Devoid of Substance

Grammatical Corruption

2010-02-08T12:43:00.001-05:00

"The issue before us really boils down to the seven ‘C’s,”’ said Rep. Edward Markey (D., Mass.), a senior member of the subcommittee. “Will this combination of communications colossi curtail competition and cost consumers? That is the question that must be answered as this process moves forward."

That, and is Rep. Ed Markey taking money from the alliteration lobby?

Uniqueness Regained

2009-11-04T08:54:00.001-05:00

In a very strange way, I'm glad Corzine didn't get reelected in New Jersey. Not that I like Chris Christie--I don't. I don't like anyone who's first and last name have the same root: Mike Michaels, Dave Davis, and even a guy names Jones van Jones.

No, my reason for not wanting Corzine to win was a result of the fact that by nature of being tall, a member of the Marine Corps, a former U.S. Senator, New Jersey Governor and multi-billionaire, he was basically my exact double. We have identical biographies and we were constantly getting confused at Sun Valley and Trilateral Commission meetings.

At last, that unpleasantness is over.

Noel Gallagher for Poet Laureate

2009-08-04T22:18:00.001-04:00

There are many things that I'd like to know / There are many places that I wish to go / But everything's dependent on the way the wind may blow

I have no idea what that means, but I know that I like the sentiment. It's basically how I feel about Maya Angelou's work, but this has better guitar riffs.

A message worth remembering, but perhaps too often forgotten

2009-07-10T14:59:00.002-04:00

St. Paul's first Epistle to the Corinthians: "St. Paul tells us from one spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jew or Gentile, bond or free, and have all been made to drink into one spirit. For the body is not one member but many. He tells us: 'The eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee; nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of thee.' Nay, much more those members of the body which seem to be more feeble . . . and those members of the body which we think of as less honorable—all are necessary. He says that there should be no schism in the body but that the members should have the same care one to another. And whether one member suffer all the members suffer with it."

If I can hand it in tomorrow it'll be all right

2009-06-11T12:37:00.001-04:00

An excerpt from a highly entertaining, and penetratingly insightful, e-mail exchange with a friend about the factual discrepancies put forth by that imprimatur of all things teen-aged and 1992, Saved by the Bell.

Me: Zack's willingness to throw away Yale for the purpose of attending Cal U would only make sense in the context of a scholarship, but his Dad's ferrari and his status as an early adopter of the mobile phone obviates that option. Side QQ: If Saved by the Bell were set today, would Zack have an iPhone or Blackberry? I say Blackberry bc he'd probably be texting multiple girls at a time, and that's easier via Blackberry.
Zack's attendance at Cal U is completely unbelievable, as is the idea that Slater and Screech would go to the same college. Either Screech is willing to toss aside a successful career and all those years of studying (at severe risk to his social life) to go to college with his buddies, or Slater was a lot smarter than we thought.

But given his latently chauvinistic tendencies I doubt he was terribly bright. Not to mention unresolved Oedipal issues, given that we never saw his Mom and know he had a contentious relationship with his Dad over not wanting to join the Army, calling his girlfriend Momma starts making more sense.

Lillian:You're right that Zack was definitely wealthy enough to attend Yale, so the Cal U scenario doesn't really wash. I think Zack would have been a Blackberry man as well, it's a bit more "little black book" than the iPhone. By the way, "Little Black Book," with Brittany Murphy and Ron Livingston? Worst movie ever made. (Ed. note--Lillian is completely right. That movie is awful.) Slater attended Cal U on a wrestling scholarship, only to find out upon arrival that he was a very small fish in a very big wrestling pond, and needed to step up his game if he wanted to stay. He got a 1050 on his SATs, so he was obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, and, as you said, clearly had mommy issues. Screech's attendance was less easily explained, as he was the valedictorian

of Bayside High, but perhaps his decision was financially based. We never really knew much about his family life, did we? If we hadn't witnessed his whole junior and high school experience, I would have pegged him as a typical homeschooled kid.

Après moi, l'Excel!

2009-06-03T13:16:00.000-04:00

I'm at a banking conference in Midtown today, and within 15 minutes see a woman using her Hermès scarf as a sling for a sprained arm. I also heard her suggest to a caterer that we all eat cake.

The lede for an article that is guaranteed to make me roll my eyes and not read it

2009-05-29T13:54:00.002-04:00

Rik Hertzberg, who is a very well-respected columnist, has a blog posting on The New Yorker's website that I laughed at. I don't know quite why this was deemed relevant for social or political analysis.

Everybody has been saying that Obama is like Spock. What struck me more forcefully, though, was how much this movie's James T. Kirk resembles John S. McCain

Maybe this is just me, but I have very little tolerance for diving incredibly deep into pop culture arcana and trying to draw out complex, and too often ludicrously tenuous, links to "real world" events and people. The Wire is meant to be dissected and the allegories are intentional. But drawing links between Senator McCain and James Kirk and the current political landscape? Spare me.

You gotta keep the Devil way down in the hole

2009-05-22T22:20:00.004-04:00

This phenomenal infographic shows what local law enforcement officials deemed the greatest threat to their respective communities. I think this is fascinating. Methamphetamines and cocaine look to be so overwhelmingly destructive, especially out West and in Florida (cocaine in Florida? Color me surprised). I'm equally fascinated at how in New Jersey and New York, heroin is judged to be less a concern than marijuana, but in New England everyone is shooting up like Miles Davis. Check this thing out, and the re-watch "The Wire" to be depressed about the state of the drug wars in this country.

2009-05-22T10:40:00.001-04:00

I opposed the renovation work in Washington Square Park about 4 years ago, thinking that change here was a code word for soulless sanitization of an essential bohemian spirit. That spirit was part of what attracted me to NYU in the first place, and I was reluctant to see it altered. Over the years as renovation expanded, I realized that the disruptions were minimal and the park was still largely usable. I felt the wind slowly come out of my righteous sails.

Now, in May 2009 as I sit in the park, I feel chastened. The park is cleaner, more open, and still a place where people are lounging about with no discernible aim. It has managed to look, and certainly smell, vastly better while keeping what I always loved about it. To wit, a man stands just 20 paces from me with a comically large beard reciting passages from The New York Post, calling the former Vice President some horrible expletives.

Same as it ever was.

I count mine in intervals of 10,000

2009-05-21T13:44:00.001-04:00

When I see cool little videos like this, I can't help but think that the internet is completely worth it.

Now I'm ready to offer full throated support.

2009-05-21T08:06:00.000-04:00

Thanks to closed captioning, I now know that Roe v. Wade is about a woman's right to choose. It's not, as I previously thought, about a woman's right to Choo's.

Now I see what all the fuss is about.

2009-05-20T22:21:00.001-04:00

Don't Stop Believing is the most downloaded song on iTunes recorded in the 20th century. Killer tune with pseudo-deep lyrics? That's a license to print money.

2009-05-20T20:25:00.001-04:00

Portland seems like a lush and lovely paradise. I think I'd like everything about living in Portland except the smug assholes who live there.

2009-05-13T18:11:00.001-04:00

Of all the pernicious -isms out there, I think we can agree elitism is the best. That or rectangular prisms.

Reason #4,323 why The Economist is my favorite news publication (Even when nobody is around)

2009-05-07T13:13:00.001-04:00

On The Economist's Award winning US Politics blog (The Webby's are meaningless PR stunts, but I happen to agree with this one) Democracy in America, they have a category for political news stories termed "Complete Foolishness."

Wit and style, with a healthy disdain for the process of Politico gushing about how awesome Vanity Fair and Bloomberg parties are in a naked attempt to be invited. You've got to appreciate that.

New Yorkers are nice to people they'd like to hook up with

2009-05-05T18:18:00.001-04:00

Today on the train back to Manhattan, I witnessed a truly heart warming moment. An attractive Latina woman had forgotten her train ticket at the office, and was going to have to pay some $15 to pay for a new one on board. She struggled with her massive pocketbook that contained at least 3 back issues of Vogue to cobble together a few singles before looking up at the ticket collector with pleading eyes.
Miraculously, a young man sitting next to her offered to put her fare on his weekly ticket, saving her the fee. She was understandably effusive in her gratitude, and he tried mightily to wave it off as nothing, that he's always underwriting public transport for hot chicks. It took him a grand 2 minutes to ask for her name and suggested they grab a drink in Manhattan. She declined, but not as graciously as she thanked him a minute ago.

Maybe next time, MTA Cassanova. I'll definitely be rooting for you in your ceaseless quest for women in that train car seat next to the bathroom. I believe in you.

If a snob reads in a forest, will he impress grad students?

2009-04-30T18:34:00.000-04:00

Reading The Economist is like hooking up with a supermodel--its no good if nobody sees you.

2009-04-24T20:44:00.001-04:00

How old can you be before its absurd that people still call you Junior? Based on these dudes on the subway, looks like 65 is still in play.

Natalie Portman has managed to escape the trap

2009-04-21T18:10:00.001-04:00

Jordanna Brewster is yet another tragic example of overeducated attractive 20 actors who seems to have some kind of magnetic pull to the shittiest movies ever made. With an illustrious career spanning from The Fast and The Furious to Fast and Furious, Jordanna Brewster wins the "Biggest Waste of a Yale education" for 2009.

What Makes Me The Exception?

2009-04-18T12:22:00.001-04:00

If you actually listen to the lyrics "Hey Ya" is a pretty sad song. I was thinking about this as it popped up on my iPod as I was enjoying the New York sunshine. The freakier part was that I even said to myself, "I'm sure nobody gave a shit about this song's lyrics referring to a failing relationship between two people convincing themselves that they're happy when they know they're not. They probably just wanted to dance."

Smash cut to the next line, Andre 3000 saying that we didn't want to hear him and that we just wanted to dance.

Prophetic words from the Love Below.

They Know Not What They Do

2009-04-17T21:45:00.001-04:00

Dogs on the subway should be banned. Especially when they piss on it. The only pissing on the subway should occur by animals who truly can't help themselves. You know, Fordham students.

2009-04-17T17:08:00.001-04:00

If this new mobile blogger works, I night be able to succesfully avoid Twitter without appearing like a cranky Luddite.

Is it satire if you admit it?

2009-02-23T21:08:00.004-05:00

Because a grew up outside of New York City, I've always had an idealized view of this city and what it means to leave here. Once I started NYU, I had free reign to enact all my deepest New York fantasies. I wandered aimlessly around Greenwich Village, spent many a lost afternoon in Central Park, and have sat with a huge grin affixed to my face for hours sitting in Tompkins Square Park. Now that I have a job, I don't get the time to just amble about New York, especially since I reverse commute out of the city into the suburbs for work and need particular reasons to venture out of my apartment after 8:00 PM. Ironically, I leave my apartment later and come back earlier working in the suburbs than when I've lived and worked in Manhattan. And since I use most of my commuting time to read/listen to podcasts of Fareed Zakaria and other Yale educated guys who say things like:

"Though a few junk bond issuers have tapped the market, part of the demand may have come from funds “gambling for resurrection”, ie, taking a big risk for high yields in a desperate bid to offset losses elsewhere."

I'd say it's a net positive.

The odd thing is that when I picture idealized Manhattan weekends, they almost always involve Midtown East, specifically the area around 57th and 5th. This is a recurring image, and I can't fully explain it. It's existed for a long time, but I have no idea why. There is nothing particularly exciting about this neighborhood. In fact, its exceedingly corporate. As a unrepentant capitalist, you'd think I'd be OK with that, but I am a big fan of compartmentalizing, so when I fantasize about Manhattan I'd prefer it be really bohemian, involving me hanging out in dimly lit TriBeCa hotspots with editorial assistants from Elle and talking about Damon Runyon. But I can't help it--my ideal weekends always flash in my mind with the image of that part of the city that features Henri Bendel and Apple stores. I see other parts too, but this feature is extremely prominent. I wonder what it means.

You've probably guessed, but I never, ever, edit my blog. Everything here is written stream of consciousness style, like James Joyce. In fact, I've not ever gone back and checked for consistency or grammar in any of the 160+ posts I've written on here. This blog is the closest thing that exists to a portal to my mind, and I write in the same style all the time, from e-mails to personal conversations. I wish I had the discipline to update it more frequently, and I'll certainly try. I like writing in here, if for no other reason than it is a record of who I was at the different parts of my life.

Thanks for Blessings Received and Forthcoming

2008-11-28T10:17:00.003-05:00

It's been a while, but I've been busy at work and I don't feel like you yelling at me about it. Give me a break, Daddy's been busy. But I promise I'll make it to your piano recital.

Thanksgiving was, as it always is, a full stomached affair. We've come to Connecticut from Manhattan (and previously Long Island) for Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember. It is one of the few things that my family has that I would consider a tradition. Our friends in Connecticut are gracious enough to host us while we eat all their food and drink all their wine. But perhaps most importantly, we actually do sit and give thanks.

I consider myself lucky that my family was big on instilling in my sister and I a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the things we have and how comfortable our life is. Of course, these comforts were achieved by dint of hard work and are richly deserved, but its surely worth reflecting upon that we are lucky to live in a country that opens is arms to immigrants and provides them with a way to make a better life for their families. While we glance at the TV and see the terror taking place in our homeland, our heart weeps for those that died, and we have to remember that the promises of a better life for the next generation is not yet inevitable.

But we will make it so.

Look Back In Kindness

2008-09-11T21:43:00.003-04:00

Not to overplay it, but when historians look back at our age and try to divine what we thought about the world, I'd hope they look at this commercial. I think it is our best representation

A Beneficent Convergence

2008-08-25T09:39:00.006-04:00

In the past 13 years, I've visited my family in India 8 times. These summer pilgrimages were at the insistence of my parents and in lieu of the more popular American summer pastime of sleep away camp. At the time, I probably resented being shipped over 8,000 miles to spend the hottest time of the year in the hottest place I'd ever been. My grandparents house at the time did not have hundreds of TV channels and the electricity sometimes went out for hours at a time. I didn't really understand when I was 9 that it was important to forge a connection with family and one's ancestral homeland during childhood--I just knew I couldn't watch Salute Your Shorts.

After coming back from India as (more of) an adult, I am embarrassed at how spoiled I was. My relationship with my Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts, and small army of Cousins is so cool and breezy now because of those hot summers. The pride in the art of storytelling, the willingness to argue any point from 5 different angles, the sense of playfully mocking loved ones--so many elements of my personality that I value can be directly traced back to these vacations and just observing the clan. Just driving around with my Uncle on his motorcycle, grabbing dinner at a beach side restaurant and talking politics, family, cricket is one of those memories I'll always remember and forever seek to duplicate with each successive trip.

I can't fully decide if my growing comfort with India, and my increased desire to return, is down to my maturation or the fact that India has Americanized so much. The standard of living in the country has skyrocketed in the past 13 years; people in cities have more money, nicer amenities, more varied food options (including the large scale introduction of supermarkets) and now my grandparents house does have hundreds of channels and programs which I watched in English, Tamil and Hindi. I'm happy to admit that I am more willing to visit when the house is air-conditioned and I can watch Seinfeld while eating Pizza Hut, but I am even happier to reveal that I love India just as much when it's high noon, the power is out and there's no fan or television, not a word of English or scrap of America is around and I'm sitting with my Grandmother playing dice and hearing stories about my Mom.

Rambling at Full Tilt

2008-06-21T22:28:00.004-04:00

Don't say you weren't warned by the title.

One of the central ideas you focus on when you study economics, especially in college, is the way that markets distribute goods. The greatest advantage that capitalism has as an economic system is that it is best suited for an efficient distribution of resources. Of course, even the most market fundamentalist of economists will tell you that a free market cannot provision all goods properly, that it is just the best model that exists. The classic examples of market failures typically deal with public goods, but I've always held that art is an example of the type of things that can be underprovided by the market. Which is why I particularly love Netflix.

Netflix as a business model is pretty great, because on top of selling movie rentals they really sell convenience. It is not the best in its class--Blockbuster has the benefit of physical locations to facilitate movement along your queue of films--but it's damn good. But the most interesting thing about Netflix's lower cost model is their ability to stock obscure, little seen films. A lot of the time these obscure art films stay that way because they're shit, but sometimes they are really good. For one of these more esoteric films, it only needs to be rented a handful of times for it to be a good investment for Netflix. The same can be said for those brilliant but cancelled TV shows (Darren Star's Grosse Pointe was a delight to watch on DVD).

I think the trend in newspapers and television of reporting box office numbers for films as evidence of their quality is wrongheaded. The financial success of a film is really only important to the studio, but more troubling is the idea that because a film makes $70 million in a weekend that it is good--that because millions of people like something that you should like it too. Box office reporting causes studios to become obsessed with opening weekend numbers and the truth is to have a big opening weekend you don't need a good movie you need a good poster and marketing campaign. Spending loads of money on marketing blows out the budget of the film--budget that could have been used to improve the quality of the film. Big budget films have to capture huge audiences to recoup their costs, but they have to do it in three days or risk being labelled a flop by the Hollywood Reporter. David Milch, perhaps one of the best television writers (or writers period), notes that the revenue model for films necessitates a big audience and thus a broadening of the story. It cannot sustain nuanced or complex narratives, and instead must be fixed around set pieces--an explosion, a sex scene or some protracted bit of slapstick comedy. In order for films to appeal to such a diverse body, they have to smooth all the edges so that each new film is just an amalgamation of 4 previously successful films. The cable TV revenue model--needing a radically smaller audience to be financially viable--is why the best dramatic and comedic work of the last 10 years is coming from television (The Sopranos, The Wire, Deadwood, Brotherhood, Californication, and now Mad Men). If we want to trace its roots, I feel confident saying that The Larry Sanders Show completely changed the television comedy and created the idea of cable being the vanguard of intelligent television. If you need to know how influential Larry Sanders was, just look at the names of people who got their start or honed their skills there: Judd Apatow, Jon Stewart, Peter Tolan, Ken Kwapis, Todd Holland, Jeremy Piven, Jeffrey Tambor. To complete the effusive praise, the shows that Larry Sanders directly influenced are incredible: The Daily Show, The Office (UK and American), all Judd Apatpow productions, Entourage (Ari Gold is actually the second TV adaptation of the legend that is Ari Emanuel), Arrested Development and 30 Rock. You can rent shows like this that have long since left the air because of the great gods of Netflix. Netflix presents such a fantastic platform for these smaller art pieces to be showcased and make them even more likely to stick around. The innovation that comes from these shows is more likely and stronger because of Netflix.

It would be better if you bought the DVDs though.

2008-06-11T17:21:00.002-04:00

We've all seen them, nobody likes them, but deep down we all want to be them. I'm talking about that guy with his shades on strolling into a coffee shop (he gets bonus points for going to Think Coffee instead of Starbucks, because if it's not fair trade it's basically drinking the tears of a Colombian farmer) and before he can even open his mouth, pulls out his Blackberry to check if anyone has texted him or tagged him in a photo between the door and the counter of the coffee bar. I can say that I hate those guys, and that I've been one of them for a while.

My Blackberry is probably the closest thing I have to a child. I love it unconditionally, even when it has flaws and service outages. I depend on it implicitly, and I defend it to any and all challengers. But I can't deny that it sometimes makes me annoying to hang out with. I'm not proud to say it, but if I am in a group social situation (4 members or more) and the conversation drifts away from a topic I'm interested in, I'll just pull out my phone and start reading the news or texting somebody. I've never been particularly tolerant of people I find boring, but knowing that I have an escape plan tends to worsen the problem. Without question however, the biggest benefit to having my Blackberry around is for these kind of situations:

Friend: What was that movie called that Jennifer Aniston did with Kevin Costner?
Me (20 seconds later): Rumor Has It.

That's not a great example, because when my friend asked me that I didn't have to look it up, but you get my point. I have never been able to stand it when there is a piece of information, no matter how casual the conversation, that is left out or passed aside. I normally just store it in my brain until I can get to a computer and find it out, but now I just do it in front of you, my dinner companion. Even if you're in the middle of a sentence.

Blackberry users are annoying primarily because they divorce themselves from actual interactions with people to maintain virtual interactions, but because I suffer from intense boredom around almost everyone I meet, it saves me on a daily basis. On the plus side, if you see me thumbing away or talking to someone on Blackberry Messenger, ask me some random stuff you want to know and I'll be compelled to Google it for you.

1968 Redux: If Only Hey Jude Was #1 Again

2008-06-04T19:27:00.003-04:00

I've been lingering in the life of a post-graduate for a few weeks now, and I've got to say I really enjoy it. The amount of time I am afforded to read is exceptional and I've been fortunate to experience an breath of subject matter--from Evan Thomas's biography of Robert Kennedy to Vanity Fair's cover story on Robert Kennedy to the book 13 Days, Robert Kennedy's memoir of the Cuban Missile Crisis. So the subject matter is a bit narrow, but you'd have to forgive me for thinking that Bobby was the nominee. 40 years on, the memory of RFK beats strong in the grassroots side of the Democratic party and for over a year we have heard about the links between Bobby and Barack. Everyone from William Kristol (of a dying breed of conservative columnists who still use phrases like 'beau ideal') to Rolling Stone (better political feature writing than you'd think) to Vermont Senator Pat Leahy (of Dick Cheney's 'Go Fuck Yourself' fame) seem to have drawn this parallel over the past year. It can be said that there are certain merits to it: Kristol put it well when saying that both Obama, like Kennedy, is "running before his time but — supporters think — uniquely suited to the time." I believe that whether or not Obama is the heir to the Kennedy mantle, Edward seems to think so, is less relevant than the idea that young people who were so enamored by Bobby Kennedy express similar, if not more intense adoration for Obama. It's an example of perception being stronger than the reality. The imagery of the Kennedy campaign (Bill Eppridge's photos truly are masterful) is so powerful and is so clearly replicated in the Obama campaign that the link between these two men becomes self-fulfilling.

It will be interesting if the idealism and passion that was so much a part of Bobby Kennedy and his campaign (a campaign that was as close to a politician's personality as one has ever been) will be seen again in Obama's campaign. My hope is that Obama and McCain will run strong, clean campaigns and really try to lift the common discourse and edify the populace to make informed choices about clear and distinct world views. My further hope is that when the candidates or their surrogates inevitably deviate from the high-minded path, that some media outlet will clear aside the obfuscation and correct the distortions--not in a partisan way but in an honest one--so as to fulfill their missions of public service to educate and elevate.

After that breaks down, I hope the one who will screw up less wins.

Trying Something New

2008-05-24T09:09:00.003-04:00

If this catches on, this blog will feature a lot more videos and be a lot more fun. For me. I can't decide if it will be any better for you.

High Crimes and Welsh Crooners

2008-05-22T18:54:00.003-04:00

I suppose it is normal for everyone to have a few songs that are considered so cheesy, so impossibly commercially crafted, that it is a bit embarrassing to admit to liking them. I've always hated music snobs, but I can confess to sniffing at people who like American Idol artists before plugging my iPod in to hear the latest Vampire Weekend track or something by We Are Scientists. Guarding against cries of hypocrisy, I always say that I'm not against "commercial" music like most hipster assholes, but rather that I am against "bad" music. This tends to end arguments with my opponents who usually have very narrow trousers and haircuts with a lot of angles to them.

I also don't consider myself a snob because there are a few very uncool bands that I listen to and like. For example, I still frequently listen to the song "Ignition (Remix)" by potentially soon to be convicted R. Kelly. I like Genesis--both Gabriel and Collins. I like a good amount of Elton John and Fleetwood Mac and the Alan Parsons Project. I even like "Bungle in the Jungle" off the 1974 Jethro Tull Album "War Child." If there is something less cool than that, I'd like to hear it. However, there is one cheeseball song I love that I will admit I am not even faintly concerned about people knowing I love. It's a song that everyone has heard, and I know for a fact that over 90% of them love it. Tom Jones's Sex Bomb might be the catchiest tune ever committed to a record. I'm always amazed that the song, for all its suggestive lyrical content, is played at children's parties (hand to God) without the slightest hint of irony. Something about that Welsh Tomcat just lets people's guard down and he's off belting out this magical number. Pump this tune in your iPod next time you're walking the streets or even washing the dishes. I guarantee you'll be singing it by the 1:00 mark--and if you are on the street, make sure that cop knows you're listening to Jonesy and not propositioning someone in Tompkins Square Park.

The Magnificence of Transience

2008-05-21T17:44:00.007-04:00

I vaguely remember about 2 months ago that I had issued a bold decree to post more to this blog as I had just recently been unchained from my old laptop and was in possession of a new sexy one. As with most things I say, that ended up being a lie. But this is America, and we are about nothing if not redemption. So here's what's been going on.

I suppose it would be too precious if I didn't mention that the singularly important event of the past few months is that I graduated from NYU. You could call it a bitter sweet moment to leave college, but I think that's underselling it--it's just plain damn bitter. If there is a just and right God in Heaven, I believe that he created the 4 year undergraduate experience in order to give us mortals the best approximation of what his home is like. I do not think an 18 year old can hope for a better prospect than to go to college (previously established as Heaven on Earth) in Greenwich Village (Heaven in Heaven). I completely, whole-heartedly and unashamedly loved college. I loved college in general and NYU in particular. I even love that because of college I constantly use the rhetorical structure "I like X in general and Y in particular." I did not have a single class that I regretted, because even in those courses that I totally bombed I made good friends who I would meet later in a different class that I would also bomb. My course selection was greatly aided by the fact that because of AP classes and such I placed out of science and math requirements and was thus spared their hellishness. I did not mind taking classes at 9:30 in the morning (telling NYU students that you have a 9:30 class is a sure way to get sympathy from them. Telling people you have "an 8 AM" will almost surely get someone to buy you a drink) because walking down University Place or Broadway at those hours are the best way to see the Walk of Shame being conducted on campus. I could have done without the exams, but those moments of panic were notable as much for their brevity as they were for their intensity. I cannot say enough great things about college, NYU, the intellectual activity, the late night carousing that extended into early morning carousing and, at its best, to mid-afternoon carousing.

As trite as it is, all good things truly must come to an end, and while I am incredibly heart broken that I will never get to live the college life in the same way again, I know that what made it so magical, so almost transcendent was its impermanence. Knowing that we would never be young, carefree and so thoroughly inoculated from consequences is what gave us our splendid defiance. This knowledge does something to comfort me, but it cannot be said too strongly that I write this with a heavy heart: I am no longer an NYU student. I am that oddest of characters now--the alumnus. Here's to hoping that while I've lost the vaccine, I retain the defiance.

Didn't John Wayne Drink Lattes?

2008-03-11T23:29:00.005-04:00

This is probably my least favorite commercial on television. There are many reasons why I am embarrassed when Americans stand slack jawed at the prospect of having to pronounce words like "Half Caf Cap." This tone of vague anti-foreign sentiment is always troubling. I mean, how can I expect to order coffee if I have to learn two new words? What's worse, we Americans invented coffee. Did you know that 97% of the world's coffee is grown and consumed in the United States? Look it up. Given that fact, shouldn't we dictate how the words are said? I mean, this trend of Americans needing to know things in order to exist in the world is bad. I mean, if the woman behind the counter tells me that what I thought was a large is a 'deici', I will refuse to patronize such a place. I am not the kind of person who can commit a word to my short term memory and then repeat it back to someone. Moreover, I should not have to when I am ordering that most American of drinks, a latte. Look at the guy at the end of the commercial sipping his latte deep and proud--that's an American drinking our national drink.

Maker's Mark. Up.

2008-02-19T22:56:00.003-05:00

On Thursday, I believe I became the last semi-hip urbanite in America to see Juno. The reasons to see Juno include the following:

1. Ellen Page is the most incredibly hyped young actress in the country right now, and she deserves every word of the the praise.
2. My obsession with Arrested Development is well documented, as anyone who knew me freshman year of NYU can attest. To see Jason Bateman being recognized for the comic genius he is past due. Combine this with the inclusion of the King of Awkward Comedy Michael Cera (disregard the fact that Bateman and Cera appear in precisely zero scenes together), and you can close your eyes to imagine David Cross in denim cut-offs.
3. Allison Janney is in the movie--CJ Cregg playing a canine fetishist.
4. Jason Reitman directed Thank You For Smoking, a single film that shattered the idea that Americans can't do irony.

Almost every part of the movie was fantastic. I saw this movie by myself, as I do with most movies. Something about seeing movies with people can be distracting for me, as I feel a need to comment on the action with my companion. There are certain kinds of movies (Superbad, Borat, Wedding Crashers, etc.) that necessitate a group viewing because the visceral experience of holding your sides and screaming at two nude men wrestling in a Chicago Mortgage Brokers conference with an audience is the best part of the viewing. Juno is not that kind of laughing. It is a dry, understated wit that leads to chuckles and broad grins. Diablo Cody's screenplay is touching, not because of the beauty of childbirth or anything so pat, but because of how it subtly portrays the growth of Juno during her pregnancy. Aside from the classic lines ("I am fo shizz up the spout), there is a heartfelt line that Juno's Dad is able to deliver without sounding like a Hallmark card, "All you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly who you are." I think that is a pretty good description of what people should look for in relationships--much easier that changing yourself to fit the capricious whims of a partner.

I read a weird article in The Guardian that talked about how movies like Waitress, Knocked Up, and Juno portray abortion as unthinkable or selfish. The thesis of the article--that these movies are not self-consciously anti-abortion, but reflect a conservatism in America and the generation of women who don't understand the struggle to legalize abortion--is not so radical, but I was a bit bothered at the suggestion that comedies have a social responsibility to promote political agendas. Knocked Up and Juno are not Schindler's List, and do not exist to advance or counteract socio-political trends. Furthermore, from a dramatic standpoint it would dull the story of a slacker guy and a beautiful woman getting pregnant and the attendant comedy of dealing with each other if an abortion was included as a deus ex machina. In the case of Juno, the more relevant scene was how Juno's parents deal with the news of her pregnancy. They don't heap scorn on her and brand her with a scarlet P, but they rarely miss an opportunity to joke about her carelessness. In the pregnancy clinic, Janney (the eccentric but protective step-mom) stomps an ultrasound technician for being a judgmental idiot and I heard a few claps of approval--shocking at a theater in Greenwich Village.

If you have not seen Juno, I cannot advocate it strongly enough. See it with someone you might want to have a child with, and then let a yuppie woman adopt it. Sounds like a good Saturday night to me.

Our Long National Nightmare

2008-02-12T23:18:00.003-05:00

Looks like the WGA strike is finally over, and I could not be happier. Colbert Report, Daily Show and Conan cannot brawl forever, although I loved it while it happened. Hopefully, sitcoms and dramas will come back by late March/early April. Let's hope that the quality resumes ASAP.

A Brief Announcement

2008-02-04T21:22:00.001-05:00

This post has a small, but nevertheless critical, function. It confirms that I am indeed alive and on this Earth. And that I have a new computer which is glorious and slim and powerful (I haven't a clue where she gets in from). It is a new Dell Inspiron 1525, and I couldn't be happier with it.

Now that I am no longer shackled with a burdensome hag of a laptop, I should hope that I post more frequently, but you never know with these things. Here's hoping.

Rock musicians are supposed to be nuts

2007-10-20T00:37:00.000-04:00

If you've not yet heard the new Amy Winehouse/Mark Ronson single Valerie, you should click on that link and dig it. It is a cover of the Zuton's version from 2006, but who says cover versions are inherently inferior? Certainly not me. These two have created an infectious pop beat that is hard to resist. I consider it a duty of mine to bring some good music out there to the people, and while Winehouse and Ronson are by no means recluses, this song could easily escape the ears of the non-discerning statesider. This is not to fault her at all, but Winehouse is primarily covered here as a boozy wastrel, which is a damn shame because she is an incredible vocalist who should not be reduced to such easy caricatures. So what if she does too many drugs and drinks too much? That is what rock musicians are supposed to do. Give me that junkie with pipes over the pious and crashingly bland Hillary Duff any day.

My computer is giving me a hard time right now, but I could not live with myself if I did not try to get that song out to the world. And yes, for the purposes of that example, the world is defined as those who read my blog. All 11 of you.

In Manhattan did Tad O'Shea, A stately citrus squeeze decree

2007-08-09T00:36:00.001-04:00

At the risk of sounding like a Seinfeld stand-up routine, when did eating establishments start taking your name when you order something? I can't imagine this is any more efficient than just doing what they've always done at New York cafes/delis: yell out the items you've ordered with a vaguely menacing look on their face that suggests any further delays in your retrieval of the order will entitle you to a side order of warm spit with your meal.

This new name game is particularly annoying for people like me, who have names that approximately 0% of New Yorkers can spell on the first try. When I go to Jamba Juice, I don't want to give the clerk a lesson on South East Indian phonetics, and how the letter "t" before a vowel is pronounced with a "th" sound, whereas a final "t" is more of a hard stop. Again, I have to ask if this is any real improvement in service time, which is all customers at these establishments care about. If this was some lame marketing guy's idea of building "brand loyalty" or something, it would only confirm everything I think about people who work in marketing, which is that they view the populace as a bunch of lurching, mindless clumps who will patronize a restaurant because the staff calls them by name. You know what I do when someone gives me a coffee that I've ordered and then addresses me by name? I give them the obligatory thanks and a half-smile: the kind where my lips form a grin but my eyes remain steely and dead. I sure as hell don't think Trent and I are going to be friends, and if you do, you're probably the kind of person who chats with every cashier you interact with and then friends them on Facebook with some lame comment like, "Hey Jill, those khakis really worked out great. Thanks a bundle! ;)" I hate those people.

What happens whenever I go to a name-check establishment is that I have to give a fake, monosyllabic name that cannot be messed up by anyone with two functioning brain lobes. Recent favorites include: Chad, Brad, Tad, and Dad. The last one was pretty funny, if only to hear the guy who made my Berry Blast at Jamba ask for it to be picked up--Dad? Berry Blast for Dad?

Do away with giving out your name at these places, and failing that, give out names of television characters or historical figures. I'm looking forward to trying out Indiana Jones and Kublai Khan.

Contango and backwardation

2007-07-14T01:52:00.000-04:00

It's been just shy of 7 weeks since I've posted on this blog, and my only excuse is to say that I've been working so much that during the week I don't know where I am most of the time and certainly can't be bothered to put together full sentences, and during the weekend am in a state of relaxation so profound it can easily be mistaken for catatonia. But let's not dwell on that.

Summer for most people is a time to relax, sleep late and just generally loaf about with a sort of blissful frivolity that underscores the absolute open-endedness of it all. Not for me however. I am up and heading for the office at about 6:55, and am clacking away at the keyboard at 7:25. I step off the desk to end the day at 8:00, and in between I work very hard and learn some cool stuff. Look up the terms that comprise the title of this post and you'll see what I mean. I think finance is a cool place to be, and definitely being around a place where alternative investments get so much play means you can easily learn a lot if you are willing to read a little bit and not be afraid to ask stupid questions. This demanding work leaves little time for my friends, but I do what I can when I can. I am getting an idea of what my life will look like in about a year when I work full time--living for the weekend. But if you get to work around some cool people for those 12-13 hours you are in the office, it can be pretty great. My point is, don't pity the banker for all the work he does and how exhausted he is at the end of the day, because odds are that deep down he really likes it.

Moral Relativism Makes Good Television

2007-05-23T01:11:00.001-04:00

As I try to soak up every drop of my last week before work, I find myself slowly dipping my toe into financial interests, almost to gradually reintroduce structure into my days. I start my internship in Private Banking in one week, and since Sunday have thrown myself fully into the DVD collection of a show from the mid 1990s called Profit.

I have no doubt that the deeply disturbing and villainous nature of the show's main character (even within the framework of his job in a conglomerate/acquisitions firm) is the reason it lasted only 4 episodes. He is an inveterate corporate climber, and the textbook definition of a bone chilling sociopath. The show is an incredibly well crafted piece of drama--the two hour pilot alone qualifies as a fantastic film--and was clearly ahead of its time, as today characters like Tony Soprano are accepted into our living rooms. But while The Sopranos is about moral ambiguity, Profit is resolutely amoral. Jim Profit, played magnificently by Adrian Pasdar, is a fascinating character precisely because he is blithely unconcerned with societal conceptions of morals in his pursuit of the position as President of Acquisitions. He freely uses extortion, bribery, psychological torture, and even murder to accomplish his goals, and the questions "Is this right or wrong?" are ignored. Profit doesn't consider or care about how others are harmed by his actions--it's simply not part of his calculus in decisions. There is something incredibly terrifying and Ayn Rand-ian about that. Profit's exterior--well mannered and groomed, Harvard and Wharton educated, seemingly sympathetic and compassionate--is equally menacing, precisely because it is an artifice. He has no actual personality, so he can exploit the full range of human emotion if the situation calls for it and it furthers his end game. If it suits him and his goals to be funny and charming, than he can be. But if he believes that he is better served by planting incriminating evidence and securing a life sentence for an innocent man, than so be it. I am amazed that a show with such a fundamentally scary character ever made it to air, but I'm very glad it did, as it provided me with some amusement and deep ruminations about morality over the past couple days.

Catch Profit on DVD if you can, although it will probably shake you up too much to sleep for a couple of days.

The Return of the King

2007-05-09T17:35:00.000-04:00

Been a bit too long, but I had my 21st birthday and final exams to deal with, so sod it.

I'm done with another semester of college, and in the past 24 hours, I've watched three episodes of News Radio, two of The Thick of It, the last episode of Entourage, and one episode of The Larry Sanders Show. I've also started reading The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright. This always happens when I come home--I consume a crazy amount of media. Probably because in that two to three week period before I start working for the summer, I get bored being home and by myself. At school, I can usually talk to one of my roommates or meet a friend for coffee(I also drink more coffee when I'm here). I don't mind it too much, as I've always been someone who is reading three books simultaneously and watching a tv show while I do it.

I also read more news online when I'm at home. So far today, I've read/browsed The New York Times, The New Republic, The Wall Street Journal, The Financial Times, and The National Review. I am always a little bit surprised when I find myself reading The National Review, because every once in a while I think it's a good magazine, but most of the time I think it is hysterical. I imagine that is a fun place to observe as a fly on the wall, because the clash of one's world view with reality is a staggeringly sad thing to witness.

Not my best, but I'm getting back into the swing of it.

Is that dude Indian?

2007-04-12T22:36:00.000-04:00

There is some weird and profoundly unfunny show that I am sampling on ABC right now called "Notes from the Underbelly." I have no real defense for watching it for these past 10 minutes. I do find it interesting that there is one character who is Indian. There are no Indian characters that I know of in prime time comedy or dramas, and this is from a guy who watches a lot of television. I was sort of proud of this--Indians are a small part of America's population but seeing as most television shows take place in New York and California, where millions of Indians live, it is a bit weird. I mean, with the numbers of doctors and lawyers on TV, can I get a representative sample? Anyway, on this awful show "Notes from the Underbelly" one of the characters is Indian, but they named him Eric. What the hell is that about? You couldn't give him an Indian name? It's as if television producers don't think people can handle or understand Indian people unless they are called Eric or Chad?

Next Indian on prime time should be named Vijay. Or Sandeep. Make it real.

Art Is Not A Camel: The Perils of Creation By Committee

2007-04-08T00:19:00.000-04:00

I've posted before about my man-love for Aaron Sorkin, the author of some of the best film and television work in the past 15 years. I was recently at a party talking about his recent show, Studio 60, when a fellow student seemed surprised that I liked the show. "It gets such bad ratings." I simply shot back "That just means a lot of people don't watch it, not that it isn't good." It seems so simple, but people forget it--television ratings and box office receipts are poor prisms by which to judge the quality of film and television art. I've never understood this metric, and Sorkin seems to agree. In an interview he gave to Charlie Rose in 2003, after quitting his show "The West Wing", he noted that the ratings of shows and box office figures of movies are regularly printed in the arts sections of newspapers. This is a oddity, because the ratings of a show are not really the purview of the arts section, which should be telling readers what the show is about and offering a commentary on the writing, direction, and story. The ratings, while supremely important to the multi-billion dollar companies that air the shows, are of no logical consequence to viewers. In fact, Sorkin asks if it is even more insidious that than--mentioning the ratings is in fact a corrosive factor. The implication of praising a show for having high ratings is that a program should be watched because other people watch it, and that you should avoid programs that nobody else is tuning in to see. This acts a powerful and dangerous self-fulfilling prophesy, as positive press coverage for a ratings success fosters more of it, and lambasting a show for its low ratings is the rough equivalent of beheading a prisoner already on his knees. I understand that there is fun to be had in a show being part of a larger public consciousness, but as a journalistic practice for newspapers it encourages a bizarre herd-mentality. The quality of a show, its story telling and acting, are not diminished by low ratings. And even more frightening, an obsessive tracking of it in the press discourages the networks who pay to produce these shows from creating bold and original programming. They instead spiral into efforts to endlessly replicate previous hit shows, in so doing homogenizing all television, and greatness rarely springs from monotony.

Today, I saw the movie "The TV Set", a savage and wicked satire of network television by Jake Kasdan, one of the writers of NBC's critically acclaimed but criminally unpopular "Freaks and Geeks." I think everyone who watches, and often laments, American television should see this film if only to see how the ceaseless quest for ratings leads to a paralyzing fear of interesting and thoughtful art. Sigourney Weaver plays the ass-kicking network president who says things "Originality scares me, you don't want to be too original" and "We've done the research, and suicide is depressing to, like, 82% of everybody." Her mindset is sadly typical in the landscape of television. The film is also brilliant in its depiction of how good drama or comedy has its edges blunted and its wit dulled by a series of small compromises instead of tectonic shifts--all in an effort make the final product a little more palatable to the under-35 demo, a little more appealing to suburban women in Missouri. If you make enough changes to please enough people, the resulting watered down soup pleases nobody--the ultimate moral of this film. David Duchovny plays the writer of a pilot being produced--a black comedy about the return of the prodigal son to his hometown after his brother's suicide. A desire to finally see his show made coupled with financial pressures lead Duchovny to acquiesce to his project's death by a thousand cuts. The final product is a barely recognizable whithered husk of its former self. This movie should be seen by as many people as possible as a look at how bad television is extracted from good television, and as an inspiration against the forces of compromise, mediocrity, and resignation. It is a good movie, regardless of its box office numbers.

(I suggest you watch the Sorkin interview on google video, you can find it by searching "aaron sorkin charlie rose" and click the link for Sorkin and Anthony Zuiker)

Sometimes, it's not even a shot away

2007-03-31T00:56:00.000-04:00

This morning, I finished watching a movie I started about 3 months ago, Layer Cake, starring a pre-bond Daniel Craig. I can say it was one of the best gangster movies I've seen in a long time. London crime films are very satisfying, and psychologically gratifying to me, because London never strikes me as a crime city. Living there for a semester, I tended to view everything through rose colored glasses. I was besotted with everything I saw, and it probably didn't hurt that I am naturally drawn to the posh, elegant areas of the city and didn't hang out at The Blind Beggar or other underworld establishments. I lived between Hyde Park and Regents Park for god's sake. However, there has always been a thriving gangster culture in London, and you would be mistaken to believe that British gangsters are like an episode of Mr. Bean Goes to the Mafia. They are hard-bitten and control illicit industries with iron fists, even if they are sheathed in velvet. Never is this more clear than in Layer Cake, which has been praised for its realistic portrayal of drug dealing specifically and of crime syndicates in London generally. It is an very complex and engaging film that is only marred, albeit slightly, by the wholly needless presence of Sienna Miller. Miller plays a floozy of indeterminate purpose who catches the eye of Craig's unnamed character. Her appearances on screen serve chiefly to allow the film's producers to provide a paper thin pretext to have Craig expose his pectorals to the audience, and in so doing mesmerize every women (and most men) in an 8 mile radius. Even heterosexual men like myself cannot deny his magnetism that draws both on physical other-worldliness and the raw confidence he portrays--GQ does pieces on "man crushes" because of men like Daniel Craig. To describe the film's plot would risk giving something away, because it twists like an Italian Formula 1 course, but you should see it (but not with your girlfriend if you want to stay together).

This evening, I also watched the highlights of my other new favorite gangster film, The Departed. I've already written about this movie back in October, when I saw it, but I was reminded today how much Martin Scorsese loves the song "Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones. It features in Goodfellas, Casino, and at least twice in The Departed. The reason I noticed it especially here was because it is also featured in one of Miller and Craig's more amorous moments in Layer Cake. Something about this song attracts gangster filmmakers, good movies, or it is just a fortuitous confluence of events for fans of the song like me. I'm not going to look too deeply into it, because if you learn nothing from Layer Cake and The Departed, now this--If you go looking for trouble, you're sure as hell going to find it.

El Mundo Nuevo

2007-03-01T01:02:00.000-05:00

Next week, I will be taking a vacation with my roommates to La Republica Dominicana for a seven day, six night tour of mayhem and debauchery. I never liked when travel advertisements do that thing where they compartmentalize the trip--it seems weird to me. But the real point is that I will be sitting in warm climates, relaxing with my friends, and exploring a native culture.

If I were not confident that my readers already knew that I am an enormous nerd, I would feel self-conscious about revealing my excitement at visiting one of the places that Christopher Columbus established as a settlement. As a corollary, I think if you are not enthused at that idea, you have either no appreciation for history or you're comatose. Either way, you would not make a good travel companion. I happen to think Columbus was a megalomaniac and his actions contributed to the deaths of thousands of indigenous people, but he is indisputably significant, and his voyages are worth knowing about, and the notion that I will be standing on land that was "The New World" makes me want to give someone a blanket of small pox. I'm kidding, I don't even think they make those anymore. After that we'll be luxuriating in a resort and enjoying all the trappings of wealthy foreigners. I'll be doing my best to pump money into the island at an alarming rate, as I'm fairly confident that the spending shock that will ensue upon our arrival will push so much money into the economy that we'll cause huge inflationary pressure that could ultimately destabilize the regime. That's how hard I'll be throwing down.

After we leave, you might want to look into the Dominican Republic--we'll make it cheap for you.

Best Artist To Use The Word Colostomy In Her Lyrics

2007-02-17T01:15:00.001-05:00

Lily Allen is one of the latest iterations of Myspace popstars, but unlike artists like Cassie, Allen is pretty good. I know hipsters that read this will castigate me for coming so late to the party, but I would defend myself by saying that I've actually been listening to Lily Allen since the summer of 2006. When I was in London last spring, I heard rumblings of her, and because she's certainly not shy of making her views on other artists known the press likes to comment on her to see what scathing remarks she'll make about Kylie, Bob Geldoff, or cocaine. I really like how incredibly off-the-cuff she is, and I especially like that she doesn't change her behavior after getting into "trouble" for it. (I put trouble in quotes because being rebuked by catty journalists is a badge of honor for artists). If you read her interviews or watch her on telly, you'll realize that she's a brassy chick--I dig it. If I had any quibble with her it would be that she acts like chav when she's really from a rich family and went to Bedales. No shame in being rich, Lily--especially if you keep singing amazing parodies (that even work as stand alone songs) like Window Shopper. I've listened to this song about 47 times today, and I love it more each time, especially because the song it parodies is an absolutely awful Fifty Cent tune.

Lily Allen, I hope you forgive me for lending you my support, as it will make you seem a lot less cool and indie.

Après moi, le déluge.

Apathy meets Shamelessness

2007-02-13T22:40:00.001-05:00

I saw an advertisement for the movie School for Scoundrels that had the tagline "Bad Santa meets Napoleon Dynamite." This seems like the absolute laziest way to market a film--to pick two movies that the film's lead actors starred in and describe their new movie as a hybrid of the previous two. It really bothered me that some marketing or studio exec flipped that off in 15 seconds and then went to Balthazar for an expensed account lunch.

Although it would be a pretty sweet gig if I could get it.

But Not Tired of Irony.

2007-02-13T13:16:00.000-05:00

Mitt Romney declares his candidacy for President in Michigan, proclaiming "We are weary of the bickering and bombast, we’re fatigued by the posturing and self-promotion." This is a well-intentioned and widely held belief, but it is somewhat undercut by the image of Romney bemoaning self-promotion while standing over a plaque emblazoned with MittRomney.com

You couldn't make it funnier if you workshopped it for a month.

The Calming Effects of Dyer

2007-02-12T00:06:00.001-05:00

A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

That is from John Dyer's poem Grongar Hill. I think it is a beautiful quote that more people should view their lives through. It sounds fatalistic to some, but I rather like the idea that little of what I do matters in the grand scheme of time and the universe. In a thousand years from now, if I am not remembered or venerated, I would not be bothered. I am content to carve out meaning for my life in the small sphere where it exists, and do not require some larger understanding of what it all means and why we're all here. I don't know precisely why I was thinking of all this, but it struck me today as I studied for an exam.

I remember watching an interview with biologist and anti-theist Richard Dawkins, and he was asked by an Irish Catholic audience member if (loosely paraphrased) 'there is no God and no meaning or purpose to the universe, isn't that horribly depressing?' Dawkins countered that if there is no design or purpose to our existence on this planet, it is in fact liberating, because now we can all create our own purpose--pursue our own plans or goals and dreams, and not have to work towards some determined endgame. It is this interview that I probably had in mind when I came across Dyer's quote again today, because it says that being rich and powerful is transient. I regard ephemeral wealth and power as a pursuit unworthy of serious effort once the wealth surpasses the scope of modest comforts like comfortable chairs and nice shoes.

I look forward to deciding on my purpose and attacking it with gusto, but now I am going to sleep. For all I know, my purpose may be to sleep and browse the Internet to absorb random and spurious trivia. I hope it is that, because I'm quite good at that as we speak.

Trader Joe for America 2008

2007-02-01T01:08:00.001-05:00

There is currently only one Trader Joe's grocer in Manhattan, and it happens to be close enough to me that I can visit it almost anytime that I want. Up until a year ago, Whole Foods dominated this neighborhood's demand for food and pretension, but Trader Joe's has them beaten by a country mile. Customers are spilling out of this store at all hours of the day and night, so much so that when I tried to get the inside dope and asked a cashier when the best time to do my shopping would be, he shot me a look that suggested that he thought he was dealing with a newbie--an arriviste. I said, "You know, when is prime time, so I can avoid it?" He simply said, "It's prime time from open to close, baby." Normally I don't like being called baby by guys named Fabrice who I've just met, but here it felt appropriate.

Fabrice was right though. I've switched it up in every permutation I can imagine, and I can almost never outsmart the beast. TJ's is packed to the gills constantly, but they've manged to stay one step ahead of this curve. If you get on the express line, which I always do because shopping for more than 12 items at a time is a bit much to carry, you can shop from the line. Basically, you call out items you'd like (Tangerine juice, goat cheese, flaxseed oil) and a peon brings it to you. It keeps the store from being congested, and the lines move remarkably fast. The store has something like 20 registers, and they turn these cats out like nobody's business. Actually, to be more accurate it is Joe's business. The line can snake to the doors, and you won't be there more than 15-20 minutes. This post is not a rant or anything, it is more of a valentine to the logisitical genius that is Trader Joe's.

Congratulations on the Manhattan store's stunning profitability. Lord know's you've earned it Joe/Jacques/Giotto.

The Unasked Questions

2007-01-31T01:50:00.001-05:00

This blog post is to remind those who have stumbled upon this page that I'm still here. College classes are doing their level best to bury me, but I'm quite indomitable. Or indefatigable. I'm not really sure what either of those words mean, but they have a certain strong quality about them, so I'm just going to let it hang out there, and hope you've skipped this part of the post.

This new program for Mozilla called 'Performancing' is quite nice. It lets me blog from any page--no need to log in to Blogger. It also contains some nice features which I'll have to explore more fully in the future.

Rich and I spent a good amount of time tonight watching "To Catch A Predator" on NBC. It is a show that certainly stirs debate. Obviously, men who prey on children need prison or psychiatric help, and there is untold good to be had by removing them from our streets. On the other hand, when watching the show you notice that the men are always charged with attempting a lewd act with a minor. Is there no stronger charge that can be leveled against them? If so, why isn't it being used? And if not, does that mean that what these men are doing doesn't provide enough evidence to warrant more serious penalties? How many of these men are convicted of the charges they're arrested on? I'd like more data on the results of this show.

What is beyond dispute is the abject absurdity that is the program's host, Chris Hansen. The man looks like the captain of the lacrosse team who is pretending to be a journalist. He is far to coiffed and tanned to be a journalist, as it suggests he spends the preponderance of his time doing pilates rather than chasing down leads, burning up the phone lines, writing blistering copy, and other newsroom movie cliches. I would be rather surprised to find the man speaking without a script. His chief qualification for being a television personality is an undying and ceaseless quest to tell you [the predator and the viewer at home] that he is Chris Hansen, from Dateline NBC. Even when the man in the sting has confessed that he recognizes our host, and even correctly identifies the program, Blonde-bot 4000 looks dazed and bleats out "I'm Chris Hansen, from Dateline NBC." Only then does the look of smugness and assurance wash back to his face, knowing that he didn't go off-book for too long and that he's back in his comfort zone.

The show, while controversial in many ways, is worth watching if only to see if Hansen short circuits at the prospect of not audibly identfying himself to a camera. Make some popcorn and check it out.

The Real Politik World

2007-01-22T15:25:00.000-05:00

This is the best NY Times article I've read in a long time, as it reinforces something I've long hoped for, which is that politicians are more like regular people then we might have guessed. The very notion of 2 US Senators, powerful ones at that, and two Representatives living in one house during the work week is inherently hilarious. Throw in the fact that they fight about cereal and making the bed, and you've got the Odd Couple, if Felix and Oscar weren't a photographer and sports writer but instead voted on federal appropriations bills. I was also heartened with the evidence that these guys can be funny, and are certainly funnier than I imagined senators and congressmen were. Read it, you'll like it. Or not, what do I care?

The title might be a bit obvious, but sometimes we sacrifice creativity for the easy reference. We can't be brilliant all the time. (Note: In the previous sentence, the author employed the royal 'we.')

Never Mind The Why and Wherefore

2007-01-18T00:47:00.000-05:00

I've been back at school for a few days now, and already my professors have this absurd notion that they can assign me reading to do. I had no idea they held such authority. I am researching the recourse I have to flatly refuse to do such work, but my guess would be that none exists.

After a streak of incredible, logic defying luck similar to that which explains the success of Sarah Jessica Parker, winter has arrived in Manhattan. We had it so good for so long, that when it made its presence felt on Tuesday, it was very much like getting smacked in the face by the icy hand of reality. To be fair, we were living in a fantasy world where a New York January involved 67 degree weather, ice cream vendors and flip flops. It was like living in Los Angeles; not something that anyone should find out they've done overnight. In a way, it is nice to see cold weather heralding the change of the seasons as it confirms that all is right with the world. But in another much larger and more real way it is not nice at all because we had very pleasant weather and now I'm living in frozen hellscape where my eyebrows freeze and are in danger of being broken off. It hardly seems fair.

And if that weren't enough, my kitchen cupboards are entirely bereft of tea. I've had to content myself with drinking water before writing this. That's no good for anyone. I'm a huge ponce, and I need tea before I sleep otherwise I feel like a poor person. Hoping against hope that I remember to pick some up tomorrow.

If you've defied my orders to watch the videos for Brothers in Arms, you've no excuse. The links are in the previous post. Watch them both, as they contextualize each other. Or some other word that makes sense in that sentence.

It Ain't Keats, But It Hits As Hard

2007-01-12T00:08:00.000-05:00

I usually hate it when people post song lyrics in their e-mail or instant messages. Especially because most people pick terrible songs, like Dave Matthews or Spice Girls. However, I will break this normally firm rule in favor of the song "Brothers in Arms" by Dire Straits. Indeed, in this case I have done more than post lyrics, I've put up a link to the video, because I am a hypocrite and this song is one of the few that can make me emotional in any sense. I am ordinarily a robot about these kinds of things, but when I hear those last words, it chokes me up. If you really want to see craftsmanship at its finest, Aaron Sorkin used it in the season two finale of The West Wing, where the President has to admit that he covered up his MS and announce his intentions to seek a second term. It's quite a stirring scene, one of the best written by a man who has written so many great scenes. Watching the President's senior advisers walk through the West Wing of the White House together, marching beside a man who has given them so much, whom they view as a father, it recalls one of Sorkin's central themes in his work: the office as a family. These men and women are less coworkers are really are brothers in arms. This is that rarest of songs that can pull a sad string in me. If you watch that West Wing scene or hear this song, and upon reaching those last lines you don't feel that sense of melancholy or regret over the tragic inevitability of things like war or those who sacrifice so much for so few, then you're a cynic and you've lost that empathy that makes living wonderful. I've long since abandoned the point of being over the top, and I know it isn't cool to be so moved by a Dire Straits song, but I am. Sue me.

Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

Urbane Ill Manners

2007-01-09T18:02:00.001-05:00

As regular, medium, or grande readers of my blog may know, I spend a good amount of time developing ways to confuse or frustrate people I encounter in new social situations. I've previously described my penchant for inventing new words and using them in conversations. That works pretty well a lot of the time, but I find it can be too simple. I have been trying out an updated, and probably a bit meaner, version of this which I call "Name Drop"

Don't be fooled by the title, it has nothing to do with mentioning famous people I know, mostly because I don't know many famous people. Name Dropping here refers to repeatedly forgetting someone's name after recently being introduced to them, or in a more advanced form consistently replacing it with some (potentially absurd) substitute. This tends to provoke more of a reaction from women than it does from men, for reasons I couldn't prove but might be able to guess. Not very long ago I met a guy named Julius (unlikely, but it's true) and over the course of that evening I called him 'Barry', 'David' and 'Lars', and each time he would correct me by simply pointing at his chest and saying "Julius", which made me wonder if only his torso were named Julius and the rest of him was actually called "Lars". On the same night, I was introduced to a woman named Sandy. Now, I say woman, but she was probably about 19, and therefore on that cusp of questionable nomenclature. I'll use the term woman for no reason other than executive decision. Sandy is not a name I encounter often, but this only made the game more fun. In her case, I went as exotic as I could with the names. I pulled out a 'Greta', a risky move because Sandy was Asian and might realize that the fact I picked something so patently Swedish means I was playing some game. Fortunately, that didn't occur to her as she merely said in a very earnest way, "No, I'm Sandy. We met half an hour ago." I apologized profusely and moved away, pretending I saw someone I recognized. Later in the night, I came up to Sandy and said, "Hey Diane, we're about to leave if you want to come with us." As soon as the words escaped my lips, I wondered if this game might genuinely hurt her feelings. I doubted it, because my name has been mangled like it went through a combine harvester so many times in my life that I don't take it seriously, and I honestly don't believe someone being bad with names is some sort of character flaw, although I hear people confess it to me as though it were a meth addiction. But Sandy was not even mad, more confused, bemused, amused, but not used. She asked me, "Why do you keep messing up my name? It's Sandy." I was slightly shocked. Nobody ever has questioned me on this before, probably they just assume that I'm bad with names. But I've also built safeguards against through some basic strategic guidelines. It's a crucial element of the game to apologize sincerely after every "strike" to make sure there are no hard feelings. If you sense they're a bit miffed, you have to fly back to base camp before you decide to engage another target. Sandy gave me no impression that she found my antics anything but a minor annoyance, but now she asked me a question without anger, but genuine curiousity. Is it possible that I made her feel bad by implying that she wasn't important enough to remmeber? I couldn't just go on like this, treating people I've just met as playthings and making them doubt their worth as a human. I realized that it was probably best to be honest with her and tell her the truth, a rare moment of honesty and a chance for personal growth.

Luckily for me, I fought that instinct off and instead created some convoluted and thoroughly unbelievable story about how I can't remember names because as a child I ate too many carrots and they release some protease inhibitor that makes it hard for me to recognize and recall the names of objects or people. I told her that in restaurants this makes it hard for me to ask for simple things like "bread" because I first go through a minute of calling it "chimpanzee" and "tidal estuary". Amazingly, Sandy found this to be plausible enough to convince me that I got away with it. Sucker.

But as I think about it now, I can't really say why I play these games. Mostly, it's because they're fun, but also because I have a strange desire to stir things up and push, in a very small way, the boundries of social behavior. It's probably why I also like "Curb Your Enthusiasm" or Oscar Wilde and other comedies of manners. Manners are weird things, and all social conventions should be prodded and poked from time to time to see if they stand up or collapse like some popsicle stick structure that eight year olds build. I also secretly wonder what I would do if somebody snapped at me or cried because I called her 'Inga' instead of Jennifer. It would be a new and interesting social situation, one that I wouldn't feel that I've been in before. It would probably force me to be quick on my feet and diffuse a tense situation with humor, two things I love to do. I also derive secret but strong thrills from the feeling that I'm getting away with something, and the idea that I can purposely call someone by the wrong name or make up a word like "omnisentatious" and use it excites me in a very odd way. I don't really plan to stop, but I need a new way to amuse myself while playing with strangers. If you have any ideas, let me know. Keep in mind that I live in Manhattan, and as such have an endless supply of anonymous clumps lurching around the streets just waiting for me to vex them. Just throwing it out there.

Heliocentricism Is A Subject Of Debate

2007-01-02T00:34:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I posted, and while there is no good reason for it, you bloody scavengers get all this delicious content for free. In light of this, how about we just appreciate what we have and not emptily pine for the what may be?

New Year, same shit. The celebration of New Year's Eve is an odd construct, but an accepted one. I'm going to digress from my normal curmudgeonly style here, as you probably expected me to say "The celebration of the New Year is completely arbitrary and pointless, and we might as well just assign ourselves a day at random and at the stroke of midnight shove our fingers up our noses." I mean, that's sort of true. The New Year as we see it is not, in any cosmic sense, a new year. It's just a year since the last time we celebrated. Of course, a good party is always something to look forward to, but it's a bit strange to be told "December 31st is designated as a party night. You may all go home, get drunk with your friends, count backwards from 10, shout all at the same time and kiss the person next to you. But dammit, you better be here bright and early on January 2nd." Why couldn't we do that (the gathering and fun bit) whenever we wanted? It's a bizarre sort of externally imposed and rigidly timed joy. At 12:00:01, New Year's Day is just another day. For one second, we are permitted to have fun. I might be the only one, but it strikes me as a tad Orwellian. Maybe if the party lasted a bit longer, I wouldn't mind it so much. And this wasn't as much of a digression as initially advertised, so chew on that.

I also don't like New Year's Resolutions as a premise, as they rely on the supposition that there is something wrong with me and that I need to change. I don't feel that the alternative has been fully interrogated and disproved: that it is I who should remain at stasis and the world should adapt accordingly, a Me-centric universe wherein all other universal entities revolve about me as I clap and affix myself with a knowing grin. It seems a lot more likely than me making even the humblest of alterations to my heretofore demonstrably infallible existence.

If I were to turn the resolution lens at you, the audience, I would resolve for you to listen to me and my multifarious, albeit capricious, recommendations. That starts here, where I proclaim Liverpool band 'The Coral' a group to whom you would be wise to listen. Introduce yourself to the song 'Dreaming of You.' Get on that, would you?

Miss USA--They're just like US

2006-12-17T01:04:00.001-05:00

Donald Trump, an uncontrolled fit of morality, is threatening to strip Miss USA of her crown after allegations of underage drinking and bad behaviour. If we can move past the unfortunate word choice of "stripping" in conjunction with a beauty queen, I think we can move to the larger issue of pretty brats with full throated indifference. Beautiful people are allowed to be badly behaved, and in the case of young women, we should almost expect it. After all, if they don't have wild times as youngsters, what can they reflect on as they rot away in old age homes, forgotten by all but a few perverts? All these women have is their youth and looks, and when those inevitably crumble to dust they should be able to remember the halcyon days and be able to say "I did tequila shots at Marquee and fell face first into Janet Jackson." I mean, it isn't as though Miss USA has any actual responsibilites besides wearing a silly tiara and not falling down on television, so who cares if she get a bit sloshed in the week before her 21st?

Clearly, Lark-Marie Anton, the spokeswoman with the unenviable position of caring about these things, does. She is the one tasked with spouting platitudes like "Miss USA is a role model." To whom? I imagine some of the past "winners" are very nice and probably genuinely care about buying everyone in the world a Beanie Baby or something, but I've never seen Miss USA speak about Darfur, Tibet or the Kyoto Protocol. In fact, I don't have even the faintest idea what being Miss USA entails on a daily basis. I do think the very idea that we should reward people explicitly for how they look is a bad message for young women, who should be encouraged to develop brains and personalities that don't fit into 30 second sound bites. How can we so casually accept the practice of parading young girls on a stage to be ogled at, ranked and rewarded? I don't get it, but I do think that Donald Trump's indignation is hilarious, considering that he continues to get older and uglier while his wives get younger and prettier.

The whole things disgusts and amuses me.

Apathy is so cool, or whatever

2006-12-10T18:31:00.000-05:00

The title is obvious, and not really all that funny, but it's the best description of my state of mind.

In this--my third year of college--I simply cannot be arsed with nerves or anxiety about exams and school work. I don't have the fear in me anymore. I've become pretty good at dialing it in and getting what I need done at the time it needs to be done. And I do it pretty well. So when I sit down and crank out an economics problem set in an hour and get 100% on it, you should know it isn't luck, but the workings of a man brilliant beyond the bounds of the natural order.

Not caring about things is as liberating as you would imagine, as long as you commit to it. You can't worry about how nonchalant you are, you just have to be it. It is a great feeling to walk out of an exam you didn't really worry about and be secure with the knowledge that you completely drilled it. Success is a necessary component of insouciant living, and I'm doing it to a T.

College is about change

2006-12-06T00:00:00.000-05:00

I am slowly but surely lurching through my final exams and assignments. It's been a tough slog, I don't mind telling you. Today was the first day I wasn't working like a maniac, but that's because I turned out a stellar final paper over the weekend for a class tomorrow and gave myself breathing room. I do this because I am both extraordinarily talented and averse to all nighters. I have pulled only one so far in college; freshman year for my Russian history class. I had to write two 5 page papers, an output I consider laughable now, and I researched and wrote from about 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. And then I went to a deli on University Place and saw about three students I knew getting breakfast after writing all nighters. It was what I imagined college would be like--primitive socialist accumulation and poppy seed bagels living side by side.

These days, I am usually able to finish assignments a day from the due date, which gives me time to edit the paper or give it to someone else. Before, my enormous ego and unshakable faith in my abilities wouldn't let me, but then I continued to get papers back with embarrassing typos and sentence construction at which even Borat would shake his head. I also have a lot of problem sets and math based exams, which doesn't really lend itself to peer review, or what professors would call "cheating." But here I am, putting together a presentation on Alexandre Dumas for Thursday in between cracking wise with my roommates. It's just what I imagined college to be.

How do you even ignite bones?

2006-11-28T21:42:00.000-05:00

Libraries are dark and somber places by their nature, and never more so than during finals time. Here at NYU, the crunch begins immediately after Thanksgiving. Students of all stripes--Finance, History, Film, Nursing--are thrown headfirst into mountains of papers and a seemingly endless gauntlet of exams. In many ways I am exceptional, but in this arena I am not. I am faced with a daunting array of exercises designed only to needle me and break my will. Unfortunately for my exams, I am made of stronger stuff than candy and marshmallow.

I was feeling slightly uneasy about one of my assignments when I was taking the train back to Manhattan on Sunday, but the strangest thing put me at ease: the song "Fix You" by Coldplay. I'm not what you would call a big Coldplay fan, but I do like what they stand for--namely being British, posh, stylish, making relaxing music and marrying film stars. I also like that Chris Martin is friends with Ricky Gervais and has the ability to make fun of himself. I think you should listen to the song "Fix You" while walking down the street of a major city at night. It feels like the way the song was meant to be picturized, and if you're anything like me, a steady wave of calm will wash over you and bathe you in its peace. If I subscribed to this sort of thing, I would say it was an almost religious experience. I can't articulate how it felt, but I can say I wouldn't mind if it happened again.

Family Time Isn't Just for Families

2006-11-15T00:39:00.000-05:00

Other than my actual family, my roommates are the only people I've lived with for extended periods of time. You'd think that five guys living together would be a hassle, but I love it. They are a reasonable approximation of a family, and Tuesday night is family night. This is when we usually gather in Matt and Jeritt's room and shoot the shit for an hour or two. If I tried to list the topics we cover, it would make most gentleman and a lot of truckers blush, but it is an invaluable component of the roommate experience. I remember being a freshman and wondering how I could keep a sliver of privacy while still living with so many people. The answer is you don't. In order to fully embrace cohabitation, you must be willing to be a masochist--namely be made fun of and have your self-esteem turned inside out regularly. Men interact by constantly ragging on each other, and it is the truest form of bonding we have. Any misstep you ever make will be frozen in time, and repeated ad infinitum in front of your parents, girlfriends, and guests. It is the unending quest of your roommates to shame you in new and innovative ways every day. It is incumbent on you to treat them in the same way. Women do not understand this--girls pretend to like their friends in public and hate each other in private, while Men act like they hate their friends in public and continue to say mean things in private. Having roommates who are incredibly quick and sharp makes it even harder to get away with doing/saying anything wrong or exhibiting weakness. It is much like sharks--we attack at the merest hint of vulnerability. It sounds cruel and impossibly inhuman, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Except Ramirez: I'd trade him for a 5-pack of Trident.

Master of the House?

2006-11-08T00:28:00.000-05:00

It seems that Democrats have taken a majority in the House of Representatives. This excites me, not because I think the Democrats are going to do a particularly good job, but because I like drama and upheaval at periodic intervals. Also, I like the idea of another party in control of one of the chambers in government. It holds the possibility of fiscal discipline and the hope of a generation of new ideas. That would make me happy--but it will probably be another two years of idiotic name calling and childish grandstanding.

Can't wait.

Borat '08

2006-11-04T11:37:00.000-05:00

I cannot say anything about Borat that hasn't already been said in any of the glowing reviews who are falling over themselves to say how great it is. I will say only this: I have been to hundreds of hilarious movies, but I have never been in a place where so many people have sustained so much laughter for so long. The theater of jaded downtown New Yorkers squealed with delight at the sheer absurdity of it all in a bizarre unison--it was an experience I will not soon forget. See this movie. Full title--Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

You should also listen to the song "Circus on the Moon" by Bruce Hornsby. I heard it on Pandora, and it's the kind of song that you should listen to it while walking alone on a brisk fall morning. You'll feel like you're in a TV show. A good one.

Utilitarian to the Brutal End

2006-10-27T01:17:00.000-04:00

Today I had what could be considered a quintessentially New York moment. It pains me to use that phrase, as I mostly associate it with girls in my high school who saw Rent 500 times and thought their lives were "just like" Sex and the City--excepting of course the relationships, setting, daily habits, general intelligence of surrounding people and income levels--but besides that, they were sooo Carrie. Be that as it may, I can think of no way to describe it, and it's 1:30 in the morning and I have no desire to ponder it further.

It's rather well accepted, even by those that don't live here, that New Yorkers are surly and self-centered. I don't think it's true, but I must plead guilty to one count of New Yorkdom in that I generally don't want to make small talk with someone I am buying a paper or V8 Splash from. My main concern here is speed, as I am a busy man with an expensive datebook. Sometimes I don't even stop--pick up the Times and drop a dollar bill in one elegant, hurried motion. But today I was heading back downtown after meeting a friend for dinner on the Upper East side. Subway stations tend to reflect their neighborhood, so this one was a bit nicer, and had multiple newsstands. As it was late, and trains are about as frequent as good Fergie songs, I was having a bit of a browse. None of the magazines really caught my fancy, but subway stations are about as hot as a frat party at Florida State, so I bought a Diet Coke from the laughably small freezer. I was listening to my iPod, as I almost always am when I walk anywhere, so I just sort of lifted the can to his eye line and looked at the shopkeeper. He met my gaze, and rather than say anything, just held up his index finger, so as to indicate that it was $1. I paid, and walked down the platform.

It was a wordless commercial transaction, but as the shopkeeper was Indian, it is conceivable that we could have conducted it in English or Hindi (I would guess). Instead, we chose the unofficial language of New York--a dialect of silent efficiency tinged with quiet appreciation. I've become quite fluent in it, and when it's working, it's fantastic.

Babies are the new black

2006-10-23T10:07:00.000-04:00

After reading this link online, I was pretty shocked. I don't know if it is totally true, but let's just assume it is because it makes for a funny and depressing story at the same time. This trend of babies as a statement of compassion worries me. I feel Angelina Jolie genuinely cares for her children--both adopted and birthed--and that she wanted to give them better lives. At the same time, my deep and abiding mistrust of all things Madonna tells me that she realized how much goodwill Angelina was getting and decided "I can be a trendy Mom too!" The way Madonna's adoption was publicized made me feel like she called a couple of newspapers from her diamond cell phone and told them she was doing this, which cheapens the whole thing a bit. The reasons to adopt a child is if he/she is unsafe or not being provided with food, water, and shelter, not to exercise your own vanity and reveal the magnificent depths of the ocean that is your narcissism. The money Madonna is lavishly and pointlessly spending on this baby could provide the village he hails from with food and shelter for thousands. An electric car? For a baby? What the hell is going on here?

Too Many Good Men

2006-10-14T17:01:00.000-04:00

It's long been a source of embarrassment for me that I don't own the movie "A Few Good Men", because I've seen it somewhere on the order of 12,563,235 times. The first time, I was about 11 or 12 years old and I don't think I had the faintest idea what was going on. I was just responding to a few snippets of funny dialogue and the intensity of the scenes. Now, as a news addict and ardent evangeliser of Aaron Sorkin, I appreciate the film in so many ways. It really shaped how I look at the military and the way they conduct themselves, because let's face facts--we need them on that wall. This was his first big success--the play he wrote that was turned into this movie, and I firmly believe it is one of the best movies I've ever seen.

Even my wholehearted efforts to purchase the DVD are thwarted at every turn, as I can almost never find it in stores. Either it has been out for so long their is no space for it on the shelf and it has been squeezed by the likes of the insipid trash that is Nanny 911, or it is so staggeringly popular that it is constantly out of stock. But now, thanks to the wonder of the Internet, I need not agonize over the glaring omission of this film in my collection. Instead, I can just watch the best scene of the movie on YouTube over and over until my eyes fall out of my skull and everyone ignores me for fear that I'll tell them (again) that this scene is so masterfully written that it practically defies the natural order of our great and glorious universe.

I'm off to see if I can find YouTube clips of "The American President." If I have, you'll be among the first to know.

A Brave New World

2006-10-11T00:34:00.000-04:00

Blogger has given me a new version, but I am not clear on what any of the new features mean or if they are even useful. Despite this, I dutifully updated because when it comes to Google, I try all of their products and am a loyal foot soldier in their army.

I saw The Departed this past weekend, and like every review you've read, it was awesome. I loved the biopics Marty, but I'm glad we're back in gangland. This movie is in many ways a return to form for all involved. It marks a return to crime drama for Scorsese, Jack Nicholson's is playing twisted evildoers again, and the reemergence of the long dormant, but much missed Boston accents of Matt Damon and Mark Wahlberg. Martin Sheen has one too, but I never really associated him with Boston, but rather with idealized Democratic Presidents. Damon and Wahlberg's accents are, in a word, resplendent. DiCaprio's intensity is bursting in every frame--he looks as though he is constantly about to snap, but I must say that Alec Baldwin's humor and Mark Wahlberg's savagely hilarious profanity were underrated aspects. William Monahan's insults recall a Mamet-like ferocity that makes me wish I liked my friends a little bit less, if only to allow me to obliterate them as seen on screen.

I have been helping my friend Brady with a script that he's writing, which allows me to see how many "Arrested Development" and "The Office" style awkward moments I can cram into a 10-12 page screenplay. The answer is a lot, but I really believe Brady has written a fantastic script. I was very interested to see how the writing process works for the screen, as it seems to be heavily predicated on showing the drafts to as many people as possible, gathering as many suggestions on pacing, joke placement and length, fears of repetition, balance of characters, etc., and distilling them all while maintaining the idea of the piece. It is a task I do not envy, and was glad to help in any way I can while maximizing the amount of credit I will receive from it.

Co-writer credit. I'd like my name in Helvetica in the credits Brady. It has a quiet elegance.

The Devil, I Know

2006-10-03T17:40:00.000-04:00

Despite my own deep protests, I don't believe I failed the accounting test I took this morning. I had been convinced, completely convinced, that I would--but after finishing it, that doesn't seem likely. Deep and abiding pessimism pays off, it would seem.

I am going to try and write a story (not a very good one) about an incredibly good looking man who is very lonely. I've started 500 stories in the past 3 years, and they are all populated by variations on a few character traits: lonely guy, rich guy, rich lonely guy. I only ever think to write about men--sad, lonely rich men--because I don't imagine I could convincingly write in a woman's voice. The way women think is entirely aloof to me. I've had women tell me stories wherein they are walking me through a decision or a conflict they've had, and their reasoning is something I could never have deduced given 1,000 years and a map. I suppose that is why when I am scouring for fiction books, I never think to read one written by a woman. In fact, just thinking about it right now, I can count very few women authors I even like--Harper Lee is good, but that's all that comes to mind. It isn't that I believe women to be inferior writers, I just don't gravitate toward their work. I don't think women and I share a sense of humor--mine is far to dark for most polite society. If I find a female who loves Ricky Gervais/Stephen Merchant, Arrested Development, Aaron Sorkin, Oscar Wilde, Brendan Behan, and/or Steve Coogan, I'll read her book tonight. Or quite possibly marry her. That's really up to her.

Always a schmaltzy ballad writer to me

2006-09-25T21:47:00.000-04:00

Billy Joel is a fine performer and singer, and I don't think I am going out on any sort of limb when I say that. He is universally popular, I think he is one of only a few artists to go Titanium (1 billion albums sold). His music is good, but I've consistently found him to be something of a lazy songwriter. His lyrics are often a narrative, but sometimes they are silly and sappy in a pointless way. My most damning example is "Always a woman to me". On first glance, the lyrics are evocative of a lost love, but they are really just about incredibly mean woman. Of course, I can't expect Joel to write horrid women the way Fitzgerald does, but come on Billy. If only you could make us understand why you like this ice queen. To borrow a phrase, she appears to have no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

I think this entry peaked with the title. This is what happens when you rush to finish before Studio 60 starts. I will not apologize.

Sorkin on crack is still better than 99% of Hollywood

2006-09-23T01:27:00.000-04:00

Studio 60's first episode pulled down fine ratings, and it is already being declared a hit, which in television is a self-fulfilling prophesy. As long as people have decided your show is a hit, it will stay on no matter how bad it is (Yes, Dear--I'm looking at you.)

The fact of the matter is Aaron Sorkin is probably the best screenwriter working today. Much has been made of his rapidfire dialogue full to the brim of sparkling wit and even the lowliest characters are towers of erudition. His stuff is always a joy to behold, the smartest people you can think of being very fast and funny. It is, of course, not realistic--nobody is that smart and sharp all the time--but who the hell cares? It's a scripted drama, people should sound and be smarter than they would be in normal life. From 'A Few Good Men' to 'Sports Night' to 'The West Wing' and now 'Studio 60', Aaron Sorkin has been dazzling us, and he deserves the incredible fame and fortune he has.

But beyond that, I love Aaron Sorkin because he represents that greatest of all literary characters--the tortured genius. The only story that gets more coverage that Aaron Sorkin's genius is his drug problems. Even people that don't like Aaron Sorkin's shows admit he is a supremely talented writer, just as those who cannot stop praising his writing must confess that he is a self-destructive typhoon who has never been able to fully control his demons. I have always been fascinated by people like Aaron Sorkin who are so phenomenally talented, so intellectually and creatively blessed, but are so deeply and tragically flawed. I don't mean to sound like a high-handed moralist, but Sorkin knows that he has had problems in the past. Maybe that is simply part and parcel of being a great writer--Fitzgerald, Hemingway, AA Milne, voracious drunks all. It's almost as if brilliant people have an incredible fire for a brain, but sometimes they need to extinguish it for fear that left unabated, it would burn them down. Watching him rise again and again, you realize that a mind like Sorkin's cannot be contained. His characters are fuller than almost any other on TV, and his stories of competent people who lean on each other are as compelling now as when he wrote sports night 8 years ago. He truly is a golden boy, and I hope his flame burns for years to come. Or at least until Studio 60 can hit syndication.

Tea and Sympathy

2006-09-15T16:18:00.000-04:00

As I write this on a rainy Friday afternoon in New York, I am drinking a hot cup of peppermint tea. While I can think of no better way to start a morning than a strong coffee, tea is an afternoon drink and must always be treated as such. That being said, I must admit that in the past few years, especially after moving to New York, I get faintly embarrassed at buying, preparing, and consuming tea--a feeling that is greatly exacerbated by my preference for mint tea. This unease isn't because I dislike tea--far from it, obviously. It is more that I don't like the idea of other people on line with me at the market seeing my mint tea and associating me with the strange Moby-inspired trendiness that is part and parcel of tea subculture.

Tea has been around, according to my research, for about 75 million years, and I have reliable evidence that dinosaurs drank it regularly. It is a staple drink of many cultures, including India, which would explain my early introduction to the brew. But in America, the 1990s saw a huge popularity for all things Eastern--Anime cartoons, Chinese/Japanese tattoos, Henna--and tea was part of that resurgence to be sure. While coffee has a distinct European context, tea is Asian, and therefore seen as more exotic. Coffee is fuel--it's aggressive and capitalist and people drink it with one hand while reading the Wall Street Journal and firing their assistant. Tea is serene, contemplative, reflective and something you indulge in while cultivating your own garden and massaging your chi and feeling a breeze lick your face and open your kimono in an indecent manner. It's not clear to me why these stereotypes exist, seeing as my process for making either is more or less the same, but they are indelibly stamped in our minds, or for the sake of this argument they are. I would imagine that many young people who drink tea drink it to be associated with this intellectualism and serenity, as if either of those can be achieved through hot drinks. This is probably why whenever I buy mint tea (the only other tea I like is English Breakfast, but I don't even like that too much) it always comes with philosophical saying that look like they came out of a 9th graders term paper.

I dislike the whole packaged smugness that surrounds tea now because I think it creates and encourages a mysticism and quiet superiority that isn't real. Tea does not have healing properties just because wise, bearded Asians people drink it in movies. It is nothing more than leaves boiled in water. Stop selling me tea where every bag has a quote from Homer or Ralph Waldo Emerson. I can't buy coffee with quotes from Voltaire on the bag--because it would be stupid. Tea is a fine product without anyone ascribing supernaturalism to it.

Hipsters ruin everything.

Colbert brings rooms together

2006-09-13T01:23:00.000-04:00

Despite the fact that we all had work to do, my roommates and I came together to watch Stephen Colbert and a New Jersey Congressional candidate in the 3rd District (I don't know, nor will I look up his name). It was one of Colbert's best pieces--a truly magnificent performance. Of course, after the show, we all broke off to our caves to finish whatever work our dark overlords deigned important, but for a brief moment we were witness to comedy at its finest. It was the kind of thing that envelopes its observers in pure joy, and releases a warmth and serenity that holds within it the secret to a better tomorrow.

I think I've oversold it.

An Urgent Announcement

2006-09-11T01:09:00.000-04:00

I am writing to say that I have my computer back, which means I can blog with impunity. But not right now, as I don't have anything to say.

Just wanted to keep you abreast.

Charlie Brooker is a hate-filled genius

2006-09-01T01:35:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite news paper columnists is a British writer named Charlie Brooker. He writes for the newspaper The Guardian, and has previously hosted and written for radio and tv. He is also one of the meanest and most misanthropic writers I've ever seen. His work now mainly consists of television reviews and free form essays he composes on fanciful and not quite realistic topics. I love them. He writes with a sort of vengeful lyricism and is profane with a peerless elegance. I suggest you (and I speak now of the wasteland of souls and thesis papers that is the blogosphere) check out his work. There are also tons of his clips around which are fun as well.

This post was not one of my usual whinefests, but rather an attempt to share some things that amuse me. I will return to the rancor in short order.

City Girl Squawk

2006-08-22T02:11:00.000-04:00

Jason Horowitz wrote a great piece in the New York Observer about a very particular kind of Northeast accent he calls the City Girl Squawk. I know that when I give a link that is more than a paragraph, it feels like a homework assignment, but this one is good (skim around it if you must) because it deals with an accent that I have a lot of experience with. Almost every girl I went to high school with talked in this way, and seeing as I go to NYU, largely populated by girls from the Northeast, I haven't escaped it. This accent has bothered me for a long time.

A lot of people make fun of Southern accents, which I actually find very pleasant, but the city girl squawk is curdling to the point of being a public safety risk. It is also very specific to a type of girl--as Horowitz calls her: attractive but not pretty, stringy but not skinny, smart but not all that intelligent. He might as well have been in my study hall. It is a voice typified by long, whiney vowels and a piercing laugh that makes you want to scrape out your cochlea with a grapefruit spoon. Conversations are liberally sprinkled with hyperbole and the words "like", "so" and "totally." Horowitz puts together an incredible snapshot of the practitioner of the accent. Everything I would point to as annoying is in this article. Read it--you'll love it. Unless you're a girl I went to high school with, in which case this article is probably about you. Sorry.

Rising to Flogian Heights

2006-08-06T01:49:00.000-04:00

Since I didn't get an apartment in New York this summer, I have been commuting into Manhattan via train. It's about an hour, which sounds a lot worse than it actually is. All things considered, trains are the best way to travel very early in the morning. They require little to no consciousness on my part, allow me to read, and provide a lot of interesting characters for me to silently amuse myself with. One of the newest ways I've devised to occupy myself is to write small, and (I think) funny lists. Past topics include "Nicknames I've tried to give myself" and "Terrible Product Names". Only I, and maybe people I've paid, think they are any good, but it is amazing that it takes me an hour to come up with 5 things funny enough to write down. My mind takes off on incredible flights of fantasy and bizarre musings when I force it to be disciplined. Those tangents are usually populated by dark thoughts that I would never say out loud, much less write down where it could be tracked back to me and derail my chances at being White House Chief of Staff one day.

I frequently wonder where the limits of propriety are in my daily life. Sometimes when I am talking to someone I don't know very well, I will make up a word and use it confidently in conversation. Most people plow ahead valiantly, and just assume you meant to use another, more obvious word. A smaller number will press you, and ask you what that word was. This is where your choice of made-up word is important. My favorite for a long time was "reponstulate" because it is just complex enough to sound real. If you go over the top, you will be found out. For example, when someone asks me what I want to do, I'd say something like "Well, since corporate entities need to raise capital for their operations, I help leverage their assets to fully reponstulate a secure line of credit" or something like that. Sounds good, but means bollocks since I threw up a word like 'reponstulate' in there. I've said that before, and 9/10 times the person just nods like I'm a mental patient and slowly shuffles toward the crab cakes. Making up words is a good way to amuse yourself and escape the burden of trying to entertain others. I suggest you try it.

Scoff and You Scoff Alone

2006-07-31T22:09:00.000-04:00

Those who know me know that I have a long and storied history of making fun of things. I agonized about what word to use in place of "things", but I could not come up with a word with enough totality. It isn't just movies like Miami Vice (do you know what is meant by foreboding? It means badness that is going on right now), or television shoes like Blind Justice (in which we had to be constantly reminded that the protagonist was, indeed, blind). My venom can reach from pop culture to current affairs to consumer goods. Most recently, I've been savaging the new Gillette Fusion with it's 5 blades on the front and 1 on the back. This is familiar territory for me, as I made snarky comments about the Mach3 Turbo and M3Power, both of which I bought later. This is the biggest problem with my outsized mouth--it very often has to eat its words. Some people would be embarrassed to be seen using a product that they very recently called "idiotic" and "a waste", but I am a shameless hypocrite who is a sucker for a close shave.

The crux of my complaints (I am speaking only of razors now, not gay marriage amendments or Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas) is that consumers get hoodwinked into using new razors when there is nothing appreciably wrong with their current ones. Is there really a subset of American men who were yearning for more aloe strips on their blade? We seem to be getting more blades without really understanding if we needs them. As was reported (somewhat cheekily) in the best magazine in the world the curve for blades is following something of a parabolic curve and at the end of the decade we should be looking at ten blades. Some might recall an old SNL sketch that lampooned what I've dubbed "blade proliferation" with dozens of razors rotating on a fan and cutting up Tim Meadows's face (I think it was TM, but it could have been Anchorman). We are laughably close to such a reality. Before I would have sneered at these developments and thought I was being duped. But I am a convert to the Church of Latter Day Razors. Bring 'em on. I've used the new Fusion and it is a much closer shave than I've ever had, as I always knew but was loath to admit. If that day should come where they've added so many blades to the device that I'll have to yank a chain to start the damned thing, I will do some tricep stretches and let it rip like a lawnmower.

You should buy this razor, even if you feel like an idiot when you do. Don't worry, I was one of you once--the swarthy, unenlightened masses. Now I have seen the light, and those glorious extra blades gleam in it.

The views of this blog do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator

2006-07-18T22:52:00.000-04:00

There's only one thing that truly unites mankind -- the objectification of womankind.

Stephen Colbert's satire knows no bounds, but it does know how to make me laugh and not want to tell anyone why I'm laughing at the risk of sounding like a sexist. People don't give you money or invite you to their ski chalets if they believe you to be a sexist. They also don't introduce you to attractive women if they have reason to think you're a gentleman of ill repute, or worse, a cad of the first order.

Then again, guys who use phrases like "gentleman of ill repute" and "cad" don't meet many attractive women anyway. With good reason.

This Week with George Stephanoindianapolis

2006-07-16T23:24:00.000-04:00

I am an avid watcher of "This Week" on ABC every Sunday morning. It's one of the many things that my father did while I was growing up that have now become a part of my routine--a reflex I feel every week. Sometimes George brings out the big guns, usually when the world is falling apart: George Will (a regular), Cokie Roberts (silliest first name in news), Fareed Zakaria (my favorite political writer) and Sam Donaldson (a face that defies explanation). The reason I love it so much is that it feeds my desire to know what's going on while avoiding shrill screaming. Also, I harbor some long-standing illusion that Fareed Zakaria and I will become friends one day and discuss global affairs and the best recipe for cooking ducks, or whatever Fareed Zakaria does in his limited free time. Erudite without being snobbish, the panel of This Week makes me glad to live in a country that still has intelligent debate.

The Summer Continues

2006-07-10T21:17:00.000-04:00

Despite my best efforts to read blogs all day and eat free food at work, I am actually learning a great deal about banking this summer. For one, bankers all seem to use a four in hand knot in their ties, which makes sense because it is the most popular tie knot and because the windsor knot is the "mark of a cad" according to James Bond. I make it something of a rule to not contradict Bond, except in very specific claims like where he believes that homosexuals cannot whistle. I can't really understand that one. I also learned that most people with full time jobs spend their time in training sessions to learn about their job or in feedback meetings with their bosses. Presumably their bosses are evaluating them on their skill in a training seminar, but I'm just an intern--what do I know?

We also talk about football a lot, especially since I started work the week the World Cup started. Most bankers are big on the World Cup it seems (purely anecdotal evidence) which makes sense as high income Americans are more likely to follow football. Is that because they are smarter or bigger snobs? I could argue it's a combination of both. I have been in sporadic contact with my former roommates who got me into football, and they are probably as shocked as I was to see Zidane head butted Materazzi. Normally so classy, we saw an ugly side of the Frenchman who had a chance to lead his team and his country to a second World Cup, but he was hijacked by his emotions. Of course, I can't fully understand his state of mind, but in such an important game I would have hoped for more poise from Zidane. I am, of course, happy for Italy at large and Fabio Grosso in particular, because I saw some footage of him playing for Inter a few months ago and just liked him. Del Pierro as well--richly deserved.

Here's hoping for a smooth second half of my internship, and many more free meals to come.

Wit: The Last Refuge of the Scoundrel

2006-07-02T02:08:00.000-04:00

Yesterday after work I met my friend Carolyn at some new coffee shop in the village, Think. Carolyn told me that it had opened while I was in London, which explained how I missed it, because as it is on Mercer Street, I would have walked past it every day. It's a really chill place, a judgement I base on the fact that I ordered precisely one espresso and bullshat with Carolyn for about 3 hours. I have to try their cappuccino sometime, obviously before 11 AM (nobody with any sense drinks cappuccino after 11 AM, it's positively declasse). To give you an idea about what kind of place it is, I glanced around when I walked in and counted about 8 Powerbook laptops. Yeah, that kind of place.

Carolyn and I hadn't spoken since I left for London, so we obviously had a lot to catch up on. I did what I do, which is prevent real conversation from happening by constantly employing double entendres, absurdism, bitingsarcasm, and just general hilarious diversions. Carolyn (in between fits of convulsive laughter I would add) reminded me of something I told her once: I am uncomfortable when talking for more than 60 seconds without making a joke. I had to admit, she had me dead to rights. I tend to throw jokes into quite serious situations. They're not all homeruns, but it's something of a tic I have. I get called a smart-ass a lot, and have been told that my jokes "don't stop" and that is usually followed by "why, in the name of all that is holy and right on God's green earth, won't they stop?" Carolyn, and many other people I know, have told me that this is a defense mechanism I use to hide myself and to create some kind of distance from people because I have a crippling fear of abandonment. I have no idea where people get it from. If ONLY I had a fear of abandonment, it would add some flavor to my otherwise charmed life. I firmly believe that what keeps me from a career in comedy is that I've had nothing sad ever happen to me. That and I'm not very funny. I remember reading an interview with my comedy hero Stephen Colbert, who I've been a fan since I saw Strangers With Candy in like 1999, where he talks about his father and two older brothers die in a plane crash when he was 10. He said that a sense of humour is developed when someone loses their sense of innocence. I probably intentionally gave mine up rather than "lost" it. My parents are still married, my sister and I get along, I'm upper middle class and have never had any serious health problems. I go to a private university that costs more annually than a new luxury car or new kidney. With no real darkness, how can I create comedy? By making asinine observations about people around me.

I think my need to make jokes constantly stems more out of my desire to make people feel comfortable than to get people to like me. In fact, my humour is largely self-deprecating because it puts people at ease more than my more acerbic style of comedy where I cut people down like Paul Bunyon cuts down trees. Was Paul Bunyon a lumberjack? Or even real? I have always disliked confrontation and tried to make everyone feel easy all the time. Luckily, it hasn't been at the expense of people walking all over me yet. But as I wander through this post that is not so much a coherent thought as a safari through my subconscious, I feel it is important to clear up a point: I don't make jokes so that people like me. I do it because it makes them feel comfortable, it's fun and it keeps my mind occupied while you talk, because to be frank you're quite boring.

I'm not sad, but sometimes I'd be happer if I was.

Party in Danbury

2006-06-27T23:09:00.000-04:00

I spent the last weekend at Rich's house in CT, which I will spell that way to avoid learning how to actually spell it. It was an obvious rocking time. Rich's family cracks me up, especially because they rag on each other constantly. Rich is one of the top 3 funniest people I know (yes, I rank everyone I know by how funny they are--ask me I'll tell you), and knows exactly how to turn a phrase or even vocalize an oft repeated joke. It amazes me that someone who is functionally illiterate can be so funny. I'm kidding, but for an ESL kid, it ain't bad. Of course, the festivities ran late into the evening as I spiraled deeper into my own personal hell of shame, mendacity, and violent outbursts. Or so I was told. I remember having a great time until I voted to impeach President Nixon, when someone whispered in my ear that not being a member of Congress I don't have that authority, and moreover that Richard Nixon had not been President for over 30 years.

Thanks for a great time, Rich.

Wealth Strategies for Chabillionaires

2006-06-18T23:26:00.000-04:00

So far my job is pretty good. I surprisngly don't mind wearing a tie because I think it makes me look distinguished. That and my Selleck mustache. More interesting than helping rich people keep their money at my job is the fact that every time I am in my car on the way back to my house I hear the song "Ridin' Dirty" by Chamillionaire. I really like it, but I can't listen to more than a few minutes because when I'm driving it makes me speed, and dare the NYPD to catch me ridin' dirty.

France, you were robbed today, quel dommage. England, I am putting my hopes on you, so step it up Beckham, Owen and to a lesser extent Ferdinand.

Let It Be

2006-05-31T01:35:00.000-04:00

I was watching Boston Legal, one of my favorite dramas because I don't have to watch it all the time like LOST or 24. Flexibility can be liberating that way. I also tend to like anything James Spader does. He has an posh elegance and a roguish manner that I find to be quite winning, especially as his character is an utterly amoral bastard with the requisite heart of gold. Also, I love how William Shatner has completely embraced the fact that he was once a laughing stock, thereby making himself cool and self-effacing. David E. Kelley is much better as a surrealist and a comic writer in my opinion anyway, and if you don't believe me watch Robert Downey Jr. on Ally McBeal--amazing. Anyway, on tonight's (rerun) Tom Selleck played the ex-husband of Candice Bergen (who is a lot better looking than her age would indicate, as would the fact that she dated Kissinger). Now, you and I both know that Tom Selleck is known for being Magnum P.I. and having a mustache, and to be fair those two things are pretty much tied together. Well, in this episode his mustache looked immaculate as always, but he had grown in a goatee that looked about half as old as the mustache, which gave it an oddly asymmetrical quality that I found unnerving. My only conclusion is that someone told Selleck to grow the goatee, but this bothered me--Tom Selleck's mustache is iconic. He's worn it proudly for decades . In spite of it falling from fashion favour, he's stuck by it because he's not one of these "shave and run" Hollywood types. He's earned that mustache. So lay off, mustache-anistas. Selleck knows what he's doing. Let's have some faith in him.

An Inconvenient, but altogether needed, Truth

2006-05-25T15:08:00.000-04:00

I wasn't allowed to vote in the 2000 election, but if I could I might have voted for George Bush. This may shock people who know me, as they probably wouldn't call me a conservative, but at the time I didn't really like Al Gore. He struck me in much the same way he struck everyone else--dry, a bit wooden, unable to effectively communicate his role in the preceding 8 years of prosperity and good will. But another reason might be that he didn't fully stress an issue he had dedicated so much of his life as a public servant to: the environment. Since leaving office 8 years ago, Gore has relaunched himself as the crusader for the planet he had been before with his film on the dangers of global warming entitled 'An Inconvenient Truth.' I've done a little reading into it, and my eyes popped.

Diseases like malaria spreading to new areas, an increase in the intensity and frequency of hurricanes, melting of ice caps that could flood coastal areas, droughts, fires, hundreds of thousands of deaths. If Al Gore had related this to people when he was running for President he could have scared people shitless as to what will happen if we don't do something. I'm not a very liberal person, or rather I've met a lot of people in college who are self-proclaimed liberals and they annoy me, but this seems like an issue that should be central to Presidential campaigns. I also don't agree with people who say that the environment is a radical left-wing, hippy tree-hugger issue. It's about life and death. The environment is tied to energy policy, which is tied to national security policy, defense policy, economic policy, trade policy. It's also the starkest and most scary 30 second commercial you can make:

Your children are going to die in an enormous fire, or be drowned in a flood, or be killed by a bizarre disease because the other guy doesn't want to stop global warming. He doesn't even think it's real. But your kid dying--that's real.

I just made that up right now. It would sink a candidate who is still debating if global warming even exists. I like that Al Gore is a ballsy guy, but it pains me that on the campaign he never came across as anything other than supremely scripted and terrified that people would paint him with the "slick, equivocating, philanderer" brush that had been used to tar Clinton. Not having to run for anything tends to help with honesty and objectivity. Knowing all that I know now about Al Gore and George Bush, I would have voted for Gore. That being said, I hope he doesn't run, because he is doing a lot of good being unburdened with an election. He can educate more people and raise the level of debate if he is a fire-breathing outsider. Can he sometimes be a bit over the top? Sure, but I'd prefer he continue to throw haymakers than dampen it so much that he's a wet noodle.

Please, Al: don't run for President. Just do what you do now, make me think.

LOST but not found

2006-05-25T00:33:00.000-04:00

Since I started watching it on DVD in January, LOST has become my favorite TV show, supplanting 24 as my example of how better entertainment is coming out of TV than movies. Today was the season 2 finale, and this show is slowly replacing breathing and eating as the most important functions in my life. Watching LOST is soon to be an autonomic function of my mind as I try to unravel LOST's mind-bending quality by combing websites created by the show's producers meant to give hints, reading forums created by fans, and esposuing my cockamamie theories to anyone who will listen. If you aren't watching this show, you should be, but know that it will take over your mind like a virus.

I...can't...stop

Long Live the King

2006-05-22T09:58:00.000-04:00

Since returning to my house here in the States after 4 months away, I feel like the King returned to his kingdom after exile. The past three days, I have stalked this house with a strong sense of my territory under foot, and it feels great.

In a way, coming back to my house is something of a microcosm of coming to America. The student flat I spent the past four months in was small. I had a tiny bedroom that I shared with Bryce, small bathroom, and even though I had a sizable kitchen and a decent living room, it had a cramped feel. It had plus points--a lot of light and a cool location--but after living in a large penthouse last semester it was a bit of a shock. I got used to it though, and through my travels in Europe I became acclimated to smaller rooms, minor inconveniences like sporadic hot water, and having only five television channels. I adjusted to having hard water, not having a dryer, and slow to non-existent internet connection. I dealt with it because I was living in a city I loved, having the time of my life, and there was a pub approximately 6 feet from my door, and another on the corner. Now, my house and America at large display that shocking abundance that visitors always remark on. My room here feels comparable in size to my entire flat. I have a fridge full of food. Instead of a 13" tv with five channels, I have a 65" tv with 700 channels. I can kind of understand how Europeans feel when Americans complain about inconveniences in Europe--our entire perspective can be a bit out of whack. I am starting to wonder if America's love for all that is enormous isn't a bit toxic, and if I'm not a bit tainted by it. It is the land of plenty for sure, and while I enjoy it, there was something oddly satisfying about that spartan lifestyle I left across the pond. It wasn't an ashram, but it was less that I was used to, and the minor asceticism of it appealed to me. When so much is available, do we lose those small pleasures--a pint and some good banter in a pub? Maybe I ought to scale back the luxury a bit, or at very least stop making this sound like a narrative from Sex and the City.

This is my 100th blog post--and the bizarre rantings continue unabated.

Watching: Entourage on HBO on Demand--can't get enough of it.

Fin

2006-05-19T08:43:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day in London. As I've mentioned in previous entries, it is a bittersweet moment. I have loved my semester here. London is the only city other than New York that I can imagine myself ever living in. Maybe in dire straits San Francisco. Anyway, I am a bit sad to go, but I am also ready to go. At the start of the program here, I was a bit wary and it took me a week or so to really jump in with both feet. I was either homesick or had a viral infection, but I had a knot in my stomach for the first 5 days. I had to shake out of it and really enjoy London, and once I did I fell in love. I've already chronicled all the things I like about London, so I'll spare you that. Suffice it to say that if you do want to visit London, don't fall into the trap of having to see only the major tourist spots like Tower Bridge and Buckingham Palace. Do the slightly out of the way things--pick a neighborhood and walk through it. Without question, the most rewarding parts of my trip have been when I grabbed my camera and devoured a neighborhood: Mayfair, St. John's Wood, Kensington, Primrose Hill, Soho, Islington, Brixton. I could go on, but there is no better way to get to know a city. London, I'll miss you. If New York is my wife, then you are surely my mistress, and even though you're elegant and intoxicating, I love my wife too much to leave her.

New York: I'm coming home.

A Long Kiss Goodnight

2006-05-07T17:57:00.000-04:00

It has been too long for me to justify my reasons for not writing a blog, so I won't bother. Last month I was on holiday to Belgium, Denmark, and the Netherlands and had an incredible time in all those places. I highly suggest you visit Copenhagen, a thoroughly charming and beautiful city that once was the seat of power in all of Scandinavia. I like the quiet and unassuming nature of the city. It has an enormous palace, but overall it is quite understated. Plus, it has a mermaid.

Belgium is a smaller and less hyperactive version of Paris, with its pretty streets and curiously rude waiters. When it comes to Belgian chocolate, believe the hype. It is not to be missed, but I don't think you should go unless you plan to eat your weight in chocolate and drink your volume in beer. When vacationing in Europe, excess is the name of the game, and one should embrace the joie de vivre of it all.

Finally, Amsterdam's canals and street life are incredibly lively, but I am probably the only American, and definitely the only American student, who was put-off by the Red Light District. Open air prostitution is ugly business, literally, and Amsterdam seems to be trapped by its permissive attitude. Nobody wants their city full of British, American and Canadian students smoking pot in the streets (everyone knows it reeks) and generally being disorderly, but Amsterdam has to accept it, as tolerance and a liberal ethos are its cross to bear. Sad, because I could probably do with less of it. It's not as if other world cities provide no avenues for the illicit pursuits, but they have the good sense to hide it away somewhere. Plus, as a long time advocate of liberalizing societies rules on "harmful behaviors" it was a bit saddening to see what a completely open society would look like. Other than that, Amsterdam's monuments and canal tours were quite nice. I saw the world's narrowest house, which was probably about a meter wide. It is the weird shit like that which interests me.

I have less than two weeks in London, and that is a cause of great sadness to me. I really like London, and British people especially. I am thankful that I was able to chat with ordinary Britons, in cafes and pubs and on the bus and while in the queue for anything. I find them witty and kind and always eager to chat. I've long had an imagined love affair with Brits, and it was incredible to have all my greatest hopes realized. London is, sorry to my American friends, a much prettier city than New York, and I often wonder (both silently and aloud) why New York has so few squares/parks, seeing how they beautify an area and lift the spirits. A few Bedford Squares, or even a Soho Square, imported to New York would do a concrete jungle some good by including just a touch more jungle. If I had my way, I could jet between New York and London on a whim and bunk up in some posh Chelsea hotel, but alas it cannot be. I will have to content myself with the thought that in the last thousand years, London has lasted and I hope to see it thrive again in the next thousand. Of course, this is not my final love letter to London, but I guess I am missing it prematurely.

Last week of classes, and if you are an American student who is already done with school know that I am wishing such a symphony of pain for you Puccini himself would be stunned.

Song: Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" Totally huge here in London, and I imagine it is getting some buzz in the states

Notting Hill: Not just a movie

2006-03-16T06:37:00.000-05:00

I was as shocked as you are.

How was I to know that the film 'Notting Hill', a charming little love story released in 1999, starring Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, written by Richard Curtis and directed by Roger Michell was also the name of a neighborhood in London? Gobsmacked, I tell you. I spent last Saturday perambulating the Portobello Road market which I had heard so much about, not realizing that if I, ignorant American, had heard so much about the Saturday market, it should stand to reason that every other person currently visiting London would be there as well. And so it was. At no other time during my 2 months in London have I been in the company of so many Americans, and I am including the times I have been with all the American students here in London. Even more puzzling was how the presence of these Yanks upset me. I haven't been here long enough to be a dyed in the wool Londoner, but tourists always bother me.

My particular method of exploring a city is to blend in as much as possible. I see all the major sights, but since I prefer to travel alone and understated I don't set off any tourist bells. I take photos discretely, and abhor any photos with me in them. I don't quite understand people that need to stamp every portrait of their trip with their visage--of course I was there, I took the picture. I think the picture of me standing in a red phone booth is tacky, and I prefer to remember the things I saw with that precise elegance that attracted me to them. In addition to the obvious sights, I like slightly out of the way things, and in London I am drawn to very small pleasures: four (real) men in suits having a (real) meeting at a kitchen table display in a department store, a bag of American beef jerky entitled "Extreme Dude", pleasant Georgian squares and Victorian houses. British streets have different designs, and in many areas one finds more continental European streets and cafes lying cheek to jowl by an American looking strip mall. I prefer the former, but the latter can offer it's moments of quiet comfort that Woolworths still thrives and I can purchase 12 socks for 4 pounds. Snapping back to the original intent of this paragraph, my excursions lead me to dislike the American method of seeing an area, which is to drag five people in USA hats into the street, take a lot of pictures of the children high-fiving under Tower Bridge or picking the nose of a statue, have a Whopper and go back to the hotel room. How can you really get a feel for an area by seeing only what tourists see? One must enter the tea rooms and the pubs to engage the locals. For example, after having lunch in a cafe in Notting Hill, I walked into a nearby pub to catch the last few minutes of a Chelsea-Tottenham football match. This pub was packed to the gills with Chelsea fans, and all were restless at the missed chances that kept the match locked at 1 apiece. In the 93rd minute, Chelsea's Gallas put a bulge in the old onion bag, and the pub cheered with full-throated joy. It was a wonderful moment to see, and afterwards I spoke with a few of the Chelsea fans, and they were pretty excited to explain their theories on why they love Chelsea but think Mourinho is a git. It was a true English afternoon, and I think the best way to see not just the sights of a city, but to know its character.

Anyway, I'm off to McDonalds. 99 pence menu, I can't compete with that.

Charlie Sheen is irresistable

2006-03-07T14:00:00.000-05:00

Part of my weeknight routine here is watching the Simpsons and Two and a Half Men from 6-7 PM. It's a nice way to reconnect with home, because two dimensional yellow people and Malibu bachelors remind me of my own life living in a 5 person apartment in Chinatown. I admit, it's a bit of a leap. Actually, all the NYU students here in London are gripped by the show Prison Break, and we talk about it a lot, but I digress. The focus here is Two and a Half Men. As far as diversions go, this is a pretty good one, especially because I like Charlie Sheen in everything he does. The creator of Two and a Half Men is a guy named Chuck Lorre who famously writes a title card for the credits of every episode of the show. They're something of short comedy vignettes and a lot of them make me chuckle. One of the best ones is this one, because it makes me think and is in line with something I'd say at a job interview just to weird someone out.

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #112

When I was in the shower this morning, I thought: If we assume a Big Bang beginning of the universe, then every molecule, every atom, every proton, every electron, every quark, every wavelength, every vibration, every multi-dimensional string, every everything that makes up everything else shares an ineffable property of pre-Bang Oneness. Assuming that, then every everything is always moving in one of two directions: either away from that primordial state, or returning towards it. We feel these quantum movements. Moving away is experienced as loneliness, fear, anger and despair. Returning is experienced as one or more of the infinite variations and gradations of what we call love. Now, while some might say that equating the miracle of human feelings to the meandering of sub-atomic bric-a-brac robs them of their mystery, the truth is quite the opposite. Connecting our fundamental experience of life to the great mystery of existence ties us to the eternal within our every waking moment. We are not separate. We are made of the same stuff that existed at the beginning and will exist at the end. Therefore, the question we must each ask ourselves is simple: "In what direction am I moving today - towards oneness, or away from it?" When I was done reflecting on this, I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and, while glancing at the mirror, pondered a new thought: "I have a pretty nice ass for a guy my age."

Good times.

Hooray for seething racisim!

2006-03-06T04:44:00.000-05:00

I'm very happy "Crash" won best picture, because when I saw it I thought it was the best movie I'd seen in a long long time. Totally deserved. Also I am glad that Clooney and Seymour Hoffman picked up some hardware, but those are slightly dimmed by the fact that I, along with almost everyone else, predicted those two wins. "Crash" was a welcome surprise.

From what I've seen and read, my man Jon Stewart did a pretty good job hosting. I of course did not watch the Oscars since they weren't on one of the 5 tv channels we have, but I checked the papers this morning and a few video clips are scattered over the web. The internet rules.

Sorry to Felicity Huffman, for whom I view every award she gets now to be retroactive appreciation for "Sports Night".

Gotta love Hollywood.

London, still

2006-02-27T06:18:00.000-05:00

This is my second post from jolly old England, and I wish I could write more, but I just don't feel it sometimes. I'd rather not force it and write some crap, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's what you'll be getting right now.

I am sitting in my flat before I leave for class in a little under 2 hours. Monday's are my worst class day because I have Management and Organizational Analysis, which is more boring than it sounds, amazingly enough. My prof is dry and takes about two minutes to speak 10 words. Imagine Ben Stein, with an German-English accent. I use that class for daydreaming and doing work for other classes in order to keep it from being a total bust.

After MOA, I usually head over to the University of London Union, which basically a student center. A few kids from my MOA class head over with me, we eat tasty and inexpensive nachos and shoot pool in one of the bars. It's not a bad way to kill a few hours, and it makes Monday's tolerable.

Monday night includes a class that all NYU students in London have to take called 'Issues in Contemporary British Society and Politics.' I think it's pretty interesting, and we have a new guest speaker every week. So far, we've had a columnist for the Independent newspaper and the head of Prime Minister Thatcher's policy unit--people in the know I'd say. Most people probably don't like the class because it is on Monday night and is required, but it could have been a lot worse.

This weekend was the most work I've done in London, and will be the most work I do until finals. I have to finish a paper for my class on the EU due Wednesday and finish a presentation for my class on Consumption tomorrow. I realized this weekend that I haven't written an academic paper in almost 10 months, since finals of freshman year. Last semester I was taking Economics and Math classes with sporadic problem sets, and even my Politics class had only short answer questions on the final.

This was the first weekend I didn't do one of my now famous jaunts around London. I usually pick a neighborhood to stroll about aimlessly and snap pictures of. I poke my head in various shops and cafes and talk to the locals, where whenever I open my mouth they ask me "Are you American?" There are a lot of Americans in London, which I expected and can't honestly complain about since I am one, but you'd be amazed how few English accents you hear. Most people in London it seems are from somewhere else, either in Europe, Asia or US/Canada. That part is mildly disappointing, but there are still loads of proper Englishmen around.

Lately, for some inexplicable reason, I've been feeling some degree of anxiety. I don't think it's because of school or being away from home or missing people, but it's a very vague feeling. Sometimes it's a headache or a tightness in my stomach. It comes and goes, and I don't really know why it comes or how it goes. It makes me feel very weird.

I was talking to my Dad this weekend and telling him that I don't like sitting inside to do work while I'm here because I feel like I'm missing something 'out there' and should be seeing London. He told me that I should enjoy London and get to see it, but to remember that I'm here for school and that 'Europe isn't going anywhere.' More than most people here in the study abroad program, I really like London. Other kids come back from trips into Europe and talk about hating London and wondering why they picked it. I couldn't disagree more--I like European cities like Paris and Rome, but I've also seen them before, and many of these kids haven't which contributes to their love of it. Those cities are great, but London has something different. It's got cheery locals who you can talk to because you know the language. It's got building that are a thousand years old. It's got fantastic television shows, and theater, and museums. The tiny little streets with pubs and customized umbrella shops. The black cabs with the best cabbies in the world. It's got parks that are a good 15 times better than any park in New York. Go to St. James's Park on a weekend afternoon and see how amazing it is. I really like London.

But I miss New York. Not so much that I'm sitting in my room crying about it, but I definitely miss it sometimes.

London: Delayed

2006-02-09T20:23:00.000-05:00

Well, I've been in London for almost a month now, and I haven't written any blogs. I really meant to, but I never knew what to write, so I'll just let it fly with scattered observations on British life as I know it.

Walking around London requires a lot more vigilance than in New York, because streets here aren't straight and often change names at unspecific intervals. You need your "London A to Z" on you at all time to make sure you are passing Cavendish Square and not Russell Square. That being said, it is ultimately more rewarding because I feel so comfortable in almost every neighborhood in New York, and here I am constantly assaulted with new images and sounds. There is a charm in how old and elegant virtually everything is here. Imagine if 75% of New York had the design of the West Village, and that's something of what it's like. This is right up my aesthetic alley, and I have to stop myself from takin pictures of every building that looks like that, reminding myself that I already have some shots of it. I love it.

British accents are not all what you imagine. As an American, it would be easy to assume that everyone in London speaks like Richard Burton, but the variety of London accents is astounding. Across the pond, we assume that everyone in England went to Cambridge and expect them to sound as such, but I find the phoenetic assortment exciting. I have picked up small British speech patterns simply by immersion. I say "you lot" for "you guys", "about" for "around", and "colonies" for "America". Also, the more British people I interact with, the more conscious I become of my own accent. British English, to me, sounds very clipped and precise, whereas American English, particularly that spoken where I am from, tends to be nasal and lets all the sounds in a word whine together until they are indistinguishable. It is very slack-jawed, floppy tongued way to speak. I don't want to be one of those guys who spends 4 months in England and comes back sounding like Jeremy Irons, but some change in my speech will be natural, and I hope it is permenant--it will add some verve to my speaking.

British women are, contrary to popular belief, rather pretty. Italian and French women get a lot of attention, and rightfully so, but just walking around London and sitting in cafes and bars, you see a lot of beautiful English roses about. Plus, they tend to be quick with a joke, which is a sure way to my heart.

British people, refined and classy as we imagine them to be, are obsessed with celebrity news, gossip, and trash reality shows. There are more celebrity gossip magazines here than there are mirrors at a Kate Moss party (oh, British humor is often very centered around schadenfreude.) I can't believe that a country that produces such quality journalism as BBC News, The FT, and The Economist also cranks out Heat, Hello, and OK! It's a duality, people I've met and spoken to around London seem just as happy to discuss Jordan and Kerry Katona as they are to ruminate on the Danish cartoon scandal. Generalists: my kind of people.

American goings on are not very big news here, which I kind of like. I find it somewhat satisfying that I can walk around all day, look at headlines on the front page of The Guardian or The Times (the London Times, the first one) and see news that has absolutely nothing to do with me or America. Here, people were pretty wrapped up with pedophiles in teaching positions and similar such scandals, surely no time to worry about Scooter Libby or Jack Abramoff. If I want American news, I have to look for it. But I'm ok being somewhat removed from the US and it's news cycle, it will make for a fun integration period when I return.

Finally, I don't miss any thing about the States, but I do miss my friends. London would be a totally different, and I think pretty cool, experience were my crew here. But as someone said "absinthe makes the heart grow fonder." Or something like that, I was pretty hammered when that homeless guy said that.

Cheers.

Guest Blogger: Matt

2006-01-09T18:11:00.000-05:00

Before I begin my blog, I think it’s important that I introduce myself, no this isn’t your quick witted friend Nitin that all of you have grown so fond of reading about, but in fact it is his light
hearted, 24 obsessed roommate of the past year and a half Matt. Now if you’re one of the literally dozen or so avid readers of his blog like I am you might’ve heard about me in previous posts. Since it has been so long since Nitin posted because he in a deeply spiritual search for creative material I offered my services to him as a guest post, and after first making fun of me he agreed. And so, after that long, arduous introduction I will begin my own post.

There are two things which I love about going to college in New York, going to bars and seeing all kinds of crazy shit. Fortunately Wednesday nights often afford me the opportunity to do both. There is a place that I believe resembles heaven called “Second Nature” that
has perhaps the greatest invention in the history of mankind, The Wednesday Night Open Bar. It is a thing of pure genius, fifteen easy dollars to poison yourself as much as you can handle from nine oclock to one oclock. Even since I’ve discovered this sanctuary of fun I have made it my mission to go whenever possible, and not once have a I regretted a night spent there. In one of my final weeks of the semester I made sure to attend this weekly drunk fest with a few
friends and although I do not remember anything after I began drinking a dangerously delicious drink called “Sex on the Beach” there was still enough crazy shit that went on before to entertain the hell out of me.

Upon arriving, I anticipated the bar being nearly empty because we were getting there so early, however the unpredictability of the city reared its head in the shape of what seemed to be an oversized office party that appeared to have been going on for at least a few hours.
What lay before me were at least thirty people over the age of thirty in suits and office attire getting wasted and trying to act half their age. Needless to say, it was hilarious. And of course u know there were younger women attached to the sleazy older men who I assumed had
very large…wallets. It took approximately 5 seconds for one of the girls I was with to get hit on by one of these suits and I duly made note of this. After seeing what I saw I can assure you there are very few things more entertaining than a bunch of trashed, unattractive 30
something year old women acting like they are hot shit and dancing like they were britney spears. This was especially funny (as if it needed any more humor added to it) because they kept falling all over the place. Now I’m not talkin about your harmless slip and get back
up casual drunk fall, I’m talkin head first legs in the air land with a fuckin loud noise fall that everyone hears and I was laughing my ass off at. Call me what you will but nothing puts a smile on my face quite like some drunk working woman fallin face first in the middle of a bar. As entertaining as this all was, the night had just begun and I had many drink ahead of me. Another great thing about open bars is the creativity and adventurousness that can accompany it. Because there is no limit on the amount of drinks you can get you are free to try all kinds of crazy concoctions that may or may not end your life. The drinks that I remember trying that night goes as follows in the order that I can barely remember: Kamikaze, 2nd Kamikaze, Red Bull and Vodka, Vodka Tonic, Sex on the Beach. The Sex on the Beach proved to
be a worthy adversary that night and only God knows what transpired between that time and 3:30 in the morning when I was told by your brave blogger, Nitin, that I arrived home. Although I do not remember much after the first one I have since been told tales of me drinking countless of these throughout the nite and later escaping to the bar bathroom and shamelessly puking in front of the well situated bathroom guard they employ there. Apparently he wasn’t fond of my vomiting and told me to leave, how I got home is beyond me, but when you put your life in the hands of Second Nature you can’t expect to remember all the details, or even hours you were there, but one thing is for sure, once you’ve experienced it you will never be the same.

***
The above was courtesy of Matt, but what follows is all me.

One thing I've learned from living with Matt is that there are almost no places in New York that you can't vomit if you put your mind to it. The most prolific puker I've ever met, I think Matt has upchucked in multiple boroughs on the same night, and even threw up in transit from the Bronx to Manhattan. That's a triple play most people don't have the stamina to pull off. In fact, Matt has been known to hurl in a bar/apartment bathroom, continue on the street, on the 6 train, and still be blowing chunks when he gets back to our place. You'd think I'd be mad, but I just have to salute that single-minded determination.

What made this night fun for me, although I wasn't at Second Nature, was the mystery left on the couch for me. I woke up to another of my roommates getting dressed in a hurry. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "I've got to get out of here before she wakes up."
I didn't know who he was talking about, so I walked into our common room, and saw a shape under a jacket and some of our pillows. It was clearly a girl, but I didn't know who. I needed to find out, so I figured out a clever way to extract this information.
"Yo, who the hell is that?"
My roommate tells me it's a girl who lives in a different dorm, but for whatever reason came home with him the night before. She tried to make out with him, but she didn't know that while my roommate is nice and pretty good-looking, he is terrified of girls. He is just not interested in girls who are interested in him. He also probably didn't want to take advantage of a girl who was very drunk. Anyway, this girl wakes up, my roommate makes a little small talk, and then bounces. I think I should mention that I've never met this girl before, and now she and I are in my apartment alone. It was awkward. After my roommate left, she hung around for about 45 minutes to an hour and seemed too hungover to really go anywhere. Of course, I can't really blame her, she was at the pleasure garden known as Second Nature. It's the kind of place that impacts even innocent parties like me by forcing them to take care of drunk strangers who crashed on their couch and spent the better part of a morning hanging around trying to summon the strength to leave. If you are thinking of going, beware this entirely possible chain of events.

Hilarious diversions

2005-12-20T20:17:00.000-05:00

I am studying for my last final of the semester, and the last academic obligation I have before I go to live in London for four months. While I manage to read my notes for a class called "Poverty and Income Distribution" I also feel very sad as this class reveals that much of America's wealth redistribution programs end up screwing poor people. In order to restore my faith in humanity, I went online to read something funny, and I found it at McSweeneys.

Most of my friends play poker, and while I don't really care for poker, I do like slang. Poker slang is some of the strangest terminology out there, but I very much enjoyed this one.

Poker Terminology I Feel I Could Get Away With Saying If I Ever Played a Tournament.

BY ANDY SUTHERLAND

- - - -

He's holding Babraham Lincolns.

Caught in a flytrap.

Lay it down on "The Tarpits."

Short-weeding the double-down avocado splitter.

Deuce trips.

So I pull trash from the flop, and end up sinking the Titanic.

Laboratory rats to the left, and I know the guy on the right has a suicide johnny—nothing else to do but drop the transmission.

He was short-stacked, so I raised with nothing but a bumpy melinda and a bullet.

Crunking the small blind.

So a Madeleine Albright pops up on Fourth Street.

After his raise, I know he's sporting two mustaches, and I can see one otter swimming the river on the flop.

I've got leaky quads, and I call, after he bulldozes the pit with half his gold towers.

I fold.

The utility maximization of "Next"

2005-12-03T22:49:00.000-05:00

My roommates and I watch a lot of bad television, and we sort of revel in it. MTV has pioneered the field of awful shows that I cannot tear myself away from, including Laguna Beach, Super Sweet 16, Made, and Next. This entry is going to focus on Next, because I saw one of the best episodes ever the other day.

The rules of Next are pretty simple. There is one guy who is deciding who he wants to go on a date with. On a bus, there are 5 girls who sit together and are called out one by one to go on a date with the guy outside. The guy has not seen any of the girls before and neither has the girl seen him. They do some stupid activity like get fake body art or have a picnic for a while, and if the guy likes the girl, the date continues. If at any point the guy isn't having fun, he can dismiss the girl by saying "next" and another girl from the bus will emerge and go on a date with our young hero. Girls who are kicked off are given $1 dollar for every minute they are on the date. If the guy decides he likes the girl, he offers her either the amount of money she would get from leaving or a second date. Next can also be played with one girl and 5 guys, but those episodes tend to be pretty boring. It doesn't sound too amazing, but a lot of the time it's incredibly hilarious. The contestants are all between 18 and 24 and most are about as dumb as a sack of wet mice. They say the most absurd things and have the stupidest dates, like breakdancing or tae kwon do. If you watch enough, you'll get some real gems, but nothing like I saw two nights ago.

This was a one guy-5 girl episode, and the guy was an absolute tool. Smug, fake tan and about as shallow as a shot glass, I knew this guy's resolute and unshakable belief in his own perfection would lead to some cringe-worthy rejections of nice but slightly homely girls. And so it was. The lineup, in order of how they would appear was one so-so looking girl, two ugly girls, and two very attractive girls. This guy was going to have to go through hell to get to heaven. He "Nexted" the first girl in about 7 minutes, but in his defense she was boring to the point of being catatonic. The next girl comes out, they are introduced, and you can see the sadness in his eyes. He sticks it out for a little bit, and then tells the girl that she is too pale, and he takes her to a tanning salon. Not really where I would take someone on a date, but I am dark-skinned, what do I know? She comes out of a spray tan (how gauche) only to meet the icy hand of a "Next" slapping the dignity right out of her, pocketing about $17. The third contestant is a bit quirky, but even less attractive than the second player. Our host takes her clothes shopping (he insists a girl's style is very important). Here, we see the abject horror in his eyes that he has to be seen with this girl in public. You know he wants to reject her right there, but he needs the pretense of incompatability to avoid looking like the worst man on television. After about 8 minutes of shopping, he says they aren't working out and puts a "Next" boot in her ass. Now it gets interesting, as the fourth contestant is a very attractive Latina with...ahem...enhancements that are catching to many men. She steps off the bus and meets the host, and he lights up. 'Finally,' I imagine he imagines, 'an attractive girl in this competition.' In about 8 seconds, he decides to offer her a second date with him, or the cash value of her date, $1.

This is nothing short of a stroke of brilliance. Obviously, this offer of a second date is a purely physical reaction. While he complimented her style (read: enhancements), that was the entire extent of their conversation. He literally asked her for another date on the spot. What makes it so amazing is that it reminded me of the utility maximization problems we used to do in my International Politics class. By asking this girl for a date so quickly, he has made the choice of walking away worthless. $1 is not a lot of money. Most contestants who go in second dates are on their dates for 75-90 minutes. If you're with a mildly attractive and marginally fun person, you might just take the $90. That's a good night out with some friends, and all you had to do was hang out with an OK person for a little while and be on MTV. However, if you're offered $1, why would you even take it? You might as well go on the second date, because you could have a good time on that date (assume the probability of having a good time is about 50%) while you won't have any fun with $1, or at least any fun that doesn't come out of a vending machine. Since the host is looking for a second date, they dispense the money in such a way as to make it a disincentive, and by offering a prize that is worthless, they can lock in the outcome they want: a second date. It's actually very interesting, and my point was proven when this girl took the second date with a guy she'd only known for a few seconds.

Who knew Next was so unintentionally cerebral? I wonder what the hidden implications of Super Sweet 16 are.

Choose your quotes wisely

2005-11-22T00:38:00.000-05:00

As you may have read, there has been a Graduate Student strike going on at NYU for a few weeks now, and regardless of how you feel about it, it has provided great spots of entertainment. I am an economics major, a department here that is less than sympathetic to unions as a matter of principle--economists don't like the impact unions have on market clearing wages--and especially at a college. Interestingly, at a school thought to be as liberal as NYU is, the politics department here is largely against the union, and is one of the most apolitical groups of people you'll ever see. I understand the union, but don't totally agree with it. One thing all can agree on is the sheer absurdity of the picket signs. Outside of Bobst Library, there was one girl holding a sign that read as follows:

Don't you wish your TA was tough like me?
Don't you wish your TA was an employee?

Once your labor protest is reduced to glibly reconstituting lyrics from a group called "The Pussycat Dolls", you might as well fold. You've lost the chance to be taken seriously.

Test of a Man

2005-11-13T17:42:00.000-05:00

This week, I have midterms in three of my classes. When you only take four classes, this is both alarming and rage-inducing. I've spent most of this weekend avoiding work and thinking about innovative ways to avoid work in equal measure. I'm also planning my classes for next semester, which I will spend studying in London at the appropriately titled University of London. I am very excited as some of my classes will be taught by faculty members of the London School of Economics, and will probably include the casual use of words like "bloody" and Cockney rhyming slang.

I just wanted to brag about going to London.

music: Vivali "Concerto per due Flauti"
I listen to classical music when I study because it makes me feel very erudite and composed, like a guy in a Lexus commerical, which always seem to feature violin based classical music.

Hiatus? Probably not.

2005-10-21T14:53:00.000-04:00

I don't really post too often, because to be be quite honest, I don't owe you anything. But now, I will probably be posting even less because I am going to be doing a spate of comedy writing. I am going to be doing some stuff, I hope, with my friend Brady working on his scripts. I am a punch-up man, which is to say that I work on an existing script and add jokes and make Brady's awful writing funny. Brady is even willing to give me a small part in one of his films, the part of some Indian guy. It will be a bit of a reach for me, a tall strapping Swedish man, but that's what actors do. We pretend. On top of this, I am going to join the NYU humor magazine, The Plague, also with Brady. Failing that, he and I are going to start our own guerilla magazine, because we are too damn funny not to have our sparkling genius not shared with you, the philistines of America. So deal with it.