The Time Has Come

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

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

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

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

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

Thank Goodness

Eric Whitacre--Virtual Choir

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

Adele and Congress: Someone Like You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, hate me.

The Letter V

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

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

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

The Letter V: How dare it B?

As Mundane as the Weather Is

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

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

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

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

He is wrong.

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

Friends.

You name it.

Greetings from Grand Central Station

Good People

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

So it is time for a review.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jersey Shore

What a thing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tea Discovery

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

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

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

Adding a donut might be fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big hug.

PS—Revolution?

Renaissance Hotel---Empire State of Mind

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

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

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

Desperate Living

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

Rent Desperate Living Today.

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

Oh, Bama

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

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

But still, all this war?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here Comes You

You Need Both

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

Jane Eyre and Get Me Bodied

FYDB

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

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

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

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

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

And not a douchebag in sight.

Thank You Bradford

Best Video of the Day.

Never would have known.

Well OK Honey. Jenny O.

(Karen, too)

I Know You All Need This Right Now...