Thursday, May 29, 2014

Have a Great Weekend

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

I'm really looking Forward to the Day...

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Hunt the Wumpus: It's all Mainframes

Everything old is new again.

Right now, I am listening to some Brown noise (it's like white noise but at a lower frequency) on my computer. My pc is getting this stream from a server somewhere. I guess if I understood Al Gore's interwebs better I could figure out where that server is. I don't know.

But here I am, on earth, with a little noise going...and it comes from somewhere else. Some hard drive or thing or alien in another state.

During unit lunch in high school...that's what they called it because it started at 11:17 AM and went to 11:47 AM (approx)...the entire school was set free to eat. It was madness. My very close friend SS and I, at times, like others who were a bit bookish and preferred things calm, would escape to the science wing and log in to the mainframe computer. It was easy to do. There was a phone, the old kind with an ear part and a mouth part, black, and it was pushed into a black soft rubber suction cup holder and this phone received all its signals from Westchester County, I think Tarrytown, and instructed our terminal what to display.

It was displayed on a dot matrix printer. Yep. No screen. Just paper.

The game we played was called HUNT THE WUMPUS, which was some sort of geometric hunt through a dodecahedron (A polyhedron with 12 equal faces and 20 vertices) and by some process of elimination, you could figure out where this wumpus was hiding. There were rules about where it could move. The secret passageways from one face to another were defined by odd and even numbers or multiples of three, I don't remember exactly. SS often killed the Wumpus. Sometimes it got away. I was hopeless. To this day, I can barely find my car in a parking structure.

But it was a fun way to kill unit lunch (if not often, too, the Wumpus). And it was all done by mainframe.

The game was written in BASIC. You can read about it here.

It was beyond thrilling to have a phone pushed into a strange device that allowed us to play this game, the dot-matrix white and green striped paper printing out our turns as we typed.

Of course, the difference with a mainframe and a pc is the mainframe does all the computing, too. But, really, it won't be long before you won't both downloading anything any longer.

And if you don't believe me, stand still long enough and the Wumpus will eat you.

Monday, May 26, 2014

The English, From Whence it Came, Chucked it...So Why Don't We?

It is time to rewrite this silly constitution that people hold so dear.

I do not believe the original framers meant for students to walk around killing each other. Of course, there have always been nuts who have killed people. Maybe this is to be expected.

But when people get in my face about the Constitution, you just have to figure they are verse and chapter types, afraid of change. Why are we being hijacked by such clay footed folks?

I say, rewrite it. Enough already. This thing gets us into too much trouble. It is TOO LOOSELY written and too open for debate.

And certainly, there is no need for people to be running around with all these guns.

Perhaps the only answer is to start assassinating the children of the NRA?  Then the chapter and verse types might understand?
(Note to officials of any kind---that was hyperbolic sarcasm, those last two lines.)

Senselessness. It is purely senseless to hold onto ideas that have not only outlived their usefulness but also presently cause undo harm.

Rewrite this thing. This silly piece of paper. It's so old. And this country is too full of self serving loons to have its organizing document be
1) something so open to discussion.
2) something that makes it so easy to just run around and kill people.

Apple Pie? Sure.
Gun loving?  Go kill your own children, you lunatics.

Time for a rewrite. And maybe even chopping this country into three.  North, South, West.


Thursday, May 22, 2014

To All My Highly Sensitive People Friends

Why not stay home this weekend and just finger the sofa?

If it's all too much, and it is, know you aren't alone.

Thank you, T, for sending this to me.

Luckily, I've got some good biPolarity in me and can transform into a Teflon warrior when needed.
The warrior pose, though, never lasts long.

Hugs. No wait. No hugs. Too much.

Air. Space. Calm.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014


May you have one of those Thursdays that is unreasonably joyful.
Like, you don't know how it takes you over when you aren't looking, and it turns out to be delightful.

They say chance favors those who are prepared.

I wish for you that even if you are not prepared at all that joy comes anyway.

This life is a whim.

Take a trip.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Oregon: Thanks, kind of. No, Really, Thanks.

Oregon flipped and now you can get married there, if you need to, and happen to be marrying someone of the same sex.

Here is the current Freedom-To-Marry stats:

Adam and I were married on March 26, 2004 in Portland Oregon. We got off the plane around noon and were married in front of a department store by our good friend Bart's coworker who had that reliable Universal Life Ministry certificate. (Pic Below)

A few weeks later, the state of Oregon overturned our marriage, voided our certificate and sent us a check for the original amount paid for the license. We never cashed the check figuring it would be a good piece of prejudice ephemera.

But now, a little over ten years later, Oregon has come through. So thank you Oregon, you strange state.

And, thank you, my husband, who then hooked up with me as a California Domestic Partner in a MailBox Etc. in Larchmont Village, Los Angeles in July of 2005 and then on October 20, 2011, we were married in the State of New York downtown in Manhattan and it stuck. And then the Feds recognized it. And now, I just chase him around the apartment with a rolling pin.

It is a strange experience to be the people who are getting their rights in real time.

Thursday, May 15, 2014


Let's talk about love.

So much writing is about proving a point. Or getting things across. Or setting shit straight.

So rarely do we write about love.

And when we do, it's usually the flurry-romantic kind or the up-in-the-air God kind.

How about this one? How about, love is just the thing that is when you are still?

It wants you.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Dim Sum in my Couchette Please

This is pretty much the only way I would go to China. I'm looking forward to it.

Pull a Geography, You'll Feel Better

If you are a homophobe in the NFL, do yourself a favor, and leave.

If you are a woman in India, do yourself a favor, leave. I’m not kidding.

If you are afraid of the new home and vehicle sharing/renewable energy economy, get a time machine and leave.

If you are against the right for a woman to control her own body, leave immediately.

If you are racist, why don’t you leave?

If you are an anti-Semite, let me introduce you to my best friends on earth, and then, please leave.

If you hate free education for all and Obamacare (which is going to become a single payer system one day, let’s face it), please leave.

If you want cheap cotton t-shirts and chemical filled hamburgers at ridiculously low prices at the expense of legal slavery and a destroyed planet, please go to Venus. Leave now.

If your opinion is to make the government small enough to drown it in the bathtub, please take a shower, and then leave.

If all you believe in is competition and shake at night in fear that someone is going to break into your house and steal your golden goose, take your bird and leave.

Just leave. You hate it all so much? You think gay marriage is causing planetary collapse? You can’t stand the thought of paying for an old black lady’s mammogram? You think women are property? You want what you want and you want it now and you don’t want that freedom fucked with? Go find a place where you can go be that.

If you hate change because it might lead to a lesser material advantage for you, leave immediately.

Go. Leave. Leave us alone. You miserable lunatics.

Yes…that is how I really feel.

And, you are welcome for my share.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Happy To Shift the Talk

So, let's say the climate change we are experiencing is NOT being caused by human beings. Sure. Let's make that leap. "And keep the economy going." (As if you can only keep an economy going one way. Good Lord.)

Anyway--let's just say we are not causing it.

But let's look at the math and count the CO2 molecules. So, if the CO2 molecules in our atmosphere have measurably increased by almost 100%, then, wouldn't you just want to maybe even try an experiment that would reduce this just to see if things can change?

And while doing that, maybe try to have a new economy based on all sorts of new fun things?

So, for the other side:

1) Human Beings aren't causing climate change. Fine.
2) CO2 levels have greatly increased. (It doesn't matter how this happened. It just did.)
3) We all know the more CO2 crammed into a jar, or like in the atmosphere of the planet Venus, the hotter things get. No one can argue this measurable point.
4) So, why not try to reduce this mysterious ever-increasing CO2 level (Wherever the hell it came from?)

I appeal to your logic. I give into your understanding that we didn't cause it. No, we didn't. But we can do something about this pesky CO2 that we need a lot less of...

Come with me. Enjoy the challenge of a fun-as-hell new economy!

Sunday, May 11, 2014

No Better Way

There was no better way to close out Mother's Day than to watch the finale of Bates Motel.

No spoiler alerts necessary since there will be no talk of plot.

I do not much talk about television shows.

Mother and Son, forever.

Thursday, May 08, 2014

Decorator Admission

I just needed it to be really cold and really spare.

Wednesday, May 07, 2014

SoHo What Happened?

I can't really afford a lot of the stuff they are hawking on those half-mean streets of Soho. I mean, I can...but as I always tell my husband when looking at a price tag of something I want that is in the thousands, "I'd rather go to Greece."

I bought new glasses down there on Greene/Spring. And so, I go once a week, at least the first two weeks now, to get them adjusted. They are progressives. I don't really need them, but I sort of do if I want to keep the things on if I look down at a magazine or book to read. They are good out in the world. These secret granny glasses.

I remember being young in Soho. When it was cheap and about art. I had this short lived fling with an NBC exec/worker bee who slaved at SNL. It was all about him doing lots of coke and sweating all over me in bed in his lofty loft. I did not exactly understand what he did for SNL. I think it was a highly stressful coordinator position. He did do some serious star handling. He was probably the talent coordinator. He was a mess. I knew it was going to be short lived. This guy was a bit older than me, ten years?,  had trouble dating or being liked because of his excessive coke use and his profuse sweating, and was, overall, a bit grimy and repellent, but also tall. He was pretty disgusting, but at that age, I figured, if I have to fuck a little someone who is not so appealing but could get me into a good party or meeting, well sure. That's what young people do. It has worked out well for many a youth.

He took me to a taping one Saturday night that Matthew Broderick hosted. After the show, at a table in one of the restaurant things that are all connected around the ice rink, my overly energetic coke-date introduced me to Matthew. It was hard to talk because of the noise level and I was shy and at the opposite side of the round table and all I could get myself to really say to him, via my date--who passed it along amid the hubbub since he was sitting closer to him--was that I was kind of jealous him. And Matthew told my date to say back to me, "Well, you're younger than me. You can catch up."

There really was no need.

That was very generous of M.B. And whenever I go to Soho, I think of that sweaty coke fiend and his loft and NBC and what I thought it all meant. And whenever I walk by "The Rock", I think of how Matthew Broderick talked to me, by coke-fiend proxy, and was very kind.

I was thin and wore contact lenses then.

Now, I continue to go to Soho to get these glasses adjusted, these dang seamless trifocals.  I look at the big ugly Adidas store on Wooster and I wonder if the end is near. Nah, it's here. The end is here. Clearly, nothing new is going to happen on Wooster or Greene. Maybe more high-end furniture and eye-wear boits... Maybe even those could completely fall apart. Feels like the vendors are not that easy going. Can you imagine the rents?

Nasty town. Nasty, overpriced, uninteresting situation.

But when the ocean rolls in and takes over up to about 29th Street, well, we won't have to worry about any of it any longer.

Before then, I might end up buying some chairs. If I do, it just means I'll have to wait a little longer before I ever get my first glimpse of Mykonos.

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Video Juke Box Night

My faves, for such different reasons, for a long time:

Well OK Honey -- Jenny O.

Easy Easy -- King Krule

Get Me Bodied (Timbaland Remix) -- Beyonce

Somebody That I Used to Know -- Pentatonix

Monday, May 05, 2014

Bridges and Suspense

It's closing: The Bridges of Madison County, the musical, that is.

So we went and caught it before it all went away.

The music is lovely. Some of the music is so beautiful, a grown straight man from New Jersey with a strong accent was crying next to me. Pretty sweet.

So, I suggest you listen to the Broadway cast album somewhere.

But this is the bad news: This play had very little suspense. And by suspense I mean the normal human tendency to focus on a story that is set up so that you just have to ask, "What is going to happen??"

It doesn't have to be a big thing. In fact, it can be super tiny. Like a kid wanting a bicycle. Will he or won't he get it on Christmas morning? We can all sit there and watch the whole story as we wait to find out.

Even in Waiting for Godot, a play with a plot that has been referred to as, "Where nothing happens. Twice."  (The twice refers to its having two acts. And they are similar.) Even in that play, there is suspense. What will these guys do next? As they wait and wait? How BAD WILL IT GET???

Great stories we all know:

WILL Dorothy get back home from Oz?

WILL the patient get better?

WILL the criminal be caught?

WILL the young lovers make it to the altar of marriage without too many people messing it up?

WILL she get a horse ribbon?

WILL Gregor Samsa remain a cockroach?

In The Bridges of Madison County, the question is, "WILL she run off with the hippie photographer?"
But you don't think, for even a second, she will. So, you don't ask the question. All you are left with is the beautiful music and a meditation on life: desire, connected-ness, family, obligation.

I like meditative things. But let's face it, whenever you meditate, there's a great chance of falling asleep.

So, my note to all writers:  If you are writing a play or a movie or almost anything else, try to make sure that you keep people wondering, WILL (s)he _______________ ?  At least that will give you a motor so then you can apply your amazing voice, skills, ideas, characters, actions, conflicts, humor sequences and musical numbers with confidence and abandon. The WILL (s)he question will hold it all together.

This is rudimentary. But it bears repeating.

My two cents on a Tuesday.

Enjoy it. Toss it. Live it. Have a sandwich.

Friday, May 02, 2014

Three Apps We'd Like to See

The first App we’d like to see is an obvious one. It’s called the “Warmer Warmer” App and it probably already exists or is in development so let’s see it on my big uncool Galaxy soon. Anytime you park your car (and stick a tracking label on it) or your kid (yeah, use another of the same ones from your tracking label pad) or punch in the needed address or have someone beam you where they are, you pick that for your app to follow and then it plays the game “Warmer Colder” with you.  Obviously more jubilant and frequent in its cheering “Warmer! Warmer!” as you get closer to your destination. And as soon as you veer from the path, “Colder” warns you coldly that you are not doing well. This way, no more maps or annoyances. Just warmer or colder.

I was walking West across the bottom floor of the South Wing of our romantic Port Authority bus station this evening, when an older man about fifteen feet in front of me heading straight toward me started to bob and weave. He did truly go into zombie movement. His feet gave out sideways as if a large hand had swept under him while a soft hand pulled his knees in together, folding them on top of each other. He fell, hit the ground hard, and began to bleed from his forehead (or ear?). Some money and coins fell out of his pockets. He had no control over any of his movement. I went to him.  First responder that I am. Others came over. I went looking for a cop while someone tried to call 911. I found no police out on the sidewalk. I came back in. The info booth had been informed. They called in a cop. The wait: probably only three minutes. He would survive.
But what we need?
An app that catches this guy’s seizure and injects, immediately, something into his system to counteract the seizure or at least blows up a lot of air bags in his clothing.
No one needs to fall that hard.
Side Note (or the main event): People were quickly concerned and helpful. It was sweet. The vulnerability of it all, watching someone’s body give out because of a brain situation and then slam the rock hard tile…well, the empathy was huge. One woman, with a strong foreign accent, was the one trying to get 911. They were asking her too many questions on the line and she didn’t really understand how to explain where she was. I said, “The South Street,” by mistake, instead of “The South Wing,” and she yelled, “South Street, South Street.”  Lawsy. But she was already fully doomed. My mistake sealed the deal. And here came the cops.
The 911 caller’s frustration, that they did not understand her, scared her. The police were calm and called an ambulance. The older fallen man said he was fine and wanted to go home. But the cops said, “You can refuse the ambulance once it comes. But we have to keep you here until it comes.”  The guy did need an ambulance. The blood was not spouting from his head. More like a small steady bleed.
The cops wanted us all to get away. Makes sense. So we left.
At the end, as I walked to the subway stair, a long haired man, young, about six and a half feet tall, sidled up to me and asked, “Did he have a seizure?”
I said, “Yeah. He was walking right toward me and started to seize and his feet went out and he went down hard.”
And he said, “Yeah. Yeah. I thought—”
And we both felt glad he was taken care of.
I preferred this guy’s calmness to any of the other emotionalism around the event.
There should be an app for the guy who fell so he doesn’t fall.

Another app we need is a “Don’t Even Start With Me” App.
Say you have a new career, gig, vacation touring group, volleyball team, band, marriage, or place of worship and someone close to you decides to cross a line. They want too much power or they are lying to you too much or they are trying to gaslight you or overthrow your position or diminish you in any way—you should be able to open up your “Don’t Even Start With Me” App and for just a few dollars added to your credit card, you can nip this bullshit in the bud. Once downloaded, account made, user name and password filled, and target defined, an anonymous goon delivers something disgusting to the personal residence or desk or hotel room of the offending party. There is no note. In fact, users must remain completely anonymous for this to work. There is just the satisfaction of knowing that you have sent something completely horrible to the person that will really upset them. It can never be traced back to you. In fact, it should have a Snapchat element built in so that all record of the transaction disappears. Your resentment will have found its true way out. You will be in charge, the place you always wanted to be.
You can even increase the frequency of these gifts of horrendosity if they don't get the message the first time, or as the need arises. Clam Puddings. Dead Cats loaded with Vermin. A controlled Tire Fire. A Ball of Hair with Broken Teeth in it.
What is fun, is, as their behavior gets worse, and your giving increases, the annoyer will know it’s you. But will never be certain. But you both know what's what. But you don’t talk about it because no one wants to break the anonymity because everyone loves using it so much and doesn't want to risk losing it.

These will all help.