Life is catching up with me. I've run as fast as I can for as long as I can, but dammit if life isn't a stronger finisher in this race. The reality is that I'm 30, married, working at something that I feel made to do, surrounded by love, and yet for some reason…not satisfied.
That's the word I realized. Satisfied. It's not that I'm not happy. I am. It's just that none of this seems to be enough for me. That's why I keep pouring myself into more and more of anything that I can do. Are they distractions or opportunities? I don’t know anymore.
I write and advertise for programs that I don't watch and demographics that I am not a part of. I take money for jobs that seem small and feel guilty that I'm ripping off my employers. I work my ass of for jobs that I believe in and sometimes it crushes me when inferior work gets chosen and sometimes it elates me when I actually accomplish something through hard work and not just the ability to be good enough.
It feels like I've simply been good enough for most of the time, lately at least. This doesn't mean that my work is defined by mediocrity, simply that sometimes I feel like I sleepwalk through the creative process rather than transcend it.
I want more than anything to be the kind of guy that transcends. Right now, I can be honest with myself. I am not.
I sleep enough these days, but I'm never rested. I don't have nightmares. Nor are my dreams that intense or crazy. They are simply busy. Even in my sleep I feel like I'm punching the clock. Just like waking hours spent this way drain your body, sleep like this seems to drain your soul.
Another birthday approaches and I don’t feel old because of a number attached to my body. I feel old because I still remember everything that came before like it was yesterday. I remember it that way because nothing has really changed.
I'm six years old and my book is the boogeyman. I believe in it and so it frightens me.
I'm thirteen years old and I feel so alone, as if no one understands me, and as if I could simply disappear and nobody would miss me.
I'm eighteen years old and I'm being told to figure out who I am and what I want to be. And I still don't know.
I'm twenty four and every once in a while when I walk to work in the morning, I realize just how many people live in New York, and just how tall the buildings are. And it makes me feel invisible.
I'm thirty years old and I fight the boogeyman, feeling so alone, unaware of how to accomplish what I want or even what it is I want because, really, how can you find meaning in your life when you can't even find your reflection in the mirror.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
30 Lessons Learned by 30 (Revisited)
In honor of having just turned 31, I am going to repost something I wrote down last year upon turning 30.
I've thought long and hard about the important lessons that I've learned, and written them down for posterity's sake. Now that I'm in the know, I figure the next 30 years will go much smoother...
1. There are only 2 things worth fighting for in life: Love and the last Reece's Peanut Butter Cup.
2. A Philosopher once said that 'You never truly say good-bye, to which I would add, 'Until everyone has gone to the bathroom.'
3. Laughter is the best medicine, but Nyquil is right up there.
4. If I had to identify, in one word, the reason why I have not yet achieved, and never will achieve, my full potential, that word would be "Television."
5. Swing sets do not lose their purpose and meaning once your feet can touch the ground.
6. Hot sauce goes with everything.
7. Silence does not need to be filled.
8. Just because she's in the bar doesn't make her legal.
9. The only thing that hurts worse than getting hit by a bottle rocket is getting hit by 40 of them.
10. Do not invite your ex-girlfriend to a party you banned your girlfriend from.
11. 60 minutes of football takes 3 and a ½ hours, a 60-minute network television drama is only 42 minutes minus commercials, and 60 minutes of therapy takes 50 minutes. Moral of the story? Time is relative.
12. The only Presidents that I've ever known, trusted, or believed in have been written for film and television.
13. Never underestimate the power of a comfortable chair.
14. Love does seem to be blind, but I've noticed that lust has excellent vision.
15. The optimist says, "My cup runneth over, what a blessing." The pessimist says, "My cup runneth over, what a tragedy,' and in my family we say, 'My cup runneth over, what a mess.'
16. Don't play Soul Calibur with the person you are about to go to bed with.
17. There are several sacred things in life (ex. love, family, friendship), but none rest above another man's fries.
18. Morning people are annyoing.
19. There is a lot to be said for coloring outside of the lines.
20. Women stop wearing a matching underwear and bra after you've been dating a few months.
21. Super Mario Brothers moves from left to right, the Torah moves from right to left, and when I dance sober movement has no rhyme or reason.
22. The fine line in fantasy sports between hobby and obsession lies somewhere around knowing who Scott Posednik is.
23. When I was 10, Must See Thursday was Cosby, Family Ties, Cheers, Night Court, and LA Law. When I was 20, it was Friends, The Single Guy, Seinfeld, Fraiser, and ER. As I turn 30, it is Will & Grace, Four Kings, My Name is Earl, The Office, and ER. My point? I've aged much more gracefully than some.
24. The quickest way to a free Slurpee at 7-11 is to tell the guy behind the counter that you just lost your virginity.
25. The ocean has no memory and yet it is romantic, I forget one anniversary and I'm up a creek without a paddle.
26. There are, in fact, stupid questions.
27. 30 years old and the one dream that I still wake up with a smile from is the one where I win the Toys R Us All You Can Grab Sweepstakes.
28. The only person who truly can understand what it means to grow up in a Jewish family with three older sisters and have several ex-girlfriends become lesbians is the one who coined the phrase, self-deprecation.
29. You can, in fact, change history. Just write a Memoir.
30. The greatest piece of advice I ever received was, 'Cheer Up, Things can Always Get Worse.'
---
It's wonderful that VH1 can turn this traumatic life experience into a sitcom. And here I thought their greatest achievement was going to be bringing Flava Flav back into the limelight.
Variety
I've thought long and hard about the important lessons that I've learned, and written them down for posterity's sake. Now that I'm in the know, I figure the next 30 years will go much smoother...
1. There are only 2 things worth fighting for in life: Love and the last Reece's Peanut Butter Cup.
2. A Philosopher once said that 'You never truly say good-bye, to which I would add, 'Until everyone has gone to the bathroom.'
3. Laughter is the best medicine, but Nyquil is right up there.
4. If I had to identify, in one word, the reason why I have not yet achieved, and never will achieve, my full potential, that word would be "Television."
5. Swing sets do not lose their purpose and meaning once your feet can touch the ground.
6. Hot sauce goes with everything.
7. Silence does not need to be filled.
8. Just because she's in the bar doesn't make her legal.
9. The only thing that hurts worse than getting hit by a bottle rocket is getting hit by 40 of them.
10. Do not invite your ex-girlfriend to a party you banned your girlfriend from.
11. 60 minutes of football takes 3 and a ½ hours, a 60-minute network television drama is only 42 minutes minus commercials, and 60 minutes of therapy takes 50 minutes. Moral of the story? Time is relative.
12. The only Presidents that I've ever known, trusted, or believed in have been written for film and television.
13. Never underestimate the power of a comfortable chair.
14. Love does seem to be blind, but I've noticed that lust has excellent vision.
15. The optimist says, "My cup runneth over, what a blessing." The pessimist says, "My cup runneth over, what a tragedy,' and in my family we say, 'My cup runneth over, what a mess.'
16. Don't play Soul Calibur with the person you are about to go to bed with.
17. There are several sacred things in life (ex. love, family, friendship), but none rest above another man's fries.
18. Morning people are annyoing.
19. There is a lot to be said for coloring outside of the lines.
20. Women stop wearing a matching underwear and bra after you've been dating a few months.
21. Super Mario Brothers moves from left to right, the Torah moves from right to left, and when I dance sober movement has no rhyme or reason.
22. The fine line in fantasy sports between hobby and obsession lies somewhere around knowing who Scott Posednik is.
23. When I was 10, Must See Thursday was Cosby, Family Ties, Cheers, Night Court, and LA Law. When I was 20, it was Friends, The Single Guy, Seinfeld, Fraiser, and ER. As I turn 30, it is Will & Grace, Four Kings, My Name is Earl, The Office, and ER. My point? I've aged much more gracefully than some.
24. The quickest way to a free Slurpee at 7-11 is to tell the guy behind the counter that you just lost your virginity.
25. The ocean has no memory and yet it is romantic, I forget one anniversary and I'm up a creek without a paddle.
26. There are, in fact, stupid questions.
27. 30 years old and the one dream that I still wake up with a smile from is the one where I win the Toys R Us All You Can Grab Sweepstakes.
28. The only person who truly can understand what it means to grow up in a Jewish family with three older sisters and have several ex-girlfriends become lesbians is the one who coined the phrase, self-deprecation.
29. You can, in fact, change history. Just write a Memoir.
30. The greatest piece of advice I ever received was, 'Cheer Up, Things can Always Get Worse.'
---
It's wonderful that VH1 can turn this traumatic life experience into a sitcom. And here I thought their greatest achievement was going to be bringing Flava Flav back into the limelight.
Variety
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
An Inner Monologue
I've decided to write about the question that you've all asked me. Ok, maybe none of you asked me this, but I know you are wondering and are simply to lazy to take the time and share your question with me. Or ask me how my trip was. Or tell me what's new in your life. I get it, I'm not that important to you anymore. You've moved on. I'll get over it one day, until you call, and I light up and hate myself for letting you back in. Damn you all for toying with my emotions. But ANYWAYS...there was a question many have had for me.
Where did your title come from?
Funny you should (not) ask me that question. Here's what happened. It all occured during a conversation I had with myself. Conversation with yourself you say? Why yes, I do talk to myself, finding that I am quite an excellent conversationalist becuase not only do I never cut myself off, but I really get me. And that's a special thing that is worth holding onto in a friend.
So anyways, here is how the conversion between me and myself went. To avoid confusion we will refer to me as Rob and myself as Hamed. Please do not read anything into this dual personality, as myself is not Muslim (not that there's anything wrong with that), simply that myself is open to the differences between cultures and feels that Hamed (while not a name I plan to use for my children) is an excellent and proper way to address the sensitivity and maturity that me (Rob) lacks.
R-So what should I name this book?
H-Isn't it a bit premature to title the book before it's finished? Like putting that manueur before the horse?
R-It's cart before the horse.
H-What?
R-The phrase is cart before the horse.
H-Oh.
R- And thank you for referring to my book as shit.
H-Actually if what you say is true, then it was your title that I was saying was shit.
R-True, but I don't have a title.
H-I thought that's what we were doing here.
R-Doesn't look that way right now, does it?
H- True, how about naming it Robert's Story.
R- Not sure it would sell. My name doesn't really mean much yet.
H- I bet a lot of Robert's would buy it.
R- Maybe, but I feel like I would be closing it off to a whole market of Jasons, Tims, Marys, and Gertudes.
H- Perhaps, what about naming it the Beatles' Story.
R- That definitely would appeal to a lot more people I suppose.
H- Millions I would assume.
R- You are definitely right. Unfortunately, since the story is not about the Beatles, its sort of misleading. A lot of people might buy it and be turned off immediately when they notice its not about the Beatles. Plus, I want to make sure the book is classified properly and not placed in the music section near any Neil Diamond books. For obvious reasons.
H- Hadn't thought about that.
R- No, you usually avoid that issue. I'm the only one who obsesses about it.
H - You know you really need to get past that. People will always play Sweet Caroline when they get drunk. It's a fact of life.
R- I know, I know. I don't have to like it though.
H- How about something that begins with an A, so it gets placed first alphabetically?
R- Like Answers for Questions I Once Asked?
H- That's a great title to describe the book, but actually I was thinking like AA or AAA, so its way at the front.
R- Oh I see.
H- Well?
R- Sort of the same problem. AA is alcoholics anonymous and while there is a lot of drinking in the story, I don't want people to get the wrong impression. And AAA is an emergency roadside service. If people bought the book expecting travel tips I imagine they would also be sorely disappointed.
H- You are very particualr about this title you know?
R - Well its important to me.
H- I think you are obsessing again. And its not healthy.
R- Again? When was I obsessing recently?
H- Is there another person in the room right now?
R- No.
H- Are you talking to yourself again?
R- Yes.
H- I rest my case.
R- Ok, fine.
H- How about Untitled?
R- Interesting. So you mean to make a parallel between how this story tells the tale of a person whose life only begins with sadness and whose story has yet to be written.
H- Um, yeah. Sure.
R- Was that not what you were going for? Did you mean something else?
H- Sort of.
R- Well what did you mean?
H- That your book wasn't titled yet.
R- Oh.
H- But your thing works too.
R- Nah, not anymore it doesn't.
H- Sorry.
R- I need you to take this seriously and give me real, honest titles.
H- Ok, I can do that.
R- Really?
H- Absolutely. How about Even the North Star Changes?
R- Nah, too pretentious.
H- A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius?
R- Been used before.
H- Bros before hos?
R- Too alienating.
H- Brothers before Women Who Come Between Them?
R- Too condescending.
H- Cunning Lingusits?
R- No, Hamed.
H- Caution: Things May Be Closer Than They Appear?
R- What?
H- No, You Hang Up. No You Hang Up?
R- Sweet Jesus.
H- The Truth Ends in Masturbation
R- No.
H- Vegetarians don't like Lambskin?
R- No.
H- A Big Glass of Calm the Fuck Down?
R- No.
H- Harshing My Mellow?
R- No. No. No.
H- What?
R- None of this is good. None of this gets across the humor of the sadness. The irony of the endless loop. The absurdity of all the situations.
H- Don't worry, we'll find something.
R- Will we?
H- Sure we will. I mean, it's a title, not a cure for cancer. Besides you have bigger thinsg to worry about these days. I mean you really need to get on the ball interms of finding a house. Then there's the fact that your freelancing is hardly a long term solution. Plus, Kate's not gonna wait forever for kids you know.
R- Gee thanks. I feel so much better now.
H- All I'm saying is cheer up, things could always get worse.
R- What did you say?
H- What about the kids thing? I mean you've been married a while, i assume the kids thing...
R- No, the cheer up thing.
H- Oh, I was just saying to cheer up, that things could always get worse.
R- That's it.
H- That's what.
R- My title. Cheer Up, Things Could Always Get Worse.
H- Oh, cool. So we're done yeah? Can we go watch Fight Club again?
---
Sure this isn't about naming a book, but naming is naming, right? And writing a book is sort of like giving birth in a way...you know with mental anguish taking the place of a something the size of a watermellon being pushed out something the size of an egg.
The Ox Bellows
Where did your title come from?
Funny you should (not) ask me that question. Here's what happened. It all occured during a conversation I had with myself. Conversation with yourself you say? Why yes, I do talk to myself, finding that I am quite an excellent conversationalist becuase not only do I never cut myself off, but I really get me. And that's a special thing that is worth holding onto in a friend.
So anyways, here is how the conversion between me and myself went. To avoid confusion we will refer to me as Rob and myself as Hamed. Please do not read anything into this dual personality, as myself is not Muslim (not that there's anything wrong with that), simply that myself is open to the differences between cultures and feels that Hamed (while not a name I plan to use for my children) is an excellent and proper way to address the sensitivity and maturity that me (Rob) lacks.
R-So what should I name this book?
H-Isn't it a bit premature to title the book before it's finished? Like putting that manueur before the horse?
R-It's cart before the horse.
H-What?
R-The phrase is cart before the horse.
H-Oh.
R- And thank you for referring to my book as shit.
H-Actually if what you say is true, then it was your title that I was saying was shit.
R-True, but I don't have a title.
H-I thought that's what we were doing here.
R-Doesn't look that way right now, does it?
H- True, how about naming it Robert's Story.
R- Not sure it would sell. My name doesn't really mean much yet.
H- I bet a lot of Robert's would buy it.
R- Maybe, but I feel like I would be closing it off to a whole market of Jasons, Tims, Marys, and Gertudes.
H- Perhaps, what about naming it the Beatles' Story.
R- That definitely would appeal to a lot more people I suppose.
H- Millions I would assume.
R- You are definitely right. Unfortunately, since the story is not about the Beatles, its sort of misleading. A lot of people might buy it and be turned off immediately when they notice its not about the Beatles. Plus, I want to make sure the book is classified properly and not placed in the music section near any Neil Diamond books. For obvious reasons.
H- Hadn't thought about that.
R- No, you usually avoid that issue. I'm the only one who obsesses about it.
H - You know you really need to get past that. People will always play Sweet Caroline when they get drunk. It's a fact of life.
R- I know, I know. I don't have to like it though.
H- How about something that begins with an A, so it gets placed first alphabetically?
R- Like Answers for Questions I Once Asked?
H- That's a great title to describe the book, but actually I was thinking like AA or AAA, so its way at the front.
R- Oh I see.
H- Well?
R- Sort of the same problem. AA is alcoholics anonymous and while there is a lot of drinking in the story, I don't want people to get the wrong impression. And AAA is an emergency roadside service. If people bought the book expecting travel tips I imagine they would also be sorely disappointed.
H- You are very particualr about this title you know?
R - Well its important to me.
H- I think you are obsessing again. And its not healthy.
R- Again? When was I obsessing recently?
H- Is there another person in the room right now?
R- No.
H- Are you talking to yourself again?
R- Yes.
H- I rest my case.
R- Ok, fine.
H- How about Untitled?
R- Interesting. So you mean to make a parallel between how this story tells the tale of a person whose life only begins with sadness and whose story has yet to be written.
H- Um, yeah. Sure.
R- Was that not what you were going for? Did you mean something else?
H- Sort of.
R- Well what did you mean?
H- That your book wasn't titled yet.
R- Oh.
H- But your thing works too.
R- Nah, not anymore it doesn't.
H- Sorry.
R- I need you to take this seriously and give me real, honest titles.
H- Ok, I can do that.
R- Really?
H- Absolutely. How about Even the North Star Changes?
R- Nah, too pretentious.
H- A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius?
R- Been used before.
H- Bros before hos?
R- Too alienating.
H- Brothers before Women Who Come Between Them?
R- Too condescending.
H- Cunning Lingusits?
R- No, Hamed.
H- Caution: Things May Be Closer Than They Appear?
R- What?
H- No, You Hang Up. No You Hang Up?
R- Sweet Jesus.
H- The Truth Ends in Masturbation
R- No.
H- Vegetarians don't like Lambskin?
R- No.
H- A Big Glass of Calm the Fuck Down?
R- No.
H- Harshing My Mellow?
R- No. No. No.
H- What?
R- None of this is good. None of this gets across the humor of the sadness. The irony of the endless loop. The absurdity of all the situations.
H- Don't worry, we'll find something.
R- Will we?
H- Sure we will. I mean, it's a title, not a cure for cancer. Besides you have bigger thinsg to worry about these days. I mean you really need to get on the ball interms of finding a house. Then there's the fact that your freelancing is hardly a long term solution. Plus, Kate's not gonna wait forever for kids you know.
R- Gee thanks. I feel so much better now.
H- All I'm saying is cheer up, things could always get worse.
R- What did you say?
H- What about the kids thing? I mean you've been married a while, i assume the kids thing...
R- No, the cheer up thing.
H- Oh, I was just saying to cheer up, that things could always get worse.
R- That's it.
H- That's what.
R- My title. Cheer Up, Things Could Always Get Worse.
H- Oh, cool. So we're done yeah? Can we go watch Fight Club again?
---
Sure this isn't about naming a book, but naming is naming, right? And writing a book is sort of like giving birth in a way...you know with mental anguish taking the place of a something the size of a watermellon being pushed out something the size of an egg.
The Ox Bellows
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Eight Nights of Hannukah
As sung to the tune of the 12 Days of Christmas
On the First night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Guilt about not calling my family.
On the Second night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Third night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Fourth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Heeb Magazine for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Fifth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Sixth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Driedels for gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Seventh night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Kosher Candies to Nosh on
Driedels for gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Eighth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Candles for Burning
Kosher treats for Noshing
Driedels for Gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the First night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Guilt about not calling my family.
On the Second night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Third night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Fourth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Heeb Magazine for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Fifth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Sixth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Driedels for gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Seventh night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Kosher Candies to Nosh on
Driedels for gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
On the Eighth night of Hanukkah,
my true love gave to me,
Candles for Burning
Kosher treats for Noshing
Driedels for Gambling
Purell for your Schmutzzz
Heeb for Hip Hop Hebrews
Bagels for my breakfast
Socks, so I don’t catch my death!
and Guilt about not calling my family
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Why CAN'T White Men Dance?
It occurred to me sometime around 7:15 that I had lost my rhythm. As a white man, I’m sure you assumed once you met me that I never had it to begin with. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you were wrong.
Once upon a time I did have rhythm. You cannot have 3 sisters and not pick up a few things along the way. But what happened?
I’m a young white man and my most current dance move is the Roger Rabbit. How did that happen? Why is it that my best moves stem from nostalgic beats from the 1980’s?
And if they went as far as Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo, is it too much to ask for them to complete the trilogy?
If I hated the New Kids on the Block so much, why can I copy them fluidly? God forbid I try to dance to anything with more soul than that, though. And how sad is that, to admit to yourself that your soul stopped growing back in the Donny Wahlberg era.
The funny thing is that I remember keeping the beat much better back in college. Sure it could have been the rum and cokes shakin it out there, but I could swear to you that there was a time when Blackstreet ruled the radio and I owned the dance floor.
I remember it well, crowded floors packed with women in all black outfits, guys with white baseball caps and jeans, lights, the stench of sweaty alcohol filled stale air trapped in the bar, with some upstate NY DJ swearing he could make it in the big city spinning, despite the fact that he was using a 5 disc changer and playing a bit too much Ed Lover.
I never was the one out there doing the Ickey shuffle, right, left, throw the hands down and snap the fingers, repeat. I had moves. I had boogie brilliance, god damn it.
The music blasted out my ears, but who cared when every woman out there was on fire, pulling out moves from their repertoire, like they were acting out some grand ballet. Where the hell do they teach you girls this? Is that what’s in the video they pull you aside for in the 3rd grade?
Or did god just figure that in return for the pain of labor that you could have a lifetime of laughing your ass off at our expense? And what’s with pulling this off in high heels? What does dancing come so easy that you just need to throw yourself another challenge? Or is it just another way of rubbing it in that you are better than us at something?
But something occurred the other day, looking out upon my friends and realizing that the dance floor needed an air traffic controller. I saw her and I realized that she was my wife.
When woman dance, sex is in the air. I don’t care if you are black, white, red, yellow, or green. If you are a guy and are reading this, you and I know that the dancing was your way of standing out from the pack. If someone stood from afar and filmed us, I imagine not much would separate the mating rituals of migrating geese from clubs on a Thursday night. Men dance to prove virility…or at the very least release sexual tension as they grind themselves on some poor unsuspecting co-ed. Men are dogs indeed.
But I am married now. I have nothing left to prove anymore. There are no more dance clubs once a week. No more smoky crowds and slick floors of spilled drinks. I don’t have to listen to the remixed version of a Madonna remake if I don’t want to.
I am simply going to come right out and tell you, I can't dance anymore. I had it once, and I’ll look back at it one day, recalling stories to my grandchildren about who Kid N Play were and how I got this bum hip trying to do the running man at my friend Chris’ wedding.
Sure I’ll miss the good ol days when I had rhythm, but maybe this is all part of the way it’s meant to be. Maybe rhythm is something meant to be utilized to help us match and procreate, and then it is lost. Like a snake shedding its skin or a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.
And maybe I can rationalize losing my hair like this too.
---
If it was only this easy.
Singing in the Rain
Once upon a time I did have rhythm. You cannot have 3 sisters and not pick up a few things along the way. But what happened?
I’m a young white man and my most current dance move is the Roger Rabbit. How did that happen? Why is it that my best moves stem from nostalgic beats from the 1980’s?
And if they went as far as Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo, is it too much to ask for them to complete the trilogy?
If I hated the New Kids on the Block so much, why can I copy them fluidly? God forbid I try to dance to anything with more soul than that, though. And how sad is that, to admit to yourself that your soul stopped growing back in the Donny Wahlberg era.
The funny thing is that I remember keeping the beat much better back in college. Sure it could have been the rum and cokes shakin it out there, but I could swear to you that there was a time when Blackstreet ruled the radio and I owned the dance floor.
I remember it well, crowded floors packed with women in all black outfits, guys with white baseball caps and jeans, lights, the stench of sweaty alcohol filled stale air trapped in the bar, with some upstate NY DJ swearing he could make it in the big city spinning, despite the fact that he was using a 5 disc changer and playing a bit too much Ed Lover.
I never was the one out there doing the Ickey shuffle, right, left, throw the hands down and snap the fingers, repeat. I had moves. I had boogie brilliance, god damn it.
The music blasted out my ears, but who cared when every woman out there was on fire, pulling out moves from their repertoire, like they were acting out some grand ballet. Where the hell do they teach you girls this? Is that what’s in the video they pull you aside for in the 3rd grade?
Or did god just figure that in return for the pain of labor that you could have a lifetime of laughing your ass off at our expense? And what’s with pulling this off in high heels? What does dancing come so easy that you just need to throw yourself another challenge? Or is it just another way of rubbing it in that you are better than us at something?
But something occurred the other day, looking out upon my friends and realizing that the dance floor needed an air traffic controller. I saw her and I realized that she was my wife.
When woman dance, sex is in the air. I don’t care if you are black, white, red, yellow, or green. If you are a guy and are reading this, you and I know that the dancing was your way of standing out from the pack. If someone stood from afar and filmed us, I imagine not much would separate the mating rituals of migrating geese from clubs on a Thursday night. Men dance to prove virility…or at the very least release sexual tension as they grind themselves on some poor unsuspecting co-ed. Men are dogs indeed.
But I am married now. I have nothing left to prove anymore. There are no more dance clubs once a week. No more smoky crowds and slick floors of spilled drinks. I don’t have to listen to the remixed version of a Madonna remake if I don’t want to.
I am simply going to come right out and tell you, I can't dance anymore. I had it once, and I’ll look back at it one day, recalling stories to my grandchildren about who Kid N Play were and how I got this bum hip trying to do the running man at my friend Chris’ wedding.
Sure I’ll miss the good ol days when I had rhythm, but maybe this is all part of the way it’s meant to be. Maybe rhythm is something meant to be utilized to help us match and procreate, and then it is lost. Like a snake shedding its skin or a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.
And maybe I can rationalize losing my hair like this too.
---
If it was only this easy.
Singing in the Rain
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
Mahna MaNOOOO!
I believe that most of you know that I write commercials for a gay/lesbian TV channel called Here. Well today I had to view a German 'coming of age' film called Summer Storm for their June lineup.
First I must rewind and remind for you. I am the youngest in my family and have THREE older sisters. I have endured more HOSPITAL TRIPS in my life than a 12 year old ambulence. I have dated LESBIANS multiple times in my life. At work I have written on projects for HERE, NAKED NEWS, and PLAYBOY and EDITED a seminar presentation about X-RATED COMMERCIALS.
I sort have felt that all that and everything else I had the dignity not to remind you of had given me the ability to think that I really had seen everything.
Then I reached the mid-point of this film.
It's your typical gay coming of age film, which is a phrase that I find slightly disturbing to use considering that it means that I have seen so many of these films by this point as to have broken the formula of gay cinema down. Not that there is anything wrong with gay films, just the fact when it's about gay men its all nudity and hardcore sex, but when its about women its tender and emotional. Seriously, gay directors, please, throw this straight writer a boner just once in a while.
But ANYWAYS...the movie is about a rowing competition at a summer camp. During the obligatory fast paced montage of the boy trying to avoid his innermost feelings, we find our protagonist running through the camp, looking for a friend by peeking into all of the other boys tents. Inside each of the tents the boys were masturbating.
Now wait for it because that's NOT what actually traumatized me....what did was the music in the background, which paced the action as if it was composed entirely to harness the feelings of desire and guilt inherent in denying your sexuality...
The song was Mahna Mahna by the Muppets.
Seriously, is there nothing sacred in this world?
---
The classic in all it's glory: Mahna Mahna
First I must rewind and remind for you. I am the youngest in my family and have THREE older sisters. I have endured more HOSPITAL TRIPS in my life than a 12 year old ambulence. I have dated LESBIANS multiple times in my life. At work I have written on projects for HERE, NAKED NEWS, and PLAYBOY and EDITED a seminar presentation about X-RATED COMMERCIALS.
I sort have felt that all that and everything else I had the dignity not to remind you of had given me the ability to think that I really had seen everything.
Then I reached the mid-point of this film.
It's your typical gay coming of age film, which is a phrase that I find slightly disturbing to use considering that it means that I have seen so many of these films by this point as to have broken the formula of gay cinema down. Not that there is anything wrong with gay films, just the fact when it's about gay men its all nudity and hardcore sex, but when its about women its tender and emotional. Seriously, gay directors, please, throw this straight writer a boner just once in a while.
But ANYWAYS...the movie is about a rowing competition at a summer camp. During the obligatory fast paced montage of the boy trying to avoid his innermost feelings, we find our protagonist running through the camp, looking for a friend by peeking into all of the other boys tents. Inside each of the tents the boys were masturbating.
Now wait for it because that's NOT what actually traumatized me....what did was the music in the background, which paced the action as if it was composed entirely to harness the feelings of desire and guilt inherent in denying your sexuality...
The song was Mahna Mahna by the Muppets.
Seriously, is there nothing sacred in this world?
---
The classic in all it's glory: Mahna Mahna
Friday, October 27, 2006
Lost on A Road That Needs Repaving
The other night there was a special on HBO entitled, "Nine Innings from Ground Zero." It was an excellently compiled documentary dealing mostly with how baseball helped heal the nation, but more specifically, how it helped heal New York after 9/11. I highly recommend it, despite the fact that it was incredibly hard to watch, still only three years later.
Watching it, I wasn't thinking about the two America's we finally recognize light years after we should have. I wasn't thinking about my job security. And I wasn't thinking about the war raging in Irag right now.
I was thinking about those days. I was thinking about how time stopped being fluid then. How the idea of motion, or of forward momentum, seemed to have stopped when the Towers, the Pentagon, and an isolated field began to burn. I dare any of us to revisit that time in our mind and not get lost amid anger, fear, and sorrow. This is not something to be ashamed of, and yet, I think that feeling lies at the root of our problem.
The country experienced an event it could not understand, rationalize, or come to grips with. The most civilized, technological, and 'self-proclaimed' moral society was devastated and there were, are, and will never be an explanation that will suffice to any of us left behind.
Time never continued after that day. We never moved on. We've spent three years searching for answers that no Commission Report will ever hold. And the government, right or wrong, has gone on the defensive.
Some might argue that we've gone on the offensive, waging war in places that might stir up trouble in the future. Rooting our enemies out of holes and caves. I beg to differ.
I think, right or wrong, on some level we have lashed out at visible, weak opponents to try and re-create some sense of power and authority. We have antogonized at times when diplomacy was needed because we needed to reclaim our status as a World power. We stopped focusing on the constant upkeep of the foundation we had built and started paying attention only to protecting what was left.
America was not founded by people that were satisfied simply by protecting their land from attack. It was founded by people who looked at the land they had claimed as there own and said, "We need a school to educate our young, we need houses of worship where anyone can be free to pray to whomever they want, we need a place where we can sell our goods and trade our services to provide for our family, and once we have all of that." The funny thing is that once we had all that, consciously and unconsciously we also built up the strength to protect all that I mentioned. We had intelligent and educated political and business leaders raised in our own schools who valued the idea of a democracy built not only upon the differences between us, but the respect we all need to have for those differences.
This is how a society not only builds itself up, but maintains itself. It is how we once took the road to prosperity and why we are now lost on that same road.
On September 10th, we went to sleep with a world we all sensed we could control. On September 11th, we woke up to a world that we could make no sense of. I think that many people don't realize that yet. I think that much of our country believes that the only way to regain our lost innocence is by fighting, literally, to regain what once was.
In the end, I think you need to remain idealistic. I know how that sounds, and trust me, I see all the signs surrounding us that beg me not to be optimistic. Still, here we are, a group of a dozen or so, engaging in healthy, spirited, political and ideological debate. The post 9/11 world is recognized by different people and different communities in different ways. Nobody in Nebraska can know how I felt as I fled the city that day anymore than I can know how it feels to have farming subsidies cut because more money went to NYC's homeland security budget.
In the end, I find myself more idealistic than I think I've ever been. I know how that sounds, and trust me, I see all the signs surrounding me that beg me not to be so optimistic. Still, what other choice can be made? I could continue and draw the lines for you, but they are right in front of you everywhere you turn these days. Angry liberals. Angry conservatives. Angry moderates. All with only one thing in common. Anger.
I'm tired of sitting by and debating what's right and what's wrong with young, vibrant, educated people who have different beliefs, but share one common, and devastating, opinion. That there is no one left to believe in. It sickens me.
Still, maybe, just maybe if we continue the right debate (economic, health care, defense, education) and ignore the sensationalistic (Vietnam, Flip Floping) we can all find a common ground that gets us back on track. I guess what it boils down to is that I find hope simply in the fact that there are people out there right now, at this very moment, discussing this, not only with me, but with others. Don't stop doing that. You never know whose mind you mind change.
---
Sam Rocha thinks this about himself:
"I am a guy who thinks he's pretty smart, but is constantly being reminded that he really isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. So he reverts to cheap tactics like sarcasm, cynicism, false humility, name-calling (also known as "ad hominem" arguments), "your mom" jokes, and logical arguments to combat all the geniuses who perpetually remind him of his intellectual inferiority. Sometimes he gets carried away referring to himself in third person and this seems to annoy the geniuses even more..."
I think he has an interesting blog that tackles issues far and wide:
Debate, Relate, & Pontificate
Watching it, I wasn't thinking about the two America's we finally recognize light years after we should have. I wasn't thinking about my job security. And I wasn't thinking about the war raging in Irag right now.
I was thinking about those days. I was thinking about how time stopped being fluid then. How the idea of motion, or of forward momentum, seemed to have stopped when the Towers, the Pentagon, and an isolated field began to burn. I dare any of us to revisit that time in our mind and not get lost amid anger, fear, and sorrow. This is not something to be ashamed of, and yet, I think that feeling lies at the root of our problem.
The country experienced an event it could not understand, rationalize, or come to grips with. The most civilized, technological, and 'self-proclaimed' moral society was devastated and there were, are, and will never be an explanation that will suffice to any of us left behind.
Time never continued after that day. We never moved on. We've spent three years searching for answers that no Commission Report will ever hold. And the government, right or wrong, has gone on the defensive.
Some might argue that we've gone on the offensive, waging war in places that might stir up trouble in the future. Rooting our enemies out of holes and caves. I beg to differ.
I think, right or wrong, on some level we have lashed out at visible, weak opponents to try and re-create some sense of power and authority. We have antogonized at times when diplomacy was needed because we needed to reclaim our status as a World power. We stopped focusing on the constant upkeep of the foundation we had built and started paying attention only to protecting what was left.
America was not founded by people that were satisfied simply by protecting their land from attack. It was founded by people who looked at the land they had claimed as there own and said, "We need a school to educate our young, we need houses of worship where anyone can be free to pray to whomever they want, we need a place where we can sell our goods and trade our services to provide for our family, and once we have all of that." The funny thing is that once we had all that, consciously and unconsciously we also built up the strength to protect all that I mentioned. We had intelligent and educated political and business leaders raised in our own schools who valued the idea of a democracy built not only upon the differences between us, but the respect we all need to have for those differences.
This is how a society not only builds itself up, but maintains itself. It is how we once took the road to prosperity and why we are now lost on that same road.
On September 10th, we went to sleep with a world we all sensed we could control. On September 11th, we woke up to a world that we could make no sense of. I think that many people don't realize that yet. I think that much of our country believes that the only way to regain our lost innocence is by fighting, literally, to regain what once was.
In the end, I think you need to remain idealistic. I know how that sounds, and trust me, I see all the signs surrounding us that beg me not to be optimistic. Still, here we are, a group of a dozen or so, engaging in healthy, spirited, political and ideological debate. The post 9/11 world is recognized by different people and different communities in different ways. Nobody in Nebraska can know how I felt as I fled the city that day anymore than I can know how it feels to have farming subsidies cut because more money went to NYC's homeland security budget.
In the end, I find myself more idealistic than I think I've ever been. I know how that sounds, and trust me, I see all the signs surrounding me that beg me not to be so optimistic. Still, what other choice can be made? I could continue and draw the lines for you, but they are right in front of you everywhere you turn these days. Angry liberals. Angry conservatives. Angry moderates. All with only one thing in common. Anger.
I'm tired of sitting by and debating what's right and what's wrong with young, vibrant, educated people who have different beliefs, but share one common, and devastating, opinion. That there is no one left to believe in. It sickens me.
Still, maybe, just maybe if we continue the right debate (economic, health care, defense, education) and ignore the sensationalistic (Vietnam, Flip Floping) we can all find a common ground that gets us back on track. I guess what it boils down to is that I find hope simply in the fact that there are people out there right now, at this very moment, discussing this, not only with me, but with others. Don't stop doing that. You never know whose mind you mind change.
---
Sam Rocha thinks this about himself:
"I am a guy who thinks he's pretty smart, but is constantly being reminded that he really isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. So he reverts to cheap tactics like sarcasm, cynicism, false humility, name-calling (also known as "ad hominem" arguments), "your mom" jokes, and logical arguments to combat all the geniuses who perpetually remind him of his intellectual inferiority. Sometimes he gets carried away referring to himself in third person and this seems to annoy the geniuses even more..."
I think he has an interesting blog that tackles issues far and wide:
Debate, Relate, & Pontificate
Sunday, October 1, 2006
Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind
I was asked what my favorite movie of the past few years was today and I was surprised by how obvious the answer came top me.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind came out to rave reviews across the board a few years back. It was smart, funny, and most of all challenging. And that is why it failed at the box office.
When this film came out, I took it upon myself to champion this film, sending out some of what's below to many of my friends to urge them to see the film. Many, if not most of them saw the film and to my delight I was thanked very often for turning them onto the film. One friend so enjoyed the film that he sent me a free movie poster from it that was handed out at his screening. So I didn't change the box office tally, but I know I did make a difference and helped share my thoughts on what I feel is perhaps the best film to be released in the past few years.
To me, a movie experience is a very personal journey. There are countless reasons why I may like a movie that you do not. Some people enjoy science fiction and fantasy, others straight forward drama. Some like westerns, some like post-modern westerns, and some like any western that doesn't include Kevin Costner. Some people enjoy suspending disbelief to imagine a world unlike their own, others believe that it is impossible to enter a video game and still, years later, refuse to watch Tron. My point is that each person's criticism of a movie is generally, but pointedly bias from the start.
With this in mind, when asked my thoughts of movies, I tend to begin with "In my opinion," so that people know that this was my genuine feeling, but not a feeling that I think should be imposed on another. Unless fully antagonized by a movie, and yes one can be, I also tend not to vilify a film or its maker. This behavior of course has been tested more and more recently, as I find that Hollywood has begun to rush films through production, and thus overlooked minor yet significant details such as, for instance, having a story.
This all brings me to the point of this entry, which is to do what I rarely do, which is go out of my way to recommend a movie. This movie is called Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and it stars, amongst others, Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Kristen Dunst, and Elijah Wood. This movie, in my opinion, is the most creative and refreshing film that I have seen in quite a few years. Every little detail received attention, from the most subtle acting performances, to the minutia of the set design. While it retains the sensibility of the writer's work (Charlie Kaufman : Being John Malkovich, Adaptation), it shows startling sentiment. I personally liked both movies previously mentioned, but felt unattached, mainly because I could not relate to the characters. I can relate to every character in this film and that is why I found it so engrossing.
Why so engrossing? The story is a very complex and visually stunning look at a very simple idea, which is that the experience of a relationship often means a lot more that the result or its outcome. It's a universal idea, that anyone can find meaning in, whether its is through a broken heart, a failed friendship. or the loss of a loved one. I won't say anything more because the discovery of the movie was a great part of its charm to me. I would hope that some of you may feel the same way.
If you have seen previous films written by Charlie Kaufman, you know that their directors have chosen to mellow the imagry and let the story speak volumes. This is the first film of Kaufman's work that I feel takes the opposite approach, which is to make the vision of the film match the manicness of the script. Each approach is worth admiring, but seeing Michel Gondry's vision on the screen makes it obvious that he made the right choice in being different.
I definitely urge all that missed this film on the big screen to go out and buy or rent the DVD. While I cannot promise that you will enjoy this film as much as I will, I can promise that no film that is on the horizon this year will challenge you or encourage more discussion than this film.
---
With Rotten Tomatoes, you can see a general consensus on the film, which I'm very happy to see if exceptionally positive (93%).
Rotten Tomatoes
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind came out to rave reviews across the board a few years back. It was smart, funny, and most of all challenging. And that is why it failed at the box office.
When this film came out, I took it upon myself to champion this film, sending out some of what's below to many of my friends to urge them to see the film. Many, if not most of them saw the film and to my delight I was thanked very often for turning them onto the film. One friend so enjoyed the film that he sent me a free movie poster from it that was handed out at his screening. So I didn't change the box office tally, but I know I did make a difference and helped share my thoughts on what I feel is perhaps the best film to be released in the past few years.
To me, a movie experience is a very personal journey. There are countless reasons why I may like a movie that you do not. Some people enjoy science fiction and fantasy, others straight forward drama. Some like westerns, some like post-modern westerns, and some like any western that doesn't include Kevin Costner. Some people enjoy suspending disbelief to imagine a world unlike their own, others believe that it is impossible to enter a video game and still, years later, refuse to watch Tron. My point is that each person's criticism of a movie is generally, but pointedly bias from the start.
With this in mind, when asked my thoughts of movies, I tend to begin with "In my opinion," so that people know that this was my genuine feeling, but not a feeling that I think should be imposed on another. Unless fully antagonized by a movie, and yes one can be, I also tend not to vilify a film or its maker. This behavior of course has been tested more and more recently, as I find that Hollywood has begun to rush films through production, and thus overlooked minor yet significant details such as, for instance, having a story.
This all brings me to the point of this entry, which is to do what I rarely do, which is go out of my way to recommend a movie. This movie is called Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and it stars, amongst others, Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Kristen Dunst, and Elijah Wood. This movie, in my opinion, is the most creative and refreshing film that I have seen in quite a few years. Every little detail received attention, from the most subtle acting performances, to the minutia of the set design. While it retains the sensibility of the writer's work (Charlie Kaufman : Being John Malkovich, Adaptation), it shows startling sentiment. I personally liked both movies previously mentioned, but felt unattached, mainly because I could not relate to the characters. I can relate to every character in this film and that is why I found it so engrossing.
Why so engrossing? The story is a very complex and visually stunning look at a very simple idea, which is that the experience of a relationship often means a lot more that the result or its outcome. It's a universal idea, that anyone can find meaning in, whether its is through a broken heart, a failed friendship. or the loss of a loved one. I won't say anything more because the discovery of the movie was a great part of its charm to me. I would hope that some of you may feel the same way.
If you have seen previous films written by Charlie Kaufman, you know that their directors have chosen to mellow the imagry and let the story speak volumes. This is the first film of Kaufman's work that I feel takes the opposite approach, which is to make the vision of the film match the manicness of the script. Each approach is worth admiring, but seeing Michel Gondry's vision on the screen makes it obvious that he made the right choice in being different.
I definitely urge all that missed this film on the big screen to go out and buy or rent the DVD. While I cannot promise that you will enjoy this film as much as I will, I can promise that no film that is on the horizon this year will challenge you or encourage more discussion than this film.
---
With Rotten Tomatoes, you can see a general consensus on the film, which I'm very happy to see if exceptionally positive (93%).
Rotten Tomatoes
Monday, September 11, 2006
Remembrance
Five years have passed and I'm no more sure of my thoughts and feelings from that day as I was moments afterward. I'm not sure what to think, let alone write, other than I feel thankful for being alive. And sad. And guilty.
You may think you have seen enough pictures from September 11th. You may think that the memories belong in the past. You may think that while the day may never be forgotten, the pain can be left behind. You may believe that ignorance is bliss. I don't.
Thinking back, I exited the subway and stepped onto Sixth Avenue at precisely the moment the 1st plane hit. I rushed to my office, knowing many people worry about me, not realizing how large a city NY is. I was on the phone with my girlfriend Kate when the 2nd plane hit. Until that moment, I honestly believed that the first sight was just a horrendous accident. Years later, I now remember that single moment as the last naive one I'll carry.
My sister called my office in tears, having worked in building 2 for the Port Authority for almost a year. Many members of her company, Accenture still did. And many of her friends and co-workers never made it home that day. Or anyday since. Knowing that there was no way out of the city, but that she was in a safer area uptown, and that she was scared, I decided to make my way up to her.
60 NYC blocks. I remember thinking that this could perhaps be the scariest thing I will ever experience. If I'm lucky, I'll never know anymore terror than that. I know I've yet to experience anything close since.
You watch films and you think to yourself that looks realistic or that would never happen. But rarely do you have a real life basis for comparison. Watch the news, any night, with the sight of people running from a collapsing building, and try not to compare it to a movie. Did I see that in Deep Impact or Armageddon? Godzilla? Independence Day?
The same goes for over a million visuals that will forever burn into my memory. Crowded buses teetering on every corner or worse yet, not stopping and being chased down. People actually grabbing and rocking buses to make them stop.
A mass exodus went uptown with me. City streets filled with people trying to find whatever they needed...people, places, hope...I don't know. Running, walking, rollerblading... If people smiled, you might have mistaken it for a parade. No one smiled, few even looked up. Those that did knew what they were looking for, or who for that matter.
I worked near that NYC School for the Blind. Try to imagine making your way through this without sight. When you can't even hear the signal lights over the sound of a crowd. I doubt many could take it in and realize that...
On any other day, I see this and think to myself, I can help this one man and continue on with my life. I can give and go. I'd like to think that many people think this. But imagine seeing this on the other side of the street, knowing you'd have to pass through a sea of hundreds of frantic people just to make it. There was an opeing for a moment and I never took it. Perhaps someone went to help the isolated soul that I left behind. I pray that is true. Unfortunately, all I am left with are my prayers, as I did nothing that day for that man. A man I never met and a man I will never forget.
You see once he was passed me, like once we all passed something, it was gone. You did not turn around that day. No body turned around. Perhaps you went and returned, but you never looked back. What you saw on TV is what we saw when we turned.
And you know what the worst thing was, what really scared those who lived and breathed this city for years...It wasn't what you saw. It was what you didn't see. What you knew should be there. The sight of what is, what was, and what should not be possible.
But something else made you look only forward. Smoke and gas. You see what they rarely mentioned on the news and what I think most NYkers realized is this. Terrorism knows no boundaries and toxins, gases, and germ warefare is out there. Who was to say there was none on board. And this was before the anthrax scare, too. I can only image if a more informed and paranoid crowd was forced to greet 9/11. Panic? Perhaps, but the once mere possibility was out there and it passed along the streets, a place where there was no escape from the idea. From the fear.
Fear for my life is something that I can honestly say I know. Being able to recognize it doesn't make it any easier to accept, only easier to displace. I seem to be very good at this. Unfortunately it allows shock to enter very quickly later on.
And you know the frightening thing is that as a so-called media friendly person, I knew what to expect. I knew that thousands would stand in Times Square and watch the video screen or at the FOX News studios to see the news ticker. There would be people watching TV through Radio Shack or WIZ displays. The cars rushing uptown, debris still flying from the windshield. The gridlock traffic. The honking. The sirens.
The sirens never stopped. Sometimes I think they still haven't. When they will I don't know. A siren ceases to exist in purpose at this point. It is meant to startle, to break up, and to warn. During thaose days there were no sirens. There was only noise...9/11 remains a defiant memory, refusing to diminish, refusing to fade away. I somehow doubt that will ever change.
Nothing makes sense and everything conflicts itself. I try to forget, but know that I should force myself to remember. I try to move on, but don't know where to go. I think about that day as if years have passed, when it was only Tuesday. But now years have passed and it's still just Tuesday. It's a pleasant autumn day and the cool breeze breaks up a warm sunny day, tossing a few strands of hair into my eyes. I'm squinting as I emerge from the subway. The day is young and I've just awoken.
I'm now awake. Sleep, restful and at peace, alluding me since.
---
For unfiltered (read:take with a grain of salt) 9/11 thoughts, check out the 9/11 Blogger.
9/11 Blogger
You may think you have seen enough pictures from September 11th. You may think that the memories belong in the past. You may think that while the day may never be forgotten, the pain can be left behind. You may believe that ignorance is bliss. I don't.
Thinking back, I exited the subway and stepped onto Sixth Avenue at precisely the moment the 1st plane hit. I rushed to my office, knowing many people worry about me, not realizing how large a city NY is. I was on the phone with my girlfriend Kate when the 2nd plane hit. Until that moment, I honestly believed that the first sight was just a horrendous accident. Years later, I now remember that single moment as the last naive one I'll carry.
My sister called my office in tears, having worked in building 2 for the Port Authority for almost a year. Many members of her company, Accenture still did. And many of her friends and co-workers never made it home that day. Or anyday since. Knowing that there was no way out of the city, but that she was in a safer area uptown, and that she was scared, I decided to make my way up to her.
60 NYC blocks. I remember thinking that this could perhaps be the scariest thing I will ever experience. If I'm lucky, I'll never know anymore terror than that. I know I've yet to experience anything close since.
You watch films and you think to yourself that looks realistic or that would never happen. But rarely do you have a real life basis for comparison. Watch the news, any night, with the sight of people running from a collapsing building, and try not to compare it to a movie. Did I see that in Deep Impact or Armageddon? Godzilla? Independence Day?
The same goes for over a million visuals that will forever burn into my memory. Crowded buses teetering on every corner or worse yet, not stopping and being chased down. People actually grabbing and rocking buses to make them stop.
A mass exodus went uptown with me. City streets filled with people trying to find whatever they needed...people, places, hope...I don't know. Running, walking, rollerblading... If people smiled, you might have mistaken it for a parade. No one smiled, few even looked up. Those that did knew what they were looking for, or who for that matter.
I worked near that NYC School for the Blind. Try to imagine making your way through this without sight. When you can't even hear the signal lights over the sound of a crowd. I doubt many could take it in and realize that...
On any other day, I see this and think to myself, I can help this one man and continue on with my life. I can give and go. I'd like to think that many people think this. But imagine seeing this on the other side of the street, knowing you'd have to pass through a sea of hundreds of frantic people just to make it. There was an opeing for a moment and I never took it. Perhaps someone went to help the isolated soul that I left behind. I pray that is true. Unfortunately, all I am left with are my prayers, as I did nothing that day for that man. A man I never met and a man I will never forget.
You see once he was passed me, like once we all passed something, it was gone. You did not turn around that day. No body turned around. Perhaps you went and returned, but you never looked back. What you saw on TV is what we saw when we turned.
And you know what the worst thing was, what really scared those who lived and breathed this city for years...It wasn't what you saw. It was what you didn't see. What you knew should be there. The sight of what is, what was, and what should not be possible.
But something else made you look only forward. Smoke and gas. You see what they rarely mentioned on the news and what I think most NYkers realized is this. Terrorism knows no boundaries and toxins, gases, and germ warefare is out there. Who was to say there was none on board. And this was before the anthrax scare, too. I can only image if a more informed and paranoid crowd was forced to greet 9/11. Panic? Perhaps, but the once mere possibility was out there and it passed along the streets, a place where there was no escape from the idea. From the fear.
Fear for my life is something that I can honestly say I know. Being able to recognize it doesn't make it any easier to accept, only easier to displace. I seem to be very good at this. Unfortunately it allows shock to enter very quickly later on.
And you know the frightening thing is that as a so-called media friendly person, I knew what to expect. I knew that thousands would stand in Times Square and watch the video screen or at the FOX News studios to see the news ticker. There would be people watching TV through Radio Shack or WIZ displays. The cars rushing uptown, debris still flying from the windshield. The gridlock traffic. The honking. The sirens.
The sirens never stopped. Sometimes I think they still haven't. When they will I don't know. A siren ceases to exist in purpose at this point. It is meant to startle, to break up, and to warn. During thaose days there were no sirens. There was only noise...9/11 remains a defiant memory, refusing to diminish, refusing to fade away. I somehow doubt that will ever change.
Nothing makes sense and everything conflicts itself. I try to forget, but know that I should force myself to remember. I try to move on, but don't know where to go. I think about that day as if years have passed, when it was only Tuesday. But now years have passed and it's still just Tuesday. It's a pleasant autumn day and the cool breeze breaks up a warm sunny day, tossing a few strands of hair into my eyes. I'm squinting as I emerge from the subway. The day is young and I've just awoken.
I'm now awake. Sleep, restful and at peace, alluding me since.
---
For unfiltered (read:take with a grain of salt) 9/11 thoughts, check out the 9/11 Blogger.
9/11 Blogger
Saturday, August 26, 2006
DeJesus He Knows Me
I've needed some Outfield help in my fantasy league and as luck (or divine intervention) would have it, I came across David Dejesus of the Kansas City Royals, who this week alone has assured me of victory. And for that I feel that I owed him a tribute, in song.
A Testament from Rob to God (With a Little Help from Genesis)
I was lost, but now I’m found. See I’ve been wandering the deserts of fantasyland for 40 days and 40 nights, searching for a piece of paradise. I lacked faith, but this Passover, God found me. And I believe. And I want you all to believe.
See I’ve been touched by the hand of God. And as my logo will show you, when you’ve been touched by the hand of God, miracles happen.
See DeJesus, he knows me. And he’s been telling me everything’s gonna be alright. We’ve been talking and this is what he’s said…
---
You see the face on the tv screen.
Coming at you every Sunday night
See that face on the billboard
That man is Chris Berman.
On the cover of the magazines
There’s no question why I’m smiling
You want a piece of paradise
But you need a piece of Pujols
I’ll get you everything you wanted
I’ll get you everything you need
You don’t need to believe in Hermida
Just believe in me
Cos (David) DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
And he’s been telling me
Everything is alright
I believe in the family
With my ever loving wife beside me
But she don’t know about Helton
Or the injury he had last night
Do you believe in Bonds?
Cos that’s what Greg’s selling
And if you wanna get to the playoffs
I’ll see you right
You won’t even have to leave your house
Or get outta your chair
You don’t even have to reload the scoreboard
Cos he’s everywhere
And DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
Well he’s been telling me
Everything’s gonna be alright
Won’t find me preaching the long ball
Won’t find me making no sacrifices
But I can get you a pocketful of Mariners
If you promise to be good, try to be nice
God will take good care of you
Just do as I say, don’t do as I do
I’m counting my bases on balls,
I’ve found Abreu’s happiness
And I’m getting richer by dropping Zach Day
You can find me in the phone book,
Just call my toll free number
You can do it anyway you want
Just do it right away
There’ll be no doubt in your mind
You’ll believe everything I’m saying
If you wanna get closer to him
Get on your knees and start paying
Cos DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
Well he’s been telling me
Everything’s gonna be alright, alright
DeJesus he knows me
DeJesus he knows me, you know...
---
David Dejesus
A Testament from Rob to God (With a Little Help from Genesis)
I was lost, but now I’m found. See I’ve been wandering the deserts of fantasyland for 40 days and 40 nights, searching for a piece of paradise. I lacked faith, but this Passover, God found me. And I believe. And I want you all to believe.
See I’ve been touched by the hand of God. And as my logo will show you, when you’ve been touched by the hand of God, miracles happen.
See DeJesus, he knows me. And he’s been telling me everything’s gonna be alright. We’ve been talking and this is what he’s said…
---
You see the face on the tv screen.
Coming at you every Sunday night
See that face on the billboard
That man is Chris Berman.
On the cover of the magazines
There’s no question why I’m smiling
You want a piece of paradise
But you need a piece of Pujols
I’ll get you everything you wanted
I’ll get you everything you need
You don’t need to believe in Hermida
Just believe in me
Cos (David) DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
And he’s been telling me
Everything is alright
I believe in the family
With my ever loving wife beside me
But she don’t know about Helton
Or the injury he had last night
Do you believe in Bonds?
Cos that’s what Greg’s selling
And if you wanna get to the playoffs
I’ll see you right
You won’t even have to leave your house
Or get outta your chair
You don’t even have to reload the scoreboard
Cos he’s everywhere
And DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
Well he’s been telling me
Everything’s gonna be alright
Won’t find me preaching the long ball
Won’t find me making no sacrifices
But I can get you a pocketful of Mariners
If you promise to be good, try to be nice
God will take good care of you
Just do as I say, don’t do as I do
I’m counting my bases on balls,
I’ve found Abreu’s happiness
And I’m getting richer by dropping Zach Day
You can find me in the phone book,
Just call my toll free number
You can do it anyway you want
Just do it right away
There’ll be no doubt in your mind
You’ll believe everything I’m saying
If you wanna get closer to him
Get on your knees and start paying
Cos DeJesus he knows me
And he knows I’m right
I’ve been talking to DeJesus all my life
Oh yes he knows me
And he knows I’m right
Well he’s been telling me
Everything’s gonna be alright, alright
DeJesus he knows me
DeJesus he knows me, you know...
---
David Dejesus
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
The Best Steakhouse Ever
A far as Montreal goes, I feel obligated to mention the greatest steakhouse ever.
Queue de Cheval
1221 Blvd. René-Lévesque Ouest
Montréal, QC H3G 1T1
Tel: 514.390-0090
Fax: 514.390.1390
Not only was the food incredible, but the service was without a doubt the best I've ever seen. If you are in town and looking to eat, drink, smoke, and generally take merry to a whole new level, here's where you have to go. It might cost a bot, but damn if it wasn't totally worth it.
---
Here's a direct link:
Queue de Cheval
---
Turns out this place is pretty expensive in worldwide scheme of things (Again, totally worth it):
Foreign Policy
Queue de Cheval
1221 Blvd. René-Lévesque Ouest
Montréal, QC H3G 1T1
Tel: 514.390-0090
Fax: 514.390.1390
Not only was the food incredible, but the service was without a doubt the best I've ever seen. If you are in town and looking to eat, drink, smoke, and generally take merry to a whole new level, here's where you have to go. It might cost a bot, but damn if it wasn't totally worth it.
---
Here's a direct link:
Queue de Cheval
---
Turns out this place is pretty expensive in worldwide scheme of things (Again, totally worth it):
Foreign Policy
The Naked Diner
Les Princesses
4970 rue Hochelaga
It's called Les Princesses and it's located at 4970 rue Hochelaga (255-0003) a few blocks from a bland edifice known as the Big O (Olympic Stadium). To get there, take the Metro to Rue Viau (11 stops from downtown Peel Street station), proceed to Viau away from the Big O and turn right. It's two blocks down. This is a small, smoky place filled largely with middle-aged men and horny guys in town for bachelor party.
We were the latter.
In town a bud's 'going away' party this off the beaten path Paradise fed us an $8 breakfast and a eye full of breasts. In one case, one of the guys even got a nipple poke as he turned to order. I mean, you just can't get that kind of service at Denny's, you know?
---
Seems we aren't the only one's to have enjoyed this wonderful breakfast utopia.
The Pub Club
4970 rue Hochelaga
It's called Les Princesses and it's located at 4970 rue Hochelaga (255-0003) a few blocks from a bland edifice known as the Big O (Olympic Stadium). To get there, take the Metro to Rue Viau (11 stops from downtown Peel Street station), proceed to Viau away from the Big O and turn right. It's two blocks down. This is a small, smoky place filled largely with middle-aged men and horny guys in town for bachelor party.
We were the latter.
In town a bud's 'going away' party this off the beaten path Paradise fed us an $8 breakfast and a eye full of breasts. In one case, one of the guys even got a nipple poke as he turned to order. I mean, you just can't get that kind of service at Denny's, you know?
---
Seems we aren't the only one's to have enjoyed this wonderful breakfast utopia.
The Pub Club
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Dreams & Paychecks
This is where a blog begins...
Coloring in my latest Star Wars coloring book, intent on staying within the lines, but failing miserably, my grandfather asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of the genetic and emotional limitations born of Jewish heritage, I announced that I would be First Base for the Mets. The next day, coloring in that same book, my grandfather asked me to tell my grandmother what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of the impending asthmatic conditions I would eventually succumb to, I proudly stated that I would become a firefighter. The following day, clearing seeing a pattern here, my grandfather asked me again what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of how little they were paid, but fascinated by the bright color yellow that I had been using to color Chewbacca, I announced that one day I would be a taxi driver.
Twenty odd years later and I’m about as decisive about what I want to when I grow up as that brash little boy with the big box of Crayolas and the dreams to match.
I could say that I've come to a career crossroads, but it's not quite possible to reach a crossroads when your career is more like a grid on a map. So, in lieu of that, I'm going to say that my career direction is much more similar to something that also is direction related.
It's happened more times to me than I can count, and no doubt more times to you than you can either. You are driving someplace with your navigator riding alongside shotgun. They say to turn left. You ask for confirmation, "Did you say left?" The navigator replies, "Right." So you turn right.
That pretty much sums up how well I've handled my career path thus far. I leave the directions to someone else, I misunderstand where I need to go, and I make impulsive and incorrect decisions. It's really a wonder I haven't hit someone. And you can take that literally and figuratively.
It's taken quite some time, but I'm learning to deal with the roller coaster nature of the jobs we choose. Post-collegiate reality dictates that we must learn to deal with the real 'Great American Scream Machine,' and yet I've managed to hold pretty fast to the belief that I can eliminate the ups, downs, and sideways that life deals us. Unfortunately, life is a roller coaster, not a subway, so I'm not going to win that fight anytime soon.
So with another job frustration, another disappointment, and the prospect of yet another soul searching staring me in the face, I've begun to try and find myself. Turns out that the argument that you aren't really lost if you don't ask for directions doesn't really hold any philosophical weight.
I find that I've become too easily defined by what I do, and less by who I am. In some cultures it is actually quite rude to ask one what they do for a living, for it implies that their worth is dicated by their job. As I live in America where rudeness is a freedom granted to us by the Bill of Rights, I am often forced to confront the awkwardness of answering that question. After much practice, I've managed to keep my answers to either:
a) I work in non-profit (Makes me seem altruistic and admirable)
b) I work in non-profit, but I do freelance writing on the side (Makes me seem altruistic, as well as energetic and creative)
c) Ooh, are those mini hot dogs? (Might make me seem hungry, but better yet, deflects attention)
It seems so obvious that we are worth more than what we do to pay the bills, but I think I get caught up in the game of comparative jobs and salaries with my friends too much. I think we all do. Having come to realize that I will now answer that question with one of the following:
a) I work in non-profit and am happily married to the love of my life. Why don't you have a girlfriend?
b) I work in non-profit, freelance write, and am currently writing my first novel. I also work out 5 times a week. Why are you so fat and lazy?
c) Ooh, are those mini hot dogs? (Come on, if you see them, you always say it)
But going on the offensive still won't help me address the problem that I can't seem to put my finger on, And getting beyond my own insecurities about how people view me is not enough. I need to come to terms with my own inability to view the trapping of my life. Like most, I've viewed the idea that dollars make sense, in that the more I make, the more successful I must be. In addition, I've come to view praise for my work as the ultimate validation of my choice of careers. This is a very slippery slope to encounter because the fact that one is talented has absolutely no baring on whether they enjoy what they do. When you combine the two it is a volatile mix, as while failure at what you desire to achieve is bad, success at what you don't desire is downright dangerous.
So this dilemma, like most in my life, brought me to Barnes & Nobles. B&N is where I go to get a handle on all of my life's greatest questions, everything what should I get Kate for her birthday to how should I plan my friend's bachelor party, all the while sipping the piping hot Starbucks Gingerbread latte I bought from the cafe. I do this because nothing establishes a more creative zen-like peace for me than losing myself within an over-commercialized beast of a chain store that is slowly destroying middle America. My life is fraught with contradiction. I've come to grips with it, so should you.
So here I was, thinking to myself, what should I do with my life, when the answer stared me right in the face. The book was called, What Should I Do With My Life? I walked on by thinking, I wish I could get a sign from God, when all of a sudden I had an amazing impulse to turn around.
I had left my coffee behind.
That is when it all clicked and I realized that I should take heed of this obvious heavenly hint, so I purchased the book, and thanked my stars that I was not standing in the horror section. I also began thinking about how awesome it would be to win the lottery. 28 10 1 7 9 88. I'm expected big things tonight.
Now, as for the book, Po Bronson's What Should I Do with My Life? records several people's epiphanic experiences of uprooting themselves from unsatisfactory careers and starting over. It is so pitch perfect that it made my skin crawl at times, but I think that Bronson hit home hardest when he described what he called, "The Brilliant Masses."
"The Brilliant Masses are composed of nothing less than the many great people of our generation, the bright, the talented, the intelligent, the resourceful, and the creative - far too many of whom are operating at quarter speed, unsure of their place in the World, contributing far too little to the productive engine of modern civilization, still feeling like observers, all feeling like they haven't come close to living up to their potential."
"The Brilliant Masses are mostly intellectually motivated, so if they cross over and get involved, their commitment is conditioned on being respected, and on a minimum of unnecessary idiocy, and on winning/succeeding. They like being cerebral. In their tribes it's cool."
Of everything he wrote, this not only touched, but severed the greatest nerve with me. I'm willing to bet it does with you as well. Only once before had my own feelings been laid out so clearly by another, and I don't think my old buddy Beisgen telling me that I must really want to bang the girl I was dating carries as much clout.
Reading this I began to wonder why, if I thought of myself as such a cerebral person, I tended to be led more often by my heart than by my head. I tend to believe that in the absence of passion, logic dictates all. That is why I find it more logical to make money doing something I hate than to take a chance on an unknown urge of some romanticized dream. This is also why I am much better at helping my friend's with their love lives than I ever was with my own.
So now I come to grips with the fact, again, my working life is apparently so devoid of passion as to lock me into it. For a few years now this has been true, yet I am only now open to admit it.
I am a writer who does not write. I am a wild, untamed river that has been dammed. I am a bird with wings clipped. I am Colin Farrell in a gay bar.
In his book, Bronson continues to say:
"Being guided by the heart is almost never something an intellectually motivated person chooses to do. It's something that its thrust upon them, usually something painful."
Patiently, I've awaited the pain that would open up my heart. Mercifully, I was greeted with it today.
---
Of course you don't have take my word on this book...especially when it made Oprah's list...and I mean, she's Oprah right? There is no higher power than her...
Oprah's Books
Coloring in my latest Star Wars coloring book, intent on staying within the lines, but failing miserably, my grandfather asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of the genetic and emotional limitations born of Jewish heritage, I announced that I would be First Base for the Mets. The next day, coloring in that same book, my grandfather asked me to tell my grandmother what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of the impending asthmatic conditions I would eventually succumb to, I proudly stated that I would become a firefighter. The following day, clearing seeing a pattern here, my grandfather asked me again what I wanted to be when I grew up. Brash and unaware of how little they were paid, but fascinated by the bright color yellow that I had been using to color Chewbacca, I announced that one day I would be a taxi driver.
Twenty odd years later and I’m about as decisive about what I want to when I grow up as that brash little boy with the big box of Crayolas and the dreams to match.
I could say that I've come to a career crossroads, but it's not quite possible to reach a crossroads when your career is more like a grid on a map. So, in lieu of that, I'm going to say that my career direction is much more similar to something that also is direction related.
It's happened more times to me than I can count, and no doubt more times to you than you can either. You are driving someplace with your navigator riding alongside shotgun. They say to turn left. You ask for confirmation, "Did you say left?" The navigator replies, "Right." So you turn right.
That pretty much sums up how well I've handled my career path thus far. I leave the directions to someone else, I misunderstand where I need to go, and I make impulsive and incorrect decisions. It's really a wonder I haven't hit someone. And you can take that literally and figuratively.
It's taken quite some time, but I'm learning to deal with the roller coaster nature of the jobs we choose. Post-collegiate reality dictates that we must learn to deal with the real 'Great American Scream Machine,' and yet I've managed to hold pretty fast to the belief that I can eliminate the ups, downs, and sideways that life deals us. Unfortunately, life is a roller coaster, not a subway, so I'm not going to win that fight anytime soon.
So with another job frustration, another disappointment, and the prospect of yet another soul searching staring me in the face, I've begun to try and find myself. Turns out that the argument that you aren't really lost if you don't ask for directions doesn't really hold any philosophical weight.
I find that I've become too easily defined by what I do, and less by who I am. In some cultures it is actually quite rude to ask one what they do for a living, for it implies that their worth is dicated by their job. As I live in America where rudeness is a freedom granted to us by the Bill of Rights, I am often forced to confront the awkwardness of answering that question. After much practice, I've managed to keep my answers to either:
a) I work in non-profit (Makes me seem altruistic and admirable)
b) I work in non-profit, but I do freelance writing on the side (Makes me seem altruistic, as well as energetic and creative)
c) Ooh, are those mini hot dogs? (Might make me seem hungry, but better yet, deflects attention)
It seems so obvious that we are worth more than what we do to pay the bills, but I think I get caught up in the game of comparative jobs and salaries with my friends too much. I think we all do. Having come to realize that I will now answer that question with one of the following:
a) I work in non-profit and am happily married to the love of my life. Why don't you have a girlfriend?
b) I work in non-profit, freelance write, and am currently writing my first novel. I also work out 5 times a week. Why are you so fat and lazy?
c) Ooh, are those mini hot dogs? (Come on, if you see them, you always say it)
But going on the offensive still won't help me address the problem that I can't seem to put my finger on, And getting beyond my own insecurities about how people view me is not enough. I need to come to terms with my own inability to view the trapping of my life. Like most, I've viewed the idea that dollars make sense, in that the more I make, the more successful I must be. In addition, I've come to view praise for my work as the ultimate validation of my choice of careers. This is a very slippery slope to encounter because the fact that one is talented has absolutely no baring on whether they enjoy what they do. When you combine the two it is a volatile mix, as while failure at what you desire to achieve is bad, success at what you don't desire is downright dangerous.
So this dilemma, like most in my life, brought me to Barnes & Nobles. B&N is where I go to get a handle on all of my life's greatest questions, everything what should I get Kate for her birthday to how should I plan my friend's bachelor party, all the while sipping the piping hot Starbucks Gingerbread latte I bought from the cafe. I do this because nothing establishes a more creative zen-like peace for me than losing myself within an over-commercialized beast of a chain store that is slowly destroying middle America. My life is fraught with contradiction. I've come to grips with it, so should you.
So here I was, thinking to myself, what should I do with my life, when the answer stared me right in the face. The book was called, What Should I Do With My Life? I walked on by thinking, I wish I could get a sign from God, when all of a sudden I had an amazing impulse to turn around.
I had left my coffee behind.
That is when it all clicked and I realized that I should take heed of this obvious heavenly hint, so I purchased the book, and thanked my stars that I was not standing in the horror section. I also began thinking about how awesome it would be to win the lottery. 28 10 1 7 9 88. I'm expected big things tonight.
Now, as for the book, Po Bronson's What Should I Do with My Life? records several people's epiphanic experiences of uprooting themselves from unsatisfactory careers and starting over. It is so pitch perfect that it made my skin crawl at times, but I think that Bronson hit home hardest when he described what he called, "The Brilliant Masses."
"The Brilliant Masses are composed of nothing less than the many great people of our generation, the bright, the talented, the intelligent, the resourceful, and the creative - far too many of whom are operating at quarter speed, unsure of their place in the World, contributing far too little to the productive engine of modern civilization, still feeling like observers, all feeling like they haven't come close to living up to their potential."
"The Brilliant Masses are mostly intellectually motivated, so if they cross over and get involved, their commitment is conditioned on being respected, and on a minimum of unnecessary idiocy, and on winning/succeeding. They like being cerebral. In their tribes it's cool."
Of everything he wrote, this not only touched, but severed the greatest nerve with me. I'm willing to bet it does with you as well. Only once before had my own feelings been laid out so clearly by another, and I don't think my old buddy Beisgen telling me that I must really want to bang the girl I was dating carries as much clout.
Reading this I began to wonder why, if I thought of myself as such a cerebral person, I tended to be led more often by my heart than by my head. I tend to believe that in the absence of passion, logic dictates all. That is why I find it more logical to make money doing something I hate than to take a chance on an unknown urge of some romanticized dream. This is also why I am much better at helping my friend's with their love lives than I ever was with my own.
So now I come to grips with the fact, again, my working life is apparently so devoid of passion as to lock me into it. For a few years now this has been true, yet I am only now open to admit it.
I am a writer who does not write. I am a wild, untamed river that has been dammed. I am a bird with wings clipped. I am Colin Farrell in a gay bar.
In his book, Bronson continues to say:
"Being guided by the heart is almost never something an intellectually motivated person chooses to do. It's something that its thrust upon them, usually something painful."
Patiently, I've awaited the pain that would open up my heart. Mercifully, I was greeted with it today.
---
Of course you don't have take my word on this book...especially when it made Oprah's list...and I mean, she's Oprah right? There is no higher power than her...
Oprah's Books
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