Go see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
Lucky for me, I have an insistent and good tasted Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner-sister-in-law, who chided us into attendance.
Good that she chided!
Friends, it’s so interesting, this Swedish movie. And I didn’t even read those books.
Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salinger, COME ON! She’s fantastic and no American gum chomper will ever come close.
Why won’t Americans sit through subtitles?
I understand. They’re annoying. It isn’t as enjoyable.
Go see this before it leaves the theatres. Or netfilx it, etc. Completely worth it.
Sure, it’s a whodunit at the end of the day, so we’re not looking at a new kind of story. But at least there’s a push into good characters.
Friends, these are trying times for entertainment. Catch this one.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Fried Chicken and Shallowness
I need to write about two very different things.
First of all, fried chicken. We ate in a big noisy box of a restaurant tonight in Chelsea, okay, Cafeteria. Seventh Avenue. The whole thing.
I went ahead and ordered the fried chicken because why shouldn’t I, right? I’m not afraid of a bunch of greasy bird pieces.
It’s a killer. Don’t ever do it. It’s not worth it. I don’t know how people survive these things.
Next, on the subject of being shallow, I have come to this conclusion. I think the reason why people are so upset when they perceive someone to be shallow is not so much that this perceived person is wrong or morally in the basement, it’s more because there is a loss of potential love. Someone who is shallow, who is committed to their own pleasures and vices above all else, does not have the space or time to love you. And people feel this. Even if they do not admit it.
First of all, fried chicken. We ate in a big noisy box of a restaurant tonight in Chelsea, okay, Cafeteria. Seventh Avenue. The whole thing.
I went ahead and ordered the fried chicken because why shouldn’t I, right? I’m not afraid of a bunch of greasy bird pieces.
It’s a killer. Don’t ever do it. It’s not worth it. I don’t know how people survive these things.
Next, on the subject of being shallow, I have come to this conclusion. I think the reason why people are so upset when they perceive someone to be shallow is not so much that this perceived person is wrong or morally in the basement, it’s more because there is a loss of potential love. Someone who is shallow, who is committed to their own pleasures and vices above all else, does not have the space or time to love you. And people feel this. Even if they do not admit it.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
I Feel Peaceful, Join Me
OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES
The Muslims in the Middle
By William Dalrymple
Published: August 16, 2010
PRESIDENT OBAMA’S eloquent endorsement on Friday of a planned Islamic cultural center near the World Trade Center, followed by his apparent retreat the next day, was just one of many paradoxes at the heart of the increasingly impassioned controversy.
We have seen the Anti-Defamation League, an organization dedicated to ending “unjust and unfair discrimination,” seek to discriminate against American Muslims. We have seen Newt Gingrich depict the organization behind the center — the Cordoba Initiative, which is dedicated to “improving Muslim-West relations” and interfaith dialogue — as a “deliberately insulting” and triumphalist force attempting to built a monument to Muslim victory near the site of the twin towers.
Most laughably, we have seen politicians like Rick Lazio, a Republican candidate for New York governor, question whether Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, the principal figure behind the project, might have links to “radical organizations.”
The problem with such claims goes far beyond the fate of a mosque in downtown Manhattan. They show a dangerously inadequate understanding of the many divisions, complexities and nuances within the Islamic world — a failure that hugely hampers Western efforts to fight violent Islamic extremism and to reconcile Americans with peaceful adherents of the world’s second-largest religion.
Most of us are perfectly capable of making distinctions within the Christian world. The fact that someone is a Boston Roman Catholic doesn’t mean he’s in league with Irish Republican Army bomb makers, just as not all Orthodox Christians have ties to Serbian war criminals or Southern Baptists to the murderers of abortion doctors.
Yet many of our leaders have a tendency to see the Islamic world as a single, terrifying monolith. Had the George W. Bush administration been more aware of the irreconcilable differences between the Salafist jihadists of Al Qaeda and the secular Baathists of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, the United States might never have blundered into a disastrous war, and instead kept its focus on rebuilding post-Taliban Afghanistan while the hearts and minds of the Afghans were still open to persuasion.
Feisal Abdul Rauf of the Cordoba Initiative is one of America’s leading thinkers of Sufism, the mystical form of Islam, which in terms of goals and outlook couldn’t be farther from the violent Wahhabism of the jihadists. His videos and sermons preach love, the remembrance of God (or “zikr”) and reconciliation. His slightly New Agey rhetoric makes him sound, for better or worse, like a Muslim Deepak Chopra. But in the eyes of Osama bin Laden and the Taliban, he is an infidel-loving, grave-worshiping apostate; they no doubt regard him as a legitimate target for assassination.
For such moderate, pluralistic Sufi imams are the front line against the most violent forms of Islam. In the most radical parts of the Muslim world, Sufi leaders risk their lives for their tolerant beliefs, every bit as bravely as American troops on the ground in Baghdad and Kabul do. Sufism is the most pluralistic incarnation of Islam — accessible to the learned and the ignorant, the faithful and nonbelievers — and is thus a uniquely valuable bridge between East and West.
The great Sufi saints like the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi held that all existence and all religions were one, all manifestations of the same divine reality. What was important was not the empty ritual of the mosque, church, synagogue or temple, but the striving to understand that divinity can best be reached through the gateway of the human heart: that we all can find paradise within us, if we know where to look. In some ways Sufism, with its emphasis on love rather than judgment, represents the New Testament of Islam.
While the West remains blind to the divisions and distinctions within Islam, the challenge posed by the Sufi vision of the faith is not lost on the extremists. This was shown most violently on July 2, when the Pakistani Taliban organized a double-suicide bombing of the Data Darbar, the largest Sufi shrine in Lahore, Pakistan’s second-largest city. The attack took place on a Thursday night, when the shrine was at its busiest; 42 people were killed and 175 were injured.
This was only the latest in a series of assaults against Pakistan’s Sufis. In May, Peeru’s Cafe in Lahore, a cultural center where I had recently performed with a troupe of Sufi musicians, was bombed in the middle of its annual festival. An important site in a tribal area of the northwest — the tomb of Haji Sahib of Turangzai, a Sufi persecuted under British colonial rule for his social work — has been forcibly turned into a Taliban headquarters. Two shrines near Peshawar, the mausoleum of Bahadar Baba and the shrine of Abu Saeed Baba, have been destroyed by rocket fire.
Symbolically, however, the most devastating Taliban attack occurred last spring at the shrine of the 17th-century poet-saint Rahman Baba, at the foot of the Khyber Pass in northwest Pakistan. For centuries, the complex has been a place for musicians and poets to gather, and Rahman Baba’s Sufi verses had long made him the national poet of the Pashtuns living on both sides of the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. “I am a lover, and I deal in love,” wrote the saint. “Sow flowers,/ so your surroundings become a garden./ Don’t sow thorns; for they will prick your feet./ We are all one body./ Whoever tortures another, wounds himself.”
THEN, about a decade ago, a Saudi-financed religious school, or madrasa, was built at the end of the path leading to the shrine. Soon its students took it upon themselves to halt what they see as the un-Islamic practices of Rahman Baba’s admirers. When I last visited it in 2003, the shrine-keeper, Tila Mohammed, described how young students were coming regularly to complain that his shrine was a center of idolatry and immorality.
“My family have been singing here for generations,” he told me. “But now these madrasa students come and tell us that what we do is wrong. They tell women to stay at home. This used to be a place where people came to get peace of mind. Now when they come here they just encounter more problems.”
Then, one morning in early March 2009, a group of Pakistani Taliban arrived at the shrine before dawn and placed dynamite packages around the squinches supporting the shrine’s dome. In the ensuing explosion, the mausoleum was destroyed, but at least nobody was killed. The Pakistani Taliban quickly took credit, blaming the shrine’s administrators for allowing women to pray and seek healing there.
The good news is that Sufis, though mild, are also resilient. While the Wahhabis have become dominant in northern Pakistan ever since we chose to finance their fight against the Soviets in Afghanistan, things are different in Sindh Province in southern Pakistan. Sufis are putting up a strong resistance on behalf of the pluralist, composite culture that emerged in the course of a thousand years of cohabitation between Hinduism and Islam.
Last year, when I visited a shrine of the saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in the town of Sehwan, I was astonished by the strength and the openness of the feelings against those puritan mullahs who criticize as heresy all homage to Sufi saints.
“I feel that it is my duty to protect both the Sufi saints, just as they have protected me,” one woman told me. “Today in our Pakistan there are so many of these mullahs and Wahhabis who say that to pay respect to the saints in their shrines is heresy. Those hypocrites! They sit there reading their law books and arguing about how long their beards should be, and fail to listen to the true message of the prophet.”
There are many like her; indeed, until recently Sufism was the dominant form of Islam in South Asia. And her point of view shows why the West would do well to view Sufis as natural allies against the extremists. A 2007 study by the RAND Corporation found that Sufis’ open, intellectual interpretation of Islam makes them ideal “partners in the effort to combat Islamist extremism.”
Sufism is an entirely indigenous, deeply rooted resistance movement against violent Islamic radicalism. Whether it can be harnessed to a political end is not clear. But the least we can do is to encourage the Sufis in our own societies. Men like Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf should be embraced as vital allies, and we should have only contempt for those who, through ignorance or political calculation, attempt to conflate them with the extremists.
William Dalrymple is the author, most recently, of “Nine Lives: In Search of the Sacred in Modern India.”
The Muslims in the Middle
By William Dalrymple
Published: August 16, 2010
PRESIDENT OBAMA’S eloquent endorsement on Friday of a planned Islamic cultural center near the World Trade Center, followed by his apparent retreat the next day, was just one of many paradoxes at the heart of the increasingly impassioned controversy.
We have seen the Anti-Defamation League, an organization dedicated to ending “unjust and unfair discrimination,” seek to discriminate against American Muslims. We have seen Newt Gingrich depict the organization behind the center — the Cordoba Initiative, which is dedicated to “improving Muslim-West relations” and interfaith dialogue — as a “deliberately insulting” and triumphalist force attempting to built a monument to Muslim victory near the site of the twin towers.
Most laughably, we have seen politicians like Rick Lazio, a Republican candidate for New York governor, question whether Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, the principal figure behind the project, might have links to “radical organizations.”
The problem with such claims goes far beyond the fate of a mosque in downtown Manhattan. They show a dangerously inadequate understanding of the many divisions, complexities and nuances within the Islamic world — a failure that hugely hampers Western efforts to fight violent Islamic extremism and to reconcile Americans with peaceful adherents of the world’s second-largest religion.
Most of us are perfectly capable of making distinctions within the Christian world. The fact that someone is a Boston Roman Catholic doesn’t mean he’s in league with Irish Republican Army bomb makers, just as not all Orthodox Christians have ties to Serbian war criminals or Southern Baptists to the murderers of abortion doctors.
Yet many of our leaders have a tendency to see the Islamic world as a single, terrifying monolith. Had the George W. Bush administration been more aware of the irreconcilable differences between the Salafist jihadists of Al Qaeda and the secular Baathists of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, the United States might never have blundered into a disastrous war, and instead kept its focus on rebuilding post-Taliban Afghanistan while the hearts and minds of the Afghans were still open to persuasion.
Feisal Abdul Rauf of the Cordoba Initiative is one of America’s leading thinkers of Sufism, the mystical form of Islam, which in terms of goals and outlook couldn’t be farther from the violent Wahhabism of the jihadists. His videos and sermons preach love, the remembrance of God (or “zikr”) and reconciliation. His slightly New Agey rhetoric makes him sound, for better or worse, like a Muslim Deepak Chopra. But in the eyes of Osama bin Laden and the Taliban, he is an infidel-loving, grave-worshiping apostate; they no doubt regard him as a legitimate target for assassination.
For such moderate, pluralistic Sufi imams are the front line against the most violent forms of Islam. In the most radical parts of the Muslim world, Sufi leaders risk their lives for their tolerant beliefs, every bit as bravely as American troops on the ground in Baghdad and Kabul do. Sufism is the most pluralistic incarnation of Islam — accessible to the learned and the ignorant, the faithful and nonbelievers — and is thus a uniquely valuable bridge between East and West.
The great Sufi saints like the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi held that all existence and all religions were one, all manifestations of the same divine reality. What was important was not the empty ritual of the mosque, church, synagogue or temple, but the striving to understand that divinity can best be reached through the gateway of the human heart: that we all can find paradise within us, if we know where to look. In some ways Sufism, with its emphasis on love rather than judgment, represents the New Testament of Islam.
While the West remains blind to the divisions and distinctions within Islam, the challenge posed by the Sufi vision of the faith is not lost on the extremists. This was shown most violently on July 2, when the Pakistani Taliban organized a double-suicide bombing of the Data Darbar, the largest Sufi shrine in Lahore, Pakistan’s second-largest city. The attack took place on a Thursday night, when the shrine was at its busiest; 42 people were killed and 175 were injured.
This was only the latest in a series of assaults against Pakistan’s Sufis. In May, Peeru’s Cafe in Lahore, a cultural center where I had recently performed with a troupe of Sufi musicians, was bombed in the middle of its annual festival. An important site in a tribal area of the northwest — the tomb of Haji Sahib of Turangzai, a Sufi persecuted under British colonial rule for his social work — has been forcibly turned into a Taliban headquarters. Two shrines near Peshawar, the mausoleum of Bahadar Baba and the shrine of Abu Saeed Baba, have been destroyed by rocket fire.
Symbolically, however, the most devastating Taliban attack occurred last spring at the shrine of the 17th-century poet-saint Rahman Baba, at the foot of the Khyber Pass in northwest Pakistan. For centuries, the complex has been a place for musicians and poets to gather, and Rahman Baba’s Sufi verses had long made him the national poet of the Pashtuns living on both sides of the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. “I am a lover, and I deal in love,” wrote the saint. “Sow flowers,/ so your surroundings become a garden./ Don’t sow thorns; for they will prick your feet./ We are all one body./ Whoever tortures another, wounds himself.”
THEN, about a decade ago, a Saudi-financed religious school, or madrasa, was built at the end of the path leading to the shrine. Soon its students took it upon themselves to halt what they see as the un-Islamic practices of Rahman Baba’s admirers. When I last visited it in 2003, the shrine-keeper, Tila Mohammed, described how young students were coming regularly to complain that his shrine was a center of idolatry and immorality.
“My family have been singing here for generations,” he told me. “But now these madrasa students come and tell us that what we do is wrong. They tell women to stay at home. This used to be a place where people came to get peace of mind. Now when they come here they just encounter more problems.”
Then, one morning in early March 2009, a group of Pakistani Taliban arrived at the shrine before dawn and placed dynamite packages around the squinches supporting the shrine’s dome. In the ensuing explosion, the mausoleum was destroyed, but at least nobody was killed. The Pakistani Taliban quickly took credit, blaming the shrine’s administrators for allowing women to pray and seek healing there.
The good news is that Sufis, though mild, are also resilient. While the Wahhabis have become dominant in northern Pakistan ever since we chose to finance their fight against the Soviets in Afghanistan, things are different in Sindh Province in southern Pakistan. Sufis are putting up a strong resistance on behalf of the pluralist, composite culture that emerged in the course of a thousand years of cohabitation between Hinduism and Islam.
Last year, when I visited a shrine of the saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in the town of Sehwan, I was astonished by the strength and the openness of the feelings against those puritan mullahs who criticize as heresy all homage to Sufi saints.
“I feel that it is my duty to protect both the Sufi saints, just as they have protected me,” one woman told me. “Today in our Pakistan there are so many of these mullahs and Wahhabis who say that to pay respect to the saints in their shrines is heresy. Those hypocrites! They sit there reading their law books and arguing about how long their beards should be, and fail to listen to the true message of the prophet.”
There are many like her; indeed, until recently Sufism was the dominant form of Islam in South Asia. And her point of view shows why the West would do well to view Sufis as natural allies against the extremists. A 2007 study by the RAND Corporation found that Sufis’ open, intellectual interpretation of Islam makes them ideal “partners in the effort to combat Islamist extremism.”
Sufism is an entirely indigenous, deeply rooted resistance movement against violent Islamic radicalism. Whether it can be harnessed to a political end is not clear. But the least we can do is to encourage the Sufis in our own societies. Men like Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf should be embraced as vital allies, and we should have only contempt for those who, through ignorance or political calculation, attempt to conflate them with the extremists.
William Dalrymple is the author, most recently, of “Nine Lives: In Search of the Sacred in Modern India.”
Monday, August 16, 2010
Berkshires and Buckley
We took my aged but healthy parents to Lenox and had “A weekend.”
Completely enjoyable with cool temperatures and fine restaurants and to top it all off, a great play at Williamstown called THE LAST GOODBYE.
What is it, you ask?
This is a mash-up of Romeo and Juliet, yes, the one by Shakespeare, with the music of the late and extremely talented and one of my all time favorite guys, Jeff Buckley.
At first, I was all, “Come on! This Pride and Prejudice and Zombies shit has gone too far.” Then, well, it grew on me. And by the end, I swear, I have never seen or heard a better Romeo and Juliet and when it comes to New York, you really should see it, or better yet, get thee to the mountains.
The adaptor-director is Michael Kimmel. He was listening to a Jeff Buckley song on his iPod while in rehearsals for Othello and had Shakespeare on his mind and he felt the song fit into a conversation Benvolio has with Romeo. Okay, so maybe a stretch---and one could say this sort of thing about lots of songs. For instance, “I was listening to All the Gold in California by the Gatlin Brothers and I thought, Shit, that would fit perfectly into The Merchant of Venice…”
But, it doesn’t matter where it comes from (and I wish people would not talk so much about where things come from. And can all liner notes be against the law, in general?)---in the end, it was fantastic. Mostly because of the music, arranged by Kris Kukul.
Great cast, with Damon Daunno as Romeo and Kelli Barrett as Juliet. Amazing singers. Young, hot, all of that.
Everyone else, too, sang very well and the harmonies were close and hard and lovely. Plus, the added bonus of Chloe Webb as the Nurse. ‘Cause, why not?
If you are in Williamstown, go check it out. It doesn’t run very long. These summer things never do. But I wanted to share my enthusiasm.
Long rainy drive back on the Taconic. That road needs some shoulders. And I need some new wipers.
Completely enjoyable with cool temperatures and fine restaurants and to top it all off, a great play at Williamstown called THE LAST GOODBYE.
What is it, you ask?
This is a mash-up of Romeo and Juliet, yes, the one by Shakespeare, with the music of the late and extremely talented and one of my all time favorite guys, Jeff Buckley.
At first, I was all, “Come on! This Pride and Prejudice and Zombies shit has gone too far.” Then, well, it grew on me. And by the end, I swear, I have never seen or heard a better Romeo and Juliet and when it comes to New York, you really should see it, or better yet, get thee to the mountains.
The adaptor-director is Michael Kimmel. He was listening to a Jeff Buckley song on his iPod while in rehearsals for Othello and had Shakespeare on his mind and he felt the song fit into a conversation Benvolio has with Romeo. Okay, so maybe a stretch---and one could say this sort of thing about lots of songs. For instance, “I was listening to All the Gold in California by the Gatlin Brothers and I thought, Shit, that would fit perfectly into The Merchant of Venice…”
But, it doesn’t matter where it comes from (and I wish people would not talk so much about where things come from. And can all liner notes be against the law, in general?)---in the end, it was fantastic. Mostly because of the music, arranged by Kris Kukul.
Great cast, with Damon Daunno as Romeo and Kelli Barrett as Juliet. Amazing singers. Young, hot, all of that.
Everyone else, too, sang very well and the harmonies were close and hard and lovely. Plus, the added bonus of Chloe Webb as the Nurse. ‘Cause, why not?
If you are in Williamstown, go check it out. It doesn’t run very long. These summer things never do. But I wanted to share my enthusiasm.
Long rainy drive back on the Taconic. That road needs some shoulders. And I need some new wipers.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
We Are Current, Continue
Goodbye to the Stay. How fascinating.
What saved us are the 18,000 same sex marriages that have been in full force in California for years. Oh, hm, how did that harm marriage in any way?
Hilarious time to be on the wrong side of history.
The horse is out of the barn.
Democracy always moves forward. Always.
And once California has 100,000 same sex marriages and all the almonds will not have rotted off the trees and all the wine will have continued to be sold at a fine clip and Hollywood will have kept producing its chuffastuff and straight people will have kept marrying or not and having babies or not and it will have all just chugged along and nothing really was ever a problem…well, I mean, come on.
Does it even need to go to the Supreme Court ever? I guess so South Carolina, Alabama and Utah will one day join the modern era—
Quit knuckle dragging, you bigoted hypocritically religious phobes.
The times they have a-changed.
And some kid in school, in 2110, will read about American history and how back in the day his laser-transsexual mother and her lady love at one time would hot have been given the same rights as a man and woman of another sexual identity and preference, and he will wonder how it could have ever been that way at all, ever. It does not make sense. He scratches his head. Goes outside to play. Because there will still be an outside.
If it’s in California, it’s forever.
I have always loved Schwarzenegger.
But I’m really mad, because now, I really want to marry three people or an animal. Or maybe a child or a plant.
What saved us are the 18,000 same sex marriages that have been in full force in California for years. Oh, hm, how did that harm marriage in any way?
Hilarious time to be on the wrong side of history.
The horse is out of the barn.
Democracy always moves forward. Always.
And once California has 100,000 same sex marriages and all the almonds will not have rotted off the trees and all the wine will have continued to be sold at a fine clip and Hollywood will have kept producing its chuffastuff and straight people will have kept marrying or not and having babies or not and it will have all just chugged along and nothing really was ever a problem…well, I mean, come on.
Does it even need to go to the Supreme Court ever? I guess so South Carolina, Alabama and Utah will one day join the modern era—
Quit knuckle dragging, you bigoted hypocritically religious phobes.
The times they have a-changed.
And some kid in school, in 2110, will read about American history and how back in the day his laser-transsexual mother and her lady love at one time would hot have been given the same rights as a man and woman of another sexual identity and preference, and he will wonder how it could have ever been that way at all, ever. It does not make sense. He scratches his head. Goes outside to play. Because there will still be an outside.
If it’s in California, it’s forever.
I have always loved Schwarzenegger.
But I’m really mad, because now, I really want to marry three people or an animal. Or maybe a child or a plant.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
For my Writer Friends
You know how you keep a calendar and you put great things in there? Like Go-to-Southampton and Dinner-with-Caitlin and Pick-up-the-Chicken? Well, you can do the same thing with your writing.
Next week: Act 3.
The week after: Act 4.
The week after that: Polish it up
Stuff like that. Why not? If you can keep to your calendar when it comes to chicken, you can certainly keep to it when it comes to your projects.
Okay, this blog entry is for me.
Next week: Act 3.
The week after: Act 4.
The week after that: Polish it up
Stuff like that. Why not? If you can keep to your calendar when it comes to chicken, you can certainly keep to it when it comes to your projects.
Okay, this blog entry is for me.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Healthmare
While we do not have a single payer system, the rest of the civilized world and parts of what used to be the uncivilized world do have such things.
Let us talk about real value and competition, because I would like my Right-side friends to hear this one thing---and only this one thing---and comment on this ONE point, so please don’t go off on Obama or the threat of Socialism or why there should not be a mosque at the World Trade Center Site (though, I do not believe there should be ANY religious architecture at the World Trade Center Site.)
Okay, this is my opinion: WE DO NOT HAVE AN EFFICIENT MOBILE WORKING FORCE because people are stuck in jobs that suck (if they are working at all) for the health benefits. This is such an arcane way of running a society.
It can easily take a month to adjust to a new job and to have benefits kick in. Or, one can move to another state looking for work (because, say, a teacher hears that they really need teachers in North Dakota) and while on the hunt, where does one get health insurance? And don’t say COBRA because it often is so expensive and has such problems when you cross state lines, that the only thing you can guarantee yourself is catastrophic, sort of. I have been through this.
So, you get a timid work force, a bunch of people who do not take risks, because they are afraid to be without health insurance. This creates anxiety. Thus, workers are enslaved to THE PAST.
Meanwhile, in France, China, Germany, etc., you can just up and go wherever you need to work. And your health care goes with you because it’s “the cloud”. This is so easy. And it creates a nimble culture. Why would we not want this?
So, my friends on the Right, in terms of pure math, and spare me the anger and the diatribes about Obama being born on Mars and wanting to turn your dog into a Muslim, but using math, tell me what is the upside of being able to compete globally with the work forces of other great countries when we are not as mobile, when our working people are slow, cautious, afraid to take risks and, well, as it turns out, fat and diabetic from their sessile, barker lounger, non-robust existences?
Let us talk about real value and competition, because I would like my Right-side friends to hear this one thing---and only this one thing---and comment on this ONE point, so please don’t go off on Obama or the threat of Socialism or why there should not be a mosque at the World Trade Center Site (though, I do not believe there should be ANY religious architecture at the World Trade Center Site.)
Okay, this is my opinion: WE DO NOT HAVE AN EFFICIENT MOBILE WORKING FORCE because people are stuck in jobs that suck (if they are working at all) for the health benefits. This is such an arcane way of running a society.
It can easily take a month to adjust to a new job and to have benefits kick in. Or, one can move to another state looking for work (because, say, a teacher hears that they really need teachers in North Dakota) and while on the hunt, where does one get health insurance? And don’t say COBRA because it often is so expensive and has such problems when you cross state lines, that the only thing you can guarantee yourself is catastrophic, sort of. I have been through this.
So, you get a timid work force, a bunch of people who do not take risks, because they are afraid to be without health insurance. This creates anxiety. Thus, workers are enslaved to THE PAST.
Meanwhile, in France, China, Germany, etc., you can just up and go wherever you need to work. And your health care goes with you because it’s “the cloud”. This is so easy. And it creates a nimble culture. Why would we not want this?
So, my friends on the Right, in terms of pure math, and spare me the anger and the diatribes about Obama being born on Mars and wanting to turn your dog into a Muslim, but using math, tell me what is the upside of being able to compete globally with the work forces of other great countries when we are not as mobile, when our working people are slow, cautious, afraid to take risks and, well, as it turns out, fat and diabetic from their sessile, barker lounger, non-robust existences?
Monday, August 09, 2010
Blog City
There is something about the past that draws you in because you can rewrite it. You can make it better than it was.
Since joy is not guaranteed on earth, and pain certainly is plentiful, we mentally redo the past to make it like it was golden and wonderful in order to survive.
It’s a delusion. But it works.
Like so many of our constructs.
Since joy is not guaranteed on earth, and pain certainly is plentiful, we mentally redo the past to make it like it was golden and wonderful in order to survive.
It’s a delusion. But it works.
Like so many of our constructs.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
My Big Fat Gay Weekend
In celebration of deep summer humidity, and random plans coming together, as they will, we spent twenty-four hours on Fire Island with great friends on a beach side deck with a pool in Cherry Grove.
Look, it’s just a fifty mile drive out there and a twenty minute ferry. And you get there and it’s about 100% gay, no cars, beautiful beach, cute shacks and lots of good will. First time I’ve ever been. The Pines are right there, too. And if you are so inclined, you can take off all your clothes and no one really cares. Or at least in my case no one did.
I highly recommend it. Plus, the breakfast sandwich at Floyd’s is a great deal and very welcome after a night of booze-ahol and carousing. Plus, there’s all the drama of people-on-a-barrier-island with their love dreams coming or not coming true. Like Junior High without that pesky part where you have to learn all about the Iroquois Native Americans. What were the five tribes? Mohawk, Onondaga, Oneida, Seneca and ---oh yes, Cayuga (had to Wikki that one). Okay, so a Junior High education was worth it. Plus, wasn’t it fun to make that long house diorama?
But I digress. If you’re gay, go to Cherry Grove/The Pines. You won’t be disappointed. If you’re not gay, please don’t try to buy in. We have like three spots left on earth.
But do go see La Cage aux Folles on Broadway, gay or not. With the incredible Douglas Hodge (Tony Winner and really, he should have gotten two Tony’s) and Kelsey Grammer (who once read an Auden poem at a wedding I attended in Malibu and out-cried the bride), directed by Terry Johnson (fantastic and true) and won the Tony for best Broadway revival, why would you want to miss this? Plus, my friend Tony works on the show as the resident director and he is making sure those Cagelles keep up their splits, aerials and other shenanigans to the standards of the original staging (first produced at the London Menier Chocolate Factory---it’s a theatre, not a candy store.) And with all that tangential name-ish dropping I am doing, just because I have ego problems, what I am really saying is---go see this damn show. You’ll flip your wig. Unless, of course, you find joyful, loving gay men and drag queens somehow not worth your time. But they actually are. Additionally, I attended with my parents, sister, her family, and my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic Partner followed by dinner. All very affirming and worth the discounted price of admission (see my post about Broadway Box). La Cage aux Folles, a total pleasure. It’s funny. It’s smart. And it’s incredibly well done. Plus, they kick beach balls into the crowd.
Sometimes, you just have to get your gay on. And then, it’s back to regular life. Which includes planning trips, writing plays, singing and cavorting late hours in Hells Kitchen. So I guess, really, it never stops.
Happy are those who are members of a subculture. It does simplify the journey. However, it’s all an illusion.
Have a great summer.
Look, it’s just a fifty mile drive out there and a twenty minute ferry. And you get there and it’s about 100% gay, no cars, beautiful beach, cute shacks and lots of good will. First time I’ve ever been. The Pines are right there, too. And if you are so inclined, you can take off all your clothes and no one really cares. Or at least in my case no one did.
I highly recommend it. Plus, the breakfast sandwich at Floyd’s is a great deal and very welcome after a night of booze-ahol and carousing. Plus, there’s all the drama of people-on-a-barrier-island with their love dreams coming or not coming true. Like Junior High without that pesky part where you have to learn all about the Iroquois Native Americans. What were the five tribes? Mohawk, Onondaga, Oneida, Seneca and ---oh yes, Cayuga (had to Wikki that one). Okay, so a Junior High education was worth it. Plus, wasn’t it fun to make that long house diorama?
But I digress. If you’re gay, go to Cherry Grove/The Pines. You won’t be disappointed. If you’re not gay, please don’t try to buy in. We have like three spots left on earth.
But do go see La Cage aux Folles on Broadway, gay or not. With the incredible Douglas Hodge (Tony Winner and really, he should have gotten two Tony’s) and Kelsey Grammer (who once read an Auden poem at a wedding I attended in Malibu and out-cried the bride), directed by Terry Johnson (fantastic and true) and won the Tony for best Broadway revival, why would you want to miss this? Plus, my friend Tony works on the show as the resident director and he is making sure those Cagelles keep up their splits, aerials and other shenanigans to the standards of the original staging (first produced at the London Menier Chocolate Factory---it’s a theatre, not a candy store.) And with all that tangential name-ish dropping I am doing, just because I have ego problems, what I am really saying is---go see this damn show. You’ll flip your wig. Unless, of course, you find joyful, loving gay men and drag queens somehow not worth your time. But they actually are. Additionally, I attended with my parents, sister, her family, and my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic Partner followed by dinner. All very affirming and worth the discounted price of admission (see my post about Broadway Box). La Cage aux Folles, a total pleasure. It’s funny. It’s smart. And it’s incredibly well done. Plus, they kick beach balls into the crowd.
Sometimes, you just have to get your gay on. And then, it’s back to regular life. Which includes planning trips, writing plays, singing and cavorting late hours in Hells Kitchen. So I guess, really, it never stops.
Happy are those who are members of a subculture. It does simplify the journey. However, it’s all an illusion.
Have a great summer.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Let's Make a List
1. This gay marriage thing. Come on Walker. Tear down that STAY. It’s not right. Tear it down, I say, like that Gorbachev wall.
2. It’s so hot and humid in New York, I actually feel like I am being born again.
3. So we have decided to go to Iceland.
4. Go to iTunes and buy Henry Wolfe’s SOMEONE ELSE. It’s great. And write a wonderful review.
5. Do not eat caramelized onions and expect an easy night.
6. My hair is turning gray. I probably need to eat more vegetables. Or get a time machine.
7. The recession is over. But the corporations are not spending any money on developing anything new. It’s their Fuck-You to the Democratic leadership of this country. And no one sees this as unpatriotic?
8. Loosen your coffers, Fortune 500’s, and hire some people and create some new things. It can’t all be about your little lives with its lush status quo, the polo ponies and the private jet trips to Cap d’Antibes. Can it?
9. Isn’t it more fun to be creative, anyway? Like, isn’t it more fun to make a papier maché bunny than it is to check your portfolio?
10. I could eat linguini with clam sauce every day. Gotta get some spinach.
2. It’s so hot and humid in New York, I actually feel like I am being born again.
3. So we have decided to go to Iceland.
4. Go to iTunes and buy Henry Wolfe’s SOMEONE ELSE. It’s great. And write a wonderful review.
5. Do not eat caramelized onions and expect an easy night.
6. My hair is turning gray. I probably need to eat more vegetables. Or get a time machine.
7. The recession is over. But the corporations are not spending any money on developing anything new. It’s their Fuck-You to the Democratic leadership of this country. And no one sees this as unpatriotic?
8. Loosen your coffers, Fortune 500’s, and hire some people and create some new things. It can’t all be about your little lives with its lush status quo, the polo ponies and the private jet trips to Cap d’Antibes. Can it?
9. Isn’t it more fun to be creative, anyway? Like, isn’t it more fun to make a papier maché bunny than it is to check your portfolio?
10. I could eat linguini with clam sauce every day. Gotta get some spinach.
Let's Make a List
Let’s make a list.
1. This gay marriage thing. Come on Walker. Tear down that STAY. It’s not right. Tear it down, I say, like that Gorbachev wall.
2. It’s so hot and humid in New York, I actually fell like I am being born again.
3. So we have decided to go to Iceland.
4. Go to iTunes and buy Henry Wolfe’s SOMEONE ELSE. It’s great. And write a wonderful review.
5. Do not eat caramelized onions and expect an easy night.
6. My hair is turning gray. I probably need to eat more vegetables. Or get a time machine.
7. The recession is over. But the corporations are not spending any money on developing anything new. It’s their Fuck-You to the Democratic leadership of this country. And no one sees this as unpatriotic?
8. Loosen your coffers, Fortune 500’s, and hire some people and create some new things. It can’t all be about your little lives with its lush status quo, the polo ponies and the private jet trips to Cap d’Antibes. Can it?
9. Isn’t it more fun to be creative, anyway? Like, isn’t it more fun to make a papier maché bunny than it is to check your portfolio?
10. I could eat linguini with clam sauce every day. Gotta get some spinach.
1. This gay marriage thing. Come on Walker. Tear down that STAY. It’s not right. Tear it down, I say, like that Gorbachev wall.
2. It’s so hot and humid in New York, I actually fell like I am being born again.
3. So we have decided to go to Iceland.
4. Go to iTunes and buy Henry Wolfe’s SOMEONE ELSE. It’s great. And write a wonderful review.
5. Do not eat caramelized onions and expect an easy night.
6. My hair is turning gray. I probably need to eat more vegetables. Or get a time machine.
7. The recession is over. But the corporations are not spending any money on developing anything new. It’s their Fuck-You to the Democratic leadership of this country. And no one sees this as unpatriotic?
8. Loosen your coffers, Fortune 500’s, and hire some people and create some new things. It can’t all be about your little lives with its lush status quo, the polo ponies and the private jet trips to Cap d’Antibes. Can it?
9. Isn’t it more fun to be creative, anyway? Like, isn’t it more fun to make a papier maché bunny than it is to check your portfolio?
10. I could eat linguini with clam sauce every day. Gotta get some spinach.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Justice Kennedy, Can You Do It?
Yeah, Prop 8, that hateful prop, was overturned today. But there’s a stay.
This thing is going to the Supreme Court.
And now it’s up to Kennedy, our Supreme swinger, to uphold the lower court’s decision to keep down Prop 8 in the garbage where it belongs.
Tricky thing is, the logic used by the lower court might be eviscerated by the upper court. Blech.
Strange thing, this happening in my lifetime. I guess strange things happen in everyone’s lifetime that very personally pertains to their specific circumstances. I just do not feel that I have the nerves for all this. At least not right now. Okay, I do. Who am I? Mashed potatoes Marvin?
I was at a dinner tonight and to my surprise, someone there did not believe in evolution. How could I know such a person? I mean, I do not know this person by choice…but still, just two degrees of separation and someone is throwing Adam and Eve stuff at me?
And how could we live in a world where Prop. 8 could happen at all?
You hate to be all, “How stupid can people be?”
But shit, I’m feeling arrogant and pissed off. I do not feel celebratory. Call me a gloomy Gus. But do call me.
Come on Kennedy. (You know today he knows that his entire career is going to be remembered for the decision he is going to have to make. And he’s excited.)
Do the thing that helps. We are not Saudi Arabia.
This thing is going to the Supreme Court.
And now it’s up to Kennedy, our Supreme swinger, to uphold the lower court’s decision to keep down Prop 8 in the garbage where it belongs.
Tricky thing is, the logic used by the lower court might be eviscerated by the upper court. Blech.
Strange thing, this happening in my lifetime. I guess strange things happen in everyone’s lifetime that very personally pertains to their specific circumstances. I just do not feel that I have the nerves for all this. At least not right now. Okay, I do. Who am I? Mashed potatoes Marvin?
I was at a dinner tonight and to my surprise, someone there did not believe in evolution. How could I know such a person? I mean, I do not know this person by choice…but still, just two degrees of separation and someone is throwing Adam and Eve stuff at me?
And how could we live in a world where Prop. 8 could happen at all?
You hate to be all, “How stupid can people be?”
But shit, I’m feeling arrogant and pissed off. I do not feel celebratory. Call me a gloomy Gus. But do call me.
Come on Kennedy. (You know today he knows that his entire career is going to be remembered for the decision he is going to have to make. And he’s excited.)
Do the thing that helps. We are not Saudi Arabia.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
One Does Want to Be Kind to Schmucks
One wants to be kind to all living creatures. So here it goes.
Dinner for Schmucks wasn’t great.
Paul Rudd is forever attractive and grounded.
Everyone else dialed it up to a wobbly 12.5.
But I liked some of the business. You know, I like comedies.
Better luck next time. I mean it.
Dinner for Schmucks wasn’t great.
Paul Rudd is forever attractive and grounded.
Everyone else dialed it up to a wobbly 12.5.
But I liked some of the business. You know, I like comedies.
Better luck next time. I mean it.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Let's Talk About the Mall that is Soho
When I was in my twenties, back in the day when Matthew Broderick was also in his twenties, one would go down to Soho to see art, hook up with an NBC executive, do some blow, have crazy loft sex, go to the SNL after party at Rockefeller Center and then wonder what the hell you were doing with your life. Of course, what you were doing with your life made total sense and if you could do it all over again, well, you would.
These days, you go to Ben Sherman and you buy a load of cotton from the sale rack. Look, I’m a bit beefy, which is a nice way of saying I could lose fifteen pounds and the world would be better off. But still, those Ben Sherman cuts, all 1960’s and British, give me a happy feeling.
Soho is a mall. A frigging Paramus-Beverly Center Redo below Houston.
Corporations made me quake today. First the artists, then the galleries, then the cafés and shops, then the corporate stores. This is the natural progression. Like bog to woods. Read about the bog to field to woods progression. It’s so fun.
And I go, with everyone else, downtown to buy my mall clothes and pretend I’m having a cutting edge experience. I mean, shit, I ate frozen yogurt.
I hate clothes shopping. Something about all that fire retardant stench in the stores. Some people associate it with optimism, fresh new times. I associate it with strange cancer odor.
But I like new clothes. And thank goodness Adam, my recognized by the State of California Domestic Partner, completely takes over when we shop. He’s a total clothing top.
Cut off the tags, wash them well.
These days, you go to Ben Sherman and you buy a load of cotton from the sale rack. Look, I’m a bit beefy, which is a nice way of saying I could lose fifteen pounds and the world would be better off. But still, those Ben Sherman cuts, all 1960’s and British, give me a happy feeling.
Soho is a mall. A frigging Paramus-Beverly Center Redo below Houston.
Corporations made me quake today. First the artists, then the galleries, then the cafés and shops, then the corporate stores. This is the natural progression. Like bog to woods. Read about the bog to field to woods progression. It’s so fun.
And I go, with everyone else, downtown to buy my mall clothes and pretend I’m having a cutting edge experience. I mean, shit, I ate frozen yogurt.
I hate clothes shopping. Something about all that fire retardant stench in the stores. Some people associate it with optimism, fresh new times. I associate it with strange cancer odor.
But I like new clothes. And thank goodness Adam, my recognized by the State of California Domestic Partner, completely takes over when we shop. He’s a total clothing top.
Cut off the tags, wash them well.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Weekend Slider
1. I have made $8.75 from my Ads on my blog via Google Adsense. It just took three months!
2. Friends, after six years of allergy shots, I am finally done. It is time to celebrate one less maintenance-y thing in my calendar. Pass the Claritin.
3. I still like to play the guitar.
4. I do not understand why poorish people (and I include the middle class in this one) are Republicans. I was at a birthday party tonight at a penthouse overlooking all of Manhattan. These people were Democrats. Why are the swanky people so happy to give money away (of course, they’ll have lots of money anyway, no matter what the government takes) but the poorer people are so terrified of ever being at the receiving end of this largesse?
5. From up high in New York, you can really see the capitalism. I understand why the poor drink. It is very stressful to be poor.
6. I would have no problem living in a penthouse. But isn’t it weird that the plumbing vent pipes come up right through the patio? Not something I would want.
7. I am getting used to the humidity. You just have to not mind being sort of filthy.
8. There are many sensitive, creative, smart people on earth. You just have to wait.
9. I want a dog.
10. But does a dog want me?
2. Friends, after six years of allergy shots, I am finally done. It is time to celebrate one less maintenance-y thing in my calendar. Pass the Claritin.
3. I still like to play the guitar.
4. I do not understand why poorish people (and I include the middle class in this one) are Republicans. I was at a birthday party tonight at a penthouse overlooking all of Manhattan. These people were Democrats. Why are the swanky people so happy to give money away (of course, they’ll have lots of money anyway, no matter what the government takes) but the poorer people are so terrified of ever being at the receiving end of this largesse?
5. From up high in New York, you can really see the capitalism. I understand why the poor drink. It is very stressful to be poor.
6. I would have no problem living in a penthouse. But isn’t it weird that the plumbing vent pipes come up right through the patio? Not something I would want.
7. I am getting used to the humidity. You just have to not mind being sort of filthy.
8. There are many sensitive, creative, smart people on earth. You just have to wait.
9. I want a dog.
10. But does a dog want me?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I AM LOVE
Directed by Luca Guadagnino, I Am Love is so worth seeing I can’t believe you’re sitting here reading this stupid blog entry when you should be online buying your tickets.
Look, the story is not so new. Oh well. I am not spoiling anything here as we all know that Tilda Swinton gets carried away by this earthy chef in gorgeous Italy.
But really, this movie is not about the story. It’s about the design, the shooting and the incredible costumes, sets and music and of course, acting. I don’t usually put much stock in design stuff (I completely walked out of The English Patient). But this movie? It’s a damn thrill, the sensual nature of it. Everything about it is so beautiful, it makes me proud to be half Italian, though the Italians that I hail from are more the servants in the movie than the industrialisti that are the center of the story.
Tilda Swinton heads a cast of such beautiful and well dressed Milanese, you’ll wonder how you are ever going to show your decent face and your ugly wardrobe again in any social setting. Tilda is Oscar bound, what with her Italian and Russian.
The music by John Adams is also Oscar bound.
So get your ballots out and mark them now.
John Adams starts with some very Copland xylophone stuff, giving the movie a very 1955 feeling. And the music keeps changing as the story gets into very different territory.
The sex/nature scenes are unbelievable. You guys! See it.
When the story does turn toward the end, I didn’t buy it. And upon reflection, I still don’t. But it’s hard to make a perfect movie, always has been. I’m letting it go.
See it in a really good movie theatre with a big screen with great sound.
Go out for a great meal when you’re done. Order the shrimp.
I Am Love
Look, the story is not so new. Oh well. I am not spoiling anything here as we all know that Tilda Swinton gets carried away by this earthy chef in gorgeous Italy.
But really, this movie is not about the story. It’s about the design, the shooting and the incredible costumes, sets and music and of course, acting. I don’t usually put much stock in design stuff (I completely walked out of The English Patient). But this movie? It’s a damn thrill, the sensual nature of it. Everything about it is so beautiful, it makes me proud to be half Italian, though the Italians that I hail from are more the servants in the movie than the industrialisti that are the center of the story.
Tilda Swinton heads a cast of such beautiful and well dressed Milanese, you’ll wonder how you are ever going to show your decent face and your ugly wardrobe again in any social setting. Tilda is Oscar bound, what with her Italian and Russian.
The music by John Adams is also Oscar bound.
So get your ballots out and mark them now.
John Adams starts with some very Copland xylophone stuff, giving the movie a very 1955 feeling. And the music keeps changing as the story gets into very different territory.
The sex/nature scenes are unbelievable. You guys! See it.
When the story does turn toward the end, I didn’t buy it. And upon reflection, I still don’t. But it’s hard to make a perfect movie, always has been. I’m letting it go.
See it in a really good movie theatre with a big screen with great sound.
Go out for a great meal when you’re done. Order the shrimp.
I Am Love
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
1933
From FDR:
So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyses needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.
So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyses needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Name Playground
Have fun with this one! Find out how common your name is, when it was the most popular, all of that, at Name Playground.
Apparently, Donald experienced its peak popularity in 1934 and has been going downhill ever since. (My father was born in ’38 and I am named after him.) 1934 was the year when Donald was the name of 3.07% of the male population and was the sixth most popular name. Now, Donald is the 303rd most popular name. Quack, quack.
Names have changed so much. Because I never had a kid, I never spent much time on this sort of thing. (Except for my pooch.) But I had fun looking at names when they were at their peak.
Roger and Dianne both peaked in 1945.
Alan and Kathryn had their peak in 1951.
Michael peaked and was the number one name in 1954.
Most popular names for 2006? Jacob and Emily.
What a surprise, right?
Apparently, almost everyone named their son Gregory in 1962.
But for now, I think I’ll name my next dog Ethan or Madison.
Apparently, Donald experienced its peak popularity in 1934 and has been going downhill ever since. (My father was born in ’38 and I am named after him.) 1934 was the year when Donald was the name of 3.07% of the male population and was the sixth most popular name. Now, Donald is the 303rd most popular name. Quack, quack.
Names have changed so much. Because I never had a kid, I never spent much time on this sort of thing. (Except for my pooch.) But I had fun looking at names when they were at their peak.
Roger and Dianne both peaked in 1945.
Alan and Kathryn had their peak in 1951.
Michael peaked and was the number one name in 1954.
Most popular names for 2006? Jacob and Emily.
What a surprise, right?
Apparently, almost everyone named their son Gregory in 1962.
But for now, I think I’ll name my next dog Ethan or Madison.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
The Kids Are All Right
We did it. We went to see that LA movie about the lesbian couple whose late teen children form a relationship with their sperm donor dad and then he ends up having sex with Julianne Moore (as people do) and then everyone learns a little bit of something, the whole time speaking leftover touch-feely verbiage from the early 1990’s with Annette Bening, Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson hauling out quirky, brilliant performances under the watchful, tasteful eye of director Lisa Cholodenko, The Kids are All Right.
It is worth seeing if you are in the mood for something kind of smart and adult, a little bit wry, and sexy but not really sexy at all.
Fun thing, too, my friend owns the hunk of an old brick building that stands in as Mark Ruffalo’s restaurant where I have spent many a fun party, so I felt like I was spending time with old friends. Plus it is lovely LA, the part of the U.S. that has a Mediterranean joy to it. Angst against it looks lovely.
The story was something you could see hurling at you like an Impala across a Kansas prairie. And the dialogue was sort of smug, sort of send-up and not particularly satisfying.
But the direction and acting were way up there. You do not get to see this kind of thing almost ever. I also loved Ms. Cholodenko’s 1998 High Art.
It is worth seeing if you are in the mood for something kind of smart and adult, a little bit wry, and sexy but not really sexy at all.
Fun thing, too, my friend owns the hunk of an old brick building that stands in as Mark Ruffalo’s restaurant where I have spent many a fun party, so I felt like I was spending time with old friends. Plus it is lovely LA, the part of the U.S. that has a Mediterranean joy to it. Angst against it looks lovely.
The story was something you could see hurling at you like an Impala across a Kansas prairie. And the dialogue was sort of smug, sort of send-up and not particularly satisfying.
But the direction and acting were way up there. You do not get to see this kind of thing almost ever. I also loved Ms. Cholodenko’s 1998 High Art.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Entertainment Service Announcement
Friends,
I know you’re trying to save money. But you can’t sit home every night. You have to go out, see things, have a cone.
And why stand on that TKTS line in the middle of Times Square jostling for a ticket when you can much more readily and much more comfortably go online to www.broadwaybox.com and buy your tickets there at a deep discount?
I’ve done it for years. (Thanks S.B. for the tip).
I am also a member of other things that I can get through my unions, etc. But www.broadwaybox.com is open to all and frankly has the greatest variety of shows at a great discount.
Use it. You know you like to see a show or two a year. And who the hell likes to pay full price?
Have a great weekend. Go to clean, peaceful beaches. Eat healthy food. Drink plenty of water.
I know you’re trying to save money. But you can’t sit home every night. You have to go out, see things, have a cone.
And why stand on that TKTS line in the middle of Times Square jostling for a ticket when you can much more readily and much more comfortably go online to www.broadwaybox.com and buy your tickets there at a deep discount?
I’ve done it for years. (Thanks S.B. for the tip).
I am also a member of other things that I can get through my unions, etc. But www.broadwaybox.com is open to all and frankly has the greatest variety of shows at a great discount.
Use it. You know you like to see a show or two a year. And who the hell likes to pay full price?
Have a great weekend. Go to clean, peaceful beaches. Eat healthy food. Drink plenty of water.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
8 Reasons Why I Like Thursdays
1. Because you get all that stuff done so you can be free to do exactly what you need to do on Friday.
2. Because people like to go out to lunch on a Thursday.
3. And people start softening into the weekend on Thursday night. Maybe a drink, maybe a show, maybe a vampire slaying.
4. It is not called hump day.
5. It’s a good day to fly. But not as good as Tuesday or Wednesday.
6. No one ever said, really, “I just hate Thursdays.”
7. Tone gets lighter on Thursday.
8. I was born on a Friday, so Thursday is my birth eve.
2. Because people like to go out to lunch on a Thursday.
3. And people start softening into the weekend on Thursday night. Maybe a drink, maybe a show, maybe a vampire slaying.
4. It is not called hump day.
5. It’s a good day to fly. But not as good as Tuesday or Wednesday.
6. No one ever said, really, “I just hate Thursdays.”
7. Tone gets lighter on Thursday.
8. I was born on a Friday, so Thursday is my birth eve.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
So I'm Rewriting this Screenplay
I’m having one of those years when you have to do a lot of work, which is great. At times it is intimidating. But really, it’s what I asked for.
So I wrote this screenplay for these guys who made a couple of famous movies and they are very smart and very helpful. The screenplay is my idea. The working with me is their idea. Together, this thing is going well.
However---I was in the mood to write something funny, surely, but a little more French and moody. In the end, I wrote something that was funny, surely, but a little unfocused in tone and action.
So I got their great notes and I am using them fully and these notes are working well and the rewrite, which I am in the throes of every day, is coming together. And now I realize exactly what I am writing. I am writing the movie that is playing at the mall that you THANK GOD is playing at the mall because everything else that is playing at the mall is not so great but this one is fun and funny, and damn, let’s go in and enjoy ourselves.
Sometimes, I take myself too seriously. And really, my strong suit is comedy. Dark comedy, sure, but comedy. If you can take an idea and turn it into a story with solid characters and somehow make it all funny, well why wouldn’t you do that? People need it.
Coming to a mall near you: my movie. Pick up some groovy shirts while you’re there. And maybe those special curtain thingies you’ve needed forever from Restoration Hardware.
Of course, you can wait a while and just see it on a plane for free.
So I wrote this screenplay for these guys who made a couple of famous movies and they are very smart and very helpful. The screenplay is my idea. The working with me is their idea. Together, this thing is going well.
However---I was in the mood to write something funny, surely, but a little more French and moody. In the end, I wrote something that was funny, surely, but a little unfocused in tone and action.
So I got their great notes and I am using them fully and these notes are working well and the rewrite, which I am in the throes of every day, is coming together. And now I realize exactly what I am writing. I am writing the movie that is playing at the mall that you THANK GOD is playing at the mall because everything else that is playing at the mall is not so great but this one is fun and funny, and damn, let’s go in and enjoy ourselves.
Sometimes, I take myself too seriously. And really, my strong suit is comedy. Dark comedy, sure, but comedy. If you can take an idea and turn it into a story with solid characters and somehow make it all funny, well why wouldn’t you do that? People need it.
Coming to a mall near you: my movie. Pick up some groovy shirts while you’re there. And maybe those special curtain thingies you’ve needed forever from Restoration Hardware.
Of course, you can wait a while and just see it on a plane for free.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sleep
A good friend of mine, writer of Postcards from Hell’s Kitchen, suggested that in addition to drinking lots of water, it is also essential to get plenty of sleep.
And with that, I say goodnight.
And with that, I say goodnight.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Time Travel For Dummies
This is a picture of downtown Suffern, New York from a fifteenth story window that faces North in the Mahwah Sheraton, that rocket looking building you see where the I-287 meets Route 17 and the New York State Thruway.
I grew up in a pass-through town.
But it was a fine one. In fact, I feel very lucky to have grown up there as my family (including me) had been living in a less gemutlichkeit place only five miles away until I finished the fifth grade. I had no friends in the old town. I mostly bought black mollies for my aquarium, nursed their Ick infections, played pop songs on my guitar in my bedroom and read Peanuts classics.
But then we moved to Suffern where the kids were a little more old fashioned, certainly more friendly, smarter, engaged, fresh faced, even beautiful and generally positive. And I made friends there and I still have friends from this place. Spent seven great formative years, had a class trip to Paris, worked summers in a truck stop, then headed off to Boston for college. It was not traumatic, any of this. It was, at times, depressing. It was usually fun. It certainly was a great place to take all those good high school classes and join things, whatever you were into. It was well funded. It was quite a building with a planetarium and an indoor pool and a monster theatre and, well, I just have to say it, ramps. And all kinds of kids went there---a cross section---like something you would find at a decent suburban DMV. Plus, I think we were section 9 champions in every sport but curling, or something.
Now, reunions. You know, it is best going expecting nothing. This keeps you more in the moment. You just leave yourself open to the field. You go on the Easter Egg hunt and you find all these people that you knew when they were only eleven years old, some people that you’ve known since they were twelve and then some since they were fourteen, depending on what year your classes merged together. (And now, all these years later, as you hop around with your basket, you have to accept that it is the women who all still get to keep their hair.)
I drank a lot of water the week before I went, thinking it might help with that puff-face thing. Did not get too much sleep the night before. Ironed my shirt.
I like a party. I like talking to people. I am what I would call warmly shallow. Having lived in California for years where people are absolutely warmly shallow, I have come to enjoy the breeziness of these drive-by encounters with others.
But then, at times, you see someone and their image lights up a part of your brain, a memory, and your emotional life is re-contextualized. And it’s good to let that happen, that slide into the past, because there IS context there, a place of connection, and isn’t that why people go to reunions? Not as a study of specimens but as a kind of awakening of younger and less jaded (or tired) parts of the self? I think so. It is a very enjoyable experience. And all the people around you are doing the same and they reveal things to you like “The first time I did this or that adolescent wrong doing was WITH YOU!” Ah, but you do not take any blame. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else! And people get a little embarrassed. Some people want to fall in love again. Some people profess their crushes that they had, all of that. (None of that for me.) So the breeziness gets deeper.
I spoke for a while with another guy from my class who was also gay. It was very comforting.
I got to talk to some “Mounties” that I really did not know at all. And I certainly had complete conversations with people that I knew very well. Facebook helps. It re-solidifies. In fact, some sociologists are saying that Facebook is actually getting people to spend MORE time in the flesh with other people. Could be…
Glad I went. It was warm hearted. It was open hearted, even. And though at times it felt freaky, that was only when you thought about it too much. Because really, it’s just a middle aged prom, except you don’t have to have a date, you can afford it, you can wear something that is hanging in your closet, and you don’t have to go down to the Jersey Shore afterward and rent some filthy house for two or three nights.
And there is humor. A lot of it.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Let's Talk About Water
This is the story.
Most of us are dehydrated.
That cranky feeling that you feel? It’s a lack of water.
The sort of confusion that you feel at times? It’s a water shortage.
The inexplicable exhaustion that you feel for no good reason? Get thee to the cooler.
You guys! Drink water. Lots of it. I know, I know, you have to drive somewhere or be on a subway or train or you have to go to bed. And who wants to be running to the bathroom every hour?
So try to get your water in early in the day. If you’re working, there’s no better place to drink water. Lots of it. Sit there and drink a ton of it. And the bathroom breaks are good for you. Gets you to walk around. If you are more of a runaround Sue in your daily life, well, you’ll have to figure it out. You can do it.
Headachy? You’re thirsty.
Irritable? Evian.
Strange sensation of impending doom? You need the spigot.
Drink water. It melts fat. It helps to maximize all metabolic reactions in your body. It increases your ability to focus. It gives your skin that twenty-something glow.
Your kidneys are up to the task.
Your membranes need it.
You can be the best you. It’s simple. Just add water.
Most of us are dehydrated.
That cranky feeling that you feel? It’s a lack of water.
The sort of confusion that you feel at times? It’s a water shortage.
The inexplicable exhaustion that you feel for no good reason? Get thee to the cooler.
You guys! Drink water. Lots of it. I know, I know, you have to drive somewhere or be on a subway or train or you have to go to bed. And who wants to be running to the bathroom every hour?
So try to get your water in early in the day. If you’re working, there’s no better place to drink water. Lots of it. Sit there and drink a ton of it. And the bathroom breaks are good for you. Gets you to walk around. If you are more of a runaround Sue in your daily life, well, you’ll have to figure it out. You can do it.
Headachy? You’re thirsty.
Irritable? Evian.
Strange sensation of impending doom? You need the spigot.
Drink water. It melts fat. It helps to maximize all metabolic reactions in your body. It increases your ability to focus. It gives your skin that twenty-something glow.
Your kidneys are up to the task.
Your membranes need it.
You can be the best you. It’s simple. Just add water.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday List
1. New York City is really a beaver swamp. It always was and always will be. Just add beaver.
2. Being more accepting of gay people might truly make more people experiment with being gay. But is that so bad? (I do see it happening. Maybe the social conservatives have a right to be scared. However, though they say Rome fell---last I heard, Rome is still there.)
3. It’s good to lose the weight. Now, what to do with the extra skin…
4. Obama’s ratings are low. But then, whose aren’t?
5. I saw Winter’s Bone tonight. My friend John Hawkes is in it. Amazing. Check it out. It got the grand jury prize at Sundance. Damn good acting. Cool story. Beautifully shot. And wait ‘til you see the squirrel skinning and what they do with a chain saw! Winter’s Bone. Newcomer, Jennifer Lawrence (at least new to me) was fresh and real and appealing.
6. I actually don’t believe in peanut butter.
7. I cut boxes to size for shipping. In other words---I sold an Eames chair on Ebay and used two speaker boxes, refitted for the chair. Anything to recycle. But I have to say, it does take time out of your day. And it’s a mess. And I use a steak knife.
8. Garbage trucks are aggressive.
9. Did you relax at all, today?
10. Love, when administered without ego, is often not trusted. People think you’re a kook. Might as well wear clown shoes and a skirt made out of neck ties.
2. Being more accepting of gay people might truly make more people experiment with being gay. But is that so bad? (I do see it happening. Maybe the social conservatives have a right to be scared. However, though they say Rome fell---last I heard, Rome is still there.)
3. It’s good to lose the weight. Now, what to do with the extra skin…
4. Obama’s ratings are low. But then, whose aren’t?
5. I saw Winter’s Bone tonight. My friend John Hawkes is in it. Amazing. Check it out. It got the grand jury prize at Sundance. Damn good acting. Cool story. Beautifully shot. And wait ‘til you see the squirrel skinning and what they do with a chain saw! Winter’s Bone. Newcomer, Jennifer Lawrence (at least new to me) was fresh and real and appealing.
6. I actually don’t believe in peanut butter.
7. I cut boxes to size for shipping. In other words---I sold an Eames chair on Ebay and used two speaker boxes, refitted for the chair. Anything to recycle. But I have to say, it does take time out of your day. And it’s a mess. And I use a steak knife.
8. Garbage trucks are aggressive.
9. Did you relax at all, today?
10. Love, when administered without ego, is often not trusted. People think you’re a kook. Might as well wear clown shoes and a skirt made out of neck ties.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Age
I meet people lately who are older than me and I let out a sigh of relief. I used to be the youngest person ever. Then, you know, you get older and you find yourself being the oldest person in the room a lot.
Then—you meet older people and you’re not.
Older people are cool because they were the people you looked up to when you were in elementary school. They already had a car, freedom, a guitar, maybe very interesting sandals.
They were certainly more liberal than you were because they were the final march of the Sixties. And because they were more liberal, they went on to do more things for others.
Older people have an idea of life that is different than yours. Not by much, so you recognize it, but different enough so that you have to really pay attention.
I am talking about people who are only like five years older. But it does make a difference.
Older people are usually calmer than you and their egos are worn down a little bit more than yours. Unless, of course, they are of a certain type whose ego gets wilder.
Aging is interesting. I like it. You get a bit more gnarled. Feet and things. More aches, for sure. Less hair, some teeth radically altered by drills and fillers.
Hopefully, all your major organs are working so you’ll have them for when you get really old.
I have enjoyed spending time with people who are older than me after having spent so many years usually surrounded by people who are younger than I am.
But even better, it feels best to be around people of all ages at once. When you do that (especially by water) you see how pointless it is to worry about age at all since all ages are represented at once and so existentially they are there forever and you don’t matter so much.
Age is not that important. As I get older, I feel both older and younger. However, the dentist said I grind my teeth. He asked me, “Do you have an appliance?” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Do you wear it?” And I said, “No.” He knew the answer before I said it but he had to ask.
Let’s all get old together. Just go light on the simple carbs.
Then—you meet older people and you’re not.
Older people are cool because they were the people you looked up to when you were in elementary school. They already had a car, freedom, a guitar, maybe very interesting sandals.
They were certainly more liberal than you were because they were the final march of the Sixties. And because they were more liberal, they went on to do more things for others.
Older people have an idea of life that is different than yours. Not by much, so you recognize it, but different enough so that you have to really pay attention.
I am talking about people who are only like five years older. But it does make a difference.
Older people are usually calmer than you and their egos are worn down a little bit more than yours. Unless, of course, they are of a certain type whose ego gets wilder.
Aging is interesting. I like it. You get a bit more gnarled. Feet and things. More aches, for sure. Less hair, some teeth radically altered by drills and fillers.
Hopefully, all your major organs are working so you’ll have them for when you get really old.
I have enjoyed spending time with people who are older than me after having spent so many years usually surrounded by people who are younger than I am.
But even better, it feels best to be around people of all ages at once. When you do that (especially by water) you see how pointless it is to worry about age at all since all ages are represented at once and so existentially they are there forever and you don’t matter so much.
Age is not that important. As I get older, I feel both older and younger. However, the dentist said I grind my teeth. He asked me, “Do you have an appliance?” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Do you wear it?” And I said, “No.” He knew the answer before I said it but he had to ask.
Let’s all get old together. Just go light on the simple carbs.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Shredded
For two weeks, an auto mechanic at a generic four bay repair joint on Northern Boulevard and 88th Street in Queens tried to fix two simple things on our Ford. The trunk latch which would not lock. And the battery light kept coming on when the car was idling, indicating that the alternator was not charging the battery properly (and this happened to us, too, 10 months ago and the car died on the Palisades Parkway, so it had to be taken care of.)
The more the guys at the shop worked on the car, the worse it got. The trunk button, when pushed, would click over and over again. The trunk would not lock. When I showed this to the mechanic, he tweaked if for a second. It worked once. Never worked again.
They replaced the alternator twice. Then the battery. Still, they could not get it to work properly. All the while, they were running off to chop shops, getting faulty refurbished parts that simply did not work. And they continued to charge me more and more money. Finally, I saw the game and realized they were going to keep me there forever, diagnosing, making a mess of things until I was living in a cardboard box near CitiField.
So I complained to the evening guy in charge, quite a bit, said I was taking my car back and bringing it to my brother’s Ford Dealership in New Jersey and that I wanted a large credit back on my card. The evening guy called the owner, told him the story, put his hand over the receiver and said, “Give me a number.”
So I was dealing with negotiation over a return of money for the work they did not do, the further mess they made of things. I gave him a fair number, which was about ¾ of the amount. No budging. I was told I had to come see the owner the next morning.
Which I did. And I made my case. And he gave me a credit back for almost the full ¾. Meanwhile, I went out to NJ with the Ford. Left it with my brother, got my parents’ car they leave at my sister’s house for when they come up to visit.
Went upstate and had a fabulous time in Ancram. Southern Columbia County. Certainly. On the way home, in my parents’ car, near Peekskill on the Taconic, I heard this thumping and I thought, “It’s not me. I always think it’s me but it’s not me.”
And I looked at the cars in my rearview mirror, seeing them approach, knowing the sound would get louder and louder because it must be, for sure, them, and not me. And it did get louder and louder and the car started to shake.
Total tire blow out. Like instant rubber garbage.
Side of the road, hiding behind the guard rail. Calling Triple A. The Taconic is set up so that Triple A cannot do any towing. The State troopers have to call in someone (and then Triple A reimburses. Whatever. Mob. Mob. Mob. This East coast. Everyone fighting for their revenue.)
Nice Trooper came and checked on us. Set up flares. Ten minutes later, nice tow guy changed our tire right on the side of the road, using his huge truck as a tank-block for protection.
We got off fine.
Strange car Karma. Some sort of sign, like, “You are kind of stuck and you need to fix shit up.”
I do not believe too much in that stuff---but what was rather freaky is the car shredded its tire EXACTLY at the exit off the Taconic where I was born. Sort of saying, “Go back. Start at the beginning.”
The more the guys at the shop worked on the car, the worse it got. The trunk button, when pushed, would click over and over again. The trunk would not lock. When I showed this to the mechanic, he tweaked if for a second. It worked once. Never worked again.
They replaced the alternator twice. Then the battery. Still, they could not get it to work properly. All the while, they were running off to chop shops, getting faulty refurbished parts that simply did not work. And they continued to charge me more and more money. Finally, I saw the game and realized they were going to keep me there forever, diagnosing, making a mess of things until I was living in a cardboard box near CitiField.
So I complained to the evening guy in charge, quite a bit, said I was taking my car back and bringing it to my brother’s Ford Dealership in New Jersey and that I wanted a large credit back on my card. The evening guy called the owner, told him the story, put his hand over the receiver and said, “Give me a number.”
So I was dealing with negotiation over a return of money for the work they did not do, the further mess they made of things. I gave him a fair number, which was about ¾ of the amount. No budging. I was told I had to come see the owner the next morning.
Which I did. And I made my case. And he gave me a credit back for almost the full ¾. Meanwhile, I went out to NJ with the Ford. Left it with my brother, got my parents’ car they leave at my sister’s house for when they come up to visit.
Went upstate and had a fabulous time in Ancram. Southern Columbia County. Certainly. On the way home, in my parents’ car, near Peekskill on the Taconic, I heard this thumping and I thought, “It’s not me. I always think it’s me but it’s not me.”
And I looked at the cars in my rearview mirror, seeing them approach, knowing the sound would get louder and louder because it must be, for sure, them, and not me. And it did get louder and louder and the car started to shake.
Total tire blow out. Like instant rubber garbage.
Side of the road, hiding behind the guard rail. Calling Triple A. The Taconic is set up so that Triple A cannot do any towing. The State troopers have to call in someone (and then Triple A reimburses. Whatever. Mob. Mob. Mob. This East coast. Everyone fighting for their revenue.)
Nice Trooper came and checked on us. Set up flares. Ten minutes later, nice tow guy changed our tire right on the side of the road, using his huge truck as a tank-block for protection.
We got off fine.
Strange car Karma. Some sort of sign, like, “You are kind of stuck and you need to fix shit up.”
I do not believe too much in that stuff---but what was rather freaky is the car shredded its tire EXACTLY at the exit off the Taconic where I was born. Sort of saying, “Go back. Start at the beginning.”
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Facebook Problem
Okay, what do you do when you have this code of acceptance? I was one of those guys who pretty much accepted all comers. I knew you from high school, sure, friend. We met at a party at so-and-so’s, sure, friend.
But then you see that these people are venomous about Obama or they give praise to God just one too many times, or whatever…and you think, “You know, I really think S is a great soul. I do. And I am open. But, like, when they post strong hating stuff, I am so unhappy it is on my wall.”
And then you start to think. Is it time to remove that person? And then you think, maybe it is.
Because shouldn’t your wall reflect you? Or is that just narcissism online?
I love Facebook. I understand its popularity. But you have to face and face.
Maybe this is where we really feel the harshness. It used to be in the center of town.
Speaking of which, have you ever been to Weimar? Go. The town square is fantastic.
Facebook---you bring me so much. But you shard me, too. Vinegar and crushed glass.
But then you see that these people are venomous about Obama or they give praise to God just one too many times, or whatever…and you think, “You know, I really think S is a great soul. I do. And I am open. But, like, when they post strong hating stuff, I am so unhappy it is on my wall.”
And then you start to think. Is it time to remove that person? And then you think, maybe it is.
Because shouldn’t your wall reflect you? Or is that just narcissism online?
I love Facebook. I understand its popularity. But you have to face and face.
Maybe this is where we really feel the harshness. It used to be in the center of town.
Speaking of which, have you ever been to Weimar? Go. The town square is fantastic.
Facebook---you bring me so much. But you shard me, too. Vinegar and crushed glass.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Wednesday's Glory
I put on Christmas music today. The Charlie Brown stuff. It helped.
As much as I try to avoid it, I find myself eating street hot dogs. But let’s be honest, I don’t try to avoid it. And if the guy just threw a few into the hot water and you order one and you ask, “Is it hot?” and he answers, “Yes.” And then you bite into it and it is cold in the center…don’t’ be surprised.
Some writers wake up in a state of depression. Usually it is around rewrites. You have these thoughts, “Oh, why bother? No one cares. This is useless. People in offices get a weekly check.” Then, you eat, procrastinate, (isn’t eating a form of procrastination?), play some music—70s Pop hits—and you sit down and get to it and you start fiddling with it here and there and you go, “Oh, that’s fun.” And, “I like this scene. But could be stronger.” And, “Okay, rewriting doesn’t have to be so terrible. This is how it goes. We’re not painters, here.” And your mood elevates. And you feel you have purpose. And you continue and then it comes time for dinner and you don’t want to stop working but you have to. And then you go see friends.
Disposable contact lenses really should be disposed of when their time is up.
Heat dissipates.
There is strength in spending much time alone. I am drawn to being very social. But when you are alone, you do see who you are. Sometimes, you sort of can’t believe it. Sometimes, you think it’s kind of cool. Sometimes, you wonder how it all happened. To be able to be at rest while alone, interesting. Work in progress.
Items. You don’t need most things. However, I have noticed that things give one a certain feeling of being grounded. So though many of us look down our noses at the grand materialists, really what they are expressing is this trait. They just want to feel safe.
I love the alphabet. I only wish the alphabet was spelled abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, but you still pronounced it, “The alphabet.”
Please recycle more assiduously.
Oil drillers are getting closer to the spill. Isn’t it strange how we have all gotten used to the geyser? Oh, yeah, that’s the geyser. Was it so bad that Obama remained calm? I envy him. I wish I could stay calm under extreme circumstances. Actually, I do. I do not remain calm under medium circumstances.
I eat steak.
As much as I try to avoid it, I find myself eating street hot dogs. But let’s be honest, I don’t try to avoid it. And if the guy just threw a few into the hot water and you order one and you ask, “Is it hot?” and he answers, “Yes.” And then you bite into it and it is cold in the center…don’t’ be surprised.
Some writers wake up in a state of depression. Usually it is around rewrites. You have these thoughts, “Oh, why bother? No one cares. This is useless. People in offices get a weekly check.” Then, you eat, procrastinate, (isn’t eating a form of procrastination?), play some music—70s Pop hits—and you sit down and get to it and you start fiddling with it here and there and you go, “Oh, that’s fun.” And, “I like this scene. But could be stronger.” And, “Okay, rewriting doesn’t have to be so terrible. This is how it goes. We’re not painters, here.” And your mood elevates. And you feel you have purpose. And you continue and then it comes time for dinner and you don’t want to stop working but you have to. And then you go see friends.
Disposable contact lenses really should be disposed of when their time is up.
Heat dissipates.
There is strength in spending much time alone. I am drawn to being very social. But when you are alone, you do see who you are. Sometimes, you sort of can’t believe it. Sometimes, you think it’s kind of cool. Sometimes, you wonder how it all happened. To be able to be at rest while alone, interesting. Work in progress.
Items. You don’t need most things. However, I have noticed that things give one a certain feeling of being grounded. So though many of us look down our noses at the grand materialists, really what they are expressing is this trait. They just want to feel safe.
I love the alphabet. I only wish the alphabet was spelled abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, but you still pronounced it, “The alphabet.”
Please recycle more assiduously.
Oil drillers are getting closer to the spill. Isn’t it strange how we have all gotten used to the geyser? Oh, yeah, that’s the geyser. Was it so bad that Obama remained calm? I envy him. I wish I could stay calm under extreme circumstances. Actually, I do. I do not remain calm under medium circumstances.
I eat steak.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
The Weather
You sometimes forget about the weather on the east coast. You stay inside and you ignore it.
Summer and Winter.
Just half the year.
It is puzzling to live in a place that is so often physically uncomfortable. Seasons affect work habits, too. There is a greater pace of work and effort in the colder weather. No wonder the Yanks won the Civil War.
Seasonal situations must certainly drive economic fluctuation. Maybe this is good. You end up being subservient to something greater—nature.
In the United States West, the booms and busts are more severe. Housing markets go into sine curves. Gold is found. Then it is not found again for a long time. Or too much of it is found, confidence is inflated and then the gold is lost.
But in the east, there is no gold. Though there is a lot of cash. A transactional place. I see people taking greater pleasure in selling than in making. But for a purpose.
Since there are these seasons to contend with, the most important thing is to be ready for them. And in order to be ready for them one must have a steady power source, which of course is money. This leads to a certain cap on creativity and a dip toward conservative behavior.
Conservative behavior is reliable behavior.
I believe the Greeks became free thinking and Democratic because the weather was so good. They could relax. They could try things out. There was plenty to eat and it was nice out most of the year. It was quite a boom. But now they’re in a bust.
I prefer boom-bust weather. Must be careful.
Summer and Winter.
Just half the year.
It is puzzling to live in a place that is so often physically uncomfortable. Seasons affect work habits, too. There is a greater pace of work and effort in the colder weather. No wonder the Yanks won the Civil War.
Seasonal situations must certainly drive economic fluctuation. Maybe this is good. You end up being subservient to something greater—nature.
In the United States West, the booms and busts are more severe. Housing markets go into sine curves. Gold is found. Then it is not found again for a long time. Or too much of it is found, confidence is inflated and then the gold is lost.
But in the east, there is no gold. Though there is a lot of cash. A transactional place. I see people taking greater pleasure in selling than in making. But for a purpose.
Since there are these seasons to contend with, the most important thing is to be ready for them. And in order to be ready for them one must have a steady power source, which of course is money. This leads to a certain cap on creativity and a dip toward conservative behavior.
Conservative behavior is reliable behavior.
I believe the Greeks became free thinking and Democratic because the weather was so good. They could relax. They could try things out. There was plenty to eat and it was nice out most of the year. It was quite a boom. But now they’re in a bust.
I prefer boom-bust weather. Must be careful.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Cummings Family Reunion: Parents of the Boom
There were 8 of them, two of them did not have children, the other six had 27. My Dad is first on the Left.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Canned Soup
We keep some cans of Trader Joe Soup around. Just in case. Tonight was a just in case night. It was late. I was hungry. I opened it, heated it up and ate it.
It must be poison.
Something about food that has been frozen in time in some can…how can that be good for you?
It was calories, I guess.
There were the little chicken chunks.
The little gummy noodles.
Some spice. Carrots grown in some pesticide field.
Chicken with chemicals, right?
What was this stuff that I just ate?
It had its day. And it will go away.
But really, must we ever eat this?
It must be poison.
Something about food that has been frozen in time in some can…how can that be good for you?
It was calories, I guess.
There were the little chicken chunks.
The little gummy noodles.
Some spice. Carrots grown in some pesticide field.
Chicken with chemicals, right?
What was this stuff that I just ate?
It had its day. And it will go away.
But really, must we ever eat this?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Happy July
Get ready for autumn, summer is almost over!
I have noticed that after every Fourth of July, the summer feels like it is almost over.
I do not know if you have experienced this. You will see by August 10, the light is quite changed and there are even trees with a little autumnal wear and tear.
Now, this is not to say that we should be getting ahead of ourselves. I say this to remind myself to really enjoy the summer because it is actually so short.
And during the days that are super hot, hazy and humid (today was not one of them. Today was dry and 72)—just remember, it goes away.
So, as of today, good summer to all. Time flies. Like butter.
I have noticed that after every Fourth of July, the summer feels like it is almost over.
I do not know if you have experienced this. You will see by August 10, the light is quite changed and there are even trees with a little autumnal wear and tear.
Now, this is not to say that we should be getting ahead of ourselves. I say this to remind myself to really enjoy the summer because it is actually so short.
And during the days that are super hot, hazy and humid (today was not one of them. Today was dry and 72)—just remember, it goes away.
So, as of today, good summer to all. Time flies. Like butter.
Thank You Sudafed
I grew up when it was feasible to arrive at the age of six years old and to have never talked to a black person. Sure, I saw them, maybe. But people were still extremely segregated. And this was in the New York suburbs, 30 miles from Times Square.
The big news in the local newspaper when I was entering the first grade was that two black teachers were hired for a mostly white school. Turns out, one of the teachers was mine. I did not know what was going to happen to me. Would I be at a great disadvantage because of this? Somehow, I knew I would be okay (having faith in the white people around me who I knew knew what they were doing).
My first grade teacher turned out to be incredible. Though she did beat Larry M. into submission and one day threw him into a trash can. Apparently, his parents signed a note that allowed him to be punished in this manner. However, after the trash can beating, I noted that she never laid a hand on him again. So I imagine someone gave her a talking to.
Today, while heading to the F train in Queens, I saw a guy with brown skin, most likely Hispanic, maybe Asian, maybe a mix of the two, drop a napkin on the mezzanine floor. I got very indignant and harummphed something like, “These fucking dirty brown people really come from an inferior culture. What is wrong with them?”
Then, I had a feeling, maybe I noticed it without realizing it, but I thought, “Look at his hands.”
Well, his right hand had no fingers on it. So you can’t even say he was butter fingers. Clearly, the guy drops shit all the time. Poor thing.
Then, I was on my Sudafed high on the subway and a huge black woman with completely fake plastic orange extensions in her hair sat next to me. Tattoos that demarked deaths. She got on the subway at the stop that was underneath the largest government housing complex in all of New York City: Kingsbridge. Quite a place. I actually like it.
With her was her incredibly cute daughter in a stroller. She was between one and two. Babies between one and two are pretty much the cutest things on the planet and she was no exception.
I was, as I have written, on my high (Sudafed, mashed up and concentrated is basically Crack) and I looked at that baby and I simply wanted to take her home. I smiled at her. She looked back at me with a cautious glare. I thought, “Damn, her Momma already taught her fear.”
But then I thought, “All I have to do is smile at her a little, then ignore her, and you know she’ll be wanting my attention again.”
Sure enough, I did it and it happened. We had a little flirtation going on. I felt like one of those nutty women in a mall parking lot who just had to steal that baby!
At first, Momma was leery of me. I felt her anger. Then, she saw I was no threat. Then, she fell asleep, clearly overworked or depressed or both. I also got the sense that she felt sort of safe knowing that this crazy middle aged white guy was watching her baby. And then, I got the sense (did I say I was on a Sudafed high?) that she wanted me to marry her, take care of the baby, make everything okay. And I swear I would have, only I had to be somewhere by 9.
Gimme that baby!
(Of course, this is a bit of Atlantic mirroring to my Pacific best friend Mary’s adoption of the cutest African American baby on the planet, Jake. But then, aren’t we all just one big fungus?)
The big news in the local newspaper when I was entering the first grade was that two black teachers were hired for a mostly white school. Turns out, one of the teachers was mine. I did not know what was going to happen to me. Would I be at a great disadvantage because of this? Somehow, I knew I would be okay (having faith in the white people around me who I knew knew what they were doing).
My first grade teacher turned out to be incredible. Though she did beat Larry M. into submission and one day threw him into a trash can. Apparently, his parents signed a note that allowed him to be punished in this manner. However, after the trash can beating, I noted that she never laid a hand on him again. So I imagine someone gave her a talking to.
Today, while heading to the F train in Queens, I saw a guy with brown skin, most likely Hispanic, maybe Asian, maybe a mix of the two, drop a napkin on the mezzanine floor. I got very indignant and harummphed something like, “These fucking dirty brown people really come from an inferior culture. What is wrong with them?”
Then, I had a feeling, maybe I noticed it without realizing it, but I thought, “Look at his hands.”
Well, his right hand had no fingers on it. So you can’t even say he was butter fingers. Clearly, the guy drops shit all the time. Poor thing.
Then, I was on my Sudafed high on the subway and a huge black woman with completely fake plastic orange extensions in her hair sat next to me. Tattoos that demarked deaths. She got on the subway at the stop that was underneath the largest government housing complex in all of New York City: Kingsbridge. Quite a place. I actually like it.
With her was her incredibly cute daughter in a stroller. She was between one and two. Babies between one and two are pretty much the cutest things on the planet and she was no exception.
I was, as I have written, on my high (Sudafed, mashed up and concentrated is basically Crack) and I looked at that baby and I simply wanted to take her home. I smiled at her. She looked back at me with a cautious glare. I thought, “Damn, her Momma already taught her fear.”
But then I thought, “All I have to do is smile at her a little, then ignore her, and you know she’ll be wanting my attention again.”
Sure enough, I did it and it happened. We had a little flirtation going on. I felt like one of those nutty women in a mall parking lot who just had to steal that baby!
At first, Momma was leery of me. I felt her anger. Then, she saw I was no threat. Then, she fell asleep, clearly overworked or depressed or both. I also got the sense that she felt sort of safe knowing that this crazy middle aged white guy was watching her baby. And then, I got the sense (did I say I was on a Sudafed high?) that she wanted me to marry her, take care of the baby, make everything okay. And I swear I would have, only I had to be somewhere by 9.
Gimme that baby!
(Of course, this is a bit of Atlantic mirroring to my Pacific best friend Mary’s adoption of the cutest African American baby on the planet, Jake. But then, aren’t we all just one big fungus?)
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sluggish?
Creativity is the basis for a strong economy. People think it is consumerism, but really it is creativity. People will tire of most things (excluding pizza, bacon and sex). Get them involved in something new, they usually perk up.
However, people are afraid of new things because, well, people are afraid of death and even worse, living in some sort of unknown future pain.
This hurts us.
Usually, the creative impulse can bust through the fear impulse. However, the fear impulse is strong right now--but it can be passed with strong creative intentions.
If you are feeling sluggish or see sluggishness around you, look at it for what it is: a lack of creative force.
Then, get creative. And pass that along. Bust through the old timers who denounce the economy while at the same time add nothing new to it.
We don’t need a revolution. We just need an acceptance of what is great about us. It really is fun.
Throw out some things. Make room for the new.
However, people are afraid of new things because, well, people are afraid of death and even worse, living in some sort of unknown future pain.
This hurts us.
Usually, the creative impulse can bust through the fear impulse. However, the fear impulse is strong right now--but it can be passed with strong creative intentions.
If you are feeling sluggish or see sluggishness around you, look at it for what it is: a lack of creative force.
Then, get creative. And pass that along. Bust through the old timers who denounce the economy while at the same time add nothing new to it.
We don’t need a revolution. We just need an acceptance of what is great about us. It really is fun.
Throw out some things. Make room for the new.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Big Question
What are you doing after the recession?
The fat has been trimmed. The foreclosures have foreclosed. The wars have been depleting. The oil has been spilled. The failure is complete.
It is time to rise up. So before you rise, it is a good time to ask: “How do I want it to be this time?”
I remember during the Clinton years when everyone I knew was writing a business plan or thinking about writing a business plan for a new internet start-up, or to come up with something like that or to hook up with someone who was doing just that. It was madness. People got the NASDAQ fever and went wild.
Even I, for a minute, thought, “Am I missing something? Should I invent a website?’
That was before the tech bubble. It burst. And things only got worse from then on.
But people were not thinking too much. Even after, they were holding onto the boom years as best they could, during the two wars after the terrorist attacks, all of it.
But that is all long over. And we collapsed. And now we are tentatively rising up. How are you going to do it this time? Will you get pulled into a bubble? Maybe you should be because it is your time. Maybe you’re an amazing cheese maker and the cheese bubble is about to begin. Get in there.
But maybe you’re not a cheese maker. Maybe you’re a great calculus teacher or an amazing painter or a damn fine office manager. Can you be those things and do them in a way that affirms your role in the new world order, post-recession, offering up your services but in service to some great change?
Or am I just a romantic fool? And is human behavior merely reactive to conditions on the ground and so people do not have time for this malarkey?
I just have this sense—that if you rise up, you could do it in a way that is less reactive and more insistent upon what is better and more forward thinking.
The fat has been trimmed. The foreclosures have foreclosed. The wars have been depleting. The oil has been spilled. The failure is complete.
It is time to rise up. So before you rise, it is a good time to ask: “How do I want it to be this time?”
I remember during the Clinton years when everyone I knew was writing a business plan or thinking about writing a business plan for a new internet start-up, or to come up with something like that or to hook up with someone who was doing just that. It was madness. People got the NASDAQ fever and went wild.
Even I, for a minute, thought, “Am I missing something? Should I invent a website?’
That was before the tech bubble. It burst. And things only got worse from then on.
But people were not thinking too much. Even after, they were holding onto the boom years as best they could, during the two wars after the terrorist attacks, all of it.
But that is all long over. And we collapsed. And now we are tentatively rising up. How are you going to do it this time? Will you get pulled into a bubble? Maybe you should be because it is your time. Maybe you’re an amazing cheese maker and the cheese bubble is about to begin. Get in there.
But maybe you’re not a cheese maker. Maybe you’re a great calculus teacher or an amazing painter or a damn fine office manager. Can you be those things and do them in a way that affirms your role in the new world order, post-recession, offering up your services but in service to some great change?
Or am I just a romantic fool? And is human behavior merely reactive to conditions on the ground and so people do not have time for this malarkey?
I just have this sense—that if you rise up, you could do it in a way that is less reactive and more insistent upon what is better and more forward thinking.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Something Else Maybe
Right Wing loons are accusing President Obama of using the oil deluge in the gulf as a means to change our energy policy. And how dare he!
That would be like if our society had swung so Socialist that one day you went out to buy some pistachio ice cream and someone informed on you because you should never ask for what you want, that you should only ask what is needed for the betterment of the group and the president started to offer people up some free choice and some Left Wing loon says, “How dare the president destroy our Socialism?”
When things swing too far, things get out of balance. We are a business country. Oil is king. It has to stop. Don’t use your free enterprise, money at all costs thinking to justify a future of oil, oil and more oil.
Now---widening the angle---if it is actually the government that wants more oil (for their tanks, bombs, gasoline, international security) and they are full on way into the drilling and do not regulate it, then that is simply too bad. In the short run, we need it. I hear it. So buy it. From whomever. But it is time for sun grids and trolley cars.
Off to Fire Island. Where there are no cars.
That would be like if our society had swung so Socialist that one day you went out to buy some pistachio ice cream and someone informed on you because you should never ask for what you want, that you should only ask what is needed for the betterment of the group and the president started to offer people up some free choice and some Left Wing loon says, “How dare the president destroy our Socialism?”
When things swing too far, things get out of balance. We are a business country. Oil is king. It has to stop. Don’t use your free enterprise, money at all costs thinking to justify a future of oil, oil and more oil.
Now---widening the angle---if it is actually the government that wants more oil (for their tanks, bombs, gasoline, international security) and they are full on way into the drilling and do not regulate it, then that is simply too bad. In the short run, we need it. I hear it. So buy it. From whomever. But it is time for sun grids and trolley cars.
Off to Fire Island. Where there are no cars.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Today
I have confirmed that blogging is kind of dead.
I wrote at least sixty-five emails that required some thinking.
I cried about the turtles killed in the Gulf.
I lived through the Beaver Swamp that is this New York weather.
I stretched.
I ate in Tribeca.
I considered going to Iceland.
I sat in a very comfortable Herman Miller Aeron chair.
I attended to the summer calendar.
I checked my sales progress of six items on Ebay.
I wrote a little. But thought a lot about what to write.
I considered, along with everyone else, that Obama might be a Carter-Dinkins combo.
I had no caffeine.
I struggled with making a simple doctor’s appointment because our health insurance has changed.
I have confirmed with myself that State’s Rights are a lot of bullshit.
I wondered if I would be happy when it comes time to die.
I ate well.
I felt guilty about liking air conditioning while coal companies lop off mountaintops and throw them into streams to rip the guts out of them thar hills.
I drank lakes of water.
I looked online for places to live in Manhattan.
I thought about Brooklyn and how far it is from where I always need to go and I’m always so damn late that it seems like an unlikely choice for a tardy tard.
I thought about California and how laid back it is but also how kind of sleepy it can be, too.
I wore very comfortable shoes.
I did not make many jokes.
I found myself cheering people on, cheerily.
I worried about my health.
I lost nothing today.
I desired greens and got piles of them.
I listened to everyone and I cared as I could.
I wrote at least sixty-five emails that required some thinking.
I cried about the turtles killed in the Gulf.
I lived through the Beaver Swamp that is this New York weather.
I stretched.
I ate in Tribeca.
I considered going to Iceland.
I sat in a very comfortable Herman Miller Aeron chair.
I attended to the summer calendar.
I checked my sales progress of six items on Ebay.
I wrote a little. But thought a lot about what to write.
I considered, along with everyone else, that Obama might be a Carter-Dinkins combo.
I had no caffeine.
I struggled with making a simple doctor’s appointment because our health insurance has changed.
I have confirmed with myself that State’s Rights are a lot of bullshit.
I wondered if I would be happy when it comes time to die.
I ate well.
I felt guilty about liking air conditioning while coal companies lop off mountaintops and throw them into streams to rip the guts out of them thar hills.
I drank lakes of water.
I looked online for places to live in Manhattan.
I thought about Brooklyn and how far it is from where I always need to go and I’m always so damn late that it seems like an unlikely choice for a tardy tard.
I thought about California and how laid back it is but also how kind of sleepy it can be, too.
I wore very comfortable shoes.
I did not make many jokes.
I found myself cheering people on, cheerily.
I worried about my health.
I lost nothing today.
I desired greens and got piles of them.
I listened to everyone and I cared as I could.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Landfill in a Purse
There I was enjoying my longest day of the year. I was considering buying a Kindle today and my friend said, “Wait.”
I like simple advice.
Then a few hours later I was on the subway and next to me a young woman in black leggings and a shiny rhinestone necklace pulled out a Kindle. She poked around, then put it away. Next, out came the iPad. She played like a monkey (like you’re supposed to) all over the screen.
At first I thought, “Oh, she must be a reviewer of readers.”
But that was my denial engine not believing that anyone could be so insane as to zip around town with two different electronic readers in their bag.
Creativity is what gets us so many things. Redundancies, of course, too. We have to live with it. I just wish we could live with it creating everything with full knowledge that in just a few years, these things will be landfill.
Books last longer than iPads.
I like simple advice.
Then a few hours later I was on the subway and next to me a young woman in black leggings and a shiny rhinestone necklace pulled out a Kindle. She poked around, then put it away. Next, out came the iPad. She played like a monkey (like you’re supposed to) all over the screen.
At first I thought, “Oh, she must be a reviewer of readers.”
But that was my denial engine not believing that anyone could be so insane as to zip around town with two different electronic readers in their bag.
Creativity is what gets us so many things. Redundancies, of course, too. We have to live with it. I just wish we could live with it creating everything with full knowledge that in just a few years, these things will be landfill.
Books last longer than iPads.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Closest Thing to CA
Provincetown is the closest thing I have experienced that feels like California. Good sea air, exceptionally laid back, lifestyle is everything. And the added bonus: it's still super queer.
Enjoy yourselves this summer.
Enjoy yourselves this summer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Off to P-Town for the Weekend
Heading out to Provincetown for the weekend to see our girls triumph in a 130 mile bike ride from Boston to said town.
I heard last night at a party that New York State now recognizes marriages outside the state. So I could marry my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner this weekend and make him an honest Recognized-by-a-handful-of-States-and-Washington D.C. husband. I bet if I get a few drinks in him, and maybe a clam roll, he'd do it.
I heard last night at a party that New York State now recognizes marriages outside the state. So I could marry my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner this weekend and make him an honest Recognized-by-a-handful-of-States-and-Washington D.C. husband. I bet if I get a few drinks in him, and maybe a clam roll, he'd do it.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This Grease is Freaking Me Out
Perhaps it’s a plain old neurotic personality. Little things bother me. (Toenail fungus, temperature, loud voices, chunky flows of income as opposed to smooth, garlic where it should not be…)
And then for weeks, I pretty much ignored the oil mess. I have read that going into denial is a coping mechanism and while it is often derided, it is actually an adaptive behavior that has come in very handy for us for survival.
So I’ve been a bit in denial, thinking, “Hell, they’ll put a lid on it.”
But shit. They really have no plan to do anything until they get those new wells drilled, hitting their destination by August.
It’s a monster movie.
The monster is oil.
And will it really be taken care of by August? Over six weeks away? While all these gorgeous animals are either being sucked into the ooze or fleeing, wildly, into cleaner, shallow water away from the mess where they should not be—
So my non-regulation, free enterprise at all cost friends, what say ye? Is this just the cost of doing business?
And, to my regulation friends, how do you regulate this? What is the precedent, even, and how do you know that a company knows what they are doing?
Shit happens? Oil happens?
I am not in denial any longer. I am sad and terrified. Mostly because I do not think we will learn from this. O rings (The Challenger disaster due to poor management at NASA, 1986) is what comes to mind.
And then for weeks, I pretty much ignored the oil mess. I have read that going into denial is a coping mechanism and while it is often derided, it is actually an adaptive behavior that has come in very handy for us for survival.
So I’ve been a bit in denial, thinking, “Hell, they’ll put a lid on it.”
But shit. They really have no plan to do anything until they get those new wells drilled, hitting their destination by August.
It’s a monster movie.
The monster is oil.
And will it really be taken care of by August? Over six weeks away? While all these gorgeous animals are either being sucked into the ooze or fleeing, wildly, into cleaner, shallow water away from the mess where they should not be—
So my non-regulation, free enterprise at all cost friends, what say ye? Is this just the cost of doing business?
And, to my regulation friends, how do you regulate this? What is the precedent, even, and how do you know that a company knows what they are doing?
Shit happens? Oil happens?
I am not in denial any longer. I am sad and terrified. Mostly because I do not think we will learn from this. O rings (The Challenger disaster due to poor management at NASA, 1986) is what comes to mind.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Mid-June Simple Headed Ideas
When you get caught up in dogma-religion-political ideology, all analytical thought is subsumed by childish desire for a unifying theory.
If your greatest passion does not include some commerce, you are considered subversive, or even worse, lazy. Commerce is exciting. But commerce is restrictive according to who is signing the checks. The only way out: death.
New York is more interesting. Los Angeles is more fun.
The thrill of new shoes lasts five days.
The difference between a Republican and a Democrat is nothing compared to the difference between a Scientologist and a non-Scientologist.
As I get older, things hurt a whole lot more. I used to say, “I am not my teeth and hair.” Now I say, “I am not my body.” No wonder the idea of an afterlife is so appealing.
Bought a used Herman Miller Aeron chair today. I feel like I am sitting on a writing throne. It is so comfortable. And the webbing, well, I feel like you can hose me down at any time.
I really want dogs to be the next species to rise up and take over the planet. I think their pack mentality will do wonders for the globe. And their math skills are far superior to ours. However, can you imagine what all of the world’s rugs are going to smell like?
People make the mistake of thinking that what they think is logical and then make the next mistake thinking that others think like them.
Candy corn is neither candy nor corn. Talk about it.
The ego, though helmeted and riding high, is a sad warrior.
The joy of listening to your own iTunes library is inversely proportional to the joy of listening to someone else’s.
I often find myself wanting more. Then when I get it, I just want something to eat or to drink to celebrate. Which is just about more. Might be interesting to want less.
Ten little Indians?
When Frito-Lay invented Funyuns, didn’t they realize it rhymed with bunions in addition to onions? So why did they make them flesh colored?
Ginger tea is the answer. Tons of flavor. Good for your stomach. No caffeine. Not even near the caffeine family. And ginger does not dehydrate.
If your greatest passion does not include some commerce, you are considered subversive, or even worse, lazy. Commerce is exciting. But commerce is restrictive according to who is signing the checks. The only way out: death.
New York is more interesting. Los Angeles is more fun.
The thrill of new shoes lasts five days.
The difference between a Republican and a Democrat is nothing compared to the difference between a Scientologist and a non-Scientologist.
As I get older, things hurt a whole lot more. I used to say, “I am not my teeth and hair.” Now I say, “I am not my body.” No wonder the idea of an afterlife is so appealing.
Bought a used Herman Miller Aeron chair today. I feel like I am sitting on a writing throne. It is so comfortable. And the webbing, well, I feel like you can hose me down at any time.
I really want dogs to be the next species to rise up and take over the planet. I think their pack mentality will do wonders for the globe. And their math skills are far superior to ours. However, can you imagine what all of the world’s rugs are going to smell like?
People make the mistake of thinking that what they think is logical and then make the next mistake thinking that others think like them.
Candy corn is neither candy nor corn. Talk about it.
The ego, though helmeted and riding high, is a sad warrior.
The joy of listening to your own iTunes library is inversely proportional to the joy of listening to someone else’s.
I often find myself wanting more. Then when I get it, I just want something to eat or to drink to celebrate. Which is just about more. Might be interesting to want less.
Ten little Indians?
When Frito-Lay invented Funyuns, didn’t they realize it rhymed with bunions in addition to onions? So why did they make them flesh colored?
Ginger tea is the answer. Tons of flavor. Good for your stomach. No caffeine. Not even near the caffeine family. And ginger does not dehydrate.
Monday, June 14, 2010
They're Here
Since we’ve been living in New York City since August of 2009, we have become aware that we have friends who are Republicans.
It is strange. It is hard to take. Occasionally, you wonder what the hell happened.
It is an issue of geography. Everyone in Southern California is a Democrat. It makes complete sense. This is a more relaxed, live and let live, let’s all get along at the register kind of place.
But in New York, people come here to make a bundle, to live like a fake king, to grab. And the best way to do that is to be taxed as little as possible.
I feel sad for the Republicans. It’s an aesthetic issue, beyond being a humanist issue. Have you ever been to the house of a Republican? Unless it’s the classic Wasp-redo, the whole endeavor is poorly put together.
If Republicans hate Democrats and want us dead, fine. But they must keep us around at least to make sure they don’t have completely ugly houses.
Republicans are scared. They have world views that are as big as their family, maybe their community, that is it. A huge world? Nah, too much. One wants them to say, “Awww, hell, let mayhem reign. We’ll be fine.”
But I like my Republican friends. For the most part, they are adventurous and a bit wealthy. They can take a Polish joke. And they are not afraid to live life at full tilt.
But you can’t believe, you just can’t believe that they don’t believe in Universal Health Care.
It is strange. It is hard to take. Occasionally, you wonder what the hell happened.
It is an issue of geography. Everyone in Southern California is a Democrat. It makes complete sense. This is a more relaxed, live and let live, let’s all get along at the register kind of place.
But in New York, people come here to make a bundle, to live like a fake king, to grab. And the best way to do that is to be taxed as little as possible.
I feel sad for the Republicans. It’s an aesthetic issue, beyond being a humanist issue. Have you ever been to the house of a Republican? Unless it’s the classic Wasp-redo, the whole endeavor is poorly put together.
If Republicans hate Democrats and want us dead, fine. But they must keep us around at least to make sure they don’t have completely ugly houses.
Republicans are scared. They have world views that are as big as their family, maybe their community, that is it. A huge world? Nah, too much. One wants them to say, “Awww, hell, let mayhem reign. We’ll be fine.”
But I like my Republican friends. For the most part, they are adventurous and a bit wealthy. They can take a Polish joke. And they are not afraid to live life at full tilt.
But you can’t believe, you just can’t believe that they don’t believe in Universal Health Care.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
A Tony for Tony
I want to say YAY! for my friend Tony who just started to work on a show (La Cage aux Folles) and his show now has a load of Tonys, including Best Musical Revival. So nice.
But what was not so nice was the sound of the awards broadcast. How can you produce a television show and have the sound get that wacked?
For years in Hollywood I did the books for a load of production companies. I have run payroll through for the producing team of tonight's show for television specials, including awards shows that we taped for live broadcast. Funny, these guys were always competent, and certainly exceptionally confident. Well guys, NEXT TIME MAKE SURE IT ALL WORKS! Or I'll make sure someone docks your pay.
More time on quality, in general, I say.
But back to the positive. The show had humor. Theatre is still a dork festival of dorksters. In the best way?
And here we are. Foggy night. Summer arriving. And today, my parents are married for 53 years.
But what was not so nice was the sound of the awards broadcast. How can you produce a television show and have the sound get that wacked?
For years in Hollywood I did the books for a load of production companies. I have run payroll through for the producing team of tonight's show for television specials, including awards shows that we taped for live broadcast. Funny, these guys were always competent, and certainly exceptionally confident. Well guys, NEXT TIME MAKE SURE IT ALL WORKS! Or I'll make sure someone docks your pay.
More time on quality, in general, I say.
But back to the positive. The show had humor. Theatre is still a dork festival of dorksters. In the best way?
And here we are. Foggy night. Summer arriving. And today, my parents are married for 53 years.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
For Ruth: My Sister's First Holy Communion
Ruth was our neighbor and my sister's best friend back in the day. She makes an appearance around the 16 second through the 22 second.
These clips, okay, okay, I know, they're mostly fun for the people who are in them. But still...
These clips, okay, okay, I know, they're mostly fun for the people who are in them. But still...
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Birch Hill Game Park
Clearly where I learned to love goats.
With my sister and cousins, and hooved beasts.
With my sister and cousins, and hooved beasts.
Public Reading--Art by the Ferry FRIDAY night
Adam and Don
Will be reading well tested original material in this year’s
ART BY THE FERRY
Curated by the beautiful and talented Marian Fontana with published authors and other people who aren’t afraid to get up to tell it like it is.
Friday, June 11 @ 8PM
At the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Staten Island. The boat is FREE in both directions!
The event is free (Well, a little donation is appreciated) and it’s not long.
And it’s always good to have a quaff afterward. We sure will.
Building 11 at the Lighthouse Plaza, Enter at 1 Bay Street
See link of detailed map below. It’s basically right outside the Ferry Terminal to your left.
ART BY THE FERRY
Staten Island Ferry Schedule:
Ferry Schedule
(On the average, about every 18 minutes from Manhattan)
There will be food around.
Don Says:
“The other writers are funny. I might even do an original song.
Adam and I have done these relationship companion pieces before. They are sure to please. It’s a happening. In Staten Island. On a warm night. With a free boat ride. What could be better?”
The Readers:
MARIAN FONTANA - Author of “Widow’s Walk” a memoir, and many monologues performed by herself at Playwrights Horizon and other venues.
DON CUMMINGS - Author of 9 critically acclaimed plays, some movies and a book. www.doncummings.net
ADAM WARING – Writer on “Two and a Half Men” and “Still Standing,” and a rash of Disney Read Along Records, plus readings at HBO’s Sit n Spin.
LISA DIERBECK – Author of New York Times notable book: “One Pill Makes You Smaller”.
MORNA MARTELL - Author and noted actress. Recently wrote “A Peaceful Crossing for the Sundog Theater production of Scenes from the SI Ferry. Morna Murphy Martell, an actor-writer-director, has done shows in London, New York, Washington, DC, Edinburgh and Hollywood. Awards include an NEA; DCA grants, and grants from COAHSI. Her comedy, “The Three Wives of Harry Simpson,” won a national contest in Oklahoma City where it had its world premiere in October, 2008. She is a member of The Dramatists Guild and Actor’s Equity Association.
JOHN FOXELL - Author and artist, recently recognized in a bio in the NY Times.
IRA GOLDSTEIN - Local poet and short story writer. Mr. Goldstein was published by Home Planet News, Independent Literary Review, and COAHSI newsletter
Will be reading well tested original material in this year’s
ART BY THE FERRY
Curated by the beautiful and talented Marian Fontana with published authors and other people who aren’t afraid to get up to tell it like it is.
Friday, June 11 @ 8PM
At the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Staten Island. The boat is FREE in both directions!
The event is free (Well, a little donation is appreciated) and it’s not long.
And it’s always good to have a quaff afterward. We sure will.
Building 11 at the Lighthouse Plaza, Enter at 1 Bay Street
See link of detailed map below. It’s basically right outside the Ferry Terminal to your left.
ART BY THE FERRY
Staten Island Ferry Schedule:
Ferry Schedule
(On the average, about every 18 minutes from Manhattan)
There will be food around.
Don Says:
“The other writers are funny. I might even do an original song.
Adam and I have done these relationship companion pieces before. They are sure to please. It’s a happening. In Staten Island. On a warm night. With a free boat ride. What could be better?”
The Readers:
MARIAN FONTANA - Author of “Widow’s Walk” a memoir, and many monologues performed by herself at Playwrights Horizon and other venues.
DON CUMMINGS - Author of 9 critically acclaimed plays, some movies and a book. www.doncummings.net
ADAM WARING – Writer on “Two and a Half Men” and “Still Standing,” and a rash of Disney Read Along Records, plus readings at HBO’s Sit n Spin.
LISA DIERBECK – Author of New York Times notable book: “One Pill Makes You Smaller”.
MORNA MARTELL - Author and noted actress. Recently wrote “A Peaceful Crossing for the Sundog Theater production of Scenes from the SI Ferry. Morna Murphy Martell, an actor-writer-director, has done shows in London, New York, Washington, DC, Edinburgh and Hollywood. Awards include an NEA; DCA grants, and grants from COAHSI. Her comedy, “The Three Wives of Harry Simpson,” won a national contest in Oklahoma City where it had its world premiere in October, 2008. She is a member of The Dramatists Guild and Actor’s Equity Association.
JOHN FOXELL - Author and artist, recently recognized in a bio in the NY Times.
IRA GOLDSTEIN - Local poet and short story writer. Mr. Goldstein was published by Home Planet News, Independent Literary Review, and COAHSI newsletter
Monday, June 07, 2010
Make Em Get Married!
Notice how Mike White makes the younger, cuter guy get fatter with time!
This is a fun youtuber, and it makes the point in a funny way. I mean, the point’s already been made. It illustrates it, cinematically, clearly.
What they should show, though, and no one is talking about this (and I’ve been in one of these torture chambers for almost 17 years) is that after it gets dull, it usually gets mean, and then it gets distant and then it gets tragic and then it comes together. Like most marriages.
We are still not talking about how it really can go on for a real long time and it can get just as complex as a straight marriage.
You might have to sign in to You Tube and click that you’re 18 to see this one.
This is a fun youtuber, and it makes the point in a funny way. I mean, the point’s already been made. It illustrates it, cinematically, clearly.
What they should show, though, and no one is talking about this (and I’ve been in one of these torture chambers for almost 17 years) is that after it gets dull, it usually gets mean, and then it gets distant and then it gets tragic and then it comes together. Like most marriages.
We are still not talking about how it really can go on for a real long time and it can get just as complex as a straight marriage.
You might have to sign in to You Tube and click that you’re 18 to see this one.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
What I Saw in the Hamptons
A yellow finch.
Cardinals.
A wild turkey. I named her Diane. But I don’t think it stuck.
Two deer.
A handful of Humans swilling hundreds of dollars worth of wine.
Homemade pizza.
A Portuguese water dog.
A bruised left ring finger from where the Portuguese water dog bit me, but did not break the skin.
Industrial buildings outside the train tracks.
Sag Harbor. Say yes to Sag Harbor.
Peconic Bay.
Great properties with swimming pools.
First generation physicians.
A hearing aid.
Italian furniture.
Gravel driveways.
Scrub oaks with lichens.
Pine.
Stars.
Tomatoes.
Cardinals.
A wild turkey. I named her Diane. But I don’t think it stuck.
Two deer.
A handful of Humans swilling hundreds of dollars worth of wine.
Homemade pizza.
A Portuguese water dog.
A bruised left ring finger from where the Portuguese water dog bit me, but did not break the skin.
Industrial buildings outside the train tracks.
Sag Harbor. Say yes to Sag Harbor.
Peconic Bay.
Great properties with swimming pools.
First generation physicians.
A hearing aid.
Italian furniture.
Gravel driveways.
Scrub oaks with lichens.
Pine.
Stars.
Tomatoes.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Do Not Speak Ill of the Dead
Unless you have a little story.
Living in Hollywood for many years you end up doing a lot of work you had not imagined you would ever do. I got by, for a long time, being a production accountant. Yes, I’m good with numbers and I’m not even Chinese.
One of my clients, or really, she was my boss, S, well, I loved her and her partner and I pushed through the payroll paperwork and accounts payable checks for great shows like, America’s Most Fascinating Women, Where are they Now?, The Ultimate T.V. Trivia Challenge, you know, real cultural markers.
(Though much of what is not needed is made in Hollywood, this does not mean it was not fun to make.)
Now here is the story. So my boss, S, she owned the house that used to be Rue McClanahan’s house in Studio City. And the day of closing, I guess it was during Golden Girls days, Rue and her ten-plus cats would not budge. She just couldn’t do it. (I understand. It’s hard to move.)
They tried coaxing her out with flashy vests and cans of tuna (okay, not really, they got a lawyer). And finally, by almost force, they got her out of the house, paid mountains of money to clean up the cat filth and then moved in.
Was this a case of neurotic attachment? Or was it because she was an entitled star and did not want to be told when to do something, well I don’t know.
But if I was a T.V. actress with a passel of pussies and refused to budge long after closing, well, I would expect someone to blog about it and so consider it blogged.
Years later, when S’s business collapsed and all that was left of her staff was me and a few old imacs, we moved to the rec room of her house, Rue’s old house, and I sat there and did the books about once a month for a few months and then I quit and kept quitting doing accounting until I left Los Angeles, never to punch in another number for pay again.
Now, I am not trying to be all catty here, no pun intended. It’s just, I had this close up experience in Rue’s old house. I have no idea what she was like. I knew a few writers from Golden Girls, and there are some stories there---but those are not germane to sweet Rue’s death.
Apparently, her memorial is very democratic. She did not want to have a funeral. What there is is a big ol’ Facebook page. Jump on if you like.
Facebook Memorial Page
Living in Hollywood for many years you end up doing a lot of work you had not imagined you would ever do. I got by, for a long time, being a production accountant. Yes, I’m good with numbers and I’m not even Chinese.
One of my clients, or really, she was my boss, S, well, I loved her and her partner and I pushed through the payroll paperwork and accounts payable checks for great shows like, America’s Most Fascinating Women, Where are they Now?, The Ultimate T.V. Trivia Challenge, you know, real cultural markers.
(Though much of what is not needed is made in Hollywood, this does not mean it was not fun to make.)
Now here is the story. So my boss, S, she owned the house that used to be Rue McClanahan’s house in Studio City. And the day of closing, I guess it was during Golden Girls days, Rue and her ten-plus cats would not budge. She just couldn’t do it. (I understand. It’s hard to move.)
They tried coaxing her out with flashy vests and cans of tuna (okay, not really, they got a lawyer). And finally, by almost force, they got her out of the house, paid mountains of money to clean up the cat filth and then moved in.
Was this a case of neurotic attachment? Or was it because she was an entitled star and did not want to be told when to do something, well I don’t know.
But if I was a T.V. actress with a passel of pussies and refused to budge long after closing, well, I would expect someone to blog about it and so consider it blogged.
Years later, when S’s business collapsed and all that was left of her staff was me and a few old imacs, we moved to the rec room of her house, Rue’s old house, and I sat there and did the books about once a month for a few months and then I quit and kept quitting doing accounting until I left Los Angeles, never to punch in another number for pay again.
Now, I am not trying to be all catty here, no pun intended. It’s just, I had this close up experience in Rue’s old house. I have no idea what she was like. I knew a few writers from Golden Girls, and there are some stories there---but those are not germane to sweet Rue’s death.
Apparently, her memorial is very democratic. She did not want to have a funeral. What there is is a big ol’ Facebook page. Jump on if you like.
Facebook Memorial Page
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Al and Tipper and a Little Grease at the End
Come on! So Edwards didn’t make it. Gore is not making it. And the Clintons, well, they did…even after that pesky beej. What does this sort of prove?
You have to be tough as hell and committed like crazy to be in a successful marriage or to be President of the United States.
What else could it prove?
That trying to become President of the United States and losing destroys your marriage.
Or, most likely, none of the above.
I wonder what did the Gores in. Was it all his traveling, all her depression, his slightly lisping poorly pitched voice, or a combination of all these things?
Will we ever know?
I like it when people keep it “classy.”
Poor Al. I wonder if this will push him toward fatter or thinner. He never had the charisma of Clinton or the smile of Edwards, but he has something better: some sort of integrity, while bordering on overly earnest, but still, something is very right with him.
It is never fun to see a long term marriage break up. If a six monther or even a three yearer goes down in flames, well, you usually think, “They should not have gotten married so quickly,” or “They were much better off just being unmarried,” or “They should have never been together anyway.”
But with these long ones, you just feel sort of sad. And you hope that all their past public displays of affection and their heartfelt books about each other weren’t all just a bunch of bullshit.
Did they always have medium to big problems and while in the public eye used the wide platform to act as-if they were a great couple? Or, were they a solid couple and recently something went down? Or did they simply whither away from each other?
Strange. Why add to the loneliness at that point in your life? Or, were they one of those alone-together couples? I wish the sweet things well.
Now, how about that oil spill? It’s upsetting me so much, I have gone into denial, clamping down, just waiting for it to pass.
You have to be tough as hell and committed like crazy to be in a successful marriage or to be President of the United States.
What else could it prove?
That trying to become President of the United States and losing destroys your marriage.
Or, most likely, none of the above.
I wonder what did the Gores in. Was it all his traveling, all her depression, his slightly lisping poorly pitched voice, or a combination of all these things?
Will we ever know?
I like it when people keep it “classy.”
Poor Al. I wonder if this will push him toward fatter or thinner. He never had the charisma of Clinton or the smile of Edwards, but he has something better: some sort of integrity, while bordering on overly earnest, but still, something is very right with him.
It is never fun to see a long term marriage break up. If a six monther or even a three yearer goes down in flames, well, you usually think, “They should not have gotten married so quickly,” or “They were much better off just being unmarried,” or “They should have never been together anyway.”
But with these long ones, you just feel sort of sad. And you hope that all their past public displays of affection and their heartfelt books about each other weren’t all just a bunch of bullshit.
Did they always have medium to big problems and while in the public eye used the wide platform to act as-if they were a great couple? Or, were they a solid couple and recently something went down? Or did they simply whither away from each other?
Strange. Why add to the loneliness at that point in your life? Or, were they one of those alone-together couples? I wish the sweet things well.
Now, how about that oil spill? It’s upsetting me so much, I have gone into denial, clamping down, just waiting for it to pass.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Henri Cartier-Bresson at MOMA
Go. Today.
Henri Cartier-Bresson at MOMA
He has been all over the world. Henri C-B, in addition to his clear technique and his eye for perfect but spontaneous composition, this man also had great material! The modern century. That’s the 20th Century. Amazing pictures of everyday life in every part of the world. Also, Gandhi’s funeral, portraits of Camus, Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, etc. Some of the photos are so moving, you just kind of cry. His pictures are full of narrative. And maybe a snarkier man than I might find this all a bit sentimental, but that man would be missing much.
The show is a bit overwhelming. Huge, in fact. But worth the couple of hours. Try to go when you think there won’t be a million people there.
So much is living in the photos.
Henri Cartier-Bresson at MOMA
He has been all over the world. Henri C-B, in addition to his clear technique and his eye for perfect but spontaneous composition, this man also had great material! The modern century. That’s the 20th Century. Amazing pictures of everyday life in every part of the world. Also, Gandhi’s funeral, portraits of Camus, Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, etc. Some of the photos are so moving, you just kind of cry. His pictures are full of narrative. And maybe a snarkier man than I might find this all a bit sentimental, but that man would be missing much.
The show is a bit overwhelming. Huge, in fact. But worth the couple of hours. Try to go when you think there won’t be a million people there.
So much is living in the photos.
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