SUNDAY NIGHT SUNDRIES: JUST ABOUT A WEEK'S WORTH

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

Yesterday, Pat Robertson was quoted as saying “If I heard the Lord right, the coast of America will be lashed by storms in 2006.” Get a hearing aid, asshole. What the Lord said was “I’m really, really sick of you speaking for me and, in 2006, I’m gonna wreak some fire and brimstone shit on your hate-mongering ass big time.”

The evangelical community is distancing themselves from him the same way the Republican conservatives have been distancing themselves from Bush. The same way, in fact, that Bush has been distancing himself from reality --with its (thank you Stephen Colbert) well known liberal bias.

FREE MARKET DEMOCRACY MOMENT OF THE WEEK:

Evidently a brouhaha broke out in the newly established Iraqi congress (or parliament or whatever they’re calling it) when a cell phone went off with a Shiite chant ring tone. No, seriously. You can’t invent this stuff. Yes, assert your identity in the market place of life through the self-expressive wonder of the ring tone! And then watch the frail, fledgling democracy that you live in tumble into chaos! Sort of interesting to think that a certain restriction of individual free market freedoms might be essential for keeping this experiment in “democracy” alive. In any event, it can’t be long before one of the big international cell phone companies sees this as a terrific marketing opportunity---offering the same free ring tone to all the members of the new Iraqi legislative body (sort of like the way Nextel tried to capitalize on the 9/11 disaster by distributing free cell phones to everyone down at Ground Zero. Brilliant product placement.). Suggested ring tones: “Give Peace a Chance”, “One Love”, “Kumbaya” or, on the more sardonic side, The Smiths “If it’s not love then it’s the bomb the bomb the bomb that will bring us together.”, Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House” or “Life During Wartime” or R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” or even, “It’s The End of the World as We Know It.”

TEDDY VEGAS INTERACTIVE FEATURE OF THE WEEK:

Suggest the ring tone for all the members of the Iraqi government to use. If you win, you can appear on a commercial with all the members of the Iraqi government karaoke singing your winning song!!

NEWS ITEM OF THE WEEK: (And analysis therof)

Most New Yorkers Skip 9/11 Donation

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060520/ap_on_re_us/attacks_memorial

Evidently, very few New Yorkers opted to check the box on their tax returns indicating their desire to give a small donation to a special 9/11 World Trade Center Memorial Fund. I’m not at all surprised. But I do wonder what the main reason is. Is it disgust with the ongoing squabbling over what will be built there? Disgust with the shameless and transparently self-serving politicization of the event by the Bush Administration? Perceptions of unseemly and greedy conduct by the families of the survivors? Disgust with the war that the attacks were somehow misused to legitimize and are—hence—now inextricably associated with? Good old-fashioned historical amnesia and the desire to move on with things already ("9/11?? That is SO five years ago!"). Lack of confidence that charitable donations ever end up going to the people or causes they’re intended for? Basic cheapness? All of the above? One thing is for sure: What was at one time perhaps the most transcendently tragic unifying event (the singular unifying unspeakable) in recent American history—the one pure point of convergence for all American hearts and minds—has been irrevocably tarnished and cheapened by the forces of greed, politics and ego. It’s a humbling object lesson on the human capacity to sully the "sacred."…the ineluctable human (or is it just American?) tropism towards the tawdry and the tarnished; the propensity towards the petty and the impure. I would be quite interested in knowing if the awful and awesome human tragedies that took place in Bhopal or Sumatra or Hiroshima or Dresden (while—granted-- not all truly analogous as some were natural disasters, others man-made disasters and others acts that took place in the context of a fully engaged war) ever went through a similarly swift decline in dignity, tragic authority and emotional prestige within their own cultures and within their own times?

I am sure this kind of degradation is a universally human phenomenon--but I suspect that it's been exacerbated by the cynical disregard for truth demonstrated from the top down in our recent political and corporate cultures.

REFLECTION OF THE WEEK:

I was at a cocktail party the other night and an older, sophisticated-looking gentleman next to me asked me if the facial hair I was sporting would be called a Van Dyke. I told him I’m not sure what this particular work in progress would be called, but I assured him it was Velcro and detachable. He smiled politely and then began to speculate on the history of hirsuteness in our country. Obviously an erudite guy, he began charting facial hair popularity through the American Presidents. No president was sporting much a beard until Lincoln. Then they evidently became pretty much ubiquitous for much of the mid to late 1800s--only to fall out of popularity for most of the 20th century. He wondered aloud about the historical forces that informed the fashionability or unfashionability of beards and speculated that the outgrowth (if you will) of beard popularity in the 19th century must have come from some taste maker in Europe --as it’s only in the post WWII period that Americans have been international taste makers or trend setters of any kind. He was very serious and interesting and he asked me if I though bearded-ness would ever make a widespread comeback in this culture. I thought about it and said that I didn’t think so—because of the general worship of youth in this culture. Beards both connote and betray age and, I suspect, back in the time of Lincoln, the aged and mature enjoyed much greater prestige (indeed, perhaps veneration) than they do today. Today, age is not merely not esteemed, it’s flat out stigmatized. Among very young men, beards have enjoyed a certain resurgence of popularity—but that is only because they connote a certain arty sophistication (sophistication, of course, being inextricably associated with experience and hence age). Young guys will wear them as cool novelty items when they’re safely within the embrace of their youth—but once they become old enough for age to actually be an issue, they will shave them off before they experience the trauma of being addressed as “Sir.”. He thought there was something to my theory. In a culture that makes perpetual youth its holy grail, something that actually makes one look older is unlikely to thrive. Indeed, beards gray faster than head hair. And –in our age-horrified times—gray isn’t merely the new black, it’s the new leprosy. (Actually, I suppose, baldness is the new leprosy.) We both agreed, that, barring an Islamic takeover of our nation, beards (at least full beards) were highly unlikely to ever again enjoy widespread popularity in America. We did not discuss our respective senses of the likelihood of an Islamic takeover--which, I suppose, is all for the best. Nothing like the prospect of imminent fundamentalism to sour the pleasures of speculative chit chat and some nice Sancerre and brie.

SAD LITTLE COMEDY OF THE WEEK:

Who would have thought that legendary songbird Paul McCartney, 63, would split up with wife Heather Mills after 4 years of marriage and need to find someone else to need him, someone else to feed him when he’s 64?

BTW: It was one of those pieces of manna from heaven. The moment someone told me the news of the separation, I instantly thought—oh please, please, please let him be 63 years old so I can make that joke. I looked it up and there it was—as if god were a snarky comic, working in invisible ways.

OBSERVATION OF THE WEEK:

April flowers bring May flowers, my ass. They bring May monsoons. I guess with global warming, they really have to modify some of these seasonal truisms i.e. On the Twelfth Day of X-mas, my true love gave to me, twelve fans a fanning, eleven ice creams melting, ten tubes of sunscreen, nine sets of kadima paddles, eight golden flip flops, seven swimsuits, six straw hats, five cold glasses of spring water, four icy lemonades, three sunglasses, two vats of aloe and a simply gynormous parasol. Yeah, that's the spirit.

GRIPE OF THE WEEK:

Jack Nicholson --perennial courtside fixture at Lakers' games--suddenly becoming an L.A. Clippers fan. So lame it should be pronounced Frech-style with an accent aigue: Lamay. Hollywood royalty deigning to grace the long neglected Clippers with his iconic presence. Fuck that shit. It's like if Spike Lee suddenly started appearing at Nets' playoff games. Lending his fanly prestige to the cause. Lame. "What if he really just loves good basketball?", a friend replies. Well, then he can watch it on f-cking TV like the rest of us. Don't need his ass lending his Q ratings to the Clips.

QUESTION OF THE WEEK:

When the dentist pokes into your molars with that sharp metal hooked pick—probing relentlessly for soft spots—do you subtly give way in a kind of dental ju-jitsu to deny it any workable resistance? I suspect this is one of those phenomena that is virtually universal but seldom articulated. If not, then it’s just another of those moments in which I’m exposed and alone.

TOTALLY GRATUITOUS ANALYSIS OF THE WEEK: RELATIVE ASSESSMENT OF COMMON NAMES FOR THE FACILITY:

The Wash Room: Very optimistic act of naming. Indeed, based on my observations of behavior in the men's room, downright misleading. Sadly, one cannot assume there is washing going on in there.

Rest room: Again, misleading. Not too much resting going on in there. Except, I suppose, on the bowl. And sometimes that's hard work. Not really restful at all.

Water Closet (WC:) Yes, there's usually water in there. But it's not really a closet. Plus the name gives no indication of the intended uses of the water in the nonexistent closet. Oblique to the point of irrelevance. But the WC part is sort of catchy.

Toilet. Honest. Accurate. But rudimentary and off putting. No one wants to think about the porcelain target of one's basic biological activities.

John. Negative prostitution connotations. Plus, not gender neutral. Weird to call the Ladies' room a John. Maybe it would be OK if there were a Jane to go along with the John but then it gets complicated.

Loo: Sounds too much like goo. or Pooh.

The Head. Pretentious when used on land. At sea, you can call the damn thing whatever you want...as you stagger in to vomit from sea sickness.

Bathroom. Misleading. Seldom includes a bath.

Powder Room. Again misleading. Unless one's at a nightclub.

The crapper. Blunt. But not always accurate. Because sometimes you really go to piss. Maybe if they called it the crapper and pisser. But that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Ugh..perish the thought.

TEDDY VEGAS NAMING CHALLENGE OF THE WEEK:

If you have any new candidates, please send along. I submit The Release Room, The Relief Room and The Reliefatorium for your consideration. Address your concerns to the New Name for The Room in which Defecations, Urination and, One Would Hope, Washing Takes Place Contest.

APOLOGY IN ADVANCE OF THE WEEK:

Attention non sports enthusiasts. There are more sports-related comments than usual—as I have been riveted by the NBA playoffs, the Mets-Yankees subway series and the tragic accident at the Preakness. I have made some effort to make the sports-related material accessible and of interest to non sports enthusiasts, but if you choose to skip them I will only be a little bit hurt.

SPORTS WISH OF THE WEEK:

(Note For the Sports-challenged: Hubie Brown is a 70-ish former legendary coach and current basketball commentator who tends to refer to everyone on the court as “This young man…” Curiously, he’s been saying it for about 50 years. The Old Timers I refer to are all in their 60s or 70s as well, so they're roughly Hubie's contemporaries, if not a bit older. )

That I could see Hubie Brown announcing an NBA old-Timers game. I mean really old timers, like Bob Cousy and Tommy Heinsohn and Bob Petit (is he still alive?) and Bill Russel and Rick Barry and John Havilcek and Jerry West. Why is this my wish of the day? Because I want to see if he’d still refer to those guys as “Young Men.” i.e. “Cousy heaves it up from 15 and—ohh...looks like he’s thrown out his shoulder. I’ll tell ya: this young man has a lot of fortitude out there. OK, play has resumed. Jerry West limps over mid court. And tosses it over to Heinsohn on the walker. Now Heinsohn looks into Russell and…oh…his hip gave out. Oh, you hate to see this kind of thing. Now this young man, Russell, he’s got the whole package. Terrific defense. Great court awareness. But, it looks like he may have come back too soon from that hip replacement operation. Oh, you hate to see that happen to a quality young man like this. " Etc. etc.

REGRET OF THE WEEK:

(Note: Kobe Bryant is an NBA basketball star—accused and acquitted of rape in Eagle County about 2 years ago. He has been engaged in a vigorous attempt at image rehabilitation. Also, he was criticized for not being aggressive enough on the court by commentator Charles Barkely during his team’s recent playoff loss to the Phoenix Suns. Full disclosure: I only added this to justify including the word "metacommentarial" which you'll find --in all its neologist glory--written below twice!)

That I didn't see or remember to Tivo Kobe's appearance as TNT Guest commentator with Ernie and Kenny and, most important, Charles. Would have loved to have seen if evinced any residual bitchiness about Charles' accusations of paradoxical selfishness (selfishness based on not shooting enough) in the deciding game against the Suns or if he feigned forgiveness in the continued interests of post-Eagle county image rehabilitation. Also would have been interested in how gracious he was able to be vis a vis Raja Bell's remarkable second round exploits and in how convincing he was able to be in that obligatory gesture of feigned graciousness. I think I might have had a metacommentarial field day--in full awareness that metacommentarial is not a word.

KNICKS ACHIEVEMENT OF THE WEEK:

(Note: The Knicks are the NYC NBA basketball team. They are absolutely terrible. They are having some kind of a botched mutiny going on in their upper management right now. I guess I only included this out of a certain fondness for weird uncles.)

In their tragicomic dysfunction, they've found a way to draw attention to themselves during the playoffs--despite missing them by about 25 wins. I never thought I’d say this as a Knicks fan, but I just don’t want to hear anything more about them. They’re nothing more than a noisy, unseemly distraction from a magnificent NBA post-season. A sort of collective embarrassment—like the weird uncle getting drunk and obnoxious at the lovely family wedding.

Let's shut down this tawdry side show.

SPORTS DISASTERS OF THE WEEK: (That happened on the same day) PREFACED BY "ON SECOND THOUGHT" OF THE WEEK.

(Note: This notating stuff is a bit exhausting. If you don’t know much or care much about the Mets or horseracing or the ungovernable intrusions of the tragic, please just skip this section. My fingers really, really hurt from typing.)

Billy Wagner and Barbaro encounter catastrophe--right out of the gate. Wagner comes out the bullpen to blow the save (and my afternoon) in flamboyant fashion. Barbaro comes out of the paddock and breaks his ankle--ending his racing career and, in all likelihood, his life. Wagner, the bull from the pen, was going for the second leg of the Mets’ subway triple crown against the Yankees. Barbaro, the horse from the stable, was going for the second leg of the thoroughbred racing Triple Crown. Barbaro’s misfortune evokes feelings of nausea and profound empathy and sadness. Wagner's evokes feelings of murderous rage and a desire to buy a dartboard with his face on it.

REAL TIME SPORTS NOTES OF THE WEEK: TEDDY VEGAS ON THE TITANIC

(Ditto the above parenthetic note.)

Amazing performance by Pedro. Pitching an absolute gem. Iperhaps the best game I’ve ever seen him pitch against the Yankees. Plus, all the key guys getting key hits. Reyes, Beltran, Wright, Delgado, Floyd. A thing of beauty. The Yankees look like a docile, beaten team…calmly awaiting inevitable defeat.

Hmm. Surprised they’re bringing in Wagner in this non-save situation. Ok, guess they just want to establish him as an intimidating force in the Yankee’s psyche. Turn him into a symbol of futility for the boys in pinstripes. Like Mariano has been for the Mets and almost every other team in baseball for about a decade.

Oh god...I can't believe this. Wagner is struggling. It’s all threatening to unravel. Total meltdown…total reversal from yesterday’s dominance. INSTEAD OF ACCESSING HIS INNER MARIANO RIVERA, HE'S ACCESSING HIS INNER RICK ANKIEL!!! He cannot find the plate. This is not happening. This is NOT HAPPENING!!! Holy f-ck, tell me this IS NOT HAPPENING!!! If he blows this one, Pedro should sue him for damages. I think it’ll be the third time he’s blown one of his masterpieces.

HOLY CRAP HE’S COMPLETELY SHITTING THE MOUND!!! And He's wiping his loose stool all over his fans and teammates.

The confidence and aura of invincibility has taken a Jason Terry style shot to the groin. He may have come in as a pitcher…but he left as a catcher. He came in as a hammer and ended up screwing his team. In the Yankee's eyes, he's now as untouchable as a pinata.

I hope he has the kind of dignity that James Dolan lacks. The proper understanding of the honorable role for ritual suicide. (Ok, ok...I know...Teddy's just a bit agitated.)

An hour later, the recently unthinkable and then suddenly inevitable has come to pass. The Mets have freaking lost.

A double disaster. Not only did he blow that game all by himself (screwing Pedro out of yet another win and giving the thoroughly beaten Yankees a completely unearned, confidence-building victory) but he screwed me and millions of other Mets fans out of an hour outdoors on this beautiful day, as we--slaves to our fanaticism--watched the excruciatingly extended, ill-fated debacle--as one might watch a tower burn or a ship sink. Horrified, but unable to avert our gaze. Who ever thought I'd be waxing nostalgiac for Braiden Looper? Even Armando Benitez never melted down in a huge game like THAT!

I need to do about 300 sit-ups and then buy a Billy Wagner Blow Up doll and beat it senseless.

OK, so I’ll distract myself from that debacle by watching the Preakness. Shift emotional gears and invest in the second most exciting 2 minutes in sport. Wow. Barbaro is going off as a 1-2 favorite. He must be the real deal. They’re talking about him like he’s the next Secretariat. Man, he looks pretty hopped up heading towards the starting gates.

O man. Never seen that. Barbaro bursts out of the gate before the gun. Hopped up indeed. They’re really having to struggle to get him back in the stall. Boy just wants to run!

Oh no no no NO NO NO!!! Barbaro pulls up lame! A second nauseating feeling on this beautiful day. A second sudden iceberg from out of the clear blue sea.

One second they’re wondering whether he’ll win the Triple Crown. The next, they’re wondering if he’ll be turned into glue. I really feel like I've been kicked in the stomach.

The funny thing is that—in the wake of the Wagner Disaster—I actually had a weird flash of a Ruffian like tragedy as they were loading them into the starting gates. But lest you think I’m claiming to have a prophetic gift, let me assure you that I also predicted the Pistons to win in 5 and the Nets to win in 7.

I feel sick. Truly sick. Like the towers have just fallen. Or The Challenger just exploded. Or the dog just died. Sick.

It’s a bracing intrusion of the terrible. If I were Pat Robertson I would say" "If I heard him correctly--and I'm just not sure cause this damn spiritual hearing aid is on the fritz-- God is punishing us for our slovenly addiction to narcotizing spectacles and our flight from his true and real creation. Oh,. No..that’s not what he was saying…he was saying “Pat Robertson is a turd.” Damn. I’ve got to get this thing fixed!”

Anyhow, really, really sickening.

Almost puts the Wagner debacle in perspective.

Almost.

I still want a dartboard with his face on it.

BEST REPONSE SO FAR TO THE TEDDY VEGAS NAMING CHALLENGE OF THE WEEK:

The Happy Room.

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Posted on 5/22/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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