CURIOUS DISCOVERY/SOCIO-ECONOMIC OBSERVATION/THEORY OF THE DAY
I am in Cabo San Lucas (strictly for business reasons) and am staying in a gated community (again, strictly for business reasons). While walking to the beach from my Villa and smoking a Cuban cigar (again, strictly for business reasons), I noticed that the speed limit in this gated community is 19 MPH. Curiously, I have only seen a 19 MPH speed limit one other time in my life and that was in the only other gated community in which I ever stayed (albeit not strictly for business reasons.) It occurs to me that 19 MPH might be the official speed limit of gated communities and, as such, a powerful, stealth signifier of wealth, privilege and exclusivity. And with that I proudly announce my exciting new...
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF THE DAY:
I just bought the 19MPH.com url! It's certainly a more auspicious business idea than my No Hair Day baseball caps for bald people.
PLEASANT SURPRISE OF THE DAY:
http://news.aol.com/elections/article/clinton-nixed-values-advice-on-obama/128678?icid=100214839x1207594259x1200397334
According to the article above, HIllary's chief campaign strategist had strongly recommended her attacking Obama's American-ness during the primaries and--again, according to the article above--she refused to embrace this negative tactic. Of course, it is possible that she declined to go that route for reasons of efficacy rather than ethics (and of course it is possible that she is floating this story in an attempt to rehabilitate her image as a highly principled rather than ruthlessly pragmatic public servant after the bitterly fought campaign), but I am in a non cycnical mode these days and am inclined to accord her the benefit of the doubt(s).
LFAQ OF THE DAY:
What percentage of the medalists sing along to their national anthems? What percentage of them actually know all the words?
BRIEF LUXURY REVIEW EXCERPT OF THE DAY:
The bathrooms here are so artfully appointed, exquisitely spacious and delightfully aromatic that it is conceivable that the experience of (heaven forbid!) dysentery in one of them would be more dignified than the experience of perfect regularity in your average hotel bathroom.
SIGN OFF OF THE DAY:
OK, that's really all I have for you guys at the moment. Gotta get back to the patio beside our private pool (for strictly business purposes.)
AN END OF WEEK POST CABOS POST
OLYMPIC TERMS OF THE DAY:
Start Value and Balance Check. Start value is the initial level of difficulty of a gymnastic routine. Balance check is a little stumble on the balance beam and the subsequent inelegant effort required to maintain equilibrium.
MODIFIED OLYMPIC TERMS OF THE DAY:
Genetic Start Value.
Cognitive Balance Check.
Be part of the great linguistic dissemination! Get these terms into circulation! Take part in a movement greater than yourself!
OLYMPIC COMMENTARY/OBSERVATIONS OF THE DAY:
Best performance of the night: Watching Bela Karosi watch the American gymnasts perform. Amazed the old nut job didn't pop a gasket or otherwise injure himself.
Other riveting spectacles:
Phelps' miraculous come from behind 1/100th of a second victory for his 7th Gold Medal. I think I could hear Mark Spitz screaming "Nooooooooooo!" from somewhere in the Mid-West. (Not to take anything away from Phelps' mind-blowing achievement in the games, but it is worth remembering that he has now been the beneficiary of two miraculous last fraction of a second out-touching victories and that less that 1/10th of a second separates him from having 7 gold medals instead of 5.)
The footage of Michael Phelps' daily food intake.
Usain (Not Qusay!) Bolt lollygagging his way to a 9.92 first place finish in his 100 meter heat. In the second half of the race, he sort of jogged and kept looking left to right as if to say, with genuine dismay rather than arrogance "Why are you making me run with the 4th graders?? I'm in high school now!" The guy is a super freakazoid. And great as Tyson Gay and Astafa Powell are, I can't see anyone beating this guy in the finals.
Pedophilia alert: Nastia Liukin is insanely gorgeous (not to mention incredibly graceful, preternaturally poised, ridiculously limber and spectacularly talented.) Nasty-ah. She sure as hell stuck the genetic landing!
Aaron Piersol and Ryan Lochte in the 100 Butterfly Suggests a new sport: Comparative laid backness. These crazy calm Californians look like they might just fall asleep at top speed.
Rowdy Gaines is so jazzed he makes Dick Vitale seem like Aaron Piersol. He is almost incoherent with enthusiasm.
Call me crazy, but I'm not convinced those Spanish hoopsters were being racist when they slanted their eyes in that Olympic photo. It wasn't a cultural stereotype. It was an inarguable physical reality. And they were merely gesturing towards it as a tribute to the Beijing games. OK, maybe it wasn't the most enlightened gesture in the world, but do we really need to get our knickers in a knot over it? Do we really need to make it more than it was? What's next: Are retarded people gonna start complaining about the way they're represented in movies? Oh, wait...
All the hullabaloo about how Tropical Thunder is insensitive to people with Down's syndrome: I mean, c'mon: Can't those retards take a joke! On a more serious note, it is striking how no black people are protesting the movie despite the Black Face theme--and it is probably an eloquent tribute to how far racial relations have come and how fully black Americans have been culturally assimilated. Let's hope that in 20 years, the mentally challenged will feel sufficiently well integrated into this silly society not to go goofy over a little joke!
Mark Spitz not being invited to the Olympics to pass the torch on to Michael Phelps. I know he has taken a lot of criticism for complaining about the snub, but I have to tell you it does strike me as a glaring omission. Aren't the reigning record holders usually embraced by the relevant sporting establishment to witness (and give their blessing to), the individual by whom they are to be eclipsed? I'm thinking of the family of Roger Maris being there to see Mark McGuire break his record. And Henry Aaron being enlisted to officially congratulate Barry Bonds. Seven Gold Medals is an august, time-honored mark and you'd have to think the International Olympic Committee or even the American Olympic team would want to have Spitz on hand officially or unofficially for the festivities. Spitz got a lot of heat for what was perceived as egotistical whining, but it strikes me as a reasonable complaint. Is it because Spitz is a Jew? Did someone say anti-semitism? (Or am I just a similarly whiny Jew?). I mean, the Chinese complaining about the Spanish hoops team and the mentally challenged organization boycotting "Tropical Thunder" are both pretty silly. But, I don't know: This anti-semitism thing is different. It just feels more legitimate somehow! :)
REASON TO HATE SPORTS OF THE DAY:
The fact that sports team owners (unsurprisingly) overwhelmingly support McCain.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/politico/20080815/pl_politico/12548
UNNATURAL SHOCKS OF THE DAY::
I was actually surprised to discover that Gertrude Stein was Jewish. Hello, Stein? The Unnatural shock is not the fact that she is Jewish but the fact that I was somehow--inexplicably--surprised.
SIGN OF THE DAY:
"No Standing on Sink" message in Bryant Park bathroom. That, in conjunction with the Vivaldi they were piping in, really suggests that they're classing up the joint.
LFAQ:
Which is less insulting: calling someone a dumbass or calling them by the proper name Dumbass?
OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
The double power of flight at the transitional hour.
BAND NAME IN SEARCH OF A BAND OF THE DAY:
The Usual.
MEDITATION OF THE DAY: (Poolside in Cabo)
Sucking on the breast of this cigar in the late afternoon of my life, i miss everyone i ever loved and everyone who ever loved me. It is overwhelming. I have nothing to give back to those who are no longer here but my gratitude. For the abundance of their presence. For the unnegotiable reality of their absence. For the truths that make sacred and define. Their absence is the final lesson they were here to teach me. My tears are gratitude for that most difficult gift.
RANDOM SINGLE SENTENCE PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
He was a closet admirer of Kim Jung Il.
OLYMPIC TRIBUTES OF THE DAY:
To Usain Bolt. Hot DAMN!. Haven't seen anyone blow away the field like that in the Olympics 100M since Ben Johnson. I hope Bolt doesn't make me regret my awe and hyperbole by testing positive, but OMG!!!!! That boy can FLY!!! Definitely the fastest a man has ever run. If he hadn't decelerated and pre-celebrated, he'd definitely have broken 9.6. Freakazoidal is the only word that comes to mind. Like Lebron or something. A man whose completely unprecedented combination of size, speed and power makes a mockery of all the time honored assumptions of the sport. No matter how he ends up testing (and his goofy showmanship and boyish enthusiasm would really seem to make doping unlikely), right now I am testing positive for amazement. It's not every day that you see a man win the 100 by a mile.
To Michael Phelps. Yes, his achievement was truly extraordinary. And he is possibly the greatest Olympian ever (though given my landlubber bias, my precedent bias and, perhaps my reverese racial bias, i'd still be inclined to keep Jesse Owens and Carl Lewis as at least his equals.) Yes, an absolutely amazing performance. However, having said that: I wasn' t that impressed with the competition. Sure, they were pretty great for humans. But next time, I'd like to see him race against fish. Could you see him, getting out-touched in the 100M Butterfly by a middle-aged, out-of-shape flounder? Or lapped in the 400 Individual Medley by an impish porpoise?
To Dara Torres. OK, your body scares me a little. And I really feel bad for any older brother you might have had and might have beaten the crap out of on a daily basis throughout your childhood. And, yeah. from what I've heard, you're not exactly the most doting and attentive mother. In fact, I suspect that you forgot you had a 2 year old child back home until the interviewer asked you about her right after the race. But as a matter of principle, I've gotta give it up to anyone who brings athletic glory to the over 40 demographic. So big ups to ya! And I apologize for the gratuitous semi-misogynistic double standards I just applied to you. Please don't beat the crap out of me. I'm just an insecure, threatened male and I promise I won't do it again.
Here's to the people who came in fourth by .01 seconds. As Cavic and Torres and others know, coming in second by .01 seconds totally totally blows. But coming in fourth by that cruelest of margins and hence not getting any medal at all: That mega totally totally blows. Sure nobody remembers who comes in second. But at least you have a medal to remind them. You come in fourth and are every bit as much a part of the historical record as one of those small towns that were erased from the map under Stalin.
TEDDY VEGAS OLYMPIC ACHIEVEMENT OF THE DAY:
Thanks to the ridiculously delicious and abundant food preparations of gourmet grillmaster and friend of blog SJ, I approximated the daily caloric intake of Michael Phelps yesterday...without any of the associated physical exertions.
LFAQ of the DAY:
Is Usain Bolt the most sport-appropriate name since Junior Seau (Say-ow!)?
How did anyone discover this guy? How do you stumble uon the fact that this ungainly 6'5" goofy guy can run like a blur? Was he running from the law? From a cheetah (Ok, I know: No cheetahs in Kingston)? From an angry father Bolt? But you really have to wonder how this shocking and unexpected skill was discovered.
OLYMPIC COMMENTS OF THE DAY:
My Nastia Liukin crush notwithstanding, I have a hard time watching the women’s gymnastics--much as I have a hard time watching women’s figure skating. I find it really painful and anxiety producing to watch sports that posit a notion of perfection and then conceive of every routine as a series of minor failures relative to that essentially unattainable ideal. Events that are graded from perfection on down and that carry within them the perpetual possibility (nay likelihood) of heartbreaking failures and humiliating falls.
It’s a sport in which accomplishment is defined merely in terms of the relative minimization of error and it is oppressiv to watch—especially if you have a modicum of empathy. Although, that said: some of the lithe young bodies are just delightful.
Speaking of Nastia Liukin. Crush over. She couldn’t even beat a 12 year old last night!
Really tiring of Bob Costas’s squeaky clean teacher's pet cheesiness. I want to see someone pop him in his brown-nosing little larynx. It's a bad sign when you actually look forward to hearing Chris Collingsworth.
OLYMPICS-INSPIRED REFLECTION OF THE DAY:
What is the start value of my nighttime dental and periodontal care routine? I think it’s up there—as it involves full toothbrush, micro brush, dental floss and gum pic. Granted, while the start value is high, I don’t always nail the execution. That said, it would be really sweet if there were a pretty Russian judge in my shower to give me a generous score from time to time.
NON OLYMPIC SPECTACLE OF THE DAY:
Charlie Rose. Just trying so hard (SO HARD!!!!) to understand funny, to understand powerful, to understand smart, to understand creative, to undertand all of these fascinating, fascinating things via his fascinating fascinating guests.
The most riveting regularly scheduled televised spectacle since seeing James Lipton perform amazing feats of ingratiation nightly on Bravo.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
“Listen, if i can find a patch of time when i'm not depressed and not really busy, you'll be the third to know.”
PHILOSOPHY AND ADVERTISING REFLECTION OF THE DAY:
After working all these years in advertising, I am forced to ask: During my college years as a Philosophy major, were Freud, Holderlin, Nietszche, Stevens, Hegel, Heidegger, Kant, Derrida etc. brands for me? Trusted signifiers of social exclusivity and personal identity? Names to which I was attached out of extreme snob appeal? Clearly, they were not entirely that. Nor were Godard, Shakespeare of Lacan (to drop a few more). They were profoundly heartfelt experiences that resonated with my innermost sense of self. But were they not also in some small way functioning as brands? As statements? As social differentiators in the marketplace of ideas? Ah...whatever. F*ck branding.
WISH I HAD A CAMERA MOMENT OF THE DAY:
A subway poster with a photo of Jimmy Smits reads: "I am a New Yorker who cares." A clever graffiti artist, modified it memorably with the addition of two punctuation marks: "I am a New Yorker. Who cares?"
MOMENT OF TRUE FEELING OF THE DAY:
Poignance of this end-of-day, end-of-weekend, end-of-summer light in the mid-to-late afternoon of my life.
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Posted on 8/19/2008
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IMAGE OF THE DAY:
This image has in no way been Photoshopped or otherwise manipulated. It was simply that on the afternoon of Sunday July 27, the Montauk sky was channeling Mark Rothko.
POLITICAL COMMENT OF THE DAY:
http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2008/07/30/politics/horserace/entry4307418.shtml
I assume you've all seen the McCain attack ad against Obama. If not, check it out at the above link. A stunningly shameless semiotic stew--concocted by the same fine folks who swift boated black senatorial candidate Harold Ford in 2004 with a loose white woman signing off the spot with a sexually suggestive "Call me, Harold."
Highlights include:.
The association of Barack Obama with Brittney Spears and Paris Hilton. Say WHAT!?!?
The subtextual connection of a black man to loose white women to appeal to the bigot base. ("Call me, Barack.")
The malicious dishonesty of claiming that Obama's principled opposition to offshore drilling implies a greater dependence on foreign oil. (This Rovean dishonesty itself of course being compelling confirmation of Obama's claim that McCain is just four more years of Bush-Cheney.)
The subliminal suggestion of Obama's "foreign-ness" via the lle about increased dependence on FOREIGN oil.
The intimation of the black candidate's audacity (read uppitiness) in fraternizing with foreign leaders and presuming to already be The Man.
The pathetic, fear-mongering.
The ugly innuendo.
The exactly what you'd expect-ness of it.
I mean the McCain camp has started an "Audacity Watch" for the uppity Obama. Honest to goodness. It's the audacity of shamelessness versus the audacity of hope.
And it's officially gotten ugly.
Freaking haters.
I hate 'em.
And no: I'm not trying to be self-referential and paradoxical and cute.
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For what it's worth, I think Obama's campaign is handling it well. Exposing it as another batch of fear-mongering and lies from a desperate candidate with no new ideas. ("Ooops,. He did it again.") I do think there will be karmic repercussions--soon detectable in the polls.
And if I'm wrong. Well, this future Minister General of The Commentariat is ready for the big secession.
Obama States of America, here I come a quipping.
UNNATURAL SHOCKS OF THE DAY: (Only 904 to go!)
The exercise pill. (What's next, the PhD lotion?).
That Barack Obama has been compared to Paris Hilton and Brittney Spears.
REPRESENTATIVE ANECDOTE OF THE DAY:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/07/28/iowans-arrested-trying-to_n_115290.html
Evidently, a bunch of people attempting to perform a citizen's arrest on Karl Rove (for ignoring a Congressional subpoena, I believe) were themselves arrested before they could do so for disturbing the peace!! Can you think of a more brilliantly self-referential distillation of Rovean principle-free pre-emptive tactics? Or indeed of the Bush-Cheney M.O. of villifying if not criminalizing those who oppose them in the name of defending their freedom?
CHARACTERIZATION OF THE DAY:
Muhammad Ali: The Mahatma Ghandi of pugilism.
LFAQs of THE DAY:
Now that Karadzic has been apprehended, will he lose the awful disguise or try to plead insanity?
What is the more preposterous: Comparing Obama to Paris Hilton or comparing Bush to Abraham Lincoln?
How many times have guest said, "Charlie" in the mode of rhetorical address as a guest on the Charlie Rose show? (I would love to keep stats on the number of times each guest has recourse to that cozily gratuitous form of address. "Well, Charlie..." "...As you know, Charlie,..." , "Well, that's a good question, Charlie...etc.))
REMINDER TO SELF:
Start a "Charlie Meter" for the Charlie Rose show.
SPEC AD IDEA OF THE DAY:
For Baby Gap. Visual. A photo of a little baby.
HEADLINE: Isn't it nice to see a model who doesn’t make you feel too chubby or too short?
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Posted on 8/1/2008
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IMAGE OF THE DAY:
Inspired by Jasper Johns' "American Flag", the Twin Towers and, of course, happenstance.
POLITICAL REFLECTION AND SUGGESTION OF THE DAY:
Here's my feeling. If, given the choice between a young, handsome, intelligent, calm, inspiring, articulate, charismatic. culturally-respectful, oratorically-gifted candidate who can play hoops and an old, scary-looking, curmudgeonly, irrascible, ignorant, inarticulate, erratic, uninspiring, occasionally apoplectic war-crazed coot who's got no game, America picks the latter, then it is simply time for sane America to secede from that other America and to declare itself not the Blue States of America, not the Red States of America, and not even the United States of America, but (drumroll please), the Obama States of America.
You heard it here first.
And I nominate myself First Under Secretary and Over Lord of Hoop and Minister General of the Commentariat.
BIRTHDAY ACCOMPLISHMENT:
Eating three forms of lobster in two days: Lobster, lobster roll and lobster ravioli. Also, starting to resemble a lobster. Whether this is primarily due to excessive crustacean ingestion ("you are what you eat" etc.) or insufficient beach side SPF-ing is an open question.
BIRTHDAY INSPIRATION:
On my birthday, Nancy Lieberman, age 50, played in a WNBA game. It was as if the universe were sending me a message. I'm not sure if the message is that I've got a long way to go until I need to hang up my high tops or that I'm getting so old and soft that I can only get my hoopic inspiration from menopausal women. In any event, she got a couple of assists and scored no points. About the same as my production last Wednesday. I'm gonna choose to go with the inspirational rather than the emasculating interpretation. Because with age comes wisdom and there is wisdom in knowing when your ego could benefit from a little timely self-deception.
LFAQ:
Now that Karadzic has been apprehended, when is gonna lose that ridiculous disguise?
SKETCH CHARACTERS OF THE DAY:
The germ-a-phobe naturalist
The spacy obsessive compulsive neatness freak.
QUOTES OF THE DAY:
"We are the change that we're tired of hearing about."
-This Obama bash from David Brooks in the NYT elicited a reluctant chuckle out of me.
"If Godard wasn't a genius, he'd be a college sophmore."
-From a review of new book about Jean-Luc Godard in the NYT.
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Posted on 7/30/2008
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BIRTHDAY IMAGE
REPRESENTATIVE ANECDOTE OF THE DAY:
http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0708/11985.html?noop=1
Robert Novak involved in pedestrian hit and run. He wasn't the pedestrian. He was the one scooting away in his black corvette. I wouldn't expect anything less from the guy who helped leak Valerie Plame's name and then dodged all accountability. His actions stand as a nice representative metaphor for the ethos of the accountability-avoidant administration whose interests he has consistently served. As we survey the wreckage that they will soon leave behind, it is arguable that in may ways the last 7 years has been one long hit and run.
REFLECTIONS ON KARADZIC, IDENTITY ETC.
Really amazing story that this long sought war criminal (ok, alleged war criminal) has been hiding in plain sight like the purloined letter with a beard. Damn. They really needed someone with advanced facial recognition skills over there. Someone who wasn't tricked by the gestalt-altering potential of hairstyle and eyewear but knew how to break down the human face into discreet undisguisable anatomical units of analysis (eyes and brow/nose/mouth and chin etc.). Someone who was not misled by the merely ornamental but could see through to the immutable and essential. Someone who knew his way around the scalene of similitude. Someone like...hmmm. Moi!!
My shameless self-promotion notwithstanding: You've gotta admire the guy's chutzpah. Or psychotic disassociation. Or truly redemptive self-reinvention. Or perhaps all three. In fact, therein lies my fascination with the story. Was the mass murderer's transformation into an inspirational new age teacher/healer some kind of deeply cynical dissimulation? Was it an earnest attempt at karmic correction? Was it a defiant existential joke? Was it some kind of psychotic fugue state--that was in no way under the control of the ego? Was it some sort of public performance art statement about the unmasterable and irreducible contradictions of the Self? Was it a calculated step on the long road to becoming Santa? Was it some ultimately unknowable hybrid of all these things? Will we ever know? And most important: What was with that little black tuft of hair atop his head? Was that some symbolic remnant of his conscience? Was it a symbol of some deep identification with bird life? Was it a place holder for a dwarf yarmulke?
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You know if there is a hell, Saddam must be looking up right now and asking himself: Why didn't I think of this?!?!?!? He could have refashioned himself as the Dr. Phil of Fallujah.
IDEA FOR THE DAY:
Haven't we seen enough top athletes on reality TV shows like Dancing for the Stars? How about we flip it? A Reality show for Dancers in Football training camp. Broadway dancers. Ballet guys. River dancers. You name it. We get to see them block, punt, pass and kick. And then we get to see them blocked, gang tackled, body slammed and de-cleated. Hi jinx ensues.
DESCRIPTION OF THE DAY:
She was dead to him but still haunted him like the ghost of home.
STRANGELY MOVING SIGN OF THE DAY: (Taped to the wall in child's handwriting in the lobby of my building)
"MISSING. My Hamster. If you see him, please let me know. His name is Teddy."
Maybe it was just the name, maybe it was the proximity to my birthday...but it just felt so sad. Like it might as well have read. MISSING. My once cherished innocence. The chances of that hamster being found alive are about as high as the chances of OJ finding Nicole and Ron Goldman's killer anywhere outside his mirror.
SIGN OFF OF THE DAY:
OK, it just turned midnight. It's my birthday. Another trip around the sun has ended. Time to get used to a new number. It's gonna be really hard not to hear from my father today. Probably not as brutally hard as last year. But I expect a certain sadness to hover over the day. Or at least linger along its horizon. Birthdays are days of heightened presence. Presence to what is here and presence to what is no longer. They are reminders of the necessary wound we carry within us. The wound of birth through which we came into being and the inescapably twinned wound of death through which we will one day leave.
Or maybe it's just late and I'm feeling some of the fundamental poignance of things. Which isn't a bad thing at all. And perhaps a necessary condition for true celebration. There is, after all, a sadness that is indissociable from joy. And i guess I'm just feeling it.
In honor and memory of my father, I'm going to recite the birthday song once to myself in his behalf.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday dear Teddy.
Happy birthday to me.
Let the celebration begin.
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Posted on 7/28/2008
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POLITICAL RUMINATION OF THE DAY:
I like that both David Remnick in his defense of the New Yorker cover (on Charlie Rose) and Obama in his overall campaign message (if not in his response to the New Yorker cover) both assume and appeal to the intelligence of the American citizen. This is obviously the right rhetorical position to assume--and is, in every respect, superior to the prevalent assumption that what Americans need is a good dumbing down to. However, that said, this belief or attitude stands in some dissonance with the consistently disappointing (indeed, muteness-inducing) evidence of the polls. Recent findings indicate that 37% of Americans don't know that Obama is a Christian--with 13% claiming he is a Muslim, 17% claiming they've heard he's a Muslim but are not sure and, my personal favorite, 7% claiming they just don't have enough information to be sure. Combine this with reports that 43% of Americans still believe the Iraq attacked us on 9/11 and it is virtually impossible not to take the respect for American's intelligence as anything other than a cynically calculated rhetorical posture. Or a beautiful and necessary myth. Again, who really knows how the questions were phrased etc. But my goodness, it really makes the notion of an informed democracy seem about as preposterous as a world of steroids-free sports.
But perhaps, this ignorant, inert and ill-informed public is as much the consequence of low expectations as a rationale for them.
And with that most tentative of hypotheses, let's turn to our:
CRUEL REMINDER OF THE DAY:
Al Gore's Kennedy'-esque visionary challenge to wean ourselves entirely from oil within 10 years. Bold and wonderful for sure, but it just reminds you so acutely how different (and, of course, indescribably better) the last 8 years might have been had be been in office rather than the Ass Clown Prince aka Pretender in Chief. Imagine a president who responded to 9/11 by honoring the overwhelming public longing for some sort of bond-forging, pride-elevating meaningful collective sacrifice rather than by offering the "just keep shopping" mantra that we all received. Imagine leadership that dared to respect the intelligence and resources of our people by candidly addressing underlying realities and by challenging us to take the steps necessary to improve them--whether it be in the context of terrorism or the intimately related contexts of oil dependency and climate change.
One has to think that clear-eyed, honest, mature, intelligence-respecting, sacrifice-requesting, reality-based, solution-oriented leadership rather than the passifying proclamations of a Denier-in-Chief would help build a sense of pride and initiative amongst the electorate and make citizens feel like they are active participants in something bigger than themselves. And maybe, just maybe, that sense of being challenged, respected and involved would motivate people to be a bit less ignorant and bit more informed. Or at least: Isn't it pretty to think so?
I don't want to overstate it because sometimes ignorance and stupidity are just ignorance and stupidity. And sometimes Bubba is just Bubba and Beavis is just Beavis and Butthead is just Butthead. But it really does feel like most Americans have been treated like kids in a class from whom no one expects anything. And we all know those experiments where the kids arbitrarily designated "Gifted and Talented" fulfill those expectations while those arbitrarily labelled not gifted and talented regularly fulfill those.
LFAQ of th DAY:
0:39 AM ET
Obama Talks Terrorism And Drugs With Karzai
10:22 AM ET
How misleading a headline is that in a woefully ill-informed and incurious country? Will people misread it as confirmation that that Muslim terrorist presidential candidate who admitted to doing drugs once is plotting a terrorist attack and drug deal with some other Islamic sounding guy???
Was it a downer to go back to the empirical reality of societal ignorance after a stirring appeal to the possibility of an informed electorate or was it a much-welcomed dose of realism after a fatuous utopian pipe dream? Or was it a little bit of both and a whole lot of neither?
UNNATURAL SHOCK OF THE DAY: (Only 906 to go!)
A guy wearing “World’s Greatest Dad” T-Shirt to a sexual encounter with a minor. (I can't find the link right now, but honest to goodness. I read about this somewhere. I guess on the upside, at least he wasn't wearing a "World's Greatest Dad" T-Shirt to a sexual encounter with one of his children. Although I suspect that has happened at some point in this great land of ours.)
RANDOM SINGLE SENTENCE PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
She liked to, like, use the word "like."
P.S. OF THE DAY:
I am completely in love with the rhythm of that preceding line. Say it a few times out loud. It's addictive.
DESECRATION OF THE DAY:
Was having drinks on Wednesday at the Irish bar where we've been going weekly for the last 8 or so years after hoops. It's been getting louder and ever more gentrified and we have been contemplating finding a new weekly watering hole. But inertia has prevailed. In any event, I think the inertia may have finally been overcome--due in large part to the efforts of one "singer" who plugged in his electric guitar on the mini stage to "entertain" the bar patrons at 11 p.m.
If I say this may have been the worst musical performance ever, I am not being glib or hyperbolic. Indeed, in analyzing the awfulness of a vocalist's performance, one must remember that if the singing is ostentatiously atrocious, it can have the redeeming value of inadvertent comedy. Or if it is distinguished enough in its awfulness, it can assume anecdotal value by becoming entertainingly insufferable. But--as if obeying some complex pleasure minimization/displeasure maximization function--this singing was as bad as it's possible to be without becoming in any way remarkable. The singer's melodic (and perhaps spiritual) inadequacies were amplified by the soulfulness of the songs he selected. Some fine Neil Young fare. And Dylan's beautiful "GIrl From the North Country." How can a soul be drawn to such beautiful music and then insist on mangling it? What fatal lack of self-awareness could lead to this kind of an audio disaster? His insipid assault on our ears and souls inspired the following:
ONIONESQUE (SHALLOT LIKE) HEADLINE OF THE DAY:
GIrl From North Country Murdered in Chelsea Bar.
And the story would go on to say how she was murdered using an overpriced Ovation guitar, a microphone stand and a larynx. Witnesses said she was mangled beyond recognition.
UNNATURAL SHOCK OF THE DAY: (Only 905 to go!)
Bush tells G8 conference: "Goodbye, from the world's biggest Polluter!"
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/2277298/President-George-Bush-'Goodbye-from-the-world's-biggest-polluter'.html
Indeed, goodbye from the world's biggest asshole. His knack for making shockingly offensive, tone-deaf jokes about his most egregious failures and deceptions ("Hey let me look down here, I think the WMDs are under the podium.") make one's jaw drop in disbelief and one's spleen go into spasm. The frat boy princely cluelessness of this mean spirited and out of touch play actor is absolutely evergreen in its capacity to amaze and enrage. I regret that--with my thumb still damaged-- I only have one fist to sacrifice at the altar of his face. I will design a urinal puck with his picture on it.
IM CHAT OF THE DAY:
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: da- dum dummmm.. da- dum-dum.
TCohn725: please. i'm busy.
friendwhoshallremainnameless: like I'm not?
AMAZING MOMENT OF THE DAY:
I was watching a fully improvised show at the Upright Citizen's Brigade between two people on an airplane flight. The characters established themselves as a womanizing, slightly belligerent sportswriter and a history teacher at Boston Latin who is fleeing charges of statutory rape. They establish that they are flying from Boston to LA--one to write a story about the Lakers, the other to flee the law--and they exchange views on this, that and the other thing. Then about bout 10 minutes into this meandering, but enjoyable conversation, events take a shocking and amazing turn. One of them, a propos of something I can't recall, asks the other about Y2K and the other says "that's bullshit, because everyone knows the real millennium is this year...2001."
Suddenly, a wave of gasps and shouts and nervous laughter makes its way through the audience as it suddenly dawns on all of us (including the performers) that these characters we've been listening to are on board one of the doomed 9/11 flights. It is a breathtaking moment of discovery. The audience and the actors are suddenly discovering, in an improvised out-of-the-blue moment in real time, a reality that changes everything-in a way that eerily evokes the terrible real moment of real human experience in which the actual passengers on that actual plane suddenly discovered that something was terribly amiss. The experience in the theater and the experience in that plane are, in a sense, mirrors of each other, equal but opposite vectors of staggeringly powerful spontaneous realization. One group discovering in real time that something has gone (dramatically speaking) terribly right. The other discovering in real time that something has gone terribly wrong. Really fascinating. The rest of the improv was locked into that irrevocable background reality and resonated powerfully against it (the most mundane comments assuming profundity through the terrible dramatic irony of our asymmetrical awarenesses.)
CONCEPT OF THE DAY:
A relationship unveiling. That is when after many consecutive years of celebrating someone's birthday, you decide not to even acknowledge it. Somewhere in some now distant life, a phone's silence solemnly rings.
QUIP OF THE DAY:
He makes me feel like Uma Thurman. And i don't mean tall and blonde. I mean stalked.
STORY OF THE DAY:
http://blog.washingtonpost.com/sleuth/2008/07/christian_sites_ban_on_g_word.html
Introducing Tyson and Rudy Homosexual.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
"Problems don't age well."
-Jamie Dimon, CEO of Chase J.P. Morgan
RANDOM SINGLE SENTENCE PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
She was so obsessively detail oriented and so prodigiously gifted in the forest-for-the-trees department, that if she were to be eaten by a lion her last thought would probably be “You have something stuck between your teeth.”
A THOUGHTS ABOUT THE GREATEST TENNIS MATCH EVER:
Can't stop thinking about the Nadal-Federer match today. Really reminiscent of the way I felt after Ali lost to Frazier when I was a little kid. A champion/hero for whom I was rooting passionately, performing brilliantly against an equal and opposite adversary --in a timeless battle of styles--and coming up just, heartbreakingly short. Participating in a match that was instantly deemed to be among the greatest (if not the greatest) ever and experiencing the entirely unaccustomed and totally bitter taste of defeat. As I wrote a few days ago, I had been anticipating this epic showdown with an excitement I hadn't felt since that boxing match that took place in my childhood. And it turns out that not just the anticipation but the after effects are similar as well. Indeed, I don't think I've been as profoundly affected by any sports event since that memorable fight at the Garden on March 8. 1971--which, was incidently, my father's 43rd birthday. I think in many ways both agons truly transcended sport and achieved some of the power of tragic theater. Or maybe they only did so for those who experienced themselves to be on the losing end of the epic battle. I know this sounds a bit purple and hyperbolic. But it is genuinely how I feel. I felt I was transported to some place of relentless, exquisite tension and experienced a profound participation in greatness and loss.
Loss is more painful than victory. But arguably more profound.
Or at least that's what we on the losing side must console ourselves with.
Anyhow, enough. I know this bespeaks a totally unhealthy and ridiculously extreme emotional investment in something that has nothing real to do with my life. And that I sort of felt the same way as a little kid when I saw the invulnerable Gigantor (my first and only cartoon hero) crushed by a bigger monster/adversary. But so be it: It's nice to know that in spite of everything, a little part of my childhood lives on.
A few more thoughts:
That is unquestionably the best a human being has ever played tennis and lost.
There’s no more sense of inevitability to Federer ultimately breaking Sampras’s record. Sure, it remains likely. But Federer has never been shaken like this before and it remains to be seen how his will and confidence will recover. Losing while playing your best on your best surface is --especially for someone long deemed invulnerable--a profound alteration of the order of things and may have lasting psychological consequences. Federer may very well suffer something of an identity crisis--and the history of tennis is rife with people who fall precipitously from the top due to the tiniest of tweaks. (Borg quit after being unable to solve McEnroe, McEnroe quit after confronting the Sampras, Agassi, Courrier generation etc.). It takes amazing focus and belief to maintain the razor's edge that separates a champion from an incredibly gifted also ran. And while I have all the belief in the world in Federer's continued greatness, it remains to be seen how he will respond to this devastating loss and how he will navigate his way though this totally uncharted territory. Of course, in addition to the psychological component, there is the more substantial matter of Nadl's continuiing ascent as a player. And of course, the presence of other legitimate young threats like Djokovic. Things change awfully quickly in the tennis world and while if I were a betting man, I'd still expect to see Federer win at least a couple more Grand slam titles, it is by no means inconceivable that he won't.
I just couldn't bear to see the charming cyborg cry.
UNNATURAL SHOCK OF THE DAY: (Only 904 to go!)
I think I heard Ira Glass say he played in a weekly basketball game.
GRATUITOUS A-ROD BASHING OF THE DAY:
A few thoughts about the A-Rod-Madonna business.. First off, can you think of more iconically self-absorbed and hence boring couple (or should i say coupling?) than A-Rod and The Material Madge? It makes Alec Baldwin and Kim Bassinger look like a mutual, other-regarding, truly devotional pair. Hell, it makes Donald Trump and Donald Trump look like Orpheus and Eurydice. Second: Isn't it weird that Madonna is 20 years older than the Rod? Is that suggestive of a search for the mother or perhaps an implicit admission of homoerotic longing? A-Rod can't come out of the closet except by being romantically associated with a female gay icon almost his mother's age. Third: If, as A-Rod's wife alleges in the story linked above, the Kabbalah IS responsible for this ungodly pairing (and I certainly hope it isn't)--isn't it going to fan the flames of international anti-semitism like nothing since the protocol of the elders of Zion? And frankly, if the Jews (even the new age mystical Jews) ARE responsible for this atrocity, then the anti-semitism is probably richly deserved!
MOVIE COMMENT OF THE DAY:
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead. Quite brutally relentless, bracing and good. Phillip Seymour Hoffman: A fatter Leonardo de Caprio. Don't laugh. Look in the eyes and forehead. Especially in this movie. An OMG/eureka moment awaits you.
BRIEF STORY OUTLINE OF THE DAY:
He sees his lost love and tells her that every night in his dreams he talks to her and tells her that they shared one soul and cries. And then he realizes he is crying. And then he realizes he is dreaming.
MUSICAL COMMENTS OF THE DAY:
a)
Despite my newfound affection for Jonathn Schwartz and the singers of my father's generation, I still find Tony Bennett's voice annoying.
b)
I like Dan Bern's melodies and voice a lot but really don't like the cutesie lyrics. I don't think they're commensurate with the dignity of the music and the conceptual matter being addressed in the songs.
c)
Karen Peris of Innocence Mission. The voice of a diaphanous creature, half born, shimmering in the half light between time and eternity. Yeah...I like her.
LFAQ OF THE DAY:
Can one excel at being mediocre?
CONSUMER OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
I see an ad for the new Angus Third Pounder from McDonalds and I reflect back to childhood memories of when McDonalds launched the Quarter Pounder and then I think to myself: When are they just gonna come out with it: The Angus Pounder? Yeah, give me two Angus Pounders and a vat of corn syrup please. No, you know what: Supersize that for me, would you?
ADVERTISING OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
Whenever I see or hear the TBS tagline "Very Funny" it comes across as sarcastic.
A
MOVIE COMMENTS OF THE DAY:
Saw and enjoyed Wall-E. Pixar rocks. A few quick thoughts (warning, plot spoilers and, perhaps, mood spoilers ahead).
-Call me dark-hearted, but I really sort of liked the bleak severity of the unpeopled post-apocalyptic trash bound earth. Somehow, it had more dignity than the peopled, trafficked planet.
-I really sort of wanted Wall-E to fail to remember Eva at the end. Crushing as that would have been, it would have introduced a truly powerful element of tragic gravitas to the feel good narrative and elevated it from the realm of the wonderfully entertaining to that of the unforgettably profound. But it probably would have also led to the unnecessary traumatization of children everywhere and i really don't need that on my conscience. Plus it might have then verged on becoming just another allegory of a being who sacrificed himself for the good of mankind.
-By making WALL E much cuter than his female counterpart, the movie created an affective asymmetry that kept straight male adult viewers at a certain emotional remove. If EVA had more expressive eyes (like Bambi or whatever), I might have been more seduced by the love story and rooted much harder for WALL E to recover from his mechanical amnesia near the end.
-I liked the depiction of the soft, infantilized, helplessly fat humans orbiting in their perpetual pleasure drome and took that as an allegorical appeal to us viewers (lounging in our comfy seats with our tub-sized "medium" sodas and popcorn) to get off our fat asses and do something to save the planet before it is too late.
BRIEF NARRATIVE OF THE DAY: A night in the life.
I wind up a long day pretending I'm a gay guy or a woman so i can write convincing copy for Lip Fusion ads and then run off to The Four Seasons--bastion of Philip Johnson/Mies Van Der Rohe canonical modernism--for farewell drinks with a friend who has finally made it out of the pits of mammon where he has toiled thanklessly and fruitlessly for decades--in order to pursue a degree in architecture. I toast him in high style amongst his friends--a lovely batch of poets, photographers, trust fund philanthropists and the like. It is a moving and affirming affair.
I then head to the Upright Citizen's Brigade in order to fulfill the show watching requirement for my improvisational comedy class. I watch a bunch of expert practitioners of the craft and find that I while I am laughing quite a bit, I am seldom laughing at the same time as the other people. I can't tell if this is because I am anticipating the comedy, missing it and laughing late, laughing arbitrarily and then trying to retrofit a rationale for having done so or-- and this seems the most viable hypothesis--laughing at the fact that I am older that any of the other attendants' parents and wondering what on god's green spinning rock, I am doing here. I spot two underage classmates of mine and interrupt my reflection on the asynchrony of my laughter by buying them each a beer. They are tickled by the "awesome" quasi-avuncular, semi-illegal gesture.
After two pretty funny shows, I leave and grab dinner at the local Chipotle. As a hungry diner, I am enjoying the fare and as a partial owner, I am enjoying the rather vigorous late night business when an old homeless lady who somehow resembles both my great aunt Edna and my late great uncle Siggy wanders into the place and starts crying in front of me. Her breath is foul and is interfering with my appetite. Out of some hybrid of human compassion and a desire to get her breath away from my meal, I offer to buy her dinner. I make my selfish/humanitarian payment and then leave.
On the subway, I sit across from a guy with a huge (and, of course, paradoxical) Jewish star tattoo, a bike called le nomade and a lock called Lox. I am about to inquire at to the irony ratio behind the Judeo-centrically themed self-branding efforts when I spot an old friend/acquaintance who it so happens was raised an orthodox Jew and now has broken off to become a secular humanist computer scientist --a decision that has led his family to essentially disown him. We talk about life and the Knicks briefly before I have to get off at my stop.
On my way home, I decide to stop into Haagen Daz to get a hot fudge mint chocolate chip sundae--you know, for the troops. On my way out of the store, a bunch of delightfully enthusiastic 20-ish young women excitedly ask me what I've ordered-- a gesture that I once might have interpreted as flirtatious interest --especially since I am wearing my dignified white suit for the Four Seasons affair--but now have the sense to realize is simply an expression of general good will flowing from an oral desire the imminent fulfillment of which I have absolutely nothing to do with.
As I finish off my sundae, I reflect a bit on feeling perpetually betwixt and between--like a sports-crazed, non prophetic Tiresias, who happens not to be blind--and then I head back to the apartment where I take the Lipitor, check the scores and scribble the thoughts.
RANDOM SINGLE SENTENCE PORTRAIT OF THE DAY:
He was always just saying.
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Posted on 7/22/2008
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