New Jersey White Trash

I put some songs online

2008-10-10T21:28:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-10T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-18T03:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-10T18:59:00.001-07:00

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

2008-07-05T05:39:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-07-03T13:30:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-31T17:37:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-27T17:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-13T19:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-09T18:12:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-19T07:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-14T18:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-13T09:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-09T17:42:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-03-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

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!!!!!

2008-03-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

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!!!!

2008-03-15T14:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-03-14T03:37:00.000-07:00

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......

2008-03-10T18:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-11-14T03:01:00.000-08:00

They spelled it wrong, but look!

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

To Be Is To Be Percieved

2007-04-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

I now see how “time on your hands” blogging is indicative of. First of all, living with someone gives me immediate satisfaction when I come up with a brilliant idea. Secondly, I think when I was doing more writing for a living, I felt more of a need to express myself. But in all honesty, I think I quit updating back when I went “all bananaman, all the time” I am proud of the length of time that that theme was able to last. The well is still probably not dry, but I’ve had my fill.

I was talking to a friend from Houston recently who was complaining about how pretentious and shallow the scene was there. He felt that everyone was posing and putting on an act.

He said, “Shit like that doesn’t fly in New York.”

I just stared at him silently, blinking in incomprehension.

He continued, “In New York, someone would get his ass kicked for acting like that.”

Again, all clicks and whistles to me. I literally didn’t understand a word he was saying

I calmly told him that New York was full of people trying to fill some vacuous role in some kind of scene. I did have to calm myself, because I felt like I was explaining the obvious to a crazy person. I felt like I was trying to teach a fifth grader how to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or some old guy how to go “Eh? What?” It was an incredibly absurd thought. Nobody gets their “ass kicked” in New York, and especially not for focusing on shallow or external things.

I thought of the 25 year old from work who recently at a party tried to mock me by saying ‘look how natural NJWT looks drinking a beer’. I think he was trying to make fun of me for not drinking some alcoholic version of a Starbucks specialty drink. I’d think he’d be more culpable for having a mixer in his whisky than for me drinking beer.

I thought of a recent party I went to at the Guggenheim – they have a Friday night party once a month. It was not the right combo in my opinion, although I think it might have been a good first date place, because you could either steer things towards drinking or towards art, and it was definitely a good meet market, especially because of the built in taking a walk away from the crowd to see the exhibits. It was really an easy crowd for a guy. The way I assessed it, all you’d have to do is say you work in finance, and then vaguely mention some art related thing you’re into, and then come up with an excuse to leave her place at sunrise.

I spoke to one dressed for attention girl who seemed dazzled by the event.

“I’ve never been here before,” she said.

I proceeded to tell her about an exhibit I had seen years ago, and how the space was great because it is part of the exhibit.
She looked at me funny and said “I’ve been to the museum, I’ve just never been to happy hour here.”

Again, I had to stare at her, blinking at the absurdity of the notion that drinking at the museum was somehow momentous, and counted as a new experience beyond looking at the priceless art.

There was certainly nobody getting beat up at this party for being a ridiculous, no-depth-having jackass.

And that was when I realized what most of these nincompoops have in common.

They’re all from out of town. Beer boy was from Ohio. The happy hour is more interesting than the museum girl was also from the Midwest. I realized a pattern that people who are enamored at all the wrong things are all from out of town.

They’re all foreigners.

Ohio-too-cool-for-beer-kid, and this Gay Muslim Persian (parents from Afghanistan, lived here since he was three – clearly not a multiple generation New Yorker, so case and point) were going to a movie. Both lived on the upper east side. One wanted to go to the AMC on 42. St. The other said. “Buy REAL New Yorkers avoid Times Square”. The other said, “”But the movie theater on 86 St. sucks.” As though it was beneath his blazer and t-shirt wearing self.

They both missed the point: A real New Yorker would go to the movie theater in his neighborhood! Both of these foreigners were trying to assimilate to their vision of what a “real” New Yorker does, instead of just being themselves, like a true, real New Yorker. (At least if they were going to some limited release, or indie movie or something, there is reason to leave the neighborhood, but this was to go see 300…. If I had to vote for more authentic NYer, I’d go with the Times Square choice, since 300 was a big visual movie, and thus warrents a better screen, but that guy already lost at the beer comment)

So, I thought on these points, and answered my friend who was talking about people from Houston getting their asses kicked in New York.

“You’re not thinking of New York. You’re thinking of New Jersey!” Indeed, there is a low tolerance for bullshit in my home state, and I have indeed seen people getting their asses kicked there for being full of shit.

To foreigners – most of whom come from the Midwest – New York is a scary and cosmopolitan place. A place where they could never feel comfortable being themselves. They put up their armor of bullshit to avoid being discovered. But those of us from New Jersey grew up with the skyline visible from our hometowns. We had seen the first run Broadway plays without knowing that the rest of the country was relegated to seeing a local high school production of You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown. We don’t remember the first time we went up the Empire State Building, because we were so young, and we’ve been so often, that we just know what New York looks like from above seemingly from instinct. Our parents grew up in the city, and drove us around like a drive through the countryside. Like a second generation Italian-American. We were New Yorkers, like they were Italian. We speak both “New York” and “New Jersey” fluently. We’ve been drinking in these bars since before we had our first phony ID. We figured out that the red rope is just a piece of velvet years ago, while these cowboys come in, dress up, and pose while waiting on this line so they can get in to pay for a drink that would cost much, much less, if it were not for all the out of town suckers willing to pay for it in order to do what they think of as ‘fitting in’. Most importantly, we don’t care if people perceive us as Real New Yorkers or not.

The funny thing is, it is kind of an objective thing. Either your family is from New York or it isn’t. You didn’t magically grow up on Bleeker Street instead of outside of Milwaulkee just because you won’t go to Chevy’s. so what “real new Yorkers” do is not really classifiable. It’s what people who want to be PERCIEVED as real New Yorkers do. Which a real New Yorker would never be concerned about.

Real New Yorkers know that New York is a sucker’s game – that the purpose of earning a buck is to get a bang for it, not to burn it while you smoke an overpriced pack of cigarettes outside the bar. (For those of you about to point out NJ’s smoking ban, I have two words: Atlantic City…. And another bunch of words: Don’t smoke, you moron. Oh, I forgot, you’re from Kansas City, and don’t want people to know, so you’re smoking to make people think you’re a native New Yorker.)

Real New Yorkers don’t spend $1800 on a 250 sq ft loft on the UES. They’re either rent controlled or have some otherwise good deal because they know a guy, or they live in the suburbs. Look at all these rubes living in the city, pretending to be New Yorkers!

Only if your parents are from New York are you a real New Yorker. Maybe your parents are from New Jersey, but that’s because their parents were successful New Yorkers who made it out of that silly place.

What a relief this realization was! These “schmucks” (that’s word from the old country. It dates back to turn of the century Lower East Side, for all you out of towners) used to grate on my nerves so much until I saw that their motivation was a pure fear of people seeing through the fact that they’re not comfortable here.

But, I thank you, immigrants of the world, for spending money in the city where I make it, and bring it out to where it actually buys a life. I live in Westchester now – above Route 287, which reminds me of the NJ I grew up in.

There is a reason they call it the Empire State. We’ve moved beyond our borders and taken over.

Here is to Imperial New York. Here’s to New Jersey.

Ice Cream

2007-04-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

I don't believe that "low cal" ice cream tastes as good as regular ice cream. And I don't believe the ice cream makers do either. Why? Because if it were just as good, what would they make the higher calorie ice cream for?

It's basically a movie about a little girl who's dog gets killed.

2006-11-22T19:48:00.001-08:00

I know there are many clichés about how trippy the Wizard of Oz is. But I watched it recently, and noticed something which is very disturbing.

What is the conflict that sends Dorothy off on her adventure?
The old woman wants to take Toto away. And presumably, since she’s handing him into the authorities, the pup will be put to sleep.
She makes her case to Auntie Em and Uncle Henry: This dog bit me. It is illegal for you to keep a dangerous animal.
Antie Em and Henry are pretty clear. While they think the woman is mean, they unambiguously agree to turn the dog in.
So, since they have agreed, the fact that the dog escapes is irrelevant. In fact, this is why Dorothy runs away in the first place.

The whole idea of “there is no place like home” is actually resolved about 5 minutes after she runs away – the carnival guy convinces her immediately that this is a bad idea.

So, even though Glenda says “All you had to do was realize that there is no place like home, and you’ll return there” the fact is not really the conflict. She already decided, even before coming to Oz, that she wants to go home. Even when she ran away, she wasn’t really upset with home per se. She ran away for one reason alone.

That reason was because Auntie Em and Uncle Henry had agreed to turn the dog over to the authorities. The dog was not safe there.

BUT THAT ISSUE IS NEVER RESOLVED!!!!!

The movie ends up with her cuddling up with Toto and saying something to the effect of “Yay Toto, we’re home.”

But presumably, the old lady is simply going to show up in a day or too, or the sheriff himself to take the dog away to the pound!!!!! The stepparents haven't changed their minds!!

The movie ends without the main issue being resolved. It is the plot point that drives the movie from act one to act two. The reason she bumps her head in the first place is a result of her attempt to save her dog! This is not a minor inconsistency – it is instrumental to the plot of the movie, and is a MAIN CONFLICT OF THE MOVIE!!! It’s blatant!!!

THE UNSAID TRUTH OF THE WIZARD OF OZ IS THAT TOTO GETS KILLED SOON AFTER THE CAMERAS ARE TURNED OFF!!!!!!!!!

Everyone has AIDS really does sum it up, doesn't it?

2006-10-28T22:25:00.000-07:00

I saw RENT this weekend. The whole phenomenon makes me feel like an archaeologist –
I have seen the movie (which includes the tony winning cast), and listened to the soundtrack extensively, and now seen the stage production. What I have not seen is the original cast in the original production.
The movie is different from the play in two main ways. There is dialog which is sung in the play (and on the soundtrack, of course) which is spoken in the movie. The play, of course takes place in a single visual frame, while the movie uses on the street production numbers from New York.
I loved how the movie used New York – especially Santa Fe on the Subway. Since I saw the movie first, it is these scenes and actors that are in my head when listening to the soundtrack – which is mostly them, since it’s the original cast.
The production I saw on Friday showed me a new dimension that wasn’t in the movie and wasn’t discernable from just listening to the soundtrack. For example, the life support group is on stage throughout “Out Tonight” which segues into “Another time,” making it clear that this is what Roger is doing while the rest are affirming the idea of ‘no day but today’ Not only is Mimi looking for attention, she’s the embodiment of the sentiment all Roger’s friends are trying to get him to realize – when she tries to seduce him with ‘there is only us, there is only this, no day but today’ (to which he answers, ‘another time, another place…’) The chorus joins in, from the support group. The play has a new dimension of, I don’t know if you call it symbolism, but it is multiple layers of meaning.
However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a lackluster performance. I didn’t get a sense that any of the actors were going places. Mimi’s voice seemed to be congested (I once saw a Bruce show where he was congested, but he still managed to belt out ‘backstreets’, likewise Mimi hit the high notes nicely, even if the rest seemed to be an effort.
“Today for you tomorrow for me,” seemed imprecise. And herein lies my question.
Was it imprecise because that is the nature of theater, or because the actor wasn’t as talented as the original actor. That scene was very edited – meaning that they could have had as many takes as necessary to get it right, and live the same actor might not have gotten it every time either. The soundtrack is also very precise. (do broadway actors go into a recording studio to make the soundtrack, or is it taken from the soundboard?) The lyrics for today 4 U are enunciated very carefully. You can hear and discern virtually every lyric on the soundtrack, but with this performance, the lines were blurred in quite a few instances. But, is that what a stage does? I can only wonder. During La Vie Bohem, Maureen belted out a line, and I felt like she could have held back – this show is known for being an ensemble performance, and obviously that song doesn’t have a star – if it does, it’s not her but Mark.

Obviously, the movie shouldn't require the original cast. It would have been cheaper and slightly more accurate with younger actors. But a few of the original people are big stars. Maybe the show DOES need those people to bring it to life. I wonder, has the play RENT become a second rate show, with b-level performers?

And this is why I feel like an archaeologist. Because I never saw the original show. It doesn’t even exist in its integrity. I can only add up A. (the movie) B. (the soundtrack) and C. (the current production) and guess that this is an amazing creation.
I read a few reviews of the movie, and apparently it got lukewarm responses. But what was interesting was that the reviews didn’t add up.
In last week’s New Yorker, there was an article about conspiracy theories. It explained that people can be made to believe that there is a great amount of evidence for something when in fact there is not, because there are many unrelated facts. Haliburton getting no bid contracts plus george bush having a relationship to the Saudi royal family doesn’t add up to the government being complicit in 9/11. But if each fact raises an eyebrow, it feels like an awful lot of eyebrows are raised.
Similarly, The negative reviews of RENT the movie didn’t really add up. In one, the opening theatrical performance of Seasons of Love was fantastic, and the movie suffered because there were no other references to the film’s origins. In another, the opening scene was a weak attempt to capitalize on the film’s origins for nostalgia purposes, instead of letting the movie stand for itself. Another complained that “La Vie Boheime” was too long, another that its length was the highlight of the movie. Opposite opinions, which don’t add up to 2. They’re both negative, but if they both say for example that the NYC scenes were good, then that is not a score of 2 good to 4 bad, but rather a score of 4 for NYC scenes, to a score of one for too much theater, one for too little, one for long la vie boheim, one for short vie boheime (I know the math and facts are off there, but I think you see my logic). Over the long run, it seemed to me there was a score of 15 similar positive reviews to a similar amount of divergent negative reviews. In other words, many agreed the movie was good, but relatively few agreed it was bad – they said it was bad, but there wasn’t a coherent opinion of there being something wrong with it.
A few other reviews really set up straw men to criticize the script. I thought the story was pretty deep.
In my opinion, it is a coming of age story of Mark Cohen. He’s at an age where half of his friends are growing up (Maureen, who is in a committed relationship) and Benny, who basically has a real job. His other friends are holding onto a younger lifestyle. Simple enough conflict, except for one thing. Those friends are not going to grow up. It’s not reasonable for them to think too far into the future. They’re clinging onto something that most people outgrow because the next phase of life doesn’t have anything to offer them. Except it’s not even 100% that simple – people with HIV are living longer, as clearly stated in the life support scene. Roger wants to cling onto the idea of ‘one great song’ as his last hurrah (ironic, since many of Rogers songs are far from great).
This is not a movie about how great “La Vie Boheime” is. It’s a movie about people who don’t feel that there is anything else.
One reviewer criticized the film for celebrating that hippie trustafarian east village ideal, and not doing it well. But that is the point. Their life isn’t hopeful or particularly attractive. They don’t have anything else. Mark is half romanticizing it because he doesn’t want to abandon his friends, but nobody is that in love with the 20something lifestyle for itself.
Mortality is the theme of the movie, not some kind of idealized artistic freedom. Creativity in the face of mortality is a partial theme, but more importantly, letting go of the need for creativity is a theme – roger fixating on ‘one great song’ while Angel and Collins are singing a pretty mediocre song. ‘I’ll cover you’ is very sweet in context, but alone, face it, it’s got silly lyrics. And that’s a strength of the overall play – it’s supposed to come across as a spontaneous expression of affection, not a great song. Some of the mediocrity of the play works to its point, which is that each moment in life should be measured in love above all else. And everyone in the play sees that as the salvation. Maybe that’s more of a hippie sentiment than the celebration of counterculture is, but love isn’t about counterculture – it’s universal.
Mortality is what the movie is about. “When you’re living in America, you are what you own, but when you’re dying in America, you’re not alone.”(LA Vie Boheime says it’s about living with, not dying from disease, but of course that’s not literally what it’s about – it’s about clinging to life when death is right around the corner, which translates into living in the moment. La Vie Boheim is tied to not having a future)
Another thing which I noticed and liked was the casual nature of the gay relationships. They weren’t meant to be shocking. They were written as completely natural. In 2006, we’re almost used to this. But in 1996, a gay relationship in a storyline would usually have been a plot point. RENT was written pre-will and grace. At that time, Ellen and Melissa Ethridge were able to jumpstart their careers by admitting to being gay. I don’t think someone being gay makes news anymore – not in a way that’s different from any other Hollywood relationship story. But the storyline of RENT didn’t get hung up on that. And that made it ahead of its time.

One of the reasons I love the soundtrack is because it’s a great rock and roll concept album – sincerely a rock opera (as opposed to Tommy which is a collection of related songs, not an opera). There are few if any three minute stretches of repetition. That means in 2:30 hours there is lots to dwell on musically. There are no really ‘great songs’ – I can’t think of one I’d perform myself - but there are great moments in the context of the show, and there are great, memorable musical themes that come up again and again, and work in a baroque style which I don’t know if I’ve ever heard in a rock and roll milieu

The ending is a bit unsatisfying – but could the ending to RENT possibly be satisfying? What kind of resolution is possible? I think Roger resolves to allow himself to feel and live in the moment. Mark decides to complete his film as a tribute to this time in his life – presumably allowing him to move on.

Overall, I think this phenomenon of RENT is incredible beautiful. The mere fact that it is lost in time adds to its mystique. The fact that my vision of the show is based on archeological assumptions rather than a direct experience is unique as far as I can remember – there isn’t any other thing I’m fond of that I only know by conjecture. That too makes it a thing of beauty.

Oh yeah. And Doctor Who rocked this week!

Blowhards

2006-10-24T16:40:00.000-07:00

Everything that crosses my mind now seems completely sophomoric. I used to at least think I have insight – now, I think the mere act of commenting on most things is foolish. I feel that way about whether movies are good, current events, social issues. I feel like people who engage in these conversations are blowhards, regardless of their opinions. I’d rather read a good book. I’m reading a lot, and watching TV. I suppose the shift is that people who talk about stuff would be better off listening, or referring me to a book. I’m also feeling bored with people – a shift from annoyed – who talk too much in this manner. I have little tolerance for people who talk about restaurants.
I was in San Francisco last week. The bay area is beautiful – underrated, if you ask me, since TV and movies mostly focus on the hills or Golden Gate Bridge. I walked along the shoreline from Market Street to pier 40 something past fisherman’s wharf, taking it all in.
It was a beautiful experience. The kind of thing that you can only experience there. I felt a kind of empty feeling whenever I spoke to anyone about San Francisco, because it seemed like the first question or bit of advice was about what restaurant to find. What a waste – and a boring one. The hills are another example. As I said TV and movies focus on the hills, but the real attraction is not the hills, but the view!
Maybe part of this comes from living in New York. Fancy or interesting restaurants aren’t so hard to find, and great views aren’t often encountered on foot. Maybe, similarly, every blowhard opinion or observation out there has crossed my mind by this point?

Torture

2006-10-08T06:24:00.000-07:00

I keep forgetting that I have my own blog where I can actually write about things that cross my mind with the hope of someone reading it.

There has been alot about torture in the news, and two things have crossed my mind.
First, on one side, people are supportive of torture, the more sane of these because they believe that anything to save American lives is acceptable. Their scenerio is: If someone knows where a bomb is that will kill thousands, would you use torture to save lives?

I notice a void on the anti-torture side. On the Sunday shows last week, and in various blogs or editorials, I keep hearing that torture undermines the US's "Moral legitimacy" ot that it endangers US troops, or weakens our position in the world.
What I don't seem to hear is an objection that merely states that torture is wrong. In other words, the thrust of the anti-torture opinions I'm hearing is that it makes us look bad.
But why should anyone get behind this opinion? Who cares if we look bad? I understand that no politician wants to come across as weak by putting morality before safety. The idea of "moral high ground" still implies a concern for the US's ability to fight the war on terror, but it doesn't make a case against torture unless you can illustrate the value of moral high ground. If the US is an 800 pound gorilla, what difference does it make (Where does an 800 pound gorilla sit? Anywhere it wants)

The other argument against torture is that it doesn't work. The premise is that torture can be used to force a confession, but not to gain information because the victim will say what ever has to be said in order for the torture to stop. This argument also stops short of saying torture is morally wrong. It implys the person making it is primarily concerned with national security, and isn't opposed to hurting an enemy, but is opposed to ceeding moral high ground where it is unnecessary.

But I think this arguement is a red herring because I think it doesn't accurately assess the full methodology of torture. I also think that the proponents of torture are powerless to effectively refute this argument because of the implications of the truth.

I don't think information is ascertained by merely torturing one person. The idea of one person who knows where the bomb is is a phony scenerio. I believe it is effective when you torture hundreds of people. I believe this is a game of statistics.
If you torture 100s of people, and 80 give you different answers but 20 give a similar answer, and you ask questions you already know to be true or false, to test the persons's general honesty, then torture can lead to information. It's also probably checked against information gained from friendly informers. And, information from allys might come from questionable methods. But even then' it's probably not 100% reliable. So to employ torture is a large undertaking that involves subjecting probably thousands of people!

But I notice that this has never been suggested as a refutation to those who say torture doesn't work. Why? because it is far more reprehensible than torturing a few people. But if torture is being used, and it's working, then I think this aggregate approach has to be the method.

And, if this is true, the missing morality argument looms much larger - because out of those thousands of torture victims, many are likely innocent as well. So I think the entire debate is disingenuious. If torture works, but in order to work it if far more widespread than assumed, where do we stand? It's really a Us against Them argument more than the utilitarian suggestion of one victim to save the lives of many. And I don't really believe that when the truth is all told that there is anyone is sincerely for Them over Us.
But I find it interesting to watch an issue debated like this - passionately and partisanly, but with the truth hiding in the background.

Some people simply accept Bananaman without question.

2006-08-22T14:42:00.000-07:00

I was hanging out with seven people this weekend. Only two who know about Bananaman.

I am truly amazed that I was able to speak extensively with these two about Bananaman all weekend without a single other person asking "Who's Bananaman?" "What are you guys talking about?" or especially, "Are you guys fucking retarded?"

I got some coffee

2006-07-09T07:58:00.000-07:00

So I was at the Yacht Club this weekend with the inlaws who belong. At about 4:30, someone asked if I wanted anything to drink, so I said, “sure. I’ll have some coffee please.”
“Oh. There is no coffee.”
“What? Of course there is coffee,” I said.
“I don’t think there is anymore, and you can’t drink it over here.”
“How can there not be coffee at 4:30?” I indicated the crowd “Of all these hundreds of members, don’t you think there is a handful who is accustomed to drinking coffee in the afternoon?”
“I don’t think there is coffee,” she repeated.
So I went over to the bar.
“Can I have some coffee please,” I asked the teenager behind the bar.
“No, there isn’t any coffee anymore. The [cafeteria thing]”
“Well, is there any coffee up in the club house or anything?”
“No.”
I was flabbergasted. Even amused by such absurdity.
What is it with the anti-coffee people out there? (I’m not suggesting these people were anti-coffee, but I encounter anti-coffee people from time to time) I don’t expect everyone to drink coffee, but there are people who are downright antagonistic about coffee! They’ll argue, for some reason, that soda has the same amount of caffine as coffee. Any coffee drinker knows that’s bullshit, and anyone who’s taken ‘drugs and human behavior’ a standard 101 class offered in many universities knows that there is 50X the caffeine in coffee as in soda. But, why argue with the drinker? Even if it weren’t true, what is the purpose of arguing with someone who wants a drink? Also. Why do people occasionally either try to trick you into thinking coffee doesn’t have an effect? “Hey, did that coffee perk you up?” They’ll ask. “I guess so.” You’ll answer to the incredibly irrelevant question – coffee is normative when you drink it regularly on the first hand, and it’s never considered some generalized ‘feel perfect’ drug, so asking someone if there energy level is increased an hour later, coffee or not, will often call for a different answer – energy goes up and down throughout the day, with our without coffee. None of this means caffeine is fictional. “Aha!” They’ll finish up. “That was DECAF!!!!!” They’ll say, triumphantly. Then, you’ll casually grab the coffee can and show them that it’s not, and they’re an idiot. Even if you felt different an hour after drinking decaf, like I said, it’s not unusual to feel differently hour after hour. And finally, why does this person I work with insist that there is no difference between strong coffee and espresso – to the extent that she occasionally argues when I want espresso.
The reason is they’re wrong, and that wrongness is indicative of their idiocy, so they desperately try to win these wasteful desperate arguments.
And the point of all of this is:

I didn’t want to argue. I just wanted some coffee.

I initially accepted defeat, and went to the bathroom. As I stood there, I couldn’t help think about this situation. This suggested that not only could none of the members have an afternoon cup of coffee – I’m not assuming a majority wanted coffee only a small minority, but large enough to warrant its availability – it also suggested that none of the employees could have coffee. None of the lifeguards, waiters, bar workers, guys giving out the lifejackets by the kayaks, guys setting the tables, people in the band, supervisors or anyone could have coffee. Absurd.
And since this was impossible, this means that someone was keeping me from the coffee – this yacht club wasn’t up against a 7-11 which I would gladly have walked to - this was after all about my wanting coffee, not about my being slighted.
Until now.
Now, I wanted the coffee, which I recognized as my right. If it was not actually a right. (I guess it’s not really a right) It was a want, and goddamn it, I was going to have my coffee.
I aspire to be a man who can get things done. I want to achieve greatness and nothing should stand in my way.
So I went back to the bar, which had a different employee at this point. I leaned in with a smile.
“Hi,” I said, easing my way in. Developing the air or rapport before going in for the kill.
“Hi,” she said, leaining in expectantly.
“Is there any way I can get some coffee around here?” I said with a smile.
The phrasing of the question was calculated. I was still open to going to the 7-11, if such a place existed, but I was also setting up the wait staff to tell a club member to take a hike. If coffee existed, I think they’d be hard pressed as the professionals they are to do so. I’d even guess it’s against the oath that wait staff take when they get their license. (I’m unaware of the oath, not being a waiter).
“Well, there isn’t really any coffee,” she said.
I smiled and knit my brow at her, not saying a word. Let her struggle with her own lies.
“Well, there is some ice coffee,” she said.
“Ice coffee? ” I repeated.
I said no more, letting her own conscious weigh on her. Such lies! How can there be no coffee if there is iced coffee? Coffee is born hot!
I kept the smile and raised my eyebrows, as though we were sharing a secret. I even lowered my voice so she had to move closer to hear.
“Isn’t there a coffee machine back there where you can throw up a pot?”
She seemed happy to oblige when I offered the solution, although still resistant.
“Oh, that’ll take at least 15 minutes.”
More bullshit. I’ve had probably 10,000 cups of coffee in my life, and it doesn’t take 15 minutes to brew coffee!
“That sounds great,” I said and went to sit down.
About five minutes later, she came back with my coffee. I was impressed with her (albeit weak) attempt to bluff me into not waiting the 15 minutes, but she had no reason to wait the full 15 when I called her bluff.
It was good cup of coffee, but it wasn’t as satisfying as the mere fact that I got it.

There is still beer to be drunk in New York City

2006-05-14T07:47:00.000-07:00

I worked the door at Triad on the Upper West Side. on Saturday night where Otis Funkmeyer was playing. I’ve been spending a lot of time on the Upper West Side lately The band before them was a reggae jam band. I suggest that you shouldn’t be a jam band unless A. you’re good. And B. You make sure the crowd knows it. After a 10 minute version of “Stir it up” I jokingly asked, “Why did they stop? Don’ just tease people who want to hear a long, extended, perfunctorily rehearsed loosely structured version of a mediocre song when they’re patiently waiting for the next band to take the stage!”
Apparently, there was some famous sax player in the band.
People kept asking, “I’m friends with the band, do I still have to pay?”
First of all. Nobody at a club like that isn’t friends with the band. Secondly, how incredibly cheap and ungrateful! These guys are sacrificing their night to entertain you and you can’t part with $5? They also sacrifice every Wednesday for the past six years, and pay for studio time. Isn’t that worth $5? And it’s not like they’re peddling some CD or something. Man! Get with it. If they wanted you to get in without paying, they’d make a guest list and put you on it. Just because someone invites you to a show doesn’t mean they like you – they’d invite you out somewhere else as well if they did!
After the show we went to Yogi, located just north of the Beacon Theater (see they like me, because they invited me somewhere else).
The last time I was at Yogi was before a Merle Haggard and Bob Dylan concert. After the show, my friend, a big Merle Haggard fan, started complaining about how bad Bob Dylan is these days. How he’s lost it. I had enjoyed the show, myself, and recently, I saw that Martin Scorcesi documentary, No Direction Home, and I realized he hadn’t lost anything. He was always a little off sounding. I found it to be incredibly live and intimate, as opposed to Merle, who played the same show as last time I saw him. I love Merle, but I have no need to see him again, because he doesn’t do anything new.
Someone called it a country bar. It’s really not. It had some country in the juke box, but nobody was playing anything good. And more importantly, it was smack dab in the middle of the upper west side. It was like one of those Hogs and Heiffers places, except that no women were dancing on the bar.
Last time I was at Hogs and Heiffers, it was the night of a friend’s fiancee’s bachelorette party (not to be confused with his bachelor party, which I didn’t attend because it was in goddamn montreal). One of his stockbroker friends from New Jersey who had just purchased a midlife crisis motorcycle wanted to go. And that’s what bars are for. People from New Jersey who have no sense of what makes a good evening out.
So, we’re waiting for the bathroom as soon as we get in. Some guy tells us he’s ahead of us. I point out to the guy that our friend was already in the bathroom, so obviously, we were there before him. The bouncer leans over to us and tells us we better work it out ourselves or he’s going to throw us out.
So Mr. New Jersey Wall Street midlife crisis says, “Are you going to throw me out?” In a threatening way – joking, obviously, but I knew what was going to happen, which was the validation of his question.
So they physically push him out the door, and I say to the bouncer. OK, we’re leaving, no trouble, but my friend is in the bathroom – can I tell him.
Oh. Your friend’s in the Bathroom? Well he can leave too! He says while pushing me out the door. I had to smooth talk my way back in through the front door bouncers and get him. I smooth talked so well, I got our covers back.
What Hogs and Heiffers is known for is the female bartenders dancing on the bar. In other words, it’s defining characteristic is that it’s annoying as hell.
But, I’ll say this. If a bar is annoying, it’s better if it’s annoying because of attractive women than other sources of annoyance.
So, to sum Yogi up, it’s the kind of bar people from New Jersey might visit when they’re waiting for a concert at the Beacon Theater. This country juke box played “Why don’t we get drunk and screw,” which kind of proves my point.

I really didn’t think Yogi’s was that bad, but my friend did (That’s the worst bar I’ve ever been in, he said.), so we split and went to Jakes Dillema, on another friend’s suggestion.
“Oh. You’re not single. Damn.” This guy says before suggesting the place. Now I appreciate this guy’s assessment of my game, but the fact is, I’m perfectly capable of walking into a meat market bar and leaving alone. In fact, I used to do it a few times a weekend. When I go out, I’m usually looking for adventure, amusement, and drunkenness. Even when I was single, that was my modus operandi.
This is the kind of place people are referring to when they say that they hate the bar scene.
On the way, he tells me about all the fights he saw there last week. Sounded like something that might be pretty amusing to me.
So, on my way through the crowd, I couldn’t help but think about the temptation. Should I start a fight? It seemed to me that that would be the most fun result of entering into that place. I thought about how it would work, and who would be the right guy.
What I would have done, (in case any of my readers want to start a fight in the future). Would have been to elbow someone hard in the back. Then immediately, I’d react as he hit me, and when he turned, I’d say “What the fuck are you doing” and punch him in the face. That would be a pretty sure fire way to start a fight. The one thing you have to be careful of is that you might elbow and punch this guy, and he might not react by fighting back. Then basically, all you did was beat up a guy for no reason. Now, if he fights back, it’s OK, because all you did was give some guy who likes to fight in bars a preemptive strike.
This bar was young. The girls were standing in tight groups dancing and singing. I did appreciate the fact that as we walked in, the entire bar practically, was singing along to Don’t Stop Believing, which rocks.
I don’t 100% understand the tactic of girls standing in tight groups with their backs to the crowd. If they don’t want those kind of guys to hit on them, wouldn’t they go to one of the other zillion not collegy – and skeevy collegy – bars at that? Can’t they buy their own Kelly Clarkson CD to sing along with?
So finally, I seized the between beer opportunity to suggest splitting, and we went to an Irish Bar called Dead Poets, which was pretty mellow. They had books on the wall, and quotes by poets hanging on the wall, too. In other words, it was a poetry bar like Yogis was a country bar. I’ve been going to bars for years – for my two year stint at Steppin Out, it was at least four a week. A bar is a bar. You need a little space to move your elbows, some eye candy, and someone to hear yourself talk to. And Guiness on tap is nice. Don’t get hung up on anything else. A bar is a bar.
Thus concludes another night out drinking.

I had a weekend. The first real weekend in a long time... the kind that comes after a full week of work!

2006-04-23T15:05:00.000-07:00

So I had a split weekend. Saturday was the kind of night I live now – similar to what the rest of you poor saps blog about. Went out to dinner (Elaines – good food, kind of wish I went later to get a better sense of the scene, because I think that that place is known for it’s scene) and a movie (Thank you for smoking – a really mediocre movie that I suspect some people will think was extremely clever for talking about what everyone already knows. Also, I think that there is a coming slew of that kind of movie because of the recent left dressed academy award winners).
Friday more resembled my prior lifestyle, which I still have great love for. I went out drinking. First to Kenny’s Castaway in the village because some guy I know said he might be there.
I didn’t see him, but I noticed a bunch of parents in the audience. I used to be part of that scene – playing for your parents. It’s so sad, because your totally awesome rock and roll band is completely reduced when your parents are in the audience. First of all, it makes it more than obvious that the bar owner is only using you for your acquaintances cover charge. If it’s just friends there is at least a chance, or if not actually a chance, there is a believable scenario where he’s inviting you because you bring a cool crowd that helps business – hell, there is a chance he’s at least imagining that you’re increasing his drinking quota. But if it’s parents, He’s just looking for the $10 out of their wallet that evening. The fact is that parental types smolder any illusion of that bar being a sincerely fun place to be.
The addition of parents takes something that is the epitome of cool – being in a rock and roll band, and turns it into the epitome of lame – spending a Friday night hanging out with your parents. And this is even lamer – it’s like they’re watching you sing “I’m a little tea cup” at thanksgiving dinner. Singing for your parents is not cool.
So after throwing back a few Guinnesses we jumped on the 1-9 train and headed uptown. The plan was to grab a quick dinner at a bar and head over to AKA Chris’s party. However, when we got upstairs, there were no bars in sight! In fact, I had to use the bathroom at Barnes and Nobles. It was packed, and my friend offered me not one, but two dollars if I screamed “Nerds!!!!!” on the way down. I opted not to, since I didn’t want them to realize how much superiority I reigned over them, since after all, they were nerds.
So we actually made it to the outside of AKA Chris’s building and we asked the security guard where there was a bar. She was very helpful. Comically so. She left the booth and actually got on her walkie-talkie to ask building security hq where the closest bar was. She referred us to somewhere called Petes like six blockss away. My friend commented about what an asshole Chris must be for moving so far away from a bar. Clearly, he was more of an asshole for moving far from a bar than we were for going to a bar when he was having a party (nobody really thinks he’s an asshole for that, but it was a funny thing to say at the time) – in truth, we didn’t want to show up with ravenous appetites, not knowing if there was food, and being there was no bar, there was also no liquor store in sight, so if we had to show up empty handed, it was slightly more considerate to show up satiated, instead of ready to eat and drink everything in sight.
So we went to the alleged location of this “Pete’s” place and found no such bar in sight. We saw some upper scale looking place called O’Neals and asked some waiter looking guy walking past if there was a bar nearby. He told us for what we were looking for, we didn’t want to go to O’Neal’s. “Why don’t you go to Pete’s” he suggested, directing us somewhere that was about six blocks in a third direction. As we were walking, we wondered if this was a trick. If the security guard had radioed ahead to the waiter to be waiting for us outside to direct us to a third location where there would be yet another person suggesting we go to Petes in another direction. But lo and behold, we found Petes. I ordered some kind of Pompai Pizza, which had no right calling itself pizza, because of all the bullshit that was on top. There was even something that looked like tofu chunks, so I had to wipe off the crap and just eat the bread.
While at the bar, there were at least three instances of women checking me out, and right after the obvious glance, they gathered their coats and left. It was an interesting move, a glance and a smile, and then leaving. If that’s typical of what women do, no wonder they have trouble meeting guys!
So while there, another guy caught up with us, so we kind of had to have another drink, and then one of them finished first and ordered another, making the hour questionable for arriving at a party, so we went to another par, called Pub.
While we were there I remembered that I need to blog about “The most episodic night ever” from back in 2001 which includes a performance at the Bitter End, a big fat guy, homeless people, a few fights, cops, another fat guy, and the North Dakota cheerleading squad. But that’s an entry for another day.
Then the two guys decided to go talk to the table of three girls that was over against the wall. I stayed at the bar. They sat down, and it didn’t look like they were doing too well. I believe that it takes an effort to so obviously cross the floor and then so obviously be striking out, but on the other hand, their inability to carry the conversation puts a damper on the night, no matter whose fault it is. So I went over there, mainly because I was bored of sitting by myself. I had no intent of rescuing these guys (why? Who cares if they strike out?) but that’s what I did.
Some guy sits down at the table and makes some comment like we’re intruding. (Now the girls hadn’t gone that far and had continued their conversation, just ignoring my friends, so it was at least a slight bit of consideration not making them leave like assholes) So I tell the guy, “”You look like Bon Jovi”
He gets a slightly defensive look and says “Bon Jovi?”
“That’s right” I say.
Now, telling someone they look like Bon Jovi isn’t really an insult, and it’s not really a compliment, especially since he didn’t actually resemble Bon Jovi as much as he resembles an effeminate heavy metal poser type, as is best exemplified by Bon Jovi.
“I could see Tom Petty, but not Bon Jovi” he said. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Hey,” I said. “Bon Jovi is one of the world’s leading rock stars. I wouldn’t take it as an insult.”
The end result of this interaction is that now the girls were interested in us – they had asked my friends about my comment while it was going on, and the ice was broken. So we talked about something or other for a while, and the guy comes back (I guess he left at some point – I wasn’t really paying attention to him, and I was quite drunk, having been on the wagon for weeks. Not intentionally, I just don’t get a chance to go out drinking as much as I used to, which was multiple times a week, back when I was a roving nightlife columnist.)
“Hey man, that’s my sister, and I haven’t seen her for a while,” he says. “Can you guys split so we can do a shot.”
“No problem,” I said getting up.
Then we sat back down, and I was engaged in conversation with two of them, and of course, my friends benefited from the trickle down of my unfathomable charm – cause I’ve got that. Now I don’t remember, (or never knew) if they actually did the shot before I sat back down, or whether he came over for a second time, trying to use the old “Hey man, split so I can do a shot” routine again. But this time, the girls told Bon Jovi to leave them alone because they were having a conversation with me. Take that, overprotective Brother! Take that, girls who were giving a cold shoulder to my friends!! Victory was mine!!!
Then it was late so we left.

I won.

2006-04-06T19:30:00.000-07:00

This inlaw type who went to Cornell was trying to tell me that his fraternity in the 50s was much crazier than I could possibly imagine.
Him: One time, we had beer left in a keg, so we put it in this barn to keep it cold.
Me (thinking, not speaking): So, your big crazy frat story begins with you not finishing a keg?
Him: In the morning, the keg had leaked, and it was empty.
Me (thinking, not speaking): So, your big crazy frat story ends with you having wasted beer?
Me (speaking, not thinking): We used to lock ourselves in a room, and nobody was allowed to leave until three kegs were empty. Then, we'd play Donkey Kong on the stairs.
Him: Donkey Kong?
Me: Yeah. One of us would run up the stairs and try to jump over the keg that someone else threw down the stairs.
Some other cousin type or something: Were you actually able to jump over the kegs?
Me: Not really.... (thinking for a sec).... basically, we got drunk and threw kegs at each other.

To put things in perspective. This wasn't a generational pissing contest, it was more or a SU vs. Cornell. Why? Because when we used to swap stories with the guys who went to our school in the 50s, they used to beat us story for story.

Try Take Five, and Who is Proust?

2006-03-26T13:16:00.000-08:00

Who is this guy Marcel Proust? I keep hearing his name as a pinicle of literatary achivement, but I have no idea who he is. Someone said about the Davinvi Code "It's not Proust" to signify it was easy reading.
Tim in the office says he likes the novels of Proust to signify that he's a high brow guy.
In this movie South Pacific, this Plantation owner (who believes in freedom, but owns a plantation, cause natives often freely choose to give up half their island and tend to it for some foreign dude's benefit), tries to woo this nurse by telling her he has proust novels in his library (because something like that would be impossible to get on the mainland).
One time, TAB mentioned Proust on his blog and even CL got excited about it.

Can someone sum up for me:
Who the hell is Proust?
What does he signify?
What is so great about him?
Is this something I need to concern myself with?

Also in South Pacific, there is an island called Bananali High.
Which is funny, because that's also where Bananaman went to high school.

Most importantly,
I've just discovered the new best candy bar ever concieved.
It's made of pretzels, caramel, peanuts, peanut butter, and milk chocolate.
It's called a Take 5. I don't even know what made me try it.

Investigations into the Invisible World

2006-03-08T09:33:00.000-08:00

There is a documentary called Investigations into the Invisible World on Sundance Channel.
The thesis is that in Iceland, many people believe in elves, fairies and trolls. So the filmmaker is interviewing people with stories about their experiences talking to these mythical creatures.

What is interesting about this thesis is that there is a fantasy book series called "His Dark Materials" - kind of an athiest's "Chronicals of Narnia." Where a multitude of worlds exist, and the bridge between these worlds is up north (in another world, probably equal to iceland in this world). So I wonder if this Iceland thing is well known.
Also, I wonder if this documentary is being shown to prime people for the impending movie of the book.

But here is the most important - and appealing - line I've heard yet in this documentary. A little girl tells of her experience with a creature of myth.....

".......The elf woman opened her door and I went inside. She gave me a spiral-shaped cake and some funnny BANANA JUICE......"

Hmmmmmmm..........

Bananaman's Oscar Review

2006-03-07T05:29:00.000-08:00

Why does everyone say Crash "addressed" racism?
Isn't the correct word "Justified"

Ludicris complains that white people think he's a criminal. Bam. He's a criminal.
Sandra Bullock is mistrustful of her maid, but it's not because she's a bad person, it's because she was mugged. And her racism, which we're shown existed before the mugging, doesn't make her a bad person, because ultimately, she's contrite.

Matt Dillon, we're not shown the source at his initial racism, but the target, Shaquana, is a horrible person who chooses to let his father suffer - the lesson there was don't be racist, because although justified (letting a man die for his son's obnoxious comment is not equal), there may be consequences.

When Matt Dillon pulled over the director, his uppity wife asked for some kind of retribution by mouthing off to the cop, and even though he went too far, it's OK, because he's a hero.

And the black director, well, he's just a lunitic, and without Ryan Filepe to help him, he'd be dead. (I guess we're ok for assuming this about most black guys)

And finally, When Ryan Filepe killed Don Cheadle's brother, it may have been paranoia, but ultimately, the guy was a criminal. (a safe assumption for black guys)

That's not why I didn't like the movie, Other than that, the characters were one dimensional and I felt like most of the movie was a cliche.

An oscar? Damn, I thought at best it was honorable mention for a student film competition.

Oh yeah, and something about some Mexican guy who almost got killed by some Arab guy that had nothing to do with the rest of the movie.

--------
Ang Lee seems to have a thing for men who have an alter identity that they have to keep hidden from society, and they struggle from the fact that when they're overcome with emotion, they need an outlet for their real selves to come out.

At least that's what the Hulk was about.
----------
Did anyone else think that the montage of biopics should have been called "101 biographies you should be reading instead of watching this"
------
Do you think Batman Begins didn't receive a nomination because they didn't want to snub George Clooney, a former sub par Batman?
-----
Do you think they didn't nominate Batman Begins because they didn't want to snub Bananaman?

44 Facts about Bananaman

2006-01-26T08:37:00.000-08:00

So, I'm sick and unemployed. A low point. I had a fever of over 100. Which is gone now, but I haven't been sleeping, so still a little beat down. I feel like half this illness is worry induced. I'm trying to rest my mind as well as body. I think it's due. I just turned on the Dukes of Hazzard which I never watch, and it's the exact same episode I saw the last time I watched the Dukes years ago. What a rip off! And it's a Coy and Vance episode. Those names are one step away from Jack and Ennis. OK The Dukes sucks. There's nothing else on, so I'll probably start some job search stuff again.
In the mean time, I have taken a few moments to review for you:

44 FACTS ABOUT BANANAMAN!

1. Bananaman's favorite Mel Brooks movie is "Silent Movie", because of the scene where Bernadette Peters is introduced. I'm sorry. I should have called her Bernanadette.
2. While there is chatter about Hamas winning the Palestinian election, don't confuse "Hamas" which is a middle eastern militant group with "Bananahamas" which is a pleasant island in the Carribean.
3. Bananaman appeared in season one of the Muppet Show.
4. Bananaman is thoroughly knowledgable in the ancient secrets of Kabanallna, but he rarely speaks about it, and never to the uninitiated.
5. Bananaman is a master of the Tai Chi movement, "Repelling the monkey."
6. This guy at Toni Dinapoli's made a balloon bananaman which looked nothing like a banana, but was yellow and green.
7. On my birthday, the Empire State Building was green - the color of Bananas before they ripen.
8. Bananaran and Bananaraq are two Banarabian countries that are often hostile to the United States.
9. The fate of the controversial West Banank still remains to be seen.
10. Your girlfriend gets pretty pissed when you change her name to Balicianaman.
11. Long before there was Bananaman, there was dapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdapdap
12. He sometimes hosts a 'McLaughlin Group' style news talk show.
13. He's not gay, but he's not straight.
14. He once thought he had jaundice, but then realized, 'how could I even tell?'
15. Noone knows where he lives, but it could be New York City, even though it's known as 'The Big Apple'. Bananaman is not petty about that sort of thing.
16. He is sometimes found guilty in a court of law, but always has the case overturned on appeal.
17. He once entered the Bananamobile in what he called a Bana-nascar race, but he lost, because it's one of those big inflatable yellow things that needs a boat to tow it in order to move.
18. He sometimes rides a bicycle with a banana seat, of course, and when he's working out, he wears bananadex.
19. There is a Bananamobile in a Bloodhound Gang video.
20. Man 1: You've got a banana in your ear.
Man 2: What?
Man 1: You've got a banana in your ear.
Man 2: What?
Man 1: You've got a banana in your ear.
Man 2: What? I can't hear you. I've got a banana in my ear!
21. In addition to banana republics, there are also Banana democracies, a cause Bananaman has long championed? They include our friend to the north, Bananada, a small island on the Asian coast, Jabanana, and of course, Bananastan, where the war for democracy rages to this very day.
While banana republics are so named because their major export is bananas, banana democracies are so named because they are commonly called by a name that is easily manipulated into integrating the word banana. Then is the controversial Asian city of Bananacock.
22. Bananaman’s archnemisis is Cuisinarts, “The Griddler” because it's really pronouncedthe "Gorilladdler"
23. His vehicle of choice is one of those big long yellow things that gets dragged around behind a boat. It's really not such a convenient or useful mode of transportation.
24. Bananaman is not a guy dressed as a banana any more than a mailman is a guy dressed as the mail.
25. We live in a world where talking about Bananaman is not a marketable skill.
26. One time, Bananaman and Letterman from The Electric Company were fighting a torrential downpour. In his attempt to pull the "d" off of his varsity sweater and turn the "rain" into a "drain", a gust of wind pulled the letter out of Letterman's hand and turned Bananaman into BanDanaman!
27. The next sequel to "2001 a space oddessy" reveals that the original monolith from the first book and movie not only taught gorrilas how to use tools, it also taught them how to eat bananas. This was of course, a diabolical plot to erase the existence of Bananaman from history altogether. Don't worry, in the year 20001, Bananaman makes his triumphant return. Fortunately, we live in reality and don't have to worry about such ludicris twists of reality.
28. Bruce Springsteen has a song called "Half Man, Half Monkey" Would such a creature eat bananas? I think maybe not. A man eats bananas, and a monkey, too, eats bananas, so wouldn't they cancel each other out?
29. Bananaman often uses the defense, "But it's got appeal!", and this is the only joke that Bananaman uses. Sometimes a newcomer will call Bananaman "yellow," but that person quickly learns not to because Bananaman will react by displaying a foolish defiance, in the vein of Jim Stark, and everyone around will then have to save him.
30. Often, a child will be born who looks like a banana, which can only mean one thing. However most husbands will try to pull off the claim that it is actually his child, because it reflects positively on his own genetic make up.
31. Joe Franklin once gave me a banana.
32. He once jumped over a shark and ended up on the bottom of the ocean.
33. The reason he’s lived for over 1000 years is that he only eats bananas.
34. He once went to Africa and lived in the jungle among bananas, and became their high priest. Before bananaman, no bananas ever buried their dead, and when he left, nobody carried on that practice.
35. He once interrupted a bank robbery where the robber was outside screaming “Attica! Attica!” at the cops by standing next to him and screaming, “Bananaca! Bananaca!”
36. His weakness is that he’s afraid of gorillas and monkeys.
37. He was very upset and scared for life when his father told him that his mother was not a banana, but was actually a whore (she gave him up for adoption and went into crack rehab).
38. He is ambivalent about the invasion of Iraq, but was vehemently opposed to the invasion of Bananastan.
39. In one scene, his wife becomes upset at his banana obsession. She screams at him, “Would you stop with the whole Bananaman thing already!” He answered pleadingly, “But people find that appealing!” which made her more upset and start hitting him, “Would you STOP IT!!!!!”
40. Some Mexican guy once leapt out of his bodega and pointed in the air, exclaiming “Mira! Es Senor El Hombre de Los Platanos!”
41. A little girl once hugged him and said, “Bananaman, I love you.”
42. Master Shake once told Meatwad, "If you're gonna cheat, you might as well paint yourself yellow, run around like a maniac, and call yourself Bananaman..... cause that's what you're doin'!"
43. Q: What's scarier? Finding a bat in your house, or finding a banana in your house?
A: Finding a banana. Bats can fly, so it probably just flew in there. But Bananas don't have any way to get around, so if it somehow got into your house, it must be some kind of supernatural banana, and that's scary!
44. The first time I mentioned Bananaman on my blog was on June 22, 2004.

Top 18 wedding ideas that have been rejected

2006-01-23T15:00:00.000-08:00

1. Having Bananaman officiate
2. Registering for gifts at Chick-fil-a
3. Since weddings bands might not be that good, just showing the latest live Bruce DVD.
4. Having the party at a bar, with guests wearing wrist bands, so the bartender knows who gets to drink free from the keg.
5. When we say our vows, having the vows say that if you’re gonna cheat you might as well paint yourself yellow….
6. Having the ceremony in a swimming pool.
7. Having our wedding song be the Benny Hill theme; Having everybody chase us around the room while it plays.
8. Get married on top of the Empire State Building after I climb up there on the outside with her in my hand while planes shoot at us.
9. A bunch of natives kidnap her off of a boat and tie her to two posts where she waits for me to crash through the jungle and take her to my mountain lair.
10. Get married in a casino. We have a game of War in front of everybody. When we both get the same card, instead of going to war, we share the the whole deck, symbolizing out partnership, and that's when we get married.
11. We do the same thing, except instead of cards, we play chess. We keep playing chess until a game ends in stalemate, at which point we get married.
12. Instead of a wedding cake, have a wedding banana.
13. Make yamurlkes out of bananapeels.
14. Have Otis Day and the Nights be the band.
15. Registering at EBay. Have guests bid for stuff that’s already in our apartment.
16. Having the wedding on a Saturday.
17. Holding the wedding at a venu that hosts multiple functions so if our party sucks, we can just go to another one.
18. Inviting both George Bush and Bill Clinton to the wedding and sitting them with people who love to hate them. Having George Bush officiate.

It's happening. It's really happening!!!!

2005-10-24T17:05:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning, the moment I've been working for all this time finally arrives.
I get to see Bananaman appear on Across the Hudson.

Please come to Network Nite this Thursday from 7 to 10 at the Blackbear, 205 Washington St. in Hoboken to view the show.

If Bananaman pulls a crowd, maybe they'll bring him back. Please come!!!!!

And don't be late, he's only in the opening scene.

I have worked so long and sacrificed almost everything for this. I have to thank so many people for making this possible.

I'm wiping away a tear right now.

Halloween is coming up

2005-10-07T18:54:00.000-07:00

Should I dress up in a banana costume for halloween?

Isn't that a bit trite?

Isn't that exactly what people are expecting me to do?

I don't even have a halloween party to go to!

I don't want to treat Bananaman like he's a caracature to be lampooned, do I?

I don't want people to start to think that I'm obsessed with Bananaman, do I?

Isn't Halloween for little kids, anyway?

What would you do?

Bananaman didn't seem to be there.

2005-10-06T07:11:00.000-07:00

I want to thank everyone who came out to Lolita's last night, Caren, TAB, Joel, Ned, Todd, Boni, Michael, Matt.

Even though the event had nothing to do with me, and you all would have been there anyway, and the cameras seemed to slightly dampen the crowd, and I was working. Thanks anyway!

Remember, there were two cameraman, a host, and one producer from New Jersey - who promote NJ for a living - who didn't get to vote. Add that to the 11-12 score and smoke it!

I hope I can get out a little more often!

Debating seems like something I'd really enjoy.

Although, I think it's for single people. If you're in a relationship, you do it every day!

I'd like to debate whether if you're going to cheat, you might as well paint yourself yellow, run around like a maniac and call yourself bananaman, cause that's what you're doin' or whether that's not actually what you're doin'. I think I could handle both sides.

Bananadict Arnold

2005-10-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

My girlfriend told me something horrible.
She's going apple picking next weekend.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
What is the deal with apple picking, anyway? It sounds like shopping, only harder.
Doesn't she know that there are hard working illegal immigrants who risked their lives to come to this country to pick fruit, and she's stealing their jobs?

Invitation to art gallery

2005-09-19T05:58:00.000-07:00

I'm being vague so nobody googles and sees me being a geek about this, but the keyboard player of my favorite singer's band just invited me to a cocktail party at his wife's art gallery!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It conflicts with a work committment that I've been instructed to be at, but he's been a guest on the show (which is why I know him) so this is guest relations.
I would risk my job for this, though.
By the way, the next day is the singer's birthday, for whatever that bit of trivia is worth.
Yay!!!!!!!
.... I figure I got invited to make sure there is someone who can talk comfortably about Bananaman.

The appeal joke is always funny.

2005-09-15T08:42:00.000-07:00

If it were Celeryman instead of Bananaman, I'd probably be considered a stalker.
Fortunately, celery stalks don't have appeal, as far as I see it.

You have to admit. It did have appeal.

2005-09-12T10:15:00.000-07:00

I think I may have finally run out of things to say about Bananaman. It was bound to happen.
I had quite a run.
I'll bet I hold the world record for talking about Bananaman.
Remember. If you're going to cheat, you might as well paint yourself yellow, run around like a maniac, and call yourself Bananaman. Cause that's what you're doin'!

This is a great song. I wish I could find a copy!

2005-09-10T08:58:00.000-07:00

My wife left town with a banana.
Love's a rotten deal!
Found that yellow devil hiding in her purse.
He was cold, he was hard, but he had a peel.
I hope this never happens to you.
Some fruit breaks your marrige in two.
My wife left town with a banana.
My baby's slippin' away.

(Short musical interlude)

My wife left town with a banana.
I'm a jealous man.
She found a six-inch latin lover.
Nnow she does the tango with her right hand.
And right now I could just die.
He's eating my banana cream pie!
My wife left town with a banana.
My baby's slippin', my baby's slippin', my baby's slippin' away!

OK, NOW Bananaman may have jumped the shark

2005-09-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

My girlfriend's friend told her she was going to nickname me "Bananaman." I told her that would be of great offense to the real Bananaman, and that I couldn't really accept such a title - it would be like claiming to be the golden calf.
After she got off the phone, I had to ask how she knew about Bananaman.
"I told her"
"OK, but what did you tell her?"
"I told her that you like to talk about Bananaman."
"Didn't she think that was weird?"
"No."
"But it is pretty wierd! How does the topic of my talking about Bananaman come up?"
"I don't remember."
"But did she have any qestions about what context I talk about Bananaman? Isn't it a little vague to say I talk about Bananaman? What in the world is there to say?"

I think it's weird that they can have a conversation about me talking about Bananaman without finding it highly unusual, to the point of disturbing.

Someone recently asked how she puts up with me talking about Bananaman all the time.

I don't talk about Bananaman ALL the time! I just talk about Bananaman more than anyone else does. It's not like I work it into every conversation! If I talked about Mayor Bloomberg as much as I talked about Bananaman, I don't think I'd even qualify as a fan of politics. But, since nobody else ever talks about it, I come off as being obsessed. It's not like anyone else talks about Bananaman, but I do it alot - it's just that compared to everyone else's never, my sometimes is alot.

Also. I may have successfully snuck Bananaman's favorite joke into the intro to next week's show.

More facts about Bananaman

2005-08-21T13:38:00.000-07:00

1. He sometimes hosts a 'McLaughlin Group' style news talk show.
2. He's not gay, but he's not straight.
3. He once thought he had jaundice, but then realized, 'how could I even tell?'
4. Noone knows where he lives, but it could be New York City, even though it's known as 'The Big Apple'. Bananaman is not petty about that sort of thing.
5. He is sometimes found guilty in a court of law, but always has the case overturned on appeal.
6. He once entered the Bananamobile in what he called a Bana-nascar race, but he lost, because it's one of those big inflatable yellow things that needs a boat to tow it in order to move.
7. He sometimes rides a bicycle with a banana seat, of course, and when he's working out, he wears bananadex.

If Bananaman doesn't exist is he actually less real than you or me?

2005-08-17T12:01:00.000-07:00

It’s a pretty basic philosophical exercise to ponder your size relative to the rest of the universe. I never thought it was that mind boggling (well I kind of did once when I was 15, working at the A&P pushing shopping carts from the parking lot back into the store, but I got over it) In my mind, Where I am in the world I actually interact with is what’s important, and as long as I’m bigger than you, that’s all that matters.
But have you ever pondered the size of yourself relative to the size of your own imagination? The world inside your mind? That world might be even bigger than the universe. But are there boundaries between thoughts of yourself and your self’s thoughts of other objects? Are thoughts of yourself comparable to thoughts of others in your mind, or are they an extension of yourself? What are the limits of your knowledge and imagination? Are there parts of your mind you haven’t visited yet? Are those regions infinite? If they are, then we will only experience a negligible part of our own existence by the time we die (since any measured length of time is negligible compared to infinity).
And our only connection to others is in our mind. All we are to each other are ideas. These ideas may come from sensory perception, but the meaning behind them, and even the experience of them comes from your imagination and how you put together and interpret those sensory impulses. And another person’s identity is nothing but a collection of ideas that we hold in our head. If there is really an objective reality, where does it lie?
Although a person’s behavior can be described objectively, that is rarely how we experience that person.
If all we are to each other is an idea, then our essence doesn’t actually exist in the mind of others. And if that’s true, the true limits of understanding of yourself is your own understanding. But does your essence go beyond that? And if so, where does it exist?
Our conscious experience is only a limited amount of our own minds content and potential at any given moment. Given this limitation, if your self only takes up a finite space in your infinite imagination, does your ability to experience this reality depend on your ability to see beyond yourself?

Facts about Bananaman

2005-06-28T21:19:00.000-07:00

1. The reason he’s lived for over 1000 years is that he only eats bananas.
2. He once went to Africa and lived in the jungle among bananas, and became their high priest. Before bananaman, no bananas ever buried their dead, and when he left, nobody carried on that practice.
3. He once interrupted a bank robbery where the robber was outside screaming “Attica! Attica!” at the cops by standing next to him and screaming, “Bananaca! Bananaca!”
4. His weakness is that he’s afraid of gorillas and monkeys.
5. He was very upset and scared for life when his father told him that his mother was not a banana, but was actually a whore (she gave him up for adoption and went into crack rehab).
6. He is ambivalent about the invasion of Iraq, but was vehemently opposed to the invasion of Bananastan.
7. In one scene, his wife becomes upset at his banana obsession. She screams at him, “Would you stop with the whole Bananaman thing already!” He answered pleadingly, “But people find that appealing!” which made her more upset and start hitting him, “Would you STOP IT!!!!!”
8. Some Mexican guy once leapt out of his bodega and pointed in the air, exclaiming “Mira! Es Senor El Hombre de Los Platanos!”
9. A little girl once hugged him and said, “Bananaman, I love you.”
10. Master Shake once told Meatwad, "If you're gonna cheat, you might as well paint yourself yellow, run around like a maniac, and call yourself Bananaman..... cause that's what you're doin'!"

Concepts

2005-06-21T19:20:00.000-07:00

Wow, I keep getting comments on the last four or five enteries!

1. No Heg, I'm not moving in with TAB (see the bread joints comments below)
2. No addled, I'm not smoking weed again.
3. There is some Sci Fi movie called West World from 1973 where the scientist suggests "The way the malfunctions are spreading from machine to machine.... it's like a disease." To which the other scientists are incredulous. Like it's some ridiculous crack pot theory. I guess computers were a little far fetched then, so viruses were even more so. (I think this movie was the basis for a Simpsons episode where they went to itchy and scratchyland.)

More importantly. I went hiking the other day, at Ramapo Reservation in Mahwah. (where I once saw a bear years ago and last week saw a rattle snake!) I had a vaguely psychedelic experience - an experience that makes you look at the depth of your mind and it's relationship to the outside world. I used to go there when I was unemployed and living at home, about three years ago. I was hiking on one of the more backroads trails. Other trails, I had been on when I was younger, and more often. This was very specific to that time in my life. The thing was, as we walked along the trail, I got the feeling of familiarity one gets when, well you do something you haven't done in years. But that feeling of familiarity was very closely tied to the feeling of walking down a trail, so there was this brief moment where I felt like I was walking down a trail to a dormant part of my mind. Get it? It was kind of cool.

Secondly, I was at the gym on the treadmill this morning. I had some wierd kind of feeling like I was holding a tripod. Wierd. I know. It wasn't literally like that, but it's the best way I can describe it. It was similar to that same time in my life, three years ago, when I was living at home and unemployed. I had just decided to become a writer/reporter/etc. I still view having to move home as one of the worst things that ever happened to me. (I know - I thank god that that's one of the worst things that ever happened.)
But it represented total defeat. I had spent most of my life trying to escape my parents' grasp, only to fall right into their clutches. I became ultra sensitive to the dynamics of power - the qualities that determine who is ultimately going to get their way. The only way out was to have enough money to do so. Not the clearest goal, I know, but when your emotions are tapped, you don't think as clearly. I also wasn't aware of the criminally low salaries that very rich newspaper owners pay the people who make them the product that they make money off of.
As I started writing and acquiring freelance before I got a 'full time' (hours - not salary) job I got this feeling like my arms were full. Like I was grasping things under my arms and holding as tightly as I could. I remember this feeling. Like each job or skill was a cannon to stave off my enemies - anything that could gain me money was another weapon that I had to hold onto. In fact, hiking was another weapon - it was all symbolic of power - hiking, along with jogging was keeping me in shape and giving me stamina. I went boating with a friend around that time - he said 'have you been working out?' (an interesting question considering all the fat comments that had been flying.) I said 'yeah. Why?' He said, 'because you've been treading water for 45 minutes!' It was a feeling of power. The opposite of the feeling you get when someone outruns (or outhikes) you, one I'm more often familiar with. The nature of work resembled this armfull of weapons also because it was freelance. The were individual jobs, each of which made me less urgently dependent on the other - another feeling of power, the opposite of dependency.

So this feeling on the treadmill was like holding a tripod that was only slightly open. The feeling came from this weekend where I was holding a tripod for a cameraman (during a remote segment at the Montclair Art Museum). I guess the tactile experience was still in my head. Now, when the tripod is only a couple of inches opened, it can stand on its own, as opposed to when it is completely closed and it would fall. It wasn't open all the way, and a breeze of movement could knock it over, but this is the point. You can step away from it, and it will remain without your tending to it constantly. If it was closed, you would have to hold onto it constantly, while with it partly open, you could let go, as long as you were right there. A fully open tripod, you can walk away from.
So as I dwelled on the feeling, I wondered if it was an analogy for where I am in my life. I cannot explain the releif of having a single paycheck cover all the week's bills - of not panicing when a freelance check doesn't come in, or becoming angry and ready to fight for survival when my car (or fridge or computer or toilet) needs repairs. Ready to fight, as one would if you were about to fall off of a cliff, or if someone was holding your head under the water.
Without that constant feeling of urgency, you can look around a little, and here again is the psychedelic aspect (I have no idea if I'm using the word correctly maybe dreamlike is more appropriate) But here is the conceptual analogy. With a partially open tripod, you are free to move about a small radius, maybe the length of your body. With the closed tripod, you are not - it needs constant attention. If you let go for one moment, it will fall. Now, in life, I am at a point where I can briefly let go. Where a wasted moment isn't going to send me out of my apartment. The analogy is so exact, but what I love about it is that it is conceptual. Of course a tripod represents stability, but this visceral experience of the half opened tripod - just a tactile thought in my head was interesting and enlightening.
Other things besides the paycheck - which ain't much, it's just a half opened tripod instead of closed - it ain't an open tripod. I'm starting to attend to freelance again - a safety net, now as opposed to a lifeline, but enough makes things easier. Also, this relationship helps. When you're single, whether you can do OK or not, you don't have security. Each night out is a gamble, and if you want emotional and physical satisfaction, you need to take that gamble frequently - it is like holding onto the closed tripod. If you don't try, it's not there. Also, I'm trying to network at my job. Connecting anyone I can with each other, hoping that perhaps, if I'm ever in need, someone will return the favor. I'm really hoping to help people and not to need help, but I like to give alot, because I don't ask anyone for much (paid work is all, and really, that's just one thing)
Now, this means that much still needs to be attended to I'm still scraping the bottom of the barrel, but I have breathing room, and any lack of breathing room is based on vision, not survival.

Years ago, I started notes on a psychology book concept about the 'spheres of self' And this is another conceptualiztion, as there was room to look around from this focal point of the tripod. As you get older, your sphere expands. That is if you're healthy and balence, balence being a component of health. If one part of the sphere is over attended to at the expense of others (for example spending all your energy on your job and none on your relationship, or health), you lose balance, again, the tripod analogy.

But that is a topic for another day.

Blast from the past

2005-04-09T13:59:00.000-07:00

In light of last week's unmitigated disaster where my creative outlet and alternate identity was obliterated, I'd like to remind everyone that before I was the Nightcrawler, I was Meat and a Half, also known as The Fat Guy Band, or more specifically, The Dexter Lake Club, featuring the Fat Guy Band.
My friend Lou (not to be confused with my friend Fuckin Lou, also known as LOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU!) quite coincidentally posted these two samples online today:
The Fat Guy Dance
and
I Don't Wanna Go To Work

Songs were written and performed by myself, and performed by Lou Susi and Ralph Bittleri, and according to Lou, mixed and masterd by some guy Jeff Russo, who I've never met or heard of before.