xtcian

falcon hears the falconer

8/28/08

Wow, that kicked ass.

I remember sitting in my living room in 1980, watching the Republican convention, and when the first state gave their nomination to Ronald Reagan, the place went apeshit. They cheered so long that they cut away for commercials, came back, and they were still cheering. Even at that age, I loathed Reagan and everything he stood for, but I understood the moment for what it was: the country was going to change, one way or another.

Tonight, after the bio film and the introduction, Obama came out to a similar wave of ecstasy pulsing through the stadium. It wasn't creepily Messianic, nor blindly frothing – it felt like a release, an outpouring, a moment whose time had come. And suddenly, I completely got the way all those people felt about Reagan, but this time, THE GUY WAS MINE.

In a way, my guys – and the guys and gals of all progressives – have been losing since that very moment in 1980. Yes, there were the Clinton years, but Clinton mostly had a Republican Congress and while I always remained his apologist, he could break your heart.

But tonight, when Obama yelled into the microphone "ENOUGH!" and it reverberated over the Rocky Mountains, I could feel the ship of America list slightly to the port side, as if the gears had unlocked, and an old wheel began to turn again. The Brits say "hope springs eternal," but in America, maybe it springs every 28 years or so.

charlie, i'm really ever so not well

8/26/08

Last night I watched Intervention on A&E, and when the daughter confronted her dad in the actual intervention scene, I started blubbering. Then I watched a bio of Mr. Rogers, and started blubbering again. Then, this morning, Lucy and I snuck in an episode of Charlie and Lola, and when the kids went playing inside a Van Gogh painting – as the thick clouds came to life and the trees started to swirl – I kinda had to stop myself again. Yeah yeah, I'm working on it.

Today's CODE WORD: what television now, or in the past, consistently brought you to tears?

longitudinal butter

8/25/08

This just in: cows tend to align north-south when left to their own devices! I find it stunning that no hunter, over the course of a hundred thousand years of organized language, ever figured it out - but better late than never, right?

Apparently they might be sensitized to the magnetic field of the earth – a lot like many fish, whales, birds and bats. Really, think about all the times you've been lost in the countryside, hobbling together makeshift compasses out of paper clips floating in water, when you could have just asked a herd of dadgum cows.

I decided to test this theory with the precision of my prep school science labs, because, well, shit: we've got cows, and I know which way is north! So I looked at all the random pictures from the farm to see if there was a north-south trend among our lovely milk-providing friends in the fields.

Picture #1 - It's about 2am, summer 2002, and I hear a bunch of rustling in the field outside. I grab my camera, tiptoe outside, walk as silently as I can into the meadow, and stop somewhere in a patch of grass. It's a new moon, and there is absolutely no light anywhere – total pitch black. So I lift up my camera, press the button, and the flash lights up:

needless to say, I was scared SHITLESS

Cows orientation: all facing south

Picture #2 - Summer 2003. Much to my wife's chagrin, I grab her and take a self-picture of the both of us. Unbeknownst to me, cows lurk on the field behind us, and across the street:

Cows orientation: 75% of them facing north

Picture #3 - Late summer 2004, it's unbelievably hot, and I'm thinking the cows must be miserable. I stand on our fence and snap this languid shot:

Cows orientation: all except two facing or sitting north/south

Picture #4 - Spring 2006, and I'm taking pictures of the farm for our rental listing. I figure the gals are in the field, and indeed, they do not disappoint:

Cows orientation: 7 of 11 facing north or south

So there you have it: it's all absolutely true. I don't know how you can possibly get more verification. So next time you're fiddling with your GPS or pulling over to a shitty gas station to ask directions... well, you know what to do.

goliath was faking

8/24/08

I want all of you to know I just experienced a MASSIVE CULTURAL AND POLITICAL NADIR. Put simply, my Nexus of Hell is an auditorium where Kobe Bryant wins a gold medal, Koach K wins a gold medal, both applauded by the entire Bush family. Frankly, I'm surprised Christian Laettner didn't show up with the guy who shot John Lennon. If I hadn't actually fainted from abject hatred, I would have thrown up ON THE CEILING every time they showed Olympic basketball.

It came down to this: Kobe decided to actually play, and Lebron James was allowed off the bench. Throw in some extra passes, and it was Game Over. Yes, I realize former Tar Heel Larry Brown didn't do us any favors in Athens, but he was dealing with a post-Dream Team that hated each other and lit their farts on fire with burning $1000 bills.

It's positively sickening to think Koach K will now be given any credit for "bringing gold back to America" (read my prediction from 2 years ago), when the whole thing was such kabuki theater from the start. You know when they start selling "Redeem Team" T-shirts, sweats, shoes, pencils, spatulas and fabric softener sheets that it reeked of an NBA and American Professional Sports® maneuver, and indeed it was.

The Arizona Diamondbacks owner and president of USA Basketball is a guy named Jerry Colangelo who, of all things, wanted this Olympic basketball team to resonate "AMERICA" and to even connect the team to our military. Who better to do that then Koach K, whom Tommy Craggs nails perfectly: "Krzyzewski and his towering persecution complex are well-suited to the kind of young players who masochistically self-identify as the Redeem Team."

So they brought in maimed soldiers from the Iraq War to show our hoops players what "Team USA" really means. Even Washington Wizards power forward Etan Thomas called bullshit: "It would have made me feel ashamed, angered and saddened that this soldier was blinded at the service of a war we shouldn't have been in in the first place." And not to nitpick, but fucking Jerry Colangelo and Mike Krkykerwkswy have never served in combat – what is with these people?

The military, masochism, bullyism, a persecution complex, mindless jingoism... hey, that sounds like somebody else we know! USA Basketball is the perfect team for Team Bush.

Not that it seems totally obvious or anything, but Jerry Colangelo is one of the brain trustees behind Battin' 1000!, perhaps the most egregious anti-choice, anti-stem cell, rabid right-wing collection of Americans you're likely to find. Colangelo held Battin' 1000!'s first press conference at his stadium (which was paid for by taxpayers – thanks, Battin' 1000!) and his group handed out shirts that said "Abortion is Homicide" and "You Will Not Mock My God". They oppose a woman's choice even if she is raped, or if her life is in danger.

Well, you know the score. Not that my opinion counts for much given the vast expanse of the solar system, but I've always had antipathy for Kobe Bryant, my tomes on dook's coach could fill a coffee table book, and if it weren't for loathing our sniveling fratboy thug President, it'd be hard to keep this blog going. You will all have your opinions, and we all know who thinks what around here, but for anyone out there who saw the Redeem Team and it seemed a bit... creepy? This one's for you.

no caffeine until she's 4

8/21/08

I don't exactly know why I turned the camera on, but most of my family was at our place in Venice last weekend – my brother Kent and Tessa were talking about something, and my sister was teaching Lulu how to make espresso shots. Dunno, I think sometimes these little impromptu, nonsensical snippets can be better than filming the obvious.

i was looking for a job and then i found a job

8/20/08

I've had a rough time lately. We've gone through some very tough situations personally, and this time, I'm having trouble fighting my way out of it, having it make thematic sense. Career-wise, things are going wonderfully crazy, and Lucy is – as always – a bright blue-eyed beacon of light, and Tessa and I just celebrated five years of marriage, every day better than the one before. But sometimes even a sober understanding of your blessings can't pull you out of certain depressions.

August has always been a rough month, famously crappy for everyone except the French, who leave their homes and go gallivanting in the tropics. My deepest lows have always found a home in the dog days, most likely some pervasive recollection from childhood, or the constant feeling I was being left behind. It was in August that I developed my worst OCD habits, and my most destructive magical thinking.

I wish I could list some of the actual things that have led me down this path, but it's just too personal, and besides, this is where I hope people come to hear fart jokes. One thing I can say is this: I miss my friends. I miss New York, I miss the crowd I spent 25 years making, I miss my family far away, I miss hoops at Mulberry Street Garden, I miss folks in Atlanta, Wichita, Carrboro and Chicago. Yet our prime career success is right here, and this is where we must be.

And I can say one other thing: it may sound silly, but I'm apoplectic with disgust and fear over the political future of our country. Quite simply, I can't fathom an electorate where John McCain is essentially tied with Barack Obama. Perhaps that will look even goofier when I read this entry years from now, but if so many of my fellow Americans can vote for McCain after the last eight years... that's pretty much it for me, I want no part of it. And thus, again, I'm stuck.

The big picture always combines your prevailing winds with an average of your ecstasies and miseries. Usually the Celexa keeps me from going too far down the rabbit burrow of existential darkness, but perhaps there are some things you simply must feel, and then be proud you conquered.

make mine a cement mixer, jimbo

8/19/08

REDEMPTION! Or at least, some form of redemption, as apparently another one of my gadfly Krusty Old Fart™ predictions has come true. Seems that college presidents are now lobbying to lower the drinking age. And these are not the pater familias of South Miami Dade Bartending School, these are the presidents of W&L, Maryland, Johns Hopkins, Dartmouth, Tufts, Syracuse and even (gads) Dook, among others. They all state that raising the drinking age in the mid-1980s has only encouraged binge drinking.

People like Ron Slepitza, president of Kansas' Avila University (affiliated with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, no less) said that talking sense to 18-year-olds was working before the 21 law passed, but now students just binge "underground and off-campus."

Back in the Dark Ages, known to you and me as the year 2003, I wrote: "My guess is that a sort of "speakeasy" vibe has taken the place of a keg, a clandestine knock that is answered with a bottle of unmarked Pabst. Or maybe students get smashed on Rumplemintz in their dorm rooms, and then drive over to the party."

Even last year, I bitched and moaned that the drinking laws were "leading students to take five shots of Jägermeister at the beginning of the evening, effectively erasing the slow buzz of a casual evening out with the girls, and replacing it with a season-ending barf at 8:30pm."

It has always been my position that history views "the restriction of basic human desires" as a virus and finds a way around it; when The Man told college kids they couldn't drink until they were 21, it didn't foment self-actualization and encounter groups, it made fraternities buy laminating machines in order to forge identification.

about to enjoy a LEGAL Sun Country Wine Cooler, April 1986

The drinking age should have stayed at 18 for the same reason that Sun-Tzu warned to "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" – the only way to neuter a potentially bad habit is to make sure it remains in light. The 21 law made alcohol more precious than gold, and it became a means unto itself, rather than a social lubricant.

Like John McCardell (president emeritus of Middlebury) said:

The 21-year-old drinking age is bad social policy and terrible law. It is astonishing that college students have thus far acquiesced in so egregious an abridgment of the age of majority. Unfortunately, this acquiescence has taken the form of binge drinking.

This is the hard lesson of prohibition that each generation must relearn. No college president will say that drinking has become less of a problem in the years since the age was raised.

In fact, if all these university presidents are on the right track (and my own experience bears out), the 21 age limit has put tipsy kids behind the wheel, set the scene for date rape and unwanted pregnancies, and actually created alcoholics. Nice job, Congress! The United Arab Emirates, Oman and us have the most Draconian drinking age laws on the planet, and it's workin' like a charm!

let's you and me bounce

8/18/08

Tessa woke up last night suddenly realizing something, and she's absolutely right:

pardon my trespasses

8/17/08

I get it: it's a free country, and people are allowed to congregate and practice religion wherever they want, and by golly, even CNN is allowed to film it. But I can still have my opinion, and in my gesamtkunstwerk, having a major policy debate for the American presidency at a evangelical Baptist megachurch is Complete Fucking Bullshit. I don't care that 80% of Americans say they're some form of Christian. I don't care that no actual laws were broken. I am sick of my home country being held theological hostage by people who happen to believe in stories that I do not.

Here's where the chorus comes in: "yes, but these Christians are sick of what they perceive as moral and ethical decay in their home country" – sure, whatever, but their so-called moral authority comes from a belief system that was explicitly separated from government by our founding fathers. No matter what statistics you've got, the United States IS NOT and WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE a Christian nation. Our brilliance, now tarnished and faded almost beyond recognition, was always rooted in the firmament of secularism.

Besides, if history has left us any clues, Christianity and power do not mix. Any religion combining with power becomes toxic. The religion-power cocktail robs all drinkers of their ability to appreciate any culture other than their own; it turns otherwise-empathetic people into drunk triumphalists. No, I'm not talking about your hometown church with its supportive community and edifying brotherhood. The problem is not with the trees, it's with the forest.

When America exploded the atom bomb in 1945, the rules of humanity changed, and the idea of a country being unduly influenced (or controlled) by religion suddenly stopped being funny. That means us, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, India – it doesn't matter. For my daughters' sake, for your kids' sake, you had all better hope cooler heads prevail for the next 500 years. I'm not so optimistic.

In the meantime, there's a few things the agnostics among us would like. At the very least, a mega-church like Saddleback, or any congregation that tries to influence elections because of a religious agenda needs to lose their tax-exempt status. It's one thing to whisper in the future President's ear about the death penalty, about denying rights to homosexuals, about how God gave the environment to Man to do with as he pleases, about womens' right to choose... but it's quite another to make me pay for it.

school's out forever

8/14/08

Since this is one of those Friday weekends when no rational American can possibly let their mind wander to where the water runs deep, I'll just say this: most of my entire family is gathering in LA this weekend, and that includes my elusive brother Kent and his wife Melissa (my favorite babysitter from 1976-80).

One reason, besides the need for familial succor, is that my band THE STRIKE is playing at Molly Malone's at 9pm tonight, so if you're feeling in the mood for some high-harmony, sweetly ironic but not snarky melodious dance pop, well, you should come and drink Toasted Almonds with us.

jan bártu of czechoslovakia

8/13/08

My wife and I are bizarrely matched for each other when it comes to a number of random things: we've both named all our pets after composers (a habit from both our parents), we both have an irrational love of maps, and we both have a long-term obsession with the Olympics. I loved the Olympics so much as a kid that I had the book where you enter the names of every medalist in every event – meaning I was passingly familiar with the dude who got the bronze in the Pentathlon in 1976.

I understand from the Gallup poll that 26% of Americans didn't plan on catching any Olympics at all, but then again, these Games are getting the best ratings in 32 years, so I know plenty of you are watching. Add your thoughts if you wish, but here are some of mine so far:

- I'm still pissed off about the Chinese "women" gymnasts, and it's not just their country's blatantly obvious cheating on their ages. There's obviously a tremendous cultural difference in how Americans see human livelihoods and state-mandated determinism, but plucking 3-year-olds away from their families, not allowing any contact, and making them eat/breathe/live gymnastics for a decade ought to register as a human rights issue.

Sure, the parents acquiesce, but do we have any idea what saying "no" to the government could mean for these families? The mere thought of giving up Lucy for gymnastics, and not seeing her for another ten years... hell, she has gymnastics camp on Saturday mornings, and I start to miss her after half an hour. The only silver lining about the underage girls is that they get to go HOME that much quicker.

- I have been a documented fan of Misty May's ass for quite some time now, and in fact, that's one of the top search terms that brings people to this blog. I'll watch Kerri Walsh and Misty May play backgammon – and most of the Brazilians for that matter. But NBC giving us a two-hour slog through men's beach volleyball the other night is a hunk of crap, especially when we never get to see badminton or ping-pong. Plus, one of our beach volleyball players looks exactly like James Carville, and it's thoroughly distracting.

- The ads with Shannon Miller touting Claritin™ are a little sad. I'm sorry, I really adored Shannon when she nailed the full-twisting Yurchenko vault in 1992 – TWICE – and was subsequently robbed of the all-around medal. But the Shannon Miller of today has had so much work done...

- I know you don't need me to harp on this when it's all over the internet tubes, but my heart absolutely broke when I saw Yang Peiyi, the girl who "wasn't cute enough" to sing in front of the cameras at the opening ceremonies. The Chinese authorities found a prettier girl instead, and stuck Yang in the basement with a microphone while Lin Miaoke mouthed the words.

To quote the music director Chen Qigang, "It was for the national interest. The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feelings and expression." Absolutely. Because we all know that ugly people, fat people, or people who aren't exactly symmetrical all harbor deeply-flawed internal feelings. Especially a 7-year-old girl who is perfectly adorable even with her baby teeth.

Yeah, yeah, I know this is one of my bête noire hot-button issues, but this story is the perfect encapsulation of true talent crushed, humiliated, or silenced by the tyranny of physical attractiveness. It's sickening and embarrassing, and the Chinese are no worse than we are. Could you imagine telling your daughter she could sing, but she wasn't pretty enough to be seen by the world? I'd rather douse myself with gasoline.

- Michael Phelps has the laser wide-eyed intensity and unshakable competitive drive I've only seen in three other people: Michael, Tiger, and Tyler.

general tso's checkin'

8/12/08

Okay, let's play catch-up with the blog.

1. It's true what they say: colonoscopies and endoscopies are fine in and of themselves, but the preparation? Jesus Living Poopypants, that was one of the most miserable nights of my life. I hope by the time Lucy and all our other kids get to my age, there's some GammaCam that will be able to see your jejunum in hi-def without even taking off your fanny pack.

Another thing – I don't know how many of you have had to "go under" in the last couple of years, but the art of anesthesia has truly turned a corner. No longer are you groggy for days; they can time your waking within minutes. In fact, they had to wake me up after one procedure to get my consent for the next, and it was no problem.

2. Great answers for the pop quiz on Thursday - particularly strong entries from Kevin, Sean M, Ehren and Caren, and of course Kaz wrote the book on question one. Janet provided her poetry, and if Matt had answered all three questions, he probably would have gotten the highest grade, but alas...

Anyway, our independent graders give the highest marks to Jody K, for clarity, succinctness and overall command. Jody, what bizarre Venice beach tchotchke would you like, or do any of you have suggestions?

3. The Chinese Gymanastic Team? Give me a fucking break. Yes, they were fantastic in many respects, but fer crying out loud... THERE IS NO WAY THEY ARE 16 YEARS OLD.

I come from a big family. I have hundreds of cousins. I have seen thousands of people grow up before my eyes. I know what a 10-year-old looks like, I know what a 12-year-old looks like, and I know what a 14-year-old looks like. Only their team captain, not coincidentally their worst performer, could possibly be sixteen.

It's cheating, straight-up, grade-A bullshit. 20-year-old Alicia Sacramone, the oddly-hot American gymnast, buckled under the pressure, sure, but I agree with Ann Killion - it's not fair to compete against children who haven't got a full grasp of the stakes.

I guess nobody can actually do a damned thing about this, because the Chinese government can provide any documentation they want – and god knows, if we have to apologize for wearing masks in the polluted bike races, we sure can't raise a stink about 12-year-old gymnasts.

You know me – I'm no jingoistic America-first chowderhead, and proved it during the last Olympics, but this, my friends, is a load of crap. Come back, Sam Peszek, come back, Nastia! You're pure, American, curvy, athletic, womanly gold in my heart!

duodenum do's and dont's

8/10/08

I write this to you mere hours before I go under general anesthesia for a not-quite-emergency but definitely-hurried endoscopy and colonoscopy. Those of you who've hung around in these pages for any amount of time know how I go down with "food poisoning" or "the stomach flu" or "whatever" roughly every two months, and after this recent bout, I'd fucking had enough.

My GP referred me to LA's awesomest gastroenterologist, and he told me it was time to take the submarine down to look at the coral reefs, so to speak. These things can be done while being awake, but I'm happy to be going totally under. However, I will remind my wife that the last time I had general anesthesia, the nurses called my mom and told her to get back to the surgery center because, in their words, "your son thinks he's a frog."

An endoscopy and a colonoscopy serve only to rule out certain things, leaving you with obvious conclusions – and we all already know what I have. It starts with "I" and ends with "S" and the middle letter is "B". It's one of those things that many people think does not exist, but like God, it sure feels like it when you're deep in the experience.

blue books available at scuttlebutt

8/6/08

Whoops! You stumbled into the Mid-Summer Surprise Pop Quiz! You might have been out of school for years, but just by reading this, we're roping you back in for that recurring nightmare: the test you didn't study for.

Don't worry, we've provided #2 pencils, and the questions are relatively easy. Read over the following 3 (three) questions, and provide short, observant 1-2 sentence answers.

Those with the best grade get a surprise from Venice, CA. Now on to the questions!

1. In two sentences or less, justify or disagree with the following: Single American men in their 20s and 30s are overwhelmingly damaged when it comes to what they think they want.

2. Again, using two sentences, justify or disagree: The overwhelming majority of political conservatives exhibit a marked lack of empathy.

3. Same rules: We might talk a good game about free will, but when it comes down to it, we all just want to be told what to do.

Good luck!

UPDATE: Highest score will now get his/her pick of any tchotchke, bauble, piece of art or piece of Americana available here on the Venice boardwalk. You name it, we'll find it.

Tessa and Lucy watch a band on the boardwalk, April 2007

telephone call for mr. horrible

8/4/08

Yikes – if you want to get anything done in the next hour, don't click on the Plasticopedia: The Plastic Surgery Encyclopedia, and certainly don't go through their list of celebrities. O grotesque new world That has such people in't!

One thing's for sure: plastic surgery is like gummi worms. Once you start, there's little chance of stopping. It is also something of an equalizer; if you think you're far too plain to ever be a movie star, don't worry, because almost every movie star you know has very few of their original parts. Like They Might Be Giants sang, everybody wants prosthetic foreheads on their real heads.

Today's CODE WORD: if you had to get cosmetic surgery, what would you get? Feel free to post anonymously...

can i have jimmies and carpet sweepin's on mine

8/3/08

God knows making fun of conservatives is so easy, it should be disqualified – which reminds me, why was anybody shooting fish in a barrel anyway? To eat them? To let off steam?

Anyway, just to say, I'm as self-aware as the next parallelist Gen-Xer and can appreciate a buffoonish liberal caricature when I see one. Take, for instance, the Stuff White People Like site I linked on Friday. The entire site is two things at once: amazingly dead-on, and the cruel-spirited apotheosis of snark. It can be very funny (#4 – "Assists"), arbitrarily obscure (#68 – Michel Gondry), non-trenchantly obvious (#15 – Yoga, #42 – Sushi), and occasionally a laundry list of everything I love (Plays, Apple Products, the Toyota Prius, T-Shirts, the NYTimes and Multilingual Children).

"Stuff White People Like" has a brilliance that lies in everyone's desire to be pegged, and then taking personal pride in being pegged, thus freeing them to continue drinking chamomile and playing kickball as they did before. I particularly admire entries like Appearing Empathetic With Personal Anecdotes of "Poverty", especially after I wrote entries like this. The site is slightly misnamed, however: it should really be "Stuff Liberals With Discretionary Income Like".

Occasionally, snark imitates life, and last week was a doozy. On several sites I frequent, the bold type came out and the frenzy began:

I mean... yes, I have bought a grande soy latté with almond syrup a time or two thousand. And I do enjoy their new DoubleShot on Ice. And it's nice to always be within 400 yards of a hazelnut frappuccino. But COME ON!