xtcian

last gleaming

6/30/08

As we approach the 4th of July, there's one piece of America that is still a giant fucking hole, years after a disaster – well, obviously two, if you count New Orleans – but I'm talking about the World Trade Center site in downtown NYC. If there was a testament, a piece of visual poetry, to perfectly encapsulate America's self-image, you don't have to look any farther than Ground Zero almost seven years after the attack.

I drive by Ground Zero all the time, and for six years, it has looked exactly the same: bulldozers, temporary walkways, dirt, and plastic sheeting. If we weren't so used to it, the site would be considered a brownfield blight, a tragedy that started on September 12 and never stopped.

You'd think it'd be a matter of national honor to get this site fixed. What would be a better metaphor for the American spirit than another tower, a bustling workplace, a somber yet soaring monument – hell, even a pasture with cows – to raise the spirits of New Yorkers and all Americans? We could even hoist the old "Don't Tread On Us" flag and mean it. Instead, we've got this rain-filled sinkhole beset by a bunch of bullshit bureaucrats and a bunch of architects whacking off on our dollar.

The Empire State Building was built in 410 days during the Depression. How about the Hoover Dam, which required tunneling through the Black Canyon (twice), diverting the Colorado River, creating Lake Mead, and pouring the largest concrete structure in the world? Done in four years, largely with hand tools.

Oh, and for a bit of irony – 15 of the 19 hijackers on September 11 were from Saudi Arabia, now home of the Burj Dubai building [actually the U.A.E. - thanks, Ehren! -ed], which broke ground in September 2004 and will be the tallest man-made structure of any kind when finished next year.

Our festering gully of shame won't even be finished by 2011. Seems we have another decade of squabbling, ninnyism, staggering inefficiency, cronyism, blame-shifting and ego to go through. What an incomprehensible lack of vision. Get used to it:

she wheel'd her wheel barrow

6/29/08

Hello everybody, and welcome to the Spring 2008 Personal Achievement Awards for the fine folks among us. Let's not waste any time, shall we? The following have shown exceptional gumption and talent this spring:

Annie - Mademoiselle Humphreys and cohort Baxter have launched their website at hooppath.com where you can see what they're all about, and, more importantly, pre-order their DVD. Check out the awesome pics, and I can't say for sure, but I believe Annie is actually making the best hoops around now.

Jamie - iTunes finally has his major-label debut Timing is Everything available, along with my personal fave The Last Single Guy. Anyone out there who has listened to Block's oeuvre knows how good he can be, and these albums crave reviews... care to write one?

In the meantime, an amazing (and controversial) video to his song "Sweet Potato Pie":

see also Avenue A

my sister Michelle - Continuing on her quest for world dominance, Michelle was representin' the 7-0-7 by talking up Napa Valley in the LA Times. Give it a look-see, see?

Kaz - Our sweet and wonderful Kaz has released an unimaginably intense and beautiful book: The Art of Wooing. We keep our copy in the bathroom, not (as I'm sure Kaz knows) out of disrespect, but because it's so densely-packed with great visuals and ideas that I liked to spend a few minutes a day delving inside without overdosing: it's a rich, rich cake. You can look at some pages online or go to bat for the home team and buy one!

Kudos also to my fraternity bros Ali (for the latest national Verizon commercial) and Fred (starring on the new hit show "In Plain Sight" on the USA Network). And feel free to add any of your own highlights, toot your own horn, in the comments section. No piece of info is too small, as even the tiniest victories are much savored.

this blog was typed before a studio audience

6/26/08

So I can finally make it public on the blog: we sold a television show to an awesome major studio this month. It's still a bit of a far cry to actually getting a show on the air, but it's a fantastic career reaffirmation after a shake-up in 2006-07 that left me wondering why nobody thought we were brilliant. Turns out we were brilliant enough, we just didn't have the right representation (but ain't that true of all of us?)

We've partnered with some producers who put the "awe" in "awesome" and the next step is to craft a re-write of our script that is undeniably gripping enough to sell to one of the networks, or a cable channel. Obviously a show for CBS is going to be quite different than a show for AMC; networks have huge popularity and cable has huge freedom, and you tweak your show for each. But that's all ahead of us.

Oddly enough, it's a half-hour, and hitherto we'd only written hour-long light dramas or thrillers. I'm sure it vexes our agents to no end that we can't be pigeonholed - being versatile is not necessarily a strength here – but this one sorta came out of the womb a comedy. Without going into any detail, it's a single-camera show (like "My Name is Earl" or "Arrested Development") that could be described as a good-spirited family comedy that asks big questions with occasionally Apatow-esque dialogue.

We'll spend the next week or so in revision mode, and then take it out wide after that, and the rest is up to whim, conjecture, timing, casting and behind-the-scenes brokering that conjures up the old line about laws and sausages.

Immediately, though, the sale means that we'll make the union minimum threshold for health insurance, which will ease an incredible burden over the next year. We've been on Cobra for a while, and, well, I don't need to tell y'all what that's like. The Writer's Guild, like God, helps those who help themselves. Sometimes it's the feeling of "being taken care of" that makes these goalposts so much sweeter.

pulling mussels

6/25/08

Aw hell – enough of my yakkin'! How about some pics for my sister Michelle's birthday today?

from my mom's scrapbook – July 1972

our school in London, circa '77 – Michelle is middle left, removing jacket

Michelle and I discuss Salisbury, England – circa 1980

detail from family portrait, 1987 – ROCK!

with Tessa at Manhattan drug store, 2003

obliterating "Goodbye Stranger" w/me, Annie and Tessa at 2006 Jartacular

with Lulubeans on her 2nd birthday

my sextant works though

6/23/08

Look, god dammit, it's 2008 and there's still so much shit that doesn't work right. Let's make this real simple. I'll use a list so that people in charge can understand:

1. DVD Menu Navigation - Yes, I've said it before. But that was three years ago and finding the Director's Commentary or Deleted Scenes on DVDs is still as cumbersome – and slow – as playing Myst on a 1994 Mac Quadra.

2. Universal Remotes - You can spend $300 on a Harmony 1000 or $19.95 on a piece of shit from Radio Shack, and you'll wind up with the same thing: a plastic brick that doesn't know how to turn on your stereo and switch to VIDEO 1. The option is having seven remotes on the couch, and then when the phone rings, I might as well answer my frickin' shoe.

3. Flat-head Screws - I put together things. You know, I attach wood pieces to other wood pieces. I even attach metal pieces to other metal pieces if I'm feeling saucy. So why, oh why, companies? Why do you still use screws with technology from the John Quincy Adams administration?

4. Red-eye Reduction - I guess it's cool that we're just animals, really, like cats in car headlights, but is there some other technology for red-eye that doesn't involve a blinding flash, and then a picture of someone who thought the picture had already been taken? Oh, and "The Red Eye" meant something else in high school, just FYI.

5. Gas Pump Handles in New England - In the West, you can squeeze the gas pump handle and it'll lock onto three different flow levels, depending on your car's esophagus. This allows you get away from the toxic fumes, or, say, tend to the toddler that is eating a whole tube of ChapStick. Not so in New England: there, you are forced to hold the pump handle THE ENTIRE TIME, especially if it's 40 below zero outside in a blinding snowstorm and the gas pump handle in question is approaching ZERO KELVIN.

6. Hi-Def Video Sync - You pay for a big flat-screen LCD television, pony up for the HD channels on cable or satellite, connect it to your stereo and sit back for the big game. But guess what? Because audio is pretty simple, and video takes so long to process, ESPN HD has about a half-second lag between the sound and the picture. Call Comcast or DirecTV to complain... I dare you.

7. Cell Phone Service - Really, don't you just want to roll down your window and frisbee the fucking thing out of the car?

crime, tides and coyotes

6/22/08

A confluence of events made this a trying weekend here in Venice, CA: Lucy (along with some nursery schoolmates) came down with the Coxsackie virus, Tessa and I fought off a bronchial infection, it was the longest day of the year, and we shattered all the heat index records from the last thirty years. Oh, and the bizarrely full moon.

The awesomely-named Coxsackie virus is very common in kids (most of you have probably had it) but is still miserable: you get these strep-like blisters in the back of your throat, and Lucy's fever went through the ceiling. Combine that with the heat, and its any wonder she still had half her usual effervescence. A cold towel and Pingu is all she really wanted, and exactly what she got.

As for the beach, it was NutJob Central in these parts, as a quarter-million people descended on our sands to escape the 110+ heat of the inner valleys. A few blocks away in Santa Monica, it looked like those pictures of Coney Island in the 1940s.

Because of my Southern indoctrination, I don't believe any porch should exist without a porch swing for days like this – so we sat, swung, and tried not to think of the heat. One of my gifts for Tessa last year was a "beach view", even though an entire hotel built in 1919 blocks a direct sight to the ocean. Undeterred, I rigged up a solution:

A cheap yet effective nautical telescope is locked on a high-grade mirror hanging from our birdhouse about 10 yards away. Simply focus, and you can watch boats far on the horizon, dolphins, and even see book covers read by beachgoers. I put the digital camera up to the telescope and tried to take a movie, but it didn't quite focus and looks like something Edison filmed in 1899:

the people are pretty far – it's about 500 feet to the ocean from us

Anyway, not bad for keeping things in perspective, and on days like Saturday and Sunday, any distraction was a good one.

*collapse, melt*

redemption, thy name is motor city

6/19/08

Dean From Bub's and Troll's had the best idea for a blog in a while – how 'bout them motherscratchin' HEELS? I suppose I try to limit my boundless enthusiasm for my beloved Carolina on here because I don't want to alienate the rest of you from other schools, but wow we're embarrassed with riches for next year.

Some years ago, I made a point of not following college basketball gossip during the summer, especially all the "will he or won't he go pro" boondoggles that are as perennial as the grass. I have our recruits in the back of my head, and when one commits, I'll get the email from Inside Carolina (yes, I paid for premium) and Greg Parent's emails give me everything else, but I'm not going to obsess over a process that often ends in heartbreak.

The rule, as far as I could tell, used to be "if a player is even thinking about going pro, they're gone". The only time that was proven false was Antawn Jamison's sophomore year, when he held a press conference saying he was coming back. Pretty much every other time, you might as well clean out your player's locker.

I'm not up on what happened this year, but Danny Green, Wayne Ellington and Ty Lawson all tried their hands at the pro level, and there was a lot of hemming and/or hawing, odd "scoops" from "inside sources", and internet-fueled hand-wringing in general. In my book, they all lacked one particular thing that would necessitate another year at UNC, and indeed, that's what happened.

I've heard rumblings that we now have the most talented class ever to play in college, that we'll go 40-0, that the ring is ours. Most of us have been around the block WAY too many times to buy tickets to Detroit right now. The 1994 team disintegrated under the weight of its own egos, and the 1998 team had a Texas-sized brain fart. Hell, just two months ago we got our ass kicked twice by the same team in the same game.

But it doesn't stop us from dreaming. And making sure our lucky shirts are staying laundered. Besides, this team ought to be pissed off at last season's conclusion, and they should demand it of themselves to lay waste to the rest of the ACC en route to a great seed and a thrashingly fantastic NCAA tournament – and if you want to know where it all starts, Lucy has it on the wall in her bedroom, and is happy to point it out:

click for bigger dunkage

guaifenesin

6/18/08

Poor little Lulu was supposed to graduate from "toddler bridge group" to "pre-K" today, but when I saw her lying on the couch doing nothing, I knew things had gone south. Her temperature was 102.4 and she was hot to the touch.

Tessa has come down with sinus misery, and by late this afternoon, I could barely swallow. This whole house is laid low, man. Can someone out there be effortlessly witty and delightful in my stead today?

views both aft and stern

6/17/08

Earlier on in the political season, I made a few people fairly upset, one dear friend in particular, with my posts about Hillary Clinton. I tried writing an email several times, but my mood kept changing as the primaries wore on – swinging from righteous indignation to scorched-earth anger to mea culpa, and so on. So I'd like this entry to be an open letter about the subject.

The blog that got people most upset was this one (only eight sentences – now THAT'S economy in ranting) when I said "CAN WE PLEASE PUT OLD PEOPLE AND RACISTS ON AN ICE FLOE AND KICK IT OUT TO SEA? This country isn't theirs anymore, and they have nothing left to offer except offensive jokes and car farts. It's time to move the fuck on. A more enlightened future is waiting, and they're not invited."

I once wrote about the hierarchy of information, and thought that "blogs" rated somewhere above "text message" and below "voicemail" in terms of historical permanence. In other words, blogs are the first draft of your thoughts, and chances are pretty good you're going to let out a few farts every once in a while. Especially when the blogger in question starts to get emotional.

By late April, Hillary Clinton had gone from being one of my heroes (whom I constantly defended) to someone I couldn't stand to watch. Three things in particular made it clear for me:

1. The Florida/Michigan Debacle. My three-year-old daughter has a better sense of fairness and a vastly more sensitive moral compass than the Clintonites who demanded that these states be counted in full. It was brazen, shameless and indicative of terrible governance.

2. The Faux Populism. After Barack's "bitter" comment in Pennsylvania, the sight of her doing bourbon shots at a bowling alley with Joe Americans made my skin crawl. Then she floated a "gas tax holiday" that was called irredeemably stupid by every economist of every stripe. She responded that she isn't swayed by "experts". That was such disingenuous crap that I'm surprised she didn't explode. Hmmm, pretending to be a proletariat, calling everyone else "elitists", pooh-poohing overwhelming evidence provided by every specialist in the field... who does that sound like?

3. The Fear Card. Hillary pulled out references to Bin Laden before New Hampshire, before Pennsylvania, and every other time she wanted a cheap bounce. The "3am" ad was totally uncool, and by the time she said the Republican was ready to be President and Obama was not, I was through. I've had it with fear: it put me through three years of therapy and six years of Celexa.

It was in this state of genuine anger that I wrote the blog that was so upsetting. Did I mean to say that all Hillary supporters were/are old, stupid, racists? Absolutely not, and I apologize profusely for my messy brushstrokes. I would have counted myself as a Hillary supporter before the conduct of her campaign became clear.

Do I really think people who voted for Hillary – and by extension, my "political opponents" – should be silenced? I have to admit, there have been moments when the answer would have to be "yes", particularly back in the days leading up to the Iraq War. Why should my family bear the brunt of these insane political decisions by a moronic President and his asinine electorate?

Similarly, I didn't want huge swaths of openly-racist Appalachia DECIDING FOR ME that we can't have a black guy in the White House. It was infuriating. But that's America, take it or leave it, and unless we're leaving, we're taking it. Hell, American Coastopia was a place in the mind, not on the map. So I'd like to apologize for that inference as well.

All progressives/Democrats/call-them-what-you-will basically want the same thing, and the mean-spirited primary season made that easy to forget. I'm on your side, and I will lay in the trenches with you long after our feet go numb.

Could I have been so magnanimous if Hillary had won? I don't know, I'll be honest... it would have been really hard. In November of 2004, our political will and spirit were completely broken, and Hillary, in some way, is paying for it. Mostly because her Democratic opponent came out of nowhere, and planted a seed we'd long since abandoned – optimism. In a way, I'm as surprised as you are.

so much depends

6/16/08

At a dinner party, you're asked to make a selection from somebody's very odd collection of single-malt scotch. Whether you know anything about it or not, which one do you choose?

click for bigger

need rings to stay erect

6/15/08

You come to this blog for up-to-the-minute breaking news and incisive commentary, and by god, I'm going to give it to you. Dateline June 16, 2008: I have it on good authority that the peonies have made it to California.

Y'see, I noticed last year that our peonies weren't blooming like they used to back in the salad days. I adore peonies like any red-blooded American, and I really wanted lots for my wife and daughter this year. But our farm is in upstate New York, and the crazy mood swings of spring weather can wreak havoc on many perennial flowers... well, hell, I don't need to tell you that. Of course you know what I'm saying.

So, in April, I go to the usual spot for the peonies and notice the shrubberies have grown completely over them. I cut back a massive hole, and there they are, shriveled and cowering in the darkness:

I give them some food, let the sun bathe them in its glory, and hope they've got enough giddy-up to flower before Memorial Day. Indeed, they shoot skyward and bulbs pop out by the dozen, but no flowers blooming. I talk to them, trying to get them to come out before Tessa and Lucy have to leave on June 8, but no dice. I drive my girls to the train station peonyless.

And what happens when I get back from the train station? The near-100 degree heat has acted like Jiffy Pop, and the first flower has burst forth, mere minutes after the gals had left:

I decide this was not good enough by half, no sir. So I'm due to fly back to California three days later, and here's what I did: clipped three flower stems, put them in a bottle of Poland Spring, and drove to Queens. From there, they went into the refrigerator until the next morning, when I brought them with me in the taxi to JFK.

At the airport security line, I hid them in the sleeves of my coat and ran them through the X-ray machine – peonies probably aren't illegal to bring on the plane, but I didn't want to take any chances. The minute I was free, I bought a bottle of wide-mouth Gatorade, chugged the Gatorade for the flight, then put in the flowers. Despite my skullduggery, they were beginning to bloom.

On the plane, the girl sitting next to me – a tall, tan, late-20s lass who had spent the night in the airport waiting for the plane – was so tired that she fell asleep against me. Her legs crept over to my spot until I bore almost the entire weight of her body. This was by no means intimate or sexual, mind you, as she was out cold, and I was on Xanax, but I HAD TO KEEP HER FROM SQUASHING MY PEONIES.

We landed at LAX, and I spirited my luggage and burgeoning flowers off to another taxi, arriving in Venice, CA at 11am. I plopped the peonies in a vase, and this was waiting for Tessa and Lucy when they got back in the afternoon:

I frickin' adore peonies. They're messy, careless, yet forever hardy. They grow so big and beautiful that they can't even stand up by themselves. It's the best smelling flower in the Western Hemisphere, and as god's my witness, nothing's better than the smell of a place you love when you're so far away.

the five seasons

6/12/08

Those of us from Cedar Rapids, IA are not used to seeing the town on the front page of the New York Times and Google News, but there it is: all under water.

the hospital where Michelle was born

Founded by a horse thief in 1838, they used to say Cedar Rapids was a town that couldn't be flooded, which means practically nobody has flood insurance. To say this town has been devastated may be putting it lightly. Cedar Rapids has had 120,000 people living there for fifty years; every time an old person died, a baby was born. That number may tumble after this.

Currently underwater is the Paramount Theater, a huge, old vaudeville venue that was painstakingly renovated for the Cedar Rapids Symphony (a project spearheaded by my dad); also the library where I basically learned to read.

Iowa City yesterday

Equally struck is Iowa City, just downstream, known to more of you as the home of the University of Iowa, but also home to my brother Kent. He says he bought his house specifically because it was on higher ground, but this is the kind of thing that permanently alters your perspective. There will be homes, lives, restaurants, paintings, friends, forever lost. Four Boy Scouts were killed by a tornado on Wednesday night, attending the same camp I did when I was a boy.

Transmit a few kind thoughts, say a little prayer, or donate a little money to help rescue, OK?

out, damn'd spot

6/11/08

Whilst listening to all the radio punditry garble on about vice-presidential choices, I was reminded that Dick Cheney was put on the committee to find a running mate for George W. Bush, and came up with... himself. And thus, that flaccid, dead-eyed man has been one moron's heartbeat away from the presidency for eight years, which further led me to this question...

Do you think Bush and Cheney truly understand the suffering they have personally caused in the world? Bear with me (or don't), but they hold several slabs of meat with blood running down their arms: they engineered the Iraq War, which has killed more than four thousand American soldiers, but has also killed 92,004 innocent Iraqi civilians (as of today). Lets also add the half-million maimed, paralyzed, etc... and the families that have been shattered because of it.

Back at home, it's no so much death we have to worry about, but a painful lowering of the quality of life – the price of gasoline, made possible by Bush/Cheney's criminally insane energy policy, is driving the lower middle class to ruin. Throw in the rampant joblessness and the rise in very shitty jobs as their replacement.

They are also the gift that will keep giving. Imagine if you had eight years to do the following:

- ramp up a Manhattan Project on stem cells and cure paralysis, Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, macular degeneration, and quite possibly cancer

- throw the entire weight of our government's resources behind a new power source (or sources)

- reverse the carbon output of the USA

Those are all doable. Or they would have been, but Bush/Cheney have put us a decade behind, meaning you'd better hope you don't get Lou Gehrig's disease very soon, and you better hope that huge chunk of the Arctic doesn't wander south and mess with the Gulf Stream during your kids' lifetime.

But you guys know all of this already. What I'm interested in is this: do George Bush and Dick Cheney really understand the amount of worldwide misery they have caused? When they look at the number of people they've actually killed, what goes through their head? I've broken it down into a few possible categories.

1. They truly believe they haven't caused any suffering. Most likely, and most disturbing. The only way this can be achieved is to be so insulated from any educated viewpoint and so corrupted by your own power that you've lost the ability for cognitive thought.

2. They understand they've caused a little suffering, but believe they will be vindicated by history. This is the domain of the megalomaniacal, the dictator with blood lust, the Sadist-in-Chief. While Bush and Cheney wait for their historical redemption, the rest of us try out various forms of anguish.

3. They sincerely understand how much they've fucked up, but anesthetize their guilt through antidepressants, religion, sleep or some other defense mechanism. I'd like to believe this is true, and some evidence points to GWB being emotionally nonfunctional, but Cheney? Hard to fathom. In fact, I'd say...

4. They have a passing understanding of how much suffering they've caused, but they don't give a shit. They got theirs, they're set for life, things went as planned, and if a few motherfuckers got in the way, too bad. Life is cruel, and you gotta eat or be eaten.

5. Other people's suffering? What about MY suffering? Running a country is hard, and this is the thanks I get? All that other stuff is just liberal propaganda. I'M the one who should get sympathy! I started writing this one as a joke, but then it seemed all too possible.

Thoughts? Some other dynamic not mentioned?

god said "hot!"

6/10/08

I'm going back to Cali tomorrow, and just in time: the weather here in New York has been UNBELIEVABLY BRUTAL. Maybe my blood has thickened since I lived in North Carolina, but I just can't take the kind of heat/humidity we've had over the last five days. It's bone-sapping, life-draining, crotch-rotting misery.

I haven't made it easy on myself. I had three days to finish up all the duties at the farm before the renters came, and it was so hot that I kept postponing everything until the last day... and thus I was forced to blow a gasket. I finished the new deck on the side of the barn, made an awning for our chopped wood to season for winter burning, and even tilled/mulched/planted pumpkins for the fall, all in 98-degree heat:

Back in the city today, I stopped by the Home Despot in Queens, where the hordes had descended on the air conditioners. Everyone looked like zombies, clawing at the first AC units they could find, their eyes sunken in boiling anguish.

Of course, there's always one bright spot to insane heat – that's right, gawking at other people! It was so hot that men who have not worn shorts in twenty years were actually forced to put them on, which made for some awesome short/socks/shoes combinations:

I'm not being an asshole, I'm showing respect. Actually, I can't wait to hike my pants up to my ribcage, don sock suspenders and tell the world to eat me. I will have considered this life a success.

sweating to the oldies

6/9/08

Some pics from the last few days:

yes, you can breath relief – I found my pineapple pants

rhododendrons at the farm

a moth(?) on our door late last night

our ingénue in the car – a Lakers toboggan when it's 97 degrees?

he's not Worthy

6/8/08

Is it okay to say I hate Kobe Bryant?

Yeah, yeah, I guess that makes me a "playa hata" and all that shit, and I realize he's talented, blah blah blah fucking blah, but I just can't stand the sight of him. It started for me back when he was drafted in 1996 when he flat-out refused to play for anyone but the Lakers. He was an 18-year-old who didn't even make the starting five, and he still told the Charlotte Hornets to go fuck themselves, even though he was only the 13th pick. And I've always loathed the Lakers, probably for the same reason it was the only place he'd go.

The basketball Zen master Phil Jackson called him "uncoachable" in his book, which makes sense, because the essence of Buddhism is a loss of ego, clearly something that would be impossible for someone with Bryant's weltanschauung. It seemed to me the rape case was inevitable, as was Kobe's attacking the accuser's mental state and painting her as a giant whore.

But the worst is obvious – he has a big thing for Dook. Sometimes he looks skyward, reflectively, and wonders what he'd "look like in a Duke uniform". Seriously, besides a few silky jumpers, can someone please explain the allure?

(UPDATE: more from King Kaufman on Salon)

runnin' the film projector, scorin' the ladies

6/5/08

Okay, this "not having my computer" thing has really screwed up my blogging week, but I did find something vaguely interesting. While consolidating our Brooklyn apartment, I found some old drafts of projects, among which was the first stab we took at creating the "What Kind of Dork ARE You?" poster. Greg Humphreys and I did this in 1996, and it's still cute today.

Plotting every dork on an X-Y axis, X being "social" vs. "asocial" and Y being "creative" vs. "mechanical"? BRILLIANT, I SAY! We should make this poster for real someday.

click for the big version

l'esprit de l'escalier

6/4/08

I left my computer on a staircase in Brooklyn, and I'm in Boston. Can someone go ahead and say something fascinating until I get it back tomorrow?

the iron ladies

6/2/08

Dear Hillary Clinton supporters, in particular the women:

Let me be the among the voices who say "I know exactly how you feel." Or, to be more properly respectful, let me say that I probably don't know exactly how you feel. I may have delusions of suffered indignities, but being a white upper-middle-class guy, there's only so many you can take seriously. It's apparent, no matter the punditry, that there are a lot of very angry women in this country, and if there's a way I can say "AND RIGHTLY SO" without sounding patronizing, then this is it.

The slog towards equality has been tortuous, and it's still not even close. The Clinton supporters I know are mostly women, and mostly those born before 1970. They're either old enough to have suffered the unendurable chauvinism of the post-WWII lockdown, or they're just old enough to have been born into the sexual revolution and wonder why they still get half the respect of their male colleagues.

In this country, men are allowed to grow fat; to grow thick, ingrown hairs on their back; to go bald; to drink to excess and be called "jolly"; to tell stupid jokes at high volume; to constantly toy with the idea of infidelity; to run entire companies despite having no discernable skills and then get millions in severance.

Women in high-pressure, man-centric jobs, especially those who managed to play the game long enough to get in positions of semi-power, must look at these half-wits speeding past their pay grade and seethe. Any ambition on their part is looked upon as the unattractive, sexless behavior of a harpie.

And always, ALWAYS, there's the constant element of physical attractiveness. While male CEOs can be corpulent, nebbishy or necrotic, women have to put up with daily judgment about their looks, knowing full well their success is inexorably wrapped up with the spin of a genetic fortune wheel that either gave them allure or did not. And even if they lucked out in that arena, they have to deal with unwanted advances, sly smiles from dead-eyed men, and people staring at their tits. I swear, if I were a smart, sensitive woman, I wouldn't be angry – I'd carry a fuckin' crowbar, looking for the first chance to swing it.

So along comes Hillary Clinton, who sat through her husband's shenanigans like many of them had done, and was poised to become the first woman President of the United States. Then came the reports of soaring negatives, and a lot of these women came to see it as a judgment of them. A select few cable talk show hosts said outrageously sexist things, made worse by the fact they didn't even know they were sexist. And then the talisman that said it all: the goddamn "Hillary Nutcracker", available at most of our nation's fine airports.

While the rest of the country chuckled at the nutcracker like the advertising execs in "Mad Men", a lot of these women tapped veins of resentment that had been building for 10, 20, 50 years. That nutcracker may have been the worst, most mindless totem of fucked-up gender relations since Billie Jean King kicked Bobby Riggs' ass in tennis. You have to think, though, if it wasn't the nutcracker, it would have been something else.

What is truth is this: some of the very qualities that make people despise Hillary may well be the only qualities that allowed her to get as far as she has. Saying you hate her "unbridled ambition" or that she's "shrill" or that she'll "say or do anything to get elected" is inherently sexist, because we're generally fine with any man exhibiting those same traits. In fact, we call him a "fighter". If you happen to be ex-New York Congressman John Sweeney, the asshole who led the groups of rioting Republicans trying to shut down the Florida recount in 2000, you get George W. Bush calling you "Congressman Kickass."

Now... do I believe the media has been fundamentally unfair to Hillary Clinton? No. In fact, it has been in their best interests to keep this contest going long after the rest of us knew it was over in March. And if Obama had lost 10 straight primaries, he would have been shown the door.

Do I believe Hillary lost the nomination because she's a woman? No. She lost because she's Hillary. She has behaved reprehensibly, her surrogates have spewed lies, and let's face it, she voted for the Iraq war and the Iran resolution. Her land grab of Florida and Michigan was sickening, her claims of the popular vote are complete crap, and she has nuzzled with the right wing.

Young women are voting for Obama, and why? Because I don't think they see her as a woman, they simply see her as a lesser candidate that has done things they don't like. That doesn't sound like a victory to older Hillary supporters, but truly, it is. These young women might become truly post-gender, which was the dream from long, long ago.

In the meantime, it seems like a crushing blow to the older generation. I've been in several conversations with Hillary supporters, and while the debate always begins with specifics, it always ends in emotion. My friend K told me she just wants people to understand how hard it was for Hillary to get where she is, what she had to endure – because it's not that different for a lot of other women right now. Even Pat Schroeder speaking on NPR last week expressed intense sadness, not for Hillary, but because there wasn't going to be a woman President.

I totally get it. I have a daughter, and I spend every day trying to make her physically and emotionally strong. What could be better for the little girls of America than to see a woman leading the free world? We are LONG PAST DUE for a female President, and it's SHAMEFUL. Give us the right woman, and I will march with Tessa and Lucy to the ends of the world to make it happen.

he-man women haterz klub

6/1/08

When anybody disses a member of my family, I feel like Otter and Boon in "Animal House":

"They can't do that to our pledges!"
"Yeah! Only WE can do that to our pledges!"

Thus, when I heard that my brother Sean was being purposely excluded from a stay-at-home mom's organization in Astoria because he was a guy, it really pissed me off. But I'd like to leave the details to today's guest blogger, the effervescent, oft-commenting Deb who is never afraid to join the fray. She and Sean were thinking about infiltrating the group, but... I'll let her explain:

***

I'm a stay-at-home mom. My husband's best friend married my best friend, and they had their first baby two months before we had ours. Our boys have been "arranged" to be best friends since birth. It's all nauseatingly adorable. Being a stay-at-home parent is (cliché ahead) rewarding as well as (duck) challenging, but having someone down the block going through it with you... it's invaluable. Whether it's swapping recipes, commiserating over our lost, pre-parent selves, or gossiping about the horrible shoe trends at the park, we both share a love-hate relationship with staying at home. While I love my best friend profoundly, she's not who I'm talking about. It's her husband, a stay-at-home-dad.

We live in the 21st century -- we live in New York City --there's nothing forward-thinking or off-beat, or even "non-traditional" about stay-at-home dads. We've come a long way, buster, from Michael Keaton in an apron, burning breakfast and oversoaping the washing machine. So I was knocked for a loop when my good friend and dedicated stay-at-home dad was denied membership to the Astoria Stay At Home Moms Meetup Group, because he's not a mom.

One would think this wouldn't be a shock, given the name of the group, and the disclaimer on their website's home page: "Sorry Dads but this group is just for the moms. Most events are scheduled during the weekdays." [ed. note: because we all know that men hunt bison during the weekdays]

There was also this: "In order to stay true to our group's purpose, we are no longer accepting nannies." But surely, then, they'd embrace a stay-at-home dad, since they state the group's purpose: "[to] support each other as we learn about parenthood and have fun with our kids!" Unfortunately, the ASAHMMG embraces and supports as long as you conform to their antiquated social norms, and Sean was turned down.

The day after I learned about his rejection, I randomly met one of the "Assistant Organizers" in the park who told me three things: (1)The occasional dad attends a meet-up here and there, but the actual members are required to be the moms, and it's ok, because: (2) The dads sometimes form their own meet-ups....at the Beer Garden or a baseball game, "y'know, guy stuff", and besides: (3) keeping it moms-only is great "because they don't have to worry about getting 'cruised'." [ed. note: I haven't heard the verb "cruised" since Cinemax movies of the early '80s]

Really? Because the stay-at-home dads in Astoria are all so wealthy they don't have spouses or partners working during the day and think it'd be swell to hit on a bunch of moms with small children?

Look, they're not doing anything illegal; if women want to get together with other women, they have every right to hang a shingle outside the clubhouse letting every boy know just how allowed they're not. They can then feel free to discuss their cycles or their spouses' bad habits, the awful trend of large handbags, or whatever they don't feel comfortable talking about in front of a man.

But anyone who has gone through the first year of being a first time parent should know and respect the magnitude of transformation, tribulation, and triumph that is experienced. And the ASAHMMG does know; it's why, I imagine, they created the group. What they don't realize is that these experiences are universal, and allowing a male into the group would only enhance the understanding and support, not limit it. Additionally, why should my near-nephew miss out on all the other kids, just because his stay-at-home parent happens to wear pants? Oh wait, it's 2008, women can wear pants, too. For a minute, I forgot.

After all, we're talking about trips to the zoo, outings at the park, and chasing after toddlers, not a dark booth at a nightclub sipping mojitos. There are other groups in the area (Park Slope, Long Island, New Jersey) that are true "parent" groups, and don't discriminate by gender. It's shocking that a group of mommies (not ten or twelve, but 231) are so short-sighted, sexist and exclusive that they'd discount the stay-at-home experience of someone just because he was a man, and punish a 17-month-old because his dad takes care of him.

I'm confounded by the sexism that rears its hypocritical head at a time when so many women have pledged their support to a presidential candidate in solidarity for all the bitter years of discrimination. Apparently we're ready for a woman in the white house, but not a dad in day care.

Love, Deb

Barno and Lucy tended by parents of various gender last Xmas