, without electricity to power a town, there would be no hospitals. Most homeless guys in the book are former workers who lost their jobs when the industrialists were squeezed out.

As a reality check, all the great industrialists, J. Paul Getty, Henry Ford, et. al - the real life versions of the characters in Atlas Shrugged - used their fortunes as the engines of the country's largest philanthropic foundations, which exist to provide funds for non-market entities.

I'm not even defending her philosophy, just clarifying it because, it does seem as though Randites preach evil in her name. It is forcing people to help you in the name of 'helping others' that she objects to, not helping others on one's own. Idle chatter and purposeless behaviors are what she opposes, not trying to survive.

Atlas probably shrugged because he was reading the book of the same title

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 03:46:00 +0000

I need to get into a “zone” for the foreseeable future. Lots going on! Some obvious things, most of you know about. But also work, leisure, keeping in shape and other stuff. This summer is going to fly by.
Here is my problem: I don’t have a book which supports “In the Zone” living! I need something both inspiring and intellectually stimulating. Something relevant and timeless. The kind of book that makes me feel like I’m sharing a secret with people One where the author is sharing wisdom, wisdom which has been recognized and appreciated through generations. Les Mis did the trick last year – it even comes with its own soundtrack!
A buddy from work lent me 1000000000 Different Pieces, which is pretty bad, but I hate not finishing a book, and feel bad not finishing a book a friend lent to me. But I may drop it. Reading about some loser’s struggle with being a loser, true or not, isn’t inspiring to me! I want to read about someone whose struggle ends with him being a winner! I need inspiration on a grand scale.
I’m also rereading Atlas Shrugged, which is OK, but not really inspiring. Railroads, metal, and the like aren’t inspiring! Who cares about how much someone loves laying railroad track? I get the idea that man-made ventures are inspiring, and I like and relate to how the author characterizes the bad guys, but the book doesn’t make want to go out there and do something. Perhaps there should be an updated version – why not have it be about the current private industry Space Race? Some private company vying to settle Mars? But that’s not what the book is about. It’s about how awesome ultra light and strong metals are. Booring! Not only that, It’s as if the author doesn’t know that there actually are railroads, industrial metals, and oil wells, it wasn’t these people who created them, and this is not how it happened!!
So, I’m feeling uninspired!
Too many stories leave me feeling paranoid. I recently read “Den of Theives” about inside traders in the 80s (Ivan Boesky lived in Mt. Kisco, where I live…apparently in the ghetto, based on how many preposterously rich people live here). Before that it was Bringing Down the House, about card counters. Both these stories were about people who lived in fear of getting in trouble if anyone found out how they made their living. They rubbed off on me! I felt like I was doing something wrong, and I’m not! Before that, it was The Road and The Kite Runner, both of which are about people skulking around and alternately hiding or fighting for survival! I did enjoy the last four books I mentioned, but they left me feeling like I needed to look over my shoulder at all times!

Les Miserables was great because it was both a real struggle – the protagonist was on the run from the law - and an internal struggle – he was at war with his own sense of morality and responsibility. This simplifies the case, of course. When Victor Hugo writes, he both internalizes and externalizes the whole nation’s struggles.

I’m also resistant to retreading old ground right now. The Hobbit is a great inspirational story (Not so much LOTR – that one has a bit too much work involved in keeping up with the story, but not enough payoff for doing so. The Hobbit’s ratio is much better.) I love One Flew Over the Coukoo’s Nest. Inspiring not only because of its ingenious explorations of the boundaries of the human mind supported by the narrator, but also the (extremely local) political and personal struggle of the protagonist.

Something tells me not to go there right now. It’s time for something new. I have Ulysses sitting on my bookshelf. I’ve been wanting to try that for some time, but it’s a nice volume, so not so portable, and not to friendly to the sound bites I often read in. It’s waiting, perhaps for later this year. I just picked up a Faulkner book, The Light of August. It’s not one that’s been recommended, but I have it, so it’s got an edge. Somehow, it’s not grabbing my attention just yet.

I feel like I need something new to grab my attention and act as my alternate world for the summer. Something I can feel proud of reading. I know it’s corny, but besides the million little pieces sucking, I’m a little embarrassed at reading an Oprah book of the month. In fact the fact that it’d be the third of the year (the road and kite runner being the other two) makes me feel like I’m sending the world a message that it’s acceptable to view me as an Oprah book of the month club member! Neither of the first two were great. The Road was unique in that it may have been the best postapoclyptic vision I’ve ever read, despite the lackluster story (or because of the lackluster story) Kite Runner was more good than bad – maybe a 6.5 on a 10 scale. A zillion pieces just sucks. Another comment about Oprah. Both the Road and A dozen pieces use incorrect grammar – no quotation marks, random capitalization, incomplete sentences, and arbitrary paragraphs. Why is Oprah supporting illiteracy? The books aren’t good enough to act like the author was too cool for school when it comes to punctuation, especially in the case of the one which sucks regardless. I’m expecting Joyce and Faulkner to pull their weight in reading experience.

I started off the year rereading the Illuminatus! Trilogy. It’s a great saga and completely mind blowing, but I did get impatient towards the end, since it’s long and I read it only a year ago.

Most books are too long. The point is usually reached within the first 150-200 pages, and the writer keeps going on and on and on in a repetitive manner (see Atlas Shrugged) or just forcing out an ending that was never in their original inspiration for the story. If I’m going to give the author the benefit of the doubt and read their book, I really resent having to slog through 300 pages of suck in hopes of recreating an earlier grippingness. I’d hate to miss the good part, on the other hand.

I just read this book called “The Descent” about caverns under the earth where devils and monsters lurk. It wasn’t bad – 7 on the 10 scale. Where Kite Runner was vaguely educational, this was creative and seemingly fact based on the world it created. Creativity scores above educational, because if I wanted to learn about Afghanistan, I assume there are other sources, but a made-up world only has one. But The Descent kept bringing up promising (and one terrible) side plots that it never developed. The book was long enough as it is, but long and good is OK. Why even bring them up – making the book longer – if there is no payoff? And no, I don’t think the writer had a vision of the ending when he started writing, because the ending sucked. If you don’t have a good ending in mind, don’t make me read an additional 150 or more pages leading up to it!!!

Last year, I was enjoying reading science fiction, but that fizzled out quickly. I reread the StarChild trilogy. I read that before, when I was 12. The beginning was interesting, but towards the end it got boring because the characters weren’t in any way shape or form agents of their own destiny. It was outside circumstances happening upon chosen people that moved the story. I need a hero who makes decisions that have some bearing on the outcome of the story, not just cool stuff happening to people who are essentially passive.

I also read book one of Foundation Series last year. I feel like I’m supposed to like it, but I just didn’t. It’s actually very similar to Atlas Shrugged. In fact, now that I mention it, it’s almost like Atlas Shrugged in Outer Space as I suggested before. And it’s still uninspiring.

I’m not feeling direct inspirational books like Wayne Dwyer or Napoleon Hill. I used to like them, but just gave each a try and there was an exponential effect on the whole Oprah book thing. Half baked advice can sometimes inspire, but I want to feel proud of what I’m reading. That would be a nice touch right now.

So, for now, I’m stuck with Atlas Shrugged and a Million Little Pieces. I intend to keep Atlas Shrugged chugging along in the background, even though it is a bit of a drag, and may as well finish a Million Pieces if only out of courtesy (hopefully it won’t take more than a week. If it does, I may abandon it), but I’m really despondent about my reading situation right about now☹.

Real New Yorkers revisited

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:36:00 +0000

Almost exactly a year ago, April 22, 2007, I wrote a post about how most 'New Yorkers' are really foreigners, and that people growing up in NJ are more native.
Yesterday afternoon, I asked one of the guys from that post where NASDAQ was.
"Times Square," he said. "Didn't you used to live in New York?"
"Yeah," I responded, solely aware of the irony, "But real New Yorkers don't pay any attention to Times Square."

Oh yeah, my name was mentioned on the NASDAQ billboard at the foot of Times Square as having put together one of the most important conferences on Latin America or something along those lines.

Also. If you want to give to charity and don't know where, give to the Danny Federici Melanoma Fund. Believe it or not, I met the guy on multiple occasions, so it was indeed sad news. I thank him for being a part of somthing that brings me joy.

The fate of the feline

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 01:58:00 +0000

Curiosity has always been my drive. When I was a junior, at 16, I read The Fountainhead in my English class and subsequently, Atlas Shrugged on my own. That summer, I enrolled in a volunteer social service program working in a soup kitchen and nursing home. An odd reaction, considering how much I loved those books, which are often considered contrary to social anything, much less service. The reason I gave was that I wanted to see what the world was really like for those who were struggling. I believe it was consistent with Dagny Taggert working night shifts as a dispatcher at her father’s railroad, starting with sleeves rolled up to get the most basic of understandings: first hand.

What attracted me to psychology as an undergraduate concentration was the process of unraveling the seeming irrationality of human behavior - especially the self-interpretations of the actor - to find the basic rational satisfaction of underlying drives. Safety. Acceptance. Self esteem. The rest of man’s concerns are window dressings to the basic underlying desires. How often does a person subvert acknowledgement of the truth to approval on one’s peers? How often do we strive to define and complete some otherwise arbitrary form of achievement for the purpose of feeling accomplished? Unlocking how these needs drive people’s maps of the world is a fun puzzle for me. It is the mystery that drives the social world. And now I try to unlock the mystery within myself.

It was a combination of my need for a tangible, hands-on path to knowledge combined with the mystery of human psychology, and a desire to make a positive impact on the world that inspired me to pursue a masters degree in social work.

It sounds so simple, described like that. The truth of the matter is that my career path has been wrought with twists and turns. Social work, it turned out was merely a far removed beginning.

A journey driven by curiosity, after all, does not run down a clear path. It is a journey driven by questions and second-guesses. What can the final destination of a journey driven by questions can be? It is a destination not known until the journey’s end. Without a clear destination, by what measurement does one identify the path?

I can take the time to recount where I’ve been. I can assess what tools I have. I can even make decisions about the next turn to take. But without a final destination, the ultimate direction is elusive.

Wealth of Nations

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 16:28:00 +0000

Whenever I figure out the direction of the new blog, I may go back and transfer some of the posts. This below ties into what I'm working on right now, thus tying in my work with my blog and creating a bit of real world connection.

Here is a thought that crossed my mind as I put together a conference on Sovereign Wealth Funds.

I'm curious as to what is the official 'free markets' view (if such a thing exists officially) on Sovereign Wealth Funds. On one hand, opposition to SWFs seems protectionist - on the surface, they're no different than other large investment bodies such as hedge funds (which also come under scrutiny for their opacity). On the other, let's consider where this money comes from: Either state controlled natural resources, or excessive taxation. If a government surplus exists, shouldn't it go back to its citizens? Is there a reason a government should hold a stake in US financial firms rather than the country's citizens? This is money being taken from private citizens for use by a government - which is then buying stakes in private enterprises. Many of these governments – China for example – are top down and non-representative.

Career services

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 00:42:00 +0000

I’ve been trying to think of a new thrust for the blog. I’m envisioning a partial resume/portfolio type of thing to showcase my writing with the goal of potentially moving towards more paid writing assignments. A way of creating a kind of beat or expertise.

Reading TAB’s recent lamentations about his career, I thought it might be a good idea to turn this blog into a career search blog. Not a portfolio like I mention above, but more of an among friends forum to discuss career development ideas. The nature of the other blog would depend on what I figure out before then.

Everyone tends to have good ideas, but the key is to keep grounded in reality. Not pessimism, but reality. Certainly anything is possible, but the methods of getting from A to B are constrained by reality.

The biggest challenge I face is that I have no clear goal. My philosophy is that that shouldn’t stop me. I’m a believer in the maxim that, “luck is when preparation meets destiny.”

So it often feels a little neurotic to constantly try and think of projects or ways to improve myself (really, isn’t arbitrary “self improvement” the realm of the insecure?). But, I want my role to be greater than it is. The idea is to become more nimble in career matters.

With that goal in mind, I want to try and open my mind to my few readers who want to also discuss these matters.

The goals of talking about career stuff include:

1. Brainstorming and stress testing – elaborating on ideas and finding flaws with them.
2. Keeping goal oriented with the things I do. Since self improvement as I define it here is similar to work, I’d hate for it to be without purpose. Sometimes worthy efforts can seem purposeful, only to be draining in the end because of a lack of coordination with ultimate goals.

But most importantly, I want to avoid compensation for insecurity. This isn’t about me trying to garner support or feel good about myself, but to develop both skills and positioning that can make me more nimble. More nimble means better able to benefit from opportunities that arise.

I hope everyone feels free to add to the discussion - regarding yourselves. Bringing our minds together can only yield results that multiply what we can come up with on our own. Feel free to e-mail me if you want something to be the main post. If you want anonyminity, maybe this is the place for it. We're all in this world together.

Take THAT, Main Stream Media!

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 19:18:00 +0000

Tavis Smiley (on Bill Mahar 3/28): How much time is the mainstream media going to spend castigating, disecting, digging into, taking to task Pat Buchanan for being the kind of racial arsonist that he is for stoking the fire? Only on this show have I heard any in depth conversation, the kind we're having now, about what Buchannan said that is so far beyond the pale that it's nonsense.

See below. Ha!

It's Purim, and it's Good Friday. But I think they're both trumped by The First Day of Spring!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 22:40:00 +0000

This is what Geraldine Ferraro said:
"If Obama was a white man he would not be in this position. And if he was a woman (of any color) he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up with the concept."

Sorry to revert to sarcasm, but…. The statement above is obviously true, since no white man has ever become a frontrunning presidential candidate.

This is from the supporter of a candidate who is claiming ‘experience’ based on being the wife of a former president. Would she have been able to claim experience had she not been the man’s wife? Would she be able to be the man’s wife had she not been a woman? But my implication isn’t even true. It’s not her gender that gives her an edge. It’s her relationships and connections that give her an edge. Which is true for everyone. Barack is now being held to the fire for being a member of a black church. If he were white, what would be the odds of his being a member of a church like that one?

Would John McCain have become the senator from Arizona if he were not white?

I don’t think in reality that Americans are shocked that such churches exist, or even that offended. The Jewish religion is replete with references to ‘other’ groups that would do us harm. But these stories are stories of strength and fortitude, not of hatred towards others. In fact most of these stories remind us that not only do we not have to live a lifestyle because "everyone else is doing it" but that we can achieve success by following rules that go against conventional wisdom despite what the forces of commercial marketing or political persuasion ask of us.

Purim is another story of oppression – intended genocide, in fact. There is little objection to the vilification of the 'other' in this case because the oppression took place during the Persian empire, and who knows much about Persians these days, anyway?
Most religious groups – even atheists – denigrate the morality of 'others'. Heck, this is one reason people object to religions.

Pat Buchannan says of this matter:
“America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known.”
I suppose it’s fair to suggest that a preacher should appreciate being introduced to Christian salvation, but what about those who were introduced to Christianity through burning crosses? It is common wisdom that people are more strongly influenced by fear than by some objective rationalization, which is rational in itself, since objectively rationalizing whether a tiger will or won't eat you is more likely to get you killed than running away on instinct.
I abhor this attitude because it suggests that good enough is good enough - that America doesn't have to have high standards, because it's better than other places. Heck, I have no idea how Blacks are treated in other parts of the world, anyway, especially in terms of equality. But that is a digression. The point is not how can the vilification of the other be viewed, but how is it used. If it is used as evidence of self driven success in light of percieved or actual adverse conditions, what is the objection?

The question is why do religious attendees who are multi-denominational in their every day lives tolerate being part of groups that treat the rest of the world as ‘others’? Because they do. Perhaps it’s wrong. But the question isn’t whether it is right or wrong. The question is how reasonable is it to expect someone to separate from something so omnipresent. Especially someone who aspires to be a leader of a land where such attitudes prevail. A land marked by freedom of speech and religion. A person from a party nominally dedicated to tolerance of differing opinions. It seems like Republicans hate political correctness, except when certian people deviate from it.

In Judiasm, one of the lessons to be learned from tales of oppression is that of self fortitude. The idea that sticking to time tested principles leads to positive results. More simple minded people, (including simple minded or disingenuous atheists) believe it’s a belief in “magic”. That God somehow waves his wand and rewards loyalty. But thinking people understand that no matter what the trends of the day are, there are certain behaviors that, when practiced with consistency, lead to a better life. In Purim, one lesson is that the ‘signs from God’ are actually mechanisms of daily life. In this case, it is a lesson in civil engagement. Mordachi used his position as a senior administration official to a king to discover an evil plot to destroy the Jewish people. Esther used her position as the wife of the king to thwart the plot. On one level the lesson is a reminder of the value of public service and engagement. It was also a reminder that while dependent on the kindness of others, we are also potentially subject to their evil intentions, and it is up to us to work to be in self sustaining positions within the system. It is not such a controversial message. If the message of a black preacher is not to rely on Whitey or whomever, surely the results outweigh the methods?
(Ironically, years later, Esther referred to her marriage to the king as an example of her experience in serving the people, while at the same time denigrating her opponent for listening to the story which paints the Persians in a negative light. At least I think that's what happened)

Barack wasn’t the one saying the offensive words, just understanding their context. Remember that there are people alive who suffered from second class citizenship within our times. This preacher's position wasn't to represent the whole country, just his congregation. There may be a case for a preacher to promote perspective rather than show empathy, but I don't think it's a wrong doing on the preacher's part. And that leads me to the next point. It illustrates a generational difference. The 60s were a different time than the one we live in now. This preacher is of the 60s, as I think is the Clinton camp.

In fact, I’m a bit relieved by Ferraro’s statement, because they shine light on an element of the Democratic party that I despise. The victim champions. It is the baby boomer generation of the 60s that holds onto this idea so dear, although victimhood still draws honors from some. It is as though, to her mind, Democrats cannot justify supporting success except if it is in contrast to victimhood. Oblivious to his oratorical skills, sharp mind, perspective, motivation or other accomplishments, it seems as though Ferraro (and by extension the Clinton baby boomer camp) went through a checklist of victimhood to justify Democrats’ liking someone. “How perplexing his popularity is! He’s not a woman. He’s not handicapped. He wasn’t poor. Hmmm. Well, he is Black. That’s it. THAT’s why people like him!”

I finally did it! I finally felt educated and well read!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 21:20:00 +0000

After years of trying to feel intelligent, I finally accomplished something. During a recent trip to Paris, I bought a book Candide, so I could sit outside of a Left Bank café and read philosophy, you know, like they do over there. I bought it at a bookstore called Shakespeare and Co., across the river from Notre Dame. It was a small bookstore, seemingly haphazard in its layout. There was a small curving stairway leading up to rooms where the guidebook said American writers stayed free of charge. There was a piano player in the store. I felt as though I was in a bona fide expatriate hangout. When I bought the book, the clerk asked if I wanted a stamp on the book.
“A stamp?” I asked. “What sort of a stamp?”
How exciting. I imagined Ernest Hemmingway getting some sort of stamp on his own books. I speculated that Benjamin Franklin got a similar stamp validating his membership in the local Mason’s Lodge. How authentic!!!
“A stamp that says ‘Shakespeare and Co.’”, the clerk said. “to show that you got it here.”
I looked at the Penguin-Putnam paperback in my hand and realized I was being had. This was a Disney style set-up designed to make tourists like me feel like we were getting an authentic Paris experience. Later, drinking wine and listening to a Jazz band, I had a similar feeling of authenticity, until I realized I was sitting in a place called the Paris Café. American sucker, I was!
There was in actuality an antique bookstore of the same name located right next door, but that was closed, and that wasn’t where I was. And I suspect antique book collectors opt out of the stamp option.

In reality, this was my third attempt at bringing the correct French philosopher into my awareness. I have been rapidly devouring the novels of Victor Hugo. Les Miserables last year, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame actually inspiring the trip. In my suitcase was the lower profile but no less epic ’93. Victor Hugo’s writing oozes love for his country and city, immersing himself in the emotional extremes of which an individual is capable while exposing the reader to the humanity that spawned the spectrum of history and philosophy spawned by those streets. Climbing the stairs of Notre Dame after reading the famous novel is the sort of deep experience I live for. Exploring a passionate artist’s mind while walking through his inspiration. The height of experience for me is to live the fruits of cumulative investigation. It is a reward for patient exploration of ideas. Ideas built upon each other over time. In this case, it was a mixture of architecture, social religion, spirituality, politics, human nature, and love. Not only Victor Hugo’s point of view, but the people who created the world he describes.
But for some reason, reading 93 didn’t make me feel like the pretentious dirty French artist of my aspirations. 93, like most Victor Hugo novels is too large. It describes the whole society with a totality that transcends most tribal movements. His characters quickly summarize the bubbling cauldron of ideas that the Left Bank was at the time. And to me Hugo gets to the roots of what man’s universal struggle, relegating the politics of movements and labeled affiliations to characters in his larger stories.
It has often been said that all religions preach the same basic truths. But Hugo embodies what those truths may actually be. Light, as a symbol of goodness and knowledge. Freedom as a driving force. He criticizes the earthly politics of the church and other movements while highlighting the nature of the search for truth. I should have realized that putting a stamp on my Voltaire book was actually a bona fide as any other act of pretensions. Ah but irony is another form of literary beauty.

I had burned through a compilation of Jean Paul Satre, but I found him to be a blowhard. I felt like while his approach was essentially a search for truth, it was a basic truth, rather than an expansive truth. It felt like he was writing to create an inarguable niche among professor types, rather than seeking a higher truth. A higher truth is assailable, but not less legitimate. It is more real because it is subject to the whims of other philosophers – like any truths we hold. The truth that a lover of knowledge seeks is strengthened because of how well it holds up despite the weaknesses of our understanding. Whether we mortals can defend a truth has no bearing as to its validity. Our weaknesses are not its.
My reaction to Satre was, “I guess you’re right, but so what?” I felt like his role in philosophy was right, but without meaning, as he concedes meaning to the individual’s interpretation. My interest is in those individuals, not his selfless concessions.

So I bought Candide. From what I could gather, Voltaire is somewhat of a gold standard among philosophers. His statue leads off the Left Bank tour in my Rick Steve’s guidebook. My edition of Candide thankfully has about a dozen footnotes per chapter explaining the irony and sarcasm that define the book.
At first, I thought I would have been lost without the footnotes, because the references were all beyond my knowledge.
Finally, I realized (now, since I put the book down a month ago when I came home and just picked it up again) that I don’t think I’m meant to get this book! I think it’s a brilliant piece of satire for it’s day, but has no more meaning than a Jon Stewart monologue will have next year. I think some of Voltaire’s comments are analogous to, “The people rejected the ruler based on her extensive experience because they could train a fresh college grad for a lower salary”. Because in the present day, whether we can express it or not, we recognize the inconsistency or downright absurdity of some media or political constructs, and are relieved and even excited to hear a succinct and sarcastic rebuttal. But out of context, the target is an absurd thought that never needed an answer.

So, where did I get this misguided feeling of education and well-readedness that I mention in the title to this entry?
I picked up an old issue of the Economist which was lying around my apartment – in fact it was the Feburary 12 issue, which came out right before my trip. It was open to a page about the greater economy. Interestingly, it refers to Jimmy Cayne stepping down as the boss of Bear Sterns, which the magazine pegs as the bank whose failing hedge fund marked the start of the sub-prime credit crisis last June. This, of course was a month before the bank completely failed last week and is currently being bailed, and probably waits to be absorbed by JP Morgan. (This makes the Economist writers well educated and well read, not me, since they have been following this chain of events since mid Feb, while I was busy being upset that I wasn’t enough of an authentic artisy, filthy, liberal, absinthe-drinking, poet, expatriate type because my outdated philosophy book was mass produced).
Anyway, the subheading to this article (or “pre-lead” might be a more accurate way to describe it), read, “Only Panglossians think that the sector is over the worst.”
Aha! Panglossians was a reference to Candide! Pangloss is Candide’s teacher who holds that all is well in the world in spite of all evidence showing otherwise!
This was quite an erudite reference, if I’ve ever heard one, and I got it!

(Not quite as arcane as the South Park episode that was modeled on Ender’s Game, where someone called Cartman a “Fourthy!” but certainly more academic).

And thus, I believe I have made my first step into finally entering the pretentious world which eluded me in Paris. While stamping a book to prove you’ve been in a particular bookstore is indeed pretentious, using a term from a dated French Philosophy book in a modern news article about the economy is completely pretentious. It takes a difficult but important subject matter – the world economy – and instead of clarifying it for the average educated reader, makes it more difficult to understand by those who might have been occupied by things other than philosophy or French literature while in college.

By the way, I mentioned earlier, irony contains its own beauty. The name Pangloss is a derivative of two words: Pan, which means “all”, and gloss, which means “talk.” Which is a good way to describe any article that prognosticates about the economy as much as this did (and indeed many Economist articles do). There are a few paragraphs about how JP Morgan may be the next to be hit, and JP Morgan in fact the bank who profited this week from Bear Sterns’ loss. All talk indeed.

I'm let down by election year spoofs so far

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 19:22:00 +0000

I’ve been thinking about how SNL should be approaching the election – they’re choosing to avoid humor because apparently Tina Fey and Lorne Michals are too busy sucking Hillary’s dick. Perhaps NBC has a stake in Kool Aid and they require their employees to drink it. Remember back in October or so when Obama was on 60 minutes? They said, “But does Obama have the experience to be president?” accompanied by him running to catch an elevator only to have it close in his face, as though he is so green that he’s never been in a building taller than one story. The subtext, of course, was that he has no coalition building experience and no one who on a metaphoric level would hold the door for him Immediately afterwards, Hillary started pounding on this experience thing, as though she has some sort of experience we’ve never heard about. Now, SNL tried to pretend that Obama has gotten a pass. No. He started out with the networks against him, and through smart campaigning comes across better than Hillary.

So here are some thoughts. Instead of being Hillary supporters, and therefore afraid of offending Obama supporters, and being accused of dirty tricks, they should be independent and characterize Obama the way he’s begging to be shown.

- He should be played by a 12 year old. Obama always looks so much younger than the other two. If Bill Mahar can harp on McCain’s age, so can SNL make fun of Obama’s obvious youth.

- Portray Obama as a 70s era Black stereotype. Afro, sneakers, speaking like yo, yo, what it is, having a thuggish posse, slapping people five. That would be as funny because it always is – (Dave Chapelle made a career out of that single joke – he would have him say “Yes we can, bitch!” and passing around a joint). It would also be funny because it spoofs the people who claim he’s only successful because he’s black, or can’t win because he’s black. I think it’s very ‘baby boomer’ to think of Obama’s ‘blackness’ as being an issue. I think baby boomers – especially the kind who support Hillary – wish that institutional and violent racism was raging as strongly as it was in the 60s, so their minor racism could be viewed as enlightened, and they can receive medals for not crossing the street when somone of another race approaches them. This is 2008, and hatred may never go away, but it is certianly not progressive to view someone as an individual rather than a demographic group anymore.

Notice that if they were to portray Hillary as fickle, shrill, prone to claiming victim or naggy (“Barak Obama, you should be ashamed of yourself!”), it wouldn’t actually be a spoof? Does this mean that black people have more absurd stereotypes to overcome than women, or does it mean that Hillary is a stereotype?

- Finally, there should be an ad with a house on a suburban street at night. A quiet voice whispers, “It’s 3 am, and you hear a noise down the hall. Your bedroom door opens. Who would you rather see there?” then a shot to the door opening, “Barak Obama?” there is a black man with a serious look on his face, backlit so as to cast a long shadow. The ad continues, “or…. Your mom?” Hillary is in the door with a smile, walks over to the bed saying, “Aw, there there, it’s OK.”, maybe holding a bottle or something.

- Another take on the commercial could be an operator answering the call and routing it to the correct department, and having Obama briefed on how the person responsible is handling the situation. The tag line would be “Wouldn’t you rather vote for someone who knows how to accurately portray how things work in the White House?”

In the spirit of change and cooperation, let's have a little respect.

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 10:37:00 +0000

This is why I don’t blog. What was a pithy one liner a few days ago took way too long to repeat in the comment below, and the attempt at context didn’t work either. Now it’s sitting there as the most recent representative of my so called “wit” because I don't have the time or inclination to update this stuff or specifically to edit it.

I have been dwelling on a new definition of conservative versus liberal that isn’t critical of either: Liberals are trying to find what they love. Conservatives are trying to protect what they love.

That is why liberals want more of things. More new art, more cultures to be surrounded by, and they want things that they aren’t yet supporting to be supported somehow, often by government. Conservatives don’t want resources to be drained from things they value, especially for vague reasons, such as a liberal expressing support for something he or she really doesn’t understand or isn't vested in – the liberal doesn’t want something diminished before he or she has a chance to see if it’s what he or she loves. An example: A conservative wants to watch his favorite show; a liberal wants to see what else is on TV. Note: a self description isn't necessarily accurate, and neither is an affiliation.

Sigh.... if you're gonna cheat......

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 01:38:00 +0000

I remember about 20 years ago when it was discovered that Gary Hart had had an affair, my father quoted the talking point of the day: "How can we trust him to keep a vow to his country when he can't even keep a vow to his wife?" It was one of my first glimpses into the partisan preposterosity that passes for political discourse in this country.
That is not going to stop me for using similar logic now to point to the relative honesty of Elliot Spitzer: If he can't keep it a secret when he sees a hooker, how can we expect that he'd be able keep other, shadier dealings a secret, like working with the mafia, cheating on taxes, selling secrets to the Soviets? You'd assume that the Feds are working harder on such cases. Thus we can conclude that as a public servant, he is fairly honest. Not 100%, because of this transgression, but I think the fact he can't even pull this off, suggests that he is probably innocent of bigger things. For the record. I do believe that elected officials shouldn't break the law

Bananaman's island

noreply@blogger.com (NJWT) — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 11:01:00 +0000

They spelled it wrong, but look!

http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/bannermans-island.html