musingsofthezman

Strange Habits

2011-01-21T09:48:00.000-08:00

I was watching Rachael Ray this morning. Okay, let me rephrase. I was...doing something else, and Rachael Ray's show was on, and I overheard...okay, I was watching Rachael Ray, and I saw something quite peculiar. A woman was talking about her addiction to eating toilet paper. There was plenty of video of her consuming bathroom tissue in significant quantities. She keeps a roll in her glove compartment, for a snack on the road. She keeps some in a bag in her purse. She has eaten over one thousand pounds of toilet paper over twenty-three years.
Questions. Well, there's the obvious one: What the hell is it about toilet paper that this woman craves? She says she loves the way it melts in her mouth. She likes the feel of it against her tongue.
Next: How did she find out that she liked eating toilet paper? I'm not sure if this was answered in the segment, but I would sure like to know. It seems to me there is only one way to find out: Try eating some. But why? What would possess a person to even try eating toilet paper? You're sitting there, on the toilet, getting ready to wrap up your business, and you think, "Hmmm, I wonder what it would be like to eat this stuff..." Wow. Why doesn't she just eat cotton candy if she likes the feel of something with that kind of texture melting in her mouth?
She says, and I paraphrase, "I want people to know that I'm a regular person, like them. I just like eating toilet paper." Sure. I mean, other than that, we probably have a lot in common.
Somewhere out there, a man was watching that segment and smiling, tears shimmering in his eyes as he gently folded sheets of toilet paper onto his tongue and said, "I've found the one."

Cleaning Up After The Holidays

2011-01-04T20:35:00.001-08:00

I love that, when trying to dispose of my Christmas tree today, I used about four trash bags, a huge paper bag, four plastic shopping bags and the plastic packaging from two bulk packs of toilet paper, taped together with an entire roll of scotch tape to look like some sort of homeless monster trying to cover himself against the cold--only to realize, after taking this unsightly mess down to the trash collection site in my building, that I had a large heavy-duty trash bag sitting under my sink...right next to the smaller trash bags of which I had used half a box to make my shoddy patchwork quilt. Awesome.

Riding the Train

2011-01-04T20:14:00.000-08:00

Here's something I just don't understand: People getting on trains with no money. What do they think is going to happen? I would really like to know. Saw three young men do this last night. Got on at Grand Central Station in Manhattan and apparently were looking for a free ride to Dobbs Ferry, forty minutes away. Such a ticket would have cost roughly eight or nine dollars one-way. When the conductor asked them for their tickets, they said they had lost them. When she said they'd have to pay the on-train ticket price, which is nearly double the in-advance price, they said they had no money on them. No money. She told them they would have to get off at the next stop, get some money, and wait for the next train. What the hell were they thinking? Did they think they would get a vote of sympathy from the conductor? They did nothing to try to win one. Did they think they could just say,'Put it on my tab' and the MTA would bill them later? Clearly, these people are just idiots or they have never ridden a train before. I would love to know what's going on inside these people's heads--but I'm thinking I already know: Nothing.
Now, having said that, let me criticize the MTA: How dare you charge DOUBLE the ticket price for on-board purchases? I understand you wish to deter people from buying on-board because there are often a lot of people on the train, and this way the conductor just has to collect and click tickets and hand out seat checks. Convenient for him or her. Convenient for you. Saves time. Guess what? Not convenient for US. We try to buy our tickets in advance, we really do, because most of us know that you go for the jugular with your on-board prices. But sometimes, it just doesn't work out, y'know? Sometimes, we're running late, for whatever reason, and we just didn't have time to purchase the ticket in advance, and maybe we're not currently riding often enough to purchase a ten-trip or a monthly ticket in advance. Maybe we're unemployed and going in for job interviews. And for this, we get screwed with DOUBLE the fare? How is that just? Charge a few dollars extra if you want a deterrent--not a one hundred percent (or nearly that) markup! Especially when you raise your prices like everyone else and then cut certain train lines and expect all of us to just deal with it. Stop ripping us off. And just so you know, it's been quite a while since I've had to pay an on-board fare, so I'm not writing this in the heat of passion after being ripped off myself. I'm writing for everyone who rides the train. That's all I've got to say, dammit.

Tantrums

2010-12-30T07:03:00.000-08:00

So I'm watching the Rachael Ray show this morning...yes, I'm a male watching the Rachael Ray show. I'm unemployed. Don't judge me. Anyway, the segment is on "Adult Tantrums." Yes, adults acting like small children, losing their tempers and lashing out irrationally. A clip was just shown; picture this: A grown woman, standing outside a McDonald's drive-thru window and flipping out because they were not serving chicken McNuggets at the time she wanted them. She is yelling and even hitting the employees inside the restaurant. Repeatedly.
What is wrong with this woman? Is she mentally unstable? I think that's an understatement. Either that or she is having one of the worst days of her life, everything is crumbling around her, and she's just unleashing a rage that has been building up for a while.
I'll admit, chicken McNuggets are pretty tasty--until you are made aware of what's actually inside them. Watch "Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution" and you'll see what I'm talking about. Maybe if she saw that, she wouldn't be assaulting people to get her McNuggets. Then again, if she's the type of person who's going to do that, she probably would anyway.
If there's ever a point in one's life when one has to really take a step back and evaluate oneself, I think it's when one begins assaulting restaurant employees for not selling fake chicken at certain times.

Writing Services

2010-12-29T09:24:00.000-08:00

Everyone,
I'm offering my writing skills to anyone in need of help. Whether you or someone you know needs or wants help writing resumes, cover letters or follow-up correspondence for jobs, query letters to send to literary agencies or publishers, papers for school or work, speeches, thank-you notes for holiday, birthday or any-time gifts, or a proofreader/editor for your own creative work, I can help! I've got many years' experience in writing, proofreading and editing, and graduated magna cum laude with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English from Boston University. I've written tons of cover letters and many prospective employers have praised them as outstanding; I've even had interviewers tell me that they called me in primarily based on my cover letter. I know how to write a letter that will really stand out from the crowd, which is so important in these tough economic times when so many people are competing for work. I know how to highlight your relevant skills and experience and express them eloquently, as well as how to use humor to spice up your letters and give your readers (and potential interviewers) a break from the monotony of reading stacks of boring, cookie-cutter cover letters. I've written many research and analytical papers and a fictional web series that is in development, and I am working on two screenplays and a book right now.

Rates:

$5/page for proofreading/editing
$15/page for writing resumes and cover letters
$5/letter or note for writing follow-up correspondence, e.g., a thank-you note to the interviewer, or thank-you notes for gifts, etc.
$16/hour to discuss your work, my corrections/suggestions, or my work done on your behalf.

I will require full payment up-front.

I'm happy to work with electronic versions of your work or hard-copy versions, whichever you prefer. I will pay return postage up to $2.00 if you choose to send me a hard copy. For anything that costs over $2.00 to send, I will require payment for the overage up-front.

Please make payment via Paypal, if possible. Here's a link:

https://www.paypal.com/

If not, you may pay by check made out to "Ryan Zanoni." I'll let you know the address when we talk business.

I am more than happy to send you samples of my own writing upon request. I'll also gladly send a letter of recommendation and/or list of references, if desired. Just ask!

Please inform your friends, loved ones and acquaintances!

I look forward to hearing from you. Happy New Year! I hope 2011 brings you plenty of joy, love, peace and prosperity.

Best,

Ryan Zanoni
rjzanoni@yahoo.com
203-927-0981 (cell)

Bob Dylan & Christmas

2010-12-27T05:05:00.000-08:00

Let me start by saying I love Bob Dylan's music. I think he's truly a genius, one of the greatest songwriters/poets of all time.
However, to me, this does not mean he should sing Christmas carols. If you have not heard this, or even if you have, just to remind you, please indulge:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8qE6WQmNus

Am I the only one who finds it sad that when you type 'Must Be Santa' into YouTube's search field, 'Bob Dylan' is the first artist name that comes up after it?

I think we can all agree that it's probably not completely in keeping with the spirit of Christmas for children to hear the songs of Ol' St. Nick being sung in a low, gravelly voice that calls to mind a homeless, wandering vagrant stumbling through the streets, a Colt 45 malt beverage wrapped in a brown paper bag in one hand, a smoking blunt in the other, crooning to himself and anyone else who will listen as he searches for a place to sleep. It might scare them a bit.

Once again, Bob's amazing, and I love his truly inspired and inspirational work, but let's leave the caroling to every other famous singer who does it year after year on every basic cable television station for the month or so leading up to Christmas. I think kids should probably become young adults, at least, before they hear Ol' St. Bob. And they should probably go deaf before they hear Ol' St. Bob sing any Christmas songs.

A Simple Request

2010-12-20T20:34:00.000-08:00

Is it too much to ask for grocery stores to put all items where they belong? Not ALMOST all, or NEARLY all...just ALL. I mean, isn't that the job of a grocery store? To have things in their proper places? That was the impression I was under, anyway. Then why, pray tell, are the corn tortillas in Stop & Shop on the OPPOSITE side of the store from all the other tortillas?! There's a whole section of tortillas, right near the deli. So, naturally, I look there first. I carefully check each stack of tortillas, and all of them are made with wheat. Even the tomato and basil ones that are orange. Okay, I say to myself. I've been in this situation before. Except last time, Stop & Shop didn't have the corn tortillas at all. So, after searching every conceivable shelf in the store and concluding that they were nowhere to be found, I headed over to the A&P grocery store...where the corn tortillas were also absent. I finally found them at De Cicco's market. Three stores for a package of corn tortillas. Does that seem right to you?
So back to the story at hand. I say to myself, dammit, I better not have to go to two other stores to find these damn things again. They aren't even that good! They fall apart as soon as you try to roll them up with anything inside. Very poorly made. Maybe it has something to do with the amount of food I try to pack inside them, but I still say it's shoddy work! Anyway, my fiance has an allergy to gluten and wheat products, so I need to get them for her, and she's well worth the effort, so I just patiently trek through the store looking for them.
Oh, I say. There's some pizza crust on a shelf. Perhaps the corn tortillas are hanging out there. I insert myself between a couple of customers and rifle through the contents of the shelf to find NO corn tortillas. This is not looking good, I say.
Then, I remember my fiance telling me last time, after my three-store corn crusade, that they are often found in the Natural Foods section. Well, great, where the hell is that? Of course it's on the opposite end of the store from the rest of the tortillas. But there they are, sure enough.
Tell me, please, Stop & Shop, how is corn considered natural and wheat not? Are both not grown? I guess the wheat ones have more artificial ingredients or something like that. Generally, the list of ingredients on the wheat ones does include more items, some of which sound very scientific, than the list of ingredients on the corn tortillas, which usually includes corn and one or two other things. But I still don't think that justifies putting them a store apart from one another. And I'd like to know how you live with yourself, Stop & Shop.

Words You Never Thought You'd See in a Job Posting

2010-12-14T22:04:00.001-08:00

Another Craigslist posting to which I had to draw your attention, this one is for a feature film. I've included just the last part of it:

"We need all types of people to reflect the shit hole that is Newark.... and really bring it to life on the big screen. So the more felonies you have on your record the better!"

So, all you felons out there, who have lamented your plight again and again on job application after job application where you have had to fill out your criminal history and explain it in detail and read the company's words saying that your criminal record will not necessarily disqualify you for the job and know that despite this, you are starting out at an automatic disadvantage...all of you, flock to this job posting, and be glad:

A "Job Posting" You Have To See

2010-12-14T21:13:00.000-08:00

Wow. I don't even know how to introduce this "job posting" I came across on Craigslist, which is quite the wild card, because you're as likely to find a legitimate job prospect there as you are a serial killer or someone with a superglue fetish looking for playmates. This is the strangest and potentially one of the most disturbing posts I've seen. Take a look.

I included the link because I wanted to prove to you that this was real, that I wasn't making it up. I know you trust me, but still, this is so outrageous that I just had to show you that someone actually put this up as an ad online. Here, if you prefer, is the copied and pasted version:

"Paid Improv at Family Home (My Family's House)

Ok. So Listen, I REALLY need to laugh this Christmas. I need it. Seriously. Here's my idea. You come with me to my house for Christmas pretending to be a character. It may be one you want to work on, or one that is invented together, we can discuss it on the way. I figure somwhere in there, at the very least, mention in some manner to my very religious and conservative family, that you love the nazis, or were a stripper-ninja or something interesting. Oh, and that God doesn't exist. Definitely. Or something to stir up some hilarious and non-hurtful controversy. So I guess you not only have to be a girl but also some form of atheist-stripper-nazi.

I'm telling you it's a trip. We'll make it up as we go along. Anyway, I'd do it for you. In fact, that's the deal, I'll go with you to one of yours, if you want. It'll be fun!

I'm a guy, so it may be easier to explain to my parents that this is a new girlfriend, rather then the alternative where I come out of the closet to my parents. - Man, that would be dedication. - But, for right now, I'd rather they not have heartattacks BOTH. Who would be left to entertain me? Anyway, even though you should be a girl, this is not a date! It's an experiment. An exploration. Did I mention that I NEED to laugh this Christmas? Sure, I think I did. This is a paid gig. If what I'm offering is not enough, tell me what you would do it for. I'm flexible. Improv skills welcome.

Ok. So Understand the concept? If you're still reading, this must be interesting to you. I plan to record most of it and cull a play out of it somehow. So this is a chance to do some co-writing as well. Anyway, I think I've explained enough. So, if you are just sitting around NYC during the holidays and want to join in on some experimental theatre, give me a holler. The days would be consecutive Dec 22-28th. Overnight stays at my family's but no Hanky. And no Panky. Really.

Unless you want to. But I'd have to think about it. But probably not much. No but then I wouldn't. But then I would be thinking about it all night, so I would probably try in the middle of the night when you would already be sleeping and freak you out. Then I would apologize and FINALLY go to sleep. Then we would(hopefully) laugh about it the next day. Or right now. Or... not.

This is a tough challenge for an actor.You really have to be this part. My parents have to believe you. My sister has to believe you and she is very observant. The stakes are high, because feelings could get hurt if it's not believeableand true. It's a worthy challenge for any actress. Plus, it'll be fun! Did I already mention that?

C'mon do it. Take a risk. Do something no-one's ever thought of to do before. It'll be fun! Or maybe not! Either way, It'll be fun!

Please send a current headshot or photo. Better current than headshot. Cheers!"

Okay, I'm not even going to touch the part about "Hanky" and "Panky" and his telling the potential applicants that he will likely crawl into bed with them. Is this guy for real? Does he actually expect to get ANYONE to reply to this ad? I seriously believe that only a completely delusional, psychotic, or in some other way mentally-diseased person would apply for something like this. Is this not one of the creepiest things you've ever seen?

I'm not going to touch on the fact that he's basically offering to pay people for a performance plus perhaps a little extra, which is coming dangerously close to prostitution, and I'm not going to touch on it any more than I have because it frankly makes my skin crawl to think that there are people who post ads like this out there, walking free in the world. This is unsettling. It is disturbing enough that he is inviting girls (and he does say "you not only have to be a girl but also some form of atheist-stripper-nazi") for "Overnight stays at my family's." That alone is just plain creepy and I firmly advise all girls to steer far clear of this and all similar ads.

This is the unfortunate reason Craigslist has developed the reputation it has. It is a shame, because there are legitimate posts by legitimate, moral and respectable people; but there are also lots of these. However, I have not seen any quite like this.

If the guy really wanted to just play a joke on his family, here's a bit of advice for him: Ask someone you know. Obviously, someone your family doesn't know. But someone you know, someone who knows you are not a serial killer or deranged sexual deviant. Someone who knows you are just a person looking for a laugh, who loves to play practical jokes. That way, they won't fear that by going to your family's house, they will wind up becoming some kind of sex slave tied up in your attic. Or a piece of furniture. Do you see what I'm saying? Do you understand why you shouldn't have posted this online? Think about it from the perspective of the girls you are seeking. Really.

Maybe this guy is really a super-nice, honest and respectful guy who just wants to play a great practical joke on his family. But the way he's presenting himself and this offer is definitely not reflecting that. It sounds like he is looking for a new girlfriend, but trying to disguise it by presenting it as an offer to pay a girl to pretend to be his girlfriend. Then, when he's got her right where he wants her, he will try to make her his girlfriend--or worse.

Dude, whoever you are, I hope you are not a crazy killer, and I hope that if you happen to read this, it helps you to realize that this is not something you should be posting. I mean no offense. I'm just trying to help.

I don't recommend that anyone reply to this post, even just to reiterate what I've said here. It is better not to respond at all if you do not know the type of person with whom you are dealing. I just wanted to make you all aware of this.

Cheap Umbrellas

2010-12-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

What is the deal with cheap, crappy umbrellas? Why are they so terribly made? I was outside in the parking lot of Stop & Shop today, putting my groceries in the trunk of the car and holding an umbrella. There was a moderate, slightly forceful wind and some slanting rain. All of a sudden, there is a gust of wind, the umbrella inverts and promptly snaps off at the handle. The broken end flips over and sticks into my shirt, right above my shoulder. It takes me about a full minute to get it out without ripping my shirt. Can you believe that? That thing could have stuck into my neck had it been a few inches to the left. I've had umbrellas snap in half before, but only in very heavy winds, and I've never had them stick into my clothing before. It's like the umbrella took on an evil mind of its own and attacked me. Manufacturer of cheap-ass umbrellas, if you are reading this, I want you to know I am very unhappy with you. All I'm going to say is that there is such a thing as karma, and it's coming for you. That is not a threat. I don't have to do anything. You will be undone by one of your own umbrellas, if there is any justice at all in this cruel world.

Snow Play

2010-12-11T15:30:00.000-08:00

Brrr...it is colder than a witch's tit on ice out there. Why isn't it, 'colder than a witch's heart?' Why is it 'tit'? Well, that's another matter. Oh, I remember the days in my youth when, after high school gym class, we would tear off our shirts (well, the guys, anyway) and dive onto a huge mound of dirty snow in the parking lot. Ah, what fun that was. Hot bare skin against freezing snow. Good thing we only stayed there for a few seconds before running back inside screaming "Holy sh** it's cold!" Otherwise, we would probably have died of hypothermia. Eventually.
Anyway, I remember other good times in the snow. Like eating it! And then my mom telling me only to eat the white snow, not the colored stuff. This was way before high school, of course. I knew better than to eat pee-soaked snow by the time I was fourteen, thank you very much!
And sledding. The best times of the season were spent sledding. My friend Pat and I would go down this super-steep, long hill that had three dips on the way down and terminated in the road. We would always bail before we hit the last drop. Well, almost always. There were times when we just didn't quite make it off the sled. Those were the fun times, the DANGEROUS times. The times when you really felt the rush. I remember landing on the shoulder of the road as a truck whizzed by about a foot away from my head. Now that's living.
Then there were the times we managed to just barely grab hold of a tree and hang there while our sleds rocketed on into the street, skidding across the roof or windshield of a passing car. This was followed by screeching brakes, and us scrambling and sprinting towards the house.
Then, with my buddies, Drew and Tom, I would attempt other acts of derring-do and recklessness, including piling all three of us onto a training snowboard however we could fit and descending at full speed down a hill towards whatever fate awaited us. The challenge, of course, was to see who could last the longest before falling off. And for the very brave--us, of course--there was the HEAD-FIRST descent. This worked better on a sled, generally speaking, than on a circular saucer or inner-tube, but we tried them all. It was generally okay--until you hit the big bump, or "jump" as we called it, with your groin instead of your buttocks. The first half of the ride was generally more fun than the second for this reason, as you can imagine.
At my own home, we had quite the wild time jumping the fence on our sleds or snowboards or tubes. My dad would plow the snow right up against the fence, to the top, so that if we gained enough speed on the descent, we would fly, or flop, at least, right over the fence and into our own backyard. What great fun that was. Until, of course, we got a bit too heavy and the fence suffered a fracture. A fracture which was then exacerbated when I tried my hand at the plow and went just a little too far.
Ever try this one? I was feeling particularly daring (foolish) one day and thought, why not put one foot on one sled and one on another and go downhill on both simultaneously, like a cowboy riding two horses in the Wild West? I know why NOW, of course, but it didn't cross my mind then. See, try as you might to match them up, the sleds rarely go at the same speed the whole way down. The effect is something akin to a split, if you're lucky, or the breaking of a wishbone, if you are not. Fortunately, I only had to experience the split before I realized that this was probably not the best decision I had ever made. But it was fun.
What about snowball fights? Lame, I know. A snowball fight is nothing compared to a snowball WAR. With competing armies behind barricades (of snow) and a wide open swath of "No Man's Land." Some would say a ski-mask is always best for this type of warfare, but I say the vision you have to sacrifice and the risk of looking like a fool if it doesn't fit right outweigh any positives. Besides, how are you going to get a scar (or an eye patch) to show off to the ladies or to your enemies in the next snowball war, if you've got a face mask to protect you from that lump of ice in your enemy's projectile?
A note: I do not recommend challenging a good baseball pitcher or team of them to a snowball war. However, if they challenge you, you of course must accept. You must never back down. You must fight, even if that means you and your whole army go down, dead to the last man. It is the Snowballer's Code. To back down is to heap endless shame upon yourself, your family, and your unborn children. It also shows poor Christmas spirit. What would baby Jesus think of someone who backs down from a challenge?
Regardless of the type of snow play, it always ended in drinking hot cocoa, sometimes with marshmallows or even graham crackers, while warming our frostbitten feet by the fire. Ahh, nostalgia.
Yeah, I'll probably repeat all that again this year.

Cell Phones

2010-12-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

Here is something I simply do not understand: Why do people take so damn long to answer their cell phones? Is it really that hard? Does it really take that long to figure out its your phone when you hear it ringing very loudly and, coincidentally, right next to you? And when everyone around you is glaring, exhaling loudly, and rolling his or her eyes at you? Take a hint much, buddy? And have you noticed that the people who take forever to answer their damn phones are always the ones who've got the worst ringtones, the most obnoxious ones imaginable, and have their volume set to ear-splitting? Then, when they finally do answer the thing, they do so in a voice so loud, you would think they were not even using a phone, but rather, just trying to yell loudly enough to make the other person hear them hundreds of miles away? Why is this? Why do they talk so loudly? Is it because they are also the most hard-of-hearing people? Did they grow up in families where their parents yelled at people on the phone all the time, so they were taught that this is acceptable and proper and were also bereft of their hearing as a result? Now they can't hear a damn thing, so they yell without realizing it. This would also explain why it takes them so long to answer their calls.
I, for one, always make a conscious effort to answer my phone on the first or second ring, or as close to that as possible, or to silence it immediately by pressing--listen up here, people--the volume control. Yes, that's right. You can also hit 'ignore.' Whatever you like. Or, you can go on doing what you do now, which is stare at the phone like some kind of idiot, debating whether or not to answer it, or perhaps trying to recall whether or not you know who is calling you, or maybe trying to GUESS who it might be based on the area code and who you know in that area, while the rest of us just sit and wait, forced to endure your inane, godawful ring tone at a volume that would make Alexander Graham Bell roll over in his grave. What is wrong with you?
Another thing: Put your phone in an easily-accessible place, i.e., NOT the very bottom of your purse where it takes you so long to find it that the obnoxious ringtone completes its painful cycle and is replaced by your even more obnoxious (how?! I don't know!) voicemail notification, because--that's right--you took so damn long to press your mobile device to your ear that the caller actually had time to leave a voicemail.
Then, you decide you need to call the person back RIGHT NOW and yell at the top of your lungs like you're an airplane technician and there's a jet engine roaring right next to you. A little, gentle, polite reminder: There are other people around you. You are not alone. Please remember this. And if you can't use a cell phone courteously and responsibly, DON'T USE ONE! Give it to someone who can handle it! You know, I think some people should honestly be required to take a course on proper cell phone etiquette. Upon successful completion, they can obtain a 'Speaker's Permit,' with a probationary period of six weeks where they are tested for various qualities, like idiocy, obnoxiousness, self-awareness, loudness, etc. If they successfully complete this test, and are thus deemed fit to carry and use a cell phone, they are given a license to speak, which can and will be revoked if necessary. Having to use a landline for even just a day will remind them of how thankful they should be to have a cell phone and the right to use one. Maybe then they will think of others in public places.

The Holidays

2010-12-07T20:00:00.000-08:00

Well, it's the holiday season. And I feel obligated to write something about it. Not that I really have anything to say. But what would people say if I wrote nothing about the holidays during this time? I shudder to think. So here I am. I suppose there are some things I could say.
I was in the elevator today with someone who works in the building where I live. I asked him something like "Ready for the holidays?" You know, one of those types of things we always say when searching for something to say in the elevator to someone we don't know all that well. His reaction was interesting. He said, "Oh, yeah, tryin' to. So much pressure. Tryin' to give the right gifts, figuring out how to afford them, rushing around everywhere. Put me six feet under, man."
I believe that's the first time I've heard someone welcome death in response to the holidays. I said, "C'mon, man, the holidays are supposed to be a happy time," and at that point he did say he was thankful for his wife and kids and all the blessings he had. But after saying he wished he were dead. I mean, I think he was exaggerating, but still, isn't it sad that people have this type of response to a season which is supposed to bring joy and love to everyone? I feel as though people stress the importance of focusing on family and the things that really matter (instead of the things that stress us) every year, and yet plenty of others still sweat the shopping and the presents and the party-planning and cooking. Something's wrong here. The easy answer is to make Christmas less commercial and bring it back to its roots. A Christmas tree and presents, while I really enjoy having them each year, are not really symbols of Jesus. Okay, yes, Jesus got presents on his first birthday, but that's because he was Jesus. Other children and adults are not Jesus. As for the tree, I'm not really sure why that came about. I'm sure there's a reason, and sometime I'll go find out what it is. But not now.
Chanukah is far less commercialized than Christmas, but people still run around like maniacs trying to get gifts for it. And I don't know enough about Kwanzaa and any other holidays that may be celebrated at this time to write anything about them. Well, there you have it. Happy Holidays, everyone, and please try to focus on what they really mean and not let that get lost in the hustle-bustle of gift-shopping and party-planning.

Infidelity

2010-12-02T08:00:00.001-08:00

Did anyone see that news segment this morning about the co-hosts of that Daystar Christian Television Network? Well, the male host came on to acknowledge his past infidelity and talk about it, after there was a whole scheme devised by several people to blackmail him, but I'm not going to get into all the details of that. What I wish to discuss is an interesting point raised by the couple's counselor and friend. Good Morning America showed a clip of the couple at counseling with this friend, who was trying to help put things in perspective for the two troubled lovers. He said, and I paraphrase, "Okay, Marcus made a mistake, once, and was unfaithful, but it was with a woman. It wasn't with a man, it wasn't with a transvestite, it was a woman."
Hmmm.
Where do I begin? Aside from being a spectacularly weird statement, it is also not, in my opinion, a good defense of what Marcus did. How is cheating with a woman better than cheating with a man, transvestite, animal, alien or anyone else? I don't know, and I can't see how this would make Marcus's wife, Joni, feel any better. I believe what the man was trying to say was that, at least, Marcus was not breaking the Christian rule of having sexual or romantic relations exclusively with members of the opposite sex. So he was only breaking one rule, that of remaining faithful, and not two.
But if he had cheated with a transvestite, would that necessarily be breaking the rule of exclusivity? A transvestite is not a transgendered person; a transvestite is merely someone who dresses up as a member of the opposite sex, like the hilarious British comedian Eddie Izzard. So if Marcus had had an affair with a transvestite who was a woman dressed as a man, he would still be having relations with a woman, and thus would not be breaking the rule. Unless there is a rule in the
Bible of which I am not aware forbidding one from having relations with someone dressed as a member of the opposite sex. It may be in there; I don't know. If his partner in crime were a man dressed as a woman, then yes, this would be breaking the rule, since the person would still be a man.
Now, say the person was transgendered; would Marcus be breaking the rule then? How could one tell? The person is in between genders. Does the Bible have a rule about that? I don't think so. I highly doubt that being in-between genders is something that would even have been dreamed of at the time the Bible was written. Maybe there is a way to measure which gender the person embodies more; if the person is at least 51% male, then I suppose having relations with this person would be breaking the exclusivity rule. However, if he/she is 50% or less male, then you must acquit!

Hypocrisy!

2010-12-02T07:47:00.001-08:00

Have you seen the commercials about how much food is wasted every day or every week or month or year in this country or state or city? I just saw one that I found particularly troubling. It took place in a New York City subway station. A young lady was walking and talking to the camera when a train arrived filled with green apples. The doors opened and tons of apples spilled out everywhere. The mysterious disembodied voice emanating from the PA system announced, "Every day, [however many] pounds of food are wasted in this city. Go to [website] to learn more and help stop the waste!" But the makers of that commercial just wasted, oh, I don't know, hundreds if not thousands of pounds of apples to make that statement. So how is that helping? Okay, yes, it may make people more aware of waste and help to curb such waste in the future. But they still wasted a ton of food. Unless...wait a minute...unless the apples were fake! Like those false apples you see in people's fruit baskets in their houses, which are put there to make the people seem more health-conscious than they really are. And sometimes they look so real that you pick one up and start to polish it and it's not until you actually take a bite that you realize you've been duped. Oh, c'mon, I'm not the only one that's happened to! Anyway, back to my point--I don't think these apples were fake. They certainly looked and sounded like real apples as they tumbled out of the train and fell on the cold stone floor as I watched, helplessly, from my living room. Granny Smith, wherever she is, is crying her eyes out right now. Or rolling in her grave if she has passed away. I just don't know. Never had the pleasure of meeting her. Well, I think I've made my point.

...With The Stars

2010-11-30T19:19:00.000-08:00

So I'm not sure how many of you are aware now, but the popular TV show "Dancing with the Stars" has inspired a spin-off: "Skating with the Stars." Now I would think that has got to be a bit more challenging. Unless you are a champion skater. In which case you would not be eligible for the competition, out of fairness to the other contestants. To skate and dance at the same time? That's gotta be tough. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here. The point is...where is this "with the Stars" business going to end? What's next? "Cooking with the Stars?" "Marathon Running with the Stars"? How about "Nascar with the Stars"? I'm full of ideas. Come on, Hollywood. Give me a chance. I could make a killer hit out of "Wife Swap with the Stars".

Email

2010-11-29T20:58:00.000-08:00

Have you taken a look in your spam folder recently? Perhaps you should. You really might get a kick out of what you find there. I happen to get a lot of spam. I'm not sure why. I don't go to pornographic web sites. I know that's what you're thinking, so let's just nip that one in the bud, shall we? But seriously, I get a lot of spam, and some of it is just ridiculous. I used to get these messages about growing giant blueberries. I never opened them, obviously, because who knows what kind of computer-destroying or identity-stealing viruses might have awaited me inside? But I could tell from the subject line what the message was about, because it would say "Grow Giant Blueberries" or "Increase the Size of your Blueberries Tenfold!" or some other ludicrous thing. Who the hell is trying to grow giant blueberries? Well, apparently someone. I mean, how else do they get that "World's Largest Blueberry" and similar attractions? I don't know if there really is a world's largest blueberry. I mean, obviously, there is, somewhere, but I'm not sure if it is an attraction. But you get the picture.
Anyway, I can understand why blueberries and male enhancement drugs end up in my spam folder...but why do messages from myself? That's right. I email myself a message...from myself...and it ends up in my spam folder. And not at the top either, sometimes. It quite often ends up a few items down in the folder. How's that work? My spam filter is evidently pretty strict, seeing as it catches not only spam, but also messages that could not possibly be spam. Way to go, email. I have Yahoo mail. I've heard Gmail has better spam filters, so that messages about giant blueberries and giant sex organs will not end up anywhere, not even in your spam folder. However, when I attempted to open a Gmail account, and succeeded, I elected to have email forwarding from my Yahoo account, and the forwarding stopped after a little while and has not resumed since. This is probably somehow my fault, but until I figure out how, I will not admit it. And I know Gmail is part of Google, which runs this blog, but I have to be honest with my readers here. I hope that once I do get my Gmail account up and running, I will not be receiving messages about how to grow radishes that will break free of their roots and form a mafia to take out unwanted pests and neighbors. Although that would be far more interesting than giant blueberries or penile enlargements. Or penile enlargements for your giant blueberries. Why do your blueberries have penises? What are you asking me for? How should I know?

We're all human...here's to being self-aware

2010-11-18T20:18:00.000-08:00

So, I was thinking the other day about something I find interesting. There's a vague statement. Allow me to elaborate. I was listening to a long, boring, far-too-detailed voice message someone had left on my machine, getting irritated, sighing, exhaling forcefully, you know, the usual response. After that, I had to make a call, and had to leave a message, and about a minute or so into it, I realized I was doing the exact same thing I had just privately criticized and cursed someone else for--leaving a long, drawn-out, minutia-laden message. I laughed to myself, called to my fiance to tell her how funny it was that I had just caught myself doing this, couldn't get her attention, had to yell for her to turn off the hair dryer, had to yell two more times before she did, finally told her, as I laughed some more. Her response? "That's great, babe. Why don't you hang up now." I had totally forgotten that I was still connected. That message was going on three minutes. Far longer than the message the other person had left me. It's good to be self-aware.
I've become more self-aware about quite a few things recently. Question: How many times can you check your watch or the time on your cell phone and still have no idea what time it is? I've definitely done it at least three times on multiple occasions. What does that tell me? I have horrible short-term memory. No, it tells me I'm not paying attention. I'm distracted, thinking about the long message I just left someone, or trying to remember if I checked my apartment door enough times (at least three) to make sure it was locked before walking away.
It's funny how when there are too many things going on in your head at once, it appears to others that there is nothing going on in your head.
But why does this happen? Why are we so distracted so often? I think part of the problem is over-stimulation. Think of the sheer volume of media and advertisements to which we are exposed on a daily basis, from numerous sources. How could we be anything but distracted? The answer is: By developing filters in our minds which retain what we need and let slip through what we don't. It's easy to let all this visual and auditory stimulation wash over you, and, to be honest, a lot of it does just go in one ear or one eye and out the other, but when you really stop and think, there is a lot of it that stays with us. I can at least speak for myself when I say that I will see or hear an advertisement relating to my career or my interests or something I've been meaning to do, and I will think about it extensively. And then I'll hear or see another, and think about that one, and so on. I think this is especially true for ambitious people and chronic multi-taskers, both of which I am.
When our minds become over-stimulated and flooded with all these thoughts and "notes to self," we need to find a way to clear the air and become focused again. There are many ways to do this, but I feel one of the best is meditation. Pop on some headphones if you like and listen to some relaxing music, do some deep breathing, and try to think about nothing. Believe me, it's harder than you think. But it will help you to feel less stressed, less overwhelmed, and more focused. I think you will find that you can actually accomplish more by thinking less.
Meditation can also provide the cure for what I believe to be the other main cause of distraction today: The breakneck pace of modern living. Especially in urban environments but also in the suburbs, we live life in the fast lane. We tell ourselves that we need to slow down, but we sometimes can't seem to escape the race. Set aside time for yourself to do nothing but sit or lie down, breathe and free your mind. You'll probably find that a lot of the things you thought were so important to do right now can either wait or be dismissed from your agenda altogether. I believe you will find it a very liberating experience, and you will probably lead a more relaxed and rewarding life. Many people say, "I don't have time to meditate!" But therein lies the problem: If we are too focused on time, we cannot make time to let go of time. It is in the absence of time that we find peace.

WAFFLE CRISP is highly addictive

2010-10-04T19:49:00.001-07:00

Are you familiar with the cereal Waffle Crisp? It is sweet and delicious and composed of tiny little waffles soaked in syrup. I used to love it as a child, and then it disappeared for years, YEARS, and then the unthinkable happened...I found it again, in an A&P grocery store in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, my new home. I bought a box, and consumed it in a single day. A matter of a few hours, really. I just couldn't get enough of it. So I went back a couple days later and bought another box, which I proceeded to consume again in a single day. Hmmm...that's interesting. Again, as soon as the sweet taste of syrup-soaked waffle in cold milk hit my tongue, a sensation so divine and delightful shot through the sensory receptors in my brain and I felt pure happiness. I bought another box. And then another. I have not been able to make a box of Waffle Crisp cereal last longer than two days since I found it again here in New York. I can only conclude that Waffle Crisp...must be laced with cocaine. They should call it Waffle-cane. Or Waffle-ocaine Crisp. I'm just kidding. Now you can't sue me, Post Cereals. And if you did, I would no longer buy your cereal. Well, I would TRY not to buy it. But, addictions can be hard to break...

Chocolate Massage

2010-08-25T19:51:00.000-07:00

What's the deal with a chocolate massage, anyway? So you get chocolate rubbed all over you by someone you don't know, and then what? You're just supposed to wash it off? Well what good is that? Waste of chocolate. Why use something as tasty as chocolate if you're not going to eat it? Why not use something else with the same consistency and feel, but not the sweetness? Unless someone is going to be licking that chocolate off of you, I don't see the point in having it put on in the first place.

Another thing to worry about....

2010-06-29T21:43:00.000-07:00

Well, summer is here, and so is swamp-ass. But luckily, we have air-conditioning! Well, some of us do. Not to rub it in for those who don't. But, those of you who don't, this topic still should be of concern to you. For I am not about to discuss the use of air conditioners--but rather, the hazard they present. I first thought about this as I was walking to work in Manhattan one day, on the sidewalk, and happened to look up at a very tall building and see many air conditioners hanging out of windows, as they tend to do. And I thought to myself, with all these people walking this sidewalk every day, and all the sidewalks of New York City, and all the air conditioners hanging out of all the windows, what are the odds that one air conditioner--AT LEAST ONE--will fall from its perch, its supports broken or improperly installed by a careless individual, and smash into the head of one of the passersby, killing them instantly. Is it a morbid thought? Yes. But couldn't it happen? Yes, of course. Is it worth worrying about excessively? Probably not, for the average person. But do I take care to walk on the edge of the sidewalk, as far from the potential arc of a falling air conditioner as I possibly can, just in case? Yes I do. And does this make me more likely to be hit by a swerving vehicle driven by one of the thousands of nuts in the Big Apple? Well, we can't worry about everything. But wouldn't you rather be hit by a car than crushed by an air conditioner? You decide.

How to Stand Out in the Crowd

2010-05-28T20:12:00.000-07:00

A helping hand, people. When you don't know what a word means, just don't look it up, don't ask anyone, and simply interpret it any way you please, however totally incorrect. Just take a guess. It just may get you noticed. It did for me. And look where I am now. I did that with the word 'swanky,' which was the announced attire for an awards ceremony for our college theatre group, Stage Troupe. Everyone else--and I mean, every single other person--who attended wore either a suit or a dress. I wore a black hefty trash bag with armholes cut out, and sunglasses. I just could not believe I was the only one who had interpreted the attire more...loosely? Creatively? Stupidly? So, the moral is, don't think you won't be the only one. Don't think, Oh I'm sure someone else will wear this, someone else will do this, because you might turn out to be terribly wrong. Some ideas--like about forty-five percent of mine--sound great in your head but lose a little something in reality, when you're sitting in a huge plastic bag surrounded by people dressed to the hilt in red-carpet style. That may have been a wake-up call for me, because it certainly deterred me from ever doing that again, even though I did receive several compliments on my wardrobe.

Laundry (revisited)

2010-05-28T20:07:00.000-07:00

So here's a fun fact, or I guess an opinion really, because some may disagree (for incomprehensible reasons). If you run out of underwear, it's not a good idea to wear your bathing suit for three days under a pair of jeans. It's not all that comfortable. It bunches up a lot in all the wrong places, and if you think a normal wedgie is bad, try a nylon/mesh wedgie, intensified by said bunching. It feels like a fisherman has caught you by the butt with his net and is trying to pull you in. You're better off going commando, even in jeans. Or you could just do your laundry, but maybe you have no choice, at least for today. I wore that bathing suit and jeans combo for three days straight. I've only felt more disgusting a few other times in my life. My buddy and I actually started a Facebook group called 'The Victims of Underwear Shortage' in honor and support of all those college students who temporarily at a very bad time have found themselves unable to fit laundry into their schedules or budgets. It's a support group. Real people. Real stories. Real underwear. Check it out and join if you're brave enough to share your story with us.

Roommates and Neighbors

2010-05-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

Who are the worst neighbors ever? Me and my roommate (one of my best friends)during our sophomore year of college were probably good candidates. I don't think we would have won, but we would have put up a fight, that's for sure. I won't lay any blame on our third roommate; he was innocent. He was quiet and courteous. We, on the other hand, crammed fifteen (15) people into our cramped room that slept three but appeared to have been built for two and a half, and belted out Kelly Clarkson songs at the top of our lungs at midnight. Well, we had fun, at least. I don't think our neighbors did.
In terms of being good roommates to each other, we did quite well. Except for the time two of us threw balled-up articles of clothing at our innocent, quiet roommate while he slept. When he woke up, it looked as though he had passed out in a laundry basket. I was overall a good roommate all through college, once I stopped hanging my sweaty jockstrap in the window directly facing my freshman-year roommate's (another one of my best friends)bed, so that the breeze brought all the odor right to his nostrils. And I was second in my class in high school? Good lord, what did the people at the bottom of the class do?

Hostage teaser trailer

2010-05-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

Even stranger--and more disturbed--people

2010-05-13T20:31:00.000-07:00

I encountered a seriously disturbed individual in a NYC Subway. Now, you may have heard this a lot, or even encountered such people in the city subways, but this was a Subway restaurant. It's not in such a place that you normally expect to see such an individual. But there she was. The man behind the counter was finishing preparing her sandwich and she wanted it cut and wrapped in a specific way, so she was explaining that to him but I guess he was having trouble understanding exactly what she wanted because she started yelling "let me wrap my own sandwich!" So I'm ordering my sandwich and this seriously rude woman keeps interrupting me and the guy making mine, which is making the guy take longer, thus extending the amount of time I have to wait before enjoying my sandwich, and that's just not okay. So things start to escalate between her and the barely English-speaking Hispanic man trying to help her (so he can get the hell rid of her). I must have missed something, because the next thing I know, they're arguing over payment. The man is explaining to her that she still owes a dollar for the sandwich, but she does not agree. I don't think math--or English--or people skills--was her strong point. it seems her strong point was being a crazy obnoxious bitch. So she goes about counting pennies out of her purse. Evidently, she wanted to pay a dollar in pennies. This created another problem, because the man helping her understandably was not totally loving the idea of waiting for her to deposit a hundred copper circles on the counter and then have to try and fit them all into the cash register. Don't know why, but somehow he wasn't crazy about that idea, I guess. Here's the thing, though--did she even have close to a hundred pennies in that purse? I mean, who carries around that kind of change? Someone selling individual sticks of gum? Anyway, after a couple more tense exchanges between them, she grabs the dollar bill he's holding out of his hand and throws it at him. She starts swearing at the man, and throwing napkins on the floor, telling him to come clean them up. She's yelling "F^$k you!" and he's yelling "F^$k you!" and she yells back "How dare you talk to your customers like that!" She continues to make a mess, yelling 'take it outta your paycheck, f@&&*t!" I think she was referring to the balance owed on her sandwich. Maybe she should have just paid by credit card and paid the balance when she had the money. Well, the gritty-looking woman continues yelling and starts doing some weird and incredibly unattractive dance I hope never to see again from someone with that kind of posterior. I was expecting all the sewer rats in the city to be summoned and start circling her and following her into her lair, wherever it may be. Finally, she leaves after the men behind the counter threaten to call the cops. "I'mma come back here tomorrow with my boss, f@&&*t! I'mma tell 'im what you did!" What did he do? More to the point--you have a boss? What do YOU do?

Laundry

2010-05-13T20:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm about the worst there is at keeping my blog updated. i know I'm keeping my two loyal followers in suspense, impatiently awaiting the next stroke of genius. Well, here it is, at long last.

What is with instructions on clothing these days? I mean, am I the only one who's confused? "Machine wash warm with like colors." But some of the like colors bear the instruction "Machine wash cold." So what are you supposed to do? Have four different loads when you really only have enough dirty laundry for two full ones? What a waste of money if you're using pay-per-use machines, as I am in my apartment building. My mom says everything can be washed in cold water, so I try to stick to that, but still--why do they say 'warm" then? And why the heck do I still find my clothes shrinking even though I put everything on 'low-delicate' specifically to avoid such shrinkage?! C'mon! Give me a break! Who do I blame for this? The manufacturer, I suppose. It's enough to drive a man nuts, I say.

Names That Might Actually Make Your Cat Leave You

2010-02-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

What are the most unique cat names out there? Check out the top ten I've found. Got any to rival these? I'd love to hear them. People sometimes give strange names to their pets, don't they? Let's face it, they sometimes give strange names to their kids, too. As we go through this list of unique cat names, I want you to put yourself in the paws of the cats given these names, and ask yourself: If I knew what I know as a person, but were a cat, what would I think of my name?
Here we go....

The first unusual cat name on the list is Appollinaris. I found this one on www.funcatnames.com/. According to the site, it was the name of a cat belonging to renowned American writer Mark Twain (real name Samuel Clemens). Okay, so it's unusual, and a bit long, but it doesn't seem too ridiculous. Just wait.

All of the following names I found on www.cat-names.us/.

How about Vegemite? Wouldn't you just love to be named after a yeast extract spread? I know I would.

If that name doesn't strike your fancy, what about a different food, like Mushroom?

Oh, heck, why don't we just go ahead and name the cat Bologna while we're at it? Bologna? Seriously? This I don't understand. Unless you live in China, how do you look at a cat and think of food? And since this site was "cat-names.us," I'm a little confused.

If you don't want to name your cat after any type of food, why not go with a name like Goober? It's a southern U.S. term for a peanut--or a northern U.S. term for a southerner (well, to be specific, a redneck whose tires on his truck are so big his wife needs to be an Olympic pole vaulter to get into the passenger seat).

Not crazy about that one, either? Well, I don't know why, but okay...what about Bacardi? What alcoholics name their cats.

If your cat practices civil disobedience, why not name him Gandhi, after the celebrated peace activist? How does a cat do anything that would remind you of Gandhi? I guess if, instead of pooping in your shoes when he's angry, your cat stages a sit-in and refuses to go to the vet when you want him to, the name might be fitting.

If you're still not loving any of these, fear not...we've got a few more good prospects for you, beginning with Balto. Yes, like the famous sled dog who aided the Eskimos. Why give your cat a cat name when you can name it after a completely different species, known for its tendency to chase and torment cats?

If naming your cat for a dog is just not quite weird enough for you, you might want to go even further and call it Frog, after a creature that lives in water--which cats hate.

And lastly, how about Cancun? I know it may seem a bit strange to name an animal after a geographical location, but not if you went there on Spring Break and got so wasted that you came home with a cat you don't remember buying--or stealing.

Why do people give their cats these names? You've got me. Your guess is as good as--or perhaps better than--mine. But the question remains...if you were the cat, would you want any of the names above? If you need to get the weird naming thing out of your system, though, please do it on the pets and not on the kids. I'm telling you, it may seem like a novel and fun idea when they're born, but not when they're being verbally tortured in school and resent you for the duration of their young lives, until they're old enough to go to court and get their names legally changed. At least the cats won't know that they have ridiculous names, and probably won't hate you for them.

Sssshhhhh....this is an airplane!

2010-02-09T20:07:00.000-08:00

Enough with the chit-chat! The top 10 reasons why cell phones should be banned on airplanes.

Why should cell phones be banned on planes? Here are my top 10 reasons:

1) They supposedly interfere with the radio signals the plane sends and receives, which could cause a miscommunication or total failure of communication between the pilot and the air traffic controller. This could cause a plane to take off at the wrong time and possibly collide with another plane. Would YOU want to be responsible for this? No? Then I think your conversation with your gal pal about where you're going to go shopping once you land can wait.

2) I don't want to listen to you. I don't want to hear you yelling into the phone, completely oblivious of everyone around you who is trying to hear him or herself think or trying to have a quiet, respectful conversation with the person sitting beside him or her. I want to read my book or listen to my iPod without having to hear you yammer on about the new bag you just bought or the amazing guest they had on Oprah yesterday.

3) You could be the one sitting in the seat directly adjacent to the emergency exit, and I don’t really feel like having to scream at you and eventually shove you out of the way and climb over you to do your job, which is to open up the exit and help usher people out when we have to make an emergency landing in the Hudson.

4) I don’t want to hear your kid scream and cry incessantly because you won’t get off the phone for one minute to calm him or her down. I’d prefer to take my plane ride in peace….particularly if it’s a long one.

5) No one else wants to listen to you, have to climb over you to get to the emergency exit, or hear your child scream because you’re neglecting him.

6) If we experience severe turbulence, I don’t really want your phone to fly out of your hand and hit me in the head, rendering me unconscious. I think I speak for all your fellow passengers when I say this.

7) I want to be able to hear what the pilot is saying, because it might be important. One thing’s for sure…it’s going to be more important to me than hearing about what happened on last night’s episode of “The Bachelor.” Guess what? I don’t care who got the rose. I care about listening to instructions so I can get through this plane ride alive.

8) I want to be sure the flight attendant gets my order right, and that may be difficult if you are sitting right next to me or behind me and won’t stop screaming in excitement because your girlfriend got to touch Justin Timberlake’s hand at a concert. I don’t want to get peanuts when I ordered Cheez-its. I know both are full of sodium, but I prefer the taste of the Cheez-its.

9) I want to be able to finish writing the great American novel, which is most certainly not about who told off whom on “Jersey Shore” yesterday.

10) You’re allowed to use your cell phone almost everywhere else…why can’t you just detach it from your ear for the duration of the flight, out of respect for your fellow passengers, who have no escape from hearing your torturous voice other than to lock themselves in the cramped bathroom and come out with scoliosis? If you must make a call, please keep it brief, i.e., “We just landed. Meet you at the baggage claim.” Thank you!

Holy Bagel! The Scoop on the Big Jewish Holidays

2010-02-09T20:06:00.000-08:00

A brief discussion of the major holidays throughout the Jewish calendar year, along with a few tidbits about the related foods.

So, you want to know about Jewish holidays, do you? Well, lucky for you, I have a Jewish fiance! So I can help. Let's go in chronological order throughout the Jewish calendar year, pinpointing and discussing the major holidays.
We begin with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, in the Fall. On this day, you eat apples and honey, a sweet snack for the start of what will hopefully be a sweet year. It's a day of celebration, obviously--but following quickly on its heels is Yom Kippur, the day of penitence, less than two weeks later. This is where the celebrating ends and the starvation begins. One is supposed to fast from sunset the night before to sunset on Yom Kippur. After sunset, the feast begins! Aptly named Break-fast, it consists of such foods as bagels, lox (smoked salmon), and koogel (a delicious dairy noodle dish that is sometimes also cooked with apples).
The next holiday on the list is the big one, Chanukah (which has almost as many spellings as it does days), in December, eight nights of celebrating and gift-giving, to commemorate the day on which the Jews regained control of their temple from the Syrians. They wanted to re-dedicate the temple to God in order to restore its ritual purity, and they needed eight days' worth of oil to light the menorah (the candelabrum). They only had one days' worth, but amazingly, it lasted the entire eight days. In honor of this, Jews light their own menorahs, adding one candle each night, so that on the final night, all nine candles (one for each day plus a ninth called a shamash) are lit.
The final major holiday in the Jewish calendar year is Passover, in the Spring, the anniversary of the time when God passed over all of Egypt, killing the firstborn child of all families in the land, except those of the Jews, or Israelites, whom he had instructed to slaughter a lamb and spread its blood over the doors of their homes, so they would be spared. Passover lasts for a week, during which one is not supposed to eat yeast. Matza, or unleavened bread (bread without yeast), is the main ingredient in the meals during this time. Macaroons, cookies with chocolate and coconut, are my personal favorite food at Passover.
So now you know a little bit about the Jewish Holidays! L'chaim!

Announcers and their amazing announcements

2009-11-02T19:23:00.000-08:00

Isn't it surprising what these sports announcers choose to comment on sometimes? I'm watching Game 6 of the World Series right now, and the last time Alex Rodriguez was up to bat, one of the announcers said, "He's homered in seven different line-up positions. Just shows his flexibility." Really? So because one day he hit a home run and he was third in the batting order, and another day he hit a home run and he was fifth in the batting order, and so on, he's flexible? Wow. Didn't know it was so easy to be flexible. It's one thing if you've got a guy who can play several different positions in the field well; that would show some flexibility. Are they just running out of things to say sometimes? Have they sung A-rod's praises so much that that's the best they can now come up with? The other day I was watching the game and I can't quite remember exactly what the announcer said, but something to the effect of, "He's got the most throws-to-home plate that have resulted in outs than any third basemen in the American League." I felt like adding, "who's between five-feet nine and five-eleven and is of at least half-European descent." I mean, really? Maybe it's just me.

So it's been a while...

2009-11-01T17:10:00.000-08:00

Hey all (and by that I don't just mean my one loyal follower, T.J. Tobin...but a shout-out to him, while I'm at it! You rock, dude!) I mean all of you out there who have read my blog...yes, all five of you...I'm still alive. I thought six months was enough of a hiatus and here I am, back in action. There really isn't much of a point to this post, other than to tell you that I've returned, I've risen again, like a phoenix from the flames, and there'll be lots more coming from me. So I say, welcome back to the madness, all of you. Thanks for not losing interest...unless you did. In which case I can't blame you. But I hope you'll come back...Come back or else!!! Sorry, that was a bit much. Please come back...please?

Living Forever and Dying Today

2009-05-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Here's an idea to explore: “Dream as if you'll live forever, live as though you'll die today.” I think James Dean said it, though he may not have been the first. But that's an interesting concept. Because on the one hand you're doing all this dreaming and planning for the future, but if you're going to live as though you'll die today, you've got to live totally in the moment. How did John Keats, the great English poet who died at age twenty-six, live? Was he constantly looking ahead to the goals he wanted to accomplish, or did he truly live in the moment? How does knowing you're going to die young affect the way you live? What trivial elements do you cut out of everyday life in order to make sure you do all that is important to you? You don't take anything for granted, you waste no time, you don't put anything off because there may not be any time to put it off until. Who is happier, the guy who gets to live forever but has to watch all his friends and family die, or the guy who lives for only twenty-five years but never has to see anyone die and never takes one single breath for granted? What if there was an immortal guy who was friends with a guy who knew he was going to die young, probably before age thirty?That'd be an interesting relationship, huh? Also, you wouldn't really be concerned about eating healthy or exercising if you knew you'd be dead before thirty, would you? I don't think so. You probably wouldn't think so much or worry so much about things. I think John Keats wanted to write so much so he could leave a legacy behind him, so he could leave something to show for his brief time spent on earth. I think he was concerned that he would die and have nothing to show for his short life. But maybe I'm wrong. I'd have to read his letters again, it's been a few years and I definitely have not read them all. Maybe he just wrote because it was his way of venting, his way of coping with his illness and all the tragedy in his life. What would have been my reason, had I been John Keats? I think both. I certainly want to leave my mark on the world, but it's not all about one's legacy, either. It's about these moments, it's about enjoying the time you've got. The legacy that's most important is how you're remembered by those you love, and the positive changes you've brought to all the people you've touched—not how many poems you've published or how many films you've acted in.

Guns on campus

2009-04-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

I saw on the news today there are students trying to get a law passed allowing them to carry concealed weapons on campus. Are they f^(%in crazy? On the 10th anniversary of columbine, a day when you would think people would be thinking about a world without guns, here we are, and people are trying to bring more guns in. How will that solve the problem? The students say that they want to be able to defend themselves against an attack like Columbine or Virginia Tech. Well that’s all well and good and believe me I’m a strong supporter of the 2nd amendment but I think this will lead to some serious trouble. Just imagine this: some kid gets drunk at a party, starts to get out of hand. Sound familiar? I think pretty much everyone who's been in college can attest to the fact that this is pretty common. Except, now imagine that he's carrying a gun. And an argument starts, and it escalates and becomes physical, and then the kid busts out the gun and maybe he doesn't mean to use it but whether he does or not, a struggle ensues and the gun goes off and kills someone. More guns, especially at school, are not the answer. If you’re in the street or in your house or someplace like that, you should be able to carry a concealed weapon if you have a permit for it--but not on a school campus. There has to be someplace that’s weapons-free. Even if school shootings happen, fighting fire with fire is not the answer in this case. That’s just my opinion. I see it easily doing way more harm than good. I just don’t think college students are responsible enough, in general, to be handling weapons. They can’t even handle themselves on spring break! Can you imagine if you throw guns into the mix? Just picture the insanity of spring break...and now put a gun in just one of those kids' hands. A professor at the school where this debate is currently going on made that point, and I thought it was a great one. Yes, college students need to be able to defend themselves, but you can do that without guns. Guns are trouble, and more of them is more trouble. That's not to say we should take away peoples' rights to bear arms. I completely agree with that right. But I don't think that means that immature college kids who are often intoxicated and making questionable decisions should be given the means to shoot each other.

How You Know You've Passed the Point of No Return

2009-04-21T20:42:00.000-07:00

Guys, wondering if you've passed the point of no return in a relationship? You know, the point where you know there's no turning back, you're in it for the long run, you're hopelessly, incurably in love, a prisoner to its whim? If your girlfriend has asked you if you will go see 'Ghosts of Girlfriends Past' starring Matthew McConnaughey and Jennifer Garner and you said "Yeah, I've actually been wanting to see that," you have passed the point of no return. Actually, I read the script for that movie when I was interning in Hollywood and loved it. I guess I was past the point of no return a while ago.

Guts

2009-04-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

Today I want to talk about guts. You know, I really admire people who’ve got guts. I’ve got guts. But there are people out there who’ve REALLY got guts, y’know? People like Adam Lambert, the frontrunner (there, I’ve said it) on this season of American Idol. He’s definitely the most talented of the group when you consider the total package. He’s not only the most talented, he’s the best performer, because he’s the gutsiest, he takes the biggest risks, and he has the most fun. He’s truly an amazing performer to watch. If you haven’t seen him yet, start watching American Idol on Tues nights at 8 on Fox. Most of you reading this probably know about him already, but there are undoubtedly those who will not. So start watching, those of you. It’s a very rare sight to see a contestant on Idol who is already so far advanced in his development as an artist. He’s so much more mature than most of the artists we see. He’s got more experience than a lot of them, and it shows. And he’s an actor too, a true performer, and he knows how to work the crowd. Oh, does he! Yeah, he knows not only how to sing incredibly well, but how to entertain! And the risks he takes are so admirable. I hope one day to have the guts to take the kinds of risks he does. I’m working on it, I’m getting there. But I think having the guts to get up there and do what you feel in its utmost expression is the epitome of what it means to be an artist. Not to care what others think, to get up there and be you, and pour every last drop of your creative spirit out into the room, to fill the room and the crowd with the magic you’ve created. That’s really something. To be able to affect people with the magic of your creative spirit. It’s what we actors live for. That and love. A lot of what we express as artists has to do with love, so art is really one of the main things we live for. Self-expression. Thank god we have the right to self-expression. I don’t know where we’d be without it, but I don’t want to think about that. But yeah, Adam Lambert is my pick to win Idol, I’m in his corner, he’s my fav. And I can’t believe articles are even coming out about ‘can he win if he’s gay?’ who gives a shit if he’s gay, straight, bisexual, or whatever-the-hell other kind of sexual orientation there is? He’s a damned fine artist, a true rock star in his own right, and that should be all that matters. I’m confident, though, that he’s got enough people in his corner that he can overcome whatever sort of ridiculous ‘stigma’ might come with suspicions about his sexual orientation. Give me a break, the guy is fantastic, he should be judged based on his talent, character and personality, and in all three of those facets, from what he’s shown on Idol, he is a winner and a true role model for children and anyone who desires to become an artist. That is my personal tribute to Adam Lambert.

Adventures in Acting

2009-04-09T20:57:00.001-07:00

So I've decided I'm going to chronicle my adventures in the world of professional acting. So far, I haven't got much to write. I've got more to write about all the weirdos I've met on my various trips to the city than I do about my actual acting experiences. But those people add a little flavor to a story, so I'm thankful for them.
Anyway, I got up at four a.m. recently to go to an audition in New York City. Four. They say you have to be a little insane to be an actor--I think I've got that part covered. I felt the audition went quite well, but later I find out that the stand-alone copies i brought in for sheet music aren't gonna cut it in the biz. Apparently, it screams 'amateur.' So I've since put a music book together, and I feel more professional and confident knowing now that people will see me as more professional.
So after that audition, I went to TVI Actor's Studio to meet up with my consultant and sing for him so he could evaluate me for consideration in musical theatre classes. It didn't go as well as I had hoped. I just wasn't as into it as I wanted/needed to be. My energy was lacking, I wasn't acting enough while I sang--I did sing well, and loudly, so that was good, but the rest was missing. I vowed that that would be the last time I gave a lackluster performance of any kind, regardless of the circumstance.
Even more recently, I woke up at 3 am to go to another audition. This time, it was for Broadway. I arrived at the audition location at 7a.m., two hours before sign-in was scheduled to begin--and saw a line. Okay, not surprising. But this was a very long line. I made sure it was the right line, then began walking to the end of it. Well, at least I got here two hours early, I thought. I won't have to wait too long. I walked to the end of the line--only to find that that was not the end at all. The line continued to the left, around the corner of the building. All the way down to the next cross-street. I walked all the way down there, only to find that the line continued around the next corner further down than I could see. I walked, more and more disheartened with every step, until at last I came to the end--nope, wait, just a gap in the line where some maintenance guy had told the other auditionees they couldn't stand, cause they were blocking some door. Keep walking. Ah, yes, the end. Really, this time. The real end of the line. There were at least four hundred people ahead of me. I calculated in my head that if the auditors saw someone every two minutes--and that was wishful thinking, believe me--in eight hours (the absolute maximum amount of time they would be there), they still wouldn't see me. it was an open call, meaning they were seeing people in order of arrival. I was about to turn around and go back home, but I stayed because I started talking to a few kids who had come in together from New Jersey. if not for them, I probably would have left. Anyway, I decided to stay until 9 a.m., just to see how the line was moving, and make a decision after that point. So, we start moving a little after 9, slowly, believe me, but we're moving, so that's encouraging. Then, someone comes around and tells us that the auditors are going to be 'typing' today--that means lining people up and choosing who gets to audition based on physical type, i.e., look. If you've got the look they're going for, you get to audition--so long as they don't already have enough people with your look. If you don't have the look they want, you're s.o.l. The young woman who tells us about the typing says there are over 1,000 people here to audition. Over 1,000. Is this American Idol or an audition for a play? I mean, sure, it's Broadway, but are you serious?! So, around 9:30, I get my return time, when I'm supposed to come back to be typed. It's 2:00. I have to leave the area and return at 2pm to see if they want to have me audition. Oh, well. What have I got to lose by waiting, right? I mean, I came here for this anyway, might as well see it through. I kill all four and a half hours at Starbucks, during which time I order only one thing there and read and eat my lunch. I go back to be typed--and I get chosen to audition! At this point, I'm psyched. This means getting up at 3 a.m., screwing up my whole sleep cycle, spending my entire day in the city, was all worth it, because I get to sing a minute of a song for the auditors. I sing well, I'm pleased, and out I go. Ready to go home. Successful day, as far as I'm concerned. Yeah, definitely got the insanity part covered.

"Religion"

2009-04-09T20:37:00.000-07:00

What if people just started religions based on anything they wanted? Oh, wait. They already do. Some of them. Or at least it seems that way. Then again, maybe some of these religions we laugh at only seem silly to us because they haven't been around nearly as long as the established ones like Christianity, Judaism, Islam, etc., and aren't nearly as popular, so they don't have the same credibility yet. Anyway, I was reading a user comment on imdb (the Internet movie database) recently, and someone wrote that she was starting a religion based on the movie "Supergirl." I hope she was kidding--but I'm not sure. Actually, it's much funnier--though scarier--if she's not kidding. Kara, the Supergirl character--is the "goddess' of this "religion." Basically, the premise is that all the followers worship Kara and her perfect ways, and basically that acting like Supergirl is what everyone should do. What if this person took this thing to the next level and actually got converts and followers? And they had actual meetings? What would they talk about?
"I tried to fly like Kara today...it didn't work out. Yes, that's why I'm in a wheelchair. Kara be praised."
"I'm still trying to figure out where that darn magic orb is that was stolen from Krypton. it's somewhere here on Earth."
"Keep looking, Susan. Don't give up. Kara is with you."
"Today, I tried to stop a car full of bad guys fleeing from the cops--that also didn't quite work. Would everyone please sign my full-body cast? Oh, just not across the chest--that spots reserved for Kara's signature when she returns."
Maybe there's a rival religion that worships Lex Luthor. The goal is world domination--and thwarting the efforts of the Kara-ites, of course. Followers of this religion would all be completely hairless, of course, like Luthor. They'd probably have ritualistic hair removal procedures.

A new "sport"

2009-03-14T21:21:00.000-07:00

I saw something recently that really made me laugh. I saw a video of college students playing Quiddatch. yes, the same Quiddatch that is played on broomsticks in the Harry Potter series created by J.K. Rowling. Oh, with one minor exception: they were not flying through the air; they were running on the ground. Holding broomsticks between their legs. It was ludicrous. Now, of course they can't fly through the air, because of that sometimes unfortunate force called gravity. So why play Quiddatch, then? Why stick a broomstick awkwardly in your crotch? Play rugby or dodgeball. Because that's exactly what this was. A cross between rugby and dodgeball. With broomsticks that serve no purpose except to make their riders look like the characters from Harry Potter and enable them to swat away balls thrown at them. But these people didn't look like Harry Potter characters. They looked like a bunch of idiots dressed in wizard hats, running around like mad. And it gets worse. There's a player called a "snitch." The snitch runs around with a sock hanging from the rear of his waist which contains a small ball, to represent the "snitch" in the popular book series. Are you kidding me? So, basically, you've got a bunch of twenty-year-old geek extraordinaires running around with wooden sticks thrust between their legs, pushing each other over and throwing dodgeballs at each other, all the while trying to throw a soccer ball through a hoop and grab a ball dangling from somebody's ass. Sound like fun? Go for it. My alma mater, Boston University, played valiantly at the Intercollegiate Quiddatch World Cup, or so I'm told from the article I read. I couldn't really tell who was on which team from the video, because it looked like a bunch of overgrown wizard wannabes prodding one another with large wooden phalli. I can't tell you how proud this makes me of my school. A large young man dressed as the rugged Hagred put it best when he said, "I love Harry Potter. I really do. I love being Hagred. But grown-ass people playing Quiddatch is the most foolish thing I've ever seen." These Quiddatch players take their "sport" seriously, too. I even heard the word "strategy" mentioned by a girl wearing safety goggles, to her team of Quiddatchians in their tent. The only good thing about this bastardized, real-life form of Quiddatch is that you get to hit people with your body and with dodgeballs. So I say, dispense with the godawful broomsticks--which are more apt to render someone blind or sterile than add any kind of enjoyment whatsoever to the game--and the hanging "snitch"--I'm not even gonna go there--and call it "Dugby" or "Rodgeball"--a dodgeball-rugby hybrid. I think it'll create a nice bond between the Germans and the Scottish, the inventors of each sport (I think, but perhaps that fact just isn't true at all). I think you need to do some serious self-reflection if you're in college and you're still running around pretending you can fly like the wizard children in the fantasy books you read. I'm all for imagination, believe me--but Quiddatch? And I thought "handball" was bad when I watched it on the Olympics. Just wait until Quiddatch is part of the games. Then you'll see some really proud geeks. Broomsticks, away!

Mail

2009-02-03T21:02:00.001-08:00

Kids these days have it so easy with email that when they actually have to mail something, they don’t know how. My sister was recently in the post office and wanted to mail a letter. She handed it to the cashier, who weighed it.
“Forty-two cents,” he said.
“No, really,” laughed my sister.
“No, really. Forty-two cents,” the cashier said again.
“I don’t want the whole book of stamps—I just want one,” she explained.
“Yes. One stamp is forty-two cents,” he explained, wondering under what rock my sister had been hiding for the past ten years.
“Are you kidding?!” my sister exclaimed.
The cashier eyed her. “Are you?”
My sister thought that a stamp cost seven cents.

Muffins

2009-02-03T20:58:00.001-08:00

The other day, I was with my girlfriend in a coffee shop, and I saw the largest muffin I have ever seen in my life. Three of them sitting right next to each other. It’s actually more frightening as I look back on it now than it was at the time. These were about ten times the size of normal muffins. Enormous. Small footstools, they were. Family-style muffins. For a large family. Imagine eating one of those in one sitting. Holy crap. That’d be your daily value of carbohydrates for about the next week.

Listening

2009-02-03T20:35:00.000-08:00

Here's an interesting topic: Talk show hosts on the radio who take calls from listeners—and then don’t let the listeners speak. They talk all day and we listen—they can’t just let someone else speak for the one or two minutes they’re on the air? They took the person’s call, for Pete’s sake! Why do they bother taking calls if they’re just going to shoot down what the person says and reiterate their own view? It seems pretty pointless to me. A discussion would be far better. I understand that these hosts are passionate about the topics on which they speak, and I respect that. But passionate and close-minded need not be one and the same. I’d like to host a talk show. But I would let the listeners speak. Sometimes it’s funny what people say. A lot of times, in fact. If people listened more, they’d get more laughs out of it and maybe have more stories to tell. But it really is true that so many people don’t really listen—they just wait for their turn to speak. Have you noticed this? I’m sure you have. The point was brought up in the movie “Fight Club,” and I thought it was a brilliant observation about humanity. Why don’t we listen more? Why aren’t we more patient? Our culture demands instant gratification, so that’s what we’re conditioned to want and seek. Imagine how much more productive and helpful we could be to each other if we just listened more! Hopefully, someday, more people will begin to realize this.

Human Composition: More than chemical, I say

2008-12-14T16:33:00.001-08:00

If all we are is chemicals that have combined randomly to form these bodies in which we live, where do our deepest desires come from? Why do we ask why? Why do we ponder our own existence? Why do we seek knowledge, betterment of self, happiness and love? Why do we have dreams and follow them? Why do we feel emotions and not just physical sensations? Why are we not just simple animals? I say there must be a soul in us humans. Given all our dreams and feelings and passions and philosophical thoughts, I say there must be something that lives on when our hearts have ceased to beat.

Terms of Endearment

2008-11-21T13:50:00.000-08:00

These are equally as interesting as nicknames. Where do they come from? "Honey" and "sweetie" make sense, as both things are sweet and sweet things are pleasant to the palate. Still, it's funny how we base terms of endearment on sugar and the physical sensation of taste. Sure, we taste each other when we kiss, but if that were the only criterion on which we based our little pet names, we'd call each other "orange juice" and "hamburger" and "beer breath," too, wouldn't we? I mean, we don't always taste like honey or other sweet things. Where the hell did "pumpkin" come from? I mean, it's cute, but still, what's it mean? "I love you, pumpkin." Translation: "I love you, round orange vegetable" ? Not exactly number 1 on the list of most flattering things to be called. Now "pumpkin pie" tastes good, but we don't call each other that, do we? We call each other "cutie-pie," though. How is a pie cute? If it's small. So, basically, a nice way of saying "small-pie," or a delicious treat that won't make you gain too much weight. As opposed to "large pie" or "heavy pie" or "thick pie," all of which are tasty but you may regret eating a whole one. So where the hell does pumpkin come from? Why not apple? It's smaller, which is almost always something women want to be, it's sweeter than a pumpkin and it also makes a delicious pie! It's generally been my experience that apple pie is actually more popular than pumpkin. But I have never heard "apple" used as a term of endearment. I believe a celebrity whose name escapes me named his/her daughter "apple," but that's another story.

Nicknames

2008-11-21T13:29:00.000-08:00

What's the deal with nicknames? They're funny, aren't they? Especially certain ones. How did "Chazz" become a nickname for Charles? How did "Chuck" become a nickname for Charles? Charley's the only real nickname I understand for Charles. Is it because Chazz rhymes with jazz and jazz is seen as smooth and cool? Maybe. Chuck I just don't get. Why would someone nickname someone else after a type of beef? I mean, I have a friend we call "Beef" but that's because it comes directly from his last name. But Chuck? Sure, it sounds manly, but is that only because of Chuck Norris? If not for him, would people laugh at the name Chuck as being silly? I doubt anyone would dare tell Chuck Norris it's silly, for fear of being fatally roundhouse-kicked in the cranium. I guess he's the protector of that nickname. What about "Hank" for Henry? Really? How did that one spring up? I mean, the two things that come to mind when I hear "Hank" are "yank" and "hankie" (short for handkerchief). Neither of these is anything I would want to be associated with, especially a hankie, which is a nice name for "mucus collector that you shove in your pocket for repeated use."

Restroom Noise

2008-11-14T14:43:00.001-08:00

What is the deal with people breathing heavily and grunting in the stall next to mine in restrooms? I mean, c'mon! Is that really necessary? I try to be considerate of others by remaining quiet so as not to draw my neighbor's attention to the fact that there is another person relieving himself right next door. We try not to think about that. Or at least I do! But some people make that very difficult! I mean, have you no shame, people? It's not your own bathroom. Do what you will in the privacy of your own home, but try to be quiet and courteous when you're in the presence of others. No one wants to know you're there, sitting on the toilet, doing your business! And I can assure you, no one wants to know that you're having trouble with it! That is the last thing I want to know. I hope some of you read this. You know who you are.

"Obsessive-compulsive" behaviors

2008-11-14T08:54:00.000-08:00

I wonder when a behavior qualifies as "obsessive-compulsive." At what point does it stop being normal and become a disorder? According to readings I've done in my psychology classes, a behavior is not defined as being obsessive-compulsive unless it interferes with one's daily life. So it must be the type of thing somebody has to do a great number of times each day, because if it's only a few times, it really can't be said to be impairing one's functioning. My friend, for example, is convinced she has a little bit of OCD because she "has" to check the knobs on her gas stove at least three times every night before going to sleep. Even if they're clearly turned to the "off" position, she still has to touch them and make sure they're really off. What's more is that if anyone touches them after her, she has to touch them again--even if the knobs are still obviously in the off position. I tested this one night before leaving her house. She went through her routine, checking each of the four knobs three times. I then touched one, without turning it. She immediately complained, "Stop! Now I have to do it all over again." And she proceeded to check each one again. I touched the knob again. This time, she hit me, then checked and touched each knob again. It was pretty funny, because I know she doesn't have OCD. It doesn't significantly affect her life. She doesn't waste more than a few seconds a night on her paranoia that her eyes are deceiving her, the knobs are actually "on," and the house will soon blow up. I think if her behavior qualified as OCD, a lot more people would have this disorder. I myself engage in somewhat compulsive behaviors sometimes. I check the lock on the door to my house usually about three times a night, turning the deadbolt and trying to pull the door open with the latch (it's an old door and thus knobless) to make sure it's secure. But I wouldn't call this OCD. Because I don't spend much time doing it, unless you added up all the seconds, in which case over the course of a hundred years I might lose a day. Okay, I just calculated it. Four days over a hundred years. Approximately. If I spend ten extra seconds a night checking the door. It's worth it to me to feel safe, in today's world. Please feel free to comment and share your "compulsive" behaviors with me!

Yet More Strange People

2008-11-05T12:41:00.000-08:00

This has quickly become a favorite topic of mine. They just keep on coming! And this time, I wasn’t even in NYC, which is where you expect to see some oddballs. I was in Connecticut, not ten minutes from my house. I had stopped to get gas in the morning on my way to work. As I was walking in the door to the “Mart” to pay before pumping, I saw an older gentleman behind me, so I held the door for him. He looked at me happily and said, “Thanks! I’ll call ya tomorrow!”
I just smiled, wondering what this guy was talking about, and let him in the door. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or serious. Maybe he thought I was someone else. It almost sounded as though he were finishing a conversation with someone else—except that there was no one else around him and he was looking right at me (and he didn’t have a bluetooth in, either). Anyway, we went in, and I decided I would let this guy go ahead of me in line (I try to stay out of the way of the oddballs), but he insisted on letting me go first. “Go ahead, I’ll let my grandmother serve you first,” he said. The cashier, to whom he was presumably referring (but who knows?), was definitely a good ten years younger than him, at least. She glanced at him and the look on her face said, “Oh, great. He’s back.” And I still couldn’t tell whether he was just a jokester or was legitimately confused about the circumstances of his location and the people around him. My first impression was that he was joking, but what an odd thing to say, even as a joke. Usually a jokester isn’t quite so random. But he was funny, I’ll give him that.
I think I attract these people. I think I have a sign that is invisible to me but clearly visible to them, saying, “Calling all weirdos! Dispense your ramblings here!” For some reason or other, they feel they can trust me, or relate to me, or that I’m one of them. I’ve got my quirks, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not quite in that league yet.

I know I’m not the only one to whom this happens. My former college roommate told me a story while we were living together. He was in the dining hall eating lunch and trying to read his engineering textbook. He was a very busy young man, being an engineer as well as an R.O.T.C. officer, so his time was very valuable to him. So there he was, sitting in the dining hall, engrossed in his text, when who should sit down across from him but a total stranger. “Hi, I’m a freshman; I’m trying to meet people.”
He stared at her in disbelief, looking around at all the empty tables in the area. There were a hundred other places she could have sat down. He had not anticipated this.
“Well, that’s nice, but I’m trying to read,” he said, attempting to be polite.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“Engineering.”
“What’s the topic?”
He hastily spat out some words.
“Oh, that’s interesting. Tell me more.”
“Look, do you really understand any of this?” he asked. “Is it really going to benefit you to hear me talk about it?”
“Well, no, I’m just trying to meet people.” She introduced herself and extended her hand. He shook it reluctantly and introduced himself.
She stayed at the table and talked to him until she had finished her lunch. He got no reading done.
Back at the room, after he had related the story to me, he said angrily, as though speaking to her, “How dare you presume to think you have the right to steal my time! That’s bullshit!”
Then he asked me rhetorically, “Do I just attract these people? Do I give off something that says, ‘Come talk to me! I’m looking to chat’?”
I was laughing so hard I was crying. Personally, I rather enjoy talking to strangers and observing their idiosyncrasies, but I think if I had been trying to squeeze some reading into a packed-solid schedule, and someone came up to me wanting to meet new people and wouldn’t take the hint and leave, I’d probably be a little irritated, too.

Interesting Sign

2008-11-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

I saw an interesting sign today in--where else?--New york City. I love that place, I really do. It's never dull there, ever. Anyway, there was this guy standing on the sidewalk holding a cardboard sign (as many do in NYC)--but his sign did not bear the usual "Homeless and hungry" message; instead, he had written, in big black letters: "NEED MONEY FOR BEER, DRUGS AND HOOKER. AT LEAST I'M NOT BULLSHITTIN' YOU." I kid you not, this is what the sign said. Now let's analyze this. First off, I'd like to start by saying I appreciate his honesty. It's refreshing to see some truthfulness (not that there aren't more honest homeless people. I know some are truly hungry and just want a meal, don't get me wrong). But what the hell does he expect to get from anyone? Is anybody really going to give that man money so he can further wreck his life?
When I told my mom about the incident, she brought up a point I had overlooked: It could all be a set-up. Think of all the times you've seen something like this on television--"Candid Camera" being the most popular example, probably. He was most likely observing other people's powers of observation: Do they really look at people and signs before they donate their dollar or do they just drop it in the cup without making eye contact? What a great idea this man had, I now realize. This guy I thought was a mere honest idiot could really be quite clever. And come to think of it, looking back, he really didn't look all that dirty or down-and-out. Not that you can always tell just from a person's appearance, but all I'm saying is I could believe him as a man with a home and enough money to get by who wanted to make a point-and a few dollars doing it. Look before you give your dollar away, people. See where it's going.

Fighters

2008-10-24T09:54:00.001-07:00

I was watching "60 minutes"--or some show like it--recently and they were interviewing this Spanish bullfighter, who couldn't have been older than his early thirties. He got his liver gored by a bull during a fight. Most people, I would guess, don't live through that. But he did. And you know what he said afterwards? He will fight again next year. Is he nuts?! I figure he MUST have a death wish. I mean, if that happened to me and I lived, I would take that as a sign from God: "Hey, stupid! I'm giving you another chance. Don't screw this one up." But he says being so close to death makes him feel more alive. His friend got gored in the leg, severing his femoral artery and he lived too! Amazing. He may never walk again, though. If he does, he'll probably fight again, if he can move well enough to avoid getting gored again. What an insane sport. And a cruel one, too. They're killing bulls for the sport. Kill or be killed. What the hell? The bull didn't ask to be there. The bull is fighting for its life, and unless it gores the matador, it doesn't have a chance. Even if it does gore the matador, it probably still gets killed. It just seems so senseless and mean and barbaric. It's the most primitive of activities. The interviewer was marveling at the paradox that Spain has such an advanced society and yet a primitive sport like bullfighting is one of the main attractions and cultural elements.
Then there are those people who run with the bulls. There's an intelligent idea. I think I'd like to run with hundreds of other people down a narrow street with several sharp-horned, thousand-pound animals chasing me. Sounds awesome. Do people really need to do such things to feel alive? I wonder if any of these people have ever been in love. I don't see bullfighters as the 'family man' type. I don't see how that would work. "Bye, kids. Have a good day in school. I'll see you when you get home--if I live." Who would marry a bullfighter? Can you imagine being the wife of one? The anxiety, the stress? Every time he goes out into the arena, wondering if that's the last time you'll see him alive? Crazy. I think bullfighters are the bachelor-for-life types. They can probably get laid pretty easily. They all seem suave and cool and have sex appeal, so I bet women really go for them. But only as a lay, not as a steady boyfriend and definitely not, I would wager, as a husband. I wouldn't marry a bullfighter, I'll tell you that. It's one thing to marry a soldier, someone who's serving his country and fighting to protect your rights. He's fighting because somebody has to. But nobody has to be a bullfighter. it's completely gratuitous. It's sport. So why would you enter into a committed relationship with someone who's putting himself at a high, unnecessary risk for death over and over again? Why would you want to experience the anxiety and the pain if he were injured or killed? I really want to know if there are any married or engaged bullfighters out there.
Ultimate fighters are a similar story, though obviously not as extreme and not as cruel. The risk of death is lower (no one is guaranteed death, as the bull is)--but by how much? One good punch or kick to the temple can kill you. Probably not in most cases, but it can. So imagine being hit multiple times in the head and vital organs by a muscle-bound martial artist. I can't see that as being too good for longevity. I'd be nervous and anxious and stressed as hell if I were married to an ultimate fighter. I know one--a great guy--and he just got married and his wife's pregnant. He also just got over a severe concussion from punches to the head. He's in his mid-forties. I'd be scared if I were his wife. Scared about the well-being of my husband and our child if, God forbid, something should happen to him. But it makes people feel more alive, and there are those who thrive off fighting. I wonder what it is about fighters that draws them to the sport. What is it they all have in common? Where does it come from, this thirst for blood, this love of danger and enjoyment of pain? Is it genetic at all? Purely environmental? Is it just a macho thing or is there more to it than that? Do they want to feel like they can protect themselves and their families (if they have families)? I'd love to examine the brain of a fighter and compare it to a non-fighter's. I'm a martial artist, but I have no desire to be a fighter. A friend of mine who used to be a boxer once told me, "You don't want to be a fighter. Fighting's for people who don't have anything else." (He was talking primarily about people who fight for a living. The guy I know doesn't--he's got a real job). Thankfully, I have so much else. But some kids in the inner cities don't. Fighting's all they have, or at least that's what they believe. I don't know if it's true. I think there's always an alternative. I don't think anyone has to go that route. But I'd have to be an inner-city kid or at least live there for a while to know for sure. I'd much rather be an artist than a fighter, that's something I do know.

More Strange People

2008-10-23T10:31:00.000-07:00

I saw a funny guy in New York City the other day. He was a rather large African-American man in camouflage pants and headphones. Out of the blue, he yells, to no one in particular, "It's like they say sometimes--Who cares if they go to town?" It's like who says? Who actually ever says that? These were a couple of the questions that his outburst spawned.
I'm not the only one who encounters odd human beings in my travels. A friend of mine told me about a homeless man he saw fishing on the sidewalk. For what, you may ask? I don't know. Well, probably fish. Maybe he thought he was in a boat in the ocean or a lake. Not sure. You'd have to ask him. If you did, he'd probably look at you funny and say, "Of course I'm in an ocean--what are you, an idiot?!"
I tried to give food to a homeless man once and he turned it down. I was like, really? Here I had some tasty chicken breast and an apple I had carried quite a distance all for him--I carried it all the way across my college campus or nearly so--and he said, "No, thank you. This will bring the rats right up to my neck." Well, then, does that mean he just avoids greasy foods? I didn't think homeless people were that selective about what they ate. I figured he'd be setting traps for the rats so he had breakfast, but that's just me.

All the things you could possibly worry about in one sitting

2008-10-13T13:32:00.000-07:00

What is the deal with everything causing cancer today? Cell phones are said to cause brain cancer in some cases if used often enough. Eating red meat is said to cause cancer. The sun which warms us and enables our crops to grow to provide food for us and keep us alive by warming the earth—gives people cancer. It’s just ludicrous. If it’s not cancer, it’s something else. Salmonella can be got from chickens and now from tomatoes?! Give me a break! Mosquitos can cause our brains to fill with fluid (encephalitis) and can also give us West Nile—I have no idea what that is but I know it’s pretty terrible. It just seems that there is no way we can prevent all these illnesses if the sources surround us like they do. Sure, we can take measures to prevent illness. We can wear sunscreen—but then if we forget to reapply it we can get burned and our skin can get cancer anyway! We can cook our chicken until it’s black and cut tomatoes out of our diets—but then we can eat ground beef infected with Mad Cow or Hoof-in-Mouth Disease that can’t be killed by any amount of cooking! What the hell are we supposed to do? I was reading recently about this other infection, and this one is really bad, let me tell ya. It comes from sweat. Can you believe that? Yes, sweat. A high-school football player came down with this infection after practice one day and a couple days later he was in the hospital on his deathbed! Apparently, swapping sweat with his fellow teammates on the football field had given him this horrible bacterial infection that ate at his insides and made his lungs look like swiss cheese. He lost a prodigious amount of weight and his family came into his room, preparing to say goodbye to him. Thank God the doctors were able to save him, but it was more than a close call. The doctors say now you’ve got to wash your clothes immediately after any physical activity with others to prevent this infection. Sure, most of us do wash our clothes after sweating. I don’t want you to think I think it’s weird to do that. But I do martial arts and before hearing about this, when I would go twice a week to karate class, I wouldn’t always wash my gi (uniform) in between classes. I would go to class on Tuesday and sweat, let it dry and wear it again on Wednesday or Thursday. What would be the point of washing it only to have to wash it again a day or two later? Surviving, that’s the point. Preventing this crazy disease from invading my body and riddling my lungs with holes and killing me in two days. Unbelievable. You can die just from failing to wash your clothes promptly after a martial arts workout or a friendly basketball game. Thankfully, this particular illness is easy to avoid if you remember to be anal about washing your clothes after every workout, which I do now. But lots of other illnesses are not so easy to avoid. Like Mad Cow or Hoof-in-Mouth. What the hell is Mad Cow? Does it make somebody get down on all fours, mooing and grazing psychotically and screaming in pain because one’s imaginary utters are not getting milked, until whatever it is infecting his brain eventually kills him? What in God’s name is Hoof-in-Mouth? Will it make someone sit down and stuff his foot in his mouth, which is probably a great way to get a whole lot of other diseases, like silverfish and whatnot. I mean, who the hell discovered and named these diseases? Where do they come from? What causes them? And it’s not even just food we have to worry about anymore. There’s still the issue of lead paint. What the hell? I thought the lead paint scare was over, like the asbestos one. I thought we didn’t have to worry anymore about kids eating lead paint and winding up mentally retarded, unless they happened to live in a very old house—like I do. I didn’t eat lead paint and thankfully am not retarded, but I digress. The point is, I have a little baby nephew right now, and he’s cute as can be. But now, before we can buy him toys, we have to check the bottom or the back or the whole damn thing to find that little label that hopefully tells us where the hell the damn toy was made and make sure it wasn’t in China. Because CHINA makes toys for kids that contain lead paint. What the hell, China? You're one of the world's leaders in math and science, and your people can’t make toys that aren’t life-threatening to children? Children put toys in their mouths. Children put lots of things in their mouths. Don’t make toys with friggin’ lead paint in them! Is that so much to ask? I mean, we have enough to worry about with friggin’ Mad Cow and Hoof-in-Mouth and cancer and ebola and West Nile and Encephalitis and God-knows-how-many other diseases including that one you get from sweat that eats away at your insides. Do we really need to be worrying about children’s toys? No, we don’t. Then on top of all these diseases we have to worry about, there’s the world around us, which I think we will all agree is in a pretty dangerous state. In the middle east, we’ve got people being bred to hate and kill us for some inexplicable reason that dates back way before George W. Bush was even on America’s radar screen. We can’t even walk into an airport anymore without sweating because of what happened on 9/11 and because of subsequent attempts to repeat the same kind of attacks on other targets, like the attempt in London which was fortunately foiled by their exemplary security system which has something like eight cameras for every ten people. Has our world really come to this? Are we really living in a time when it takes Big Brother watching us do everything from have sex to go to the bathroom just to keep us safe? I remember reading George Orwell’s 1984 and thinking how terrifying it would be if our world really came to that, if Big Brother was watching over us every minute and now I realize that we’re actually not too far off from that after all. The government has such power over us that it’s scary. But we have to ask ourselves what’s scarier: terrorists who would kill us without hesitation and have proven so by doing it, or our own government? I’m going to have to go with terrorists being scarier. At least our own government won’t kill us senselessly. Sure, the meaning of the word privacy has changed, but necessarily so. It’s getting to the point where I would feel better if America adopted the British system and got eight cameras for every ten people in the country, because then I would feel more confident in our ability to defend ourselves from another ghastly and senseless attack. People complain about procedures that invade our privacy, but I say I’d much rather have my privacy invaded than be killed because somebody else’s privacy wasn’t invaded and that somebody else turned out to be a senseless murderer who hated me simply because I live in the United States. Don't get me wrong: this doesn't mean I think America should try to act as the world's police, because clearly that has gotten us into trouble. But we need to safeguard against future attacks like 9/11. I live in small town America, and I used to think I was safe here. Then, several towns over from me, in another small town which is not quite as small but still not that large, a family was savagely murdered. The wife and daughter were raped and killed and the house was set afire. The father was the only survivor of the whole ordeal. Imagine being that father now. That woke me up in the way Capote’s In Cold Blood woke up the generation before me to the dangers of life in small-town America. You don’t have to be in the inner-city or the ghetto to be killed or terrorized or mutilated. It can happen anywhere. We constantly have to be on alert. I used to walk my girlfriend out to her car whenever she would come over and eventually I started saying, it’s only fifty feet to the car from my door. What could possibly happen in my small town over that short distance on a quiet night? Now I don’t ask that question anymore because the possible answers are too terrifying. Instead, I walk her out now, every time, and I look all around me for potential threats to our safety. Especially hers. I’m not paranoid—I’m aware. Obviously, we can’t live our lives in constant fear of being killed by Mad Cow or cancer or friggin’ tomatoes or terrorists or murderers, but we can’t be lulled into a false sense of safety. All I need is one horrifying event like that in small-town U.S.A. to be my wake up call. And thank God it wasn’t my family. Because that poor family didn’t get a wake up call. They got killed. This is one of the reasons I practice martial arts. I want to be ready if and when people like that come for me. I want to be ready for the bastard who invades my home and tries to hurt my wife or family. I'm going to put a hurtin' on him. He'll feel lucky just to be alive afterward, and he will never forget what happened to him the time he tried to hurt my family. I am not a violent person but I can become one if need be. And it makes me feel safer. Unfortunately, I cannot use karate on salmonella, Mad Cow, cancer or any of those diseases, but by staying healthy and in-shape and watching what I eat, I can at least hope to lessen the likelihood of these things happening to me. Go on and live your lives, but don’t take safety and health for granted.

Writing and life

2008-10-12T11:11:00.000-07:00

I feel I put a lot of pressure on myself. I put pressure on myself to write a great screenplay and get it sold and made into a movie and skyrocket my career into the stratosphere. But why? Why not just write for the sake of writing? It’s an end in itself. If I never make it big as a writer or as an actor, who cares? As long as I get to continue doing what I love, what does it matter? I want to be successful as an actor because those who make it big get the best roles. But getting the best roles is not the most important thing. The most important thing is expressing yourself, exercising your freedom and your love of art and touching other people with your performance. Feeling it and making others feel it. The same with writing. Feel what you’re writing and make others feel it, too. Don’t worry about success and failure. Don’t worry about putting all this insane pressure on yourself and you will do better. This is what I have to tell myself. I do want to be successful, I am ambitious, I know this. But when I think about how short life is, and when I think about God watching from up above, I do have to laugh a little at myself. Enjoy life, that's what matters. If success is meant to happen, it will. I still don’t know exactly what I believe in terms of free will and fate, but I think that we have free will but God knows ahead of time what we’re going to choose. He doesn’t determine it, but he has the power of foresight. I like to think we have control over our lives. But there are so many more important things than being individually successful. Like having close friends you care about, to help you enjoy the good times and help you get through the tough times. Like having a loving family, first and foremost, to support you, care for you, advise you and love you. Making someone’s life better. The life of a parent, a sibling, a child, a friend. Developing your soul. My grandfather thinks this is the chief end of life, to develop the soul, and I agree. We have souls, human beings. And we can choose to develop them or not. We don’t develop our souls by being individually wealthy or successful or ambitious; we do it by making sacrifices, by pursuing and gaining knowledge, by helping others and bettering their lives. Life is so much more simple than we make it, and it’s downright laughable the ways in which we complicate it with so many trivialities. Explore, enjoy, express yourself, and learn and grow. Seek out challenges, but keep life simple. As I’m writing this, I’m laughing at myself on the inside because I know that I overly complicate my life in so many ways and I wish I didn’t, but I think I’m going to have to grow older before I truly understand this. Right now, I’m concerned with finding a steady, stable job that will also allow me to pursue my dreams. But there’s no reason to be overly concerned. I have so many people helping me and watching over me, and most importantly, I have God looking out for me, so how can I go wrong? I may go astray, yes, but not entirely. I will find my way back, with the help of my supporters and my guardians.
So often, I dread the task of writing. It seems so daunting. I look at the work of other authors and am downright intimidated by its genius. I want to do the same thing, achieve the same greatness, but why put that kind of pressure on myself? Did they? I don’t know. I doubt it. I bet they were just writing what they felt, doing the best they could, and I bet many of them were surprised when they became as great as they did. Just write what you feel and don’t worry about writing anything else, because nothing else is worth writing. There’s really no need to dread the process. If you dread it, it’s tough to enjoy it, and if you don’t enjoy it, what the hell is the point of doing it? Work hard and do your best, but do not dread what you love to do. That’s what I try to tell myself. It’s funny because I’ve heard another writer admit to having this same problem. She was talking to my class, and saying that she sits in front of her computer and furiously writes a scene, then looks for something—anything—to distract herself. She goes surfing on the internet, reads a news article, goes into the kitchen for a snack, sits back down, and that voice inside her head goes off. Write another scene, it says. She debates in her mind whether to comply. Finally, she agrees. Write another scene and then you can read another article. So she furiously bangs out another scene. She dreads the process, but loves it at the same time. She’s the executive producer of "Grey's Anatomy." Doesn’t it make you feel so good when others are going through the same thing you are? It really does. Knowing that someone so successful experiences the same dread when writing as I, an amateur, do, gives me so much confidence in my own ability. It lets me know, hey, this is normal, it’s part of the process. At the same time, I try not to feel it, and I think it’s best not to, but it still helps to know that other people further along than me are still struggling with it. It lets me know, it’s okay if several years down the road you’re still struggling. Life is about struggling. Working hard, trying, succeeding, failing. But it’s also about enjoying. One must not be struggling so much that there is no time for enjoyment.

Books and Memories

2008-10-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

I think books are an amazing thing. Every time you read a book, it’s fresh and new, like it’s coming alive for the first time. I’m reading a book now that was originally written something like fifty years ago. The writer died seven years ago and wrote things after this book, but this is the book I’m reading now. A Separate Peace. I remember the book well and I loved it when I read it eight years ago (wow!) as a freshman in high school. It’s an American classic and the writer’s crowning achievement. It just seems amazing to me that a book written so long ago, sitting somewhere on a shelf in a library, can just come alive as though it’s being written as I read it. I love that feeling. It’s the same with Shakespeare or any great piece of literature. It can be as old as papyrus, but when you’re reading it, the characters are living, breathing human beings (or animals, depending on the story) who are living this adventure as you read it. Every time you put the book down, you imagine that the characters stop, waiting for you to pick the book back up so they can go on with their lives. Yet, when you’re reading it, you get the impression that they’re not waiting for you, that they have more life than you are reading in the book. They have a past and a future, and, unless the book is written essentially in real-time, which is rare, they have many moments and minutes and hours and sometimes days or years in between passages in the book. In great literature, we get the impression that the characters extend beyond the scope of the story. Teenagers were born, waddled their way around the kitchen table, became toddlers, went to kindergarten, played with the blocks, tried sports a few times, learned to read, went to middle school and felt the cruelty and immaturity of other kids but also the joy of having essentially no responsibilities, went to high school and began to really find themselves, began preparing for their future, will go to college and plan for a career, continue to find themselves, learn what it’s like to live with people who aren’t your family but can become like family, graduate college and emerge into the real world in a career. Will have families of their own. Any part of that may or may not be in the story you read, but we can imagine the life of any character as extending beyond the scope of the narrative. Maybe they don’t go to school—maybe they’re too poor or a delinquent or whatever—but we can still imagine what they were like before page 1 and what they are like after the last page. It’s really an amazing thing. These characters aren’t real, so why should we care about them so much? Because the writers have made them real, have made them feel and look and talk and think real, the way we do, so they are relatable. We forget so easily that they are fictional when we root for, love and revile them. We get so emotional when reading stories, because it truly feels as though these people whose adventures we are following are real people. Literature provides an escape from our own lives, but it can also hold up a mirror and remind us of things in ourselves and teach us about things in ourselves that we may not understand. The book I’m reading now is one I’ve read before and I know what happens, but the fact that I haven’t reached the fateful turning point of the novel makes it seem almost possible that it will be different. Maybe Gene won’t take the action that forever changes his life and Finny’s. I know it will happen, because I’ve read it, but it’s been so long and the narrative seems so fresh and new and happening right now that it almost seems possible that it will turn out differently this time. Literature endures, beyond the life of its author, forever. As long as people continue to read it, it never dies. It’s always there, at your fingertips, waiting to be grasped. Waiting to be devoured, interpreted, understood, debated, enjoyed, felt. It may be something that’s been read a million times before by others, but it’s still new to you who are reading it for the first time. This book in particular is so powerful because it is about the loss of innocence. It begins with two teenage boys at a private school in New Hampshire. I’ve never gone to private school, but I still can identify with these boys, because every school has these character types. An introverted intellectual and a daring, confident athlete. A shy, rule-abiding fellow and a charismatic rebel who shows him the joys of rebelling against the system and turns him into a rebel himself. No matter where you went to school, you had these two types of people. I know I did at my school. This book reminds me of my own upbringing in a northern American town, when I was in high school, learning about myself and others, playing soccer on dew-drenched fields, the sun glinting through a summer haze. Working hard and making fun of each other and laughing about stupid stuff and just having the time of our lives, not worried about growing up and getting jobs and surviving. Just being in the moment and enjoying our innocence. There’s something so powerful in that. And the whole idea of going back to a place you’ve been long ago and noticing the changes. Noticing how the buildings look smaller, the staircases look shorter, the ceilings look lower and the teachers look older and maybe smaller, too, now that you’ve grown. There’s a little more rust on the soccer goals, a little more wear and tear on the grass, which has more brown patches now. The pavement in the parking lot has a few more cracks and maybe there’s some grass and weeds sprouting up from between them. It’s always kind of a surreal experience revisiting a place of your youth. We always tend to imagine things staying the same, that when we go back to the school of our youth it will be just as we left it, not having aged a day, even though we know this isn’t possible. When we go back, we realize that nothing is immune to change. Everything ages, wears, crumbles, and eventually falls. It may take hundreds of years, but it will eventually fall. The narrator of the story explains how he saw the Devon school as coming into existence the first day he set foot in it and burning out like a candle the day he left. Especially when we’re young, we think of things as existing only in relation to us and ceasing to be when they are no longer a part of our lives. We have this notion that somehow we’ve created these things by seeing them and being a part of them, that they only really exist in our minds, and certainly, some people will claim they do. I don’t think that’s true, though, because you read about things happening in your absence, and when you go back, things have changed. Maybe it’s just the changes in you, though. I think maybe I’m getting a little too deep for my own good here. My point is that there’s something powerful about going back to one’s roots and saying, “This is where it happened. This is where my foot stepped a thousand times—no, more than that—on my way up the stairs to class. This is where I sat and ate lunch with my friends, where we made stupid jokes and laughed for hours about them. This is the field where I played soccer with my friends. This is the ground where I sweated, where I fell and got back up, this is the dirt that mixed with my skin and my sweat when I was working my tail off in the hot sun. This is the trail where I kissed my girlfriend for the first time, my first kiss, and all the awkwardness that went along with it. Where I made the decision to take that step, where I decided, enough is enough, I’m going to do this, and where I was changed forever because of it. That person I was five years ago is still inside me, still there, though I’ve grown and changed. That person I was is still as real as the stairs he walked on which are still here in their original form.
That kid my parents loved with all their heart from the moment he was born is still inside me. The kid my mom baked cookies for—peanut butter and snickerdoodles, two of his favorites—on his first day of school each year, up through high school, is still inside me. I can still taste them--they were delicious and just the thing I needed to take the first-day jitters away. The kid my family supported all through high school and college, coming to soccer games, seeing him in plays, driving him endless hours to and from school, is still inside me. That scared little kid whose father had a heart attack, scared but at the same time too young to fully understand the import of what was happening--he's still inside me, too. Looking back and realizing how close I came to losing him at the age of seven, I thank God for looking out for him and continuing to look out for us all. That little kid who looked up to the father he almost lost and said, "I want to be like him when I grow up." He's still there inside me.
Someone once said the true chapters of life don't begin until age thirty. Everything before then is preface. I don't know if I agree with that, but I do believe I have many exciting, educational and soul-defining years to come.

Time

2008-10-11T22:14:00.000-07:00

Consider the idea that time is an illusion. In the novel Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse, the protagonist explains that he has realized that time does not exist, that past, present and future all exist simultaneously, that our childhood, our present life and our future are one and the same. All things are unified and the same. How does this work? I understand that the child we once were still lives in us and the old man or woman that we will one day be already lives in us. The child is still part of us; I retain much of my childhood character, but have become more sensible, more reasonable, more mature and understanding. I will be even more sensible and reasonable and understanding as an old man, but the young man I am now will still be a part of me then. I understand that character traits don’t change much over a lifetime. But still, how can time be an illusion? Does that mean change is an illusion? It can’t. We certainly change as people. We go from seekers to receivers, ambitious youngsters to patient elders. At least, many of us do. I suppose some people never stop seeking, never cease to be ambitious. But most of us change. How can we change unless we change over time? How else are we to organize the events of our lives? It’s just something I can’t totally get my head around. If we did away with clocks and sundials and calendars, wouldn’t time still exist? Maybe not. Maybe only change would. In fact, I think this is true. Only change would exist. What is time, anyway? A measurement of what? Before anyone had thought of time, what was life like? It was the same, without the thought of time. There would have been no consciousness about it, no sense of urgency, no scheduling, no worry about doing this and this before this set time. Life would have been very different, indeed. We always worry about life being so short, and fear that we will not have enough time to do everything we want to do. There it is again, that word time. It’s hard to talk about time without using the word time. I’m having difficulty with that. How do you define time? Webster’s Dictionary defines time as “the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues.” But why is it important to measure that period? It is only important to do so if we want to do a certain number of things in a given period. If all we have to do is one thing, then time is not important. Time only becomes important when we talk about the relationship of one event to another, when one event has to succeed another. For ambitious people, then, who want to accomplish certain events in a certain order, time is important. The duration of each event must be managed accordingly so that all events can be accomplished. But if we have no goals, time is not important at all. Only life is important, however long it lasts. Time was devised for people who are seekers, for goal-oriented people, which describes most of us in this world, whatever the goal may be. For monks, though, and holy men like Siddhartha in the aforementioned novel, time is of zero importance, because they seek to accomplish nothing. They have emptied their minds and are completely receptive to nature. They are eternally patient, waiting for whatever learning comes to them. There is no rush. They have nothing else to do but meditate and listen. How could time be important to them? But for me, time is very important, because I have many things I need to do. Time is important for people who need to make money to support themselves. Time is important because one needs to know how long the food he has will last. Therefore, time is important to everyone, even these monks. But they don’t think of it in the same way. For them, they think, I am hungry, I will eat until I am no longer hungry. They don’t think, I need to go to the store and get this much food for the week (a measurement of time). Everything is immediate for them, there is no planning. So time does not really exist, then, except in our minds. But does anything really exist, then, except in our minds? How do we know?
8/13/08

Strange People

2008-10-11T22:01:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how strange people are. Often, you don’t realize somebody’s really out there until you talk to them for a little while. I was at bingo one night with my girlfriend and her friend. There was a staff member working there who was probably in his early to mid-thirties. He came around and was joking with us, probably not so much because of me as because of the two pretty girls in my company. It began innocently enough. He told us he loved to see young people like us win money at bingo, because it pisses off the old people. See, for the oldies, bingo is more a way of life than a Monday night activity. We just go occasionally. So we’re just laughing along with him; after all, we like it when we win, too. Periodically (and by that I mean every few minutes), he came around and talked to us, making jokes about this or that. Eventually, we learn that he’s been working here since he was nineteen. That seems entirely too long to be working here. We immediately feel sorry for him, but we don’t say that. However, I don’t think he would have minded if we had said it, because he didn’t seem to enjoy working there much. In any case, he starts telling us about how some of the old ladies in “the lounge,” or backroom of the place, are rude. He tells us they’ve threatened him before. We’re all laughing heartily at this. Once, he said, he had to go back there to break up a fistfight between two old ladies. That was hilarious. At this point, we’re really starting to enjoy this guy’s stories. Then, it gets a little strange. He says, “One time, this old man threatened me. I kept telling him he didn’t have bingo, but he refused to believe it. He told me he’d whip my ass with his cane.” We laugh. “You think I’m kidding. People have threatened to beat me up and call the cops. I’m like, good, I’ll kill ya then. You know, I’m not gettin raped.” Wondering where that came from? So were we. Up until he said “I’ll kill ya,” we were genuinely laughing, even though this guy was starting to get a little annoying. At “I’ll kill ya,” the laughter turned into that forced laughter that we all do when we’re uncomfortable, and at “I’m not gettin raped” we didn’t know what to do. My girlfriend’s friend said, “Yeah,” as though she knew what he was talking about. Thank God he turned and walked to another table at that point, because she and I both burst out laughing. We didn’t know what else to do.

Another time, I was at my aunt’s wedding. I was about thirteen at the time and I was hanging out with my cousin, who is two years younger. We were riding the elevators up and down, just because it was fun and we knew we weren’t supposed to be doing it. So, at one point, the elevator opens and there’s this frumpy, sassy woman standing there with her little son, who was probably six years old or so. We both recognize her as the unwanted bridesmaid who forced her way into our aunt’s wedding. Nobody wanted her there. My soon-to-be uncle, who was getting married to my aunt, was ready to strangle this woman. So here we stand in the elevator and there she stands outside. She’s holding a box in her arms. Her little son gets on the elevator and as she starts to get on, she says, “Hold the elevator, please.” She’s struggling with the box a little. The elevator doors begin to close. Her little son is closest to the button, but he doesn’t do anything. Maybe he doesn’t know which one to push. My cousin and I don’t have the time or the drive to show him, so we just stand there. There really wasn’t time, though. The elevator was already closing on her. It was too late. Nothing we could do. The doors squish her against the side of the elevator. She lets out a screech and wiggles her way on. The doors close. She looks at us and says, “When somebody says ‘hold the elevator,’ you should hold the elevator. It’s only the polite thing to do.” She turns away. “Watch out,” she continues. “I know kickboxing.” Are you kidding? Are you really threatening two young adolescent kids? We were glad she got stuck in the elevator doors. What a weirdo. I know kickboxing? Really?

Awkwardness in Starbuck's

2008-10-11T21:40:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in Starbuck’s recently, killing time before a meeting in New York City. Why is it that I am always so anally paranoid about being late for meetings that I arrive two hours early and then find myself searching for something to do and trying unsuccessfully to stop sweating like a fat man jumping rope in his attic in mid-July? I don’t know. But I do. I’ve still got about a half hour before I head over to the meeting. That will give me fifteen minutes to get there. Well, actually, I should leave in about twenty minutes, because although it’s less than a five minute walk, who knows what could happen? A riot could start in the streets, forcing me to take a detour of fifteen minutes, which, by the time I get in the door, will make me late. You just can’t be too careful. I’ve been in Starbuck’s eight minutes and I’ve already made a social blunder. I sat down at a table larger than all the rest, thinking, Oh, a group study table for students or writers like myself. Then, I see the bright blue sign on the corner of the table: “Please offer this table to our customers with disabilities.” I then look at my fellow Starbucks-drinker and see that he has a hearing aid. I’ve already asked him if I may sit down and he very politely moved his things to make room for me. But now I”ve seen the sign. Everyone—including him, secretly—is now going to think I’m an asshole for sitting at a table reserved for handicapped persons. Politely, and awkwardly, I rise and tell him, with a smile, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see the sign.” He gives me a puzzled look, I remember the hearing aid and I indicate the sign by pointing. He kind of shrugs, I smile and move to the next table over, where another guy about my age who’s seen the whole thing sits. I ask him if I may sit down and he says, “uh, sure, that chair’s fine, this one’s taken,” indicating the third chair at the table. Great, I think, now I’m intruding on a guy and his friend. A couple minutes later, a girl walks over to the table. Even better, I think. A guy and his girlfriend. Well, probably, anyway. She doesn’t even sit down. He looks at her and says, “ You wanna get outta here?” She nods, he rises, and they leave. Fantastic, I think. Now I”ve driven out two customers by trying to third-wheel it on their date. Maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe they left because they thought I was rude to leave the handicapped patron at the table where I initially sat down. Come to think of it, the handicapped patron probably thinks the same thing. I bet he thinks I’m some prejudiced jerk! But I was only trying to be polite and courteous to the next handicapped patron, who could be denied a suitable seat by my own obtuseness, or at the very least, would have to ask me to move, which could be difficult, depending on the patron’s handicap. What the hell did they want me to do, this guy and this girl? Put yourself in my position, I want to say. Jeez. Why does a hard-of-hearing person need a bigger table, anyway? Does it make him hear better? The big table should be for people who have trouble moving and need more space. Try that next time, Starbucks.