Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2004 June
2004 May
2004 April
My Links
Kurtmaddox's Blog
Islandartist's Blog
Janemma's Blog
Cmaze's Blog
Fotocali's Blog
Scubadiva's Blog
Shark99's Blog
Blogic's Page of Mad Skilz
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
|
| Racist and Black? |
| 06.09.04 (7:54 am) [edit] |
"Jesse Helms is back! And this time, he's black!"
How funny is that?
Okay, I can't take credit for that headline; it's the unofficial slogan of a leading candidate for Congress, Vernon Robinson.
He has a hilarious web site: VernonRobinson.com and some awesome radio spots:
"The aliens are here, but they didn't come in a spaceship," an announcer says over the theme to "The Twilight Zone." "They've filled our criminal courtrooms and clogged our schools ... They sponge off the American taxpayer ... they've even taken over the DMV. These aliens commit heinous crimes ... You walk into a McDonald's restaurant to order a Big Mac, and find to your horror that the employees don't speak English." (1)
You can also download his radio spots from his web site. I hope he fucking pays me for this free press.
He's the type of guy liberals love to hate. He xenophobically attacks illegal aliens, bashes gays, and announces the crisis of "feminization of the military". This is a guy guaranteed to create lots of awkward moments at Thanksgiving. He'd probably start screeching about "welfare queen injuns" or how the country would be better off if we all lived on wooden ships, or some other crazy shit.
Not even the 19th Century is safe from his pillaging: he resurrects the issue of "sound money". He's only a small step from ranting that leaving the gold standard was a communistic ploy, and paper money is only favored by the New York Jew money lenders.
Vernon Robinson will likely end up in Congress. He's the leading Republican candidate, and the district is conservative. You do the math: Vernon will be busy doing the crazy legislating.
He's also a guy this liberal hates to love. His ads are offensive, but really clever and purty darn funny. The Universe is a strange neighborhood to live in: it shouldn't be possible for a xenophobic homophobe to be witty; but Vernon Robinson is.
You go, Vernon Robinson! Just please don't go to Washington.
|
|
|
| |
| Reagan Dies |
| 06.05.04 (1:46 pm) [edit] |
"Ronald Reagan Dies, Contradictions Live"
Ronald Reagan, president 1981-1989, has died at the age of 93. He =http://story.news.yahoo.com/n..."succumbed to Alzheimer's disease after a ten year battle.
Let me start with some good memories of Ronald Reagan:
- He said one of my favorite presidential lines: "Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" Really, it's a great line, and he said it against the advice of his aides, who were concerned it was too belligerent.
- He once joked at a press conference that the bombs were going to start dropping in five minutes. Lots of people thought this demonstrates his weak grasp on reality, but I've always thought it was brilliant and hilarious black humor. He was willing to make fun of himself.
It's a tradition to celebrate our dead notables, which reached its ironic peak last year with the death of Strom Thurmond. Time and again, we had to hear about his life of accomplishment in the Senate. Time and again we ignored that his great acheivement was running for president on a racist platform: defending segregation and the Jim Crow laws.
Thankfully, Ronald Reagan was no Strom Thurmond, but he was also no saint.
- He claimed to represent ordinary Americans, but as Nixon aide Kevin Phillips has extensively documented, the middle and lower classes were made poorer by Reagan, and the rich, richer.
- He said he was against big government, but he inflated the most socialist part of government -- the military -- like a balloon, and created the worst deficits this country has endured.
- Ronald Reagan represented himself as a defender of democracy, but his administrations money and weapons made Saddam Hussein into a major military power, and he is directly responsible for the mess in which we now find ourselves in Iraq.
- Finally, and most ironically, Reagan initiated the culture war that has hamstrung the fight against Reagan's own eventual killer. He was the first president of the Christian Right: his supporters and recruits would go on to build a movement that now controls the White House and the Congress. While Nancy Reagan begged for the government to fund stem cell research that could cure Alzheimer's: a disease that demeans the final years of so many of our elderly, it was Reagan who's most responsible for creating a political culture that has demonized science, and gutted funding to medical and environmental research.
Ronald Reagan has died, and for better or worse, he best represents the hopes and fears that we all felt in the 1980s.
For better and for worse.
|
|
|
| |
| Toilet Saves Life |
| 06.04.04 (2:25 pm) [edit] |
"Woman Clings to Toilet, Survives Tornado"
For many of us, the bathroom is a refuge from the dangers of everyday life. For this woman, it was much more.
From Yahoo News: "With a monster tornado bearing down on her last weekend, Diane Neises sought refuge in the bathroom of her manufactured home and locked her arms around the toilet."
Really, that's pretty amazing, but I can empathize with her. When at home, the bathroom is a haven from unpaid bills, chores, my wife looking for me to do chores, and Sunday NPR: which my wife loves but I don't.
So, I'll sit in the bathroom and read the paper. If I don't have a paper, I'll read the shampoo ingredients. It really doesn't matter. If there were a tornado, which would be pretty impressive since I live in New York City, that's where I'd be: on my toilet, reading about Ammonium Laureth Sulfate, Dimethicone, and Panthenyl Ethyl Ether.
The toilet is kind of like "base" was back when we played freeze tag in third grade. It's a safe zone, and time on the toilet almost always leaves me feeling better.
At work, the toilet is where I sit when I don't want new assignments, or I haven't completed the old ones. Maybe I'm just avoiding watercooler conversation, especially if that conversation is going to be with someone who can fire me. I really hate having to fake being casual with people who control my financial wellbeing. "HA HA HA!" that's so fucking funny you'd have to pay me to laugh. Oh wait a minute: you are!
The worst thing is running into your boss in the bathroom: Yeah, all those funny sounds? Yeah, that was me. Sorry about the funky smell. No need to shake hands, no sir.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| See Thru Dress |
| 06.03.04 (1:06 pm) [edit] |
For those of you living in Siberia, or using this blog site too much, a picture of John Kerry's daughter flew around the internet two weeks ago, showing her in a revealing dress.
When I see revealing, I'm mean that nothing was hidden. For understandable reasons, this made her picture very popular. At Yahoo's most popular news stories area, which sorts things by how often they've been emailed, her picture was pegged at number one for a couple of days.
But while everyone else was talking about how hot she is; I was kind of creeped out. I mean, look at her: at the top of a woman's body is John Kerry's face. That's freaky! I mean, imagine it as a slow pan of the camera moving upward. The news is all good until you get to the neck, and then things just go to hell.
I feel like I've been violated. I had enough of this when I saw "The Crying Game", and I certainly don't need it on my computer screen!
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Anti-Christ Out? |
| 06.03.04 (9:17 am) [edit] |
For those of us interested in the End Times and politics, British Prime Minister Tony Blair is a mountain in our mental landscape.
With his debonair faux-Eton accent, slightly too bright look, and prominenence in international politics, he seems a good candidate as someone indwelt with the Father of Lies. In addition, there was the irony that he appears to the world as a lackey of George Bush; but to those of us in the know, the more likely truth is that Blair is pulling Bush's strings. Blair is bringing about his own goal, which naturally enough, him being the Prince of Darkness and all, is the the reign of Satan on Earth and presumably taking control of Heaven.
Hey, it was all just a big mistake that the current He hold sway up there.
Finally, there's the important that for the generation of us who grew up watching "The Omen" movies, Sam Neil represents our vision of the anti-christ. Sure, Neil is a New Zealander, not British; but hey, close enough, right? Anyway, Sam Neil can be really scary, has starred in movies that are frighteningly bad ("The Event Horizon"), and even looks something like Tony Blair. Well, they're both white, and they're both British. Oh wait, Neil isn't British. Close enough!
Anyway, you can imagine how disappointed I was that Atlantic Magazine has all but pronounced Tony Blair's political career over. Say it ain't so! In the current issue, they argue that Blair's moralistic black-or-white view of international politics is what has brought him low, to the brink of electoral defeat.
Shouldn't Lucifer see things in black and white? The last thing I want is a devil who quibbles about shades of evil, or starts getting postmodern on my ass, and talking about how the banality of evil is what's really evil. Come on!
I still think Atlantic Magazine has got it wrong. Don't underestimate Tony Blair. You can't keep a bad man down, and He knows that better than any.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| CIA Boss Fired |
| 06.03.04 (7:56 am) [edit] |
According to Yahoo News, CIA Director George Tenet is [url=http://story.news.yahoo.com/n...]history[/url].
According to the article, Tenet resigned, predictably for "personal reasons". I'm sure he's suddenly decided he wants to spend a hell of a lot more time with his family. Of course it has nothing to do with totally botching the weapons of mass destruction (WMD) stuff in Iraq:
"The truth about Iraq: A Play in Two Sentences."
Tenet: Iraq has WMDs.
Reality: Um, no it doesn't.
Of course, the real truth is that Tenet is a fall guy. Bush has set up Tenet to take the blame for the crapilicious intelligence Bush kept yammering about on television in 2002 and 2003. Nevermind that Bush and Cheney decided to invade Iraq before the September 11th attacks ever happened, and decided within days of those attacks, and without any evidence, to tie the attack to Iraq.
The Washington buzz (and I lived there for five years, and am friends with ex-staffers) is that Tenet is a nice guy, and isn't the type to rock the boat. No one had trouble working with him, which is why Bush kept the Clinton appointee.
Of course, we also figured that as CIA Director, Tenet has all kinds of dirt on Bush, Clinton, Bill Gates, my dog, etc. Bush didn't dare fire Tenet, which is why Tenet survived (1) all the screw ups the CIA is responsible for over the last four years and (2) Bush kept telling us that the CIA, not Bush, was responsible for said screwup, but didn't fire Tenet.
I mean, think about it, if Bush says Tenet's CIA is responsible for the mistakes that have led to the complete botch of the situation in Iraq, why do we want Tenet still there? The answer appeared to be that Tenet had dirt on everyone who could fire him. End of story.
Well, it wasn't the end of the story; which makes me wonder what Tenet will be telling us about Bush now. Expect lots of juicy political leaks in the near future, and I look forward to the release of Tenet's tell all book.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Cast Out Bush |
| 06.01.04 (1:03 pm) [edit] |
I'm rarely topical, since I realize many people are doing a better job of covering current events than I would.
That said, my degree is in political science, and I come from a politically active family. My mom was even interviewed on CNN, during Persian Gulf War I. She was protesting in front of San Francisco's City Hall.
I find it hard to be funny when I talk about politics, especially the current ones. In fact, if in 2000 I had been ironically overstating how bad politics could get, to get a laugh, it would have been less shocking than the reality of 2004.
Bush is worse than I ever imagined. In 2000, my wife Jennifer predicted that a Bush presidency would be much worse than a Gore one, and I laughed at her. I'm not laughing now.
My friends talk about moving to other countries, such as Canada, and I find that hard to take seriously. I mean, come on, how many liberals talk about moving, and just become the target of jokes after they continue to live in America. Frankly, I'm American to my core, and have no desire to move. I don't want to leave this country; I want Bush to stop distorting it with his welfare for the rich, and his neo-McCarthyist message: that questioning his policies is somehow treason.
One of the consequences of the 50-50 division of the country between blue states and red is that the Northeast is as liberal as Canada and most of Europe. Republicans in New York City are few and far between, and gay marriage is a total non-issue here. We feel mercy, not scorn, for the homeless on our sidewalks, and don't describe evolution and global warming as "merely theories".
The Right behaves as if we want to pervert the country, but right now, the Left would settle for an end to the assault on our beliefs and our states. The Right used to argue for states' rights, but now it's rushing madly to rewrite the Constitutions; using it to strip away the liberty of Americans.
Here in New York City, it's tempting not to talk about politics. Maybe that's why I usually focus on describing the irrelevant. Manhattan is protected by it's surrounding rivers, its soaring bridges holding the red politics at bay.
While liberal elites can protect themselves in the Northeast, and pontificate about moving away, the powerless are at the mercy of Bush and the fanatical connservatives who see themselves as the hand of God. As the Left retreats, blacks are disenfranchized, single mothers are left destitute, and the working poor are stripped of healthcare.
It's time to push back. The Left must fight.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Evil Cab to Hell |
| 05.27.04 (2:21 pm) [edit] |
This is another installment in my [url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]...bLOgS FrOM tHE crYPt...[/url] series.
In an another life -- remarkably similar to my current one, but earlier, in Washington DC, and while gainfully employed -- I kept a blog at another site that is now derelict.
Pushing aside a moldering tombstone covered with painfully punned headlines, I found this ancient post:
[in a spooky voice]
..BloGS frOM ThE CryPt...
"Evil Cab to Hell"
So, I took a taxi a couple of days ago, and had the ride from Hell.
I was late to work that day, and because I'm in a brief, oh so brief phase of wanting to really impress the Boss (hey, just joking, Boss, if you're reading this), I really didn't want to be late.
So I jumped in the back of a cab, next to a young woman, and both behind our seriously-in-need-of-some -dental-work driver.
Anyway, she keeps looking at her watch, signing, and suggesting different driving routes, appended with "but I can't force you to drive that way". Meanwhile, the cabbie was silent, and I think may have followed her advice only when it became clear her route was even more gridlocked than the original one.
Well, she kept complaining, and you know how these things go: one thing led to another, and he called her a bitch, and she told him to shut up, and she warned him that "you don't want to fuck with me" while noting that he wasn't violating DC rules regarding displaying your taxi license.
I live in DC, and I'm pretty sure she was a lawyer. Fucking lawyers. Don't sue me!... I'm engaged to one.
She eventually got out and walked off without paying. He ran off chasing her, and I guess grabbed her to stop her from walking away. Honestly, I didn't see that, because I was in the taxi, waiting for my fucking cab ride. Really, I should have just stolen the taxi, right? Well, except that I've never owned a car so that probably wouldn't have been a good idea. Cabbies probably drive better than I do.
Of course, I did eventually give up on the ride. For one thing, I really didn't want to have to talk to the driver about it, and it was pretty clear that he was going to want to vent. Anyway, I wasn't so sure he was coming back any time soon. A group of people clustered around them, and by the time I gave up and walked over, he was pleading for sympathy, and she was threatening to dial 911 on her cell.
And they kept calling on me as a witness. "Yes, he called her a bitch"; "Yes, she was yelling at him". All I wanted to do was get to work on time, and I'm stuck playing referee to two complete assholes. They deserved each other.
I got to work late, but it was worth it, because I had the good story. I actually ended up paying the cabbie a good tip, because I didn't have change, and I didn't think I was going to be able to get him to focus on getting me some. The initial ride was slow, and I had to walk a mile after getting out of the cab. I guess I tipped for entertainment.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Kill Someone |
| 05.26.04 (8:55 am) [edit] |
With impending financial doom in our near future, Jennifer held a war council at the local Barnes & Noble, planning to read [url=http://www.daveramsey.com]Christian money management guides[/url], even though I'm neither good at managing money, nor Christian.
We agreed to meet at the magazine section, on the third floor. Jennifer reads "The New Yorker"; I read "Computer Gaming World". The up escalator to the third floor was broken, so I had to walk up. There was a man walking up right in front of me, along with a guy walking down the broken escalator. The Miss Manners part of my personality (which is also concerned with [url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]Slow Walkers and Door Blockers[/url]) noticed that the descending gentleman would have been more polite to take the down escalator, which was working just fine. Downbound Guy was screwing up the ascending flow of traffic, for no reason.
Well, nothing to hold a [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]Star Chamber[/url] session over or anything... or at least I didn't think so; but the man walking up right in front of me freaked out.
He started screaming at the guy walking down.
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ON THIS ESCALATOR?"
The Screaming Man moved to the side, ran down the escalator, past me, chasing Downbound Guy. I moved quickly off the escalator and away from Screaming Man, who was kind of scaring me. Meanwhile, everyone on the third floor was turning their faces toward me, and I wanted it to be clear that I was in no way involved.
Jennifer was there on the third floor. As I stepped over to her, I explained that technically The Screaming Man was in the right, and that Downbound Guy had committed a faux paux by using the wrong escalator.
Right then, we heard, "YOU COULD KILL SOMEONE YOU ASSHOLE!"
Jennifer: "Seems like an overreaction."
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| In Bizarro World... |
| 05.25.04 (4:09 pm) [edit] |
First of all, in case you don't know what "Bizarro World" is, read this snippet from the [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]wikipedia[/url]:
"In the Bizarro world, society is ruled by the Bizarro Code, which states that it is a crime to do anything well or to make anything perfect or beautiful. Predictably camp lines abound. In one episode, for example, a salesman is doing a brisk trade selling "Bizarro bonds. Guaranteed to lose money for you". Later in this episode, the mayor appoints Bizarro #1 to investigate a crime, "Because you are stupider than the entire Bizarro police force put together". This is intended and taken as a great compliment."
In other words, everything in Bizarro World is the opposite of its nature in our world.
So here's my question: what is "Bizarro World" in the actual Bizarro world?
If things are their opposites in Bizarro World, then wouldn't the very term "bizarro" have the opposite meaning in Bizarro World? If "bizarro" means "the opposite" in our world, it should mean "the same" in Bizarro World.
In short, if a resident of Bizarro World uses the phrase "In Bizarro World...", they should be talking about their own world, since it's only in our world that "bizarro" should mean "the opposite". After all, in their world, everything works backward!
Do people agree with me? I've drunkenly made this argument a whole bunch of times at parties, and I can't even convince totally drunk-off-their-asses people. I mean, if you can't convince someone after they've had three vodka shots and two beers, is it time to just pack up and leave?
Does this make sense to anyone?
Try an experiment: does it make more sense after you have a few drinks?
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Not a Pervert! |
| 05.25.04 (1:47 pm) [edit] |
Parents give me strange looks at the science museum.
I can tell they're looking at me. Who is that guy? I don't see any kids with him. Does he want to molest my son?
The problem is, I love science museums. I'm fucking insane about the [url=http://www.exploratorium.org]Exploratorium[/url], in San Francisco. They have this incredible holographic screw: you reach out to touch it, and your fingers pass right through. I know, doesn't sound like much, but it is.
But you know the parents are thinking: Why's he near my son, next to that screw?. Hey, it's not my fault screws are indecent, and the hologram is really cool!
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| I Hate the Slow |
| 05.23.04 (9:01 am) [edit] |
I hate slow walkers.
Slow walkers are those people who slowly drift along the sidewalk, hallway, or pedestrian tunnel, sometimes listing to the left or to the right, blocking you as you try to get to an appointment, or to work on time.
You try to scoot around the slow walker, but they're unaware of their surroundings, never move to let you past, and worst yet, just as you dart to that opening on the slow walker's left, the slow walker meanders into your path. Foiled again!
By the nature of things, slow walkers are often not the thinnest of people, which just makes it more challenging to escape past them. The open margins at their sides are thin, offering little chance of escape from being trapped behind their dirgelike pace.
A related species is the door talker. Door talkers stand around with their coworkers in the middle of the door way or other passageway constriction, hindering all traffic that tries to get through. The thought process of the door talker seems to be: "Where is the place I'm most likely to block traffic... I'm so there!" Door talkers love to hang out in front of revolving doorways, and at the ends of elevators. They make no effort to move as you awkwardly squeeze yourself around the door talker clump, trying to get to your train on time.
The only way to get their attention is to walk between the door talkers. At that point, their heads swivel to follow you, eyes squinted in menace, faces venting hostility that you were so rude as to interrupt their conversation.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Cyndi Lauper |
| 05.21.04 (9:39 am) [edit] |
Okay, I'm taking a break from [url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]Chasing the Queen Mary 2[/url].
About a week ago, my monitor stopped working. That's not quite correct, because it still does a very good job of making weird clicking sounds when I plug it in, but it doesn't show any image. The clicking sounds kind of scared me; I pointed the screen away from me when I tested the monitor. As a computer consultant, I can report that monitors do sometimes explode, and I'd rather not be accessorized with shards of glass.
Yesterday, I went down to J&R Computers, next to City Hall Park, to look at some monitors. I ended up buying an emachines monitor at Circuit City, but the trip downtown was worth it anyway. Screeching (but in a pleasant way) and strutting on top of a piano was Cyndi Lauper, hair bright orange. New Yorkers love free stuff, and with all the unemployed artists, expect it to damned good, so of course there was a huge crowd around the stage. I walked in on this at the end of the concert, so I got to hear her Caribbean version of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun", which is okay, but nothing to write a blog about. D'oh!
My special secret: when I'm not funny, I just freeride off "The Simpsons".
All of this was just a cool experience. The weather was great, and everyone was smiling and dancing. To my right, the Brooklyn Bridge ended right at the park, and to my left rose the gothic [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]Woolworth Building[/url]: for seventeen years the tallest building in the world. My beloved [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]Empire State Building[/url] peers down the gray canyon of Broadway.
I went back this morning, to once again look at monitors, and found myself whistling "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" as I came up out of the Subway, next to the park. I whistled for at least a minute before I became conscious of why.
I do that all the time. I have virtually no sense of smell, which is good, because I hate cleaning, but music is intertwined into all my memories. Sometimes, after hours of riffing on some melody, I'll remember what obscure daily activity led the whistling part of my brain to obsess on the tune.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| QM2: DeathShip |
| 05.18.04 (4:30 pm) [edit] |
Anyway, as I was saying, my wife Jennifer, her friend Jeff, and I were zipping across Manhattan to get to the Westside. Our taxi driver was zipping with us, naturally.
The start of the ride was a little difficult. With three backseat drivers (well, I was actually in the passenger seat), Cabbie was getting a little frustrated with our contradictory instructions. Cabbie, being a cabbie, thought he knew the best way to cross the city. We all helpfully suggested three other ways of crossing, each trying to drown out the others' suggestions.
Finally, we settled on crossing via 14th St. Cabbie asked where we were going, and our answer wasn't even a stationary location. We were off to see the mother of all ocean liners: The [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]Queen Mary 2[/url], jewel of the Cunard Line. Cabbie wasn't thrilled about this answer. For one thing, he appeared to be the only person in New York who hadn't heard about the ship. For the week before, all my lawyer friends had been able to talk about was the view of the ship floating around randomly on the Hudson River.
There may have been a language barrier. English wasn't Cabbie's first language, and it's not exactly like we were being clear, three voices at once, something like the [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/...]Mongolian throat singers[/url].
Since I was in front, I kept wildly gesturing ahead of us, to the West and the Hudson. Cabbie was snapping his head back and forth, trying to listen to us and watch crazy New York traffic. Meanwhile, Jennifer and Jeff were arguing about where we should stop on the Westside, to watch the ship float by. In the middle of all this, layers of lights started to move across the gap between the building along 14th St, slowly blocking out the view of New Jersey on the other side of the Hudson.
I started yelling for everyone to look at the ship, and the Cabbie kept insisting that it was a building. ["That's no moon, that's a battlestation"]. Finally, he paused, and exclaimed, "That's a ship!"
So we tore across Manhattan, chasing our ship, which was lit up like a cheap Vegas casino, and [url=http://us.news1.yimg.com/us.y...]towered[/url] over the the low docks of the river.
We drove past 4th Avenue, with it's [url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]Nazi cats[/url], past 5th Avenue with the ever watching Eye of the Empire State Building.
On 6th Avenue is the newly opened Container Store. People in Manhattan are creaming their jeans over finally having a Container Store. In NYC, organizing small spaces is everything. Our kitchen is so small, it also serves as our foyer and our cutting board is a separate piece of furniture, on wheels. There are lines around the block to get into the Container Store. Man, I'd be much happier if I could just buy [url=http://mistersf.com/new/index...]It's Its[/url] in New York (they've been a San Francisco tradition since 1918). Man, if I'm low on space, a heap will always do. Of course, the wife doesn't always like that.
Finally, we turned South on the Westside Highway, chasing the QM2, the sun setting across the river, still arguing about where to stop. By now, Cabbie was enjoying it all, our whale was close.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Schooled by Wine |
| 05.14.04 (11:18 am) [edit] |
Well, I'm back to my blog, after a break of about a week. Sorry, my mood hasn't been that great. I'm having trouble finding work, and the news from Iraq isn't helping my mood. I make a conscious effort to keep my blog from becoming topical, and that was difficult this week.
Three or four weeks ago, my wife, her friend Jeff, and I were racing across Lower Manhattan in a Taxi. We had just finished some fusion Indian meal at an East Village restaurant. As I've mentioned, Jennifer and I live in the East Village, except that we're in the part that looks like Midtown, not the part with dive bars and head shops. Across the street is a cheesy dance club, while at the corner is a mediocre fast food joint, Roll-N-Roaster, which has the way overpriced Cup o' Shrimp.
The Indian restaurant was in the cool part of the East Village, far away from us, near an area called Curry Row. Predictably, Indian food from a fusion Indian restaurant is not going to be very good. For some reason, Jennifer thinks the nicer a place looks, the better the food will be. In the real world, the opposite is more usually true.
In fact, one of my general rules covers this: most items have only one exceptional quality. One good example of this is wine. I can't tell you how many times I've bought a bottle of wine that had a cool name, or an attractive label, and found the wine to taste just like bile, and trust me, we smell a lot of bile here, next to the dance club.
After all, if the wine tasted really good, it wouldn't need a clever name. This is also true with beer, which is why it was a mistake that time I bought "Flat Tire" beer. Hey, I thought the name was cute.
The same logic applies to restaurants, which explains why this fusion Indian food place was both mediocre and overpriced. The ideal Indian restaurant should be appear forgettable, maybe even seedy. Theoretically, if you want great wine, looks for the least interesting label.
Most importantly, it applies to people. Very few people are notable for more than one thing. Actually, that's one of the reasons looking for the perfect person is a waste of time -- it's much more efficient to figure out which qualities you really care about. Additionally, if people are really strong at one quality, they often don't bother to develop others. For example, I swim really well, so I don't like to do dishes.
Okay, that doesn't actually make any sense, but here's a better example: if someone is really beautiful, why bother to develop other qualities. For years, I've seen that "the beautiful people" -- the trendy bars near us are full of them, drinking their cosmopolitans -- get breaks that the rest of us don't. Most of the time, I envy that, but every once in a while I realize it means that they never are forced to develop any other traits or skills. After all, wine with a spectacular label may not have to taste that good, to get sales.
Of course, exceptions exist, and your mileage may vary. My wife is a 10 on all possible measures. Well, on all good measures. Not on the bad ones.
More on the taxi, and where we were headed, in my next post...
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Zombie Blog |
| 05.07.04 (4:54 pm) [edit] |
In the dark past, I kept a blog at another web site, which will not be named. Well, I went to Brazil, and amazingly blog worthy experiences, and forgot to keep blogging. In the meantime, my old blog site started charging lots of the green stuff.
So, I've washed up on the shores of tblog.
But giving my inherent laziness, and my current battle against caffeine deprivation (see my previous post), it was in the cards for me to recycle my old blog material. Furthermore, my wife is quite insistent that we go out for a walk. The weather in New York City is wonderful, and the Brooklyn Bridge beckons: "Please walk across me, Adam. My restaurants are calling for you."
Actually, the call from the restaurants is probably for Jennifer; I'm happy with McDonald's, and maybe even Roll-n-Roaster.
Anyway, my caffeine starved brains is in serious payback mode, so without further ado, here's a Blog from the Crypt...
...fRom tHE CrYPt!...
Why Are Umbrellas Sold with Covers?
Seriously, I've been wondering this for years. Recently, I went to the zoo with my brother, and I bought an umbrella on the way, because it looked like it might rain.
On a side note, this year in Washington DC, it always looks like it might rain. Damn I miss the drought. I wish global warming would fucking hurry up.
Anyway, I bought the umbrella, which like every other umbrella I've ever bought, came with a cover. Why the hell does it have a cover? Are there people out there who are worried about exposing their umbrellas? I mean, are we trying to keep our umbrellas dry? Should they sell umbrellas for umbrellas?
I can't imagine the purpose of the cover is to keep the umbrella dry, so maybe it's to keep the umbrella clean; but doesn't the water take care of that? Everything else in my room stinks, even me, but not my umbrella. After all, it's constantly getting rinsed.
My brother suggested that maybe the cover served some packaging/shipping purpose, but then why isn't anything else sold with similar covers? Maybe some things are, but I'm pretty damn sure my television didn't come with a pull-off snappable cover, nor did my blender.
Someone, please tell me why umbrellas are sold with covers?
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| coffee is death |
| 05.06.04 (8:32 pm) [edit] |
Actually, I wanted the title to be "Coffee, Interrupted", but that title wouldn't fit it the "recent posts" list. tblog is such a cruel mistress.
Frankly, the title of this post is totally bogus. Coffee won't kill you, unless you drink like fifty cups in a day.
Man oh man, I sure love coffee. Nothing beats a good coffee high. To understand it, picture yourself in the mirror. Now imagine that there's a starry background behind your head. Now imagine yourself fading in and out, mystical like. Finally, imagine yourself saying "The Coffee extends life. The Coffee expands consciousness".
Actually, that's the beginning of "Dune", which is an intensely crappy movie, and that's coming from the guy who liked "10.5", last weekend's earthquake movie. But that description (um, look at the end of the previous paragraph) really does describe how I feel about coffee. When I drink coffee, I'm the king of the world, and the emperor of the universe. When I'm on my coffee high and I concentrate on something, I expect words to appear on the page of my life, saying things like "Mordor's gaze turns West". Well, except me being me, that would be more like "Mordor's gaze turns to the Internet", or something like that.
So you can imagine, nothing is worse than when coffee stops having an effect on me: that's always a sign that I'm drinking too much. Like a heroin addict, I keep increasing my hit, trying to feel a diminishing high.
Well, it's gone too far; so I'm temporarily giving up coffee. I mean, this is just stupid. I'm spending all my time drinking coffee, doing the Dew, and popping vivarins, and I still might as well be going to sleep.
So I'm ready. This is where it stops. I'm stopping the caffeine until the headaches go away. I don't care what weird shadows I see moving in the mint green paint on my bedroom wall. Hell, until I stop trembling from deprivation, I can't even make out those shapes.
Soon, the pain will go away, and I'll feel fine. I look forward to a morning with blue sky and the sun rising over my neighborhood streets; and I'll have no need to reach for that cup.
Then I'll brew myself an enormous pot of the blackest coffee, and feel the terrible power surging through me again, and know that I can shape the world with my thoughts.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| The Dancing Baby |
| 05.06.04 (2:06 pm) [edit] |
For the last couple of days, I've been thinking about the Dancing Baby a lot.
As I mentioned before, I jog; mainly so that I can eat lots of unhealthy processed food. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. Back in college, my school (go UC Santa Cruz, go Banana Slugs!) sent home a questionaire asking for parents to send in the recipe for the child's favorite food. My mom and I joked about her cutting out the instructions to Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.
Anyway, I usually jog over Manhattan's city streets, which means I'm always stopping at red lights, waiting for them to change. I'm one of those joggers who keeps running in place. I know it looks freakish, but I want to keep my heart rate in "the zone".
Well, I'm also usually listening to music, typically one of the CDs I made for the recent honeymood drive down to Charleston (Enterprise Rent-a-Car ended up screwing us with a car with no CD player). That means that when I stop at the light, I sort of have the urge to dance.
Well, the combination of my jogging motion, and my dancing urge, is a lot like the Dancing Baby. Maybe with a little Snoopy mixed in. It's embarrassing, but it's also exhilarating: a public display of how energetic I feel. It's often combined with with me singing the lyrics to my songs. I have a terrible singing voice. So, if pedestrians aren't freaked out by my gyrating, they're driven away by my howling.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| The Venga Bus |
| 05.05.04 (3:28 pm) [edit] |
Sometimes you tell a story, and you forget the most important
If you look at my earlier post, you'll see I talk about a strange commercial for the Six Flags Amusement Parks, that plays the circa 2000 Vengaboys' hit (well, at least in Southeast Asian discotechs): "We Like to Party". For me, the importance of that song is the it keeps repeating that "the Venga Bus is coming", which I see as an escape from the sometimes overwhelming New York City, to the dance center of this arm of the Milky Way galaxy, Ibiza. As well as being in the Milky Way galaxy, Ibiza is in Spain.
But I never said why the commercial was "curious".
In the commerical, they don't actually play the song, just the music. You hear the music playing, the bus pulls up to teh curb, and the old guy jumps out and starts weeving and dancing and crazy shit.
So why have the bus? I mean, it really doesn't make any sense to have a bus in the commercial, or to use that particular music, unless the view knows it's "We Like to Party". If you don't know the lyrics well enough to know that "the Venga Bus is coming", what's the point? On first glance, the commercial is mildly clever, until you realize that most people will never get the joke.
That is, unless, Six Flags is now targetting the Southeast Asian raver demographic. Actually, it's a little scary to think about that, because my wife knew they were playing it. What was she doing when she was in Asia?
Note to self: don't let Jennifer travel alone to Bangkok.
So I guess that's the point of my earlier post: Six Flags made clever use of a song about buses to showcase a bus that whisks people away to Ibiza, or at least your local Six Flags park; but they didn't include the words, so no one's going to get the joke, except for my wife, who has now freaked me out because she gets the joke.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Death, No Words |
| 05.04.04 (4:00 pm) [edit] |
Sometimes I get emotional at surprising times. Right now, I'm all worked up about death.
I was watching "10.5", the awful disaster movie that was on last night. It's only worth watching if you like watching the Seattle Space Needle collapse, or the Golden Gate Bridge tear apart. Being from the Bay Area, I do.
I like to wrap up lose ends. The hardest question in my life has always been "what if?". What if I had done this, or wrote that? This is often bad after relationship, but at least then you can often have limited contact to try to make things right, or convince yourself that's permanently broken.
There's a scene in "10.5" in which a minor character dies, having fought with her husband that same morning, with no way to patch things up now. For the rest of time, her last words with him will be ones of anger.
Death is something else. Once a loved one dies, there's no way to go back and fix things. When my maternal grandmother died, I became obsessed with whether I had sent her a final Christmas card. I thought about it constantly for weeks after her death, trying to find a memory of sending her that card. The action of sending the card would have been routine -- there was no reason for me to realize that months later I would need that memory to calm myself. It was as sort of craziness: grandma was neither sentimental nor religious; I doubt that she would have cared; but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was terribly depressed.
Months later, my father found the Christmas card I had sent, which was a huge relief.
More recently, my great aunt Julia died. I was very fond of her, and had visited her a number of times in her slightly-remote apartment in the Bronx. Growing up on the West Coast, I'm not close to many members of my East Coast-centric family, but I was close to her.
She became suddenly ill about half a year ago, and I paid less attention than I should have. I had other responsibilities, and my grandfather thought her hospitalization was not going to be her final one.
By the time we realized how serious this was, she wasn't conscious and there was no way I could call her. There was no way to make up for the visits I hadn't made at the end. I dutifully attended her funeral, but what does she care? I falied her during the time when it would have made a difference.
There's nothing I can do about it now, and to be honest, my distractions at the time were important ones, affecting others I love. I felt horrible after her death, but now it took watching "10.5" to remind me of my shame, and my sorrow.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Month of Marriage |
| 05.03.04 (5:59 pm) [edit] |
To my own shock, I remembered that Jennifer and I have been married for one month, as of today.
Wow. The month went by quickly, and I still have to take care of various wedding related matters. Such as sending out the remaining thank you notes. Thankfully, my loving friends and family are understanding, and I'm sure they're patient. Anyway, they know I procrastinate on everything.
And really, what the hell do I care? It's not as if I'm getting married again any time soon. See, I tricked with the whole wedding thing, and there's nothing they can do about it now, thank you note or not.
Seriously, it's been a wonderful month with my wife. I've gotten used to my ring, and am twisting it less often. I'm introducing her as my wife most of the time. For the first week or two after the wedding, she was still most often my girlfriend.
I feel very lucky to be with her, and that she puts up with all my quirks, cute and otherwise. I feel happy every time I hold her hand, and feel her ring underneath my fingers.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| New York to Ibiza |
| 05.02.04 (3:31 pm) [edit] |
"The Venga Bus is coming..."
Six Flags Amusement is running a curious commercial on New York television. A bus pulls up to the curb, and out jumps this hyper old guy, except it's obvious he's wearing one of those fake bald-skin caps. Like a swimming cap, but flesh colored.
This techno dance tune beings playing, and the guy just starts jumping around like crazy. Kind of dancing, kind of having a seizure. He's obviously freaking out the people around him, but for reasons only obvious to Six Flags executives, the people follow him onto the bus, and they end up at some amusement park.
"The Venga Bus is coming..."
Here's what's weird: the music playing is "We Like to Party", a song by the Venga Boys that for about six months in 2000 was the only song being played in Southeast Asian dance clubs. I know this because my then-future wife was jetsetting across Asia at the time, trekking with obnoxious Israelis and dancing to "We Like to Party".
The song is all about how a mystical bus, the Venga Bus, is traveling "New York to San Francisco", and other assorted places, to carry passengers to Ibiza, Spain: dance center of the western world. Mountains and oceans will not stop the Venga Bus. If you see the Venga Bus, and you're ready to party, the next stop is Ibiza.
"The Venga Bus is coming..."
The effect of all this is that Ibiza is one of the few places with an identity in my internal atlas of the universe. Most of that space is taken up by New York, with a few acres (or hectares for my metric friends) left over for Arrakis, Dune, Desert Planet and Irata, which is "Atari" spelled backwords and is the setting for the 1980s computer game "M.U.L.E.".
But Ibiza has a distinct identity outside New York. When the city gets too crazy, and the Nazi Cats (see my earlier post) threaten to take over, the magical Venga Bus will appear in the nick of time, and deliver us to a carefree sanctuary of drinking and dancing, with lots of techno beats and strobing lights.
"The Venga Bus is coming..."
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Nazi Cats |
| 05.01.04 (7:16 pm) [edit] |
Jennifer (the wife) and I went out to walk the street fairs, today.
When the weather is good, New York is rampant with street fairs, every weekend day. Of course, all the street fairs have the same kinds of junk. Crystal cubes with silvery air bubble buildings, airbrushes of the World Trade Center, and the pickle place. The pickle place has great pickles, three for two bucks.
Walking back, we passed a chinese food place with a big yellow cat statue on the counter, right paw raised in salute. What the hell is that? Jennifer tells me that the cat brings good luck (what is the deal with the Chinese and good luck symbols? Don't they have enough already?), but to me it's pretty clear it's a Nazi cat, saluting a future fuhrer and his thousand year reign.
I'm Jewish, so the last thing I need is some cat planning the extermination of my people. That cat terrifies me. It looks like a fascist Hello Kitty, and really, wasn't Hello Kitty already fascist enough?
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Sex Surrogate |
| 04.30.04 (4:21 pm) [edit] |
After much looking, I've found my next job:
"Psychotherapy center seeks an attractive woman to do sex/surrogate therapy work.The technique consists of a combination of massage, sensual healing and energy work, incorporating the Masters and Johnson method. Training is provided and the work is therapeutic, legal and legitimate.
Compensation: $50.00/hour"
I'm not a woman, and jury's still out on how attractive I am (*very* attractive, after a few drinks). Actually, as long as I'm on a tangent, I think I'll go check myself out in the mirror. Mmmm. Mouthwatering Aaadammm..
Okay, now that I've grossed everyone out there, including myself... back to the job description.
I could work as a Sex Surrogate Therapist. I'm not clear on what the Masters and Johnson method is, in this context, and I'm really confused about the "energy work". What does that mean? Do I get paid to, um, fire the photon torpedo?, because man, I'm really on board for that.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
| Cranks and Crackpots |
| 04.30.04 (11:55 am) [edit] |
I was listening to Air America Radio this morning.
They announced a new show from a guy with the unlikely name "Bobby Kennedy Jr.". Since I'm lazy, I'm not going to bother checking if he's the BKjr, but I'm guessing no.
On the other hand, he is a crank. So far, AAR has been good about having funny hosts, but this guy just sounds nuts. Like he's stepped out of his house for the first time in thirty years, to find out that the world has gone to hell.
I don't even remember what he said. He sounded screechy. In fact, he sounded just like lots of people from my hometown, Berkeley (B-Town in the House!) . Sure, the world may be going to hell, but that doesn't mean we have to lose our senses of humor.
Trust me, no one wants to listen to yet more Really Serious Lefty Doomsayers (tm). Anyway, if you did want to listen to that, you could just tune into Democracy Now!
This Bobby Kennedy Jr. sounded like he was just one minute of airtime from suggesting wearing tin foil hats.
Adam
|
|
|
| |
|
|
