That the central theme of Big O's inaugural was growing up and taking responsibility, setting aside childish things, and what fills the TPM comments? Fighting over whether or not the speech contained true "bumper sticker" phrases like JFK's that people will remember.
Big O forgot one thing when calling upon the nation to grow up: THE INTERNET.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Across the Street from the Elevated Tracks
At my new home, it is snowing lightly but constantly—warm enough to pack together but not so warm as to prevent accumulation. There is a street lamp outside my third-story window, emitting just enough to showcase the passing flakes that invisible above the light and pass into the night shortly thereafter.
The train is going by as I write this. Quietly, about to stop, and thankfully without squeaky breaks.
I have yammered on in the past about my idea of seasons—one ought to find just enough to both love and loathe about all four so that you welcome their coming and can deal sanely with their passing. Winter, naturally, most often needs a reinforcement of positives, and I thought of one the other day:
Winter is the only season when you don't mind the fact that time seems to speed up as you get older. Let time accelerate. Whatever it takes to get through the dirty, leftover snow, past Valentine's Day and into an April of longer and warmer days.
The train is going by as I write this. Quietly, about to stop, and thankfully without squeaky breaks.
I have yammered on in the past about my idea of seasons—one ought to find just enough to both love and loathe about all four so that you welcome their coming and can deal sanely with their passing. Winter, naturally, most often needs a reinforcement of positives, and I thought of one the other day:
Winter is the only season when you don't mind the fact that time seems to speed up as you get older. Let time accelerate. Whatever it takes to get through the dirty, leftover snow, past Valentine's Day and into an April of longer and warmer days.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Ricardo Montalban, and a couple other thoughts
I had forgotten until today, when I saw a 9-minute snippet of Star Trek II in memoriam of Ricardo Montalban's death, what a good film that is (unlike most in the Star Trek series.) The Trek movies became the classic example of something too familiar to criticize; I saw them so many times with my father that I could never critique them as films. But II is good, maybe even quite good, on the strength of Montalban.
Heroes are so boring. For the first time in a decade, I watched Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves this week. Again, oddly familiar from so long ago. And Kevin Costner plays the part ably, but he's so... bland. Morgan Freeman is decent. The only exceptional part is Alan Rickman, playing the hell out of the Sheriff of Nottingham. When you're 14 you follow the heroes, and a decade later you realize that the villains are so much more fun.
Say what you want about Shatner: at least he knew how to play a hero with some pizzazz.
Before I leave films, one last thing about Benjamin Button -- whomever made the decision to leave in the story-within-a-story construction was wrong. It drags out the film, and all you really get out of it is the scene where the daughter realized Benjamin is her true father, which isn't terribly dramatic anyway. And enough has been said about the weirdness of the Hurricane Katrina subplot. You want to see the right way to do the story within a story? The Princess Bride. I don't know how much total screen time Peter Falk gets with Fred Savage—it can't be much. But he carries those scenes; they matter.
Something else that's awesome—giant telescopes. Writing them for PM this week.
Heroes are so boring. For the first time in a decade, I watched Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves this week. Again, oddly familiar from so long ago. And Kevin Costner plays the part ably, but he's so... bland. Morgan Freeman is decent. The only exceptional part is Alan Rickman, playing the hell out of the Sheriff of Nottingham. When you're 14 you follow the heroes, and a decade later you realize that the villains are so much more fun.
Say what you want about Shatner: at least he knew how to play a hero with some pizzazz.
Before I leave films, one last thing about Benjamin Button -- whomever made the decision to leave in the story-within-a-story construction was wrong. It drags out the film, and all you really get out of it is the scene where the daughter realized Benjamin is her true father, which isn't terribly dramatic anyway. And enough has been said about the weirdness of the Hurricane Katrina subplot. You want to see the right way to do the story within a story? The Princess Bride. I don't know how much total screen time Peter Falk gets with Fred Savage—it can't be much. But he carries those scenes; they matter.
Something else that's awesome—giant telescopes. Writing them for PM this week.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Blogofail
Given the flurry of unfortunate events recently chronicled, the idea has struck me to create a blog dedicated entirely to failure. The Failure Blog, or The Fail Blog, seeing how "fail" seems to have usurped it predecessor as the Web noun form. These exist already, but it really brings it home when you use all your own personal failures. I've always thought that life is all the more bearable when you realize from a distance how ridiculous it is.
Saturday:
My two roommates and I make arrangement to meet three old friends at a showing of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Rob asks me if, on my way home from Target, I could purchase tickets for the 7 showing at the Court St theater. Certainly, I say, and pick up 3 for Button at Cobble Hill Theater, a wonderful relic of a small cinemahouse in our general neighborhood.
However, as Brooklyn residents are certainly aware, there is another theater on Court St--the United Artists giant giga-plex-o-plaza sits not more than few block north on Court, up into Downtown Brooklyn. Our friends meant that theater. So we all saw the same movie at roughly the same time, 0.4 miles away. FAIL.
Later, though, they met us at a BYOB Thai restaurant down Smith. Brown curry + vegetarian duck + BYOB = WIN.
Sunday:
For reasons I have yet to understand, Borough Hall stop of the F train doesn't connect underground to the Borough Hall stop for the 2/3/4/5. So you walk 2 blocks above ground. In any case, I figured out that transfer easily enough. Win.
I take the 3 to Grand Army Plaza to visit Brooklyn Public Library, which I believe to be open from 1 to 6. In fact, it is closed, rendering my trip across Brooklyn rather pointless. FAIL.
Saturday:
My two roommates and I make arrangement to meet three old friends at a showing of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Rob asks me if, on my way home from Target, I could purchase tickets for the 7 showing at the Court St theater. Certainly, I say, and pick up 3 for Button at Cobble Hill Theater, a wonderful relic of a small cinemahouse in our general neighborhood.
However, as Brooklyn residents are certainly aware, there is another theater on Court St--the United Artists giant giga-plex-o-plaza sits not more than few block north on Court, up into Downtown Brooklyn. Our friends meant that theater. So we all saw the same movie at roughly the same time, 0.4 miles away. FAIL.
Later, though, they met us at a BYOB Thai restaurant down Smith. Brown curry + vegetarian duck + BYOB = WIN.
Sunday:
For reasons I have yet to understand, Borough Hall stop of the F train doesn't connect underground to the Borough Hall stop for the 2/3/4/5. So you walk 2 blocks above ground. In any case, I figured out that transfer easily enough. Win.
I take the 3 to Grand Army Plaza to visit Brooklyn Public Library, which I believe to be open from 1 to 6. In fact, it is closed, rendering my trip across Brooklyn rather pointless. FAIL.
Back Home Again
I suppose that if misfortune is going to strike you early and often, the least it could do is stick to a schedule.
October. October was all right. In October the worries lingered across the month, like you were paying them on credit. I had to find a new room to rent, but if I didn’t find it all in one day, the next day came with more of the same. I had no money and waited for checks to arrive in the mail, but again, long. Once a day to check the mail, the rest to think about something else.
Since then, however, calamity came like a few jolts of current or a pokes of a stick.
November 4: Election Night. Too much to drink. Too bad of a neighborhood. Too easy of a target.
Mid-December: Up the scary stairs, apartment door smashed gaping open. Inside the pickaxe leans casually, seemingly unashamed to be an accessory to robbery. My laptop is gone, and nothing else. It is time to move.
Jan. 5: The day after moving day. Rob and I spend the entire night of the 4th moving all our things into the new apartment, back near my old neighborhood but a nicer flat. It’s dusty and slightly unfinished, but we can handle that. Then Monday comes, and after 4 hours’ sleep on the floor I head off to work. I am freelance now, just writing, and could do a lot of work from home once the wireless is ready. Well, the landlord neglected to set up the new building with the phone company, so we’re stuck. Stuck without Internet at home.
Let me tell you this: if you’re a professional and you don’t have Internet at home, you’re nothing. Two years ago I had no laptop, no money, and I didn’t care in the slightest because I built houses all day and drank beer all night. But in New York, having to steal Web time at work or going to a friend’s--I might as well be wearing sackcloth. I am a digital bum.
At the very least, finding out that we can’t get Internet hooked up for a month answers one burning question: What was going to be January’s disaster. Now we know.
If anyone wants to enter the pool for February, it’s open.
October. October was all right. In October the worries lingered across the month, like you were paying them on credit. I had to find a new room to rent, but if I didn’t find it all in one day, the next day came with more of the same. I had no money and waited for checks to arrive in the mail, but again, long. Once a day to check the mail, the rest to think about something else.
Since then, however, calamity came like a few jolts of current or a pokes of a stick.
November 4: Election Night. Too much to drink. Too bad of a neighborhood. Too easy of a target.
Mid-December: Up the scary stairs, apartment door smashed gaping open. Inside the pickaxe leans casually, seemingly unashamed to be an accessory to robbery. My laptop is gone, and nothing else. It is time to move.
Jan. 5: The day after moving day. Rob and I spend the entire night of the 4th moving all our things into the new apartment, back near my old neighborhood but a nicer flat. It’s dusty and slightly unfinished, but we can handle that. Then Monday comes, and after 4 hours’ sleep on the floor I head off to work. I am freelance now, just writing, and could do a lot of work from home once the wireless is ready. Well, the landlord neglected to set up the new building with the phone company, so we’re stuck. Stuck without Internet at home.
Let me tell you this: if you’re a professional and you don’t have Internet at home, you’re nothing. Two years ago I had no laptop, no money, and I didn’t care in the slightest because I built houses all day and drank beer all night. But in New York, having to steal Web time at work or going to a friend’s--I might as well be wearing sackcloth. I am a digital bum.
At the very least, finding out that we can’t get Internet hooked up for a month answers one burning question: What was going to be January’s disaster. Now we know.
If anyone wants to enter the pool for February, it’s open.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Finally
New apartment found. Now only the hurdles of hooking up every single utility, moving in a rush, finding a subletter for this room by month's end and getting back to work remain. Np, right?
Updates TK. In any case, it's nice that this is happening now - I can actually take all that ethereal wishing for this year to be better than the last and push it into something real.
So I got that going for me, which is nice.
Updates TK. In any case, it's nice that this is happening now - I can actually take all that ethereal wishing for this year to be better than the last and push it into something real.
So I got that going for me, which is nice.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Hyperbole Dept., 12/27
Florida State has a football player who's a Rhodes Scholar. I think that's great. But you knew ESPN couldn't resist cornballing it as far as possible. In his typical weepy prestige style, Jeremy Schaap actually says--actually says--that if you rolled Deion Sanders, Mother Teresa and Einstein into one person, you might get this kid.
Hyperbole anyone?
Hyperbole anyone?
Friday, December 26, 2008
Away Too Long, Reading on War
And for that I apologize. I've been through two serious disasters since the beginning of November, including losing computer, and more than my share of bite-sized inconveniences. These will be rectified and recorded for your entertainment in due course. In the meantime, I'm back online. I spent my Christmas Day uploading all my old music to my new computer, drinking hefeweizen and watching a Sci-Fi Channel marathon of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Really, one could do worse.
Something that happened in the interim between my last post in November and now: For some reason, unbeknownst to myself or anyone else, I decided to read a 500-page book about the Civil War--Stephen Sears' Gettysburg. It was one of those books that was fascinating for the first third, boring for the second third as you wait for the good part, and trying at the end because you just want to finish it.
Reading about war in detail is eye-opening because most of us only get the Cliff's Notes version of war. We learned when the war happened, that Gettysburg was a deciding point, that someone named Pickett made a charge and another gentleman in a top hat commemorated the whole affair with a lovely speech. But reading about battles in 500-page detail takes you into the arena of people who read magazines about a war that happened 150 years ago, or dress up in blue or grey to stage it once again.
A few thoughts:
1. I read the bit about how Lee sent out his cavalry on an ill-advised mission to circle the Union army, only to lose them during the lead-up to Gettysburg and thus be deprived of his intelligence wing and left in the dark as to the state of his opponent. Then I rode the subway to work, and one of the ads in which they print literary quotes had one about how America was discovered by people trying desperately to get around it, and named for someone who played no part in its discovery. The passage then concludes, "History is like that, very chancy." Very chancy indeed. That is one of my new favorite quotes.
2. Thanks to the cavalry debacle, the pivotal battle in the pivotal war in our nation's history was won largely because Robert E Lee couldn't figure out just how many Union soldiers were over the next ridge--only a few, or the entire goddamned army. One of my favorite things about reading history is when people were confounded by problems that modern technology could solve in seconds.
3. History is a narrative, and so battle stories like to focus on individuals--even simplistic high school history classes inform their students on the leadership advantage that Robert E Lee and his lieutenants enjoyed over the revolving door generalship of the Union forces. But while Lee certainly made the lion's share of blunders, the entire reading of Gettysburg was, for me, a reiteration of the fact that logistics win wars much moreso than tactics. Really, the South would've had to fight a near-perfect war to prevail, just like the Japanese would've had to fight a near-perfect war to win in WWII. I learned during a story for PM that the Japanese hand-made many of the parts of their Zero fighter planes. That's not how you get it done.
Resources matter, which is yet another reason to be terrified of the future.
4. Reading the bloodbath page after page, it's even more staggering than the total figures they give you in history class--more the 600,000 for both sides, including disease and all that. But that's just a big number, and big number without context don't really mean anything. You can tell people that more Americans died in the Civil War than in any other conflict and people start to get it. You could tell them that the death toll was more than 10 times as much as Vietnam and it gets even clearer. But you really feel it when you read battle details, and a regiment loses 40 percent of its strength during one brutal assault. Thank you, artillery.
5. Color Guards--Has there ever been anything more futile? At Gettysburg, the slaughter is disgusting. Man after man would be pick up the flag, wave it around to say, "go ahead you Yankee bastards, fucking shoot me," and then get shot. Just like the overall deaths, it hits you much more heavily just how stupid color guards are when you read time after time after time of them getting mowed down like chaff.
Really, one could do worse.
Something that happened in the interim between my last post in November and now: For some reason, unbeknownst to myself or anyone else, I decided to read a 500-page book about the Civil War--Stephen Sears' Gettysburg. It was one of those books that was fascinating for the first third, boring for the second third as you wait for the good part, and trying at the end because you just want to finish it.
Reading about war in detail is eye-opening because most of us only get the Cliff's Notes version of war. We learned when the war happened, that Gettysburg was a deciding point, that someone named Pickett made a charge and another gentleman in a top hat commemorated the whole affair with a lovely speech. But reading about battles in 500-page detail takes you into the arena of people who read magazines about a war that happened 150 years ago, or dress up in blue or grey to stage it once again.
A few thoughts:
1. I read the bit about how Lee sent out his cavalry on an ill-advised mission to circle the Union army, only to lose them during the lead-up to Gettysburg and thus be deprived of his intelligence wing and left in the dark as to the state of his opponent. Then I rode the subway to work, and one of the ads in which they print literary quotes had one about how America was discovered by people trying desperately to get around it, and named for someone who played no part in its discovery. The passage then concludes, "History is like that, very chancy." Very chancy indeed. That is one of my new favorite quotes.
2. Thanks to the cavalry debacle, the pivotal battle in the pivotal war in our nation's history was won largely because Robert E Lee couldn't figure out just how many Union soldiers were over the next ridge--only a few, or the entire goddamned army. One of my favorite things about reading history is when people were confounded by problems that modern technology could solve in seconds.
3. History is a narrative, and so battle stories like to focus on individuals--even simplistic high school history classes inform their students on the leadership advantage that Robert E Lee and his lieutenants enjoyed over the revolving door generalship of the Union forces. But while Lee certainly made the lion's share of blunders, the entire reading of Gettysburg was, for me, a reiteration of the fact that logistics win wars much moreso than tactics. Really, the South would've had to fight a near-perfect war to prevail, just like the Japanese would've had to fight a near-perfect war to win in WWII. I learned during a story for PM that the Japanese hand-made many of the parts of their Zero fighter planes. That's not how you get it done.
Resources matter, which is yet another reason to be terrified of the future.
4. Reading the bloodbath page after page, it's even more staggering than the total figures they give you in history class--more the 600,000 for both sides, including disease and all that. But that's just a big number, and big number without context don't really mean anything. You can tell people that more Americans died in the Civil War than in any other conflict and people start to get it. You could tell them that the death toll was more than 10 times as much as Vietnam and it gets even clearer. But you really feel it when you read battle details, and a regiment loses 40 percent of its strength during one brutal assault. Thank you, artillery.
5. Color Guards--Has there ever been anything more futile? At Gettysburg, the slaughter is disgusting. Man after man would be pick up the flag, wave it around to say, "go ahead you Yankee bastards, fucking shoot me," and then get shot. Just like the overall deaths, it hits you much more heavily just how stupid color guards are when you read time after time after time of them getting mowed down like chaff.
Monday, November 17, 2008
This Is How It Starts
It was a disappointing weekend. I came off a triumph at the end of the week of knocking a story assignment out of the park and impressing one of the PM editors, and felt like a little celebrating. However, I still don't know that many people in the City, and those that I do know didn't seem to be around or going out. So I spent a lot of time by myself, wishing I were out galavanting, which is a terrible feeling. Yesterday I was being nagged to clean up more around the apartment, and I suddenly had an interesting realization: I would rather be at work. It was Sunday evening, and I couldn't wait for it to be Monday.
There are those people who are workaholics because they're compulsively trying to get ahead, and I have something in common with those people. There are those who are are work all the time, and think about work all the time, because they can't possibly get everything done in regular hours, but this doesn't really describe my situation.
Rather, I like being at work because I'm good at it. Compare that to my current personal life, where I'm trying to meet more people but still have a very small friend/acquaintance base my age, and I'm a total success. At work I can phone up anybody and tell them I'm from PM and have a nice chat; off work I'm just somebody who drinks more than he should and wishes he had more people to go out with. I have to be honest with you here--I'm not that put off by the idea of becoming a workaholic, and longs as it leads somewhere. But I acknowledge on the surface that the idea is somewhat troubling, like my roommates are training for someday having a nagging wife that I don't want to go home to.
I kid, of course. They're good kids. And it feels to leave every night.
There are those people who are workaholics because they're compulsively trying to get ahead, and I have something in common with those people. There are those who are are work all the time, and think about work all the time, because they can't possibly get everything done in regular hours, but this doesn't really describe my situation.
Rather, I like being at work because I'm good at it. Compare that to my current personal life, where I'm trying to meet more people but still have a very small friend/acquaintance base my age, and I'm a total success. At work I can phone up anybody and tell them I'm from PM and have a nice chat; off work I'm just somebody who drinks more than he should and wishes he had more people to go out with. I have to be honest with you here--I'm not that put off by the idea of becoming a workaholic, and longs as it leads somewhere. But I acknowledge on the surface that the idea is somewhat troubling, like my roommates are training for someday having a nagging wife that I don't want to go home to.
I kid, of course. They're good kids. And it feels to leave every night.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Today on the Subway, Saturday Night
The college football selection was a little weak, and so is sitting around watching college football, so I instead viewed a cable showing of "American Beauty" this afternoon. I had forgotten about the dynamic between Angela, the beautiful but empty blonde, and Jane, the brunette who's too bright to hang out with her but gets stuck with her anyway because of high school girl power dynamics.
When I was riding the N home over the Manhattan Bridge tonight, there were two girls sitting on the opposite bench, probably around 10 years old, I guess. I realized when I was trying to figure this out that when you don't spend any time around children, you can't really tell from sight how old they are. I also realized that I wish provocatively-dressed underage girls would disappear, because even if you look at them for a second out of the corner of your eye, you feel dirty like Lester Burnham.
Both carried bags from the M & Ms novelty store in Times Square, but one was a blond pageant girl waiting to be, and the other was brunette, pudgier, nerdy glasses. As the train rolled on, the blond girl would get up every few minutes to check her perfectly straight hair in her reflection in the window. Time after time, idolizing herself, her mother with the same perfectly straight hair sitting and encouraging. I watched the brunette girl, all caught up in the other prepubescent girl's gross glamour, and I wondered how long it would take her to get bored with her friend.
When I was riding the N home over the Manhattan Bridge tonight, there were two girls sitting on the opposite bench, probably around 10 years old, I guess. I realized when I was trying to figure this out that when you don't spend any time around children, you can't really tell from sight how old they are. I also realized that I wish provocatively-dressed underage girls would disappear, because even if you look at them for a second out of the corner of your eye, you feel dirty like Lester Burnham.
Both carried bags from the M & Ms novelty store in Times Square, but one was a blond pageant girl waiting to be, and the other was brunette, pudgier, nerdy glasses. As the train rolled on, the blond girl would get up every few minutes to check her perfectly straight hair in her reflection in the window. Time after time, idolizing herself, her mother with the same perfectly straight hair sitting and encouraging. I watched the brunette girl, all caught up in the other prepubescent girl's gross glamour, and I wondered how long it would take her to get bored with her friend.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Today on the Subway, Thursday edition
Riding the A home this evening, I noted out of the corner of my eye that the black sticker on the doors, which warns you not to lean on the doors, didn't look right. Upon closer inspection, someone had covered all the words except "do" with a sticker that said, "teach the children." So the whole thing reads, "Do teach the children." It was a guerilla for some Brooklyn organization.
Then I noticed that Colin Quinn was in my subway car. He was the second past-his-prime actor I've ridden with on the subway -- the other day it was the guy who played Cypher in The Matrix. Oh 1998 -- I bet both of those guys wish you were still the current year. Colin just looked a little haggard, like a regular guy. About what you'd expect.
Then I noticed that Colin Quinn was in my subway car. He was the second past-his-prime actor I've ridden with on the subway -- the other day it was the guy who played Cypher in The Matrix. Oh 1998 -- I bet both of those guys wish you were still the current year. Colin just looked a little haggard, like a regular guy. About what you'd expect.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Today on the subway
Most of the way through Brooklyn on the A, there was an Afro-Carribean woman singing hymns. I tried to turn up my iPod as loud as possible, but to no avail, really -- she was quite loud, and my headphones are not. So over my Radiohead I could hear this woman, and then recognize the song from many years ago when I used to go to church -- "How Great Thou Art." I'm not a religious man, but I have to tell you, she was giving it all she had. It annoyed me at the time, but I came to admire her, at least a little, when I realized she was singing every verse and every chorus. And at the finale, when she reached the crescendo, her voice broke badly the way old women's voices do, but she hit the final note. Then, at the next stop, when nobody would yell out "praise the lord" with her, she insulted us and left.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Marathon Man
Brazil. France. South Africa. Denmark. Sweden Norway. Canada. Mexico. Japan. Germany. Poland. U.S.A. There may have been more, but I recall seeing at least these countries while cheering on the runners today.
It was marathon day today. I haven't checked to see who actually won the thing, because I don't really care. Marathon day is fantastic simply for giving you the excuse to root for people just trying to accomplish something. Children's sports are often tainted by the lameness of rewarding "participation," but the great thing about marathon day is that the sentiment arises naturally -- you really want everyone to finish the thing, and when they do, everyone's awash in good feelings. I went to marathon day in Boston in the spring, and the warmth of pulling for accomplishment that you know somebody else desperately wants just carries you for hours afterward. Call it second-degree runner's high.
Plus, it keeps you from thinking that election day is in two day. God, let it be over soon.
It was marathon day today. I haven't checked to see who actually won the thing, because I don't really care. Marathon day is fantastic simply for giving you the excuse to root for people just trying to accomplish something. Children's sports are often tainted by the lameness of rewarding "participation," but the great thing about marathon day is that the sentiment arises naturally -- you really want everyone to finish the thing, and when they do, everyone's awash in good feelings. I went to marathon day in Boston in the spring, and the warmth of pulling for accomplishment that you know somebody else desperately wants just carries you for hours afterward. Call it second-degree runner's high.
Plus, it keeps you from thinking that election day is in two day. God, let it be over soon.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Slow Month that October.
And unbelievable that it's already over. I moved, and pictures will come. Perhaps tomorrow, when the construction crew resumes their banging and shouting. Our apartment building is being refurbished, but only our place is currently occupied. Thankfully the landlord is a devoted Jew, and we have our Saturdays in peace. Amen.
My room, to be frank, is beautiful. I have an exposed brick wall on one side, high ceilings and lovely doors on either side. Arrangements are yet unfinished -- I bit the bullet and dropped a wad of money on a new IKEA bed and desk, but there's still the matter of my clothes and books sitting in piles on the floor, calling out for a dresser and shelf. One thing at a time, that seems to the way of it. Thursday they brought our countertop, and yesterday our sink. One day, not so long from now, we'll actually have neighbors, and not just the lonely but cheerful Mexican man who's paid to watch the door, since the door doesn't really work yet. I suppose that means that I live in a New York building with a doorman. What do you think about that?
My room, to be frank, is beautiful. I have an exposed brick wall on one side, high ceilings and lovely doors on either side. Arrangements are yet unfinished -- I bit the bullet and dropped a wad of money on a new IKEA bed and desk, but there's still the matter of my clothes and books sitting in piles on the floor, calling out for a dresser and shelf. One thing at a time, that seems to the way of it. Thursday they brought our countertop, and yesterday our sink. One day, not so long from now, we'll actually have neighbors, and not just the lonely but cheerful Mexican man who's paid to watch the door, since the door doesn't really work yet. I suppose that means that I live in a New York building with a doorman. What do you think about that?
Sunday, October 12, 2008
iPod Playlists, Right and Wrong
Sometimes the musical gods get it right, and other times, well...
Some weeks ago I was taking a night stroll through Times Square. Times Square is gaudy and touristy and unbearable during the day, but at night, it's still amazing. I have no interest in going to Vegas but Times Square at night makes me understand why people get sucked in there. As I walked up Broadway that particular night, just as I was under all the electric dizziness of the billboards, my iPod reached the crescendo of Tears for Fears' "Head Over Heels." If you've ever watched Donnie Darko, it should come as now surprise that this nearly forgotten bit of 80s culture can be strangely affecting, and this was exactly the right circumstance.
Fast forward to last Thursday. I'm riding home on the Q, and as I stare out the train window at the Financial District, the choir singing the fourth movement of Beethoven's 9th in my early reached the high point of "Ode to Joy."
Cruel world.
Some weeks ago I was taking a night stroll through Times Square. Times Square is gaudy and touristy and unbearable during the day, but at night, it's still amazing. I have no interest in going to Vegas but Times Square at night makes me understand why people get sucked in there. As I walked up Broadway that particular night, just as I was under all the electric dizziness of the billboards, my iPod reached the crescendo of Tears for Fears' "Head Over Heels." If you've ever watched Donnie Darko, it should come as now surprise that this nearly forgotten bit of 80s culture can be strangely affecting, and this was exactly the right circumstance.
Fast forward to last Thursday. I'm riding home on the Q, and as I stare out the train window at the Financial District, the choir singing the fourth movement of Beethoven's 9th in my early reached the high point of "Ode to Joy."
Cruel world.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
10/1
I see that I've neglected the blog for a while. Such is life. I've been busy like busy working for Pop Mech, with a larger project in the works and a bunch of little assignments to do. So, I don't have a ton of after-work energy to devote to blogging, especially now that I have to find a new place to live. Ah well. I'll be back in force sometime; I might start my own personal home page once I get settled in a little, and migrate the blog over there. Til then, it's the same ol' for me.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
I'm Going For A Walk
Sometimes it's awfully nice when you can't go home.
The landlord is selling our house, which is unfortunate, and he showed it to some prospective buyers this afternoon. So I left the house in the morning and couldn't return until late afternoon. You can see a whole lot with 5 hours to kill in New York. It's like a world tour.
I went up to Park Slope first thing, the highly gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood to our east and north. Park Slope's yuppie-dom had never really bothered me as much as some; I certainly like going for walks in a place that's a little nicer to look at than run-down industrial Gowanus. Today, for whatever reason, it did. Possibly because I had gone up there yesterday and Thursday -- I had the two days off after leaving Discover -- and seen the black women pushing around white babies in strollers, presumably while the high-powered parents were at work. Possibly because a New York slice was $5.50 instead of the $3 it would be a couple blocks away, outside of the neighborhood. Possibly because of the $32 screen-printed tees at Brooklyn Industries, of which there are two stores in Park Slope. (Scoffs).
Ridiculousness aside, there are hidden treasures, including my barber shop. I hadn't been for a couple months because for a couple months I couldn't afford anything that wasn't at the very top of the priority list. It's a great place, though, run by a handful of old Italian guys. The first time I went they had the Yankees game on the radio. Today it was too early for that, so they had 50's crooners playing. Let me tell you -- there are both off-putting and soothing elements to your barber singing along to the Rat Pack as he trims your hair. My cut is a little too short; when it gets clipped too tightly the ovalness of my head becomes more evident. But no real complaints.
From there I went to the Lower East side, and then up to the Upper West side to read at Riverside Park. Not as different as they used to be, but still a pretty wide gap. In the Lower East side I felt like people were judging me because I wasn't dressed in high enough style. In the Upper West side I felt like people were judging me for eating Subway, and not something more expensive and/or organic. I suppose that would go for both places, though.
All in all, though, I know that I heard English, French, Swedish, and Japanese today, as well as a few tongues I couldn't pick out. I watched other people's kids playing baseball near the river. They were pretty good. It's getting plenty cool now, but that's ok, too. I have brandy now.
The landlord is selling our house, which is unfortunate, and he showed it to some prospective buyers this afternoon. So I left the house in the morning and couldn't return until late afternoon. You can see a whole lot with 5 hours to kill in New York. It's like a world tour.
I went up to Park Slope first thing, the highly gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood to our east and north. Park Slope's yuppie-dom had never really bothered me as much as some; I certainly like going for walks in a place that's a little nicer to look at than run-down industrial Gowanus. Today, for whatever reason, it did. Possibly because I had gone up there yesterday and Thursday -- I had the two days off after leaving Discover -- and seen the black women pushing around white babies in strollers, presumably while the high-powered parents were at work. Possibly because a New York slice was $5.50 instead of the $3 it would be a couple blocks away, outside of the neighborhood. Possibly because of the $32 screen-printed tees at Brooklyn Industries, of which there are two stores in Park Slope. (Scoffs).
Ridiculousness aside, there are hidden treasures, including my barber shop. I hadn't been for a couple months because for a couple months I couldn't afford anything that wasn't at the very top of the priority list. It's a great place, though, run by a handful of old Italian guys. The first time I went they had the Yankees game on the radio. Today it was too early for that, so they had 50's crooners playing. Let me tell you -- there are both off-putting and soothing elements to your barber singing along to the Rat Pack as he trims your hair. My cut is a little too short; when it gets clipped too tightly the ovalness of my head becomes more evident. But no real complaints.
From there I went to the Lower East side, and then up to the Upper West side to read at Riverside Park. Not as different as they used to be, but still a pretty wide gap. In the Lower East side I felt like people were judging me because I wasn't dressed in high enough style. In the Upper West side I felt like people were judging me for eating Subway, and not something more expensive and/or organic. I suppose that would go for both places, though.
All in all, though, I know that I heard English, French, Swedish, and Japanese today, as well as a few tongues I couldn't pick out. I watched other people's kids playing baseball near the river. They were pretty good. It's getting plenty cool now, but that's ok, too. I have brandy now.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Fall
I've been talking a lot lately about the coming of autumn, and how excited I am for it. It's not just the crisp air or the break from the long months of unreasonable heat. Summer, while providing ample opportunity for Fun at every turn, carries with it a lot of pressure. If you don't get in as much Fun as you reasonably could, passed up a few days at the beach or the park, you just wasted the Season Of Fun. And it won't be back around again for a while.
Autumn, by contrast, is low pressure. It's the perfect time to go for walks, and take pictures. Last night was Rob's last before flying to be with his fiance in France for a few months, so we all met up at the Riverside Park on the upper west side, four of us, and took pictures. And took pictures of each other taking pictures. I realized later it was a total cliched moment -- something out of a movie montage with four friends enjoying a day together in New York. We had some incredible Mexican food and I was so deliriously happy I couldn't have possibly been bothered.
I have a new job and am leaving DISCOVER. The temps are maxing out in the 70s. The sunsets are gorgeous. It's autumn in the city, and there's nothing you can do about it. Just look:
I'm feeling a little lingering sadness that Rob is gone, but that's OK -- it's autumn, and you're allowed to dwell on ennui if you want.
Soon, sweaters.
Autumn, by contrast, is low pressure. It's the perfect time to go for walks, and take pictures. Last night was Rob's last before flying to be with his fiance in France for a few months, so we all met up at the Riverside Park on the upper west side, four of us, and took pictures. And took pictures of each other taking pictures. I realized later it was a total cliched moment -- something out of a movie montage with four friends enjoying a day together in New York. We had some incredible Mexican food and I was so deliriously happy I couldn't have possibly been bothered.
I have a new job and am leaving DISCOVER. The temps are maxing out in the 70s. The sunsets are gorgeous. It's autumn in the city, and there's nothing you can do about it. Just look:
I'm feeling a little lingering sadness that Rob is gone, but that's OK -- it's autumn, and you're allowed to dwell on ennui if you want.
Soon, sweaters.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The Old John McCain
I've made no secret of that fact that I think John McCain would be a bad choice for the Presidency of the U.S., and that in recent years he has backed away from the legacy of an admirable career to pander to the party base and use dirty tactics that were once used against him. But, since it's 9/11, I will like to something strong and admirable written by Sen. McCain, his 2006 foreword to Popular Mechanics' book that dispelled the "9/11 was an inside job" conspiracy theorists:
http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/military_law/3491861.html?page=3
http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/military_law/3491861.html?page=3
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