STAR-GAZING, DEATH-DENYING, STATUS-SEEKING, RUMP-PATTING, TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES, AMBIGUOUS SIGNS, STRANGE DREAMS, BAD ACTING AND SOME OTHER STUFF

QUICK NOTE TO MY READERS OF THE DAY:

I am on an extended business trip that I'm not 100% excited about being on--meaning that at very few times in my life has the umbilical link offered by the internet been more important to me. Which also means that, needless to say, this would be the one time my trusty Mac fails me. Yes, because of some kind of glitch in my operating system, my computer, for the first time ever, cannot connect me to the Web. Which means I am suffering a terrible--almost existential--crisis; a maddening claustrophobia as my virtual world is suddenly shrink-wrapped to the size of my actual physical world and I am exiled from from my daily diet of sports scores, stock prices, news items, e-mails and, of course--and most relevant here--blogging. I have not come to terms with the virtual amputation. I keep reaching for my espn.com and my yahoo.com and my blogger.com but there is nothing there. It's a clear case of phantom Web syndrome. Evidently, I need to reinstall the OS 10 operating system, which I've never had to do before in over 2 years with this computer and which I've got on a disc in a drawer somewhere at home 3000 miles away. My computer had never ever failed to connect me to the Internet until now--when I need it most and will have no access to my OS discs for about 10 days. It's like a parachute working in every test run but failing the one time you actually jump out of the plane. OK, maybe that's a bit melodramatic. Anyhow, the point of all this whining is to alert you to the fact that I am only going to be able to blog in stolen moments (like this one) on other peoples' computers. So please forgive me in advance if my blatherings, opinings, ruminations and observations do not flow into virtual space as frequently or voluminously as I would have hoped over the next 10 days. Know that this is only for lack of opportunity and lack of technology...not for lack of desire. (Ok. It might be for lack of insight, wit, wisdom and material too. But I'd rather blame it on the technology.) Anyhow, I'll keep scribbling down notes on my trusty napkins and bar coasters and get stuff to the Internet as frequently as I possibly can. In the meantime, here's a bunch of stuff I've scribbled down over the last few days.

UNACKNOWLEDGED IRONY OF THE DAY:

A guy I know was reading “In Touch” intently for about an hour. Then he turns to me and complains, "I don't like that Lindsay Lohan. She thinks that just because she's a celebrity, the whole world is interested in what she does or what she thinks. Like anyone cares. Get over yourself!" He might as well have then asked me to please pass the "Us."

AMBIGUOUS SIGN OF THE DAY:

"Osama Bin Forgotten"--spotted on the way to my hotel from LAX. Hard to tell if it's slamming Bin Laden or the US government.

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:

It's well known that the administration refuses to show photos of our dead or wounded soldiers--out of respect for their humanity or at least in denial of the tragic realities of war. It was striking, then, to see the way the same administration made the grotesque death photos of Zarqawi not only available but ubiquitous. The clinically sublimated relish with which they discussed each internal and external wound contrasted sharply with the absolute silence (and in many cases like Pat Tillman's--the absolute dissimulation) they keep on the matter of the American dead and wounded. While one can explain these divergent treatments as being based on a desire to boost morale, they seem reflective on an underlying dishonesty and immaturity about the matters of war--a fantasist's attitude that, to my thinking, does not bode well for our efforts over there.

UNWITTINGLY ACCURATE SIGN OF THE DAY:

I go into the men's room at the airport. Next to the long row of urinals, there is one of those little yellow janitorial teepee signs that reads "Wet Floor." The water from the mopping had completely dried, but, of course, the sign was in no way inaccurate-- a tribute to both the precision and fastidiousness of the human male. It'd be nice if they left signs like that in men's rooms around the country on a 24/7/365 basis.

DREAM FRAGMENT OF THE DAY:

A friend is telling me that I made an appearance in his dream but it is happening, of course, in my dream. We are both laughing--perhaps at the paradoxical absurdity of this oneiric encounter.

NOTE TO SELF OF THE DAY:

Write something at some point (when you have less time-constrained access to the Internet) about the strange connection between airports and graveyards--at least in your experience as a New Yorker who drives past those enormous, ever- expanding Queens cemetaries with every departure and return.

TELLING TRAVESTY OF THE DAY:

When we took the Avis bus from the airport to the Avis office where the rental cars were parked, they made a big deal out of announcing that the first stop was "for Avis Preferred customers only." The bus stopped and --with great fanfare--3 or 4 people got off. Then the bus drove about 5 feet further and let the rest of us riff raff off. The absurdly small distinction between the preferred and the barely tolerated was just delightful. It spoke to the profound human desire to make hierachical distinctions--even as it mocked that very inclination. It was an absurd little reminder that we are a status-obsessed species and that at the very center of human society there stands a velvet rope.

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY #2:

If Barbaro survives this ordeal, he'll have a hell of a life. Doing nothing but banging the mares and hanging out. Sort of like OJ--without the shame.

ADVERTISING MOMENT OF THE DAY:

In the middle of watching a show about the Joy of Grilling, I see a commercial for these chubby Bratwursts--cheesily shot from every imaginable angle. At the end of the spot, we see the package and the announcer says "Bratwursts from Johnsonville. Mmm." Bratwursts from Johnsonville? What's next: Sausage from Dicksburgh? I was sure it was a bad Saturday Night Live fake ad popping up unexpectedly in the middle of Alton Brown's "Good Eats". But, no. It was not. Just another unacknowledged absurdity of the day.

ACTING REVIEW OF THE DAY:

Ben Affleck's performance in "Boiler Room." As unconvincing as Tom Cruise's performance in his role as Nicole Kidman's husband.

TV COMMENTARY OF THE DAY:

Deadwood. The surprising alliance of the poetic and the profane. Arguably, the closest thing to Shakespeare we've ever had on TV.

ANECDOTE OF THE DAY:/MOVIE IDEA OF THE DAY

I am on the Metro North train returning to New York after visiting my father in Westport. I am sitting next to an African-American kid and his girlfriend. They are both in full hip hop attire (do-rag, baggy pants, etc.) and have loud rap ring tones on their cell phones--which go off with some frequency. The guy, about 18, is repeatedly complaining about the "freaking heat" --a function of the fact that the air conditioning on the train is not working. After a bunch of people get off at one of the stops, the guy turns to me and says "Son, could you move to another seat...it's really hot." I am startled first and foremost by being called "Son"--in flagrant defiance of the logics of race and chronology. But I am also a bit confused about the request. "Am I making you hot?" I inquire. "Just lots of people together make it even hotter." "Ok. Well as long as I'm not making you hot--cause that would worry me and, I would think, your girlfriend." I move to the empty seat...but cannot help thinking that this gives the term "My elder son" a new meaning. It also suggests what I think could be a really funny movie premise: A 20 year old black kid with a 40 year old white Jewish son. It's just a bizarre given and no one comments on it as unusual in any way. Cultural/racial/generational hijinx ensue.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

"Sure Alex is struggling. I don't have an answer for him except to pat him on the rear end." -Joe Torre on A-Rod's slump and on the healing power of Man Love.

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY #3:

A pretty well known mafia restaurant near where I work just closed. I think the fact that Casa Nostra can't even keep a restaurant open is a pretty eloquent statement about the declining power and prestige of organized crime. In fact, it seems to me that no one would even talk about the mob any more if it weren't for "The Sopranos." Come to think of it, most of the old goodfellas who used to frequent this establishment (which I won't name--as the mob may not have lost as much power as I claim) really looked like they were doing nothing more than auditioning for bit parts on the HBO series--as if there were no other work-befitting-a-mobster to be found. The ironic corrolary of this is that while mob activity seems to be on the wane, a very high percentage of actors who play mobsters on "The Sopranos" end up committing some kind of mob-type crime. It's a through the looking glass art-imitating-life-imitating-art kind of a thing.

MAXIM OF THE DAY:

A sucker may be born every minute, but a biter...now that's a much rarer breed.

QUOTE OF THE DAY #2:

"Firemen barging into your home at 2:30 a.m. is only exciting for a little while."

TEDDY VEGAS ROVE-INSPIRED BUMPER STICKER IDEAS OF THE DAY:

Empty Promises are a precious natural resource. Photo-ops speak louder than words. The spin shall set us free. Gay Marriage devalues MY marriage! A sick environment is a sign of a healthy economy. Foresight is for pussies. The Buck Stops There. Meaninglessly affirmative slogan here. Guns are people too. Conservation is Un-American.

TEDDY VEGAS BRANDED INTERACTIVE POLL QUESTION OF THE DAY:

Which was the more important photo released last week: Zarqawi in death or Brangelina's baby in diapers?

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Posted on 6/15/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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