Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Voting
I couldn't be more happy to vote. It isn't just because I want to do my civic duty -- I actually just want this whole thing to end. When hasn't the election been in the news. End it already. Although I have a definite interest in the outcome of this election (and I don't think that anyone can possibly separate themself from it), I couldn't be happier that there is finally going to be a resolution. I just hope that it comes tonight or tomorrow and not a week or two from now.
The first time I voted was during the 2000 election. I was in college and getting together to watch the country lit up red and blue as various states were decided was a lot of fun. It was probably because my friends had a keg. Almost everything in college was made fun. I remember having beer after beer, playing games of baseball and actually having some intellectual arguments about politics. I don't think that I had ever had that before. Although the result was foreboding and unprecedented, I wasn't as pessimistic as I would be eight years later.
And in only eight years the mood is so much different. How the hell did it come so far? Desperation is a stinky cologne, and America can't get the stink off. New York voted for Obama to pour on the tomato juice. Is that metaphor going too far?
Either way, voting is more of a relief than elation. I am not deluded enough to think that this one vote will change everything. Maybe it will be good that more people came out and voted and some things will change. But to me the bottom line now is for people to shut the fuck up and get back to making this country great -- by working hard and earning it.
The first time I voted was during the 2000 election. I was in college and getting together to watch the country lit up red and blue as various states were decided was a lot of fun. It was probably because my friends had a keg. Almost everything in college was made fun. I remember having beer after beer, playing games of baseball and actually having some intellectual arguments about politics. I don't think that I had ever had that before. Although the result was foreboding and unprecedented, I wasn't as pessimistic as I would be eight years later.
And in only eight years the mood is so much different. How the hell did it come so far? Desperation is a stinky cologne, and America can't get the stink off. New York voted for Obama to pour on the tomato juice. Is that metaphor going too far?
Either way, voting is more of a relief than elation. I am not deluded enough to think that this one vote will change everything. Maybe it will be good that more people came out and voted and some things will change. But to me the bottom line now is for people to shut the fuck up and get back to making this country great -- by working hard and earning it.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Horses and stuff
So a little while back I wrote a couple of short little ditties starring Nicanor, younger brother of our Lord and Saviour Barbaro. Well I think in the next few days or so I will reprint them, maybe tweak them a bit, and then eventually write another one or two to complete the set. Collect 'em all!
A few words about TV on the Radio
About two weeks back I went to see TV on the Radio at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple. I was only able to grab a single ticket, which wasn't ideal but I didn't have a problem with. I can be self-motivated when it comes to seeing music, going to museums, attending a lecture, etc. The biggest difference this time was that I was right in hipster central in terms of geography and music.
The venue was unassuming from the outside but inside it looked like a combination auditorium/middle school gym. Which isn't to say that was a knock against it. There was a very low key, DIY vibe going on, which might be linked to that hipster ethos I mentioned earlier. The beer was being sold from those keg lines that could be run through coolers and there was a big cauldron full of sangria that rested on the plywood table of a bar. The upstairs balcony was for whoever got to the seats first, and it was mostly full by the time the opening band finished.
I kind of stood toward the back and nursed a beer while the opener played. They were basically TVOTR-lite, which wasn't unwelcome but a little foolhardy considering who would follow. I move up and to the other side of the floor for the main part of the show, not because of sight lines but because the beer line was nearly nonexistent there. (For the record, I had two beers by myself, or with the entire crowd, or just with God.)
What I would say first about TV on the Radio is that they are one of the coolest bands I have ever seen live. This lineup had a three person horn section in addition to the five full-time members, and there were a couple of guests who came out later on as well. The main members all seem to play multiple instruments. The coolest example of this was for the song "The Method" when nearly everyone was playing some kind of percussion instrument. People were holding cymbals, maracas, sticks, drums -- it was very basic but powerful. Outside of playing multiple instruments, each member just knew how to rock out whatever they were playing. The drummer and bassist were toward the back and laid down steady grooves that I would consistently find myself angling to see. The guitarist who was in the back was maybe the fastest strummer that I have ever seen. He didn't seem to be exerting himself too much but he was screaming his hands across the strings. The acoustics were a little muddled at times but both singers were better than I expected live. Plus some of the older material that I wasn't sure I knew too well or didn't like as much played out extremely well in person.
The big drawback, though, was they only played for about 75 minutes. That's one of the shortest shows I have ever seen. And although I got home late because of the length of the trip home, I was disappointed that I wasn't strolling in the door after 1 or 2. Instead I was able to shift my weight enough to get through the exit before kids with tight jeans and flannel shirts (are they coming back?) could make it out. Overall, though, I can't wait to hear more from them. I'd say that since that night, about 90% of what I have been listening to is TVOTR. And I'm not getting sick of it yet.
The venue was unassuming from the outside but inside it looked like a combination auditorium/middle school gym. Which isn't to say that was a knock against it. There was a very low key, DIY vibe going on, which might be linked to that hipster ethos I mentioned earlier. The beer was being sold from those keg lines that could be run through coolers and there was a big cauldron full of sangria that rested on the plywood table of a bar. The upstairs balcony was for whoever got to the seats first, and it was mostly full by the time the opening band finished.
I kind of stood toward the back and nursed a beer while the opener played. They were basically TVOTR-lite, which wasn't unwelcome but a little foolhardy considering who would follow. I move up and to the other side of the floor for the main part of the show, not because of sight lines but because the beer line was nearly nonexistent there. (For the record, I had two beers by myself, or with the entire crowd, or just with God.)
What I would say first about TV on the Radio is that they are one of the coolest bands I have ever seen live. This lineup had a three person horn section in addition to the five full-time members, and there were a couple of guests who came out later on as well. The main members all seem to play multiple instruments. The coolest example of this was for the song "The Method" when nearly everyone was playing some kind of percussion instrument. People were holding cymbals, maracas, sticks, drums -- it was very basic but powerful. Outside of playing multiple instruments, each member just knew how to rock out whatever they were playing. The drummer and bassist were toward the back and laid down steady grooves that I would consistently find myself angling to see. The guitarist who was in the back was maybe the fastest strummer that I have ever seen. He didn't seem to be exerting himself too much but he was screaming his hands across the strings. The acoustics were a little muddled at times but both singers were better than I expected live. Plus some of the older material that I wasn't sure I knew too well or didn't like as much played out extremely well in person.
The big drawback, though, was they only played for about 75 minutes. That's one of the shortest shows I have ever seen. And although I got home late because of the length of the trip home, I was disappointed that I wasn't strolling in the door after 1 or 2. Instead I was able to shift my weight enough to get through the exit before kids with tight jeans and flannel shirts (are they coming back?) could make it out. Overall, though, I can't wait to hear more from them. I'd say that since that night, about 90% of what I have been listening to is TVOTR. And I'm not getting sick of it yet.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Thoughts on a Street Fair
So out on Amsterdam today there was a street fair going with all the usual shenanigans. And maybe it was the unseasonably warm, sunny weather. Or maybe because it was pretty early in the morning and I wasn't still awake yet. And maybe it was due to the Dixie beers that I had last night that were sloshing around the remnants of the pizza burger that I had also last night. But I wondered the following: are the people who make mozzarepas (those pancake-y things that are stuffed with mozzarella cheese and melted on a griddle) called mozzarapists?
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Ann Coulter and why I love New York
Yesterday I was walking down the street and I saw Ann Coulter. She was so close to me that I could have sucker punched her and she would have cracked her dome on the sidewalk. Anyway, the reason I didn't is because she gave me half smile and I kind of smiled back and the song I had playing on my iPod made me laugh. It was Christopher Cross's "Ride Like the Wind" -- there is a part about making it to the border of Mexico and I could just imagine me cold-cocking Ann Coulter on East 84th street and then having to go on the lam.
I said in my title that this is why I love New York but most of this happen in my ears and my head so I guess I should say this is why I love my brain. Or myself. But it couldn't have happened if that bird-legged woman didn't pass me on the street.
I said in my title that this is why I love New York but most of this happen in my ears and my head so I guess I should say this is why I love my brain. Or myself. But it couldn't have happened if that bird-legged woman didn't pass me on the street.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Ten Reasons Sliced Bread Will Return as a Benchmark for Greatness
1. As the economy worsens, bread will once again be a staple, replacing all of the fancy items people have turned to such as foie gras and truffles.
2. In the realm of politics, sliced bread is amazingly bipartisan. This will be especially important in an election year.
3. Kids, who some may say create many slang terms, have been having sliced bread since their creation. Adults obviously have experience with sliced bread as well. This commonality will make the phrase breach the generation gap, uniting young and old.
4. Fathers, feeling a youthful exuberance because they understand something their child(ren) says, will start to employ the phrase at an alarming rate. Some will even get coffee mugs that say "Best Dad since Sliced Bread!"
5. Think of the merchandising possibilities!
6. BLTs are cheap and delicious and are entirely impossible without sliced bread.
7. Uncertain times lead to uncertain people. People get back to basics, to what they know, to what comforts them.
8. Whole grain bread is good for the colon.
9. Sliced bread never really went out of style. Other things just took it out of the limelight, like Kashi Go Lean Crunch and edamame.
10. The price of leather will skyrocket, so wallets will be constructed out of alternative materials. Sliced bread left out for a while, then duct taped together, can fashion a wallet of sorts. If sliced bread can adapt to the times, then so can people. There is hope. Everyday Americans will identify with sliced bread and bestow upon it the qualities of kings. Although it is incapable of independent thought and possibly under the age of 35, sliced bread will carry several states before bowing out to focus on charitable work.
2. In the realm of politics, sliced bread is amazingly bipartisan. This will be especially important in an election year.
3. Kids, who some may say create many slang terms, have been having sliced bread since their creation. Adults obviously have experience with sliced bread as well. This commonality will make the phrase breach the generation gap, uniting young and old.
4. Fathers, feeling a youthful exuberance because they understand something their child(ren) says, will start to employ the phrase at an alarming rate. Some will even get coffee mugs that say "Best Dad since Sliced Bread!"
5. Think of the merchandising possibilities!
6. BLTs are cheap and delicious and are entirely impossible without sliced bread.
7. Uncertain times lead to uncertain people. People get back to basics, to what they know, to what comforts them.
8. Whole grain bread is good for the colon.
9. Sliced bread never really went out of style. Other things just took it out of the limelight, like Kashi Go Lean Crunch and edamame.
10. The price of leather will skyrocket, so wallets will be constructed out of alternative materials. Sliced bread left out for a while, then duct taped together, can fashion a wallet of sorts. If sliced bread can adapt to the times, then so can people. There is hope. Everyday Americans will identify with sliced bread and bestow upon it the qualities of kings. Although it is incapable of independent thought and possibly under the age of 35, sliced bread will carry several states before bowing out to focus on charitable work.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Yankee Stadium
It's been over a week since Yankee Stadium closed but I have wanted to say at least a little something about it. I was fortunate enough to know a kind person who thought to take me to the game (thanks Nicole) so I was actually able to see all the festivities in person. I didn't know how I would react to all the nostalgia -- I think I actually thought that it would be no big deal but that I was pumped that I could say that I had been there. So I guess it was a little surprising at how caught up in everything I got. I thought that the first tribute (people -- actors, I guess -- dressed as the first Yankee lineup to play in Yankee Stadium, which meant someone was introduced as Babe Ruth) was pretty cheesy and not a good start to everything. But when the video tributes of past Yankees by position started going, that is when it really started to hit me.
I guess I should say that there are two specific parts of the tribute that would affect me. The first is that I grew up a die-hard Yankee fan. I grew up idolizing Don Mattingly (and who wouldn't? I wished, and probably still wish, that I was that kid who had the popcorn Don Mattingly ate on the sly during that game years back...man that kid was lucky). He was the kind of quiet, not flashy, dependable player that anchored many of the sub par and sub sub par teams in the 80s and 90s. Regardless of how tough their year had been I was a fan. To give an example, one night when I was younger I was near inconsolable because I couldn't imagine how the Yankees were going to win the next year because they had let go/traded Claudell Washington. I'm not sure how many other people have shed tears over Claudell but let me tell you: it hurt. Anyway, back to Donnie Baseball: Don Mattingly's reach was so far that he helped my dad get out of a speeding ticket. One night on the way to a game, my dad got pulled over on the Hutch. The cop asked why we were going so fast, so my dad said we were going to the Yanks game. The cop leaned in the window and asked me who my favorite player was. Obviously I said "Don Mattingly" to which he replied, "Ok, slow down, get to the game safe."
So it was with a little more than anticipation that I was looking forward to seeing Don Mattingly back on the field on this night. Unfortunately he is a coach with the Dodgers and they had a west coast game that afternoon so he wasn't there. In his place, though, were many other players who received unbelievable ovations: Bernie Williams, Scot Brosius, Willie Randolph. There was a good mix of players I had seen (though somehow Scott Kamienicki was missing) and players that I had heard about through my parents or general Yankee lore.
I was especially excited to see players from the 70s: Reggie, Graig Nettles, Roy White, Guidry. This is the second part of the tribute that affected me: I love 70s New York. And not just because of the chaos surrounding it, or the toughness of that time, or the graffiti everywhere. There is definitely something to be said about loving imperfection, even though that is probably because we who survived it can look back fondly at our survival. I love it because that is when my parents were living in New York. I really like the idea of going over paths that your parents may have taken years before. I think it is incredible that my parents used to live seven blocks south and one block west from where I am writing this now. So seeing the videos that night of those players, some the grainy footage of Goose Gossage and Bucky Dent and Thurman Munson, was really me trying to imagine my parents in the crowd about thirty years before. And though it didn't make me cry like that night Claudell Washington was no longer a Yankee, it made me come close.
I guess I should say that there are two specific parts of the tribute that would affect me. The first is that I grew up a die-hard Yankee fan. I grew up idolizing Don Mattingly (and who wouldn't? I wished, and probably still wish, that I was that kid who had the popcorn Don Mattingly ate on the sly during that game years back...man that kid was lucky). He was the kind of quiet, not flashy, dependable player that anchored many of the sub par and sub sub par teams in the 80s and 90s. Regardless of how tough their year had been I was a fan. To give an example, one night when I was younger I was near inconsolable because I couldn't imagine how the Yankees were going to win the next year because they had let go/traded Claudell Washington. I'm not sure how many other people have shed tears over Claudell but let me tell you: it hurt. Anyway, back to Donnie Baseball: Don Mattingly's reach was so far that he helped my dad get out of a speeding ticket. One night on the way to a game, my dad got pulled over on the Hutch. The cop asked why we were going so fast, so my dad said we were going to the Yanks game. The cop leaned in the window and asked me who my favorite player was. Obviously I said "Don Mattingly" to which he replied, "Ok, slow down, get to the game safe."
So it was with a little more than anticipation that I was looking forward to seeing Don Mattingly back on the field on this night. Unfortunately he is a coach with the Dodgers and they had a west coast game that afternoon so he wasn't there. In his place, though, were many other players who received unbelievable ovations: Bernie Williams, Scot Brosius, Willie Randolph. There was a good mix of players I had seen (though somehow Scott Kamienicki was missing) and players that I had heard about through my parents or general Yankee lore.
I was especially excited to see players from the 70s: Reggie, Graig Nettles, Roy White, Guidry. This is the second part of the tribute that affected me: I love 70s New York. And not just because of the chaos surrounding it, or the toughness of that time, or the graffiti everywhere. There is definitely something to be said about loving imperfection, even though that is probably because we who survived it can look back fondly at our survival. I love it because that is when my parents were living in New York. I really like the idea of going over paths that your parents may have taken years before. I think it is incredible that my parents used to live seven blocks south and one block west from where I am writing this now. So seeing the videos that night of those players, some the grainy footage of Goose Gossage and Bucky Dent and Thurman Munson, was really me trying to imagine my parents in the crowd about thirty years before. And though it didn't make me cry like that night Claudell Washington was no longer a Yankee, it made me come close.
Monday, September 15, 2008
David Foster Wallace
I don't really know where to begin, but I guess I should say that David Foster Wallace was a writer that I greatly admired and looked forward to at all times. Hearing about his suicide was a shock. It is not as if I knew him or met him or even saw him ever in person, but there was definitely a personal connection that I had with him because of his writing. I cannot think of another contemporary writer who is as personal as he was. His fiction and non-fiction have such a unique authorial voice that I feel as if I knew him personally. That is definitely a trap that readers shouldn't fall into -- but I would say that I read a lot and I don't fall into that trap with every author I come across.
Maybe it is the fact that he was a wunderkind author with talent to burn, maybe it was his wide-ranging interests from advanced math to politics to life-after-death, maybe it is just knowing how incredible his grasp of the English language is, maybe it was the fact that he grew up playing tennis like I did. I do know that there were times that I was reading him when my heart started to beat a little faster, my breaths took in more air, my eyes got a little misty -- and I could imagine an author on the other side of this story that was typing away about as fast as my eyes were reading the words. The reading verged on the physical. Reading him was a different process for me. I was truly invested in what he had to say. And it saddens me to have to think that someone who gave me such great joy would have been in a place that was so devoid of it.
Maybe it is the fact that he was a wunderkind author with talent to burn, maybe it was his wide-ranging interests from advanced math to politics to life-after-death, maybe it is just knowing how incredible his grasp of the English language is, maybe it was the fact that he grew up playing tennis like I did. I do know that there were times that I was reading him when my heart started to beat a little faster, my breaths took in more air, my eyes got a little misty -- and I could imagine an author on the other side of this story that was typing away about as fast as my eyes were reading the words. The reading verged on the physical. Reading him was a different process for me. I was truly invested in what he had to say. And it saddens me to have to think that someone who gave me such great joy would have been in a place that was so devoid of it.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Hammocks
Is there anything better than a hammock? That kind of weightless feeling as you lay suspended between two trees or poles or even if you forego a traditional bed in your Manhattan apartment and have a hammock as your full-time sleeping means. That would be a pretty aggressive move in my book. But the type of hammock usage I am thinking of it the kind that involves the outdoors. Something that mixes it up with the elements. The best hammock I have ever used was in a house that was the sole structure on an island. It was right by the window of a room, and the floor-to-ceiling window opened like a door out onto the Atlantic Ocean. It was unreal. Although the sun glinting off the water meant it could get pretty heated at times, there was nothing better than hopping in the hammock and having the breeze cool you off and lull you to sleep.
I guess the weather has to cooperate to enjoy the hammock the way I want. And it would help if one were wealthy enough to own an island with a large house to protect said hammock. But I think I would take a hammock even if it was raining. Something about a nice cooling mist seems to work well with hammocks -- not sure if I could do with a full downpour or gale force winds. But a hammock under a thatched roof? Blue Lagoon style? That Brooke Shields sure knew what she was doing.
I guess the weather has to cooperate to enjoy the hammock the way I want. And it would help if one were wealthy enough to own an island with a large house to protect said hammock. But I think I would take a hammock even if it was raining. Something about a nice cooling mist seems to work well with hammocks -- not sure if I could do with a full downpour or gale force winds. But a hammock under a thatched roof? Blue Lagoon style? That Brooke Shields sure knew what she was doing.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A Return
And so after some time off I come back, not triumphant but kind of ashamed: rubbing a circle in the dirt with my Buster Browns; chin into my chest; hands deep in my pockets. I started out of nowhere and dropped out just as fast. But I come back renewed. I have recently performed my civic duty as a juror in New York City and maybe it was the thrill of judging people, maybe it was the incredible diversity of people who were called, maybe it was a reaction to sitting in windowless rooms for hours on end for two days. I do know that I have needed to take a step back into the writing world and this is a nice blackboard to scribble on. A couple of friends have told me that I need to do this, so who am I to disappoint?
America is a place for second chances, right? Think of me as a Doc Gooden or a Darryl Strawberry and blogger.com as George Steinbrenner. I'll try to talk more about how I am like them, how I am a part of America and what I think of America and what I think if Doc Gooden and Darryl Strawberry were running America. Here's a sneak peek: universal healthcare.
All I want to do (again) is stake out a little piece of internet paper and say my part. I'm not sure I'll have anything truly valid to say outside of relating to the '85 Mets, but I feel that once I squeeze some of my mind grapes I can amuse or provoke or maybe both at once. I'm not expecting to change the world - just small movements that might change the quality of someone's day. I wish I could be more specific but I think I'll just have to make it up as I go along. So until the next time, I'll be cleaning my Buster Browns.
America is a place for second chances, right? Think of me as a Doc Gooden or a Darryl Strawberry and blogger.com as George Steinbrenner. I'll try to talk more about how I am like them, how I am a part of America and what I think of America and what I think if Doc Gooden and Darryl Strawberry were running America. Here's a sneak peek: universal healthcare.
All I want to do (again) is stake out a little piece of internet paper and say my part. I'm not sure I'll have anything truly valid to say outside of relating to the '85 Mets, but I feel that once I squeeze some of my mind grapes I can amuse or provoke or maybe both at once. I'm not expecting to change the world - just small movements that might change the quality of someone's day. I wish I could be more specific but I think I'll just have to make it up as I go along. So until the next time, I'll be cleaning my Buster Browns.
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