Tag: thoughts

ramblings

London

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I for one am deeply saddened by the London bombings, especially since I not only used to live in London and am familiar with the areas affected but because I used to take the Edgeware Road stop very frequently (it was right by one building I took classes in). The tube is scarier than the NYC transit system – it is in many places hundreds of feet underground (much farther than NYC) and the tracks and stations themselves are very narrow. If there is a problem, there aren’t many options so I can only guess what the fear must have been like for those trapped below.

In the aftermath, a new form of online news outlet seems to have emerged as well – photo sharing sites such as Flickr, which encourage users to share photos and comments in a communal setting. I suggest you go, look at the pics, read the stories and read the comments. It definitely makes you appreciate how fragile life really is…

As a NYC resident, and as someone who values his apartment for, among other reasons, its close proximity to the subway, I am definitely unnerved. If something were to happen to the 4-5-6, I can only imagine what it would do to my property value, my commute but most importantly my way of life. To me, the subway is one of the greatest things in the world and it’s the heart of my urban experience. If something were to happen to it, my internal compass would be totally thrown off. I thought I was hardened to this kind of stuff by now but I’m not – the panic that shot through me at 9:00 AM yesterday — when first my house phone rang (which I didn’t answer), then my cell phone rang (not a good sign) which I answered to hear Jessie say, “The underground has been bombed” to which I replied “Where?! NY or London?!” — is not something I like to feel.

As a brother, I am saddened that my parents may not let my sister study abroad in London now. She has been looking forward to this experience ever since I was there in 98, hoping to follow in my footsteps in a way and now who knows if she will go, if she’ll be allowed to go or if she even wants to go. She should go. I didn’t move out of Manhattan after 9/11. In fact, I did the opposite – I moved downtown in February, 2002. Jessie and I moved into our first apartment together 2 blocks north of Ground Zero and were part of the rebirth of downtown NYC.

The worst part about this attack is that the sound of sirens again to me is troubling. After 9-11, whenever I heard a siren, I thought “what disaster has just happened?” but that faded over time till it was a normal sound again – “Oh, that siren must be for a robbery, not a disaster; that ambulance probably is rushing a heart attack to the hospital, not a victim of a bombing, etc.” I’ve heard sirens a few times today and always waited to hear more. While I hate this feeling, I will not be cowed, I only hope it fades again, sooner rather than later.

ramblings

From Monty

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Trip Down Mass Marketing, Media Tie-In Lane

So, I’m listening to Virgin Radio on-line this morning, and “Star Wars” Episode III has already debuted in London (5/16/05), and there is supposed to be an interview with C-3PO at some point today (evening London time). It got me thinking about C-3PO and all the merchandising Star Wars has generated…a memory came to me, and of course a Google search has come through once again…

C-3POs Cereal

Do you remember these things? As I recall, they were basically Cheerios in the shape of a digital looking 8, slightly sweetened, and total horseshite….and I had to have them. Especially since there was usually a cheap cut-out cardboard mask on the back of the box…ah the memories. Can’t wait to see Episode III on Thursday at 12:01 A.M…does this make me a dork? I won’t be wearing any costumes, or reciting any lines. However, I may hit on a couple of Princess Leia’s…if they are dressed a la Return of the Jedi…

ramblings

From Monty

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Christ resurfaces in VA, already entangled in legal battle

Christ in VA

While others wait with bated breath to find out the sex of Britney’s child, or what will become of MJ, smaller stories like this can fall through the cracks. I think this is a colossal mistake.

Folks, when a 50 year old man changes his name to Jesus Christ (technically, he was 35 when he changed his name), moves to rural Virginia, and decides to dig his heels into a legal battle to ensure he can register his car under his new name, am I the only one that sits back stares aimlessly at my “Christ Walking with Children” Hummel figurine and wonders, what has gone awry with a legal system more concerned with a car registration under the name Jesus Christ, than the fact there IS, officially, a Jesus Christ?

I’m definitely not the poster boy for religion, but, I’m really not entirely sure it takes even the gruff tough love of Judge Judy to figure out that when a guy comes into your court and asks to change his name to the Son of God that you’ve got a bigger problem than what form to stamp. I mean does anyone else feel the irony that the person inclined to have himself referred to as the Lord is also the person most likely to, I don’t know, say…sever young woman’s head, and wear it as a helmet while defecating on the corpse?

Call me St. Jude, but, I kind of feel like grabbin’ a Good Book and maybe having a divine intervention between Mr. Christ and a padded room. Could just be me.

ramblings

Summer Camp II

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On Saturday night, I attended the second Camp Lohikan NYC reunion and experienced for the first time what many other bloggers have experienced: someone came up to me and said, “I loved your post! I found your blog by doing a google search and absolutely loved it!” In this case, it was an entry I wrote last October about camp. Not only did Karen love it, but she sent it to tons of people that I knew from those days who also loved it. It was very interesting to say hello to people and to have them immediately say, “I loved what you wrote!” Not that I minded…

In the spirit of giving the people what they want, my resolution now is to post more entries about camp and my memories from those halcyon days. Not all be mushy like my first and only camp post. In fact, most won’t be. But, before I move to far along in life and before I forget even more of what I used to know, I’m going to get some of this stuff down. Stephanie has said in the past to post more memoir-style entries, to write more “I remember…” exercises and then post them and I think that camp is the perfect source of material.

So, my first memory is about Canteen, the Rec Hall and the video game Galaxian. When I was in the inter division, we had Cantenn after dinner. Canteen was a time when, with all the other campers in our division, we got to go buy candy ($1 a day stipend was provided before you had to pay out of pocket) and play video games in a room that was in the back of the multi-purpose Rec Hall. There were about 20 stand up coin-op video games in that room, some more popular than others. The popular ones always had a line and I hated lines. Canteen lasted for only a finite period of time and I didn’t want to waste that time by just standing around. So, for some reason, probably because no one was playing it because it was so damn old, I started to play Galaxian, a Space Invaders sort of game put out by Midway in 1979.

This game became MY game, mostly because no one else ever played it. It got to be a joke – “Where is Jeff? He’s at Galaxian, duh!” I played it the entire Canteen period most days during my time at Lohikan, year after year. When I became a senior, Canteen switched from after dinner to after evening activity and when a lot of people were off hooking up at the riflery range or down by Arts and Farts, I was alone in the Canteen with Galaxian.

Over time, I got really good and could go many, many levels without ever losing a ship. Others who would see me playing were in awe — I was that good. It was a zen thing, because I knew the exact patterns for the first couple of boards, it was in essence meditation after a long day. I knew exactly where to be, when to fire, how to bob and weave my way through the missiles that were fired against me and I almost never faltered. If I died on one of the early boards, I just tanked the game and started over. I became one with the machine, and it seemed that my hands reacted faster than my mind could even process the info that was being presented to me. 17 missiles would be coming at me and somehow I would be able to juke them all. It became MY thing – this game was MINE. I would stretch my 3 lives out over 20 – 30 minutes. If I got on the game, basically you were just left waiting. With so many other little things out of my control, whether or not I was popular, whether or not a certain girl liked me, etc this game was one of the few little things in camp I could control and I just didn’t control it, I dominated it.

I think it occured during my last summer but eventually the game wasn’t just mine anymore. An Australian counselor with a pony tail named John (I think he taught music, I seem to remember him travelling about with a guitar) started playing this game as well. It was frustrating to show up and find someone playing – for three years this game usually was empty or if someone was playing, they would die rather fast and I would soon be on it for the remainder of Canteen. He was a different story though for he knew what he was doing. I remember one epic night when we played a 2 player game where we each rung up around 30K – 50K points. We actually attracted a crowd around us because we both were so damn good and this game was such an odd one to feature two video game gunslingers in battle against each other. He would play for 10 minutes, then I would play for 10 minutes, back and forth, past the time when Canteen should have ended. I’m not sure what happened. I like to think that neither of us were defeated, instead we just ran out of time to continue our battle.
Years later, I not only remember the game but the battle and all the other nights that I spent playing it. I remember that when I occasionally found myself in a relationship, I still managed to find time to play it at least once a night. It was my ritual and it needed to be done. I now have Galaxian for the Atari 2600 – yes, I have a working Atari 2600 – but its not the same because you can fire too many missiles. One of the features that I liked about the older stand up coin-op version was that if you fired a missile, it either needed to hit an alien ship or it needed to leave the screen before you could fire another one. The Atari 2600 version allows you to fire missiles at will which means you need a lot less skill to excel at it. I’ve been looking on eBay for a real stand up coin-op version of Galaxian and have seen ones for around $500 – $1000. Once I get a place that is big enough for it, I’m going to thrown down and purchase it. Then it will always be Canteen time in my home. I can’t wait.

politics

I am the Ostrich

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I’ve basically been depressed by the upcoming election and the incredible Yankee debacle that I witnessed last week so I haven’t been posting. I’m still catching up on the sleep I missed by watching all of those 9 hour baseball games and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that Boston is up 2 – 0 in the World Series. I’m also trying to wrap my head around the idea that GWB might actually win again and that about 50% of the country actually likes him and/or his job performance well enough to vote for him again. As Madeline Albright said on the Daily Show last night, “Voting for him legitimizes what happened in 2000.”The latest news from Reuters puts GWB up by 3 points. What the fuck gives? Seriously, I’m acting like the current administration because I have just stopped reading my usual news sources and have buried my head in the proverbial sand because I just don’t like anything that the newspapers are publishing. Not to say that I’m turning into a GWB myself, I will pay attention to reality again soon, I’m just waiting for election night and for the World Series to end. God helps us on November 3rd if Boston has won the World Series and GWB is our president for another 4 years. I might just take off from work for the rest of the week and drink Jim Beam all…day…long…

ramblings

Hot and Wide Awake

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Sounds like the title of a Skinimax movie doesn’t it? I’m in NJ, done with fasting and atoning for the vows I broke last year, for the wrongs I committed and the rights that I never got around to doing, and wide awake. Wide wide awake. The kind of awake that is uncomfortable this late because you know you are tired, you know that you are getting up in 5 hours, you know that only getting 5 hours of sleep is going to throw off your entire week, and so on and so forth. So after trying and failing to fall asleep I’ve decided to at least be somewhat productive.

It’s 2:31 AM and I’m sitting on a footstool because the chair in this room has 10 text books stacked on it and I’m too lazy to move them. So, I’m awake yet lazy. I’ve been surfing for the last 45 minutes, catching up on the news and on some blog reading. I work with some very talented people who have their own blogs. So, I started with their writings.

I first checked out Chris’s blog to see if anything new has been posted. Nothing’s new. I wrote last month that I would on a weekly basis post a “Best of Blah blah blog” entry because I think his blog is that good. I think Miss Universe’s skirt getting torn off by her own wayward stilletto heel is post worthy. I’m post it tomorrow.

I then went to Stephanie Klein’s blog which is fantastic. I was talking about her at break fast tonight with someone who wants to be a graphic designer. I mentioned how talented she is and then mentioned how she took all the photos that are in the rooms of the Hotel Gansevoort and then how her writing was featured in the Independent, a London newspaper, back in July, etc etc. Basically, I went on and on about her – with good reason. She is hightly talented, multi-facetted and very impressive. I’m slightly intimidated in her presence because I want to be as creatively productive as she is but I’m not. At least right now. I could be if I really tried. I haven’t really tried. I will one day. Maybe. Now that I’m thinking about Stephanie, I’ll mention something that has been bugging me for almost two years now. If you go to her blog and read it you’ll soon discover that she was divorced and is still pretty hurt. However, at work she still goes by “Stephanie Dines” which was her married name. I know that she was divorced over a year ago and quite possibly two because she was married when my incident occurred and was divorced when I returned to work. So, sometime between January 21, 2002 and December 4, 2002 her marriage ended. I have always wondered why she hasn’t changed her name back from Dines to Klein, especially since she is as hurt by the breakup as she lets on in her writing. Maybe I’ll tell her about this post and finally ask her about it. Maybe I’ll do that next week.

Ah, there are so many maybes in the early hours of the morning. Maybe I’ll see “Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow” one night this coming week. Maybe Jessie and I will see an apartment tomorrow that we would actually like to buy. Maybe I’ll finally start writing my collection of short stories. Maybe I’ll finally come up with an original and viable business idea that will allow me to work out of the home and become rich and famous. Okay, maybe not famous but definitely rich. But the kind of rich that invariably leads to fame because “damn, that guy is so rich.” Maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt. We’ll see. I should try to go to bed again. I’ve been on the computer for over an hour now. If you see another post at 4:00 AM you’ll know I wasn’t successful.

politics

On Terrorism

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From Paul Krugman’s Op-Ed piece entitled “Cult of Death” from the Tuesday, 9/7/04 edition of the New York Times:


“Three years after Sept. 11, many are still apparently unable to talk about this evil [i.e. terrorism]. They still try to rationalize terror. What drives the terrorists to do this? What are they trying to achieve? They’re still victims of the delusion that Paul Berman diagnosed after Sept. 11: ‘It was the belief that, in the modern world, even the enemies of reason cannot be the enemies of reason. Even the unreasonable must be, in some fashion, reasonable.’ This death cult has no reason and is beyond negotiation. this is what makes it so frightening. This is what scauses so many to engage in a sort of mental diversion. They don’t want to confront this horror. so they rush off in search of more comprehensible things to hate.”

ramblings

Pharewell

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I went four for five in my not so long goodbye
with a frown turned upside-down into a smile at the end
not on the soft velvety green of an upstate phairway
but on the gritty asphalt of my world capital
in the canyon of heroes is where my music stopped.
My run was bookended by skyscrapers
metal carcasses of the past
modern gleaming glass slabs of the present
between them a great north wood wrapped inside of traffic.
The music was a quick flowing stream of sonic love
rushing at breakneck speed into oblivion:
through a rain slick evening with glowstick sized drops it buzzed,
through a humid night that stuck you to your seat if you dared use it it thumped,
through a dark star-filled sky full of haves and have-nots it grooved,
through a clear blue sky that poured down on the concrete stalagmites it jammed,
through it all swirled the magical sounds of overflowing joy,
a wail of strings and keys and drums dancing with both structure and mayhem
and language fails to provide a better word than ‘smile’ which is a shame
for we all were well beyond ‘smiles.’
Encore! Encore! Then handshakes and rueful smiles,
a scattered goodbye made on a street corner and then nothing more,
except songs, pictures and memories to download to anyone
who wants to hear and see what once was.
I merely blinked and ten years had passed by.
Neon strobbed all around as I thought back to the mountains,
about the show I had seen two nights before,
about the cold walk back to the car with no light to guide us.
“I am significant!” screamed the dust spec into the night air,
“This is significant!” bellowed the waves from the stage
but an ancient kernel of truth, that this too shall pass,
kept haunting me, that it’s over,
this note is over, this song is over, this whole scene is over,
this whole era is over, is it the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?
Where do I go from here but home? And then what?
Those thoughts had disappeared when I heard the Broadway reprieve news
One more time! A precious gift not to be squandered and it wasn’t
a reprieve that ended with a fitting “…Reprise”
an up-beat ending that left you amped, not a down-beat ending that left you sad
but after the fist pumping and clapping had ceased there was and is still sadness
it cannot be escaped, where there is loss, there is sadness.
“I hope we passed the audition” said the red one as he passed by the mic,
the last time I would hear his voice with those others beside him,
and I looked up past the fifty stories of brick and glass and steel,
saw the azure sky dotted with wisps of white and grinned.
We both passed the audition and we will both move on
and this too shall pass, but I will never forget.

ramblings

ada

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I’ve been reading a little, doing crosswords, studying a GMAT Review book and been going to movies and museums. I’ve also developed a paralyzing phobia over writing – I just can’t seem to write these days about anything. Not poetry. Not journals. Not short stories. Taking my writing class has actually made things worse believe it or not. I haven’t done one homework assignment and the piece I turned in to workshop I wrote months ago. I’m not sure why I can’t seem to write anything. I believe I have inherited Phish’s “Waste” as my mantra lately:

Don’t want to be an actor, pretending on the stage/

Don’t want to be writer, with my thoughts out on the page/

Don’t want to be a painter, ’cause everyone comes to look/

Don’t want to be anything, where my life’s an open book/

A dream it’s true/But I’d see it through/

If I could be/

Wasting my time, with you

Only problem is that I’m alone – the “with you” part makes no sense because I spend an awful amount of time by myself. I’m home all day by myself, I’m home all night by myself. So, I’m wasting away with myself (and my crossword puzzles).

ramblings

Virtual Birthday

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Yesterday, 3/18/04, was my first virtual birthday. While the day was special in some regards, it just didn’t feel as if it was my birthday. I use the term virtual for a number of reasons:

For starters, I received (by a wide margin) more birthday wishes via the Internet than I did via a phone line or my mailbox combined. While in some ways this was a positive, as I received notes all day long while at work, it was also a negative because some people used it as a substitute for other mediums. I never heard my father’s or sister’s voice yesterday. I cannot remember a birthday when that happened. While they sent me instant message birthday wishes, they never picked up the phone and in truth I would have preferred to hear them sing “Happy Birthday.”

The second reason is because the day felt like a birthday hologram. It existed, but not really. Out of my good friends, a large contingent didn’t do/say anything to denote that yesterday was a special day for me. This was disappointing but not totally unexpected. Each year your birthday is interesting because you know that certain people are going to get in touch with you while you hope that certain others will remember you in some manner. You look forward to hearing from both groups but the hope group always is more fun because you never know what you’re going to get and who is going to call. This year, while I heard from almost everyone in my know group (which always is nice and is in no way being diminished), my entire hope group remained silent.

A third reason is because I celebrated it in a very low-key fashion. I bragged throughout the work day about my big evening plans, how I decided to spend the evening in my apartment on the couch watching the NCAA basketball tournament, eating pizza and drinking beer the way I did back in college. I thought it was a great idea and sounded fun. However, sitting on a couch, waiting for a phone to ring while watching game after game isn’t nearly as fun or exciting as I thought it would be.
A fourth reason is there was no special dessert, no candle, no cake, no song. I cannot remember a birthday where I didn’t enjoy a cookie, brownie, slice of cake or something sweet while blowing out a flame.

Now, I am somewhat to blame for my disappointment because I didn’t send an “I was born let’s celebrate at this bar” email to my friends which usually jogs the memory of those who have forgotten. I didn’t clearly state what I wanted to do because I frankly didn’t know what I wanted to really do. However, I just wasn’t really in the mood this year to bang the “pay attention to me “make me feel special” drum. Maybe it is because I had just returned from Amsterdam and was sick of planning things. Maybe it is because I’m now 27, which really doesn’t mean a damn thing except that I’ve been on this planet for 27 years. Maybe it is because I wanted to see who would do what. Well, be careful for what you wish for because you just might get it. Next year, I’m breaking out the drum again and even though its obnoxious, I guess its better to be obnoxious, satisfied and happy than to be understated and disappointed.

Happy birthday to me.