It should be retitled to "Piece of Shit". All George's are evil. Period. George Steinbrenner. George Bush - senior and junior. And above them all is the master sellout himself, George Lucas.
Okay sellout is harsh. He didn't sell out in this movie; he did that already in Ep. IV/Return of the Jedi, with those moronic Ewoks.
First I'll just say this: the movie didn't totally suck. Not compared to I and II, it didn't...but it was just flat. Dull. There was so much unsaid (and a lot of dialogue that I wish was unsaid), it really felt like he just threw everything possible into it. It felt rushed; I can easily see that sellout fuck (okay he's a sellout!) pushing the Extended Cut 6-DVD Ep. III set, which can be yours for the bargain price of $69.99.
Had this been 2 movies, I honestly think it would have been much better.
But...I mean...what the fuck, man?! Holy crap. I didn't expect much after Ep. I & II, so it was pretty damned hard to disappoint me, George! I remember cracking a gut as we walked out of the theater, some random woman in the crowd was complaining (as we all were) and said "Who wrote that dialogue, George's 10yr old son?!"
It's a sad statement to the quality of the film when, in what is supposed to be a touching scene, Senator Bail Organa says to Yoda: "I'll take the girl (referring to the baby Leia); my wife and I...we were considering adopting a baby girl..."
And the entire audience breaks out in guffaws at how wooden the delivery is.
Episode III is a visually pleasing movie; the backdrops of Coruscant are breathtakingingly detailed. All the panoramic shots are a wonder to behold. The digital effects are smooth as silk, you'd swear Yoda was a real little alien the way he walked, the level of detail they gave him.
But I'm assuming he broke the budget on special effects, because he obviously couldn't afford more than a room full of intoxicated monkeys to bang away on a keyboard and write a script. I don't think I've ever been so bored at a Star Wars movie. Ever. I actually fell asleep at one point in the middle of Anakin and Obi Wan's lightsaber battle, because nothing was happening! It bored the hell out of me!
Natalie Portman got, I'm sure, a nice fat paycheck for her cameo role in this movie. But Nat, here's an acting tip: if you're supposed to play a pregnant woman, could you at least TRY to act like you're carrying around about 20 extra pounds? I'm surprised she didn't grab a pistol and start doing barrel rolls on the ground.
Thank you for not giving Jar Jar any lines. At least you heard us loud and clear on that one.
I want to make fun of Hayden Christensen as an actor, but...there's kinda no point, is there? In fact, I'll give George credit; it took a monumental effort to find someone who, in the true Star Wars tradition, could put on a worse acting performance than Mark Hamill. Bravo, George.
Anakin. Baby. You're telling me it was okay when Palpatine appoints you to the Jedi Council and asked you to spy on the Jedi Council for him...but then when the Jedi turn around and ask you to report on Palpy's reactions, you get all indignant cuz it's immoral?!
And you don't think twice about cutting off Dooku's head when Palpatine tells you to...but when Windu is about to off the guy who's throwing lightning bolts from his hand and telling you "I'm the Sith Lord, I'm gonna kill you all, I'm ruling the galaxy" - then you get a conscience?!
Yoda is da man. But that fight between him and the Emperor was crap. Digital crap. I kept waiting for the Emperor to start coughing out "gollum! gollum! my precioussssss....."
Hayden's got the whole glare thing going, 'tho. I can picture him practicing that stare in the mirror for hours, saying "yeah I can do intense!"
George. Why the fuck did you introduce the Wookies, then do jack shit with them?!!? Wait, again - not true. There was one scene where a Wookie swings down on the droid army on vine and...I shit you not...does a tarzan yell.
?!?!?!?
For those of you who had the pleasure of watching the Cartoon Network's Clone Wars, you'll be happy to know that General Grievous has a strong role here. At least, he does until he comes up against the Mighty Obi-Wan.
Then he goes out like a punk bitch. Tragic.
The only good thing to come out of this movie was the extermination of the Jedi. While I do think that there could have been some interaction and dialogue while this happens (DIAGLOGUE, George! Look it up and try USING it sometime, you fucker!), you do get a feel for the betrayal. That was some fucked up shit.
Although George did have a Disney moment when it came time to do the "younglings". I hate chickenshit directors. If you're gonna go for genocide, COMMIT TO IT! Don't cop out with a fadeout, that was bullshit. At least let me see the little toddlers cringing in fear, I wanna shout out "Oh no!" not "What the fuck?"
If Anakin and Padme said "I love you" to each other one more time, I was going to shove a lightsaber into the projector and call it a night.
Speaking of lightsabers. Why the FUCK do you nerds bring a lightsaber to watch the movie?!?! Why!??! Are you gonna light it up and make zrrrrm zrrrm noises at every battle?!
We left the theater at Union Sq, it's 3am, and there are a gaggle of nerds in the park having a Mock Lightsaber Battle. They're hacking at each other with their plastic swords as a group of us - strangers for the most part, just walking to the subway entrance - when I just couldn't take it anymore. I must have been louder than I thought, when I told my friend "I swear I just want to walk over, snatch a lightsaber from one of them and beat the living shit out of all of them!"
The whole group started cracking up. Next thing you know we're heckling as we walk past: "Grow the fuck up!" "The movie's over you geeks, go home!"
Fun times.
While I reserve my right to continually make fun of these costumed morons - it's a movie, not a lifestyle - I will say this: if you're GONNA show up to a movie wearing "period garb"...do yourself a favor. Save up for the year, you knew when the movie was coming out! Don't show up wearing the tattered remains of your kid brother's halloween costume, and think you're cool for doing it!
I mean, sure I'll crack jokes on the guy with the padawan braid, the custom made jedi robes, and a remote controlled R2D2 following along behind. He's earned the right to be joked about.
But don't waste my time if you're wearing a cheap-ass plastic Darth Vader costume that cost you all of $10, the fake lightsaber that isn't even a lightsaber cuz you bought it at the 99 cent store and the box said "lazer sword", and wearing your beat up white Keds and blue jeans.
Cuz that's just sad. I swear I saw a homeless man give the kid a dollar, pat him on the shoulder and walk away crying. "For just 10 cents a day, you can help this poor Jedi find his way back to reality."
Go see the movie, so you can say you did. Then we can bitch about it together :)
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
The Great Lie, & The Downing Street Memo
Saw a bumper sticker recently. "Sure Clinton lied, but nobody died for it. He got indicted, why not Bush?"
Out of respect for friends in the so-called Red States who happily voted for Herr Bush, I've kept quiet on the subject of Iraq, the non-existant WMDs, and the NeverEnding War. Talking about it was putting a strain on our relationship, so I made a promise to keep quiet about it and "stop griping". Toe the company line, and "support our troops".
Well fuck that.
Let's be clear right off the bat. I'm not against our troops. I'm not unpatriotic. I love my country, I love the ideals and principles that goddamned flag stands for. If I could personally bring every single soldier home from this idiotic war we're involved in I would, if it meant no more deaths to our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, cousins, friends, loved ones.
But I hate my government. I LOATHE my president. If I end up on a CIA watch list for this, I could care less. Fuck Bush. I was angry when he popped out of that fighter plane, that redneck grin spread across his face liked he'd just fucked his cousin in the hayloft, declaring the War is Over. I was angry at his shifting reasons why we were spending millions, and now billions, on a war to defeat terrorism[SHIFT]remove WMDs[SHIFT]remove a dictator. If a SCUD had blow up that fighter plane as it landed on the deck of the carrier, I'd have held a party in celebration. The world would be a much safer place if he were removed - and George, I'm talking about YOU, not Saddam. Saddam was a toothless old tiger with barely a growl left in his scarred old throat.
G.W. is the new dictator, wielding his power over the world like countless other despots - only, because he does it waiving our flag, 51% of the country nips at his heels like the obedient lapdogs they are. "Freedom!" they cry, even as the body count rises in Iraq.
Why this renewed fervor on my part? Because the war just became a lot more personal to me.
In November of 2003, my sister got married. She was 21, and married her first love. I fully admit, I wasn't too thrilled; she was too young, I barely knew the guy...but I trust her judgement. He was signing up for the Army, going to be sent off to Basic that January - so they eloped. He got based in Washington state, then got his orders.
He's been in Iraq since the spring of 2004.
Last night, she got The Call. He'd been hit by sniper fire in the back of the head while on a mission. All they knew was that he was in critical condition. "Was he wearing his helmet?"
Yes, he was. But they're not bulletproof.
I don't need to go into detail what my day was like yesterday, trying to calm down my sister long distance. She's 23 years old, and in the 18 months of her marriage she's seen her husband for a total of maybe 5 months. There was a strong possibility that this war was going to make her a widow.
At 23.
So, the kid gloves are off. I'm done being quiet about this. We're not defending America's shores, we're the fucking invading force! Guess what, Bush - America is now the Bad Guy! We're the ones the world hates, and you know what? I don't blame them!
We had no business over there, George. You fucking lied, you goddamned prick. Those aren't your kids over there, those are ours! You cry freedom, and democracy...but this is about your fucking ego, you son of a bitch. You're spending all of our money on a war you refuse to admit you fucked up on, our families are dying over there because you didn't bother to send them over with the right equipment. Familes are buying better equipment on the internet to send to our troops, because our own goddamned government can't find the funds!
Why don't you send Jenna and Barbara over there? I bet you'd suddenly find the best possible equipment for them, wouldn't you you self righteous bastard?
Yes I'm angry. I have every right to be angry. If my baby sister had to end up a widow at 23 because Bush had an itch he wanted to scratch, I swear to fucking god....!
Then I see an obscure article, footnoting a memo released by the London Times just a week ago. Funny how these things don't make it in the news here.
Matthew Rycroft, a foreign policy to the UK Prime Minister Tony Blair, wrote a revealing memo to David Manning, the UK's Ambassador to the US. It was dated July 23, 2002.
To put this memo in perspective, in February of 2003 Colin Powell made his infamous speech to the UN, denouncing Iraq for hiding weapon production facilities and essentially paving the way to the US invasion of Iraq. 9 months AFTER the Downing Street Memo.
The memo notes the sensitivity of the issues within, indicating that the text was for UK personnel only. Portions of it reads:
"C reported on his recent talks in Washington. There was a perceptible shift in attitude. Military action was now seen as inevitable. Bush wanted to remove Saddam, through military action, justified by the conjunction of terrorism and WMD. But the intelligence and facts were being fixed around the policy. The NSC had no patience with the UN route, and no enthusiasm for publishing material on the Iraqi regime's record. There was little discussion in Washington of the aftermath after military action.
CDS said that military planners would brief CENTCOM on 1-2 August, Rumsfeld on 3 August and Bush on 4 August. "
The intelligence and facts were being FIXED AROUND THE POLICY.
I dealt with Carter's stupidity. Reagan's disdain for the underclass. Bush Sr.'s deniability. Clinton's indiscretions. They all had their faults, and while I can say I liked some more than others I can also say I didn't hate any of them.
I hate George W. I despise him in a way I've never imagined I could hate a President. I'm ashamed to be an American - and more importantly, I find I've been AFRAID to be an American.
My brother in law's status is updated from critical to stable. The bullet hit lower than intially thought, and it looks like he'll pull through, barring any complications. He'll live, and my sister will have her husband home again. I'm happy for her, and for him.
But every day, hundreds upon hundreds of friends and family members read the news reports with fear in their hearts, wondering if their loved ones will make it home.
I don't support this war. I will NOT support this President. If I'm unamerican for saying it, then revoke my citizenship and ship me out. If being unamerican means turning a blind eye when you see something so blantantly wrong it screams out at you...then I don't want to be an american anymore.
I support our troops, wholeheartedly. They don't belong there, but while they're there - keep them safe. Bring them home, George. Do something right, for once in this godforsaken presidency.
I need a drink. Or a smoke. Or something.
Out of respect for friends in the so-called Red States who happily voted for Herr Bush, I've kept quiet on the subject of Iraq, the non-existant WMDs, and the NeverEnding War. Talking about it was putting a strain on our relationship, so I made a promise to keep quiet about it and "stop griping". Toe the company line, and "support our troops".
Well fuck that.
Let's be clear right off the bat. I'm not against our troops. I'm not unpatriotic. I love my country, I love the ideals and principles that goddamned flag stands for. If I could personally bring every single soldier home from this idiotic war we're involved in I would, if it meant no more deaths to our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, cousins, friends, loved ones.
But I hate my government. I LOATHE my president. If I end up on a CIA watch list for this, I could care less. Fuck Bush. I was angry when he popped out of that fighter plane, that redneck grin spread across his face liked he'd just fucked his cousin in the hayloft, declaring the War is Over. I was angry at his shifting reasons why we were spending millions, and now billions, on a war to defeat terrorism[SHIFT]remove WMDs[SHIFT]remove a dictator. If a SCUD had blow up that fighter plane as it landed on the deck of the carrier, I'd have held a party in celebration. The world would be a much safer place if he were removed - and George, I'm talking about YOU, not Saddam. Saddam was a toothless old tiger with barely a growl left in his scarred old throat.
G.W. is the new dictator, wielding his power over the world like countless other despots - only, because he does it waiving our flag, 51% of the country nips at his heels like the obedient lapdogs they are. "Freedom!" they cry, even as the body count rises in Iraq.
Why this renewed fervor on my part? Because the war just became a lot more personal to me.
In November of 2003, my sister got married. She was 21, and married her first love. I fully admit, I wasn't too thrilled; she was too young, I barely knew the guy...but I trust her judgement. He was signing up for the Army, going to be sent off to Basic that January - so they eloped. He got based in Washington state, then got his orders.
He's been in Iraq since the spring of 2004.
Last night, she got The Call. He'd been hit by sniper fire in the back of the head while on a mission. All they knew was that he was in critical condition. "Was he wearing his helmet?"
Yes, he was. But they're not bulletproof.
I don't need to go into detail what my day was like yesterday, trying to calm down my sister long distance. She's 23 years old, and in the 18 months of her marriage she's seen her husband for a total of maybe 5 months. There was a strong possibility that this war was going to make her a widow.
At 23.
So, the kid gloves are off. I'm done being quiet about this. We're not defending America's shores, we're the fucking invading force! Guess what, Bush - America is now the Bad Guy! We're the ones the world hates, and you know what? I don't blame them!
We had no business over there, George. You fucking lied, you goddamned prick. Those aren't your kids over there, those are ours! You cry freedom, and democracy...but this is about your fucking ego, you son of a bitch. You're spending all of our money on a war you refuse to admit you fucked up on, our families are dying over there because you didn't bother to send them over with the right equipment. Familes are buying better equipment on the internet to send to our troops, because our own goddamned government can't find the funds!
Why don't you send Jenna and Barbara over there? I bet you'd suddenly find the best possible equipment for them, wouldn't you you self righteous bastard?
Yes I'm angry. I have every right to be angry. If my baby sister had to end up a widow at 23 because Bush had an itch he wanted to scratch, I swear to fucking god....!
Then I see an obscure article, footnoting a memo released by the London Times just a week ago. Funny how these things don't make it in the news here.
Matthew Rycroft, a foreign policy to the UK Prime Minister Tony Blair, wrote a revealing memo to David Manning, the UK's Ambassador to the US. It was dated July 23, 2002.
To put this memo in perspective, in February of 2003 Colin Powell made his infamous speech to the UN, denouncing Iraq for hiding weapon production facilities and essentially paving the way to the US invasion of Iraq. 9 months AFTER the Downing Street Memo.
The memo notes the sensitivity of the issues within, indicating that the text was for UK personnel only. Portions of it reads:
"C reported on his recent talks in Washington. There was a perceptible shift in attitude. Military action was now seen as inevitable. Bush wanted to remove Saddam, through military action, justified by the conjunction of terrorism and WMD. But the intelligence and facts were being fixed around the policy. The NSC had no patience with the UN route, and no enthusiasm for publishing material on the Iraqi regime's record. There was little discussion in Washington of the aftermath after military action.
CDS said that military planners would brief CENTCOM on 1-2 August, Rumsfeld on 3 August and Bush on 4 August. "
The intelligence and facts were being FIXED AROUND THE POLICY.
I dealt with Carter's stupidity. Reagan's disdain for the underclass. Bush Sr.'s deniability. Clinton's indiscretions. They all had their faults, and while I can say I liked some more than others I can also say I didn't hate any of them.
I hate George W. I despise him in a way I've never imagined I could hate a President. I'm ashamed to be an American - and more importantly, I find I've been AFRAID to be an American.
My brother in law's status is updated from critical to stable. The bullet hit lower than intially thought, and it looks like he'll pull through, barring any complications. He'll live, and my sister will have her husband home again. I'm happy for her, and for him.
But every day, hundreds upon hundreds of friends and family members read the news reports with fear in their hearts, wondering if their loved ones will make it home.
I don't support this war. I will NOT support this President. If I'm unamerican for saying it, then revoke my citizenship and ship me out. If being unamerican means turning a blind eye when you see something so blantantly wrong it screams out at you...then I don't want to be an american anymore.
I support our troops, wholeheartedly. They don't belong there, but while they're there - keep them safe. Bring them home, George. Do something right, for once in this godforsaken presidency.
I need a drink. Or a smoke. Or something.
1,615
1,615.
To date, that's the number of U.S. Soldiers killed in Iraq.
One Thousand. Six Hundred. Fifteen.
Not injured. Not wounded. Not total "coalition forces". United States military forces. "Freedom" at any price, right George?
Need a more glaring reminder of this war of ours? We've lost 178 soldiers since the Iraqi elections. That's an average of 1.83 soldiers a day, killed in operations.
The following list of macabre headlines is just from today's news - and doesn't include all the workers, journalists, iraqi soldiers and coalition soldiers killed:
05/12/05 Reuters: Three U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq attacks
Three U.S. soldiers were killed in separate bomb attacks in Iraq on Thursday, the U.S. military said in statements.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TASK FORCE BAGHDAD SOLDIER KILLED IN BOMB ATTACK
A Task Force Baghdad Soldier died from wounds suffered when his vehicle struck a roadside bomb in east Baghdad at approximately 1:00 p.m., May 12.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TASK FORCE LIBERTY SOLDIER KILLED, ONE WOUNDED BY IED
One Task Force Liberty Soldier was killed and another wounded when an improvised explosive device detonated next to their combat patrol near Samarra at about 2:45 p.m., May 12.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: SOLDIER KILLED NEAR MUSAYIB
A Soldier assigned to the 155th Brigade Combat Team, II MEF (Forward), died May 12 when an IED detonated near the soldier's vehicle. The incident took place during combat operations about nine miles east of Musayib.
05/12/05 DoD Identifies Army Casualty
1st Sgt. Michael J. Bordelon, 37, of Morgan City, La., died May 10 at Brooke Army Medical Center, San Antonio, Texas, from injuries sustained April 23 in Mosul, Iraq, when a VBIED detonated near his Stryker military vehicle.
05/12/05 CBS: Three Treasure Valley Marines Seriously Wounded In Iraq
Staff Sgt. Chad Brumpton, Lance Cpls. Joseph Lowe and Mitch Ehlke were seriously injured when their M1-A1 Abrams tank, commanded by Staff Sgt. Brumpton, hit a huge land mine Sunday, according to Marine Corps spokesmen.
05/12/05 WPost: Explosion effectively finishes off squad
Every member of the unit -- one of three squads that make up the 1st Platoon of Lima Company, 3rd Battalion, 25th Regiment -- had been killed or wounded. All told, the 1st Platoon, which Hurley commands, had sustained 60 percent casualties.
05/12/05 WorldNow: Car bombs explode in Kirkuk
Two car bombs also went off today in the northern city of Kirkuk, killing at least two people. And two security officials were assassinated in Baghdad.
05/12/05 AP: Car bomb kills 17 in Baghdad
A car bomb exploded near a busy local market and cinema in eastern Baghdad on Thursday, killing at least 17 people and wounding 65, police said.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TWO MARINES KILLED IN OPERATION MATADOR (confirmed)
Two Marines assigned to Regimental Combat Team 2, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force (Forward), were killed 11 May when their amphibious assault vehicle struck an explosive device in Al Qa’im during Operation Matador.
05/12/05 Reuters: Mine kills two U.S. Marines in Iraq
Two U.S. Marines were killed on Wednesday when their armoured vehicle drove over a mine in northwest Iraq during an offensive against insurgents ... The military said 14 Marines were wounded in the blast.
05/12/05 DOD Identifies Marine Casualty
Lance Cpl. Marcus Mahdee, 20, of Fort Walton Beach, Fla., died May 9 as a result of wounds received from an enemy explosion while conducting combat operations in the vicinity of Al Karmah, Iraq. He was assigned to 3rd Bat., 8th Marines ...
We still winning this war, George?
To date, that's the number of U.S. Soldiers killed in Iraq.
One Thousand. Six Hundred. Fifteen.
Not injured. Not wounded. Not total "coalition forces". United States military forces. "Freedom" at any price, right George?
Need a more glaring reminder of this war of ours? We've lost 178 soldiers since the Iraqi elections. That's an average of 1.83 soldiers a day, killed in operations.
The following list of macabre headlines is just from today's news - and doesn't include all the workers, journalists, iraqi soldiers and coalition soldiers killed:
05/12/05 Reuters: Three U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq attacks
Three U.S. soldiers were killed in separate bomb attacks in Iraq on Thursday, the U.S. military said in statements.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TASK FORCE BAGHDAD SOLDIER KILLED IN BOMB ATTACK
A Task Force Baghdad Soldier died from wounds suffered when his vehicle struck a roadside bomb in east Baghdad at approximately 1:00 p.m., May 12.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TASK FORCE LIBERTY SOLDIER KILLED, ONE WOUNDED BY IED
One Task Force Liberty Soldier was killed and another wounded when an improvised explosive device detonated next to their combat patrol near Samarra at about 2:45 p.m., May 12.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: SOLDIER KILLED NEAR MUSAYIB
A Soldier assigned to the 155th Brigade Combat Team, II MEF (Forward), died May 12 when an IED detonated near the soldier's vehicle. The incident took place during combat operations about nine miles east of Musayib.
05/12/05 DoD Identifies Army Casualty
1st Sgt. Michael J. Bordelon, 37, of Morgan City, La., died May 10 at Brooke Army Medical Center, San Antonio, Texas, from injuries sustained April 23 in Mosul, Iraq, when a VBIED detonated near his Stryker military vehicle.
05/12/05 CBS: Three Treasure Valley Marines Seriously Wounded In Iraq
Staff Sgt. Chad Brumpton, Lance Cpls. Joseph Lowe and Mitch Ehlke were seriously injured when their M1-A1 Abrams tank, commanded by Staff Sgt. Brumpton, hit a huge land mine Sunday, according to Marine Corps spokesmen.
05/12/05 WPost: Explosion effectively finishes off squad
Every member of the unit -- one of three squads that make up the 1st Platoon of Lima Company, 3rd Battalion, 25th Regiment -- had been killed or wounded. All told, the 1st Platoon, which Hurley commands, had sustained 60 percent casualties.
05/12/05 WorldNow: Car bombs explode in Kirkuk
Two car bombs also went off today in the northern city of Kirkuk, killing at least two people. And two security officials were assassinated in Baghdad.
05/12/05 AP: Car bomb kills 17 in Baghdad
A car bomb exploded near a busy local market and cinema in eastern Baghdad on Thursday, killing at least 17 people and wounding 65, police said.
05/12/05 CENTCOM: TWO MARINES KILLED IN OPERATION MATADOR (confirmed)
Two Marines assigned to Regimental Combat Team 2, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force (Forward), were killed 11 May when their amphibious assault vehicle struck an explosive device in Al Qa’im during Operation Matador.
05/12/05 Reuters: Mine kills two U.S. Marines in Iraq
Two U.S. Marines were killed on Wednesday when their armoured vehicle drove over a mine in northwest Iraq during an offensive against insurgents ... The military said 14 Marines were wounded in the blast.
05/12/05 DOD Identifies Marine Casualty
Lance Cpl. Marcus Mahdee, 20, of Fort Walton Beach, Fla., died May 9 as a result of wounds received from an enemy explosion while conducting combat operations in the vicinity of Al Karmah, Iraq. He was assigned to 3rd Bat., 8th Marines ...
We still winning this war, George?
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Samaritan City
There are times, I admit, when I wonder why I'm still in this city. I love New York, I do; but sometimes the constant noise, the energy, the pace...it can overwhelm you. You look at the rat race that goes on here and you think...why am I doing this to myself? Is it worth it? Why do I put up with the grime, the chatter, the squeal of a subway car every single morning? Hell, why do I put up with the people? I could easily move to someplace quieter, where the pace is slower, the grass is greener, where the sun actually seems to shine against a blue sky. A place where there are actual stars in the night, and not the ones on the television or silver screen.
Then comes a night like tonight. I'd stepped off the bus on 23rd, ready to catch the 8th avenue subway line when there was this horrendous squeal of brakes from behind me. I turned just in time to hear the thump as a yellow cab slammed into this woman crossing the street.
I ran around the bus even as the cab driver jumped from his car, rushing to the woman he'd hit. She'd gotten tossed several feet away; she lost both her shoes in the impact. The cab driver tried helping her to her feet; she could barely walk. Other than that...intially anyway...she didn't seem too hurt. Nothing broken that we could see, and she claimed she was fine. "I live just a block away" she kept saying. "I don't have insurance, I'm okay, I just want to go home."
The cab driver was estatic. "Well, if you're okay..."
Oh hell no.
There were about 5 or 6 of us there at the time. We alternated between telling the cab driver he had to stick around and convincing the woman to stay where she was. We had 2 people calling ambulances; myself and another man forced the woman to sit down on the edge of the curb. "I'm fine, please, just let me go home" she insisted.
Nothing doing, lady. We absolutely refused to let her leave.
The cab driver, of course, got pissed. "It wasn't my fault, she's fine" Okay maybe she's fine, but no way was he leaving either. Fill out your accident report, but don't even think about leaving.
Then the blood started. She'd hit her head, because it started to trickle down her face and a nugget the size of a golf ball swelled up on her forehead. We got some ice from BBQ's, some napkins, and used my water bottle to dab away the blood and put pressure on her wound. One guy was using his cell phone to call her family.
To give credit to NYC's Bravest, a fire truck pulled up within about 2 minutes. There were about 2 cops who'd shown up but they were incredibly reluctant to touch the woman, letting the rest of us take care of her. Once the EMT's spilled out we all corralled the cops to give our stories. We stuck around until the woman was safely carried off, and made sure the police had enough witness accounts to satisfy them.
So, my point? This was a small incident, but I honestly believe New Yorkers will instantly bond together in a common goal without a second thought. It was like we were all trained in emergency procedures; there was no arguing, no debate - we just pitched in to do our part, and made sure everyone was okay. It was almost routine, the way we all handled it; strangers all, but in a sudden crisis we were of one mind.
In a small way it reminded me of the events surrounding the former World Trade Center, not so very long ago. If I'd never had reason to be proud of my city, the way everyone in these five boroughs - and beyond - pulled together to support one another was nothing short of phenomenal. It renewed my faith in the human equation, and I was damned proud of my neighbors.
Like tonight.
So why do I put up with the daily grind?
Because there's just no place like New York. And I honestly believe there are no people more willing to give of themselves, as a collective, working together to overcome adversity...than New Yorkers.
Then comes a night like tonight. I'd stepped off the bus on 23rd, ready to catch the 8th avenue subway line when there was this horrendous squeal of brakes from behind me. I turned just in time to hear the thump as a yellow cab slammed into this woman crossing the street.
I ran around the bus even as the cab driver jumped from his car, rushing to the woman he'd hit. She'd gotten tossed several feet away; she lost both her shoes in the impact. The cab driver tried helping her to her feet; she could barely walk. Other than that...intially anyway...she didn't seem too hurt. Nothing broken that we could see, and she claimed she was fine. "I live just a block away" she kept saying. "I don't have insurance, I'm okay, I just want to go home."
The cab driver was estatic. "Well, if you're okay..."
Oh hell no.
There were about 5 or 6 of us there at the time. We alternated between telling the cab driver he had to stick around and convincing the woman to stay where she was. We had 2 people calling ambulances; myself and another man forced the woman to sit down on the edge of the curb. "I'm fine, please, just let me go home" she insisted.
Nothing doing, lady. We absolutely refused to let her leave.
The cab driver, of course, got pissed. "It wasn't my fault, she's fine" Okay maybe she's fine, but no way was he leaving either. Fill out your accident report, but don't even think about leaving.
Then the blood started. She'd hit her head, because it started to trickle down her face and a nugget the size of a golf ball swelled up on her forehead. We got some ice from BBQ's, some napkins, and used my water bottle to dab away the blood and put pressure on her wound. One guy was using his cell phone to call her family.
To give credit to NYC's Bravest, a fire truck pulled up within about 2 minutes. There were about 2 cops who'd shown up but they were incredibly reluctant to touch the woman, letting the rest of us take care of her. Once the EMT's spilled out we all corralled the cops to give our stories. We stuck around until the woman was safely carried off, and made sure the police had enough witness accounts to satisfy them.
So, my point? This was a small incident, but I honestly believe New Yorkers will instantly bond together in a common goal without a second thought. It was like we were all trained in emergency procedures; there was no arguing, no debate - we just pitched in to do our part, and made sure everyone was okay. It was almost routine, the way we all handled it; strangers all, but in a sudden crisis we were of one mind.
In a small way it reminded me of the events surrounding the former World Trade Center, not so very long ago. If I'd never had reason to be proud of my city, the way everyone in these five boroughs - and beyond - pulled together to support one another was nothing short of phenomenal. It renewed my faith in the human equation, and I was damned proud of my neighbors.
Like tonight.
So why do I put up with the daily grind?
Because there's just no place like New York. And I honestly believe there are no people more willing to give of themselves, as a collective, working together to overcome adversity...than New Yorkers.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Rush Hour Funkenstein
May 4, 2005 - Wednesday
Rush Hour Funkenstein
I have nothing against the homeless. Or the mentally disturbed. In fact I've had interesting conversations with combos of the two (much to friends' dismay).
But when you get a homeless crazy with BO from Hell on your morning subway ride...oh my GAWD somebody just shoot me and put me out of my misery!
This...behemoth...and there's no other word to describe her...got on circa 145th street on the A train headed downtown. Crowded rush hour morning. She was easily about 6', 6'-2", maybe 250lbs. I'm absorbed in my PSP (Need for Speed, baby!) so I didn't notice right away.
Then the smell hit me like a fist full of quarters. I mean, it was one of those INVASIVE odors...the kind that'll make you stand up and get the spirit: "Oh Lord, what the hell is THAT!?" Forget coffee to wake you up; one whiff of this and you're wide awake, shaking in the corner pleading for someone to cut your nose off your face.
The doors close...and she starts crying. Yes, crying. We're talking about loud, moaning bawling kind of crying. The kind that, if she were a kid, you'd slump over from exhaustion and frustration and just want to scream "What do you want?!?!" Over and over and over and over. "Waaaah. Waaaaah. Waaaaaah."
Holy mother of god.
Then out comes The Cup. You got it, this was blatant extortion. She doesn't even move around the car (thank god!), she just reached out with that damn cup as far as she could to whomever was close by, and waited for them to put money in it. The woman next to me (if I catch you, you're DEAD! DEAD!) decided to play nice, so I got this big meaty, smelly arm put in my face so she could get to Ms. Generosity.
I'm holding my breath, thinking "oh for the love of every god that ever existed, PLEASE hurry up and get that damned dollar out of your purse!"
We pull into 125th, and I'm praying. I swear I'll go to church, synogogue, temple, I'll even drink the grape kool-aid and wait for the mother ship to pick me up - whatver the fuck, just let this woman get off this train!
Oh no. Too easy. A woman gets up...and she plops her elephantine ass right down in the vacant seat.
It was like turning on the lights in the kitchen at 2am, and watching the cockroaches scatter for cover. I've rarely seen New Yorkers move so quickly in a crowded subway car as everyone around those seats did. It was like a Warner Bros. cartoon; there was a crowd, then suddenly a whole set of smoke trails leading away from Funkenstein's Bride. People are squished up against the doors, the windows; I swear I saw one guy crawling under the seats, trying to find some clean air.
If any of you take the A train downtown, you know what happens next. The A is an express train. From 125th...to 59th.
By the time we pulled into the station I'd lost vision in one eye, boils were popping up on my skin and there were heat vapors rising from the seat where she'd squatted. People were passed out on the floor, the paint in the car was peeling off the ceiling. The metal walls had buckled from the building vacuum of a hundred people all holding in their breath at the same time. Men in biohazard suits should have been waiting on the platform to take us all into quarantine. The National Alert should have gone to Orange just from the fumes wafting out of that subway car.
When the doors opened, I'd swear a green cloud spilled out onto the platform with us. People coughing, stumbling, trying to find a sense of balance. There was a baby crying in the background. Or maybe it was the mother, I couldn't tell. I saw this scene in a movie, maybe Outbreak. Or Volcano, or Earthquake...some disaster movie.
Okay I've exaggerated. A *little*.
But I'm going to start keeping a gas mask in my backpack. Just in case.
Rush Hour Funkenstein
I have nothing against the homeless. Or the mentally disturbed. In fact I've had interesting conversations with combos of the two (much to friends' dismay).
But when you get a homeless crazy with BO from Hell on your morning subway ride...oh my GAWD somebody just shoot me and put me out of my misery!
This...behemoth...and there's no other word to describe her...got on circa 145th street on the A train headed downtown. Crowded rush hour morning. She was easily about 6', 6'-2", maybe 250lbs. I'm absorbed in my PSP (Need for Speed, baby!) so I didn't notice right away.
Then the smell hit me like a fist full of quarters. I mean, it was one of those INVASIVE odors...the kind that'll make you stand up and get the spirit: "Oh Lord, what the hell is THAT!?" Forget coffee to wake you up; one whiff of this and you're wide awake, shaking in the corner pleading for someone to cut your nose off your face.
The doors close...and she starts crying. Yes, crying. We're talking about loud, moaning bawling kind of crying. The kind that, if she were a kid, you'd slump over from exhaustion and frustration and just want to scream "What do you want?!?!" Over and over and over and over. "Waaaah. Waaaaah. Waaaaaah."
Holy mother of god.
Then out comes The Cup. You got it, this was blatant extortion. She doesn't even move around the car (thank god!), she just reached out with that damn cup as far as she could to whomever was close by, and waited for them to put money in it. The woman next to me (if I catch you, you're DEAD! DEAD!) decided to play nice, so I got this big meaty, smelly arm put in my face so she could get to Ms. Generosity.
I'm holding my breath, thinking "oh for the love of every god that ever existed, PLEASE hurry up and get that damned dollar out of your purse!"
We pull into 125th, and I'm praying. I swear I'll go to church, synogogue, temple, I'll even drink the grape kool-aid and wait for the mother ship to pick me up - whatver the fuck, just let this woman get off this train!
Oh no. Too easy. A woman gets up...and she plops her elephantine ass right down in the vacant seat.
It was like turning on the lights in the kitchen at 2am, and watching the cockroaches scatter for cover. I've rarely seen New Yorkers move so quickly in a crowded subway car as everyone around those seats did. It was like a Warner Bros. cartoon; there was a crowd, then suddenly a whole set of smoke trails leading away from Funkenstein's Bride. People are squished up against the doors, the windows; I swear I saw one guy crawling under the seats, trying to find some clean air.
If any of you take the A train downtown, you know what happens next. The A is an express train. From 125th...to 59th.
By the time we pulled into the station I'd lost vision in one eye, boils were popping up on my skin and there were heat vapors rising from the seat where she'd squatted. People were passed out on the floor, the paint in the car was peeling off the ceiling. The metal walls had buckled from the building vacuum of a hundred people all holding in their breath at the same time. Men in biohazard suits should have been waiting on the platform to take us all into quarantine. The National Alert should have gone to Orange just from the fumes wafting out of that subway car.
When the doors opened, I'd swear a green cloud spilled out onto the platform with us. People coughing, stumbling, trying to find a sense of balance. There was a baby crying in the background. Or maybe it was the mother, I couldn't tell. I saw this scene in a movie, maybe Outbreak. Or Volcano, or Earthquake...some disaster movie.
Okay I've exaggerated. A *little*.
But I'm going to start keeping a gas mask in my backpack. Just in case.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Cheeseburger Love
McDonald's, I guess after deciding they got SO much love for calling themselves Mickey D's, felt they were losing touch with their target audience and needed to get back down with the homeys. Scattered around the web (although I'll bet you a Whopper they took the ads down) have been these flash ads:
This isn't photoshop stuff, folks. McDonald's wants you to fuck their cheeseburgers. I assume the double cheeseburgers so you don't burn your dick off with the hot melted cheese, the smooooooooooth but textured (for your pleasure) patty will wrap itself around your cock like...like...
Makes you wonder what the Special Sauce is, don't it?
Do you want an Apple Pie to go with that?
Can I get that Super Sized?
Idiots.
This isn't photoshop stuff, folks. McDonald's wants you to fuck their cheeseburgers. I assume the double cheeseburgers so you don't burn your dick off with the hot melted cheese, the smooooooooooth but textured (for your pleasure) patty will wrap itself around your cock like...like...
Makes you wonder what the Special Sauce is, don't it?
Do you want an Apple Pie to go with that?
Can I get that Super Sized?
Idiots.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Stick To Acting. Please.
I get these email updates from VH.1 every so often about new music, and in the usual mix I see that Will Smith has a new album coming out. The link is to 3 of his new songs.
Now...I'm admittedly no longer a fan of hip-hop or R&B. I should say, today's hip-hop and R&B, because I no longer believe that R&B exists except as a sub-set of hip-hop, and hip-hop today SUCKS. Rap is dead, there's no art in it anymore, and musically there are incredibly few artists in the so-called R&B category who would have cut it on the Motown label. Alicia Keys is a notable standout, and she's one of the few reasons I still have hope for R&B as a genre.
But back to the Not-So-Fresh Prince, and his new album "Lost and Found"
He should have called it "Lost it and Ain't Found it Yet". Damn! I mean, that was some serious audio crap! I had to go find a cotton swab to get the shit out of my ears left over from listening to those songs! Will, your movies: good shit. This album? I wouldn't flush it down a toilet cuz I'd be afraid of clogging my pipes and dealing with the backed-up overflow!
Here's my review of the three songs I heard:
SWITCH
Okay, I did give him props with this one. Not because it's good, but because it's catchy in a dance-club sort of way. It needs some remixing done to pump it up (and not that crap reggae version I also heard!), but I can see this thumping in the clubs with a heavy dance beat mixed with that deep bass bump he's got going.
Typically Will Smith, you can already see the part in the video where he stops the song and begins his dance routine - you know the one, the big Michael Jackson production with Will in the center and some nameless nobody's in the back copying his moves.
Still; this is definitely going to be a summer dance hit, even if it does suck verbally. "Something sexy about a, girl on the floor all her friends around her, I mean real clean ain't gotta touch or nuttin', not like I like a chick-on-chick, or sumthin', I'm just a sucka for a hot track gimme a drink..."
Whatever, niggah.
HERE HE COMES
Fitting title, cuz I can see people scoping around the corner saying "oh shit, look out, here he comes, hide!" Will, what the hell were you thinking with this? The backbeat is the old spiderman cartoon theme song - no shit peeps, that's the chorus, sung to the tune of "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can...":
"Here he comes, he can rock,
He can breakdance and he can pop;
He can rap, he can act,
And if you come down to it he can scratch
Hey there, here comes Big Will again..."
Now. Will. Are you trying to tell me you didn't have one, single, honest mofo in your posse who heard this song and bitchslapped you for being stupid? No one to tell you that you sound like a pathetic jackass singing this song? Jada needs to kick you to the curb for this crap.
And you wanna know what pisses me off the most? About a minute into the song, almost exactly (I checked the time stamp) I started saying "Damn, this sounds familiar...whose style is this?"
Then I nailed it. Eminem! Muthafuckah ripped Slim Shady's rhyming style! That whole quick-flow, punctuate the end of your rhymes for emphasis, don't stop to take a breath scheme? I shit you not! YOU listen to the damn song and tell me if it doesn't sound like Mathers wrote it and Will stole it!
I'm ashamed, Will; bad enough you lost your own flow, but you hadda take the white boy's? Daaaamnnn....
PARTY STARTER
You know that song you pull out at a party, the very first one you play just to make some noise until people get a drink in them and start to loosen up? That's why he named this POS a party starter, cuz you sure as hell don't wanna pull it out in the middle of it when people got a groove going!
Will. You USED to be a rapper, and even then you were a comedic rapper. That was your schtick, and it worked for you. You ain't gangsta, ne-gro! Holy mother of god, what the hell were you thinking? Did you NOT see what happened to Hammer when THAT fool tried to go hardcore?
The song starts off promising enough, if you're into the whole gangsta style rap. I can already see the thugs sittin' in their caddy, music blaring in the Cali sun, arms dangling out the window. Like every Snoop video. Then this is what you hear, a thuggie-style flow from the Fresh Prince:
"I'm the party starter,
You might have a good time
But we party harder
Tell the DJ to play my song
And we can dance all night to the early morn"
Tupac is screaming from his grave, "Shoot that mofo!" When this song hits the airwaves there's gonna be a bunch of brothers from Philly standing on the corner shaking their heads, saying "why, Will? Why'd you have to go there?"
"Big Will that's my name
Writing rhymes, that's my game
Ask me again and I'll tell you the same (woo!)"
It's sad, because you listen to it and if you don't bother paying attention to the words you'll swear it's some new schmuck from the west coast, the sound is pure Cali - and then you start hearing "Big Willy" and you can't help but say "WTF?"
It's like Michael Jackson singing "I'm bad...I'm bad...I'm really really bad..."
So, Will: when's your next movie coming out?
Now...I'm admittedly no longer a fan of hip-hop or R&B. I should say, today's hip-hop and R&B, because I no longer believe that R&B exists except as a sub-set of hip-hop, and hip-hop today SUCKS. Rap is dead, there's no art in it anymore, and musically there are incredibly few artists in the so-called R&B category who would have cut it on the Motown label. Alicia Keys is a notable standout, and she's one of the few reasons I still have hope for R&B as a genre.
But back to the Not-So-Fresh Prince, and his new album "Lost and Found"
He should have called it "Lost it and Ain't Found it Yet". Damn! I mean, that was some serious audio crap! I had to go find a cotton swab to get the shit out of my ears left over from listening to those songs! Will, your movies: good shit. This album? I wouldn't flush it down a toilet cuz I'd be afraid of clogging my pipes and dealing with the backed-up overflow!
Here's my review of the three songs I heard:
SWITCH
Okay, I did give him props with this one. Not because it's good, but because it's catchy in a dance-club sort of way. It needs some remixing done to pump it up (and not that crap reggae version I also heard!), but I can see this thumping in the clubs with a heavy dance beat mixed with that deep bass bump he's got going.
Typically Will Smith, you can already see the part in the video where he stops the song and begins his dance routine - you know the one, the big Michael Jackson production with Will in the center and some nameless nobody's in the back copying his moves.
Still; this is definitely going to be a summer dance hit, even if it does suck verbally. "Something sexy about a, girl on the floor all her friends around her, I mean real clean ain't gotta touch or nuttin', not like I like a chick-on-chick, or sumthin', I'm just a sucka for a hot track gimme a drink..."
Whatever, niggah.
HERE HE COMES
Fitting title, cuz I can see people scoping around the corner saying "oh shit, look out, here he comes, hide!" Will, what the hell were you thinking with this? The backbeat is the old spiderman cartoon theme song - no shit peeps, that's the chorus, sung to the tune of "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can...":
"Here he comes, he can rock,
He can breakdance and he can pop;
He can rap, he can act,
And if you come down to it he can scratch
Hey there, here comes Big Will again..."
Now. Will. Are you trying to tell me you didn't have one, single, honest mofo in your posse who heard this song and bitchslapped you for being stupid? No one to tell you that you sound like a pathetic jackass singing this song? Jada needs to kick you to the curb for this crap.
And you wanna know what pisses me off the most? About a minute into the song, almost exactly (I checked the time stamp) I started saying "Damn, this sounds familiar...whose style is this?"
Then I nailed it. Eminem! Muthafuckah ripped Slim Shady's rhyming style! That whole quick-flow, punctuate the end of your rhymes for emphasis, don't stop to take a breath scheme? I shit you not! YOU listen to the damn song and tell me if it doesn't sound like Mathers wrote it and Will stole it!
I'm ashamed, Will; bad enough you lost your own flow, but you hadda take the white boy's? Daaaamnnn....
PARTY STARTER
You know that song you pull out at a party, the very first one you play just to make some noise until people get a drink in them and start to loosen up? That's why he named this POS a party starter, cuz you sure as hell don't wanna pull it out in the middle of it when people got a groove going!
Will. You USED to be a rapper, and even then you were a comedic rapper. That was your schtick, and it worked for you. You ain't gangsta, ne-gro! Holy mother of god, what the hell were you thinking? Did you NOT see what happened to Hammer when THAT fool tried to go hardcore?
The song starts off promising enough, if you're into the whole gangsta style rap. I can already see the thugs sittin' in their caddy, music blaring in the Cali sun, arms dangling out the window. Like every Snoop video. Then this is what you hear, a thuggie-style flow from the Fresh Prince:
"I'm the party starter,
You might have a good time
But we party harder
Tell the DJ to play my song
And we can dance all night to the early morn"
Tupac is screaming from his grave, "Shoot that mofo!" When this song hits the airwaves there's gonna be a bunch of brothers from Philly standing on the corner shaking their heads, saying "why, Will? Why'd you have to go there?"
"Big Will that's my name
Writing rhymes, that's my game
Ask me again and I'll tell you the same (woo!)"
It's sad, because you listen to it and if you don't bother paying attention to the words you'll swear it's some new schmuck from the west coast, the sound is pure Cali - and then you start hearing "Big Willy" and you can't help but say "WTF?"
It's like Michael Jackson singing "I'm bad...I'm bad...I'm really really bad..."
So, Will: when's your next movie coming out?
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Neoprene Man
Neoprene Man
So, I've been wearing a neoprene thigh brace for the past 3 weeks to help a pulled hamstring heal.
Now, the gag here is that my volleyball teammates have gotten so used to seeing me play injured that when I show up and actually put on a brace, they ask "what happened, are you hurt?" - even though I've been limping around the court for the last 2+ weeks. I wear a thigh brace, knee braces, and ankle braces. I'm surprised I'm not wearing elbow braces, but give me time - I'm sure I'll find a way to injure at least one.
What's my point? I play hard, probably dangerously hard and I'm certain I'll pay for this in my old age. Or will I?
I'm 36 years old, and the old bones and joints aren't as flexible as they used to be. Still, I'm on the court and I see these guys 5, 10 years younger than me playing like they're 5, 10 years older than me and wonder...is it me? I have friends I've known for 15, 20 years and they act the way I thought 40-50 year olds act. They complain about creaky knees, achy joints, gouty feet...they go to bed at 8, and worry about playing any kind of sport because they won't be able to get out of bed the next morning.
Shit. They're old. So what the fuck is wrong with me?
One friend has ribbed me for years, because before and after whatever sport du jour we played I'd pop an ibuprofin pill or two, rub some ointment on a knee or calf, or struggle with some brace or another. "I'll kill myself before I use that stuff", he'd boast.
Then the next day I'll buzz him to come out for another game, and he can't even reach for the phone because his knees are hurting so badly.
To paraphrase the immortal Dr. King, I have a dream. One day I'll be 80, standing at the top of some mountain. I may have let my hair grow out, and be this sinewy, sun-tanned old guy with silver dreds in a snowsuit. I'll be the one showing my grandkids how to snowboard, while their parents complain about the cold while sipping hot toddies in the ski lodge.
And underneath all that snow gear, I'll be wearing a neoprene bodysuit.
I may be old...but I ain't stupid. And I'm still playing the game like kids half my age
So, I've been wearing a neoprene thigh brace for the past 3 weeks to help a pulled hamstring heal.
Now, the gag here is that my volleyball teammates have gotten so used to seeing me play injured that when I show up and actually put on a brace, they ask "what happened, are you hurt?" - even though I've been limping around the court for the last 2+ weeks. I wear a thigh brace, knee braces, and ankle braces. I'm surprised I'm not wearing elbow braces, but give me time - I'm sure I'll find a way to injure at least one.
What's my point? I play hard, probably dangerously hard and I'm certain I'll pay for this in my old age. Or will I?
I'm 36 years old, and the old bones and joints aren't as flexible as they used to be. Still, I'm on the court and I see these guys 5, 10 years younger than me playing like they're 5, 10 years older than me and wonder...is it me? I have friends I've known for 15, 20 years and they act the way I thought 40-50 year olds act. They complain about creaky knees, achy joints, gouty feet...they go to bed at 8, and worry about playing any kind of sport because they won't be able to get out of bed the next morning.
Shit. They're old. So what the fuck is wrong with me?
One friend has ribbed me for years, because before and after whatever sport du jour we played I'd pop an ibuprofin pill or two, rub some ointment on a knee or calf, or struggle with some brace or another. "I'll kill myself before I use that stuff", he'd boast.
Then the next day I'll buzz him to come out for another game, and he can't even reach for the phone because his knees are hurting so badly.
To paraphrase the immortal Dr. King, I have a dream. One day I'll be 80, standing at the top of some mountain. I may have let my hair grow out, and be this sinewy, sun-tanned old guy with silver dreds in a snowsuit. I'll be the one showing my grandkids how to snowboard, while their parents complain about the cold while sipping hot toddies in the ski lodge.
And underneath all that snow gear, I'll be wearing a neoprene bodysuit.
I may be old...but I ain't stupid. And I'm still playing the game like kids half my age
I Hate My Government
I hate my government.
I love my country. I'm proud, for the most part, to be an American. Even when we do stupid shit, I'm proud of the principles America, as a country, stands for.
My government, on the other hand, is shit.
I'll keep this short, out of respect for some of my friends in the south. But would someone please, please answer me this: If Saddam was such a threat because of his WMD's...if he was such a threat that we went to war, to prevent him from obtaining nuclear weapons...if Iran is being considered such a threat because they're developing nuclear weapons...
The evidence indicates that Iraq is reconstituting its nuclear weapons program. Saddam Hussein has held numerous meetings with Iraqi nuclear scientists, a group he calls his "nuclear mujahideen" -- his nuclear holy warriors..Knowing these realities, America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud." -- George W. Bush, Cincinnati, Ohio Speech, October 7, 2002
If that's true, then why does Kim Jong II of North Korea get to keep calling us out by name, threatening us with nukes...and not even get a slap on the wrist? He's like Clubber Lane in Rocky III.
It couldn't be because...and I'm hypothesizing here...that because he's the crazy man in a backwater swamp waving a loaded gun, and Saddam was the crazy man we already beat up on, swinging a broken stick in a house full of black gold?
But, you know. Priorities and all.
I love my country. I'm proud, for the most part, to be an American. Even when we do stupid shit, I'm proud of the principles America, as a country, stands for.
My government, on the other hand, is shit.
I'll keep this short, out of respect for some of my friends in the south. But would someone please, please answer me this: If Saddam was such a threat because of his WMD's...if he was such a threat that we went to war, to prevent him from obtaining nuclear weapons...if Iran is being considered such a threat because they're developing nuclear weapons...
The evidence indicates that Iraq is reconstituting its nuclear weapons program. Saddam Hussein has held numerous meetings with Iraqi nuclear scientists, a group he calls his "nuclear mujahideen" -- his nuclear holy warriors..Knowing these realities, America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud." -- George W. Bush, Cincinnati, Ohio Speech, October 7, 2002
If that's true, then why does Kim Jong II of North Korea get to keep calling us out by name, threatening us with nukes...and not even get a slap on the wrist? He's like Clubber Lane in Rocky III.
It couldn't be because...and I'm hypothesizing here...that because he's the crazy man in a backwater swamp waving a loaded gun, and Saddam was the crazy man we already beat up on, swinging a broken stick in a house full of black gold?
But, you know. Priorities and all.
Monday, March 07, 2005
DestructoPods
Destructo-Pods!
Hah!! I warned you! I warrrrrrnnnnnned you allllllllllllll! Those iPods are evil!!!
Case in point. Walking past Stef this morning, and she'll kill me for this but hey - it's a long line, I've got time! - she mentions, oh-so-casually...
"My iPod blew up!"
!!!!!
Oooooookay. "What do you mean, blew up?"
"Yeah", she says. "Blew up. Just like (insert attorney name here)".
!!!!!
"Um. This is news."
Apparently iPods have a *minor* tendency to do things like, oh, lock up and stop working. Apple people don't seem upset by this. The response I got was "I'll just send it back and get a new one."
Now...PC people would be rioting outside Bill Gates' house right now if...okay forget I said that. We still buy every edition of Windows even though we know it's still in Beta testing, and we're the Beta Suckers paying for it.
We'd be bitching pretty damned loudly about it, tho'!! .
But you Apple people...it's like they give you free qualudes with every purchase. "Hey man, it's all good...be at one with the Pod, baby!"
Freaks.
And now they're being proven out to be the Antichrist I always knew they were. Forget Bill Gates and Microsoft, he was the obvious monster - the Leviathan of Revelations. I knew the Antichrist was still out there...and now I have proof! Others are rallying to my cause!
A lawsuit has just been filed by an individual against Apple because, and I quote: "Apple has unlawfully bundled, tied, and/or leveraged its monopoly in the market for the sale of legal online digital music recordings to thwart competition in the separate market for portable hard drive digital music players and vice-versa."
Personally I think the guy is stupid. Watch, he's going to have an "accident", disappear, and no one will question why.
Cuz the Pod People protect their own. Ooooooooo-eeeeeeeee-ooooooooo. Spooky stuff.
Remember, true believers - you heard it here first!
(oh...wait...no...don't remember that. I said nothing! Really! Don't report meeeeeeee....!) .
(Update: further proof that there is a Cult of iPod People trying to take over the world. Another co-worker warned me to keep my Sacred Sandisk media player hidden from her boyfriend, because she just bought him a - yes, you guessed it - an iPod Shuffle. And she doesn't want him to know, quote, "that there is something better out there."
Sounds a lot like the Catholic Church in medieval times, doesn't it? Hahaha sorry I had to throw that one in there. Forgive me father for I have sinned. A lot.)
Hah!! I warned you! I warrrrrrnnnnnned you allllllllllllll! Those iPods are evil!!!
Case in point. Walking past Stef this morning, and she'll kill me for this but hey - it's a long line, I've got time! - she mentions, oh-so-casually...
"My iPod blew up!"
!!!!!
Oooooookay. "What do you mean, blew up?"
"Yeah", she says. "Blew up. Just like (insert attorney name here)".
!!!!!
"Um. This is news."
Apparently iPods have a *minor* tendency to do things like, oh, lock up and stop working. Apple people don't seem upset by this. The response I got was "I'll just send it back and get a new one."
Now...PC people would be rioting outside Bill Gates' house right now if...okay forget I said that. We still buy every edition of Windows even though we know it's still in Beta testing, and we're the Beta Suckers paying for it.
We'd be bitching pretty damned loudly about it, tho'!! .
But you Apple people...it's like they give you free qualudes with every purchase. "Hey man, it's all good...be at one with the Pod, baby!"
Freaks.
And now they're being proven out to be the Antichrist I always knew they were. Forget Bill Gates and Microsoft, he was the obvious monster - the Leviathan of Revelations. I knew the Antichrist was still out there...and now I have proof! Others are rallying to my cause!
A lawsuit has just been filed by an individual against Apple because, and I quote: "Apple has unlawfully bundled, tied, and/or leveraged its monopoly in the market for the sale of legal online digital music recordings to thwart competition in the separate market for portable hard drive digital music players and vice-versa."
Personally I think the guy is stupid. Watch, he's going to have an "accident", disappear, and no one will question why.
Cuz the Pod People protect their own. Ooooooooo-eeeeeeeee-ooooooooo. Spooky stuff.
Remember, true believers - you heard it here first!
(oh...wait...no...don't remember that. I said nothing! Really! Don't report meeeeeeee....!) .
(Update: further proof that there is a Cult of iPod People trying to take over the world. Another co-worker warned me to keep my Sacred Sandisk media player hidden from her boyfriend, because she just bought him a - yes, you guessed it - an iPod Shuffle. And she doesn't want him to know, quote, "that there is something better out there."
Sounds a lot like the Catholic Church in medieval times, doesn't it? Hahaha sorry I had to throw that one in there. Forgive me father for I have sinned. A lot.)
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Arrogance
March 3, 2005 - Thursday
Arrogance
Yes, I can be an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
Why deny it, right? "I yam what I yams, a-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!" When you're a Capricorn solar sign and Monkey lunar sign, there isn't much room for modesty. I do try to curb it, but I have my moments.
For example, I have a baaaaad tendency to do it at work. I'll have a call my name with that hanging question mark at the end as if they're about to ask me something, I automatically reply "No" without ever having heard the question.
"No? But you don't even know what I was going to ask you to do!"
"Yeah but if I start you off with a No, you won't feel so bad when I confirm it later."
Or my catch phrase, which I should trademark:
"I'm never wrong. The rest of the world just hasn't come around to my way of thinking yet."
Here's a perfect example. A friend's girlfriend called him while a group of us were having dinner, and I could tell he was getting the treatment - so I asked for the phone and ask her what the problem is. She tells me she has a cold, so he should feel guilty for being out having fun while she's home feeling sick.
I told her, of course jokingly: "Well really he's doing you a favor. If he comes home you'll annoy him, he'll be pissed, you'll get pissed because he's pissed, and end up in a worse mood than you're in. So by him staying out he's actually helping you feel better."
She gets upset, yells (!) at me to "stop trying that reverse psychology shit" on her.
I got pissed back. "This isn't reverse psychology, this is circular logic. I know you don't know the difference but spend some time, think about it and when your brain stops hurting - come back to me."
I know, cruel - but I hate seeing a man whipped like a dog. Unless the man is me. And the woman doing the whipping has an actual whip, and high leather boots on. Oooo, and...never mind. You get the idea.
So where'd this all come about? I happened to glance at my horoscope today, and this is what it said:
Someone's mumbling, and from the rumble of their voice, it sounds like fighting words. You'd recognize them anywhere, and you're not at all intimidated. In fact, you're already thinking about how to apologize once the debate's over, because you know you're going to win. You probably even know how many sentences it will take to completely befuddle the opponent. Get over the guilt thing. It's not your fault you're better equipped than they are to handle this -- and just about everything else.
See? Even the stars get it. I am absolved of all guilt. Assuming I actually ever felt any. .
All your bases belong to us.
Arrogance
Yes, I can be an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
Why deny it, right? "I yam what I yams, a-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!" When you're a Capricorn solar sign and Monkey lunar sign, there isn't much room for modesty. I do try to curb it, but I have my moments.
For example, I have a baaaaad tendency to do it at work. I'll have a call my name with that hanging question mark at the end as if they're about to ask me something, I automatically reply "No" without ever having heard the question.
"No? But you don't even know what I was going to ask you to do!"
"Yeah but if I start you off with a No, you won't feel so bad when I confirm it later."
Or my catch phrase, which I should trademark:
"I'm never wrong. The rest of the world just hasn't come around to my way of thinking yet."
Here's a perfect example. A friend's girlfriend called him while a group of us were having dinner, and I could tell he was getting the treatment - so I asked for the phone and ask her what the problem is. She tells me she has a cold, so he should feel guilty for being out having fun while she's home feeling sick.
I told her, of course jokingly: "Well really he's doing you a favor. If he comes home you'll annoy him, he'll be pissed, you'll get pissed because he's pissed, and end up in a worse mood than you're in. So by him staying out he's actually helping you feel better."
She gets upset, yells (!) at me to "stop trying that reverse psychology shit" on her.
I got pissed back. "This isn't reverse psychology, this is circular logic. I know you don't know the difference but spend some time, think about it and when your brain stops hurting - come back to me."
I know, cruel - but I hate seeing a man whipped like a dog. Unless the man is me. And the woman doing the whipping has an actual whip, and high leather boots on. Oooo, and...never mind. You get the idea.
So where'd this all come about? I happened to glance at my horoscope today, and this is what it said:
Someone's mumbling, and from the rumble of their voice, it sounds like fighting words. You'd recognize them anywhere, and you're not at all intimidated. In fact, you're already thinking about how to apologize once the debate's over, because you know you're going to win. You probably even know how many sentences it will take to completely befuddle the opponent. Get over the guilt thing. It's not your fault you're better equipped than they are to handle this -- and just about everything else.
See? Even the stars get it. I am absolved of all guilt. Assuming I actually ever felt any. .
All your bases belong to us.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
iPod People
February 16, 2005 - Wednesday
iPod People
I came *this* close to joining the Cult of Apple. You almost got me, Steve Jobs. And I thought Bill Gates was the antichrist, but he's much too blunt. Your deceptively seductive ways nearly drew me over to the dark side of the Force, and I very nearly became the oh-so-proud owner of an iPod Shuffle.
Back, ye demon of the abyss! Away with thee, hellspawn!
As I walked past a Circuit City this evening, annoyed at my inability to track down an iShuffle which for some inexplicable reason I was desperately hungry to own, I felt an odd tug on my soul. "Come inside" a voice said, fairly mysteriously. "Come inside, and seek your heart's desire!"
"Really? There's a table with Anna lying nude with a sushi buffet spread across her for me to eat?"
A quick (and unnecessarily painful!) metaphysical slap upside the head, and I found myself inside Circuit City looking over their MP3 players. Would this be where I find my preciousssss? Finds it, we must! Yesssssss, needs it, my preciousss!
Then did the light of the Lord shine down from the Heavens, and lo and behold what did I see?
A Sandisk 1.0G Digital Audio Player.
WTF? Where's my glistening white iPod? They had sleeves for them, skins for them, speakers for them...but no iPod to be found! I want my Shuffle, dammit!
Pouting, I read over the specs for this...this...imposter of a device.
Digital FM Tuner with 20 presets. Voice recorder. Plays MP3 and WMA formats. Includes carrying case with armband, earphones and software. USB 2.0 port. Full digital audio control. Backlit LCD display. Runs for 15 hours on 1 AAA battery.
And: I did not need to use the provided software. Open My Documents, click on the music you want, drag and drop. Done.
"Hah!" I cried. "And what ransom are they asking for this miracle mechanical marvel? $300? $500?"
I spied the price tag. $159.99.
Can you hear it? The angelic choir? "AAA-aaa-AAAA-aaa-AAAhhh!" It brought a tear to my eye, it was so beautiful to behold.
I fell in love with this silvery holy creation. I did not need to become one of the Pod (iPod) People. I could reject the Apple Nation, and be proud of my PC-ness once again!
Hallelujah and amen!
But...was it a scam? Would it prove to be a lie, all of it, just a seductive doppleganger teasing me with it's inferiority, leaving me - in the end - wanting the sacred Shuffle all the more?
I brought it home and instantly plugged it into my USB port. "New found hardware!", my PC cried. "Your device is now configured and ready for use", it assured me!
Oh the joy!
Lovingly I loaded Windows Media Player, purposefully ignoring the Installation Disk my player came with - MusicMatch software embedded within. A popup! "Would you like to synch this USB device now?" it asked, quite pleasantly I might add.
"No", I replied. "I would like to do it manually."
"As you wish" it said, smiling it's pleasure at my choice. My Choice!
I browsed my music files. I Added Them To My Synch List. And when I was done, I Synched.
And it was Good.
And Lo and Behold, there was a Light - and My SanDisk Digital Audio Player was filled with the light of the MP3, and it also was Good.
And the Lord, Me, was Pleased.
So: I say, Get Thee Behind Me, Apple-Satan!
I am a PC user, untainted by the bleached sterile mark of the Apple-Beast.
Amen.
iPod People
I came *this* close to joining the Cult of Apple. You almost got me, Steve Jobs. And I thought Bill Gates was the antichrist, but he's much too blunt. Your deceptively seductive ways nearly drew me over to the dark side of the Force, and I very nearly became the oh-so-proud owner of an iPod Shuffle.
Back, ye demon of the abyss! Away with thee, hellspawn!
As I walked past a Circuit City this evening, annoyed at my inability to track down an iShuffle which for some inexplicable reason I was desperately hungry to own, I felt an odd tug on my soul. "Come inside" a voice said, fairly mysteriously. "Come inside, and seek your heart's desire!"
"Really? There's a table with Anna lying nude with a sushi buffet spread across her for me to eat?"
A quick (and unnecessarily painful!) metaphysical slap upside the head, and I found myself inside Circuit City looking over their MP3 players. Would this be where I find my preciousssss? Finds it, we must! Yesssssss, needs it, my preciousss!
Then did the light of the Lord shine down from the Heavens, and lo and behold what did I see?
A Sandisk 1.0G Digital Audio Player.
WTF? Where's my glistening white iPod? They had sleeves for them, skins for them, speakers for them...but no iPod to be found! I want my Shuffle, dammit!
Pouting, I read over the specs for this...this...imposter of a device.
Digital FM Tuner with 20 presets. Voice recorder. Plays MP3 and WMA formats. Includes carrying case with armband, earphones and software. USB 2.0 port. Full digital audio control. Backlit LCD display. Runs for 15 hours on 1 AAA battery.
And: I did not need to use the provided software. Open My Documents, click on the music you want, drag and drop. Done.
"Hah!" I cried. "And what ransom are they asking for this miracle mechanical marvel? $300? $500?"
I spied the price tag. $159.99.
Can you hear it? The angelic choir? "AAA-aaa-AAAA-aaa-AAAhhh!" It brought a tear to my eye, it was so beautiful to behold.
I fell in love with this silvery holy creation. I did not need to become one of the Pod (iPod) People. I could reject the Apple Nation, and be proud of my PC-ness once again!
Hallelujah and amen!
But...was it a scam? Would it prove to be a lie, all of it, just a seductive doppleganger teasing me with it's inferiority, leaving me - in the end - wanting the sacred Shuffle all the more?
I brought it home and instantly plugged it into my USB port. "New found hardware!", my PC cried. "Your device is now configured and ready for use", it assured me!
Oh the joy!
Lovingly I loaded Windows Media Player, purposefully ignoring the Installation Disk my player came with - MusicMatch software embedded within. A popup! "Would you like to synch this USB device now?" it asked, quite pleasantly I might add.
"No", I replied. "I would like to do it manually."
"As you wish" it said, smiling it's pleasure at my choice. My Choice!
I browsed my music files. I Added Them To My Synch List. And when I was done, I Synched.
And it was Good.
And Lo and Behold, there was a Light - and My SanDisk Digital Audio Player was filled with the light of the MP3, and it also was Good.
And the Lord, Me, was Pleased.
So: I say, Get Thee Behind Me, Apple-Satan!
I am a PC user, untainted by the bleached sterile mark of the Apple-Beast.
Amen.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Starfish & Coffee
February 13, 2005 - Sunday
Starfish & Coffee
So. Why does having a different view on what you want this world to be, have to make you psychologically damaged?
Let's rewind. I recently had a conversation with a casual friend who, not knowing me very well, was still determined to catagorize me.
En garde, have at thee knave!
This all stems from me having recently broke up with my gf of a year, because I had the foresight to see it wasn't going anywhere long-term and wanted to end it before it turned a brighter shade of ugly. The near-argument that ensued was brought on by my annoyance that this friend was having trouble comprehending why I seem to have no desire for the "package" - the wife, the 2.5 kids, the house in the suburbs, the dog named Scruffy and the cat named Fluffy. This, she feels, is what normal human beings want so there must obviously be something wrong with me for not wanting it. The "fear of committment" argument was brought out, dusted off and placed high on the mantle - which I quickly slapped aside, kicked into the fireplace and burned to ash.
My point was that I fully admit I don't want "the Life" - but it isn't because I don't want to settle down. It's because I refuse to settle, period. So what if everyone else follows the same path? Why should I spend 3 months pay on a ring to buy a potential bride? Why should we then anchor ourselves in one place, and forget that we ever had dreams, goals, aspirations? Why does having a family - or hell, just becoming a couple - mean you have to cut yourself off from your friends, to metamorph into this amalgamated Thing? No longer a person, you're now a Couple. People no longer talk about you as an individual, you're now JohnAndMary, a hybrid creature with no resemblance to the people you used to be.
This is what "maturing" is supposed to mean in our society; it means giving up your Self to merge, to become one with the hive mind. We are the Borg, you will be assimilated. Well frag that. I told another friend once that I'm not looking for someone to settle down with, I'm looking for someone to keep dreaming with. Eagles fly free, they still spread their wings and glide on the wind, but they do so together - family and all. The nest is a comfort place, but the sky is where they really live. And I don't want to burrow underground and join the community, sorry - not me. I like the treetops, the clouds, the mountaintops. I don't care if this is a dream, a fantasy, if I'm chasing rainbows - dammit I'll keep on chasing it, and to hell with the rest of the world if they just don't get it.
If that means I keep jumping from relationship to relationship until I find another dreamer, so be it; I'd rather be alone and imaginatively free, than married and dead inside. I don't want to be the pair of caged songbirds, watching the world through a dirty window. So, in the words of the immortal Prince:
All of us where ordinary compared to Cynthia Rose
She always stood at the back of the line
A smile beneath her nose
Her favorite number was 20 and every single day
If u asked her what she had 4 breakfast
This is what she’d say
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe you’d understand
Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam
Starfish & Coffee
So. Why does having a different view on what you want this world to be, have to make you psychologically damaged?
Let's rewind. I recently had a conversation with a casual friend who, not knowing me very well, was still determined to catagorize me.
En garde, have at thee knave!
This all stems from me having recently broke up with my gf of a year, because I had the foresight to see it wasn't going anywhere long-term and wanted to end it before it turned a brighter shade of ugly. The near-argument that ensued was brought on by my annoyance that this friend was having trouble comprehending why I seem to have no desire for the "package" - the wife, the 2.5 kids, the house in the suburbs, the dog named Scruffy and the cat named Fluffy. This, she feels, is what normal human beings want so there must obviously be something wrong with me for not wanting it. The "fear of committment" argument was brought out, dusted off and placed high on the mantle - which I quickly slapped aside, kicked into the fireplace and burned to ash.
My point was that I fully admit I don't want "the Life" - but it isn't because I don't want to settle down. It's because I refuse to settle, period. So what if everyone else follows the same path? Why should I spend 3 months pay on a ring to buy a potential bride? Why should we then anchor ourselves in one place, and forget that we ever had dreams, goals, aspirations? Why does having a family - or hell, just becoming a couple - mean you have to cut yourself off from your friends, to metamorph into this amalgamated Thing? No longer a person, you're now a Couple. People no longer talk about you as an individual, you're now JohnAndMary, a hybrid creature with no resemblance to the people you used to be.
This is what "maturing" is supposed to mean in our society; it means giving up your Self to merge, to become one with the hive mind. We are the Borg, you will be assimilated. Well frag that. I told another friend once that I'm not looking for someone to settle down with, I'm looking for someone to keep dreaming with. Eagles fly free, they still spread their wings and glide on the wind, but they do so together - family and all. The nest is a comfort place, but the sky is where they really live. And I don't want to burrow underground and join the community, sorry - not me. I like the treetops, the clouds, the mountaintops. I don't care if this is a dream, a fantasy, if I'm chasing rainbows - dammit I'll keep on chasing it, and to hell with the rest of the world if they just don't get it.
If that means I keep jumping from relationship to relationship until I find another dreamer, so be it; I'd rather be alone and imaginatively free, than married and dead inside. I don't want to be the pair of caged songbirds, watching the world through a dirty window. So, in the words of the immortal Prince:
She always stood at the back of the line
A smile beneath her nose
Her favorite number was 20 and every single day
If u asked her what she had 4 breakfast
This is what she’d say
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe you’d understand
Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam
Sunday, January 23, 2005
You Know You're From NY
January 23, 2005 - Sunday
You know you're from NY...
You Know You're From New York City When...
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Apple".
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a yard.
You consider Westchester "upstate".
You think Central Park is "nature."
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer's speaking.
You're paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it's a "steal."
You've been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going to Brooklyn is considered a "road trip."
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You've gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing "Do Not Walk" sign at the intersection.
You're 35 years old and don't have a driver's license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You're willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It's uptown or downtown.
When you're away from home, you miss "real" pizza and "real" bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray's Pizzas.
You're not in the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Your internal clock is permanently set to know when Alternate Side of the Street parking regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger's hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet.....
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.
You know you're from NY...
You Know You're From New York City When...
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Apple".
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a yard.
You consider Westchester "upstate".
You think Central Park is "nature."
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer's speaking.
You're paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it's a "steal."
You've been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going to Brooklyn is considered a "road trip."
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You've gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing "Do Not Walk" sign at the intersection.
You're 35 years old and don't have a driver's license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You're willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It's uptown or downtown.
When you're away from home, you miss "real" pizza and "real" bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray's Pizzas.
You're not in the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Your internal clock is permanently set to know when Alternate Side of the Street parking regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger's hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet.....
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.
Friday, January 21, 2005
2004 Darwin Awards
January 21, 2005 - Friday
Stupid People Tricks
DARWIN AWARDS 2004
They are finally out again.
In case you don't know it's an annual honour given to the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way, thereby removing their "stupid" genes from infecting our grandchildren.
Last year's winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out of it.
And the nominees this year, in reverse order, are:
7. A young Canadian man, searching for a way of getting drunk cheaply because he had no money with which to buy alcohol, mixed gasoline with milk. Not surprisingly, this concoction made him ill, and he vomited into the fireplace in his house. The resulting explosion and fire burned his house down, killing both him and his sister.
6. A 34-year-old white male found dead in the basement of his home died of suffocation, according to police. He was approximately 6' 2" tall and weighed 225 pounds. He was wearing a pleated skirt, white bra, black and white saddle shoes, and a woman's wig. It appeared that he was trying to create a schoolgirl's uniform look. He was also wearing a military gas mask that had the filter canister removed and a rubber hose attached in its place. The other end of the hose was connected to one end of a hollow tube approx. 30" long and 3" in diameter. The tube's other end was, for reasons unknown, inserted into his rectum and was the cause of his suffocation.
Police found the task of explaining the circumstances of his death to his family very awkward. .
5. Three Brazilian men were flying in a light aircraft at low altitude when another plane approached. It appears that they decided to moon the occupants of the other plane, but lost control of their own aircraft and crashed. They were all found dead in the wreckage with their pants around their ankles.
4. A 22-year-old, man was found dead after he tried to use octopus straps to bungee jump off a 70 foot railroad trestle. Fairfax County police said Eric Barcia, a fast-food worker, taped a bunch of these straps together, wrapped one end around one foot, anchored the other end to the trestle at Lake Accotink Park, jumped and hit the pavement. Warren Carmichael, a police spokesman, said investigators think Barcia was alone because his car was found nearby. "The length of the cord that he assembled was greater than the distance between the trestle and the ground" Carmichael said. Police say the apparent cause of death was "major trauma." .
3. A man in Alabama died from rattlesnake bites. It seems that he and a friend were playing a game of catch, using the rattlesnake as a ball. The friend, no doubt a future Darwin Awards candidate, was hospitalized. .
2. Employees in a medium sized warehouse in west Texas noticed the smell of a gas leak. Sensibly, management evacuated the building, extinguishing all potential sources of ignition; lights, power, etc. After the building had been evacuated, two technicians from the gas company were dispatched. Upon entering the building, they found they had difficulty navigating in the dark. To their frustration, none of the lights worked. Witnesses later described the sight of one of the technicians reaching into his pocket and retrieving an object that resembled a cigarette lighter. Upon operation of the lighter-like object, the gas in the warehouse exploded, sending pieces of it up to three miles away. Nothing was found of the technicians, but the lighter was virtually untouched by the explosion. The technician suspected of causing the blast had never been thought of as 'bright' by his peers. .
AND THE WINNER.....(ouch....)
1. Based on a bet by the other members of his threesome, Everitt Sanchez tried to wash his own "balls" in a ball washer at the local golf course. Proving once again that beer and testosterone are a bad mix, Sanchez managed to straddle the ball washer and dangle his balls in the machine. Much to his dismay, one of his buddies upped the ante by spinning the crank on the machine with Sanchez's balls in place, thus wedging them solidly in the mechanism.
Sanchez, who immediately passed his threshold of pain, collapsed and tumbled from his perch. Unfortunately for him, the height of the ball washer was more than a foot higher off the ground than his testicles are in a normal stance, and his balls were the weakest link.
Sanchez's balls ripped open during the fall, and one testicle was plucked from him forever and remained in the ball washer, while the other testicle was compressed and flattened as it was pulled between the housing of the washer, and the rotating machinery inside.
To add insult to injury, Sanchez broke a new $300.00 driver that he had just purchased from the pro shop, and was using to balance himself.
Sanchez was rushed to the hospital for surgery, and the remaining threesome was asked to leave the course.
Note: This last one wouldn't normally count, because the idiot didn't die. But because he cannot reproduce as a result of his qualifying act of stupidity, we have allowed it.
Stupid People Tricks
DARWIN AWARDS 2004
They are finally out again.
In case you don't know it's an annual honour given to the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way, thereby removing their "stupid" genes from infecting our grandchildren.
Last year's winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out of it.
And the nominees this year, in reverse order, are:
7. A young Canadian man, searching for a way of getting drunk cheaply because he had no money with which to buy alcohol, mixed gasoline with milk. Not surprisingly, this concoction made him ill, and he vomited into the fireplace in his house. The resulting explosion and fire burned his house down, killing both him and his sister.
6. A 34-year-old white male found dead in the basement of his home died of suffocation, according to police. He was approximately 6' 2" tall and weighed 225 pounds. He was wearing a pleated skirt, white bra, black and white saddle shoes, and a woman's wig. It appeared that he was trying to create a schoolgirl's uniform look. He was also wearing a military gas mask that had the filter canister removed and a rubber hose attached in its place. The other end of the hose was connected to one end of a hollow tube approx. 30" long and 3" in diameter. The tube's other end was, for reasons unknown, inserted into his rectum and was the cause of his suffocation.
Police found the task of explaining the circumstances of his death to his family very awkward. .
5. Three Brazilian men were flying in a light aircraft at low altitude when another plane approached. It appears that they decided to moon the occupants of the other plane, but lost control of their own aircraft and crashed. They were all found dead in the wreckage with their pants around their ankles.
4. A 22-year-old, man was found dead after he tried to use octopus straps to bungee jump off a 70 foot railroad trestle. Fairfax County police said Eric Barcia, a fast-food worker, taped a bunch of these straps together, wrapped one end around one foot, anchored the other end to the trestle at Lake Accotink Park, jumped and hit the pavement. Warren Carmichael, a police spokesman, said investigators think Barcia was alone because his car was found nearby. "The length of the cord that he assembled was greater than the distance between the trestle and the ground" Carmichael said. Police say the apparent cause of death was "major trauma." .
3. A man in Alabama died from rattlesnake bites. It seems that he and a friend were playing a game of catch, using the rattlesnake as a ball. The friend, no doubt a future Darwin Awards candidate, was hospitalized. .
2. Employees in a medium sized warehouse in west Texas noticed the smell of a gas leak. Sensibly, management evacuated the building, extinguishing all potential sources of ignition; lights, power, etc. After the building had been evacuated, two technicians from the gas company were dispatched. Upon entering the building, they found they had difficulty navigating in the dark. To their frustration, none of the lights worked. Witnesses later described the sight of one of the technicians reaching into his pocket and retrieving an object that resembled a cigarette lighter. Upon operation of the lighter-like object, the gas in the warehouse exploded, sending pieces of it up to three miles away. Nothing was found of the technicians, but the lighter was virtually untouched by the explosion. The technician suspected of causing the blast had never been thought of as 'bright' by his peers. .
AND THE WINNER.....(ouch....)
1. Based on a bet by the other members of his threesome, Everitt Sanchez tried to wash his own "balls" in a ball washer at the local golf course. Proving once again that beer and testosterone are a bad mix, Sanchez managed to straddle the ball washer and dangle his balls in the machine. Much to his dismay, one of his buddies upped the ante by spinning the crank on the machine with Sanchez's balls in place, thus wedging them solidly in the mechanism.
Sanchez, who immediately passed his threshold of pain, collapsed and tumbled from his perch. Unfortunately for him, the height of the ball washer was more than a foot higher off the ground than his testicles are in a normal stance, and his balls were the weakest link.
Sanchez's balls ripped open during the fall, and one testicle was plucked from him forever and remained in the ball washer, while the other testicle was compressed and flattened as it was pulled between the housing of the washer, and the rotating machinery inside.
To add insult to injury, Sanchez broke a new $300.00 driver that he had just purchased from the pro shop, and was using to balance himself.
Sanchez was rushed to the hospital for surgery, and the remaining threesome was asked to leave the course.
Note: This last one wouldn't normally count, because the idiot didn't die. But because he cannot reproduce as a result of his qualifying act of stupidity, we have allowed it.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
January 20, 2005 - Thursday
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
Okay so I think I'm going to get an iPod Shuffle. I'm blaming Stephanie for this, and I'll continue to blame her throughout my congressional hearings. I'm a PC-man, not an Apple Person. Why am I buying an Apple product? Damn you woman. I'll get you for this; you, and your little iPod too!
I go on eBay, and I want to reach through the screen and smack people. They're paying $130-$160 for the 512mb shuffle. Which retails for $99.
I didn't even bother pricing the 1gig, which is the one I want - and can buy for $149. Freaks. Do you absolutely need to have it, now, that badly?
Anyway. I go to apple.com, and they've got it set to ship in "3-4 weeks". Hah. I think not. but they do have a link to the SoHo store here in NY. Okay good. The SoHo site has a list of all the stuff you can get from them. Wowzers. Joy. So I click on the Shuffle. Where does it take me?
Back to the original online store.
I hate Apple. I haven't liked Apple since they discontinued the Apple IIe, and came out with the first monochrome, boxy Macintosh. Yes, I'm that old; screw you.
Somewhat off-topic; is there a guy at Apple whose sole job is to yell "$29.99" when someone asks "how much should we sell this accessory for?" Every accessory is $29.99. I feel like I'm in some robotic universe with a mechanical, female voiceover directing me to what I should buy. I want to go to the Apple Store (and I say this in a trance-like, hypnotic caffine-induced state), but I'm afraid when I get there this robotic arm with a giant white eyeball on the end of it will unfold from the ceiling like some arctic arachnid and brain-scan me. A bar code will appear on my forehead, and every time I look at an Apple product $29.99 will be deducted from my bank account.
My god. I've been Apple-ized!
Help me Bill Gates. You're my only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE: it's post-midnight, and there is a 1G Shuffle about to sell for $200.48 (with 4 hours left) on eBay. It's $149.99 retail. I wasn't sure before, but now I'm absolutely certain - Apple People are crazy. You freaks.
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
Okay so I think I'm going to get an iPod Shuffle. I'm blaming Stephanie for this, and I'll continue to blame her throughout my congressional hearings. I'm a PC-man, not an Apple Person. Why am I buying an Apple product? Damn you woman. I'll get you for this; you, and your little iPod too!
I go on eBay, and I want to reach through the screen and smack people. They're paying $130-$160 for the 512mb shuffle. Which retails for $99.
I didn't even bother pricing the 1gig, which is the one I want - and can buy for $149. Freaks. Do you absolutely need to have it, now, that badly?
Anyway. I go to apple.com, and they've got it set to ship in "3-4 weeks". Hah. I think not. but they do have a link to the SoHo store here in NY. Okay good. The SoHo site has a list of all the stuff you can get from them. Wowzers. Joy. So I click on the Shuffle. Where does it take me?
Back to the original online store.
I hate Apple. I haven't liked Apple since they discontinued the Apple IIe, and came out with the first monochrome, boxy Macintosh. Yes, I'm that old; screw you.
Somewhat off-topic; is there a guy at Apple whose sole job is to yell "$29.99" when someone asks "how much should we sell this accessory for?" Every accessory is $29.99. I feel like I'm in some robotic universe with a mechanical, female voiceover directing me to what I should buy. I want to go to the Apple Store (and I say this in a trance-like, hypnotic caffine-induced state), but I'm afraid when I get there this robotic arm with a giant white eyeball on the end of it will unfold from the ceiling like some arctic arachnid and brain-scan me. A bar code will appear on my forehead, and every time I look at an Apple product $29.99 will be deducted from my bank account.
My god. I've been Apple-ized!
Help me Bill Gates. You're my only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE: it's post-midnight, and there is a 1G Shuffle about to sell for $200.48 (with 4 hours left) on eBay. It's $149.99 retail. I wasn't sure before, but now I'm absolutely certain - Apple People are crazy. You freaks.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Oneironaut
January 19, 2005 - Wednesday
Oneironaut
In the midst of a conversation with a co-worker last week, it came out that I am what they call a "lucid dreamer". In short, lucid dreaming is "consciously perceiving and recognizing that one is in a dream while one is sleeping, and having control over the "dreamscape", or the faux-reality dream world within a dream. Stephen LaBerge, a published author and expert on the subject, has defined it as simply realizing that one is dreaming while in a dream. Other authorities contend that in order for the state of a dreaming person to be lucid, that person must have control over his or her dreamscape (because simply having the mental idea "I am lucid" could be a creation of the subconscious itself and not a real "rational" thought)." (court. of Wikipedia.com)
Lucid dreamers are called - you guessed it - oneironauts. I may have to use that word in a story someday, just on general principle. But I digress.
As I understand it, this is a big deal to those who study the field of dreaming. Fascinating stuff, he said in a nasally British accent. People practice trying to enter a lucid dream state; it's incredibly hard to do on purpose, as I read more on it.
The kicker is this: I'm used to it. I never thought it was a big deal, at all. I've done it all my life, and to be honest I always thought this is how dreams were. Sure I have regular dreams, but as a child I had many, many recurring dreams, dreams that stuck with me in detail. I had one dream in particular that played out innumerable times; as a very young child I'd have the dream at least once a week, and I very strongly recall some elements of the dream even now. It took place in my childhood room in Detroit, and involved geometrical shapes as, well...spirits. Entities. I really don't know what else to call them. They were my dream versions of invisible friends, I guess. Two in particular I recall: a spiky one who, for some reason, hated me and was always trying to get me, and a sphere who was my friend and I'd named, appropriately enough, Casper. I had that dream, with lessening frequency, up until I was around 15 or 16 years old. By then, I hadn't had the dream for a couple of years so I was pleasantly surprised to have it again. It was like seeing an old friend for the very last time.
I've had night terrors, I've sleepwalked, I've been told I've carried on conversations in my sleep. And I could control my dreams at times. Easily so. I can recall another dream where I jumped through different sci-fi adventures in my dream, all of my own creation. There was, admittedly, a girl I had a crush on (who, ironically enough, I don't remember); in my dream she was the prototypical Damsel in Distress and I was the hero who had to save her. The monsters/aliens/demons/villains snatched her from a park and I got to run from horror movie to space battle to jungle cliff hanger (literally!) to save her from them.
I guess, in hindsight, I'd been a waking study (pun intended) in dream analysis. But to me it was par for the course. Not so much anymore, but for years I enjoyed my dreams as a form of entertainment.
Take last night. I had several dreams, one of which kept restarting. There was nothing overly fantastic about it, to me anyway, except that I was in my usual disenchanted state from the actual dream events. It was like the so-called out of body experience they say you have when you die; I was a metaphysical presence hovering in the corner of a room, watching events unfold - fully aware of what was happening, and frankly enjoying the show. William Shatner was playing "me", or what I understood to be my role. Which is a little freaky.
But then the dream changed, and got all nightmarish. I was in a bed, just rising from sleep; something woke me up. At first I thought I was in my own bed, but after actually waking up in the real world I realized it wasn't my bed. In the dream I was being tied down; two guys, black or hispanic in their late teens (their faces were shadowed, i couldn't see too much detail) were strapping me to my bed with bungee cords. They were wearing wool caps, I remember that much; one had a dark bubble coat on. I tried to scream, my throat closed up when I tried. One of them - or both, I'm not sure - looked at me, lunged at me with a knife...and I woke up. That was roughly 5am, give or take a few minutes.
So what do I make of it? Nothing, or at least I hope nothing. I've had dreams like that all my life, and to be honest I'm deathly afraid to read anything even remotely supernatural into it.
It was just a dream. Right?
Oneironaut
In the midst of a conversation with a co-worker last week, it came out that I am what they call a "lucid dreamer". In short, lucid dreaming is "consciously perceiving and recognizing that one is in a dream while one is sleeping, and having control over the "dreamscape", or the faux-reality dream world within a dream. Stephen LaBerge, a published author and expert on the subject, has defined it as simply realizing that one is dreaming while in a dream. Other authorities contend that in order for the state of a dreaming person to be lucid, that person must have control over his or her dreamscape (because simply having the mental idea "I am lucid" could be a creation of the subconscious itself and not a real "rational" thought)." (court. of Wikipedia.com)
Lucid dreamers are called - you guessed it - oneironauts. I may have to use that word in a story someday, just on general principle. But I digress.
As I understand it, this is a big deal to those who study the field of dreaming. Fascinating stuff, he said in a nasally British accent. People practice trying to enter a lucid dream state; it's incredibly hard to do on purpose, as I read more on it.
The kicker is this: I'm used to it. I never thought it was a big deal, at all. I've done it all my life, and to be honest I always thought this is how dreams were. Sure I have regular dreams, but as a child I had many, many recurring dreams, dreams that stuck with me in detail. I had one dream in particular that played out innumerable times; as a very young child I'd have the dream at least once a week, and I very strongly recall some elements of the dream even now. It took place in my childhood room in Detroit, and involved geometrical shapes as, well...spirits. Entities. I really don't know what else to call them. They were my dream versions of invisible friends, I guess. Two in particular I recall: a spiky one who, for some reason, hated me and was always trying to get me, and a sphere who was my friend and I'd named, appropriately enough, Casper. I had that dream, with lessening frequency, up until I was around 15 or 16 years old. By then, I hadn't had the dream for a couple of years so I was pleasantly surprised to have it again. It was like seeing an old friend for the very last time.
I've had night terrors, I've sleepwalked, I've been told I've carried on conversations in my sleep. And I could control my dreams at times. Easily so. I can recall another dream where I jumped through different sci-fi adventures in my dream, all of my own creation. There was, admittedly, a girl I had a crush on (who, ironically enough, I don't remember); in my dream she was the prototypical Damsel in Distress and I was the hero who had to save her. The monsters/aliens/demons/villains snatched her from a park and I got to run from horror movie to space battle to jungle cliff hanger (literally!) to save her from them.
I guess, in hindsight, I'd been a waking study (pun intended) in dream analysis. But to me it was par for the course. Not so much anymore, but for years I enjoyed my dreams as a form of entertainment.
Take last night. I had several dreams, one of which kept restarting. There was nothing overly fantastic about it, to me anyway, except that I was in my usual disenchanted state from the actual dream events. It was like the so-called out of body experience they say you have when you die; I was a metaphysical presence hovering in the corner of a room, watching events unfold - fully aware of what was happening, and frankly enjoying the show. William Shatner was playing "me", or what I understood to be my role. Which is a little freaky.
But then the dream changed, and got all nightmarish. I was in a bed, just rising from sleep; something woke me up. At first I thought I was in my own bed, but after actually waking up in the real world I realized it wasn't my bed. In the dream I was being tied down; two guys, black or hispanic in their late teens (their faces were shadowed, i couldn't see too much detail) were strapping me to my bed with bungee cords. They were wearing wool caps, I remember that much; one had a dark bubble coat on. I tried to scream, my throat closed up when I tried. One of them - or both, I'm not sure - looked at me, lunged at me with a knife...and I woke up. That was roughly 5am, give or take a few minutes.
So what do I make of it? Nothing, or at least I hope nothing. I've had dreams like that all my life, and to be honest I'm deathly afraid to read anything even remotely supernatural into it.
It was just a dream. Right?
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Ghost Orchids, Part II
January 18, 2005 - Tuesday
the Ghost Orchid (II)
So: when did I stop chasing windmills?
Forget the movie, the movie is just a metaphor right now. The original point of my post was that the ideas and thoughts presented in the movie were mirroring my own, about various aspects of my own life. So in that respect, I suppose, the message hasn't been lost.
But again I have to ask myself, when did I stop chasing windmills?
I loved being the man of La Mancha, and I was in so many respects. At my core, I believed - strongly - in passion. Not love, but passion - listening to my heart and letting it lead me, often blindly, never regretably. I chased rainbows, I fought dragons and giants and leviathans of the deep; I loved, I lost, I spoke true and stayed true to myself.
So where did that person go? It's still there, inside me, but I let society's whims and needs and requirements exorcise my demons. I became respectable - or tried to be, anyway.
And that's not who I am.
"...the only barometer you have is your heart; how, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."
It's funny, but I had a very similar thought earlier. That's the part of me I lost somewhere along the way, and I'm determined to find that person again.
"If the ghost orchid was really a phantom, it was still such a bewitching one that it could seduce people to persue it year after year, mile after miserable mile. If it was a real flower I wanted to see one. The reason was not that I loved orchids, I don't especially like orchids; what I wanted to see this thing that people were drawn to in such a singular and powerful way."
And there's it, right there. There was a time I knew what that thing was, without ever putting a name to it. Then I lost that innate knowledge; I turned to logic, to trying to understand what this thing was. I think I wanted to control it, to make it something I could manipulate and turn on, or off, as I pleased.
Understand: the movie hasn't given me any epiphany. It was a movie, for fuck's sake. What has me in this self-analytical bent is the combination of small events that inexplicably tie in, that seem to be telling me something pretty damned loud - if I would only take the time from my oh-so-busy day and listen.
I think...there was a moment in time when I faced down the windmill, and lost. Badly. It left its mark on me; it left, I think, fear. A sense of mortality. I didn't fear the windmill, the dragon, because it was a Dream. It was my ghost orchid - only, when I found it, it had thorns and pricked me.
So I gave up orchids. Fuck orchids.
But I think that mentality is wrong, at least it is for me.
There was a time when I did cave in to fear. Two moments, actually. Instead of climbing the windmill I passed it by, gave it a wide berth and ignored it. I had good reasons for doing it, and given the same circumstances I might - might - do it again.
Only...now one of those windmills has come back into view, and the circumstances have changed. Life is giving me a rarity - a second chance to make a choice, for better or worse. To take a chance, to risk it all.
To regain that passion that used to define me.
Of course, if I'm wrong, that windmill is going to toss me up several miles into the air and watch me come crashing back down to earth in an incredibly decorative splatter. Mind the kiddies folks, and wear your galoshes.
Still. I miss that constant thump-thump-thump that told me, every day of my life, how alive I was.
And what's a little blood and guts compared to that?
Enough rambling for tonight.
the Ghost Orchid (II)
So: when did I stop chasing windmills?
Forget the movie, the movie is just a metaphor right now. The original point of my post was that the ideas and thoughts presented in the movie were mirroring my own, about various aspects of my own life. So in that respect, I suppose, the message hasn't been lost.
But again I have to ask myself, when did I stop chasing windmills?
I loved being the man of La Mancha, and I was in so many respects. At my core, I believed - strongly - in passion. Not love, but passion - listening to my heart and letting it lead me, often blindly, never regretably. I chased rainbows, I fought dragons and giants and leviathans of the deep; I loved, I lost, I spoke true and stayed true to myself.
So where did that person go? It's still there, inside me, but I let society's whims and needs and requirements exorcise my demons. I became respectable - or tried to be, anyway.
And that's not who I am.
"...the only barometer you have is your heart; how, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."
It's funny, but I had a very similar thought earlier. That's the part of me I lost somewhere along the way, and I'm determined to find that person again.
"If the ghost orchid was really a phantom, it was still such a bewitching one that it could seduce people to persue it year after year, mile after miserable mile. If it was a real flower I wanted to see one. The reason was not that I loved orchids, I don't especially like orchids; what I wanted to see this thing that people were drawn to in such a singular and powerful way."
And there's it, right there. There was a time I knew what that thing was, without ever putting a name to it. Then I lost that innate knowledge; I turned to logic, to trying to understand what this thing was. I think I wanted to control it, to make it something I could manipulate and turn on, or off, as I pleased.
Understand: the movie hasn't given me any epiphany. It was a movie, for fuck's sake. What has me in this self-analytical bent is the combination of small events that inexplicably tie in, that seem to be telling me something pretty damned loud - if I would only take the time from my oh-so-busy day and listen.
I think...there was a moment in time when I faced down the windmill, and lost. Badly. It left its mark on me; it left, I think, fear. A sense of mortality. I didn't fear the windmill, the dragon, because it was a Dream. It was my ghost orchid - only, when I found it, it had thorns and pricked me.
So I gave up orchids. Fuck orchids.
But I think that mentality is wrong, at least it is for me.
There was a time when I did cave in to fear. Two moments, actually. Instead of climbing the windmill I passed it by, gave it a wide berth and ignored it. I had good reasons for doing it, and given the same circumstances I might - might - do it again.
Only...now one of those windmills has come back into view, and the circumstances have changed. Life is giving me a rarity - a second chance to make a choice, for better or worse. To take a chance, to risk it all.
To regain that passion that used to define me.
Of course, if I'm wrong, that windmill is going to toss me up several miles into the air and watch me come crashing back down to earth in an incredibly decorative splatter. Mind the kiddies folks, and wear your galoshes.
Still. I miss that constant thump-thump-thump that told me, every day of my life, how alive I was.
And what's a little blood and guts compared to that?
Enough rambling for tonight.
Ghost Orchid, Part I
the Ghost Orchid (I)
"There are no coincidences."
I'm iffy on the concept. Sometimes I believe, other times - well, most times - I think it's just a bunch of bull.
This isn't one of those times.
I've had the movie "Adaptation" on my tv stand for about 3 weeks now, just waiting to be watched. It's a Netflix rental, so I'm not in any hurry to get it back...but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to watch it. There's no rhyme or reason for it, I just...didn't want to see it.
So. This afternoon I get into a conversation at work about writing styles, and repeated a forum discussion about listing the various personality traits you can use to define a character in a story. One person in particular is very adamant about needing to start with this outline, this concept, this...code which defines a character, in order to understand what you're writing.
I, of course, disagree. I'm very free-form, flowing, emotive; I need to feel the character, get inside his or her head, almost become the character. I'm an actor in my mind, not on the stage; I need to feel the actions, to visualize them in my subconscious in order to portray them on paper to my own satisfaction.
But I digress; there is a point to this.
I'd also held off on reading a few magazines I have on subscription. To be specific, I decided to choose this month's issue of Discover Magazine for my subway read. This month's subject: Testing Darwin, and proving that evolution works.
Seeing a trend? Bear with me.
So here I am on the train, reading this article which provides, by way of an example, a sampling of several orchids - stunning flowers, each and every one - as a means of discussing Darwin's theories.
Then my discussion at work.
Now I'm at home, relaxed, and decide for no particular reason that I should watch "Adaptation". And I do.
If you've seen the movie, you might see the correlation. The movie is about a writer having problems adapting a screenplay of a book, The Orchid Thief. The book itself is about a man and his quest for the Ghost Orchid, a mystery flower that may or may not exist. A legend. It's Don Quixote, chasing windmills.
Anyway. Throughout this movie we have discussions on the "art" of writing, of the contrast in different methodologies involved in writing; we have Charlie, our "hero", with a more dedicated "true to form" style and his twin brother, the "hack", who learns his craft through a screenplay writing seminar, a Writing for Dummies course that, in contrast to the struggles of our hero, has him on the fast track to success.
And, of course, we have orchids. Lots of orchids, and a discussion of Darwin's theories.
More later. I want to think on this a bit. And finish the movie.
"There are no coincidences."
I'm iffy on the concept. Sometimes I believe, other times - well, most times - I think it's just a bunch of bull.
This isn't one of those times.
I've had the movie "Adaptation" on my tv stand for about 3 weeks now, just waiting to be watched. It's a Netflix rental, so I'm not in any hurry to get it back...but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to watch it. There's no rhyme or reason for it, I just...didn't want to see it.
So. This afternoon I get into a conversation at work about writing styles, and repeated a forum discussion about listing the various personality traits you can use to define a character in a story. One person in particular is very adamant about needing to start with this outline, this concept, this...code which defines a character, in order to understand what you're writing.
I, of course, disagree. I'm very free-form, flowing, emotive; I need to feel the character, get inside his or her head, almost become the character. I'm an actor in my mind, not on the stage; I need to feel the actions, to visualize them in my subconscious in order to portray them on paper to my own satisfaction.
But I digress; there is a point to this.
I'd also held off on reading a few magazines I have on subscription. To be specific, I decided to choose this month's issue of Discover Magazine for my subway read. This month's subject: Testing Darwin, and proving that evolution works.
Seeing a trend? Bear with me.
So here I am on the train, reading this article which provides, by way of an example, a sampling of several orchids - stunning flowers, each and every one - as a means of discussing Darwin's theories.
Then my discussion at work.
Now I'm at home, relaxed, and decide for no particular reason that I should watch "Adaptation". And I do.
If you've seen the movie, you might see the correlation. The movie is about a writer having problems adapting a screenplay of a book, The Orchid Thief. The book itself is about a man and his quest for the Ghost Orchid, a mystery flower that may or may not exist. A legend. It's Don Quixote, chasing windmills.
Anyway. Throughout this movie we have discussions on the "art" of writing, of the contrast in different methodologies involved in writing; we have Charlie, our "hero", with a more dedicated "true to form" style and his twin brother, the "hack", who learns his craft through a screenplay writing seminar, a Writing for Dummies course that, in contrast to the struggles of our hero, has him on the fast track to success.
And, of course, we have orchids. Lots of orchids, and a discussion of Darwin's theories.
More later. I want to think on this a bit. And finish the movie.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Bless You, Dammit
December 28, 2004 - Tuesday
Sneezes
Why do we say "Bless you", or "God bless", when someone sneezes?
Don't get me wrong - I know the answer. I just wonder if you do.
I asked this to a few co-workers, out of curiosity. Because I like messing with people's heads, and co-workers are soooo convenient. The general consensus I got back was "it's polite". Or "why do you always ask this weird shit? Leave me alone!"
Well. If it's polite...then why don't we say it when people cough? Or burp? Or fart? "Brrrrrpppp!" "God bless you!"
We don't, do we? No. We expect the person to say "excuse me".
So why don't we expect the same with sneezes? Why is a sneeze different from any other bodily expulsion of air?
One word: superstition. Of course. We're creatures of habit, and refuse to change. Even when it's something so basic and simple as how to respond to a sneeze. The original, full phrase (or so rumored) was "God bless you, and may the Devil miss you!" Why? There are a bunch of different suspicions on how it originated:
- At one time people believed a man's soul could be inadvertently thrust from his body by an explosive sneeze, thus "Bless you!" was a protective oath uttered to safeguard the temporarily expelled and vulnerable soul from being snatched up by Satan (who was always lurking nearby). The purpose of the oath was to cast a temporary shield over the flung-out soul which would protect it just long enough to regain the protection of the corporeal body.
- Conversely, the sneeze itself was the expulsion of a demon or evil spirit which had taken up residence in a person. Therefore, although the "Bless you!" was again a protective charm meant to protect the sneezer from evil, in this version it was meant to ward off the re-entry of an evil spirit which a tormented soul had just rid itself of.
- The heart was believed to momentarily stop during a sneeze (it doesn't), thus the "Bless you!" was uttered either as a supplication for life to return or as a congratulation upon its successful restart.
- Others claim an association of the practice with particular dire diseases (most often the bubonic plague, or "Black Death," as it is sometimes known). They say an infected person's sneeze was sure sign he'd soon be pushing up daisies, thus the "Bless you!" was intended as a benediction to the nearly-departed, a way of commending his soul to the care of God now that he was beyond the help of anything in the mortal world.
There are more superstitions related to sneezing. Here's a little poem that was written, outlining the positive aspects of a sneeze:
Sneeze on Monday for health,
Sneeze on Tuesday for wealth,
Sneeze on Wednesday for a letter,
Sneeze on Thursday for something better,
Sneeze on Friday for sorrow,
Sneeze on Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow,
Sneeze on Sunday, safety seek.
So keep on blessing, you superstitious lot you. And may the devil miss you.
Sneezes
Why do we say "Bless you", or "God bless", when someone sneezes?
Don't get me wrong - I know the answer. I just wonder if you do.
I asked this to a few co-workers, out of curiosity. Because I like messing with people's heads, and co-workers are soooo convenient. The general consensus I got back was "it's polite". Or "why do you always ask this weird shit? Leave me alone!"
Well. If it's polite...then why don't we say it when people cough? Or burp? Or fart? "Brrrrrpppp!" "God bless you!"
We don't, do we? No. We expect the person to say "excuse me".
So why don't we expect the same with sneezes? Why is a sneeze different from any other bodily expulsion of air?
One word: superstition. Of course. We're creatures of habit, and refuse to change. Even when it's something so basic and simple as how to respond to a sneeze. The original, full phrase (or so rumored) was "God bless you, and may the Devil miss you!" Why? There are a bunch of different suspicions on how it originated:
- At one time people believed a man's soul could be inadvertently thrust from his body by an explosive sneeze, thus "Bless you!" was a protective oath uttered to safeguard the temporarily expelled and vulnerable soul from being snatched up by Satan (who was always lurking nearby). The purpose of the oath was to cast a temporary shield over the flung-out soul which would protect it just long enough to regain the protection of the corporeal body.
- Conversely, the sneeze itself was the expulsion of a demon or evil spirit which had taken up residence in a person. Therefore, although the "Bless you!" was again a protective charm meant to protect the sneezer from evil, in this version it was meant to ward off the re-entry of an evil spirit which a tormented soul had just rid itself of.
- The heart was believed to momentarily stop during a sneeze (it doesn't), thus the "Bless you!" was uttered either as a supplication for life to return or as a congratulation upon its successful restart.
- Others claim an association of the practice with particular dire diseases (most often the bubonic plague, or "Black Death," as it is sometimes known). They say an infected person's sneeze was sure sign he'd soon be pushing up daisies, thus the "Bless you!" was intended as a benediction to the nearly-departed, a way of commending his soul to the care of God now that he was beyond the help of anything in the mortal world.
There are more superstitions related to sneezing. Here's a little poem that was written, outlining the positive aspects of a sneeze:
Sneeze on Tuesday for wealth,
Sneeze on Wednesday for a letter,
Sneeze on Thursday for something better,
Sneeze on Friday for sorrow,
Sneeze on Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow,
Sneeze on Sunday, safety seek.
So keep on blessing, you superstitious lot you. And may the devil miss you.
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