Au Revoir la Suisse

Daisies say it all.

Der Eiger

This Alp is for you. One is plenty.

Gruyeres

This is cheese land. Beware.

Greetings from Geneva

Free Evian for everyone.

Time to go to Switzerland

I Have Some Questions

Why do so many people loathe the idea of a strong benevolent Socialist government but gladly work for feudal modeled corporations that enslave them?

Why do people in the Midwest continue to deny climate change while their cities and lives are being flattened?

Why is everything loaded with garlic?

Why is it totally cool to have millions of dollars and then want millions more while others cheer you on to obtain it?

Why can’t I take a high speed train all across the continental United States in fifteen hours?

Why do people continue to buy horrible cheap shit that makes them fat and sick?

Why do people think they should have something for nothing?

Why are so many people flaming out publicly?

Why do we get old, the whole time pretending we are young?

Why don’t I own a Havanese?

Why do I continue to run the air conditioner when I know this is slowly eating up all the mountain tops in West Virginia?

Why do men from New Jersey wear clunky pinky rings?

Why is competition absolutely everything?

Why is it that even though I would like an economy based on compassion, I somehow understand that this is impossible? Is it because I have been brainwashed?

Why did I always try to impress people when, really, everyone was already so upset about themselves that all great deeds just made them feel even worse?

Why is there MRSA at all?

Why is the sun still here?

Why are we all alive right now and not at the point of true extinction?

Why are people having all these late life babies that might have had better brains if they had had them twenty years ago?

Why is rice pudding so tasty and empty?

Why do we look better when we are thin?

Why do I own such horrible headphones, taken from the back pouch of an American Airlines seat?

Why are clams so tasty in the same way in absolute value uniqueness that cashews are?

Why do things change so quickly and then we are so quick to make fun of how things just were? Is this part of the fear of time-death thing?

Why do I care?

Test

Begonia test

We are going to Switzerland in a few days. Took a test to see if I could blog a picture right from my phone--Sure can.

Alps, cows, cheese. All of it.

Gmail Labs

Advice to friends with GMAIL.

Go to your Settings (the little gear to the upper right) and choose LABS and pick some things. They add functionality.

I am all for the UNDO feature and the CALENDAR.

The UNDO feature gives you about six seconds to UNDO the FLAMER email you just sent.

The CALENDAR puts your gmail calendar in mini form in your left column. In the calendar, be sure to check options and have it show the monthly calendar in addition to the agenda.

Or do nothing at all.

But, you know, it is always good to be reminded in this world of endless options that some things are actually worth choosing.

Staten Island Tonight @ 7PM right off the Boat

Yep. I'm serious.

Here it is again:


Friends!

The Rapture will not happen if more than five of my friends come to this reading on Friday night--

These writers are great. It’s always funny and touching. The spirit is right. Worth the free boat trip and free admission!

The reading is right near the terminal. There is always a ton of food and drink around. And art to buy. And people to talk to.

I will be reading from my blog-book, Open Trench. Have you heard of it?

This time it’s all about lockers, locker rooms and maybe a guest appearance by my dead grandmother.

7PM
120 Stuyvesant Place, Staten Island






Staten Island Ferry Schedule




View Larger Map

Art By the Ferry Friday Night at 7

Friends!

The Rapture will not happen if more than five of my friends come to this reading on Friday night--

These writers are great. It’s always funny and touching. The spirit is right. Worth the free boat trip and free admission!

The reading is right near the terminal. There is always a ton of food and drink around. And art to buy. And people to talk to.

I will be reading from my blog-book, Open Trench. Have you heard of it?

This time it’s all about lockers, locker rooms and maybe a guest appearance by my dead grandmother.

7PM
120 Stuyvesant Place, Staten Island






Staten Island Ferry Schedule




View Larger Map

And Now, A Word About Trump

A few weeks ago, someone seriously asked me, “And what do you think about a businessman running our country? What do you think about Trump?”

I finally got it. People dream of themselves in the role of big tycoon. This is their financial porn. And they want to see it manifested so they can keep jerking off to it.

Do they not understand that a nation is not solely a business? That much of what a nation does has absolutely nothing to do with profit?

Trump did it for the same reason I blog: for posterity, it seems?

Trump, of whom I am slightly freaked to share a first name with, is no different than those nasty-ugly kings and courtesans you see in paintings at Versailles. No peruque on earth can save their weak chins, their odd noses, their pasty eyes or their height. (I know, I’ve tried it.)

So why did he do it at all? Was it just fun for him to parade around pretending to be the leader of the free world? Like acting? Like trying on a suit? If so, well, who am I to judge? We all do that kind of thing. He just happened to have the cash to go for a big costume party.

I have compassion for the weirdo. He is completely repellant yet imagines he is wanted.
(As opposed to the rest of us who are completely wanted yet imagine ourselves repellant…a slightly less offensive tragedy.)

Goodbye Trump. Continue your trippy ego trip. Your daddy taught it to you. You taught it to your kids. It will be interesting to see them when they are older. They may end up just like you or they may take a divergent path, get a reasonable haircut and think about someone other than the bloated self loving hog in the mirror.

Full disclosure: I once worked for one of The Donald’s companies. I never met him. It was lowest common denominator garbage. But I guess it turned a buck.

Words to a Beech Tree

How can you not like misty rain?

Walking through Central Park today, it was misting like the lettuce area in the produce department and everything was at its peak of green. It was frigging Ireland out there.

Near the corner of Columbus Circle, that whack shopping mall, in the park, is a huge beech tree, high enough to scratch the moon. I stood there grinning from ear to ear.

Trees are very destructive to my nose when they are fucking. This year, they went on for three weeks. (Please stop the global warming, or climate change, or whatever you want to call it---it is turning the trees into nympho-monsters.)

But when the sex is all over, and it seems to be now, it is the full leafing that follows. (Don’t want those pesky leaves to get in the way of the girly parts. Ah, evolution…brings us tulips and little piggies in April.) Strange, my spell check loathes piggies.

That beech tree. I wish I were as large and in charge. Then again, it’s fine with me that things are the way they are.

XX XY Trouble

When unconscious men write television shows and movies and include women in the cast, often these women are objects. Tits with legs, serving their masters.

When unconscious women write television shows and movies and include men in the cast, often these men are unreasonably sensitive or unreasonably aggressive. Testosterone experiments ready to be dominated or to be feared.

These unconscious people who create these things are not so much wrong as they are selfish and lazy. Selfish, because they are sucking on the wishes of their own fantasies. Lazy, because if you really look around, most people are nothing like this.

If we actually accepted moderation, would we then have no watchable stories? I do not believe so.

When one depicts the opposite sex in one color, I do think it is politically bizarre and understand the backlash, but worse, I believe it is unappealing. Ignore it. Have your children ignore it and it will go away.

The Root of Humor

If anger is at the root of humor and you get over your anger, then will it follow that you will also lose your humor? Or even worse, retain some sort of toothless humor?

Fuck.

Did dogs really help us to evolve?

Schrodinger’s Cat. Twenty words or less.

Beech trees. Apparently, they are everywhere…I never know which one it is.

Do successful fat actors hold onto their tonnage for fear of losing future paychecks?

Birds. I am not a bird watcher. I prefer mammals.

I play Facebook Scrabble. I do not play Angry Birds.

I wish for variety. I am happiest with the known. Mix it up.

Percentage-wise, less people die in war today than ever before.

I do not like being out in the sun but I do like it to be sunny.

Is Newt Gingrich serious?

MRSA, do you have the symptoms? Or do you just need a nap?

I still can’t get over how good Clare Danes was in that Temple Grandin HBO movie.

I do not understand stories about identity.

Brains plaque up in everyone. Exercise. Get off your ass.

If you had the moral dilemma that went like this: Your neighbor, whom you like, will die, unless you take on a nasty cold for the rest of your life. What would you do?

Boats—really? Not interested.

Pot holders are getting extremely fancy.

The original PC’s that came out in the 80’s really did not seem futuristic to me, then.

Broadway Show Idea: Sea World, the musical. Takes care of everyone.

I want a dog. That’s what this is all about. A dog.

Washington Square

Perfect Night. Sixty-Two Degrees. No Pollen. Insanely mild and pleasant. More please.

 

Columbus Circle

 

Something I've Been Meaning to Ask You

Have you had your Walnuts today?

More Please

Washington Square

Perfect Night. Sixty-Two Degrees. No Pollen. Insanely mild and pleasant. More please.



Columbus Circle

Drafts and Drafts and Drafts

Writing about writing can be very uninteresting---unless, of course, it is in the name of helping others.

So let me help you. A little.

First of all---no matter how long you think it’s going to take you to write something in the long form, multiply by that by about sixty. No exaggeration. It takes about sixty times as long to write something as you think it will when you start out. Sure, anyone can text, make a blog entry, poke off an email, you name it, real quick. But if you want to write something that will be publishable or producible, you have to go over it again and again, with your own eyes, the eyes of people you trust, the eyes of people you don’t trust, and then some. And the thing you thought you were going to write, by the end, is something, usually, much more streamlined and much clearer and hopefully deeper and better than that first draft you zipped through.

Writing songs is a quicker process than writing scripts or books. But songs are short. I am starting to think that songs are more fun. But they cannot possibly cover as much ground in the idea department. Of course, they can go much deeper in the feelings department. But funny, not everyone who hears it can feel it.

If you are going to write in a long format---just write. Start writing out a little paragraph of an idea or not even the idea. Just start writing. If it grabs you---go for a bigger thing. You have to weave story, character and growing needs into a climax and some sort of resolution. Or not. You can just do the shaggy thing. But if you do the shaggy thing, well, good luck. That’s hard.

Stories, very simply, imitate the life flow. Birth, life, death. It can be the birth, life and death of any person, place or thing and even better, a little tiny piece of any of those. It is simpler and harder than you think.

I used to want to be sweeping and throw a very large net. I am starting to think a very small net is the way to go.

Perhaps it is time that we all reread To the Lighthouse.

Exhausting Death

Beyond the sadness and the travel and the early mornings and all that comes with a funeral, it seems to me that death is so tiring because your brain has to do all this work to get the reality of someone moved from alive to no-longer-alive. And we resist big new ideas, now, don’t we?

Bob, my fine father-in-law-if-right-wing-conservatives-would-stop-their-prejudice, is dead. Strong word, dead. The three biggest words on earth, really, are alive, love and dead. They are the basis to all stories. Getting the brain to move someone you know so well to transition in between those words is quite something, especially if you are resistant to change like I am.

I think by tomorrow I will begin to approach the dead thing as if it’s real. Dead. Bob is dead. It’s weird to type it.

I only feel warmth when I type it, though. It’s the word Bob that does it.

Death Comes in Three Flavors

I am alone in my apartment in New York listening to a Pandora channel that has lots of Joni and Redbird and Nick Drake…and facing death and time. Fine. This is living. They say death comes in threes. For me, it is coming in three flavors.

Sweet:
My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner’s-father died. Though it is sad, and it is sad, it is also sweet since my feelings for Bob, my future-father-in-law-if-they-ever-allow-him-to-be-called-that, which of course will be in the past, are sweet feelings. Bob was dry and funny and a scientist, three things I enjoy, the remove. That easy, inquisitive remove. In the later years he suffered from Lewy Bodies Dementia, not a fun thing, so it is also with a certain sweetness that I feel relieved for Bob since, you know, who the hell wants to barely walk around barely not knowing what the hell is going on? Especially if one likes to inspect and inquire—

Bob was a Dupont physicist by way of Yale, having spent a portion of his career working on the spectrum properties and applications of the color yellow. Truly. This happens in research careers. He was a true Quaker pacifist, a bike rider, a sailor and above all in my life, a warm and wry presence who naturally made me smile. I liked to make him laugh and he liked to laugh, something about busting through his propriety into his inner whoopee cushion was very satisfying. I wanted to take him to Greece but he got too ill for that. We once took him to the Queen Mary in the Long Beach Harbor. I’ve traveled with him to national parks, to Kauai, throughout California and a bit in the East. Old fashioned in manner and modern in thought, Bob was a great combo. He always brought out feelings of tenderness in me. Always. I will miss him. I feel sad, but I feel sweet about it. Time is passing.

Confusing:
Osama is dead, long live Obama. I feel good that the job is done and that this bad dude is gone. But I do not feel anything close to closure, prideful or victorious. Okay, I do feel victorious---only because “my guy” got the job done in a smart way as opposed to “that other guy” who swaggered around in battle fatigues, succumbing to shoulder shaking smirks, having the tiny enough balls to stand on a boat declaring “Mission Accomplished”—like some bad late night cable access hawker dressed up in aspiration-wear. Fuck that guy, really. Outside of my competitive nature in politics, I do not know what this means.

I don’t care so much that there’s a new extremist corpse disposed of. I mean, better his corpse than yours or mine. But what does it mean? Really? Will Iran ever become modern? Will Israel forge a representative government inclusive of ALL people within its borders? Will someone (okay I’ll do it!) come up with a religion called Worldishness that mergers the greatest hits of Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hindu, Confucianism, what-have you? Then water it down a bit to make it palatable to reasonable moderns? Something? What will time bring?



Funny:
The Nanuet Mall is being torn down. This is something else. It was built in 1969. I remember when it opened. I remember taking the bus there and shoplifting at Expressions and Bambergers at Christmastime with my brother and friends. (I was both a very good and very bad kid.) I remember the two curvy sculptures at one end on the upper level---you could sit in them. They were highly polished yet distressed metal so you could slide some. Brushed aluminum? I used to wonder. I got too old too quickly to fit in them and whenever I would see kids playing in them when I was older, I grew wistful for when I could fit inside, too. Eventually, Paramus Park became much more enticing---with its huge fountains and zig-zag construction and trees and carousel and large bird sculpture, being ridden by a Native American, was it?

I used to take my grandmother to the Nanuet Mall. But she preferred Alexanders, also closed.

Stores close. Time passes. Paul Simon, now on Pandora, has admitted he has lost any edge he had. I grow gray and fat. I better laugh. Have another clam roll at Friendly’s.

You Decide

I would like to say that this is ALMOST as good as falling down and knocking yourself out while choking on a pretzel, but it will have to do.

 

Trumped

Sometimes you just need the long form birth certificate and the game is over.

“I know that there’s going to be a segment of people for which, no matter what we put out, this issue will not be put to rest,” Mr. Obama said. “But I’m speaking to the vast majority of the American people, as well as to the press. We do not have time for this kind of silliness.”

Obama, 2012. I'd bet my next baby on it.

I Can't Stop with the Frigging Cherry Trees

Two Very Beautiful, Natural Things

The law firm that was going to represent the Republican lunatics who want to enforce the Defense of Marriage Act (A.K.A. Hate a Fag for Lunch Club) has backed out. No one wants to defend that law, or slavery or the Shoah.

And the Cherry Trees really mean it this year up at the Jackie O. reservoir in Central Park.

 

The New Website Has Launched

www.doncummings.net

Fast Trains Please

Lots of talk in the news lately about the high speed trains that are not really taking off.

Friends, have you ever been on a high speed train? Almost nothing feels better. You are going so fast, but you are on the ground. Sure, you could possibly hit a cow or a log, but chances are you won’t and you can get from city center to city center so fast and you can read a book!

Note: Right Wingers hate the idea of schedules and fewer cars. They fear that having to adhere to a train schedule will reduce their freedom. Plus, it’s a collective thing, these trains, and anything that smacks of being-with-others freaks them out. I gather this from what I can tell by reading about their distaste for these trains. They talk about the cost of the trains, too---but really, they talk about the cost of everything so nothing new here. (You don’t often hear them talk about the cost of defense, though.) It’s like having a father around who, no matter how great the future might possibly be according to optimistic views, just continually says no and continues his sour life of duty bound imprisonment that he thinks is something else.

If the United States is so great, and if France and China can do it, why can’t we?

Righties—listen up. We are being left behind. You are holding onto old ideas of freedom---Please let them go and join the rest of the world. You’re going to be fine. You can sit in a train with someone else. It will cost a whole load to build the whole thing, but won’t it be fun to have something TANGIBLE that we all did together?

Will ONE Right Wing person reading this, just ONE respond and say, “Sure, I’d love to jump on a high speed train. Let’s do it.”

An Optimistic View of a Comet at These End of Days

Polls show that people have reached their bottom of pessimism.

All sorts of art (and I include movies here) are apocalyptic or post apocalyptic.

The Right and the Left are in a huge fight---but even so, most people cannot even listen to it any longer.

These are the days when everything is dead---but even worse, stale.

We fly back into the sun and let ourselves burn to a crisp. It’s over.

All logic fails. All attempts are thwarted. It seems.

People hate each other. Groups hate each other. Small towns hate big cities. Big cities hate small towns. San Francisco hates L.A. New York hates L.A. (But funny, L.A. hates no one.)

Rich people resent the thievery and thuggery of the poor. Poor people resent the thievery and thuggery of the rich.

Education has failed.

American babies are sicker than ever.

Bridges fall. Nothing works.

And that’s the good news.

I am once again thrilled about the state of affairs. I believe the only way out is up. And it’s going to be so creative and lovely. I’m putting on my Nikes. Hale-Bopp, come get me.

(But I’m going alive.)

Thoughts, Full On

Never trust a beagle with a fake paw.

When falling in love, understand it is only temporary and something else will take its place.

Shopping is fun if you do it infrequently.

Rodents are who they are.

Orange is the color of possibility and discomfort.

Small boats are cute but large boats are safer, depending.

Los Angeles is the Perth of North America. That’s fine.

Upon seeing a dog erection for the first time, one always thinks of bleeding.

Old friends are wonderful until they calcify. Stay with the ones who keep loose.

Do not read Cheever and expect to be happy.

Flat Screen televisions are destroying movie theaters. Fine with me.

People used to know how to behave in public. Now they all have diabetes.

Being born in Bronxville, NY is strange since I have never been there since, only passed through.

Jungles are fascinating. I would like to actually see one.

I have not had one day in my life when I was completely healthy. I guess I’ll live.

Sometimes a woman over 40 will suddenly become a lesbian. Let her be.

Hunchbacks are people, too.

Cut flowers are worth the money.

Just Do the Math

I listen to Right Wing people sometimes…talking about the distribution of wealth (or in their irate words—the redistribution of wealth) and how horrible it all is. Their angered pleas are often self righteous, but more to the point, they simply believe that taxing and spending the gathered tax money is theft, is inefficiently handled and supports sloth.

There is not much math behind these emotional outcries. I always push the issue and ask, “Can you show me the numbers on that?” And they never can. They just have a gut feeling.

And then they rant on and I calmly ask for real samples, real numbers and none are forthcoming.

As I stood my ground one weekend at someone’s over tiled dacha, he finally said to me, “I guess I’m just a selfish asshole.” And I responded, “Maybe.”

What most right wing people do not understand is money. It’s sort of hilarious, but they just don’t understand that you need to keep it moving around or the system dies. It is agreed in all scientific journals that any system, in order for it to thrive, needs to be greatly diversified with resources spread very evenly. If this is true in nature, why would it not be true for us, since what we are is, gulp, some sort of ultimate expression of nature?

With this, I bring you some real numbers. I am happy to blog this so if I am ever confronted again, I can just do a search and hand this over. Of course, in a fit of rage, the unrelenting tax-hater will simply respond, “These numbers are not right.” And then I will ask again. “Then show me yours.”

The Current Economy

Two Men Kissing. Egad.

Well, here we are. It’s Like Living in China?.

Come on, Facebook.

Not Gonna

The Four Seasons of a Weekend House in the Northeast:

Snow, Pollen, Bugs, Leaves.

Forget it.

Oh, Mongoose

Oh Mongoose, teach me your talent. There are snakes I need to digest.

April Showers Bring May Psych Ward Visits

Thanks for reminding us, Karen.

The Time Has Come

The time has come. I have run through my monthly twenty free articles online for The New York Times. If I want to continue, I have to pay for a subscription. It would be valid for our two computers and our two phones. But still, do I want to? Will I do it? Should I do it? I think I will do it.

This is why. As much as I have tried to ignore the fact, sort of, the truth is money is what we use to trade for things. The market bears stuff. And we pay it. This is how it works. I am sick of trying to reinvent wheels. My damn ankle hair is gray. I would like The New York Times to be free. But for that, we would all end up with something equivalent to Network television: Reality shows and automobile commercials. Blech.

We used to pay for The Los Angeles Times. Over a decade ago, The Los Angeles Times was completely enjoyable with a wry tone, not to mention smart and Pulitzery. It became full-on fish wrap in this new millennium. But we kept paying because there was something nice about the daily paper. Eventually, we canceled because, well, it became unreadable.

We have been enjoying The New York Times for free for years. Isn’t it time to pay for it? If for no other reason so they can reconstitute their proofreading department and catch all those horrendous errors?

Call me persnickety, but I do not like typos in my newspaper.

Thank Goodness

Eric Whitacre--Virtual Choir

Please Start Your Weekend with This.
All Things are Officially Possible.

Adele and Congress: Someone Like You

As the government shuts down—we’ve seen this before—take a few minutes to enjoy Adele if you haven’t yet seen this tuber. Imagine she is an American looking for citizenship in a better country, say, Denmark. But Denmark won’t have her, so she has to face trying to find something like Denmark. Okay, it’s a stretch. Scratch. Just enjoy it.

I'm No Friend Of Killers, But...

I am online, reading the article about the stay of execution for Cleve Foster. Sounds like the stay is for lots of small technical reasons. But what about the big reason? What the hell are you doing killing people?

I guess I am a fundamentalist. I do not see any reason for intellectual debate about the death penalty. And even if you have the debate—mostly about cash---the truth is it is cheaper to keep these death row people alive than it is to pay for all those appeals. But I digress from my original stance. I am a fundamentalist. I simply do not understand how we can have capital punishment. It is so fucking barbarian.

No matter how you slice it, there are people who kill people. Somehow, in a war, it is justified. Don’t get that one either. But the people who kill other people in civilian life, whether premeditated for cash, in a fit of jealous rage or just because that person likes to kill for pleasure, well, there is just something profoundly wrong with that kind of person.

We can put them on trial, sure. Throw them in jail forever, certainly. But is it not clear that a killer is someone who, in addition to committing the most heinous crime there is, is also completely wacked? And then you just go and kill that someone?

I fundamentally oppose it. And I am starting to question abortion, too---but I’m not touching that uterine third rail. But if I were to dig in, I would say—give the unwanted babies to The Bible Belt, all of them. And to all the people who cannot have children---so we can stop this insane in-vitro-with-old-eggs that I am certain is leading to all these designer-damaged kids.

And now, hate me.

The Letter V

Friends, I play Facebook Scrabble. There, I said it. Challenge me, do whatever you need to do. Love to play with you. But first, hear me out.

Why is the letter V only worth four points? I mean, it’s barely usable. You always get it when you don’t have access to many E’s. Sometimes you have two sitting there and you just want to stab out your eyeballs with them.

I Vote for making the V worth five points. Letter writing campaign? Anyone with me on this?

The Letter V: How dare it B?

As Mundane as the Weather Is

Today, I saw an outdoor thermometer read fifty-three degrees.

This might be a very boring blog entry if I did not describe exactly what happened. I became light in my foot steps, warm in my chest and absolutely happy. I experienced the relief one feels after someone finally closes an awful open window or pulls out a thick splinter, the size of a plank.

This might peg me as some sort of shallow person with a small inner life with an over developed sense of need for bodily comfort. So be it.

I know an actor who lives in New York City because he loves it and wants to raise his children here—but because he is in high demand he needs to travel frequently so whenever Los Angeles calls, he simply jumps on a plane and goes there. For auditions, what have you. It is worth the sacrifice for him. He needs the culture of New York City. Plus, he seems a bit of an old fashioned man-o-the-tribe. He says, “You can’t live somewhere just for the weather.”

He is wrong.

You can live somewhere for almost anything. Heat. Boat shows. Pussy.

Friends.

You name it.

Greetings from Grand Central Station

Good People

Good time for an April Fool’s joke, but I’m no fool and it hardly feels like April what with the winter weather that never ends…

So it is time for a review.

At Manhattan Theatre Club’s Broadway theater we went to see GOOD PEOPLE by David Lindsay-Abaire, with Frances McDormand, directed by Daniel Sullivan.

So many reviews have been written as if this play is a class warfare sort of thing. But really, it’s about Irish pride, seems to me.

I did not necessarily believe the play, the set-ups, etc. But I really liked it. Sometimes, you can see a conceit and you just go with it.

I always try to write things as close to what I know about people as possible, even the humor stuff. But I can understand arranging things so you can get the maximum bang out of your story.

The acting is fantastic, though even this late in the run there were line flubs. Estelle Parsons and Becky Ann Baker as the Southie fly-girls were brilliant. Frances McDormand rocked it.

There are few plays each year that are produced on Broadway that are not either tribute musicals or some sort of Sea World thing for tourists, so it is always great to see a play, a real one. Absorbing, funny, thoughtful, alive.

Jersey Shore

What a thing!

Having plunked down the thousand bucks for a 42 inch Vizio internet television, I had no intention of sending another load of cash every month to Time-Warner Cable, a company that is, at best, a thieving pig hole.

Between Netflix (comes right into the television for 9 bucks a month), Hulu Plus (comes right into the television for 8 bucks a month), Internet Service (45 bucks a month), and then all the free online stuff on the computer HDMI-cabled to the television, free local Networks (bundled into our internet automatically, but they don’t tell you that, but it’s there, you just need a splitter), our total monthly cost is 62 dollars. It’s hodgepodge. We are medium adapters. Of course, you can buy all sorts of one-time deals from I-Tunes (through the computer) and Vudu (right in the television).

So it is easy now to poke around and look for new things. And what did I decide to watch for the first time? Just to get a grip on the anthropological-entertainment phenom that is part of reality television? Jersey Shore.

Can this really be happening? Can that really be a show? I have never watched anything like it. I know. I’m behind. I’m slow to know. I first found out about Rufus Wainwright years ago by reading Newsweek.

But Jersey Shore?---the stuff is so scripted. The actors on the show are clearly acting. The whole thing looks like just one big union-buster to me. It’s absolute garbage? No? Why on earth would anyone watch this? Is it time for me to die? Is that it? Is my time on earth simply over?

I felt like I was witnessing some sort of post-apocalyptic version of humanity-entertainment. Like the nightmare portion of It’s a Wonderful Life.

Friends, I know it’s not all about me. I get it. I mean, I am not the standard bearer. Fine. But can anyone on earth explain to me who watches this and why? Catch me up. Speak real loud into my hearing aid.

Tea Discovery

You know---this Trader Joe’s Herbal Tea, the RELAX one---is actually great for writing.

So there you are, in the seat, and you have lots to do. This is a very juicy situation. It already has all this energy.

Somehow, when you down the RELAX tea (licorice, clove, fennel, etc…those kinds of things)—the script in front of you seems completely doable.

Adding a donut might be fun.

Not That I Don't Think Anything Will Ever Change But...

I get the sneaking suspicion that what we are calling a recession could possibly be a foreverum.

Now, I admit that I am not one to understand that things change. Whenever I am in some sort of pain (except for maybe stubbing my toe) I have a dread feeling that it will never end.

The idea that things change is hard for me to understand. Perhaps it is steeped in some sort of wish I have that I will find the perfect feeling—and then that feeling will never go away.

So I am probably very wrong since I cannot be trusted.

HOWEVER—if I were to use my analytical skills--of which I have little of but enough to conjecture something—could it be that the downward--flattening trajectory has nothing to stop it?

And if this is so, then this is the new reality. Forever.

The only thing I can think of that will stop this mess is to stop all these wars. But we are war people and as long as GROWTH is what capitalism is based upon and as long as we require resources from all over the planet to maintain this growth, we will continue to fight these wars in order to get those resources.

And I do not see people wanting less in the future. It seems to me that people only want more.

I hope you got yours when you could. If you did not, I am sorry. If you are planning to get some in the future, I suggest the financial sector or the war sector.

Big hug.

PS—Revolution?

Renaissance Hotel---Empire State of Mind

Okay, I have never been a food or hotel critic and I am not really starting right now. But a friend of mine is staying in town at the Renaissance Hotel in Times Square and there is a sky lobby/bar, of which there are many on earth, except brilliantly enough this is on the second floor of the hotel facing south at Seventh Avenue and 48th Street. The view is the view you see of Times Square when you watch it on New Years Eve, just above the TKTS booth (which brilliantly appears at the end of the Empire State of Mind tuber below). This is quite a view, as if you are perched within some absolutely huge manmade snow globe. You get to experience all that crazy Times Square stuff from the comfort of an overstuffed chair. And because this is only on the second floor, you get to see all the action up close, but up high as if you are in a tree, right above the parade. Someone mentioned that it felt like a cruise ship cruising through town.

Open to the public, it is worth the quick elevator ride up one story. You can get snacks, a coca-cola, what-have-you…

I give it many stars if I were a star giver. Hit it.

Desperate Living

I love this clip of my friend Mink Stole. This is quite a performance.

Rent Desperate Living Today.

Mink is coming out with a CD of new songs soon with her band. Get ready for it!

Oh, Bama

Oh, Bama. In Libya. Doing the “We choose the other guys” thing.

At least he did not lie about weapons of mass destruction. I mean, people do.

But still, all this war?

I often wonder, with all of our technology, how hard it would be to simply invent a Gaddafi seeking missile. Surely his DNA can be swabbed from something. And then can’t some sensor go after that? One wonders. (Wim Wenders).

It is difficult to deal with a despot, I know. I have myself.

But there you are. And there one is. And there it is. And how do we know what we are doing is right?

Funny, it is easier for Democrats to pull triggers. No one expects it of them. And when they do, the Dems just keep quiet, “for the team,” and the Repubs seem usually happy whenever we are killing anyone. A love of force, you see.

I am a little ridiculous about armed conflict. I do not believe in war at all. But I also feel, in my schizophrenic way, if you are going to take some sort of high road against violence, this is the way to do it:
If some country gets way out of hand, we should warn them to stop. If they do not, we should simply obliterate the entire place with nuclear weapons.

There, I said it. It’s horrible. But that’s how I feel. It would be fast, cheap and easy.

Oh wait---that was not me typing. Some evil force just possessed my hands. I’m back, hi!

Okay, if some country gets way out of hand, well, I don’t know what to do. I have a Biology degree and then I went into entertainment. My opinion is useless. Dancing dolphins to calm everyone down? A humorous ribosome to tickle the kids into getting along? How about Michael the Mighty Mitochondria appearing monthly with a mawkish mother problem since all mitochondrial DNA is matriarchal? Shit, I don’t know. I’m just upset about this misery.

Gaddafi is absurd. He needs to be taken out. Maybe Obama is doing the right thing. And I admit, and I have admitted publicly, that even though I loathed the Iraq war (mostly because Georgie Porgie Bush promised me in my dreams that he would never lie to me) I also thought that maybe he had a point---get in there, domino effect some revolutions. Shit, being a wild person with a righteous cause that God handed down worked for Joan of Arc. Maybe on future S.A.T. tests they will ask a question that goes something like this:

R Reagan is to the downfall of European Communism as GW Bush is to the destruction of ____________.

A. The Texas Rangers
B. Colin Powell
C. Functioning Democracy
D. Dictatorial Muslim Nations
E. All of the Above

Here Comes You

You Need Both

I think, during these Libyan and Japanese times, you need these.

Jane Eyre and Get Me Bodied

FYDB

The Merry Christmas salute of St. Patrick’s Day seems to be FUCK YOU DOUCHEBAG!

I have heard it three times today, bellowing up from the street.

In New York City, St. Patrick’s Day is the year’s biggest happy hour gone wild. The traffic is thick all day long and the idea seems to be that one should get drunk as early as possible. Lots of people in their twenties in Green I HEART NY T-shirts and plastic green Mardi Gras beads. And a whole lot of cursing.

It all feels very aggressive, a bit dangerous and certainly pre-sidewalk-pukey.

I celebrated by taking a seven mile walk in Central Park. It is spring now and it feels wonderful to be out of our Anasazi dwelling that hovers over 8th Avenue as much as possible. I got to one part of the park where water was seeping up out of the ground. Lovely. Central Park has springs and waterfalls. Real ones. Completely enjoyable.

And not a douchebag in sight.

Thank You Bradford

Best Video of the Day.

Never would have known.

Well OK Honey. Jenny O.

(Karen, too)

I Know You All Need This Right Now...

Nuclear Fallout and You

Luckily, you live nowhere near the mess of Japan. I assume.

Simple Question: Why are nuclear power plants built anywhere near where people live?

Of course, George Will would say, “Too bad, the market chose for it and the poor people who are not rich enough to not live there, well, they are collateral damage to cheap efficient energy.”

Then I would say, “George, are you still talking?”

Next simple question: If you have a way to make energy whose spent rods are completely lethal---why are you making that kind of energy?

I always want to find a place in my heart to sort of love nuclear energy---not just because whenever you go to France the air is so damn clean---but also because, hell, it can be done. It’s like little suns encased in steel and cement. It still is so damn futuristic in a way. But then I come to the wasted rods…and I think, “This is insane.”

I have driven by Three-Mile-Island many times and the reactors on the edge of California, too. They seem so peaceful, right?

Volatile world.

But you still have to leave your house.

Poor Japan. All that footage of the ocean coming in.

You are not in control. Love everyone. If you can.

Spring Love

Spring has arrived, clearly, in Maryland. You wonder how anything on earth could be this wanted.

It's beautiful.

We visited Adam's father before his big trip West, and of course the Bomo clan. On the way home, our smokey-engined bus was taken out of service. This, of course (and trying the bus at all) was something less than romantic.

Waiting for another Bolt Bus to come down to get us stranded travelers at the Turnpike rest stop, a Greyhound on its way back from Atlantic City had pulled in because their toilet was broken, had empty seats. We asked the driver if he was headed to New York. Yes. We quickly peeled off a twenty and asked if he would take us there. He snatched it and was full on, "Get on in."

That pooch road that turnpike like I used to do bitches in college. (Excuse me, I was just possessed by some maniacal and very bad, clearly misogynistic, beat poet.)

She pulled into the basement level of Port Authority and we were home.

It was worth the bus hustling to get down to spring.
The driver patted me a thank you as we left (since some other Bolt people got on, too. But they had A tickets, based on their early purchase, and some deal was struck on some cell phone between Bolt and Greyhound.)

Interesting slog up the mid-Atlantic.

Trains are better.

Crocus.

 

Cheeseheads

Need I say more?

What Can You Say? Entropy

There is something about imperfection that is wonderful. We purchased a tension pole lamp. It was great for two weeks. Now, the bottom lamp has gone limp, the hip joint out of socket.

Calling around, it turns out the best way to fix this problem is the same way to fix an old man’s wacked spine. Fuse it.

Krazy Glue is the answer.

You can’t turn it again. But it will stay in place where you choose--once.

It’s a great reminder of imperfection, that nothing will ever really turn out perfectly, that no matter how hard you try, you’re still going to fail-die-fartatthewrongtime.

But at least you have your sanity. And now, friends, this:

I worked with Chuck Lorre for five years. He is a taskmaster. Warm and cuddly? No. Does he deserve this? No. But we deserve it. Take ten minutes.




Video streaming by Ustream

Animals

Look, I read the Michael Moore emails.

And yes, he is right. Something like 2 people in this country have the same wealth as the next 100 million. Okay, I exaggerate a little.

But really---it’s not the fault of the corporations and the monster Wall Street people and the Health Care lobby. Basically, it’s the fault of the culture. We are simply a culture of people who believe in wealth. At all costs.

This is taught from birth.

So how can we blame anyone for being wildly greedy in the United States of A?

The monkey mind is plastic. It becomes what it is taught. Also, there are rapacious monkeys. So sometimes it’s even natural. Do we fight all this? Yeah, yeah, fight.

The next truth is---I hate fighting.

I throw up my primate arms and go, “Well, I’ll just quietly eat my banana over here. Well, not really quietly, but with the awareness that the one banana, at this moment, is enough.”

I don’t know even one of the richest monkeys. If I met her-him on the side of the road, I probably would think it was a different species.

Keep fighting, Michael M. I can’t do it.

Come On In

If I had a pillbox hat, a good cameraman and some more time I would give the personal tour of our manse. However, this is much easier...and I'm not feeling all that hammy.

People want to see it. Perhaps it is tacky to give an online tour of your "done" place. But, well, it sure is easy.



 

Look Around

 

Who Ever Dreamed of 42 Inches?

 

La Cuisine