Dress to Impress

A horse is a horse of course of course unless its…Eclyse?

The zorse (or hebra, zedonk, or zebroid) is a cross between a male zebra and a female horse, and has gained quite the following in Europe.  According to the Daily Mail:

For while most zebra-horse crossbreeds sport stripes across their entire body, Eclyse only has two such patches, on its face and rear.

The one-year-old zorse was the accidental product of a holiday romance when her mother, Eclipse, was taken from her German safari park home to a ranch in Italy for a brief spell.

There she was able to roam freely with other horses and a number of zebras, including one called Ulysses who took a fancy to her.

When Eclipse returned home, she surprised her keepers by giving birth to the baby zorse whose mixed markings betray her colourful parentage.

The foal was promptly given a name that is in itself a hybrid, of her parents’ names.

Now she’s become a major attraction at a safari park at Schloss Holte Stukenbrock, near the German border with Holland, where she has her own enclosure.

Udo Richter, spokesman for the park, said, “You can tell she is a mix just by looking at her. But in temperament she can also exhibit characteristics from each parent.

“She is usually relatively tame like a horse but occasionally shows the fiery temperament of a zebra, leaping around like one.”

Horses and zebras are often crossbred in Africa and are used as trekking animals on Mount Kenya.

Sporting the black and white look quite effectively last night at the NBA Draft was Nick Young, now a member of the Washington Wizards:

And then of course there was Jeff Green, staying true to his Georgetown roots and choosing Burberry:

Looking not quite as good in stripes is Joakim Noah last night at the NBA Draft, where he was drafted 9th overall…seersucker suit?  Are you serious?

For a real lesson on how to wear the seersucker, turn to Project Beltway, where it looks like the trip to the outlets last week paid off for my college roommate…remember, it is all about the shoes.

Putting the Maniac in Wrestlemania

I have never been a huge fan of pro wrestling, mostly because there are too many morons out there who think it is a sport rather than entertainment, and then try to conduct body slams on their best friends on the trampoline in their backyard and end up hurting themselves or their victims.  That and the girls are pretty intimidating (Vince McMahon’s own daughter, a high school classmate of mine, suits up for the ring).  But the recent death of Chris Benoit highlights the darker side of wrestling even more – the lifestyle it induces, too often riddled with steroid use and violence, often from roid rage.  Early, tragic deaths are not uncommon for wrestlers, as seen by this list:

Famous Wrestlers That Have Died Since 1985 Before the Age of 65

Chris Von Erich – 21
Mike Von Erich – 23
Louie Spiccoli – 27
Art Barr – 28
Gino Hernandez – 29
Jay Youngblood – 30
Rick McGraw – 30
Joey Marella – 30
Ed Gatner – 31
Buzz Sawyer – 32
Crash Holly – 32
Kerry Von Erich – 33
D.J. Peterson – 33
Eddie Gilbert – 33
The Renegade – 33
Owen Hart – 33
Chris Candido – 33
Adrian Adonis – 34
Gary Albright – 34
Bobby Duncum Jr. – 34
Yokozuna – 34
Big Dick Dudley – 34
Brian Pillman – 35
Marianna Komlos – 35
Pitbull #2 – 36
The Wall/Malice – 36
Leroy Brown – 38
Mark Curtis – 38
Eddie Guerrero – 38
Davey Boy Smith – 39
Johnny Grunge – 39
Vivian Vachon – 40
Jeep Swenson – 40
Brady Boone – 40
Terry Gordy – 40
Bertha Faye – 40
Billy Joe Travis – 40
Chris Benoit – 40
Larry Cameron – 41
Rick Rude – 41
Randy Anderson – 41
Bruiser Brody – 42
Miss Elizabeth – 42
Big Boss Man – 42
Earthquake – 42
Mike Awesome – 42
Biff Wellington – 42
Ray Candy – 43
Nancy Benoit (Woman) – 43
Dino Bravo – 44
Curt Hennig – 44
Bam Bam Bigelow – 45
Jerry Blackwell – 45
Junkyard Dog – 45
Hercules – 45
Andre the Giant – 46
Big John Studd – 46
Chris Adams – 46
Mike Davis – 46
Hawk – 46
Dick Murdoch – 49
Jumbo Tsuruta – 49
Rocco Rock – 49
Sherri Martel – 49
Moondog Spot – 51
Ken Timbs – 53
Uncle Elmer – 54
Pez Whatley – 54
Eddie Graham – 55
Tarzan Tyler – 55
Haystacks Calhoun- 55
Giant Haystacks – 55
The Spoiler – 56
Kurt Von Hess – 56
Moondog King – 56
Gene Anderson – 58
Dr. Jerry Graham – 58
Bulldog Brown – 58
Tony Parisi – 58
Rufus R. Jones – 60
Ray Stevens – 60
Stan Stasiak – 60
Terry Garvin – 60
Boris Malenko – 61
Little Beaver – 61
Sapphire – 61
Shohei Baba – 61
Dick the Bruiser – 62
Wilbur Snyder – 62
George Cannon – 62
Karl Krupp – 62
Dale Lewis – 62
Gorilla Monsoon – 62
Hiro Matsuda – 62
Bad News Brown – 63
Bulldog Brower – 63
Wahoo McDaniel – 63

What is even more pathetic is that after the media outlets reported that the death was part of a murder suicide, in which Chris strangled his mentally retarded son and killed his wife before hanging himself, and that steroids were found in the house traced back to an outsourcer under investigation in Florida for illegal distribution, Vince McMahon and the WWE claimed that we should use caution before pointing fingers:

The head of World Wrestling Entertainment says he’s worried about a “rush to judgment” on whether steroids played a role in a double-murder and suicide involving pro wrestler Chris Benoit (ben-WAH’).Steroids were found in Benoit’s Georgia home but Vince McMahon tells N-B-C’s “Today” show that a number of other prescription drugs were also found. He says it’s all speculation until toxicology tests are in. That could take weeks.And McMahon says “other pressures” could have been a factor.A W-W-E lawyer says Benoit (ben-WAH’) had argued with his wife over the care of their mentally retarded son in the days before the family was found dead.

McMahon says what happened is a “horrific tragedy” but he says “there was no way of telling this man was a monster. 

Because no monster commits the murder of his child and wife, right?  and your sport had nothing to do with his use of drugs?

Clearly there has always been, and will continue to be, a steriod problem as long as the public endorses the artificially induced bodies of the wrestlers they support.  It is high time we at least begin to examine the sport and its management and hold someone accountable.

In the latest of strange twists, it appears as if a Wikipedia user edited Chris Benoit’s profile hours before the murder suicide, editing the content to include the death of his wife.

 The computer-generated time and date stamp of the Benoit entry are listed as 4:01, 25 June 2007. Wikipedia.org lists its entries according to Universal Time, also known as Greenwich Mean Time.

Further investigation, according to Wikipedia.com, shows that one hour after the first edit reversion, another anonymous edit by 125.63.148.173 using unwiredAustralia.com.au, a wireless Internet service provider, was made adding about the aforementioned personal issues: “which according to several pro wrestling websites is attributed to the passing of Benoit’s wife, Nancy.”

That edit was reverted less than 20 minutes later, with the following comment: “Saying ’several pro wrestling websites’ is still not reliable information.” The second edit was made by a computer in Australia from a wireless network, according to Wikipedia.org. 

Full article here.

How did someone know of the imminent death of his wife/predict this? Who is this mystery person? Had Benoit tipped them off?  Why did they not act on this information?  Or was this just the darkest of pranks/coincidences?

 

Eavesdropping

Some of my favorites from Overheard in New York:

Girl #1: Did you hook up with Josh last weekend?
Girl #2: Yeah, we got really drunk and I blew him and we did anal. I dunno if I want to lose my virginity with him, though.
—86th St, Bay Ridge 

Thug handing 20-dollar bill to clerk: Be careful! Let it dry — I just made that.

–Deli, 137th & Broadway

Thug on cell: I don’t know where I was, but they’s Germans everywhere in this hood! They on my left, right. Damn! [Looks around anxiously] Now I know how Patton felt, son!

–14th & Driggs  

Mother: Don’t you ever do that again! [slaps child hard]

Child, calmly: Well, are you happy with yourself?

–Union Square

Man: I just don’t get it! Just last night you were complaining about how you never try anything new, but you feel like you should.
Woman: Ok, well ordering the roast duck is a little different than a threesome, Tim.

–13th & 3rd

God Squad lady: Praise Jesus! You won’t be saved without Jesus! You have to start believing in Jesus to be saved! Jesus will always be there for you!

Suit #1: Would it be so awful if we pushed her out when the doors open?
Suit #2: No. Jesus will save her.

–4 train

Older woman: Excuse me, miss?

Younger woman: Yeah?

Older woman: Your veil, your burqa is very beautiful. I didn’t know your people were allowed to wear it in bright colors.

Younger woman: It’s not a burqa, it’s a poncho. I’m Jewish. It’s for the rain. I got it at TJ Maxx.

–53rd & 7th

Guy, staring at girl: You look like someone I know.

Girl: It’s me.

Guy: Oh, hi Alexis. You look different at eight in the morning.

–C train

Girl #1: I’m funny.

Girl #2: No you’re not.

Girl #1: Yes I am. Everyone says I’m hilarious.

Girl #2: Of course they do. That’s because you aren’t pretty.

–Virgin, Union Square

Chick: Omigod, I totally want an Asian baby. Asians make the best mixers. Like vodka.

–49th & 10th

Wannabe cartographer: There are two Washington DCs. One is in the upper corner of the map, and the other is like forty-five minutes away from Maryland.

–Wall Street

Student: Now I don’t know if this is something I thought of or if Satan said it.

Professor: Actually I said it last class.

–Columbia lit class

Drunk ponytailed guy: So, like what’s our situation?

Girl: Ummm, what do you mean?

Drunk ponytailed guy: Like do you … want me to come up?

Girl: What part of your ponytail makes you think I’d go home with you tonight?

–Bleecker & MacDougal

Guy #1: Shut up! Why are you so obsessed with sombreros? Every time I talk to you it’s sombreros, sombreros, sombreros!

Guy #2: Isn’t this, like, the first time we’ve ever talked?

Guy #1: Yeah, and it’s about sombreros, isn’t it?

–NYU

Bus driver on intercom as it starts to rain: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey… C’mon, everybody!

Entire bus, singing: You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you — please don’t take my sunshine away.

Chick: I think that was the least-New York moment of my entire life.

–M79 bus

Mom to screaming child: Shut the f*** up!

Man: Yeah, keep telling your kid ‘Shut the f*** up’ so he can grow up and steal my car someday.

–6 train

Conductor: If you do not step away from the doors the train will keep sitting here, you will not get where you are going, and I will still get paid.

–S train

Mom: What are those?

Daughter: Sour Patch Kids.

Mom: Can I have one?

Daughter: No.

Mom: Why not?

Daughter: I paid for them.

Mom: And I gave you life. Now give me one.

–Near NYU

Blonde: So, where is she from?

Friend: Croatia.

Blonde: Where’s that?

Friend: It’s, like, by Italy.

Blonde: Ohhh, like Czechoslovakia.

Friend: No, Croatia. Near Bosnia and Serbia.

Blonde: Oh, so it’s like Russia.

Thug: Croatia, bitch! Former Yugoslavia! Remember, they had a civil war and broke up into five countries?

Blonde: [Stares blankly.]

Thug: Jesus Christ, study a f***in’ map. Even Tara Reid knows where it is.

–6 train

The subway doors open. A hobo enters, holding a bottle of windex in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other.

Hobo: Which is the better time to read Dostyevsky? Winter?

He sprays the windex.

Hobo: Or Spring?

He squeezes toothpaste out of the tube.

Japanese girl: Spring!

Hobo: You are correct.

–F train

Chick: How come we’re always talking about how the Jews were persecuted? Lots of people have been persecuted. My people have been persecuted, too.

Professor guy: Um…This is “Introduction to Jewish-American Literature”.

Chick: …Yeah, but still.

–Waverly Building, Waverly Place

Jappy girl #1: So like, I couldn’t believe what happened to Erica*, but like, I think she’ll be ok. I mean, she’s gonna marry some guy who went to Penn instead of some guy who went to Princeton, and she’ll have a country house in South Hampton instead of like, East Hampton, but I think she’ll be ok.

Jappy girl #2: Oh yeah, I think she can handle it.

Jappy girl #1: Poor thing.

–The Dalton School

Tourist mom: Excuse me, miss, do you know how to get back to Manhattan?

Hipster girl: I’m sorry, I don’t really have the energy to give you fake directions right now.

–Brooklyn-bound F train

Hobo to man running for the train: You better run faster! That’s the last train in the world!

–W 4th Street A/C/E platform

Black woman: Move, nigga! Shit, if Kramer can say it…

–Whole Foods, Union Square

Father: Come on, hurry your ass up, nigga. I mean… Hurry up… son.

–50th & Broadway

Hobo: I will tell you the rules of being a goddamn New Yorker: one — when you see a suspicious package, do not fucking tell anyone. If it has money in it, well, then you can take the money, but it probably doesn’t, so don’t say anything! Also, when you are in the city, do not refer to Sixth Avenue as ‘Avenue of the Americas’ unless you wish to sound like a complete moron!

–Brooklyn-bound F train

Pilot: We’re on our way to New York where the weather is cold and icy, just like my prom date back in high school.

–Jet Blue flight 114 from Ft. Lauderdale to JFK

Guy: Did you try rebooting?

Chick: Of course.

Guy: Because that’s the first thing you should try doing when you–

Chick: –Look, half the guys I’ve dated have been in tech support. I’ve picked up a hell of a lot more than just VD. I know about rebooting.

–NYU

Yuppie: You know, that’s a very expensive beer you’re not drinking.

Girlfriend: Can’t we have one night where you don’t quote American Psycho?

Yuppie: Oh, he bought her Chardonnay. Don’t worry, I’m not a Chardonnay guy.

Girlfriend: Whatever. Just don’t nail-gun me in my sleep tonight. Again.

–Iggy’s on Rivington

Technician: It will cost a hundred and fifty dollars to have our technicians look at it.

Girl with computer problem: A hundred and fifty dollars?! No way. I’d rather spend that on alcohol.

–Apple Store Genius Bar

Fashionista gets off elevator, bumping into guys on her way out.

Balding Greek guy: You know what she needs? A good dick up the ass, that’s what she needs!

Black guy: That’s what all them bitches need.

–1407 Broadway

Hobo #1: Bitches is crazy, crazy. Had no choice but to fuck that squirrel.

Hobo #2: Nooo, nooo.

Hobo #1: Yup, yup. That squirrel was worth five cents.

Hobo #2: Nooo, I’ll tell you how much that squirrel was worth. $15.98.

–St. Johns Pl, Park Slope

Hobo: I want to cum on your face.

Young woman: Uhhh… Well, at least he’s being up-front — putting all the cards on the table. I guess I respect that.

–27th & 10th

Old, disgruntled customer: I wish I was young again.

Cashier: Do you believe in reincarnation? You could just kill yourself.

–Deli, Lex Ave, between 38th & 39th

Student: Didn’t the ancient Romans also eat lying down?

Professor: Yes.

Student: That’s really bad for your digestion.

Professor: Well, it was good for having sex with the hired help after.

–Bard High School Early College

Young boy #1: Today is the day your mother birthed you and you only got five dollars?

Young boy #2: We got troubles.

–Prospect Heights

Buddhist: Excuse me, sir, are you a New Yorker?

Obvious New Yorker: Go fuck yourself!

–Union Square

NYU student: So, I think I’m just going to tell my girlfriend, ‘You know, I’ve been going to the gym a lot, working out, watching what I eat, and I think you should, too.’

Friend, as all receptionists stare: Yeah, no — you really can’t say that.

–Palladium Gym, NYU

Wannabe thug on cell to girlfriend: Look, I gotta be single. All I wanna do is get money, stay fresh, dress fly, and fuck bitches.

–Penn Station

Chick: I can’t believe you can talk about how much you love your country, and you don’t even pay taxes!

Dude: I’ve paid more taxes than you’ve sucked dick. Which is a lot.

Chick, after long pause: I don’t know why you’re walking so fast — nothing’s happening when we get to your apartment.

–4th St & the Bowery

Teen thug #1: You met her in rehab? Son, you was only there three days…!

Teen thug #2: Yo, but check this out — she’s 35!

Teen thug #1: Son, she gonna drop yo’ ass when she finds out how old you are!

Teen thug #2: I already told her.

Teen thug #1, after long pause: Shit, then she a pedophile, son!

–F train

Girlfriend: Ugh, I have the worst taste in my mouth.

Boyfriend: That’s ’cause you’re a whore.

Girlfriend: … I don’t get it.

Boyfriend: Your mouth tastes bad ’cause you suck too much cock.

Girlfriend: Oh my god! You’re such an asshole!

Boyfriend: I love you, baby.

–Shea Stadium

Late twenties girl: Were you part of that food fight Friday night?

Early thirties guy: Yeah, I got hit with a buttered roll. Someone actually buttered the roll before they threw it.

–6 train

Chick: I had such a hard time when I lived here. People were always calling me a slut. Always, always, always, always.

Guy standing next to her: Yeah?

–Outside the W Hotel, 17th & Park

Ghetto chick: Excuse me! Excuse me! What’s the name of the towers that got knocked down?

Incredulous passerby: Umm . . . The World Trade Center.

Ghetto chick to thug boyfriend: See! I told you it wasn’t none of that twin towers. You thinking of Lord of the Rings.

–Vesey St

School child #1: Yo, Tupac is still alive.

School child #2: Yeah, I heard that, too. I heard he’s strippin’. He’s a stripper in LA.

A small child with them gets off train.

Old woman: Get back on the train! [Small child gives her the finger with both hands and runs away.]

School child #1: Yo, who is that kid?

School child #2: I don’t know. I saw him in the bathroom. He was takin’ a shit and he came out and smiled at me… And that’s how I know him.

–G train

Suit: I don’t know why people still aren’t over the Nazis. They’re really sorry.

–Park Slope

Teen girl #1: Yeah, so John totally wants me to give him head even though I barely know him and we’ve never even hooked up.

Teen girl #2: That’s so weird.

Teen girl #1: I know! It’d be such a slutty thing to do. And I’ve never even given a blowjob before.

Teen girl #2: Yeah, totally.

Teen girl #1: Then again, I feel like giving head is something I should do before I turn 16.

Teen girl #2: Good point.

Teen girl #1: So I’m totally going to do it.

Teen girl #2: Awesome, I can give you tips!

–Metro-North

Girl: Honey, are you listening to me?

Guy: No, I was thinking about putting my dick in your mouth.

Girl: Oh.

–Central Park

Little sis: I don’t know. I’m just really confused. Like, how am I supposed to know what I want in a guy? You know? Like, what’s your perfect guy?

Big sis: One with 6 weeks to live.

Little sis: Huh?

Big sis: Nevermind… God, that would be great, though.

–1 train platform, 23rd St

Lyrics

You know I’d sooner forget but I remember those nights
When life was just a bet on race between the light
You had your head on my shoulder you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don’t seem care …
But believe in me baby and I’ll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
’cause I’ve run every rod light on memory lane
I’ve seen desperation explode into flames
And I don’t want to see it again …

Write What You Believe

(sc: flickr yonas1, erin m , Twinkie Town)

The Evolution of Facebook and Its Users

“Hey have you heard of Facebook?”

“No, what is it?”

“It’s…it’s like out facebook, but online… I dunno…a friend from UPenn sent it to me…here, I’ll invite you.”

“Ok, whatever.”

This conversation, between my college roommate and I, took place on April 4, 2004.  Five minutes later I clicked on his email, registered on this thing called Facebook, and lo and behold, I had access to a profile of my roommate.  Big freaking deal.  I asked a few friends around Georgetown about Facebook, but no one knew what it was, and by the end of the month I had three friends.

About a month and a half later, I was up to 100.  Then a couple of hundred more by fall.  By the time I graduated, a day barely went by when I didn’t check the Facebook to see who else was on (this was before automated updates, which took all the fun out of stalking people).

Clearly I remember the days when Facebook was just a curiousity shared by few, when only the Ivies and select schools had access.  I watched as more and more schools were added, first the Tufts and Bucknells of the world and then gradually even local community colleges.  I rued the day that Facebook became open to high schoolers, when this close social network became infested with “14 year old kids” excited to be invited by as many college students as possible.  Most recently Facebook has expanded its services to absolutely anyone with an email account, and, even more significant, has attracted superfulous applications galore. 

I missed out on the Friendster craze, and was always wary to join MySpace.  MySpace was too interactive for me, encouraged to much creativity (read: time and effort) and seemed to have boundless uses other than the one I was really excited about when Facebook gained some popularity – to connect to pals from high school I had lost track of and create a rudimentary social network.  Eventually MySpace dealt with scandal after scandal, known for its pedophilic stalkers, and being censored by the military for troops abroad.  The security seemed minimal, and it was just too much clutter for me to sift through.  Besides, all my college friends, who mostly went to top tier schools, were on Facebook, so why bother?

This topic is looked at in a new light Dannah Boyd’s “Viewing American Class Divisions Through Facebook and MySpace”.  Hardly a piece of academia, it still makes some interesting, if not controversial, points.  She, like me, agreed that high schoolers saw Facebook as the cool, college thing to do, while MySpace for many was framed as negative by the media.  However, she goes on to write that “good” kids are going to Facebook, while MySpace continues to attract a much different crowd: 

“MySpace is still home for Latino/Hispanic teens, immigrant teens, “burnouts,” “alternative kids,” “art fags,” punks, emos, goths, gangstas, queer kids, and other kids who didn’t play into the dominant high school popularity paradigm. These are kids whose parents didn’t go to college, who are expected to get a job when they finish high school. These are teens who plan to go into the military immediately after school.”

Obviously the above statement makes a lot of assumptions, which is countered by her portrayal of Facebook, and the hegemonic teens who prefer it over MySpace:

“Most teens who exclusively use Facebook…are very aware of MySpace and they often have a negative opinion about it. They see it as gaudy, immature, and “so middle school.” They prefer the “clean” look of Facebook, noting that it is more mature and that MySpace is “so lame.” What hegemonic teens call gaudy can also be labeled as “glitzy” or “bling” or “fly” (or what my generation would call “phat”) by subaltern teens. Terms like “bling” come out of hip-hop culture where showy, sparkly, brash visual displays are acceptable and valued. The look and feel of MySpace resonates far better with subaltern communities than it does with the upwardly mobile hegemonic teens. This is even clear in the blogosphere where people talk about how gauche MySpace is while commending Facebook on its aesthetics. I’m sure that a visual analyst would be able to explain how classed aesthetics are, but aesthetics are more than simply the “eye of the beholder” – they are culturally narrated and replicated. That “clean” or “modern” look of Facebook is akin to West Elm or Pottery Barn or any poshy Scandinavian design house (that I admit I’m drawn to) while the more flashy look of MySpace resembles the Las Vegas imagery that attracts millions every year. I suspect that lifestyles have aesthetic values and that these are being reproduced on MySpace and Facebook.”

I agree that I fall into this category that prefers the aesthetic nature of Facebook, but I believe that this stems from the original intent of Facebook.  Facebook was not concieved as another MySpace, but a type of “OurSpace”.  It was meant as an elite social network, which quickly expanded (for surely corporate reasons) beyond the original dozen colleges.  But it still centered on the school community, requiring users to belong to a university via email.  Its first feature was groups, a means to band classmates together.  When high schoolers could join, it was still only via invitation, clearly obstructing certain individuals (from a different class?) from joining, but still centered around universities.  The social network tool is prized by those in colleges, who look to life beyond and want to interact with classmates.  The corporate culture had LinkedIn and other sites, the high schoolers had MySpace. 

So I can understand why “customization” wasn’t the quickest development to be incorporated into Facebook, and by nature this drew in people who want to fit in, scope out a culture, and adapt.  The MySpace users I knew were either only on because they were social butterflys and Facebook didn’t exist, or because they had bands or other artistic tendencies which conveniently found a homepage.  But I think the author neglects to take into account the needs and personality of this ‘alternative’ culture.  Even the most stubborn of friends have signed up for Facebook by now, realizing that posting reminders of when their band is in town is just as important and effective as leading them to a MySpace page with live music, and that networking is important for everyone.  The author does stress that class has little to do with income and more with attitude, the ability to network and get what one wants when one needs it.  I agree to a certain extent with this statement, and if Facebook opens this ability to a whole new set of users, beyond the crust of society, more power to it.

Facebook is quickly adopting a corporate mentality, while its pages are trying to attract  and appease the most fringe users.  Graffiti is available, music and videos can be uploaded, even external services are being mimicked such as Ebay.  I for one have not yet grown comfortable with these changes, and perhaps it is because of my “hegemonic” outlook and refusal to be once again a part of the masses.  The article “How Facebook could crush MySpace, Yahoo! and Google” points out that the worldwide appeal of social networks is growing, and soon Facebook may be an “all-encompassing portal”.  However, class-centric or not, even the writer expresses hope  that MySpace, with its ‘alternative culture’, is replaced:

“…If there is going to be a supernetwork, I’d much rather have it be clean and navigable like Facebook than spam-filled and occasionally creepy like MySpace.”

For now, it is a popularity contest, and it will probably be the “jock”, not the “geek”, who comes out on top.

 

Ugly Dogs

It has come to my attention that there is, in fact, a “World’s Ugliest Dog Competition” (yeah, who knew?). Which I think is kinda like bragging about the ugliest girl you hooked up with, but whatev, there is a prize. This year’s winner is Elwood, who I think got robbed finishing seocnd palce last year:

More variations of Elwood can be seen here.

If you ever feel the need to see ugly dogs, visit the Sonoma-Marin Fair, or look at the other entries and cast your vote.

Come on Pee Wee Martini, 2008 is your year.

Rape – Not there is anything wrong with that

From Gawker, just too good to pass up:

Jerry Seinfeld Bombs With Pro-Rape Crowd

Yesterday, Radar tried to gin up some controversy around a joke made by Jerry Seinfeld. Rush & Molloy reported that the comedian, promoting his new film Bee Movie, said of bees, “They have no crime, they have no drugs, they have no rape. A little rape, but it’s not that bad.” Radar sensed an opening and plowed through, calling a few anti-rape activists and asking them to comment. Predictably, they were outraged. But what of those on the other side of the issue? How did they feel? Gawker investigated.

Craig Taylor, director of the National Organization for Nonconsensual Encounters, says he has trouble understanding why Seinfeld would make such a joke, particularly in the context of a film for children. “It surprised me, frankly, because I’ve always been a Jerry Seinfeld fan,” he says. “But this was kind of half-assed. There’s plenty funny about rape. It’s offensive that this was the best he could come up with. We deserve better. Hey, let me pour you another drink, your glass is almost empty.”

Donald Attlee, the executive director of No Means Maybe, had a similar reaction. “Rape is comedy gold,” he says. “This is the best Seinfeld could do? Working in the pro-violence field, we get accused of not taking things seriously enough. But just because you’re a comedian doesn’t mean that everything that comes out of your mouth is funny. I mean, he could make a whole set out of ‘forced entry’ jokes alone. This was a missed opportunity.”

Meanwhile, YAIMO, the Your Ass Is Mine Organization (great gift shop, btw), responded with an admonitory statement: “Rape is not only a joke. It’s a time-honored tradition and, occasionally, a bonding ritual for young men who are unsure about their sexuality and need to reassure themselves that they’re ‘okay’ through violent and degrading attacks. It is also chock-a-block with comedic potential. The fact that Seinfeld did so little with the material is a disservice to the entire rape-affirmative community.”

Seinfeld has since apologized, telling Rush & Molloy, “I was only referring to the insect world. I’m sorry if anyone got upset. I have a long history of including rape bits in my stand-up act, and was, in fact, the first comedian to do a date rape joke on Johnny Carson. And the last episode of my show included prison rape material. But I want to assure everyone my next HBO special, ‘Tied Up and Assfucked’ will be full of top-quality sex assault humor. Did ya ever notice how rohypnol costs twice as much as ketamine? What’s the deal with that?”

Seinfeld Bombs With Anti-Rape Crowd [Radar]

Name That Baby

Are you not entertained?

LeBron James had his second son born last week. Yet another thing that you can do when you are an NBA superstar: name your newborn Bryce Maximus James. It turns out “Gladiator” is James’ favorite movie, so he named his son after the main character, played by Russell Crowe, a general turned gladiator who restores the Roman Republic. No pressure Maximus, er, Bryce. Good luck living up to that name.

The art of naming babies, has, in fact, become more complicated than anyone could have imagined. According to a recent article, parents hire out consultants to help them pick their children’s names, taking into account factors such as positive association and even check search engine rankings:

When [Abigail] Wilson, now 32, was pregnant with her first child, she ran every baby name she and her husband, Justin, considered through Google to make sure her baby wouldn’t be born unsearchable. Her top choice: Kohler, an old family name that had the key, rare distinction of being uncommon on the Web when paired with Wilson. “Justin and I wanted our son’s name to be as special as he is,” she explains.

Well, at least Maximus probably has not been taken. My parents pretty much found a way to the opposite of what parents are doing now – I don’t even think they had agreed on a name for me and my twin brother when we were born (we were Baby A and Baby B). When they did finally settle on a name, they gave my brother and I the same initials, plus refused to give us a middle name, even though they have middle names and my other siblings do. I can’t begin to explain how confusing this is when pretty much your intials are all you use growing up in school. But I guess I can’t expect much from someone who, after naming my oldest brother Patrick, decided that since they were giving their firstborn an Irish name, they might as well go all the way and give him the middle name Oliver, since the middle initial O leading into our last name would accentuate the “Irishness” even more. For the record, we have zero Irish heritage.

National Geographic published a recent list of the top baby names in each state in 2005, as well as the top baby names by decade. In Connecticut, the top baby names are Olivia and Ryan, in DC it is Sophia and William. Interestingly enough, most states shared the same top baby names – Emma was the top name in 18 of the states, Jacob in 19 of the states. Texas’ most popular boy’s name is Jose, clearly an indication of the growing Hispanic community. Eight states had Madison as the top name, which I found interesting considering I have yet to meet one Madison in my life. Come to think of it, I have not met an Emma yet either.

The top baby names in 2005:

Jacob 1 Emily
Micheal 2 Emma
Joshua 3 Madison
Matthew 4 Abigail
Ethan 5 Olivia
Andrew 6 Isabella
Daniel 7 Hannah
Anthony 8 Samantha
Christopher 9 Ava
Joseph 10 Ashley

The top baby names by decade are:

Michael 1995 Jessica
Michael 1985 Jessica
Michael 1975 Jennifer
Michael 1965 Lisa
Michael 1955 Mary
James 1945 Jessica
Robert 1935 Mary
Robert 1925 Mary
James 1915 Linda
John 1905 Mary

Popular names are becoming less popular, the article points out. Nearly 4.5 % of girls born in 1945 were Marys, while in 2005, Emilys only accounted for 1.2 % of the baby pool. Maybe one day Maximus will be on this list.

Blogging don’t come easy…

 From LifeClever, 10 tips to overcome blogger’s writer block:

1. Lower your standards
Blogs aren’t novels, so don’t start a post by worrying about being perfect, insightful, original, or even grammatically correct. Take Anne Lamont’s advice: begin with a “shitty first draft.” Let yourself write a big stinking pile of poo. Good writing, like good design, is a process of iteration and editing.

2. Start with a headline
Do you feel pressure to write a full-length piece? Don’t. Instead, brainstorm headlines for articles you would like to read yourself. It could be as crazy as “How to Get Great Hair Like Sanjaya” or as controversial as “Why Design Education Sucks Today.” Even if you don’t end up writing the article, you’ll create an arsenal of ideas to inspire you when you’re stuck. To get started, check out Brian Clark’s excellent series on writing magnetic headlines.

3. End with a deadline
Never start a post without a deadline. I really believe in Parkinson’s rule: work expands to fill the amount of time available. If you don’t have a deadline, you’ll never finish.

4. Eliminate distractions
Use clever writing tools such as Writeroom (Mac) and Dark Room (Windows) to eliminate all distractions on your computer. You’ll see nothing but words on a screen, not even an oppressive clock. Outside the computer, find a quiet room, silence your mobile phone, lock out the pets, and turn off your TV.

5. Write at dawn, not at dusk
Even if it’s just a hobby, don’t blog before bed and after a long day’s work. Take a cue from Leo Babauta of Zen Habits and 15-year old blogging phenom Glenn Wolsey. Both schedule a time to write in the wee mornings. It’s quieter, your mind is fresher, and you avoid making excuses like “I’ve had a long day, I’m just too tired to write.”

6. Take a break
Who says you have to blog non-stop or even every day? Hit the gym, go to the movies, take a vacation, and spend time with your loved ones. After all, doing real meaningful things is what inspired you to blog in the first place. If you don’t blog today, the world doesn’t end.

7. Automatically spawn ideas with HitTail
HitTail analyzes the words on your blog and makes suggestions for related topics you can write about. It’s free and a great source for getting relevant inspiration based on your past writing. If used wisely, it’ll even help boost your site’s traffic.

8. Get a little help from your friends
Blogging doesn’t have to be a solitary journey. Run headlines or ideas by your friends, and ask what they think. Chances are, they’ll point out new ideas and angles you’ve missed.

9. Capture ideas before you lose them
Ideas for articles come when you least expect them. It happens as you’re walking to get a donut, commuting to work, or even on the toilet. To stop your thoughts from vanishing, always carry an easy-to-use device to jot down ideas as you get them. You can go as high-tech as a T-Mobile Sidekick (my personal favorite) or as low-tech as a little Moleskine notebook.

10. Breathe
After recently taking my first Yoga class, I’ve turned into a true San Franciscan. My biggest realization? My habitual shallow breathing contributes to a lot of tension, blocking the flow of ideas and thoughts. I know its cliché, but take a moment to breathe deeply. It’s easier to unstuck yourself when both your mind and body are relaxed.

Lobbyists for Hire

Harper’s Magazine article

The Game

Browsing through some of the blogs today, it seems as if the common theme is an offering of how-to tips on picking up girls.

Some example posts:

-Using cheesy humor.

-Handling younger girls.

-Having a swagger and confidence.

-And there is always small talk.

For those interested in a book with more than its fair share of gaming strategy, check out New York Times writer Neil Strauss’ “The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists“. Strauss recounts the advice given to him by Mystery, a master pickup artist who holds seminars teaching men the art of seduction, and chronicles his own misadventures in trying to get laid. The advice can seem a bit, well, sketchy by some standards, and in the end he discovers that all the one liners in the world do not help him get the woman he loves so much, but it can be entertaining and does hit on some good points.

A sampling of some basic rules:

1. Smile when you walk into a room. See the group with the target and follow the three-second rule. Do not hesitate – approach instantly.

2. Recite a memorized opener, if not two or three in a row.

3. The opener should open the group, not just the target. When talking, ignore the target for the most part. If there are men in the group, focus your attention on the men.

4. Neg the target with one of the slew of negs we’ve come up with. Tell her “It’s so cute. Your nose wiggles when you laugh.” Then get her friends to notice and laugh about it.

5. Convey personality to the entire group. Do this by using stories, magic, anecdotes and humor. Pay particular attention to the men and the less attractive women. During this time, the target will notice that you are the center of attention. You may perform various memorized pieces like the photo routine, but only for the obstacles.

6. Neg the target again if appropriate. If she wants to look at the pictures, for example, say “oh my god, she’s so grabby. How do you roll with her?”

7. Ask the group, “So how does everyone know each other?” If the target is with one of the guys, find out how long they’ve been together. If it’s a serious relationship, eject politely by saying “Pleasure meeting you.”

8. IF she is not spoken for, say to the group “I’ve sort of alientating your friend. Is it all right if I speak to her for a couple of minutes?” They always say, “Uh, sure. If it’s okay with her.” If you’ve executed the preceding stpes correctly, she will agree.

9. Isolate her from the group by telling her you want to she red something cool. Take her to sit with you nearby. As you lead through the crowd, do a kino test by holding her hand. If she squeezes back, it’s on. Start looking for other IOIs.

10. Sit with her and perform a rune reading, an ESP test, or any other deomonstration that will fascinate and intrigue her.

11. Tell her, “Beauty is common but what is rare is a great enery and outlook on life. Tell me, what do you have inside that would make me want to know you as more of a mere face in the crowd?” If she begins to list qualities, this is a positive IOI.

12. Stop talking. Does she reinitiate the chat with a question that begins with the word “So?” If she does, you’ve now seen three IOIs and can….

13. Kiss close. Say, out of the blue, “Would you like to kiss me?” If the setting or circumstances aren’t conducive to physical intimacy, then give yourself a time constraint by saying, “I have to go, but we should continue this.” Then get her number and leave.

Strauss also includes a glossary of all the lingo he picked up under Mystery, such as:

Group Theory – noun: the idea that women are usually accompanied by friends, and to meet her a man must simultaneously win the approval of her friends while actively demonstrating a lack of interest in her.

PAIMAI – noun [pre-approach invitation, male approach invitation]: a nonverbal action or series of actions meant to induce a woman or group to notice a man and passively express interest in meeting him before he actually approaches her.

Push-Pull – noun: a technique used to create or increase attraction, in which a man gives a woman indications that he is not interested in her followed by indications that he is. This sequence can take place in a few seconds – such as taking a woman’s hands and then dropping them as if you don’t trust her yet – or over time, such as being very nice during one phone conversation but then very distant and abrupt during the next one.

Yes-Ladder – noun: a persuasion technique in which a person is asked a series of basic questions designed to elicit positive answers, increasing the likelihood that the person will also respond in the affirmative to a final, open-ended question.

Where do I fall in all of this?

MPB – noun [male pattern blindness]: some men’s inability to recognize that a woman is attracted to and interested in him until after she leaves and it’s too late to act on it.

Company Picnic

Today our company had its Summer Outing, which basically consisted of driving out to the boondocks of Virginia to a farm, and was by far the lamest company outing I have ever been to. First of all, most people don’t even go – its a bad sign when people choose to go to work over free beer and food. Part of that is the distance that one has to drive, as the farm is way out past Dulles towards Leesburg, never the best of commutes. I luckily got a ride, during which I mostly amused by self by describing to the native Virginian giving me a ride why I hate Virginia, stressing one of my views by pointing out the awful uninspired housing developments being constructed along the highways to our destination.

When we finally arrived we were greeted by some volunteers who gaves us name tags as well as a $5 Starbucks gift card, which I’m told they promptly ran out of for everyone else. I took a quick tour of my surroundings, which consisted of picnic tables, a sand volleyball court, two horseshoes pits, and face painting. It was at the face painting table that I ran into my boss, who brought his little son with him. Which basically amounts to what these company picnics are – an occasion to show off your children. I was almost tempted to bring a child along of my own to make things more interesting, perhaps I would not have been as bored. I chatted with my boss for a bit, noticing that he and his son were wearing the same pair of shoes. Aww…how cute! I then tried to convince the lady at the face painting to give me the Spiderman treatment, but nothing doing.

So I wandered back to where my coworkers were sitting at the picnic tables, where they had chosen to whip out UNO. As exciting as the prospect was to play UNO on my off day, an extra juggernut was thrown in when it tuns out that pretty much no one knew how to play. I mean, come on. Its UNO. 3 and up. What did you grow up playing anyway? Then we had to explain it to the rest of the table, and after a couple of rounds, people caught on. I won like three games in a row, then decided to see what else was going on. I lingered at the horseshoes pit for a bit, and talked to a few of my coworkers there, none who I knew. They explained to me the rules of the game, but I didn’t have a partner so it didn’t look like I would play for a while.

Finally the food came out, whch was pork, chicken and hamburgers, cooked in a kettle grill, along with chicken salad, corn bread, watermelon – the usual picnic stuff. The food was pretty good, which I was happy about. My coworkers insisted the only point of the picnic was the raffle, and that they would leave right afterwards. I thought this was stupid, might as well do something while we are here. Besides, when I asked whether they ever won, they said no, some consultants who aren’t even at the picnic always manage to win.

So I wandered again, and after seeing three people mess around on the volleyball court decided to join in and get a mini game going. I am not a great volleyball player by any stretch of the imagination, but athletic enough to get the ball over and chase the errant hits coming from the other side. I even dove for the ball a bit, which actually resulted in me getting a nasty sand scrape along my right arm.

The game subsided after a bit and I headed back to the picnic tables, only to notice the raffle was in full swing. My coworker noticed my bleeding arm, and promptly pulled a bottle of Purrell out of her bag so I could apply some. Man, did that burn. I let out a sound of shock as I applied it, and then was given some more in my hand.

Right at this time my coworker started tugging at my shoulder and telling me they called my name. I gave her an incredulous look, certain she was pulling my leg, but then others chimed in. So I hurried up to the stage, arm bleeding and with a hand still full of Purrell, probabaly looking very flustered. I graciously accepted an envelope with my bleeding hand (the other had Purrell) and quickly returned to my seat. When I opened the envelope (as others crowded around me in anticipation) I discovered I received a $75 gift certificate to the Clydes Restuarant Group. Sweet.

Others muttered that they never win anything, how come I did, and I should take them out. And then they got up and left for home, and since I needed a ride, I had to go with them rather than meet and talk to people. Maybe I will take them out, but I’m just glad I won something. I like to think that the fact I tried to make the most of the day off made me a deserving candidate, though, and I felt some redemption…

Happy for the Work

We often hear that Americans are workaholics, that they refuse to enjoy all the money that they make, that they “live to work”, not “work to live”. A recent article by AEI’s Arthur Brooks examines this phenomenon, coming to the conclusion that despite this disparity in lifestyle, Americans are happier than Europeans. Some highlights:

“The average U.S. worker takes 16 days of vacation each year, less than half that typically taken by the Germans (35 days), the French (37 days) or the Italians (42 days).”

42 days strikes me as ridiculous. Throw in weekends and mandatory holidays, that is not a lot of work days.

Two reasons are cited as why Americans work more than anyone else:

“In the puritanical version of Christianity that has always appealed to Americans, religion comes packaged with the stern message that hard work is good for the soul. Modern Europe has avoided so melancholy a lesson.”

Second, we are under the yoke of hard-bitten capitalism. London’s Daily Telegraph reports that the heavy U.S. work effort does not result from a special affinity Americans have for work; rather, it is because we are “terrified of losing [our] jobs” in a labor environment in which workers have few of the protections Europeans enjoy.”

It seems as even though Americans may not have a special affinity to work, we certainly do equate being employed with a level of success, partly because we know how competitive the landscape is, and that our best efforts are rewarded.

“Among adults who worked 10 hours a week or more in 2002, the General Social Survey (GSS) found that 89% said they were very satisfied or somewhat satisfied with their jobs. Only 11% said they were not too satisfied or not at all satisfied.”

This doesn’t necessarily surprise me. “Somewhat satisfied” seems a rather low bar to set, although I can see why responses in Europe may differ. Given the relative choices for employment in the US, individuals rarely would enter into a field that they wouldn’t at least be satisfied working in. Additionally, Europeans, considering the presence of labors unions and government regulation, may feel that there is more that can be done for them.

“Imagine asking people something like this: “If you were to get enough money to live as comfortably as you would like for the rest of your life, would you continue to work or would you stop working?” Certainly a high percentage would answer in the affirmative? Wrong again: In 2002, the GSS found that number to be less than a third of all workers. And once again, there is no difference between those at different levels of income or education. 69% of working class folks say they would keep working even if they didn’t have to.”

I probably would answer in the same way, but I am not sure how helpful this question is without comparing it to the European response. If I had enough money to stop working, this would mean that the options of what work I could engage in would be fairly limitless, and I could work in a field which would interest me. Most people do not pick a job that is their hobby for financial or job security reasons, but this goes out the window if one is already provided for. Additionally, there is certainly a sense of self-worth which goes along with being a part of the labor force and contributing to the community, one that is different than that felt in Europe. Americans of any class are much more likely to contribute to a charity, while in Europe certain individuals are guaranteed government payments while not working and gladly accept them.

“For most Americans, work is a rock-solid source of life happiness. Happy people work more hours each week than unhappy people, and work more in their free time as well. Even more tellingly, people with more hours per day to relax outside their jobs are not any happier than those who have less non-work time. In short, the idea that our heavy workloads are lowering our happiness is twaddle.

Obviously, there is a point beyond which work is excessive and lowers life quality. But within reasonable bounds, if happiness is our goal, the American formula of hard work appears to function pretty well.

This may be one reason why Americans tend to score better than Europeans on most happiness surveys. For example, according to the 2002 International Social Survey Programme across 35 countries, 56% of Americans are “completely happy” or “very happy” with their lives, versus 44% of Danes (often cited in surveys as the happiest Europeans), 35% of the French and 31% of Germans. Those sweet five-week vacations and 35-hour workweeks don’t seem to be stimulating all that much félicité. A good old-fashioned 50-hour week might be a better option.”

I agree that at a certain point long hours limit happiness, but bankers working 80 hr weeks often use money as a measuring stick of success, and work hours do not fit into the equation as they do for other professions. Ultimately, I believe Americans enjoy work, period, more than the Europeans, and the number of hours, whether 35 or 50, makes little difference. Americans embrace the pressures of work, and gain more happiness out of their job accomplishments and the byproduct of their success (money) than Europeans do. Increasing hours at work usually is a byproduct of increased responsibility, something we have always equated with personal accomplishment. Spending less time with the family always has a price, but when Americans equate that price to a better living in which they feel they can more readily provide for their family, this is understood as an acceptable sacrifice. The other factor is that increased work hours, if tied to increased pay, allows Americans to do what they do better than anyone else – spend money. Most Europeans, whether they are well off or lower middle class, enjoy much of the same opportunities to enjoy their capital. Houses do not vary in size as they do in America, cars are similar, and vacations consist largely of trips to Spain and Italy, etc. It is also no wonder that Americans also derive their happiness from material goods. Whether it be buying that new sports car or a new Playstation, often our sense of happiness is tied to our ability to play as hard as we work. While most Europeans may devote more time to family, we devote more money to our families, with a penchant for trips to Disneyworld, going to sports games, signing kids up for little league teams, and buying them the latest toys. The basic benchmarks that Americans use to distinguish their successes from that of their neighbors – education, neighborhood, job title – are limited by varying extents for Europeans. Whereas Americans have the opportunity to enter into a university to study liberal arts for four years, and then told that by hard work and acumen they can rise to the highest of any professions, the education system abroad often dictates by high school through tests what course of study and professions are available. This is not to say the job mobility is completely restricted, but the perception of “opportunity” certainly differs than in the U.S.. This sense of opportunity, rather than entitlement, may indicate why Americans have reason to whistle while they work.

While we are on the topic, this City Paper article indicates the downside of this culture, in which some will go to any lengths to get ahead.

Miller Time

Fitting In at the Ivies

I can think of better ways to fit in:

“For her Yale senior project, financial aid student Aurora Nichols took pictures of three months’ worth of her mundane purchases and displayed them alongside her classmates’ abstract paintings. This prompted quite a bit of attention for Aurora on campus, including a profile in the Hartford Courant in which Aurora revealed some less-than-flattering assessments of class dynamics at her alma mater. Then, on the autoadmit message boards, the richies tore her a new one.”

Gawker article link here. 

I enjoyed the comments though:

 - Being one of the poors I can excuse. But why can’t she just be more attractive?

-Her story is proof that elites lower the bar for poors. 5th in her class at a TTT high school, and a 1440 SAT should not be getting her into Yale.

-She sounds like a bitch. I took the fucking Greyhound, and she rides the Amtrak and whines about her free ride to Yale? Fucking whore.

-god. i hate poor people.

-girls can always get married.

-Blessed are the poors, for they shall be attacked on the Internet by a bunch of anonymous tools.

- or to summarize…

 
 

Allison Stokke

Allison Stokke, known for her pole vaulting skills (cough, cough), has been rumoured to have been in talks with Nike for a marketing deal. For now, it seems as if Nike is keeping a distance, but there is always Playboy…

As if the Bible wasn’t enough to memorize already…

The Vatican today issued another version of the 10 Commandments today, to help direct car drivers in their everyday lives:Cardinal Martino noted that the Bible was full of people on the move, including Mary and Joseph, the parents of Jesus — and that his office is tasked with dealing with all “itinerant” people — from refugees to prostitutes, truck drivers to the homeless.

“We know that as a consequence of transgressions and negligence, 1.2 million people die each year on the roads,” Martino said. “That’s a sad reality, and at the same time, a great challenge for society and the church.”

The document, “Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road,” extols the benefits of driving —family outings, getting the sick to the hospital, allowing people to see other cultures.

The “Drivers’ Ten Commandments,” as listed by the document, are:

1. You shall not kill.

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

7. Support the families of accident victims.

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

10. Feel responsible toward others.

By the way, think the Pope wants his car back?

Booger Sugar

Will Ferrell Wins Funniest MF at Guys Choice

The Legacy of one Mr. Jeff Green

It is finally over. Jeff Green, the 6′10″ junior Georgetown Hoyas forward, who led his team to Sweet Sixteen and Final Four appearance, has decided to forgo his senior year and remain in the NBA draft. Surely lottery bound, he has weighed his decision carefully, knowing full well with teammate Roy Hibbert returning the Hoyas would be a consensus preseason favorite to win the 2008 NCAA championship, a feat not accomplished by a Georgetown team since 1984. However, between private on-campus workouts, talking to GMs, and advice from JTIII and his agent, David Falk (of Jordan fame), it became apparent he had put himself in a great position in the draft, and barring winning a championship, had little more to prove at the Hilltop. His accolades piled up during a fantastic career, one in which he won co-Big East Rookie of the Year, Big East Player of the Year, Big East Tournament MVP, and NCAA Tournament East Regionals MVP. A steadying and mostly dominating presence on the court, he helped spark both a underacheiving veteran team over the hump and guide a talented but young team to unforseen heights. A slow start to his 2006-07 season, in which the guard play struggled through growing pains, culminated in one in which he executed the Princeton offense as few had ever seen, always playing within himself, giving the Hoyas that rebound, assist, steal, block, drawn charge, or momentous dunk when they most needed it. Always mature beyond his years, it was an absolute pleasure to watch a much maligned college powerhouse rise to glory under the direction of such a classy individual and true basketball talent.

Many people have not had the chance to witness Jeff Green during his three years as a Hoya, but to say that he singlehandly resurrected the Georgetown legacy would not necessarily be an understatement. When I attended Georgetown, John Thompson was no longer the coach and his assistant Craig Esherick was struggling to keep the program “relevant”, as the Washington Post put it. For a school with such a rich history, one of the few private schools with continued success in the most popular college sport, this was unimaginable (and ultimately unacceptable).

The Hoyas transcended the sport in the 1980’s, when John Thompson, or Pops, as he is called, took black players under his wing, the team adopted a bruising defensive mentality, and just wore oppenents down while the 6′10′ coach worked the refs. Although some saw the great Hoya teams as nothing but a bunch of thugs, the black culture (and inevitably hip hop culture) glavanized around the team’s success and saw in a overtly vocal Pops someone who had commanded respect and could speak for them. While most DC sports struggle locally, the Hoyas gained a true national following, to the point that at one point they were the biggest sellers of NCAA merchandise (with former Hoya Iverson leading the NBA in jersey sales as well). Ever notice how in the tv commercials of African children, you aways manage to see one wearing a Hoyas shirt? Yes, we lead the nation in Peace Corps volunteers, but this also reflects how broad the fan base had become.

When I attended Georgetown, this was a distant memory. Pops had left years ago, but there was hope that the best power forward in the conference (save for perhaps Carmelo’s freshman year) would be enough to get the program on the right track. However, Michael Sweetney’s teams struggled to advance in the NCAA tournament, and then even to win. The lowpoint was 2004, the year before I graduated, in which the team went 13-15 overall and 4-12 in the Big East. Overtime losses abounded, and despite having the only player in the country to average 20 ppg and 10 rpg, this was not enough. We had turned down the NIT Tournament the previous year, having missed out on the NCAA tournament, because, as Esherick put it, “the student had to focus on academics.” It would be the first time Georgetown did not attend a postseason tournament since the introduction of the NIT (we had one of the longest streaks at the time). This year, in 2004, we were not even invited. Not even one of the 100 best teams in college basketball. I remember walking to the front row of games, in cavernous MCI Center, because nobody was there. Not even students were willing to attend games.

With the oust of Esherick, in came JTIII. Soft spoken, Ivy league educated, and aware of the vast legacy left by his father, he at least was expected to give a face to a dying program. Bringing along a Princeton point guard in Jon Wallace, he inherited two players he convinced to honor their committments to Georgetown, the 7′2″ Roy Hibbert, a plodding, goofy big man, and 6″10 Jeff Green, an underlooked local player before he shot up the charts with his senior year performances. JTIII brought with him Pete Carill’s Princeton Offense, one that took time to learn and few expected elite athletes to have the discipline to follow, much less athletes of Georgetown reputation. Forced to play out of position, he took over the center spot as Roy skipped rope, worked on a baby hook, and ran laps around the Georgetown campus to be effective in the minutes he was forced to play because of Sweetney’s NBA departure and the lack of players. With a dazzling array of moves for someone beyond his years, his superb passing abilities and strength led him to fit right away into the Princeton offense and gel with the existing veterans. With basically the same team that garnered four Big East wins, the Hoyas finished with an 8-8 record, and went on to the semifinals of the NIT tournament. Green, a unknown coming into the season, was awarded co-Rookie of the Year.

The next season was marked by a victory over number 1 ranked Duke, a game I had the honor of attending. There are no superlatives that could describe the intense atmosphere in the arena, nor the euphoria that gripped DC – yes, DC – after an utterly dominating victory. It was the first win over a #1 team since 1985 for the Hoyas, and vaulted them into the polls for this first time in years. January 21 would not be a fluke, and neither would Green’s excellent showing on national TV. He would lead the Hoyas to the Sweet Sixteen, losing last minute to the eventual champions Florida. But amid his stroking three pointers and overpowering players down low, and executing perfect passes to backdoor cuts, fear was back.

His last season as a Hoya has firmly cemented him in Georgetown’s deep history, almost making it regrettable he could not be included on the All-Century team that was celebrated that season in honor of 100 years of Hoya hoops. Clutch shot after clutch shot, with last seond heroics against Notre Dame in the Big East tournament, a momentum changing, jaw dropping dunk against NCAA second round opponent (and rival) Boston College, and a last second game winner versus Vanderbilt in the Sweet Sixteen, he seemed to will the Hoyas back to the Final Four. The collective confidence the team possessed in the Elite Eight game versus UNC was the difference, and for a man who smiled a lot, I never saw him with a bigger grin than wathcing him celebrate with his teammates on the floor after the East Regional victory, singing the fight song, and knowing he, as much as anyone else, had led the Hoyas back to the Final Four.

The Hoyas utimately fell to Ohio State, led by man-child Greg Oden, and many wondered where Jeff Green was with his clutch shots and playmaking. Well, the answer was he was just being Jeff Green, the consumate team mate who never forced that action and trusted in his coach and his teammates. The supporting cast fell short, Conley blew by the Georgetown guards, and perhaps Green didn’t do what he usually had never been asked to do – play for himself – but the Hoya team, as well as Jeff Green, could go home knowing they had completed what was perhaps the most exciting and rewarding season ever in the history of the program, and the powerhouse is back. Perhaps as imortant, the Hoyas are changing the perception of college basketball and black athletes.

Next year’s team returns the 7′2″, NBA bound phenom center who handled Oden and disposed of everyone else, an emerging star in DaJuan Summers, an energetic and talented Ewing, Jr., and five guards ranging from the best shooter in the NCAA (Wallace), a defensive stalwart (Rivers), a throwback street baller (Sapp), a quick penetator (Wright), and a combo guard who makes living getting into the lane and to the rim (Freeman). Success is never guarenteed, but the buzz is back, the recruits believe in JTIII, the reputation of Georgetown is changing, and the team can be seen everywhere from the Metro ads to the back of the New York Post. Alumni are attending games, hanging out with younger grads, and former Hoyas are making their way back to the Hilltop to be part of once again a tradition unrivaled.

Shopaholic

This weekend was all about shopping. For me, an unusual thing. Not because I don’t like to (I do) but usually between time, money, and the knack for never finding stuff I need when I need it, most of my wardrobe hasn’t changed much yet between school and being a young urban professional. But apparently my college roommates were going to a premium outlet in VA, so this seemed like a good opportunity to at least make a small dent at less cost than the retail stores in DC.

The outlet actually had a pretty good variety of stores, from Coach and Lacoste to Old Navy and Nike. I found that some of the stores had very limited selection, and some had clothes that I am pretty sure were leftovers from the year, but, hey, there were some good deals. I admittingly do not need to wear a suit and tie each day to work, so I was a bit less compelled to spend money on these items, but my friends both needed to add some quality and variety to their daily wear. In one roommate’s case, he took full adavantage, and I believe walked out with Tumi suitcase, a Coach belt to match a seersucker suit, a Coach wallet, a blazer, cufflinks, ties, shirts, a spring suit, a pair of wool slacks, a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and I am sure countless other items I was not around to watch him buy.

Some highlights for me:

-I bought some Nike Dri-Fit tennis shorts in the Nike store, along with some socks, and…a #55 Georgetown jersey. They didn’t have any other jerseys in the store, so I thought it was cool they had Georgetown gear. It was priced down (at least from Gtown bookstore prices) and after discovering that a “Small” basketball jersey is in fact quite long, decided to buy it (hey, I figured it was the least I could do now that Roy Hibbert came back for his senior season). Annoyingly, the rest of the store included a plethora of UNC stuff or was Carolina blue. Bah.

-The Old Navy outlet store was ridiculous. Old Navy, along with Aeropostale, is already one of the least expensive places to shop, so I knew I could find some stuff. I walked out with four boxers for $14 total and a pair of board shorts for $7. Not bad.

-I ran into the jeans store, and after a quick scan realized this wasn’t going to be easy. All I wanted were nice blue jeans, nothing fancy, but the jeans all had intricate back pocket designs, cuts I had never heard of, and prices far out of my range. How great of a denim is this? Bulletproof? I asked the kid working behind the counter for help, since I didn’t understand the sizes (they seemed European or something). He promptly pointed out to me that I was in the women’s section.

As he led me to the men’s section, whose jeans frankly looked just as intricate as the womens’, he asked me where I was from. Wondering how this would help me select the perfect pair of jeans, I responded “DC”, to which he replied, “Where is your accent from?” Wait, I have an accent? “You speak funny”. Thanks. I don’t even have a Connecticut accent, although I wish I did have some sort of accent, that would be fun. So I guess it turns out I speak funny. My coworkers told me I did not have an accent, but did have a tendency to pause in odd places. Oh well. English truly is my second language then I guess.

-Jos. A. Bank had a sale in which shirts and ties were $10. Pretty sweet, although I already have more shirts and ties than I need. I did end up getting a navy balzer though, which was priced $200 below retail price. As I was trying it on in front of the mirror, one female customer walked by and said I looked very handsome, with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Yes, yes, but what is your opinion on the jacket?

I ended up getting it, and as I was checking out my friend poointed out that the buttons looked very patriotic (they had some eagle insignia on them). I lamented that it didn’t have gold buttons like a traditional blazer might have, but commented that I liked the look. The man who had helped me pick it out informed me that you cna get any button you want, right down to Civil War buttons. Well, I’ll just have to remember that pursuit for another day.

The day concluded with a Starbucks frappacino and Nathans Chili Hot Dog from the food court. Not a bad day at all.

Continuing with the theme, Sunday was Target day.

I have never been to a Wal Mart, but have been in a Target a couple of times, and since I did need a few items, especially a charcoal grill for my deck (4th of July potential?), I tagged along. My friends scoffed at the Target we were going to, but it did have a food court in it, which makes it more legit than the one I had been to before back in CT. While my friends hunted for a vacuum cleaner I browsed around, and although the DVDs I have to admit were cheap, decided to just grab a few essentials (no thanks to you expensive D.C. CVS). We also bought a slew of stuff for the Fourth of July, which apparently will involve us wearing American flag hats/tiaras. This will go well with the American Flag boxers my friends bought Saturday, I guess. Other fun items included a 1000 piece puzzle of the Las Vegas strip and the New York City skyline.

My friends were checking out by the time I met up with them, so I needed to get into a different line, while they loaded the car with their stuff. I put my items I was holding in my hand down, and instructed the Target cashier I would be right back. I ran back to grab the grill and lugged the box up to the checkout area only to find…all my stuff was gone. In that whole 60 seconds I took, those friendly Target employees took my items away, even though I expressly told them not to.

So I put down the heavy box with the Weber grill, and raced back to get what I had had, and after not even finding everything, came back, where thankfully the Weber grill box remained. I got in line behind a lady who had literally one item left, a bottle of shampoo, and was swiping her card, when a Target employee approached me and asked if I was ready to check out.

Um, yes. That is why I am in line.

She grabs my items off of the coveyer belt, and scurries off to another checkout counter three rows down. Cursing, I grab the hefty box once more and make my way down there, only to find that standing between me and my items is another Target employee, who apparently thought it was ok to cut me in line…to buy a Dr. Pepper.

Great.

I throw down the box, and at the sound of the heavy thud behind him he turns around, and realizing what he had done (and apparently oblivious to the items before him, placed there by his coworker, who was now at the cashier’s spot), he apologizes and lets me go ahead. As she starts scanning my items, he coos, “Ooooo…a grill. You barbequing tonight?”.

I turn around to see the Target employee, with a boyish grin on his face and blonde streaks in his hair, still holding that Dr. Pepper, looking at me expectantly.

“Uh, yeah.” I mumbled something, and turned around to hand the cashier a Target gift card.

“Steak?”

“Huh?” I turn around.

“You cookin’ steak?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“That’s $27.98,” says the cashier. I swipe my card.

“Yum, sounds good….when should I arrive?”, he asks with a coy look on his face.

“Uh…well…” I sign the receipt, wanting to get out as quickly as possible.

“You need help with that?”

Yeah right.

“No, thanks, I’m good”. I grab the box under both arms and somehow manage to balance the bag with my other items on top.

“I’ll bring the potato salad!” he shouts after me in a sing song voice.

Thanks Target. Great customer service, I look forward to Wal Mart already.

Blind is the New Gay

Not sure what this newscaster was thinking…but I credit the co-anchor for not even missing a beat. Still hilarious.

Man Vs Wild

From Elephant Dung to Urine, This Man Does It All

I have been hearing about the TV show Man Vs. Wild for a while now, but hadn’t seen it yet until yesterday. For those unfamiliar, it is a reality television show starring “Bear” Grylls, a Brit who puts himself in extreme situations in the wild and depicts extreme survival techniques, including drinking his own urine and escaping quicksand. In this particular episode, he was placed on top of a mountain in Alaska, and armed with nothing but skis and the clothes on his back, had to be rescued. He proceeds to ski down, slide down a glacier (or “glass-ier” as he calls it), make his way through thick brush, make a makeshift tent out of pine branches and avoid black bears for the night, find an abandoned skiff (which of course sinks), swim through arctic cold water, catch and eat raw fish, and finally hail a boat passing through. I was mesmerized/incredulous for most of the show, whether it was because of his funny accent or his sheer ability to put himself in some of the difficult/stupidest situations I have ever seen. Either way it is pretty much must-watch television.

I did some research on Bear, and it turns out he was in the UK Special Forces, where he was trained in unarmed combat, desert and winter warfare, combat survival, medics, parachuting, signals, evasive driving, climbing and explosives. However, he was injured in a freak accident in 1996, when a parachute exercise in southern Africa went wrong, his canopy ripped, and he spiraled toward earth from 16,000 ft at twice the normal speed, resulting in three broken vertebrae and the loss of feeling in his legs. He know holds a rank of Lt. Commander in the UK’s Royal Naval Reserve. He proceeded to become the youngest Briton ever to climb Everest and return alive, doing so at the age of 23. So naturally he continues to throw himself into danger by hosting a survivor TV show. These days he lives on a converted barge on the River Thames with his wife Shara and his sons Jesse and Marmaduke, and also owns an island on the Welsh coast, which includes a nature reserve.

Another similar show, Surivorman, depicts a Canadian, Les Stroud, who must survive the elements in a remote location for seven days with little food or equipment. The main difference here is that Les does not have the luxury of a camera crew, he instead must film all sequences himself, carry around his camera equipment, and should anything tragic happen, it would be a while before anyone else knew.

So which is the better show? I haven’t seen Survivorman, but I do hear that he does tend to complain a lot about his situation and whine how he has to to film everything twice. Which is pretty badass, if you think about it, considering every hill he climbs he has to climb again just to set film himself (once again) climbing it. However, there are limitations to this method -there are certain things you could not do twice, as in the case of Bear Grylls, who slides down that glacier. I do have to give the man props for carrying all that, tho, and putting his life on the line. Bear puts his life on the line too, but I have my doubts whether or not that camera crew is helping him at all during his antics or handing some Powerbars over. It does come off a bit less authentic when his boat sinks yet his camera crew clearly must be in a boat beside him. Bear does jump in the water, though, and drinks urine, bites raw fish, etc. things that Survivorman does not necessarily come to. It is a bit over the top, but the point is, as he points out, to show the most extreme situations he can whenever possible and find a way out. In other words, the entertainment never ceases.

Here is a quiz on Bear’s survival techniques, and some highlights (and yes, that is Bear stripping naked and doing pushups).

Forget Shark Week, Discovery Channel, this is your prime time show.

Where have you gone, Tommy Chong?

I guess there is no good time to interview Tommy Chong…

Commencement Speeches

I was watching The Colbert Report last night , during which he poked fun at Bill Clinton’s shout out to him in his 2007 Knox College commencement speech (and expressed his man crush on the former president, gushing “and is the question would I?… Yes. Yes, I would.”). Bill Clinton eluded during the speech that he was merely invited so that Colbert could make fun of him..which I guess was bound to happen anyway.  Or as Stephen put it, “Bill Clinton knows who I am!”.  He then argues that his speech was so great it should just have been replayed for every graduating class thereafter, and proceeds to try to burn his honorary doctorate diploma, which turns out to be metal and thwarts his efforts.

Anyway, I got to wondering, how did this college haul in Bill Clinton and Stephen Colbert in back to back years? Our commencement speaker was a Native American Museum director (if there is one thing that inspires college students, its museums, and if there is one thing Georgetown sudents can relate to, its diversity), and it was less than great, or at least popular. I know George Tenet spoke, but really, as a former grad leaving the CIA, what else was he going to be doing? It also turns out Obama spoke at Knox College. What gives?

Well, it appears as if Podesta, Clinton’s former chief of staff, graduated from Knox College (and I sure as hell can’t think of anyone else that did) and as the leader of the Center for American Progress asked Colbert to do the speech. I am assuming he used his position and connections to convince Obama and Clinton to do the same. However , as Podesta is a current member of the Georgetown faculty, how about doing the same for us? Please, spare us the Maria Shrivers of the world…

The text of Colbert’s speech can be found here.

Clinton’s speech as well.

And, just for kicks, Jon Stewarts speech.

The $7 Billion Man

Came across this article in the WSJ…a good review of Blackstone’s CEO Steven Schwarzman, who is about to cash in on the IPO of his private equity group. Schwarzman has faced criticism for his excesses, but there is no denying his success. Some excerpts below:

“Stephen Schwarzman, who stands 5-foot-6, describes himself as a scrappy “little man” who finds ways to win. When he pursues deals as the chief executive of Blackstone Group, he says, he wants to “inflict pain” on and “kill off” his rivals.

Later this month, the giant buyout firm intends to go public, offering many investors their first opportunity to share the kill. If there was ever a doubt about what investors will be buying, a Securities and Exchange Commission filing Monday cleared that up: Mr. Schwarzman utterly dominates the firm. He stands to pocket as much as $677.2 million, and will retain a 23 percent stake in Blackstone, likely to be worth more than $7.5 billion.”

—-

“Mr. Schwarzman is exacting in his personal life too…He expects lunches consisting of cold soup, a cold entree such as lobster salad or fresh grilled tuna on salad, followed by dessert, Mr. Zeugin says. He eats the three-course meal within 15 minutes, the chef says. Mr. Zeugin says he often spends $3,000 for a weekend of food for Mr. Schwarzman and his wife, including stone crabs that cost $400, or $40 per claw. (Mr. Schwarzman says he had no idea how much the crabs cost.)”

—-

“The seeds of Mr. Schwarzman’s approach to business were sown in Philadelphia. There, as a 15-year-old, he worked weekends in his family’s store, called Schwarzman’s. He says he urged his father to open more stores, and grew frustrated when his dad, content with their middle-class lifestyle, refused. His grandfather, who opened the business, “said I should keep folding towels and handkerchiefs and stand up straight and protect the good name of Schwarzman’s,” he recalls. “I didn’t want to be a retailer. I hated to wait on people.

In school, Mr. Schwarzman ran track and played basketball. To compensate for his size, former teammates say, he drew up complicated basketball plays and strategies. Later, for intramural soccer games at Harvard Business School, he devised “elaborate triangular formations that were not flawed in conception but that nobody was capable of executing,” says Jeffrey Rosen, Mr. Schwarzman’s roommate and now a deputy chairman of investment bank Lazard Freres & Co.

Mr. Schwarzman says he was president of his junior-high and high-school classes; that he was on the podium on Class Day at Yale; and that he was president of the prestigious Century Club at Harvard Business School. “I’m a consistent little person,” he says of his leadership qualities.

As a student at Yale, while working as a waiter at an alumni reunion, he met William Donaldson of Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette. Mr. Donaldson invited him to work at the securities firm one summer. After graduate school at Harvard, he went to work at Lehman Brothers. He rose quickly through the ranks to become head of mergers and acquisitions. His last assignment was to sell Lehman itself.”

Throwing in the Towel

Uh oh. Today’s sign that apocalypse is upon us. My very first wedding invitation arrived in the mail.

I suppose I will get use to this, especially in the coming years (what’s the average age for getting married now? 28? Oh wait, I’m in DC, so its 32…), but for now its still feels strange to have a close friend tie the knot. I hear that 50% of all Georgetown girls marry Georgetown guys, which I guess wither means they are knocked up, we are good at socializing, the admissions committee deserves a lot more credit, or we are completely unadventurous. I chalk it up to all of the above, and perhaps it is just a Mid Atlantic thing that people get married later than high school but before they completely exhaust the dating scene a la New Yorkers. I had three semi-close friends get married so far from college, with one separation (memo to self-don’t marry someone before they have even settled on a major – they may have committment issues). However, none of my immediate friends have tied the knot, although I suspect some are closer than I would imagine.

This friend happens to have attended another catholic university up north, and I have never met his fiancee. He was probably the closest friend I had in high school and we were neighbors, but once college kicked in, well, there a lot of distractions and those 6 hour Amtrak rides aren’t quite as appealing with so much going on. My friend is probably the most level-headed and grounded person I know, so I am sure his to-be-wife will be a great fit and he has chosen well. Still kinda freaks me out though. He has a steady consulting job, and I can totally see him moving to the suburbs and hunkering down and having the 2.5 kids. His parents were similar I suppose, being local, marrying young, having one girl and one boy, a two level house, and a little white dog. I expect pretty much the same out of him.

I can’t say I can see the same thing happening to me. My parents married in their 30s, my older brother married shortly before turning 30, and my other brother is still unmarried at 32 (although to his credit he was runner up to Andy on The Bachelor). I don’t think people plan to get married late, but they can certainly make it difficult on themselves to do so. Exploring career opportunities, enjoying one’s younger years, developing as a person are all things that sometimes are best done alone and with the most freedom. I am not saying marriage means packing it in and calling it a life, but I have friends in relationships who are so constricted by the demands this entails, whether they admit (or see) it or not. Finding the perfect companion can make this transition effortless, and I have seen it, but it usually requires a certain type of person to make this a reality. I certainly haven’t found that person yet, and I will (cross my fingers) recognize it when it happens, but I suspect that for now I place very little pressure on myself, and know there is a lot of life to experience yet on my own.

Back to the wedding. I think my brother is going to be a best man, and I suppose I can step in as his twin should he be unable to fulfill his role in the wedding ceremony (please, please do not pick me to be the usher or ringbearer). The wedding invitation had a nice picture of a park in Boston on the front ( I have no idea what it is called, I haven’t been in Boston since my older bother’s college tours). We received one invitation for the both of us ( I suppose it saves stationary – those wedding costs are really racking up, huh?). It asked us to save the date May 31, 2008 for the wedding. Wow, a whole 360 days away! I am sorry, that doesn’t fit into my plans. Seriously, that is so far away. But apparently hotel reservations should be in by November, as they fill up quickly. This must be the biggest wedding in the world, or the Westin is a lot more popular in Boston than it is here. Once I make this reservation, that is probably the furthest I have planned ahead in my entire life. I wasn’t even sure of my graduation date in college, much less whether I would make it there (I did, or at least I’m told I did).

Anyhow, this wedding will probably be the most traditional wedding I will ever attend (my brother got married outside by Lake Travis in Texas by a former youth minister I knew from home, my cousin at a ranch in Carmel Valley), but I foresee my next weddings from college friends being much different. They seem more excited about the potential bachelor parties in Vegas than anything else, and for the moment I can’t imagine anything but a repeat of the college scene. Which isn’t a bad thing, I just think they, like me, think college gave us great potential, but there is no reason we can’t carry over some of the fun while we still can (and get away with it).

Here are some who are way ahead of the game, courtesy of Gawker…

Real Life Mafia

The Sopranos finale had me thinking about the role of the mafia today, about the real life Tony Sopranos out there. Living close to New York it was always easy for me to imagine those scenes of restaurant hits, to follow the Giotti trials, to walk through Little Italy and witness the city’s Italian-America community firsthand.

I particularly remember one restaurant in my hometown that seemed to be teeming with Mafioso. Heck, even my parents, who live under a rock, knew what kind of meetings too place there. On certain days every month, black cars would just pull up and take up the entire valet parking lot, and no one else could get in. It is an Italian restaurant, called Valbella, built right off of Interstate-95 Exit 5. Easy in, Easy out, first town across the NY border. The prices were rediculous, but that didn’t matter to those who frequent it (Joe Torre eats there often) as does this celebrity.

Anyhow, I had heard a little while ago they had issues, and a quick google revealed so much was true. Anthony Megale, or “The Genius”, a member of the Gambino crime family, had been taped by the FBI and arrested on racketeering charges, among other things (they never get the mafia on anything big, do they?).

Here is an excerpt:

————-

A Real Tony Soprano
When Farrington first agreed to wear a wire and allow his Stamford club Beamers to be secretly videotaped by F.B.I. agent John Sereno, he may not have known he was about to ensnare a man he had known most of his life while growing up in southwestern Connecticut: Anthony Megale.

Born in Italy, Megale moved to Connecticut at a young age and became a U.S citizen. The man who would become an illegal gambling guru with a taste for expensive cashmere coats attended two years of college at Post University in Waterbury, majoring in “recreation,” he told Judge Arterton at his plea hearing.

Prosecutors say Megale grew up to become a real-life Tony Soprano, living in an upscale house in the picturesque suburbs of North Stamford, at 105 Northwind Drive.

According to prosecutors, he regularly met with fellow top-ranking Gambino members from New York, such as boss Peter Gotti, and, after Gotti was indicted in 2002, with acting boss Anthony “Zeke” Squiteri, to resolve family disputes, mete out discipline and parcel up the various criminal enterprises.

Instead of golf courses, these underground businessmen made deals during “walk-talks” in the aisles of a Home Depot in Port Chester, N.Y., while sipping coffee at Starbucks in Stamford or over meals at several restaurants–anywhere they felt safe from bugs. They even discussed business over the comatose son of one “made” captain at a hospital, and at the retirement home where the mother of one Gambino member stayed.

Prosecutors in New York say Megale and others made millions of dollars over the last decade from racketeering, “including violent assault, extortion of various individuals and businesses, loansharking, union embezzlement, illegal gambling, trafficking in stolen property and counterfeit goods and mail fraud,” according to the Megale indictment.

Megale did a stretch in prison in the 1990s for racketeering, but was soon back in charge of Fairfield County, running a crew of his own men in Bridgeport, Stamford, Norwalk and elsewhere.

One of the anecdotes that Megale recounted to Farrington was about Valbella, an upscale Northern Italian restaurant in Old Greenwich that’s famous for its pricey wine list and for celebrity customers like newscasters Tom Brokaw and Paula Zahn, and Yankees coach Joe Torre.

The Zagat Survey describes it as a place where diners “shrug off the high prices.”

According to prosecutors, this is exactly what members of the Gambino family, including Megale, did. They ate there for years for free, while owner Dave Ghatan forked over thousands in protection money.

On the wiretaps, Megale explained to Farrington how it all started. “Yeah, they went over to Valbella’s two months ago,” said Megale. “Thirty of ‘em. With Uzis. They got $5,000 a month. The guy was in a fuckin’ panic, Dave.”

Working with a group of violent Albanians, they allegedly beat up Ghatan and reportedly hung him from the ceiling until he agreed to pay out, Megale told Farrington on the wiretaps.

“The, the guy stayed home three days,” said Megale, laughing. “Fuck, he hadda go to the dentist cuz he was grinding his teeth. That’s how nervous he was.”

Farrington replied, a little nervously, “That’s a fancy place over there. That place fucking does some business.”

What Farrington may or may not have known is that one of Valbella’s top chefs in the 1990s was an Albanian immigrant named Joe Vuli, who went on to open his own restaurants, Vuli at the Stamford Marriott and Gusto in Danbury.

Last year, Vuli was found dead, cut up into pieces placed in plastic bags, on a roadside in Bedford, N. Y. The crime remains unsolved.

Police say it bears all the hallmarks of a mob hit, and speculate he may have fallen into loan sharking or other debt and was unable to pay the money back.

But even if Farrington didn’t know about Vuli, he surely got the message that he should cooperate with Megale.

————

Pretty intense stuff. I never ate at this restuarant, but clearly these were some people to steer clear of.

The article blames the public for turning a blind eye as well:

“There is a whole segment of the population that just want to be around these guys because you’re living vicariously,” he said. “These guys are thinking: “I played golf with this guy who killed 15 people.’ Wow.”

Wow is right…that is one guy I am definitely letting win in golf.

The full article can be found here.

Anyhow, what is so impressive is that a modern day Donnie Brasco was used to infiltrate the organization and lead to the convictions.

More mob news can be found here. The Sopranos may be gone, but it appears as if the Connecticut mob is here to stay.

Sopranos Finale

Tony sits down in the diner, selects Journey’s power ballad ‘Don’t Stop Believin” on the jukebox and looks through the menu, glancing up every so often, either in anticipation of the rest of his family joining him or, as we would like to believe, because he must just get whacked any second. The pace of the show has picked up termendously in these past 15 minutes, and most of us are on the edge of our seats, waiting. Camilla and AJ join him at the last supper, while the camera focuses in on the trucker at the counter again. Meadow struggles with parallel parking, and finally heads into the diner. The man at the counter gets up and heads to the bathroom. Then, BLACK.

Like most people, we assumed the power had gone out, and let out a groan. No, after what seemed like an eternity the credits silently started rolling up the screen.

That was it?

Really?

David Chase was going to end arguably the best drama ever made for television with that? A non-ending?

Sure, we all bullshitted it last night, but this morning, some of us feel different. At least I do.

I admit, I haven’t watched every episode of the Sorpranos. Not even close. I borrowed Season 1 and Season 2 DVDs sometime my freshman year, and between Amtrak trains home on the holidays put a serious dent in it. As great as it was, I never had the dedication or the time to make Sunday night with the Sopranos a regular one, but I appreciated it all the same. My mother absolutely hated the show, mainly because of what she deemed gratutitious violence and swearing (she left out nudity for a reason, but I’ll throw that in too for good measure). I admit sometimes, it could get out of hand (was having Leotrardo’s head run over by his wife’s car after getting whacked really necessary? – this was actually comic it was so absurd). However, it was HBO, and they thrive on stuff that makes others cringe, and really, if you are going to sit down for a mob story, you are there to see naked strippers and blood. But if it was merely this, we wouldn’t have tuned in for six seasons. Pure violence only goes so far. We saw a family with problems that rose above everyday mafia problems, who engaged in excesses but struggled with the realities of being a modern made men. The show was well written and well acted, kept true to its story lines and developed its characters to the point where we knew the family and empathized with them, and will probably never see Gandolfini as anyone other than Tony (btw, apparently Gandolfini said he was getting fat, but this was good for his stressed out character – maybe he is resigned to this as well).

So was the ending just? First off, it is next to impossible to live up to hype. When the news stops talking about how Paris is doing in jail and asking anyone from Congressmen to LeBron James how the show will end, thats quite a bar to hurdle and crowd to please. Everyone will watch and have an opinion. Betting lines were open to who will die, when they would die, and how. Theories ranged from Walnuts being afraid of the cat because he was going to be the “rat”, of AJ killing his dad, of a final bloodbath as in Godfather, or least likely, Tony talking to the feds. Some even threw out a terrorist attack would occur and galvanize Tony’s family and put it all in perspective.

So with everyone having “the ending” in mind, what happened? Chase threw it in our faces. We had none of the above, or, perhaps, all of the above. The next morning, everyone was talking about the episode. Tony wasn’t gone…or was he? Had he survived, and does he continue to live as the leader? or did the trucker go to the restroom a la the scene in the Godfather, and come back with a gun? The funny thing was, everyone was wrong and right at the same time. The next day Tony is not dead, or living in some witness protection program, or out of the mob, but has just drifted away, still in our minds, still there, but distant. The lack of finality can be an uncomfortable thing, especially for those who have come to expect Hollywood tight endings, but this isn’t Hollywood. This is HBO. This is the best drama we had ever seen. And this wasn’t some family, but a real and complicated one we followed for six years, and they weren’t perfect, nor did their lives play out like we always expected. So credit Chase with giving us something new, something different, something real once more. We had the pleasure of gaining a window to Tony’s world, and that window is now closed.

And we can continue to imagine what happened, and talk about the best ending, or, as Tony said, just “remember the good times”.

At least until the movie (shudder).

And I Still Can’t Get A Date…

According to the latest Census data, there is a shortage of single men in DC, or, as us men would like to think, one tenth more women out there looking for us. I was a bit surprised to see such a large gap between DC and certain other states, but I suppose DC is a very young region, and well, it is a way better situation than the other way around.

I am guessing men are just not marrying Nevada women, because, well…let’s be serious, it’s Nevada. You are either bringing an out-of-state girl to marry for $25, or heading down to Vaginas ‘R Us with your buddies. North Dakota? Who wants to go there? And Hawaii and Alaska are just too far away.

What really skews DC is the gay population, which was not accounted for, so really the choices could drop to 80 straight guys per 100 girls. Which should give me plenty of options…unfortunately I probably have to hone my sense of art, fashion, shopping, and humor to compete with that.

On the other side of the coin, can I just point out how hard it is to find a decent guy to watch a football game with?

Family Filmgoer

I was flipping through the Washington Post Weekend, and came to the film review section. I noticed that there is a section marked as “Family Filmgoer: Watching with Kids In Mind”. I don’t know if this is new or not, but I hadn’t seen it before. Anyway, on top of a review of kids films, I saw that this section included Rated R Movies. As far as I know, you aren’t supposed to bring kids to Rated R movies, which made it kind of strange that they included several in this section.

The descriptions of the movies were also pretty amusing, leaving little to the imagination what exactly may be inappropriate for children. Because the last thing I would want my kid to see is “non-gory high flying“, “a quick, grim view of minions flying in on broomsick” or a “guy taking off his shirt“:

Surfs Up: It sounds like a weak excuse for yet another computer-animated feature about penguins, but “Surf’s Up,” about a penguin who lives for surfing, is a funnier, less pretentious, more carefree enterprise that can stand on its own webbed feet. Kids 6 and older will take pleasure in the film’s clever overlay of surfing culture onto a cartoon penguin world. Older kids will like the way it unfolds as a reality TV show, with interviews and scratchy “archival” scenes. The movie doesn’t talk down to kids but has plenty to tickle adults. It’s consistently funny, and the look of the film is artful.

Cody Maverick (voice of Shia LaBeouf) is a small penguin from Antarctica. Bored with sorting fish, he longs to surf the world’s waves, emulating his idol, legendary champ Big Z. One day, a scout bird named Mikey (Mario Cantone), traveling by whale, recruits Cody for a surf off on tropical Pen Gu Island, run by a sleazy otter named Reggie (James Woods). Cody sets out, befriends a spacey surfing rooster, Chicken Joe (Jon Heder), and meets lovely penguin lifeguard Lani (Zooey Deschanel). Her reclusive uncle, Geek (Jeff Bridges), helps Cody achieve a Zen-like approach to surfing, but surfer bully Tank Evans (Diedrich Bader) sees Cody as a loser.

“Surf’s Up” contains toilet humor, occasional crude language (“crap” and “pecker face” seem gratuitous), a long scene in which Tank talks about being alone with his “ladies” (i.e., his surfing trophies), which seems to be a subtle reference (likely clear to adults and teens) about masturbation. When the otter, Reggie, emerges from a hot tub, the camera blurs his crotch, a la reality shows. Cody and others get knocked out and nearly drowned in briefly intense surfing wipeouts. The loss of a parent is a secondary theme: We see a photo of Cody’s dad and a whale about to swallow him.

ALSO PLAYING
6 and Older

“Shrek the Third”. Inventive sequel keeps computer-animated medieval fairy-tale romp afloat with gentle nudges about responsibility, peacemaking; chosen by his dying father-in-law, King Harold the frog (voice of John Cleese), to rule Far Far Away, the ogre Shrek (Mike Myers) cringes at dual prospects of kingship and fatherhood; Shrek, Donkey (Eddie Murphy) and Puss in Boots (Antonio Banderas) go off to recruit the teen (Justin Timberlake) next in line for the throne; evil Prince Charming (Rupert Everett) invades Far Far Away (quick, grim view of his minions swooping in on broomsticks), taking Princess Fiona (Cameron Diaz) and others hostage; Charming’s silliness makes him non-scary. Verbal hint someone’s tunic doesn’t quite cover their privates; teens high on incense; alcohol reference; mild sexual innuendo; threat to kill Shrek; a stabbing quickly shown to be harmless; trees smacking people; stepsister (Larry King) seems transgendered.

PG-13s

“Ocean’s Thirteen.” Low-key caper comedy (sequel to “Ocean’s Eleven” and “Ocean’s Twelve”) is too long and heavy on convoluted “process,” but it hits the jackpot with male star power, collegiality and glitz; Danny Ocean (George Clooney), Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt) and their fellow con men (Matt Damon, Don Cheadle, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Bernie Mac, Carl Reiner and more) return to Las Vegas to avenge their mentor, Reuben Tishkoff (Elliott Gould) after a ruthless casino magnate (Al Pacino) cheats him on a business deal. Occasional mild profanity; nongraphic heart attack; steamy seduction that never gets past shedding of outer garments; daunting view of sumo wrestlers’ behinds; limited drinking. Younger teens may squirm through narrative detours, chatty scenes.

“Gracie.” Touchingly acted tale could inspire teen girls; 15-year-old Gracie (excellent Carly Schroeder) in 1978 New Jersey, longs to play varsity soccer with the boys (there’s no girls’ team) for her own passion and to honor her soccer-star brother (Jesse Lee Soffer) who dies in a car crash early on (not shown); she faces chauvinist attitudes, even from her other brothers and her dad (Dermot Mulroney); she acts out with risky behavior until her dad agrees to train her; her mom (Elisabeth Shue) quietly supports Gracie; film is loosely based on Shue’s own childhood. Teen experimentation with cigarettes, beer; joy riding; boys wager on whether Gracie will “go all the way”; make-out scenes never get beyond kissing, a guy taking off his shirt, before they’re interrupted; sexual innuendo; rare mild profanity; slur that teen girls who play sports are “lesbos”; boys try to bloody Gracie on the field. Not for sheltered middle schoolers.

“Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End.” Overextended, chaotic sequel with incomprehensible plot-o’-nine-tales is mostly a bore, with nice moments when actors do their pirate/villain thing; wily pirate Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) and callow lovers Elizabeth (Keira Knightley) and Will (Orlando Bloom) must rescue reprobate pirate Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) from Davy Jones’ (Bill Nighy) limbo so all pirate leaders can meet. Stylized mayhem pushes PG-13 limit with harrowing images: mass hangings — including a boy — with nooses around necks, feet falling through trap doors, bodies carted off; characters run through with swords, shot in head; bodies fall into sea; deafening cannon fire; a frostbitten toe snapped off; a glass eye licked clean, then popped back in the socket; fish-headed zombie pirates; mild sexual innuendo; mild profanity; drinking; themes of death, betrayal. Iffy for middle schoolers, ‘tweens.

“Spider-Man 3.” Endless third film turns eloquent soul-searching of “Spider-Man 2″ into pseudo-spiritual piffle; Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire), caught up in Spiderman persona’s glory, fails to notice Mary Jane’s (Kirsten Dunst) acting career troubles; as Spider-Man, he faces multiple enemies: estranged pal Harry (James Franco) as the New Goblin; shape-shifting Sandman (Thomas Haden Church) and lizard-toothed Venom (Topher Grace); plus slithery alien whatsits that turn Peter angry. Non-gory high-flying, blade-hurling battles, impalings, shootings; flashbacks of gun murder of Peter’s Uncle Ben(Cliff Robertson); Sandman morphs into a cloud hurtling down a street, echoing 9/11; mild sexual innuendo; drinking; smoking. Too somber for some younger teens.

R

“Mr. Brooks.” Visually, psychologically stylish and gripping variation on filmdom’s longtime fascination with serial killers; Kevin Costner as wealthy businessman of title with secret life as a serial killer; Brooks feels guilt, tries to break his addiction, but his alter ego (William Hurt), seen and heard only by him, wants more fun; Brooks shoots a couple in the throes of lovemaking, not realizing their curtains are open; a voyeuristic neighbor (Dane Cook) sees the killing and demands Brooks take him on his next spree; Brooks’s wife (Marg Helgenberger) remains clueless, but his daughter (Danielle Panabaker) may have issues; a cop (Demi Moore) is closing in, too. Subtle but clear link for Brooks between killing and sexual pleasure; flinch-inducing murders with gun, blade, shovel; explicit sexual situation; nudity; profanity; drinking; smoking. 17 and older.

“Knocked Up.” Director Judd Apatow (“The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” 2005) turns his trademark mix of raunchiness and heart to hilarious, humane effect in tale of Ben (Seth Rogen), a slacker who lives with his trash-talking buds (Jay Baruchel, Jonah Hill, Martin Starr and Jason Segel), smoking pot and barely working; he meets career-minded Alison (Katherine Heigl) in a bar; drunk, they have a one-night stand; she gets pregnant, tells him, and they try to forge a relationship for the baby, which may even lead to love. Constant strong profanity; graphic sexual situations; seminudity; explicit sexual slang, discussion of condom use; steaming sexual innuendo; topless lap dancers; marijuana, hallucinogenic mushroom use; other drug references; drinking; toilet humor. Problematic for high schoolers younger than 17.

“Once.” Innovative, amiable musical film — an unpretentious love story set in modern Dublin about a talented street musician (Irish rocker Glen Hansard) too shy to market his new songs; he meets a young Czech woman (Marketa Irglova) who plays piano and sings; they combine talents, their artistic pairing made bittersweet by a mutual attraction but many obstacles to happily ever after. Very mild R: Profanity; mild sexual innuendo; unwed motherhood; suicide reference; drinking; smoking. More for college sensibilities.

H Street Wanderings

Typical of most Georgetowners, I rarely ventured beyond Healy Gates in my four years there, and beyond the obligatory 8th Grade field trip with the 15 minute visits to every site imaginable (plus the hour tour of the Holocaust Museum – that’s enough time to donate to mass genocide, isn’t it?) and outings with the ‘rents (read: art museums), most of DC remained foreign to me until well after graduation. This was fine with me, since the highest concentration of free booze and girls resided within the surrounding 100 acres anyway, but within a few months of leaving the Hilltop the weaning process forced me to look elsewhere for weekend exploits. Although I have since frequented revamped locations such as Logan Circle and the U St Corrider, I hadn’t yet had the chance to make my way to H Street, which, I had heard, has been “revitalized”, with new bars being built and a facelift for the nieghborhood taking place. So when the opportunity arose to watch the College Ultimate Frisbee Championships at Argonaut (link), I decided to check it out.

Looking on my NotForTourists Map at home to see how to get there (14th and H NE), I noticed that the description on top of the page read: “This is one of the of the rougher neighborhoods still not fully recovered from the ’60s riots”. I also noticed that there were no Metro stops nearby, although apparently there are plans in place to add an old streetcar system for the commute. So being short on time (and admittingly not overfamiliarly with the bus system) I hopped into a cab and made my way to the Argonaut. I had never been to a pirate-themed bar before, but as I stepped inside, I wasn’t going to argue with the semblance. The bar as a whole looks like it has been around forever, with bottles and various pirate and sea-themed knick knacks aligning its walls. The rooms, partly as a result of being situated on the intersection of street corners, end at odd corners, and with its dark wood paneling manages to balance a familiar-but-still-foreign feel. Even the bathroom smelled like seaweed (although perhaps on second thought this was not intentional).

The Argonaut Bar on H ST

Save for a couple sitting at the bar, the place was deserted as I walked in hortly after noon. While I hadn’t expected the bar to be filled with regulars, I had expected a better turnout for watching the championships. I decided to take a look around quickly (so I wouldn’t look completely awkward) but after a quick look around and an attempt to check out the upstairs (my way literally blocked by a gigantic sea chest), I returned to the front bar. The couple asked me if I was there for frisbee, and, as I clearly had no other reason to be at a bar on H St at noon, I replied yes. They were a bit confused why the TVs were not showing any games, but we talked to the bartender, a dimunitive Irishman, who promptly typed in “Frisbee Football” in the DirectTV listing search feature (he insisted this must be the correct name, although he had never heard of the sport before and wondered why it would even be on the television). We convinced him it was in fact “ultimate frisbee”, and finally located CSTV, which was airing the games.

Eventually a score of other people ventured in to wach the game. With no other customers he sat next to us and watched for a bit, asking us about the rules to the game. I think he eventually gave up, partly because his Irish accent, while not that of a pirate, made it virtually impossible to understand his queries sometimes, and a severe lack of reference points (while describing fouls, as in basketball, he replied, “I don’t watch basketball”). He did laugh at us (and the sport) though at various points, wondering why a player on the Wisconsin team went by “Q-Tip” (think My Myself & Irene) and also mocking a friend of mine who insisted graphics displaying the women players’ major were irrelevant, that what we really needed are their phone numbers and availability. Yes, its a tight knit crowd (for more see link here). Luckily for us, all food and drink went on the League tab, so I decided to check out the food menu. It mostly consisted of American cuisine, with a Caribbean flair, and while the pulled pork looked good I settled for a bacon cheeseburger. I have to admit, it was quite good, especially considering about five us ordered food the minute the chef strolled in.

After watching the men’s and women’s championships, and coming away really impressed by the atheleticism and flow, I needed to head back home to get to a BBQ for a friend who is going away to law school. While I could have grabbed a ride in another hour, I had to leave earlier, so I decided to walk along H St to Union Station, a 14 block walk my friend insisted was the easist way back. I asked whether this neighborhood was sketchy, and he said yes, that would probably describe it, although he had just walked back from Adams Morgan last night and on 18th and California saw a car pull up, two men exit with a bat, and proceed to beat a man for 15 seconds straight before getting back in the car and pulling away, so really, no place is safe, is it? Thanks, that made me feel a lot better.

Walking along H St for those 14 blocks gave me a first hand look at the neighborhood. Just opposite the bar is the Army Recruiting Center, one of the larger and less decrepid establishments (surprise, surprise). The sidewalks were strewn with trash, and every building seemed either a barbershop, a liquorshop, a place to get checks cashed, or completely vacant. I generally have a rule (ever since I visited Georgia Ave for a doctor appointment – never again!) to avoid any place in which Subway sandwiches are served through 3 inch bulletproof glass on a swivel, and while I did not see a Subway in sight (although there was a Checkers), I wouldn’t be surprised if this was still one of those places. I did not meet another white person during my walk, and the sidewalks and street corners were full of people loitering around. Only two blocks in, as I was crossing a side street, a women staggered on my way, mumbling something, a white substance surrounding her mouth. I took a sidestep, gave her an apologetic shrug, and moved on. On the next street corner I passed three men standing on top of boxes, holding signs and shouting religious epitaphs, a small crowd gathering on the stoop of the convenience store facing them. Shortly after passing two cops cars huddled together, I saw a man resting against a doorway, as another cut open the lock to a bike. The man stole me a glance as I walked by, slinked in a little to the shadows, but otherwise the two men carried on as if I was not there. Eventually H Street gave way to the overpass by the train tracks and towards the high rise office buildings surrounding Union Station, but the differences clearly remain stark between the area west of the station and the neighborhoods I had just left.

There were a few bright spots along H Street, with a couple of new buildings and others undergoing renovations, and a few worthwhile destinations, such as the Rock & Roll Hotel (to which I have never been to but intend to go soon). However, I was bit underwhelmed by the area, and feel as if it will be several years before a substantial transformation takes place, much less gentrification. The current owner of the Argonaut, who also runs Lucky bar and Big Hunt, has already slated three other bars to open along the street, which should at least bring younger crowds with money to spend and add some much needed virbrancy to the area. One can only hope that this process is a bit more organic than other city districts attempting a comeback, and developers will work side by side with those who have, and hopefully will continue, to call it home.

Spelling Bee

One of the best, if not most awkward, videos I have seen in a long time.

Click here for video: http://www.dcist.com/2007/06/06/spelling_bee_wi.php

Deadly Weapons

A coworker at lunch today talked about his martial arts class, and acting impressed, we asked how advanced he was. He replied that he was still at the bottom level, but pointed out his instructor, sitting at a table next to us, and said that we should be careful before getting in any fights with him. We then wondered out loud whether the instructor would have to register as a deadly weapon, since he could probably kill someone pretty damn easily. If Mike Tyson got involved in your bar fight, wouldn’t he be held to a different standard? Anyway, we discussed this for a bit before coming to the consensus that we should from now on refer to our coworker as “The Weapon”, despite his obviously modest build.

Well, it turns out that registering as a deadly weapon is quite the myth.

However, on the Metro ride back from work that afternoon an Asian girl with a Bo and three-foot long Samuari sword got on my car at Rossyln. I gave up my seat for her. Registered or not, that’s a deadly weapon.

Dupont Metro Poetry

 

While passing through the Dupont Metro the other day I noticed text being engraved into the North Entrance facade.  The excerpt from a Walt Whitman poem will read as follows:

Thus in silence in dreams’ projections,

Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;

The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,

I sit by the restless all dark night – some are so young;

Some suffer so much – I recall the experience sweet and sad…

-Walt Whitman, from Leaves of Grass, 1876

 According to DCist:

 In response to questions in the comments, the WMATA board approved the addition of the carved poems back in February, and it’s being funded by the D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities. Metro is paying for the large circular bench, which it seems still hasn’t been installed. The two poems were picked by a “committee of community and local art and design professionals,” which included Council member Jim Graham (D-Ward 1), and they were chosen around the theme of people who care for others suffering from devastating illnesses.

I am not exactly sure why they decided to focus on the invalid, and we already have Walt Whitman poems in the metro (U St, I believe?) but here is another poem, by Carl Sandburg, I picked out that could have fit:

Passers-by,
Out of your many faces
Flash memories to me
Now at the day end
Away from the sidewalks
Where your shoe soles traveled
And your voices rose and blent
To form the city’s afternoon roar
Hindering an old silence.

Passers-by,
I remember lean ones among you,
Throats in the clutch of a hope,
Lips written over with strivings,
Mouths that kiss only for love.
Records of great wishes slept with,
Held long
And prayed and toiled for. .

Yes,
Written on
Your mouths
And your throats
I read them
When you passed by.

Typical Day in the Hood…

Typically if I am having trouble falling asleep it is because of the kareoke bar across the street from my apartment, and while someone’s absolutely horrific  rendition of Billy Idol’s “Mony Mony” was loud enough to make we wonder exactly what was the just punishment for murder, it was in fact almost dreadful enough to allow me to slip into a coma, which is almost as good as a sleep I was going to have at that point. Instead, my window was flooded with a bright light, and I could hear the sound of a helicopter overhead. Instead of passing over though, it countinued to pace back and forth over my nighborhood, with, as I looked out of window, a searchlight attached to it. Wonderful, its either a fugitive loose in my nighborhood or someone has finally drawn the line at what is appropriate behavior in a bar at 1am on a Thursday morning. It finally sputtered away into the night 20 minutes later…but as I was attempting to block out its noise I was reminded of another incident my brother recounted to me earlier that day from my nighborhood…

As my brother was crossing through Dupont, he noticed a burly African-American man and smaller woman with an East European accent in a dispute. He made his way through the two of them, but as he did he overhead the following taking place:

Man: “Baby, come back..”

Woman: “No,” storming away.

Man: “Baby, what am I am going to do with the keys to the Porsche?”

Woman: “I don’t know, you deal with it.”

Man: “Come back, I’m sorry.”

Woman: (turning around suddenly) “You slept with my sister!”

Man: “I didn’t know! She climbed into bed with me!”

Woman: “You..” in disblief, walking away now.

Man: “I thought it was you, baby!”

By this point he was out of earshot, but yeah…kinda crazy.

Gingerism

Remember that South Park episode where Cartman calls “ginger kids” evil, and then gets a tast of his own medicine when his hair is dyed and freckles added by Kyle and the others?  Classic.

Here is a more serious(?) look at the plight of ginger kids…

 Is Gingerism as bad as racism?

More Red Pandas

Hollywood Squares

My coworker passed on the following email regarding Hollywood Squares, and since I thought it was pretty funny I thought I would post it here (that and the current host is my next door neighbor back home…)

—

If you remember the Original Hollywood Squares and its comics, this may bring a tear to your eyes. These great questions and answers are from the days when ‘Hollywood Squares’ game show responses were spontaneous and clever, not scripted and (often) dull, as they are now. Peter Marshall was the host asking the questions, of course.

Q. Do female frogs croak?
A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Q. If you’re going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be?
A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it.

Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years.
A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes.

Q. You’ve been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman?
A. Don Knotts: That’s what’s been keeping me awake.

Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he’s married?
A. Rose Marie: No, wait until morning.

Q. Whi ch of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older?
A. Charley Weaver: My sense of decency.

Q. In Hawaiian, does it take more than three words to say ‘I Love You’?
A. Vincent Price: No, you can say it with a pineapple and a twenty.

Q. What are ‘Do It,’ ‘I Can Help,’ and ‘I Can’t Get Enough’?
A. George Gobel: I don’t know, but it’s coming from the next apartment.

Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands while talking?
A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing old question Peter, and I’ll give you a gesture you’ll never forget.

Q. Paul, why do Hell’s Angels wear leather?
A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily.

Q. Charley, you’ve just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any during the first year?
A. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I’ m too busy growing strawberries.

Q. In bowling, what’s a perfect score?
A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy.

Q. It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics, what is the other?
A. Paul Lynde: Tape measures.

Q. During a tornado, are you safer in the bedroom or in the closet?
A. Rose Marie: Unfortunately Peter, I’m always safe in the bedroom.

Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls?
A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out.

Q. When you pat a dog on its head he will wag his tail. What will a goose do?
A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark?

Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to?
A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark.

Q. According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the habit of kissing a lot of people?
A. Charley Weaver: It got me out of the army.

Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it?
A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn’t neglected.

Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, what was he trying to do?
A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth.

Q. Who stays pregnant for a longer period of time, your wife or your elephant?
A. Paul Lynde: Who told you about my elephant?

Q. When a couple have a baby, who is responsible for its sex?
A. Charley Weaver: I’ll lend him the car, the rest is up to him.

Q. Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they?
A. Charley Weaver: His feet.

Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in bed?
A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh.

Goodbye Lenin, Hello Poland

Several years ago I watched the excellent German film Goodbye Lenin, about a East Berlin boy whose mother falls into a coma and only wakes up after the fall of communism and reunification. The catch is that he is warned by the doctors that she must not be exposed to anything startling or else she may relapse, so he goes to extraordinary (and amusing) lengths to recreate a world that no longer existed and hide the rise of a capitalist state. Read more about the film here.

Well, it appears as if this story came to life this week…

(BBC) A Polish man has woken up from a 19-year coma to find the Communist party no longer in power and food no longer rationed, Polish TV reports.

Railway worker Jan Grzebski, 65, fell into a coma after he was hit by a train in 1988.

“Now I see people on the streets with mobile phones and there are so many goods in the shops it makes my head spin,” he told Polish television.

He credits his survival to his wife, Gertruda, who cared for him.

Doctors gave him only two or three years to live after the accident.

A comatose patient is in a profound state of unconsciousness which renders them unaware of both self and the world around them, and from which they cannot be roused.

Although those in a coma do not respond to stimuli in a meaningful way, contrary to popular belief they do not always lie quiet and still – in some cases they can move, open their eyes and even talk.

Fall of communists

“It was Gertruda that saved me, and I’ll never forget it,” Mr Grzebski told news channel TVN24 of his recovery.

Mrs Grzebski is reported to have moved her husband every hour to prevent bed sores.

“I cried a lot, and I prayed a lot,” Mrs Grzebski said on Polsat television.

“Those who came to see us kept asking: ‘When is he going to die?’ But he’s not dead.”

When Mr Grzebski had his accident Poland was still ruled by its last communist leader, Wojciech Jaruzelski.

“When I went into a coma there was only tea and vinegar in the shops, meat was rationed and huge petrol queues were everywhere,” Mr Grzebski said.

The following year’s elections ushered in eastern Europe’s first post-communist government.

Poland joined the Nato alliance in 1999 and the European Union in 2004.

“What amazes me today is all these people who walk around with their mobile phones and never stop moaning,” said Mr Grzebski.

“I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

The Heart of Darkness

Interesting lunch today…

One of the (annoyingly) few places to grab lunch near my office is the food court in the mall, which is where I headed around noon. I walked to a food vestibule in the middle of the court, which serves sandwiches and drinks, as well as has an assortment of pastries (cakes, doughnuts, etc.). I never, in many month visiting the food court, have ever seen any one go here to get lunch. Those pastries have probably been sitting there for ever (although they do look delicious, but that may just be the petrification process), their picture of a roast beef sandwich apparently promises multicolored meat, and the attendants barely speak English. However, their prices are decent, and I kinda feel bad for them each time I pass and head staight to Chick-Filet. So every so often I drop by to place an order, such as today.

To amuse myself, I try to guess ahead of time what is missing or what will be screwed up beforehand. Last time when I asked for a sandwich, the told me they only had croissants, and no other bread in any form. It certainly couldn’t have been because they ran out, but I guess perhaps a health inspection had just cleared out the stock. So today I asked the young girl (shouldn’t she be in school?) behind the counter for the Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich. She promptly responds that they do not have that sandwich, and gesturing at what amounts to any hot sandwich and specialities, replies “We do not have any of these.” 5 points for me. I finally settle on a chicken salad sandwich (they couldn’t possibly screw that up, right?), and after adamently declining her request to put it on a croissant but rather on a sub roll – 5 points for her – I asked to turn this meal into a combo option (chips and a drink). I asked for a Mountain Dew, but it turns out their machine was out of order. 5 points for me again. So I grab a can of Pepsi, and ask what chips they have. She promptly hands over a bag of regular Lays chips and with a slight motion of her hand insisted that was all that was left. Great. Game Set Match for me.

It turns out I didn’t have much of the appetite (whether it was the ambiance or the sandwich I’m not sure) so I threw out my sandwich after chomping about three quarters of it down and headed to bookstore hoping to come across something interesting and salvage my lunch hour experience. All of a sudden, while flipping through a copy of Outside magazine, I heard a low whirr and the store turned pitch black. Everyone kinda stared at each other with a curious expression on their face, not knowing what was going on. It had been raining earlier, so I thought that perhaps it was a power surge, and half-expected the lights to flicker on any second so I could finish my article on Top Ten Must-Have Gear for the Summer. Some people started filing out, but others didn’t quite know what to make of the situation, and just stood there trying to read in the dark. It was as if the bookstore had suddenly transformed into a cave and my fellow cavemen were silently precociously flipping through their Money magazines wondering how to reconfigure their retirement funds.

I wandered out of the store only to discover to my astonishment that all the power had been lost in the entire mall – no emergency lights or anything. If it hadn’t been for the skylight windows, the place wouldn’t have had any light at all. I immediately saw that the other people had no clue what to do either. The Starbucks next door had a line of people waiting for coffee, only their lattes and mochas were half done, sitting in their queue, their stream of ingredients interrupted by the sudden power outage. They too stared dumbfounded, having already paid for their obligatory caffeine fix and unable to move on without a cup of joe in their hands. I imagine if this was a terrorist strike they still would have held their ground. The Panera Bread next door was silent, its buzzers unable to alert its customers that their only half-baked paninis were ready. I swung open the doors to the streets outside, only to find that the traffic lights had been hampered as well, and cars no idea who had the right of way without trusting select colors flashing before them. Seriously, it was as God had pulled the plug, just to watch the world stand still from its commotion for just one second.

I walked into by building lobby, thinking that this was a local issue, but three men with walkie talkies were scurrying about, and after the elevator did not respond to my command, I was ushered into the freight elevator (which works in emergencies – good to know I was spared the 12 flights of stairs!). As I stepped out on my floor and one of these men followed me out, it became apparent that certain individuals were trapped indside the normal elevator shafts, unsuspectingly caught by the outage. The man began banging the elevator doors, and we heard muffled sounds from the other side. However, there are six elevators, three on a side, and it wasn’t clear where they were coming from. For a second I was confused what to do, but then decided to help. Working together we finally located the correct elevator, using the very artful combination of shouting and banging on doors. The man radioed for more help (his tactic of using his bare hands to open the doors did not work, much to my amusment), and I headed back towards my cubicle.

Amazingly, everyone was still at work, typing away in front of their glowing computer screens. As the door closed behind me, I could feel that surreal world of just moment ago slipping away, and the mundane seeping into me again. The slim hope that our computers were down vanished, and I made my way back to my cubicle.

“What was that noise? Did you hear something?” asked a teammate as I passed his cube to sit down.

“No idea,” I replied, shrugged, and nestled into my desk chair.

I guess you just had to be there.

Hometown Hobbies

This weekend I missed one of my favorite events in my hometown, the Concours d’Elegance. The Concours is a two day car show in which the finest and fastest, as well as new, cars in the area are on display on the grounds of local harborside park. Usually my brother and my dad would go on one of these days together and spend the day checking out all those cars that we could only dream of driving or owning. I am always impressed by how great of a condition the cars are kept in, some of which date to the 1920s and 1930s. I came across some pics from this weekends Concours d’Elegance, so thought I would share.

The car below is the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL, which was produced from 1952-1963, and is the inspiration for the SL McLaren. This car was responsible for changing Mercedes-Benz’s image from a maker of solid automobiles to the maker of sports cars as we know it today. This was probably my favorite car as a kid growing up. I am a sucker for those cool doors, and the design is just timeless, both from the classic detailing inside and the sleek frame.

The modern rendition is pretty sweet as well…I wouldn’t mind having this either.

More photos can be found here and here.

This weekend Greenwich also hosted the Ivy Cup, which Gawker of course couldn’t hesitate to cover:

This Saturday, the rich and very rich gathered up in Greenwich, CT. (How unusual!) The occasion was the Ivy Cup, a charity polo match between the teams of Harvard, Yale, Cornell and Princeton. The group met in the main concourse of Grand Central Station: a sea of wide-brimmed hats, well-pressed slacks and day-glo green VIP wristbands. They’d chartered a train up to the CT where the chukkers would be played. Bud Lights and Diet Cokes were stored in large Tupperware tubs. The hours flew by like a cloud on a windless day. The rich don’t sweat. Also, we managed to create possibly the largest and most fascinating photogallery in history, courtesy of photographer Laurel Ptak.

Gawker coverage here.

Wine, Women, and…?

(AP) Researchers may have figured out what makes la vita so dolce in Rome. A report from Italy’s National Research Council released Thursday found that there are traces of cocaine and cannabis in the air of the Eternal City.

The institute made the discovery during a study of toxic substances in the air of Rome, Taranto, in the heel of boot-shaped Italy, as well as in Algiers. The results found that in Rome, there were traces of cocaine and cannabis — as well as nicotine, caffeine and benzopirene, which is commonly released in cigarette smoke and auto emissions.

“The highest concentrations of cocaine were found in the center of Rome, and especially in the area of the University of La Sapienza,” said Dr. Angelo Cecinato, who led the investigation.

Researchers can’t say for sure why the high concentrations were registered in those locations, but Cecinato stressed that the findings didn’t necessarily mean that cocaine and cannabis are more heavily used there.

The report said the maximum concentration of cocaine in Rome — 0.1 nanograms per cubic meter — was five times less than the legal limit for toxic substances in the air. Nevertheless, researchers said even the small amount was reason for concern.

There were small traces of the drugs found in Taranto and none in Algiers, the researchers said.

Unbelievably lame

Think Sanjaya was ever so introspective? 

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) – The singer in the Police jumps like a “petulant pansy,” the drummer is making a “complete hash,” and who knows what the guitarist is doing?

Notes from a bitter critic? Actually, it’s a disarmingly frank concert review from the aforementioned drummer of the newly reunited rock trio.

A philosophical Stewart Copeland unleashed his vitriol in a posting on his Web site on Thursday, a day after the band played its second show in Vancouver, the Canadian city where it began its first world tour in more than 20 years on Monday. This is unbelievably lame,” Copeland wrote of Wednesday’s show at the GM Place arena. “We are the mighty Police and we are totally at sea. Most of the 20,000 fans at the venue might not have noticed a series of small flubs, but Copeland, singer/bassist Sting, and guitarist were painfully aware of them.

Copeland started the show off on the wrong foot, literally. He tripped as he took to the stage, and then banged his gong at the wrong time so that “the big pompous opening to the show is a damp squib.”

He did not hear Summers’ opening riff to “Message In a Bottle,” and Sting in turn misheard Copeland’s drum intro — “so we are half a bar out of sync with each other. Andy is in Idaho.”

They quickly recovered, but then Sting got his footwork wrong as he leapt into the air to signal the end to a shambolic version of their rat-race rant “Synchronicity II.”

“The mighty Sting momentarily looks like a petulant pansy instead of the god of rock,” Copeland reported.

“And so it goes, for song after song,” he wrote, with tunes such as “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” and “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” reduced to ruin.

“It usually takes about four or five shows in a tour before you get to the disaster gig. But we’re The Police so we are a little ahead of schedule,” he said.

Fortunately, no fists flew backstage as they did back in the Police’s heyday. The threesome fell into each other’s arms laughing hysterically, Copeland said.

“Screw it, it’s only music. What are you gonna do? But maybe it’s time to get out of Vancouver.”

Twinsdays

My tennis racket finally restrung, I headed to the courts after work to play with a friend. Being so nice out (if you could call 90 degree weather that), there were a bunch of people waiting to get on the courts. While waiting, my friend and I struck up a conversation with two girls who were in line as well. Turns out they (quite obviously) were twins, and as this instantly turns any conversation to the subject, we started talking about life as a twin. The two girls claimed to be identical, and other than one having slightly more freckles than than the other, were pretty similar. When they asked whether my brother (who wasn’t present) was identical to me, I vaguely said most likely, yeah. When they asked me why I wasn’t sure, I responded that well, it was 1983 and according to those tests we are, but they aren’t exactly perfect, so who really knows unless you take a DNA test? Those cost money, and in the off chance I committ a crime down the road I figure I’ll get a free one anyway. My twin and I look alike, but I pointed out our hair does have opposite whorls, for example. One pointed out that a friend told her about mirror twins (which I had heard of before), adding that it seemed everyone who isn’t a twin seems to know more about twins than twins themselves.

I was just about to comment on people’s curiosity about twins, when she said, “Well, we had DNA tests done, because we took part in the twin experiments.”

First off, the way she said “THE twin experiments” made it sound like she was part of the missing link on LOST. I must have given her a pained look, because she countered that her older set of brothers were in fact also twins, although fraternal. Since this is relatively uncommon, apparently their parents thought it would be great if they could mingle with other twins in some labratory when they were seven years old. She seemed to have fond memories, saying they got momentos or something for taking part, but I was still a little creeped out. And it turns out while the DNA tests of her brothers confirmed they were fraternal, which probably you can tell just by looking at them, their DNA tests were screwed up, and they never got an answer. I hope that week was more productive than that.

In any event, I am glad that my parents never stuck me in some weird-ass twin experiment, but just like giving us the same initials, I am sure they would have found some way to screw that up too had they even known such a thing was going on…

It also turns out the two girls are from Ohio, which is where my friend is from, and they mentioned Twinsburg, Ohio, where apparently twins go to die, er, I mean celebrate their heritage. I had heard of this before, or at least assumed it existed, but they told me there is a festival each year where twins convene, and yes, these two twins had gone there before (naturally).

Otherwise known as Twinsdays.

I went to the Twinsburg, Ohio online visitor center, to learn more, and here is what I discovered.

“In 1817, a sixteen-year-old boy named Ethan Alling arrived in Township Five in the tenth range of the Connecticut Land Company, also known as Millsville. Alling was to survey the four hundred acres his Connecticut family had purchased. He is considered the first settler of the town that would be renamed Twinsburg, and eventually he became the postmaster, stagecoach operator, merchant and hotel proprietor of the community.”

 I had no idea Connecticut had its own land company, and or that they were purchasing in Ohio. It goes on…

“The set of identical twins from Killingworth, Connecticut purchased some 4000 acres of land in 1819 and began selling small parcels at low prices to attract other settlers. The Wilcox twins then offered six acres of land for a public square and $20.00 toward starting the first school if the residents would change the settlement’s name from Millsville to Twinsburg.”

Wow, 20 bucks and six acres? What a steal that was. Also, Connecticut of all states should know that the value of the land is only as good as the schools nearby. At least that hasn’t changed.

“Moses and Aaron Wilcox were reportedly so identical only their closest friends could tell them apart. They were lifelong business partners; held all their property in common; married sisters; had the same number of children; contracted the same fatal ailment; died within hours of each other and are buried in the same grave in Twinsburg’s Locust Grove Cemetery.”

Hmmm, this is so creepy maybe those tennis twins are related to them afterall. So…they pretty much led the same life? Wife was interchangable? Sick days not a problem? Need a playmate, son? how about your cousin/clone? Christ, they even saved money by having a joint funeral they were so considerate of each other. I just can’t believe they basically only led one life…seems like they were half-assing the whole thing.

The site led me to the offical Twinsdays site, which states that the festival was initiated as a local event in 1976, but clearly has grown ever since. I browsed through the pictures form the 2006 festival (this year’s is August 3-6). I never thought being a twin was that wierd, but seeing photos of so many people that look eerily similar to each other in one place is a bit unnerving. Intrigued by a link to the message board, I ventured further.

(c. Charles Robinson)

 Who wouldn’t want to spend the weekend with these two guys? 

The message covers a variety of topics, but is mostly centered around the festival itself, describing accommodations, tips, and the latest news. One whole thread was devoted to overcoming shyness at the festival, and how to approach strangers. One person (honestly, I’m not making this up) suggested broaching common topics, such as… being a twin. Wow, thank god for the message board or they may never have thought of that. “So…I hear your a twin.” “Yeah, that’s right.” “And who might this be with you?” Another wrote back “I’m the shy one, then my twin gets me going and then that’s it, we both let loose!” Wow, now I’m actually intrigued for the first time.  Hmmm…imagine if she had a triplet sister, the possibilities would be endless. Someone else couldn’t convince their other half to go with them, so they wondered whether it would be awkward to go as a twinless twin. Which I gotta admit, does cramp the experience, since I bet no one takes you for your word if you merely claim to be one, plus who really wants to talk to a random person whose twin didn’t even make it? Yet another person started his own thread apologizing for not making it this year. How tight are people at this festival that they are missing your presence with 7,000 other sets of twins around? Finally, one set of twins reported back on a “Twins Cruise”. I think a twins festival is bad enough, but being confined on the high seas with a boatload of twins is not my ideal vacation (unless of course they are single attractive  intelligent women, but I doubt it, considering this set of twins signed their thread “twinly yours”. I think I just threw up in my mouth.).

Ok, that is enough on twins for now, but clearly there is another whole level of ‘twinliness’ that I have never experienced before.

 At least for now, I hope it stays that way.