I wish I could make metaphors

Today I left earlier than usual, and decided to walk around midtown. I took the subway to 50th street, and walked back to the Penn Station. I am something of an ambler when I walk. I have a start point and an end point, but no real plan for that interim time. I duck into avenues, walk in all the cardinal directions and have no real regard for time. It was in this aimless fashion that I stumbled upon the New York Times Building on 43rd Street. I should mention here that I am a regular reader of the New York Times, and I read almost all of the sections: international, national, business, op/ed, arts, and in moments of desperation, fashion and style. Most people swear by the crossword puzzle, but I don't because I am terrible at crosswords and am easily frustrated by clues that seem like the cryptic musings of a heavy LSD user. Of course, I am not as brand loyal as I imagine the Times would like, but I find their reporting to be solid. In short, I am a New York Times fan. All that being said, it did not fail to escape me that right across from the hallowed halls of America's paper of record, was the largest pile of urban detritus I've ever seen on a Manhattan street. It was enormous and had exactly the aroma you'd imagine a stack of garbage the size of Boise would have. To say I was surprised would be understating the case. This was the view--that window view--reporters were clamoring for; a pile of filth. The incongruity struck me as hilarious. The New York Times is America's signature newspaper, and right outside an office staffed with some of the country's best journalists, a building with more Ivy League degrees per square inch than perhaps anywhere in Manhattan, is the premier rubbish hill of the most disgusting crap in New York.

I'm not sure if there is some parallel I can draw between The New York Times, and a huge pile of trash, but I'm sure some Weekly Standard reader will tell me. That's what I pay them for, to make my literary allusions for me.

Save the children and yourself

I've always been a big fan of doing things for the children. Saving their music, donating food to their hungry, and reading to their comically illiterate. Many people--selfish people--don't understand how beautiful it is to help a child, a person incapable of helping themselves. It's important that we recognize that the glorious and special gift that it is to help a child.


Plus, if we don't help them, they will grow up and kill us. Except me, because they will remember my service and loyalty, and I will be made king of the new land. I will sing and dance on the bodies of the foolish who forgot that angry children make poor enemies when they age.

Before Dennis Haysbert did insurance commericals, he was a pretty badass President.

I just finished watching the second season of 24 on DVD. If you are a total loser and read this weblog, you'll remember my earlier post about my roommate Matt's borderline clinical infatuation with this show and Jack Bauer. I mocked him for his fervord at the mere mention of the words "real time," but the show is amazing. If you aren't watching it, and are ambivalent towards getting started, put those feelings aside and get season 1. I don't think you should buy it, because there isn't a real repeat watching value, as I've watched seasons 1, 2, and 4 and probably wouldn't pay to watch them again. That being said, the initial watching value is unreal. Even though I watched the seasons out of order (4, then 1, and now 2), I am completely addicted while I watch them. Jack Bauer is a pitch perfect character: tough, ruthless, patriotic, but intensely vulnerable. I am very good at predicting what characters will do, but it's tough to get a read on Bauer. I like that he is so unpredicatable. Sutherland deserves more awards for this character, and I hope he gets them.

More on 24 later, but someone please give Haysbert some real work. Everytime I see President Palmer in one of those commericals, it kills me. You're better than that Dennis.

Go Away

Look, JM, I know you are reading this. Don't. Close the browser window, and don't come back.

Spellin' Mistaches

For whatever reason, the practice of adhering to an understood spelling of words is out the window. Spelling properly is seen as uncool and ancient, according to urban marketing that has swept every phase of product development in the past 10 years. Lately, if you use 's' instead of 'z', you might as well put your spokesman on a polo horse, because your product is undoubtedly "white."

I'm a pretty hip and with-it guy, as evidenced by the fact that I only wear a belt 2 days a week and sometimes wear my loafers with jeans. I can stand some incorrect spelling in an effort to make your brand seem rebellious. But I have urban friends who think most of this stuff is patronizing bullshit and has become a parody of itself. And I tend to agree. For example, on the ground floor of my office is a smoothie place. The smoothies they serve are complex mixtures of all kinds of berries and the like. They call these concoctions....fuuzh'ns. Say it aloud, it will only sort of make sense. This is the hip way of saying "fusion" because on top of replacing 's' with 'z', meaningless apostrophes are now de rigueur.

It makes me want to throw up all over the phloaah'z.

What happened to the evening news?

A large part of my job is monitoring the news. Ok, that is all my job is. I read the newswires, papers, and watch the news channels in an effort to tell traders (wall street traders, not those involved in the barter economy) what to expect. It's a pretty good job because reading the Wall Street Journal and watching CNN is what I would be doing anyway, but now I get paid for it. Oh, and I have to do it for 8 hours. There are 5 TVs in the newsroom I work in, and they are tuned to the following stations:

- CNBC (with audio always on)
- CNN
- FOX NEWS
- MSNBC
- BLOOMBERG TV

These are all the outlets known as "24 hour news channels." They provide all news all day and all night. However, I am going to let you in on an industry secret.

On an average day, about 10 minutes of news happens.

Of course, you can't just have 10 minutes of news everyday, because if you did what would these pseudo journalists do all day? So these cable stations devised a brilliant strategy: take the 10 minutes of news, and add 23 hours and 50 minutes of tedious and hollow "analysis."

The beauty of this "analysis" is that since no actual conclusions need to be reached, and nobody is willing to point out lies for fear of appearing biased, mindless automatons get facetime on national television to say whatever they want, and to have it repeated every 15 minutes. Of course, they won't be challenged to defend their points to the anchor or audience, because the anchor has no knowledge of the subject at hand. He is a television guy, not an investigative reporter. He doesn't to research on the topic, or ask pointed questions to challenge opinions stated as facts. No, to do this would appear to be taking a stand on the issue and being an "operative," when all it would really be doing is serving the interests of the viewer. Since no factchecking or rigorous work is done, the broadcast consists of having the polar opposites on an issue argue about all the points like children, reach no conclusion, fail to educate the audience on the issue, and be sent off by the anchor saying, "an interesting debate."

It is patently absurd to expand the little news or issues of a day into the entire day. It leaves networks with the only option of offering bloated and lazy commentary disguised as analysis to fill the time. In the end, nobody is well served and the merits of television news are lost.

Go back to 1 hour news broadcasts with thoughtful analysis that provokes the reader to think and engage in the issue instead of being turned off by puerile bickering and apathetic talking heads. The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer does it right.

The End of an Era

At about 1:15 AM this morning, early by anyone's standards, I crept into my house after a night of revelry with my friends (who called me it seems.) My parents were sleeping, so I took great pains to silently approach my bedroom. Once inside, I empty my pockets of cell phone, keys, wal...shit.

I lost my wallet.

Immediately I get on the phone and call the people who I was with. I ask them to check their cars, their backyards, any where I would lose my wallet. I go to sleep without any further news, confident it will turn up.

This morning, it's status check time. All my leads crumble to dust as nobody sees the wallet anywhere nor do I find it in my extensive search including visiting the places I went and inquiring to its status. It becomes clear to me that my inability to find a wallet means I don't watch nearly enough Law and Order. I contemplate calling Chris Meloni and call in that favor he owes me from when I handed him a napkin and stirrer at a deli on University Place. I know he remembers.

Despite my scatterbrained nature, I am pretty good about keeping track of my belongings. At school, I lost my room key, but I found it after about a day or two. Other than that, I keep my stuff together. I quickly did an inventory of what's in my wallet and feel like a Capital One commerical. Credit cards, ATM card, Drivers License, Office ID, NYU ID, train ticket for the month of July, petty cash, health insurance, car insurance. Of all those things, what I really miss is the license. Not having permission to drive is like being 14 again. Thus began a long day of calling credit card companies to cancel cards and filling out forms online to get a new license. I was immensely thrilled to find out I don't have to sit in the cesspool of modern society that is the DMV. I am not too worried about the whole situation, because beyond the train ticket everything else can and is being replaced. It is more annoying and stupid that I have been stripped of everything I need to entertain myself (car and money) because I misplaced something so important. I feel like an idiot who needs to be told to watch my stuff.

I realize that this entire narrative was very boring. Why do you, my faithful and incredibly sexy reader, want to read about the trials of me and my American Express customer service representative? You don't, of course, and I will let you go now before you realize that this entire blog is a waste of time, mine and yours.

Send me $20.