Landshark Sandwich

The Remnants of "Rolling"

2010-01-04T21:08:00.001-05:00

Back last winter, nearly a full year ago, I tried to take a more "serious" approach to my critiques and observations of our culture. I loved what I did on Landshark but felt more thoughtful insights would require a newer venue.

Hence was born "Rolling with Culture."

Here's how I came up with the name:

To define the blog, let's look at the second component: culture.

Merriam-Webster defines culture as, "the integrated pattern of human knowledge, belief, and behavior that depends upon the capacity for learning and transmitting knowledge to succeeding generations b: the customary beliefs, social forms, and material traits of a racial, religious, or social group ; also : the characteristic features of everyday existence (as diversions or a way of life) shared by people in a place or time c: the set of shared attitudes, values, goals, and practices that characterizes an institution or organization d: the set of values, conventions, or social practices associated with a particular field, activity, or societal characteristic ."

Head spinning yet? Just think of the magnitude that has with regard to America.

OK, so how about rolling? I'm going to have to take a step back and explain this one outside the dictionary pages.

See, "rolling" in this sense refers to the art of sparring in ground-based martial arts like Jiu-Jitsu and Sambo. I'm a follower of MMA (mixed martial arts) and began studying Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu late last year.

To spar with someone, in a combat sport, means to simulate fighting for the purposes of training and practice. Notice this is a "simulated" fight rather than a real one. I don't suggest we actually fight our culture, but to understand its quirks and idiosyncrasies, is it imperative to wrap our hands around it and figure out what it's made of. And, unlike stand-up martial arts like boxing or Muay Thai, when you fight for real, you tend to end up on the ground.

Rolling.

However, one term that does retain relevance from stand-up is "rolling with the punches" from the world of boxing, which refers to the practice of stepping back or to the side as you are being attacked so as not to absorb the full impact.

Additionally, there is all the slang version of the term, "let's roll." Let's tackle this. Let's roll with this culture and figure it out. Or, let's get friendly and "roll with the crew." Let's roll with this culture and have a good time.

It's a multilateral term that fits perfectly.

However, it quickly became clear that certain narrow minds were not going away quietly, and there would be a need to continue to vent in my long-standing forum on this blog. Soon, RwC became a distant memory.

When I log in to Blogger, I see absolutely zero need to have multiple blogs. I think I considered Landshark's eclectic nature to be eratic, which was, of course, silly. So I'm back here and have been for a while. But I can't just throw away what I wrote. So before I delete RwC from the books, here are my two only legitimate posts. Be forewarned, this is a long'n. Enjoy.

American Drive, Part 1 (published 2/18/09)

One of our most primal traits as Americans is the need for success in our lives. Whether it's as simple as reaching for the proverbial brass ring or as intricate and daunting as climbing the corporate ladder, there are dozens of metaphors for the notion of striving to be the best.

And everyone has something they yearn to excel at. Whether it's in a professional or personal sense, we are brought up with the notion of goals, sacrifice and determination. These are some our most essential values.

We are taught the value of hard work, the challenges that come with it and the benefits to be reaped. However, what becomes of us when drive trumps our personal lives? Does it evolve into obsession? Or something more?

Growing up, I was not a massive fan of most professional sports. I did, however, develop a love for combat sports like boxing and even the flashy world of professional wrestling. Learning more about the lifestyle of these competitors (particularly in wrestling), it really struck me the lengths they were willing to go to just for their dream.

A dream begot the life. Life begot the pain.

Recently, I took in a viewing of The Wrestler with Mickey Rourke. I have to say, I don't normally get moved by even the most emotional of films. But in this case, I walked out of the theater feeling absolutely drained. Watching the main character's journey was exhausting. The film did such a great job of blurring lines between positive and negative traits, there was no real way to call Rourke's character a protagonist or an antagonist. One thing that remained constant in his character was the overwhelming drive to perform and excel, even though he was well past his prime and his "passion" infringes on his health and relationships.

Professional wrestling offers a unique metaphor for the practice of pushing one's self to the limit. As a new student of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu myself, and a die hard fan of mixed martial arts, I know what it means to push yourself beyond the limit. I've found myself going to the gym twice daily before hitting the academy to train for what becomes a very grueling 90 minutes after multiple bouts of physical activity.

But this drive not only permeates the realm of combat sports. Conventional athletics are also subject to this level of intensity, along with professional goals. Many of us reach for the "brass ring" even when we're inches from falling off the horse.

Where does it come from? And how does it manifest itself? I'll examine these qualities in my next entry.

American Drive, Part 2 (Published 3/23/09)

In my previous post, I detailed the qualities of intense drive and determination exhibited by Americans in our everyday lives. Whether it comes in the form of climbing corporate ladders, going the extra mile or simply pushing one beyond his or her means, there are many of us who stand accused of going to lengths greater than our reach.

Are these really American values? Is this merely obsession masked under the guise of something called "passion?" I have to wonder.

It definitely seems that the concept of growth and progress is ingrained in our culture. Just look at how our technology has evolved over the last five years alone. We went from a hardwired society of cable modems and PDA's to being completely unplugged, jacked into our iPhones and BlackBerry's nationwide.

We try to instill this very same hyper-evolution within ourselves, and there is no way to mask it. We have been taught from an early age the importance of going beyond our means.

Exhausted on the baseball diamond? Suck it up, no pain, no gain. Tired after a long work week? Gotta tough it out, those extra hours will pay off. We are taught the benefits of having a good work ethic, and told sometimes, you just have to give it a little extra. But how much extra do we have to give? What will be the ultimate expense?

Last year, a documentary was released entitled Bigger, Stronger, Faster*, which covered the topic of steroid use in professional sports from the perspective of a former powerlifter tempted by its physican gains. I highly recommend watching this for anyone with an interest in sports, bodybuilding or American values in general.

In the film, director Chris Bell details his youth growing up as a fan of professional wrestling, bodybuilding and action films. With heroes like Hulk Hogan, Arnold Schwarzennegger and Sylvester Stallone, the bar was set for Bell and his brothers to go all out in hopes of attaining their individual dreams. As they grew and matured, each of them wound up experimenting with steroids, something the aforementioned heroes themselves stand guilty of. Bell examines the history of anabolic steroids in sports from an objective point of view, offering interesting examples of bodily modifications in sports and medicines that offer arguably similar benefits that are still perfectly legal. He also wrestles with his own morals on the topic, standing clearly conflicted on whether he should take them again while his own brothers are both open about their steroid use.

The opening montage of the film does ring particularly strong of patriotic propaganda... Hulk Hogan defeating the Iron Sheik to the tune of "Real American," Sylvester Stallone as Rocky Balboa draped in the American flag, even Ronald Reagan referencing Rambo in a speech on Iran during his presidency.

Some of the cases Bell observes are quite startling, illustrating just how far some are willing to go to achieve and excel. In the case of his own brothers, they are both caught lying about their drug use to their parents; one even goes so far as to state he'll probably go back on steroids after agreeing with his wife to stop.

Sadly, Bell's older brother Mike died late last year at the age of 37. It is difficult to not draw conclusions on his cause of death even though it has not been publicized to the media.

But the Bell brothers serve as an interesting case study as to what these values can do when not properly tempered. Yes, it helps to go the extra mile when called to do so and yes, it can reap benefits. However, going too hard or willingly putting oneself at risk are dangerous biproducts of this mentality. It is something that needs to be observed, acknowledged and challenged.

Our goals should not come at the expense of our livelihoods, nor should they infringe on the lives of those we care about. The moment our passions or wills supercede our well-being is the moment we lose control.

No brass ring is worth that sacrifice, and no value or ideology should view such disregard as noble.

Decade of Attrition

2009-12-30T16:51:00.000-05:00

What a mindfuck of a year. Starting out with such promise and becoming so freakishly unpredictable and complicated.

Stimulus packages, health care clusterfucks, celebrity deaths by the half-ton, rude dipsticks, lying pundits, racism, bigotry and Tiger Woods. Top it all off with last week’s terrorist attempt and we are clawing to have this year over with. Thank God for The Hangover or else this year would be a total waste.

But it’s not just the year. Time recently ran a piece on this being the decade from hell. I’m inclined to agree. Think about it. The 2000 Election fiasco, 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, North Korea, Katrina, Bush, Cheney, the housing collapse, Bernie Madoff, Virginia Tech, the tsunami, the recession, the fall of the American auto manufacturer… Jesus. This decade took a lot of harsh turns and didn’t care much what damage was done.

I, for one, am happy to be done with it.

I think many people are.

I also think there’s a lot to be said for resiliency. There’s a lot more people who could have gone down in the last ten years, and I firmly believe there are a lot of people who, in spite of the hard times, wanted to give in or had their backs up against the wall.

But somehow, we’re still standing.

I’ll say this much, humans are stubborn animals. ‘Cause if the 2000’s couldn’t take us out, I don’t know what possibly could.

Time to let it all go… so let’s do this.

Town Hall Lynch Mobs: America's Getting Ugly (and here's why)

2009-09-14T22:05:00.001-04:00

Recently, there have been a number of town hall forums to discuss and debate questions and concerns surrounding President Obama's recent push for health care reform. In the midst of legitimate dialogue, there has been an ugly, paranoid and feverish undertone the likes of which I've only seen in the movies.

We've had a woman sobbing about how she wants her country back. There have been the usual catcalls and accusations of our President being a socialist, even a communist. There have been claims by protesters of being "proud right wing terrorists" that were echoed and applauded by the hosts. There have even been people toting semi-automatic weapons out in the open, falling back on their Second Amendment rights. Then we have a congresswoman referencing the "Great White Hope," an allusion to the famous quest for a Caucasian boxer to dethrone Jack Johnson in the early 1900's. Top it all off with a Republican House Member shouting at the Commander-in-Chief last week, calling him a liar. Not to mention the genius who was sitting in the crowd wit ha sign around his neck reading, "What Bill?"

Enough.

Look, while I voted for Obama, I've been concerned about his handling of health care reform. I thought it could've been stronger prior to last night's make-or-break joint session, but to be honest the ongoing tone at these pre-arranged, preconceived town hall meetings has been leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

And the Republican party has been making me fucking sick.

The use of fear mongering and scare tactics to try and hold onto whatever antiquated beliefs they have is bad enough in and of itself. But to use such outlandish methods as what's been mentioned above is just about unforgivable. More significantly, it smacks of racism in the first degree.

I knew from the onset of Obama's election that sooner or later, the issue would arise, but I had hoped it wouldn't be this soon in the game. That said, I can't say I'm surprised. What the GOP is doing right now is catering to that latent ugliness that does unfortunately exist in some Americans. There's nothing to do to curb that belief in them; it's something they won't easily let go of.

But that said, what they (the Republican party) are doing right now is letting the masses know that it's OK to bring your bigotry to the forefront. It's the equivalent of saying, "Hey, we won't judge you for your narrow-minded beliefs. We accept your state of mind and welcome you into the fray." If the GOP weren't hosting stacked town halls, you wouldn't have people proudly calling themselves terrorists or brandishing weapons. I don't care what you say, it's not OK.

Y'know, I'll be honest... I'm not one for partisanship, I really do try to look at things as objectively as possible. But with that being said, I hope Joe Wilson's outburst buries the party for another four years. If they're that willing to sink to underhanded means and pettiness to make their point, they don't deserve to be in power. Not in this country or anywhere.

It's time for them to give up the Borg mentality of one collective and start getting moderate. Encouraging the bigots and degenerates of America to put their hate on display is criminal. To top it all off, the overwhelming majority of their arguments have been debunked on multiple occasions. From fake birth certificates to allusions of death panels, the eagerness to spike the public punch with false information is alarming to say the least. I hate to admit it, but they weren't this abusive when they were in power for eight years.

The "O" in "GOP" stands for "Old." That may be true in terms of their beliefs, but there's nothing "grand" about where this party is going. It's disturbing, disgusting and detrimental to the well-being of our country. I have to wonder if they really have considered their long-term health, or if they are that daft to the concept of progression. Whatever the case is, I personally am praying for the lot of them to be muzzled. That goes for the pundits, too.

If people are that insistent on spewing such outlandish hatred, they deserve more than censure. They deserve to have all their rights revoked.

The RX Crux: When Will The Other Shoe Drop?

2009-07-27T20:05:00.006-04:00

More than a month after the untimely death of Michael Jackson, the skeletons moonwalking in the closet are now slowly emerging and uniting to perform the entire ensemble dance routine from "Thriller." This is hardly surprising given the unusual nature of Jackson's life, especially over the last fifteen years. Everything from the true identity of his kids' biological parents to the long-hidden video of his 1984 Pepsi commercial accident to recent word about a possible secret son have been tossed around every major media outlet and medium imaginable.

One recurrent topic, unsurprisingly enough, has been that of Jackson's health. The aforementioned accident during the filming of a Pepsi commercial left Jackson with second and third degree burns to his scalp and face, purportedly igniting (no pun intended) his long-running addiction to prescription medication.

I'm waiting for precedents to be set, especially with the news revealed today that Jackson's in-house doctor prescribed him the drugs believed to kill him. When you think about it, this story could transcend just another iconic footnote in pop culture history and genuinely become a major catalyst for change. One would hope.

Over the weekend, I was with some friends and struck up a conversation about steroid use. Obviously it's been all the talk in the realm of baseball for a number of years. Just last week, MMA fighter Josh Barnett was suspended from an upcoming superfight with consensus number-one ranked heavyweight Fedor Emelienenko after testing positive for a banned substance; namely a metabolite (2a-methyl-5a-androstan- 3a-ol-17-one) of the anabolic steroid Drostanolone.) With baseball already being a known realm for steroid abuse and this being Barnett's second offense in seven years, we postulated about how deep this could run. Eventually, the conversation transitioned quickly to what would possibly happen if NFL players were ever implicated in illegal substance. Almost immediately, all parties conceded that while steroids may be present in professional football, there is likely an even greater dependence on prescription painkillers.

I firmly believe that while PED's aren't exactly good for one's long-term health, painkillers are probably even more detrimental when taken in excess. Think about it... it's no secret that professional wrestling has laid an unfortunate claim to multiple deaths before the age of 50. And yes, in many cases, the departed were known to use PED's. However, one topic often glossed over is the presence of painkillers in the equation. Given the incredibly physical nature of their business, many wrestlers rely heavily on painkillers to numb their bodies in hopes of coping with their grueling schedules. This combination takes a toll on their hearts, ultimately resulting in massive health problems.

The thing is, whether you're a wrestler, a pro athlete or the King of Pop, if you have the right balance of fame and resources, you too can have your on live-in or on-call doctor whenever you need to feel better.

With all the history we have in this nation about the very public "war on drugs," you would think some kind of legislation would come forward to regulate painkillers a little more. These drugs are far more dangerous than the average joint, I don't care how you try to justify it. In fact, when it comes to dealing with pain, pot is probably safer than these pills. I don't even know why I wrote "probably."

Look, it's clear that when you have easy access to these prescrips, it's not hard to develop a chemical or psychological dependence on them. In fact, you need look no further than the average college campus to get a feel for how prevalent they can be. In a day and age where Adderall can be taken down like a bag of Skittles to get through finals week, do you really think it's difficult to get a hold of Percosets or Vicodin? And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

Don't believe these drugs are that severe? Think Jackson was just too accustomed to living to the excess? Chalk up all those wrestler deaths to their just being roid monkeys? Two words: Heath Ledger.

Ledger died when he was just 28 years old. For perspective, I'm 28 now. It was attributed to a bad combination of multiple prescription meds after resulting in sleep deprivation and depression from getting a little too "into" his role as the Joker.

So the question is, what's it gonna take? We live in a prescription-happy culture. Whatever your stance may be on health care, the way it stands now is that too many of our physicians are simply too quick to whip out their ballpoint and write a solution to be cashed in at the local Walgreens. That goes for many psychologists, too. We're a nation predicated on instant gratification in the 21st century. We want it fixed and we want it now. Doesn't matter whether it's our carburetor or our psyche.

I could get into a whole "chicken-and-egg" examination of this paradox and where it began. However, the key thing is what can possibly be done now to rectify the problem.

We've spent so much damn time trying to regulate drug cartels and dealers on the street, maybe it's time to govern these doctors a little more closely. Not everyone has a Michael Jackson-sized payroll to have a live-in doc. However, if people want it or think they need it, they'll go to great lengths to get it. History has proven that.

If there is one possible silver lining in Jackson's shocking death, perhaps it could be in the potential for a precedent being set against pill-pushing. It's just too bad it takes the loss of a public figure of incomparable magnitude to even initiate the dialogue.

The Winner, and NEW Political Extramarital Affair Heavyweight Champion of the Wo-o-o-o-o-orld...

2009-06-25T08:23:00.006-04:00

Now when I brought back the blog, I initially commented I wouldn't be doing tags. However, I feel this situation demands--nay, requires--a tag. One that I will use for the most appropriate stories, which, tragically, happen more than we know or would care to acknowledge:

"You can't make this shit up."

Seriously, as if Eliot Spitzer didn't set the bar high enough by having an elicit affair with a bloody call girl... and as if John Edwards didn't top him by having an affair during his presidential bid in lieu of his wife's heroic cancer recovery story... this is just... I have no words.

I really do believe power goes to people's heads. Especially in politics. What's shocking is just how severely it impairs their better judgment.

South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford took an unannounced weekend trip. Without telling anyone. Over Father's Day weekend.

Then when he resurfaces, he states he went hiking. In the Appalachians. On "National Hike Naked" Day.

Where to begin?

First off, as the single most visible political figure in your state, how did you think you could saunter off to South America in secret without your absence being noticed? I mean, I know Governors get Sunday off... but this is absurd to no end.

Moreover, in the spirit of preserving the illusion of your blissful marriage, couldn't you pick a better weekend to knock Argentinian boots? Seriously guy, Father's Day weekend. You have two sons. Couldn't you at least attempt to keep up appearances?

I think that's what really stuns me... the outright disregard for covering his tracks. If you're gonna be unfaithful as a public figure, at least take the proper preventive measures to ensure no one gets wise. This dude just threw all caution to the wind.

I once thought Bill Clinton could never be topped in this category, for the simple fact that he got caught three times. How do you not learn after fucking up twice?

But in this instance, it's the quality and not quantity that puts Sanford over the top.

So there you have it. A new standard in gross stupidity. Of course it comes courtesy of your friendly neighborhood governor. I hope the people in Argentina are nice 'cause it's going to be a good long time before this cat is received warmly by his fellow Americans.

The Revolution will not be Televised... But it will be Tweeted.

2009-06-17T16:12:00.003-04:00

Following the current revolution and riots in Iran has been an intriguing study in the true impact of the Internet in the 21st century.

When this strange, intangible phenomenon became mainstream in the mid 90's, capturing everything in sight (or "in site" as it were) and prefacing the world with the now-familiar "www," I don't think anyone really anticipated the impact it could have.

In a little over a decade it has gone from a time killer used largely for pornographic delight and illegal downloading to a viable source of information.

And truth.

The exposure of the Iranian predicament is evident of that shift. The Internet has become far more sophisticated, evolving impressively along with its most popular "children." The most benignly intended websites such as Twitter and Facebook are now vessels of information we would probably not know otherwise.

I remember last year when riots broke out in Athens over the accidental killing of a teenage boy by an armed police officer. This was a front page staple for many weeks on major news sites. However, it did not receive the same degree of coverage as the economy or the election fallout. I had it on good authority from a friend living in Athens that what we were seeing in the states was merely a fraction of what was going on.

Fast forward a little over six months later. As mentioned in a prior post, Twitter has taken off at a lightning-fast pace, and Facebook has sought to keep up with the site's novel approach to sharing information. Now in light of Iran's recent presidential election and what is being termed as "The Green Revolution," images and video of the protests are being circulated against the will of the Iranian government.

Meanwhile, the U.S. government requested Twitter suspend scheduled network maintenance so as not to impede the flow of information.

This is incredible on so many levels. It's almost as though the Internet itself has become the answer to Orwell's hypothetical "Big Brother." It may not be that far off... it's often been said that you can try and delete a site, an image, a video from the web. But if it's been posted somewhere online, it will always have a life.

And an audience.

The technological revolution has broken ground on a global scale by spreading infectious truth about an actual revolution. We have come full circle; I believe for the better.

Now that is how you bring about change.

Enter the Blago-sphere

2009-06-16T14:22:00.005-04:00

Rod Blagojevich has to be the dumbest crooked politician ever. And the greediest. At least in the 21st century, and certainly in my lifetime.

For starters, I cannot believe the guy actually thought it was feasible to sell Illinois Senator's position left by President Obama. In this day and age of communication and simple traceability, I struggle to fathom how a man like Rod can walk around with balls that big.

Then to deny any and all allegations, profess innocence and cry "witch hunt" is not only laughable, it's embarrassing. His conduct hasn't even been anything remotely close to amusing. It's been downright painful to watch, the type of crash TV even the most obsessed reality fan could fathom.

Speaking of which, as if this sordid affair weren't already enough to scrape the bottom of the saltiest barrel, it's almost fitting that Blago would volunteer for that "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here" show. I should make it crystal clear that I watch zero reality TV beyond "The Ultimate Fighter." Even then I typically fast forward right to the fights. But the point is, how could you so willingly degrade yourself that much?

Not for nothing, this man was a prominent politician prior to his scandal. Sure, he wasn't high profile on a national level, but he didn't have to be. He held a public office, which is something I've always believes needs to be properly respected and revered by the person laying claim to the title.

There's a saying I've always held dear, whether it's in reference to a prize fighter, a CEO or even a politician: "The title doesn't make the man, the man makes the title."

When you accept a title, especially one so public, you need to uphold the value that comes with it. Respect is earned, not given. And disrespect to a title is pretty damn shameful.

Which is why B-Rod's latest endeavor--starring as himself in a Second City comedy show based on his fall from gubernatorial grace--really crystallizes what a sorry excuse for a person he is. This guy clearly is a leech, plain and simple. It doesn't matter whether he's whoring the Senator's seat or whoring himself for whoring the Senator's seat. A whore is a whore is a whore.

And no amount of lacy lingerie and cheap perfume is enough to salvage his reputation. Or his sorry-ass haircut.

Seriously, people like this should just go away. I've never grasped how people are able to stomach these antics, whether it's a Hilton, a girl next door or the subject in question. We shouldn't enable these people to poison pop culture. And the drivers behind the entertainment shouldn't provide them the venue.

The only differences between this act of sickening self-promotion and O.J. Simpson's failed memoir If I Did It are that Rod didn't kill anyone, and O.J.'s attempt to shine the spotlight on himself never saw the light of day.

That doesn't make me feel particularly better about either fact.

I Don't Care What You Did Last Summer... or This Summer... or an Hour Ago... or...

2009-05-29T10:01:00.004-04:00

Twitter has taken off like a wildfire, hasn't it? And it's funny to see Facebook trying to mimic some of that popularity via its status updates. But I gotta say, I've noticed a disturbing trend for my update-happy colleagues.

Guys, let me serve public notice right now: I don't need to know your every move. I'm not the FBI, nor am I the federalis. I'm not a sadistic T-800 sent back in time to hunt you down only to spawn some crappy sequels from the year 2000 on.

I like Twitter, I appreciate the concept and see its usefulness. It's especially interesting to see how big companies, sports teams, news networks and even athletes on what's going on. Bill Simmons of ESPN has commented on how revolutionary this could be regarding the sports world, and I agree. There's oodles of potential with this site. Facebook has obviously caught wind of it, and, like MySpace before it, has tried to capitalize on that appeal.

However, Simmons has also provided resistance to Twitter, which is understandable. He did not want it to become one of these "frequent personal update" motives, such as, "I'm walking my dog," or, "Grabbing a skinny mochaccino at the Starbucks on Main." He did see the potential for one-liners, though. And I like that. A way to entertain/engage/inform his readers and fans... just a way to be creative.

But there are some who take the former road to new levels of extremism. This is what originally left me leery of the website. I have a handful of friends who do nothing but offer personal updates with these sites. And it gets to be overwhelming at times.

More than that, it tends to be obnoxious.

There is a certain self-importance that comes with always putting the focus on oneself, and I fear Twitter and Facebook are only serving to augment that egocentric theme.

Now granted, I'm as guilty as anyone of offering the occasional window into the life of Rick, but I try to limit it. I also try to put a humorous spin on things that are happening to me. Sometimes I succeed.

What really kickstarted this for me was a pair of trips about three weeks ago to New Orleans and Washington DC that saw me observing more than usual. Little things that I just felt the need to tweet about by text. It was actually an interesting experience, and that's where I saw the potential for this site. Well, at least for me.

Truth be told, it inspired me to climb back on the fin-adorned soapbox know as Landshark Sandwich and return to commentating (as opposed to commenting) on social trends, quirks, absurdities and curiosities. So I can't be completely against the site.

But that said, all things need to be in moderation. Daily updates that would put CNN's news ticker to shame are unnecessary and heavy-handed. If it's something like a promotion or a new car, then yes, by all means celebrate and tweet to your heart's content. You deserve to inform your friends, you have the right to and it's justifiable.

But if you feel the need to provide information every hour on the hour about your daily fiber intake or the magical musings of The Secret, spare us all. Please.

Some may enjoy such mundane self-glorification, but most of us will roll our eyes and mutter about what an annoyingly arrogant prick you are.

One thing I have learned in life is that certain accomplishments warrant announcement and pride. Others simply deserve the quiet appreciation for your personal growth, and that's greater than any cyber-pat on the back you get.

Please, tweet with caution. The 11th Commandment was really "Keep thy business to thyself."

Back with Another One of Those Block-Rockin' Beats

2009-05-27T17:08:00.001-04:00

It couldn't have lasted long, this makeshift "retirement." I'm too outspoken for my own good to be so objective I can't speak out. I need to be unfiltered and this forum works for me. So here's where we'll stand:

"Landshark" will be where I vent my opinions, frustrations and observations of universal human absurdity on an "as-needed" basis. Given all that's going on right now, that could be frequently.

New to the blog will be titles (long overdue and wonderful in summation). I doubt I'll use tags since the range of topics could be expansive. Moreover, I prefer readers to read a piece based on overall appreciation for the blog rather than specific subject matter. If it isn't to your liking, simply go ahead and "X out."

I also have a Twitter account that can be reached at www.twitter.com/LSharkSandwich. Feel free to leave feedback or check in on my random thoughts.

Furthermore, there will be zero revisionist history. Any and all grammatical or spelling errors will remain, no titles will be added, nothing about the prior posts will be changed in any way shape or form. As you're about to learn, revisionist history never works anyway...

Lastly, "Rolling" will be an ongoing work in progress taking a more sophisticated look at American culture. Posts will likely be less frequent than here as they require much more research and time to temper an objective response.

We good.

Now, permit me to begin by unloading on our former VP, Dick Cheney. This man has made a point of remaining in the public spotlight since the end of Bush's term in January. In spite of the public perception of him both as a politician and human being, he insists on remaining "relevant." At least by his standards.

Now, most of this has been central to accusations of torture under the former administration. Cheney continues to hem and haw around the facts regarding waterboarding. Claims of innocence or debates around the so-called "enhanced interrogation technique's" status as torture are asinine and embarrassing.

Cheney didn't speak this much when he was VP. Never thought I'd admit to this, but I almost wish Bush would resurface for a few comments. At least he could be fodder for the late night show hosts.

But Cheney's reasons for being so vocal are what really frustrate me. This is less about exoneration and more about vindication. Revisionist's history is a topic that aggravates me. From Christopher Columbus to Han Solo shooting first, trying to paint the facts differently always comes back to bite you in the ass. Yet some continue to hold dearly to a mere illusion of reality, perhaps driven by their own imaginations.

Consequently it comes down to a matter of delusion. At least in Cheney's mind. There's something so alluring about "preserving one's legacy." Truth of the matter is, history will speak for itself.

You can't get around it. You can't change what people feel. The information that was once suppressed is now out there, and it ain't pretty. The best Mr. Cheney can hope to do is "defend" the previous administration's decision to apply torture tactics. And I use quotations because there is very little doubt that waterboarding is torture, plain and simple.

The only people who are leaping to its defense are the far, far right. These are also the individuals in the GOP who are slowly alienating themselves from the moderates in this country. Believe what you wanna believe, but don't try to delude the masses into singing along with you.

I've been watching these people closely since November and even more closely since January. All promises of bipartisanship have been tossed out the window, and the Cheney's, Limbaugh's, Palin's, Jindal's, Steele's, O'Reilly's, Coulter's, Hannity's and Hasselback's of the world are looking very, very foolish right now. Something smells like sour grapes.

And it sounds like a half-assed attempt to cover up a Mona Lisa of shame... painting by numbers which don't add up.

Y'know, I never thought I'd say this, but for once I have to give credit to George W. Bush. He has largely stayed out of this mess, and all related clusterfucks courtesy of his former associates and supporters. He's been content to live out in the Lone Star state as... well, a lone star. And good for him. After all the damage he's done to his party, he's finally making amends by not adding to an already piss poor reputation.

For his former understudy, however, the tone has been markedly more vocal.

Winston Churchill once said, "History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." History, however, will not be kind to Dick Cheney and his colleagues in the Bush Administration, because there is no way to rewrite it. What's done is done, no way to sugarcoat it.

You've already scribbled your legacy down, Dick. Soak it up. The folks at Gitmo did, after all.

2009-01-28T11:20:00.001-05:00

Six years, two months, one day and now 150 posts deep. What a good run it has been.

However, like the gubernatorial career of Rod Blagojevich, all things must come to a decisive end.

My posts these last few years have been a mix of examination, frustration and absurdity. I feel it's time to focus on really observing the trends that we endure in this country.

1/20/09 seemed like a good time to start given the momentous event we experienced as a nation. Now whether you voted for the man or not, you have to admit the mere fact we have a President of African-American descent--no matter what the percentage--is a massive step toward progress.

It's also got me thinking about this country's habits, our motivations and thought processes.

I've spent so much time sounding off on people in the limelight, silly trends, media and the like, I've never stopped to take a look at the one common thread that connects them all: our culture.

So it is with this in mind that I close the book on Landshark Sandwich and crack open a new themed blog: Rolling with Culture.

My take on our culture in contemporary American society; the anomalous entity that has driven me to write these rants for so long.

It's a greater challenge for me as a writer to try and dissect the abstract, make sense of it, or at lease give it an objective view. And it's important to challenge oneself whenever possible.

It's been fun, kids. Now go visit http://rollingwithculture.blogspot.com.

Goodnight and have a pleasant life.

2008-11-11T16:50:00.009-05:00

I've noticed more often than not when you are dealing with the uninformed or perpetually lost, there are certain habits to look out for. You'll notice, for example, a constant sort of bond to a particular phrase or saying whenever posed with a given question.

Now, maybe it's because of the Governor of Alaska I've noticed this more and more (like I couldn't pick it up in the Bush Administration), but I see it... well, hear it, actually, all the friggin' time.

What better way to show the world how truly one-dimensional you are than to go "broken record on steroids?"

A better question is this: am I the only one who notices this habit? It's a big world out there, surely I can't be the only one who encounters the incompetent on a daily basis.

Now let me just say by "incompetent," I don't necessarily mean "ignorant." I simply mean someone who is ill-equipped to tackle their day-to-day responsibilities and tasks. Now whether that consists of complex practices like balancing a budget or rudimentary procedures like wiping oneself, I guess that depends entirely on the individual. But the fact of the matter remains there are some humans out there who are just not fit for their profession or path.

So in order to mask that blatant smear, they adhere to catchphrases. I don't necessarily mean a particularly cute or novel saying. Rather, it's simply a term that is recycled so frequently it becomes as much of a staple in their vocabulary as "good morning," "thank you" and "the heat is on, mothafuckah."

I've found these catchphrases tend to emerge when challenged on something they simply don't know how to address. Typically it's a question, occasionally a critique. To use the above example of Governor Palin, you would typically notice her egregious overuse of "you betcha." Even the term "maverick" was used as a smokescreen to shield everyone from the fact she was clueless.

Listen to people in your office who seem like lost puppies. Tell me you don't notice the same behavior.

I guess my question is why don't more people notice this behavior? As in, people who can change it? Time and again we excuse people for their quirks when in reality, said quirks are the result of them being unfit. And we just brush it off as, "well, that's the way they are."

Remember, "Manny being Manny" ultimately turned into "Manny being an obnoxious pain in the ass" for the Red Sox. So it should come as no surprise if a case of "Joey being Joey" turns into a case of "Joey holding up progress."

Folks, I'm not belittling these people; I really do feel for them. They're in over their head and don't have the courage to simply say "I don't know," even in cases when that's an acceptable answer. I do however, take issue with the proper individuals with influence not doing something to curb this behavior.

There are some people whose habits and competencies will never reach beyond a certain barrier. You encounter that in life. That doesn't necessarily mean you put them in a position of importance. At the end of the day, it's not their fault, nor should they be held completely (partially, perhaps) accountable for their failings. Someone put them there. Someone thought they could get the job done.

Someone was dead wrong. Someone needs to wake up.

And ultimately, most people do wake up. Hey, we elected a guy who is walking away with the lowest approval rating in history. Twice. We decided not to go for someone who would follow all his policies. We learned.

I guess it's sad then when people don't learn. That's how you know someone is genuinely incompetent.

2008-11-05T13:51:00.004-05:00

The following post is comprised of excerpts from my personal journal written more than 48 hours ago.

I’m not really one to write about messages of hope and faith on this blog. I won’t be including any campaign lingo for either party. Cries of “Yes we did,” “Maverick,” “Alaskan Hockey Mom” or “Joe the Plumber” will be off-limits for the next few pages.

This is as pure as it gets.

11/3/08

Where do we want to be in four years? Or eight? Do we wish to be in the same position socially, economically, culturally? Do we really want four more years of a cockamamie joke of an administration? Would we prefer a driver for change?

These are questions I have asked myself these last nine intriguing months as I have bore witness to the most amazing political scenario of my young life. For the better part of the year, I have sat back as an observer rather than a commentator as usual.

I have felt a rush of energy, enthusiasm and something long-absent from our national dialogue: hope. There is a strange vibe going on in the air right now that no one can deny. There is a surge of young, engaged, passionate energy out there. It’s mobilizing. It’s already manifesting itself in the form of early voting and purportedly record-breaking turn-outs based on the polls.

But I’ve been fooled before. I’ve had my own hopes dashed along with nearly half the American public. Some things are too good to be true.

In the last year I’ve been fortunate enough to travel at length throughout the United States. One such visit actually took me to the White House, remarkable as it may seem. I sat in the same room with the incumbent President of the United States, biting my tongue painfully throughout a half-hearted, hokey speech that mirrored the empty look in his eyes. No doubt this gaze also reflected the absence of gray matter between his ears.

I sat thinking about where we’ve been, where we’re going and what could be next. I knew full well this man would no longer be in charge in less than a year’s time, but still the mere sight of him made my blood turn cold. I couldn’t bring myself to applaud for him; I feigned clapping by wedging my camera between my palms. I couldn’t and still can’t give this man the courtesy when he has not given our country the courtesy.

Twisted as it sounds, I was sitting in that reception room wearing a bear of boxers purchased online bearing the visage of the Democratic candidate, who at the time was still holding down the fort in a vicious primary battle.

I have since joked that would he win, I would write him to let him know I was warming a seat for him in the nation’s capitol. I hope the next 24 hours will afford me such an opportunity.

11/4/08

This morning, Yahoo News showed projects of Obama winning by 318 electoral votes while ESPN postulated on the Redskins’ loss being able to predict the election after their first ever “miss” in 2004.

In the midst of all this, news broke last night on the death of Obama’s grandmother “Toot” while the GOP unleashed a media onslaught of Anti-Obama ads on all major news networks in an attempt to paint him as too radical. They’ve been hard at work trying to link him to purported terrorist sympathizers while hardly talking up their own candidate.

I got a free coffee at Starbucks on Broadway when asked if I voted. I told them I hadn’t, but planned on it (which was true), and they gave it to me anyway. Last night, street urchins were selling Obama/Biden and McCain/Palin condoms in a last ditch effort to milk the merchandising aspect of this historic affair.

By the end of today, such promotion will be gone. But the ramifications will tell the real story. Normally such absurdity would bother me, but there was something all too different in the streets. An indefinable aura, if you will.

Walking down West 48th Street, there is a different flavor in the air. Perhaps it is because of the sheer anticipation of what’s to come. People are walking, talking, behaving less like automatons of yesteryear and more like true human beings.

There is an air of hope.

I remember four years ago watching a map on TV aflame with crimson, denoting the Bush Administration’s criminal activities would go on for another 1,518 until January 20th, 2009. And I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sensation I can only assume was my heart, heavy with fear and disillusion, plummeting internally.

“There is no hope.”

How could we be so stupid? So naïve? Were we seriously siphoning Kool-Aid off this joker and asking for seconds? What kind of a country do we live in? Do I live in?

The week before the 2004 election, I remember joking with a friend that I could rest easily even if Bush won because the Boston Red Sox broke their 86-year-old curse and lifted the hearts of millions. Looking back, I’d prefer another 86 years without a ring to our name than four more years of Bushian nonsense.

I lost hope in our collective sense of reason. And now, I get the impression that it’s not dead. I feel as though many Americans are clawing to reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

Could we be learning at last? Maybe this is why I find myself writing less and less these days… common sense seems to be prevailing, and hard lessons learned are beginning to register. There is less to infuriate or irritate the more I watch the news or read the paper. Less to marvel at.

I don’t care how long I’ll have to wait to vote tonight, even though Obama is certain to win Connecticut. I have a sense of excitement instead of repeated defeatism as I did four years ago this time.

I hope by tomorrow there will be something good to report.

I didn’t have to wait until today, I got my answer last night. History was made in no small terms.

This election serves as an amazing representative of the notion that we Americans are starting to smarten up. Starting to loosen up. Things are stale and scary. Change was inevitable, but the question was what kind of change would we get? Would it come in the form of the more experienced war hero? Or the largely unproven freshman senator? Oh, and the latter just happened to be African-American.

I thought it would be a tight race. I really believed this had potential to be another Bush/Gore scenario of “too close to call” for over a month. My fellow Americans have so graciously (and thankfully) proven me wrong.

Every barrier was broken. Fear, uncertainty, reluctance and above all, prejudice. During the primaries, my father told me a joke from his era:

“A man has a conversation with God and asks, ‘Father, will there ever be a woman in the office of President?’ God replies, ‘Not in your lifetime, son.’ The man then asks, ‘Father, will there ever be a black man in the office of President?’

“God replies, ‘Not in my lifetime, son.’”

Now to all the Christian conservatives out there, don’t panic, the above was an anecdote and not a genuine account.

However, it speaks volumes to our growth. In four years, we went from being scared to change the game to giving an overhaul of epic proportions. As I type right now, the final electoral tally is 349 to 146, and 52 percent of the popular vote in favor of the current President-Elect. We didn’t just crave change, we embraced it. And broke every standard and conventional line of thinking present in this nation’s narrowest minds.

It’s history. This is one of my generation’s watershed moments. And what’s more, it comes in the form of a person who, though unproven and with lots of ground to cover, has managed to unite a large chunk of the populous, motivating people to take action, but also serving as the catalyst for many to change the way they think.

Inflexibility is one of our greatest human faults, especially in this country. Last night proved a lot can change.

We’re late the game on a lot in this nation. Whether it’s technology and science or classic cases like the space race, we fall behind a lot of the time. This is one of the most massively progressive steps in our history, and it comes at a crucial time.

How Obama will perform clearly remains to be seen. He could be a hero, he could be a dog. That’s true of any candidate, no matter how magnetic. However, the glass ceilings have been shattered. Convincingly. I personally feel this man has a lot to offer, and I hope he lives up to his promises. Like anything I will let time determine that.

What is certain for me is that my faith in humanity has been restored. Cliché as it may sound, I honestly never thought I would live to see a day like this, and I’m thoroughly impressed that minds once timid and bound to old ways are now shifting dramatically.

I started this blog November 27th, 2002. Two years after the controversial election in which Bush forged a family legacy, and nearly fifteen months following the nightmarish attack on our nation that fateful day in early September. In that time, I have sat back, like many of my heroes, and watched. And I’ve seen ignorance displayed on every level imaginable. From the mundane to the staggeringly massive. For too long I thought this would just be an ongoing trend, a downward spiral from which we would never steer off-course.

And yet the celebration that has been taking place since last night at about 11:30 PM shows no signs of letting up. It carries with it an unprecedented energy and passion… for so many, it’s as though nothing in the world can possibly faze them, and the day is won for millions. It's like a mass euphoria; I’ve never seen anything like it before.

Actually, I think I have… October 27th, 2004. The Red Sox break the curse. How ironic…

Two songs have permeated my conscious the last 48 hours… yesterday in Grand Central Terminal, I found myself walking behind a young black man listening to his iPod and singing, “I can feel it coming in the air tonight… oh, lord. I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life… oh, lord.” Even though I didn’t know him personally, It was crystal clear why this particular tune was on his playlist.

The other song came on my iPod this morning… out of 6,542 tracks to choose from on “Shuffle” mode, I was graced with “The Times They Are A-Changin’” by Dylan.

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

2008-11-04T23:33:00.001-05:00

History was made tonight. Forget what party you're associated with... times they are a-changin'.

More tomorrow. Sleep well.

2008-10-23T10:26:00.015-04:00

I feel the need to take some time here and pat myself on the back for holding my tongue since the end of August on the Republican Candidate’s running mate. While the rest of America has been voicing their formulated opinions, justified or nonsensical, I’ve been sitting from afar (for once) to take it all in and really get a firm grasp on this so-called “Alaskan Hockey Mom.”

Now I’ve long-cemented my opinion on the woman. And I’ve still held my tongue, because my thoughts seem to be mirroring those of the pundits far and wide. So why comment if I can’t even host an original thought that hasn’t been projected in the media?

And yeah, the media blows most things outta proportion, but at the same time when you watch the footage of this AHMILF (Alaskan Hockey Mom I’d Like to… y’know) in action, it’s hard to at least not get a whiff of Kool-Aid in the air. Because she’s not only mixing it, she’s practically serving it up at the same time.

Like my thoughts on Governor Palin, I’ve had my mind made up for quite some time on my pick for the next President. Since the primaries, as a matter of fact. That said, I have nothing but the utmost respect for John McCain and his tenure as a U.S. Senator. He clearly has devoted himself to his party and his country, and that’s outside of his service to our nation during a most tumultuous war. But I cannot fathom for the life of me what he and his associates were thinking when they picked Governor Palin for his running mate.

There’s a multitude of bullets that just don’t add up. The immense lack of experience, the reliance on warm, fuzzy phrases and winks to entrap the soft-brained, the proficiency to dodge key questions with dainty-yet-vacuous responses, I could go on and on.

But in looking at the cold hard facts, any way you cut it, Senator McCain’s running mate is a walking, talking marketing decision. An attempt to lure in disenfranchised female voters who were internally crying the blues over Hillary Clinton’s loss in the Democratic primaries. A means to connect with Middle America vis-à-vis Governor Palin’s folksy tone and colloquialisms, bundled up in a voice that lies somewhere between Marge Gunderson in Fargo and the mother in Bobby’s World.

But this is not North Dakota, nor is it a cartoon. It’s one of the most critical eras in the 232-year-old history of this country, and certainly the direst period of the 21st century thus far. This is an important election for U.S. citizens. There’s a war overseas in a country where we have no right to be, and an even more vicious bloodbath on the financial battleground; one that could best be described as a “war of attrition.” This is not the time for marketing decisions.

Especially not marketing decisions gone wrong. Sarah Palin, originally viewed by pundits and commentators (and I can only venture to guess the inner circle as well) as the buoyant life jacket for John McCain’s hopeful presidential venture is now dragging down his campaign as though her offerings of “you betcha” and “don’tcha know” were loaded with concrete. To paraphrase her SNL doppelganger Tina Fey, this material writes itself.

But the humor only lasts so long. Much like the antics of the cast members of Jackass, it initially evokes peels of hard laughter only to soften as time marches on with the realization that something about this scenario is disturbingly sad. In the case of Governor Palin, the realization is that she has no business being in a post this prestigious, a mere rung away from the title of most powerful person in the free world. She can distance herself from the so-called “inner circle” and offer up cutesy zingers like “Say it ain’t so Joe” until the king crab fishermen come home, but it’s not going to up her stock any higher in a race this pivotal.

I’ve long felt the notion of electing candidates who are “just like” the public is a poorly-conceived concept. In electing a President, I yearn to see an individual who is above the general public. That is not to say a wealthy elitist, the sort of disconnected Jay Gatsby that John McCain has attempted to frame Barack Obama as being. But rather an individual of dignity, composure and savvy. Someone who can guide this country through difficult times while legitimately serving as a sound representative for our collective voice. This comes in stark contrast to the admitted firebrand that is Senator McCain and his bespectacled punchline of a running mate.

Given my uncharacteristic silence up to this point, with a mere twelve days away from the election, I’m sure one might wonder what brought on this outburst. Like a tick, this debacle has gotten under my skin and proceeded to burrow deep until the end result is a fire in the brain. Adding fuel to the blaze is the barage of shocking news stories over the last several days, resulting in a grand slam of shame that cannot bode well for the GOP candidate as November 4th draws closer.

First, the appearance on SNL in hopes to embrace the parodies that have propelled her very name into the buzzword of the year. One cannot blame her or the McCain camp for trying to capitalize on such rampant popularity. However, the end result comes off as the would-be Vice President embracing the caricature perfected by Tina Fey, and only reinforcing the comedic image rather than attracting swing voters.

Second, the answer to a third grader’s question regarding the VP’s job, claiming that the Vice President is more than just the Commander-in-Chief’s understudy, but that the role also includes running the Senate. Perhaps in some crazed Alaskan Bizarroworld this is the case, but not in the real, my friends. I prefer my candidates to understand the job description, not invent it.

Third, flipping the bill to the state she governs and adores so glowingly for her children’s transportation. Being a parent is a wonderful thing, but it is predicated on the ability to love and provide for your children along with your husband/wife and close relatives. Taxpayers and the general public do not fit into the equation, and this should be heavily weighed before decrying Senator Obama as a leftwing “elitist.”

Finally, and most damning in my opinion, the $150K receipt for Governor Palin’s wardrobe, including stops at Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus. It’s great the Republican Party can spend $18K a week on fine attire while the rest of the nation is clipping coupons to shop for groceries. Perhaps this is why the McCain campaign is running in the red financially. It’s also further evidence that the ideological quagmire between the McCain-Palin ticket and the general public is greater than the distance between Anchorage and the White House.

In the tavern of the absurd and ludicrous, Sarah Palin’s cup runneth over, and the contents only threaten to drown any hopes Senator McCain has of becoming President. Indeed, one can only assume he is beginning to regret his choice more than Harry Frazee after selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1919; an event that supposedly spawned a curse only slightly older than John McCain himself. At that age, you’d think he’d know better.

I guess you can’t blame him for trying to bolster his standing a bit. It’s only natural to work the public and try to connect with them. However, the plug was kicked out of the socket some time ago, and it will take a Herculean effort to reach the cord at this point.

Y’know, I actually feel sorry for Palin. Truth be told, I think she is on a plane different than the “Washington Insiders” she so frequently demonizes. It could be why she responds like a smiling deer caught in the headlights. She really has no idea what she’s stepped into, and hey, we’ve all been there. But about 99.9 percent of us haven’t experienced such pressure at the executive level. I wish her well, because in the event McCain does rebound, she’ll need all the luck in the world not to become the female answer to Dan Quayle.

Appearances only go so far, don’t they? It seems perfectly suitable that the decline in McCain’s numbers is now being attributed to Governor Palin… because if his decision-making process as President were to mirror the one he employed in selecting a running mate… well, I’m not sure I feel comfortable voting for that.

And given the projected record turnout for voters (that is to say, "highest possible visibility"), you can bet I'm not the only carbon-based lifeform drawing that conclusion.

2008-10-21T20:50:00.002-04:00

Reading this piece, it's very hard for me to feel sorry for anyone on Wall Street who is suffering from the current economic crunch.

Now I'll be the first to admit, I know very little about finance. My brain is not structured that way, it never has been. However, I'm intuitive enough to recognize true crime when I see it.

The level of dishonesty, gluttony and monetary bloodlust has only escalated over these last few years in Corporate America. The Enrons and Wal-Marts of the world have proven this on countless occasions.

One of the biggest reasons I struggle with working in the corporate world is because I have these weird things called "ethics." Thankfully, I rarely encounter questionable practices in my line of work, but I'm sure dirty deals have gone down around me in my "past life" for sure. I'm so damned close to New York City, I know how the Big Apple's "business mentality" runs northward into Fairfield County, Connecticut. I'm not gonna be a Pollyanna about that.

I also know how art imitates life. So when I see Gordon Gecko in Wall Street, I know he's not a pure fabrication; a fictitious medium spurned from Oliver Stone's imagination. He's based on someone real, or a composite of true life individuals. So in perusing the headlines and seeing these would-be Boiler Room desk jockey's getting their asses handed to them, it's hard to have pity.

Many of them have admitted to criminal activity. Just because the collar is white doesn't mean it should be treated any differently than if the crime were committed in a blue shirt. If nothing else, I think it should be punished more severely. Maybe it'll serve as a nice wake-up call.

Want an idea of how far displaced these cash crocks have positioned themselves from reality? Visit www.bankergonebroke.com and view an entry dated 9/29/08 on cooking in your apartment. This lowly scab has to actually detail how to cook for oneself... not by giving a recipe, mind you, but by listing the standard issue household amenities one needs to actually prepare a meal.

How sad is it when you have to tell one of your own ilk they need to keep Saran wrap and tin foil around the house? Remind me not to cry when Nobu rejects your MasterCard.

Folks, whoever coined the phrase "money is the root of all evil" may have been far wiser a sage than Confucius himself. The amounts of cold hard cash these characters tend to have locked up may be enough to feed some needy families, cure a disease here or there, maybe even fund the war.

Yet they choose to squander it on whatever goods will tout their status the most. It makes you wonder what else Ellis got right when he wrote American Psycho.

Now I know these things are cyclical. I'm not obtuse naive enough to think all these clowns will be forever bankrupt (though it sure is nice to dream). Even so, I certainly hope their shortcomings and faults in this life serve as lessons learned to the next generation.

And if you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you. Given real estate prices right now, I don't even think you could afford it.

2008-07-24T20:19:00.006-04:00

This past weekend, an interesting twist occurred in the increasingly popular and highly exposed sport of MMA (mixed martial arts). The UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) aired a free "Fight Night" event on Saturday in response to a pay-per-view supercard courtesy of former UFC sponsor and clothing manufacturer Affliction and its newest partner in crime, Adrenaline MMA. The event, "Affliction: Banned," drew roughly 100,000 buys and featured several former UFC competitors and champions. It was the first big swipe at UFC's PPV crown.

But, this was far from the first attempt at making a splash in MMA. UFC has reigned for the last three years since its rise to prominence, even earning enough monetary assets to purchase former rival (and purist favorite) PRIDE Fighting Championship out of Japan. Yet this was not their first acquisition. That would be WEC (World Extreme Cagefighting), a promotion focusing on smaller weight classes. Rumors are now abound that UFC will purchase IFL (International Fight League), a financially troubled promotion that offers a "round robin" approach to matches featuring teams of three.

So for a promotion to challenge UFC so boldly is a big move in the world of MMA. You can't easily move an 800 lb. gorilla. But despite UFC's powerful alphabet soup of promotions, there have been others besides Adrenaline MMA just this year to try and make a splash.

EliteXC (that's Elite Xtreme Combat) immediately comes to mind, as they have scored a deal with CBS and have tried to ride high off the brand equity of YouTube's favorite brawler, Kimbo Slice. Strikeforce has also struck up a similar network deal with NBC. HDNet Fights has been airing for almost a year now, and even one of UFC's co-founders managed to develop and establish YAMMA Pit Fighting in hopes of grabbing a piece of the pie his baby failed to produce in the early days.

This sport really seems to be taking off, huh? Used to be only the big names like Chuck Liddell were known in the mainstream. Now the likes of Anderson Silva, Fedor Emelianenko and Georges St. Pierre are trickling in as well.

It shouldn't surprise the unbiased observer too much, MMA is, for most intents and purposes, providing jaded, mostly casual boxing fans with an alternative to the sweet science. I know many boxing fans are die-hards never to be swayed, and that's great for them. For many others who are not loyalists, however, the sport is becoming a fair haven for fights. It's also generating a new generation of die-hards all its own.

But MMA serves as more than just a fun beat-'em-up sport for half-hearted fight fans. I don't think people realize, but it also provides an interesting metaphor for success in life.

Versatility and flexibility.

See, in boxing, there's clearly technique and different styles involved. But in MMA, it's more than just punching. It's Muay Thai (kickboxing), Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (submission grappling), wrestling and many, many more styles that go into the mix. To truly be a great competitor, you had best be versatile. There are a few guys who do one thing but do it really well. Then you take a guy like Anderson Silva who not only has great striking ability, but phenomenal Jiu Jitsu to boot, and you have a true winner.

Silva is a perfect example of versatility. Not only is he the current UFC Middleweight Champion (185 lb. limit), but he just made his Light Heavyweight (205 lb. limit) debut this past weekend in dominating fashion. You try packing on 20 lbs. of additional muscle in, oh, six weeks and see how it affects your speed and timing. It's not easy.

That is the thing we really lack in life: versatility. We do the same thing day in, day out with no adjustments to our routine. It makes for stagnation, which leads to mental, physical, even emotional atrophy. We need to stay sharp in all aspects of life. Sure, relaxing is great, but staying active provides many more benefits.

Most importantly, we need to be versatile and especially flexible in our thinking. If we become to structured, our brain becomes more of a template than a working tool, doesn't it? Sure it does. How hard is it for people of older generations to break the mold of "old school" thinking on certain issues. People, the times change, and we need to change with them or else you'll find yourself writing an early will.

It's tough to keep up with the technological and scientific advances in the world today, but keeping up with the thinking is a true challenge. There are no constants anymore, and really there never have been.

And we definitely need to be flexible emotionally. I mean, life throws you curve balls, people. You can't sit and wait for the ball to careen into your shoulder. You have to be ready to duck, catch, hit it, do whatever you can to avoid getting beaned. MMA teaches you there are more than one ways to skin a cat, but also more than one ways a cat can get skinned as well. If you find yourself in the middle of a clinch and then suddenly on the ground under pressure, you need to know the methods to escape or reverse your predicament. Sticking to "what you do best" won't always work.

If life really is a fight, permit me to put it in a context that fighters and fans can understand: know how to dodge a punch when you're standing, take down a problem when it's vulnerable and block when mounted fists are reigning down.

Sure, the violence in the cage can get ugly... but then again, so can life sometimes. Be prepared and stay on guard, folks.

2008-06-23T13:42:00.009-04:00

And then there were none.

For once I'm really not sure where to begin. This is one of those moments for me where I struggle with structure in my writing, because it's just about pointless. I got emotional reading the headline today, and I don't do that often for anyone in the public eye.

I find myself thinking back to the first moment I encountered the work of the person in question. Perhaps it's best to start there.

I was working for my uncle in the spring of '96, helping him out at his restaurant in New Haven during a bad cafeteria worker's strike. I stayed with him that entire week. One night after a long day's work, we watched HBO together and happened upon George Carlin's most recent stand-up: "Back in Town" from that same year.

My uncle, not a fan of most stand-up, fell asleep. I stayed up laughing hysterically. I was entranced, just really taken by the material and how sharp Carlin was (he maintained that quality until his passing). It was his mastery of the English language, his way of tying things together seamlessly, his outright admonishment and disdain for authority and conventional institutions.

He was so goddamn cool.

From that moment on, I was pretty much locked. I mean, I had seen him in the Bill and Ted movies and had seen his short-lived sitcom for Fox a couple years prior, but to really appreciate the man was to see him unfettered: up on stage in his natural environment.

So from '96 on, I did what I always do when I have an intense interest in a subject or artist... I delve deep into history and pull up every single article or finished work I can find. With Carlin, it was no different.

I went back and found all his old album's on CD, some even on tape before his entire catalogue was reissued a few years back. I memorized his bits and can still quote them word-for-word, measure-for-measure. I laughed harder than I have at any other human being's material--short of my own father's.

And most importantly, I listened.

I paid damn close attention to what he was saying. Carlin was like stand-up's answer to Rage Against the Machine. He lured you with his song and exposed you to a bigger world. More so than any other human being in the 20th or 21st century, he cut through the bullshit with ease, using his mic as a machete to hack through the brush. He called it like it was, and much like the greatest comic minds of history, he served as a pundit as much as a comedian.

Honesty was the only policy. Nothing was taboo, no matter how suggestive, risque or outright disgusting.

His body of work stands for itself... I'm not going to sit here and sing its praises for the sheer humor involved. Rather, like John Lennon himself, the message came through loud and clear in the art form. This is something that very, very few comics could ever hope to duplicate in their careers.

Of the Holy Trinity--Bruce, Pryor, Carlin--I always favored Carlin. I still favor him. Sure, Bruce broke the ground that needed to be broken and Pryor exposed the societal and racial inequalities we all knew existed, but Carlin took taboos and made the term itself dirtier than his list of seven words. Just his "outside-the-box" look at life and the way it undulates into the weirdest, most fucked-up patterns of behavior and existence.

As gut-churning as some of his topics could be, they were also profound. You have to give humanity credit... He didn't come up with the material, we simply spoonfed it all to him.

And naturally, his stance on politics and the system in this nation (shit, in this world) is legendary. His honesty in life will hopefully be echoed in death, and his unique style influenced a generation of comedians.

Find me a comic who does not list Carlin as an inspiration and I'll find you someone who has no business being onstage.

And you'd be hard-pressed to find a harder working man in show business... certainly not in comedy. For a guy who spent 50 years plus in comedy, he toured, wrote and recorded relentlessly. That's impressive given his age and health scares over the years... in the mere 12 years since I could call myself a devoted fan, he's had five big HBO specials (each with a corresponding album), three books and has appeared in eight films (either onscreen or as a voice talent). Chances are if he remained healthy, he'd be doing this well into his eighties.

He probably felt there was just too much to say to stop. I'd tend to agree with the old fuck (not a slam on him... listen to his '08 special "It's Bad For Ya," you'll get it).

So things right now are a little blue for me. While I'm no comic (I sure don't get paid for this shit), I'm more than a fan and follower of Carlin's work. Suffice it to say were it not for him, I damn sure wouldn't be doing this blog. For that matter, I probably wouldn't write nearly as much as I do, vote the way I do, talk the way I do or think the way I do.

And to think, he's responsible for all that while still making me laugh.

My only regret is that I never got to see the man live. It was just one of those things I sorta brushed off. Either that or I consistently had scheduling conflicts during his many visits to Foxwoods. And one of the gifts on my longterm Father's Day wishlist was to always get tickets for me and Dad to go check out the Maestro himself. I'm beyond saddened that this will never happen.

I can at least take some solace in knowing that his material will be thoughtfully dusted off by longtime fans everywhere both casual and diehard. And even if they make the iPod playlists for just a month, that's more than enough time to get people's brains moving in the right direction.

The funniest part of it all is the fact so much of Carlin's material focused around death, including a piece regarding celebrity deaths. He grumbled profusely at the requisite outpouring of adulation in the wake of a celebrity dying. At the time he mentioned how much he wasn't looking forward to Sinatra buying the farm for this very reason.

Far be it from me to offer the very same sentiments he so strongly detested, but c'mon... he had to have some idea. Even for an old fuck.

I'll be sure to make it up to him, though... this week at the bank I'll ask if they can make change for a nickel. Just to jog some gray matter out there.

2008-05-29T11:56:00.001-04:00

I recently had an invigorating conversation with someone about the state of the nation. I’m not just talking politically, I mean socially, economically, where we stand in the international scene, the full nine, cross-category.

It occurred to me at one point in this conversation, when we touched on the social influence of celebrities, that we don’t have those public figures to ignite our minds and educate us on the various inequalities we coast through daily.

See, at one point, the name John Lennon came up. His influence during the 60’s and 70’s as a driver for change was nearly immeasurable. Granted, his execution could sometimes leave room for consideration, but that said, his undying commitment to the peace movement drove people to protest and be vocal.

Do yourself a favor. Go rent The U.S. vs. John Lennon this moment. It’s a startling indicator of what can be (and has been) done at the executive level, but also provides substantial insight into Lennon’s influence during his lifetime.

Put it this way… the song “Give Peace A Chance” turned out to be the initial catalyst for Richard Nixon labeling Lennon a marked man. When you see the reasons why, you’ll be impressed.

Point is, in 2008, a point where America is facing new challenges daily, there isn’t a single public figure trying to energize the masses and make them understand the relevance of what’s happening right now. Nary a soul.

It’s interesting, back in the 60’s, there were a bevy of musicians who used their star power to inform the public on what was going on, specifically with regard to the Vietnam War. What amazes me now is that the laundry list of actors, musicians and socialites who spoke out so avidly against the Iraqi insurgence and the plight of the Bush administration have now gone largely silent. All those puppets who met their untimely demise in Team America haven’t made a peep since around the time that very parody hit the silver screen.

In fact, many of them and their kind have moved onto other causes. George Clooney has decided that Darfur is where we need to focus our efforts right now. Sharon Stone has spoken out so strongly against China’s treatment of Tibet that she’s proposed the recent earthquake was a Karmic force of destruction. Even the almighty Bono, once famous for prank calling the senior Bush during concerts and proudly bearing the stars and stripes in the lining of his jacket during the 2002 SuperBowl is fighting the good fight for South Africa.

Yet not a soul seems to care about what’s going on here. Gas prices are escalating while third world countries are paying mere pennies per gallon for petrol. The economy is taking a massive hit and people are losing their jobs left and right. And of course, our misplaced occupancy in the Middle East has cost us an unnecessary amount of loss with little relief in sight.

Have we all moved on? Do we just not care? Are we that apathetic that the pages of People magazine carry more importance than The New York Times?

I don’t necessarily think that’s the case, but I do think that as Americans, we tragically find ourselves constantly living and thinking within our respective silos. That is to say, we exist with little knowledge of what goes on around us, let alone outside our borders. I wish it weren’t so, but sometimes we need a wake-up call, and more often than not it needs to be very, very loud.

And very, very visible.

The days of the modern revolutionary are long gone. Figures like Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin don’t fit into the scheme of things these days. At least that’s what society tells us at this current point in time. And this generation has yet to have that Lennon-esque entity who can redirect minds into more selfless avenues. I personally wonder if it will ever happen at this rate…

It’s remarkable how far we’ve fallen. We’ve gone from hopeful musical artists like Lennon to entertainment showcases such as Hannah Montana. We’ve gone from purposeful, convicted athletes like Muhammad Ali to grandstanding showboats like Floyd Mayweather. And politically, we’ve gone from energetic, believable leaders like JFK to the sad pissing contest that is the current primary election.

I think that last comparison offers a nice segue in that it recalls my prior Hill-Dog-inspired rant, in which I lamented the “Cult of Me.” I really think that we allow our interests to become self-serving and hardly look outside to get a whiff of what’s wafting around out there. We need an observant parent to tell us to go outside and play sometimes.

Unfortunately, we’re beyond unsupervised at this point. And I couldn’t even point you to one public figure who could take the reigns and lead our carriage to the truth.

I wish I had a better ending for this entry other than to say I refuse to sing or quote “Holding Out For A Hero.” That song makes me nauseous.

2008-05-20T09:08:00.000-04:00

While I have not voted for or endorsed her, I have begun to feel that Hillary Clinton is the perfect representative of the American attitude. It pains me to admit that, but as the weeks and months have dragged on, I feel it's all too true.

For the record, I don't mean that as a glowing endorsement... rather, it's a sad realization.

Y'see, Hillary is in a position right now where she is hard-pressed to obtain the Democratic nomination, and it's highly unlikely she will. Nevertheless, her dogged determination to press on is a perfect representation of one of our nation's biggest traits.

Not perseverance... rather, selfishness.

Yeah, I said it. Hill-Dog is being incredibly selfish right now. From where I sit, watching her work the scene, listening to her speak about how she won't stop, I get the impression she feels this is almost her birthright.

Meanwhile, she's been warding off accusations of arrogance by waving her 1,718 delegates as though they were a cudgel.

Yeah, she's close, but much to her (and I'm sure her husband's) dismay, no cigar. Whether or not Obama goes over tonight is a non-factor, quite frankly. Hillary should have pulled out a long time ago for the greater good of her party.

However, when have we as Americans (in general) ever been willing to do something for the greater good? How often do we put our own agendas on the shelf to make way for something collectively better for all? I'll bet you're scratching your head as hard as I am.

Folks, we cannot hold ourselves in such high regard. Yes, it's important to do things that are right for us, but we seriously need to abandon the "Cult of Me" and get selfless, for Chrissake. I see it all to often, professionally, personally, even amongst friends and family. Everyone has their best interest in mind and few of them have the well-being of others floating around in their noggins.

The phrase "it's all about me" has become one of those irritating cultural buzz terms, being emblazoned on coffee mugs, bumper stickers and t-shirts, filling the void of the long-outdated "have a nice day." Even the shift in phraseology is unique... we went from wishing others well to trumpeting our own importance and value.

However, it's created a real ugly mindset that we have to break soon. We are in no condition to think selfishly right now when the economy is in the crapper, the environment is gasping for air and the political climate both domestically and internationally is as volatile as ever. We need to put ourselves aside, roll up the sleeves and do what's right for the greater good.

And this is why Hillary has never had my vote, nor will she ever. I know candidates love touting themselves as "average Americans." The term "man (or in this case woman) of the people" has been tossed around so much, you'd think it were a Frisbee. While I appreciate the sentiment behind that intent, I can't stand the thought of mirroring one of the plebeians' worst qualities. Not that Hill-Dog would ever admit to it, but c'mon. It's there. It may as well be her campaign slogan at this point.

Her single-minded goal to push on until there's nothing left to push isn't admirable, it's detestable. You can't put the Party's reputation at risk just because you're close. Not only will you damage their status, but you also walk away with egg on your face that many people won't forget.

Any surprise John Edwards finally stepped up to support Obama after months of non-commitment? Any surprise that many of her previously pledged superdelegates have jumped ship?

See, that's what happens when you work in your best interest only. Everyone else becomes disinterested. Life lessons, people... throw out that stupid coffee mug.

2008-04-28T14:18:00.003-04:00

Recently at a family gathering, there was a comment made by one of my relatives that caused a stir with my father and I. Now, I hate being diplomatic and concealing names to protect the guilty parties, but family is a bit of a touchy subject, so you'll forgive me if I don't delve too deep into the back story.

Anyway, this comment evoked a strong reaction from Pops and I. And it wasn't a contentious thing by any stretch, but we smelled something offensive and made the unconscious joint decision to weigh in on it. It didn’t even cause an incident or anything, but my mother, being the saintly peacemaker she’s known for, kept quiet only to tell us later that we crossed the line.

However, when we asked if we were wrong, she declined to comment. Folks, as a great man once said, the phrase “no comment” is a comment. And it speaks volumes. What she was essentially saying was that she agreed with us but felt it wasn’t our place to remark on.

Now, color me crazy, but I honestly don’t feel there’s ever a “bad time” to call out bullshit. For that matter, I think it’s all the more imperative to do so in this day and age, especially when hypocrisy is factored in.

It seems sad to me that so many humans, particularly Americans, are quick to comment without all the facts and even quicker to clam up when their opinions are debunked and their ignorance is proven. I’m a big fan of taking responsibility for one’s feelings and comments, and an even bigger fan of seeing both sides of the coin. I try to do it as often as I can and even though some things will forever be black and white to me, I will still make an effort to understand the juxtaposed hue.

So when narrow minds speak loudly and tunnel vision opinions spew forth their misinformed, predisposed rhetoric, you can rest assured I will champion the cause to not only clean up the bullshit, but to put it in its place. The sad fact is that our society is not only rife with bullshit, the pot’s overflowing. To make matters worse, most people buy into it and take it for fact. Not so, folks.

Buying into and believing the bullshit is part of the reason this nation is in the rut it’s in right now, whether we realize it or not. I hate to say it, but if we did a better job as a collective of smelling the bullshit and avoiding it, we would not have elected certain leaders who have systematically run our country into the seventh circle of the Inferno.

So my honest opinion is this: when bullshit becomes apparent—and make no mistake, you never have to look long or hard before it starts wafting around—it’s important to acknowledge it and proceed with cleansing the landscape.

Now if that means you have to call someone out and challenge them, I really don’t see a problem with that. The one thing we lack in this world is honesty, now more so than I can ever recall. We live and die by euphemisms and short-sighted claims, which isn’t difficult in this 3,000-message-per-day world. It’s hard to focus in on the truth sometimes when there’s so much else that’s more appealing to blind us.

This is why it’s all the more necessary to be real and be honest. I don’t mean to be argumentative or even confrontational. In fact, I pretty much hate confrontation (funny, since I’m a blossoming MMA fan). But there’s a difference between confrontation and debate. Folks, debate is healthy for the mind. It keeps the cogs in motion and prevents the degeneration into group-think, alright? We can’t be afraid to challenge others on their opinions if we see flaws.

And more often than not, there are heavy flaws at stake. However, this isn’t to say that there are some very rational, reasonable humanoids out there who, despite a difference in opinion, may actually be fun to converse with while completely avoiding critical disagreement. Despite being a registered Democrat, I’ve found myself able to hold good discussion with diehard Republicans without getting the least bit frustrated or getting into pissing contests about minutia and personal belief.

Know why? We disagree, but we both make an effort to be informed and steer clear of the bullshit. For every point there’s a reasonable counterpoint that could make the other pause and think, “OK, I’ll give ya that.” However, I find these blessed folks to be in the single digit percentiles of the populous. Most people just rattle off whatever they please without so much as a lick of data to buttress their thoughts.

Hey, people, I’ve got news for ya: making strong claims without strong evidence is a sign of gross ignorance. And clinging to them while being debunked is a sign of a hypocritical, narrow mind. And a hypocritical, narrow mind makes you a prime candidate for prestigious purveyor of prime poo-poo. In my book, that makes you a target for cleansing.

Now I’m sure there are times, places, and yes, even people that we should avoid when it comes to our honesty. However, I don’t think we can afford to limit ourselves too much right now. We cannot fear speaking the truth if we know it.

And to all those who would go so far as to incriminate themselves, let me say this: it is better for your friends and loved ones to fill you in on being full of shit as opposed to others, so thank them for being genuine with you. Otherwise, you’re really gonna sound stupid.

God, I am so my father’s son…

2008-02-29T14:30:00.002-05:00

Tell me if you know this guy...

You're in a public place that has several TV's around set to the news. Let's say a gym or perhaps a bar/restaurant. Suddenly, the local TV weatherman comes on and announces that your cozy little northeastern community is about to get hit with a snowstorm that could gum up your AM commute.

You're sitting there, watching this, taking it all in quietly as you plan out tomorrow in your head to avoid any sort of problems when some complete stranger turns to you and says, "So much for global warming, huh?"

I don't know about you, but I just wanna slap that guy.

Look, not to sound like a bleeding-heart liberal, because I do realize that global warming is a problem. And whether you label him as a one-man propaganda-machine or a highly visible environmentalist, Al Gore's documentary An Inconvenient Truth has brought the topic of the environment to the forefront of the public consciousness for the first time since the early 1990's when we all got those recycling bins from our local waste collection organizations.

That said, it's pretty real. It's hard to argue science. Yet there are still some nimrods who think that 2-4" of white stuff is proof positive that it's not an issue.

My response to such statements is always, "Oh really? Where's your degree in meteorology, Al Roker?" Seriously, until I see some fuckin' credentials, I'm in no mind to hear Joe Barfly wax scientific on the environment and how it's just fine. Sing that song to the people down in New Orleans and see how far you get.

I love how we as humans make generic, blanket statements like this as if we really do have it all figured out. News flash: we don't.

Doesn't matter what your stance is politically (and I say this because I'm relatively certain that one guy who actually said this to me is a staunch conservative angling for digs at Al Gore and anyone else hoping for Blue State-approval), you need to know the facts in life. I don't mean to date myself (despite only being in my late 20's), but I remember when we used to get several feet of snow, not inches. So you can take your sorry attempts at sparking conversation and stuff 'em, Jimmy Gymrat.

Don't try and be a smart-ass or a know-it-all, because you come off sounding like a putz. I can think of no better way to describe you given these circumstances. One more outburst and I'll pour sugar into your SUV's gas tank and rip your Huckabee sticker off your bumper.

Motherfuckers.

Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2008-02-15T09:56:00.002-05:00

I’ve been following this election season with particular interest. After such a long period of disdain for the current administration by most of the American public, I’m really curious to see how the nation votes.

Specifically, I want to see if there are any trends. With such a large voter turnout, I think it's important to examine certain patterns. And lo and behold, I think I found one.

This past week, in checking CNN.com following Obama’s momentous eight-in-a-row sweep, I encountered an image of Hillary Clinton perched at a podium, speaking into a microphone and holding a pair of boxing gloves high in her hands. The absurd nature of this memorable photograph is amusing to me, as there is actually something rather frightening about that image. As I told a close friend, I would rather go toe-to-toe with Floyd Mayweather.

The headline was simple: “Clinton sharpens attacks on Obama.”

This made me come back to a notion I had last month as I watched and read about Senator Clinton’s ongoing assaults on Obama’s character. I noticed that whenever the media summarized the multiple debates between the two with the term “trading barbs,” to me it seemed more like Barack Obama being forced to go on the defensive. Now in lieu of her recent string of defeats in key states, Clinton proceeds with once again unloading on her opponent.

Yet somehow, part of me feels such tactics are what got her in this predicament to begin with.

Now I don’t intend to be an official spokesperson for my generation, but I can pretty much say with a clear conscience that when I listen to candidates speak, in any political race, I want to hear what they’re going to do. I want to know what Candidate X is going to do for me… I don’t want to hear them go on and on about how Candidate Y will not live up to the hype.

The message is clear: enough of this muckraking garbage. It’s passé and offensive to me as a voter. As a marketer, I have a few ingrained notions with regard to acknowledging competition. In one course I took, the instructor specifically said that outwardly claiming your competition is inferior results in a certain cognitive twitch in consumers. The thought: “Why are they even mentioning the competition if they’re superior?”

It comes across as somewhat underhanded and disingenuous to me, and one thing I’ve learned about my generation through various studies is that today’s youth are very savvy, and can see through a lack of integrity like glass.

Think about it… you’ve seen the SuperBowl ads the last few years, right? When’s the last time Pepsi mentioned Coke in their commercials? Or can you recall Bud Light taking a swipe at Coors? This doesn’t happen anymore, and with good reason. Consumers want to be told one thing, plain and simple: “Why you,” and not “Why not them.”

I really do believe the same thing holds true for voters. If you look at the trend, Obama has been fairly consistent in promoting himself and campaigning hard. And once Hillary eased up on the attacks, he was afforded the opportunity to further promote himself rather than defend himself. Now he’s earning massive points with key demographics that Clinton herself has dominated in past primaries.

Now, stuck in a do-or-die moment, Hilldog has broken out the gloves, apparently ready for war. I wonder who among her political advisors will be the first to tell her that her haymakers could be what led her down this road to begin with. If she keeps it up, she could be the one sporting the shiner.

Oh, it’s going to be very interesting to see where this one goes.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2008-01-31T14:44:00.000-05:00

I’m goin’ old school with this one… time to rip a page out of my everyday life and see how ridiculous life can be sometimes.

So I’m checking my mail a few weeks ago on a Monday night at the mailboxes outside my complex. As I’m doing so, a fellow resident approaches.

“Checkin’ your mail, huh?” he inquires.

“Yep,” I simply respond. There’s a silence of about 10 seconds as he does the same. Suddenly, he turns to me and issues the following statement:

“You know I’ve lived here 15 years.” This is the moment where I am forced to treat one of my fellow residents like many of us may have treated that one really disturbed or drunk homeless person you encounter on the street. I keep my head down, proceed about my business and refuse to engage/acknowledge. Kid Zippy proceeds to detail how much he likes it here and thinks it’s a good, clean place to live.

Before you go off on me for my arguably callous negligence of this man, let me offer you the following nugget to digest: Every time I have met this guy, he has told me the exact same thing. Typically of his volition, rarely provoked. In fact, just scroll up and reread that transaction. Notice the pause between the exchanges.

I wasn’t even attempting to make conversation with this man and he still felt compelled to give me his life story.

This event, coupled with my past dealings with life in the average condo complex has led me to conclude that such an environment is the perfect sampling of the American psyche. Seriously, if it takes all types, then you’ll find ‘em in an apartment complex for sure.

Here’s another example of life in the Twilight Zone: this past spring, I ordered some promotional shirts for my company. Somehow they were delivered to my home rather than my office. I didn’t even know I had a package until I got a letter from the resident in Unit 24 telling me he had a package waiting for me. Several trips to his apartment left me at a loss as there was no response despite the noise of a TV inside. A note asking him to leave the package at my door also went unaddressed. I thought little of it since it wasn’t a huge issue for the office, but then it happened again a few months later.

This time it was more personal.

See, this package happened to be for a friend of mine who had just become a daddy for the first time. So I got him and his wife a baby monitor set from Babies R' Us. Once again, the package never made it to me. It was once again accepted by the mysterious Samaritan in Unit 24.

After I found out about this through a series of twists and turns, I thoroughly chewed out UPS, then once again ventured to the eternally locked door of Unit 24. I wasn't too shy about keeping quiet with my knock. From within, I heard some kind of a grunt from someone telling me to "hold on."

When the door opened, there was a dead ringer for Samuel L. Jackson in last year's feelgood cinematic opus, Black Snake Moan. In a towel. That's right, the culprit in Unit 24 not only resembled the main character from an unforgivably bad movie, but was also in the process of cleansing himself.

I can't begin to tell you the immediate humor I saw in this.

I queried Black Snake about my packages, only giving him my unit number. He immediately nodded and took me out to the hallway, unlocking a storage room rife with untold treasures... and my packages.

Oh yeah, he went in and put on his briefs before giving me my property.

What's the point of this?

I'm not even sure, but I swear, sometimes life is a ride that throws these amazing characters at you, and you can't help but laugh. Honestly, an apartment complex is the perfect gathering point for all of them. Heck, in my building alone I live across from and above two functioning alcoholics. Then there's Kid Zippy the proud tenant, Black Snake, and I'm sure there are even more where those cats came from. I've been half-tempted to go on some sort of a safari through the inner workings of my building to see what other unique indigenous organisms I can find.

At the end of the day, I'm just here for the show. I'm putting my feet up and feasting on popcorn and soda. Encore, baby.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2008-01-30T09:33:00.000-05:00

I have a favor to ask people... I know that Super Tuesday is upon us, and after that, the big 2008 Presidential Election. I know it's an interesting landscape that's growing more curious by the microsecond. With that said, I'm well aware that many of you fervent party members are doing your best to promote your team and see to it that we're all aware of the facts.

That said, please do me a favor: count me out.

I've had my mind made up for a while. I won't tell you what my thoughts are on the matter, because I don't have the time/energy to debate and engage right now like I did when I was 23. At least not at this stage in the game.

But I'm going to ask you as kindly as I possibly can... please spare me the forwards, the long chain letters, the endless laundry lists of bulletpoints as to why I should vote for Candidate X.

My mind is made up, I'm not a swing voter, and there is not a damn thing you can do to change it.

I think my school of thought regarding politics right now is really this: if you're unaware of what's going on, then I'm willing to share with you my feelings. If you have your mind made up, then God bless you an may the best party win.

I really no longer believe in the militant, shove-it-down-their-throats guerrilla campaigns that have become all the rage by the hardcore pundits. I respect passion to no end, but with that said, such zealousness can really be a turn-off.

I remember during the 2000 election, there was an intense Green Party presence at Skidmore College. So intense in fact, I felt like I was being force fed information at a rate quicker than I could digest. The group was so in-your-face, it led to a substantial backlash from the swing voters on campus. Myself included. It was my first presidential election as a potential voter, and not only did I not vote, I didn't even register.

You can chalk that one up to ignorance if you please, but before you judge, be sure to remember that there is a significant sample of the population who will withdraw due to frustration or disgust rather than stick it out and choose a "lesser of all evils." Case in point: my own mother didn't vote in the 2004 election for the first time in her life as a U.S. citizen. Chew on that, dear reader.

Besides, not only will you turn off people to your party, you may just turn them off to you. No one likes a hard ass.

So please think twice before you click send on that e-mail, kids. Keep thy policies to thyself.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-12-19T12:35:00.000-05:00

Well this shouldn't come as a surprise.

With the Mitchell Report out, perhaps the worst kept secret in professional sports has been aired for the world to see. Nearly 90 players have been named, and again there's nothing shocking. Upon reading the list of offenders, your mind either screams, "Well that was obvious," or, "Didn't cross my mind, but it makes sense."

I guess the glory days of old when the only thing baseball players would abuse was a bottle of hooch at the end of a double header. At least then, their legend status still couldn't be questioned. Regardless of how many shots Mickey Mantle put away after a game, you could not deny his talent on the diamond. Steroids, performance enhances and HGH do not allow for such wiggle room. In fact, the question has to be (and likely will) be asked about what is to become of the records set by the guilty.

Hell, some of them have been questioned from the onset.

I guess the question now is, why state the obvious? It takes a quick peak at Barry Bonds' rookie card to realize that 20 years later, something is drastically different. Even ten years ago, I knew something was up with Mark Maguire, having watched him from the time I was a kid. It's ridiculous for some players to assert otherwise, and when Roger Clemens, the 40-plus-phenom of pitching refutes such allegations, it looks silly and petulant.

Another question is how to clean it up. That's up for baseball's governing bodies to decide, and they'd better decide quick. It's not gonna be pretty… there will be a painful transitional period and there are probably going to be several suspensions before things begin turning around. Given the buzz surrounding steroids this year between Barry Bonds, Chris Benoit and the WWE's inconsistent Wellness Policy, you can expect Congress to take action sooner rather than later.

But I think the looming question in the back of everyone's mind is, "How did this happen?" How did America's favorite pastime become synonymous with synthetic testosterone?

Ultimately, no one is going to hold a gun to someone's head to make them take drugs. They will do it of their own volition. However, one question has to be why so many are making that choice. And the follow-up question should be, "Is it due to excessive pressure?"

Professional sports have changed, and many would argue not for the better. Expectations are far higher than they were years ago. You'll note that three of those names on the list were big names for the Yankees. Given the fact that Big Stein fired Joe Torre for not getting the Yanks into the World Series this year (in spite of 5 titles during his 12-year tenure in New York), can you imagine the type of pressure that has to have been coming down on the players?

Is it any wonder?

Baseball has been drawing lower ratings than ever before. Even this year, the fact that the Red Sox won seemed predestined as the World Series drew it's second lowest rating ever. Despite being well attended and beloved by purists, baseball is in a slump. You have to figure that the heat is on a lot of players to perform and produce results. With some players getting astronomical "A-Rod Salaries," you'd best believe that they are getting pressure from all angles to be worth that paycheck. This can only lead to mounting strain, and in many cases, anabolic therapy.

Now I know I recently joked about steroids in comedy with my tragic run-in with Carrot Top, but seriously, there's no joke when it comes to these drugs. This stuff is bad medicine, sometimes even at therapeutic levels.

Pro wrestler Kevin Nash was recently interviewed online following the Chris Benoit tragedy earlier this year. Obviously the topic of steroids came up, and Nash mentioned that after tearing his quad in a match, he was prescribed a low-level form of synthetic testosterone to help rebuild the muscles internally. At 6'10" and typically tipping the scales and about 320 lbs. naturally, he notes that he swelled to over 400 lbs. of muscle while still maintaining a "safe" testosterone ratio.

Now imagine overuse in any athlete.

What honestly frightens me is the potential usage in professional football (American style, not soccer). Those players are under what I think would be even greater amounts of pressure to produce results, and compete in a far more aggressive competitive landscape. Despite the shorter season, the physical rigors are infinitely more intense, and the size of many NFL players dwarfs even the most obvious users in baseball.

Being America's most watched sport doesn't help either. I find the psychological aspects of sports fascinating, and I really feel that intense media exposure coupled with the millions of dollars poured into just a single game run a risk to the competitors' lifestyles.

Now this is not to say that coaches and owners are outwardly approaching their players and encouraging them to dope. Rather, they are left looking for a way to make it happen. The demands placed on them by the culture threatens to amplify the expectations they set for themselves as perfectionists. That's when people start looking for back doors.

Sure, there are other factors at hand. Ego, the yearning to make more money, the thrill of competition, striving to set records, and probably on a deep level, the desire to play as long as possible for fear of what one's life will bring after they "break out of Shawshank" and are forced to survive in the real world. But I think more than anything else, the culture of these sports really needs to be thoroughly examined as a supplement to penalties and regulation.

Look at combat sports like MMA and boxing. You hear very rarely about steroid charges and suspensions in those sports. That is not only because they are so heavily regulated, but also because fighters have more time to recover between fights -- as much as 2 months between battles. This in comparison to the harsh schedule of football and the endless season of baseball. There's something to be said for the body's natural ability to mend itself.

One thing is certain: drug culture in sports is at least in part due to the sporting culture itself. If MLB wants to repair its reputation and not suffer even steeper declines in their ratings due to this all-pivotal "D-Day," an inquest of some sort had better be done fast into correcting the problem at the foundation rather than beefing up reactionary discipline.

Not only that, but as a fan, part of me would still like to believe that the Rocket I beheld so dearly during his early days in the Boston Red Sox really is an "all-natural" miracle man that can still get it done on the mound.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-09-18T22:11:00.000-04:00

Henry Rollins recently released a commentary via his TV show regarding freedom and how the truth in the nation and how it is being obscured, manipulated and thoughtlessly perverted. However, in spite of such injustices, there is a tool, a venue, if you will (and I will) to “out” the truth.

”That’s right, the Internet. Perhaps responsible for the most substantial shift in our culture in decades. There’s so much freedom and potential on the World Wide Web that one is barely able to get one’s head around it.”

Right, wrong or indifferent, Rollins does bring up one very essential point: the Internet is a remarkable outlet for the intellectual masses to clamor and voice their opinions and insights, in turn influencing the undecided and uninitiated.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so wary about the fact that we seem to be squandering it.

Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat things. I like the Internet. I’m a card-carrying member of Generation Y. I check MySpace, Facebook and YouTube pretty much daily. Being that I don’t have cable (revolutionary, I know), the Internet serves as my primary source of entertainment, news and enlightenment. And for my personal reasons, it has served as the nominal venue for me to express my opinions vis-à-vis my comfy home on the blogosphere.

That said, yes, the Internet offers endless opportunities for people from all walks of life to express themselves. But like most good things, it seems to go overboard at times. You know that happens when the two rocket scientists renowned for mixing Diet Coke and Mentos are showing up on Leno. You know something’s up when the term “All Your Base Are Belong To Us” is absorbed into the contemporary lexicon. And you know something’s really twisted when Law & Order is doing an episode inspired by “lonelygirl15.”

(Even scarier when you read an article that the aforementioned webisode series became so popular that it featured Katherine McPhee from American Idol. Want more head-scratching minutiae? It also garnered sponsorship from Neutrogena, leading to the legendary “sell-out” method of product placement and a new character who works for the company. The product life cycle seems to have petered out with the show jumping the shark due to its titular star being killed off. This was of course because the actress playing her now has a film career and her contract requires her full attention. This shit is utterly fascinating to me… how a viral webisode could be victim to all the standard pratfalls of standard network television… replete with a spin-off, of course. For serious.)

Is this the new medium? Is this the influential entity imparted upon us? You have to wonder.

I can’t lie; for every off-color cultural meme that circulates the world’s web browser, there are a handful I dig. I find the humor behind “Ask A Ninja” to be vastly amusing, not unlike classic “Strong Bad” e-mails. And every once in a while there’s something sobering and thought-provoking like Noah Kalina’s photography project. I’ll even fess up to being a fan of Mahir’s page back in college.

But for the most part, these amusing little time-killers and viral elements don’t appear to carry much weight in the long run. From the moment the hit counters start climbing, the clock reaches 14:59:59 and seems to move at a lightning pace. These web icons seem to vanish as quickly as they appeared, yet all having left an indelible mark on culture.

No lie, I was at a Greek event recently and the DJ played the “Numa Numa” song. Dead serious, folks. Someone went to the trouble of getting this CD because of… well, this.

Pretty incredible, huh?

So why am I writing about this now, so late in the game? Why didn’t this begin to bother me during the heyday of Star Wars Kid? I’ll tell you why.

Meet the Internet’s newest phenomenon: Chris Crocker.

Chris’s sob-laden rant about Britney Spears, whether real or fabricated, has unleashed a sea of coverage, commentaries, and of course, parodies. Within days, a similar vlog was uploaded featuring a (terrible) George W. Bush impersonator demanding that we all “leave General Petraues alone!”

This is where I begin to draw lines in the sand… when Internet memes go from confounding to outright annoying. I’m going to say this once: can we please avoid giving this guy the attention he’s clearly craving? We’ve had enough pop cultural trainwrecks in the 21st century to last us a whole millennium. I, for one, do not intend to add to the downward trending of our collective IQ. Mr. Crocker’s “star” already seems to be on the decline as most folks I’ve talked to now regard him as completely abrasive rather than amusing. This is compounded by viewings of his prior work… I would personally rather stab my eardrum with a red hot poker than be subjected to such a half-assed form of “self-expression.”

I guess the entire Catch-22 of the Internet and freedom of speech in general is that it gives anyone the ability to voice their opinions. It’s what makes this nation great and what also makes it pretty goddamned ridiculous at times.

Which is why I will stay on my personal mission to use the Internet to inflict truth as Mr. Rollins so aptly addresses. I understand that these bizarre moments will come and go… sometimes they’ll draw my attention, other times they’ll leave me completely befuddled. With that said, I’ll keep my method of personal persuasion limited to the written word, as it is the primary draw for me to absorb information to begin with. Regardless of whether it’s on paper or on a screen.

And when all else fails, I can still remember the glory days of "Napster, Bad!" Now that's comedy.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-08-14T06:38:00.000-04:00

It’s no secret that the topic of steroids in sports has become scalding hot in the media these last two months. Between Barry Bonds breaking Hank Aaron’s homerun record and Chris Benoit’s savage double murder/suicide, there is clearly a lot of debate. People want answers and are going so far as congressional hearings to get them. Rightfully so. Steroids in professional sports or even sports entertainment is a dire matter for the athletes and the impression they leave.

It’s also a pretty dire matter in the realm of standup comedy.

I wish I were joking.

Let me set the stage for you. This past Saturday night, after a fun evening of antics and high jinks, I felt compelled to pop in on my local gas station, not to fill up, but to grab an impulse purchase snack to satiate those early AM munchies. Grabbing a Snickers bar, I waited in line at the register. Idly turning around in observance of my surroundings, I happened to notice this man.

I’m not making this up. Carrot Top was in my local gas station convenience store. My first thought?

Jesus H. tittyfucking Christ, what have we done? What hell hath the Lord wrought on us all? Is there even a God that could create such a monstrosity as this?

It should be duly noted that Carrot Top was wearing a top not of the carrot variety, but of the tank family. As in the type that doesn’t have any sleeves.

In short, I was a few spools of cotton away from this image.

Dude, steroids are bad in professional sports, but they’re even more devastating in comedy. If Shaun White is the “Flying Tomato,” then Carrot Top is the “Juicy Tomato.” As in, he be juicing. And I know, carrots are vegetables and tomatoes are fruits, but his material onstage is fruity enough as it is. So he qualifies.

He could also qualify for Mr. Olympia. He’s bigger than me. Bigger than the picture I just offered. I don’t know how else I can get across how terrifying it was to see this man in person. He wasn’t right to begin with. But now… egads.

Steroids are evil. Just like prop comedy. Carrot Top is immersed in both. He is the lord of all that is unholy and wrong.

I need someone to hold me. Please tell me everything will be OK.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow. Maybe.

2007-06-30T00:31:00.000-04:00

What does it mean for someone to have a hero be usurped, uncovered and disgraced? What does it mean to have an image of another human being tarnished?

Twice in the last month and change, I have caught people in the midst of a lie (that’s a subject for another post… literally, it’s on the chopping block), and I know the level of respect I have lost for them as human beings. But there are much graver offenses out there.

It is traumatizing, to say the least, when someone you revere or admire proves to be anything but a quality, decent human being. That said, it must be earth-shattering when they prove to be the complete antithesis of their projected self.

Earlier this week, pro wrestler Chris Benoit and his wife and 7-year-old son were found dead in Atlanta. WWE ran a full-scale 3-hour tribute to Benoit and his shimmering career through Japan, ECW, WCW and WWE. However, just before the program ended, word broke on the Internet that the primary suspect in the homicide investigation was the man being honored on TV.

Chris Benoit, respected man and role model for up and coming wrestlers, was called out as a murderer. And not just a murderer… perhaps the most heinous sort. He killed his own family.

I won’t go into the grisly details of his crimes. Frankly, there’s more than enough coverage already on the Internet and in the mainstream media. Moreover, given the nature of the deaths, the sinister aura behind them, and the seemingly endless list of oddities regarding Benoit’s behavior and his son’s condition, it’s difficult to even think straight. Seems just when the hauntingly bizarre nature of this story has piqued, another skeleton tumbles out of the closet and adds to the immense pile of bones on the floor.

Not to mention the fact that mainstream media coverage (read: TV news networks and sensationalist reporters) have essentially labeled this a case of ‘roid rage gone berserk. I think enough evidence has amassed to speak to the fragile mental state of this man. Not sayin’ drug abuse doesn’t play a role. I’m sure it does. But it’s only part of the puzzle, not the whole picture.

At the end of the day, the motives are practically secondary to the crime. I don’t think anyone can disagree that for anyone to do what he did is completely heartless and reprehensible. And the driver behind his actions will probably never be known in full.

The point of this post isn’t to analyze the case or come up with the grand solution to his erratic behavior and final act. The fact remains that a man who inspired many both in and outside the wrestling business practically stabbed those people in the back.

It wasn’t long after word first broke about the tragedy that a number of tribute pages and videos were strewn throughout the Internet and YouTube. This was no ordinary man to wrestling fans. He was notorious for his dedication to the business and to his craft. He wasn’t known to the scale of a Hulk Hogan or a Steve Austin. He wasn’t as big as those guys in name or in stature. But to longtime fans, to purist fans, he was by far one of the greatest names to ever lace up the boots.

I don’t want to give a glowing retrospective on the career of a murderer, but Benoit’s track record speaks for itself (and for the purposes of this post, is somewhat necessary). Here’s a guy who spent years honing his craft, working to make it look believable – a daunting task when everyone knows wrestling is “fake.” He’s not the biggest guy, not the best talker by a long shot. Doesn’t even have a character per se, and has spent 90 percent of his career working under his real name.

Simply put, he was different from the big names. But for hardcore fans, that was more than enough. He did his job and did it well. He allowed for us fans to suspend our belief for a while and appreciate something seemingly stupid and scripted like pro wrestling as something more; as an art form.

Once he made it to the big league, his hard work shone through, and his fan base increased rapidly. The so-called “vanilla midget” earned high praise from even mainstream fans and slowly but surely worked his way to the top of the food chain. And after nearly two decades, he earned his place by winning the big one: the world heavyweight championship.

Non-fans have to understand that the belt is a reward of sorts; an acknowledgement of trust and hard work. Think of it as a temporary promotion. You’re the spokesperson for the company.

And as a spokesperson, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone like Benoit. Soft-spoken, humble, determined and driven. All business in the ring, and a devoted family man outside the ring, always willing to shake a hand or sign an autograph from the sound of it.

And to people in the business who were young and training, he was the ideal role model.

And now two cruel, unforgivable acts of senseless violence have caused it all to come undone. The image of Benoit the man has been replaced with Benoit the monster. The fans who used to cheer him now squirm when reminded that his nickname was “The Canadian Crippler.” Memories of his earliest interviews where he methodically and coldly wrung his hands in anticipation of his next opponent, once fun and engaging, now seem chilling when we think of what he did with those hands just a few days ago.

Even his face seems different. It’s frankly unhandsome: rough and haggard, adorned with a stubbly beard, noticeably scarred forehead, and topped off with a thinning hairline and absent incisor. These features used to be regarded as representative of his tough, physically intense style. Aggressive, no nonsense, and to the grindstone. They were traits of pride and accomplishment, like Rocky’s sloped forehead and crooked mouth.

Now they seem perfectly appropriate for the face of a cold-blooded killer. Funny how the only thing that needs to change in this case is the frame of reference.

For the many Benoit inspired, it’s impossible to look at him in the same light now. Impossible not to feel for his wife and son, for their friends and families who have been permanently scarred by this atrocity. Forget the fact that this tragedy will forever change wrestling and its mandates. It has forever altered lives.

Even for me, it’s a hard thing to swallow. I’m no wrestler, nor do I aspire to be. I am a fan but do not watch WWE regularly. Honestly, Benoit was one of the few reasons for me to watch their programming at all. I admired his dedication, the dignity he carried himself with and his tenacity. Those are respectable qualities, and when they were learned, he was not known for being inhumanly violent in reality.

He was flawed. Horribly flawed at the end. Who is to say that he was infallible at all? Who is to know how long he was in this state of mind? Was it because of drugs? Did pressure and depression slowly unhinge him? Truthfully, this is anyone’s guess. There are only a few people who may know for sure, but they can’t tell that story anymore.

The sad thing is that Benoit’s final act will forever mark his name and reputation. It is the defining characteristic that he will always be remembered for in an otherwise exemplary career in the public eye. And given the nature of his crime, that’s not inappropriate.

It’s a shame when heroes let down those who love them. They go from being revered to reviled. All it takes is the loss of trust and character. This happens to be an extreme case. But not the first. OJ. Bill Clinton. Michael Jackson. Clearly there have been others. All flawed. All with legions of fans and followers. In fact, compared to those names, Benoit is not even a blip on the radar. But he was an inspirational entity nonetheless.

For those that loved the rusted hero, the final opinion is the matter of the individual at hand. Some will label him a ruthless sinner beyond forgiveness. Others will admit the horrifying nature of his final act while remembering what a great wrestler he was. Others still will struggle with dissecting the man behind the image for years to come.

What is important is to remember what was learned from him, what we learned about ourselves for those who did admire or respect him, and if a cause is ever determined, to learn from his mistakes. To avoid going down the path he did, whatever that entails.

It’s been a difficult week for me, because even though I have no connection to Benoit and never met him, I picked up some good characteristics from him over the course of following his career. I don’t know that I can ever look past what he did. His DVD is already stowed away in my trunk and away from the rack in my living room. I may never be able to watch his matches again. Certainly not in the same light… the thought of watching him manhandle opponents and making them submit is more frightening than exhilarating now.

However, despite the source, the values are essential. And how I apply them in my life is beneficial. I’m resentful that one who offered so much to me has disappointed me so wretchedly. It’s the worst kind of betrayal. And yet the life lessons are undeniable.

Heroes rise, inspire, fall, disenchant. It’s a harsh cycle. But we’re human. None are infallible. No matter how magnificent they appear.

We cope somehow.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-04-24T22:21:00.000-04:00

I hate disclaimers… however, this is atrociously late for two reasons. One is an untimely passing in my extended “family.” The other is the simple fact that there’s no way I could possibly condense my thoughts on this man in just one day.

“Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.”

We lost a good one recently. A great one, in fact. Though he’d never claim as much.

I don’t often comment on the subject of fallen public figures. I oftentimes find the subject morbid. In spite of my recent rant about Anna Nicole Smith (which was intended as more of a swing at news media), I’ve really only offered my thoughts on Richard Pryor, Dimebag Darrell and Johnny Cash.

But Kurt Vonnegut’s passing has jarred me significantly, and many others.

It was Vonnegut’s writing that really drove my style and my perception of life as we know it. While I don’t necessarily share all of his opinions (we would likely never have engaged in theological discussion, being that I’m Christian and he was a skeptic), I feel as though his stance on life in general resonated with me over the years.

I first discovered Vonnegut’s work in London some six years ago this time. I took a class in postmodernism in literature, and there were some real gems on the syllabus that I still have. The New York Trilogy, The Crying of Lot 49, Ulysses, and of course, Slaughterhouse-Five.

The latter is the one that really sticks out with me.

I was utterly mesmerized with Vonnegut’s prose and non-linear structure. It was something all too new to me in the world of literature. Not to mention the fact that the book’s protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, the perfect portrait of the unreliable narrator. To say that Slaughterhouse is an important contribution to American literature would be a massive understatement.

It’s not just an anti-war book, although that is surely a component. There’s something special about that one, but all of his works, really, are enlightening, refreshing reflections.

Vonnegut’s contributions are significant for a multitude of reasons, the least of which was not his message. No matter how bizarre or absurd his topic, the thrust of every one of his books is to make the reader question everything. Think for yourself. Whether the matters at hand be political, sociological, religious, scientific, whatever. He really covers the breadth of humanity.

And a humanist he was. Ultimately, Vonnegut’s fascination with humankind, be it from the stance of a cynic or an optimist (I really think it depends on the person in question), truly drives his stories and engages the reader in the plight of doing what’s best for humanity. Or at the least just exhibiting some goddamn good common sense, something we seem to lack a lot of these days.

The remarkable thing about Vonnegut’s books are really the protagonists. Or what he considers to be protagonists. Ultimately they’re not terribly proactive, certainly not in the classic, heroic sense. They also don’t fit the archetypal template of the textbook protagonist. They aren’t particularly good looking and are typically riddled with self-doubt. Moreover, they don’t have any real goal in life… they just sort of meander through the story, giving the impression that their fate is predetermined no matter what their goals.

Billy Pilgrim is a perfect example, perhaps the finest. He spends practically all of Slaughterhouse as a passive observer, merely bearing witness to the various atrocities of Dresden and the war in general. He is literally forced to glide through time, falling away wherever the space-faring Tralfamadorians take him.

It’s an interesting concept, and it’s something that’s gonna force people into working to figure it out. Like many aspects of life in general, it’s not terribly cut and dry. There are pieces that have to be assembled, loves. To quote a good friend of mine, the day of Vonnegut’s passing was “a sad day for anyone with a brain.”

It’s not light fare, and it’s not fluff. It’s easy to read but sometimes tough to dissect. It’s complex, phenomenal literature from a brilliant mind that will not be soon forgotten. They’re contributions that cannot be understated, and Vonnegut’s message needs to be loud and clear, now more so than ever.

Question everything, accept nothing.

“We are here on this planet to fart around and nothing more.”

So it goes.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-04-03T11:38:00.000-04:00

Can I just share something with you all, dear friends? I have a real problem with indecision in human beings. I’m not really sure what it is, but I seem to be encountering it more and more as of late. It’s frustrating to say the least. More than that, it’s downright disappointing.

I don’t mean to get all hard-assed over here, but the fact of the matter is that we as human beings have decisions to make in life, both large and small. Some that affect us alone, some that affect others and not us, and some that overlap.

I won’t go into the specific details of how, when or where I was faced with these challenges. It’s not worth wasting precious typing time, to be truthful. Let’s just say it’s been more frequent than I’d care to deal with.

This is my outlook: indecision equals a lack of concern. For example: “What do you want to do tonight?” “I don’t care.”

That’s indecision in perhaps the purest form you could encounter. Maybe it’s me, but that’s how it sounds when someone can’t make up their mind. To me, it sounds like the issue at hand doesn’t matter to the other individual. For whatever it’s worth, that’s my take.

And it’s agonizing. Now in the above example, indecision might not necessarily be a bad thing. The subconscious addendum to the second party’s response could possibly be interpreted as, “I don’t care so long as I’m spending time with you (all).” In which case, it’s far from a negative allusion.

I wish that were the case in most circumstances. Unfortunately, the inability to make decisions and stick to them can be an irritant to others. Particularly myself, I suppose.

There are just instances where I feel someone’s lack of care and willingness to make the call equals out to a waste of my time, and you’d better believe that’s frustrating as all hell.

What’s worse are the people who simple go along with this mind-numbingly void attitude. I’m not saying everyone has to be a leader in certain matters, but by God, nothing is more agonizing than a group of lemmings tailing behind the most recent person’s comments.

Folks, let me put it to you this way: followers are toolkits. Depending on the idiom, I really believe that there is a time not to be a leader. But when you’re not a leader, I believe you should at the very least be an attentive student/listener. At least that’s the case in my experience. But one who just idly breezes by is just sad.

Now do I have a twisted sense of beliefs? I don’t think so. I’ve just found lately that I have little tolerance for fence-sitters. Because to me, it means you don’t care. And in some cases, that’s fine. But if you don’t care, then please, don’t be so eager to offer your two cents. I think it’s great that we all have a voice and the forum with which to share it. That said, if there’s nothing to share, then there’s no reason to pipe up. Some people just love to hear the sound of their own voice, even when they bring nothing to the table.

Perhaps I’m being a bit of a curmudgeon about it, and there’s merit to that, no doubt. I’ve come to realize I hold other folks to a pretty high standard, but at the end of the day it’s nothing less than I’d request of myself. And I don’t think it’s asking too much for people to nut up or shut up.

To me, this really loops in with my post at the onset of the New Year regarding change. It doesn’t really surprise me that those who are unable to make firm decisions, be they grand or minute, are typically the same people who are unable to initiate change for themselves. We really are living in an age of rapid growth, and I guess I just feel that as individuals, it’s essential for us to grow. It should come as no surprise then that I just happened to allude to the Samurai principle of seven breaths in that post. Go back and check it out. Nothing wrong with hitting up the buffet table for seconds, y’know.

So when I deal with people who can’t or won’t take a stance, be it good or bad, I really feel like I’m looking at lost opportunity and wasted talent.

As trite (and unapologetically geeky) as it sounds, my memory hearkens back to The Karate Kid. Something Mr. Miyagi said to Daniel really sticks out. Upon the first day of his protégé’s training, Miyagi asked Daniel if he was ready to begin. Daniel’s simple response was, “I guess so.”

Miyagi then said: “Walk on road, hmm? Walk left side, safe. Walk right side, safe. Walk middle, sooner or later, *pwch!* Get squish just like grape. Here, karate same thing. You karate do ‘yes,’ OK. You karate do ‘no,’ OK. You karate do ‘guess so,’ *pwch!* Just like grape. Understand?”

Yes Sensei.

And for the record, dorktacular as my 80’s movie reference is, this is from back in the day before movies with the elderly inspirational teacher were cliché. So that line holds some water, true believer.

I digress. Cheesy as that reference is, I do believe there’s value to it. I see no point in strolling in the middle of the road, and for me, there is no “guess so.” Unfortunately, I’m very aware of the fact that the world does not navigate on my map, so there’s little I can do to change that course.

Aside from bitch here. That makes me happy.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-03-28T22:47:00.000-04:00

Recently some friends and I took in a showing of the film 300.

Yes, I am Greek. No, I do not have Spartan blood.

No, we were not yelling at the screen. C’mon. We Greeks are a civilized people, haven’t you heard?

All joking and ethnocentric undertones aside, I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t too surprised to hear that it got mixed reviews, however. Something inside me figured that critics wouldn’t “get it,” so to speak.

I’ll be the first to admit that Braveheart is one of my favorite films ever, but it did kickstart an ugly trend in Hollywood. That of the sweeping, inspirational, violent, historic epic. After that flick, we were inundated with stuff, weren’t we, folks? Gladiator, The Patriot, Joan Of Arc, Troy, and so on.

But to me, 300 is in a slightly different vein. Not just because of it’s phenomenal writer (one Frank Miller), or it’s impressive CGI landscapes. See, there’s an ever-present thematic element regarding belief in that film.

Operative term in that last sentence is “ever-present,” mind you.

Let me put it to you this way: I have only seen a handful of the Braveheart-esque films listed above. With that said, I tend to notice a pattern in a few of them. Nation at war, main character finds no reason to fight until the loss of a loved one. Main character finds something worth fighting for following that untimely loss. Main character happens to find a new love in the process. Typically dies by film’s end, representative of his/her passion for what they believe in.

To the extent that 300 is similar to those films in the elements of struggle and war, that I’ll grant you. Where the line is drawn happens somewhere in the sands of belief.

See, the Spartans were a proud people from birth. They never had a doubt in what they held to be true. To them, theirs was the most glorious city/state in all of the known world, and they were more than willing to fight and die for it.

I realize that these flicks are rarely 100 percent historically accurate. I think you have to really accept them as artistic treatments, otherwise you’re gonna be pushing up daisies when next you duel with a history professor. However, Hollywood has this bad habit of throwing in a sappy catalyst that drives the main character to his/her willingness to fight. Naturally, that would cause anyone to go over the edge and fight in the name of vengeance and passion.

The Spartans have always been portrayed as naturally passionate. Therein lies the grand divide.

I’m not gonna hit you with anything that will spoil the movie now, but here’s how the conflict comes about in 300: the Persian emperor and self-professed God-King Xerxes tries to convince King Leonidas to yield in the way of the massive Persian army, thereby surrendering Sparta and making the conquest of Greece that much easier.

That’s it. No one has to die, no loved ones are threatened, no massive deus ex machina occurs that drives him to lead his warriors.

You want our turf? Come get some.

That’s the difference. Inherent belief. I feel that’s the point that many people are losing under the stylized battle scenes and sweeping landscapes. I can see how that is.

Of course, this is just my interpretation of the film. Yours may be vastly different and you’re wholly entitled to it.

What I’m getting at, though, is that this film serves as a powerful metaphor for the importance of beliefs in our lives.

I don’t really care what that belief is with the next person… be it within the realm of religion, politics, society or pizza toppings. I may not agree with Individual X’s beliefs, but by God, as long as he/she believes in something, I have a massive amount of respect for that person.

I think the thrust of many of my posts over the years have had to do with apathy. I feel as though our society is more apathetic these days, and people act without a core basis for their words and deeds. Now whatever that cornerstone may be, so long as it provides them with a path they feel to be right for them, one that doesn’t carelessly damage other human beings… hey, more power to ‘em.

It’s easy to just do A, B and C. It’s more significant, however, if you do A, B and C predicated on the beliefs of X, Y, and Z. OK?

I hate using the word “automaton” to describe my fellow humans, but really, lots of people fit that description. Get up in the morning, punch the clock, time to make the doughnuts, go home, prime time network TV, beddy-bye, wake up again, lather, rinse, rewind. I don’t get the impression that folks really take a step back, look at the big picture and ask themselves why they do what they do.

To me, if you have an essential foundation of beliefs, a rough framework, even just an unrefined idea to work off of, you’re that much better off in life as a whole. Channeling your decisions and actions back to those beliefs gives you so much more internal feedback, you’d be surprised at what’s doable.

That’s why to me, 300 is a phenomenally brutal, testosterone-infused metaphor for the simple notion of fighting for your beliefs. And I respect anyone who is willing to go to the lengths the Spartans did for what they believe in. It’s a tremendous commitment to your convictions, one that few nowadays would be willing to do.

As for me, I’m willing to see this movie again. On that note, I’m off to bed, for tonight I sleep in Hell. Or Hoboken. I always mix those two up.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-03-13T22:59:00.000-04:00

My parents definitely went the distance to teach me the value of a dollar as a kid. It should come as no surprise, then, that my folks are avid Costco shoppers. They’re also occasional patrons of BJ’s. Prior to that, during the days of the oldskool, it was Price Club. We never had a Sam’s Club in Waterbury. I guess Sammy Boy wasn’t down with the Dirty Water. Maybe he’s smarter than he sounds.

But yeah, back when I was living at home and studying for my MBA, I’d take pretty much every Friday afternoon with Grandpa Frank, go to lunch at Spartan’s (shameless plug for my friend’s family’s place and 300 all in one shot!), then hit up Costco for some bulk shopping hysterics.

After adhering to that routine for almost two years, you can imagine I got pretty familiar with the joint. I could still navigate the Waterbury Costco in my sleep. I also noticed certain behavioral trends of the customers that I must now vent about.

People, please heed my warning… if you go to Costco, you will encounter more blathering idiots than at a Carrot Top show. For serious.

I’m not sure what it is about the place… but when I shop at Costco feels like I’m going to war. I have to very meticulously lay out my plan of action for the day. I must leave room for all variables or alternate navigational routes in and outside the building. I have to put on a game face that would make Chuck Lidell cringe.

It’s a jungle out there, baby.

I realize there’s little I can do to influence the owners of Costco in hopes of improving the shopping experience. But maybe, just maybe, I can knock some sense into the peons that frequent the store.

And if not, bitching about them will make me feel better anyway. Get your gloves on, keep all punches above the belt, now let’s get it on…

- Please be mindful of the directional arrows in a parking lot. This is atop the list of pet peeves, because if you’re doing your shopping on a Saturday, you can bet your bottom dollar you’ll encounter three near-collisions with your fellow motorists. I’m sorry, but an arrow pointing towards you does not mean “this is the direction you’re coming from.” It’s the direction you’re going in, monkeyboy. On my most recent trip, I literally had two people clogging the lanes because they either failed to notice the necessary direction or just plain disregarded it. On a regular road, you’ll get your license revoked for that shit. Me, I’m ready to have your knees revoked, ya dig?

- Once inside the store, always keep to the right with your carriage. Let’s do our best to govern the lanes as we would our roads. This is not your run of the mill Stop & Shop, this is war, and the trenches are loaded with vermin aching to nibble at deals. It gets congested quick, and it’s not uncommon to be stuck in the same spot for two minutes or more because of traffic jams. Costco’s aisles are by far the I-95 of grocery shopping.

- If you need to abandon your carriage to grab something, please keep your sojourn to 30 seconds or less. Again, with back-ups as intense as they are in this place, we need to be respectful of our fellow shoppers even if they’re ugly. Going hand in hand with this, please go to the store knowing what you need in advance. This isn’t Macy’s, let’s try to cut down on the window shopping as much as possible. If you’re reviewing an item for more than two minutes at a clip, you don’t need it. Move along, those eggs are calling your name.

- For the love of God, do not bring children or senior citizens with you. I adore kids and value the elderly, but in Costco, they prove burdensome and detrimental to the process. A day of shopping at Costco should not be family day. Just imagine going to the grocery store with your 5-year-old. You know how they always make a dash for the candy at the checkout and then ask you if you can buy it for them? What do you think they’re gonna do when they see a five pound bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups or a tub of Twizzlers? It’s especially ugly if you have two or more kids that can walk, because then you find yourself chasing them around to try and keep them from getting squashed by intensely focused shoppers (which are plentiful in this franchise). A kid in a candy store has got nothing on a kid in Costco. As for seniors… it’s just agonizing to watch them have to keep up with the carriage, especially if they have a cane. And wheelchairs? For-frickin’-get it. You’ll accumulate more dirty looks than Michael Richards in Harlem, although only half as many death threats. Trust me, this comes from someone who spent nearly two years walking in front of the carriage and pulling it gently so his grandfather would be able to steer properly in lieu of his waning strength and eyesight. Do your family a favor and leave them home. The world will thank you for it. Keep your parties to two adults or less between the ages of 18 and 65, thanks.

- The sample tables are not campgrounds, so don’t pitch your tent there, literally or figuratively. Trust me, I’m as curious as you are to try new kinds of quiche and quesadillas, perhaps even get a quick fix on an old favorite like mac and cheese. But if you’re planning on waiting right in front of the microwave while Esther waits for those pizza bagels to finish, I’m likely to shank you with a shiv. Samples are wonderful, free is wonderful. Free samples make mouths happy, but your insistence on waiting 10 minutes for those raviolis to finish while staying stationary in a busy aisle is likely to make you and the lemmings in back of you immensely disliked and potentially in harm’s way. Remember, once you step through those doors, courtesy to your fellow man is right behind great deals.

- Please watch where you’re going. This is more intense than driving on the freeway… if you narrowly averted a collision in the parking lot, you won’t in the cosmetics section, I assure you. Two carriages are going to collide, and your frustration will mount rapidly. It’s easy to want to browse and casually look around, but when there are 700 people with an average IQ one tenth their numbers, it’s key to be aware of your surroundings. I’ve actually taken to checking shadows on the ground when nearing corners, and if I’m at the right angle (and the person is abiding by the second recommendation I posted above), I can normally stop short before brushing up against some twisted Bluth family reject.

- Once you get out to the parking lot, make haste in loading your trunk and getting out of there. It’s helpful to use the corrugated packaging they leave at the front of the store for easy handling of your loot, but if there is nothing readily available, try to load your take in clusters. Not the cereal, the quantity. If I see you depositing a gallon of whole milk followed by a gallon of 1% milk, I will reach for my sharpest key when you’re not looking. If it doesn’t require two hands to lift, you can maximize your time by inserting multiple items. Once inside the car, buckle up, make sure any other riders are secure, and leave promptly. Don’t dilly-dally on your Motorola, for that is even less courteous than talking on the road without a headset. Ideally, you should be able to pull out no more than 30 seconds after closing your door provided there’s no car trouble. Because there will be car trouble if it’s any longer, as I will be funneling that two pound bag of Domino sugar I just bought down your gas tank. Thank God there’s so much of that stuff, because I feel it really drives my point home when I teach people like that a lesson.

Obviously I doubt anyone will take my advice to up the level of consideration for their fellow shoppers, but if nothing else I feel that many will be able to commiserate with me on the experience. And if you’re one of the latter, you now know the acceptable criteria for slugging someone in the head with that Yamaha beginner’s guitar they carry. That’s why those things are on the shelves, people.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-03-11T10:53:00.000-04:00

The FCC has thrown down the gauntlet. This is me picking it up, slapping them in the face with it, and saying, “I challenge you to a duel, tools.”

Y’know, I’ve gone on and on about censorship on LSS for many years now, and you would think that I would be given a moment of peace where I don’t have to complain about the utter idiocy of the FCC and their ongoing need to restrict content.

Folks, what happened to practicality in this country? Did we just toss that one out the window some years ago without a care in the world? When did people stop using their brains and start using their attorneys? There are just days I want to slug my monitor reading some of this rot.

Perhaps it’s just baffling to me that a federal entity is so ready and willing to expectorate on the First Amendment, which, in case you may have forgotten, is perhaps the most important benchmark in our nation’s history. It is something that makes us wholly distinct from most other countries, and the principle behind it is as pure as our government is impure.

But I digress. The notion of “exceedingly violent programming that is harmful to children” is absurd. Seriously, you show me a pre-schooler who’s staying up to watch 24, and I’ll show you an eight-year-old who smokes a pack and a half of Lucky Strikes a day.

The burden of censorship ultimately lies on the parents’ shoulders in my opinion, and I’d like to think most of us would agree. Folks, my mom and pop were very careful about what I watched growing up, and I have little doubt I’ll be the same way. Granted you can’t monitor your children all the time. Eventually they’ll get one past the goalie and catch a late night showing of Gladiator on Showtime. That said, it’s inevitable such stealthy forays into more mature television will be made.

I can think of all my friends growing up, and how we’d do our best to keep the tape player volume down while listening to Andrew Dice Clay’s forum in filth on cassette, all the while repressing peels of gut-busting laughter with our hands over our mouths. I remember having friends over when I was about 11 or 12 years old and renting Predator, even though it had been released several years prior. It seemed like we quoted that movie ad nauseum for about two years. I have similar memories of watching Terminator 2 on VHS shortly after its release.

It’s the little memories such as this that really make being a kid glorious. The sort of stupid little moments when we’re trying to bypass our parents’ parameters and throw our young minds into more “adult” territory. You can’t beat that.

And y’know what? My parents never protested when my tastes in media started maturing. They realized that my “heroes” were bound to transition from He-Man and the Ultimate Warrior to Arnold and Dice. That’s part of growing up, and in retrospect, it’s probably a lot tamer than the antics my own folks engaged in during their heyday.

Besides, I say if the government wants to regulate the amount of torture exhibited on a show like 24, they should first teach their own troops the virtues of not stripping down hostages to their birthday suits and applying leashes to their necks. Just a thought.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-02-15T18:14:00.000-05:00

I’m gonna petition to rename the Planet Fitness in Orange, CT the “Anna Nicole Memorial Center.” ‘Cause every time I go there, her face is plastered over every frickin’ television set. It’s worse than being stuck on the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disney on acid.

I feel like the only person in the nation right now who doesn’t care about Anna Nicole Smith. Not that I’m ever happy when someone buys the farm before their time, but c’mon now… let’s be realistic about this gal.

We’re talking about a woman whose greatest accomplishment was, in all honesty, posing naked for Playboy. And when you look at her résumé, that was perhaps the most wholesome thing she has ever done. And I do mean ever. Where should we begin? The marriage to the nonagenarian millionaire, the horrid reality show, the questionable weight loss, the classless announcement of her pregnancy on her website, her son’s passing, the questionable nature of her babydaddy, and I’m fairly certain she was involved in that Tylenol tampering scandal back in the 80’s. Did she really contribute anything to society other than causing a lot of people a lot of pain and frustration?

Point is, point is, why is mass media making such a huge deal about her passing? I understand the basic answer: it’s news. She was known (inexplicably despite a complete lack of talent), now she’s gone. OK, fair enough. Cover her passing.

But for serious people, I don’t think Saddam Hussein’s execution got this much coverage. Not to say he deserved to be posthumously revered, but considering how his capture was such a visible government initiative, don’tcha think there would’ve been more news about it?

Mother Theresa, Ronald Reagan, Gerald Ford, all of them are taking a backseat to Anna Nicole and her ginormous yahoos.

What’s that you say? They weren’t celebrity-status figures? Oh, now it makes perfect sense.

So long as there’s a breath in my body, I will never understand the public’s need to gush over low-talent, low-rent celebrities. I feel like most of America spends an unhealthy amount of time reading about other people’s lives instead of focusing on their own. How is it that we value ourselves so little that we feel the need to live vicariously through a bunch of pencil-thin, unrefined, overly tan divas will forever be a Rubix Cube to me. I can’t get the damn colors to line up in my head and probably never will.

What gets me the most about this phenomenon (I call it the Hilton Factor, because it seems that Paris Hilton’s presence on this planet has only accelerated this morbid fascination) is that it’s not restricted to entertainment publications or websites. It’s everywhere, people. Hell, I’ve practically just stated that I don’t understand the Hilton Factor, nor do I follow it. I don’t have a subscription to People or Us Weekly, and my impulse buys at the Stop & Shop checkout lane are limited to M&M’s and Chapstick.

So why was I able to list every single one of Anna Nicole’s atrocities? Because much like her cleavage, you can’t miss them. Even big time news networks like CNN and Fox News have reported heavily on every one of her moral misdeeds, and now said networks spending an inordinate amount of time covering this “tragedy.”

I use the quotes because, let’s face it, did anyone out there really think that this woman would make it past 40? Living hard like she apparently did on such a regular basis is bound to catch up with you, so even if drugs or alcohol wasn’t the immediate cause of her demise, it’s a fairly safe bet that they were connected in some fashion.

I think what gets me most about this is the fact that Anna Nicole Smith didn’t contribute a damn thing to anybody. Think about it… did she really enrich anyone’s lives? I don’t mean to get on my moral high horse here, but c’mon, people. Did this woman leave a lasting impression short of catering to young men’s masturbatory fantasies in the early 90’s and then giving them all STD’s some ten years later? She didn’t do much of anything. This seems to be a qualification of the Hilton Factor… you don’t really have to do much of anything. You just have to be out in public. A lot. In front of droves of cameras. Wearing next to nothing. Probably inebriated.

When you look at it that way, the only thing that’s missing for concubines are the cameras.

But I can understand honoring certain celebrities for their achievements upon their untimely passing. Christopher Reeve? He strove for stem cell research. Steve Irwin? He educated our youth and engaged them. John Belushi? He simply made us smile.

Anna Nicole? My slate’s as blank as her Oscar Nomination tally.
And what has she left behind? A baby girl, two to four possible fathers, a whole boatload of cash she didn’t earn and a black eye to news media that’ll take a long time to stop swelling.

Yeah, I know. I must sound callous writing all this, but I just gotta call a spade a spade. Untimely or not, I just don’t see the reason to plaster this gal’s face on the TV screen any more than it already has been.

Frankly, I was more torn up about the fact that they used multiple dogs for the role of Lassie. Way to screw up childhood mainstays, Hollywood.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2007-01-03T22:37:00.000-05:00

Five years later and I’m still sitting at the keyboard, ruminating, observing, analyzing and prophesizing as the Landshark swims on.

Believe it or not, I wish I didn’t have to. See, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I still have stuff to vent about on this blog, then there are still things that are seriously wrong with this world and the bodies that inhabit its crust.

What’s even more worrisome is the fact that I’m actually recycling a complaint I filed nearly ten years ago. Way back in the Skidmo’ days, I had a “protoblog” for lack of a better term known simply as “The Soapbox.” One of my earliest entries was in regards to an age-old tradition that I felt was woefully outdated.

New Year’s resolutions.

Maybe I’ve gotten too Zen in my old age, but it’s nice to know I have managed to retain some of my opinions from the good ol’ piss and vinegar days of my late teens and early twenties. Now that I’m approaching the dreaded demographic of late twenties, it’s important to know that the fire of my younger, more naïve days hasn’t burnt out just yet as I slowly descend into the grim chasm of adulthood.

Then again, I think some adolescence in my 30’s could spice this ‘berg up quite a bit.

I mused back in the Soapbox days about how pointless New Year’s resolutions are. I don’t think I have ever been able to grasp why it is important to start a year by making adjustments to yourself. I think I’ve always subscribed to the school of thought that if something needs changing, there’s no time like the present. I mean, I think I can appreciate the sentiment of starting the year off on the right foot, but that shouldn’t mean holding off on setting the ball in motion until the ball actually drops.

If nothing else, I think it’s best to make it a point to improve oneself prior to the beginning of a new day. That way, once you sleep off the hangover, you can hit the ground running without a care in the world.

The reason I bring this topic up is because, quite frankly, I heard one too many people offering up resolutions this year prior to doce-dash-treinte y uno. No more cigarettes, joining the gym, resisting the urge to jerk off in the peanut butter because it’s crunchy and not creamy, the usual. I just don’t understand why we as humans feel the need to put timelines on things when it comes to self improvement.

And let me clarify… I think it’s a good thing to set goals for oneself as a means of personal development, and sometimes deadlines are not a bad thing. If you’re going to have a lung removed, it’s probably a good idea to put down the Pall Malls. But we have this incessant need to put things off until X-Date to begin the changes we yearn for so deeply.

I don’t think this is necessarily a sign that we don’t want to change and grow. Far from it. Those are innate human characteristics that we just cannot escape. Rather, I think we are scared of the steps that are necessary to initiate that change. We want to evolve, we’re just afraid to do the gruntwork. And all honesty, I’m as guilty as anyone in some circumstances. I honestly can’t recall ever setting a New Year’s resolution, but I can remember thinking about how I was going to change up my diet on multiple occasions… just so long as I could finish the pepperoni calzone in front of me first.

Hey, change takes work. It never comes overnight, nor with ease. That’s part of growth, right? That’s part of the reason we have a term like “growing pains.” It hurts like hell, people. Get some protective headgear.

So, to me, I think New Year’s resolutions are a huge copout. Maybe they’re not necessarily acts of cowardice, as I feel that cowardice must be a conscientious decision on the part of the offender. Nor do I necessarily feel that they are signs of weakness. I just don’t think we necessarily know any better.

I truly believe if we were willing to take more initiative with ourselves, we’d be less inclined to fault and confusion.

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.” However, I much prefer Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s concept of seven breaths in Hagakure: “In the words of the ancients, one should make his decisions within the space of seven breaths. Lord Takanobu said, If discrimination is long, it will spoil.’ Lord Naoshige said, ‘When matters are done leisurely, seven out of ten will turn out badly. A warrior is a person who does things quickly.’ When your mind is going hither and thither, discrimination will never be brought to a conclusion. With an intense, fresh and undelaying spirit, one will make his judgments within the space of seven breaths. It is a matter of being determined and having the spirit to break right through to the other side.”

I don’t know why I like that so much, but I don’t have time to explain right now. I’m on my seventh breath and have decided to bring this transcendental piece to a close.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant New Year.

2006-10-27T16:32:00.000-04:00

Every once in a while, a catchphrase comes along that induces mania and nausea in equal doses. Normally it is conveyed through some movie, show, commercial or song. Past examples include the gut-wrenching “drop it like it’s hot,” the ever-irritating “Yeah, baby” from the Austin Powers film series, and the classic “Axis of Evil.”

Oh, wait, that last one never caught on, did it? Sorry.

While novel at first, these little sayings get old faster than day-old milk. As a bachelor living on his own, you learn these things quickly. Point is, there’s a phrase going around right now that makes me want to take the perpetrator and play a game of tag using soldering irons. That phrase, you ask?

“I’m bringing sexy back.”

This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. First off, no one is bringing sexy back, alright? Sexy was never missing to begin with, so it doesn’t need to be brought back. It’s asinine in its concept and needs to be scrapped entirely.

And for the record, if sexy was somehow suddenly missing, I’m willing to bet that Jessica Alba would be the one to bring it back. At least before she hits the wall.

Furthermore, my greater, much more substantial gripe is the fact that anyone who says this was never sexy for a day in his/her life. Take a look out there… with the exception of Timberlake, is anyone saying this even remotely sexy? When someone with a cocked eye and a harelip tells me they’re bringing sexy back, I feel like telling them I’m bringing polka back, because I think that I’m a much more likely scenario than their claim. It’s like the pic of the 300 pound kid wearing the shirt that says “I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE.” It’s a whopping fat oxymoron sitting right there in your face, larger than life and twice as ugly.

More than anything you just wanna slap the person in the face and tell them that they can’t bring back what was never theirs in the first place.

Sexy’s not goin’ anywhere, people. If you wanna bring something back, stick to 8-tracks, Pop Rocks and the Gremlin. There’s a reason those items are not around anymore… they were all useless in their conception. Sexy is far from useless and far from gone. There will always be beautiful, alluring, completely unattainable people in the public eye for men and women alike to drool over. So please, next time you decide to quote a song lyric, pick something from “The Humpty Dance,” will ya? I’d rather hear about your exploits in a Burger King bathroom than your arrogant proclamation of a skewed self-image.

So drop this phrase like it’s hot, get jiggy with it and talk to the hand before you get served, alrighty then? Word to your mother.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-10-26T06:42:00.000-04:00

OK, I’ve worked in marketing for nearly two years, and have studied it closely for the last six and counting. Overall, I generally like the field that I’ve chosen for myself. I’ve always had a keen interest on an idea becoming a reality. It’s the same reason I enjoy writing as much as I do; I get to see my thoughts and beliefs put down on paper, transposed from intangible to realization. It’s dang cool if I don’t mind saying.

However, I have been aware for a long time about the ethical matters surrounding my area of expertise. I don’t think you can every deny the fact that business, regardless of it’s area of specificity, orbits around profit. I grasp that and accept it. Right now, I’m fortunate enough to have landed a position with a responsible, morally fit company that I can say I’m proud to work for. That’s saying something as we approach 2K7.

And in keeping up with market trends, it’s hard to bite your tongue when you see something like this…

Now, unless I missed my guess, this highly caffeinated, highly absurd energy drink is named after a pretty destructive narcotic most often consumed by high rollers and rock stars. I actually remember the first time I heard about it… I was leaving the gym just a couple weeks ago and bumped into my cousin. He was talking to the kid at the desk, and he said they were chatting about a new energy drink on the market. When he told me the name, I thought he was joking. When I heard about it again a week later, my jaw almost dropped. I’d like to say that after 25 years on this pebble, the overwhelming ignorance of the general public can’t surprise me anymore. I’d like to say that.

Normally I’d ask myself, “What are these people thinking?” But in this case, I already know what they’re thinking: image equals dollars. There’s no question that tapping into a deviant lifestyle can yield ginormous profit margins. One need look no further than a Spencer’s Gifts to verify that. The boatload of sleaze contained in those little mall-stops is enough to fill up two arcs.

And yeah, those shops can be good for a briefly sustained, heavily innuendo-laden chuckle. That’s OK, they make no bones about it. That’s why you’ll see those funky looking leaves everywhere to realize this.

So maybe, just maybe, this new drink belongs in that sort of outlet and not the average corner store.

Obviously when you release a product of any sort, especially a food or beverage item, you want it to be largely accessible to people everywhere. That’s a given, and convenience stores seem like a natural fit (especially for energy drinks). However, there comes a certain line of responsibility with any product, regardless of the medium. It’s the reason that Playboy magazines are poly-bagged. Same reason the GTA games have an M rating.

(An aside… I’ll hearken back to my early LSS days where my first full-length post was about current trends in the video game market. I have to say that the watering down of San Andreas due to the “hot coffee” module is absurd. Look, any way you cut it, these games are rated M for a reason. It says pretty clearly on the package 17+. Any 17-year-old can get into an R-rated flick and see more vivid sex scenes than what was portrayed in the glitch. Besides that, the overwhelming amount of violence in the game is as good a lightning rod as any for the right-wing pundits to assault, yet they chose scenes depicting carnality between humans. This is really, really stupid. It reminds me of when South Park: BLU and Team America were forced to downplay language and similar scenes in lieu of ridiculously depicted blood and guts. These conservative shamans should seriously get their shit together and prioritize their asinine gripes. Maybe then they’d step out of the negative light that the Bush Administration has cast upon them all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled post…)

So this company has now, for all intents and purposes, crossed that line of responsibility into the realm of “just don’t give a fuck anymore. We want money, now.” It’s one thing to be suggestive with your product or promotion. Big Johnson is a great example. It’s clear what they were implying even though they weren’t outright saying it.

(Another aside… I remember a kid in my high school who wore a Big Johnson shirt weekly and switched it up with a Co-ed Naked shirt on a regular basis. Nobody said boo to him. When did we get so bloody uptight in this country?)

Cocaine, however, is just plain overt in its self-designation. No one’s even trying to make any apologies. I understand the cognition behind it – drink this and it’ll feel like you’re on a massive energy high, and you’ll be able to stay up later, party longer, work out harder. OK, I get it. Does this mean I have to inhale this carbonated cocktail nasally?

Promoting a lifestyle is one thing, promoting a narcotic is something altogether different and frickin’ dangerous at that. Anyone in business really should know where to draw the lines of responsibility, and those that fail to do so typically fail miserably.

This is the thing about controversy that you will find in any and all cases: controversy for the sake of thought is a good thing. If it gets people to unwrap their heads around the mundane nature of daily life and try to come up with a different line of thinking, then there’s no problem with it. Controversy for the sake of controversy is not a good thing. It’s cheap heat any way you slice it, and when you go for the easy way out, it has short-term effects often forgotten after a very brief period.

Why do you think Anna Nicole Smith keeps doing all these crazy, nonsensical things? It’s the only way she can keep in the public eye as she really has no redeeming value as a person.
Similarly, it’s dangerous for any outlet to carry such a touchy product on their shelves as they themselves face the consequences as much as the creator and owner of the intellectual property. Kudos to 7-Eleven for putting the kibosh on this sucker early and not even taking the risk. Risk has to be calculated, folks, never blind. Plain and simple.

But then again, this is sleaze marketing at its finest. You think these guys don’t already have Plan B lined up? I guarantee that “Cocaine” was never intended to be their primary name. They probably have some other generic, less flashy name floating around in their demented little think tank that they’ll unleash like a Red Bull in a China shop after the heat really pours on thick. Which it no doubt will. They’ve made a name for themselves, and sure enough people will be gassing up at their local Mobil on the Run, perusing the aisles to attain a lottery ticket and some impulse buys, and they’ll come across The-Energy-Drink-Formerly-Kno—nah, on second thought, I’m not gonna resort to the old “Prince” nomenclature hitch. Too cliché. I much prefer a pseudonym. How about CardioSplode? ‘Cause if this thing touts itself as sporting 350 percent more caffeine than Red Bull, someone’s heart is bound to detonate upon consumption.

(Yet another aside, more relevant than the previous two, though… I heard tell that the real reason legislators were up in arms about this drink was not because of the name or the lifestyle it promotes, but because of the insane caffeine content and possible risks in drinking it. While I have no argument that this is a concern, I hope it did not overshadow the obvious.)

So, someone sees a can of CardioSplode and thinks, “Oh yeah… that’s the controversial drink that had to change its name. Hmm, wonder what it’s like?” Impulse buy turns into curiosity buy. If these wizards can generate enough curiosity buys to give them a chunky piece of the pie, I’m sure the thinking is that they will have a solid boost in a rapidly growing, increasingly crowded segment. The second part is key simply because competition is incredibly fierce right now, and it’s getting harder and harder for these drinks to differentiate from one another. What better way to differentiate than with a catchy, taboo new name?

So yeah. This is the kinda stuff that does make me ashamed to say I’m in marketing sometimes. It’s hard to say whether or not it’s the norm with all companies and their products, but I think few would result to such underhanded methods. Although to be fair, we have come a long way. Remember subliminal messages in various mediums? Those went the way of the dinosaur eons ago. And in an ironic twist, it’s interesting to note that Coca-Cola used to actually contain cocaine in its earliest incarnations. Now just promoting the word alone is subject to crucifixion, never mind the actual content. Nice to know that some progress has been made. Now if only I could clue in everyone else…

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-09-26T19:56:00.000-04:00

Been a while. It's also been a good summer. Did you think I was bound to stay indoors writing the entire time?

Dolt. On to new business…

There's a term I use amongst a select group of friends to describe individuals who are unruly, uncouth, and unnecessary, especially in the context of the professional realm. That term is "toolkit." Now a "tool," in the vernacular, is, according to Wikipedia, "someone who is being used by an establishment willingly (as a sycophant) or unwillingly (as one who blindly conforms)."

A toolkit is a tool to the 10th power. These are the type of people that upon meeting, I instantly
wish that their mother had received some sort of debilitating kidney punch that rearranged their interior anatomy during the course of pregnancy. Of course, that might be a moot point if such an assault were the cause of their offspring's behavior. Recently I encountered a prime toolkit at my office in the form of an ostentatious twerp affectionately known as "Punch the Intern." He was deemed such by some of my co-workers, because they always stated that they wanted to "punch the intern." Eventually it just sorta segued into a full-blown clandestine alias that is fitting in both aesthetic and physical manifestation.

Whether or not this kid was a sycophant or blind conformist has yet to be determined. But he did make me "syc" to my stomach, he was blind to the fact that everyone around him hated his guts, and I found him easily molded into an obedient little lapdog. In short, whatever his major malfunction, I (and everyone else) found him more obnoxious than an Amway rep on cocaine.
Now Punch, as I mentioned, was not a full-time employee. He was an intern on borrowed time (thank God), here for the better part of the summer before going back to school.

Of course, being that this is my company we're talking about here, we're talking about another "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer. Only in this case, instead of being the average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-grad, this "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer was a below average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-undergrad.

This does not translate to a good experience. No sir. See, at that stage, you feel ready to take on the world, full of p!ss and vinegar, unfazed by the world outside your collegiate bubble. And, since Punch was still actively attending, he was still perhaps a little overconfident in his supposed abilities.

Now, if you take that last sentence and replace the word "overconfident" with "cocky," I think that'd be a more accurate assessment. That being said, it is entirely possible that Punch is just naturally conceited; it may have nothing to do with his overpriced/overrated education. That's hard to determine without really spending a great deal of time with him, something that I didn't feel up to doing. Whatever the impetus behind his Dom Deluise-sized ego, the fact remains that he was a Grade-A toolkit, possibly the biggest I've encountered to date.

I'll spare his university the embarrassment of acknowledging it by name, because I would be downright ashamed to have such a monstrous a$$hat attending my hallowed halls. So I'll christen it with the pseudonym "Asshat U." As it turns out we have two other full-time employees, both recent grads of Asshat U.

This is important… please remember this.

In any event, Punch started and immediately proved himself to be outright irritating. I'm not sure if it was the six inches of hair that was gelled upward into an absurd top fade, the ridiculous colored shirts he wore that screamed "I am either metrosexual or I just enjoy clubbing so much that I have to wear the same effete color combination every day of my life," or the fact that he always wore a tie.

Let me clarify something… I have worn a tie twice since I interviewed here. Once on my first day, and once again when I had a meeting afterwards for another organization. If you want to put a silk noose around your neck, turn the reins over to me and I'll gladly find some silk rope for ya. This offer is only extended to Punch, as he deserved some good mangling.
Anyway, fashion (non)sense notwithstanding, Punch also proved himself to be the illegitimate hybrid of a concubine and an encyclopedia.

A fucking know-it-all.

This was complemented, naturally, by the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing. I'll give him this much, he showed zeal and passion for the job (which really led me to question his sanity), but that enthusiasm gave way to a cocktail of carelessness and cockiness. He impressed his superior by virtue of his dedication, but in turn rubbed all of his co-workers the wrong way by being pushy and abrasive.

Case in point: one of my co-workers was on the phone with a vendor when he stormed into her office and began asking her questions while she was still talking. Screw business etiquette, that's common sense. Just wait until their done and come back in a few minutes, right? Apparently the laws of rationality don't apply to interns with spiky hair.

There was also the silver incident in which a vendor sent coins to us that were priced higher than what was initially paid for on the order. He raised a huge stink about this and actually read the fine print on the back of the order itself over the phone (quite loudly, no less). Normally I'd see no issue in quarrelling with such price shifts. However, anyone who follows the precious metals market must know that the cost of silver has fluctuated wildly over the last year and will probably continue to do so. We have never had a problem signing off on invoices when it comes to coin prices; it's an unstable market at best. But rather than query one of us about it, he jumped the gun, chewed out the vendor and then blabbed to his manager like a good little stoolie. I wanted to put his face through a wall, because when someone sets a precedent, everyone has to follow. Now all price discrepancies must be documented in writing (not that anyone has adhered to this).

Then, the ultimate atrocity… Punch wound up training his own replacement. Green as he was, barely 21 years old and not even here for three consecutive months, he was still entrusted to educate his successor. Go figure that one out, kids, 'cause I'm still lost. In any event, as I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, Punch didn't know anything about the job when it came to brass tacks. So how do you think his replacement felt when she found out a week later that everything she learned was a fallacy? I remember commiserating with a co-worker of mine about how we should have intervened and told her well in advance not to listen to him.

But that's not even the crown jewel on this legacy of idiocy. See, it just so happens that Punch and his replacement share the same surname. Now in order to protect the innocence of his ill-fated understudy, I must go against all standards I have set at LSS and give Punch a second alias. To further complicate matters, I've chosen to use his pseudo alma mater as his namesake, and therefore designate him as Johnny Asshat. His unlucky (yet fortunately unrelated) replacement will go by the name of Janie Asshat. I feel bad calling her that since she is anything but an asshat, but for the sake of posterity, we must maintain consistency here.

So this is the capper, the granddaddy of 'em all, the coup de grace in this rapidly growing legacy of absurdity… Before leaving, he stuck his nameplate next to hers outside her cubicle. This led to Sempai Mike and I referring to them as the "Wonder Twins," and frequently quoting SuperFriends. To Janie's credit, this failed attempt at a joke lasted all of one week as she pulled his plate down herself. Bravo, Janie. Buck the system and your mock etymology.

The last item on that hitlist is really what convinced me that he is a prime example of your average toolkit. Aside from being equal parts arrogant and ignorant, he also assumes the role of "that guy" by coming up with lame jokes that only he finds amusing. Even Janie didn't crack a smile at his gag.

Then again, I don't think many people cracked a smile at him during his entire tenure. I think everyone agreed that they'd much rather crack his ribs first. Preferably with a wrench, just to offer some ironic accentuation to the whole "toolkit" title.

"Poetic justice is a wrench to the ribs." Sounds Zen, yet prolific. I like it.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-07-06T20:28:00.000-04:00

I fell in love with a sweet sensation,
I gave my heart to a simple chord.
I gave my soul to a new religion.
Whatever happened to you?

Whatever happened to our rock 'n' roll?
Whatever happened to my rock 'n' roll?

I have to say that for all the bitching I do about the people I work with, for all the ridiculousness and absurdity that comes with the territory, I have been able to make pretty good friends with a handful of folks, the least of which not being my former boss Mike. While we no longer work with together, he's only down the hall, and we still continually share our musical finds with one another. Mike, like myself, is a music junkie. Not an aficionado, not an enthusiast, a junkie. There is no 12-step program for us, and if this is a disease, please keep the remedy to yourself. We want no part, our ailment is glorious, and we hope it's contagious.

In any event, Mike is the main reason why I had to turn in Kilgore for his 60 gig cousin, as my beloved iPod was near his full capacity of 30 gigs. Mike's collection is far more extensive than mine, and his knowledge of the scene and music history unquestionably puts me to shame. I have no trouble admitting this fact; he is the Sempai, I am the Kohai.

I've learned a great deal from Sempai, but one thing that sticks out is how much contemporary rock n' roll, for the most part, sucks.

Note I said "rock n' roll." The blues on speed. 4/4 beats. Two guitars, bass, drums and vocals. I'm excluding progressive mind-benders like the Mars Volta and Coheed & Cambria. Melody-heavy alt-rockers like Comes With The Fall and Dredg should also be excused before passing judgment.

Dirty, sexy, crunchy style rock n' roll.

Somewhere in the 80's, rock took a real ugly turn down Hair Metal Blvd. All those bands that have wound up on numerous mail order "Monsters or Rock" compilations took the absolute worst of SDRNRU (Sex, Drugs & Rock N' Roll University) and put their own dipshit spin on it. As AquaNet and Covergirl stock skyrocketed, the genre known as rock was on life support at the hands of its own retarded offspring. This led to a string of one hit wonders, over-saturation on radio and MTV, and the upheaval of college radio and the indie scene. If nothing else, the one good thing that came of this sad point in time was the musical counterculture of the early 90's.

In fact, the only new band to emerge out of the 80's that actually "got it" was Guns N' Roses. No one can deny the raw bad-ass nature of Appetite For Destruction. Many took to calling them the next Rolling Stones, and few fans or critics were hard-pressed to disagree. Sadly, Axl's ego took center stage. It wasn't long before people were talking more about the no-showing madman behind the mic and less about the music.

Straightforward rock n' roll really hasn't been the same since.

Now I grant you, over the past few years, a handful of old school hopefuls have emerged and at the very least turned a couple heads. A few bands like Buckcherry have gone the full-blown trashy route in attempts to channel the spirit of their most beloved SDRNRU alumni. Others, such as the Strokes, have made an attempt to go about things in a more understated manner, musically speaking. Then there are those bands like Jet who draw heavily from their favorite forefathers and make sure their tunes are short, memorable and above all else, hook-heavy.

However, no one has seemed to leave a lasting taste in our mouth beyond the scope of a year or two at the most. Tried and true veterans like Aerosmith, AC/DC and the almighty Rolling Stones themselves have managed not only to maintain a significant level of public interest, but they've also been fairly consistent as far as releasing new material.

This might not be saying much, though. Their last releases, while enjoyable, did not stack up to their all-time classics. Then again, not much does, so it may be unjust to compare Honkin' On Bobo to Rocks, Stiff Upper Lip to Back In Black, or A Bigger Bang to Beggar's Banquet. Still, these purported torchbearers of ye olde rock have been relegated by mainstream radio to the same treatment as most other bands. You'll hear their new single for anywhere between five months and a year before you never hear it again. Soon it becomes just another memory, another half-assed notch in the gun belt terrestrial radio.

This may be the central problem. Rock is not supposed to be mainstream. Rock n' roll was founded on the precept that this was "the devil's music," and those damned long-haired hooligans would blast it until the wee hours of the morning, waking the neighbors. Once upon a time, Elvis Presley couldn't shake his hips on TV. Nowadays, that sorta stuff is so tame, it's laughable. Heck, even in the heyday of hair metal some twenty-odd years ago, 10 seconds of any given video was more risqué than Presley's memorable swagger.

It's hard to derive the origins of this juxtaposition from counterculture to the norm. I suppose a good chunk of it could be attributed to classic rock radio and its seemingly daily play list. I used to enjoy New Haven's 99.1 WPLR. Nowadays, I get nauseous just thinking about it. If I have to hear "All Right Now" by Free one more freakin' time, I'm liable to unload several rounds of buckshot into my car radio. Perhaps another part is the fact that so many of these grizzled vets just refuse to throw in the towel when their time has come. There are a few exceptions to the rule (see the artists just three paragraphs prior), but seriously now, there are some guys playing clubs who are overweight, bald and easily past their prime. A pal of mine and me saw Blue Öyster Cult several years ago at Toad's in New Haven (a couple years after the memorable "cowbell" skit on SNL), and to say that it was laughable would be the equivalent of saying current gas prices are "a little expensive." It's hard to take a genre seriously when it's clear that so many are yearning to cling to their former fame so feverishly. Beyond that, it's just flat out over-saturation… a turn of phrase that has come with the aging of those blasted Baby Boomers. Hair metal definitely had a major hand in underground credibility, and I'm sure MTV probably had a hand in there somewhere as well.

Point is that rock just doesn't feel… Well, that edgy anymore. It's become overblown and overexposed. Think of when Blair Witch hit and it was this huge indie success. Stupid as it was, the phenomenon became so popular that it spawned a sequel. A real crappy sequel. Now imagine if the filmmakers just kept churning out sequel after sequel. That's kinda what rock has become. And anyone who has had any affinity to anything ever considered "underground" knows what it feels like when the masses latch onto your beloved obscurity. You feel like it's not that cool anymore (for reference, see ECW. See also, Metallica).

There is, however, light at the end of the tunnel. A handful of bands have come to my attention that really keep the good flame alight and put a smile on my dirty dog face. There seems to be two schools of thought right now: those who stand as a new generation of straight ahead rock n' roll, and those who are unabashed about their status as "throwbacks." Both parties seem to be doing quite well. The former classification consists of bands like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (who are quoted at the opening salvo of this piece), the White Stripes, the Duke Spirit and Nine Black Alps. In the second lot, you've got the obvious culprits like the Darkness and Silvertide, but also lesser known contingents like Damone and Wolfmother. And I'm sure there are many more that have yet to be unearthed.

Now that's not to say that the aforementioned bands and whatever other newcomers may trot down the pike are going to overtake the current musical landscape and give birth to a rock n' roll renaissance. Quite the contrary, I think mainstream music is only going to stagnate further, and true music addicts are going to have to work harder for their new tunes. That's alright by me, I'm up for the challenge. It's fun, and you never know quite what you'll unearth along the way. And again, because of that aforementioned underground mindset, part of me really doesn't want things to change right now. There's enough slick production out there to ruin what could be scores of really great albums, and unfortunately most cats are so young and inexperienced (or just plain wowed with stardom) that they don't know enough to say "no" to someone trying to overtake their product. Having said that, I'll stay in the subterranean passageways of music for now. If nothing else, I'm just happy that solid rock does exist and hasn't become a Waterworld-inspired myth along the wavelengths of dry land.

And as I mentioned, I'm sure there's more to come, some of whom may even reach that delta into the mainstream, plunge in headfirst and come out on the other end with some integrity intact. I look forward to seeing it happen someday. So, for those young bucks out there interested in breaking ground, here are a few lessons you may want to take heed of. Granted, I'm no musician, but even so, I like to think that I've squandered enough money on CD's and enough of my spare time drifting along melodious currents to have something of a grasp on the situation here. Strap in.

- Take from your influences, don't copy them directly. It's one thing to try and get a taste for a band's flavor as opposed to outright ganking copyrights. Seriously, Buckcherry fell flat real quick because they're just a cluster of haphazard Aerosmith wannabes with no real balls to 'em. There's not a lot of originality to their music or to their lyrics, so without daring to be something different, they were destined to peel out, because simply, they're just a carbon copy.

- Know your blues. Blues is the basis for all music, especially rock n' roll. Blues begat country music, which then discovered drugs and gave birth to rock. Blues also made love to Latin music and birthed jazz. Did we mention that the blues' bastard lovechild, rock n' roll, also got aggressive and angry, transforming into metal? And yes. Blues developed a beat, and fathered funk, disco, R&B and hip hop. Blues is everything in music, especially rock. Know your pentatonic scales, and for the love of Christ, listen to Robert Johnson.

- Know your punk. Punk is another offshoot of a blues offshoot… more accurately, it was a response to an offshoot, taking aim at overblown rock n' roll and telling it to kindly p!ss off. The one element of rock that punk took with it was simplicity. The best songs, and in many cases the most memorable songs, tend to be of a simpler nature. No need for elaborate solos or orchestration. A few chords, some catchy riffs, and a good dose of rebelliousness. A lot of the bands I mentioned above carry traits of both the blues and punk in equal doses, and they seem to blend it all well.

- Leave the mistakes in. Don't be a damn perfectionist. Perfection is boring, don't go into something all crazy strong-style thinking you've gotta be dead-on. Rock isn't supposed to be this pristine little evocative snapshot of artistry. It's supposed to be down and dirty, loud and bawdy. So quit with the overdubs and massive production already. So you hit a raw note. Leave it in. Get visceral for fuck's sake. Let it all flow out and have fun with it. Even Eddie Van Halen laments about how "Eruption" could've been better, and every time he hears it, he always thinks about that one mistake. And how many people love it for what it is? Besides, you may just stumble onto something really slick, and then you have every right to trademark it vis a vis your stupidity.

- If you're gonna be a throwback, be unabashed, but not retarded. I think it's safe to say that groups such as the Darkness and Wolfmother have proven that it's OK to be somewhat kitschy with the music while having a sense of humor about yourself. To paraphrase This Is Spinal Tap, it's really such a fine line between stupid and clever. It's OK to have fun with it, but the second you try to put on the façade of being a "serious artist," the game is up. I just remember that VH1 special about Velvet Revolver from when it was just the guys from GN'R doing auditions, and the band was known simply as "the Project." One guy brought in a demo of a song that he called "Stripper Girl." Now if you really think for one split second that anyone is gonna take a song seriously with that title, the Behind The Music gods have clearly passed you up hoping you'll go to rehab before your first gold record.

- If you're gonna do a cover on a record, make it obscure. I can think of very few covers that surpass the original. Part of the problem is that so many bands seem intent on taking on well-established staples of radio or popular music. You can't reinvent the wheel kids, so leave that part to Mr. Goodyear. Thing is, covers are kind of essential in a way. Lots of the best bands ever to play made legit hits out of cover songs. The Stones, Zeppelin, Cream, Aerosmith, the Doors, cripes man, even the damned Beatles made big time hits out of little known tunes. Most people to this day haven't the slightest idea that "All Along The Watchtower" is a Bob Dylan original, not a Jimi Hendrix creation. Chew on that for a while. If Hendrix had tried "Like A Rolling Stone," I'm willing to bet that while it would be fiery as Hendrix could be, it still would pale in comparison to its basis. Even though they fall under the umbrella of nü metal, we can still see the logic with Korn and how everyone up and groaned when they did "Another Brick In The Wall."

- Don't believe your own press. Please. That ruins the experience for everyone. Egos ultimately don't do much good in the world of rock n' roll, so as much as you can, try to stay humble. I know it's gotta be tough with people offering you all sorts of free stuff, booze, broads, narcotics, firstborn children, stock options, the Brooklyn Bridge, etc. But once you adopt the attitude of "I'm better than you," you're automatically putting yourself at a plateau above that of a fan. In essence, a fan is a music lover. All musicians should be music lovers. If you put yourself on any level higher than that, I guarantee you'll lose touch with everyone. The fans, your bandmates, and likely yourself as well. It's bad for business, no two ways about it. Then people give you the reputation of being "difficult" and refuse to work with you… Yngwie Malmsteen, Ritchie Blackmore, Eddie Van Halen, Dave Mustaine, and of course, the granddaddy of 'em all, Monsieur W. Axl Rose. All are incredibly talented individuals who systematically bought into their own hype and meticulously obliterated their bands starting at the foundation. Reputations in all circles were tarnished, possible beyond repair. Just stick to what you love doing and you'll be good.

And that's really what it's all about when you look at the big picture. Like any genre, the face has changed dramatically throughout the years, but at the end of the day, it's still good ol' rock n' roll, and it's still lurking out there. Hail, hail, we salute you.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-05-23T20:40:00.000-04:00

Ladies, we gotta talk.

Now look, I adore the fairer sex. I think you gals are aces, and life sure would be dull without ya, for better or worse. Despite the hell that some of you have put me through over the years, I bear no grudges. For serious.

Moreover, I'm a modern sorta gent, and I believe in equality amongst the sexes. So I'm all for you X-chromosome types goin' out there and gettin' corporate. Lord knows enough of the world has been destroyed by ignorant, greedy white men that we could probably use some capable, intelligent females in power to counteract such stupidity on our part.

However… something happens to some o' you ladies when you don that business garb and get a position with just the slightest shred of power. It's the type of transformation that I don't think even Robert Louis Stevenson could've envisioned when penning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

I'm not one to throw around the term alpha bitch, but dang, there are some women out there who that phrase most definitely applies to in the workplace.

Guys, get over here with me, come sit by the campfire and let's roast some goddamn S'Mores, I think this is one topic that we can all agree on. Doesn't matter what sect of the male species you fall into… stud, nerd, playa, nice guy, scumbag, manwhore, whatever. Every red-blooded heterosexual male will agree with me on this post.

Heck, there are even some females that will agree with me on this. My mother has worked in HR for 18 years, and has stated on numerous occasions that she would rather work with men than women, because too many women just get obscenely power-hungry when it comes to titular advancements and authority.

Not to get all 5th grade on ya, but my mom thinks I'm right. She also tells me I'm cool. And if Penny says so, then by God, it must be factual!

But I think even outside the scope of HR, anyone out there that works in any sort of professional environment will have to concede on this one… I've seen it a great deal over the last year and change I've been at my job. When my new boss got transferred over to our division, she immediately clashed with my then-program manager. It wasn't so much like oil and water as it was like wicks and sparks… downright volatile. Within 6 months, my program manager was essentially ousted. About a month later, the only other female on our team transferred to another team. Since then, our group has been all dudes with the exception of the boss lady. For the most part, we's cool, but like every boss, once in a while she manages to get on your nerves. Just how it goes.

But she is not the impetus for this post. No, true believer, much to the contrary, this was prompted by one of my coworkers… well, two actually, but one seems more an accessory and the other the instigator. Although it may be uncharacteristic, I am reluctant to divulge any details about either individual. Far be it from me to ever hold back, especially when it comes to those whose ego cups runneth over, but lets just say that I'm subscribing to the old "discretion is the better part of valor" motto.

So this is basically the breakdown: a couple weeks ago, one of my coworkers arranged a lunch with one of our regular vendors as an outing and break from the monotony of the day to day grind. Two of my other coworkers were not invited to the affair, simply because they almost never say yes to anything of the sort. So it was more of a logistical thing than anything else. I probably would have invited them anyway, but that's me. I'm not the one planning, I'm just happy to be here, ya dig?

Word got back to one of the ignored individuals, who just happens to be of the female persuasion. Immediately, she began grilling someone who works under her, asking if we talked about her at all during the meal.

Come again?

That's right. I shit you not, dear reader. She wanted to know if anyone was talking about her or the other uninvited party during our outing. Well… no! Why would we have any reason to? Just because you don’t get the in doesn't necessarily mean you're the hot topic of conversation. There was just so much ego involved, I was on the verge of wretching.

She then lamented (translation: whined) that she felt the snub was incredibly "unprofessional." The ultiamte irony of this situation is the fact that these lunches are a very covert operation that we are really not supposed to engage in… so her absence from the affair is actually a shimmering act of professionalism on her part. But nay. Nay, I say. Not in the eyes of ye green-eyed she-demon in 5" heels. To her, there is a free lunch, she was left out, and come hell or high water, she will make it known.

Then to boot, she threatens to withhold business from the vendor who hosted the affair. Well, how professional of her. Nothing like sacrificing good business at the expense of your own petty vendetta. I love it. The capper to it all (at the time) was the fact that she engaged her aforementioned associate in an e-mail exchange in which she finally ended the conversation with (and I'm quoting verbatim, mind you), "Whatever, I don't want to talk about it anymore. They can all go to hell for all I care."

Mature.

But wait, it does get better. She then took to the oh-so "professional" habit of scowling, sneering and just looking plain disgusted when passing the folks that organized the affair.

Also mature. And reasonable, too.

I won't get into the ugly details that followed (the e-mail war between her and another co-worker, the correspondence that was passed around to other folks in the division and our sister division, the horrid picture from her college days that was retrieved with a quick Google search, etc.), but needless to say she has not earned many friends, and has essentially isolated herself from most everyone in the company.

What's my point? My point is simply this would not have happened with a guy. The average dude would abide and not let this become some over the top 90210-stylized high school drama. His attitude would've been, "If they don't like me, screw 'em," and that's it. There would've been no little e-mail fracas, no dirty looks in the hall, no unnecessary 'tude, none of the above, mon frere.

Reason being? Most guys don't get off on power trips.

Yeah. I said it. Take it for what you will, accuse me of stereotyping, but I'm telling ya, my experiences with some women in the business world are akin to my experiences with some women in the dating world: ugly, painful, and oftentimes gut-wrenching. What is it about a title that gives you ladies such an inflated opinion of yourself? What is it about authority that makes you believe you have the right to talk down to and demean other human beings? Is it a chemical imbalance of some sort? Is it the overwhelming urge to break out of the 1950's Donna Reed mold that so inaccurately portrayed your finest capabilities? Is it the years of existing in a predominantly patriarchal society?

If is the latter, let me say on behalf of men everywhere, we're sorry! If we had any idea the way you'd react, we never would've made those decisions at the meeting! Please back off, we made a mistake!

Seriously, gals, y'all need to chill out. This individual in question is the same one who is dumping a week's worth of work on her associate while she's away rather than working to get ahead of herself before leaving (like most of us do). I'm not saying she's an accurate sample of the population by any means, but this sort of self-opinion seems to be typical of a lot of my experiences in the workplace, from waiting tables right on up to the executive post… never had a problem with another guy, though… even the ones who preferred to wear high heels themselves.

Look, let's make a pact… we'll put the toilet seat down and cook dinner once in a while, and you spare us the dragonfire when cubicles ajoin. I think it's a fair trade.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-05-09T22:20:00.000-04:00

So last night at the gym, I couldn't help that the eyes of many cardio-heads were glued to the flatscreen monitors in front of them, airing David Blaine's latest inane stunt on ABC.

Let me set the record straight: I don't care about David Blaine. But I've come to three rock solid conclusions about the man.

1 – He is not a magician. He's not even an illusionist, for Pete's sake. The scenarios he cooks up are out there, I grant you… but there's no hint of "magic" in them at all. Look, if it were Harry Houdini cooped up in that oversize snow globe, he would've amazed the audience by pulling one of his trademark nigh-impossible escape routines. That was the beauty of his shtick… it came off as a sort of magic even without card tricks or optical illusions. Blaine just cooks up zany ways to destroy his body stunt by stunt. That's not magic, that's stupidity.

2 – This is not entertainment. I've read some quotes by people who have stated that his exploits are representative of the human spirit and it's resilient, oftentimes unbreakable nature. I beg to differ. I hardly find a man's repeated attempts to kill himself humorous in any way… I find it sad. The only thing I find sadder is the infatuation that people have with this guy. Sure, I know there's no doubt that he's going to draw attention to himself like the class clown… the only difference is that he's moved up from whoopee cushions to feeding tubes. Pardon me if I don't feel inclined to give the baby his bottle on this one.

3 – The man is a masochist. Seriously, why does he do this over and over? Is fame really worth that much damage to your body? How many people do you know who wake up in the morning and think, "Gee, what could I possibly do to damage my liver this week?" This might be the most disturbing thing about his popularity to me… the mere fact that everything he does seems to find him in the hospital for a number of weeks following the spectacle. Not only that, but the lengthy amounts of time he spends involved in these bizarre concoctions severely prolongs the pain he inflicts on himself. I'm truly convinced that the man just has no love for himself and genuinely wants to do extreme harm to his being.

Either that or he'll do anything for a buck. I haven't quite decided. So, taking these three items into account, the question begs to be asked… People, why in the name of God are you paying any attention to this genetic defective?

This goes beyond dumbass reality shows that are phonier than a politician's smile. There are people out there cheering a man who is trying to kill himself. There is something seriously wrong with the human race when this sort of demented tomfoolery could ever be regarded as entertainment.

Maybe it's me, but I really don't think we should be encouraging him like this... unless he finally manages to off himself, then I'm all for it. The less of this rot on TV and in the public eye, the better. Why can't more "celebrities" have death wishes?

I just might have this cat figured out all wrong… Shit, I hope he becomes an inspiration to self-loathing public figures everywhere!

Natural selection, people. I'm justified here.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-05-02T20:33:00.000-04:00

So Mission: Impossible III is upon us. Be still, my heart.

Hey, sorry… I just don't like too much John Woo in my diet. I prefer, y'know, plotlines and the like.

In any event, what's captured my interest about this undeniable cinematic stinkbomb isn't the fact that they made a sequel to M:I2. I pretty much learned that after they made a sequel to the first installment that they'll spin anything off for a few dollars more. No, what has grasped my attention is the fact that the antagonist is portrayed by Academy Award Winner Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Rewind and read the last eleven words in that paragraph.

Hoffman has been doing an amazing job as the requisite character/supporting actor for-freakin'-ever now. Didn't matter whether he was in Cold Mountain or Almost Famous, whatever film we're talkin' about was immediately improved tenfold just by virtue of his presence and performance as soon as his unmistakable mug was featured on the screen. The guy knows his stuff and it shows.

But now, having won an Oscar for Capote (which I have yet to see but am looking forward to tremendously), he's reduced to your standard issue action film bad guy cliché, which, incidentally, no one has been able to duplicate since Alan Rickman was featured in Die Hard. Period.

On the opposite end of the genre spectrum, but similarly bad-looking, Robin Williams's latest vehicle RV opened this weekend (see what I did there?). Watching the previews for that makes me dread the day I have children, as I'm sure I'll have to sit through many, many horrible family films, much like I forced my parents to do. And Disney not being what it once was, I'm not looking forward to that day…

It should also be duly noted that Williams is another of those select thespians to receive an Oscar.

So is Robert De Niro. Didn't stop him from making Showtime.

Jodie Foster has an Oscar under her belt. But she still made Flightplan.

I won't even get into Jon Voigt's career.

At this rate, I'm waiting for Meryl Streep to catch top billing in Breakin' 3. The Oscar has long been touted as the highest honor in cinema… yet at the same time, it has also proven to be something of a kiss of death for said honorees. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about that much-coveted Oscar that drives so many people to accept such horrible roles.
I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the individual, no question. Some people (especially celebrities) exercise less discretion when planning their career moves than most. That being said, I have to give Cali credit for having the best drugs available, because that's the only reason I can think of Susan Sarandon having anything to do with Elizabethtown. I have to say that when it comes to mass mediart, we are in a major lull, here, people. I'm dead serious. I think contemporary film, music and television, by normal standards, is not only disappointing, but downright repulsive.

I think a recent text message courtesy of my buddy Vas, intended solely to break up the day and catch a laugh, says it all:

"There's motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane!"

They made a horror move about snakes on planes. It doesn't get much better/worse than that, ladies and gentlemen. We are officially an honest-to-goodness teenage wasteland awash in our own fecal matter and bile, because we pay to see this rot. And when we don't shell out the $8.50 in the theaters, we gladly head over to the local Blockbuster for a lazy Friday rental. One way or another, every movie, no matter how bad, is gonna make money somehow.

White Chicks made money. Think it over.

Now I realize that you have to work yourself up the ladder no matter what your path in life. Even Renee Zellweger was brandishing those Oscar-worthy chops in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3, and nominee Jake Gyllenhaal was Bubble Boy long before even Donnie Darko opened the door for him to break out the cowboy hat and spurs.
But when you reach the top and retrograde as bad as some of the films that I've mentioned in prior paragraphs, I personally feel it's time to reexamine your career path or just exit gracefully altogether. Personally, I don't think I'd be able to degrade myself like that, no matter how much debt I'm in.

There's such a fine line between artist and whore, isn't there?

Now I understand that for some, there comes but one highwater mark in life; one opus that stands apart from everything else, and you're left with nowhere to go but down (for reference, see: Appetite For Destruction).

(See also: Alexander, Jason, Louis-Dreyfuss, Julia and Richards, Michael.)

Well, maybe it's me, but I feel that once you reach that pinnacle of artistry, the very least you could do is stick to it and try to make sure that your work is of a similar caliber if not superior to all things prior. But paychecks talk and critics balk, so at the end of the day, I'm sure plenty of these acting types are just thinking about their next car, jet or private estate, isn't that right, Mr. Jamie Foxx, Academy Award-winning star of Stealth?

It's the same reason that Kiss has been on tour forever. Because there's big money in it. It's too bad the music sucks.

Much like the scripts.

And the motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane.

Now if they decide to take Academy Award-winner Jon Voigt and Academy Award-winner Jamie Foxx and make those snakes anacondas and that plane a stealth bomber with a mind of its own… Now you're talkin' quality entertainment.

Just don't bill it as cinema, 'kay?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-04-13T17:41:00.000-04:00

So in my travels last weekend to the ever-glorious metropolis known as Chicago (now officially one of my favorite cities anywhere), I couldn't help but notice in the various newsstands and bookstores in Bradley, Pitt and O'Hare that Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code has finally been released in paperback with just about a month to go before the movie drops.

I think it's pretty safe to say I'm a reader, and if you've read this sucker for any discernible length of time you'd know this. That being said, I have somewhat mixed feelings about this phenomenon. For that matter, I have mixed feelings about any literary phenomenon, save maybe the Harry Potter books as they've proven to be a major source of inspiration for the young'ns to start reading. There's nothin' wrong with that, as I certainly don't think I wouldn't be delving into Vonnegut and Auster were it not for being weaned on the likes of Dr. Seuss and the Berenstain Bears series growing up (all of which my mother was thoughtful enough to hang onto for my eventual offspring, bless her soul).

But I think with any other sort of mainstream book becoming "the next big thing," there's a sort of misleading nature about the whole ordeal as these books are rarely the true crème de la crème, so to speak.

First off, let me offer the following disclaimer: I have not yet read Da Vinci. I had waited a near eternity for the blasted thing to be released in paperback as I find the cost of hardcover books to be outrageous. Leave it to the marketing geniuses at whatever publisher released the sucker to wait until the release of the film was in sight to do so, just to give sales and interest that one last spike before the opening box office weekend.

Then again, having an MBA in marketing, I shoulda guessed this'd be the case, so shame on me.

But in any event, I finally bought a paperback and Da Vinci and I'm only about 100 pages into it. I want to read it before the movie hits, because as we know, the film rarely trumps the book, plain and simple. In preparation, I flew through the famed prequel Angels & Demons in under a month's time. For what it's worth, I enjoyed it. I think Brown is very talented at researching his topics and managing to interlock history, fiction and conspiracy theory. I laud him for it.

However…

Herein lay the trouble with so-called literary phenomena and the like… while the story may be engrossing and enjoyable, at the end of the day, I don't find myself harkening back to it at any real point in time. That is to say, I fail to see what the underlying themes are, other than a really cool thriller peppered with heavy doses of imagery, actual fact and clever execution. Now for most, that may all be fine and dandy.

Clearly I'm not most.

(For no other reason other than the fact I couldn't find a better place to fit it, I offer a brief parenthetical aside/critique regarding Da Vinci based on what I've read thus far… I will try to keep it as spoiler-free as possible. What I've noticed about it more than anything else is that it's basically a carbon copy of Angels & Demons; only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Bizarre murder gives way to a major crisis sparked by an antagonistic clandestine society, and intellectual everyman Robert Langdon must team up with an attractive female counterpart who is seemingly has more balls than he does. A combination of religion and conspiracy drive the story to unravel startling revelations that stand to rattle the very foundation of the Catholic Church. I'm pretty confident that by the end of Da Vinci, I'll feel the same way I did after watching Escape From L.A.: "I liked this better the first time around… y'know, when it was called Escape From New York. We now return you to your regularly scheduled diatribe…)

Now maybe it comes from a long history of reading comic books and watching old school sci-fi, but I always try to look for central themes and undercurrents to any story regardless of the medium. This also comes in large part due to the education I received under Douglas Glover, Kathryn Davis and Steven Millhauser at Skidmore. If you haven't heard of them I can't say I'm hugely surprised. Not a one of them is a New York Times bestseller list mainstay, and despite incredible critical acclaim (including the 1996 Pulitzer for fiction awarded to Millhauser for Martin Dressler), it's quite clear that none of them will ever "push units" like a Dan Brown, Stephen King, Danielle Steele, etc., etc., ad nauseum.

In fact, with the exception of Millhauser, I have yet to find either Glover or Davis's published works in any major bookstore chain.

I think what I'm getting at is the notion that literary booms focusing on one book should not be taken as representatives of the entire literary population at that given point in time. Maybe it can be compared to huge blockbuster films being all the rage when it's more than likely the small change indie films getting all the praise. I don't know, it's kinda difficult to classify. There's just something about me that feels this sorta hype is misleading in a way.

There's also the fact that said hype typically gives way to massive marketing and crossover into every medium imaginable. The example I offer is an oldie, but a goodie: Jurassic Park.

I remember being about 11 years old when the book was booming big time. I recall clear as a bell walking through the old Naugatuck Valley Mall (how's that for a flashback for all you native Waterbury folk?) and seeing a huge promotional display for Jurassic Park, well before the film came out. Shoot, this was well before I even knew a film was in the works. All I knew was that this book had a tyrannosaurus skeleton on the cover, and being a major dinosaur fanatic from the time I was about 5 years old, I was curious to say the least. Ultimately, I received the book from a cousin and read through the entire thing in a couple weeks. Again, this is still well before the film came out.

Being only 11 at the time I read it, I think I viewed it as everyone else did: a wicked cool story involving raptors. I doubt I could've grasped Michael Crichton's underlying "Frankenstein" theme of man playing God with science and genetics at that age. Turns out he was about he was nearly a decade ahead of his time when it came to the ethical issues of genetic cloning. But still, I was very taken with the story, and naturally went to see the flick when it was released in that memorable summer of nineteen-naughty-three.

By now, I was 12. Still young, but even I was able to figure out that they couldn't possibly fit everything from the book into a two-hour time span. What I don't think I could have prepared myself for was the blitzkrieg of marketing marvels that was to follow: toys, games, apparel, books, tampons, etc. Anything that a price tag could be placed on had the Jurassic logo on it.

As if the initial homerun wasn't enough, a sequel wasn't only expected, why it was downright mandatory, I say! Enter 1997 and Crichton's half-baked The Lost World. This time around, all themes of chaos and science gone berserk went out the window in grand Hollywood fashion. Even the title of the book was a direct tip of the hat to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's classic silent film which first exposed dinosaurs to the movie-going masses. In short, whereas the first book was just a book that hit big, the second installment was essentially a blueprint for the movie. And not only was the book a far cry from its literary predecessor, the film was a far cry from the book it was based on, making for one really, really atrocious blockbuster. Mission: Impossible III looks like freakin' Scorcese next to this dud. I won't even begin to go into the third film, which Crichton wasn't even attached to. Apparently a fourth film is in the works. Nothing like milking a cow until it's dead and its udders are spewing dust.

Not only was the sucker a major hit, but it seemed like any book Crichton wrote was bound for the silver screen from that point forward. After two prior film ventures in the 70's (The Andromeda Strain and The Great Train Robbery), anything the man wrote went to the big screen in the 90's. Congo, Sphere, even the post-JP penned Timeline all made it to theaters, all of which really, really sucked.

I guess what I'm getting at is that there's a snowball effect when this sorta thing happens, and commercialism totally overtakes whatever relevant artistic or intellectual value is inherent within the book to begin with. Now I grant you that dinosaurs are a far more marketable commodity as opposed to religious conspiracies, so you probably won't be seeing action figures bearing the likeness of Tom Hanks any time soon. Even so, you'd better believe that there will likely be a third book in the life of Robert Langdon, and at least one more flick. If you think the film is gonna bomb, I fear you're way, way outta touch, dear reader. The money is there, and it will probably be the easiest work of Dan Brown's life, because at this point in time, he could basically wipe himself on a sheet of Charmin, and that would go straight to the top of the bestseller list.

Meanwhile, the thing that bothers me the most is that there are infinitely better books languishing in limbo right now that are probably being overlooked by the general populous. Now granted, one could always argue that exposure to such fanaticism could offer a sort of floodgate effect and create scores of readers from whence there were none. Lord knows I didn't start flipping pages incessantly until I was introduced to Crichton's work. However, it wasn't until I read Slaughterhouse 5 and The New York Trilogy for a class in postmodern literature that my tastes really transformed and I adopted the style of writing that I employ now. Prior to that, my literary world was limited to Crichton and Dean Koontz. Again, stuff simply tailor-made for Tinsel Town.

Now that's not to say that Dan Brown's work is bad by any stretch. As I've said, he's certainly very well read in religious and iconographic history and has been able to parlay that knowledge into something really huge. More power to him, I wish I could do the same thing. And I think we can all agree that personal taste is a purely subjective thing and no two people will entirely mesh with their personal preferences. If nothing else, I'm glad that people are actually reading the dang thing as opposed to "just waiting for the movie." There's no term I loathe more than that. But at the same time, I just can't help but feel that no matter what, the bottom line is that a lot of misconceptions may be drawn about the literary world because of the hype here. Like a lotta people say, they're reading this book only because of the buzz. Shoot, that's why I'm reading it, only because it's become such a pop culture cornerstone for the new millennium that I would be remiss if I didn't at least become casually familiar with it.

I guess there's just something about me that cringes when I realize the guy has sold more copies than The Great Gatsby or Fahrenheit 451.

And lastly, to anyone that is just waiting for the movie, I hope you realize that A) the paperback is cheaper than your ticket, and B) it lasts a helluva lot longer. You go munch on your popcorn; I'm gonna chill in the coffee shop. Thank you for leaving.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-03-21T22:06:00.000-05:00

I think it’s high time that I unleashed an Yngwie Malmsteen-esque fury on a particular sect of academic luminaries who seem to hold themselves in too high an esteem for my liking. It gives me great pleasure to burst their self-righteous little bubble and fill them in on a couple of truths that they are long overdue on learning.

Ivy leaguers. Sit down. You an’ me are gonna have a li’l talk…

See, my company has this bad habit of hiring Ivy League grads and putting them in quasi-middle management positions. They do all the legwork of a regular assistant like myself, but have a bit more hand in the developmental process.

Whatever. This is me not losing any fuckin’ sleep over it.

Now, within the last month, two assistant managers have parted ways with the company. One of these individuals happened to be my boss. If you want a glimpse into the relationship I had with her, see the above paragraph. It pretty much sums up my feelings regarding her departure.

In any event, it did not take long for the interoffice grapevine to circulate, completely nabbing my nuts in a vice grip in the process. See, a couple of the Ivies began to wonder who I’d wind up working under. As in which one of them was gonna be my new boss.

It should be duly noted at this point that I actually have been there longer than all of them, and while I may technically be the low man on the totem, I still have seniority over them. In my mind’s eye, that makes me no one’s bitch.

And it’d appear that my company agrees as I’m basically working under the program manager right now. In short, we just cut out the middleman on this one, and I couldn’t be happier with my current role.

That said, I’m more than a little indignant that some of these Ivy motherfuckers thought they had the right to claim me as their assistant… like I’m just some human baseball card available to be traded around for a Ted Williams rookie in mint condition. What makes me even more irritated is the fact that when the second assistant manager in our division announced her departure today, the same old song and dance ensued, only this time regarding her own assistant. Who again has been here longer than the rest of the damned Ivies.

Now to be fair, I’m only talking about roughly 75 percent of the Ivy grads in my division. I’m cool with some of them, and know they would never condescend to me or my coworker behind my back like that. Hell, at least one of them, a Yale alum, has the goddamn good sense to remember that when he was fresh out the box and green as Ariel Sharon must be right now, he would typically come to me for help and I’d offer him whatever info I could. He hasn’t forgotten that, which is why he didn’t get caught up in such nonsensical gossip.

The others clearly haven’t followed suit.

Not only that, but they’re getting their wish. My co-worker has not been as fortunate as I, and has gone from having one boss to three “bosses.” Known amongst the office as the Sorority (or as I prefer to call them, the Ya-Ya Sisterhood), they are each taking equal share in overseeing my co-worker’s programs, and to boot, they are pretty much letting it be known that they now have more authoritah.

Having not made it to an associate level yet, I would like to think that should I ever get an assistant, I would never walk all over them or rub my title in their eye. I don’t know that their combined attitude is intentional, but at the same time, even it weren’t, I refuse to believe such inconsideration or lack of discipline would wholly justify their behavior.

And to boot, my company basically bends over backwards for these Ivies. Occasionally they get an ace like my former program manager. Other times they don’t. The term I typically use in regard to a couple of these Ivies is “I weep for the future.” And I do, because if employers are willing to pay top dollar for names and not ability, then we really are in the fuckin’ Twilight Zone, people.

‘Cause that’s basically what you pay for with an Ivy League school. A name. It’s brand equity and not necessarily education that’s gonna carry you if you get accepted. Plain and simple. And it’s a known fact that if two individuals, one an Ivy, the other not, with equal qualifications, experience and ability apply for the same position, the Ivy will get it. The other sap doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell, because on paper, an Ivy looks more impressive.

I’d like to offer the notion that despite impressive credentials, not every Ivy is worth the investment. I’m willing to wager that a good number of them might be book-smart, but not have an ounce of street smarts to their name. The latter can go just as far as a degree when you get right down to it.

Put it this way… one Ivy, a Harvard alum, marveled at the fact that our fax machine can send more than one page at a time. I’m seriously not making this up. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I felt like I was watching Legally Blonde 3: Not As Good As Advertised. I wanted to vomit in my hat and then make her wear it… How does someone conjure up that sentence in their head and then actually have the lack of good judgment to spit it out? For that matter, how does one such individual get accepted into what is supposed to be one of the most prestigious schools in the world?

Said prodigy later went on to state that she believed herself to be smarter than many of her co-workers. On paper it may appear that way, but if you were to meet this girl, you’d think she were straight outta the escort section of the Yellow Pages with an IQ to match.

I refuse to believe these people are smarter than me or my fellow grunts.

All the money in the world isn’t gonna change the fact that they are still human, hence imperfect, and therefore have no frickin’ right to place themselves on a higher rung than anyone else.

Again, I realize there are exceptions to every rule. Tragically, I just don’t happen to work with many of them. What’s worse, they are giving a bad name to their alma maters. If they’re any indication of the byproduct of such institutions, I’ll gladly squander my unborn children’s college fund on red wine and He-Man box sets.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna drive to Greenwich to christen a yacht. With kerosene and a blowtorch. Hopefully that’ll put a good dent in mummy and daddy’s college fund and I won’t have to deal with their pampered nimrod asshat of a child in my workspace wondering when I’m gonna start working for their 21-year-old green ass.

Goodnight, and have an enlightened tomorrow.

2006-03-16T22:08:00.000-05:00

Alright you Scientologist twits. It's go time. I'm done with the kids gloves. I'm ready to drop trow and pinch one right on L. Ron Hubbard's grave.

I didn't really care much when you brainwashed Cruise. Or Travolta. Certainly didn't give a shit when you mindwarped Kirstie. Shoot, I don't even care if you reached down and plucked cute li'l Joey from Dawson's Creek. Less I see of any of those committed Thetans, the better. Heck, with the mere exception of Top Gun, Pulp Fiction, Cheers and Batman Begins, I could do without their cumulative canon of thespian work. It could all go bye-bye and I wouldn't bat an eye.

But now it's personal. You have claimed the last good and decent soul in this entire godforsaken world.

Isaac Hayes.

You took Chef. You took Shaft (sorta). You took the Duke of New York, A-Number-One. The man has contributed so much to our society, and in one fell swoop you snatched him up and converted him to a card-carrying mental deficient.

For those of you who don't know, or are just plain uncultured, Isaac Hayes quit South Park due to his Scientologist beliefs. I've kept a tight lid on my feelings for a while regarding this so-called religion, but personally, I, like most folks who don't live in L.A., think it's a load of horseshit. Sci-fi writers do not create legitimate religions. If that were the case, I would be a Born-Again Bokononist by now.

And if you don't pick up that reference, you are not well-read, you heathen bitch.

But seriously… Matt Stone brings up a real good point here. How many episodes have lampooned not only Christians, but Jews and Mormons as well? Apparently Scientology doesn't preach religious tolerance, otherwise the once Mighty Mr. Hayes would've packed up shop a long time ago.

Now far be it from me to criticize anyone else's faith… but it has to be a legitimate faith, 'nuff said. I think we're all hip to the fact that this is about as real as Lisa Rinna's lips (and why I even know who she is bugs the frag outta me). By now we're all aware that touting different and controversial religions is just another cool Hollywood trend for the average celeb whose career is slightly flagging. And if ain't Kaballah bracelets, it's Dianetics, not to be confused with Diabetics, though I wouldn't argue with such a confusion as both are synonymous with "lifelong illness."

And I know that the average film star has a remarkably soft brain, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined that anyone would be retarded enough to believe this tripe. I don't care how lost you are in life, you gotta be really feeble-minded to buy into this crew.

And y'know, I've gone real easy on my Scientologist friends. I've been quiet for a long time, simply because no one was listening to their moronic ramblings. I could care less if Katie Holmes disappeared for 16 days and then reemerged as a bona fide Thetan. I really don't mind if these high-ranking Thetans are trying to pull a Patty Hearst on a few useless starlets. The fewer the better. After all, they seem pretty much confined to the left coast, and me being all over here on the east, I'm fairly confident that whatever contact I have with these Hubbard-ites will be limited if not totally non-existent.

But when you start to swipe my most beloved Blaxploitation icons, you have just crossed the line. It's clobberin' time.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-03-02T22:28:00.000-05:00

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot.
I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot…

So Warner Bros. is gonna be releasing the comic-to-film translation of V For Vendetta this month. Those who have read my blog for a while should know me to be a comic fanatic, and a fan of comic-based films in general. I’m always leery, however, when independent comics or those of a lesser known stature (read: not Spider-Man or Batman) get optioned. There’s more room for the themes to get misconstrued, and typically these are the books that are pretty detailed and substantial. However, with more “serious” comics getting translated over the last few years (Road To Perdition and A History Of Violence to be specific), I’m actually on the whole quite happy that such diamonds in the rough are able to see the light of day on a grander scale.

Now with the release of V, my curiosity has piqued higher than in quite some time. See, this is another Alan Moore masterpiece. Moore’s work speaks for itself. Beyond just the regular superhero-based stuff (such as Batman: The Killing Joke and Animal Man), he brings strong literary sensibilities to the game and really pushes the envelope to make the reader think. I remember reading The Watchmen some ten years ago, and looking back, I can say that experience may have been the first really pivotal moment in shaping my social and political opinions. If you’ve read it, you know why. If you haven’t, you should. Plain and simple. Hell, they teach college courses on this book… Time Magazine even rated it as one of the 10 best books ever published. Go fuckin’ get it, now.

Having said all this, I’ll spare you all a lengthy diatribe in which I extol the often-overlooked thematic undercurrents ever-present in many a comic. I think many of the old clichés and misconceptions have finally begun to fall by the wayside, in that respect.

Now V is one of the few works in the Moore canon that I have glazed over. So recently, at a trip to a Barnes & Noble, I picked up a copy and began to read through it a bit. It didn’t take long before I was entranced, very much in the same manner I was when I first picked up Watchmen. Rather than be a bum and peruse the sucker right then and there in a crowded bookstore (I just don’t wanna be “that guy”), I ordered the book online (I may not be “that guy,” but I am price-savvy, dammit) and read through it in a week’s time upon delivery.

The basic story tells of a fascist England in the not too distant future, and the twisted terrorist vigilante known only as “V” who strives to bring balance to the virtual prison state by implementing the two most powerful, offsetting weapons at his disposal: anarchy and chaos.

He does this all while presenting an homage to Guy Fawkes, replete with cape, boots, conical hat and Harlequin mask depicting Fawkes’ visage. Fawkes, of course, is one of the major players in the “Gunpowder Plot” which took place on November 5th, 1604. The limerick atop this post is famous in England for referencing the historic undertaking and is also quoted early on in V. As a member of a Catholic conspiracy to overthrow the Protestant rule of England, he was the one that lit the fuse to the explosive agents intended to blow up Parliament and kill King James I. Fawkes was hanged for his rebellion just over one year later, but did live to see bonfires being lit on the one-year anniversary of his storied escapade in commemoration of his deeds.

People celebrating anarchy. Think about that.

Then again, until 1959, it was illegal to not to celebrate the anniversary of Fawkes’ arrest in England. Even today, he still exists somewhere between lowly traitor and revered hero.

What am I getting at here?

Well, for starters, I don’t feel that anarchy is necessarily a bad thing… under the right circumstances. I would never be one to just up and say, “Hey! Let’s overthrow the government and break out some Twister!” But as V notes in the book, anarchy does not equate to a lack of order, just a lack of government. And under nominal circumstances, I think that could be a good thing.

In fact, follow me if you can, as my logic is like most things in my life: just a little twisted.

See, ancient democracy was founded on the principle that a society could be governed by the people. This is why we elect government officials who are essentially hand-plucked from the cities and towns of our great nation. However, as time has progressed and we have distanced ourselves greatly from the teachings of the ancient Greeks in every sense, and I believe that government is no different. This is not by virtue of the people per se, although I do think that the modern politician has gone to great lengths to separate himself from the plebeians that schlep this pebble.

This is accomplished, naturally, while said ubiquitous politician attempts to make it known that he is “a man of the people.” In some cases, “for the people.” Dear reader, we both know that this is normally bullshit, so why sugarcoat the obvious? These leaders aren’t really about people. Most of them led pampered lives, went to private schools, were born into wealth and were probably pretty pampered from conception up to their mid-30’s or later. Not only are they not men of the people, but they’re mostly out for themselves. Even the cleanest looking, most seemingly trustworthy candidate often proves that no one is exempt from the pitfalls of the power trip. Indulgences in this case run the full gamut of sexual deviance, bribery, white collar crime, cheez doodles, etc. I know that there are exceptions to every norm, but I think that you’ll agree with me that this is typical of most political sorts, regardless of their party affiliation. I may be registered with the Democratic party, but I’ve come to realize that everyone’s guilty (I’m way beyond the excuse of “nobody’s perfect”).

So when you take all this into account, it would seem that the principles of our political system have been pretty well shat upon, and maybe it’s time to mix up our game a bit. Don’t ya think? At least a li’l?

Let me clarify for those of you who are going to see the movie and/or have read the book: I’m not condoning V’s actions. He’s a terrorist, plain and simple… he makes no bones about it, and he feels the means justify the end. I don’t know that I would take it that far in this ideology. I’m not that much of an extremist.

That being said, there is some twisted logic to V’s beliefs, even if they do drive him to dangerous levels. The state of the U.K. as depicted by Moore is so brutally Orwellian, so harsh and so overbearing that his actions in this case are justified. When you live in an environment in which the government is omnipresent and power-hungry, I don’t think revolution is such a bad idea.

Now I don’t for one second believe that our country is anywhere near as bad as 1984. But I could see where there would be potential for such obsession on the government’s part. I can definitely shades of control and paranoia in such bits and pieces as the Patriot Act, the FCC’s massive censorship push, and let’s not forget our current foreign policies and international landscape which, if not handled correctly, could paint our nation into the corner of being wholly isolationist for our own protection. It may sound like a bit much to you, but to me, I can see where this may happen.

I doubt we’ll see this day anytime soon, but for a long time, I was genuinely convinced that there would be some kind of countercultural revolution the likes of which we last saw in the late 1960’s at the height of our involvement in the Vietnam War under Nixon. Call me nutty, but I really did believe that this was gonna happen. And I maintain that the potential still exists for such social upheaval. I refuse to postulate as to the probability of such rebellion, although I think that in some small ways, the seeds of restlessness have already been planted.

At the core of such dissatisfaction (which, as we can all agree, is not just born of my own personal feelings, but largely shared by roughly half the populous) is the belief (I said “belief,” not “fact,” don’t lynch me yet) that our current administration is… well, less than competent in their actions and policies. There are quite simply a great many people out there who really feel as if the current political landscape is Quadrophenia’s hypothetical teenage wasteland amplified to match the age of the individuals involved, but not quite their maturity/intellect. The belief amongst such people is that the administration has made a lot of very, very bad decisions, and many are looking forward to the day when they are no longer at the top of the D.C. Totem.

You can take that any way you want. Me, I happen to agree with this group of people. Proudly, at that. You don’t have to like it.

So this is where my take on V’s anarchistic undertones comes into play…
If the officials we elect as “representatives” of the people clearly fail to provide the people with what they want and/or need, is it not just of us to devise a different system under which we can run our society? Perhaps the anarchistic mindset of a government-less civilization is not without its merit. Since we can’t seem to develop a third party in this nation worth a shit, it stands to reason that perhaps anarchy might lend itself to genuine democratic ideals in that the people govern, and not figureheads (read: elected officials circa 2006 A.D.). And to boot, there is no trust whatsoever amongst these elected officials in reality, and that is well illustrated in Alan Moore’s original story. How can the people trust the ones they elect to run the nation when the elected can’t even trust one another? Simply put, the worst part of politics is the politicking. ‘Nuff said.

Perhaps the main reason that the story appeals to me so much is because the character of V is as much an artist as he is a radical… equal parts Fawkes and Rembrandt, he appears a genuine Renaissance man that is versed in music, poetry, theater, etc. So it’s an interesting dichotomy regarding this apparent lunatic who seems intent on overthrowing the establishment who is also able to play the piano and appreciates the classics. It seems to imply that such passions are now considered more than just indulgences and just might be illegal in this hypothetical future Moore has crafted. Hey, with all the hysteria about censorship and indecency, with books, movies and DJs receiving threats of exile due to “suggestive content,” the alternative doesn’t seem half bad to me, folks. It’s like V says in the graphic novel: “Ideas are bulletproof.”

I kinda like the notion that free thought is just that: free. And unless it harms a lot of innocent people, I don’t see why it should be regulated in any way shape or form. And if there ever does come a time when such policies are put into effect, you better believe that the revolution V incites will be nothin’ compared to the live show right in front of your face.

For the time being, I’m looking forward to the movie, and can only hope it will be a faithful adaptation of the book. I also hope it’ll at least get the brains of a select few peons moving enough to look beyond the fact that it’s just another action flick by the dudes who did The Matrix trilogy. God willing they’ll actually be able to get the message across this time around, because it really is worth the extra effort.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2006-01-09T23:26:00.000-05:00

I have wondered, especially over the course of the last year, if it is at all possible to make a great political album and still have it matter.

What prompts this, you ask? OK, strap in.

Green Day are an excellent band. Simple, pull no punches, pretty much devoid of bullshit. I like that in musicians. I haven’t always dug their stuff, mind you… but I loved what they did with American Idiot back in ’04. A sharp, witty, surprisingly intelligent concept album that has good hooks, melodies, and a mainstream nicety that is oftentimes lost on me. Bravo, boys.

Having said that, I’m more than a bit perturbed at the fact that every hit single off the album has somehow found its way into the sad commercialism that is the American culture. I remember several months ago seeing “Holiday” featured in ads for Sprint’s ringtones. I remember “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” being used in the trailer for Lords Of Dogtown. I’m also pretty sure that at least one song has been used during previews for The O.C. And somehow I really doubt all of this is what Billie Joe Armstrong had in mind when he penned this baby. Wouldn’t you agree?

Admittedly, I’ve always had somewhat of a problem when it comes to music being used commercially. It absolutely drives me mental when I hear Aerosmith, Zeppelin and Hendrix being used to advertise automobiles. And I was none too happy when Michael Jackson used McCartney’s “Revolution” to peddle Nikes. I realize that to some extent it’s almost unavoidable these days, lord knows some artists (such as Jet and their iPod stint) have used music to kickstart their potentially limp careers. I understand that exposure is key when it comes to longevity, so it may be something of a double-edged sword. And Green Day are certainly no strangers to having their material used beyond the music world. “Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)” has been used in God-only-knows how many final sitcom episodes (most notably the last episode of Seinfeld), so it’s not like this is something new for them.

However, it’s an altogether different story for me when it comes to songs of a political nature. This bastardization and seemingly endless barrage of adverts peppered with songs against the man is seriously beginning to piss me off. And it’s not just the ear-friendly tones of Green Day that are getting watered down in the monetary current of the mainstream. Put it this way… when the title track of one of the greatest albums ever gets used to sell Jaguars, something is very wrong. I’m glad Joe Strummer isn’t alive to see “London Calling” being defecated on like this. The one that really blew my mind, though, was seeing the trailer for The Fantastic 4 for the first time and hearing “Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums” by A Perfect Circle being played in the background. Now APC isn’t much of a commercial band, certainly not to the level of Green Day or even the Clash. And eMOTIVe is about as politically charged as it gets. So this had me worried.

Then again, should I really be all that surprised? Shit, Rage Against The Machine’s music was being used in freakin’ Tony Hawk video games years ago. Similarly, Megadeth’s “Peace Sells” has been used in both the Grand Theft Auto and True Crime game series. Christ, how many U2 songs have you heard in commercials and film trailers?

Sadly, as long as artists are writing catchy lyrics and solid hooks, commercialism is always gonna be aching to eat up a few tunes for the sake of promotion. It’s just a shame that the political messages intended will be lost on everyone while they’re watching The O.C.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant New Year.

2005-12-21T19:52:00.000-05:00

To veer from my normal introspective ramblings, it brings a smile to my face when I see 13-year-old kid watching Showgirls on VH1 while on the treadmill at the gym.

I'm a sick human being sometimes.

2005-12-21T06:45:00.000-05:00

Funny how small things always manage to kickstart the brain into ponderous musings on the nature of life.

Recently, one of my coworkers passed around that little catalog that you get when you’re in elementary school. You know the one. The kind with all sorts of holiday doodads, kitchenware, household decorations, candles, etc. My coworker was playing the role of good mama and passed this sucker around to everyone in the office. Naturally, everyone being a reasonably good person bought something, not wanting to sleight such a cute kid.

So, seeing as how I had just recently gotten my own place, I decided to look for some swag for the cradle. I say “cradle” because it’s not quite a “crib,” yet. I think to officially be dubbed a “crib,” some “honeys” are required. And since the catalog didn’t offer any of those cute little honey bear bottles, it shall stay as a cradle until there is some sort of honey-esque interjection.

Anyway, I came across a Bonsai tree, and thought it’d be nice to get some life into the cradle. I’ve always had a certain affinity for plant life and botanical types, so I figured, “why not?” The one hitch to it all… the little sucker had to be planted. Sonuva…

Now, I have no experience whatsoever in caring for plants, animals, myself, or living things in general. That said, I knew this was gonna be a challenge. I mean, me not only having to take care of a living thing, but having to practically birth it? You’d have a better chance of finding honesty in the Bush Administration. Nevertheless, determined to at least give it a shot, I ordered the sucker. And about four to eight weeks later, my order came. When I opened the package, I was given maybe half-a-dozen seeds, soil and a small pot. I wasn’t even given anything to put under the pot. Seeing as how there’s a hole to sop up excess water, I was forced to nab an ashtray from my parents’ place.

The directions were brutally simple and painfully ambiguous: “place seeds about one inch apart, water regularly.” How regularly, motherfucker? What, like once a day, twice a day, hourly? Define regularly, you fuckwit piece of paper!

You can almost foresee a disaster in the making as you read this, right? Well, I stuck it out and watered this tiny pot of soil daily. Just enough to keep it good and moist. I have no botanical experience whatsoever as I mentioned, so I just kinda made sure it was a regular thing in my daily diet of to-do’s. After more than a month, I had all but given up hope on this sucker ever sprouting.

Then one day just a week or so ago, I noticed two small green tendrils emerging from the soil. Whu…? You mean to tell me that I actually succeeded in caring for a plant? And not for nothing, but my mother is a gardener of the alpha variety, so she knew I was up against a wall with this thing, and told me point blank that I had wasted my money in buying them. I was beginning to believe her, too, until I saw it blossom with my own two eyes.

In honor of the classic Karate Kid, series (pre-Hilary Swank, of course), I named my beloved Bonsai-in-progress “Miyagi.” Perhaps it was fate that just one day after he sprouted, Pat Morita passed away. I’m happy to report that little Miyagi continues to grow noticeably each day.

Where am I goin’ with this? I’ll tell you where.

It’s taken me a page and a half worth of writing to rip a page from my life as an illustrative metaphor that pace is essential to the life we lead, people. Now little Miyagi, he had to grow at his own pace in spite of his father’s impatience and ignorance as to the inner workings of plant life. He couldn’t be rushed, no matter how much water or sunlight he received, and at the end of the day, I feel much better in knowing that I’m able to watch him grow from seed to sprout to proud Bonsai when I could’ve just gone to Costco or any generic Asian kiosk in the mall and bought a full-grown Bonsai.

The equation here is simple, my pretties… the more steady the pace, the better the quality of your life. If the pace is accelerated, the likelihood of disaster is amplified. We lose sight of this quite frequently in life due to the nature of the society in which we live, because our culture doesn’t permit a steady pace. Everything has to be expedited: faster, more efficient, able to process quicker, etc. We move so fast, naturally our lives feel empty, less than complete, like we’re missing something. It’s because we’re not moving at a healthy pace, plain and simple.

I have noticed that within the context of my job, when I am rushed to get things in on short deadlines, more often than not mistakes are made. I would say that no compromises should be made for timeliness, but it’s par for the course around my office that I’m not the only one making such errors when pressed that way. Having said that, I don’t believe there should be a trade-off between accuracy and punctuality, but the saying does apply: “You can have it done fast, or you can have it done right.”

Pick one.

I’ve also come to realize that my pacing with my workouts has slowed and become more intent, more focused. And yeah, I’ve noticed results. That focus also applies to meditation, a highly enriching practice that requires one to keep the pace slow… to not get caught up in the high impact world in which we live. Needless to say this is another practice that I have adopted and grown to love.

Moreover, I feel that my pace in terms of relationships has improved dramatically. Following my last relationship, I’ve slowed things down considerably, taken a good amount of time to and for myself, and just enjoyed life without having to endure the pressures of having to be with someone. And for what it’s worth, I’ve felt better over the last four-plus months than I have in ages.

Imagine that, huh?

This is the thing: no matter how hard we push, no matter how badly we want something, we cannot force it to happen. If we attempt such a feat, we ultimately push whatever it is we want to the brink of ruin, because either we will have gone too far and pushed it to its limit, or once we attain it, it simply won’t seem as special as we had hoped. That’s because we yearned for it and worked for it so hard that when we get a half-assed end result, it’s extremely dissatisfying.

No, my friends… it is better for us to keep the pace of ourselves and our lives as moderate and controlled as possible. This is how the battle is won, and it’s taken me 25 years to come to that conclusion. Maybe I’m a little late in the game as far as coming to terms with it, but I operate at my own steady pace, and better to learn now than not learn at all.

I’m sure lots of this sounds like Zen mumbo jumbo, but trust me when I tell you, the quality of my life has improved tenfold, and the fact remains that whatever it is I’m working for will come in time. That’s not to say I shouldn’t work for it, but in keeping the pace at a comfortable level, it will come to me in time.

I’d imagine the same holds for you. Just watch.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-12-11T13:53:00.000-05:00

And then, there was but one.

I was in the midst of writing a fairly lengthy, Zen post when I found out that yet another of my longtime heroes died. It always saddens me deeply when people in the public eye that I truly admire pass away, particularly because there are very few individuals who fit that bill in full. Yet over the last few years, I’ve seen more and more of them buy the big ticket (Johnny Cash, Eddie Guerrero, etc.). It’s rare for me to see someone that has the ubiquitous “celebrity” sticker attached to their person that I genuinely respect… most of them were long gone before I was born (Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X… I was only three weeks old when John Lennon was killed, so I guess he doesn’t count, but you get the idea), so it’s always a letdown when one of the few that are still standing bids us sweet ado.

The two most beautiful words in comedy passed away yesterday, leaving behind a history that is certain to be completely unique, irreplaceable, and will never be replicated by any other comedian, black or white. The opening line of this post is in reference to a comment Jon Stewart made several years ago when hosting an HBO special honoring George Carlin (who, as you probably know, is another of these rare heroes to me). Stewart alluded to the Comedian’s Holy Trinity: George Carlin, Lenny Bruce, and Richard Pryor. Lenny died a long time ago, and now Rich is gone, too. Carlin is the last one standing.

One of the reasons that I respected Pryor as much as I did was that despite his battle with multiple sclerosis, he still did stand-up on occasion. Despite the pain that permeated his existence on a daily basis, he stuck by his convictions and what he believed in… so much so to the point where he was still somewhat active in the stand-up community.

But the infinitely greater reason that I admired him so much is basically the same reason I respect the other two gods in the Holy Trinity: he thumbed his nose at conformity and challenged all precepts of what should be. Pryor was the “Anti-Cosby.” While Bill was up there talking about his kids and Fat Albert decades before pushing pudding pops down Theo’s throat, Pryor was spewing it like he saw it about race relations in the world and the way things really were. Race, drugs, sex, nothing was off-color to him. Bruce set the tone for challenging authority in the world of comedy, and Carlin and Pryor each took that fundamental groundwork and ran with it, putting their individual spins on it.

In doing so, they each set the stage for comedians to follow. While there is certainly overlap in their influence throughout the stand-up world, there are many cases where you can directly link their work to present-day comics. Carlin managed to open the floodgates for raunchy, sociopolitical comics like Stewart, Dennis Miller and Lewis Black. Pryor, needless to say, broke ground for the African-American comics, and I think anyone would say that without hesitation. Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, all have cited Pryor as their primary influence, and it’s easy to see why. He said what others were thinking, but scared to speak on.

Challenge the norm. Set the precedent. Thumb your nose at authority.

That soon became the mantra for comics from all walks of life. But Pryor’s accomplishments as a controversial black comic will likely never be replicated. Eddie Murphy has fallen into the cinematic hell that is kid-friendly family films, Chris Rock has gained too much mainstream success to be as influential as his hero, and Dave Chappelle has, in many ways, opted for a more personally enriching existence as opposed to playing off of the success of his show. I hate saying that, because each of these individuals is tremendously funny under the right circumstances. But none of them are Richard Pryor, plain and simple.

It came as no surprise to me that when Comedy Central listed their top 100 stand-up comics last year (one of the few top 100 lists I was not only able to watch and stomach, but actually enjoy thoroughly), numbers one, two and three were Pryor, Carlin and Bruce. It almost seemed academic in some ways (kinda like listing the Beatles as number one on the top 100 bands ever), but it was also the most accurate top tier you could envision. Those three have demolished so many glass ceilings, they have made life almost too easy for comics today. The comment was made by many of the comics on the panel that they are spoiled, simply because they don’t have to endure the kind of controversy and blackballing that the Trinity did. Particularly Pryor.

And I love a lot of the comics that are out there right now. I think Dane Cook is fast becoming the best stand-up out there. I have always loved guys like Lewis Black and Dave Attell. But there will never be three finer comics like the Trinity, nor will there be any more influential individuals than they. In a way, it makes be sad, because it is now painfully obvious that there’s not much more that can be done in terms of originality or groundbreaking stand-up. But at the same time, while I can listen to Harmful If Swallowed or Retaliation and adore it, I will always gravitate back toward stuff like Was It Something I Said? and SuperNigger. And I will walk away from those albums and stuff like Carlin’s Class Clown and AM/FM with a greater sense of satisfaction and appreciation for what a true art form stand-up comedy really is.

Sometimes you just know when you come across greatness. And it makes me sad that greatness has just left us. The ripple effect that stems from Pryor's work is simply immeasureable, and besides that, he was just so Goddamn hilarious. Almost makes me want to sit through Superman III just for his lines. Almost.

A few years back, there was a tribute to Rich entitled I Ain’t Dead Yet, Motherfucker! I’m still not convinced he is.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-11-28T18:59:00.000-05:00

Fuck 50 Cent.

Yeah, I said it. I know he’s a physically rock solid, tried and true O.G. But you know what? He is a completely untalented physically rock solid, tried and true O.G.

Now, as many of you know, hip hop is not my forte when it comes to my musical preferences. However, my tastes do vary more so than the moods of a bipolar penguin with seasonal affective disorder and a one-way ticket to Bermuda, so I actually do have some block-rockin’ beatz on Kilgore.

Kilgore is my new iPod. Devastator had to be put to bed.

Devastator was my first iPod, in case you didn’t pick up on that.

If people can name their cars, computers and cocks, I can name my iPod, dammit.

As I was saying, I do like some hip hop, and I have my few favorite artists that I’ll gravitate to. I’ll always appreciate trendsetters from the early days like Run DMC and to a lesser extent, the Beastie Boys. I’ll always appreciate the raw and complex social commentary offered up by the likes of Public Enemy and Tupac Shakur. I can even appreciate the lyrical abilities of cats like Biggie Smalls and Eminem.

But 50 Cent doesn’t have an ounce of skill (or skillz) in his million dollar body when it comes to rap. The most memorable part of his debut affair, Get Rich Or Die Tryin’ was the downbeat to “In Da Club.”

And that’s it. Seriously, that’s the only part of that entire album that I find listenable/tolerable. He doesn’t rhyme with the proficiency of an Eminem or the fire of a Tupac. In fact, most of his songs sound the friggin’ same to me simply because of that dull, monotone voice of his that never seems to change it’s tone.

And yet, the man has still somehow managed to pop up everywhere. Since his release of The Massacre earlier this year (which, to my understanding, is aptly named since the album is massacring a potential art form), he has managed to cross over into nearly every other branch of mediart (my term) save for literature. Not surprising since I doubt a book would cater to most of his audience. But he has managed to parlay Get Rich into a lackluster cinematic hack that many consider to be a rip on Eminem’s 8 Mile. And if it is not a full rip, it is, at the very least, attempting to recreate the success of said movie.

Then there was the mind-blowing atrocity that sparked this post in the first place… the man released a video game bearing his name, voice, music and image. 50 Cent: Bulletproof recently hit the shelves. Like everything else Mr. Jackson has done, it tries to dovetail off of a precedent already set… in this case, the freeform, ultra-violent, socially bankrupt phenomenon in gaming started by the popular GTA series. I suppose it’s no surprise that with San Andreas being as huge a success as it was, developers everywhere have tried to cash in on the whole “gangsta” image perpetuated by the game’s early 1990’s setting. That being said, based on the reviews, this came appears to fail miserably. As a “passable” affair, this game should be a rental at best.

Imagine my horror when I found it to be the number one selling game at one of my local game stores. And that seems to be the norm everywhere.

Why? Why is this the number one game in the nation? Can it really be just because 50’s face is plastered all over it? Is he really that dominant a force in the hip hop world? Doesn’t a lack of talent stand for anything in this sick, sad world anymore?

Here’s the thing about hardcore gamers, folks… they are loyal to the bone, but in smaller droves than the average moron. However, word travels fast in the gaming world, and hits and misses are oftentimes quickly dignified as such, sometimes even before the plastic wrap is torn off the case. So if this game really is as piss-poor as we are being led to believe, then there really is no hope for humanity, and style has officially slain substance.

Look, here’s the bottom line… 50 made it for two reasons. One, he has a great look. He’s in great physical shape, which is huge with the ladies, and his thugged out threads only endears him to would-be gangbangers. Two, he is a legitimate tough guy. You don’t get shot nine times and survive without earning yourself some serious street respect (or “cred,” if you will).

But he is not talented.

He never was talented.

Please for the love of God, just go away, 50… You don’t know how bad “Candy Shop” makes me want to go to the liquor shop.

If Eazy E were alive, this prick would’ve been waxed a long time ago. And music would be in a better place for it.

When I told my buddy Vas about this post, his reaction was downright emphatic. Being a budding filmmaker himself, he was quite enthralled with my decision to lambaste Mr. Cent. In fact, I believe his exact words were: “I hope anyone that sees his movie dies. I hope that they die, and that their children contract Chlamydia and then burn in hell for being the offspring of such people. And I want this all to happen in the theater as they watch the last five minutes of his movie.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself. And that’s my 2 cents on 50. I want my change back now, motherfucker.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-11-27T22:46:00.000-05:00

The Landshark and I have a special kinship… our birthdays are a mere eight days apart. Now while I may have just hit my quarter-century mark, the dear li’l Landshark is but a wee tyke still, though growing rapidly as he just turned 3.

*Sniff* Gosh, they grow up quick, don’t they? I can remember it like it was yesterday… a small, modest post about the pending horrors to come. And of course, at that time, I had far much more time to devote to my blog practice. Though the times have changed and this li’l fella has taken to walking on his own, I still dote over it like a good parent… or a good parent that has a career, deadlines, planes to catch and leaves the care of his or her children to the beloved nanny Consuela.

Except I don’t know where my nanny is half the time. The little bastard has gotten into my hooch three times in the last week. Consuela, where the fuck are you?

Anyway, I still remember those precious few posts… the one regarding violence in video games, the ongoing rants about the grad school experience, the very first full post about Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez.

“Bennifer.” That’s the term. I had almost shut that entire ordeal out of my head for the last few years until staying home for Thanksgiving this past week, and flipping through the vast wasteland I call television, and in passing heard the term reiterated on one of those confounded top 100 lists that E! and VH1 feel compelled to milk to the never-mind. From what I could gather, it was something exceptionally lame like the top 100 “power couples” or “celebrity breakups” or something to that effect.

When I heard the term, it brought back all those horrid memories of 2003 and the sheer over-saturation of that confounded excuse for a “romance.”

But it didn’t end with “Bennifer.” I was then inundated with the apparent new “compound pet names” for these celebrity “couples” (yes, I parenthesize that, because if you can really qualify these sad human beings as “couples,” you need to redefine your concept of the term “relationship”).

First, there was “Brangelina,” obviously referring to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Then there was the atrocious “Tomkat,” in reference to Scientology’s favorite thetans, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.

I would love to get my mitts on the ruddy dirt rag reporter that coined any one of the above three names, simply because the pretentiousness and irritation factor in them are off the bloody charts right now. Granted, I have a deep-seated loathing for all celebrities except Christopher Walken and Edward Norton. That being said, I do consider most of them to be something less than human… every time I have seen them interviewed, my bullshit detector has blown a damn gasket. So, seeing as how we have now determined that most celebrities are less than human, I suppose it could be argued that amalgamating their names might be a way of dehumanizing them even more.

That may be true on most days, but here, I have to take issue.

These terms are not meant to degrade, and they really should. Even though these pairings tend to share a common brain that is a tenth the size of their combined egos, that doesn’t mean they should share a common name as well. The designation of a group of two or more people by a pet name typically is done to aggrandize them, not demean them. A good example would be the Rat Pack. Granted, at face value this may not seem like the most shimmering of names… nonetheless, at the end of the day, it became synonymous with talent and savoir-faire, and it became a term that the unit embraced.

The same can be said for these pairings. They embrace the term bestowed upon them by the media, and in turn revel in the absolutely needless attention it seems to garner them. Not for nothing, but if somewhere down the line, some nitwit ever refers to my wife and I by a common name, he can fully expect a high heel up his rectum (or possibly to his gumdrops) and a Deer Stag in the mush.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a good rant on celebrities, the world they live in and the abhorrent façade they call life. Truthfully, it feels pretty good. Again, I always look to out the overrated and overexposed with this baby blog of mine, and the truth is, these names are just absurd to begin with… but they have now risen to the next level we call “overkill.” I’m surprised that some clever asshole never came up with “Jessnicka” or “Kevitney.” I suppose I should also be thankful.

And dear reader, at this time of year, we should give thanks. I suppose that in reviewing this circuitously Zen post that harkens back to the early days and the irritants that caused me to light the fire here, I can at least be thankful that most, if not all of these celebrities will live boorishly empty lives that will end in substance abuse, scandal, divorce, bankruptcy, and God willing, leprosy. If these useless actors and actresses really want to make a go of their 15 minutes and engage the public via the sickening fascination with celebrities that most of us have coupled with the cleverness of a compound term, then I can take tremendous comfort in knowing that they’ll be getting a nice Karmic raping somewhere down the line.

Who says they live better than us?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-11-17T07:39:00.000-05:00

Dunkin Donuts has gotta be the end-all be-all paradox of the universe.

Now, when it comes to vendors of caffeinated stimulants, most of my fellow man would be quick to go for Starbucks’s jugular. Now granted, I’m down with the whole anti-corporate thing anyway… and I could never justify paying $3.50 for a small cup of coffee. Be that as it may, Dunkin Donuts just boggles my mind from top to bottom, inside and out, and everywhere in between.

First off, in case you haven’t noticed, their coffee is nothing spectacular. I mean, it’s OK, but it’s not like I go on a massive killing spree if I don’t get my daily fix. It’s overly flavored, much too sweet at times, and just plain “eh” for the most part. And yet people literally go berserk for it. They stop in every morning for the first cup o’ the day, and they see no problem shelling out over $3 for a large cup. Folks, it’s coffee, not cabernet. If you’re paying anything over $1.69, you’re throwing your money away.

To boot, the people that work at Dunkin Donuts have got to be about as capable as a comatose amputee octogenarian with a colostomy bag. Yes, it really is that fuckin’ bad, don’t you dare deny it. When was the last time you walked into a Dunkin Donuts, ordered something, and walked out with exactly what you wanted? The ratio has gotta be about 30 percent, I believe.

In relaying this to a close friend, it was less than 24 hours after our conversation that the Dunkin Donuts customer service curse touched her life. Take it away, Jules:

"I just wanted to share my unpleasant Dunkin’ Donuts experience with you this morning. This is the second time that this has happened to me. My typical order (which I treat myself to once or twice a week) is a small, iced vanilla latte with soy milk and a toasted whole wheat bagel with strawberry jam (the healthiest you can get). Not only was I overcharged (not the first time) and the cashier wouldn’t adjust the price, but I was given strawberry cream cheese instead of strawberry jam. I had to resort to the same measure I took the first time it happened – I had to take a handful of napkins and pull several globs of cream cheese off before I could even eat it. And not all DD locations have soy milk, which is why I must make absolute last resorts to Starbucks, other trendy places, or a sidewalk vendor (who usually doesn’t have it either, and in that case a small dribble of skim milk is added)."

Folks, tell me you haven’t had this experience before, or something akin to it. I can count at least 12 times in the last year that I have been overcharged at this establishment.

And I still go back! We all do, not a one of us is innocent on this course, ladies and gentlemen. What is it about this franchise that compels us, as if we were lambs of the slaughter, to waste twenty minutes every morning in line at the drive-through (I refused to write “thru.” Ever), arguing with the cashier over what we ordered and how much we were charged?

Fuck Stonehenge, this is the real mystery of a lifetime.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-11-08T00:00:00.000-05:00

At what point does exposure in the public eye go to a person’s head? When does the line begin to blur between perception and reality for a human being? When do these individuals begin to believe the hype?

I have to wonder about this, because as I’m sure some of you know, my role in the Sons of Pericles requires a certain amount of public exposure in the Hellenic community. So I suppose that as a designated “leader,” this topic is of concern to me. Obviously it’d be nice if I could always “keep it real,” so to speak, and not let the compliments that I receive regularly go to my head. ‘Cause that’s the point where I, or anyone else in said position, stands to lose focus, drop the ball on the big picture, and just go into business for oneself.

I understand that this one is probably coming from way outta left field for a lot of people, so allow me to explain the impetus for this entry in the Inspector’s Notebook…

Some of you may know me to be/have been a fan of pro wrestling. I use the quasi-past tense here because in recent months, the overall product has failed to engage me as it once did. To accelerate this disenchantment, I refuse to get cable in my new place for some time because I rarely have time to watch TV as it is, would rather use my spare time to partake in more creative activities, and quite frankly just am not home enough to really take advantage of it. So if I can save a few bucks a month that will go towards towering gas prices and my gym membership, so be it. Very little on TV is actually worth watching these days to begin with, but that’s a topic for a different post altogether.

The one aspect of wrestling over the past year that I have truly enjoyed is the inception of the WWE’s DVD library. For those of you who are not aware, many of the special releases are more documentary-based now, focusing on the careers of various wrestlers (Chris Benoit, Ric Flair, Eddie Guerrero, Rob Van Dam, the Road Warriors, etc.), or particular milestones in wrestling history (ECW, the “Monday Night Wars,” and the like). I find these DVD’s to be highly entertaining and informative, as it offers the more… shall we say, “enlightened” fan a deeper look into the inner workings of the business (a fascinating case study in and of itself).

Which brings me to a case study of a different sort: a psychological case study embodied in the man who wrestled as the Ultimate Warrior back in the 80’s and 90’s when it was still known as the World Wrestling Federation (WWF). Recently, a DVD entitled The Self-Destruction Of The Ultimate Warrior hit the shelves, and I had to buy it for a variety of reasons going far beyond my appreciation for the documentary aspect of this series.

First off, it brings me back to the guy that captured my attention as a 9-year-old kid way back when. For the uninitiated, the Warrior was a hulking mass of bodybuilder-turned-pro wrestler renowned for his great intensity, unique persona, and extremely limited in-ring ability. The man was distinguished by his long hair, multi-colored face paint and tassels, and his seemingly incoherent ramblings (more on that in a bit). The Warrior’s entrance was famous as his music blared through the arenas with a pulse-pounding guitar chord and heavy backbeat that saw the man sprint down to the ring, pumping his fists through the air and shaking the ropes like a savage convict behind bars. He looked like a comic book character come to life. Somewhere between He-Man and the Mighty Thor, there lay the character for the Ultimate Warrior. He resembled a postmodern barbarian with a dose of Native American influence that would go on about his destiny, the sacrifices he had made, and the power bestowed upon him by the gods above.

Yeah, the guy was out there.

But he got noticed, and to make a long story short, he went onto become the first man in years to cleanly pin Hulk Hogan at WrestleMania VI to become the WWF World Heavyweight Champion. It was a milestone since both guys were fan favorites, but also since Hulk Hogan was “the man” so to speak. It’s like when Guns N’ Roses opened for Aerosmith on the 1987 tour that saw GN'R supporting Appetite For Destruction and Aerosmith supporting Permanent Vacation. People were coming to the show for Guns and then leaving before Steven Tyler and Company could take the stage. Again, more on that later.

As I said, the Warrior was not much of an actual wrestler. He was sloppy, careless, couldn’t cut an interview to save his life, and relied too much on the character rather than learning a craft. But he still managed to rise to the top of the ladder despite the dominance of established guys like Hogan and Andre the Giant. So it was interesting to see this guy just explode out of nowhere. That is not common in the wrestling business; most competitors spend years working their way up the ladder. This guy just sped past everybody because of the character.

And ultimately (no pun intended), it would be the character that would both define and destroy the man behind the face paint: Jim Hellwig. Hellwig would come to believe his own hype, most would say… and resultant of that, he developed a massive ego in the business, and thought himself to be underpaid, underappreciated and underused. According to the DVD (which, it should be duly noted, does not feature Hellwig, as he declined to appear), his peers claim he had a bad attitude and thought a bit too highly of himself. He was fired three times from the WWF: once for refusing to work a major pay per view unless he was paid a substantial amount of money (on the very night of the show itself, no less), again for failing a drug test, and a third and final time for missing a series of shows. Hellwig disputes all these points to this day, but to me, if there are a dozen or more people supporting one story, and only one guy supporting another side of the story, I have to fall back on the majority, nine times out of ten.

But it goes way beyond all that. After his second departure from the WWF, Hellwig legally changed his name to “Warrior.” Not Jim Warrior or James Warrior Hellwig, just “Warrior.” This would be like if Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPierre legally changed her name to just “Cher.” Only much more bizarre.

Not only did he change his name, but he formulated his own philosophy based on the Ultimate Warrior character. See, since the Warrior always babbled incessantly about his destiny and the sacrifices he made, the man Jim Hellwig came to identify with the character he portrayed on TV. And because of his meteoric rise to the top of the wrestling profession, he came to accept the hype surrounding him that was only reinforced by the office and his fans. The line apparently began to blur for Hellwig, and he saw his irrational behavior as perfectly justified in keeping with the Warrior persona. In fact, he came to identify with the character so much that he sued the WWF in 1996 for the rights to the name. His rationale was that since he was now Warrior and not Jim Hellwig, and since many aspects of the character were formulated by him, he was the rightful owner of the intellectual property. This came in spite of the fact that Vince McMahon was the one who came up with the name and initial backbone of the character.

Hellwig (or “Warrior,” as he prefers, simply for the fact that I don’t want to get sued, either) went on to one more wrestling stint in WCW, which was a huge flop. He then began maintaining his own company (which is apparently a handful of close friends and his wife), posting long, rambling entries on his personal website, maintaining the precepts of his philosophy, and most recently speaking on the college circuit (specifically as it pertains to young conservatives). But Warrior has burned all of his bridges, it would seem: with the WWE, with the fans, and with the general public. He recently started a near-riot at UConn during one of his public speaking appearances.

The point of this bizarre history lesson is to illustrate how a life spent in the public eye can change a man’s view of himself, and not for the better. There’s a wrong and right way to take compliments and praise. This is definitely the wrong way.

But it’s not just my former childhood hero that has fallen victim to this syndrome. I have selected two other very public, very recognizable men who also fit the bill.

Submitted for your evaluation, one Mr. William Bailey, an Indiana native with big dreams to become a huge rock star. A well-schooled pianist and devout rock fan with an endearing love for Queen, Aerosmith and the Sex Pistols, Bailey struck out on his own with his buddy Jeff and hit up Hollywood. It wasn’t long before they got together with Saul, Mike and Steve, all of whom were in another very popular band frequenting the dives along L.A.’s Sunset Strip.

One thing led to another and it wasn’t long before William, Saul, Mike, Jeff and Steve were know as Axl, Slash, Duff, Izzy and… well, Steve. Guns N’ Roses.

Yeah, Indiana’s own William Bailey transformed himself into the charismatic yet unpredictable Axl Rose, rock n’ roll’s greatest frontman since Mick Jagger himself. As I mentioned before, when Guns opened for Aerosmith in ’87, many people were coming to check the opening act alone, leaving the headliners in the dirt come mainstage time.

As time went on, the videos got more and more grandiose, as did the stage productions and the songs. They went from the visceral, violent Appetite to the considerably more refined Illusions albums. Axl’s attitude, stage presence, temper, all went over-the-top. The down and dirty boys from L.A.’s Sunset Strip had become an over-the-top bombastic rock and roll production. Along with the bombast grew Axl’s ego, as he became even more temperamental, going so far as to storm offstage in fits of inexplicable rage and frustration. He went even further by no-showing several major shows, letting down the fans time and again.

His attitude got so out of hand that he not only alienated his fans, but his bandmates as well. Little by little, they began to bail on him, leaving him as the last original member of GN’R. Axl would go into exile for a number of years, making occasional appearances in public and onstage in the late 90’s, as well as reforming Guns.

But it wasn’t the Guns we knew. Confident that his name and his name alone could sell the product, he rounded up a group of talented, albeit obscure and out-of-place musicians to recreate Guns N’ Roses. A boorishly mediocre performance at the 2002 MTV Video Music Awards (capped by Axl’s horrid howling) was followed by a brief American tour. Many critics claimed that this would be a make-or-break moment for Axl and his lot, seeing as how the long-awaited new GN’R album, Chinese Democracy, had been in development for nearly 10 years without nary a hint of radio airplay or promotion, and no release date in sight.

The tour went swimmingly for a few weeks… until the no-shows commenced again. 10 years later, nothing changed. Axl let the fans down, the tour was cancelled, and for all intents and purposes, he has not been heard from in the last three years.

It is interesting how the people who come to believe their own hype ultimately feel a certain amount of invincibility – as if the world owes them something, and they can fuck up however much they want and still get away with it.

This brings me to our Commander-In-Chief.

Republican friends, hold thy tongues. This is my blog, my right, no apologies. No one will ever be able to convince me that this man’s incompetence and utter disregard for anything but his own hide and his bank account are a figment of my imagination.

The difference here is that James Hellwig and William Bailey tried to convince the world that they were the Ultimate Warrior and Axl Rose. In this case, Dubya is trying to convince the world that he’s really George W. Bush.

See, Dubya is the man behind the mask. Dubya is the happy-go-lucky blueblood Texan who never gave a damn about anything but himself. However, the persona he attempts to emit, the persona of George W. Bush, is who he sees himself as: a caring, compassionate President with a sterling track record of defending the nation against terrorism and improving the economy.

Balderdash.

I’ve heard recently from Canadian friends that there are claims which state the Bush administration has actually stopped several terrorist attacks over the last few years. How convenient these reports are now being broadcast when his approval rating is at an all-time low.
Face it, the man is not presidential material, people. I bit my tongue during Katrina, but to see this phony photo op shots of him holding children and weeping turns my stomach. A few cute pictures do not make a solution.

And yet, even while I displace myself from the pulpit, it is hard to say that he doesn’t believe the shit he’s shoveling. I really believe that in his mind, he is one of the finest leaders this nation has ever seen, which is why he goes to the lengths he does to convince us. I believe that in his mind’s eye, he feels we really belong in Iraq, and that he has made all the right decisions since 2001 when he was inaugurated.

I am convinced he believes his own hype… and feels vindicated for all his misgivings. I’m sure he doesn’t even consider them to be misgivings… I think he truly believes himself to be a superior leader. And yet even his once most loyal supporters have begun to turn their backs on him in recent months following Katrina and his insistance that we stay in Iraq.

And I don’t want to make this just a political thing… I’ve seen it happen on the ground level… people I’ve worked with, dealt with on a daily basis, past friends, past girlfriends, I have seen the hype go to people’s heads. I have seen them buy into the notion that they are something spectacular. A compliment is not a license to boast or brandish like a trophy.

And I have seen the end result… people who were once fun, beautiful human beings turned ugly inside-out by virtue of their own egos. Sad as it may be, it is in part human nature. We can’t help but want to be more than we are… but to believe we are something that spectacular, that godlike and monolithic is absolutely absurd. I have made it my personal mission to never let my role go to my head no matter where my lot in life is. It’s one of the reasons that I have convinced myself I can never deal with the woes of celebrity. Why would I want to alienate myself that way? Why strip myself of my humanity for the sake of my own self-gratification?

Granted, I may be working my ass off for myself these days, but that is in an effort to grow more comfortable with myself… Not to go out with a “#1” tattooed on my forehead. Believe me, I’ve gotten a heap ton of compliments regarding my work with the Sons, my writing, and the like. The key is to not let that travel northward to my cranium where it can sit, grow, and fester like a sickness.

At the end of the day, I refuse to even believe my own hype. I’ve seen the damage that does.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-10-01T22:04:00.000-04:00

OK… far be it from me to ever speak ill of a certain nationality, especially a minority in the U.S., but are these people out of their collective gord?

What's even more worrisome about this is the fact that the mayor agreed to this. Now, I can understand that some people want to vote for one of their own; a person who is connected to his or her roots within the community. Fair enough… but if he's as obviously delusional as you, you may want to rethink that notion.

Now, I say this not because I don't believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life. Quite to the contrary, I believe this universe to be far too vast for us to be the only carbon-based types bopping around in our own little petri dish.

But my thinking dictates that if there are aliens out there, and if UFO's have come to Earth at some point in time, abducted human beings, probed their posteriors, studied their sacks and fondled their fruit, odds are they aren't going to need a landing strip. I'm willing to bet good money that they'll touch down wherever the fuck they please, and then proceed to pillage this planet so viciously that not even Bill Pullman will be able to stop them this time. What a waste of taxpayer pesos.

Yes, I know that Puerto Rico's currency is actually the United States dollar. Pesos sound better. Deal.

In fact, I welcome these strange and exciting visitors, because I am even more rapidly losing faith in the intellectual and mental health of mankind. I suppose next the mayor of Glasgow will pass a bill to manufacture giant swimmies for the Loch Ness monster.

Goodnight and have a spacy tomorrow.

2005-09-30T06:32:00.000-04:00

OK, I am currently writing from the confines of my cube in between inputting numbers into stupid little grids on an Excel spreadsheet. After doing something funky to my back last night, I asked a co-worker for some aspirin. Seeing as how she recently tore a few tendons in her arm, and is currently in a cast, she has some of the… shall we say, more "top shelf" pain relievers.

Yeah, I know… I spoke out on the evils of self-medicating last year, but taking two Tylenol with Codeine once for a sore back is hardly abuse. All I was asking for was some Alleve. But I got Tequila instead of a Bud Light, if you would like an analogous comparison. In any event, seeing as how this stuff is kicking in over here, this oughta make for an interesting post. By the power of painkillers, here we go…

I'm not a fan of numbers. Percentages, fractions, formulas, the works. Don't like 'em. Never had. I don't know that it's because I don't have a "head for math."

Wait. Scratch that. I have something of a head for math… I just hate using it. I don't like numbers, or crunching them. It's not that the task is hard… I'm sure that with enough time and effort, I could pull it off. Both my parents are mathematically keen, so I'm sure that genetically it runs strong in the bloodline. It's not just them, either - seems like plenty of folks on both sides of the family fair well with math (finance and accounting majors tend to run abound).

Be that as it may, I just can't stand the concept of crunching numbers to come up with results. It's one of the reasons that while my job pays the bills, I'm not thrilled with it. I make no bones about that. But y'see, the reason I'm not thrilled with it has nothing to do with the workload or the people. It's a number-crunching job in the guise of a multi-tasking position. These formulas, these inventory reports, they drive me absofrickinglutely mental. This wasn't what I had in mind when I signed on for the job, and yet I stick with it because I know that there is potential here for really good things.

Be that as it may, I take umbrage to any one individual who says that numbers determine the pattern of things in this world. OK, to an extent you're right. Numbers are the backbone of basic mathematics and science, both of which have helped us to establish the history of humankind, and the history of the earth (and possibly the future, itself).

Be that as it may, dear bean-counters, there are a great deal of much more important x-factors that numbers simply cannot account for. In fact, I would be willing to bet that there's at least a 50 percent over-under on the certainty of such figures. I suppose making such a statement may ruffle the feathers of some of the online community, but screw 'em. I know in my mind that I'm right on this. There's always that margin of error, because in this world, and for that matter, this universe, nothing is constant, nothing is perfect. Ever.

There's a lot that numbers cannot do. Numbers cannot entertain or engage the mind. I find it very hard to believe that they can inspire creation, or motivate an individual to work harder. I truly believe that those who sink into numerically sound industries such as accounting or finance do so because either A) they have a knack for it, B) they love money, or C) both. I have never met anyone who has beamed about being an accounting major. And of the finance majors I have met, they talk more about their income (or potential income) than their actual craft.

Meanwhile, if you were to speak to a theater or dance major, I'll bet you dollars to dicks that they absolutely gush about what they do, knowing full well that they will probably never make a fraction of the salary of a top tier financial analyst.

It's like me with writing. I do it because I love it. It goes way beyond a past time or hobby. It has fully cascaded into a passion, pure and simple. And I just cannot fathom how anyone could be passionate about mathematics. Think about it. Do you remember any of your math teachers ever being terribly excited about their craft? I sure as shit don't.

Now let me make one thing clear, here… my quarrel is with mathematical institutions as a lifestyle and cornerstone of busines. I have nothing against science. While science relies mainly on fact, it is still 50 percent analytical, 50 percent theoretical. The latter half requires a certain type of mind to think outside the box and really grasp concepts. That goes way beyond carbon-dating and the like, and I'm sure not everyone can get into that.

I look at it this way: raw numbers, in my mind, equate to facts. Facts are boring. Anyone can look them up in an encyclopedia or online. Retaining facts is simple. You pound your head against something long enough and it'll sink in and make sense. But concepts are something that raw numbers cannot conceive.

And still, 18 hours later after my codeine-induced writing fit, I stand by everything I wrote here. I just cannot get behind the use of mathematics as a way of life. I understand it, but I don’t agree with it. To me, it’s only a part of the puzzle, and is all too often overly relied upon. You don’t know how many times those Excel formulas don’t work, or how many times the projections come up dead wrong. Like anything else, it’s imprecise, plain and simple.

Maybe I should recant and take pain-killers more often. At least it got me motivated enough to write. But then I’d just be putting the “hip” in “hypocrite,” and I don’t wanna snake the Republican Party’s next great slogan.

That’s right. I zinged the Party. Deal with it.

But to summarize, true believers... you go ahead and plug those digits into your Texas Instruments calculator. You go ahead and have faith in your precious numbers. Meanwhile I'm going to read a book and postulate on my own personal theories of existence... sans formulas.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-08-16T21:07:00.000-04:00

As much as I hate to admit it, America just doesn't get it.

Let me set the scene for you… as I've made mention of before, every time I cruise I-95 en route to work, I see many of the same drivers day in and day out. Hard to believe that amongst the hundreds upon hundreds of motorists, I would be able to pick out maybe a dozen or so that have repeat sightings attached to their being. But it's true. Normally, this is discovered by way of whatever bumper sticker adorns their ride. Example: I've encountered a fellow Skidmore alumnus several times while braving the deadlock. When you kill this much time in bumper-to-bumper traffic, you just notice these things.

Now, there's this one car that I've seen many a time during the morning and evening commute. Make and model are unimportant… in short, this car has a French flag sticker on the bumper, and in the rear window, there's an upside down American flag.

Now, Connecticut is quite a liberal state, wealthy population notwithstanding. So this character is, more than likely, making some thinly veiled political statement at the current state of the union. However, in his perhaps anti-American (or possibly anti-administration) display of zeal, he did bring to light something that I have been dwelling on for far too long.

That is the fact that we as Americans are short on happiness, high on stress, and lost in life. One recurring theme throughout this blog, especially over the course of the last year, has been the fact that society places extreme pressure on us to succeed. I don't know enough about economics to put that blame on capitalism per se, but I think it's clear that America thrives on commerce, and commerce thrives on the blood, sweat and tears of the average human being just trying to make ends meet. That being said, it is often quite difficult for said average person to really enjoy life to any meaningful extent.

I was, for quite a long time following my last post, going to write a lengthy piece about America's pursuit of happiness and how seemingly elusive it really is. The catalyst for that post was the fact that I had a conversation with a close friend who had just started seeing a really great guy that made her happy. However, she was uncertain that her parents wouldn't accept him, and because of that fear, her ability to enjoy the relationship was hindered. Similarly, I had just found a great place to live by myself, and despite this fact I was burdened with mortgage red tape, payments, and the inevitable process of moving itself. And yet here we were, two reasonably intelligent, capable 20-somethings with really good things in our lives… and yet we were unable to enjoy them.

The thrust of this piece was going to be the fact that our society, for whatever reason, simply prevents us from attaining happiness. However, as time went on and I planned the piece, I notice something happening… I was putting it off daily. This alone took me over two weeks to write, which is very uncustomary of me. See, I normally like to follow a single thought once it hits and see it through to the end. However, with a recent shake-up in my division at work, my workload has increased dramatically, and I myself have been so overwhelmed that even regular trips to the gym are becoming a chore.

Overworked with not enough sleep under my belt on a daily basis, I began to come to grips with the fact that no matter what job I take, as long as it's big business, it will always be like this in some way. There will always be extreme amounts of work, late hours, new and challenging tasks, frustrations, stresses, and not nearly enough compensation or appreciation. Now I recently received my six-month review, and I did OK for myself. I seem to be grasping things well, and received a decent little raise for myself, but… that is not nearly enough to make me want to stay with this outfit for the rest of my days. No, dear reader… I cannot see myself doing that.

And this is after I moved 30 miles closer to my office… before that, I was literally up every morning at 5:30, out the door by 7:15, in the office between 8:30 and 9:00 (depending on traffic), out of the office between 5:00 and 5:30 (depending on the workload), and back home around 6:00 and 6:30. I was so beat, that I would take daily naps in my car during my lunch breaks. I'll even go so far as to spare the time I spent at the gym from being factored into this equation, and do the math that by the time I finish my day, from the time I woke up to the time I touched down, it was on average about 12-13 hours. That's freakin' disgusting, and I know for a fact that I'm not the only guy who has made such a commute. Hell, for that matter, there are folks who have commuted even further to their offices. Chew on that.

I remember when I was looking for work, and so many people told me, "Remember, you've got the rest of your life to work." That is so sadly true, and a fact that I abhor. And I know that I would probably not have to endure such a tedious routine if I did not live in this country.

Now I'm not sure how it is in more rural areas of the nation… truthfully, I've never been to such locales. However, in the northeast, northern Midwest and other areas of major commerce where there are large cities and companies to boot, your livelihood is predicated on your output within the cube, plain and simple. And the company dictates your life.

It's funny, I spoke with a co-worker earlier today who got reamed out because she took half-days for the rest of the week to be with her son who is home alone. Her husband travels a lot, so it's difficult to always be there for him. She actually agreed to bring work home with her so she wouldn't fall behind. She came in a half-hour late today and got the business for it. A half-hour. Think about that. What gets accomplished in that small time frame to begin with? The answer is probably not too much. But that is business for you… the company over the individual.

I spoke to an acquaintance not too long ago who recently got his review, and the one glaring item on it was the fact that in terms of his ranking, he put the customer first, then himself, then the company. That was their only complaint. Imagine that. Putting yourself above the company… How dare he! Heck, I don't even think I would put the customer above myself. It's not that I'm selfish, but how can I put someone I've never even seen before on a higher plateau than myself? To me, that's not a question of company loyalty, that's a question of common sense. If the company is so much more important than the individual, why do upper-level managers get more vacation time? Why do they use that vacation time? Why is it that some of them only work partial weeks? I'm having trouble figuring that one out.

Another very close friend (the aforementioned individual with the boyfriend "crisis") works in New York for a PR firm, and for a week straight, she worked every night past 10:00 PM. You're talking a 14-hour marathon every day discounting her commute. That, my friends, is just exquisite bullshit. No one should have to put in those kind of insane hours, ever. Even if they're willing.

But like I said… this is the American culture. Put in your 40-plus a week, earn your keep, and always reach for the brass ring. Well the brass ring doesn't always have to be a faster car or bigger house… I believe the real brass ring lay within. Cliché as it may sound, I really feel that there is something altogether internal that we as Americans miss out on because of the madness the culture dictates. I could be wrong, but chalk it up to one man's opinion.

Now Europe, however, is a completely different scene. The people over there, while perhaps overly nationalistic, still "get it." They know how to live, man. You go over to Greece, Spain or Italy, and those folks work a few hours, go home and take a nap, finish work, then go out all night and party. Wake up, lather, rinse, repeat. And those people are living longer, healthier lives than us Yanks. Don't kid yourselves, folks, it goes way beyond just the diet… it's the lifestyle, the daily routine, the culture itself that is keeping those people in healthier states than us. I would be very interested to go so far as to compare the numbers regarding people in therapy and/or on medication between the U.S. and Europe. I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers reveal that the U.S. has a greater population (per capita, of course) of people in treatment. I mean, c'mon, what do people in Europe have to get stressed out over or worried about?

Let me tell you something, my one surviving Grandparent is straight over from Greece. He is going to be 92 years old this coming January, and he's healthy as ever. He walks 5 miles a day, eats well, and has always been a workhorse. I'm convinced he'll live to see 100 just because that's how tough he is… but the secret to his long life has come through his lifestyle. He's been a man of a strong work ethic and a low stress level. Since day one, he has called the shots for himself, whether it be on the farm in his native village, behind the wheel of an ice cream truck in Waterbury, or slaving over a hot stove in the restaurant in New Haven. He has been the master of his own destiny since day one, and that is why we as Americans miss out on life so much. We let others govern our paths rather than take charge ourselves.

What I'm getting at is that the condition of our society itself will not allow us to easily select our lot in life… no matter how hard we work.

Dear reader, if you haven't already, I urge you to see Office Space. Trust me, you'll be a better person for it, and you'll also get a peak at corporate America at its finest. This film is frightfully accurate in its portrayal of the utterly absurd "office dynamic." Granted, some things like Milton and the stapler may be extreme, but for the most part, this film captures the mundane at its best, and is able to depict life in the corporate environment with razor sharp wit and precision. In short, the big dogs don’t care about the drones. They don’t give a shit about the cogs that make up the machine. So long as they make their money and get their eight weeks vacation time, they’re fine with whatever goes on.

In my division alone, three people have vanished in the last month. One has been transferred, two have up and quit, one of them without any prior notice. Doesn’t exactly make me look at things with enthusiastic candor, decent review notwithstanding.

So while this French motorist may have been making a strong political statement, he was also right about something else… America is in distress and needs help, but from within. While it may seem impossible, I feel that there are certain aspects of our culture, certain norms that need to be turned inside out, or else we will simply implode under the strain. It’s that simple, people. Either our nation takes it easy a bit, or we drive ourselves mental because the boss told us to.

So the question is, do I plan on staying with this outfit forever, dooming myself to bitching about my stapler and ordering stamps for an eternity? Hell, no. For that matter, do I plan on staying in business forever? No dear reader, I think for myself, I will be pursuing other more creative options as means to earn a living and be happy. I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’ve seen what I don’t want, and that is only going to lead me closer to what I do want.

It reminds me of my father’s blurb in his high school yearbook… A line that said he “believes life is meant to be lived easy.”

This coming from a man who ultimately spent the bulk of his life working as a foreman in factories. As much as I love my father, I think for myself, I will try to live by that mantra, and break away from the chain of madness our society has adopted. God willing, either America will wake up (which it needs to do anyway) and stop beating itself up just to be #1 in everything, or I’ll be able to earn my keep comfortably and still be able to be happy and content with myself and my life. Hopefully I’ll be able to bring a little slice of Europe into my world, and get by each day with a nap under my belt and a smile on my face.

Crazy? Maybe. Plausible? Why not? Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-05-30T19:29:00.000-04:00

This may come as a shock to most of you, but I take pride in my stupid little blog.

Don’t ask me why, but I do. Beyond my way of just venting my frustrations about this ricockulous world we live in, I also like to think that it’s my way of enriching the masses. And by “masses,” I mean the half-dozen people that actually read this thing. Be that as it may, I never intended for this to be a personal extension of my everyday life, which seems to be the average blog these days.

Now admittedly, in the early days of LSS, way back in the fall of ’02, I would gripe a lot about the situations I encountered at graduate school, and I suppose that in a way, that could be considered a source of pointless bitching. I’ll concede to that much, but I’d also like to point out that on the flipside of that coin, my frequent complaints were often used as anecdotal segues into more elaborate rants about the pitfalls of our modern education system, and the troglodytes that inhabit both the administrations and student bodies.

And that's the thing. Even when I was on about how '04 was a miserable year for me, I was still able to extend that feeling of discontent with my personal life and apply it to the big picture of what was (and for that matter, still is) going on in the world. When I do lengthy posts, if I can't apply my sad little existence on this rock to something infinitely bigger and uglier, I'm wasting my time.

No, I truly believe that my intent in creating this blog was, and always has been, to offer a podium for myself to preach from. Call it the “soapbox” effect. That’s where I stand on my soapbox, offer up my opinions with my own brand of logic and uncommon sense, and you either agree or disagree with me. And yes, not everyone that reads my stuff is in agreement with me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never claimed to be the end-all, be-all fountain of information. I can only talk about the things I believe to be true or unsettling about life, plain and simple.

What saddens me is that I find my personal brand of writing on the web to be something of a lost art. And that’s not to sound pretentious and say that I’m the daddy of the mack-daddy when it comes to editorials and the like. More accurately, I find these types of blogs or forums to be a dying breed. People on the Internet don’t seem to have opinions anymore. Have you noticed this? Unless you happen to be a Star Wars fanatic who is more than content to bitch about Jar Jar and the fact Revenge Of The Sith offered no explanation as to how Darth Vader goes to the bathroom with that suit on.

My theory is that he has a pee-latch.

But seriously… unless you’re the beloved kind of übergeek that prowls message boards trying to unravel the mysteries of Lost and Lindsay Lohan’s weight loss, the fact is that most of us who do post anything on the Internet in any type of forum pretty much kvetch about the mundane goings-on in our meager little lives.

Not for nothing, but I really don’t want to know what’s irking you.

I don’t care who your friends are, I don’t care what you’re listening to right now, I don’t care what your mood is, I don’t care how Von Goethe and The Crow changed your life, I don’t care what you did (or didn’t do) this past Saturday night, and I certainly don’t care to hear about all the so-called “drama” that permeates your wretched existence, capice?

I’m sure you’re probably wondering what brought on this diatribe to end all diatribes, and I’ll tell you. Several months ago, I was dating a girl who shall remain nameless. My blog inspired her to create her own. I seem to have this effect on people. Difference being that her blog is a window to her life, whereas I prefer to think of our blogs as a window to our thoughts. There’s a big difference.

We have long since broken up, and while I have nothing against her personally, I also have no interest in seeing her again, plain and simple. But I have noticed that over the last few months, her posts have gotten increasingly personal, and downright pig-headed in their arrogance. Now chalk this up to hubris, or just being a moody girl in your early 20’s, but trying to read these things without stabbing myself in my scrotum is like trying to sit through an episode of Fat Actress without stabbing myself in my scrotum. Damn near impossible.

To begin with, this sparks the entire, “what-the-hell-did-I-ever-see-in-you” curiosity factor, where I am forced to question my own judgment since at one point I dated such a unbelievably conceited, petty excuse for a human being.

But that’s just the tip of the irritable iceberg. In having perused this person’s blog, I have also browsed the comments left on her posts by others. Naturally, these third parties are friends… but the bulk of the comments in response to her words all pertain to overly-hyped, overly-dramatic situations of the 90210 variety.

That’s right. Not only are these posts regarding incidents that are highly personal, and better left unknown to the Internet community, but all parties involved are now getting in on the action, so eager to share their side of the story, making for one mother of a clusterfuck.

This is what pisses me off. Y’know, journals are not meant to be shared, which is probably why I never opted to do this thing on livejournal.com. I want my personal problems and relations to remain as such. They’re in my hands, and I’m more than happy to deal with them either by myself or with the assistance of a select circle of friends and family. I don’t see the need to share such woes with a few billion people.

By that same rationale, I really don’t care to know what’s going on in other peoples’ lives. At least not at that deep a level. Nor do I see the reason why anyone would want to read such drivel. I suppose to some extent, it’s the same innate, sick curiosity that draws the masses to reality television. And I’m sure that for the writers’ relations, it’s an even stronger pull considering that the main party is known to them.

But seriously… I really don’t give a fuck.

I don’t expect what I do to become the norm. I accept the fact that I’m a minority in this tangled worldwide web, and not only do I acknowledge that notion, but I embrace it. I like being the castaway content to run my own little gravy train, and I openly invite anyone who likes a good read to give my stuff a looksie.

But as welcome as you all are to partake in my opinions, ramblings and perspectives, I simply do not want you all to know how so-and-so went behind so-and-so’s back, or how John Doe, Mrs. Butterworth and I all went to see Kung Fu Hustle last Tuesday and some guy in the front row streaked the place.

I should mention that at one point, I was heavily considering posting a link this individual’s blog just to give you an idea of the sort of rot I’m talking about. But I’ve since reconsidered this. Now that's not because I'm trying to be the bigger person post-breakup or anything. After all, you do know how I love to burst the bubble of big bullshitters, and this would've been a prime opportunity to do so.

No, I simply rethought things and figured that since she already seems comfortable sharing this crap with so many… why vindicate her misgivings?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-05-14T11:28:00.000-04:00

It’s been a while since this has happened, but I encountered something this week that truly disgusted me. No exaggeration, it turned my freakin’ stomach.

Tuesday afternoon, I was driving home from my job in Norwalk on 95. Now, I’m sure most of you are at least vaguely familiar with the infamous I-95, but for those of you who aren’t, let me just tell you, having to drive this fucker every day is one of the most painful experiences you could possibly imagine. Thank God I’m moving to Milford soon, because I’m already spending upwards of three hours a day driving.

Since 95 moves slower than the Olsen twins at a buffet line, you often get a good view of your commuting neighbors in the lane next to you. So while driving on this gorgeous Tuesday afternoon, listening to a little Billy Joel to unwind the nerves after work, I see coming up on my right, in the middle lane, a white Mitsubishi convertible with the top down being driven by a 20-something blonde tart with a pair of Oakley’s. Now, as if this wasn’t enough to make my blood boil, the capper to it all is the fact that she’s got a Chihuahua perched immediately behind her, looking over the side of the door at this Red Sea of cars that just doesn’t want to seem to part.

A Chihuahua.

It was at this point that the windows in my car rolled down, the volume on the stereo went up, and “Captain Jack” changed without warning to “5 Minutes Alone” by Pantera. Appropriate song, since I would’ve loved 5 minutes alone with this petite princess to chew her out.

Now, before you condemn me for jumping to conclusions and labeling this li’l missy a prissy little Paris rip-off with a ginormous bitch switch, let me tell you something, my friend…

Yesterday (Friday), while driving to work… not from, to… I just happened across the same Mitsubishi convertible, unrecognizable at first since the top was up. But lo and behold, who should be behind the wheel but Princess. And still at the upholstered perch was precious little Chi-Chi, her oversized rodent of a status symbo—I mean dog looking out the window at the slow-moving line of cars.

Windows down, “Say Hello 2 Heaven” by Temple Of The Dog switches to “Stronger Than Death” by Black Label Society.

Why the overload of metal music on my behalf? Because this young lady obviously needs a very loud wake-up call, and what better way to offer that up than in the form of heavy riffs, rapid-fire solos and a blood-curdling vocal? She needs to be exposed to another side of life: the side slightly less ugly than either the lifestyle she promotes or the rhinoplasty she got for her Sweet 16. The side of life most of us (I should hope) dwell in. Cold, hard reality. The type that's not pretty in pink or even feasible in fusca. The type of life that has problems, conflicts, compromises, and stresses that go beyond your favorite tanning salon shutting down.

You have to look at it this way: on Tuesday, it’s quite possible she was coming home from a friend’s house or a party or something else. However, if she’s driving 95 at 8:00 in the AM, there’s a 99% chance she’s going to a job of some sort.

Now, whatever this young kitten does for money (insert prostitution pun here), whatever her line of work is, you have to ask yourself… why the hell is she bringing a Chihuahua to work?! Even if she’s a veterinarian, what’s she doing, bringing her work home with her? I’m sorry, that doesn’t jibe.

So that’s why I opted for such a heavy musical selection. This kid needs a major reattachment to good sound terra firma.

Look, she may be the nicest kid on earth, but I take issue with anyone that carries around a Chihuahua these days. Paris and Britney have turned these poor, once-ridiculed and fast food-exploited canines and turned them into representatives of their ritzy roots. No, folks… odds are this estrogen-infused humanoid is no vet. More likely she works at Abercrombie & Fitch in the Danbury Fair Mall while living off of mummy and daddy’s trust fund and the hard-scrubbing hands of their Mexican houseboy.

Look, I’m an animal lover. Especially dogs. I want one eventually, but have held off for a long time because at this time in my life, I don’t have the time to devote to properly caring for one. I’m not one to dive headfirst into responsibility if I know that I can’t live up to the commitment. So when some tarnished little princess struts around with Chihuahua in hand (or purse, as I’ve seen from time to time), basically flaunting her bankbook and fashionable duds and digs, my iPod turns iRate, and so do I.

People wonder why I’m so down on American society from the upper echelon right down to the mere mortals, and it’s shit like this that fortifies my mindset. When you use another carbon-based life form, be it a dog or a child (soccer moms, I’m looking your way… get out of the Suburban and stop snorting Astroturf) to say something about yourself, I consider you an enemy of the state of Rick, and you’re susceptible to the possibility of capital punishment in the form of a good tongue-lashing on ye olde Landshark blog. And the only reason my sentences never get past that is because U.S. law conflicts with Rick’s law, and neither are in sync with Murphy’s law. I won’t even begin to get into Carlito’s way, either.

And I’m being serious when I say this: I really think the ASPCA should hunt these people down and charge them with animal abuse. Because these little girls are not dog lovers. How can you call yourself a dog lover when you’re clearly too in love with yourself? I’m willing to bet that while these girls are doting as all hell, they’re still not providing these poor critters with the TLC that they so richly deserve. And as if that isn’t criminal enough, they parade the damn thing around like a new belly button piercing or ankle tattoo. Not that I have anything against piercings or tattoos, but I’d much rather they have some kind of relevance to the proud owner, and the same goes for pets. If you’re going to own a dog, own it because you love it, not because it’s the trendy thing to do.

So unless you want me to tie you into a straightjacket, tape your eyelids open and Clockwork Orange you into watching House Of Wax uninterrupted for a fortnight, either give your Chihuahua to someone who actually gives a damn or ship him to Tijuana.

And for fuck’s sake, don’t let a dog that weighs less than four pounds lean out the side of your convertible on I-95 you stupid, stupid slag!

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-04-18T21:45:00.000-04:00

I've noticed something over the last few months.

You know those ultra-hip yellow Livestrong wristbands that Lance Armstrong has marketed for cancer research? I dig 'em. I like what they stand for, and I particularly like the fact that they're stylish withoug being trendy (or pretentious). Teh fact that the money from each purchase goes straight to cancer research is a huge plus with me. So yeah, on the whole I really like them, which is probably why I own one (along with half my office).

However, have you noticed that while these things pull off the unthinkable by making banana yellow cool, they don't look good on fat people at all?

Now, by "fat," I don't mean someone who has a small gut, beer belly, or even a paunch. I'm talking about the so-called "morbidly obese" that seem to be growing in both per capita population and waistline each year. They really just don't look good on these people. At all.

I first noticed this one night two months ago down at the gym. I was going through my routine when this fat kid comes in. He's maybe 6' and change, but is clearly overweight. The first thing I noticed (besides his size) was how young he was. Probably no more than 14 or 15. The second thing I noticed was that he was doing every single exercise wrong. I tried to help him, but he maintained that he used to lift and knew what he was doing. Nearly two full months later, he's not only still doing them wrong, but he's brought down the weight to make it easier. The third thing I noticed was his Livestrong band. They do stick out because of their color, and also because it seems like everyone owns one now. But it really didn't look that hip on him.

It just looked out of place, like it accidentally found its way onto his wrist. Of course, this was all compounded by the fact that the kid is a total chump. But I have noticed these items on other grossly overweight individuals, and they just don't look right.

It is therefore my assertion that, on a purely subconscious level, seeing a Livestrong bracelet on an extremely overweight person is not aesthetically pleasing. On a subterranean level, your mind tells you, "What business does someone that size have promoting health through his fashion statement? From the look of him, he should be wearing a wristband that promotes hunger strikes, because his belly is promoting Wendy's late-night drive-thru window."

Well, maybe only my mind tells me that last bit.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-04-08T23:16:00.000-04:00

The Pope wants me dead.

Now, I'm not Catholic. Those of you who know me are aware that I'm a Greek Orthodox Christian, so I've never had a reason to pay any attention to the Pope. But that's not why he wants me dead. He doesn't event want me dead because I'm not Catholic. There's a far deeper reason for the Pope's loathing for me.

You see, back at Skidmore, I auditioned for a sketch comedy troupe appropriately named the Sketchies. Although I never was a full-fledged member, I was an extra in two skits, the first of which was "Varsity Green." This was a take on Varsity Blues that juxtaposed football with Ultimate Frisbee (the average Skiddie/Hippie's sport of choice, commonly played on the campus green, hence the name). My role was that of a nameless walk-on player. Harmless stuff... it's the second skit that really fired up Juan Pablo Dos.

"The Adventures Of Popeman And Cardinal."

This was a take-off on the old Batman TV show with Adam West and Burt Ward. Considering how campy and kitschy the original product was, you can only imagine what the parody had to offer.

Popeman and Cardinal live their lives as average everyday Christians, and spend their days watching televangelists and PAX. But when sin is on the horizon, they receive a call from the Commish.

Jesus Christ.

That's right. The Sketchies set up a phone with a little light-up plastic Jesus that would flicker when the phone rang. On the other end, a dirty hippie named Gareth with long hair and a fake beard posing as the Lord, our Savior.

I'm so going to Hell for this.

So J.C. plays the part of Commissioner Gordon, instructing Popeman and Cardinal to jump into action when all that is good and holy is in danger. After He wishes His boys good luck ("...And may my Dad be with you"), these two mild-mannered Bible-thumpers become the Dynamic Duo, the Papal Pair, Popeman and Cardinal. Popeman adorns the massive Pope hat that we've all come to know and love along with a white tunic, and a large red "P" on his chest a la Superman. Cardinal, on the other hand, sports a red tunic with a small yellow "C" encased within a black circle, and wears a black mask in the style of Robin or Kato.

Straight to Hell, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

In this week's episode (which is the only episode to date), the malevolent Dr. Polygamy, a rogue monk entrenched in a harem of wives, is planning to rig the Annual Papal Awards in hopes of pecoming the new Pope. Along with his wicked wives and his illegitimate son, Bastardo, he will wreack havoc on the Roman Catholic Church!

In case you're wondering where I am in this mess, I was one of the wives. Yes. I dressed in drag. Once. It was not a pretty sight. I've seen more attractive people at the burn ward. Do your best to erase the image from your mind. You'll thank me later.

Anyway, Popeman and Cardinal arrive on the scene to thward Dr. Polygamy's plans only to be confronted by his harem. Cue your standard cliched Batman-inspired climax/throwdown, replete with fisticuffs and theatrics. Only the "Bams!" and "Biffs!" have been replaced with more... pious exclamations. A punch is thrown and "Bible!" flashes across the screen. A wife grabs Cardinal in a rear waistlock, and the Altar Boy Wonder nails an incoming sinner with a double kick to the midsection to the tune of "Psalm!" You get the idea.

Long story short, the pair are overcome by the wives and taken prisoner, left to the devices of the Devilishly Darwinian Evil-Lution. Basically an excuse to put a guy in a monkey suit. Naturally, the good guys escape, and arrive at the Papal Awards just in time to stop Dr. Polygamy (posing as Antonio Sabado, Jr.) from accepting the Papacy from this year's presenters (Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn). Everyone good lives, everyone bad dies or goes to jial. Life is sweet, cue the dance routine.

For participating in this sketch, the Pope is making me pay from beyond the grave. See, I work for a company that specializes in collectibles. Model cars, elegantly bound books, commemorative sports novelties, etc. My dividsion deals with the philatelic side of things.

Translation: I work with stamps and coins. Yep. I bust my ass and drive over an hour to work every day so some wishy-washy no-life shmuck can have a collection of decorative panels featuring coins minted from FDR's presidency and commemorative stamps in honor of the signing of the Federal Deposit Insurance Law and the like (I'm not making this up), all packaged in a "handsome" limited edition deluxe collector's album with vinyl sleeves to keep the coins and stamps (which are already encapsulated in acetates) in mint condition.

People wonder why I drink a quart of turpentine when I get home from work every night.

Well here's the thing... my division underwent a massive changei n operation when Princess Diana died several years back. Now we make a good portion of our bread through memorial programs for beloved public figures in lieu of their deaths.

So you can imagine that when J.P. II took a trip to the O.R., our creative department was already developing art for an upcoming program in honor of his great life. When he bought the farm on Saturday, I knew that Monday (and the week to follow) was going to be hell in a hand basket.

I come to work before my assistant manager arrives (as always) and find out that I have to order 7 million unites of marketing materials (letters, brochures, etc.). That 7 million quickly jumps to 7.5 mil. As I write this, we're at 10 mil, and that's just what's been estimated in 2 days. I'm sure that as the masses that flock to His Eminence's corpse increase, so will my workload.

The irony of it all. The Pope, perhaps the holiest man known to the world, is now putting me through hell. All because of that Goddamn skit.

I just cringe to think at what he'll do to the cat in the monkey suit.

Goodnight and have a blessed tomorrow.

2005-03-29T22:27:00.000-05:00

The more I look at what’s going on out west, the more convinced I become of the theory that the entire L.A. County District Attorney’s Office must be suffering from one brutal case of collective brain cancer.

Because you’d have to be sans that many brain cells and smoking that much pot to drop the ball on so many brutally obvious celebrity convictions.

Seriously, what the fuck is going on in California? As if I weren’t already praying for its inevitable descent into the Pacific courtesy of the San Andreas Fault, I’m forced to watch justice perverted on a regular basis at the hands of inept prosecutors and muckraking scumbag defense attorneys.

Granted, I’ve got enough problems with the American legal system to begin with. And I’m talking well beyond the current cast of Law & Order. I think we have way to many legal loopholes that keep felons out of jail and convicts on death row. I also think the rules of evidence need to be restructured because too often, there are extenuating circumstances that require evidence be plucked from somewhere besides the area designated in a search warrant.

But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about how these dimwit prosecutors dropped the ball on Robert Blake, an obvious psychopath, and how they’re inevitably gonna drop the ball on Michael Jackson.

Yeah, I know, I lambasted him earlier this month. I still think the man is guilty. By that same token, I’m convinced that the prosecution is gonna do what it always does in Hollywood: they’re gonna build a case on a foundation of circumstantial evidence, fail to establish a clear motive, and glide through like they’ve got an easy win.

And you know what? They really should have an easy win. They should’ve had an easy win with Blake. And with O.J. And with John Landis. You get the idea.

Seriously, have you heard Blake since his win in the courtroom? If I were a juror for that case, the first thing to cross my mind when hearing his press conference would be, “holy shit, we just unleashed a madman into society.”

And it’s hardly the jury’s fault; they’re selected because they know nothing about the case to begin with. Another fatal flaw of our legal system, but I digress. It’s the duty of the prosecution and the defense to convince the jury that the defendant is either guilty or not. It just so happens that prosecutors in California haven’t been able to do this since Charles Manson.

Seriously, they let off John Landis in the Twilight Zone case. For those unfamiliar, this was a film adaptation of the popular Rod Serling TV show done in an episodic fashion, each segment with a different director. Long story short, there was a helicopter sequence in Landis’ portion of the film in which a pyrotechnic blast was overloaded, and it wound up taking the helicopter down, causing it to land on actor Vic Morrow and two child actors, killing all three. First off, Landis was in the wrong by having the two younger actors work late nights (child labor laws, folks). Secondly, he packed the explosion to the nines for a greater effect; an item he bragged about openly on the set. Now, I loved Animal House, but the guy is clearly guilty of negligence. Yet the prosecution failed to follow through on its intent to convict.

As I said, this is the same thing that happened with O.J. and Robert Blake. When it all adds up, odds are Mikey’s gonna get off. On kiddie porn. Then he’ll be acquitted of all charges. So it goes.

Maybe a lot of this has to do with the strength of your average celebrity attorney. These guys could sell you a Pinto and have you thinkin’ it’s a goddamn Beemer. I’d love to know what law school they attended to acquire such vile talents when it comes to manipulation, but I seriously think it’s time someone carpet bombed that institution. We got enough lowlife lawyers out there to begin with. Only difference is these guys are priced too high for anyone without a seven figure income.

Some of this rumination on my part may have been brought about by the passing of Johnnie Cochran. I heard about this on the radio tonight, and I nearly breathed a sigh of relief. I’m not a cold person when it comes to untimely deaths, but that is one guy that I will not miss, nor will I shed any tears for. I can’t respect a man who made his living—a robust one at that—by “unproving” the obvious guilt of so many piss-poor human beings. Honestly, did he ever do anything else worth note or merit? The man was a scumbag, plain and simple. He thrived on deception, diversion, subterfuge, and the overall softening of the human brain. God be with his family and friends, but quite frankly, the world’s a better place without him. End of story.

In the meantime, I seriously think it’s high time that California’s prosecutors up the ante and get aggressive when it comes to celebrity cases. These Goddamn cases are so high profile, so larger-than-life that when a clearly guilty celeb is acquitted, it makes our nation and our legal system look bad. I’ll never vindicate someone for their poor deeds just because they landed People Magazine’s “50 Most Beautiful People List” (Jude Law, I’m lookin’ your way. I know about the illegal cable hookup. And the baby seal you clubbed. Your number’s up, chump). I look at them as I would any other felon when it’s clear they’ve done wrong. But in the eyes of the court, I do believe prosecutors should look at them differently. Don’t view them as just people, especially when it comes to heinous crimes. Go for the fuckin’ throat and don’t let up until they cry uncle or their bank account dies. Make an example of these pompous, cocky bastards for the rest of the lot.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-03-03T22:52:00.000-05:00

Y’know, if I ever decide to become a child molester, I’m gonna make sure that I have the best-selling album of the decade before I start dipping my pen into the Romper Room ink pool.

That would appear to be what Michael Jackson did, and it’s done him well thus far. After all, despite a purportedly overwhelming amount of evidence against his cause, he still has a legion of religiously devout fans, as well as more celebrity friends than are listed in Johnny Carson’s old guestbook. And both groups are avidly supporting him with the incoming of this trial. So not only does he have the moral support of his fans, but he has character witnesses willing to take the stand for him.

Of course, when your character witnesses are a guy who was on trial for rape and a woman with nearly ten marriages to her name, you gotta wonder if Mikey’s defense isn’t asking them to kindly back off. Then again, you gotta be kinda loopy to represent a guy like Jackson in the first place.

I am convinced that Michael Jackson could commit atrocities against humankind that would make Osama bin Laden shit himself, and he’d still have hundreds of people flock to him like vultures to a pasty white corpse with no nose. And it didn’t take this trial to make me aware of this fact.

Lemme set the stage for ya: my radio show at Skidmore was basically a hard rock expo peppered with commentary, observations, and sage truths.

Just imagine this blog with a soundtrack. That was my show in a nutshell.

The slot I had during the first semester of my senior year was from 6 to 8 in the evening. My lead-in was an hour-long show entitled “Off The Wall: A Tribute To The Jacksons.” The hosts were a boyfriend/girlfriend team who were both Jackson fanatics, and their on-air content consisted not only of tunes by Michael, Janet, and the 5, but also “impressive” solo work by Germaine, Tito, Marlon, and LaToya. There was also Jackson Trivia, holiday songs, “This Day in Jackson History,” etc., etc., ad nauseum (or just plain “added nausea”). Top it all off with the fact that the female half of the team shelled out a whopping $300 and change to see the Michael Jackson Tribute Special back in 2001, featuring Michael, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, Usher, and a veritable cornucopia of $&B stars and Pop Tarts.

First off, how late were the program managers up at night to have an all-Jackson’s program as a lead-in to a balls-out hard rock show? Then again, it is Skidmore, so it’s likely that between alternating bong hits, beer funnels and Esperanto’s Dough Boys, my show would’ve sounded like a great lead-in for an all-polka show.

Wait… that was my junior year… sonuva…

Secondly, this led me to two rock-hard, undisputable truths:

1 – Jackson fans are absolutely rabid. You really have to just forsake all reason and love the hell out of this man if you’re willing to purchase Tito Jackson’s solo records based solely on the fact that he is Michael’s sibling.

2 – The female half of this crew had to give the most amazing blow job known to man, because I do not know a single red-blooded American male that would fess up to liking Michael Jackson in this day and age, let alone sit beside his girlfriend and profess said fandom on a radio show.

Seriously, how can you doubt that this man is beyond fucked up and has an unhealthy obsession with children? That ol’ boy ain’t right, folks! It’s as plain as the fingerprint on the kiddie porn. A lot of us don’t want to believe it, and I understand that. Maybe to some of us, Michael is one of the last truly magical characters in the world that has yet to be debunked. Rank him up there with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy; it seems to fit the idiom he’s crafted for himself.

Look, I ain’t rankin’ on the guy for his odd behavior or his appearance. At the core if it all, it may not even really be his fault. It’s purely a psychological thing probably brought about by his childhood and all the shit Big Poppa Joe put him and his sibs through. The saddest part is that, in his mind, Michael really doesn’t know that what he’s doing is wrong. Chalk that one up to legal insanity, folks. It’s the same reason that Jeffrey Dahmer was killed in a prison riot and not by lethal injection. Because he thought that putting post-sodomized human entrails on the menu was an OK thing to do.

I forget who said it, but one reported likened Michael Jackson to Howard Hughes. Now this is not the Howard Hughes depicted in The Aviator. This is the whacked-out germophobe version. The guy who was such a hugely public figure that when he all but vanished, people’s already-unhealthy infatuation with him rose tenfold. The unsettling part of this analogy is that while it may be accurate to a fault, Michael’s eccentricities have, like the times themselves, grown more disturbing and frightening.

And it’s hard to deny that. Some folks are eager to cry “conspiracy” to defend Michael’s name, and to be fair, any conspiracy theory may have an element of truth to it, if not too far-fetched. Example: The U.S. government’s watch over and eventual deportation of John Lennon was initially regarded as just wild conspiracy theory. Today we know it to be fact. But the shortcoming of the Jackson theory is this: what would anyone have to gain by setting the man up? I mean, hey, I hated Moonwalker as much as anyone, but I wouldn’t frame the guy for child molestation to get my kicks.

No my friends, this one is sadly very much a reality. We gotta accept that. For many people, this may be the equivalent of discovering that wholesome, likeable J.F.K. cheated on Jackie. Or learning that Mickey Mantle was a massive alcoholic. It’s a sad truth that diehard fans have to learn to deal with. Coming to Michael’s aid isn’t going to help him. Maybe in terms of morale, sure. But it’s not going to be able to sway twelve jurors. That’s what his attorneys are attempting to do. Please leave that job to them.

And please leave college radio alone. Just… just stop dipping into my Kool-Aid, will ya?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-02-14T20:33:00.000-05:00

So last week, Howard Stern dropped the "bombshell" (I use quotation marks since it's been expected for some time) that a committee in the House of Representatives has OK'd a bill that gives the FCC the power to fine individual broadcasters up to $500,000 per offense for crude or indecent content on the public airwaves. The bill passed by a margin of 42-2.

This is gonna be an angry one. Strap in.

I tell ya, this really pisses me off to no end. I cannot believe the government is this up in arms about indecency. It's such a ridiculous, absurd thing to harp on when there are infinitely larger problems at hand.

And yeah, I'm biased as all hell because of my background in radio. If they were cracking down on everyone this bad when I was in college, I'm not so sure I would've gotten those 12 collective months at WSPN under my belt. I don't even think I would've considered it.

Because I wouldn't have had any fun.

People ask me quite frequently if I ever consider returning to radio as a full time career. I suppose it's because I wax poetically about it ad nauseum, but the answer is always an emphatic "no." Why? Three reasons.

1) It is incredibly difficult to get by with a career in radio, no matter how talented you are. I know, there are some guys out there who rake in millions of dollars. But those guys, the Howard Sterns and Don Imuseseses of the world, represent a very slim sample of the entire broadcasting population. They are in the top one percent of all radio personalities, and it took them more than 20 years to reach their respective pinnacles.

The fact is that they and every other schlep in the business got their start by breaking their balls on the weekly overnight. From Monday through Friday, they earned their wings by broadcasting at hours even Dracula and hookers think are nuts. I'm talking from midnight 'til 6 in the morning. This is where you start. And if you miraculously manage to weather that task for, oh, 3-7 years, you may get bumped up to one of two prime drive spots: from 3-6 in the afternoon or from 6-10 in the morning. That's when everyone is listening, really. That also happens to be where the heaviest competition is, especially in the morning. Stations fight for ratings like kids from a fat camp on a field trip to the Hostess factory on a day when they're passing out free samples.

But if you're lucky, you may become one of the top morning guys in the county or state, and even that's a big "if." I'd say on average, the typical radio DJ can't make much more than $20,000 a year, if that. In a nutshell, it's ten times the ladder you'd have to climb in the corporate world.

2) The world of broadcasting has become almost entirely engulfed by the corporate machine. This has killed any legitimate exposure for budding artists through this once-great medium, and has also killed all the fun. Big conglomerates like Clear Channel really do make a difference as far as what gets put on the air. And it's sad, because there's so much truly great music out there that goes completely unheard. I'm amazed that smaller bands such as Thursday, Wilco and Franz Ferdinand have been able to make as much of an impact as they have in a world chuck foll of Matchbox 20's and Sugar Ray's. But they're still a small percentage of the overwhelming number of bands that don't receive adequate exposure.

I heard an ad on K-Rock earlier this week with Hoobastank in which they wax sappy about their root, saying that before all the huge sellout concerts and platinum albums, you heard them on the radio. The only reason that's accurate is because their sound is streamlined to the point where the suits are just comfy enough with them as a hard rock act. You rarely hear a band like, say, From Autumn To Ashes get the kind of airtime Hoobastank does, because FATA is infinitely harder and more aggressive than Hoobastank. There's no longer the element of surprise in radio; the deck has been fixed for a long time, and we're forced to deal with the shitty cards we're dealt.

3) The FCC has a brutal vice grip on the entire industry. In fact, the aforementioned conglomerates are bending over backwards to avoid being fined, resulting in even more lukewarm airplay. Not only are the companies backing down, but with this new legislation against individual broadcasters on the horizon, on-air personalities are now raising the white flag as well. That's the saddest part for me. No one, save Howard, is really making an effort to buck the system and stand up to the FCC. I understand it's hard to fight the government--nigh impossible, if you will. Nevertheless, these DJ's are so petrified, they won't even mention those three cursed consonants on the air. This reticent surrender leads to... you guessed it. More piss poor broadcasts.

Y'know, I've always had issues with the FCC. The only time I think I've ever agreed with them is during last year's SuperBowl fiasco (I refuse to use the term "wardrobe malfunction" like every other shmuck with a mic), because yeah, that incident was uncalled for and inappropriate. I'll give you that.

It was also an isolated incident. One that has never happened before. Be that as it may, the FCC treated the situation like an omen of things to come. To them, Janet Jackson's breast offered poison milk that would impact our impressionable youth, corrupt us, and lead to vulgar, violent, promiscuous behavior across the nation.

Gimme a fuckin' break.

This is where I draw the line with the FCC. I give 'em credit for investigating, but for treating the incident like it was a riot or coup d’etat is outta line. Moreover, they're handling the incident as if they were crossing a minefield.

Two perfect examples. This year, there were two commercials for the SuperBowl that were slated to air. However, things changed quickly.

First off, there was a Bud Light commercial which made light of last year's halftime show. Apparently, there's this one thirsty cat backstage at last year's sporting extravaganza, and he has a hankerin' for some Bud Light. However, not having a bottle opener handy, he uses Janet Jackson's bustier to get that pesky cap off his brew. In doing so, he damages the clothing, and even the most inept genetic defective can pick up on what is being implied.

The other ad that got cut up just before getting the axe was the immensely popular GoDaddy.com ad featuring Candice Michelle. This one is not as overt as the banned Bud Light ad, but it features the strap to Candice's top snapping, and her struggling to keep it on. The three noteworthy things about this ad are that to begin with, the term "wardrobe malfunction" (God, how I hate that phrase...) was initially included in the dialogue, but ultimately removed. Secondly, the ad was slated to run twice during the 'Bowl, but only made the rounds once early in the first quarter. Lastly, the ad has now been pulled from the airwaves altogether.

A word of advice to the FCC: you cannot undo that which is already done. It happened, it was nuts, move on. Chopping up ads that simply try to parody the incident is not going to mystically remove it from television history.

As if my recommendation would make a lick of difference, right? That disgusting, formless, saggy boob has given the FCC a leg to stand on and a loaded gun. The only problem is that their aim is not focused, and they're shooting a lot of innocent bystanders. How do you fine Howard Stern for something he did three or four years ago because Janet Jackson had to be a shameless publicity whore? Nearly a year after the massive fines began to hit, I still don't get it.

Of course, it's not just Howard who's at risk. Pretty much anyone broadcasting at a few thousand watts is dead set in the FCC's crosshairs, and that's the scary part for so many folks in the industry. Being a DJ used to be fun, but now many broadcasters will tell you that they risk career suicide every time they put on a pair of headphones. From what I understand, this new piece of fascist dogm--I mean, legislation, doesn't even offer lenience in the way of extenuating circumstances. In short, if a DJ is on the air, and someone alls up, says "fuck," and it somehow makes it onto the air because the button-pushers aren't fast enough to bleep it, that DJ is at fault, not the caller.

If'n that ain't exquisite bullshit, I don't know what is.

So with this mountain of insanity and irrationality the FCC is making everyone climb, it's easy to see why I would never consider getting back into radio. Don't get me wrong, under nominal circumstances, I'd love to get back in the game. Hell, with Internet radio still around and the advent of Podcasting, who's to say I won't some day? But for right now, terrestrial radio is, as Howard Stern puts it, dead. Period. You can't tell me otherwise. With the exception of college radio and satellite, the art form has been completely demolished. This is why Howard is going to SIRIUS satellite radio, and you know what? Good for fuckin' him. I love it. You'd better believe I'm saving my pennies for my SIRIUS setup. And no, Howard is not the sole reason I'm getting one. I've listened to the product before, and the range of programming is absolutely fantastic. It's all the great stuff you won't hear on contemporary FM, minus the commercials. Stern is smart to get behind this, and I'm fairly certain that in due time, more and more radio personalities will follow hot on his heels. See, because it's a service that the people pay for, the FCC can't touch it. As long as SIRIUS charges a monthly fee, it is completely exempt from any sort of fines. For reference, just look at what HBO can get away with as opposed to basic cable networks.

Look, I'm not gonna twist this into an over-the-top political rant, but I will say that as a former on-air DJ and fulltime radio enthusiast, this legislation is a slap in the face of free speech and the First Amendment. You cannot argue that. The FCC is basically trying to amend an amendment, and that's just plain stupid. Certain government bodies have been lobbying to restrict forms of free speech for years now. Remember when Mortal Kombat came out and all of a sudden Congress was trying to stifle video games? Going back even further, there's the Parent's Music Resource Center, which came up with those wonderfully lame and completely ineffective "Parental Advisory" stickers. (And to all my Republican friends who label me too liberal, the PMRC happened to be founded by Tipper Gore, wife of a Democrat. And political party notwithstanding, I still think it's a bunch of horseshit. Now could you kindly get off my case, already? Thank you.)

This may seem miniscule at this point in time, but to me, it's always about the grand scheme of things. This sort of thing worries me in that it has the potential to set a nasty precedent. It may start with radio and television, but where will it stop? Music? Cinema? Art? Literature? Hell, I've already gone into detail about that *ahem* wonderfully progressive library in Mississippi that pulled the Daily Show book. You don't have to stretch things to see how this could snowball into societal censorship.

And yeah, maybe I do have a small problem with authority which leads me to these opinions. But more so, I have a strong appreciation for freedom of expression and ideas. And believe me, not every attack on free speech involves Larry Flint or Howard Stern. There are many more that go unnoticed because the victims are of a much smaller public stature than the aforementioned "smut moguls." Be that as it may, not every attack has to involve free speech of a sexual nature.

The sad thing is that with this much momentum following "nipplegate" (another term I loathe), the FCC doesn't look to be letting up anytime soon. And while it's great that Stern is giving them a nice big "fuck you" by going to satellite where he can't be touched, it's a shame that people should have to pay for free speech.

Only in America, folks.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-02-10T06:36:00.000-05:00

Looking back on what I wrote in November, I honestly never would've expected this type of story just a few months later.

I'm sure you've seen the Zoloft ads on television, probably even in Parade or Reader's Digest. You know, the ones with the little egg guy that's so horribly sad and has an ever-constant rain cloud hovering just above him. Then the second the narrator utters the word "Zoloft," the sun pops out, eradicates the mini-storm and illuminates the sky while flowers bloom. With that, our Eeyore-esque little egg dude then magically cheers up and joins a pack of other egg dudes that are already frolicking among daisies and butterflies.

If only things could be that picture-perfect in real life, huh?

For the uninitiated and uniformed, Zoloft is on the bottom rung of the antidepressant food chain. This is evident by the fact that commercials for the drug permeate the public airwaves during prime time along with advertising mainstays like Coca-Cola and FedEx. I don't recall ever seeing a TV ad for anything more potent (although I'm fairly certain I've heard radio ads for Zoloft's older cousins).

Having said that, this story simultaneously relieves and scares me. I'm relieved that I stopped taking the stuff after depending on it for so long, and I'm scared by the possibility that such a mild drug could cause such irrational behavior. THink about it... if this is one of the side effects brought about by Zoloft, imagine what could happen to someone on a much stronger medication like Wellbutrin?

Now I will say this much: this incident is in the minority. This sort of thing is not a regular episode for someone taking antidepressants, and thus is something of a freak occurrence. This is the sort of thing that both the pharmaceutical companies and their attorneys would argue, and you know something? They're right.

However, I can testify as someone who took Zoloft for a year straight that the drug isn't the blessing that Pfizer's creative department would have you believe. Being on the stuff is no walk in the park. To recap, while I was on the medication, I did begin to feel better as time passed. But with that improvement, other frightening negatives became obvious. I lacked enthusiasm, was listless, argumentative, anti-social, and completely sapped of my energy. I stayed in more than I would like to admit, had little drive, gained weight, and never really felt much more than just "eh."

That last point is the one I would really like to drive home. See, when you're depressed, you feel miserable 24/7. You feel as if nothing is worth doing, and the few things you do have no true relevance in the grand scheme of things. When you're medicated, you feel nothing. You feel no plummeting lows, nor the dizzying highs. You fail to appreciate people, places, events, and the biggest drawback is that the drive to improve yourself, the very same motivation that led you to seeking help in the first place, is now replaced by this hollow attitude with no real soul.

You become something slightly less than human.

In short, the drug really doesn't help you, so much as it distills you. It washes away your emotions, both good and bad, and you're left with little to work on and seemingly nowhere to go.

Couple that with the fact that every time you get your daily RX fix, you run the risk of dozens of side effects (including potentially painful and dangerous ones), you have to ask yourself if it's really worth it.

I suppose to some it is. I've no doubts about the fact that there are plenty of folks out there who are in deeper emotional ruts than I could ever fathom. I suppose that to the truly unstable, no emotion is better than constant despair. But I still insist that the medical community pursue alternate methods of therapy. I was skeptical prior to taking Zoloft, and with this latest affair, I'm suspect of it as well. And that goes for all antidepressants, weak or strong. I simply do not beleive in them, and I do not trust them.

The short, fast, ugly summation is that antidepressants, for the most part, do little to correct psychological disorders. They do a damn fine job of masking them, but they don't llend much in terms of solving them. Actual therapy is a good start, and the range of theoretical alternatives is endless. Simply put, it's high time the medical community quit thinking about lining its pockets with dollars per milligram, and start conducting some truly thoughtful research on what could be.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

2005-02-04T06:28:00.000-05:00

There is something I was brought up with as a child that I am starting to doubt. When you’re a kid, this is one of the basic cornerstones of your intellectual cache. From the time you hit Kindergarten, you’re inundated with this fucker, and they plow away at your skull with it. Now, I’m not so certain that this is still a schoolyard mainstay. After all, it’s been more than 20 years sine I started grade school, but I highly doubt they’ve nixed the bastard yet.

Whatever could I be talking about, you ask? The answer can be summed up in five words:

The four basic food groups.

Folks, if ever there were a crock of shit to gag on, this would be it. I tells ya, it’s downright disheartening to know that the moment your education begins, you’re lied to.

First off, there are plenty of other food groups that are not included. Candy and sweets is the first one that comes to mind. You never saw Baby Ruth in that lame-ass food pyramid, did you? And what about crayons? Sure, they’re not foodstuffs per se, but when you’re a young’n, they certainly provide adequate sustenance in extreme survival scenarios. As does paste, but I suppose you could stretch that out into the dairy category. Maybe. And what about astronaut food? Where is that supposed to be cataloged? Not in meat or veggies, that’s for damn sure. Then there’s flan. And Spam. Sure, Spam is a kind of meat, but it really isn’t meat-meat, now is it? I think Spam deserves a quadrant all by itself in that goofy pyramid.

Not only that, but they trying telling you this thing is the blueprint for a balanced diet. Spare me. You’re telling me that if I have at least one helping of meat, fruits/veggies, dairy and grains per day, I will be leading a balanced diet.

Balderdash!

I’m not claiming to be a genius or anything here, but I was maybe 8 or 9 years old when I realized that each of these items is in a fucking Big Mac. Two (supposedly) all-beef patties (meat), the triple-decker bun (grains), lettuce, tomato (fruits and veggies), and cheese (dairy).

That is not a motherfreakin’ balanced diet! That is the sort of thing you eat in large quantities when you have a death wish, but want to go happily and heftily, OK?

And now with all this uproar over carbs, the existing battle with calories, and the never-ending string of low-fat alternatives, this so-called “food pyramid” may as well have been blown up by a Palestinian suicide bomber with Tourette’s. It’s archaic, pointless, and needs to be chucked (if it already hasn’t).

So what can you tell kids who are curious about eating healthy?

“Stick to that paste, Elroy. It worked wonders for me.”

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.