Examinations of the Practicality of Objectivism & Other Writings

Savory Truffle

2009-01-24T22:20:00.004-05:00

"Connoisseur" is too strong, but I do consider myself an admirer of food. I hold it in reverence, appreciating its nutritional, gastronomical, and flavorful worth.

And as it were, I have an ongoing fascination with extravagantly high-priced "super-foods." I have sampled a few, like saffron, which is the most expensive spice in the world. Relatively speaking, it's worth more than gold. Depending on the market -- and depending on how hungry people are, I suppose -- prices range anywhere from $50 - $80 an ounce. A lot of that cost is a consequence of harvesting, a labor intensive job that takes something incalculable like 80,000 flower stigmas needed to produce one paltry pound. From pictures I have seen, overworked and undereducated workers hand-pluck these flowers in far off, foreign fields that are strikingly verdant; similarly, saffron-infused paella is equally vibrant, a distinctive hue of yellow that almost glows. Overall, the taste is a little subtle (which doesn't necessarily carry a negative connotation), but sometimes borders on the muted (which carries a decidedly more negative connotation). Perhaps my palette isn't as refined as I like to think it is, but I worry that saffron might be little more than fancy food-coloring. I'm sure I would miss it if it were gone, I just don't know if I would miss it dearly. In the case of paella, I think the make-or-break factors are the freshness of the seafood, or adding just enough chicken stock, or not overcooking or undercooking the rice. It seems like saffron might be a very expensive afterthought, but I'm happy to know what it tastes like.

I've also had caviar, most likely the poster child of high-end, "designer" food. It carries an authority, a reputation. Caviar is rich; it lives in a gated community, it pays for tennis lessons, it has an excellent 401k plan, it sends its children to private school, it attends black tie events that raises money for orphans in Africa. Again, harvesting is a process: breed and nurture the sturgeon in specialized farms, closely monitor their pregnancy, gut them when they're ready to burst, then package their babies. Depending on what quality you try -- I'm assuming everything I've eaten ranges from average to slightly below -- there may or may not be an overtly fishy taste. More than anything, it'll taste salty; not unpleasantly so, but salty. The appeal, I think, is not so much the taste but the texture and mouth feel. I've heard some people liken it to little balls of Jell-O, which isn't quite right. Caviar has a little more resiliency than that, it fights back a bit. So tiny beads of tapioca would be a more appropriate comparison. They kind of pop in your mouth, which is a little fun, using your tongue to push them against the roof of your mouth. It's not as life-changing as some food elitists make it out to be, but like the saffron, I feel all the better having eaten it.

While in Japan, I've treated myself to Kobe beef. It's the fabled cut of meat from Waygu cattle. Intricately marbled with fat, its exceptionally juicy and unctuous. Ranchers achieve this higher quality of beef via its unorthodox method of raising the animal: they serve them sake and beer; feed them only top notch grain; brush their fur to a beautiful sheen; and give them daily massages that, presumably, lessen stiffness and muscle tension, resulting in tender steaks. At $300/lb, I'm not necessarily sure it's that much better than our good old fashioned domestic cows here in the States, but it is delicious...almost creamy. I had the tenderloin cut into thick medalions; it was cooked rare, the surface of the meat just barely licked by the flames of the grill. It lay on top of a bed of greens and underneath a sauce that I can't exactly recall. It was a great culinary experience, but I think the geographical experience of actually being in Japan was of more importance to me.

I've never tried Foie gras, but I know all about it. A duck (or goose) is kept in a tiny wire cage as a long metal tube is thrust down its throat, force-feeding it cornmeal several times a day. The bird continues to eat and eat until its liver becomes fatty and diseased, swelling over 10 times its normal size. The duck (or goose) is then put out of its bloated misery, slain for its engorged liver. This reminds me of the 3rd circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno. Because of their sins of a lifetime of over-gorging, the gluttons serve their punishment here, forced to eat mud and dirt for the rest of their damned existence. Somehow I think the duck's (or geese's) suffering is less poetic (and more cruel), but that wouldn't necessarily keep me from eating it.

But more than anything -- absolutely more than anything -- I want to try a truffle. They are fungi and they are precious. Pigs are used to hunt them, sniffing along the terrain in the mossy, foggy forests of Italy and France -- I can practically smell the heavy dew in the air. It all sounds so mystical and mythological. They seem so other-worldly, like something not of this time nor this dimension. I can imagine Hobbits feasting on them during their journey to Mount Doom, giving them the required nourishment to destroy Sauron's ring. It's the only food I can think of that is actually scoured for. I know food that is killed, produced, grown, and harvested, but definitely not scoured. They're worth $500 a pound. They often shave it into risotto, or on top of pasta. They look like little black clumps of coal that are the size of a clenched fist, ranging from the size of an infant's to an adult's. I want to know what all the hype is about, but interestingly, all online searches tend to be equally vague and inconclusive. According to Yahoo! Answers, the taste of truffles are "hard to define," "an acquired taste," and "unique," but I think that's kind of a cop out. It's like a non-answer. It's the type of response that leads me to believe these are people who don't know how to fully articulate their thoughts or, more likely, they've never actually tried a truffle and are just full of it. Most things taste like things -- fish tastes light and delicate, onion taste sweet and earthy, honey dew tastes clean and nectarous, Cheetos taste processed and artificial. So what do truffles taste like? I've heard some TV chefs describe it as a flavor similar to mushroom, which makes enough sense considering they're both fungus. And make no mistake, I love mushrooms. Regular white button, portobello, baby portabella, chantrelles, oyster, straw, cremini, morels -- they're delicious. But even if truffles tasted like the most intense, most exquisite mushroom ever, I still have a hard time believing that they're as good as we've been led to believe. Perhaps its legend precedes its flavor. I must eat it, though.

Another Disappearing Act

2009-01-10T02:22:00.005-05:00

The Spring semester has started, so I'm busy again. My blog updates will be infrequent, but they will happen. I'm still making witty societal observations on a fairly regular basis, I just don't have enough time to immediately write them out.

It would be appreciated if you tried to wait it out.

Worst to First: the Unexpected Revival of the Miami Dolphins

2009-01-03T18:19:00.001-05:00

The Miami Dolphins are in the playoffs for the first time since I was a sophomore in high school. From then until now, that's a driver's test; prom; graduation; buying a car; finding oneself; re-inventing oneself; going to college, switching majors; watching seasons 1-3 of Arrested Development; earning a Bachelor's degree; teaching college. That's not quite a lifetime, but it is a youth. My adolescence, young adulthood, and then full-blown adulthood have been spent waiting for my hometown team to make the playoffs again. It's astonishing to quantify it that way, really taking inventory of all the lost time. Sixteen to twenty-four -- this is generally considered to be life's best years. And, somehow, the Dolphins were not a part of my best years at all. This is made even more extraordinary as it seems like even the most hopeless and woebegone teams accidentally make the playoffs from time to time. I grew up, but the Dolphins remained stagnant. And even that's being kind; to be more accurate, they regressed. I improved as a person during this time span -- becoming smarter, more experienced, more worldly -- but the Dolphins became smaller, slower, less talented. I was going one way, they were going the other. They won a single, solitary game last season, and that was only because we managed to be slightly less incompetent than the opposition on that given day. We had become inconceivably bad for an immeasurable amount of time.

And this is why I'm so happy now.

The Miami Dolphins ended the season at 11-5, won the AFC East division, and are hosting a playoff game against the Baltimore Ravens this Sunday. This is our first postseason appearance since 2002.

It's a euphoric happiness, bordering on lightheaded giddiness. I almost want to squeal -- not so much like a pig, maybe more like a girl. There's less reason to brood; things are well. It's not that all of my other worries and concerns are forgotten, they've just been put off for a later time. I feel great and I am thankful.

There are a lot of contributing factors to this season's turnaround:

On the defensive line, Nose Tackle Jason Ferguson has provided everything we needed from him: size, strength, and immobility. Rookies bookends Kendall Langford and Philip Merling look like the future. Randy Starks has been a plesant free agent surprise.

In the middle of the field, Matt Roth has been a pleasant surprise switching from an overmatched Defensive End to a suddenly-solid Outside Linebacker. Joey Porter has been a maniac all season; if DeMarcus Ware and James Harrison didn't exist, he would be the NFL's Defensive Player of the Year. Channing Crowder has been adaquete; he doesn't create any game-changing plays and he often takes the wrong angle on running plays, but I sense that his leadership skills and locker room presence are invalauble to the well being of this team.

In our secondary, Will Allen and Andre Goodman have absolutely blanketed the field, covering and swatting and batting and intercepting anything their general vicinity. Renaldo Hill still has hands of stone and couldn't catch a cold, but he's a very cerebral player, always aware of everything that's going on around him. And I don't even have to look up the stats since I'm sure Yeremiah Bell still leads the team in tackles. Going into the season, most agreed that this was our absolute worst group. They looked clueless. But they managed to get their acts together, transforming not just into a good-enough unit but a formidable group of Defensive Backs.

On the offensive line, 1st overall pick Jake Long hasn't always been dominant, but he has been dependably steady. Justin Smiley was the perfect veteran anchor. Vernon Carey hasn't manhandled the opponent the way he could or should have, but he's proven to be a quality Right Tackle.

In our backfield, Ronnie Brown and Ricky Williams are arguably the best Running Back duos in the entire league. They should have ended the season with more yards and touchdowns, but their combination of size, speed, and strength are nearly unmatched.

Among our Wide Receivers, they haven't been All-World, but they've been boundlessly better than anyone could have imagined. Ted Ginn Jr., with all of that blinding foot speed, is starting to catch on. Before getting hurt, Greg Camarillo had been an inspiration. He has almost no phyiscal talent to speak of, yet gets by on sheer will. Davone Bess has been an absolute revelation -- sure hands, quick feet, expert route-running. We're very lucky to have him. Even Brandon London, he of the long arms and long legs, looks like a future contributor.

Between our Tight Ends, Anthony Fasano and David Martin, we have two big, strong, athletic targets. They can block, run, attributes -- you can often find at least two of these attributes in a tight end, but rarely all three.

And under center, of course, is Chad Pennington. He's been the best quarterback in Miami since Dan Marino...and Marino retired a long decade ago. Getting over his oft-reported lack of arm strength, he's otherwise flawless. Pin-point accuracy, protects the ball, high level of awareness, strong leadership abilities, good teammate -- just about flawless.

And all of this excitement over tomorrow's game is yet another reminder, in a long list of similar reminders, of a particularly interesting facet of my personality: deep down, I'm kind of a Jock-Bro. Now, I don't maintain all of the typical character traits; I don't wear backwards baseball caps, I don't lift weights and drink protein shakes, I don't pay classmates to do my homework, I don't make a habit of using the synonyms "brew" for beer or "bros" for friends, and I don't date-rape people. But all of that notwithstanding, I love sports. It's one of my favorite things. I enjoy watching them and playing them. All off the top of my head, I know who won the the 1997 NCAA Men's Basketball championship (Arizona), what school Ki-Jana Carter attended (Penn State), the 7th leading scorer in NBA history (Hakeem Olajuwon), and Rick Mirer's Seattle Seahawks jersey number (#3). Organized competition, to me, serves as one of the main objectives of life. Everything always boils down to winning and losing. Beating my peers -- and not just beating, but publically and thouroughly shaming them -- is a prevailing reason I get up in the morning, and for those who don't share that sentiment, I wonder exactly what motivates them to even bother with anything.

So obviously, I have some of that Jock-Bro disposition in me. I have the potential. Maybe in another lifetime, or maybe even in this lifetime, if a few things had developed differently. If I didn't learn to love reading so much, if I were less analytical and more instinctual, or if I would've grown a little taller, maybe I would be a completely different person today. I don't think I would actually be a professional athlete (as that would be a stretch for even the most active imagination), but who knows, it's within the realm of possibility that I could've turned out to be someone who likes tailgating, pep rallies, and Hollister. One of those people. Y'know, unlikeable.

Let's go Dolphins.

Savory Truffle

2009-01-01T17:44:00.010-05:00

"Connoisseur" is a bit strong, but I do consider myself an admirer of food. I hold it in reverence, appreciating its nutritional, gastronomical, and flavorful worth.

And as it were, I have an ongoing fascination with extravagantly high-priced "super-foods." I have sampled a few, like saffron, which is the most expensive spice in the world. Relatively speaking, it's worth more than gold. Depending on the market -- and depending on how hungry people are, I suppose -- prices range anywhere from $50 - $80 an ounce. A lot of that cost is a consequence of harvesting, a labor intensive job that takes something incalculable like 80,000 flower stigmas needed to produce one paltry pound. From pictures I have seen, overworked and undereducated workers hand-pluck these flowers in far off, foreign fields that are strikingly verdant; similarly, saffron-infused paella is equally vibrant, a distinctive hue of yellow that almost glows. Overall, the taste is a little subtle (which doesn't necessarily carry a negative connotation), but sometimes borders on the muted (which carries a decidedly more negative connotation). Perhaps my palette isn't as refined as I like to think it is, but I worry that saffron might be little more than fancy food-coloring. I'm sure I would miss it if it were gone, I just don't know if I would miss it dearly. In the case of paella, I think the make-or-break factors are the freshness of the seafood, or adding just enough chicken stock, or not overcooking or undercooking the rice. It seems like saffron might be a very expensive afterthought, but I'm happy to know what it tastes like.

I've also had caviar, most likely the poster child of high-end, "designer" food. It carries an authority, a reputation. Caviar is rich; it lives in a gated community, it pays for tennis lessons, it has an excellent 401k plan, it sends its children to private school, it attends black tie events that raises money for orphans in Africa. Again, harvesting is a process: breed and nurture the sturgeon in specialized farms, closely monitor their pregnancy, gut them when they're ready to burst, then package their babies. Depending on what quality you try -- I'm assuming everything I've eaten ranges from average to slightly below -- there may or may not be an overtly fishy taste. More than anything, it'll taste salty; not unpleasantly so, but salty. The appeal, I think, is not so much the taste but the texture and mouth feel. I've heard some people liken it to little balls of Jell-O, which isn't quite right. Caviar has a little more resiliency than that, it fights back a bit. So tiny beads of tapioca would be a more appropriate comparison. They kind of pop in your mouth, which is a little fun, using your tongue to push them against the roof of your mouth. It's not as life-changing as some TV chefs make it out to be, but like the saffron, I feel all the better having eaten it.

I've never tried Foie gras, but I know all about it. A duck (or goose) is kept in a tiny wire cage as a long metal tube thrust down its throat, force-feeding it cornmeal several times a day. The bird continues to eat and eat until its liver becomes fatty and diseased, swelling over 10 times its normal size. The duck (or goose) is then put out of its bloated misery, gutted for its engorged liver. This reminds me of the 3rd circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno. Because of their sins of a lifetime of over-gorging, the gluttons serve their punishment here, forced to eat mud and dirt for the rest of their damned existence. Somehow I think the duck's (or geese's) suffering is less poetic (and more cruel), but that wouldn't necessarily keep me from eating it.

But more than anything -- absolutely more than anything -- I want to try a truffle. They are fungi and they are precious. Pigs are used to hunt them, sniffing along the terrain in the mossy, foggy forests of Italy and France. It all sounds so mystical and mythological. They seem so other-worldly; I can practically smell the heavy dew in the air. I can imagine Hobbits feasting on them during their journey to Mount Doom, giving them the required nourishment to destroy Sauron's ring. It's the only food I can think of that is actually scoured for. I know food that is killed, produced, grown, and harvested, but definitely not scoured. They're worth $500 a pound. They often shave it into risotto, or on top of pasta. They look like little black clumps of coal that are the size of a clenched fist, ranging from the size of an infant's to an adult's. I want to know what all the hype is about, but interestingly, all online searches tend to be equally vague and inconclusive. According to Yahoo! Answers, the taste of truffles are "hard to define," "an acquired taste," and "unique," but I think that's kind of a cop out. It's like a non-answer. It's the type of response that leads me to believe these are people who don't know how to fully articulate their thoughts or, more likely, they've never actually tried it and are just full of it. Most things taste like things -- fish tastes light and delicate, onion taste sweet and earthy, honey dew tastes clean and nectarous, Cheetos taste processed and artificial. So what do truffles taste like? I've heard some TV chefs describe it as a flavor similar to mushroom, which makes enough sense considering they're both fungus. And make no mistake, I love mushrooms. Regular white button, portobello, baby portabella, chantrelles, oyster, straw, cremini, morels -- they're delicious. But even if truffles tasted like the most intense, most exquisite mushroom ever, I still have a hard time believing that they're as good as we've been led to believe. Perhaps its legend precedes its flavor. I must eat it, though.

All Major Credit Cards Accepted

2008-12-26T10:16:00.002-05:00

I know I'm not alone in my appreciation of infomercials. There's something spellbinding about them. The allure is beyond comprehension, lacking any kind of logical or sensible explanation. Perhaps it's curiosity, or boredom, or maybe even a slight bit of masochism -- whatever the reason, we feel obligated to watch.

The quality of acting is poor, of course, but it's as if it's purposely poor. It's like they went far out of their way to be awful. I don't know, perhaps it's shrewd salesmanship. Maybe acting that is so offensively bad makes us, the unsuspecting consumer, feel sympathy for the company and buy their product out of pity. And there are recurring infomercial actors, too. Pitchmen. People who corporate suits have hand-picked to represent their product, anointed to be the face of their company. They've become ingrained in our collective social consciousness; there's Billy Mays (with his immaculate beard) and Oxy Clean; Chef Tony and his specialty knives that can cut through dry wall just as easily as they can slice a tomato (although admittedly I don't see him around anymore...I hope he hasn't retired); and that guy with the pock marks, I forgot his name, and the airtight vacuum-sealed bags. They are television's professional shills.

I was always a poor math student, but with four "easy" payment installments, I think it's safe to say that it isn't going to be exactly cheap. Whatever the base price may be (let's just say, $14.99), after you multiply it by four, it's going to obviously add up. And they always make a big deal about price-slashing. They'll hedge their bets by starting really high -- "You won't pay $400 for this item...not $300...not $200...not $150...heck, not even $100" -- continuing to sequentially lower the price, dropping down in descending order. All of this is a nice gesture, I guess, but I don't think I'd want to blow $400 bucks all in one shot anyway. At least not over the phone, and not on a piece of junk.

The before-and-after scenes are ridiculous, but it's an endearing kind of ridiculous. I feel the eternal pessimist wastes his time complaining about them and the eternal optimist embraces and enjoys them. In cases like these, the glass is definitely half full. It's fun watching people struggle with the simplest, most mundane tasks. Opening a jar of pickles, wiping up spilled milk, chopping an onion -- all of sudden, they've become the hardest things in the world to do. And what's more, they'll always do them the exact opposite way you're supposed to do them. Instead of twisting the pickle jar's lid clockwise, they'll wrestle with it, as if trying to hold a live, wriggling fish at bay; instead of effeciently dabbing at the puddle of milk, they'll hold a sheet of paper towel between their thumb and pointer finger, daintily dragging it through the mess; and instead of chopping the onion, they'll jab and thrust at it, like a swashbuckler. It's amazing. The clips only last for a split second, but they always stand out as one of the highlights of the entire infomercial. I don't consider it an insult to my intelligence at all -- I consider it entertainment. And if their cinematography has taught me anything, it's that monochrome signifies conflict and hardship, while technicolor signifies a much easier and fulfilling life (that's assuming you own their product, naturally).

There's a misconception that infomercials only air really late at night (or really early in the morning, depending on which way you look at it), but that's not entirely true. Whenever we think of infomercials, we automatically think of 4:00 AM. But things have slowly changed. Truth is, infomercials come on at all times of the day. They're broadcast during the weekday when everyone is supposed to be at work. They're broadcast during those lazy Sunday afternoons, before or after a crappy basic cable TV movie (usually Tremors 2). In fact, if you scour your channels hard enough, you may even find one playing during prime time. So the point is, you don't necessarily have to be an insomniac to watch people selling stuff.

Specificity is always good, so here are a few of my favorite infomercials:

Ronco Rotisserie

So essentially, it's just a glorified Easy Bake Oven, right?

Spinning meat is mesmerizing. Spinning makes you hungry; spinning makes you want to eat.

The "flavor injector" is unappetizing. The concept is reasonable enough -- I can understand wanting to make something juicier and tastier -- but hypodermic needles conjures mental images of the doctor's office, HIV, and heroin. It doesn't really make me think of dinner. And it's hilarious when he injects the whole cloves of garlic into the rib roast...I love garlic, but it kind of defeats the purpose of seasoning when the garlic stays in one centralized area.

Set it...and forget it.

The salmon with sprigs of dill and slices of lemon looks pretty good.

Ron Popeil has created a lot of gadgets over the course of his career (the Chop-O-Matic, the Pocket Fisherman, Spray-On Hair, etc., etc.) but no one ever calls him an "inventor." And when you think about it, basically no one is ever considered an "inventor" these days. At least not an inventor in the same vein as Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, or Benjamin Franklin. Nowadays, if you create something, you're usually classified as an "entrepreneur" or a "business magnate." For instance, Bill Gates invented Microsoft, but no one really calls him an "inventor." It's a word that doesn't really fit into our everyday lexicon anymore; it's grown outdated, anachronistic. And that's unfair because for stupid and useless as his creations may be, they're still "inventions" in every sense of the word.

ShamWow

This is one of my new favorites.

The headset microphone seems completely unnecessary.

His bulging, frantic eyes suggest rampant cocaine abuse, or a stroke.

This puts me in the mood to punch coca-cola out of a swatch of shag carpeting.

I understand that its an abbreviation for "shammy," but I can still appreciate the poetic value of using "sham" right in the product name. It's nearly as blatant as calling it the FraudWow, or Rip-OffWow.

I'm almost positive I don't spend $20/month on paper towels, but now that he's brought it up, it does make me wonder...

This guy is the rockstar of infomercials. He is the new generation.

Magic Bullet

I guess I can see how this would be useful, but it's still just a small blender. And in that case, I can just use my ordinary blender.

Could they have picked a less sexually-suggestive product name, maybe? The double entendre couldn't have possibly been unintentional. Maybe for their next informercial they'll advertise the Dildo Toaster.

Zesty salsa in less than 5 seconds? This is truly a wonderous technological age we live in.

The host's accent makes me feel a little more inclined to buy it. It's very soothing. It almost makes me forget that he's ripping me off.

This does put me in the mood for a smoothie, maybe mango.

I always get so involved in the storyline. Are Mick and Mimi married, or are they just living together? Why are all these people at their house so early in the morning...did they all sleep over? Does Berman have a drinking problem? With the casual way she's just bumming around the house in a night gown and a cigarette, Hazel and the hosts most have a very familiar, longtime friendship. Are Mimi and the other blonde haired girl supposed to be sisters? They look related. If they are, I bet Mimi holds low key resentment and hostility towards her sister for being younger and slightly prettier. She doesn't necessarily hate her, she's just jealous. She badmouths her in private, but maintains a cheery disposition for the sake of public appearances. All liquored up, Mimi wanted to finally tell her sister off at her wedding reception (which was a beautiful affair, by the way), but Mick stepped in and kept her from embarassing herself. Sadly, Mimi is unable to bear children, so when she finds out her sister is pregnant, she'll be devastated. At least, this is how I envision the script in my head.

Walkfit Shoe Insole

This is the 2nd recording of this infomercial, and the host has really lost a lot of weight. Good for him.

I have very flat feet, so I always watch this so longingly. I get jealous of the shots of all the happy people dancing and shopping and bowling without any pain. After only a short while of walking and standing, my legs are already fatigued. And after a little while longer, they start throbbing. I really need some arch support in my shoes.

This is the same girl from the Magic Bullet commercials.

Snuggie

Yes, they look stupid. And yes, they make you look like you're a member of some weird cult or religious sect. But I have to admit that I would kind of want one. I don't know if I'd necessarily go out of my way to purchase one, but if someone offered to me as a gift, I would eagerly accept it. It's practical. It's useful. And I imagine it's comfortable. After you get over how goofy they are, it's hard to deny its usefulness. If you like blankets, then I think you would also like Snuggies.

But yeah, again, they do look obscenely stupid. They're just wearing a backwards robe, Kriss Kross-style. I would never wear them out to "a sporting events." I would never wear them "in the dorm." I would never wear them anywhere that I might be seen by the opposite sex. Only inside the house, with the blinds shut, and preferably shrouded in the night's darkness. And even then I would still feel embarassed.

Marvel

2008-12-20T12:09:00.017-05:00

I'm pumped because I recently discovered that Phil's Comic Book Shop on Atlantic is still open for business. I had no idea because I hadn't been down that way in a while. Everyone loves Tate's on University (and rightfully so, it's a cool store), but I like Phil's just as much. It's a tiny place, about the size of a broom closest when compared to the sprawling floorspace of Tate's. If all you want are comics -- and not toys, or anime, or goofy little knick knacks -- then this is a great place to shop because it's all they sell.

I'll buy a couple trade paperbacks and graphic novels every once and a while, but I haven't bought any actual comic books in years. Since I've been out of the loop for so long, I don't really know what's going on. But I was so happy that the store was still around that I felt obligated to buy something.

In X-Men Legacy #219, the Juggernaut becomes a super-villain again after, apparently, being a member of the X-Men for a while. I had no idea he had reformed, but I guess the idea of him being a temprorary hero is sort of cool. This issue was boring, though. It was just him and Professor X talking the whole time. And of course, the key to beating Juggernaut is rip his helmet off and attack him telepathically.

Amazing Spider-Man #579 featured the Shocker, and I've always liked him. He's just a second-string villain and poses little threat, but he has a great character design and makes for a good visual on the page. With that yellow, criss-crossed diamond pattern costume, it looks like he's wearing a very plush quilt. This issue is written by Mark Waid, who had a really good run with Captain America and the Fantastic Four back in the late 90s / early 00s.

Amazing Spider-Man #580 is written by Roger Stern, one of my favorite comic writers. I remember him writing a lot of good Avengers stuff. It has some good fight scenes, but it's with a villain I've never heard of: the Blank. He's completely opaque without any distinguishing facial features and is surrounded by a protective force field. Sounds like of like a rip-off of the X-Men villain Unus the Untouchable.

Amazing Spider-Man #581 was confusing because apparently Harry Osborn has come back to life. I have the original issue where he dies as the Green Goblin, but I guess they've brought him back. Other than all the confusing backstory stuff that I had trouble following, the entire issue was really non-eventful without any fight scenes or action sequences. And it included the Molten Man, who I never really thought much of as a villain. Dan Slott wrote this issue, and even though I've never read of his previous work I have heard some good things about him.

I liked all three of the different artists -- Marcos Martin, Lee Weeks, and Mike McKone -- in each of these three issues. They have a very sleek and streamlined style, everything looking very compact and aerodynamic. I feel that's the way Spider-Man should be drawn. I've seen a lot of other renditions of him looking huge and bulky, with broad shoulder and bulging muscles. That's not how Spider-Man should look at all. He should be really thin and wispy and flexible lanky. He shouldn't look like a weight lifter at all. It should actually be the exact opposite: his stature, posture, and physique should look creepy and inhuman, very Daddy Long Legs-ish. And all of the poses -- jumping, crawling, flipping, somersaulting -- were so smooth and fluid. That's really important to me in a Spider-Man comic, a penciller who knows how to properly choreograph an action sequence.

I also picked up a really old back issue, Uncanny X-Men #243. It had an awesome cover: a giant Mr. Sinister holding out the X-Men in his palm over a pit of flames, all of them dangling and hanging on this fingertips. The print date on the inside cover reads April 1989. It was nice to see Longshot again, who never gets enough airtime.

It'll never happen because of the social stigma attached to them, but comic books really do deserve more respect and renown as an artistic medium. They're visuals and verse, together. The perfect balance of two incredible things.

Comics are expensive these days. I remember a lot of them were $.99 when I was a kid, but now most of them are $3.00. I'm seriously thinking about getting a subscription. I'll be able to save a full $1 for a year's worth of issues.

A musty, moldy smell of old paper permeated the entire shop. With all of those boxes of back issues piled high upon one another, there's literally decades of rot in the air. All of that ground up pulp, that fading ink, paper that had gotten wet and then dried -- it's almost claustrophobic. It's a smell that only an avid reader could love. It's the smell of literacy.

Right on cue, I walked in to hear two customers talking about Lost and Heroes. Now, I don't have anything specifically against either of these shows -- I used to watch Lost and I've never seen an episode of Heroes, but I imagine I'd like it enough -- but I could barely conceal my condescending sneer as I eavesdropped on their conversation. Comic book nerds are so admirably and obliviously awkward (for the sake of reference, I do like comics and I do think of myself as a nerd, but not necessarily a comic book nerd). Perhaps more than anything, I've noticed their very distinct speech patterns. They're all very loud speakers. Not the hyper-macho, aggressive kind of loud you'll hear from a jock-bro or frat-bro at a bar. And not the annoying, inconsiderate kind of loud that you'll hear from a rude Soccer Mom on her cell phone while getting checked out in the express lane. This is much different, a loud that is completely unaware and unconcerned with of its surroundings. Kind of a like a social cluelessness. It's booming and cacophonous, lacking any sense of tact, grace, or shame. But in their defense, it's actually respectable in that they can discuss the most unattractive and unflattering topics without hesitation. I like to think that I'm pretty comfortable in my own skin, but even I would admit that talking out loud about how the 2nd generation of All-New, All-Different X-Men were assembled in order to rescue the original X-Men from the mutant island of Krakoa (and be assured, I can go on and out about this) would make me feel more than a little self-conscious.

And because of all the critical acclaim it's received, I'm gonna check out Ed Brubaker's Captain America and Daredevil next.

Cavemen and Dinosaurs

2008-12-17T13:34:00.012-05:00

I wish Flintstones chewable vitamins were still a staple of my daily diet. They were like SweeTarts, or Smarties, fortified with just enough iron and riboflavin. Basically, they were healthy candy.

I considered it cruel and unusual punishment that I could only take one per day; using my ingenious, Kindergarten-honed sense of logic, I figured more of a good thing was invariably and unequivocally better.

I'm aware that, in addition to the expected characters, they also make them in the shape of the Great Gazoo now; I don't remember if they had those back when I was young or if they added him to the line-up after the fact.

I vividly remember the catchy jingle they played during the commercials: "Ten million strong...and groooowing."

Now they offer two distinct options, the latter not being available to me as a child: chewable vitamins and gummi vitamins; I maintain the notion that current generations always have it better than the generations that preceded them.

The Flintstones helped push a lot of product; their faces adorn boxes of Cocoa and Fruity Pebbles, beloved household items. But it makes me wonder, why didn't any of their other contemporaries get any endorsement deals? Did some advertising agency conduct a scientific study that proved the Jetsons couldn't sell merchandise? Did Snagglepuss not have the necessary clout to carry his own brand of breakfast cereal?

It seems so obvious now -- just push down and twist at the same time -- but those child-proof bottle caps really did what they were supposed to. They were impenetrable.

We'll Take the Physical Challenge

2008-12-16T23:06:00.027-05:00

Growing up, I spent a lot of time watching Nickelodeon's Double Dare.

I remember enjoying it vicariously because I knew my family and I would never be contestants on the show. And it's not because we weren't a loving family; there wasn't anything especially dysfunctional or abusive about our relationship. But we just weren't that kind of family. I couldn't imagine all of us ever putting on matching uniforms, answering trivia questions, and performing stunts on national television -- at least not together. I don't think I'd have a problem playing with another stand-in family provided by the network (I could easily live a temporary lie for a 30-minute game show), but playing with my own would have just been weird.

My Mom would have absolutely refused to get messy, so considering the slime-based nature of the show, that would have immediately presented itself as a problem. My younger sister was really small as a kid, with tiny little hands and underdeveloped upper body strength (probably a byproduct of being five years old), so she didn't have the ideal physique for running, jumping, and grabbing. And my Dad had an uncanny ability to make me feel nervous and inadequate during anything remotely physical by just standing there (this issue would resurface again in the near future during Little League games), so I'd probably forget how to perform simple motor skills like walking from one point to another point, or how to use my opposable thumbs to grip things. I'd always see the families on TV jumping around, hugging and supporting one another, playfully hitting each other in the face with pie tins filled with shaving cream -- and I couldn't see us doing that. Again, there was nothing wrong with my family; we're actually very typical. We just weren't that way. We didn't have that dynamic, that rapport. I cringe thinking about how uncomfortable the car ride home would be if we didn't win.

If you didn't know the answer to a trivia question (or if you were employing some strategy and wanted to make the other team think you didn't know the answer) you can dare them. Then, if the opposing team also didn't know the answer (of if they wanted to call you out on your obvious bluff), they could double dare you. That's when you had to make a decision -- you either had to answer the question or accept a Physical Challenge. And I liked the Physical Challenges fine, they were like a precursor for messier, funnier things to come (read: the Obstacle Course). But looking back on it now, it's funny how the objective of so many of those challenges involved putting brightly colored liquid (usually green or orange) into big measuring cups. That was almost always the case: put this stuff into that thing and keep doing it until you fill it up to the red line. There were slight variations of course -- sometimes you had to sit on liquid-filled balloons, sometimes you wore a juicer on your head and you had to "juice" liquid-soaked balls -- but it was all more or less the same. Basically, it seemed like if you had the required eye-hand coordination to pour yourself a glass of milk, you could easily win.

Marc Summers was born to be a TV host. I couldn't picture him doing anything else with his life. He had the right combination of charisma, inoffensive All-American looks, and just enough cheese-factor to satiate the nation's old fashioned, conventional suburban viewership. I remember how he always used to wear a sports coat, necktie, blue jeans, and white sneakers with white tube socks. He was just really good at holding a microphone, looking into a camera, and saying things. And he's really prolific, too. It's not like he's a one-hit wonder; he also went on to host What Would You Do? (this was when the TV genre of pie-throwing was at its peak) and is currently hosting the Food Network's Unwrapped (it's nice to know how BBQ Fritos are made). He's just great at what he does.

The best part of the show, of course, was the 60-second Obstacle Course at the end of each episode. I spent a lot of time studying this challenge, closely comparing how one family fares to another. I took mental note of each tendency and pattern that formed: a strong start was imperative; if a contestant spent in excess of, say, twelve or more seconds on the very first obstacle, I knew their prospects were dim. Physical fitness played a role; maybe not a major role, but the father with a slight beer belly or the mother with the extra-wide hips were at a disadvantage. Because the ultimate goal of each obstacle was to capture the flag, there was a lot of reaching and grabbing and stretching and extending. The longer, leaner families usually responded well to this, as their sleek and slender arms were able to cover a lot more ground and reach the flag milliseconds faster than other, squatter families. And cardiovascular health was naturally a point of concern. Granted, the course was only a minute long, but stamina and endurance were important. I'm sure running around a TV studio and knocking down giant bowling pins would leave many people gasping for air.

I soon realized that aside from a few exceptions, the obstacles generally fit into four basic categories:

1) The "Gimmies" - These were the blatantly easy challenges that the producers strategically placed to make sure that families at least had a fighting chance of winning. They're essentially automatic. The objective was simple: get from Point A to Point B. The contestant would start at one location, travel a distance of about ten feet, and then grab the awaiting flag. These included the "Drawbridge" (you had to push your way through the big red drawbridge), the "Sunspension Bridge" (you can find these in any park on any playground), the "Doggy Door" (just had to crawl through on your hands and knees), and any variation of having to wade through a waist-high pool of water (the pool was often decorated as a swamp with fake sawgrass, fog machine, and inflatable alligators). These were all boring, but they served a purpose. Without them, they'd definitely have to extend the time limit.

2) The Slightly More Difficult "Gimmies" - These were fundamentally the same obstacle, only a little harder. You still only had to get from Point A to Point B, but these demanded at least the slightest bit of athleticism. You actually had to traverse across something or negotiate your way through something, like the "Ant Farm" (it was a giant ant farm and you had to snake and wriggle your way through the tunnels), the "Sushi Roll" (they were big pipes shaped like California rolls and you had to crawl through them on your belly), "In One Ear" (enter through one ear, squeeze through the wax, and come out the other ear), and the "Sundae Slide" (climb up a ramp, ride the twisty slide down to the bottom, land in a giant ice cream sundae, reach up for the flag. Now, because the ramp was greased with faux chocolate syrup, the key to this obstacle was to put your feet on the outside edges of the ramp; too many contestant tried running right up the ramp and slipping back down).

3) The Pull-This-String or Stomp-This-Button - These included "Bats in the Belfry" (there were three hanging bells to choose from; two of them dropped down only rubber bats and confetti, the third dropped down rubber bats, confetti, and the flag), "Soda Jerk" (there were three flavors of soda and you had to stomp on the right button; the soda would spray down from above and one of them would include the flag), and "Gak Gesier" (this was more straightforward; just hit the button, watch the big machine shoot out green gak from the top, and then collect the flag wherever it lands). The trick here was to just pull all three string or stomp all three buttons successively, one after the other. Too many people wasted time pulling the string, checking the ground if anything fell; pulling the second string, checking the ground; pulling the third string, picking up the flag. Obviously one of them has to be the right one, so make the odds work in your favor and pick them all at the same time.

4) The Messily Hidden Flag - The fourth most ubiquitous obstacle was searching for a hidden flag, usually in a big slice of pizza, or a big pile of waffles, or big peanut butter & jelly sandwich. They ususally called this "The Blue Plate Special." The folly of many a contestant is a hesitatation or reticence in approaching the giant representation of food. It was frustrating to watch people nervously poke at the very corner of the sandwich, or listlessly lift one of the pieces of waffle. As if they were afraid of getting dirty or something...go ahead and attack it. The flag obviously isn't going to be sitting daintily front and center, so dig under that cheese and pepperoni like a madman. Just tear shit up and worry about the repercussions later. This was often the death knell for contestants; if they're wasting over a quarter of their allotted time messing around with this challenge, they weren't going to win.

And then I guess you could also count a fifth unofficial category: The Miscellaneous. These were the obstacles that didn't quite fit into any of these categories, or perhaps fit into all of them simultaneously. For example, the "Gumball Machine" (jump down into a ball pit and come out the other end), "the Lift" (this involved two contestants sitting on a seesaw, with the one going up grabbing the flag overhead), and the "1-ton Hamster Wheel" (jump into a giant hamster wheel and keep running until you made the boxing glove holding the flag drop down).

I haven't flipped past Nickelodeon in a while, but I don't think they have game shows like this anymore. No Double Dare, or Legends of the Hidden Temple, or Wild and Crazy Kids, or Guts. There's no present-day equivalent. I assume it has something to do with how sedentary we've grown as a society. And even if TV producers did try to pitch a similar game show today, most kids are probably too fat to compete on it anyway. Bummer.

Guns and Cigarettes are Cool

2008-12-15T15:06:00.005-05:00

I'm mindful of what I eat -- no fast food or soda, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. And I maintain physical activity -- this reminds me, I need to change the flat tire on my bike. So, I think it's safe to say I'm a relatively healthy person.

And I have no particular interest in killing anything, so I think I can say I'm more or less a mentally stable person.

But with both these things established, I can also say with complete confidence that guns and cigarettes are two of the coolest things on Earth. And I dare anyone to convince me otherwise.

For someone who's as constantly and consciously self-aware of my image as I am, it's a surprise I've never started smoking. A lit cigarette hanging precariously from your lips, red-orange embers burning at its tip, smoke billowing from your face -- it's a captivating aesthetic. It makes nobodies look like somebodies, makes ordinary people look extra ordinary, and makes beautiful people look devastatingly unapproachable. Complete disregard for one's own mortality earns a begrudging sense of awe.

You couldn't buy a better accessory than a pack of smokes. It helps complete the brooding and pensive look, if that's what you're aiming for. During social interaction, I never know what to do with my hands or my mouth, so this seems like the most logical habit to pick up. It's by far the trendiest thing you can find at a gas station. Cigarettes create an awesome silhouette when cast against asphalt, preferably before the sun gets too high in the sky. This has nothing to do with feeling good (I've heard enough about emphysema to surmise that it's unpleasant) and everything to do with looking good.

And I'm not a violent person. I'm not one of those psycho gun enthusiasts that attend national conventions and dress entirely in camouflage. Hunting is completely unappealing to me, firing ranges seem uncomfortably loud, and I don't ever want to find myself in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But I have to admit, guns are cool, too. They make you look tough without having to do anything other than being seen with one. The fact that you're more likely to shoot a family member than an intruder notwithstanding, I'd probably want a Glock.

They're empowering in a phallic sort of way, like that feeling of manliness when you're holding your own hard on, or maybe a guitar. They have an awesome nickname, "firearm"; it makes me fantasize that I have a flamethrower for a limb that shoots fire whenever I flex my bicep. I believe most people (or at least most people with small children in the household) keep their guns locked away and out of sight, but I'd display it on my dresser like a Little League trophy, propped up at a dramatic 45 degree angle, maybe shine a low-wattage spotlight down on it. I'm not even interested in ever firing it, I just want to brandish it and use it as a pointer. I'd wear one of those holsters that strap around your shoulder, the ones you see overworked, underslept TV detectives wearing, usually over an unpressed long sleeve button-down shirt that's rolled up to the elbows.

Now I want to make this clear: death and murder and homicide are NOT admirable things. Anyone who thinks they are needs to grow up...and in the most extreme of cases, receive psychiatric counseling for their obvious socipathic tendencies. Guns are scary, powerful, and dangerous, but they just LOOK like really cool toys. It's hard not to want to play with it.

Atmosphere's "Guns and Cigarettes" is a great song, and by no small coincidence.

Twenty-Four Years Old

2008-12-15T15:03:00.003-05:00

I turned 24 years old last month, but I'm convinced I'm still young. And that's because I've figured out the measuring stick for youth:

Of all the consciously-hip, vaguely-artistic, indie-inclined films that have come out in recent years and struck a chord with the general public, I was already familiar with the bands that made up the backbone of their soundtracks.

The songs that encapsulate Garden State, Juno, and Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist were uploaded onto my iTunes library before I ever bought my ticket. There was always that one (maybe two) defining song that played during the crux of the storyline, and I've already heard it before. Zach Braff, Natalie Portman, Ellen Page, and the kid who played George Michael Bluth all made valiant efforts to introduce me to some new music, but I beat them to the punch. The Shins? Yeah, Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow both came out when I was still in high school. The Moldy Peaches? A friend of mine included them in a mix for me a while back. Vampire Weekend and the Submarines? My subscription of SPIN magazine tipped me off to them well in advance.

Not saying that I don't like these bands or that I'm somehow above them -- well, maybe the Moldy Peaches because "Anyone Else But You" has become absolutely insufferable. I mean, have you heard the bizarre re-write for that Atlantis resort commercial? Something about "riding dolphins." Horrifying. -- but I'd be lying if I didn't admit there is a sense of reassurance I get from remaining ahead of the music curve. "If I've heard of them, they may be good; if I've never heard of them, they must suck" has been my (very narcissistic) mantra since the about the age of 17. And, seven years later, I'm proud to say that this is still mostly true. But once another Next Big Thing comes around and I'm completely unfamiliar with it (or worse yet, actually threatened by it), I'll know that my time has come. It's a fine line between being up-to-date and past-your-prime. If I'm the only person in the theater who can't sing along to the lyrics of the catchy song playing during a new trailer, I'm in trouble.

For the time being, I remain young.

Healthy Competition

2008-12-15T14:59:00.004-05:00

Competition typically breeds greatness.

Brian Wilson was so blown away by Rubber Soul that he immediately started work on Pet Sounds.

Everyone needs a direct adversary to humble you, a rival to push you beyond your limits, a muse to inspire oneself to brilliance.

So my personal Rubber Soul -- or Pet Sounds, whichever. We can figure out exactly who's who later -- is my friend Angelica's blog Culturally Subverting Bedtime Stories. It's a fantastic blog, one of the few that I follow on a regular basis. And there's nothing mean-spirited about this...I consider it a very healthy, cordial competition. But I can't deny that I track her progress with personal interest, out of the corner of my eye, making sure she hasn't yet surpassed me; and if she has, hopefully I haven't fallen too far behind. I feel absolutely compelled to write with each new blog entry she posts and each new blog entry I don't post.

She writes more than me now. Her most recent work is from the 10th, just a couple of days ago. My most recent work is from the 28th...of September. I'm lagging. Without habitual updates, the blog as a medium is rendered ineffective.

Her blog title is more clever than mine. There's a charming ambiguity and duality to its meaning: the bedtime stories she tells are subversive to the conventions of the culture that we live in; or maybe it's the other way around, she's subverting the bedtime stories themselves, completely undermining everything we thought we knew about "Goldilocks and the Three Bears." My blog title isn't quite as inclusive, as I don't think "Objectivism" means much to those who aren't familiar with the work of Ayn Rand.

Her blog includes a nice balance between text and multimedia. On my front page, I only have two YouTube vidoes up, while she has about seven times that. Hers is just more visually stimulating. I should take better advantage of people's inherent fondness for moving pictures.

We have a lot in common with a lot of intersecting interests. We typically aim for the same online demographic. This just gives me added incentive to keep writing because it's only a matter of time before she writes something that I would have, or that I would want to.

So read her blog. And then read mine. I might even have something new posted.

What I Had For Breakfast 12/15

2008-12-15T13:20:00.001-05:00

Mushroom, onion, potato, and broccoli omelet with a blueberry bagel, the top of a blueberry muffin, and a glazed donut.

It was an awesome breakfast, but I'm already thinking about what I want for lunch. Don't live in the past.

Déjà Parlé

2008-12-15T13:19:00.003-05:00

I can handle break ups. It's presumptuous to think that all relationships are meant to last ad infinitum. They exist and then they cease. It's nothing to kill yourself over. There's actually a lot of good that comes from this cyclical process, as it constantly allows us to meet new people (and see new naked body parts). So it's not so much the end of relationships that bother me, it's all the work that goes into beginning them.

I've realized I'm a hack of a stand-up comic, with just enough jokes to last a 30-minute set.

I have the same anecdotes, the same "spontaneous" observations, the same political insights that I repeat every time I take a new girl out to dinner. I've gotten better at delivering them, I suppose. After so many times, I've got my timing down just right, where to pause for dramatic or comedic effect. I know exactly which words to emphasize, the syllables to stress and unstress. I even have the gestures memorized, holding my arms outstretched when I want to signify quantity, lightly tapping my finger on the table for emphasis.

But it's a lot of work for a little bit of sex and companionship. We're not even going to be on speaking terms in X amount of months anyway -- or maybe X amount of weeks, depending on how quickly we get sick of each other -- so I'm not always convinced it's worth the effort. And even worse, it makes me feel like a phony. It makes me feel unoriginal and uninspired. Repeating the same stories ("I met a cast member of the Real World this one time. Wanna guess who it was? I'll give you a hint, he/she was on the New Orleans season...") makes me feel like I have nothing new to say. And as a humanities graduate, this is especially troubling. Creativity, imagination, artistry -- these traits are supposed to be my currency. As a pseudo-writer, coming up with new stories should be easy for me.

I need to work on my material.

Complications with Time Traveling in 'Back to the Future'

2008-12-15T13:17:00.001-05:00

Time travel doesn't make sense.

Marty McFly should have disappeared the second he pushed his father out of the way of his grandfather's car. His parents never meet, he's never born, and he ceases to exist. That should have been the end of the movie. I've heard people argue that the reason why he didn't disappear at that exact moment is because the last possible chance for him to survive was the Enchantment Under the Sea dance, so similar to a jug of milk, there's a sort of figurative expiration date on his existence. But I don't entirely buy this explanation because if we're being this flexible with the time continuum, it fails to account for the possibility, distant as it may be, that his parents may meet and marry at a later date. And of course, lets not forget the most glaring loophole here: if Marty does cease to exist, then that means he never travels back in time, which means he never interferes with his parents meeting each other, which means he is eventually born, which means he does in fact exist.

Traveling back in time is a logical and logistical impossibility. Any potential time traveler will be doomed to an eternity of living and re-living the same fate in a perpetual cycle. I'm sure someone like Stephen Hawking could check and confirm my math.

But those self-lacing Nike's he wore in Back to the Future II were fresh as hell.

My Return From the Dead.

2008-11-23T16:47:00.006-05:00

The semester is almost over. I will soon find a lot more time to write. New blog entries are forthcoming.

I am the modern Lazarus.

Things That Kids Like Me Like #1: Ecto-Cooler

2008-09-28T22:35:00.007-04:00

People are predictable. Kids like me -- and by "kids like me," I of course mean young adults of vaguely-indie, vaguely-artsy, vaguely-pretentious persuasions -- all like the same things. This is the first installment in what I expect will be a regular series that examines the things that we like-minded people enjoy. For example, I present:

The Hi-C Ecto Cooler.

Anyone in and around my demographic can fully appreciate its cultural importance. It was a greedy, money-hungry attempt to cash in on the popularity of Ghostbusters, slapping a bastardized image of Slimer on the package to push product -- but these kind of politics didn't matter at the age of 8.

The cafeteria hierarchy of juice boxes said a lot about a person, and not only of their value as a beverage connoisseur, but also of their value as an individual.

Minute Maid and Juicy Juice were nice, safe choices, if not a little boring. Students who drank this tended to not have any strong opinion on anything one way or the other.

Kool-aid fulfilled an essential dietary need for young children: fruit juice that didn't include any actual fruit in it. Ice cream sandwiches didn't grow from the Earth; ergo, anything that did grow from the Earth must be its exact, diametrical opposite and couldn't possibly be good.

Soda was only drank by bullies (and, perhaps, future diabetics). It was best to steer clear of these kids. And interestingly, it was the soda-drinkers who never had guardians come on Open House night, or for PTA meetings, or for parent-teacher conferences. I realize now, looking back in retrospect, anyone who brought Mountain Dew to school invariably came from a broken home, most likely one with a history of domestic abuse. This is established fact, I'm sure.

Capri Sun and Squeeze-Its were ultra-hip because, technically, they weren't juice boxes at all. One was a pouch and the other was a plastic bottle, respectively. It was the most cutting-edge of lunchbox technology. This proved you to be a radical, counterculture free-thinker. You very literally thought outside the box. But your hipster points were automatically deducted if you had to have a teacher help you open your Capri Sun (the tip was to make the initial puncture quick and decisive; any waffling on your part resulted in a dulled point at the tip of your straw).

And if you drank Mott's, you were a bitch-ass Momma's boy.

But nothing outranked Ecto Coolers. It tasted good. It had a beloved, recognizable fictional character on the front. It took two great things -- refreshments and Ghostbusters -- and combined them; even at that young age, we understood the appeal of killing two birds with one stone. It didn't necessarily guarantee cool, but it certainly solidified it.

These days, it's reached ultimate cult status. It's one of those rare cultural phenomenons that transcend racial, gender, musical, and political divides. Upon mere mention, it invokes immediate nostalgia. It is universally loved. It's become something of a social fail-safe; anytime you're at a party or on a date or hanging out with friends (assuming we're dealing with 20-something year olds here) and the conversations hits an uncomfortable lull, you can ask "Hey, remember when everyone used to drink Ecto Coolers?" This will undoubtedly spark at least another half hour of spirited discourse.

I don't much drink sugary drinks these days, but if it were still around, I'd make an exception.

It's Got a Back Beat, You Can't Lose It

2008-09-20T21:21:00.011-04:00

I like to think I have a fairly eclectic taste in music.

I enjoy the indie hip-hop of Atmosphere; the pitch-perfect vocals of Whitney Houston; the gangsta rap of N.W.A.; the soft, sentimental plucking of James Taylor; the electronic remixing of MSTRKRFT; the undefinable genre-bending of Beck.

But in the end, my one true, audible love is two guitars, a bass, and a drum kit. Regardless of whatever form it takes, be it indie or emo or college or surf or prog or grunge or pop-punk or nerd or post-hardcore, this is my musical preference -- it's what we all would colloquially call "rock and roll."

What I've always found interesting, though, is how ridiculous a term it is. Rock and Roll. Or even worse, Rock N' Roll. It just sounds silly. I don't often utter those particular words in that particular order...at least not unironically. Whenever making polite small talk to a person I've just met, I always seem to be confronted with the incredibly complex question of "what do you listen to?" I'll take a moment to collect my thoughts and proceed to give some long-winded answer, mentioning specific bands that I'm fond of, as well as the specific movements and sub-genres and styles and record labels they belong to. But I'll never actually answer "rock and roll" (on a side note, "rock and roll" is the second least-hip, least-informed answer you can give in this situation; the first being "everything," because as we know, anyone who listens to "everything" doesn't listen to anything good).

Rock and roll. The problem is, it's such a disingenuous phrase. Like a phrase that's trying too hard, somehow. It looks and sounds foolish. I can barely say it out loud without grimacing, without laughing, without feeling the corners of my mouth instinctively pull into an arrogant sneer. I'm not entirely sure why this is. Who knows, maybe I've just reached the point of no return as a music fan, the point when my own snobbish elitism will never allow me to enjoy anything ever again.

I think this can all be best summed up, best articulated, by Billy Joel. The other day,"It's Still Rock and Roll To Me" came up on my iPod, and that's exactly what I'm talking about. First, the song sucks. Second, and most importantly, Billy Joel doesn't have an edgy, rebellious bone in his body. I mean, he wrote "Uptown Girl." He's safe and radio-friendly and inoffensive (however, this isn't to say I don't like Joel at all, because "Piano Man" is one of the greatest sing-along songs ever). So it's just so perfectly and conveniently ironic that he wrote a song that tried to justify how his music actually is rock and roll (which it isn't) and that he felt the need to specifically mention it in the title (which is never a good thing). It's along the same lines of, if you have to say that you're cool, then you're probably not cool...or something like that. Anyway, the term "rock and roll" has become a joke, a caricature of its former self. Linguistically, it's evolved into something very different than its origin. It's one of those words, similar to rad or boss or word or true, that are said ironically by people who actually have a clue, and unironically by everyone else.

And I don't think I've ever used the phrase "rocking out" (as in, "I'm rocking out!") either. At least not sincerely.

Disclaimer: Chuck Berry wrote the song "Rock and Roll Music" and Ryan Adams titled an album "Rock 'N Roll" spelled backwards, but I actually don't have a problem with either. Go figure.

Final Jeopardy! (Catching Up)

2008-09-13T15:27:00.004-04:00

9/3

Category: American History

Clue: In the last week of the John Tyler administration, this republic was offered statehood.

Answer: Texas

I know absolutely nothing else about former President John Tyler, but I have a ton of family in Houston and San Antonio, so I did get this right.

9/4

Category: Historic Journals

Clue: On January 18, 1972, he arrived at a tent near the Pole and found "a record of five Norwegians having been there."

Answer: Robert Scott

I had no idea. Upon a quick Wikipedia search to fill in my apparent gap in knowledge, it appears that Scott and the rest of his expedition crew perished on their way back home to Britain due to extreme exhaustion and exposure to cold -- serves them right for stumping me.

9/5

Category: Alliances

Clue: The Quadruple Alliance began in 1813 against this country; in 1818, it let this country in and became the Quintuple Alliance.

Answer: France

In the Final Jeopardy! round, they give contestants (and viewers) 30 seconds to answer. I would think, even if I couldn't come up with the correct answer (which was the case here), that half a minute should be enough time for me to pick a country, any country, as at least a wild guess. Instead, I spent those 30 seconds dumbfounded.

9/8

Category: The Vatican

Clue: A statue of this man is being erected inside the Vatican's walls near where he was locked up in 1633.

Answer: Galileo.

Haha, it's nice to hear that the Catholic Church is finally willing to honor Galileo after they imprisoned him for the remainder of his life for proposing something as ridiculous as the Earth revolving around the Sun.

And I didn't actually know the answer to this one, so I'll deflect this minor detail with two bits of vaguely-related but otherwise completely tangential useless trivia: 1) Vatican City is smaller than the state of Rhode Island and 2) Galileo was the only current day, "pop culture" celebrity that John Milton referenced by name in his epic poem Paradise Lost.

9/10

Category: Brand Names

Clue: To feature its "Strong Enough To Stand On" product, in 1964 Schwayder Bros., Inc. changed its name to this.

Answer: Samsonite.

I love buying stuff, so I thought I'd get this one, no problem. But I guessed Krazy Glue. And has anyone ever bought luggage at the airport? I mean, they have the boutiques and they sell them there, so there must be a market for it...

9/11

Category: Lines from 19th Century Novels

Clue: "My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them."

Answer: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Very easy. "Two natures" was a dead giveaway. And I've noticed there seems to be a small misconception among the general populace regarding Mr. Hyde -- many people are under the impression (maybe because of film adaptations, maybe because they've never read the novella) that Mr. Hyde was some monstrous, towering Incredible Hulk-like creature. But actually, he was smaller in stature than Dr. Jekyll -- very short and stumpy.

9/12

Category: Royalty

Clue: It's the name of today's longest-ruling family in Europe, in power for most of the last 711 years.

Answer: Grimaldi.

Again, did not know. All that could come to mind was Prince Charles and the Queen Mum. My self-esteem and sense of self-worth is slowly diminishing. And in case it ever comes up during a dinner party or any other social gathering, "regicide" is the execution of a King (or whoever is in charge of whichever monarchy) after a conviction of wrong doing.

Final Jeopardy! 8/29, 9/1

2008-09-02T11:22:00.003-04:00

8/29

Category: Ancient Times

Clue: Plutarch's chapter on Romulus quotes this much later man as saying, "I love treason but hate a traitor."

Answer: Julius Caesar

This was easy. Ancient times --> Romulus --> Rome --> "traitor" --> Caesar. It's a pretty obvious, straightforward deduction. Two of the contestants thought it was Cicero, which I suppose is a decent guess if you're just taking a wild stab at any important Roman names that come to mind. They both got the nationality right, at least.

And most people who think they hate anchovies don't realize that it's an ingredient in authentic Caesar salad dressing. Raw eggs, too.

9/1

Category: Inventors

Clue: In 1894, in his West Orange lab, Thomas Edison shot this sport, the first ever sporting event ever filmed.

Answer: Boxing match

In 9th grade Film Class, the first stuff we learned at the beginning of the year -- long before we got around to watching any actual movies -- was the historical and technical side of film-making: Eastman Kodak, celluloid, the Kinetograph and Kinetoscope, blah blah blah. And of course, Thomas Edison. It was actually a really fun class taught by a teacher was very passionate about the subject, so I've since retained that little bit of useless trivia. That, and the early, grainy footage of the guy with the rad handlebar mustache sneezing in front of the camera.

Also, according to everthing I've read and heard, Edison was an asshole -- an aloof, cut-throat, backstabbing, idea-thieving, self-aggrandizing asshole. Not that any of it is a bad thing, I'm just saying.

The Hiearchy of Monsters

2008-08-30T18:59:00.018-04:00

This is an unscientific ranking of ghouls, from best to worst:

1) Zombies - For everyone in and around my general demographic, this is the universal favorite. In whatever form it takes, either the serious (Night of the Living Dead, 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead), the satirical (Shaun of the Dead, The Zombie Survival Guide), or somewhere inbetween, (Dead Alive, Re-Animator), people have a strong fondness for the rotting, flesh-eating Undead. I suppose there might be some deep-rooted, psychological reason for this (it wouldn't be Freudian though, because he believed we would actually be terrified to see a return of the dead; so maybe it'd be Jungian), perhaps due to some painful longing to see lost loved ones again...but I'm not positive about that. What I do know, however, is that Zombies look really cool. And that's probably the biggest and simplest reason why we like them so much. They're all rad-looking, with sunken eyes, gangrenous skin, and tattered clothing (it's funny how Zombies are hardly ever naked; they always still have like 1/2 of a shirt left, or 1/3 of a pair of pants). As far as physical appearances go, they're hard to beat. And that's probably why it's the perennial last-second, default Halloween costume. It's incredibly easy -- a small-sized, long-sleeved cowboy shirt; frayed, 29-waist cut-off jeans; a little bit of make-up; a vacant stare and, there you have it, Zombie Indie Kid.

2) Werewolf (aka the Wolfman) -- We all love a good martyr, and Werewolves are the reigning marytyr kings of the Monster World. They don't transform into unholy half-wolf/half-human creatures because they want to; it's because they're cursed to. It's not like they disembowel people of their own volition (that would make them cold-blooded murders, and generally unlikable), it's just that pesky full moon's fault. Their condition, their Werewolfdom, was thrust upon them -- assuming of course that you subscribe to the gypsy, Eastern European folklore popularized by Hollywood: victim is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting bit by a pre-existing Werewolf -- a burden that they're forced to live with, the pall of it all hanging heavy on their conscience and their heart. For real, we eat that maudlin shit up for breakfast. We love our tragic figures. We love anyone who shoulders the load of an unfair destiny. We sympathize and empathize (as much as you can empathize with someone turning into a mythical wolf-like creature, at least) with their supernatural plight. And this is because it represents the grievances we have with the physical maladies and deformities we have in our own lives. We can relate with everything that plagues us -- the big, fat nose; the gaping underbite; the multiple sclerosis; the searing foot pain caused by fallen arches; the cleft palate; the speech impediement; the hunched curviture of the spine...we have so much in common. Life has dealt us all some unfair hands, but don't despair -- the Wolfman understands us.

3) Ghosts -- I don't even know if I believe in an afterlife. And for the sake of argument, supposing that there is, I'm probably just as likely to be reincarnated as a tree or an elephant or a dental hygienist as I am to become a floating, wailing, transparent specter (and for the record, if I ever did become a spirit, I wouldn't want to be a lame, nondescript-looking Casper kind of ghost; I would want to be like the ghost of Jacob Marley in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, carrying around all of those noisy, heavy chains as an eternal punishment for being such a misanthrope...it's very Sisyphean). But my cynicism and disbelief notwithstanding, I love a good ghost story. The eerier and creepier, the better. Like the lady who haunts room 219 at the local hotel because she hung herself from the shower head; or the little girl (wearing a typical Victorian-era Sunday dress, naturally) that died of tuberculosis and can be regularly seen playing hopscotch in the backyard garden of her childhood home; or the wandering hitchhiker who still appears on the shoulder of a lonely highway, accidentally struck and killed by a wayward driver on a particularly dark and rainy and slippery night. It's all bullshit. The people who insist on seeing these kind of things also happen to be the same kind of people who believe in it. Of course there are always the ones who try qualifying their stories with "Oh man, I was never the type to believe in ghosts, but there was this one time..." But if you asked them, honestly, if they believed in an afterlife or God or Christianity as a whole before their supposed sighting, they will almost always sheepishly answer, yes. In other words, they're predisposed to see ghosts. If I jump into the middle of the ocean expecting to see sharks, I'm probably gonna see something that kind of, sort of, looks like a shark. That's just how your mind is hard-wired to work. But despite my status as a relative non-believer (and I say "relative" to hedge my bets; hopefully if I remain noncommittal enough, Jesus will cut me a break and still let me into Heaven should I be wrong haha), I still find ghost stories completely fascinating. It speaks to my curious, macabre side. A really good ghost story will always make me hesitant to go the bathroom at night by myself.

4) Vampires - Kids who read copious amounts of Anne Rice novels (I'll give them Interview with the Vampire, but that's about it) are weird and ugly, but for the most part, vampires are still generally cool. But lets make a distinction here; frankly, the Hollywood version of Count Dracula -- the thin, pasty effeminate man, mincing and prancing around in a satin cape, sucking people off -- is actually kind of gay. But Vlad the Impaler, the real-life, historical figure that likely inspired Bram Stoker's novel? He was one of the baddest men ever. I stop and drop everything I'm doing whenever a documentary of his airs on the History Channel. Vlad was no joke, his favorite form of torture being impalement. Anyone who crossed his authority was sentenced to having a wooden stake driven through their body, starting at the anus and then slowly tearing its way through the their mouth. Being the kind soul that he was, Vlad was sure not too sharpen the stake too much, as to not give his victim the benefit of a quick, merciful death. He was known to watch these impalings while eating dinner, feasting on their spilled blood in a golden chalice. He probably thought it gave him supernatural power, bestowing him the strength of his fallen victim or something out-there like that. What a crazy, vampiric, maginificent psychopath that Vlad was.

5) Wendigo - This is underrated, under-appreciated darkhorse rounds out my Top 5. According to Native American mythology, anyone who consumes human flesh can suffer the mystical transformation into a Wendigo. For the Algonguin tribe of the Canadian wilderness, this myth was mostly a cautionary tale to deter people from murder and breaking taboos (the taboo in this case being canabalism). But much like the Werewolf, the Wendigo can also become a very sympathetic, tragic figure. There have also been stories of men getting lost in the woods, usually becoming incapacitated somehow, perhaps by badly spraining an ankle, falling down a deep ravine, or getting a foot caught in a bear trap. Either way, the man is completely immobilized and is unable to return to the confines of civilization. Days will pass by; soon, it'll be a week. He sustains himself on nearby berries and bugs, collecting rain water the best he can with overturned leaves. But the air is getting colder and his body is growing weaker. Someone will eventually find him, but he realizes that if he doesn't act in the mean time, he will die. So with his pocket knife in hand, he decides his only hope is eating some of his own flesh...and then, Wendigo. You feel for him because he's being punished for the natural human emotion of survival. You're horrified by the idea, but you can also identify with him because if placed in the same situation, you might actually do the same (not me though, as I'd probably just give up and die).

And these are the other monsters that didn't make the cut:

Mummies - They're like the dumber, lamer version of our standard non-Egyptian Zombie, all those stupid strips of bandages hanging everywhere. No one's afraid of being chased by King Tut. If anything, I'd be more scared of the curse that comes along with disturbing a Mummy's tomb than the actual Mummy itself. And no, I haven't seen a single one of those Brendan Fraser movies.

Dr. Frankenstein's Monster -- The ramifications of playing God, of creating life out of which there previously was no life, and then shunning that creation when it doesn't turn out to be exactly what you expected makes for a phenomenal psychological thriller (thank you Mary Shelley), but it really doesn't scare me. That scene when the Monster, desperate for human contact, finally decides to reveal himself to the family he had been watching from afar and that he had fallen in love with, only to have them recoil in horror when they see how hideous he is...that breaks my heart, but it doesn't exactly chill my bones. Oh, and if you want to sound like a pretentious bigshot know-it-all, be sure to correct anyone (smugly, of course) whenever they refer to the Monster as "Frankenstein" -- that is incorrect. The doctor who created it was named Victor Frankenstein, but the Monster itself had no name.

Bigfoot/Yetti/Abominable Snowman; Loch Ness Monster -- These fit under the same category; they're "monsters" in the same sense that Leprechauns, or the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny are "monsters." So yeah, they aren't monsters at all. There are people who actually hunt these make-believe, figments of imagination...and they all need real jobs.

Surprise

2008-08-29T17:47:00.004-04:00

McCain chooses Gov. Sarah Palin as VP running mate

Wow. I did not see that coming at all.

It's definitely an interesting choice and I commend McCain for thinking (way) outside the box for his Vice President, but I have to question how well she meshes with the overall tone of his campaign. If the GOP's insist that Barack Obama is unqualified for office because of his age and lack of experience, what does that say about a 44-year-old, no-name Governor (of Alaska, no less; as beautiful as it may be, it's barely a U.S. state) with a practically non-existent political resume?

It's risky, but I'm always appreciative of the unconventional. This is what I'm loving about the 2008 Presidential race -- everything is so unprecedented. Keep bucking that trend, guys (and girls).

Final Jeopardy! 8/19, 8/21-8/22, 8/25-8/28 (or, I Am Falling Behind)

2008-08-25T18:15:00.012-04:00

8/19

Category: State Capitals

Clue: One of the 2 state capitals whose name ends with the Greek word for "city."

Answer: Annapolis

Easy. Two of them got Annapolis, which is what I answered (the other possible answer being, of course, Indianapolis). The third kid was way off and thought it was Sacramento. He needs to spruce up his Greek. Socrates must be rolling around in his hemlock-infested grave.

8/21

Category: Famous Americans

Clue: In 1773 he wrote, "The heart of a fool is in his mouth, but the mouth of a wise man is in his heart."

Answer: Benjamin Franklin

This was another easy one, mostly because Benjamin Franklin was one of the few Americans who was actually writing anything at all -- let alone anything of any significance -- at that time. The concept of "American Literature" really didn't existed at such an early date. And one of my favorite things that Franklin ever wrote was the letter "Advice on the Choice of a Mistress." He argues that when choosing the right person to have an affair with, always pick an older woman over a younger girl. And he really does bring up some good points.

8/22

Category: U.S. Government History

Clue: This man cast the first tie-breaking vote in U.S. history.

Answer: John Adams.

I honestly didn't know. And I couldn't even come up with a guess in time. One of the contests just wrote down "Adams," but they couldn't accept it as a correct answer because there's two Adams' -- both John and then his son John Quincy Adams -- to distinguish from. Haha, she tried to get sneaky. And I always heard such amazing things about that John Adams TV series, but I never bothered watching it. This was mostly due to two reasons: 1) I don't have HBO, and 2) I didn't feel like it.

8/25

Category: American Thinkers

Clue: "I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude," he wrote in a chapter on solitude in an 1854 work.

Answer: Henry David Thoreau

Easy.

And, theoretically, going out and living in a cabin on Walden pond to live deliberately and suck the marrow out of life and all that transcendental stuff truly is a beautiful pursuit. But unless I get internet access in the middle of the woods, there really is no practical use to it.

8/26

Category: The 7 Wonders of the World

Clue: Philo of Byzantium called it a ploughed field "above the heads of those who walk between the columns below."

Answer: Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

I had no idea. I only knew of 2 of the 7 Wonders of the World off the top of my head -- the Great Pyramid of Giza and the statue of Zeus at Olympia -- neither of which were the right answer. Whenever there's any kind of countdown (The Old Seven Wonders of the World, the New Seven Wonders of the World, AMC's 100 Greatest Movies, Rolling Stones' Top 100 albums of all-time, etc., etc.), I always sympathize with whoever and whatever just misses the cut. After all, there really isn't any considerable difference between #100 and #101. Somewhere, Stonehenge is fuming.

8/27

Category: U.S. Presidents

Clue: Only 50 years old when he left office, he was our nation's youngest ex-President.

Answer: Theodore Roosevelt.

I didn't know the answer and I didn't realize he was so young by the time his tenure ended. I thought it was going to be one of the useless Presidents, like, oh I don't know, Rutherford B. Hayes.

8/28

Category: Famous Austrians

Clue: The home on Vienna's Domgasse where he lived in hte 1780s was reopened amid fanfare in January 2006.

Answer: Mozart.

Ahh, I should've gotten that one. And I haven't seen Amadeus in a while.

I Can Confidently Say That All I Ever Wanted To Be In Life Was A Beatle

2008-08-19T18:19:00.003-04:00

Growing up, I wanted to be a Beatle in the very literal sense -- in that I wanted to be a famous musician. Now, as an adult, the lack of a band, an album, and any association at all with the recording industry leads me to believe that I did not become a musician. But hardly the quitting type, I still to strive to be a Beatle, this time in the very figurative sense -- in that I want to enjoy all of the other substantial (and slightly insubstantial) non-music benefits that come along with the term. At face value, a "Beatle" refers to a Liverpudlian pop sensation; but I think it's safe to say that the word has long entered our cultural lexicon as a synonym for successful. I want this to apply to myself. And I imagine that most other people, if they have any kind of drive or ambition, aspire for the same thing. We want to be Beatles. It makes perfect sense. They are pinnacle achievement, personified. Think about it -- everything they had, we want. Observe:

They were rich, we want to be rich. After a messy, prenuptial-less divorce, Paul McCartney is still practically a billionaire. And even with EMI Records and their manager Brian Epstein taking a considerable chunk of their change back in their playing days -- and then of course, splitting the final paycheck four separate ways -- they all had already amassed a sizable fortune before any of them turned 25 years old. I want that kind of cheese. I want the kind of wealth that essentially trivializes life, that makes the entire world my personal plaything. It's not just being able to have anything, it's more being able to make anything happen. Reserving an entire day at Disney World for just me and my closest friends, forcing the Olive Garden to cook me chicken fried rice and Lo Mein, visiting a zoo and taking an endangered species (is Ling-Ling the panda bear still around?) home with me as a pet...these are the perks of being that kind of rich. I imagine it's the closest thing to being omnipotent, to being God Himself -- having the authority to will anything into existence. I bet Lennon had that kind of clout.

They got laid a lot, we want to get laid a lot. This one's self-explanatory. If the prospect of sex isn't your primary reason for living, breathing, and being, then you're probably doing something wrong.

They were famous, we want to be famous. They're universally-known. I'd wager that even those African tribes who communicate with that clicking language have some kind of translation for John, Paul, George, and Ringo. People know exactly who you are even though you've never met them before in your life -- that's the ultimate self-esteem booster, that's how you know you're a somebody. I can barely begin to fathom that kind of exhilarating notoriety. I want to be a bigshot.

They had artistic credibility, we want artistic credibility. The body of their work is listener-tested, critic-approved. Their merit as artists is tried and true. They were perceived to be the best at their craft. And I know that to at least some degree, we all -- even the most practical and utilitarian amongst us -- want to create. The urge to paint, to sing, to sketch, to perform, to write, to build is intrinsic in us, it's primal. Having simply lived and died is hardly enough; artistic acclaim can go a long way in validating your existence. That album you record, that movie you film, and that fresco you paint can be tangible evidence that you made some kind of difference.

They had long hair, we want long hair. This may or may not be gender-specific, but as a guy, I understand the very simple concept that longer is more hip and shorter is less hip. There will inevitably come a time -- it's not an exact science, it could come at four or six or eight weeks; it's subject to change -- when I look in the mirror and I'll notice that my front bangs are encroaching my line of vision, the tufts around my ears start doing that little flip thing that they do, and the back gets really shaggy and starts weighing heavy on my neck. My brain thinks it's time for a trim, but what does my brain know about cool? It'd probably give me a buzz cut every few days if it could. I regret nearly every haircut I get, ultimately pining for what used to be. Just stay the course, that's the way to go.

They were innovators, we want to be innovators. Whether it's visually (the aforementioned mop-top haircuts; matching suits), compositionally (sculpting Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band as an all-encompassing concept album and consequently lifting the entire bar of standard for albums as an art form), or technically (I believe the opening of "I Feel Fine" was the first instance of amplifier feedback appearing on a recording), the Beatles are credited -- sometimes mistakingly, most of the time deservedly -- for being the first to have ever done certain things. The first, as in unprecedented. Everyone wants to create something new, be the very first to introduce brand new ways of thinking or doing. This is definitely not exclusive to artsy, flighty Liberal Arts majors; surgeons want to invent new operating room procedures, lawyers want to spearhead new legal cases, chemist want to make molecular discoveries -- basically, anyone who puts any pride in their craft eventually wants to break ground.

Astronaut, Fireman, Batman -- these are all things a lot of us say we want to be when we grow up. But that's just borne from youth and naivety. I mean, fighting fires is a noble cause, but it doesn't seem like any kind of fun to me. When we grow a little older and get a better grasp of exactly what we want out of life, we realize that what we really want to be are Beatles...and everything that comes with it. At least that's the conclusion I came to. I think it describes every possible whim I could ever have, be it inspired by the financial, superficial, artistic, or philosophical. It just kind of says it all, succinctly and completely.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Final Jeopardy! 8/18/08

2008-08-19T12:32:00.002-04:00

Category: Shakespearean Heroines

Clue: The name of this heroine known for her filial devotion is probably derived from Latin for "heart."

Answer: Cordelia

Anything literary is obviously going to be easy for me, but it's still Teen Tournament week, so it's even easier than usual.

And poor Cordelia. She loved her father so much, and for what? Nothing. She got cheated out of any of King Lear's stuff. What a rip-off.

"I eat success for breakfast...with skim milk."

2008-08-16T23:21:00.004-04:00

TV Guide has already tricked me a couple times.

There's a show on the Food Network called "Heavyweights." It's basically a documentary that explains how all of our biggest brand names (McDonalds, Pepsi, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, etc.) became the powerhouse institutions they are today. It's fairly interesting, but whatever, that's beside the point. What really annoys me is how whenever I see it listed, I always think it's the movie "Heavyweights," the 1995 Ben Stiller fat camp comedy. They really should do something to clear up the confusion. I like the latter so much more than the former, so it makes me run the entire gamut of emotions -- absolute delight, then sobering disappointment. It's a who's-who of young, husky Hollywood: Kenan from Kenan & Kel; Goldberg from The Mighty Ducks; and, umm, that other fat kid who randomly shows up in things sometimes. It's great.

I know the movie plays on the Disney channel every once and a while, but in the meantime, here's a compilation of all the best scenes. It'll do for now.

Holly Hox, Forget Me Nots

2008-08-14T23:30:00.008-04:00

People are too modest when it comes to their own self-worth. Either that, or they're just excessively insecure. Whenever discussing an old acquaintance -- a friend, classmate, co-worker, whatever -- that they may have not seen in a long time, they always follow whatever they have to say about that person with the completely unnecessary qualifier of "Oh yeah, so-and-so was a really cool kid, but they probably don't remember me..."

They probably don't remember me, I doubt they still know who I am, I'm sure they've forgotten all about me. I hear this stuff all the time, but I don't see how it can ever possibly be true. At least, I hope people don't actually believe this. Hopefully they're just being paranoid. They'd be best served to stop being so hard on themselves.

Who knows, maybe I'm the weird one, maybe I'm just so much more observant and retentive than the average person. But I really doubt that. Who are all these people? And how are they (allegedly) so forgetful? I don't buy it. I wager that most people are like me; ergo, most people remember almost everything.

I can recall most things about the people I've come across in my life: names, faces, likes and dislikes, allergies, funny anecdotes, embarrassing moments. My mind is like a bear trap, snapping shut the moment I meet you; there's no escape, you're in there for good. I suppose certain things may get a little foggy over the years, some of the more obscure things like shoe size or Zodiac sign. But for the most part, the mere passage of time won't make me forget that your entire existence.

Sometimes I'm amazed at the clarity and vividity of my memories, so bright and sharp, as if they were painted in oil pastels. But then I remember that's just how our memory banks work. Sentimentality is subjective, but physiology is not; your neurological system is about as likely to forget a person, place, or thing as your cardiovascular system is to suddenly forget to make your heart beat. You're hard-wired to seize these moments and not let go. Give people some credit, they haven't forgotten you. Nothing short of brain damage (and I suppose a night out binge drinking, but that's a whole other story) would allow that to happen. And odds are, they're probably capable of telling you a lot about yourself -- more than you'd realize. Simply recalling that someone is, in fact, alive and does, in fact, exist is so rudimentary, it's the absolute bare minimum. Unless they're just that callous and cold-hearted (or perhaps, that inattentive), people have retained much more about you than you know, surely capable of reenacting entire conversations you've shared, as easily as they could recite their own phone numbers.

And I don't play favorites with my memories. Length of association, degree of friendship, level of familiarity -- I've noticed that it tends to have little to no affect on how intensely I remember someone. Best friend, prom date, playground bully, kid I met one time at a house party -- it's all about equal to me. I even have deep recesses of my mind that I save specifically for lasting memorials of random strangers I see on the street. Maybe I'm overlooking one or two instances (and I doubt that I am), but I can't think of a single time when someone's told me that they knew exactly who I am and that I wasn't able to completely reciprocate the favor. I may specialize in the minutia of day to day life, but I'm not alone. People are like sponges, soaking in everything they come in contact with. I know that everyone is touched/entertained/haunted by the thought of the things they've seen, just as much as I am.

The misconception that "they probably don't remember me..." is weak and groveling. It's a cop-out, because unless we're dealing with an Alzheimer's patient, it isn't true. You're doing both people a disservice; you're short-changing their ability to retain very fundamental information, and you're short-changing your own ability to make lifelong impressions on people that have met you. Haha, get confident, stupid.

Final Jeopardy! 8/14/08

2008-08-14T22:46:00.002-04:00

Category: African Americans

Clue: As U.S. Solicitor General in the 1960s, he won 14 of the 19 cases he argued before the Supreme Court.

Answer: Thurgood Marshall

Whoops, I was wrong. I thought it was Clarence Thomas.

And on the subject of Thomas, the first two things that always come to mind for me are pubes and Coca-Cola.

These Are The Games of the XXIX Olympiad

2008-08-12T20:59:00.004-04:00

My scattered, trivial thoughts on the 2008 Beijing Olympics thus far:

- I would hardly consider water polo a sport that's respected and revered amongst most people, but it's actually really fun to watch. And I imagine even more fun to play. The match between U.S.A and China was really exciting.

- The "Redeem Team" beat Angola 97-76 the other day, and D-Wade led the team in scoring again with 19 points. After all the problems with his knee and shoulder the past couple of years, it's a great to see he has his trademark lift back. He's running and jumping so effortlessly again. It looks like he's definitely got the spring in his legs back.

- I wonder what the monetary value of a gold medal is? I imagine that's a serious piece of cheddar hanging from their necks.

- I love the Olympic theme song. I can't even get mad when NBC takes a commercial break -- I'm still unsure of how I feel about the new Free Credit Report commercial; I've only seen it once, so I'm gonna have to look it up and YouTube and peep it a couple more times before I can fairly judge -- because that just means I'll get to hear it again. It's so inspirational. There's just something so visceral about it, stirring up competitive emotions at the very core of your being. It makes me want to mount a pommel horse. And if it isn't his nickname already, we really need to start referring to composer John Williams as "The Hitmaker."

- I'm biased because I'm a sucker for Asian graphics -- walking into an Asian supermarket, I want to buy everything I see, and not because I'm particularly fond of fermented shrimp paste, but because I love the awesome crazy cartoon character on the jar -- the Beijing mascots are infinitely better than the mascot we designed for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. I mean, the Whatizit? Ugh, we have no taste.

- I cannot wait for the Men's 100-meter final. Tyson Gay can become "The Fastest Man Alive." That's seriously one of the illest nicknames imaginable. I used to be really fast when I was little, then I got slow in my teens, and now I've kind of leveled off at what I guess could be considered slightly above average speed. So clearly, I never fulfilled my aspirations to be a world-renowned track star. But if I did, I would've done it up O.G. like Michael Johnson, running my meets while wearing a gold necklace and gold shoes.

- About that Iranian swimmer who refused to compete against an Israeli swimmer...come on guy, give it a rest. It's the Olympics, two measly weeks every four years. It'd be nice to see petty rivalries take at least a brief respite. But I guess that's what raving mad fanaticism and political posturing does -- on top of clouding all sense of honor and rationality, it also ruins good sportsmanship, too. And here's the thing, if you hate a nation that badly, compete against them and beat them. That's how you're supposed to do it.

- I love the Olympics, and if you don't, it's probably because you run like a girl.

- Today, I heard the Caesars' "Jerk It Out" twice, once when I was at Pasquale's for lunch and then again playing over the PA system during the Men's beach volleyball match against Argentina. It's nothing important, but I just thought that was a neat coincidence after not hearing that song one time over what's probably been years now.

- A friend of mine said that Michael Phelps is "like a shark when he's in the water." Yeah, pretty much.

- These particular competitors are obviously experts, but do children normally practice archery? Like in P.E. class, or at those secluded sleep away summer camps in the woods? I don't know if they actually do, or if this it's a misconception that I've dreamed up. Or maybe it's just TV, because I remember a couple of episodes of Salute Your Shorts that showed some of the campers casually using bows and arrows. I know that I wouldn't want to be within 1,000 feet of any stupid kid shooting off arrows.

- This doesn't apply so much to Kobe Bryant and LeBron James because they're established household names already, but it amazes me that for most Olympic athletes, this is the absolute pinnacle of all their hard work. Sure, there's stuff to do inbetween -- training, preliminaries, qualifying tournaments, etc., etc. -- but they essentially live for these two weeks of competition, and that alone. Their only opportunity for self-actualization comes once every four years. That's gotta take an unbelievable amount of sacrifice and discipline.

- I don't know an awful lot about architecture (other than that I don't really like Frank Lloyd Wright), but the Bird's Nest and the Water Cube are awesome.

- There's something so calming and reassuring about Bob Costas. His presence on camera puts you at ease. If I were on my deathbed, I would want him to read my last rites. It's as if he were built specifically for television, which makes sense because he kind of looks like an android.

Final Jeopardy! 8/12/08

2008-08-12T20:13:00.001-04:00

It's Teen Tournament week, so most of the questions are fairly easy. But if nothing else, I guess it helps dumb people boost their self-esteem...

Category: Characters in Books

Clue: This character says, "It's Christmas Day! I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night."

Answer: Ebenezer Scrooge

Yeah, no kidding.

And while A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, and Great Expectations get all of the critical acclaim, A Christmas Carol is easily my favorite Charles Dickens novel.

And I love both the Disney and the Muppets adaptations of it.

What I Had For Lunch 8/12/08

2008-08-12T20:01:00.002-04:00

Pepperoni pizza from Pasquale's.

There aren't too many individual words in the English language that can be combined to make a phrase that arouses so much deep-rooted, guttural euphoria in all of us than "pizza" and "party." I'm a full grown adult now, but just the thought of one still makes me smile like a madman.

On Legacy

2008-08-11T19:10:00.005-04:00

There's been lots of talk on legacies between friends lately -- take a look at Angelica's blog post here -- and I feel I have more to add to the conversation:

I need a group of personal acquaintances (friends, family, lovers, co-workers, neighbors, classmates, rivals) to contribute to my posthumous biography. I'll need them to provide the standard biographical requirements of a documentary -- thoughts, opinions, anecdotes -- but it's important for them to not excessively gush over me and not exclusively sing my praises. I don't need them all to wax poetic on how nice, caring, talented, loving, generous, and wonderful that I (supposedly) was. I'm sure my Mom could provide all of that on her lonesome. But too much of that mushy, saccharine stuff would be boring. I don't want this to be a eulogy; I want a fair and brutally candid account of my life.

What I really need is people who resented me, begrudged me, hated my guts. They'll have to be passionate about their disdain, willingly voicing their complaints both in print and on camera. If I'm lucky, maybe a TV crew (I'm thinking this could air on the History Channel) can get shots of them desecrating my grave. They'll cast doubt on my public perception, blurring what would otherwise be a pristine image, forcing future generations to decide if I were an artist or a scumbag or both.

I'm interested in getting a wide spectrum of negative opinion, running the entire gamut. I'll need these people (and I'd like to thank them all in advance, from the bottom of my heart) to corroborate the fact that I was mean, weird, condescending, creepy, distant, overrated, cold-hearted, petty, and just the tiniest little bit mentally ill.

They'll have to recount personal stories of their past experiences with me. I've already scripted the perfect fictional anecdotes, so hopefully they'll be, more or less, similar to these:

A neighbor: "I don't remember ever seeing him go outside during the day. His house was always so eerily quiet, like a tomb, like a mausoleum right in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac. I don't think I can even recall ever waving to him through the window, his blinds were always sealed shut. I'd notice that his car would be gone sometimes, his newspaper picked up, and his garbage cans dragged to the curb. So he obviously came out sometime, I'd just never actually see it. I thought that was strange."

An ex-girlfriend: "Yeah, we had a fun together, but he was kind of cheap."

A former friend: "He had this annoying habit of making plans, and then breaking them off at the last second. We were supposed to see a movie or grab a bite to eat, then something would come up and he wouldn't be able to make it. And he'd do this habitually. It happened a lot. I secretly presumed that he did this on purpose. It's as if he got off on being a flake and messing with people. Either that, or he had some weird social phobia."

Another former friend: "I remember one time he got this really bad haircut. They took too much off. I jokingly told him that it looked retarded, just goofing on him, just busting his balls a little bit. And he got really mad about that! I don't know why he took it so personally. And here's the funny thing: he never spoke to me again after that. Let's just think about that for a second, he held a lifetime grudge over a stupid joke."

A co-worker: "He was always late for work. It'd be, like, 15-20 minutes after the hour and he'd just be pulling into the parking lot. Under any other circumstance, I wouldn't care what he does. It's a free country. He's the one running the chance of getting fired, not me. But with the way our system was set up, one person would always have to relieve another person. If you wanted to clock out, someone else would have to clock in...y'know, pretty typical stuff. And of course, I'd always get stuck working the shift that ended just as his shift started. I'd confront him about it, but he'd just mutter some half-hearted apology about traffic being bad or something other lie. He was actually a pretty fun guy to work with, it's just this one habit of his was so rude and inconsiderate."

Another ex-girlfriend: "He never complimented me on anything. I was never pretty enough, or thin enough, or smart enough. And whenever he did say something nice to me, it always seemed insincere. Like he was mocking me, like he was secretly laughing at my expense to some inside joke that he had with himself. It was actually very hurtful. It was really fun breaking up with him."

A classmate: "He had such a high opinion of himself. He thought he was this incredible writer -- like he was the next Fitzgerald or Faulkner -- but to be honest, he was kind of a hack. Now he was decent, don't get me wrong, but not nearly as innovative and original as he thought he was. It's, like, whenever he'd pitch to us this great new idea for a novel he wanted to write, it was basically just a rip-off of The Catcher in the Rye; whenever he had a new idea for a screenplay, it was basically just a rip-off of Garden State. Heh, it's funny, the only thing he ever seemed capable of doing back then was that stereotypical 20-something-year-old coming-of-age story...and it was always based on something else that'd already been done. And I don't want this to seem like sour grapes, I'm glad he became successful. Some of his stuff is okay. But shit, he was pretentious."

The stories have to be incriminating. They have to be kind of funny, kind of pathetic, kind of disturbing. They'll cast me in a light not made up of stark whites and blacks, but more muddled shades of gray. This is exactly why Tom Hanks isn't an interesting human being. He's adored by all. Everyone loves him. I don't think I've ever heard an associate of Hanks' relate a single story of him ever resisting arrest, or cheating on his wife, or getting into a barroom fist fight. His record is so spotless, his character so beyond reproach, that I bet you'd be hard-pressed to find an old kindergarten classmate that could admit something as harmless as him eating paste as a kid. I'd hate for that to happen to me, to be a historical footnote that has no other points of interest other than being a historical footnote. I don't want to be Tom Hanks.

But I also want to make this clear: I don't want to be a monster. I don't want to be despised by the public. I want my fame to be laced with infamy...but just a little. I'd be crushed if any of this were allowed to overshadow my life's work. My name is important to me and I'd hate for it to be ruined. Take Joseph Conrad for example; he wrote Heart of Darkness, Chance, and Lord Jim and yet his lasting impression among many scholarly circles is that of an unapologetic racist, someone who believed one group of people (namely, his own) held genetic superiority over everyone else's...now that really sucks, that really is a shame. Being a jerk or a recluse or an eccentric shouldn't be my legacy, it should simply be one small chapter to it. That'd defeat the whole purpose. Cutting nose off, spiting face...you're familiar with the old saying. I'd hate for my maladjustment to consume me. First and foremost, my accomplishments take precedence. And any other quirks I may have are supplementary.

A Table For One

2008-08-10T00:12:00.009-04:00

Seeing someone eat dinner alone is sad.

I've been witness to sadder things in my life -- loved ones laid into the ground, buried; Requiem for a Dream; ex-girlfriends holding hands that aren't mine. And there are other things I haven't necessarily seen firsthand that I can confidently wager are also much sadder -- citizen casualties of war; slaughterhouses and meat packing plants; the Rwandan genocide. But I don't think that makes a table-for-one any less depressing.

And make no mistake, it's definitely a shallow kind of sad. It's the kind of sad that's brought on by reading too many books, growing up in the suburbs, daydreaming too often, studying too much poetry, being too observant, thinking too much. It's something that bothers the kind of person who spends too much time in their own head. There are no tangible consequences, no catastrophic fallout, from a person sitting down to a meal by themselves. But for the oversensitive among us, you might as well tell us our that our childhood family dog was hit by a cement truck.

I just saw this today at Applebee's (a very quick aside, I hate Applebee's. It's food's lowest common denominator. I ordered the overcooked steak; it sucked. And it isn't like it's the only chain restaurant that serves painfully-generic Middle American dishes and sticks stupid, random junk on the wall...it's just the one that does it the worst). At the table next to me, a man -- older, slightly overweight, a tucked-in button-down shirt and slacks, suspenders, pocket protector with pens -- was seated by his lonesome. This immediately made me feel bad. I started to lose my appetite. Many questions raced through my mind: who will he speak to? Who will he share his food with? Who will protect his plate from being cleared if he goes to the bathroom? And how will he possibly explain himself to co-workers who see him on their way out and ask him why he doesn't have any company?

As I always do in these situations, I eavesdropped on his order (he got the bacon cheeseburgers with fries), took note of the expression on his face when his food arrived, and discreetly watched him out of the corner of my eye as he ate. I always want to see if they order something good, if they look genuinely excited when their plate is placed in front of them, and most importantly, if they appear to thoroughly enjoy their meal. This is like consolation for me; if they're having a good time, I theoretically shouldn't feel so bad. But it rarely ever comforts me.

Obviously people eat alone. If not, they'd starve. Restaurants have single seating at the bar, have those individual swivel chairs at the counter (like at Denny's, for example). So there's an expectation that eventually someone, somewhere, will sit down to lunch or dinner without companionship. That contingency was clearly accounted for, built right into the blueprint of the building. But that doesn't make me any more predisposed to go along with it. I won't do it. I'd rather make dinner plans with someone I don't much care for, sparing myself the shame and humiliation. I'd rather order the food to-go, take it home and eat where the couch or TV or microwave isn't likely to judge me. And if it absolutely came down to it, I'd rather go to bed hungry, promising to treat myself to an extra-big bowl of cereal in the morning for breakfast.

When you're seated by yourself and look out across the table, the closest thing to human contact that you'll see in front of you is the back of the person sitting at the next table over -- there's just something that seems so hollow about that. And I'd like to distinguish that there is a difference between being seated alone by a hostess at a sit-down restaurant and simply choosing to quickly eat a meal on your own, like sitting down on a park bench with a brown-bagged lunch or stopping by the cafeteria real fast inbetween classes. Somehow, the latter is just a lot less pathetic.

And all of this is ironic because I do plenty of things on my own. Playing basketball, sitting and reading at the library, taking a walk -- I do this stuff by myself all the time. I'm extremely self-sufficient, very independent. I would go as far as saying I love solitude. I'm my own favorite person, so I don't otherwise have any objection with spending as much time with myself as I can. But it just so happens, for one reason or another, eating is one of the very few activities (one of the others being watching movies at the theater) that I'd rather do with a friend.

If You Can't Beat Him, Sign Him

2008-08-09T18:50:00.000-04:00

Pennington signs deal with Dolphins

Great move. Our team has improved overnight. Chad Pennington is a better quarterback than anyone currently on our roster -- Josh McCown wasn't able to hold down a job in Oakland, Detroit, and Arizona...three teams that could have desperately used a QB; John Beck has struggled all throughout training camp; and Chad Henne is still just a rookie -- and he's a lock to start for us from Day One.

He's a little injury prone and has a weak arm (he can't get much zip or much velocity on 20-yard out patterns), but those are about the only criticisms that I can come up with. Otherwise, he contributes a lot to the team: renowned leadership abilities, pinpoint accuracy, is a longtime starter in this league, has the endorsed approval of Bill Parcells (he was the one who drafted him out of Marshall), is experienced with Dan Henning's slow-and-steady run-based offense, very cerebral with a keen understanding of X's and O's.

He's unspectacular, but steady. And that's an upgrade for us. I can't wait until he memorizes the playbook and gets up to speed with the rest of the offense.

Twice a year, every year, Pennington would convert a 3rd-and-long by connecting with Wayne Cherbet in the flat, or hit a streaking Laverneas Coles down the sideline for a game-winning touchdown. But now, thankfully and mercifully, I'll never have to see that again. I have been spared.

What I Had For Lunch 8/9/08

2008-08-09T18:23:00.002-04:00

Hardshell tacos (two ground beef, one chicken) with yellow rice and refried beans, leftover Subway (club sandwich) with potato chips, and pancakes for dessert.

I was starved to death.

By The Dawn's Early Light

2008-08-09T01:49:00.002-04:00

I'm basically stealing this from one of Chuck Klosterman's essays in his fan-favorite book Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs. He's already articulated everything I can posibly say on the subject, but with the 2008 Beijing Olympics opening ceremony today, I think it's a point worth discussing:

Why does patriotism for the U.S. carry a decidedly negative connotation?

For many of us Americans, a gushing and effusive pride for this country is generally frowned upon. At its best, patriotism is seen as lame and old-fashioned and naive. Loving one's country is considered an odd hobby, in the same way that stamp collecting and taxidermy are considered odd hobbies. It may not be offensively repulsive, but it's enough to elicit raised eyebrows and cursory looks. Wearing an American flag pin on your lapel is likely to evoke comments of mild disbelief, such as "Oh, so you're that way? How...interesting." It just isn't preferable.

But at its worst -- and this mostly applies to the specific demographic of vaguely-intellectual, artistically-inclined, free-spirited, relatively-liberal 18-24 year olds -- patriotism is considered to be uneducated and narrow-minded and bigoted. Somehow, patriotism has become synonymous with ignorance. It's become this colossal, amorphous inanimate thing (if you need an example, think of Ticketmaster, or the media, or dog-fighting) that people can rally against and project all of their anger and disdain towards; it's become an entirely bad thing. More than anything, I think patriotism can most closely be compared to organized religion, perceived as an opiate for the masses (I've always wanted to use that phrase), something that dumb people fall for because they're too stupid to think for themselves or to know any better.

But I don't really join in on that sentiment. Yeah, "God Bless the USA" is one of the worst songs ever, apple pie is vastly overrated, and wearing t-shirts with big bald eagles emblazoned on them are extremely not chic, but those are very minor complaints. Otherwise, I love America. I'm proud to be an American. I've been outside our borders, have traveled around the globe, have visited foreign nations, and I can honestly say that nothing quite measures up. I enjoy having the freedom to speak my mind without being locked in a dungeon, drinking the tap water without catching explosive dysentery, and going to sleep without fear of being abducted from my bed by extremists toting AK-47's. This is a good place to live. Sure, if I ever felt compelled enough, there are places abroad that I could see myself temporarily relocating to -- Toronto, Manila, Tokyo, London -- but none of those would be permanent moves, and certainly none of them would replace the U.S. as my home.

Interestingly, some minorities think seeing other fellow minorities acting overly-patriotic is hokey and cheesy, going as far as accusing them of being white-washed. Not me, though. I think that's ridiculous. Those miniature novelty American flags aren't meant for just John and Jane Johnson; Khalid, Jamal, Chen, Esteban, and Saeko are just as entitled to wave them. And I really love seeing that kind of thing, that kind of enthusiasm. It's so uplifting. You can tell how genuinely happy they are to be here and not anywhere else.

And let's examine our Independence Day, the 4th of July. It's great, and it doesn't suffer at all from the fact that, by definition, it's an inherently patriotic holiday. There's so much to like: hamburgers, fireworks, swimming, potato chips, walking around shirtless. After the Big Three (Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween), you can easily argue that it's the next best holiday. I like New Year's Eve, but at it's core, it's still just an annual reminder that you're one year older...and that's sort of a downer. Easter sucks if you're more than 8-years-old, because by then, you've outgrown the age where bunnies and tie-dyed eggs are cool. Asians (especially Asians that don't drink, like me) have no need for St. Patrick's Day. Valentine's Day is whack, I couldn't advise anyone to honor a genocidal monster like Christopher Columbus, and April Fool's Day is barely even a holiday. So the 4th of July, in all of its star-spangled glory, definitely ranks high up there.

And the Olympics' opening ceremony was awesome.

Final Jeopardy! 8/8/08

2008-08-09T00:37:00.003-04:00

Category: Colonial American Government

Clue: From the Latin word for "fortified town," this term later referred to a person -- the representative of a town or borough.

Answer: Burgess

I got it wrong. I thought it was a mayor.

And if I could segue into another unrelated "burgess" -- namely, writer Anthony Burgess -- I've always thought it was cool how he absolutely hated the fact that he was best known for A Clockwork Orange. Up until his death, he was resentful that it had become his definitive novel and would've preferred that he be remembered for some of his other work. I don't know why, though. I've read The Doctor is Sick and it's nothing amazing. But anyway, I can only hope to be as successful myself. Just imagine, he writes a world-famous book (which later becomes a world-famous movie) and he was actually mad about that. That'd be like, oh I don't know, Tag Team telling people that they're tired of talking about "Whoomp! (There It Is)" and that they'd much rather discuss their other accomplishments. Haha, it's so wonderfully pretentious. I really hope that I do something that makes me insanely famous someday and then defiantly refuse to acknowledge whatever that one thing is.

What I Had For Dinner 8/8/08

2008-08-09T00:31:00.002-04:00

Slow-roasted pork shoulder.

My favorite part is always the chicarrones, or the crispy crackling skin.

Now Serving E98

2008-08-07T21:30:00.010-04:00

I had to re-apply for a replacement Social Security card today.

And while this is a common complaint, it still amazes me how sitting and waiting in U.S. government buildings (ie. the DMV, the Post Office, the aforementioned Social Security office, etc.) always makes me feel like I'm not in America anymore -- or for that matter, not even in a First World country anymore.

I'm not an aristocrat, a blue blood, or a prude, so it isn't like I'm above waiting in line to get my business taken care of. I've been to buildings far more dilapidated and in far worse condition than this, so it isn't like I can't survive a measly 45 minutes. I don't have to endure any physical bodily pain (I can't even complain of any mental anguish as I brought two books with me to stave off the boredom), so it's already got a leg up on getting your wisdom teeth extracted at the oral surgeon's. But still, all of that aside, it doesn't change the fact that government offices are always entirely unpleasant.

Even by the kindest and most generous of standards, my fellow patrons are unattractive and overweight. People take the empty seat next to me instead of the empty seat next to the empty seat next to me. There's a single-toilet bathroom here, but I can wait; there's a water fountain here, but I can wait. A sign on the wall says "No Weapons" with the Ghostbusters sign crossing out a picture of a handgun and a knife; this is funny because of how absurd it is, but also a little troubling because people have assuredly set the precedent for these warnings by walking inside with a loaded, concealed revolver. The waiting room doesn't necessarily look disease-ridden, but I abstain from touching anything. For some reason, crying children are louder in here than they are in most other places; I don't know, it might be the acoustics. The crowd's overall hygiene could stand for a little improvement. A guy one row in front of me asks another guy in my row which way he's headed home and if it's possible if he could bum a ride -- I frantically divert eye contact.

But all in all, I'm not suffering, as that would be an over-dramatic and irresponsible use of the word. I'm definitely not fearful for my safety, as the armed security guard sitting near the front door looks more than capable of protecting me from getting shanked. And I'm not agitated to any appreciable degree, as I can think of very few things that are less stressful than simply sitting quietly and waiting. So I'm not in terrible shape, but at the same time, I am not content. I would like this to be over soon.

Even with the company of my two books, the perpetual sitting and waiting allows for the mind to wander, and I make trivial observations on the minutia of details that surround me:

There are headshots of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney on the wall; it goes without saying that Cheney has the most unflattering smile/sneer ever, but Bush is actually very photogenic. He has an effortless smile, so smooth and natural. With the way he flashes it for the camera, you wouldn't know that the weight of a nation -- and with that war on terror of his still waging, it's really the weight of multiple nations -- sits squarely on his shoulders. I actually find myself growing a little envious, because by comparison, my own smile is a little stiff and forced. I'm like a schoolboy on picture day, completely self-aware that other people are expecting me to smile and that it's what I'm supposed to be doing at that particular moment.

I intently watch as the office employees call out numbers on microphones from behind glass partitions: A207, E88, N13. This is the numerical order of our freedom. Once our number is called, we know that our sentence is almost up. I have ticket E98. I try to figure out the order, try to unlock their secret. It's like those math problems we used to have do in Liberal Arts I & II: "3, 6, 12, 17, 22, 42...what digit comes next?" Eventually I give up because I'm an awful math student and I'm convinced that they're just calling out numbers randomly and arbitrarily. I know this because they actually called E99 before E98, which caused me to suffer a mini panic attack until they called my own ticket number about 3 seconds later.

I am grateful to the kid wearing the Hannah Montana t-shirt. Seeing it was confirmation that, yes, I was still a part of civilization. It was oddly reassuring. It was a reminder of my previous life, the one just outside these front doors. Even in this purgatory, pop culture still exists. Thank you.

I'm an amateur sociologist, so I'm always aware of the people around me. After a quick survey of the room, I can report that 1/2 of the crowd is black, 1/4 is Hispanic, and the remaining 1/4 is a mixture of about three or four white people, one Middle Easterner towards the back, and me, the lone Asian. I've noticed that these figures are pretty standard for any time I have to visit any kind of government building. No one ever looks like me at places like this, not their facial features, or bone structure, or build, or hairstyle. And not just physically, but also from a personality standpoint -- judging entirely by everyone's book cover (and let's be real here, even though we've all been conditioned to consider this an entirely un-politically correct practice, I really do believe that our assumptions hit a lot closer to home than many of us are willing to admit), none of these people look like they have anything in common with me. Nothing, not music or art or ideology or cinema or literature or politics or philosophy or fashion. I imagine the only thing we do have in common is that we both happen to be sitting in this room together on this particular day, that and I'm guessing we both eat and breathe and sleep every once and a while. I wonder, where are all the other like-minded 20-something-year-olds? I never see them. I mean, certainly they have to replace their Social Security cards and renew their driver's licenses and mail out their Christmas presents sometime. Anyway, this always makes me feel so lonesome; not really the crushing, existentialist nobody-understands-me kind of loneliness, but more like the I-don't-have-anyone-to-sit-with-and-chat-with-at-this-one-moment kind of loneliness. It's sort of a bummer, I guess, but it's very temporary. I can't get too sad because I have the luxury of knowing that my plight can, and will, be remedied. Soon enough, they'll call me up, I'll turn in my replacement card application, and I'll get to go home to friends and family.

Surprisingly, the lady that I got was really nice and helpful. We even ended up making a little small talk as she processed my information.

And on a sidenote, it turns out that federal law states that each citizen is entitled to no more than three replacement Social Security cards in a year, and no more than 10 replacement cards in a lifetime. I highly doubt that I'll need 11 replacement cards before I die, but that still seems at least a little steep to me. I mean, what if...? This stipulation isn't enough to keep me awake at night, but it is enough to plant a tiny seed of doubt in my head. It's just something to keep in mind.

Final Jeopardy! 8/7/08

2008-08-07T20:58:00.002-04:00

Category: Scientists

Clue: In 2007, this 1962 American Nobel Laureate became the first person to receive his own personal genome map.

Answer: James Watson

Ah, okay, the double-helix DNA guy. I really had no clue. I blurted out Marie Curie, but that's just because that was the only remotely-scientific name I could come up with before time expired. I'm not a student of science, nor have I ever shown a slightly-more-than-casual interest in that field, but I still think it's really cool how he and his partner Francis Crick discovered the structure of DNA. That's such a lofty, far-and-away endeavor to me, I can't fathom how someone would go about accomplishing it. To me, trying to figure out what DNA looks like makes about as much sense as trying to figure out what sunshine or imagination or a dream would look like. It's just so hazy and abstract. I wouldn't know where to begin.

Final Jeopardy! 8/6/08

2008-08-06T21:43:00.002-04:00

Category: Newspaper People

Clue: In 1987, her assignment for the New York World was an expose of the insane asylum on blackwell's island.

Answer: Nellie Bly

There isn't much that I remember from my two years spent as a Journalism major, but I do remember that Bly pretended to be insane to expose the horrible conditions of a New York insane asylum. She baited the police by carrying on like a raving nutjob in public, purposely got locked herself away in there, and then reported on the atrocities she saw. I think the most interesting part of her story is how she actually practiced acting insane, making weird faces in the mirror and scripting her incoherent babbling. That's so awesome. She just helps reinforce the (very true) notion that crazy is cool. Afterall, better deranged than boring.

What I Had For Dinner 8/6/08

2008-08-06T21:31:00.001-04:00

Pan-seared snapper.

Amazing. It's meals like these that remind me that I really ought to have fish much more often.

I'm Walking on Sunshine (Whoooa Oh)

2008-08-06T13:31:00.004-04:00

Woman clones dog

Bernann McKinney says her beloved pit bull "Booger" saved her life when another dog attacked her, then learned to push her wheelchair while she recovered from a severe hand injury and nerve damage.
He died in 2006, but now he's back — at least in clone form, after the birth last week of puppies replicated by a South Korean company.
The five clones were created by Seoul-based RNL Bio in cooperation with a team of Seoul National University scientists who in 2005 created the world's first cloned dog, a male Afghan hound named Snuppy.
It is headed by Lee Byeong-chun, a former colleague of disgraced scientist Hwang Woo-suk, whose purported breakthroughs in stem cell research were revealed as fake. Independent tests, however, proved the team's dog cloning was genuine.
Lee's team has since cloned some 30 dogs and five wolves, but claims Booger's clones, for which McKinney paid $50,000, are the first successful commercial cloning of a canine. -- The Associated Press

Okay, there are a lot of different things to consider here: moral and ethical issues, animal welfare, the fact that this woman paid a staggering $50,000 for what is -- for all intents and purposes -- a brand new dog with little association to her old beloved dog other than a smeared DNA sample on a petri dish, etc., etc. But for the moment, all of that is inconsequential, because the very first thing that came to mind when I heard about this story is that great episode of Futurama, "Jurassic Bark."

It's the one where Fry finds the fossilized remains of his dog, Seymour. The last time Fry saw him was in 1999, just before he was cryogenically frozen, so he asks Professor Farnsworth if he can clone him. Just before they go through with the procedure, Fry has an epiphany: through the cloning machine's carbon dating, he learns that Seymour was 15 when he died, living 12 long years after Fry was frozen. He realizes that Seymour must've lived a long and productive life after he was gone, so it would be unfair to bring him back to an owner he probably wouldn't even remember. What he doesn't know, however, is that Seymour patiently waited for him in front of that pizzeria, waited everyday for him to come home.

That kills me every time.

Hmm, on second thought, I guess I can't blame that woman too much. And I guess I can't blame that grief-stricken Pet Semetary guy who buried his dead son and wife on that Indian burial ground in hopes of resurrecting them, even though they came back all evil and twisted. I think many of us would go to the same lengths to get back a loved one.

And there's been a lot of animals in the news lately, huh? Some scientists recently stumbled upon 125,000 gorillas that were previously unaccounted for. They were all within the forests of the Republic of Congo, just hanging out. That's pretty cool.

Final Jeopardy! 8/5/08

2008-08-06T12:17:00.002-04:00

Category: The Movies

Clue: The title of this award-winning 1963 film refers to the number of films it director felt he had made to that point.

Answer: 8 1/2

I didn't know the answer. I thought it was Ocean's Eleven or something.

And incidentally, two contestants ended up tying at $15, 401. This being the Tournament of Champions week, they couldn't end with a tie (Alex mentioned that this was the first time this happened in 20 years), they had to go into sudden death. Another Final Jeopardy! clue was given, and the first person to buzz in and answer it wins. I'd never seen that before, so it was kind of exciting. Here was the sudden death clue:

Category: Child's Play

Clue: A Longfellow poem & a Lillian Hellman play about a girls' boarding school share this timely title.

Answer: the Children's Hour

I wasn't able to spit out the answer, the girl was too fast for me. And for what it's worth, I'm really not that big of a fan of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was wildly popular during his time, but his stature has diminished significantly among scholars in the 100+ years since his death. Aside from grade school teachers who need poems with plodding rhyming couplets that their classroom of 9-year-olds can easily recite, I don't know of any other curriculum that actually teaches Wordsworth these days. His work just isn't academic enough. When it comes to his 19th century American poet contemporaries, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, and Walt Whitman all make him look like an amateur.

What I Had For Lunch 8/5/08

2008-08-05T19:24:00.002-04:00

Went to Blue Moon and had the hardest time deciding what I wanted to order -- my initial gut reaction was to go with the salmon -- but I eventually settled on the meatloaf with herb mashed potatoes, green beans, fried onion shoestrings, sweet potatoes, and mixed zucchini salad in marina sauce.

I loved it. The meatloaf was moist and tender, but still had some bite to it. And all of the different textures on the plate -- the crunch of the fried onions shoestrings, the fresh snap of the green beans, the creaminess of the sweet potato -- all played off of each other well. And the portions were huge; I can't wait to eat the rest of mine for lunch tomorrow.

And I definitely liked how they put those huge sliced pieces of plantains on the plate, both for its presentation and its functionality.

She said: What's in a name?

2008-08-05T11:39:00.003-04:00

As an ever-aspiring writer, I'm very concerned with the quality of any future work I happen to produce. I want to contribute something meaningful, subversive, significant, and entertaining to the dusty annals of literature.

But more importantly, as a wildly-vain narcissist, I'm even more concerned with my legacy, of how my work will be regarded long after I'm dead. Even though I won't be around anymore to attend local book signings and schmooze with my devoted fan base, I want to still matter. I want my novels (or poems, or plays, or memoirs...I have not yet decided exactly which medium I want to be most famous for) to still resonate in the literary field, to hold a certain amount of timeless relevance, to carry a definitive clout among scholars and students alike. I want to be remembered and revered, and that's exactly why I need to figure out the best proper adjective form of my last name.

Many of history's great writers have the luxury of having their last name transform neatly into a strong and memorable proper adjective; consequently, this same proper adjective is then used to describe any work of art that portrays any distinct traits or style of that particular author. For example, if a play ends in heart-breaking tragedy -- or, for the more erudite reader, if a sonnet is composed of absolutely perfect meter and rhyme scheme -- then that play (or sonnet) is described as being Shakespearean in nature. If a story attempts to be bigger than life, ambitiously trying to include all of the accepted conventions of the epic poem, then it'll be described as being inherently Homeric or Miltonic. If something is clever and sharp-witted, it's Wildean; if something is overtly political with a grim futuristic view, it's Orwellian; if something is whole-heartedly British, it's Dickensian; and so on and so on and so on.

The common theme among each of these adjective forms of proper names is that they all sound good. They roll off the tongue effortlessly and melodically. The sound of it is just so appealing to the ear. It's fun to hear and even more fun to say. And when pronounced with just the right inflection, along with the right cadence and the right amount of conviction, these adjectives carry with them an indisputable sense of prestige. Call it what you want -- cachet, dignity, power, esteem, renown -- it has all of these qualities. Being the sensory creatures that we are, those just look and sound right.

Unfortunately, I don't think my last name transitions as seamlessly into its own catchy adjective. My favorite ending is the -ic, it just sounds so stately and intellectual. I don't know how well it works with my name, but I'm very fond of it. I suppose you can also adjective-ize it by tacking on an -ean or -ian, but I don't think it fits just right, there's no ring to it. I don't know if it's the wrong amount of syllables or what, but it's too much of a mouthful, it's too clumsy and awkward.

And if push comes to shove, there are a number of other suffixes to use, such as -like (I'm not crazy about this one at all, it has no style), -istic (it doesn't blow me away either, but I guess I could live with it), and -esque (this is definitely my favorite of these three, there's some charm to it). In the end, though, I'm not entirely sold on any of them. All three of them are a little too generic and commonplace for my taste. They seem like the kind of endings that can be affixed to any name, regardless of how important or unimportant they may be. These are pretty much last resorts.

Either way, I shouldn't stress out about it too much. I'm sure it'll work itself out on its own. It's like any kind of nickname; you can't decide yourself if you suddenly want to start being called "Iceman" or "Maverick" or "T-Bone" -- it just has to happen, naturally and organically. Nicknames can't be chosen; they have to be assigned to you. That's how it works. So in that case, I'll just get comfortable and wait.

Final Jeopardy! 8/4/04

2008-08-04T22:16:00.004-04:00

Category: English Language Writers

Clue: In his journal of 1710 to 1713, he referred to himself as "Presto."

Answer: Jonathan Swift.

Somebody at the head offices obviously likes me; in the past two weeks or so, there have been three Final Jeopardy! clues tailor-made specifically for my expertise. Being the 18th century British Literature enthusiast that I am -- Swift, Alexander Pope, Dr. Samuel Johnson, Robert Burns, John Dryden, Francis Burney (only her journals though, none of her novels), Thomas Gray (one of my favorites; so underappreciated), and all that good stuff -- this was fairly easy. And it's pretty fitting too because the Italian translation for presto is "fast, quick, swift."

And as much as I love Gulliver's Travels -- Yahoos, Houyhnhnms, Liliputians, Brodingnags, pissing on miniature castles, and all that good stuff -- I think his less-famous essay A Modest Proposal deserves just as much acclaim. An excerpt from the text:

"A young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a friccassee, or a ragout."

With tongue-jammed-in-cheek, Swift suggests that the impoverished Irish can solve their money woes by selling their children as food to the rich. Cannibalism will be the solution to all of their problems. Haha, classic.

It's Like a Real-Life Fortress of Solitude

2008-08-04T21:27:00.008-04:00

The local library has changed its hours: Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday, closes at 8. Thursday-Friday-Saturday, closes at 6. And Sunday, closes at 5.

It was bad enough when they used to close at 9 P.M., but now they're closing even earlier. I can always go to the library at school, but still, this doesn't bode well for the nocturnal bookworms among us.

What I Had For Dinner 8/4/08

2008-08-04T21:09:00.003-04:00

This was kind of a makeshift dinner.

I put some leftover sliced up kielbasa in a hard roll with swiss cheese. It was good, like a glorified hot dog.

Sausage King of Chicago, indeed.

Retired Players I Hated Watching #4 (the form on his free throws may have been even worse than Shaq's)

2008-08-03T23:48:00.003-04:00

Anthony Mason

"Poetry in motion" and "hardwood ballet" are the typical cliches sportswriters use when trying to pontificate on the aesthetic appeal of basketball -- and for the most part, they're pretty appropriate. With all of the displays of running and agility and passing and coordination, it really is a beautiful game. But Anthony Mason, all hulking 6'7" and 260 lbs of him, stood as a complete antithesis to the fluidity and grace of the game.

He was the embodiment of the paradigm shift the NBA experienced in the mid-90's. Whereas players used to be sleeker and smoother, players had now become heavier and more muscle-bound. Instead of a quick man's game, basketball was transforming into a strong man's game. Players should have been spending their free time practicing fundamentals, like footwork or shooting free throws; instead, they were spending that time lifting weights. And there's nothing specifically wrong with a professional athlete improving his musculature and overall level of fitness, but the byproduct of this change in mindset was devastating. Suddenly, NBA games were nearly unwatchable. It was all-defense, no-offense; final scores were regularly in the 80s (and often as low as the 70s); and teams were trying to out-muscle and out-bully the opposition instead of out-skilling them.

Mason was a habitual offender, using his stocky build to grind the pace of every game to an excruciating halt. On defense, he grabbed and reached and hacked, using less guile and more brute force. "Defense wins championships" is the timeworn mantra head coaches preach to their players, but what Mason did to opposing players could hardly be called "defending." More to the point, he was just beating people up.

On the offensive end of the court, he planted himself on the low block, pinned his defender on his hip, and demanded the ball. After receiving the inbounds pass, he'd hold the ball, holding and holding. He'd then start backing down his man, slowly and deliberately ad naseum, just bull-rushing toward the basket. When he finally steamrolled his way directly under the rim, he'd put up a point-blank lay up, or he'd get fouled. All of this would take up the entirety of the allotted 24 seconds. Basically, it was the most boring brand of basketball imaginable. He just bogged everything down; whenever he was in the game, it was slow-motion, like everyone was running in quicksand.

And even the gimmick he was most known for -- the ability to play "point forward" -- was grossly overstated and very misleading. Granted, he brought the ball upcourt every once and a while, but he was hardly a savvy playmaker. It's not like he was capable of orchestrating an offense out on the perimeter, or make split-second decisions with the ball while on the fast break. Most of his assists came after he had held onto the ball too long and just kicked it back out to an open teammate at the very end of the shotclock. Assists like those aren't conducive to effecient, free-flowing offense...they're just last ditch bailouts.

Even when Mason made the All-Star team during his lone season in Miami, I could barely stand watching him. Not even mentioning all the off-the-court legal problems he had throughout the course of his career (the statutory rape charges, drunken disorderly conduct, starting bar fights, locker room dissension, etc., etc.), he just wasn't a very entertaining player. Nothing about the way he played the game was fun.

About the only complimentary thing I can say about Anthony Mason is that he used to shave words, signs, and phrases into the side of his head. I can't deny it, that was pretty cool.

Anthony Mason's career statistics

(And I checked, I couldn't find a single Mason video on YouTube).

What I Had For Dinner 8/3/08

2008-08-03T23:39:00.002-04:00

A quesadilla burger with fries from Applebee's.

Much like with anything else Applebee-related, there's really nothing particularly deep or enlightening to say. It was satisfactory, and that's about it.

Regarding the Travel Channel

2008-08-02T14:12:00.003-04:00

I'm really happy about the upcoming new episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations and Andrew Zimmern's Bizarre Foods because there's just something inherently fascinating about watching Westerners (i.e. white people) eating mysterious and exotic Eastern (i.e. non-white) cuisine. Like the Sun revolving around the Earth, the product of a whole integer and zero being anything but zero, and a panda bear playing a violin, that just goes against all accepted scientific wisdom. It's so unusual and out of the ordinary. Watching someone from outside the native culture eat scorpions and chicken embryos and goat brains makes for remarkably gripping television...I can't stop staring. I've already seen so many episodes of these two traveling (and eating) their way across Thailand, the Philippines, Korea...and it never gets old. And really, all of the extreme gross-out food only makes up about 1/4 (or maybe 1/3, tops) of the whole episode. Clips of them devouring steaming bowls of pig guts are what make the commercials, but that's only the work of shock-value producers trying to reel in as many potential viewers as possible to spike their Nielsen ratings. Otherwise, the rest of the 3/4 (or maybe 2/3, at the least) of the food looks delicious. All of the bugs and rodents are what makes travel shows like these fun, but it's all of the noodles and seafood and fresh produce and suckling pig and spicy sauces and roasted duck that really makes it worthwhile. I always get so hungry watching it.

Even ol' bubbly, white bread Samantha Brown (Girl Meets Hawaii, Passport to Europe, Passport to Great Weekends, etc.) is starting to visit far east locale now. There was a time when she only went to places like Rome and Britain and Paris -- really conventional, touristy First World places; basically, cities that aren't typically known for kidnapping their visitors and selling them into sex slavery. That's all well and good, but it's kind of boring ho-hum TV. Nowadays, though, she's branching out. Just today I saw an episode of her traveling to China -- mingling with the locals, visiting Buddhist temples, getting Szechuan cooking lessons, practicing tai chi, exploring the underdeveloped countryside. It was fun watching her interact so enthusiastically and so sincerely with a culture that she obviously has no natural affiliation with. And I guess I'm just automatically appreciative of anyone who wants more than McDonald's burgers and fries. I can definitely support that kind of culinary ambition.

With that being said, there's just something inherently less interesting about watching Easterners eat typical Western food. I'm not sure a weekly TV show of Cambodians eating bologna sandwiches would be nearly as profound or engaging.

The Snack of an Unfortunate Name

2008-08-01T21:35:00.002-04:00

I really like Corn Nuts. They're good, like a less heavy and less greasy-tasting Frito. But I can never say "Corn Nuts" with a straight face.

Final Jeopardy! 7/31/08

2008-07-31T23:09:00.002-04:00

Category: The Persian Gulf

Clue: "It's national anthem begins, 'O Lord, protect for us our majesty the sultan.'"

Answer: Oman

I really had no idea. I thought it might've been Iraq, but I guess the fact that Saddam Hussein wasn't a sultan should've gave it away.

What I Had For Lunch 7/31/08

2008-07-31T22:39:00.003-04:00

I warmed up some frozen buffalo style chicken strips with yellow rice & green olives and steamed broccoli.

This is one of my default meals. I cook it so often because it's so easy to prepare. And because it's so good.

What I Had For Lunch 7/31/08

2008-07-31T19:01:00.003-04:00

A Reuben sandwich and potato bacon soup from Crispers.

The You-Pick-Two is never enough food, so I went with a full sandwich and a full bowl of soup. I was really pumped about my sandwich when I first ordered it, but the corned beef was way too chewy and rubbery. The sour kraut was good, but if given the opportunity for a re-do, I'd go for something else...probably something with turkey. The soup was great, naturally. And I swiped a pocket-full of saltines on my way out for the ride home.

Manny to the Marlins?

2008-07-31T13:16:00.002-04:00

Marlins work on Ramirez deal as deadline nears

A deal that would make Manny Ramirez a Marlin remained in limbo Thursday morning as the three teams involved in negotiations continued working toward the 4 p.m. deadline.

The Marlins, Red Sox and Pittsburgh Pirates were trying to work out details of a complex trade in which the Marlins would receive Ramirez, a prospect and perhaps Pirates left-handed reliever John Grabow while giving up outfielder Jeremy Hermida and prospects. -- Miami Herald

This better happen.

With Manny Ramirez, Hanley Ramirez, and Dan Uggla all in the same starting line-up, we'll have three of the biggest bats in the entire league.

And with Manny here, maybe people will finally come out to watch the Marlins play.

Last Days

2008-07-30T22:14:00.000-04:00

Last days at work are a funny sort of thing.

They're a testament to the surreal, an exercise in the absurd. It's like ignoring the 800-pound gorilla in the room, or ignoring the pink elephant in the room, or whatever other idioms we use to describe the painfully obvious.

Most of all, last days on the job (particularly part-time jobs) are just awkward. You're still expected to do certain things and fulfill certain duties -- ring up customers, answer phones, bag groceries, fold sweaters, stock shelves, help customers, bus tables, wash dishes, etc., etc. -- despite the very blatant fact that it kinda, sorta doesn't matter anymore. Sense of responsibility and work ethic aside, it's all a little pointless. It's like breaking your back trying to swab the deck of the Titanic -- it's a nice gesture, but it doesn't make a difference, it's going to sink anyway. Working your last shift is like living in an 8-hour alternate universe, one that has no consequence or repercussion. Essentially, you can do anything you want. If you do bad, you'll get fired (not preferable of course, but also not the end of the world, especially if you already have your next job lined up). If you do good, it isn't like you'll get a promotion or a raise in pay. And if you do nothing (which is probably the closest to the norm anyway), you'll simply get to leave at the end of the day. It's all the same, one way or the other; nothing lost, nothing gained. It's like a game, and the objective is who can pretend to care the longest.

It makes you wonder why they don't just make the second-to-last day of work your last day of work.

Final Jeopardy! 7/30/08

2008-07-30T21:50:00.002-04:00

Category: Early American Short Stories

Clue: "This short story, written around 1820, contains the line "If I can but reach that bridge...I am safe!"

Answer: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Nice, a chance for me to flex my literary muscles. This one was really easy...it was Washington Irving's Ichabod Crane. One one contestant got it write, and one couldn't even come up with a guess. The thing I appreciate most about Irving is that before he started writing, the genre of "American literature" could barely be called literature at all. It was all Thomas Paine political stuff, or Benjamin Franklin political stuff, or Thomas Jefferson political stuff, or hyper-religious, fire & brimstone stuff. Not that there's anything specifically wrong with any of that (well, maybe the fire & brimstone stuff) but our young nation had yet to take up the hobby of story-telling. Then Irving came along. And I've always felt kind of bad for him, because despite creating some of the more recognizable literary figures from early American lit -- Crane, the Headless Horseman, Rip Van Winkle -- most people would fail to identify him as their author.

And "Brom Bones" is just an ill name for an antagonist.

What I Had For Dinner 7/30/08

2008-07-30T21:23:00.002-04:00

Chicken and white rice & beans from Pollo Tropical.

I was really in the mood for it, so it was great. Especially smothered in that garlic oil. But my only complaint is that the two closest Pollo Tropical locations are exactly the same distance away...and they really aren't that close to begin with. So by the time I get home, my food is already starting to get cold.

Glenn could join Dolphins (Bill Parcells used to refer to him as "She" when they were in New England)

2008-07-30T17:03:00.004-04:00

Dolphins coach on Terry Glenn: We're turning over every rock to improve roster

With the passing game stagnant, the Dolphins acknowledged it makes sense to consider adding veteran receiver Terry Glenn to help bolster its inexperienced receiving corps.

Even though coach Tony Sparano categorized reports that the Dolphins are pursuing Glenn as "hypothetical," he admitted that the front office is turning over "every rock" to improve the roster.

"I'm sure it makes sense that you'd be interested. We know the guy. We know him. We've coached him," Sparano said of Glenn, who was drafted by Dolphins vice president of football operations Bill Parcells in 1996 while with New England. "God, Bill's coached him for years. I've had him for four or five years down [in Dallas]. So I know the guy."

"The thing that I do know is I have two people upstairs that do their due diligence on any player out there. Any player," Sparano said. "I'm sure that Terry Glenn or anybody else would be treated the same that way." -- Sun-Sentinel.com

Assuming his surgically-repaired knee is capable of supporting the weight of an entire NFL season, I'm all for it.

We're very thin at wide receiver -- Ted Ginn, Jr. has the potential to be a standout WR, but he's still only entering his second season; Derek Hagan has loads of potential, but struggles with concentration and drops way too many easy passes; with his towering stature, Ernest Wilford is rock solid in the red zone, but his lack of speed limits his versatility and makes him somewhat of a liability in the open field, Greg Camarillo and David Kircus are end-of-bench players, and Davone Bess and Jayson Foster are undrafted, unproven rookies.

I don't know how healthy Glenn is, but if he's even 3/4 the player he used to be -- when he was at his best, he was a 1,000-yard Pro Bowl player -- he definitely stands to improve our overall roster. I like the fact that he's a heady, experienced veteran. He knows the tricks of the trade...knows how to get open and how to get separation from defensive backs, knows how to handle pressure (he's played in a Super Bowl before), knows how to hold onto the ball, knows how to work the refs and draw pass interference penalties from cornerbacks. Someone with his experience could have a lot to teach a team as young as ours. And as an Ohio State alum, he could serve as a direct mentor to Ginn.

I hope we sign him. Coming off a 2007 season with only 1 win, we could always use the extra talent.

Final Jeopardy! 7/29/08

2008-07-30T16:36:00.003-04:00

Category: Historic Names

Clue: He is quoted as saying, "another such victory over the Romans, and we are undone!"

Answer: Pyrrhus

I didn't get it right. I thought it was Caligula, but that doesn't make sense of course, because Caligula was Roman.

Final Jeopardy! 7/28/08

2008-07-28T21:53:00.004-04:00

It's Tournament of Champions week.

Category: The Southern Hemisphere

Clue: Referring to the Great Bear constellation, this area's name is from the Greek meaning "opposite the bear."

Answer: Antarctica

I tried recalling all of my formal training in Greek literature, scanning my brain for everything from Homer to the Iliad to Odysseus to Helen of Troy, but I couldn't come up with anything. None of the three contestants got it right either -- 1 answered "Australia" but crossed it out, 1 answered "Ursa Minor," and 1 didn't answer at all -- so that helps in soothing my hurt pride.

My Favorite Is The Tiger Shark

2008-07-28T14:29:00.006-04:00

It's here again.

For all Vaguely Indie and Quasi Scene Kids across the country, the Discovery Channel's Shark Week is the year's best seven days of television. That's just the way it is. The only possible way I could conceive of ever topping the excitement and fervor over Shark Week is if a network ever aired something along the lines of Zombie Week, or Dinosaur Week, or something remotely similar. Right now, I'm watching the special shark-centric episode of Mythbusters. They're doing the first myth right now:

When adrift at sea, does playing dead -- as opposed to thrashing around wildly -- discourage sharks from attacking?

This one seemed pretty obvious to me.

After working a pack of sharks (they didn't specify exactly which species it was, but judging from my expert eye, they appeared to be some kind of Coral Reef shark) into a frenzy with chum bait, Tory and Grant jumped into the water. One stayed perfectly still while the other wriggled around like a wounded fish; then, to cover all bases, they switched roles. The results were conclusive: the sharks habitually showed more interest in the live bait, while completely ignoring the dead bait.

That sounds about exactly right.

All of that is just hundreds of millions of years of instinct. As a predatory species, it's in their nature to go give chase to something that's more alive (i.e. hunting) instead of simply picking at something that appears to be less alive (i.e. scavenging). It's no different than a dog that takes off after a car as it drives by, or better yet, the T-Rex that initially ignored that tethered goat in Jurassic Park -- their hard-wired to react that way. So the fact that this myth was confirmed really doesn't say much...what did say much, however, was the loophole in their experiment that they conveniently glossed over.

The transmitted waves that a shark can detect are typically physical in nature (that is, the tangible rippling waves caused by thrashing the water) and also electrical (like a heart rate, for example). Even if a castaway stayed perfectly still -- and that's assuming he even has a life vest or some kind of flotation device; if not, he's obviously gonna be kicking his legs like crazy just to stay afloat -- it would make very little difference if his heart was beating out of his chest. Regardless of what the rest of your body may be doing, an accelerated heart rate will transmit through the ocean, which will bring attention to a shark, with will then (potentially) lead to an exploratory bite.

In this experiment, they were able to "play dead" (generally keeping their wits about them and avoiding cardiac explosion) because of the peace of mind of knowing that this is a controlled environment with multiple safety measures set into place to keep them from harm. In a non-experiment, they wouldn't have the same safety net. I'm sure their vitals spiked considerably during their time in the water, but I guarantee they'd spike three times as bad if this were for real. So as is sometimes the case with Mythbusters, there findings hold some scientific merit, but very little value for real-life, practical use. Basically, one would have to suffer a full-on heart attack to even begin to fool a shark into thinking he were dead.

There are a lot of other myths they're covering in this episode, but I'm already getting tired. It's gonna be a long week, anyway. There'll be a lot of time to get to them later.

What I Had For Dinner 7/27/08

2008-07-28T00:45:00.003-04:00

Chicken Burrito Ultimo from Baja Fresh.

I always take full advantage of their condiment bar. I fill up 1 cup of cilantro, 1 cup of the mild verde sauce, 1 cup of the medium red sauce, 1 cup of the spicy dark sauce, 2 cups of lime wedges, 2 cups of salsa, and 2 cups of pickled jalapeños.

Final Jeopardy! 7/25/08

2008-07-25T22:13:00.003-04:00

Category: Adjectives

Clue: Meaning "painful," it literally refers to the type of pain inflicted on Jesus & on the followers of Spartacus.

Answer: Excruciating

Even with my infinite vocabulary, I couldn't come up with an answer. I got really flustered and couldn't spit anything out. And before I knew it, time was up. In hindsight, it should've been really obvious -- "excruciating" comes from the Latin word "to crucify." Needless to say, just the thought of having nails driven through my hands (if you're theologically-inclined) or my wrists (if you're anatomically-inclined) makes me feel weak and light-headed.

What I Had For Dinner 7/25/08

2008-07-25T21:52:00.003-04:00

Mushroom & pepperoni pizza, spaghetti and meatballs, and my leftover sushi.

I just ate three meals in one.

What I Had For Lunch 7/25/08

2008-07-25T21:40:00.002-04:00

Went to a Japanese restaurant.

For an appetizer, I had gyoza (fried dumplings) and vegetable tempura. Then I had a Mexican roll (shrimp tempura, cream cheese, avocado, scallion, spicy mayo) and shared a Birthday roll (shrimp tempura, salmon skin, eel, cream cheese, scallion, asparagus, topped with avocado, and eel sauce).

The Birthday roll was a little busy -- there was just a lot of stuff in it -- but it was my favorite out of the two. There was a lot more depth to it. While the Mexican roll was, essentially, just shrimp tempura and white rice, the Birthday roll had a lot more complexity, a lot more levels of flavors. It was a multi-faceted sushi roll.

Final Jeopardy! 7/24/08

2008-07-25T00:36:00.003-04:00

As a Public Service Announcement to those who A) read my blog and b) enjoy useless trivia, I'm planning to henceforth post the nightly Final Jeopardy! clue. Under the rare occasion that I'm not home from 7:30-8:00 PM Eastern Standard time Monday-Friday night (I'm a hermit), I've set up a Jeopardy! season pass on my TiVo.

So here it is...

Category: Famous Names

Clue: In 1906, he launched Conjurer's monthly, a magazine that he pretty much wrote & edited himself.

Answer: Harry Houdini

I had no idea who it was and couldn't even venture a guess, but the magazine's title probably should have been a giveaway. And as most of us already know, a fan of Houdini's met him in his dressing room and asked if the rumors of him being able to withstand any physical blow to the body were true. Houdini boldly claimed that he could, and then was unexpectedly punched in the stomach. He was soon hospitalized and eventually died a few days later of peritonitis sustained from a ruptured appendix. Now, he was already suffering from the early stages of appendicitis before his run-in with the fan and very likely could have died anyway even if he weren't hit in the stomach. But it's a makes for a much cooler story if Harry Houdini died because he was trying to act like a big shot.

Abominable Snow Monster; Dysentery

2008-07-24T10:13:00.007-04:00

I submit that people don't love the computer game SkiFree as much as they say they do.

Dispositions will brighten and eyes will widen whenever the subject is broached during conversation, but nostalgia is like that; it romanticizes the past because we're disillusioned with the present.

Jumping those multi-colored ramps was kind of cool, I guess, and so was making the dog pee in the snow. But aside from that, it was only "fun" because it was less boring than any of those other old Windows 95 games. It's like standing next to an ugly person -- by default, you are instantly more attractive. Minesweeper was that ugly person.

Oregon Trail was more entertaining, but only by a very slim margin. Again, this is another game that benefits from the influence of outside, and otherwise unrelated, circumstances.

It's "fun" in the semantical sense that it's, by definition, a game. But more to the point, it's "fun" because it let us play on the computer in class (computers in the classroom was a rarity for me as a 3rd grader, but I imagine nowadays in futuristic 2008, they're ubiquitous) and, mercifully, it wasn't math. So once again, default.

It's funny, though, how the (imaginary) responsibilities I'm burdened with in Oregon Trail far succeed the (very real) responsibilities I have in my own life.

In the game, not only do I have to account for myself, but also the well-being of my entire family (I just played it online last night and I named my three children Latrell, Carmelo, and Kwame). Before heading out on the trail, I have to wisely budget $400 between oxen, spare wagon parts, food, ammunition, and clothing. Certain life-or-death decisions present themselves during the course of our trip, like what pace to travel in, how much food should be rationed out, to wade or not to wade across a 3-foot deep river, and what to do when Kwame comes down with cholera.

In my real life, I don't have anyone else to worry about -- not even so much as a pet goldfish -- but myself. Even if I did have a family of my own, I wouldn't plan any cross-country relocations. I typically have more than $400 at my disposal at any given time, and when it's time to spend some of it, I have the freedom to use it on something worthwhile (i.e. Nike Force Court Lows) and not on something retarded (i.e. an emergency wagon wheel). The only trail I'm going to be blazing today is from my front door to my mailbox, and then back again.

I assume the purpose of Oregon Trail is teaching you how to handle the challenges of budgeting, accountability, time management, and self-sufficiency. As it were, my life experiences as a 23-year-old have only prepared me for this game slightly more than my life experiences as a 13-year-old.

And if anyone is in the mood to play it again, here's a link: http://www.virtualapple.org/oregontraildisk.html

You'll get sick of it quick, but it'll be a solid 5 minutes or so before that happens.

What I Had For Breakfast 7/24/08

2008-07-24T10:05:00.002-04:00

Golden Grahams.

They were just as good as always, but I just opened the box the other day and I'm already kind of tired of them. I have way too many open boxes of cereal laying around, so I'll have to get around to finally finishing some of them off before I can buy anymore. But I already know what I want from my next purchase: something peanut butter. So it's either Reese's Puffs or Cap'n Crunch's Peanut Butter Crunch.

Self-Diagnosing Me

2008-07-23T08:47:00.007-04:00

My inherent worrisome and hypochondriac nature, coupled with my interest in reading random things on WebMD.com, has led me to the (mostly unfounded and, in all likelihood, inaccurate) self-diagnosis that I have Patellar Tendinitis in my left knee, also known as "Jumper's Knee."

This has been a recurring problem for me. It's been bothering me on and off, at varying degrees of intensity, for months now. I've already seen an orthopedic doctor for this -- I made the mistake of wearing jeans to the appointment; obviously, he has to look at my knee to properly examine it, so I had to take my jeans off and put on the office's grimy pair of communal shorts -- and after making me bend and squat and kneel and flex, he determined that there was nothing wrong with me. "A healthy young man," he said, with a "completely clean bill of health." But naturally, I know better.

Here's a description of the condition from athleticadvisor.com:

Patellar tendinitis or "jumper's knee" is a condition resulting from overuse of the knee.

Tendinitis is simply the inflammation of a tendon. This can be due to numerous factors. Some of the more common factors associated with this condition are:

a rapid increase in the frequency of training,
sudden increase in the intensity of training,
transition from one training method to another,
repeated training on a rigid surface,
improper mechanics during training,
genetic abnormalities of the knee joint, and/or
poor base strength of the quad muscles.

Any or all of these factors can lead to the development of patellar tendinitis.

Basketball players are the most common athletes to experience this problem. Many athletes will make a transition from football to basketball during the school year. These two sports place entirely different stresses on the knee joint. The transition itself may be the only factor contributing to the condition. Other factors in these athletes may include: a change in training surface, increased amounts of continuous running and/or jumping, and the pounding associated with football.

The signs and symptoms of patellar tendinitis are fairly easy to detect. The athlete will complain of:

pain in the area of the tendon,
the knee will often feel "tight,"
pain will be experienced early in the workout and after the workout is completed,
there may be some subtle swelling of the tendon, and
the athlete may feel that the tendon is "squeaking."

Treatment of this condition begins with continuation of a general fitness and flexibility program. The best treatment is prevention! The multi-sport athlete should utilize proper conditioning techniques to ease the transition from one sport to another. Proper conditioning should include aerobic fitness, lower body strength training, and lower body flexibility training. Flexibility is very important in preventing overuse injuries such as patellar tendinitis.

Once the condition is present, there are several treatment options. The athlete is strongly encouraged to remain active in practice as well as rehabilitation so that he/she will not detrain, fail to keep up on the offensive and defensive schemes of the game, and most importantly loose the mental drive to compete. The rehabilitation should be designed to decrease the symptoms, strengthen the muscles of the quad region and improve hamstring and quad flexibility.

Also, factors that may pre-dispose the athlete to this injury should be isolated and corrected. This could be as simple as improving the conditioning of the athlete (e.g. non-pounding conditioning such as interval training on a bicycle rather than running). If the tendinitis is due to a strength imbalance in the quadriceps and hamstrings, the athlete should begin exercises to target the weak muscles of the quads or hamstrings.

My knee is a kind of sore -- I don't have a significant limp, but I am walking around semi-gingerly and I can't push off my left leg as forcefully or as confidently as I'd like; also, I can feel a dull ache at at the end of the day and the front of my knee cap does feel a little tender to the touch -- so I'm assuming this must be the problem.

From everything I've read, this is typically associated with professional athletes, especially those who play sports with a lot of jumping (i.e. basketball, volleyball, etc.). At first glance, "professional athlete" wouldn't seem to apply to me, but I do play basketball for about 20-25 minutes at the park every other day or so, and I do own quite a few basketball jerseys (an away Philadelphia Sixers Jerry Stackhouse, an away Golden State Warriors Chris Webber, an away Charlotte Hornets Larry Johnson, a home Los Angeles Lakers Nick Van Exel, an away Miami Heat Alonzo Mourning). So I'm guessing, at the very least, I've earned the honorary title of "professional athlete."

I will continue to rest, ice, compress, and elevate.

(I'm overreacting.)

What I Had For Lunch 7/22/08

2008-07-23T08:32:00.003-04:00

Fried Catfish.

It was perfectly cooked and perfectly seasoned -- not too crispy, not too salty.

When it comes to fried fish, cod may get most of the notoriety (because of fish & chips), but I prefer catfish. It's so meaty and substantial. If you didn't know better, you'd think you were eating chicken.

A close second for best fried fish would be tilapia.

Party Shuffle

2008-07-20T20:17:00.009-04:00

First 15 shuffled songs on my iTunes. Nothing skipped, nothing doctored.

"Video Killed the Radio Star"
Buggles
The Age of Plastic

The quintessential example of a bloated, over-produced New Wave hit that was typical of the late 70's/early 80's. You can hear the countless man-hours that were spent laboring over this one song in the studio just by how much stuff is crammed onto the track -- extensive overdubbing, the inclusion of random sounds and noises, an instrumental coda of nearly an entire minute in length. It is a morbidly obese song, and I love it.

And of course...first music video ever played on MTV blah blah blah blah blah. This is one of those universally-understood bits of useless trivia that only impresses people who were born yesterday, then subsequently found residence under a rock.

"Take Lots with Alcohol"
Alkaline Trio
From Here to Infirmary

A great song off of my favorite Alkaline Trio -- yeah, better than Godamnit!

I recently added their new album to my iTunes, but I haven't gotten the chance to listen to it at any length yet. I'm hoping it isn't anything like their second to last album, Crimson. The beauty of early Alkaline Trio is their ability to be dark, sullen, self-destructive, and infectiously fun. In recent years, they've been JUST dark. A return to something closer to their roots would be appreciated.

"Mikey Rocks"
The Cool Kids
The Bake Sale

I like the lazy, slurring beat.

"Ready For The Floor"
Hot Chip
The Warning

They quickly became one of my favorite new ultra-cool, hyper-hip electronica dance groups immediately after this album came out. The production is so slick and infectious. They just know how to make things sound good.

"She"
Saves the Day
In Reverie

Yeah, the album was universally hated; it was the beginning of the end for Saves the Day's run as a band of any viable success, be it commercial or creative or otherwise. In a best case scenario, everything about this song -- the sugary-sweet lyrics, the soulful plucking of the acoustic guitar, the starry-eyed vocal delivery -- should have come across as disingenuous...and in a worst case scenario, this song should have come across as completely castrated and limp-wristed.

"She is a dying dandelion / Floating on the breeze / Twirling sweetly in the evening / She is the stars glowing gorgeously / She is the sloping clouds / Forever scrolling / Unfolding."

That's just really kind of weak.

But somehow, it works for me. I actually think this is a very strong track. I like it a lot. I see it as a sincere and heartfelt ode to a girl he knows. This should be a completely phony song, but it isn't.

"Hypnotize"
The Notorious B.I.G.
Life After Death

This track is, and always has been, my jam.

"Bang every MC, easily."

True that, Big.

"The Sun Also Sets"
Ryan Adams
Easy Tiger

I normally like literary references in my music. I usually find it charming and clever when musicians goof around with noteworthy quotes or book titles. But for whatever reason, I hate Adams' play on words here of Hemingway's The Sun Also Sets. It just bugs me. It looks hackneyed to me, looks totally devoid of any originality. It's akin to giving a song a tongue-in-cheek title like The Old Man And The Ocean, or something equally as lame. And keep in mind, I don't even like The Sun Also Rises! It's boring; he travels to Spain, he watches some bull fights, and then the story is over. Definitely not one of my favorite Hemingway novels.

As for the actual song, I uploaded this album a long time ago but have never gotten around to actually sitting down and listening to it. The smart thing would be to listen to this song now, but I'm restless and want to keep moving.

"She's Leaving Home"
The Beatles
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band

"Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown / Picks up the letter that's lying there / Standing alone at the top of the stairs / She breaks down and cries to her husband, 'Daddy, our baby's gone' / Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly? / How could she do this to me?"

That verse always gets to me. It's legitimately heart-breaking. And the final two lines are are truly revealing of human nature. Not to get too hung up on psychobabble, but it's a very astute sociological observation: the us will always, instinctively, give way to the I.

And I love the harps.

"Fit But You Know It"
The Streets
A Grand Don't Come For Free

A few years ago, I was convinced that the best hip hop was coming out of the United Kingdom -- the Streets, Lady Sovereign, Dizzee Rascal, etc., etc. But I'm patriotically proud to say that fad has since passed and the best hip hop is, again, homegrown here in the U.S. of A.

As for this song, everything about it (the cadence, the rhyme scheme, the vernacular, the accent) used to be charming. Now, not so much. It's a gimmick that's lost its luster.

"I Will Follow You Into The Dark"
Death Cab For Cutie
Plans

Transatlanticism was an important album to me senior year in high school, but regrettably, I've discovered that I can barely listen to any Death Cab (especially any post-Transatlanticism Death Cab) without skipping, cringing, or flat out laughing at how pathetically soft it is. It's completely and thoroughly passive. And problem is, I can't relate to any of it. I'm not a meek, sad, forlorn teenager anymore; I've since grown into a confident, headstrong, accomplished adult. I guess that's the double-edged sword of getting older -- your personality makes forward progress and you grow as a person, but you're left totally incapable of enjoying sappy old bands you used to love as a kid. It's sort of a shame.

And it's too bad, because this really is a beautifully-written song.

"Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"
The Smiths
Hatful of Hollow

"I was looking for a job, then I found a job / And Heaven knows I'm miserable now"

Morrissey isn't so much depressing as he is wildly witty.

And for all the typical rhetoric of how dark and bleak the Smiths are, it's ironic that Johnny Marr's guitar-playing is some of the brightest sounding stuff I've ever heard.

"Listen Up!"
The Gossip
Standing In The Way Of Control

Big girl's got some big pipes.

I prefer their more dancier, more upbeat tracks, but this is still a great vocal performance.

"One Day Robots Will Cry"
Cobra Starship
Viva La Cobra!

So awesome.

Music that is fun, catchy, and without pretense (and, of course, actually good) should never be maligned.

"Do You Want To Dance?"
Bobby Freeman
Do You Wanna Dance?

"Do you wanna dance and a-hold my hand / Tell me I'm your lover man / Oh baby, do you wanna dance?"

Only a pop singer from the 1950s could come up with something so cheesy, so square, and ultimately, so accurately representative of everyone's inherent yearning for affection and companionship.

It's a line that, more or less, gets it completely right.

However, the very next line -- "Do you wanna dance and make romance?" -- is monumentally awful.

"Look Back and Laugh"
Minor Threat
Complete Discography

From a musical standpoint, I really don't listen to much Minor Threat anymore. But from a philosophical standpoint, Ian MacKaye and Minor Threat (and Fugazi) still figure into my everyday life. My morals, code of ethics, personal standards -- all directly shaped, to one degree or another, by Minor Threat. They may not resonate with me aesthetically or sonically the way they used to, but they remain one of the most influential bands to me, easy.

Let's Make It a True Daily Double

2008-07-19T00:12:00.003-04:00

The category for tonight's Final Jeopardy was "Shakespearean Characters."

The clue was Caliban from the Tempest. I got it right.

My Bachelor's degree in English continues to pay for itself.

Yeah, 'The Dark Knight' was pretty awesome

2008-07-18T15:28:00.010-04:00

Who should be the next Batman villain? Christopher Nolan has a serious vision and some bad guys just don't fit it.

MSNBC doesn't think it's too early to start thinking about which villain should show up in the next Batman movie, either. Here's a rundown of their list:

The Riddler

I don't know how easy it'd be for him to follow the Joker's act without looking like a cheap Joker knock-off himself, but with sharp writing, I think the Riddler could make a very interesting villain. Making him into yet another bloodthirsty, psychopathic murderer would be a mistake -- I'd actually suggest that the Riddler have no interest at all in killing people. If they really wanted to push the envelope, they should keep his body count at a whopping zero. The Riddler's motive should be an unrelenting and insatiable desire to stump Batman with one of his puzzles. I'm someone who constantly flaunts my lofty IQ, so I can understand the unhealthy (and borderline sociopathic) tendencies that can be shown by someone who always believes himself to be the smartest person in the room. The Riddler shouldn't have the same aspirations -- money, mayhem, notoriety -- as the common criminal; his main concern is proving his own worth as a self-proclaimed genius. This is what will separate him from the Joker and other lunatic criminals: he isn't nuts, he's just vain. Publically shaming Batman with an unsolvable riddle will validate his intelligence.

Now, the trick is making an audience feel any suspense over a villain who has no desire to kill. That'll take good writing.

Killer Croc

As far as hand-to-hand combat goes, Batman has fought three villains who are considerably below his fighting level (Scarecrow, Joker, Two-Face) and one villain who is, more or less, at his level (Ras Al Ghul). Basically, only 1/4 of the villains he's faced in two movies would be able to hold their own against Batman in a straight-forward boxing match. So I think this is the angle that could make Killer Croc an interesting character: he's bigger, faster, and stronger than Batman. Much more than his physical equal, Croc would be his physical superior.

I hate it when super hero movies try to cram too many super-villains into one movie -- i.e. Mr. Freeze, Poison Ivy, and Bane in Batman and Robin; Sandman, Harry Osborn, Venom in Spider-Man 3 -- but the article points out that Killer Croc may not have enough depth to his character to carry an entire movie, and I can agree with that for the most part. I could live with him appearing briefly in the third movie, getting into a run-in or two with Batman, and then getting quickly sent to jail. I think that could work. With so many of the other villain wrought with deep-rooted psychological issues, it could actually be refreshing to see Croc portrayed as a dumbed down, rampaging punching-machine. It'll make for good action scenes of gratuitous violence.

Visually, Killer Croc's monstrous and foreboding appearance (he was born with a rare disorder that gave him thick, scaly reptilian skin) could still fit right in with the rooted-in-reality image Christopher Nolan has created with his Batman series. If done right, I definitely think Croc could look scary without also looking ridiculous.

The Penguin

In the comics, the Penguin doesn't share any anatomical characteristics with actual penguins (the way he was portrayed in Batman Returns, for example). Instead, he's just a crime lord that likes wearing tuxedos. And while Batman's main antagonist should always be organized crime, I don't necessarily see anything specific to his character that would distinguish himself from any other crime boss. Basically, he's superfluous.

Man-Bat

I loved all the episodes with Man-Bat in the old animated series, but the idea of a scientist turning into half-man, half-bat creature seems too supernatural for Nolan's style.

It wouldn't translate well from comics to cinema, but he really is a dope villain.

Clayface

Same deal here. Visually, I'm sure he'd look awesome on the big screen. But I don't know how practical it is for the movie-version of Batman to fight a big clay monster that could morph his body into any and all shapes. It might be too out there.

The Ventriloquist and Scarface

The MSN article dismissed the idea of this villain -- he's a ventriloquist with an extremely suppressed personality disorder that leaves him in a nearly paralyzed state of shyness and meekness in his normal everyday life, but erupts in violence and hostility whenever he speaks through his dummy, Scarface -- being able to successfully resonate with fans, but I disagree. If the campiness is played down and the creepiness is played up, I think he could make for a very disturbing, twisted villain. He definitely couldn't carry an entire movie by himself, but I think he could support a minor subplot.

What I Had For Dinner 7/15/08

2008-07-15T23:19:00.003-04:00

Supreme Pizza from Papa John's.

I'm not 8-years-old, so pizza isn't my favorite food anymore, but I suppose I could call it a sentimental favorite. And that still counts for something.

What I Had For Lunch 7/15/08

2008-07-15T23:14:00.002-04:00

Tacos.

There are very few things I can think of that I'd rather eat.

In Honor of Satan and All That Is Unholy

2008-07-14T22:52:00.006-04:00

I noticed that my blog's counter has hit the famed number of 666, so I figured I'd take the time to stop and reflect on John Milton's astute Biblical allusion in Book 2 of his epic poem Paradise Lost.

In The New Testament's Book of Revelations 13:18, the line reads: "Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man, and his numer is six hundred threescore six."

And in Paradise Lost's Book 2, line 666-671 reads: "Eclipses at thir charms. The other shape, / If shape it might be call'd that shape had none / Distinguishable in member, joynt, or limb, / Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, / For each seem'd either; black it stood as Night, / Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell,"

At this point in the poem, Satan has already persuaded Moloch, Belial, Mammon, Beezlebub and all the other angels that their best course of action for revenge against God is to travel to Earth and tempt his beloved new creations -- Adam and Eve. In order to leave Hell, he has to persuade Sin and Death to open the gates for him. For the sake of expository information, Sin is Satan's half-woman/half-serpent daughter, birthed from his head (read: another literary allusion by Milton, this time Homeric in nature), who then gives birth to Death, who then rapes his mother Sin, who then gives birth to a pack of Hell-dogs...it all gets a little confusing, but the point of the matter is, the horrible concepts of Sin and Death and corruption and disobedience have not yet made an appearance in Paradise Lost UNTIL Book 2's line of 666.

This isn't one of Milton's more esoteric allusions -- in fact, it's pretty obvious, even to the least well-versed reader -- but it's still appreciated nonetheless. After Satan steps through the gates and begins his trek towards Earth, both Sin and Death travel slowly behind, building a bridge from Hell's gates straight to the Garden of Eden, giving all the demonic spirits an expressway to follow. So it's only completely appropriate that the existence of death and decay and despair is first introduced in line 666. It's this near-obsessive attention to detail that makes Milton such an involved and intricate writer; a single stanza of his poetry is so jam-packed with allusions, allegory, symbols, and wordplay. It can be discussed/analyzed/deconstructed/agonized over until you're brain is numb.

(Disclaimer: many scholars think the real Number of the Beast is actually 616; also, many think that the number doesn't refer to Satan at all, but the Roman emperor Caligula.)

What I Had For Dinner 7/14/08

2008-07-14T22:40:00.002-04:00

Went to Crispers -- it's basically Panera -- and had their version of a You-Pick-Two. I had half of a smoked turkey sandwich and potato bacon soup.

It was great, but my only complaint is that Panera gives you the choice of that free extra side (a piece of baguette, bag of chips, an apple, etc.) but Crispers doesn't.

What I Had For Lunch 7/14/08

2008-07-14T22:20:00.003-04:00

Olive Garden. Spaghetti and meatballs.

It's easy to look down on the Olive Garden as the archetype for dumbed down, mass-marketed Italian-American fare -- but I love it. It's so generic and so mediocre and so good. Next time, I'm gonna order the cheese ravioli.

They could've been a little less stingy with the bread sticks, though.

Nuts

2008-07-12T17:39:00.004-04:00

Haha, if he's a Reverend, then I'm the Pope.

And I bet Jesse Jackson really enjoyed Hard Candy.

Personally, my stomach is getting weak just thinking of it.

What I Had For Dinner 7/11/08

2008-07-12T12:36:00.003-04:00

Went to Stir Crazy and did the make-your-own-stir-fry thing. I picked chicken and flat rice noodles, added baby corn, bok choy, pineapple, mushrooms, broccoli, onions, celery, and bean sprouts, then picked the kung pao sauce.

It was a bomb-ass dinner.

Headlines (The art of being completely unlikeable; capsaicin is the alkaloid compound that makes hot peppers hot; hustlin' abroad).

2008-07-09T23:44:00.012-04:00

Rove ignores subpoena, refuses to testify

Former White House adviser Karl Rove defied a congressional subpoena and refused to testify Thursday about allegations of political pressure at the Justice Department, including whether he influenced the prosecution of a former Democratic governor of Alabama.
Rep. Linda Sanchez, chairman of a House subcommittee, ruled with backing from fellow Democrats on the panel that Rove was breaking the law by refusing to cooperate — perhaps the first step toward holding him in contempt of Congress.
Lawmakers subpoenaed Rove in May in an effort to force him to talk about whether he played a role in prosecutors' decisions to pursue cases against Democrats, such as former Alabama Gov. Don Siegelman, or in firing federal prosecutors considered disloyal to the Bush administration. -- MSNBC

If you or I decided to flake out on a Congressional subpoena, the po'lice is kicking down our door and hunting us down.

If the White House's former Deputy Chief of Staff did the same, he's getting a shiny new presidential pardon.

So let it be known: Karl Rove is above the law.

Officials Add Jalapeños to Salmonella Warning

Federal health officials now blame raw jalapeños for some of the illnesses in the three-month-old salmonella outbreak and yesterday advised the elderly, infants and people with compromised immune systems to avoid them.
The jalapeño warning was based on the results of recent investigations of three large clusters of illnesses involving restaurants, the CDC said. A cluster is when at least two people get sick after eating in the same location in a brief period of time.

Some in the clusters reported eating dishes containing tomatoes and jalapeños, while others said they ate a dish that had jalapeños and did not have tomatoes, cilantro or serrano peppers.

"The accumulated data from all investigations indicate that jalapeño peppers caused some illnesses but that they do not explain all illnesses," the CDC said. -- Washington Post

Jalapeños are the default pepper whenever someone thinks "hot pepper," but as far as all hot peppers are concerned, they're actually pretty average-tasting. They rank right about in the middle, somewhere above weak-ass Anaheim peppers but below nuclear Scotch Bonnets and Habaneros.

The problem with jalapeños is that they're just spicy, but that's it. And peppers (quality peppers) should be more than just hot. There's little depth, little complexity to the jalapeños' flavor. It's just one flat note. And unlike the exotic, fruity fragrance of other peppers, jalapeños have a woodsy, grassy aftertaste that -- depending on how old the peppers are, and exactly how they're prepared -- can be unpleasant. I imagine it's the same sensation you'd get if you ate a handful of lawn clippings.

For pure heat, the aforementioned Scotch Bonnets and Habaneros are superior -- and on top of being spicy, they actually have their own distinct flavor. Dried poblano/ancho and chipotle peppers are good for stews or slow-cooking dishes, they add a lot of smokiness and richness without too much of the mouth-scorching heat. Serranos also pack a good punch, so I'm sorry to hear that they made the suspect list. And even though they aren't spicy at all, I love eating the mild Pepperoncini's with pizza.

All of that food elitism aside, I do like jalapeños, especially diced up fine in my salsa. And I can't get enough pickled jalapeños on my Publix subs.

And regarding the salmonella scare, it doesn't concern me. If I don't get sick from tomatoes or jalapeños, then I'll get sick from strawberries or carrots or Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. Whatever, same difference. I'm not compromising my BLT sandwich because I may (but in all likelihood, will not) get sick.

Brandon Jennings might be a trailblazer, decides to play in Europe

Brandon Jennings' decision to bypass a one-year college commitment and instead sign a professional contract in Europe has trend-setting potential and could help end the NBA's so-called "one and done" requirement for elite prep players, the leader of the NBA players' union said Wednesday.

"I continue to be against an age limit, I'm against limiting the options these kids have," union executive director Billy Hunter said. "It's going to be a very big issue the next time we negotiate. . . . I'm strident in my position to eliminate the age limit."
Jennings, 18, a Southern Californian who played at Compton Dominguez High before moving to Oak Hill Academy in Virginia for his final two prep seasons, was a McDonald's All-American ranked by many as the nation's top high school point guard.

Jennings had signed to attend Arizona, and was awaiting an SAT score later this week that would determine if he would be eligible to play in college when he announced Tuesday he would play in a European professional league. An Arizona spokesman said Wednesday that university compliance officers have not yet received Jennings' test score. -- LA Times

As a (supposed) scholar, of course I endorse anyone and everyone getting a full education. If a school as prestigious as the University of Arizona is willing to give you a free ride, you take it. You'll better yourself personally, intellectually, culturally. Get smart, that's my motto.

But still, I can't blame him for his decision. He obviously doesn't care about the Pythagorean Theorem, doesn't care about the analogy of Plato's cave, doesn't care about the life span of a black hole. He doesn't care and never will care. Academics just isn't his bag. He wants to play basketball and earn lots of money. That's it. And I can't fault him for that. He was living in Compton, so poverty must have been a huge sticking point for him growing up. The NBA (with its age limits) force him to play at least one year of college ball, then the NCAA makes millions off of him by showcasing him in primetime games on CBS and other major market networks. And while the NCAA is counting its piles of cheddar, poor Brandon Jennings and his family is sitting down to a Thanksgiving dinner of Top Ramen. That isn't entirely fair.

If he can spend a year overseas, play some professional basketball, take in some culture, and earn an income while doing it, more power to him. I can totally support his choice. That way, he gets to have his cake and eat it too; he makes some money while waiting out the NBA's age limit in Europe, and then in a year, enters the NBA and makes even more money. As more teenagers (assuredly) follow his lead, the quality of college basketball will slowly suffer. And while I might resent that for selfish reasons -- I think March Madness is one of the single greatest things ever -- I can definitely respect a young man's decision to sell his trade, make money, and provide for his family. That's the essence of capitalism.

Oh, and Jennings has "Young Money" tattooed on his back. True that, friend.

New Aesthetics

2008-07-09T23:18:00.002-04:00

I changed the look of my blog.

I rearranged the template, the font, and the colors. The color of my background header was originally a deep red, but I thought that looked a little too hostile. So I switched it to a calmer blue. Either way, I definitely wanted to leave the main background white. I just think it's easier to read that way, less strain on the eyes. As much (inordinate) time I spend on posting stock photos along with my entries, I'm really concerned with not detracting from the text...or at least, detracting as little as possible. I noticed with my old dark blue background, some of the typing nuances like bold and italics weren't showing up as clearly as I'd like. They looked muddled on screen. And those variations in inflection are there for a reason; they make a big difference in my writing. I wanted the text to be the boldest thing on the page.

Blog-integrity is important to me. Haha.

Even More Updates on Free Agency

2008-07-09T15:13:00.005-04:00

Brand signs 5-year, $84 million contract with 76ers

I'm surprised.

I thought it was a lock that Elton Brand would re-sign with the Clippers and team up with newly-acquired Baron Davis.

But this isn't a bad fit for Brand, either. Philadelphia was surprisingly good last season (even beat Detroit in Game 1 of their playoff series), and with Brand plugged in at the starting power forward spot along with a steady Andre Miller at point guard, underrated Andre Iguodala at shooting guard, up-and-coming Thadeus Young at small forward, and shot-swatting Samuel Dalembert at center, the Sixers can definitely compete for 2nd place in the Atlantic Division next year. They can be really good.

The only thing I'd worry about it Brand's Achilles injury. He had to sit out all of last season after rupturing it, so I'm curious to see how much mobility and lift he's lost (if any). Assuming he's all healed up and ready to go, he'll get his usual 22 points and 10 rebounds a game, easy.

Warriors ink Maggette to 5-year, $50 million contract

Eh, I don't think is such a big deal. It doesn't make the Golden State Warriors any worse, but it really doesn't make them any better. It's just kind of a lateral move -- a lateral move worth $50 million bones. Maggette's a good player -- bigger and stronger than most opposing shooting guards, great isolation scorer, goes to the free throw line a lot, very athletic in the open court -- but he ultimately won't make much of a difference on the Warriors' win-loss total. They'll be more of the same.

Basically, this was damage control on Golden State's part. They allowed Baron Davis to skip town without any compensation, so they rush out and spend their newfound spending money on the first free agent they can find. They're just trying to save face. But whatever, like I said, this move won't hurt their team at all. Maggette will score a lot of points in their open, free-flowing offense. He just won't score enough points to help them make the playoffs.

Ronny Turiaf agrees to terms with Warriors for 4-year, $17 million contract

Ok, so this is a move by Golden State that I do really like. Even before scoring a single basket or grabbing a single rebound, Turiaf is already worth at least half of his contract. He's the consummate team player; every time I watch the Lakers on TV, Turiaf is cheering from the bench, giving teammates high fives, showing lots of energy. It's obvious he's a great locker room guy, a great glue guy. He just has good juju, keeps the team's morale high. So the fact that he's able to score a little, board a little, defend a little, and hustle a lot is just an added bonus. I'm sure he'll be a great fit on that team.

And to think, going into the 2006 NBA Draft, the player Turiaf was most compared to was Wayne Simien. Both were seen as hard-nosed, tough-willed do-the-dirty-work kind of power forwards. It was almost impossible to decide who was the better of the two, they were nearly identical in ability. When the Miami Heat's pick came up at No. 29, we went with Simien. At pick No. 37, the Lakers chose Turiaf. Simien is currently out of the league and Turiaf is still going strong -- we made a mistake.

And to make matters worse, we also passed up on David Lee, Brandon Bass, and Monta Ellis. All were picked after Simien.

Jones signs 5-year, $23 million deal with hometown Heat

Great pick up for Miami. I'm all for this deal. We desperately need players who can shoot straight from long range and capitalize when defenders double-team D-Wade and Michael Beasley -- James Jones can definitely do this. He shoots 3's as if they were lay-ups. He shot a staggering 44% from behind the arc last season, that's off the charts. He's one-dimensional, but he can do that one thing really well. Jones can come right off the bench, shoot some corner jumpers, and then sit right back down. He'll know his role and he'll be able to fill it without complaint. I'm sure he'll become a fast fan favorite here.

And it's always nice to see a former Miami Hurricane (and former local American High alum) succeed. There aren't too many Hurricanes in the NBA -- we drafted Tim James, but he didn't amount to much; we auditioned Darius Rice a few times in summer league, but never worked out; John Salmons is playing with the Kings all the way out on the left coast; and I have no idea what Guerillmo Diaz is up to -- so I'm glad a local kid is getting a chance to play for the hometown team.

Orlando Magic signs Pietrus

Decent addition for the Magic, but nothing earth-shattering. Mickael Pietrus is athletic and a solid one-on-defender, but he's never been able to make a name for himself after being a lottery pick in his draft. I've watched him play a lot and he's the type of player that relies solely on athleticism and fast twitch muscles -- he's not cerebral at all, he's not a student of the game, doesn't understand X's and O's, isn't aware of what's going on around him. He's a great physical specimen, but he's also a slow, dim-witted physical specimen. He makes a lot of mistakes and mental errors, so he can actually be a very frustrating player to watch.

And for someone who was nicknamed "Air France" -- he's of French nationality -- going into the 2003 draft, I really don't remember seeing him dunk all that much.

What I Had For Dinner 7/8/08

2008-07-09T13:39:00.002-04:00

Peanut Butter & Jelly. Cheese sandwich.

These are normally two simple favorites of mine, but I've had much better of each.

The bread I used for the PB&J was a little too thin and flimsy, so there wasn't as much bite or substance as I'd want. And I brought the cheese sandwich with me to work, so I wasn't able to grill it. It was an ungrilled cheese sandwich, which just means there was a lot of unfulfilled potential there.

Wordsmith

2008-07-07T23:31:00.015-04:00

An expanded vocabulary, dictionary adds 100 new words

Merriam-Webster's Collegiate has added brand new words to our collective vocabulary. Here are the highlights:

Netroots (noun) - the grassroots political activists who communicate via the Internet, especially by blogs.

I like this one. There was this really pretentious girl -- this is definitely NOT an insult, as I'm using "pretentious," as I almost always do, with a positive connotation -- I had in my Literary & Social Movements class a few years ago that loved to use the word "grassroots." She would skillfully word-drop it into our class discussions at least twice a week (keep in mind our class only met twice a week). It didn't matter if we were discussing Roumain's Masters of the Dew, or Acosta's The Revolt of the Cockroach People, Menchu's I, Rigoberta Menchu, or Angela Davis' autobiography -- either way, it gave her the opportunity to inform all of us that each writer was trying to eliminate social unrest/political corruption/guerrilla warfare/racial oppression from a "grassroots level."

There's a lot of contemporary relevance to this new addition. It's important to the here and now. No one staples together homemade newsletters anymore; if there's something important to be shared, we run to our laptops and blog about it. I don't think "netroots" rolls off the tongue as smoothly as I'd like, but maybe it just needs time. What's really important is that considering the times, we can all get a lot of mileage out of it.

Edmame (noun) - immature green soybeans.

When ordering my appetizer, I usually opt for the Yasai Itame (sauteed vegetables), seaweed salad, or better yet, the Harusame salad (fried noodle salad with carrots and purple cabbage).

Fanboy (noun) - an enthusiastic devotee (usually of comics or movies).

I'm not a fanboy of Lost or Heroes or any pop phenomenon like that (I'm not sure if I have the time or energy for that level of extracurricular dedication), but I was a huge fanboy of Marvel comics during the mid-to-late '90s, specifically Spider-Man comics.

For instance, take "The Clone Saga" that ran through the Spider-Man titles from about 1994 to about 1996; basically, Peter Parker's clone returns from after long being assumed dead -- years earlier, the two Spider-Men fought, the clone is seemingly killed in battle, the real Spider-Man dumps his body in a smokestack, but the clone survives -- and re-enters his life. After a lot of teasing and hinting by Marvel, it's eventually revealed that there's been a horrible mix-up: the "real" Peter Parker is actually the clone and the "phony" Peter Parker (he has since adopted the guise of "Ben Reilly," using it as his alias as he wandered aimlessly all these years) is the real deal. It's like a darker, more sinster version of Twain's The Prince and the Pauper. Or, I suppose, an equally twisted version of The Parent Trap (either the Hayley Mills or Lindsay Lohan adaptation, whichever helps you understand this analogy better). The tragedy here being, of course, that these two men have been living a lie; one is a clone who thinks he's real, the other isn't a clone who thinks he's fake. Either way, both are a day late and a dollar short. Lose-lose.

The reason Marvel pulled this switch is because they felt Spider-Man was growing too far away from his roots -- he was aging, happily married, and had baby on the way. That's the exact antithesis to what the character originally stood for -- youth, autonomy, and hardship. By replacing Parker with Reilly, Marvel felt they were getting a fresh new Spider-Man without any of the baggage of adulthood. There's just something that will always be exciting about Spider-Man having to beat Doctor Octopus in order to make his dinner date on time. And that dynamic doesn't work so well when the date is actually his loving wife, and his loving wife already knows (and wholeheartedly accepts) that he's a super-hero. Our protagonists are inherently more interesting when they have girl problems, that's just how it is.

From what I can remember from the old AOL message boards, most fans HATED the switch. They felt duped and betrayed. Readers didn't want to accept the idea that the character they had invested so much interest (and money) in was an imposter.

But I didn't mind the change at all -- in fact, I supported it. I felt that Spider-Man had grown too stale and comfortable. He wasn't as relatable anymore. He didn't embody many (if any) of his original characteristics. Ben Reilly as the new Spider-Man opened up a lot of new storyline possibilities that wouldn't otherwise have been available to Peter Parker. It wasn't changing the character so much as it was streamlining and simplifying. Spider-Man had become too complicated, too convoluted. So this was back to basics. It was a return to what made him so popular in the first place.

But of course, Marvel buckled under the (husky) pressure of revolting comic book geeks and eventually restored the status quo. Everything was gutlessly reverted back to the way they were; the original Green Goblin was resurrected from the dead and revealed to be the mastermind behind the entire Clone Saga. Ben Reilly was, once again, the clone. And Peter Parker was reinstated as the genuine article. Reilly was killed by the Green Goblin and Parker took over as Spider-Man again. In one fell swoop, everything was restored, no harm no foul. Business as usual. Now I didn't necessarily oppose this return to the status quo, but I honestly would have had no problem if they stuck to their original plan. I would have been just as willing to read about Ben Reilly as I would about Peter Parker.

But that was all a long time ago. I'm not an obsessive fanboy of that stuff anymore.

Mental Health Day (noun) - a day that an employee takes off from work in order to relieve stress or renew vitality.

- "Well why don't you just go by 'Mike' instead of 'Michael'?"
- "No way. Why should I change? He's the one who sucks."

Subprime (adjective) - having or being an interest that is higher that is higher than a prime rate and is extended especially to low-income borrowers.

I don't know what this means. I assume it has something to do with Wall Street, real estate, bulls and bears, stocks and bonds, Alan Greenspan, and fancy briefcases. One way or the other, it bores me.

Pescatarian (noun) - a vegetarian whose diet includes fish.

Haha, I'm glad that overused Stupid Indie Kid terminology is slowly permeating our everyday vernacular. I suppose it's only a matter of time before Juno, Sub Pop Records, and tofurkey are officially added to the pages of Merriam-Webster's Dictionary.

Mondegreen (noun) - a word or phrase that results from a mishearing of something said or sung; originated from the mishearing of a Scottish ballad of "laid him on the green" as "Lady Mondegreen."

This seems to be the early favorite of all the new additions. The first mondegreen of my own that comes to mind is the opening line of Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer:" "I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told / I have squandered my existence for a pocketful of marbles."

The actual lyric is, "I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told / I have squandered my RESISTANCE for a pocketful of MUMBLES."

I like their use of "mumbles" a lot better than my "marbles," but my "existence" works so much better than their "resistance." I'm sure I'd struggle to write a song from start to finish on my own; but if I could retroactively go back and cherry-pick specific words and phrases and change them after the fact, I'd be a human hit-maker.

Airquotes (noun plural) - a gesture made by raising and flexing the index and middle fingers of both hands that is used to call attention to a spoken word or expression.

I gesture wildly with my hands when I speak, yet I can't remember the last time I airquoted something. It's been a while.

Wing nut (noun) - one who advocates extreme measures or change; radical.

I am genuinely captivated every time I see or hear Ann Coulter on TV. I don't know if that necessarily makes me a fan, but if it does, so be it.

What I Had For Dinner 7/6/08

2008-07-06T23:31:00.005-04:00

Salad and leftover Italian Publix sub with potato chips.

...but none of that matters.

The highlight of my meal was dessert -- chocolate trinity ice cream. It's chocolate, swirls of fudge, and little mini fudge cups mixed in; hence, the prefix "tri." It was really good. And I kept count of the total amount of fudge cups I got (I had exactly four).

Updates on Free Agency (Lots of People Getting Paid)

2008-07-05T14:27:00.006-04:00

Baron Davis agrees to sign 5-year, $65 million contract with Clippers

Smart move by the Clippers, smart move by Davis.

As long as Elton Brand agrees to re-sign with the team, they'll have a line-up of Brand at power forward, Davis at point guard, Chris Kaman at center, Cuttino Mobley and rookie Eric Gordon at shooting guard, and then Brevin Knight and rookie DeAndre Jordan coming off the bench. That's a solid team, that's a playoff team -- and in the Western Conference, that's saying a lot. As exciting and up-and-coming the Warriors are, the Clippers (with Brand) give him a better chance of winning in the postseason. And if nothing else, they'll be a lot of fun to watch. Davis and Brand are going to pick-and-roll all day.

And Baron's beard is the truth.

Arenas, Wizards agree to 6-year, $111 million deal

Jamison, Wizards agree to 5-year, $50 million deal

The problem with the Washington Wizards is that they'll never win a championship with the way their roster is built -- they have three elite scorers on the perimeter (Arenas, Jamison, and Caron Butler) but they don't have a true distributing point guard, they don't have a true low post scorer, and outside of Brendan Haywood, no one on that team plays any defense. With that being said, Washington absolutely did the right thing. Arenas can blow up for 30+ points on any given night, and Jamison is one of the shiftiest scorers in the league, with all of his up-and-under moves and his unconventional floaters. Between all of the points scored between those two and Butler, that's still enough to win homecourt advantage in the playoffs and challenge for the Eastern Conference title. They might be overpaying for Arenas, but they have no choice, they can't just let either of them leave without compensation.

And in case you don't already read it, here's Gilbert's blog. It's not amazing, but just by default, he's already one of the most candid and articulate professional athletes out there. Gilbert's great because he doesn't write in jock-speak; he actually sounds like a well-rounded, semi-intelligent human being.

Kings agree to 5-year, $32 million deal with Udrih

Artest says it was a 'mistake' not to opt out of deal with Kings

Good job by Sacramento locking up Beno Udrih. He's so understated, plays so below the radar, but he's a very capable point guard. He averaged nearly 13 points and 5 assists per game last season; not all-world, but still very solid numbers. Udrih is just another testament -- along with Manu Ginobli, Tony Parker, Luis Scola, Fabricio Oberto, and possibly, Tiago Splitter -- to the San Antonio Spurs' amazing foresight and ability to effectively scout overseas talent. He and the equally under-appreciated Kevin Martin will make a strong backcourt for the Kings.

And I'm thoroughly convinced that Ron Artest will always be more trouble than he's worth. He could easily win the Defensive Player of the Year award if he set his mind to it, but he always has a problem with something. He's a malcontent. I think Sacramento will be better off in the long run letting his contract expire and replace him with a younger small forward that has a lot less baggage, and Artest will be better off playing in a bigger market on a better team.

Agents says Heat targeting Dooling

I love the idea of bringing Keyon Dooling back here. His one and only year here -- playing alongside Lamar Odom, Eddie Jones, Brian Grant, Butler, and then-rookies Dwyane Wade and Udonis Haslem -- was the single most fun season I've ever watched of Heat basketball.

He tends to over-dribble, isn't an aware passer, and can't efficiently run a structured offense, but I like what can offer the team: size, length, defense, athleticism, scoring, can play both guard positions, energy off the bench, good attitude, and the ability to isolate and take his man one-on-one. I hope we do sign him. He can platoon between both the point guard spot (helping out the still-untested Marcus Bank, the athletically-challenged Chris Quinn, and the rookie Mario Chalmers) and the shooting guard spot (he'll challenge sophomore Daquan Cook and help give Wade a breather).

I definitely think he's more appealing than the other free agent options at PG: Sebastian Telfair (too short, can't shoot), Tyronn Lue (too small, goofy-looking), Anthony Carter (been there, done that), Anthony Johnson (steady, but too old), and Carlos Arroyo (sucks, can't play).

Duhon agrees to sign 2-year, $12 million deal with Knicks

The New York Knicks never do anything right when it comes to personnel -- not only do they always sign the wrong free agents, they also sign them for way too much. But I think they actually helped themselves here. Chris Duhon can pass a little, score a little (especially from behind the arc), and defend a little. He shouldn't be starting under normal circumstances, but he's good enough to start over the rest of the garbage that New York currently has at the position. And in Coach D'Antoni's run-and-gun, shot-happy offense, Duhon should thrive. It's a good match for both sides.

What I Had For Lunch 7/5/08

2008-07-05T12:43:00.002-04:00

Honey BBQ chicken strips and salad.

On top of the pre-packaged salad, I also added sliced mushroom, broccoli florets, croutons, bacon bits, and sunflower seeds, along with cesar dressing. The only other thing I would've liked to add was hard-boiled egg, but it was great regardless.

For dessert, more ice cream cake and apple pie.

What I Had For Dinner 7/4/08

2008-07-04T22:45:00.003-04:00

Leftover Baja Fresh, a hot dog, potato chips, french fries, onion rings. And for dessert, ice cream cake, apple pie, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, Swedish fish, fresh strawberries.

In celebration of our nation's independence, I have overeaten.

This Man's Cardiovascular Health is Immaculate

2008-07-04T12:43:00.003-04:00

Man fakes heart attack in court room, then sentenced to 42 years in prison

The second time Keison Wilkins acted as his own attorney for a felonious assault trial didn't work out so well.

Montgomery County Common Pleas Judge Mary Katherine Huffman sentenced Wilkins to 42 years in prison Monday, June 30.

The sentencing capped off a week of Wilkins' antics, which frequently caused Huffman to clear the courtroom. At one point he began yelling about lynchings. On Thursday, he apparently faked a heart attack, collapsing to the floor while uninterested observers watched

After the "attack," during which medical personnel checked him out and found nothing wrong with him, Wilkins sat in a chair, pretending to be unconscious. When a deputy put an ammonia stick under his nose Wilkins responded, opened his eyes, then went back to feigning unconsciousness.

Wilkins, 33, who has an eighth-grade education, successfully represented himself before. In March 2005, a jury acquitted him of a different felonious assault charge, but a judge convicted him of being a felon in possession of a weapon. -- Dayton Daily News

As ridiculous as he looked, I actually have to admire his devotion to the role. The only time he broke character was after they waved that ammonia stick under his nose, but then he immediately went back to feigning unconsciousness. That type of theatrical resolve is nearly Shakespearean. I know anytime I try to trick someone into thinking that I'm pretend-sleeping, I end up cracking up and smiling after five seconds. I can't act.

What I Had For Breakfast 7/4/08

2008-07-04T12:02:00.002-04:00

Grand Slam at Denny's (scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and english muffin).

I'm usually very steadfast in my convictions, but looking at this picture makes me wonder if I should've gotten pancakes instead, maybe in place of the sausage or english muffin. I may have made a mistake.

$1.00

2008-06-30T10:47:00.011-04:00

I am a fan of cheap, knock-off brand snacks from the Dollar Store.

The Dollar Store food aisle exists separately from the rest of reality. Everything is something slightly different, like distorted, discounted images in a mirror-world; Funyons are "Onion Salty O's!," Teddy Grahams are "Funny Bear Crackers," Oreos are "Choco-Delicious Cookie Sandwiches." If you've ever been to Japan, the English they use on public advertisements tend to be slightly off, slightly askew. It may not necessarily be blatantly incorrect, but even the most novice of print editors will immediately realize that they're not dealing with fluent English-speakers here. The problem is word arrangement; subordinate clauses don't have independent clauses, syntax is backwards, nouns and pronouns and adjectives and verbs are forced to fit together uncomfortably, like pesky jigsaw puzzle pieces that don't interlock. Yeah, it's kind of like Japan.

The brand names don't have the prestige of a Keebler or a Nabisco, don't roll off the tongue as gracefully or melodically. Instead, they bear names that are short-sighted and poorly-worded, like Fungoid Farms or Faggo Brand Soda. I assume these particular brand names were chosen to be deliberately funny, or simply because they didn't expect the company to last very long.

Characters adorning the outer packaging would look ridiculously out of place on the pristine shelves of any national mega-chain supermarket, but look remarkably organic and natural on the dilapidated shelves of the Dollar Store. There's a flamingo wearing a cowboy hat and a hula skirt; a rhinoceros on a skateboard with a "Cowabunga!" word bubble; a pink-and-purple polka-dotted Gorilla giving us the thumbs up. Something so absurd wouldn't fly anywhere else; yet at the Dollar Store, it somehow makes perfect sense. Anything other than this would seem unreasonable.

Two of my favorite Dollar Store snacks are their versions of "Doritos" and the "Nilla Wafers:"

The phony Nacho Cheese Tortilla Chips are almost nearly the genuine article. If you poured it into a bowl and destroyed the evidence of the bag, you probably wouldn't give them a second thought. They look like Doritos. But they don't taste like Doritos, not exactly. They taste a little...odd; but definitely NOT bad. In fact, sometimes I even prefer them to the real thing. There's something distinctly peculiar about their flavor, something that's neither delicious nor nauseating, but more along the lines of intriguing. I imagine it's the way normal Doritos would taste if they had almost every single ingredient (the vegetable oil, ground up corn meal, salt, nacho cheese powder, etc.) but unexpectedly ran out of the super-secret ingredient, the x-factor that only the heirs of the Frito-Lays fortune is privy to. That's how these taste, like reject chips, like almost-Doritos. And yet, I can't stress this enough: I do like eating them. It's like eating an exotic new brand of chips that were brought home from a Third World vacation.

Now, the interesting thing about the bootleg vanilla wafers is that I actually consider them better than the famous name-brand 'Nilla Wafers. Sure, the latter has the instantly-recognizable bright yellow box, a beacon of reassurance that this is safe to eat and there are no spider eggs hidden inside. But aside from that, I've always thought they were overrated. I guess they're alright if you mix them in with banana pudding, but they too dry and gritty. That's my biggest problem with them, they might as well be made of sand. By comparison, the Dollar Store brand -- I usually have a box of them lying around the house, but I'm fresh out. I know that they come in a red, white, & blue box, and the brand logo is a picture of a wheat stalk. I always get them from the Dollar Tree -- don't have that sandy consistency. They're firmer when you bite into them, sturdier. They always taste stale, as if you forgot to Chip-Clip them and left them sitting overnight. But it's absolutely a pleasing kind of stale, if there is such a thing. It's preferable. And their better at soaking up milk when you dunk them. I don't know, it's hard to describe (and even harder to imagine, I'm sure) if you haven't tried them, but they really are just better. It's like some weird inverse effect, the reason why I like them is a direct result of it being of lower quality.

Of course, Dollar Stores also have name-brand food. The best value is their candy aisle; you can get legit candy -- Snickers, Kit-Kats, Nerds, Reese's peanut butter cups, all of that -- for dirt cheap. But there's something less fun about that. You'll eagerly buy it and eat it. It'll taste just as good, if not infinitely better, than anything else you could get there. But it's less exciting, less thrilling somehow. There's no kitsch value to it. That 3 Musketeers bar just doesn't feel special because you know there are a thousand more where that came from. It's no different than going clothes-shopping at a Thrift Store -- the Lacoste polo might be a steal, but the Little League baseball jersey is a deal. There's nothing wrong with buying real food from the Dollar Store, it's just kind of missing the point.

There's a certain sense of irony that comes with visiting a Dollar Store. The same kind of shallow, self-aware irony that comes with wearing a t-shirt from a high school you didn't attend, and in a year you didn't graduate (Go Vikings! Class of '94!). Shopping regularly at the Dollar Store is like an inside joke with yourself, it's funny because you don't have to be there, and even funnier because you know you have the means and the resources to stop by Whole Foods immediately after. I like to pretend that I'm a poor person, that my Burger King paycheck is all used up, my Food Stamps are all gone, and now I have to feed my eight kids and my baby momma for the next two weeks on nothing more than $7.00. It's a fun game in a perverse, mean-spirited sort of way. For the single mother that has to feed her children on imitation Cheez-its, there are feelings of shame and embarrassment. But for me, just some guy looking for something to snack on, there are feelings of profound wonder and curiosity.

Ultimately, the beauty of the Dollar Store is that things are different, but definitely not too different. It's all still vaguely familiar. It's different enough to pique your interest, but not enough to scare you away. Everything is just slightly off center, making you realize you've stepped into a strange and wonderful place.

And all of this is for only $1.00. I would gladly pay $2.00.

What I Had For Dinner 6/29/09

2008-06-29T22:40:00.003-04:00

Papa John's (a large pepperoni & sausage and a large mushroom & onion) and leftover Wings Plus.

Pizza and chicken wings are two very dependable food groups.

Retired Players I Loved To Watch #12 (He's the one on the right)

2008-06-29T11:30:00.004-04:00

Muggsy Bogues

The one thing everyone knows about Muggsy is that he was the smallest player in NBA history. Standing at only 5'3," I'm a full five inches taller than him.

But that's beside the point. I think that little bit of useless trivia detracts from the great player that he was for well over a dozen years. Sure, it's impressive that such a short person was able to establish himself so well in such a tall game. But it's important to realize that Bogues wasn't noteworthy BECAUSE of his height, but DESPITE his height.

Throughout the 1990s, he was one of the greatest playmaking point guards in the league. For a good seven straight years, he maintained an average of about 9 assists per game. That's a staggering statistic. He was like a quarterback on the hardwood, he had that innate ability to constantly find the open man. Lots of players can platoon at the point guard position, competent enough to bring the ball upcourt, not turn it over, and occasionally make the right pass; in other words, they're good enough not to mess up too often. But Bogues was like a conductor of the offense, almost telepathically controlling how the other nine players around him -- both teammates and opponents alike -- moved on the court. Similar to the way Jason Kidd or Chris Paul or Deron Williams does it today, he's almost able to will the ball into tight spots, threading passes into angles that don't exist. That's the testament to a truly great point guard, making assists appear out of thin air, as if by magic. Pulling plays out of your butt, basically. That's something you really can't teach. With enough practice, I suppose players can get better at passing the ball. But they really can't learn how to become transcendent at it. You either have it or don't; it's a cliche because it's true.

He had his weaknesses -- poor long range shooter, got a lot of lay-up attempts stuffed at the rim, poor man-to-man defender -- but his unique combination of speed, vision, and leadership made up for any inherent, diminutive shortcomings. I was in a constant state of disbelief while watching him play; he just did things that someone of his size shouldn't be able to do.

And those teal, pin-striped Hornets jerseys were fresh as hell.

Muggsy Bogues career statistics

What I Had For Breakfast 6/29/08

2008-06-29T11:27:00.002-04:00

Reese's Puffs cereal.

So good. It might as well be actual candy. I support any kind of peanut butter-flavored cereal.

What I Had For Dinner 6/28/08

2008-06-28T19:53:00.003-04:00

Menudo (or "Beef Stew," to those who aren't hip to it). Slowly simmered beef chuck with potatoes, green bell peppers, green olives, and hot peppers served on top of white rice.

It was great; the meat was fall-apart tender and the sauce was very rich.

Party Shuffle (I've been negligent of my blog)

2008-06-26T16:57:00.012-04:00

I haven't posted anything worthwhile in days, so I'll take the extra time to post the first 20 (that's 5 more than usual!) shuffled songs that come up on my iTunes. And yeah, no skipping.

"Tutti Frutti"
Little Richard
Here's Little Richard

It's too bad this song was released in old fuddy duddy 1955, because the original, uncensored chorus lyrics to this song are classic:

"A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop, a good goddam! / Tutti Frutti, loose booty / If it don't fit, don't force it / You can grease it, make it easy"

Haha.

"I Melt With You"
Saves the Day
I'm Sorry I'm Leaving

It's a relatively safe, innocuous cover of a safe, innocuous Modern English tune, but I still really like it. There's just something endearing about the acoustic guitars and Chris Conley's young, still-cracking voice.

"Needy Girl"
Chromeo
She's In Control

"When you're home alone / You don't answer the phone / Alright...Ah-ah-ah-alright"

I got a kick out of seeing this one come up. Chromeo's great because there's no pretense in their music; they're only interested in showing you a good time. Everything about this track -- right down to the nostalgic B-Boy scratching that kicks in at about the 2:40 mark -- is unapologetically fun. They're kind of a joke, but the joke isn't at THEIR expense so much as it is to all of OUR benefit. I like that, that's cool.

And the beats are amazing.

"Earth Angel"
The Penguins
The Best of the Penguins: The Mercury Years

I love the "jumpy" piano and the simple-but-determined chord progressions. There's a reason why this has been covered a thousand times -- it's a very solid song.

But I think its true importance, be it musically or culturally or whatever, will forever be its association with Back to the Future. It immediately reminds me of the scene at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance when Marty is forced to stand in with the backing band to make sure his parents kiss, which will then ensure that he'll still exist in 1985. It was a close call too, because as they neared the end of the song, his hand was already starting to disappear.

And I don't want to stray too far on a tangent, but on the subject of time-traveling paradoxes, I would argue that Marty McFly should have immediately ceased to exist the second he pushed his father out of the way of his grandfather's car. In that split second, that should've been it for him.

"Mansard Roof"
Vampire Weekend
Vampire Weekend

I totally bought into the internet hype, and with good reason. They're a catchy, snappy band. They incorporate infectious African beats with bright, chiming Johnny Marr-ish guitars. The total instrumentation on this album are expansive and mature -- on top of the typical stuff (guitar, bass, drums, blah blah blah), there's also keyboards, hand drums, harpsichords, strings, organs, flutes. And to top it off, they're hyper-literate. There's very little about them I don't like.

Regarding this track in particular, I'm very fond of the term "salty" (for example, in the line "I see a salty message in the eves"), so I was glad to see them work it into the song. It's definitely not used enough in everyday, casual conversation.

I also love the syncopation that opens the song: the keyboards come down very pronounced on beats 1-2-3, then immediately after, it's 1...pause...1-2-3-4.

"1999"
Prince
1999

With the new year a scant six months away, it'd be nice to see a revival of this song. So tonight I'm gonna party like it's...2009.

"1976"
RJD2
Since We Last Spoke

Haha. Two songs in a row with numerical titles, couldn't have planned that anymore perfect.

This is just a plain awesome track; it hits its maximum freshness threshold at the :38 mark when the horn section comes in.

"Clan in Da Front"
Wu-Tang
Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)

The thing I've always appreciated the most about Wu-Tang is the overwhelming amount of individual talent in the group. So if there was any complaint I have about this track -- and I'm stretching for criticism here because I still really do like it -- is that it doesn't have the diversity of, say, a "Killer Bees" or a "Protect Ya Neck" or any other typical Wu-Tang track that has multiple MCs on multiple verses. On "Clan in Da Front" -- even the song title is ironic, because the whole clan isn't even featured here -- there isn't any Ghosface, GZA, Meth, ODB, Raekwon, Inspectah Deck, not even so much as an uttered syllable out of U-God; it's all just RZA by his lonesome. And that in and of itself definitely isn't a bad thing, it's just I really like hearing the interplay of each member bouncing verses off each other. All of the different voices, tempos, and inflections collaborating with (and competing against) each other is when Wu-Tang is at its most provocative.

There's nothing particularly ambitious or unconventional about this song's lyrics (it follows a very typical A-A-B-B- rhyme scheme), but it's entirely satisfying because of its simplicity. Every down beat has another perfectly-matching down beat. Everything fits together, neatly and conclusively. You don't have to worry about RZA not letting the other shoe drop, because he always does. "Your motherfucking own" rhymes with "microphone," "pass the bone" rhymes with "Indiana Jones," and all is right with the world. It's very fulfilling in that way.

"Devoted to You"
The Everly Brothers
All-Time Original Hits

It's sappy sweet and squeaky clean (indicative of the times, of course), but I find something incredibly sincere about the way they sing the lines, "Darling, you can count on me / 'Till the sun dries up the sea / Until then I'll always be / Devoooted to Youuu."

It's no "Bye Bye Love," but it's still an OK song.

"Walk Like An Egyptian"
The Bangles
Different Light

"Whey-oh-whey-oh, whey-oh-whey-ooooooh"

"Keep Fishin'"
Weezer
Maladroit

One of the few highlights of an otherwise abysmal album.

Over the course of his career, Cuomo really has become a master at crafting the perfect 2 1/2 minute pop song: they're safe, harmless, vaguely-generic, and entirely enjoyable. Consider the lines "You'll never be / A better kind / If you don't leave / The world behind." That doesn't say anything...it doesn't even attempt to say anything. It's just inane blather whose only purpose is to fill two bars of sheet music. But you're able to forgive its complete lack of purpose just because it's so aesthetically pleasing.

And I also really like the booming, hollow-sounding drums on this track.

"And Your Bird Can Sing"
The Beatles
The Beatles Anthology [Disc 1]

The great thing about this track -- aside from being a very good song off of Revolver -- is that John, Paul, and George can't stop laughing throughout the entire track. I'm sure it was around this point in their careers that they really started to resent each other, so it's nice to hear them having a good time with each other in the studio.

That, and they must be blazed out of their minds.

"Big Poppa"
The Notorious B.I.G.
Ready to Die

Diddy's spoken-word verse towards the end is almost enough to ruin the entire song for me:

"Honey, check it / Tell your friends, to get with my friends / And we can be friends / Shit, we can do this every weekend / 'Aight? Is that 'aight with you? / Yeah...keep banging"

It makes me cringe every time. haha

"99 Red Balloons"
Goldfinger
Stomping Ground

I know that for fun, many Spanish teachers will take a day out of their lesson plan to teach students how to sing "La Bamba" or "Besame Mucho." So I wonder if German teachers do the same with this song...?

"Good Life"
Kanye West (feat. T-Pain)
Graduation

I love the cover art for this album. I want to buy it on vinyl and frame the cover sleeve.

"Psycho Killer"
Talking Heads
Talking Heads: 77

I haven't heard any Talking Heads in forever.

"Psycho killer / Quest que cest / Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far away"

That's my favorite part. I had to look the lyrics up to make sure I had enough "fa"s in there. Apparently there's nine, with the complete "far" coming on the tenth syllable.

"There She Goes"
Sixpence None The Richer
Sixpence None The Richer

I dunno, I've always liked this track way more than "Kiss Me." Surely I'm not alone, right?

"Sentimental Heart"
She & Him
Volume One

I just uploaded this album recently, so this is actually my first listen of this song. It's good, I like it enough. I just have one small complaint: I'm not sure how gripping she is as a performer. Aside from being an entirely competent singer, I don't know if there's anything else that's inherently fascinating or irresistible about her voice. She obviously has the singing chops, but I don't think there's any specific reason -- that is, any reason other than her simply being Zooey Deschanel -- to force me to listen to this album. Meh, who knows, maybe it just needs to grow on me longer...

However, I do like that she covered Smokey Robinson's "You Really Got A Hold On Me." It's not half as good as the original, but it doesn't matter because I appreciate the attempt.

"Canon in D Major"
Johann Pachelbel
The Most Relaxing Classical Music in the Universe

For any former band kid -- and I say band "kid" intentionally, because I don't think I showed nearly enough due diligence in practicing my scales to officially call myself a band "geek" -- this song holds a lot of sentimental value. For a lot of us, it was one of the first classical compositions we learned to play, and at that age, if something is "classical" than it naturally must also be extremely complex and difficult. Our parents were very impressed at recital time.

And I have plenty other versions of this (piano, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, full orchestra), but this is probably my favorite version -- just plain strings.

And check out the title of this album. That's a pretty lofty promise.

"Lust for Life"
Iggy Pop
Lust for Life

"Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?"

This has long since ceased being an Iggy Pop song; now it's a Trainspotting song.

Oh, and a Carnival Cruise line song, too.

What I Had For Breakfast 6/25/08

2008-06-25T12:27:00.003-04:00

Scrambled eggs with toast.

Maybe I should've added a little bit of milk to make them softer and silkier (they came out a little on the dry side), but I've been in the mood for scrambled eggs for a while now, so I enjoyed them fine. And this was the first time in days that I woke up early enough -- I don't normally make a habit of sleeping in, but I've been really bad about it lately -- so it was nice to be able to cook a real breakfast.