September 29, 2008
Jstbitchin
I am Jack’s whiney cry baby. I’m not real happy with myself, but I’m also not real thrilled with my folks. We knew it was coming, and I’m reminded of a scene from Fletch.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: You know, it's a shame about Ed.
Fletch: Oh, it was. Yeah, it was really a shame. To go so suddenly like that.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was dying for years.
Fletch: Sure, but... the end was very... very sudden.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was in intensive care for eight weeks.
Fletch: Yeah, but I mean the very end, when he actually died. That was extremely sudden.
For about eight years I’ve known my parents planned to retire to Arizona. They put their house on the market in July, and it seemed a little more plausible, and I still didn’t really accept it. With this economy and housing market, selling a villa on a street in which six are for sale could, and should, take at least a year. It didn’t. They got an offer, and it was low. They countered, and were countered back. Then they accepted. They were given three and a half weeks to pack up and move. Nearly one third will be spent looking for a new house in Arizaon. So, as Fletch said, at the end, it was extremely sudden.
I’ve gone from pretty sad, thinking about how they’re about to miss the Kyd’s 7th birthday, the wife’s birthday and my own. All of which take place in November, incase you’re wondering how many shopping days you have. They’re going to be gone for Thanksgiving, and the plan was for my brother and his family to come up, which had us all (especially the Kyd) very excited. They won’t be here to light the Menorah, and probably won’t get to see the Kyd cheerleading a flag football game. Sadness gave away to anger, for all those same points and more. Parents aren’t supposed to leave their kids, it’s supposed to be the other way around. I always felt like I missed out, because I never lived near my extended family. I didn’t have grandparent at baseball games. Aunts and uncle’s didn’t come to my birthdays. I wanted different for my kyd, and luckily she still has that with her mom and dad’s family. Which, quite honestly, makes my families absence that much more apparent.
I want to be happy for my parents, that they are in a position both financially and physically, that they can go and spend, as they call it, the final chapter of their lives away from winter. But at the same time, being the final chapter, why would anyone want to be in a hurry to start that chapter? Just when this chapter is finally such a great read?
And of course, I’m pretty annoyed with myself for not handling this the way I’d like to. I wish I was just happy for them, and excited that we’ll be taking some trips out to Arizona. But I am Jack’s selfish bastard.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: You know, it's a shame about Ed.
Fletch: Oh, it was. Yeah, it was really a shame. To go so suddenly like that.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was dying for years.
Fletch: Sure, but... the end was very... very sudden.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was in intensive care for eight weeks.
Fletch: Yeah, but I mean the very end, when he actually died. That was extremely sudden.
For about eight years I’ve known my parents planned to retire to Arizona. They put their house on the market in July, and it seemed a little more plausible, and I still didn’t really accept it. With this economy and housing market, selling a villa on a street in which six are for sale could, and should, take at least a year. It didn’t. They got an offer, and it was low. They countered, and were countered back. Then they accepted. They were given three and a half weeks to pack up and move. Nearly one third will be spent looking for a new house in Arizaon. So, as Fletch said, at the end, it was extremely sudden.
I’ve gone from pretty sad, thinking about how they’re about to miss the Kyd’s 7th birthday, the wife’s birthday and my own. All of which take place in November, incase you’re wondering how many shopping days you have. They’re going to be gone for Thanksgiving, and the plan was for my brother and his family to come up, which had us all (especially the Kyd) very excited. They won’t be here to light the Menorah, and probably won’t get to see the Kyd cheerleading a flag football game. Sadness gave away to anger, for all those same points and more. Parents aren’t supposed to leave their kids, it’s supposed to be the other way around. I always felt like I missed out, because I never lived near my extended family. I didn’t have grandparent at baseball games. Aunts and uncle’s didn’t come to my birthdays. I wanted different for my kyd, and luckily she still has that with her mom and dad’s family. Which, quite honestly, makes my families absence that much more apparent.
I want to be happy for my parents, that they are in a position both financially and physically, that they can go and spend, as they call it, the final chapter of their lives away from winter. But at the same time, being the final chapter, why would anyone want to be in a hurry to start that chapter? Just when this chapter is finally such a great read?
And of course, I’m pretty annoyed with myself for not handling this the way I’d like to. I wish I was just happy for them, and excited that we’ll be taking some trips out to Arizona. But I am Jack’s selfish bastard.
September 23, 2008
Jstfast
Leave it a 6 and 4 year old to reveal the fundamental flaws of organized religion. This story was told me today, by a friend, and I wish I had made it up.
A young boy and girl attend a private school, and at their meals they recite a prayer, something to the affect of “God is good, God is great.” Its harmless stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with it in a private school. Fast forward to one night at dinner, and the kids want to recite their prayer before eating. Being young kids, they seem to remember the prayer slightly different. And this leads to a fight between the two.
That’s organized religion for you. Doesn’t matter if you’re basically saying the same thing, it’s how you say and you’re either right or wrong.
A young boy and girl attend a private school, and at their meals they recite a prayer, something to the affect of “God is good, God is great.” Its harmless stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with it in a private school. Fast forward to one night at dinner, and the kids want to recite their prayer before eating. Being young kids, they seem to remember the prayer slightly different. And this leads to a fight between the two.
That’s organized religion for you. Doesn’t matter if you’re basically saying the same thing, it’s how you say and you’re either right or wrong.
JstRant
Maybe I’m a bigot of sorts. Or just too narrow minded, or maybe I’m best described as a snob. Or all three and then some. Last night I took the Kyd to her cheerleading practice, which is organized by her fathers Church. So we get there early, par for the Hirp course, and the Kyd wants to go hang out in the bookstore. Par for the Kyd course, she loves books.
So instead of just wandering with her through the aisles, and just enjoying her enthusiasm (which I still enjoyed) I was stuck in my head making cracks about the titles and just looking for things to rant about. Like the fact that every book cover had the whitest, squarest looking people. I notice how the titles and authors seem to just follow a formula, title start with “the” and is followed by an adjective that drums up the most dramatic apocalyptic images, such as “Parting” or “Found” or “Forgiven.”
This bugs me, but really, it could have just been a play out of John Grisham or Stephen King’s playbooks. But since the theme is Christ, and not a hot shot lawyer, it raises my most cynical flag. I make no bones about it, I have issues with organized religion. Not just those that pray to Jesus. Those just come up more, because frankly, they seem to be more outspoken themselves.
And I can’t get over this Church. It’s huge. It’s plush, with their nice café, impressive teenage hangout and their fully equipped stage that’s more high tech than anything in Lawrence or Westport. The money spent here, well, I can’t help but think about what good it could have done. I just looked it up, and its 150,000 square feet. I’m guessing at least $20 million.
But now I’m stuck thinking about me, what the hell is wrong with me? So what if it cost $20 million, and so what if the books and CD’s have an agenda, it’s not as if anyone is being tricked into coming here. Thousands of people come here, and they get something from coming. Good for them. But I can’t let it go that easily.
I can’t help but notice how often I hear the other parents bring up God or Jesus. A girl tried to cheer up another on Saturday, and they gave her an award for being “Christ-like.” I think it’s great that she helped her friend, and it should absolutely be brought to everyones attention and that sort of behavior should be re-inforced. But what if I, the agnostic Jew, does something nice for someone? Is it not “Christ like” because of my beliefs? Why can’t we just acknowledge and appreciate a good deed, without grand comparisons?
And these parents, wow. I know they’re parents like any other parents, but there’s something about the fact that we’re at a Church, and they are holding their kids to such high standards, that makes it even worse, in my eyes, when I see what most would agree is less than ideal parenting. While these girls are practicing their cheers, there are little babies wandering around, sometimes taking their sisters pom-poms. And no one seems to notice. When their kids act out, even throw a megaphone at their dad, it’s smiled at. Of course, I have no idea what will happen when they get in the car, but I can’t understand why that isn’t addressed right away.
And the “coach” has zero control, or any kind of influence over the team. She’s obviously learning the routine as she teaches it, and she’s going over four pages of cheers and the corresponding movements in an hours time. Each cheer and action is said three times, doesn’t matter if half the kids are more intoned with the sound their pom-poms make. She doesn’t care that no ones getting it, and anytime her daughter interrupts her, she hugs her and says thanks. Someone needs to call in Cesar, this place needs a pack leader. All of this has absolutely nothing to do with God, religion or this Church. Or does it?
The fact that his is first graders learning cheerleading sounds insignificant, but it isn’t. This is, for most of them, their first expierence with organized sports. This can have a great impact on their self-esteem, social skills and overall health for the rest of their lives. I’d argue that the most important coach any kid ever has, is their first coach. With teachers, the kindergarten or first grade teacher, can really set the wheels in motion for the rest of a kids academic future. But if they don’t connect, there’s going to be a second grade teacher, or a third grade, all the way up through high school, who may get through to the kid. Maybe it never happens, but you’re going to get more chances. But if the first coach fails, a kid may never want to try sports again.
So I can’t help but hold the Church, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course I don’t expect them to recruit 1st grade cheerleading coaches, or check resumes. And it doesn’t matter at all if the coach has any experience with what they’re coaching, but they must care. They have to engage each kid, motivate them and praise them. And they have to be willing to toss a parent out of practice for being over-bearing, or call out a kid who isn’t listening.
I keep hearing them say, that trying is all that matters. Well, that only works when the coaches try too. Going through the motions isn’t given any effort, my high school career proves that. So the cynical flag flies again, and I can’t help but question if this is all just another tool to sell the kids on the Church. As if they are saying, “you come here, and you have fun. You get pom-poms and a cute outfit. We give you treats every week, and your parents smile. This all makes God happy.”
I think it’s great that the Church wants to give the kids things to do, productive things too. But this isn’t just so pure and harmless. They can totally wreck a kid’s confidence, and you can’t pray for confidence. Some kids may never want to play sports, and that’s fine. My wife didn’t particularly enjoy playing softball as a kid, she’s turned out fantastic. I loved playing baseball and basketball, even though I was awful and embarrassed myself on a regular basis. But the great memories always make those moments and after thought.
“That’s alright, that’s okay, Jesus loves you anyway” is one of their cheers. Cute little thing. But does anyone really look at what is being said? Maybe I’m way off here, and first graders are just having fun, but it seems as if this cheer is for after a mistake (they don’t really pay attention to the game, and all the cheers are pretty random). But they aren’t considering the neurotic Jew in the crowd, that’s over analyzing every detail. So Jesus loves them anyway, even if they fumble. Good to know. What about their parents, do they still love them? If Jesus loves the winners and the losers the same, do we really need to point this out? That’s a lot of time and energy spent to bring light to what is no more than a tie in God’s eyes. Making football, and everything else, a giant game of tic-tac-toe.
See, this is why I’ve never smoked pot. I can’t imagine the stupid things I’d obsess about if I ever got high.
So, back to the idea that maybe I'm a bigot. Could be, but I'd never attach these thoughts to religion if this wasn't organized by a Church. This is why I'm glad we keep Church and State seperate. Well, for now anyway....
So instead of just wandering with her through the aisles, and just enjoying her enthusiasm (which I still enjoyed) I was stuck in my head making cracks about the titles and just looking for things to rant about. Like the fact that every book cover had the whitest, squarest looking people. I notice how the titles and authors seem to just follow a formula, title start with “the” and is followed by an adjective that drums up the most dramatic apocalyptic images, such as “Parting” or “Found” or “Forgiven.”
This bugs me, but really, it could have just been a play out of John Grisham or Stephen King’s playbooks. But since the theme is Christ, and not a hot shot lawyer, it raises my most cynical flag. I make no bones about it, I have issues with organized religion. Not just those that pray to Jesus. Those just come up more, because frankly, they seem to be more outspoken themselves.
And I can’t get over this Church. It’s huge. It’s plush, with their nice café, impressive teenage hangout and their fully equipped stage that’s more high tech than anything in Lawrence or Westport. The money spent here, well, I can’t help but think about what good it could have done. I just looked it up, and its 150,000 square feet. I’m guessing at least $20 million.
But now I’m stuck thinking about me, what the hell is wrong with me? So what if it cost $20 million, and so what if the books and CD’s have an agenda, it’s not as if anyone is being tricked into coming here. Thousands of people come here, and they get something from coming. Good for them. But I can’t let it go that easily.
I can’t help but notice how often I hear the other parents bring up God or Jesus. A girl tried to cheer up another on Saturday, and they gave her an award for being “Christ-like.” I think it’s great that she helped her friend, and it should absolutely be brought to everyones attention and that sort of behavior should be re-inforced. But what if I, the agnostic Jew, does something nice for someone? Is it not “Christ like” because of my beliefs? Why can’t we just acknowledge and appreciate a good deed, without grand comparisons?
And these parents, wow. I know they’re parents like any other parents, but there’s something about the fact that we’re at a Church, and they are holding their kids to such high standards, that makes it even worse, in my eyes, when I see what most would agree is less than ideal parenting. While these girls are practicing their cheers, there are little babies wandering around, sometimes taking their sisters pom-poms. And no one seems to notice. When their kids act out, even throw a megaphone at their dad, it’s smiled at. Of course, I have no idea what will happen when they get in the car, but I can’t understand why that isn’t addressed right away.
And the “coach” has zero control, or any kind of influence over the team. She’s obviously learning the routine as she teaches it, and she’s going over four pages of cheers and the corresponding movements in an hours time. Each cheer and action is said three times, doesn’t matter if half the kids are more intoned with the sound their pom-poms make. She doesn’t care that no ones getting it, and anytime her daughter interrupts her, she hugs her and says thanks. Someone needs to call in Cesar, this place needs a pack leader. All of this has absolutely nothing to do with God, religion or this Church. Or does it?
The fact that his is first graders learning cheerleading sounds insignificant, but it isn’t. This is, for most of them, their first expierence with organized sports. This can have a great impact on their self-esteem, social skills and overall health for the rest of their lives. I’d argue that the most important coach any kid ever has, is their first coach. With teachers, the kindergarten or first grade teacher, can really set the wheels in motion for the rest of a kids academic future. But if they don’t connect, there’s going to be a second grade teacher, or a third grade, all the way up through high school, who may get through to the kid. Maybe it never happens, but you’re going to get more chances. But if the first coach fails, a kid may never want to try sports again.
So I can’t help but hold the Church, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course I don’t expect them to recruit 1st grade cheerleading coaches, or check resumes. And it doesn’t matter at all if the coach has any experience with what they’re coaching, but they must care. They have to engage each kid, motivate them and praise them. And they have to be willing to toss a parent out of practice for being over-bearing, or call out a kid who isn’t listening.
I keep hearing them say, that trying is all that matters. Well, that only works when the coaches try too. Going through the motions isn’t given any effort, my high school career proves that. So the cynical flag flies again, and I can’t help but question if this is all just another tool to sell the kids on the Church. As if they are saying, “you come here, and you have fun. You get pom-poms and a cute outfit. We give you treats every week, and your parents smile. This all makes God happy.”
I think it’s great that the Church wants to give the kids things to do, productive things too. But this isn’t just so pure and harmless. They can totally wreck a kid’s confidence, and you can’t pray for confidence. Some kids may never want to play sports, and that’s fine. My wife didn’t particularly enjoy playing softball as a kid, she’s turned out fantastic. I loved playing baseball and basketball, even though I was awful and embarrassed myself on a regular basis. But the great memories always make those moments and after thought.
“That’s alright, that’s okay, Jesus loves you anyway” is one of their cheers. Cute little thing. But does anyone really look at what is being said? Maybe I’m way off here, and first graders are just having fun, but it seems as if this cheer is for after a mistake (they don’t really pay attention to the game, and all the cheers are pretty random). But they aren’t considering the neurotic Jew in the crowd, that’s over analyzing every detail. So Jesus loves them anyway, even if they fumble. Good to know. What about their parents, do they still love them? If Jesus loves the winners and the losers the same, do we really need to point this out? That’s a lot of time and energy spent to bring light to what is no more than a tie in God’s eyes. Making football, and everything else, a giant game of tic-tac-toe.
See, this is why I’ve never smoked pot. I can’t imagine the stupid things I’d obsess about if I ever got high.
So, back to the idea that maybe I'm a bigot. Could be, but I'd never attach these thoughts to religion if this wasn't organized by a Church. This is why I'm glad we keep Church and State seperate. Well, for now anyway....
September 18, 2008
JstPee
To pee or not to pee, that is the question. Where you stand, that’s the issue. The wife and I debated the pro’s, the cons, the joys and the disgust of peeing in the shower. For the record, my stream ended when I first heard her feelings about the issue a while back when Porqchop and his better half were having the same debate. As I figured, to go against those wishes, would be more foolish than peeing into the wind.
But that didn’t answer the question, if it’s right or wrong, to make your shower a little golden from time to time. I still believe, there’s nothing inherently wrong with taking a leak under the showerhead. Here are my arguments for men:
First of all, it’s a disinfectant, so this could be the time where men actually assist in cleaning the shower.
Second, we’re not talking about peeing and standing in urine, you aim for the drain, and the running water helps wash it down.
Third, our aim is much better given the size of this target.
Fourth, it’s eco friendly. It saves water, and it’s never wrong to multi-task. Well, unless of course, you’re texting while at the controls of a train. That’s a pretty big no-no.
Fifth, it’s economical. Back to that flushed toilet, and running water. It all costs money. Would it be better to piss money down the drain, or urine? One of them belongs in the drain, the other, well that could be used to purchase more useful items. Like purses.
***
Spoiler alert! Do not read if you haven’t seen Weeds’ Season Finale!
There, you’ve been warned. Consider this my “Remain 100 Yards Behind” sign that you see on a garbage truck or my “Not Responsible for Lost or Stolen Items” you see at the gym. By the way, I think I want to steal one of those signs. They can’t prosecute me right?
So the wife and I finally got around to watching the finale to a very strange season of Weeds. If the first season was a 10, the second season was a 9, this year was a 6.5. Which is pretty much par for the cable television series, they all seem to start so strong, then lose direction like a drunk peeing in the shower.
This year we saw Nancy move the family to just north of the border, make Guillermo irrelevant by connecting with his boss, another DEA agent get whacked, Silas eat out while in the sandwich shop, Shane pull of a three some that would make R. Kelly proud, and Celia’s life spiral out of control faster than Britney circa 2007. I miss it when Nancy just sold pot in the burbs. No gangsters, no murder, no teenage three-ways. Yet, I still have to watch every episode.
I think the writers even acknowledged the fact that the show has gotten away from them. In the finale, Nancy is talking to her brother in-law, while naked in the tub, about how she used to be able to justify everything. That’s what made her great. Selling pot to keep her kids in the best schools and dressed in American Eagle, that made sense. Seeing her first drive by, made the poor-middle class white lady upset. And some where along the ride, she ended up being Nancy Escobar. No justification, she just did whatever seemed to be the worst thing she could do. There was no rhyme, no reason, no damn sense to it.
And now, when faced with the fact that she ratted on her boyfriend/mayor/drug lord, she looked entirely screwed. And she was, so screwed that she was actually preggars. Well, that’s just great. Earlier in the episode, we saw a glimpe of the Nancy Botwin we used to know, as she dealt with all her guilt and the fear that she’s failed her sons. What better way to redeem yourself, than to raise the child of a really likeable crime lord.
But that didn’t answer the question, if it’s right or wrong, to make your shower a little golden from time to time. I still believe, there’s nothing inherently wrong with taking a leak under the showerhead. Here are my arguments for men:
First of all, it’s a disinfectant, so this could be the time where men actually assist in cleaning the shower.
Second, we’re not talking about peeing and standing in urine, you aim for the drain, and the running water helps wash it down.
Third, our aim is much better given the size of this target.
Fourth, it’s eco friendly. It saves water, and it’s never wrong to multi-task. Well, unless of course, you’re texting while at the controls of a train. That’s a pretty big no-no.
Fifth, it’s economical. Back to that flushed toilet, and running water. It all costs money. Would it be better to piss money down the drain, or urine? One of them belongs in the drain, the other, well that could be used to purchase more useful items. Like purses.
***
Spoiler alert! Do not read if you haven’t seen Weeds’ Season Finale!
There, you’ve been warned. Consider this my “Remain 100 Yards Behind” sign that you see on a garbage truck or my “Not Responsible for Lost or Stolen Items” you see at the gym. By the way, I think I want to steal one of those signs. They can’t prosecute me right?
So the wife and I finally got around to watching the finale to a very strange season of Weeds. If the first season was a 10, the second season was a 9, this year was a 6.5. Which is pretty much par for the cable television series, they all seem to start so strong, then lose direction like a drunk peeing in the shower.
This year we saw Nancy move the family to just north of the border, make Guillermo irrelevant by connecting with his boss, another DEA agent get whacked, Silas eat out while in the sandwich shop, Shane pull of a three some that would make R. Kelly proud, and Celia’s life spiral out of control faster than Britney circa 2007. I miss it when Nancy just sold pot in the burbs. No gangsters, no murder, no teenage three-ways. Yet, I still have to watch every episode.
I think the writers even acknowledged the fact that the show has gotten away from them. In the finale, Nancy is talking to her brother in-law, while naked in the tub, about how she used to be able to justify everything. That’s what made her great. Selling pot to keep her kids in the best schools and dressed in American Eagle, that made sense. Seeing her first drive by, made the poor-middle class white lady upset. And some where along the ride, she ended up being Nancy Escobar. No justification, she just did whatever seemed to be the worst thing she could do. There was no rhyme, no reason, no damn sense to it.
And now, when faced with the fact that she ratted on her boyfriend/mayor/drug lord, she looked entirely screwed. And she was, so screwed that she was actually preggars. Well, that’s just great. Earlier in the episode, we saw a glimpe of the Nancy Botwin we used to know, as she dealt with all her guilt and the fear that she’s failed her sons. What better way to redeem yourself, than to raise the child of a really likeable crime lord.
September 15, 2008
Righteous Ill
They’re two of the greatest ever. Jordan and Magic, Bach and Beethoven, Harvard and Yale. But they joined forces on the backside of their careers, so we’ll never think of the duo as we did Newman and Redford, or Lennon and McCartney. And at some point, Robert Deniro and Al Pacino are going to answer to the movie gods for mailing in the last 10 years of their careers.
This weekend I saw Righteous Kill, which marked the first time the two Don’s shared the screen. Sure, they were both in Heat and Godfather II, but we never saw them share the screen. Maybe we never should have. It’s not that Righteous Kill is a horrible movie, it’s just not up to their standards. It felt like watching Kate Hudson and the lead singer of the Black Crowes, maybe it worked for them, but no one else needed to see it.
It isn’t often that you see a movie, and would have rather spent the $7 (it was the matinee) just to see the two stars interviewed together to promote the film. But that’s the case with Kill. Some movies, we shorten the title when they have longer titles, but I couldn’t refer to this as just “Righteous.”
I had a bad feeling when I first heard of this movie a year or so ago. I love both actors, and it isn’t as if they just lost their talents, but they had just stopped reading screenplays. Deniro was more concerned with his budding real estate empire, and mocking himself, and Pacino was stuck in his Scent of a Woman character, and yelled his way through some 10 films, including Heat. But maybe, just maybe, uniting would bring out the best in each other again. It didn’t happen. I guess they felt they had to do it, while they were physically able. But Newman and Redford have passed on multiple oppurtunites to work together because the script wasn’t right, if only Bob and Al had used such high standards. Then again, they had a couple of classics with each other, for us to enjoy.
This was Deniro, doing a combination of the NYC cops he played in City by the Sea, 15 Minutes and Showtime. The best laugh comes from seeing Pacino lift weights in the gym, and a small action scene where we see the two of them jump over a railing with agility they’ve never had. Come on, I doubt Pacino has lifted anything heavy since the machine gun he picked up Scarface.
Heat was it, and the greatness of Heat should be enjoyed more now, than ever before. Deniro put out a few quality films right after Heat, with Sleepers, Cop Land, Wag the Dog and Jackie Brown. He made us laugh with Analyze This and Meet the Parents. But he swung and missed more than he made solid contact. The Fan, Great Expectations, 15 Minutes, The Score, the comedy sequels, and nearly bored us to death with the Good Shepherd. Pacino gave us Donnie Brasco and the Insider, but can we please forget he did S1m0ne, Gigle, Two for the Money and Any Given Sunday? I doubt it, but I hope so.
The best thing I see in their future right now, is the fact they are both attached to a video game to compliment Heat. Keep doing whatever Michael Mann wants you guys to do. In fact I have to pass a rule for these two giants, no more working with anyone else other than the top guys: Tarantino, Martin Scorecese, Mann, Soderbergh and the Scott brothers. Deniro is attached to a new Michael Mann flick, Frankie Machine, about an ex mob hit man living a civilian life but goes back to the life from the urging of the son of a Mafia Don. Hopefully, this is Deniro’s return to greatness. Michael Mann has the highest batting average of any major director in Hollywood. Added bonus, Machine was penned by Levien and Koppleman, the duo responsible for Rounders.
If you’re itching to see some Bob and Al, I recommend popping in Heat, or looking for the Insider, which has been on cable of late. But if you must, keep an eye out for the following previews: Defiance, about a Holocaust story I’ve never heard, where three Jewish brothers give us what may have been the inspiration for Red Dawn. Pride and Glory, with Edward Norton and Collin Farrell doing sort of a Departed type thing. Maybe Farrell can actually put out a quality flick.
This weekend I saw Righteous Kill, which marked the first time the two Don’s shared the screen. Sure, they were both in Heat and Godfather II, but we never saw them share the screen. Maybe we never should have. It’s not that Righteous Kill is a horrible movie, it’s just not up to their standards. It felt like watching Kate Hudson and the lead singer of the Black Crowes, maybe it worked for them, but no one else needed to see it.
It isn’t often that you see a movie, and would have rather spent the $7 (it was the matinee) just to see the two stars interviewed together to promote the film. But that’s the case with Kill. Some movies, we shorten the title when they have longer titles, but I couldn’t refer to this as just “Righteous.”
I had a bad feeling when I first heard of this movie a year or so ago. I love both actors, and it isn’t as if they just lost their talents, but they had just stopped reading screenplays. Deniro was more concerned with his budding real estate empire, and mocking himself, and Pacino was stuck in his Scent of a Woman character, and yelled his way through some 10 films, including Heat. But maybe, just maybe, uniting would bring out the best in each other again. It didn’t happen. I guess they felt they had to do it, while they were physically able. But Newman and Redford have passed on multiple oppurtunites to work together because the script wasn’t right, if only Bob and Al had used such high standards. Then again, they had a couple of classics with each other, for us to enjoy.
This was Deniro, doing a combination of the NYC cops he played in City by the Sea, 15 Minutes and Showtime. The best laugh comes from seeing Pacino lift weights in the gym, and a small action scene where we see the two of them jump over a railing with agility they’ve never had. Come on, I doubt Pacino has lifted anything heavy since the machine gun he picked up Scarface.
Heat was it, and the greatness of Heat should be enjoyed more now, than ever before. Deniro put out a few quality films right after Heat, with Sleepers, Cop Land, Wag the Dog and Jackie Brown. He made us laugh with Analyze This and Meet the Parents. But he swung and missed more than he made solid contact. The Fan, Great Expectations, 15 Minutes, The Score, the comedy sequels, and nearly bored us to death with the Good Shepherd. Pacino gave us Donnie Brasco and the Insider, but can we please forget he did S1m0ne, Gigle, Two for the Money and Any Given Sunday? I doubt it, but I hope so.
The best thing I see in their future right now, is the fact they are both attached to a video game to compliment Heat. Keep doing whatever Michael Mann wants you guys to do. In fact I have to pass a rule for these two giants, no more working with anyone else other than the top guys: Tarantino, Martin Scorecese, Mann, Soderbergh and the Scott brothers. Deniro is attached to a new Michael Mann flick, Frankie Machine, about an ex mob hit man living a civilian life but goes back to the life from the urging of the son of a Mafia Don. Hopefully, this is Deniro’s return to greatness. Michael Mann has the highest batting average of any major director in Hollywood. Added bonus, Machine was penned by Levien and Koppleman, the duo responsible for Rounders.
If you’re itching to see some Bob and Al, I recommend popping in Heat, or looking for the Insider, which has been on cable of late. But if you must, keep an eye out for the following previews: Defiance, about a Holocaust story I’ve never heard, where three Jewish brothers give us what may have been the inspiration for Red Dawn. Pride and Glory, with Edward Norton and Collin Farrell doing sort of a Departed type thing. Maybe Farrell can actually put out a quality flick.
September 04, 2008
hirPolitics
If ever I decide that it’s okay to become a hypocrite, I’ll just change my party affiliation. Listening to the radio on my way to work, they had a delegate from Shawnee Kansas on the air, and I quote “anyone listening to Sarah Palin last night should have no question that she’s ready to step up and lead.”
Wait, you mean it isn’t her record as a Mayor or Governor that we should feel comfortable about, but instead we should have no doubts because of a speech? I see, but that same logic just doesn’t fit when the candidate is Barack Obama. And I’ll give the lady the credit she deserves; she gave a pretty good speech. Plenty about it I disagreed with, but for the most part, at least she wasn’t up there trying to take pot shots at Obama.
Can’t say the same for Rudy Giuliani, a guy I once thought could make a decent President. Instead of giving a speech that made me believe in McCain and the Republican party, he took cheap shot after cheap shot at Barack Obama. When will they ever grow up? While we all heard Obama give McCain credit for all he’s done, Rudy mocked what Barack has done. Oh, how funny, Barack was a community organizer. Mwhaha, and he wants to be President now?
Did I hear Rudy right? Just to be sure, I pulled the transcript. “One final point. And how — how dare they question whether Sarah Palin has enough time to spend with her children and be vice president. How dare they do that.”
Seriously, did the adultery really go there? We’re getting lessons in family values a guy who strayed twice, that we know of. How dare us? How dare him! You don’t get a pass for getting your first marriage annulled because she was your second cousin, and not your third. How did that not come up? When sending out the invites, didn’t they realize they were asking people to sit on both sides?
I have a few comments in response to Rudy questioning Barack’s resume. First point, where exactly is the job posting for President? I want to see it, because if in fact it lists certain requirements, that Barack hasn’t met, then maybe we shouldn’t elect him President. Second, how do you mention the fact that Obama went to an Ivy League school as if it’s a negative accomplishment? Raised in a single parent household, the man made his own way to one of the most prestigious Universities in the world. Unlike George W, who went to a Ivy League school on daddy’s lap.
Then, instead of taking that education and trading it in as soon as possible for a cushy job, he went to work as a Community Organizer. And I guess if we listen to Rudy, organization isn’t something they need in Washington. Oh, and the group that he worked for was a church-based community. But I guess he still isn’t Christian enough, because he may think that some people hold too religion a little too much.
Is McCain a hero for going through the hardships he had to endure, and not just surviving but succeeding? Absolutely. But Obama is every bit the hero McCain is. The fact that McCain spilled his blood, and made great sacrifices for his country, doesn’t entitle him to the Presidency. If that’s the case, he’ll make sure we have plenty of well qualified applicants in the future. They’ll be ready just as soon as they get back from Iraq.
I’m glad my parents never taught me, what must be Republican law, that a man can’t change his mind when he receives new and different information. But Rudy, if changing your mind is so bad that you must mock Barack for doing so, why then, is it okay that you changed parties back in 1975, when you went from being a Democrat (gasp) to an Independent. And then once Reagan won, you were suddenly a Republican. You change your mind almost as often as you change brides.
Another gem from Rudy, “I learned as a trial lawyer a long time ago, if you don’t have the facts, you’ve got to change them.” That says it all, doesn’t it? He went on to say that’s what their opponents are doing, in trying to re-frame the debate, but this is what you learned Rudy. Maybe some didn’t learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, some people go on just the facts and let them speak for themselves. And now, maybe we should have every conviction Rudy padded his resume with, looked at under a microscope.
As Rudy Giulani said as he campaigned for Mayor of New York City in 1989 (he lost this one), “if we keep going merrily along, this city’s going down.” And you can keep slinging the word “liberal” around as if it was a four letter word, but I know you ran as part on the Liberal Party line when you were elected Mayor in 1993.
Rudy also said he was impressed at how Sarah Palin took out corruption, even in the Republican Party, while Governor of Alaska. Finally, something you should be impressed by. Or did you think everyone forgot about your right hand man in New York, Bernard Kerik. That’s right; you also had him as a partner at Giuliani Partners. You named him New York City Police Commissioner, and how quickly you cut your ties. After it came out his nanny was an illegal immigrant, and he was later charged for ethics violations. I think he’s still under Federal investigation after a grand jury issued a multi-count indictment for, oh this is good, conspiracy, mail fraud, wire fraud AND lying to the IRS.
So Rudy, if we go back to your analogy, of looking at the resumes for both candidates, maybe McCain would be better served to leave your name off of the references page.
Wait, you mean it isn’t her record as a Mayor or Governor that we should feel comfortable about, but instead we should have no doubts because of a speech? I see, but that same logic just doesn’t fit when the candidate is Barack Obama. And I’ll give the lady the credit she deserves; she gave a pretty good speech. Plenty about it I disagreed with, but for the most part, at least she wasn’t up there trying to take pot shots at Obama.
Can’t say the same for Rudy Giuliani, a guy I once thought could make a decent President. Instead of giving a speech that made me believe in McCain and the Republican party, he took cheap shot after cheap shot at Barack Obama. When will they ever grow up? While we all heard Obama give McCain credit for all he’s done, Rudy mocked what Barack has done. Oh, how funny, Barack was a community organizer. Mwhaha, and he wants to be President now?
Did I hear Rudy right? Just to be sure, I pulled the transcript. “One final point. And how — how dare they question whether Sarah Palin has enough time to spend with her children and be vice president. How dare they do that.”
Seriously, did the adultery really go there? We’re getting lessons in family values a guy who strayed twice, that we know of. How dare us? How dare him! You don’t get a pass for getting your first marriage annulled because she was your second cousin, and not your third. How did that not come up? When sending out the invites, didn’t they realize they were asking people to sit on both sides?
I have a few comments in response to Rudy questioning Barack’s resume. First point, where exactly is the job posting for President? I want to see it, because if in fact it lists certain requirements, that Barack hasn’t met, then maybe we shouldn’t elect him President. Second, how do you mention the fact that Obama went to an Ivy League school as if it’s a negative accomplishment? Raised in a single parent household, the man made his own way to one of the most prestigious Universities in the world. Unlike George W, who went to a Ivy League school on daddy’s lap.
Then, instead of taking that education and trading it in as soon as possible for a cushy job, he went to work as a Community Organizer. And I guess if we listen to Rudy, organization isn’t something they need in Washington. Oh, and the group that he worked for was a church-based community. But I guess he still isn’t Christian enough, because he may think that some people hold too religion a little too much.
Is McCain a hero for going through the hardships he had to endure, and not just surviving but succeeding? Absolutely. But Obama is every bit the hero McCain is. The fact that McCain spilled his blood, and made great sacrifices for his country, doesn’t entitle him to the Presidency. If that’s the case, he’ll make sure we have plenty of well qualified applicants in the future. They’ll be ready just as soon as they get back from Iraq.
I’m glad my parents never taught me, what must be Republican law, that a man can’t change his mind when he receives new and different information. But Rudy, if changing your mind is so bad that you must mock Barack for doing so, why then, is it okay that you changed parties back in 1975, when you went from being a Democrat (gasp) to an Independent. And then once Reagan won, you were suddenly a Republican. You change your mind almost as often as you change brides.
Another gem from Rudy, “I learned as a trial lawyer a long time ago, if you don’t have the facts, you’ve got to change them.” That says it all, doesn’t it? He went on to say that’s what their opponents are doing, in trying to re-frame the debate, but this is what you learned Rudy. Maybe some didn’t learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, some people go on just the facts and let them speak for themselves. And now, maybe we should have every conviction Rudy padded his resume with, looked at under a microscope.
As Rudy Giulani said as he campaigned for Mayor of New York City in 1989 (he lost this one), “if we keep going merrily along, this city’s going down.” And you can keep slinging the word “liberal” around as if it was a four letter word, but I know you ran as part on the Liberal Party line when you were elected Mayor in 1993.
Rudy also said he was impressed at how Sarah Palin took out corruption, even in the Republican Party, while Governor of Alaska. Finally, something you should be impressed by. Or did you think everyone forgot about your right hand man in New York, Bernard Kerik. That’s right; you also had him as a partner at Giuliani Partners. You named him New York City Police Commissioner, and how quickly you cut your ties. After it came out his nanny was an illegal immigrant, and he was later charged for ethics violations. I think he’s still under Federal investigation after a grand jury issued a multi-count indictment for, oh this is good, conspiracy, mail fraud, wire fraud AND lying to the IRS.
So Rudy, if we go back to your analogy, of looking at the resumes for both candidates, maybe McCain would be better served to leave your name off of the references page.
September 02, 2008
From The Hirp
• I used to believe that “politician” and “opportunist” were synonyms, than along came Barack Obama. His speech at the convention brought up comparisons to Michael Douglas’ President Andrew Shepard, but Obama feels more and more like an Aaron Sorkin creation with the more of him we see. To take the high road, when we heard that Sarah Palin’s daughter was having a baby, is beyond admirable. And we know Barack will let her skate on the real issue at hand, but not because it’s the right thing to do, only because his mom named him “Barack.”
However, I won’t let it slide. How the hell can we even consider allowing this woman to be Vice President when she named her children Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig? You could probably get having a stable full of horses with those names, but not a house full of kids.
• Maybe next time we have a big hurricane, the networks can just send cameramen down to get footage. But please, leave the correspondents in the hotel; we don’t need to hear their constantly interrupted reports of how windy and rainy it is. The camera pretty much says it all, and doesn’t continuously apologize for the storm, you know, making things difficult.
• I just read that the CEO of Overstock, Patrick Byrne believes a “Sith Lord’ is actively working to destroy his company. I wonder how this will affect their stock prices.
However, I won’t let it slide. How the hell can we even consider allowing this woman to be Vice President when she named her children Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig? You could probably get having a stable full of horses with those names, but not a house full of kids.
• Maybe next time we have a big hurricane, the networks can just send cameramen down to get footage. But please, leave the correspondents in the hotel; we don’t need to hear their constantly interrupted reports of how windy and rainy it is. The camera pretty much says it all, and doesn’t continuously apologize for the storm, you know, making things difficult.
• I just read that the CEO of Overstock, Patrick Byrne believes a “Sith Lord’ is actively working to destroy his company. I wonder how this will affect their stock prices.
August 29, 2008
hirPolitics
Last night, like most of America, my wife and I sat mesmerized by all that is Barack Obama. We were in awe of his speech, both the substance of it and the artistry in which he delivered it. We were moved by his story, as it continues to be written. And perhaps most of all, we were impressed by the behavior of his daughters. That’s gone un-noticed too long.
For all of those who feel he doesn’t represent them, doesn’t know what they go through, they didn’t notice the toothless smile of his 7 year old. I’m pretty cynical, but I don’t think you can fake parenting. And to have your 7 year old sit through a speech like that, and remain on her best behavior, well that’s what an “every man’s” dream. Anyone who can parent, two young girls, has enough experience to qualify for any job.
***
John McCain’s pick for his VP, Sarah Palin looks qualified for a job in the White House, as one of Bill Clinton’s interns. Seriously, she looks like every other soccer mom at Oak Park Mall. Maybe she is qualified to be the next in line for President, beside a 72 year old who has been thrice treated for cancer. And their biggest knock on Barack is lack of experience? Palin is Governor of Alaska, that’s not a state, it’s a large park. Basically she’s just a glorified park ranger. Maybe it’s just me, but this pick sounds like playground politics, “see, I’m for change too. I picked a girl!”
For all of those who feel he doesn’t represent them, doesn’t know what they go through, they didn’t notice the toothless smile of his 7 year old. I’m pretty cynical, but I don’t think you can fake parenting. And to have your 7 year old sit through a speech like that, and remain on her best behavior, well that’s what an “every man’s” dream. Anyone who can parent, two young girls, has enough experience to qualify for any job.
***
John McCain’s pick for his VP, Sarah Palin looks qualified for a job in the White House, as one of Bill Clinton’s interns. Seriously, she looks like every other soccer mom at Oak Park Mall. Maybe she is qualified to be the next in line for President, beside a 72 year old who has been thrice treated for cancer. And their biggest knock on Barack is lack of experience? Palin is Governor of Alaska, that’s not a state, it’s a large park. Basically she’s just a glorified park ranger. Maybe it’s just me, but this pick sounds like playground politics, “see, I’m for change too. I picked a girl!”
August 19, 2008
All In
Six years, that’s about how long I was a real poker fanatic. I was never really much of a player, not to the extent I dreamt of being. But it was always fun, and it’s still fun. But it was as much as an obsession as it was a hobby. At first I played about twice a week, and with god awful players. So it was quite profitable for me. Then I joined this “league” and it became more challenging, and even more fun. We played once a month, and I never missed a game. The nights I was knocked out of early (and often) still didn’t send me home early; I simply waited for the “cash game” to start.
But things sure do change. I had a Cal Ripken like streak, and now I’m MIA as often as Chuck Norris. Priorities have shifted, focus has changed. When before, there was nothing going on that I couldn’t shift around to make to make room for a poker game, there is now events I wouldn’t dream of moving. Events like today.
Today’s the first day of first grade for the Kyd. And there just so happens to be a poker game tonight. There’s no coin to flip for me to decide, and I haven’t even given moving our, now annual post-first day dinner, back a day. I’m looking more forward to hearing about the first day of school than I am seeing the first flop.
And oddly enough, a few years ago, there was no excuse good enough to get a guy off the hook. If you missed a game, you were given loads of crap for your absence, more often than not, by yours truly. But the whole dynamic of this group has changed. In the early years the table talk centered around porn or watching Skinamax. Now there’s talk of diapers, schools and trips to Disney.
I’m sure I’ll get back in the swing of things next year, and get to most of the games, if not every one. But it’ll never be my main priority again. Winning a few hundred bucks before, meant either planning a trip to the boats or day dreaming of a trip to Vegas. Now I want to win, to offset the price of school supplies and to take the fam out for a nice meal (defined as any meal that doesn’t come on a tray, in a bag or a box.) See, even my definition of a nice meal has changed.
But things sure do change. I had a Cal Ripken like streak, and now I’m MIA as often as Chuck Norris. Priorities have shifted, focus has changed. When before, there was nothing going on that I couldn’t shift around to make to make room for a poker game, there is now events I wouldn’t dream of moving. Events like today.
Today’s the first day of first grade for the Kyd. And there just so happens to be a poker game tonight. There’s no coin to flip for me to decide, and I haven’t even given moving our, now annual post-first day dinner, back a day. I’m looking more forward to hearing about the first day of school than I am seeing the first flop.
And oddly enough, a few years ago, there was no excuse good enough to get a guy off the hook. If you missed a game, you were given loads of crap for your absence, more often than not, by yours truly. But the whole dynamic of this group has changed. In the early years the table talk centered around porn or watching Skinamax. Now there’s talk of diapers, schools and trips to Disney.
I’m sure I’ll get back in the swing of things next year, and get to most of the games, if not every one. But it’ll never be my main priority again. Winning a few hundred bucks before, meant either planning a trip to the boats or day dreaming of a trip to Vegas. Now I want to win, to offset the price of school supplies and to take the fam out for a nice meal (defined as any meal that doesn’t come on a tray, in a bag or a box.) See, even my definition of a nice meal has changed.
August 13, 2008
Hirpasms
I’m a little bitter, and with good reason. Although, truth be told, whenever I’m bitter it’s for good reason. But this is really good. Turns out my parents have discarded much of the paperwork of my childhood. Including in what can now be officially labeled as trash is: grade school report cards, medical reports (hey, where’s the x-ray of my broken back?) and the grunt work behind my Bar Mitzvah. So I can’t share my “pause” speech with my wife and kyd, nor the details of a trip to a specialist when I was like 4.
Goes something like this, I was a little off as a child (shocker) and my motor skills weren’t up to par the rest of my development. This is still the case, my handwriting makes the scribble of doctors look like artwork. So as my mom tells it, I took this opportunity to show off. When asked if I could count to 10, I asked if they wanted it in English or Spanish. What I most want to read about is where they explain why they felt I made jokes of a sexual nature. See, I was a little shit and a perv before I hit 1st grade. That’s madd skillz, yo.
But I can’t read any of this. It’s gone. What the hell?! Sorry, but I’m a sentimental bastard. When my parents bite it, I want as many pictures as possible. For their anniversary last year, my wife and I stole most of their photos and put them in albums. They thought it was thoughtful, I thought it was a move of great foresight. I didn’t want to do it later. See, that’s why I said sentimental bastard. Both adjectives are accurate. But really, of course I wanted to give them a nice gift.
They did, luckily, still have my Bar Mitzvah video tape. And watching part of last night was a terrorfying trip down memory lane. The wife thinks I looked like I was eight at the time, not 13. As double down said, “what can I say, I look young.” The amount of metal in my mouth would set off airport alarms, but if I was 13 now, I could just call them Grillz.
***
Driving to work today, I felt like I was very close to falling asleep at the wheel. Like, dangerously close. So I wonder how often early morning accidents are caused, not by multi-tasking drivers, but sleepy drivers?
So the Chinese didn’t want to use the less cute girl to sing at the Opening Ceremonies, and they digitally altered the firework show on the broadcast. We shouldn’t let the fact that even the organizers cheat, take away from all the world records being broken on a daily basis. We should already know that everything is on some form of steroids or another. Look at the box office numbers of Batman, that gets more than a little boost from inflation. How much was a ticket when Star Wars came out, or even Titanic?
The wife and I purchased our new car last night. Just when I was thinking that signing all that paperwork together could be good practice for the day we buy a house, I hear a statistic on the radio this morning that 45% of people who purchased a home since 2006, purchased the home for more than it’s worth today. That’s scary as all hell. And they say renting is throwing away money.
A headline on CNN.com right now reads: “Man charged with murder in wife’s suicide.” Um, doesn’t the charge or murder kind of stop that from being a suicide?
The producers of the new “90210” are going out of their way to let it be known, that they are staying away from the “cheese factor.” So this isn’t the new 90210, it’s another shitty WB teen drama with some actors who really needed work badly after the original show ended. And they have just enough pride to not do “The Surreal Life” or release a sex-tape, but still need to make some mortgage payments.
The dearly departed Bernie Mac and Issac Hayes recently finished filming a movie together, Soul Men. The star of the movie is Samuel L Jackson, who must be shitting his pants right now. But there’s no man alive, that I’d rather be in the room if he’s given the chance to say his last words. Can you name the movies?
He see’s the light, “That's right, preacher, get me drunk so I don't stick my foot up your ass.”
Samuel Jackson enters heaven, finds Latin is the preferred language “English, motherfucker, do you speak it?
Needs a favor from God, “You know man, I hate be the kind of nigger that do a nigger a favor and then Bam! hit the nigger up for a favor in return, but I gots to be that kinda nigger.”
Runs into an old friend, “The fuck you mean you ain't got my money yet? The fuck you *mean* you don't got my money *yet*? You best pay me my motherfuckin' money.”
Asked what he did in life, “I never did one thing right in my life, you know that? Not one. That takes skill.”
Trying to decide what to eat in Heaven, “I eat the pussy, I eat the butt, I eat every motherfuckin' thang.”
Goes something like this, I was a little off as a child (shocker) and my motor skills weren’t up to par the rest of my development. This is still the case, my handwriting makes the scribble of doctors look like artwork. So as my mom tells it, I took this opportunity to show off. When asked if I could count to 10, I asked if they wanted it in English or Spanish. What I most want to read about is where they explain why they felt I made jokes of a sexual nature. See, I was a little shit and a perv before I hit 1st grade. That’s madd skillz, yo.
But I can’t read any of this. It’s gone. What the hell?! Sorry, but I’m a sentimental bastard. When my parents bite it, I want as many pictures as possible. For their anniversary last year, my wife and I stole most of their photos and put them in albums. They thought it was thoughtful, I thought it was a move of great foresight. I didn’t want to do it later. See, that’s why I said sentimental bastard. Both adjectives are accurate. But really, of course I wanted to give them a nice gift.
They did, luckily, still have my Bar Mitzvah video tape. And watching part of last night was a terrorfying trip down memory lane. The wife thinks I looked like I was eight at the time, not 13. As double down said, “what can I say, I look young.” The amount of metal in my mouth would set off airport alarms, but if I was 13 now, I could just call them Grillz.
***
Driving to work today, I felt like I was very close to falling asleep at the wheel. Like, dangerously close. So I wonder how often early morning accidents are caused, not by multi-tasking drivers, but sleepy drivers?
So the Chinese didn’t want to use the less cute girl to sing at the Opening Ceremonies, and they digitally altered the firework show on the broadcast. We shouldn’t let the fact that even the organizers cheat, take away from all the world records being broken on a daily basis. We should already know that everything is on some form of steroids or another. Look at the box office numbers of Batman, that gets more than a little boost from inflation. How much was a ticket when Star Wars came out, or even Titanic?
The wife and I purchased our new car last night. Just when I was thinking that signing all that paperwork together could be good practice for the day we buy a house, I hear a statistic on the radio this morning that 45% of people who purchased a home since 2006, purchased the home for more than it’s worth today. That’s scary as all hell. And they say renting is throwing away money.
A headline on CNN.com right now reads: “Man charged with murder in wife’s suicide.” Um, doesn’t the charge or murder kind of stop that from being a suicide?
The producers of the new “90210” are going out of their way to let it be known, that they are staying away from the “cheese factor.” So this isn’t the new 90210, it’s another shitty WB teen drama with some actors who really needed work badly after the original show ended. And they have just enough pride to not do “The Surreal Life” or release a sex-tape, but still need to make some mortgage payments.
The dearly departed Bernie Mac and Issac Hayes recently finished filming a movie together, Soul Men. The star of the movie is Samuel L Jackson, who must be shitting his pants right now. But there’s no man alive, that I’d rather be in the room if he’s given the chance to say his last words. Can you name the movies?
He see’s the light, “That's right, preacher, get me drunk so I don't stick my foot up your ass.”
Samuel Jackson enters heaven, finds Latin is the preferred language “English, motherfucker, do you speak it?
Needs a favor from God, “You know man, I hate be the kind of nigger that do a nigger a favor and then Bam! hit the nigger up for a favor in return, but I gots to be that kinda nigger.”
Runs into an old friend, “The fuck you mean you ain't got my money yet? The fuck you *mean* you don't got my money *yet*? You best pay me my motherfuckin' money.”
Asked what he did in life, “I never did one thing right in my life, you know that? Not one. That takes skill.”
Trying to decide what to eat in Heaven, “I eat the pussy, I eat the butt, I eat every motherfuckin' thang.”
August 12, 2008
Jst2 Things
I have some quick facts that I find interesting and scary. The average life span for a white mail in America is right about 75 (according to CDC statistics I found online). Martin Luther King Jr and Malcolm X were both assassinated at the young age of 39. John McCain is 71 and Barak Obama is 47. So, what does this tell us? Whoever wins, they better pick the right Vice President. And I hear McCain is considering promising a single term Presidency. I guess that’s supposed to make us feel better, that we know for sure we’ll have a new President in 2012.
I don’t know how that’s supposed to be a good thing. I mean, it would have been less bad if Bush had only served one term, followed by serving time of another kind, but I’m over it. The amount of knowledge I have about politics comes in somewhere between dick and jack shit, but this seems like a move to encourage one thing: give Hillary reason to jack up the Democratic National Convention. She kind of has to play a peace keeper role in the party right now, but if she knew for sure she could run again in four years, rather than eight, I think she might just decide to stop playing nice.
I also heard that one of McCain’s possible reasons for only serving one term, aside from the fact that he’s been around since George Washington’s first term, is to have an a-political President. So why wouldn’t he then give the VP job to Clinton? Other than the fact that every Republican’s head would explode upon such announcement, this could be the best political moves we’ve seen since “The West Wing” ended. Can’t get the image of exploding Republican heads out of my mind, I may just get on board with the old man.
***
It’s funny how priorities can change. A few years ago I went car shopping, and what I cared about was value. That was pretty much it. I didn’t want to spend much, but I did want something somewhat decent looking for the money I spent.
This past weekend the wife and I went shopping for a new car for her, and although I still cared about the price, must be the Jew in me, I also wanted something safe. I wanted something that would get around well in the snow, more so than I wanted great gas mileage. So yes, we’re buying an SUV. Not a real one, it’s a Hyundai Tucson, so it’s about the same size as a Fusion.
I don’t know how that’s supposed to be a good thing. I mean, it would have been less bad if Bush had only served one term, followed by serving time of another kind, but I’m over it. The amount of knowledge I have about politics comes in somewhere between dick and jack shit, but this seems like a move to encourage one thing: give Hillary reason to jack up the Democratic National Convention. She kind of has to play a peace keeper role in the party right now, but if she knew for sure she could run again in four years, rather than eight, I think she might just decide to stop playing nice.
I also heard that one of McCain’s possible reasons for only serving one term, aside from the fact that he’s been around since George Washington’s first term, is to have an a-political President. So why wouldn’t he then give the VP job to Clinton? Other than the fact that every Republican’s head would explode upon such announcement, this could be the best political moves we’ve seen since “The West Wing” ended. Can’t get the image of exploding Republican heads out of my mind, I may just get on board with the old man.
***
It’s funny how priorities can change. A few years ago I went car shopping, and what I cared about was value. That was pretty much it. I didn’t want to spend much, but I did want something somewhat decent looking for the money I spent.
This past weekend the wife and I went shopping for a new car for her, and although I still cared about the price, must be the Jew in me, I also wanted something safe. I wanted something that would get around well in the snow, more so than I wanted great gas mileage. So yes, we’re buying an SUV. Not a real one, it’s a Hyundai Tucson, so it’s about the same size as a Fusion.
August 11, 2008
JstRight
This weekend I was looking over my collection of DVD’s and CD’s, and I paid special attention to how I had them both organized. I have my movies on these little Ikea racks so the cases face outward. The movies are in, pretty much, a specific order in each rack. Starting on the right side, there’s my comedies or generally more “fun” movies. Swingers has its home here. So does Mr. and Mrs. Smith, which bats second to The Break-Up, because the wife and I enjoy it so. Then there are my multiple racks of both gangster flicks and more dramatic or action based movies. There’s three racks of these flicks. Heat, The Departed and Oceans 11 claim the #1 spots. Behind the lead off hitters, I tend to go with either like movies, or the same director. I have my Tarantino movies together, in order by personal preference. The Oceans series is kept together, and behind Heat are my Michael Mann movies.
My CD’s are similar, although not as well organized as they were before. From left to right I have them on shelves, broken up by genre, and in each genre, the favorites read from right to left. Oddly I’ve followed the way you read Hebrew, rather than English. And I really don’t know how I came up with this system, but for years I’ve tried to keep it together. When I pick up a new DVD, and I have to find it’s place in my crazy DVD world. But I only purchase maybe one CD a year now, and I’ve taken most of the inappropriate CD’s off of the shelf. I really don’t want the Kyd asking me why Too Short has a song entitled “Blow Job Betty.”
Our books are kept in the same way. But I get the feeling that is more typical of most households. Here are my Puzo books, and here are the DeMille’s, but I give special attention to Klosterman and Bill Simmons. Their covers face out, as if I’m Border’s and want to sell a few extra copies of these employee favorites.
So I really can’t stop thinking about this. My wife used to just group her movies in a random order. Take a movie out to watch it, and whatever you had in the DVD player goes back in the now empty spot. And her CD’s were all kept in a giant book. Oh, yesterday I decided that I would follow suit on this. Being that I hardly ever listen to CD’s anymore, I figured that our bookshelf could use the extra space. And when she sees the empty spots, I’ll have an excuse to go buy more movies.
I’m positive that this tells us something about our personalities, I just don’t know what. Maybe it’s just the different quirks we have, like how we each stir our drinks in different directions. Of course my way is always the better way, that’s just how I roll.
My CD’s are similar, although not as well organized as they were before. From left to right I have them on shelves, broken up by genre, and in each genre, the favorites read from right to left. Oddly I’ve followed the way you read Hebrew, rather than English. And I really don’t know how I came up with this system, but for years I’ve tried to keep it together. When I pick up a new DVD, and I have to find it’s place in my crazy DVD world. But I only purchase maybe one CD a year now, and I’ve taken most of the inappropriate CD’s off of the shelf. I really don’t want the Kyd asking me why Too Short has a song entitled “Blow Job Betty.”
Our books are kept in the same way. But I get the feeling that is more typical of most households. Here are my Puzo books, and here are the DeMille’s, but I give special attention to Klosterman and Bill Simmons. Their covers face out, as if I’m Border’s and want to sell a few extra copies of these employee favorites.
So I really can’t stop thinking about this. My wife used to just group her movies in a random order. Take a movie out to watch it, and whatever you had in the DVD player goes back in the now empty spot. And her CD’s were all kept in a giant book. Oh, yesterday I decided that I would follow suit on this. Being that I hardly ever listen to CD’s anymore, I figured that our bookshelf could use the extra space. And when she sees the empty spots, I’ll have an excuse to go buy more movies.
I’m positive that this tells us something about our personalities, I just don’t know what. Maybe it’s just the different quirks we have, like how we each stir our drinks in different directions. Of course my way is always the better way, that’s just how I roll.
August 08, 2008
JstRead
As someone who enjoys writing from time to time, you’d really think I would enjoy reading more, but I don’t. Occasionally, I go through spells where I read two or three books in a short time period. And then I go months, even years without picking up reading material that isn’t 80% ads. When it comes to books, my reading pallet isn’t much different from my eating pallet. I have a few authors I enjoy to read, and I’ll happily read anything they put out. But I don’t experiment often, and that’s probably a mistake, just as it is with my eating. And I may never admit that again.
Then a few months ago, I was taking a leadership class at work, and I just happen to be reading The Sports Guy’s first book, “Now I Can Die in Peace.” The instructor found the title both amusing and a little unsettling, so he’d ask questions about it daily, as it sat a top my desk for something to do on breaks and before class began. We got to talking a little about it, and I learned that these sports journalists I like so much, happen to be family friends of his. Turns out his dad used to organize a little NCAA shin dig we call “March Madness.” That’s off the charts.
The conversation turned a little more somber when he mentioned his father had penned a book about a family tragedy. See, my instructor had a brother, and this brother was aboard a plane full of Oklahoma State basketball family members, and this plane never made it to its destination. So his father rode his bike from California to Georgia, in an attempt to well, do something that at least involved moving in a forward motion, after losing his son.
So my wife picked up the book for me last week, and I dove right in. I read just about the entire book the first day. This is only an accomplishment in my eyes now, after expierence just what a challenge it is to read when your child is in the house. Sorry, mom. And with work, the wife, the kid, and most of all, the fact that I didn’t want this read to end, I didn’t finish the book during the week.
This is the type of book, that as you read it, you promise yourself some life altering changes. You’ll live in the moment more, tell your friends and family how much they mean to you, stop and smell the roses, or just keep an eye out for an armadillo that’s alive. Your eyes water up, and you shutter the very thought of going through something as awful as losing your child. You want to vomit. You want to walk up to the writer and give this complete stranger a hug. And in the back of your mind, you know you won’t really do any of this, and you feel like you’ve failed the writer. You also think, in the back of your mind, that someone read this and made all those changes. You both admire and resent that soul.
I’ve learned more about the Hancock family than I should know. I met the writer, John Hancock’s son for one short week, and I could never say I knew him. But now I know much about him, and his family. I know the names of his wife, his sister-in-law and his niece. I know stories from his childhood.
I’ve read books before, about real people even, and I learned their stories. But there’s something different about reading a book about someone you’ve met. It’s like reading having a view of their life that maybe you shouldn’t have. And you can’t stop looking. But this is the view of one amazing family. The class I took was about leadership, and the instructor comes from a family of amazing leaders. This is one remarkable family, the Hancocks. The stories told are those of dreams. A close knit, smart, fun, funny, loving family that seems to already appreciate every gift they have. They didn’t need, not that anyone does, a wake up call or reminder.
But maybe we needed them to. So John Hancock would write “Riding with the Blue Moth” so we could have the pleasure of reading it, and even for a few minutes, dream of being better versions of ourselves. The “Moth” ranks up there with “Tuesdays with Morrie” and “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.” It’s a must read, and a must own. The “lessons’ Hancock writes for his young grand-daughter are lessons we should all write down, and read often to ourselves and our kids.
Then a few months ago, I was taking a leadership class at work, and I just happen to be reading The Sports Guy’s first book, “Now I Can Die in Peace.” The instructor found the title both amusing and a little unsettling, so he’d ask questions about it daily, as it sat a top my desk for something to do on breaks and before class began. We got to talking a little about it, and I learned that these sports journalists I like so much, happen to be family friends of his. Turns out his dad used to organize a little NCAA shin dig we call “March Madness.” That’s off the charts.
The conversation turned a little more somber when he mentioned his father had penned a book about a family tragedy. See, my instructor had a brother, and this brother was aboard a plane full of Oklahoma State basketball family members, and this plane never made it to its destination. So his father rode his bike from California to Georgia, in an attempt to well, do something that at least involved moving in a forward motion, after losing his son.
So my wife picked up the book for me last week, and I dove right in. I read just about the entire book the first day. This is only an accomplishment in my eyes now, after expierence just what a challenge it is to read when your child is in the house. Sorry, mom. And with work, the wife, the kid, and most of all, the fact that I didn’t want this read to end, I didn’t finish the book during the week.
This is the type of book, that as you read it, you promise yourself some life altering changes. You’ll live in the moment more, tell your friends and family how much they mean to you, stop and smell the roses, or just keep an eye out for an armadillo that’s alive. Your eyes water up, and you shutter the very thought of going through something as awful as losing your child. You want to vomit. You want to walk up to the writer and give this complete stranger a hug. And in the back of your mind, you know you won’t really do any of this, and you feel like you’ve failed the writer. You also think, in the back of your mind, that someone read this and made all those changes. You both admire and resent that soul.
I’ve learned more about the Hancock family than I should know. I met the writer, John Hancock’s son for one short week, and I could never say I knew him. But now I know much about him, and his family. I know the names of his wife, his sister-in-law and his niece. I know stories from his childhood.
I’ve read books before, about real people even, and I learned their stories. But there’s something different about reading a book about someone you’ve met. It’s like reading having a view of their life that maybe you shouldn’t have. And you can’t stop looking. But this is the view of one amazing family. The class I took was about leadership, and the instructor comes from a family of amazing leaders. This is one remarkable family, the Hancocks. The stories told are those of dreams. A close knit, smart, fun, funny, loving family that seems to already appreciate every gift they have. They didn’t need, not that anyone does, a wake up call or reminder.
But maybe we needed them to. So John Hancock would write “Riding with the Blue Moth” so we could have the pleasure of reading it, and even for a few minutes, dream of being better versions of ourselves. The “Moth” ranks up there with “Tuesdays with Morrie” and “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.” It’s a must read, and a must own. The “lessons’ Hancock writes for his young grand-daughter are lessons we should all write down, and read often to ourselves and our kids.
August 04, 2008
Oops, I did.....
Call me Gump, ‘cause I’m not a smart man, and I know what dumb is. I hit Careerbuilder.com recently, to look around at what jobs are out there. Ideally, I’d like to do something where I get to write and collect a paycheck for doing so. And there it was, a writing position. So I applied, and since my “jobs” haven’t been really related to writing all that much, I included my blog address on my resume and in my cover letter. And that’s where I made my booboo.
Did you read my previous post? I talked about all the things a hiring manager DOES NOT want from an employee: slacking, negative comments about my boss, a joke about drug use (and I’ve never used) and being stressed at work. I might as well used the old George Costanza joke, and claimed to have slept with their wife. But then I’d be in trouble at home, and still not have that job.
Way to think it thru, Hirp.
I guess my only hope now is, they enjoyed the blog so much, that whoever read it will get home and pull it up again soon and get a chance to read this disclaimer. Really, I’ve never done any drugs. And the slacker thing is just my shtick. My work, well, I’m looking for a new job right?
Did you read my previous post? I talked about all the things a hiring manager DOES NOT want from an employee: slacking, negative comments about my boss, a joke about drug use (and I’ve never used) and being stressed at work. I might as well used the old George Costanza joke, and claimed to have slept with their wife. But then I’d be in trouble at home, and still not have that job.
Way to think it thru, Hirp.
I guess my only hope now is, they enjoyed the blog so much, that whoever read it will get home and pull it up again soon and get a chance to read this disclaimer. Really, I’ve never done any drugs. And the slacker thing is just my shtick. My work, well, I’m looking for a new job right?
ADD Day
I took my Focalin this morning, but I’m totally ADD today. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, I dunno. So far I’ve gone to talk to a friend in the next cube three times, about random stuff, I’ve worked on two different projects, called the wife, started two blog entries and lost my train of thought four times. Best of all, I have three meetings to attend today. Two are utterly pointless and completely frustrating, and I have nothing to add or take away from the last. That’s a productive day if I’ve ever heard of one. Meanwhile my Outlook reminder keeps going off, and I’m hitting snooze with the frequency of a 16 year old, only I’m not scratching my nuts afterwards.
The culprit, that has kicked my ADD into overdrive, is my good ol’ friend, Anxiety. I hate that guy. My buddy on my team is most likely moving to another team, which sucks on numerous levels. He’s the only other person on this team with half a brain, the only one I can trust to carry his load, enjoy going to lunch with, and doesn’t annoy me with every word he utters. Some of the others may have one or even two of those traits, but not all. Plus, there’s a rumor that someone higher up isn’t very happy with the work our team has produced. This means added pressure and a heavier load on my shoulders, and the weight has increased nicely over the past few months. Blogging is no longer the most time consuming task of my day, and sometimes I go days without a chance to even blog once. That’s some hard work right there.
The culprit, that has kicked my ADD into overdrive, is my good ol’ friend, Anxiety. I hate that guy. My buddy on my team is most likely moving to another team, which sucks on numerous levels. He’s the only other person on this team with half a brain, the only one I can trust to carry his load, enjoy going to lunch with, and doesn’t annoy me with every word he utters. Some of the others may have one or even two of those traits, but not all. Plus, there’s a rumor that someone higher up isn’t very happy with the work our team has produced. This means added pressure and a heavier load on my shoulders, and the weight has increased nicely over the past few months. Blogging is no longer the most time consuming task of my day, and sometimes I go days without a chance to even blog once. That’s some hard work right there.
July 28, 2008
Chapter 1
I debated and debated, finally I said, "fuck it." I started writing a "book" a couple of months back, and it hasn't gotten very far. But I've decided to post my first "chapter" on here. Good chance I'll regret this at some point.
Without further adu....
Chapter 1
I woke up early the morning of my wedding was to take place, and found my way to the pool deck to watch the sunrise. We got to Mexico a few days before the big event, and for those three days, images of my life would flash every time I blinked. It was totally random, as if someone spilled a box of photos and each photo represented a vivid and lasting image. But this morning I found myself staring out over the Caribbean and the memories of how I ended up here came rushing back, as little episodes rather than flashing images. Watching out as the waves washed ashore, and the palm tree’s swayed above me, I channel surfed through the events that shaped who I was this day, and how the woman I was to marry was perfect for me in every way.
I was in second grade the first time I grew up. Some of the details are sketchy; some are as vivid that I feel I’m watching HDTV. There were frantic phone calls to my sister’s friends, my mother’s best friend Dianne came over, and I remember my mother cutting her chin on the kitchen counter as she was bent over sobbing. My older sister Jill, had runaway. This is one instance in my life where a Bon Jovi song hit close to home. She’s a little runaway.
My mother frantically called everyone she could think of, as her best friend reassured her. And the little second grader stood, I couldn’t have been more than 3 feet tall, on the linoleum covered kitchen floor in the Long Island ranch, watching everything, trying to not be something else to worry about. I retreated to the family room to get lost in a world of cardboard pictures with the funny numbers and abbreviations on the backside.
It was late spring, the end of the school year was approaching and a new baseball season was underway. Every kid loves summer, but never as much as a second grader. Learning to ride a bike, staying up late, the ice-cream man, going to the pool, cook outs ending with ketchup stained shirts and scratched knees and elbows. Chasing fire flies and getting tucked in by mom and dad every night. That’s all I should have been thinking about with summer weeks away.
“Everything’s okay,” I thought to myself, “Jill will be home soon, and we’ll all be happy.” We’re talking about a second grader, the vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and having everyone home, logically, meant everyone would be happy.
Dressed in Levi’s, a rugby styled shirt and thick plastic frame glasses with stringy straight hair, as I asked my teacher, Mrs. Kirk, if I could skip recess to talk to her. From first glance, Mrs. Kirk wasn’t the teacher you’d picture a kid opening up to. With coffee stained teeth, the breath to match, a crow’s nest of long black hair and a scowl that could intimidate the toughest of New Yorkers. What second grader wants to skip recess to talk to a teacher, one that resembles a real life witch? But I had to try and make sense of this, and I couldn’t allow myself to look too affected at home, where I kept my eye’s and ears open, and my mouth shut.
My parents knew I was talking to Mrs. Kirk, and I think they were proud of me for doing so. But I didn’t say much. I gave her the facts, told her I was scared, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’ve had that conversation at least six times in my life now. Jill’s gone, not sure why, and wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she never came home the first time.
So when I got home that day from school, she had turned up. And there was yelling, doors were slammed, tears were shed, and more stats were read. In some ways, it was completely anti-climatic, yet it forever instilled and un-easiness in me. She just showed up again after being gone two days. And I always wondered when she would leave again, or if anyone else would.
Maybe she didn’t show up that day, it looked like her and wore her clothes. She may have even used the same can of Aquanet, just so she appeared to be Jill. But I learned later, when I was 17 or so, that she left a piece of herself somewhere in Long Island, in some run down house, owned by the lowest form of life. Maybe she’s still there, wondering why she went there and looking for a way out. She was there by choice, or at least she wasn’t dragged against her will.
It fits all the clichés we know, she was running with the wrong crowd and making bad choices. All of which she’s fully responsible for, even if she can’t accept it. But I’m pretty sure she never asked to be raped, and that’s what happened. Or so I’m told, and nothing hurts more than doubting your sister when she tells you something so horrendous. But the anger towards your brother, who was 16 at the time, and your father, for not ending this guy’s life, well that’s an anger that stays with you.
There was nothing better than growing up on Long Island. We lived on a cul-de-sac, which has some how shrunk by 80% since I was a kid. Right next door was my best friend, and we knew everyone on the block. I don’t know if it was the timing, but I can’t imagine any kids grow up like I did. Huntington had it’s own Central Park in Hecture Park, and we’d spend summer nights there at concerts, and the days watching ducks swim while avoiding the shit they left along the pathways.
The highlight was the 4th. Our 4th of July weekend consisted of a few families getting together for a softball game and cookout at Maplewood Elementary. One game nearly ended my life, when my father missed a hit ball that must have been aided by a laser guidance system for my stomach. My bellybutton was right at the center of a perfect black and blue replication of a softball. He insists we were in the outfield, but I remember being in the infield as he was pitching.
We went camping on the sound, took trips up to Vermont and stayed at The Tyler Place. It pains me to admit this, but it looked like the resort from Dirty Dancing. The kids were broken off into groups, and the adults had their afternoons together. There was a lake for swimming, sailing and fishing. And we stayed in little white cottages.
New York City was just a car ride away, and as a kid, it terrified me. So many people, so much going on, and this was before Rudy cleaned up the city. Being 6, and seeing homeless men asking for money after lifting their heads off of dirty newspapers-turned pillows, has a way of making the big city scary. But scary is also exciting. I only lived in New York for the first 8 years of my life, but I’ve taken it with me every where I’ve gone.
Maybe it was such a great childhood because it was so short. When something is cut short, we have a tendency to elevate our perception of how great it was. Every musician who dies while still putting out relevant music is automatically a legend, just as an artist worth increases upon an early death. I just know that most kids don’t grow up in the second grade. My sister did a lot to raise me, most of it came after the day she didn’t come home.
Up till the day Jill didn’t come home, we had a pretty tight relationship. She spent a lot of her time after school watching me, and I had fun terrifying her and her friends when they came over. Snapping bra’s, and trying to watch whatever movie they were watching. Good times for me, and I think for her. She wasn’t babysitting for fun though. My parents were having to spend time dealing some issues my older brother, Jay, was having.
Without further adu....
Chapter 1
I woke up early the morning of my wedding was to take place, and found my way to the pool deck to watch the sunrise. We got to Mexico a few days before the big event, and for those three days, images of my life would flash every time I blinked. It was totally random, as if someone spilled a box of photos and each photo represented a vivid and lasting image. But this morning I found myself staring out over the Caribbean and the memories of how I ended up here came rushing back, as little episodes rather than flashing images. Watching out as the waves washed ashore, and the palm tree’s swayed above me, I channel surfed through the events that shaped who I was this day, and how the woman I was to marry was perfect for me in every way.
I was in second grade the first time I grew up. Some of the details are sketchy; some are as vivid that I feel I’m watching HDTV. There were frantic phone calls to my sister’s friends, my mother’s best friend Dianne came over, and I remember my mother cutting her chin on the kitchen counter as she was bent over sobbing. My older sister Jill, had runaway. This is one instance in my life where a Bon Jovi song hit close to home. She’s a little runaway.
My mother frantically called everyone she could think of, as her best friend reassured her. And the little second grader stood, I couldn’t have been more than 3 feet tall, on the linoleum covered kitchen floor in the Long Island ranch, watching everything, trying to not be something else to worry about. I retreated to the family room to get lost in a world of cardboard pictures with the funny numbers and abbreviations on the backside.
It was late spring, the end of the school year was approaching and a new baseball season was underway. Every kid loves summer, but never as much as a second grader. Learning to ride a bike, staying up late, the ice-cream man, going to the pool, cook outs ending with ketchup stained shirts and scratched knees and elbows. Chasing fire flies and getting tucked in by mom and dad every night. That’s all I should have been thinking about with summer weeks away.
“Everything’s okay,” I thought to myself, “Jill will be home soon, and we’ll all be happy.” We’re talking about a second grader, the vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and having everyone home, logically, meant everyone would be happy.
Dressed in Levi’s, a rugby styled shirt and thick plastic frame glasses with stringy straight hair, as I asked my teacher, Mrs. Kirk, if I could skip recess to talk to her. From first glance, Mrs. Kirk wasn’t the teacher you’d picture a kid opening up to. With coffee stained teeth, the breath to match, a crow’s nest of long black hair and a scowl that could intimidate the toughest of New Yorkers. What second grader wants to skip recess to talk to a teacher, one that resembles a real life witch? But I had to try and make sense of this, and I couldn’t allow myself to look too affected at home, where I kept my eye’s and ears open, and my mouth shut.
My parents knew I was talking to Mrs. Kirk, and I think they were proud of me for doing so. But I didn’t say much. I gave her the facts, told her I was scared, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’ve had that conversation at least six times in my life now. Jill’s gone, not sure why, and wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she never came home the first time.
So when I got home that day from school, she had turned up. And there was yelling, doors were slammed, tears were shed, and more stats were read. In some ways, it was completely anti-climatic, yet it forever instilled and un-easiness in me. She just showed up again after being gone two days. And I always wondered when she would leave again, or if anyone else would.
Maybe she didn’t show up that day, it looked like her and wore her clothes. She may have even used the same can of Aquanet, just so she appeared to be Jill. But I learned later, when I was 17 or so, that she left a piece of herself somewhere in Long Island, in some run down house, owned by the lowest form of life. Maybe she’s still there, wondering why she went there and looking for a way out. She was there by choice, or at least she wasn’t dragged against her will.
It fits all the clichés we know, she was running with the wrong crowd and making bad choices. All of which she’s fully responsible for, even if she can’t accept it. But I’m pretty sure she never asked to be raped, and that’s what happened. Or so I’m told, and nothing hurts more than doubting your sister when she tells you something so horrendous. But the anger towards your brother, who was 16 at the time, and your father, for not ending this guy’s life, well that’s an anger that stays with you.
There was nothing better than growing up on Long Island. We lived on a cul-de-sac, which has some how shrunk by 80% since I was a kid. Right next door was my best friend, and we knew everyone on the block. I don’t know if it was the timing, but I can’t imagine any kids grow up like I did. Huntington had it’s own Central Park in Hecture Park, and we’d spend summer nights there at concerts, and the days watching ducks swim while avoiding the shit they left along the pathways.
The highlight was the 4th. Our 4th of July weekend consisted of a few families getting together for a softball game and cookout at Maplewood Elementary. One game nearly ended my life, when my father missed a hit ball that must have been aided by a laser guidance system for my stomach. My bellybutton was right at the center of a perfect black and blue replication of a softball. He insists we were in the outfield, but I remember being in the infield as he was pitching.
We went camping on the sound, took trips up to Vermont and stayed at The Tyler Place. It pains me to admit this, but it looked like the resort from Dirty Dancing. The kids were broken off into groups, and the adults had their afternoons together. There was a lake for swimming, sailing and fishing. And we stayed in little white cottages.
New York City was just a car ride away, and as a kid, it terrified me. So many people, so much going on, and this was before Rudy cleaned up the city. Being 6, and seeing homeless men asking for money after lifting their heads off of dirty newspapers-turned pillows, has a way of making the big city scary. But scary is also exciting. I only lived in New York for the first 8 years of my life, but I’ve taken it with me every where I’ve gone.
Maybe it was such a great childhood because it was so short. When something is cut short, we have a tendency to elevate our perception of how great it was. Every musician who dies while still putting out relevant music is automatically a legend, just as an artist worth increases upon an early death. I just know that most kids don’t grow up in the second grade. My sister did a lot to raise me, most of it came after the day she didn’t come home.
Up till the day Jill didn’t come home, we had a pretty tight relationship. She spent a lot of her time after school watching me, and I had fun terrifying her and her friends when they came over. Snapping bra’s, and trying to watch whatever movie they were watching. Good times for me, and I think for her. She wasn’t babysitting for fun though. My parents were having to spend time dealing some issues my older brother, Jay, was having.
July 24, 2008
2Hirp
I imagine it’s occurred to all of us, when you run into someone who knows someone from your past and you ask how they’re doing, at some point you’ve wondered the great “what if” question. I have, and then every single time the response was something generic.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
July 21, 2008
Hirpasms
I like a funny bumper sticker, won’t put one on my car, but I enjoy driving behind someone with a sense of humor. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but seriously, anyone who thinks their bumper is a pulpit needs to only see the underside of a bumper. I was behind a car this weekend with the uplifting bumper sticker that read: “Pro-God, Pro-gun, Anti-Obama.” And had the “no smoking” slash over Obama’s profile, and I had this erri feeling that the brains behind the operation wanted it to be crosshairs but knew that would probably lead to a visit from the Secret Service and some other unwanted guests.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
July 18, 2008
Hirp Joel
Listening to all of the Billy Joel on my iPod this morning, this guy will never get enough credit for the great songs he’s put out. Seriously, this will sound like the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said (and that’s saying something) but I think I treat Coco right, and I think I learned how from Billy’s lyrics. Who do we have like that now? I love hip-hop, but there’s a generation of kids growing up without any singers they can actually turn to for advice. Everyone is way to self centered, even my man, John Mayer. Bubblegum Tongue, c’mon, that isn’t for anything other than getting high school and Frat Boys laid after a few beers. For all those who aren’t sure how to treat their wives/girlfriends, they can learn how by listening to maybe 8 maybe 9 different Billy Joel songs. It’s that easy. This isn’t abstract, its paint by numbers:
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
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