It's a rare occasion that I watch Jay Leno. I've always been a Letterman guy. Now don't get me wrong. When Jay was just doing stand-up and was an edgy, angry young comic, I laughed as hard at some of his stuff as I have at any other comic I've ever seen. He did a bit once (oddly enough, on Letterman) about trolls and circuses and spores and bridges and, well, you had to be there, I guess. But as a talk show guy... not so much. Bland, sold-out, annoying - you know the usual complaints. Now, in an effort to up his ratings before the handover to Conan (and who gives that great idea more than a week to live?), he booked this President Obama guy. And I watched. Hey, I like to see a potential disaster live as much as the next guy.
So, the conversation is going along okay. Keeping it kinda light - AIG, economy, Depression Mark II etc. And then Jay makes a simple aside about the White House bowling alley and if it's still standing, since Obama acquitted himself SOOO well in the campaign with that brilliant bowling photo op... And Obama, who's still campaigning (because THEY NEVER STOP!!!), tries for the regular guy vote by saying he's upped his high score to 129. Which is great, if, you know, you're like in 4th grade and get your clothes from the portly boys department, but still.
You may know, there's a reason that politician's humor is always written for them. And even then, they're usually horrible at delivering it. Obama's a little better than the average, but he's still no Shecky Greene. So, the other night, when the Prez boasts of his non Earl Anthony like prowess, Jay, whose humor has devolved from edgy and cutting to just snarky comes over all condescending and says "Hey, that's, uhm, very good". There, there. Very good little Bobby... And Barrack says, as near as I could hear it, "Great. This is like Special Olympics incentive". But "incentive" gets buried by the audience's laughter, because Obama doesn't have the comedic timing to know where to put the beat in for Jay's joke to get laughs. So, what all the rest of the world hears is Special Olympics - because, no matter how many times the clip is shown, they're too lazy to pay attention beyond the supposed spot of the foul. And the world expodes in canned, pre-ordained disdain, as they've been programmed to do by the media over the years. Obama said Special Olympics!!!!! Give me a freakin' break.
I've seen characters on tv shows - this MONTH - referred to as "special needs". When I was a kid, terms like retard and vegetable and short bus were commonly used for people who would participate in Special Olympics. Cruel? Yes. Necessary? No. Unkind? Certainly. Do people still use these terms? You mean, other than frat boys and their grown-up counterparts, Wall St. traitors? Well, probably not. At least not in public. But that does nothing to stop the pre-planned outrage machine from kicking into gear and acting like Obama started singing "Look at us, we're walking..."
I know, I know. Most of these charitable organizations have a lot of time on their hands. The economy is down. Donations are too. So if you can drum up some sympathy cash - despite the fact that what you CONSTANTLY say publicly is that your membership does not want pity - by playing up a public slight - THAT NEVER HAPPENED - then, you're gonna unleash the hounds. Immediately afterward, the national SO chairman "condemned" the "comment". Wasn't a comment Bubba. It was an adjective for the word incentive - listen again. Then my state's SO chairman issued his condemnation, as, I assume, did the chairman in every state of the union and Guam. I don't know about you, but, contrary to their planned outcome, I just wrote Special Olympics off my potential donations list (you know, when I get a job and have some money to spare...). I refuse to support an organization that capitalizes on someone's misfortunate comedic abilities. Especially an organization that exists to capitalize on someone's, uhm, misfortune.
Is it any wonder why this country is at the bottom in almost everything in the world, save mock indignation — and embezzlement?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Bye Bye Bernie
So, what's up with Bernie Madoff? I keep calling and calling, and he refuses to answer my invitations to play golf or have lunch. I've told him I'll pick up the check. I mean, I read the papers. I know he and his wife are down to their last $67 million. And with no job opportunities likely in this recession that Obama has caused (God, I hope Rush can get us out of this!!), Bernie and his wife have to guard their money. I mean, who knows how long it'll be until people get back on their feet enough financially, for Bernie to be able to swindle them some more? And $67M doesn't go anywhere as far as it used to? Geez, have you seen the price of milk, or eggs, or private islands?
Now, I've got a few ideas about why 'Ol Bernie is in the situation he's in. Frankly, I'm amazed he got caught at all, though. Sure, that Markopolos guy was telling the Securities and Exchange Commission about BM (my pet name for Bernie) about 8 years ago. Had all the facts and figures to prove that BM was guilty of running a Ponzi scheme, too. And, btw, is it just me, or does that Ponzi thing sound like some kind of plan for Henry Winkler to imitate the Pope? Anyway... Markopolos told them about 5-6 different times and, naturally, they did what they're supposed to do with the information. They ignored it. I mean, they're good Americans, right? And, naturally, since some of them (the SEC guys) have at least finished college, they're not stupid. So they understood that, if you go and squeal on a big player like BM, that's not gonna be good for America, or for their careers. Who's gonna hire the guy who started the second great depression by taking down a sweet guy like BM? I know I wouldn't. And, not squealing, is soooo the American way.
America is a country founded on power. Some people have it and most people don't. And that's the way it should be. You don't want your power base spread out too thin. Otherwise, dumb, ordinary people will think they're important and that their decisions matter. I mean, do you want the OctoMom dictating foreign policy or what? That's what I thought... So the thing about having the power, is not letting people know when you have it. And these SEC guys respected that. They were sure not gonna blow the whistle on someone as "made" as BM. Who knows who he's connected to? I mean, his third cousin could be their boss. Or he might have been friends with a bunch of Washington types. That could get a mere SEC middle management guy a one way trip to Gitmo. We've all seen Harold and Kumar, right? So, no, best to play along. Let BM do what he wants. I mean, he's not hurting anybody. It's just some rich people's money. And they can spare it. There's plenty of young entrepenaurs in Indonesia who love to put in the 20 hours days to make more, so no problem.
No, these SEC guys were doing the right thing. Not informing on anything is the way to go. You can never tell who you might offend. And offending people can be bad for you. And what's more important than you after all? So no, if you know about some kind of "law breaking", whatever that is, then you should do the proud American thing. Keep it to yourself. Otherwise, first thing you know, other people will be reporting things and that's the edge of a very slippery slope that would have decent upstanding Americans so afraid to do anything wrong that they'd allow themselves to be forced into living by a some kind of code of decency, or laws, or some other whacky idea. I shudder at the thought.
Hey Bernie - call me!
Now, I've got a few ideas about why 'Ol Bernie is in the situation he's in. Frankly, I'm amazed he got caught at all, though. Sure, that Markopolos guy was telling the Securities and Exchange Commission about BM (my pet name for Bernie) about 8 years ago. Had all the facts and figures to prove that BM was guilty of running a Ponzi scheme, too. And, btw, is it just me, or does that Ponzi thing sound like some kind of plan for Henry Winkler to imitate the Pope? Anyway... Markopolos told them about 5-6 different times and, naturally, they did what they're supposed to do with the information. They ignored it. I mean, they're good Americans, right? And, naturally, since some of them (the SEC guys) have at least finished college, they're not stupid. So they understood that, if you go and squeal on a big player like BM, that's not gonna be good for America, or for their careers. Who's gonna hire the guy who started the second great depression by taking down a sweet guy like BM? I know I wouldn't. And, not squealing, is soooo the American way.
America is a country founded on power. Some people have it and most people don't. And that's the way it should be. You don't want your power base spread out too thin. Otherwise, dumb, ordinary people will think they're important and that their decisions matter. I mean, do you want the OctoMom dictating foreign policy or what? That's what I thought... So the thing about having the power, is not letting people know when you have it. And these SEC guys respected that. They were sure not gonna blow the whistle on someone as "made" as BM. Who knows who he's connected to? I mean, his third cousin could be their boss. Or he might have been friends with a bunch of Washington types. That could get a mere SEC middle management guy a one way trip to Gitmo. We've all seen Harold and Kumar, right? So, no, best to play along. Let BM do what he wants. I mean, he's not hurting anybody. It's just some rich people's money. And they can spare it. There's plenty of young entrepenaurs in Indonesia who love to put in the 20 hours days to make more, so no problem.
No, these SEC guys were doing the right thing. Not informing on anything is the way to go. You can never tell who you might offend. And offending people can be bad for you. And what's more important than you after all? So no, if you know about some kind of "law breaking", whatever that is, then you should do the proud American thing. Keep it to yourself. Otherwise, first thing you know, other people will be reporting things and that's the edge of a very slippery slope that would have decent upstanding Americans so afraid to do anything wrong that they'd allow themselves to be forced into living by a some kind of code of decency, or laws, or some other whacky idea. I shudder at the thought.
Hey Bernie - call me!
Monday, March 2, 2009
City Sidewalks, Snowy Sidewalks
I like snow. It makes me happy. Possibly, because I was born during a blizzard, the next day's vestiges of which, can be seen in any video of JFK delivering his inaugural speech in front of a frozen Capitol. Of course, I also live in a city. For those who don't know, this means I only have a small window to appreciate said snow. I basically have, "while it's falling" and about 10 minutes afterward to enjoy the image of a light, clean, fluffy blanket laid over the soul-crushing muck of urban living. The cracked, pot-holed, and oil-stained asphalt of the street (and the asphalt-stained oily crack and pothead laying on it) are hidden beneath, and gratefully out of eyesight for a few wonderful minutes. And then, as the first flakes begin to dress themselves in the layer of grime that will eventually coat them all as they dissolve into a disgusting black mound of slush, I have to deal with shoveling. Not mine as such, but that of my newbie neighbors.
I've lived in this same rowhouse, in this same neighborhood, for a long, long time. Long enough to see a whole generation pass away, another move away, a decline, a revival, and a gentrification "bloom" that has increased property values (and taxes) and completely done away with any sense of neighborhood we ever had. This is never more evident that when it snows. Now, I'm sure all neighborhoods have their "rules" of how to shovel their pavements when it snows. Because these homes are as urban as you can get (ie. no grass in front anywhere), we've always had a certain method for shoveling after a storm. The area between your steps and your neighbor's is never touched, and simply allowed to melt of it's own accord. We've always just shoveled a path about 3-4 feet wide in front of our steps and mounded up the moved snow on the remaining sidewalk along the curb. This is the optimum method for our conditions. It clears a path for people to walk along the sidewalk. It clears the entrance to your home because it lies perpendicular to the entrance stairs. And, when necessary, a small side path is cleared to the door of your vehicle. With this method, one can travel freely and never step into snow except possibly in the gutter as you leave the sidewalk. Unfortunately, this tried and true method doesn't suit the recent rural immigrants who populate my neighborhood now.
They are under some idea that ALL of the sidewalk must be cleared, from the front wall of the house to the gutter. Perhaps it was this love of a sheet of cracked concrete that caused them to move here in the first place. I don't know. Now, you might ask, where is that snow supposed to be moved to? Well, into the gutter of course, or for the really energetic, thrown into the street, which is never plowed, to thereby add a fresh layer of friction-melted, semi-frozen water to the already treacherous driving surface. And for the non-energetic? Well, just pushing all the snow, no matter how much there is, into the gutter seems to be the goal. Never bothering to consider that they are simply packing more snow around the wheels of the vehicles parked there, making it more of a hassle to get your car out onto the newly re-covered roadway. When a snow such as we had today comes (about 5 inches), granted, it's not so bad. No cars had to be shoveled out get into the street. But when a REAL storm comes, this is the most insane behaviour I've ever seen. Instead of clearing a serviceable pathway, they move a ton of snow off the sacred sidewalk and into the streets - causing anyone who wishes to leave the sidewalk, possibly to get to the other side of their vehicle, to have to climb over and/or through the drifts as if they were exploring a new powder field in the Alps. And when these snow removal geniuses begin to dig their vehicles out, do they then do the logical thing and put the moved snow on the curb where it will be out of the way as it melts later? NO. Then they shovel it further into the street's center where it will further hinder traffic. Makes snow sense to me...
PS, I apologize for not putting anything up lately. Not that I haven't been pissed off lately, of course. It's just that it hasn't warranted more than a paragraph. And I figure if you read this blog, you should at least get some quantity for your efforts, cause quality is not even remotely likely.
I've lived in this same rowhouse, in this same neighborhood, for a long, long time. Long enough to see a whole generation pass away, another move away, a decline, a revival, and a gentrification "bloom" that has increased property values (and taxes) and completely done away with any sense of neighborhood we ever had. This is never more evident that when it snows. Now, I'm sure all neighborhoods have their "rules" of how to shovel their pavements when it snows. Because these homes are as urban as you can get (ie. no grass in front anywhere), we've always had a certain method for shoveling after a storm. The area between your steps and your neighbor's is never touched, and simply allowed to melt of it's own accord. We've always just shoveled a path about 3-4 feet wide in front of our steps and mounded up the moved snow on the remaining sidewalk along the curb. This is the optimum method for our conditions. It clears a path for people to walk along the sidewalk. It clears the entrance to your home because it lies perpendicular to the entrance stairs. And, when necessary, a small side path is cleared to the door of your vehicle. With this method, one can travel freely and never step into snow except possibly in the gutter as you leave the sidewalk. Unfortunately, this tried and true method doesn't suit the recent rural immigrants who populate my neighborhood now.
They are under some idea that ALL of the sidewalk must be cleared, from the front wall of the house to the gutter. Perhaps it was this love of a sheet of cracked concrete that caused them to move here in the first place. I don't know. Now, you might ask, where is that snow supposed to be moved to? Well, into the gutter of course, or for the really energetic, thrown into the street, which is never plowed, to thereby add a fresh layer of friction-melted, semi-frozen water to the already treacherous driving surface. And for the non-energetic? Well, just pushing all the snow, no matter how much there is, into the gutter seems to be the goal. Never bothering to consider that they are simply packing more snow around the wheels of the vehicles parked there, making it more of a hassle to get your car out onto the newly re-covered roadway. When a snow such as we had today comes (about 5 inches), granted, it's not so bad. No cars had to be shoveled out get into the street. But when a REAL storm comes, this is the most insane behaviour I've ever seen. Instead of clearing a serviceable pathway, they move a ton of snow off the sacred sidewalk and into the streets - causing anyone who wishes to leave the sidewalk, possibly to get to the other side of their vehicle, to have to climb over and/or through the drifts as if they were exploring a new powder field in the Alps. And when these snow removal geniuses begin to dig their vehicles out, do they then do the logical thing and put the moved snow on the curb where it will be out of the way as it melts later? NO. Then they shovel it further into the street's center where it will further hinder traffic. Makes snow sense to me...
PS, I apologize for not putting anything up lately. Not that I haven't been pissed off lately, of course. It's just that it hasn't warranted more than a paragraph. And I figure if you read this blog, you should at least get some quantity for your efforts, cause quality is not even remotely likely.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Papa, Can You Hear Me?
Okay, as anyone who knows me personally knows, my life is essentially the Job story from the Bible as rewritten by David Mamet. To say that retail transactions don't work out for me is an understatement equivalent to when the neighbors in Houston said, "You know, that Bush boy ain't too bright, is he?".
I can walk into the most innocuous store and attempt to buy toothpaste and, somehow, I'll wind up leaving without the toothpaste, my blood pressure in high triple digits and screaming about false advertisement suits and the paternity of the manager... Today I attempted to order lunch from Papa John's. Seems like a simple thing doesn't it? Now, I should state that, while I quite like Papa John's pizza, I've had nothing but problems with them over the years. There have been long periods of time when I've "boycotted" them over some previous slight. But, of late, they've been a bit better. So, when they solicited me with an e-mail this morning, with an offer that, for them, was a good one (I do think they're incredibly overpriced), I figured, "What the hey?".
At 1 O'Clock, I placed an online order for my pizza. Nothing fancy. Large, with a couple of toppings, per the e-mail. Should be a cinch right? Now, when I order a pizza from Domino's, it's 20 minutes, 25 tops. Sometimes, it's here so quickly, I actually wonder if it's done, but it's here nonetheless — and it's hot. So, as today's PJ's order approached the 30 minute mark, I began to fret. Again, as anyone who knows will tell you, I'm not blessed with a lot of patience for things like this. I HATE to wait. Anyway, that's my problem.
At the 50 minute mark, I called the store (always a joy for me). I get someone whom I'll refer to as Pimply McPepperoni on the phone, and he answers with the always comfort inducing, "HelloPapaJohn'sPizza,Canyouhold?" Now, having some experiece with the lack of phone training that Pimply and the others of his hive have received, I know that by saying yes, I will almost certainly be insuring a disconnection, so I say, "No". Pimply seems taken aback by this. Apparently, he's never had anyone calling in who thinks their call is more important than whatever he wants to put them on hold for. I forge forward into the silence and say I ordered a pizza almost an hour ago, and was wondering where it might have gone. Pimply asks my address and then tells me to hold on. In the ensuing silence, I come to the realization that he was going to put me on hold, come hell or high water anyway. EVENTUALLY, he comes back and says that it's already left. I answer that, well if that's the case, where is it, since I'm, literally, about 5 minutes from the store by car and it's been an hour. He says that, "it should be there within the next ten minutes (the actual one hour mark) and that it hasn't been an hour yet". What ever happened to that 30 minute guarantee in the 80's?
Anyway, I answer that "it will be if takes another ten minutes", and then proceed to tell him how horrible their service is. I tell him that "if it's cold (as it regularly is from them when delayed like this), I will certainly refuse it and send it back". He responds that, "that's fine and we'll make a fresh one and send it out to you". I state that, "I don't want a replacement". Simply because I don't want this to cycle on for the rest of the day. Cut to the end - a knock on my door at 2:48. Now, by my, granted, amateur calculations, that would be 1 hour and 48 minutes after I ordered. Which is exactly what I say to the guy at the door after the words, "You've got to be kidding me...". Whereupon he begins to tell me the long sad tale of how the other driver's car broke down and he gets, like, 10 pies to scatter among the masses everytime he goes back and blah blah blah. After I tell him to begone with his frozen cheese disc, he tells me that if I let him call the store, the manager will probably just say I can have that one for free. I. Don't. Want. A. Cold. F@#$%^g. Pizza.
Doesn't anyone get the point of this? Pizza is hot food. Hot food is meant to be eaten — HOT! It seems that in this country now, no one understands the concept of delivering their product in a usable condition. Go to a fast food place, where the food is never fast anymore (I'm looking at you McDonald's), wait an interminable amount of time until you're past hungry, and then take the hamburger you're given (which is tepid at best) and try to eat it down while some warmth remains deep, deep within it. And if you say anything? You'll get one of two things. The blank corporate stare which doesn't understand why you're upset since you ordered a hamburger and there it is. You didn't want it edibly warm too, did you? Or, you get a 20 minute dissertation on the problems with the management, the hamburger supplier, cows... god knows what. But, it is NEVER the employees fault. I personally have had it with this crap. It's no wonder this world will be lucky to stumble through another few years until the Apocalypse in 2012. But, even then, I'm sure there'll be someone making excuses for why it's late and how Nostradamus just couldn't get the proper materials to be accurate. Or, to quote the mad scientists in the Beatles' Help movie, "It's the plugs you see, the main thing's the plugs. Good British plugs. All this American rig... wrong voltage... I'm better with animals than plugs and transistors. Animals trust me. I should have been in vivisection."
Btw, I had a hard salami sandwich for lunch.
I can walk into the most innocuous store and attempt to buy toothpaste and, somehow, I'll wind up leaving without the toothpaste, my blood pressure in high triple digits and screaming about false advertisement suits and the paternity of the manager... Today I attempted to order lunch from Papa John's. Seems like a simple thing doesn't it? Now, I should state that, while I quite like Papa John's pizza, I've had nothing but problems with them over the years. There have been long periods of time when I've "boycotted" them over some previous slight. But, of late, they've been a bit better. So, when they solicited me with an e-mail this morning, with an offer that, for them, was a good one (I do think they're incredibly overpriced), I figured, "What the hey?".
At 1 O'Clock, I placed an online order for my pizza. Nothing fancy. Large, with a couple of toppings, per the e-mail. Should be a cinch right? Now, when I order a pizza from Domino's, it's 20 minutes, 25 tops. Sometimes, it's here so quickly, I actually wonder if it's done, but it's here nonetheless — and it's hot. So, as today's PJ's order approached the 30 minute mark, I began to fret. Again, as anyone who knows will tell you, I'm not blessed with a lot of patience for things like this. I HATE to wait. Anyway, that's my problem.
At the 50 minute mark, I called the store (always a joy for me). I get someone whom I'll refer to as Pimply McPepperoni on the phone, and he answers with the always comfort inducing, "HelloPapaJohn'sPizza,Canyouhold?" Now, having some experiece with the lack of phone training that Pimply and the others of his hive have received, I know that by saying yes, I will almost certainly be insuring a disconnection, so I say, "No". Pimply seems taken aback by this. Apparently, he's never had anyone calling in who thinks their call is more important than whatever he wants to put them on hold for. I forge forward into the silence and say I ordered a pizza almost an hour ago, and was wondering where it might have gone. Pimply asks my address and then tells me to hold on. In the ensuing silence, I come to the realization that he was going to put me on hold, come hell or high water anyway. EVENTUALLY, he comes back and says that it's already left. I answer that, well if that's the case, where is it, since I'm, literally, about 5 minutes from the store by car and it's been an hour. He says that, "it should be there within the next ten minutes (the actual one hour mark) and that it hasn't been an hour yet". What ever happened to that 30 minute guarantee in the 80's?
Anyway, I answer that "it will be if takes another ten minutes", and then proceed to tell him how horrible their service is. I tell him that "if it's cold (as it regularly is from them when delayed like this), I will certainly refuse it and send it back". He responds that, "that's fine and we'll make a fresh one and send it out to you". I state that, "I don't want a replacement". Simply because I don't want this to cycle on for the rest of the day. Cut to the end - a knock on my door at 2:48. Now, by my, granted, amateur calculations, that would be 1 hour and 48 minutes after I ordered. Which is exactly what I say to the guy at the door after the words, "You've got to be kidding me...". Whereupon he begins to tell me the long sad tale of how the other driver's car broke down and he gets, like, 10 pies to scatter among the masses everytime he goes back and blah blah blah. After I tell him to begone with his frozen cheese disc, he tells me that if I let him call the store, the manager will probably just say I can have that one for free. I. Don't. Want. A. Cold. F@#$%^g. Pizza.
Doesn't anyone get the point of this? Pizza is hot food. Hot food is meant to be eaten — HOT! It seems that in this country now, no one understands the concept of delivering their product in a usable condition. Go to a fast food place, where the food is never fast anymore (I'm looking at you McDonald's), wait an interminable amount of time until you're past hungry, and then take the hamburger you're given (which is tepid at best) and try to eat it down while some warmth remains deep, deep within it. And if you say anything? You'll get one of two things. The blank corporate stare which doesn't understand why you're upset since you ordered a hamburger and there it is. You didn't want it edibly warm too, did you? Or, you get a 20 minute dissertation on the problems with the management, the hamburger supplier, cows... god knows what. But, it is NEVER the employees fault. I personally have had it with this crap. It's no wonder this world will be lucky to stumble through another few years until the Apocalypse in 2012. But, even then, I'm sure there'll be someone making excuses for why it's late and how Nostradamus just couldn't get the proper materials to be accurate. Or, to quote the mad scientists in the Beatles' Help movie, "It's the plugs you see, the main thing's the plugs. Good British plugs. All this American rig... wrong voltage... I'm better with animals than plugs and transistors. Animals trust me. I should have been in vivisection."
Btw, I had a hard salami sandwich for lunch.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Pizza, Beer and Money
I was talking to a friend the other day, and they made an interesting comment - at least interesting to me. They commented on my ability to live frugally while not working, and to have the resolve not to spend money on luxury or vanity items when I did not need them. We chatted about it for a minute or so and they said that it would not be something they could do. I don't know if that's true or not, but I know it's not the first time I've heard it about myself.
This is, easily, the longest I've been without work since before 1st grade... And contrary to popular belief, I'm not enjoying it. A few other times in my life, I've been out of work for a month or two. I think the longest was 6 months. This little setback has now gone multiples of a larger unit of measure. And, while nothing about this being "between engagements" is very similar to the previous ones, at least with those, I actually had the hope of finding a job, or the idea that I could fall back on something lesser if necessary. But thanks to 8 years of the chimpanzee-in-chief and his sidekick Darth Vader, I, and most other unemployed folks, have no hope of anything. It doesn't look like any good news is going to come down the pike for another couple units of measure, and even then, it probably won't be for me. Oh, what's that you say? The Stimulus package? Yeah, that'll be great for me. Since I don't have an income, I don't file taxes, therefore I don't get any tax breaks or whatever else is supposed to lift me up by my bootstraps. Plus, and I may have said this before, I'm OLD!!! Ain't no jobs for the elderly except sweeping up at Chez Ronald. But I'm getting off the point. (Yes, smartass, these things do have a point.)
Frugality - or the ability to say I want that, BUT, I can't afford it. Now I don't know why this concept seems so strange to people my age. They, like me, were raised by people who lived through and survived the Depression (Mark I). Maybe it's that my folks never forgot the experience as times got better for them in the 50's and 60's. I was brought up to never throw away something while it still had a breath of use in it. And to never spend money on something without a huge amount of soul-searching as to whether it was something you really needed. And for the most part, I've followed that tradition my whole life. I know, those that know me are saying, "Uhm, you have HOW many guitars (records, cds, comic books etc. etc.)???" Yeah, I didn't say that I'd lived a life of austerity. But, in times of restricted cash flow, all that changes.
I've always managed, in times like these, to immediately go into "Depression Mode". No, not that kind of depression. That's not a mode for me, it's a way of life. Depression Mode for me is a simple one. I do not spend money. No matter how much I have in reserve, I do not spend money on anything that's not absolutely necessary. Regardless of sales (and believe me, there are some great bargains right now for those who can afford them) and regardless of how much I might want something. I just do not spend the money. I buy food. I pay my utilities bills. I put gas in the car (which, since I don't go anyhwere for the most part, means it lasts a long time). I do not go to movies. I do not eat out at McDonald's or order in from Domino's more than once or twice a month. I don't go to hear bands or go to the bar. In short, I become even more of a hermit monk than normal. This might offend some folks and I don't mean to. I'm not shirking spending time with you, but if it in anyway involves the use of green paper, I'm probably out.
Am I special for this "ability" to live frugally? Nah, I don't think so. Thousands of people who have it much worse off than I do, do this kind of thing everyday of their lives, economy notwithstanding. So I don't know how I could be special by doing what they are forced to do by circumstances. I don't know. If things keep going like they are, maybe even those who find what I do "special" or "weird" will be coming to me for lessons on how to live more frugally. No big lesson involved really. While this may be the only thing I ever agree with her on, the secret is, just as Nancy Reagan said - just say no...
This is, easily, the longest I've been without work since before 1st grade... And contrary to popular belief, I'm not enjoying it. A few other times in my life, I've been out of work for a month or two. I think the longest was 6 months. This little setback has now gone multiples of a larger unit of measure. And, while nothing about this being "between engagements" is very similar to the previous ones, at least with those, I actually had the hope of finding a job, or the idea that I could fall back on something lesser if necessary. But thanks to 8 years of the chimpanzee-in-chief and his sidekick Darth Vader, I, and most other unemployed folks, have no hope of anything. It doesn't look like any good news is going to come down the pike for another couple units of measure, and even then, it probably won't be for me. Oh, what's that you say? The Stimulus package? Yeah, that'll be great for me. Since I don't have an income, I don't file taxes, therefore I don't get any tax breaks or whatever else is supposed to lift me up by my bootstraps. Plus, and I may have said this before, I'm OLD!!! Ain't no jobs for the elderly except sweeping up at Chez Ronald. But I'm getting off the point. (Yes, smartass, these things do have a point.)
Frugality - or the ability to say I want that, BUT, I can't afford it. Now I don't know why this concept seems so strange to people my age. They, like me, were raised by people who lived through and survived the Depression (Mark I). Maybe it's that my folks never forgot the experience as times got better for them in the 50's and 60's. I was brought up to never throw away something while it still had a breath of use in it. And to never spend money on something without a huge amount of soul-searching as to whether it was something you really needed. And for the most part, I've followed that tradition my whole life. I know, those that know me are saying, "Uhm, you have HOW many guitars (records, cds, comic books etc. etc.)???" Yeah, I didn't say that I'd lived a life of austerity. But, in times of restricted cash flow, all that changes.
I've always managed, in times like these, to immediately go into "Depression Mode". No, not that kind of depression. That's not a mode for me, it's a way of life. Depression Mode for me is a simple one. I do not spend money. No matter how much I have in reserve, I do not spend money on anything that's not absolutely necessary. Regardless of sales (and believe me, there are some great bargains right now for those who can afford them) and regardless of how much I might want something. I just do not spend the money. I buy food. I pay my utilities bills. I put gas in the car (which, since I don't go anyhwere for the most part, means it lasts a long time). I do not go to movies. I do not eat out at McDonald's or order in from Domino's more than once or twice a month. I don't go to hear bands or go to the bar. In short, I become even more of a hermit monk than normal. This might offend some folks and I don't mean to. I'm not shirking spending time with you, but if it in anyway involves the use of green paper, I'm probably out.
Am I special for this "ability" to live frugally? Nah, I don't think so. Thousands of people who have it much worse off than I do, do this kind of thing everyday of their lives, economy notwithstanding. So I don't know how I could be special by doing what they are forced to do by circumstances. I don't know. If things keep going like they are, maybe even those who find what I do "special" or "weird" will be coming to me for lessons on how to live more frugally. No big lesson involved really. While this may be the only thing I ever agree with her on, the secret is, just as Nancy Reagan said - just say no...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I Have to Say This (As Soon As It's Good Enough)
So, lately, I've been trying to write lyrics once again. I apologize if this phrasing sounds like I'm trying to revive my former stellar career as a lyric writer, cause, if you know me, you know that ain't true. I've always had a hard time writing lyrics. And there are any number of things I think are to blame for that, which I'll get to in a bit.
The thing is, I can write music at the drop of a hat. And, with as much modesty as possible, I don't mean stringing together the standard three chords in a Chuck Berry/12-bar blues pattern and calling it a song. I mean nicely formed and thought out chord progressions that sound like songs. Give me a guitar, and an hour or two, and I'll give you a solid song. It is the one gift I have that comes without a tremendous amount of effort on my part. Everything else to do with music - that's like pulling teeth. Can't sing - oh and just stand by, gentle readers, for my upcoming expose on the singer conspiracy; don't play all that well, although I guess I'm competent on guitar and bass and can't write lyrics. Damn, if I could just lose the ability to play and write music as well, I could be Puffy... But writing music - that I can do. Which is frustrating, cause I'm not getting any calls from Hal David lately asking me to make his words immortal. So the instrumentals just keep piling up. Maybe the Ventures will make a comeback and need some tunes.
As I said, I've always found lyric writing really frustrating, and until the last day or two, a complete mystery as to why. I think it's a number of things. Obviously, I can write to some extent. This blog and other writings I've done have shown that. But it is considerably different to get across a point in a paragraph or a page and to get it across in 4 short lines... that have to rhyme! Maybe I'm just too loquacious for my own good. I don't know. I'm certain that those who have to listen to me babble will have no problem coming to a conclusion about that question. But having a lot to say about a subject does not a lyric writer make. Having something interesting to say does. And I guess I just have nothing interesting to say most of the time.
Part of the problem is what I've listened to all my life. When your musical tastes run towards the likes of Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, Chris DIfford, Jules Shear, Richard Thompson, Pete Townshend, Hank WIlliams Sr., Bruce Springsteen and a host of others who can make you laugh and cry, think and believe in the same line, it's a tremendous hurdle to pit yourself against. And that's an essential part of the problem.
I, as opposed to what all the songwriting books will tell you, edit myself constantly as I'm writing. I know - bad move. Gotta let it flow. In case you haven't figured this out yet, I'm not what you'd call a "flowy" person. I'm what you'd call a "make an appointment, plan for three months and then we can check out that new movie..." kind of guy. I always think my lyrics have to say something or mean something REALLY important - even though nothing I've ever done in my life has resulted in anything really important. I don't know where it comes from - just that I can't shake it. So rather than write something unimportant, I write nothing and wait for the important to come. At that rate, I ought to have some new songs sometime after the 1000 years that will follow the Apocalypse in 2012...
Stay tuned...
The thing is, I can write music at the drop of a hat. And, with as much modesty as possible, I don't mean stringing together the standard three chords in a Chuck Berry/12-bar blues pattern and calling it a song. I mean nicely formed and thought out chord progressions that sound like songs. Give me a guitar, and an hour or two, and I'll give you a solid song. It is the one gift I have that comes without a tremendous amount of effort on my part. Everything else to do with music - that's like pulling teeth. Can't sing - oh and just stand by, gentle readers, for my upcoming expose on the singer conspiracy; don't play all that well, although I guess I'm competent on guitar and bass and can't write lyrics. Damn, if I could just lose the ability to play and write music as well, I could be Puffy... But writing music - that I can do. Which is frustrating, cause I'm not getting any calls from Hal David lately asking me to make his words immortal. So the instrumentals just keep piling up. Maybe the Ventures will make a comeback and need some tunes.
As I said, I've always found lyric writing really frustrating, and until the last day or two, a complete mystery as to why. I think it's a number of things. Obviously, I can write to some extent. This blog and other writings I've done have shown that. But it is considerably different to get across a point in a paragraph or a page and to get it across in 4 short lines... that have to rhyme! Maybe I'm just too loquacious for my own good. I don't know. I'm certain that those who have to listen to me babble will have no problem coming to a conclusion about that question. But having a lot to say about a subject does not a lyric writer make. Having something interesting to say does. And I guess I just have nothing interesting to say most of the time.
Part of the problem is what I've listened to all my life. When your musical tastes run towards the likes of Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, Chris DIfford, Jules Shear, Richard Thompson, Pete Townshend, Hank WIlliams Sr., Bruce Springsteen and a host of others who can make you laugh and cry, think and believe in the same line, it's a tremendous hurdle to pit yourself against. And that's an essential part of the problem.
I, as opposed to what all the songwriting books will tell you, edit myself constantly as I'm writing. I know - bad move. Gotta let it flow. In case you haven't figured this out yet, I'm not what you'd call a "flowy" person. I'm what you'd call a "make an appointment, plan for three months and then we can check out that new movie..." kind of guy. I always think my lyrics have to say something or mean something REALLY important - even though nothing I've ever done in my life has resulted in anything really important. I don't know where it comes from - just that I can't shake it. So rather than write something unimportant, I write nothing and wait for the important to come. At that rate, I ought to have some new songs sometime after the 1000 years that will follow the Apocalypse in 2012...
Stay tuned...
Friday, February 6, 2009
Rhythm ≠ Responsibility
One of the bands I'm in - the younger one , no name yet - has been looking for a drummer. I know, I know. Drummers are notoriously untrustworthy, flaky, (insert unstable adjective here), so don't tell me you're going to complain about them. Well, I'm nothing if not predictable. But, actually, I'm not going to specifically complain about drummers. I've been playing music and hanging around with them for more than 30 years at this point. One of my best friends in high school, and the drummer in a number of my first failed bands then, was the living epitome of the flaky drummer. Great guy, but you, literally, could not believe a word that came out of his mouth. "I'll be there at 3:00." Look for him at 6:30 - two days later. "It cost me two grand for the "racing" transmission in my Camaro." He went to Ammco and they screwed it up, cause he only had $300, so now he has to downshift an automatic to 1st gear at a red light. So, I'm well aware of the lies that drummers tell.
Now, don't get me wrong. Not all drummers are problematic. The drummer in my other band - the older one, the one with a name - is, on the drummer scale of problems, a dream come true. Yeah, he's usually a few minutes late for practice - a few MINUTES - not a few days. And he STILL has my Kids are Alright DVD... but he's not going anywhere with it. And actually, I'm not centering my venom on drummers today as such, either. It's just drummers that have precipitated this.
We've run a couple of ads for drummers for this newer band. And gotten a modicum of responses - but for this town, and for what we're doing, that's pretty good. Now, there was a drummer, supposedly a very good one, attached to the project when I joined up. But, even before the first practice, he'd bowed out due to work commitments. Again, not unexpected as we're all workaday guys (or I would be if I could get a freakin' job), so this is only meant to be a part-time thing anyway. Anyway, we ran the ad and we got a couple more replies. And the ones who didn't fall off the edge of the planet after the first or second e-mail, were all gung-ho right up until the day before the practice where we were to audition them. And then, SUDDENLY, they realize they have other commitments in their lives and can't give up the time for a band. Which I'd have no problem with in a general situation. But, they had these same commitments a week or two before when we'd started talking to them. And as I've said, I'm not specifically attacking drummers. I've had this same thing happen with other bands, with players of other instruments. It's not just endemic to the folks who pound on skins (or, more accurately these days, plastic).
My main point of irritation here, is the general lack of responsibility of ANYONE who would do something like this. Perhaps it's literally the case of "your eyes being too big for your stomach", as my mother used to say. Which meant, in case you don't speak West Virginian, that the food was too inviting and you ate much more than your digestive tract could assimilate. Maybe these guys see the potential of a band that is exactly the description of what they'd always wanted in a band. Somehow I have doubts about that, but still. Maybe they're so excited that they might get into a band of (theoretically) like-minded folks, that they somehow forgot that they go out of town every three days on business or they have to be in another state everyday at 2:30 to pick the kids up from school or whatever their excuse is.
I don't ask for much. I simply want a grown man (or woman, although female drummers are few and far between) to have enough responsibility to understand their commitments and be able to imagine how a few hours of new dedication will fit into them. Is that too much to ask? Ba-duh-bump! (Thanks Ringo...)
Now, don't get me wrong. Not all drummers are problematic. The drummer in my other band - the older one, the one with a name - is, on the drummer scale of problems, a dream come true. Yeah, he's usually a few minutes late for practice - a few MINUTES - not a few days. And he STILL has my Kids are Alright DVD... but he's not going anywhere with it. And actually, I'm not centering my venom on drummers today as such, either. It's just drummers that have precipitated this.
We've run a couple of ads for drummers for this newer band. And gotten a modicum of responses - but for this town, and for what we're doing, that's pretty good. Now, there was a drummer, supposedly a very good one, attached to the project when I joined up. But, even before the first practice, he'd bowed out due to work commitments. Again, not unexpected as we're all workaday guys (or I would be if I could get a freakin' job), so this is only meant to be a part-time thing anyway. Anyway, we ran the ad and we got a couple more replies. And the ones who didn't fall off the edge of the planet after the first or second e-mail, were all gung-ho right up until the day before the practice where we were to audition them. And then, SUDDENLY, they realize they have other commitments in their lives and can't give up the time for a band. Which I'd have no problem with in a general situation. But, they had these same commitments a week or two before when we'd started talking to them. And as I've said, I'm not specifically attacking drummers. I've had this same thing happen with other bands, with players of other instruments. It's not just endemic to the folks who pound on skins (or, more accurately these days, plastic).
My main point of irritation here, is the general lack of responsibility of ANYONE who would do something like this. Perhaps it's literally the case of "your eyes being too big for your stomach", as my mother used to say. Which meant, in case you don't speak West Virginian, that the food was too inviting and you ate much more than your digestive tract could assimilate. Maybe these guys see the potential of a band that is exactly the description of what they'd always wanted in a band. Somehow I have doubts about that, but still. Maybe they're so excited that they might get into a band of (theoretically) like-minded folks, that they somehow forgot that they go out of town every three days on business or they have to be in another state everyday at 2:30 to pick the kids up from school or whatever their excuse is.
I don't ask for much. I simply want a grown man (or woman, although female drummers are few and far between) to have enough responsibility to understand their commitments and be able to imagine how a few hours of new dedication will fit into them. Is that too much to ask? Ba-duh-bump! (Thanks Ringo...)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Half Baked
Has anyone else ever had this happen to them? You're out shopping at your favorite supermarket - you know, the one where the stuff just seems fresher, the help is friendlier, the prices are lower, the squeals of rats dying in traps less obvious, and you pass through the bakery department. You notice what appears to be a lovely lemon danish on display. It LOOKS perfect - exactly what you would paint if you were to paint a scrumptious lemon danish - although I'd avoid eating it then, because the lead in the paint, especially Cadmium Yellow - probably not good for you. But, it "speaks" to your eyes and your palette and says - EAT ME!!! So, since you haven't had a danish in forever, you take a few and scurry off to the checkout lane, praying that the checker doesn't drop your cans of Garden Vegetable Progresso soup ($1 a can!!!! This is normally like $3 a can soup!!! I told you it was cheaper here!) onto the delicate pastries in the bag. You make your way home, and when you get there, after finding a place to store more cans of soup than you'll probably eat this year, you sit down with your treasured danish and take a bite. Before the pastry even enters your mouth, your sense memory has already employed the template of what this danish should taste like and as the dough hits your tongue and your teeth slice in, the only thing you can think is "that's not right?!?!?".
And so you take another bite, as if the first just happened to be taken in the one spot of the thing that tasted different for some reason. And again, "nope, still not right. Well it'll be better when I get to the lemon part". Bite, chew, chew, chew. Lemon bite, chew, stop... chew, stop. "That doesn't even taste like lemon. It doesn't taste like anything!! Why hast thou abandoned me, o Lemon Danish?" And then it hits you. It's the We Only Do One Thing Right syndrome. Never heard of it? Well, the rule of thumb goes like this: If you find something you enjoy that is manufactured by a given place, and you try something else that they make, it will never be as good as what you already like and it will certainly never match that same thing from a different place. Now I very much like the black seeded Kaiser rolls from this supermarket's bakery, AND I like their cherry turnovers, although they may be a bit too sweet. Which, if I had any sense, and employed the WODOTR rule, it would have told me that I cannot buy any other bread product there or any other baked sweet because they will not be to my liking. Which, now that I have tested it, has proved to be true. But it's not just food that this rule applies to.
Like a particular brand of jeans? They fit you properly and don't wear out immediately? Great. Buy a bunch. But DON'T buy the same brand sweatshirt. It'll almost certainly be of inferior quality (that won't be apparent) when you get it home. It'll shrink. It'll fade. You'll forever be pulling down the bottom to cover your back while you're sitting. Like that iPod Classic? Works great, never had a problem with it? Great. But now you need another one, for the office, or for while you run etc.? But you don't need one as big do you? So you buy a smaller one - a Nano or a Shuffle or a Micro or an Electron (this one is amazing btw - literally a free electron which circles a point of light and holds 6000 songs...). Well, don't do it. Because you'll have nothing but problems with it. The battery won't hold a charge or you won't be able to turn it off, or to change songs or something. Just think about the times this has happened to you. "Oh I love this place's crab cakes. But I don't really feel like them today. So I'll try the steak. And what winds up on your plate is the moderately warm sole of a combat boot covered in A1 sauce...
I mean, is it just me? Well, the track record says it probably is, but still, I can't be the only person this happens to. Can I?
And so you take another bite, as if the first just happened to be taken in the one spot of the thing that tasted different for some reason. And again, "nope, still not right. Well it'll be better when I get to the lemon part". Bite, chew, chew, chew. Lemon bite, chew, stop... chew, stop. "That doesn't even taste like lemon. It doesn't taste like anything!! Why hast thou abandoned me, o Lemon Danish?" And then it hits you. It's the We Only Do One Thing Right syndrome. Never heard of it? Well, the rule of thumb goes like this: If you find something you enjoy that is manufactured by a given place, and you try something else that they make, it will never be as good as what you already like and it will certainly never match that same thing from a different place. Now I very much like the black seeded Kaiser rolls from this supermarket's bakery, AND I like their cherry turnovers, although they may be a bit too sweet. Which, if I had any sense, and employed the WODOTR rule, it would have told me that I cannot buy any other bread product there or any other baked sweet because they will not be to my liking. Which, now that I have tested it, has proved to be true. But it's not just food that this rule applies to.
Like a particular brand of jeans? They fit you properly and don't wear out immediately? Great. Buy a bunch. But DON'T buy the same brand sweatshirt. It'll almost certainly be of inferior quality (that won't be apparent) when you get it home. It'll shrink. It'll fade. You'll forever be pulling down the bottom to cover your back while you're sitting. Like that iPod Classic? Works great, never had a problem with it? Great. But now you need another one, for the office, or for while you run etc.? But you don't need one as big do you? So you buy a smaller one - a Nano or a Shuffle or a Micro or an Electron (this one is amazing btw - literally a free electron which circles a point of light and holds 6000 songs...). Well, don't do it. Because you'll have nothing but problems with it. The battery won't hold a charge or you won't be able to turn it off, or to change songs or something. Just think about the times this has happened to you. "Oh I love this place's crab cakes. But I don't really feel like them today. So I'll try the steak. And what winds up on your plate is the moderately warm sole of a combat boot covered in A1 sauce...
I mean, is it just me? Well, the track record says it probably is, but still, I can't be the only person this happens to. Can I?
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Gateway Drugs
So, I'm watching television (as always), mindlessly (as always), and yet another "ask your doctor" drug commercial comes on. I think this is the third in a row. Yep, that famous trilogy - Cialis, Advair and Caduet. By the way, for those that don't know, those were the actual first names of Gladys Knight's Pips... Anyway, it got me thinking.
For years (and years, and years), we've been told by the US government that Marijuana is a gateway drug. As anyone who's heard this over the years, and/or seen Reefer Madness, knows, one simple toke of a joint will forever set you on a bender of giggling rape and pillage that would be the envy of Calligula. Well, I'm not disputing these findings. They are the work of the US government and Hollywood, so they must be true. But, this is where my midnight thought train to Georgia let me off. (See what I did there?) Is MJ the ONLY gateway drug? And barring that, is MJ from the Spiderman movies any sort of gateway? Mmmmm, MJ in the rain...
OKAY, back now... So I'm just asking. Are any of these governmentally approved TV dealers pimping a new gateway drug? I mean, take Restless Leg Syndrome - please (© Henny Youngman). Suppose you've taken the prescribed dose of Requip and your legs stop shooting out at all angles randomly at night or whatever happens. Does that make it easier for you to get a good night's sleep, so that you can get up earlier the next day and get outside? And once you're outside, with nothing else to do and no one to talk to except the drug dealer on the corner, does that mean you'll buy some heroin? Probably not.
Not because you couldn't use some nice smack right now, but basically because I think that the known side effects of Requip - fainting, dizziness, increased gambling and sexual urges, narcolepsy, nausea, vomiting, drowsiness... are gonna stop the average person from EVER getting to sleep in the first place. But if you're one of the lucky ones who does derive some help from this drug without forming an ulcer worrying about the side effects, I really doubt you're going to run out of your house to the nearest crack dealer you can find. What's most likely going to happen is that you're gonna feel rested and relaxed from a good night's sleep and so you're gonna go for a nice long walk in the spring breeze (assuming you can stay upright and clothed - don't forget the narcolepsy and sexual urges side effects...). And then you know what's gonna happen. Your eyes are going to get red, your nose is going to run and you're gonna discover you have developed allergies from the greenhouse destroyed atmosphere. Which means you're gonna run back into your house and start surfing your cable for that allergy med commercial you saw the other night while you were up with your restless leg syndrome.
So are these TV drugs gateway drugs? Well, not in the conventional sense. They won't cause you to kill your mother or rape a neighbor's cat or eat an entire large three-topping Domino's deep dish the way pot will. But they are gateway drugs. They're a gateway to buying OTHER TV drugs!!, They're a gateway to depleting your paycheck and your savings by buying other drugs you also don't need. If you went to your doctor once a week and asked about a different drug you'd been told to ask your doctor about by TV, you would quickly be taking 50 meds a day for the rest of your life. I can hear you now - "But my doctor wouldn't prescribe ALL those drugs for me...". Wanna bet on that? Because once you "cure" your osteoperosis, you'll feel like walking more. And then you're gonna realize that all that couch potatoism has left you overweight. So the TV tells you that your doctor has some nice weight loss drugs, just for the asking. But they'll cause your metabolism to increase and along with it your heart rate and blood pressure. So now you need BP drugs. And on and on and on...
Who do you think is actually supporting your doctor's 6+ figure lifestyle anyway? Not you with your $10 co-pay. Ever notice the paraphernalia in your doctor's office. No, not the tongue depressors, but the canister they are in. I'm talking about the charts on the wall and the note pads on the desk and the pen you filled out the form with and the gumball decanter on his desk. Look a little closer. I'll bet every one of them bears the logo of a drug company - you know, the folks who brought you Restless Leg Syndrome in the first place.
So no, TV drugs aren't gateway drugs. They won't lead you to heroin and weight loss and theft and ruin. Until you start taking all of them. Then they'll lead you to bankruptcy... and starvation... and probably alcoholism... and ruin. Now, in this economy, which of those is more the American way? God I'm depressed. Luckily, the TV just told me to ask my doctor about Zoloft...
For years (and years, and years), we've been told by the US government that Marijuana is a gateway drug. As anyone who's heard this over the years, and/or seen Reefer Madness, knows, one simple toke of a joint will forever set you on a bender of giggling rape and pillage that would be the envy of Calligula. Well, I'm not disputing these findings. They are the work of the US government and Hollywood, so they must be true. But, this is where my midnight thought train to Georgia let me off. (See what I did there?) Is MJ the ONLY gateway drug? And barring that, is MJ from the Spiderman movies any sort of gateway? Mmmmm, MJ in the rain...
OKAY, back now... So I'm just asking. Are any of these governmentally approved TV dealers pimping a new gateway drug? I mean, take Restless Leg Syndrome - please (© Henny Youngman). Suppose you've taken the prescribed dose of Requip and your legs stop shooting out at all angles randomly at night or whatever happens. Does that make it easier for you to get a good night's sleep, so that you can get up earlier the next day and get outside? And once you're outside, with nothing else to do and no one to talk to except the drug dealer on the corner, does that mean you'll buy some heroin? Probably not.
Not because you couldn't use some nice smack right now, but basically because I think that the known side effects of Requip - fainting, dizziness, increased gambling and sexual urges, narcolepsy, nausea, vomiting, drowsiness... are gonna stop the average person from EVER getting to sleep in the first place. But if you're one of the lucky ones who does derive some help from this drug without forming an ulcer worrying about the side effects, I really doubt you're going to run out of your house to the nearest crack dealer you can find. What's most likely going to happen is that you're gonna feel rested and relaxed from a good night's sleep and so you're gonna go for a nice long walk in the spring breeze (assuming you can stay upright and clothed - don't forget the narcolepsy and sexual urges side effects...). And then you know what's gonna happen. Your eyes are going to get red, your nose is going to run and you're gonna discover you have developed allergies from the greenhouse destroyed atmosphere. Which means you're gonna run back into your house and start surfing your cable for that allergy med commercial you saw the other night while you were up with your restless leg syndrome.
So are these TV drugs gateway drugs? Well, not in the conventional sense. They won't cause you to kill your mother or rape a neighbor's cat or eat an entire large three-topping Domino's deep dish the way pot will. But they are gateway drugs. They're a gateway to buying OTHER TV drugs!!, They're a gateway to depleting your paycheck and your savings by buying other drugs you also don't need. If you went to your doctor once a week and asked about a different drug you'd been told to ask your doctor about by TV, you would quickly be taking 50 meds a day for the rest of your life. I can hear you now - "But my doctor wouldn't prescribe ALL those drugs for me...". Wanna bet on that? Because once you "cure" your osteoperosis, you'll feel like walking more. And then you're gonna realize that all that couch potatoism has left you overweight. So the TV tells you that your doctor has some nice weight loss drugs, just for the asking. But they'll cause your metabolism to increase and along with it your heart rate and blood pressure. So now you need BP drugs. And on and on and on...
Who do you think is actually supporting your doctor's 6+ figure lifestyle anyway? Not you with your $10 co-pay. Ever notice the paraphernalia in your doctor's office. No, not the tongue depressors, but the canister they are in. I'm talking about the charts on the wall and the note pads on the desk and the pen you filled out the form with and the gumball decanter on his desk. Look a little closer. I'll bet every one of them bears the logo of a drug company - you know, the folks who brought you Restless Leg Syndrome in the first place.
So no, TV drugs aren't gateway drugs. They won't lead you to heroin and weight loss and theft and ruin. Until you start taking all of them. Then they'll lead you to bankruptcy... and starvation... and probably alcoholism... and ruin. Now, in this economy, which of those is more the American way? God I'm depressed. Luckily, the TV just told me to ask my doctor about Zoloft...
Rave On
Wow! Blog #2. Who thought we'd make it this far? Just think about all we've seen since yesterday... well, uhm, Heroes? Yeah, that was okay...
Today is Feb. 3, 2009 - or 3 Feb. 2009 for our friends "from a different land" as Robert Klein used to say. So what's special about today? Well, I'm sure it's someone's birthday or someone's anniversary somewhere. And, of course, it's that special day of the year that Tom Cruise checks the mark on the doorway to see if he's any taller. But it's actually an anniversary of sorts for everyone. It's, as Don McLean so kindly inflicted on us years and years ago, the day the music died. Today is the 50th anniversary of the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and JP Richardson (even I think that it's criminal for someone to have to be remembered forever as the Big Bopper...). Mostly I'm here to talk about Buddy.
First, and foremost, Buddy Holly was not the stammering amphetamined buffoon that Gary Busey made him into. And don't get me started on the technical/equipment mistakes in that movie. From what I know of him, Buddy Holly was, in addition to being a certifiable musical genius, a fairly shy, retiring guy who lived for that few minutes on stage when people would hear his music and hopefully like it, the time he could be in the studio recording that music and the time he got to spend with his wife.
Of course, these days, Buddy is all but forgotten except by old codgers like myself. His name and songs are owned by Paul McCartney - or maybe Heather Mills. If the children (and by the way, I use the term children to refer to anyone who hit puberty after 1984)... anyway... if the children these days know Buddy at all, they know him as the title of a Weezer song. I'd bet half of them, upon seeing his picture, think Elvis Costello is Buddy Holly and vice-versa. And while I think Elvis is also a musical genius (which is NOT a term I throw around lightly), Buddy was one of the first of the rock era. Along with Chuck Berry, Buddy was the most influential musician to come out of the Eisehhower years. Buddy inspired everyone to come after him, from the Beatles and the Stones and the Grateful Dead (and I've said it before - Jerry's dead and I'm grateful) to the aforementioned Costello and his fellow "new wavers" who colored my own musical coming-of-age.
Buddy was an innovator as well. One of the first rock musicians to arrange strings on a track - not as a wash to fill space - but as a textural element, pizzicato approximating falling drops in Raining in my Heart. And he certainly predated the Beatles use of "foreign" instruments in rock tracks with the celeste on Everyday. And then there were the rockers - That'll be the Day, Peggy Sue, Not Fade Away and my personal favorite, Rave On. As a guitarist, Buddy had one of the best rhythm hands in rock, possibly only topped by Pete Townshend. For the guitarist's out there - just give it a try - play Peggy Sue only with downstrokes as Buddy did. If your arm isn't killing you by the time you're done, you're a better man than I.
And try this on for size. People often talk about "what would (insert favorite dead rock star) have done if they'd lived longer?" Always a valid question, but just think what Buddy would have done had he lived longer. Hendrix's career was about 3 years. Janis' and Morrison's too. Brian Jones' about 5. Brian Wilson's was about 6 before the breakdown. Buddy Holly did what he did in one and a half years. 1.5 YEARS!!! Hell, his star rose so fast and was extinguished before the general public even had an inkling of who he was. Imagine if other careers had stopped after 1.5 years. There'd be no Sgt. Pepper, no Exile on Main Street, no Pet Sounds, no Village Green, no Blonde on Blonde, no Armed Forces, no Sound Affects etc. etc. I'd personally like to see what another year and a half would have produced from Buddy. I think it would have been marvelous.
Okay, so not so much vitriol in today's blog - sorry bout that. I'll try to be madder next time. But til then, pull out that dusty vinyl or that cracked CD case (and if you don't own any, you should just be ashamed) and give Buddy a spin. I think it'd be nice if we'd all just do a bit more raving on.
Postscript: Tom Cruise remains at his current height...
Today is Feb. 3, 2009 - or 3 Feb. 2009 for our friends "from a different land" as Robert Klein used to say. So what's special about today? Well, I'm sure it's someone's birthday or someone's anniversary somewhere. And, of course, it's that special day of the year that Tom Cruise checks the mark on the doorway to see if he's any taller. But it's actually an anniversary of sorts for everyone. It's, as Don McLean so kindly inflicted on us years and years ago, the day the music died. Today is the 50th anniversary of the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and JP Richardson (even I think that it's criminal for someone to have to be remembered forever as the Big Bopper...). Mostly I'm here to talk about Buddy.
First, and foremost, Buddy Holly was not the stammering amphetamined buffoon that Gary Busey made him into. And don't get me started on the technical/equipment mistakes in that movie. From what I know of him, Buddy Holly was, in addition to being a certifiable musical genius, a fairly shy, retiring guy who lived for that few minutes on stage when people would hear his music and hopefully like it, the time he could be in the studio recording that music and the time he got to spend with his wife.
Of course, these days, Buddy is all but forgotten except by old codgers like myself. His name and songs are owned by Paul McCartney - or maybe Heather Mills. If the children (and by the way, I use the term children to refer to anyone who hit puberty after 1984)... anyway... if the children these days know Buddy at all, they know him as the title of a Weezer song. I'd bet half of them, upon seeing his picture, think Elvis Costello is Buddy Holly and vice-versa. And while I think Elvis is also a musical genius (which is NOT a term I throw around lightly), Buddy was one of the first of the rock era. Along with Chuck Berry, Buddy was the most influential musician to come out of the Eisehhower years. Buddy inspired everyone to come after him, from the Beatles and the Stones and the Grateful Dead (and I've said it before - Jerry's dead and I'm grateful) to the aforementioned Costello and his fellow "new wavers" who colored my own musical coming-of-age.
Buddy was an innovator as well. One of the first rock musicians to arrange strings on a track - not as a wash to fill space - but as a textural element, pizzicato approximating falling drops in Raining in my Heart. And he certainly predated the Beatles use of "foreign" instruments in rock tracks with the celeste on Everyday. And then there were the rockers - That'll be the Day, Peggy Sue, Not Fade Away and my personal favorite, Rave On. As a guitarist, Buddy had one of the best rhythm hands in rock, possibly only topped by Pete Townshend. For the guitarist's out there - just give it a try - play Peggy Sue only with downstrokes as Buddy did. If your arm isn't killing you by the time you're done, you're a better man than I.
And try this on for size. People often talk about "what would (insert favorite dead rock star) have done if they'd lived longer?" Always a valid question, but just think what Buddy would have done had he lived longer. Hendrix's career was about 3 years. Janis' and Morrison's too. Brian Jones' about 5. Brian Wilson's was about 6 before the breakdown. Buddy Holly did what he did in one and a half years. 1.5 YEARS!!! Hell, his star rose so fast and was extinguished before the general public even had an inkling of who he was. Imagine if other careers had stopped after 1.5 years. There'd be no Sgt. Pepper, no Exile on Main Street, no Pet Sounds, no Village Green, no Blonde on Blonde, no Armed Forces, no Sound Affects etc. etc. I'd personally like to see what another year and a half would have produced from Buddy. I think it would have been marvelous.
Okay, so not so much vitriol in today's blog - sorry bout that. I'll try to be madder next time. But til then, pull out that dusty vinyl or that cracked CD case (and if you don't own any, you should just be ashamed) and give Buddy a spin. I think it'd be nice if we'd all just do a bit more raving on.
Postscript: Tom Cruise remains at his current height...
Monday, February 2, 2009
Beginnings
So, to those who might wander upon this little miscreation of text - here's what to expect. I'll be writing here about all the things I encounter in daily life that make me want to scream - including daily life. If you love Andy Rooney - well, for god's sake, get him to cut his eyebrows. That's just ridiculous, but if you like his brand of sarcastic irritation, you've come to the right place. Sarcasm is high on my list of favorable attributes.
And now a little about me (isn't that the point of the electronic me-generation anyway?) I've become an old man. A "get off my lawn you punks" kind of old man. Part of it probably has something to do with having lived 48 years of a life grossly unfulfilled. Whose fault is that? I'm sure after reading a few of my diatribes, you'll come to the clear conclusion that it is mine. Probably right. But at this advanced level of decrepitude, it's too late to change.
By trade, as if I remember what that is, I'm a Graphic Designer. A GRAPHIC designer - no, not a web designer. I wasn't trained to be a web designer. I wasn't trained to program content for the intertubes. I was trained to make type and pictures look good on the despoiled remains of the mighty Oak. Or the Scotch Pine... yes, I'm a Python fan. But I digress - constantly - get used to it. So, since I'm a practitioner of a career that seems to have been closed to all those over the age of 30, I'm unemployed. I know, I know. Find something else to do. Well, here's the thing. The older you get, the harder that kind of change is to come by. I've already done it several times in my life. I'll get into that, I'm sure, as these things go by. If you stick around long enough, you're sure to know more about me than anyone ever wanted. But, since I seem to have nothing but time of my hands, and an ever-growing list of things to complain about... here I am.
Anyway, that's enough of an introduction for now. As I say, I'm sure you'll be hearing more than you want about me later.
Thanks
And now a little about me (isn't that the point of the electronic me-generation anyway?) I've become an old man. A "get off my lawn you punks" kind of old man. Part of it probably has something to do with having lived 48 years of a life grossly unfulfilled. Whose fault is that? I'm sure after reading a few of my diatribes, you'll come to the clear conclusion that it is mine. Probably right. But at this advanced level of decrepitude, it's too late to change.
By trade, as if I remember what that is, I'm a Graphic Designer. A GRAPHIC designer - no, not a web designer. I wasn't trained to be a web designer. I wasn't trained to program content for the intertubes. I was trained to make type and pictures look good on the despoiled remains of the mighty Oak. Or the Scotch Pine... yes, I'm a Python fan. But I digress - constantly - get used to it. So, since I'm a practitioner of a career that seems to have been closed to all those over the age of 30, I'm unemployed. I know, I know. Find something else to do. Well, here's the thing. The older you get, the harder that kind of change is to come by. I've already done it several times in my life. I'll get into that, I'm sure, as these things go by. If you stick around long enough, you're sure to know more about me than anyone ever wanted. But, since I seem to have nothing but time of my hands, and an ever-growing list of things to complain about... here I am.
Anyway, that's enough of an introduction for now. As I say, I'm sure you'll be hearing more than you want about me later.
Thanks
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