Tuesday, December 28, 2004

All day at work I have nothing to do. I spend all day reading the Web for news on the tsunami. I read eyewitness accounts, check out photos, download videos- disaster porn. I notice early on in the morning that the news is playing up that a supermodel survived. Later that night, I read a Web site that has links to naked pictures of her.

When I go home I check the news. The people on Fox News are attacking the U.N. and huffing and puffing over some statement a U.N. diplomat made that he has since apologized for. MSNBC interviews Andrew Weil about health issues. Later on, Joe Scarborough comes on and also piles on the U.N. On Hannity and Colmes, somebody is attacking the Democrats for something related to the disaster. I feel disgusted by Fox but when I notice they have video footage I haven't seen before, I watch in between flipping back and forth to "Charmed." I turn to CNN and see that as the Larry King fill-in interviews experts in tsunami's and humanitarian relief, the CNN ticker breaks the news that Jack White of the White Stripes and Renee Zellwiger have broken up. When a commercial comes on squawking about a new CNN segment in which they followed several Americans as they try and lose weight, I flip to the local news to see what they have to say. It's story after story about it raining here. Apparently, some streets are flooding and there's traffic. A tree branch fell on some electrical wires somewhere and the block loses power. When I see that Comedy Central isn't showing "The Daily Show" at 7, I flip through the channels and upon seeing that nothing is on, I turn the TV off.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Was there anyone else who upon hearing about the tsunami, quickly checked out the cable news stations mainly so they could catch all the cool disaster footage? You know you did.

And was there anyone else who got a little upset when upon turning to the news channels, didn't see much in the way of footage mainly because the news channels thought it much more important to detail all sorts of Christmas travellers stuck in airports? Not to mention the all-important fact that "Meet The Fockers" broke the record for Christmas movie releases?

Oh yeah, I forgot- mainly furriners died. We here in America don't care.

One of my big, recurring nightmares is the tidal wave one, where I'm somewhere along the coast and see a big, huge wall of water headed my way. You can figure out the psychological stuff yourself- I know what it means but I ain't saying. Finding out that my recurring nightmare could actually happen is a bit scary. Like I don't have enough to worry about.

I can also say that a bunch of the places that got hit, mainly Phuket in Thailand and Penang Malaysia, I've been to. Checking out the photos online, I recognized some of the places, all of them totally thrashed. Besides being extraordinarily beautiful, I also remember those places as having the nicest people.

So sad.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

I was supposed to go on a date today, but yesterday I got shot down. That day being Christmas (merry Christmas indeed). I came back from a party only to get an e-mail saying she wanted to cancel because she "met somebody" recently that she was kind of into and didn't think it fair to meet with me.

Okay, granted the heads up is always appreciated as it is much better being told than being stood up (which happened to me once and whoo-boy, was that a soul-crushing night). And it's somewhat better than having it be a Dead Man Walking type date where the other person pretty much isn't into it from the get-go and the end result is an hour or so of complete awkward humiliation. Of course, the "I just met somebody" could be a lie, the simplest way of saying "remember how I said I'd like to go out with you? I lied," especially as it came the day before the actual date.

On the other hand, if it wasn't a lie, there's still plenty of things about the "I just met someone" blow-off that sticks under the craw. Like how it could mean that she was open to having a relationship, it's just that somebody beat me to it. Like, if we would have had that date on Tuesday instead of Sunday, that could have been me. And the other thing being that what the message also says is "I'm in love and having loads of sex. You are not. Good luck with that."

Which is how I wound up seeing "House of the Flying Daggers" today, which is an absolutely breath-takingly beautiful movie. If Zhang Ziyi isn't that most beautiful woman in film right now, I don't know who is (the quote about her in the New York Times' film review sums it up- "Occasionally, Ms. Zhang bares one of her lovely shoulders. If she showed any more, the projector might catch fire."). But none of which is the point of this here post, this is- is it a sign that you've been seeing too many movies lately that you're starting to dig the Fanta commercial starring the Fantanas? I wanta Fanta.
The scene: your typical, average, small-ish Chinese restaurant. Could be anywhere. To the left, by the wall, sits grandmother. Across the table from her but sitting away from the wall and towards the center of the restaurant, is her granddaughter- a typical single woman in her late 20's, early 30's. The grandmother stares into her food, leisurely taking bites. The woman stares off into space and into the kitchen with a far-away look in her eyes, taking bites of her food while never taking her eye of the distance. Every once in awhile, the silence is ended by the grandmother making some sort of comment to which the granddaughter gives a short reply back. When the short burst of conversation ends, the grandmother goes back to her food and the granddaughter back to staring at into the kitchen. Silence returns

Gotta love the holidays.
Love going to other people's homes, looking at their Christmas Card collection and realizing that a mutual friend sent a card to them, but not to you. Thanks, dude. Of course, maybe I'd get more if I actually sent some out myself, but I don't. Because I'm me, I don't see the point in sending some generic picture with generic holiday greetings to a bunch of people with a message in sending it that pretty much says "Hey, you're on my Christmas Card list" but that's just me. And if any friends who sent me a Christmas Card this year, please disregard above statement. Love those cards and keep them coming!

Besides, it's not like I could really put anything on one of those cards. I have no kids, have no wife, don't even have a pet. What could I put on the card? Me? That's a little cheesy. I could put something on there with me and something that means a lot to me, but I don't think many people would be that excited to see a picture of me and my TV.
Sorry, I'm a little late to this, but did you see how some people put up a Festivus display at some city-sponsored Nativity scene?

That's awesome.

As was the South Park "Woodland Critter Christmas" episode, easily the funniest bit of offensiveness to ever air on TV. It's amazing (and heart-warming) that in the year of the faux-"won't somebody think of the children" outrage that has marked the year (think Janet Jackson's boob) that an episode which climaxes in Stan and some mountain-lion cubs (don't ask) performing an abortion on Kyle to rid him of the anti-Christ airs on TV with nary a word aired against it.

For those who haven't seen it, the episode is, as they say, so best.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Tonight, I went to the corner store at 16th & Valencia to buy some milk after I came home from house sitting. As I paid up and started to leave, the woman who works there (I'm guessing she's the wife of the guy who runs it) tells me to hold on. She pulls out a receipt and $7 and tells me that several weeks ago, they over-charged me for a few items and that they owed me some money. Since I'm in there all the time, they left the money behind the counter and waited for me to come in again so they could give it to me.

And that's pretty darn cool that they did that.
For the past few days, I've been house/dog sitting for friends. Even though I'm pretty darn close to my own apartment and still kind of in the neighborhood, it feels like I'm on a mini-vacation. Except instead of warm, sunny Chile, I'm in cold, freezing Noe Valley.

The dog I'm dog sitting for occasionally wakes up in the middle of the night with a doggy nightmare. She's been doing this for awhile, even back last year when I was dog sitting her. So I wonder, what makes a doggy nightmare? Are they dreaming that they're chasing after a frisbee but can't run? Is it where they show up to doggy training school late or realize it's the finals and they haven't even begun to comprehend what the word "sit" means? Or are they dreaming that they're showing up in public wearing clothes?

Speaking of dreams, I've been having some weird one's lately. One of them is where I am about to get married and it's a couple of days before the wedding and I suddenly get panicked, wondering what the hell I'm about to do feeling like I'm trapped into making a big mistake. It's a pretty weird dream to have when not only are you single and not dating anyone, but living a carefully planned life in which you're pretty much not commited to anything. The other one is a twist on the old back to school and not able to study thing, except that in this one I am trying to study, but I keep on getting distracted by other people. Other than the obvious shout-out to Sartre's"hell is other people" meme, this one is weird because I don't particularly feel that way about anything. In fact, I can say that while I have a project management type job, I'm not that frustrated with anyone in it right now.

Which makes me wonder- since I'm in one of those strange places where I'm not particularly stressed out about anything nor upset about anything, why am I having these dreams? Is there something lurking underneath or does the subconscious play re-runs when it has nothing going on, kind of like how networks show repeats during the holidays and summer? All of which brings me back to a conversation I had with a friend over the weekend, how people tell us that we worry about everything. Isn't that what you're supposed to think about? What does one think about when they're not worrying? Is it all puppy-dogs and rainbows? What's it like?

Seriously. What's it like?

Saturday, December 18, 2004

More great moments in cell phone usage- guy at the outdoor brunch place that I went to who got on the phone the moment he sat down and then kept on talking on the phone not only while he ordered, but as he ate too.

Hope he enjoyed his meal.

There's been a few stories in the news lately about the various government agencies who are in charge of such things thinking about allowing cell phone usage on airplane flights. While this sounds like a good idea at first, once you think about it, it becomes obvious that this could just be the worst idea in the history of mankind. For this would mean being trapped- trapped!- on five hour flights with all your best cell-phone types: high-powered businessman making sales calls, angsty twenty-something girl with the commitment-phobic boyfriend problems who calls every single one of her girlfriends to relate the latest big issue in the relationship in every intimate detail, way too exciteable ex-Sorority Girls calling every girlfriend they're about to visit on their trip to talk about like how awesome of a time they're about to have, and the ever popular hi-tech engineer guy who spends all of his time on the phone dealing with server issues.

Hell, people. We're talking hell.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Today was the big office holiday party. No, not lots of drinks and bad drunken behavior, more like pot luck and cheap present giving. It was a "white elephant" party which is the kind of party where people bring whatever they have lying around and present that as a present. All the presents are put on the big table and one-by-one, people go up and choose a present. Or, they could grab a present somebody else got and then the person who lost their present got to choose.

Now there were two bits to in the e-mail invitation about what consisted of a present for a "white elephant" party. The first bit was about how it was something you owned and wanted to get rid of. The idea being that people wouldn't go out and spend money on anything. I read that part. The second part was about how it's supposed to be a goofy gift. I missed that part.

As the party progressed, I noticed two things- that most people went out and bought something and that most people brought something that was goofy. I didn't buy anything and my gift wasn't goofy. In fact, it was kind of good- two used books that I actually enjoyed. So you can well imagine how I'm feeling as gift after gift is opened up and presented to everyone on the floor- most to howls of laughter- and I'm sitting there thinking how much my little gift isn't what I'm supposed to bring and how it's going to be totally embarassing when somebody opens it up, and finds two non-goofy used books, all to defeaning silence. All of which kind of happened, but with a little sarcasm thrown in when the person thought it was a joke at first and sarcastically pretended to be excited about his gift.

I love Christmas parties.

As for my gift, first I got a John Waters Christmas CD. Yee-hah. Luckily, somebody traded up with me and I grabbed some sort of tacky mushroom light which would have looked totally cool on my desk. That was taken and so I wound up with a box of See's Candies that I could never finish by myself not even if I sat down and forced myself to try it.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

A friend got into a fender-bender while waiting to pick me up. She was backing up in the median and a cab driver was busy darting across the median to make a U-Turn (totally illegal, by the way) and slammed into her. She's alright and the car is only a little bit banged up, but it was a pretty stressful thing. When I got down to the street, totally oblivious to what happened, it took me a few seconds to realize that the car that the cab was smashed into was hers, still diagonal in the street, blocking traffic.

What happened next was the kind of expected fun that one expects in a city known for it's love. There was the traffic slow-down, caused, yes, by the cab being half-way into the lane, but I could tell by the amount of people straining their necks as they rode by that there were other reasons for them to slow down. A couple of minutes in, some lady who stopped in her lane to pretty much yell at my friend and the cab driver to get out of the way because she was causing traffic problems, a problem made worse by her stopping in the lane to yell at everyone. I wasn't sure she was being bitchy because she was concerned or just pissed because she couldn't park in that spot of the median. While she was yelling, there were two other things going on. One was a pedestrian who was watching. He started mouthing off towards the woman in the car, but then when she drove off, started mouthing off to my friend. It's always good to criticize someone who just was in an accident. Good way to not add to everyone's stress.

Then there was the bus. A few minutes after I got downstairs, a bus came by and stopped. The driver measured things up and after seeing if she could make it, passed the accident and went on the way (with me guiding her by- yep, I was guiding a bus). A few minutes later, another bus came by. This bus driver also stopped to see if he could make it, but this time, he just stopped and let everyone out. And there he sat, just waiting, cars backing up behind him. I went up to him to try and get traffic moving along (I'm sure with everything going on, knowing that you're causing a major traffic back-up on Valencia isn't going to help) and told him another bus made it. Driver said he didn't care, he still wasn't moving. So I tried again and once again, he said he wasn't going to move. Why? Because, as he said "I'm paid by the hour, it don't matter what I do."

And that's today's big, exciting blog posting...

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Last week I went to the big Super Mondo Corporation trade show event. Kind of big deal only in that it after years of hearing stories about what these things are like I finally got to go to one. I know, a boy can dream, can't he.

Anyways, the big event of the evening was a performance by noted 80's has-beens Tears For Fears. And yeah, I do so love the '80's. Now, first of all, I know the kids love the 80's music, but does their love of 80's music make it such that Tears for Fears is seen as a great party band? Cause you're throwing a big party with maybe a thousand people and listening to "Shout" and "Mad World" doesn't sound like something that'll make everyone boogie down. Oh yeah, and remember how back in the '80's or 90's when we saw bands like Starship and Foghat and the Beach Boys play and we'd all think "why don't they just give it up?" Why is it okay to say that about Foghat but not Tears for Fears?

Anyhoo, the crowd loved them. The drunks in the front of my friend and I were even swinging arm-in-arm through the concert, with hot drunk girl getting on some guys shoulders to rock out to "Shout." And as I'm watching this, I'm thinking to myself just how much alcohol it would take to be in a band and find yourself playing some corporate gig. Isn't corporate gig a step up from a Puppet Show (and side note- when I made similar side crack to Marketing Manager and AE at Christmas Party, it drew a blank response. What do you do if nobody gets a fairly obvious Spinal Tap reference?)? And not only would I be drunk, I'd probably be hitting the wah-wah pedal and distortion box every ten or fifteen seconds just to lay down some sort of subervsive element to it. Because, after all, nothing says rock n' roll like heading the crowd in a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday to the companies Senior V.P. They even said those dread words "and now, for the first single from our new album" without any hint of irony. How could you not be drunk when you say those words?

The thing about Tears For Fears too was that they were obviously very comfortable in their early 40's, pre-Middle Age years. The main guys both looked like they like nothing better to do than drink tea and watch the telly, not try and rock out the crowd. Which makes it all the more disconcerting when they tried to play all their big, "we're English and we're brooding and depressed" songs that made up most of their hits. The song might be saying "Everybody Wants to Rule The World," but their demeanor was more like "Everybody Wants To Tend the Garden and Diversify the Portfolio."

There was also a U2 cover band that played that night. They were pretty good, but, again, a little disconcerting. They did a pretty good job of sounding like U2 (the lead singer even spoke with a fake Irish accent during songs) but they looked nothing like them. The lead singer was dressed in Achtung-Baby era the Fly black, but he had curly hair with a receding hairline, making him look more like the lead singer of the Scorpions than Bono. And the guitar player, who dressed exactly like the Edge in ski cap and numbered "Beautiful Day" era t-shirt, was kind of doughy looking. The thing about seeing a U2 cover band, though, is that while U2 may be all sorts of good, they don’t lend themselves especially well to the whole cover band idea. Cover bands, after all, work when there's a healthy dollop of irony involved. You can't do U2 ironically, even ironic U2. It's hard to sound earnest and sincere when you're playing at earnest and sincere. Being heartfelt at being heartfelt isn't the same thing.

Cover bands always make me think about the weirdness of it all from an identity stand point. Do the guys on stage see themselves as themselves or as Bono and the Edge? Do they think of themselves that way off the stage too? And I'm sure they have groupies because everyone with a guitar who gets on stage has groupies (well, except for me back in college, but that's another story). Are the girls who get with them getting with them or with the people they're supposed to be? Like, is Cover Band Bono Groupie really wanting to hit it with Sigmund or Horst or whatever his name was or do they really think they're hitting it with Bono? And when they're getting it on, how many times has the girl screamed out Bono's name instead of his?

Sunday, December 12, 2004

And we're back. I think I had what is known as a snark blockage- when the feeling of the blahs gets so overwhelming you just don't care about a thing. Well, I got my snark back- at about 2:30 at night Thursday night- which is why I'm here, posting again. The three of you reading should all be so happy.

And with that, here's what's we're feeling cranky about right now.

-Those poncho thingies women are wearing these days. They were kind of cute when they first came out and they can look really good on women but that was before every woman started wearing them, some like every day. day. At this point the whole poncho thing reminds me of back in High School when it was deemed Hawaiian shorts were the big thing. First a few people wore them, and then everyone else did, and soon it got to the point where I showed up for school one day and realized I was one of maybe three or four people who weren't wearing Hawaiian shorts that day. And for that, I was considered a loser in High School

-Hotmail has been SUCKING for the past few weeks. I know they're doing some tweaks to the site right now, adding some things that are probably for the best (more size) and things I could give a fuck about (calendar) but does it really take two weeks to tweak all that? Don't they realize that a lot of people rely on Hotmail for their e-mail and taking down the site for two weeks goes from a minor inconvenience to a pain in the frickin' ass? The most annoying thing is they don't announce that they're going to be making the tweaks and to let you know that the site will be kind of wonky for awhile. So you think everything is fine except for the fact you can't log in all day. Or you get the third or fourth e-mail in an e-mail chain but don't get the first or second e-mail. Or when you get e-mails on Friday that were sent to you on Tuesday.

-The feigned outrage at the recent story that not only the fact that the troops in Iraq don't have enough armor or that Donald Rumsfield is a dick. Tell me something I didn't know. There's a thing called a newspaper, people. Read it sometime.

-All this saying talking about how steroids is baseball's problem. Like 400 pound lineman running the 40 faster than I ever could happens because of fitness and training. And another thing- when celebrities are celebrated for doing some sort of surgical thing to make themselves look more attractives and politicians are celebrated for looking like they're real people when they're all a bunch of Ivy League millionaires, why are we getting all huffy about athletes doing the same? Face it, we got fake celebrities, fake entertainment, and fake politics. Steroids in baseball is just another shoe dropping. Not that I'm that thrilled with the news and I am taking the Bonds' thing harder than most Giants fans that I talk to, but still.

-Speaking of steroids, the fact that the Giants constantly whine about payroll and as a result become infatuated with players nearing 40. Step on up the plate, people- it's all or nothing, shit or get off the pot, Sydney or the Bush. You want to win, win.

-Women on online dating sites who respond to initial e-mails, but stop responding after that. Is there something someone can say after one e-mail that can turn someone off? If you do things like that, shouldn't you also start cruising pet adoption sites for the cats who'll be your only life-long companions?

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Report: Jackson prints found on porn mags

Wait, they can test for things like that?

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Yeah, I know. I haven't posted in awhile.

Sorry.

I think I got that Seasonal Affective Disorder thing. You know, that mental thing that didn't exist up until twenty years ago and allows doctors, psychiatrists, and drug company CEO's to upgrade from a sail-boat to a yacht. Screw the Plague, small pox, and AIDS- how the hell have we progressed as a civilization with things like Seasonal Affective Disorder out there? But what can I say? It's pitch black when I wake up, pitch black when I get home and pretty friggin cold and rainy the rest of the time. It's hard to have any joie de vivre when you're huddled underneath every blanket you own trying to keep warm.

I think I also have a wee case of the post-vacation blues. You know, that feeling you get after returning from a great trip abroad only to realize about a week back that it's pretty much same as it ever was upon returning except you have a tan. One minute everyday is an adventure and you're mind is getting blown all over the place, the next day you're lamenting the fact that both "Friends" and "Seinfeld" are repeating episodes you've seen way too many times and "Charmed" isn't on because TNT is showing a Bobcats/Hornets games.

Of course, it could also be because I recently read this:

Dubya won in the Electoral College by 34 electoral votes, or 29 electoral votes more than his electoral-vote margin in 2000 (five electoral votes). The popular will was not thwarted. But that's only because, if Ohio Secretary of State Ken Blackwell is to be believed, President Bush won Ohio by a mere 118,775 votes, which works out to a little more than two percentage points. If John Kerry had gotten 118,776 more votes in Ohio, he would have claimed Ohio's 20 electors, giving him 272 electors to Bush's 266. For want of 118,776 votes, John Kerry lost the presidency.


Sigh.

In other words, I think I'm taking the rest of the week off. Be back blogging next week.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Man, I'm freaking exhausted but it's a weird kind of exhausted as it's mainly about just recovering from the trip. It's a stress free exhaustion if that makes any sense. I know, I had ten days of vacation, but take those ten days and sandwich them with two all-night plane trips, lots of time spent touring, never-quite-dealt with jet-lag, and the sheer amount of energy it takes just to deal with family for ten straight days and you got one exhausted me. Even worse, there was a bug going around the wedding party and I might be fighting it off. It's hard to tell because I'm so tired, but I do know I'm feeling bad enough that I'm staying off coffee and trying to stick to tea, an idea which ain't really working that well.

The thing about the bug is that the person who first got sick was Sister-in-Law's mother. She, of course, had to do all the functions because she is, after all, the mother. But we're talking about South America and we're dealing with South Americans so that means there's a lot of kissing involved, and get your mind out of the gutters, I'm talking the peck on the cheek kind of kissing. It's true, South Americans love to kiss. There I was, not more than four hours in the country, going to a family BBQ of a family I've never met and the moment the big huge security door opened, I'm getting kissed. I don't know who these people are, yet I'm kissing them. Fine, I can deal. Whatever. Except Sister-in-Law's mother is sick and she's kissing everyone and I know she's sick. But what am I going to do? I can't say "sorry, no kissing today, you're sick" and I can't avoid her and I can't blow her off (see "Seinfeld") so I've got nothing to do but get kissed.

Which could be why I'm not feeling so well.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

Yeah, it's the Wank of the Week. Frankly I'm a little tired tonight and a little burned out on this thing to care about it much, but as this week is the super-fabulous State of the San Francisco Music Scene issue ("I know more unknown bands than you do and I've seen more cool-ass shows than you ever will!"), I had to. Besides, check this beauty out:

But then I don't buy into that West Coast-East Coast paradigm, that old battle, which I suspect those groups did. Maybe it's myopia, and maybe I'm just a Pacific Rim baby, loving and hating Island California, allergic to tie-dye, apart from the Chun metal-grunge years, and admiring the always resurgent curiosity, the passion for the new in this green world. I may be an Anglophile, but I'm just as much an Asiaphile, and when I look for guidance or validation, I don't turn to the East, Europe, or the Far East, for that matter, but instead check a complicated compass that's both internal and communal. And in that sense maybe I'm a lot like the folks who make up the current incarnation of the San Francisco sound.


Side note- year after year, we always hear stories about what a great scene we have here and how many wonderful bands we have playing and what a huge influence we are around the world and how we're just as cool as New York and blah blah blah. But how many of those bands actually amount to anything? And how many just don't disappear into the ether within two or three years? And how many of those bands that do actually make it, are then attacked and ridiculed for making it? Eh, but what do I know, I spent the past week in Chile trying to track down the new U2 new album, finally buying it in all it's chimey-Edge guitar goodness my last day there. Who wants to be like U2 when you can be some super-cool arty type band that plays to the same 50 people every month at Kimo's?
Last week I took little sis to the beach to teach her to body surf. I figured I had to since that appears to be my role in the family- I'm the One Who lives in California. Which while not much of anything, is still much better than being "The One Who is Unemployed." And what says being Californian more than teaching someone how to body surf? Besides, Little Sis was born in California but as she has spent the past for or five years in the East Coast, is slowly losing her California-ness and there's nothing more important to retain than someone's inner California-ness (something I knew I succeeded at when she refused to leave when we were supposed to because she was having too much fun swimming in the ocean. How much more Californian can you get?). So, anyways, off we went to the beach, me driving the rental car.

When we were done, we went back to the car and unlocked the door. Car alarm goes off. Okay, no big deal, this has happened before, I knew what to do. The rental car had those new fangled car keys in which you can unlock everything by pressing a button. I pressed the button. Nothing. Car alarm still blared away. I opened the door, hoping that would work, but it didn't. So I shut the door and quickly locked it, hoping that would work. It did. I stood there and pressed every damn button on the car key at least four or five times but everytime I opened the door, the damn alarm went off. I even went so far as getting into the car and starting the engine, but the thing wouldn't shut off. Turns out the key thingy was jammed and so wasn't working anymore (whether or not it was caused by my accidentally leaving the keys in my pocket when I first went into the ocean is open to debate).

What to do? Futz with the car some more or make a run for it, alarm blaring away? After about ten minutes of standing there, trying to figure out what to do, I decided to make a break for it and we got into the car to drive off, the alarm blaring away. For the entire ten minute drive back to the hotel, the alarm wouldn't stop, pretty much alerting everyone on the strip of road we were driving that something was amiss with the car, a thing you always want to have happen when driving a car in a foreign country. Not conspicuous at all, no sirree.

We made it and got out of the car. Thankfully, the car shut up once we left and we told my dad what was up. He called the rental agency, which didn't give him much good advice as it was all in Spanish and he just opened the door to the car and cut the chord to the alarm. That worked but had a bad side-effect, or at least one bad but not as bad as the fees he was eventually going to have to pay for breaking something in the car- the sound the car makes when it's turn signal is on would constantly play over and over again. Always a good thing to happen when going on a two hour drive back to Santiago.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

And we're back….

There's nothing quite like that moment where after twenty hours of travelling you get home and put down your luggage. It's that mixture of sheer exhaustion mixed with excitement and relief in being home. Part of you is completely wiped-out from all the travelling and not having slept in a day, but you're also completely wired because you're finally home and don't have to sit in a completely uncomfortable seat for hours upon hours. Not to mention being totally frazzled because you quickly realize that you're still wearing clothes that you were wearing halfway around the world. Then there's the question of what to do? Unpack? Check messages? Check e-mail? Watch ESPN? Sleep? Shower?

Naturally, I checked e-mail.

Anyways, was going to do some whining here about either the usual stuff (lame-ass airlines, lame-ass fliers, lame-ass security rules) and not so usual stuff (friends who've been told a bunch of times where you are and what you're doing yet still call while you're away wondering where you are and if you're up for doing something). But I won't. Suffice it to say that while I had a great time, it's nice to be home. Hell, it's nice to no longer have to pretend I speak Spanish, although it became such a normal thing that I stopped myself from saying "ola!" and "gracias" at the Chinese laundry I give my clothes too.
And we're back….

There's nothing quite like that moment where after twenty hours of travelling you get home and put down your luggage. It's that mixture of sheer exhaustion mixed with excitement and relief in being home. Part of you is completely wiped-out from all the travelling and not having slept in a day, but you're also completely wired because you're finally home and don't have to sit in a completely uncomfortable seat for hours upon hours. Not to mention being totally frazzled because you quickly realize that you're still wearing clothes that you were wearing halfway around the world. Then there's the question of what to do? Unpack? Check messages? Check e-mail? Watch ESPN? Sleep? Shower?

Naturally, I checked e-mail.

Anyways, was going to do some whining here about either the usual stuff (lame-ass airlines, lame-ass fliers, lame-ass security rules) and not so usual stuff (friends who've been told a bunch of times where you are and what you're doing yet still call while you're away wondering where you are and if you're up for doing something). But I won't. Suffice it to say that while I had a great time, it's nice to be home. Hell, it's nice to no longer have to pretend I speak Spanish, although it became such a normal thing that I stopped myself from saying "ola!" and "gracias" at the Chinese laundry I give my clothes too.
And we're back….

There's nothing quite like that moment where after twenty hours of travelling you get home and put down your luggage. It's that mixture of sheer exhaustion mixed with excitement and relief in being home. Part of you is completely wiped-out from all the travelling and not having slept in a day, but you're also completely wired because you're finally home and don't have to sit in a completely uncomfortable seat for hours upon hours. Not to mention being totally frazzled because you quickly realize that you're still wearing clothes that you were wearing halfway around the world. Then there's the question of what to do? Unpack? Check messages? Check e-mail? Watch ESPN? Sleep? Shower?

Naturally, I checked e-mail.

Anyways, was going to do some whining here about either the usual stuff (lame-ass airlines, lame-ass fliers, lame-ass security rules) and not so usual stuff (friends who've been told a bunch of times where you are and what you're doing yet still call while you're away wondering where you are and if you're up for doing something). But I won't. Suffice it to say that while I had a great time, it's nice to be home. Hell, it's nice to no longer have to pretend I speak Spanish, although it became such a normal thing that I stopped myself from saying "ola!" and "gracias" at the Chinese laundry I give my clothes too.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

-One of the things that makes typing on international computers so hard is that even the shortcut commands are different. For instance, ctr n on the PC is not new screen on Explorer, but command U is because U I guess is whatever the hell Spanish word is for new screen
-Here´s a difference between our last two President´s: Clinton came here during his 2nd term and was treated like a rock star. During one of his rides through Santiago, he stopped off at a corner store and bought a coke. The place was so thrilled, they named the place ¨Clinton´s Corner¨or something like that. Bush came here, pissed everyone off, and was described by most columnists as ¨more swaggering as usual¨due to the re-election. Once again, thank you, Red States.
-Went to shabbat lunch today for the pre-wedding festivities and the discussion turned, as always, to karoake. After a couple of moments where prayer songs were sung pretty much by memory by the religious folks, I started to think that while I used to know lots of songs off the top of my head, I don´t know that many anymore, except for maybe P.E.´s ¨Fight the Power¨(not a great song for either karoake or services) and I started to think what a shame that is. I knew some girl once who knew the entire lyrics to the Humpty Dance by memory and if you got her drunk enough, she´d sing it to you. I wish I could sing that song by memory. Wouldn´t that be a great song to sing at Shabbat services?
-Had dinner tonight at some revolving roof Italian restaurant, complete with piano player playing tortured renditions of Ace of Bass and Duran Duran´s ¨Ordinary World¨ It was awesome.
You know how all the hippie chicks are into anything Peruvian because they´re all supposedly native and poor and oppressed? What do Peruvian hippie chicks wear?

My name is Humpty, pronounced with a Umpty.
Yo ladies, oh how I like to hump thee.
And all the rappers in the top ten--please allow me to bump thee.
I'm steppin' tall, y'all,
and just like Humpty Dumpty
you're gonna fall when the stereos pump me.
I like to rhyme,
I like my beats funky,
I'm spunky. I like my oatmeal lumpy.
I'm sick wit dis, straight gangsta mack
but sometimes I get ridiculous
I'll eat up all your crackers and your licorice
hey yo fat girl, c'mere--are ya ticklish?

Friday, November 26, 2004

Oh yeah, forgot this gem: was walking around Santiago today and stumbled through this podunk shopping mall that pops up every block or so. Walk around a corner, past the Tarot card readers, and see someone who does reflexology for 5,000 pesos (about $9 bucks). So I did it. Got myself an hour long foot massage, which was actually almost too long but I think the result of the lady (Geraldine, by the way, and yes, she looked like someone who would be giving foot massages in some run-down shopping center) having either no other customers or she liked me. While the massage was certainly good, it was well worth it just for one of those random type experiences in which I´m basically lying in this run-down booth that was about ten years away from it´s last paint job, a table that needed to be left out on the street, and sheets that were probably bought in the 80´s listening to the soothing sounds of Whitesnake for all of an hour while my feet are being rubbed. And yes, it sounds way better than I just described it.

Best 9000 pesos I ever spent
Let´s get to the quick stuff as that´s all I have time for:

-Just took a ride with possibly the worst cab driver in both Hemispheres. He didn´t know his way around, couldn´t read maps, drove about ten miles-per-hour less than every car on the road, and was quite possibly half-deaf. You know it´s bad when I, who have been in this city for all of three days, is giving him directions. In really bad Spanish.
-Thanks to the five-star luxury hotel´s cable selection featuring subtitled Skinemax, I now know most Spanish terms for Lesbian sex acts.
-Allow me to give myself some dap on this, but I drive maybe once a year, at the most. And that driving usually consists of highways. So far, I´ve driven around two South American cities, finding the way each time, dodging busses, and even navigating several dreaded round-abouts. Yeah me.
-Both ESPN and Fox Sports are the international sports versions, meaning it´s all soccer (futbol) all the time, especially as it´s the European Championship season. All the American sports, mainly basketball and football are afterthoughts on the shows, the thing they tag on in the last ten or fifteen minutes of SportsCenter when they´ve run out of soccer highlights. It´s kind of refreshing, actually, in that it shows just how much all those stories about ¨the globalization¨of American sports are a crock. Nobody cares. Or, they do up until the moment Arsenal takes on AC Milan and buh-bye Warriors/Sonics game highlights.
-My Thanksgiving started off with me waking up in my hotel room overlooking the ocean followed by breakfast at the hotel restaurant, also overlooking the ocean. That was followed by a jaunt to Valporiso- an incredibly beautiful and funky town largely consisting of narrow streets up until the hills- and lunch on a restaurant on the edge of a cliff also overlooking the ocean. That was followed by a drive back to Santiago and then a birthday party at a country club in the hills. After that came a late night dinner at a five-star New Zealand restaurant and wine then drinks at some yuppie bar around the corner from the restaurant. Stumbled home at three in the morning to wake up to a major hangover. Not bad if you ask me

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

So I´m in Vista Del Mar, some town near Valporiso on the coast of Chile that is abso'fucking'lutely beautiful. The hotel we´re staying is on the cliff, overlooking the beach. My hotel room just might be the nicest hotel room I´ve ever stayed in, with a deck overlooking both the pool and the Ocean. It´s so nice that I want to buy a pack of cigarettes to smoke on the deck only because isn´t that the point of having a deck over the ocean? While Valporiso is kind of the snooty neighbor next door, Vista Del Mar (or is it Villa Del Mar?) is the rowdy one. It´s part beach community, part resort, part third-worldy. In other words, it´s great.

I´m here with my dad, though, which brings up one of hte problems in travelling with family as opposed to friends. It´s 11 o´clock, I´ve drank a pisco sour and half a bottle of wine and I have nowhere to go. The hotel is about a half-an-hour walk to Vista Del Mar and it´s way too much of a hike to do it. So, it´s pretty much me and the mini-bar for the rest of the night, out on the deck drinking and listening to Radiohead all night. Pretty cool, but not exactly raging.

Where was I?

Dunno. Have a bunch more to say, but don´t feel like getting into it now as I´m getting charged by the minute. Tomorrow, hopefully massages, body surfing, and fish tacos by the beach. Such is life.


On Sunday night, I spent most of the late hours checking my fantasy football sites and watching the Sunday Night Football game til late in the morning (Chile is five hours ahead of SF- oh, and this computer is even more messed up then the last one so forgive the typos. Oh, an´d I´m messed up too.) Anyways, I´m all the way south of the border and it´s like three in the morning and I´m cursing out the Packers game. AFter losing Sunday´s game, I´ve been sneaking away to the computer to figure out Ahman Green´s status and too try and snag a back-up running back. All of this is a sign that:

-Fantasy football is obsessively bad
-Modern technology is not a good thing
-I should have traded Javon Walker for Reuben Droughans several weeks ago.

Your choice.....

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Ola from Santiago.

Pardon if this entry is a little rambling and sloppy but this day started at 11 AM Saturday morning, which is when I left my apartment. Other than a bit of a sleep on the flight (I landed 9:30 AM local time, which is 4:30 SF time) I haven´t slept since Friday night. Throw in jet lag, lots of BBQ, way too much whiskey sours (sister-in-laws´ family likes to have a good time- we like people who like to have a good time) and the fact I´m typing this on a computer with an international keyboard that, among other things, has the ç where the “enter” button should be and you have a rambling and sloppy blog entry. And yes, I´m on the computer now- my fantasy football teams are right now 1-1 with one team rallying, thanks for asking).

I have to say that even though I love travelling and should have been really excited about spending ten days in Chile largely through the largesse of the parents, I wasn´t acting all that excited about this trip. I would have been, but work´s been so crazy I haven´t had the luxury of being excited. It´s hard being exicted about something happening in the future when you´re just trying to make it through the day. I knew at some point it would hit and that somewhere along the trip the reality of it all would hit me and it did- pretty much on the flight over as I looked out of the window and saw the Andes below me. With the new Perfect Circle disc playing on the disc-man (my new fave CD), I did nothing for the last half an hour of the flight but stare out the window. It reminded me of when I flew to Europe oh so many years ago and spent the last hour or so doing nothing but staring at the window as we flew over the Mediterrean and the Aegean. Al I could think of was ¨woah-that´s the fucking Mediterrean down there.¨ Now I´m pretty excited. Ever since I´ve landed, every five minutes or so this voice comes to me pretty much saying ¨dude, you´re in South Fucking America¨.

So far, Chile has been rather first-worldy. Santiago has that European vibe to it- a mixture of old and ultra-modern, funky architecture and wide-boulevards where everyone´s out walking (memo to San Francisco- boulevards. Look into it). It´s really pretty nice. In some ways, it´s not all that different from anything. Mom and I had faijita´s at what was pretty much a sports bar with the Packers/Texans game on the background. Our waiter was such the prototypical stoner dude, in fact, type that I kept on speaking English to him because I couldn´t believe that somebody who looked like that wasn´t an American.

As we drove around to the BBQ this afternoon, it was amazing how normal everything looked. Turn the corner of one development and it looked like the Hollywood Hills. Turn another corner and it looked like Mill Valley. Turn another and it looked like the Los Altos Hills. The BBQ was at this typical suburban home and was pretty much your typical BBQ- lots of chicken, beef, and pork. Throw in all the golf shirts people were wearing, the sandals, and Disneyland kiddie pool and it could have been any family BBQ in Los Altos. Except, for the most part, everyone spoke in Spanish. It´s like it´s been your average, normal day except somebody hit the SAP button so everything´s in Spanish. Well, there is one big difference- in the background everywhere are these jutting mountainous hills- the Andes. They´re sharper, craggier and bigger than anything I´m used to and they give everything kind of an “edge of the world” feel. There we were, watching all the grand-kids run around the front yard, with these huge hills behind them. And yes, as I sat there, all I could think was ¨dude, I´m in South fucking America.”

One mo´thing- the big APEC meeting is happening in Chile this week. Lots of diplomats running around. Not to mention world leaders, including our “President.” When the plane landed, we passed Air Force One sitting in the airport, like it was looking to make a fast get-away, probably from the rampaging protestors. And yes, there´s been protests everywhere. Nothing like flying into a foriegn city where everyone´s gathered to protest the actions of the country you live in. I was joking to my dad that we should all have t-shirts made up that said “Don´t Blame Me- I´m From a Blue State.” Apparently, Smirkboy caused a bit of an incident that has pissed off all the locals, but I´m sure you´ll never hear anything of it on the news.

And yes, it took only fifteen minutes into the BBQ before the political situation came out. I don´t know whether it was just me being defensive or whether there was something there but I swear everyone kind of gave me a scornful look. I just gave them this really pathetic look on my face. I do have to say, however, that one thing about travelling is that you are aware, probably as much as you ever have, that you are an American. Which is why I felt a little put off by being lectured on politics by people who lived in a country famous for it´s military dictatorships. Cough-Pinochet-cough.
And that´s it for now. Hopefully, I´ll tour more of the city tomorrow and head for Valporiso on Tuesday.

Friday, November 19, 2004

We're going offline for awhile, or at least infrequently posting for awhile. I'm heading off to Chile for my bro's wedding. Long story. It's kind of a weird thing this wedding- for thirty-six years of my life I've never had to say the words "sister-in-law." Now I do. I know, why post from all the way from the Southern Hemisphere (I've travelled all over the world but never down below the equator and yes I think that's kind of cool. And yes, I'm totally gonna check out which way the water goes when I flush) but as I'm a total e-mail addict, I'll probably be going online occasionally, if only to check on my fantasy football teams. Well, that and I'm staying with my mother and I figure the less time in the room, the better. I hate to say it to even if it's only my fourth month there, but after the past month or so, I could actually use a few days off.

And yes, some of you may be wondering what the hell I'm thinking going on vacation after all the bad things that have happened to me on jobs when I've gone on vacation. All I can say is I know. Luckily, I think the person covering for me is completely in over her head. Or so I hope. It is kind of a mean thing to wish, but I do kind of wish everything goes to hell in a handbasket while I'm gone.

We shall see.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Man, work has been totally crazy and it's been totally crazy for awhile now. We're short handed and there's a lot of stuff that's due. And for various reasons, it all feels like it's been coming down on me as almost all of the big, just under million dollar marketing campaigns are coming down on my shoulders. The past couple of months have been like riding a tropical storm and all I've been able to do is bail as fast as I can.

And no, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how I feel. It's hard to be totally up and stressed for going weeks at a time. Which is one of the things about project management type jobs- you have to be totally on all the time. It's part of the reason why I'm drinking three cups of coffee a day because I need to be wired in order to do the job. Even worse, everyone else at work is getting to that same point and everyone's all torn and frayed. Everyone's really nice and a great group of people, but whenever everyone's stressed out, people aren't so nice and aren't so great.

I've noticed too that every week goes the same. Monday morning I'm all fresh-faced and eager. I get up early, I make breakfast and lunch, get the cofee brewing, and make all my trains, planes and automobiles in plenty of time. I also try to dress to impress and feel fired up to do all my extra-ciricular activities, like this here blog. As the week goes on, I lose all the fresh-faced eagerness and it all falls apart. By friday, I'm getting up late, not making lunch or breakfast, don't get the coffee brewing, and barely make my connections. At work, I'm basically showing up in t-shirt and jeans and I'm way to burned out to do anything but lie in a fetal position on the couch, curled up against a bottle of wine. Which is why my blogging on Wednesdays or Thursdays has totally fallen off recently, I'm way too tired to write anything.

And no, I'm not complaining. I'm just looking forward to a little downtime. And lots and lots of sleep.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

I'm sitting at my cubicle today when my new manager came to my desk to talk to me. Even though she's a bit older and in a position of responsibility, there's still a bit of a rocker in her. What I mean is that she'll occasionally wear something that's, umm, slightly revealing.

Today when she came up to me, I turned around to face her and quickly noticed that- how shall I put it?- she looked very excited to see me. As friends used to put it, she could have cut glass with those things. This, of course, was problematic. She is my boss and she is in a position of responsibility. I have to do whatever I can do to not only impress her, but to give her the respect she should get (cough *brownose* cough). The one thing I could not do is to stare at the wrong place, which can be pretty damn difficult when her headlights were pretty much out and saying "howya doin'?" So I'm sitting there thinking to myself "don't stare…don't stare…don't stare" which kind of makes trying to impress the boss difficult in that it's hard to put coherent sentences together when you're doing everything possible to stare directly at her face. Plus, there's that whole bit where if you tell yourself not to think of something, you automatically can't but help think of something. My dad once told me that if somebody came up to you and said "don't think of a camel" you will, of course, do nothing but think of a camel the very act of trying not to think of one automatically makes you think of one. In other words, if you're telling yourself "don't think about the nipples, don't think about the nipples" you're gonna be thinking about the nipples.

Which brings us to the Wank of the Week. Blah, blah, blah, program director left the Castro…blah…blah…blah everyone's worried…blah blah blah…everyone loves the Castro. And everyone does. And yes the fact that the program director left after getting into it with the owners is kind of troubling. Or, more like, could be. Worthy of the "Les Miserables" treatment? Umm, no. And so we go to the tape:

THE CASTRO. Those two words reflect a neighborhood central to gay history – and an embattled present moment, when right-wing "family values" are once again claiming power. For San Franciscans, those two words also spark passion for the Castro Theatre, a prized movie palace seen by many as a quintessential example of what makes the city unique. While other cultural aspects of the neighborhood have been on the wane, and chain stores on the rise, the Castro has fostered an international reputation by remaining steadfast in its dedication to film as an art


Yeah, not that exciting, relatively, but you try writing after three glasses of sangria?
Forgot this story from awhile back. One other thing that happened after the kickball finals party is somebody unveiled a whole new form of trashing somebody's apartment- altering their TiVo. Yep, as we were all kicking back at that guys' house, somebody grabbed the remote and signed the guy up for a whole bunch of soap operas and Oprah.

That's cold. And kind of funny too.

Kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and one of my friends would occasionally have us over for drinks when the parents weren't around. His home was a kosher home so when we got drunk, we'd switch the silverware and plates on him so that the next day, his family would be eating with what they thought was the "non-dairy" silverware when in fact it was the "dairy" silverware. And yes, I do realize that I can go to hell for this, or at least would if it wasn't for the fact Jews don't believe in hell.

Monday, November 15, 2004

Saturday night I'm taking the bus to some party at a club. Now first off, the bus ride starts off with some crazy old cat-lady (no, I don't know if she actually had cats but she was definitely the type to have five or six of them) blabbering away about politics. With a full head of steam to her, she starts getting into gay marriage and the whole "God created men to be with women and women to be with men" argument, totally oblivious to the gay couple who were sitting right next to her. The little hipster girl next to me spoke up and the next thing you know, we got the gay rights debate going on the 22 Fillmore.

Anyways, after the crazy lady left, these four drunk ex-frat guys get on. The thing about them is that they were all wearing the same thing- untucked button-down shirts with jeans. And while the button down shirts were different, they were pretty much enough of the same style to give them that boy-band look. In other words, they were annoying as shit.
We get off the same stop and as I'm following them, hoping to hell that they're not going to the same party I was, this guy out of nowhere walks behind me and to nobody in particular, says out loud "hey, look, it's the untucked shirt gang."

I don't know who the guy was, why he said that, or what he was doing, but to you- that guy- I salute you. Best line ever.
We're interviewing people for a position in my department which means, yes, I am now the interviewer instead of the interviewee. My how things change. So far, we've had only one interview, and yes, I am trying not to do anything I hated when being the interviewee. In the only interview we've had so far, I thought I was rather cleverly conversational while still getting the information I needed to know. The guy was a bit older than me,in his 40's and way over-qualified, which is neither here nor there for purposes of this blog entry. What is, however, is that he had this weird tick in that whenever he needed to use a finger- whether to scratch an itch or point to something- he didn't use his index finger, he used his middle finger. So I'm right in the middle of the interview and all of a sudden, it looks like the guy is giving me the finger. I know it's unintentional and not something he meant to do, but still. Dude, never use your middle finger to scratch an itch near your eyebrow.

The other thing about the interview was that this guy was extremely qualified and could handle the job easily. In fact, he was over-qualified. But as I interviewed him, my main problem with him wasn't that he was too qualified for the job, it's just that the dude was older than and looked it. I know it's important to find somebody whose a "good fit" but is being "a good fit" really just a way of saying you want to hire somebody who'd you like to hang with? This guy could be the best possible candidate we'd ever see, yet both me and my nominal boss both thought he just "wouldn't fit in" which I'm pretty sure we both meant as he just wasn't cool enough for our little gang.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Late Thursday afternoon, my nominal boss (supervisor?) asked me to go to a kickoff meeting in her place. I didn't want to go because I was having meeting burn-out, but went anyways because she is my nominal boss and is a bit busier than me, which is saying a lot because I've been slammed like a cheap bottle of tequilla over the past few weeks. No biggie, though, it's just another creative kick off meeting, the kind of meeting with a few people in my department and a few marketing types. But as I get off the elevator, I notice that that pretty much all my department heads were there, as well as several VP types. The next thing I notice is that we're headed towards a big, huge, conference room, much bigger than the one's I've seen. And it's full too. With not only my department heads, but the heads of all the major marketing departments, not to mention all the agency reps for the various ad agencies we employ. How big were the people at this meeting? While I'll probably never meet the somewhat legendary owner of the company, most of the people around me were people who not only have met him, but probably hang out at his somewhat legendary of a house. And when they refer to him by his first name, they're not being ironic, they really know him. As soon as I walked in, I got that "what the hell am I doing here?" feeling. It was like the meeting in "Fellowship of the Rings" where the Elves, Dwarves, and Men send all their big honchos to discuss what to do with the ring with me as Pippin.

Now the best thing to do with meetings like this is to sit in a corner where nobody can notice you. The only problem is that this conference room is packed and that there really aren't any chairs to sit on, or at least chairs by the table. A chair does open up, right at the center of the table and so I sit down. What can I say? I'm tired and sitting at the table helps you rest a bit. I also managed to make my new Manager lose out on the game of conference musical chairs and so she's now sitting behind me, away from the table. I quickly think about switching seats with her so she'll be up front and I'll be in the back, in part out of guilt for what I think is snagging her chair, but then realize that's too obvious of a kiss-ass move, so I don't.

The meeting starts and I think to myself that even though I have no idea why I'm there, I'll make it out of it okay because somebody across the table from me, one of my marketing managers, is going to run the meeting. Nobody will even notice me. This plan, however, had one small flaw in it- it turns out that the guy I was sitting next to is really the guy in charge and after a few minutes into the meeting, takes over. I now found myself in a position in which everyone is pretty much staring right at me for the entire meeting.

Now I'm tired and I'm exhausted. It's been a long week and a long day and I'm heading into a three-cup of coffee caffiene crash. I am also dressed as if I knew it was going to be a long day and wearing my comfy clothes- jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers, and a day's worth of stubble. I do not look like marketing type. I do not look even that professional. If I would have known I was going to be in this type of meeting, I would have made myself decent, but I didn't know. And here I am in a room full of people way above me, people who I'm sort of underneath, people who I haven't really met yet, looking really haggard.

Even worse, it quickly becomes apparent that I really didn't need to be there. The meeting was a serious strategy meeting, not the kind of meeting I needed to be at. Which means that my wondering of what I was doing there wasn't just me being neurotic, but reality, a great type meeting to be at towards the end of the day, around 5'ish, when I've had a long day. Now I have to worry about not looking bored to tears, something with which I thought I did a pretty good job of accomplishing.

That is thought.

After the meeting the coworkers who went to the meeting with me told me how sorry they felt for me in having to be there because I looked so pathetically bored the whole time.
One of my favorite things about wasting time at Virgin Records is all the people watching you can do. Sometimes people will put the headphones on and have so much fun listening to the music that they'll get a bit too much into it, forgetting that they're in a big, huge store with people walking around everywhere. Today I saw some preppy James Spader wanna-be rocking out to the Garden State soundtrack (hey, I love the Garden State soundtrack too, but I don't particularly think it inspires rocking of any sort) and some 60 year old guy in garish basketball team jacket not only watching a Shakira DVD, but practicing dance moves to the DVD.

Oh, and I made the mistake of buying a few things at Radio Shack before going to not only CompUSA and Virgin. Couldn't even go to the bathroom without getting dinged by all the anti-theft sensors. Bad move.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

You know, it's tough enough to be single sometimes without hearing about all these losers out there who somehow manage to get girlfriends. Like, it turns out, John Hinckley Jr., otherwise known as the guy who shot Reagan in an attempt to impress Jody Foster. Talk about blows to your self-esteem. What the hell could I be doing wrong? I'm a nice guy. I've never shot a President. I've never stalked some Hollywood actress because I couldn't tell that "Taxi Driver" was a movie. I've never been thrown into a mental institution for the entirety of my life.

Sure, he met her in the insane asylum too, which means she's pretty crazy too, but still.
Something is being filmed on my street today which has been kind of a pain. Go get coffee or go to the store to buy food and I have to walk past equipment, crew members, trucks, extras, gawkers, and catering tables. What they're filming, I don't know, other than one of the musty old used book stores on the street, the one that usually features pictures of dead Palestinians on their windows, has been turned into a "Magic Shop" and a bunch of stores right next to it have been closed down due to the hullaballo. The funny thing is that there are so many trucks and equipment around that a whole bunch of people are standing around watching, waiting to see what there is to see, yet nobody knows what's being filmed. It could be a Toyota commercial for all people know yet everyone's standing around as if there gonna see stars.

This morning, on my way to coffee, I saw filming in the used bookstore, but couldn't see what was going on or who was in there. A few hours later when I left the apartment to get a haircut, it looked like everything was dying down. There were less trucks around, less tables, and a bunch of crew members were hugging each other goodbye. Even better, my way down Valencia was pretty much unimpeded, unlike the other times this morning where it was a total obstacle course. So, head down, I quickly made way down the sidewalk, only to look up for a split second to realize that I was about ten feet away from running smack dab into Reese Witherspoon.

Guess there's some big movie being filmed here.

PS- Saw on my way back that there's a whole bunch of "Sidewalk Closed" signs up, all of which I completely walked past without seeing in my morning haze. Ooops. Guess that's why I almost was able to run over Reese. Which would have been kind of funny and kind of cool, but then I'd be known all over the world as "The guy who ran over Reese Witherspoon." I can just see "Extra!" and "Entertainment Tonight" now.

PPS- she's tiny.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

For those who were wondering, last weeks' Wank of the Week was just another victim of the election. Who could care about stupid free weeklies when the country was taking an exciting leap into the 19th century? But I'm better this week.

So, to make up for missing last week, this week I'm going to give out two (that's two!) wanks for the price of one. What? You think you can get that kind of kind deal at the Mitchell Brothers? I think not (not that I know of course, but I have heard stories). Besides, last week's Bay Guardian was nothing but a huge, heaping platter of Wankerness. In fact, I opened it up looking to see if I had missed anything and, upon seeing the words "spoken word," knew I had. The story about the spoken word artist was, as they say, "so best"- a frothy mixture of pretentious writing describing pretentious art. How so best is it? In just one sentence, there's gratuitous use of the words "patriarchy," "oppression," "militarism" and "imperialism." I'll leave out the bit about "commodification," however as it all starts becoming too much (you know, if you're going to throw down the words patriarchy and oppression, you mght as well go for broke and throw down a commodification just because). Anyways, in a description of some somewhat famous spoken word performer, we have this week's, er last week's, Wank of the Week:


THERE'S A SCENE in Aya de León's latest one-woman show, Aya de León Is Running for President, in which she becomes the Puerto Rican island of Vieques. "My name is Vieques," the poem begins (almost all of de León's scenes double as poems), as she – shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, arms wrapped tightly round her chest – plays Vieques as a sexually abused child, a "Puerto Rican girl [whose] stepfather is the United States," who enters her room every night "to do his business." As the piece progresses, de León's posture and tone shift, her spine straightening, voice steeling, until at scene's end, her Vieques categorically rejects U.S. occupation of her body, barring her doors and burning the "itchy, clingy dress" her stepfather has made her wear for so many years. "My name is Vieques," de León bellows, chin jutting skyward, "and I will be free."

It's an amazing moment, one in which de León collapses boundaries between women's bodies and the fate of nation-states, individual abuse and systemic oppression, stage monologue and protest speech, all the while linking patriarchy to militarism and empire building in a startlingly innovative fashion. By playing U.S. imperialism as a raging pervert who slinks away when his victim fights back, the 37-year-old, half-Puerto Rican, half-black, longtime East Bay resident exposes the powers that be for precisely what they are – fucked-up, fearful, and fallible – a much needed reminder in such stifling times.


Which brings us up to this week. I had actually thought I had nothing this time around, but thankfully, the lovely and talented SFist Rita, pointed me in the right direction. How could I miss a review of a play that's all about domestic violence? Just as the description of a spoken word performers monologue comparing rape to imperialism sounds like a great night out, I can't think of anything more fun and exciting to do than seeing a play about domestic violence. And to think I wasted my Monday night watching Ayanna go off on her teammates on the "RW/RR: Battle of the Sexes." I am so unenlightened. I mean, here's what I missed:

In an ingeniously orchestrated dance number, and one of the evening's most powerful segments, the ensemble gradually underscores the possessive pronoun in the old Temptations song "My Girl" while cracking open with a raging force the synonyms within the noun – "my girlfriend, my wife, my bitch, my boss, my job," etc. Here and elsewhere, A Fist of Roses gets at the nature of objectification, the turning of another human being into something owned, a thing to be moved around at will or to be kept still forever.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

As I wrote yesterday, Saturday was the big kickball playoffs- six hours in the frozen tundra of Sharon Meadows playing single-elimination playoff games. Followed, of course, by the end-of-the-season party and other bits of mayhem. In other words, a lot of alcohol was involved.

Somewhere in the blur I remember slam dancing at the club, somebody diving onto a table full of cups of beer, and having the ball repeatedly kicked over my head. The "highlight" of the night, or more like the thing that'll become endlessly told and retold for the rest of the kickball team's natural born life, came much later. Much, much later. Like this evening when I talked to a friend who missed all the partying but heard all the gossip.

After the kickball games, the nap, the after-party, and the drinks at the Pig & Whistle, someone on the team brought a bunch of us over to his apartment, conveniently located across from the bar. Bad idea as we spent most of the rest of the night throwing things around and knocking things over. The next morning, the guys' roommate stumbled into his bathroom, the one closest to the living room, only to find that somebody left a little something for him. We'll leave what it was up to the imagination, but let's just say it's something kind of involving the natural result of leaving a stack of Maxims by the toilet.

Now that the story is out, the big question is who spuged it? Most guesses involve the friend of a friend who came over late in the night mainly because only somebody who doesn't really know anyone is capable of doing what was done. Or so one would hope. We would also like to say two other things. The first, of course, is iyick. Seriously, iyick. The second thing is this: good ole kickball. Always worth a good story afterwards.

Monday, November 08, 2004

Random musings for a random Monday.

-Have you ever been so out of it that the bags underneath your eyes felt so puffed up that you felt like shouting out "Cut me Mickey?"

-On Friday before I went out to meet with friends, I noticed that I one of my shaving nicks from that morning was bleeding. So I wondered, was it bleeding all day and nobody said anything? Did I totally make fool out of myself all day?

-I've seen the new Star Wars trailer both online and in the movies and I've noticed there's like this Pavlovian thing that happens when it comes on. For the first few seconds, especially when you see the LucasFilms logo, the excitement comes over you. A couple of seconds later, you realize that it's probably going to suck just as much as the other movies and so you get over it really quickly.

-Found myself last week so stressed out at work and so pissed off at the photocopy machine that I started to kick it. Believe it or not, I consider it a good thing to be so stressed out at work that I'm kicking the photocopier. It's all relative.

-Had the big kickball playoffs on Saturday morning starting at 10:30 in the morning. The same time as our kickball game was being played, there was this marathon/cross country event taking place. As I stood there in right field, I saw this huge group of runners headed my way so I risked life and limb to not only get out of their way, but to save my cocktail. As I watched them run away and took a drink of my screwdriver, I wondered if that is what one would call a moment of clarity.

-I'm feeling a little better about things right now. I even spent some time reading Slate this morning and have caught a few seconds of the Daily Show the past couple of days. I'm thinking if I keep this up, I'll actually be able to make it through the newspaper within a couple of days or read the New York Times again. I'm thinking, though, that it'll still be months before I even go near one of the cable news channels again. Seriously, ever since the election, I feel like I've been dumped. Like I should just stay in my room listening to "Losing My Religion" over and over again.

-Dear WB, we thank you for showing "The Fellowship of the Rings" as apparently there's no limit to how many times I can watch it. However, if you're going to go to all the trouble of showing it in wide-screen and with HiDef, could you please not paste the WB logo all over the screen or show clips of upcoming WB shows during the movie? Kind of defeats the purpose of all that HiDef stuff if you ask me.

-Those orange Cincinati Bengals outfits? Worst Uniform Ever.

-I stumbled upon this series Skinemax movie called "Married Couples." I was kind of fascinated by the movie because the film-makers are trying real hard to do serious drama instead of just some stupid soft-core flick. The movie, filmed in cinema verite style with faux "interviews", basically detail a group of married friends and the troubles and problems they have in their marriage. So, in between sex scenes, there's lots of spats, interviews where each cast-member describes all the angst they have in their relationship, and whining. There's even scenes where the couples are so angry they don't have sex. And I'm thinking, who the hell wants to see a porn movie in which a married couple fight and not have sex? Plus, no matter how hard they work the cinema verite style, I've noticed that every time a couple goes at it, the wah-wah porn music kicks in.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

Dear Red States,

Wow, it's been a hell of run, hasn't it? We built a country of nothing, created a model of democracy and freedom that's an example throughout the world, and became the Big Kahuna of countries. We are the world's only superpower right now, the Rome that strides across the world. America, Fuck Yeah!

But, and I hate to say this, it's time we talked. I think we need to separate.

No, I'm not saying split up indefinitely, I'm just thinking we need some time apart. Maybe see some other people. You know, that Canada maybe kind of boring, but she's really nice and smart. And yeah, France can be a pain-in-the-ass, but man is she beautiful. Oh la la!

Either way, I think we need some time apart from each other, kind of reevaluate our partnership.

See, the thing is, and this is really hard to say, but I think we're growing apart. We, for instance, see the major problems facing our country as being the economy and terrorism. You, on the other hand, think the major problems facing the country is "moral values" and gay people (or as Wonkette would put it "ass fucking" since that seems to be the main icky part of the whole gay thing for people). We think a leader should be smart, compassionate, knowledgeable, and tolerant. You, however, just want one who's Best Friends Forever with Jesus. As you can see, this just isn't going to work.

But it's more than that, more than just growing apart. It's, and how shall I put this, more about responsibility. And maturity. And smarts. See, the thing is that you're, well, holding us back in a way. You're George in "Of Mice and Men." You're Fredo in the "Godfather." You're the perpetual fuck-up with whom we have to rescue time after time after time and frankly, we've had it. We think you need to fend for yourself, learn some responsibility. Grow up.

Take this war on terrorism thing. We couldn't help notice that the two places that got hit on 9/11, two places that are probably #1 and #2 on the terrorist hit parade- D.C. and New York- voted for Kerry, the one preaching a more multi-lateral, multi-leveled approach. The kind of approach that doesn't piss off every other country in the world and doesn't wind up increasing recruits to Al Queda. As did California, a state probably up there in terms of places the terrorists want to terrorize. But all you people in places in Nebraska or Indiana or Utah, places not even terrorists would want to visit, voted for the "screw 'em all, let's blow shit up" approach. So while all those places that are on the front lines of the war on terror are urging some restraint and moderation, it's you guys, in places that aren't even in the back lines of the war on terror, that are out there saying "come on, you want a piece of this?" Thanks.

Which brings up related subjects like guns and crime. We here in city-places are the ones who have to deal with gunshots at night or a daily list of dead. We actually have crime problems. You guys, living in your rural enclaves where a crime-spree is two nights of busted keg parties (well, and crystal meth labs) are the one's who are all tough on crime and want every criminal locked up forever. Once again, we're on the front lines of something but it's you guys who are keeping us from doing what will work. And the gun thing? Oy. We just want to bring sanity to a place where criminals are usually better armed than the cops, but whenever we try and suggest something that'll decrease the dead in our streets, you guys start screaming that we'll take away your precious hunting rifles and fire-arm collection and how it's all just one big huge plot to make it easier for guys in black helicopters to invade the country. It's not. Trust us, we don't care about taking away your hunting rifles (some of us may protest the idea of hunting but really that's only a few of us). We just don't like dodging semi-automatic weapons every night.

Then there's the economy. You guys love, just love, that "low taxes, less government" blather. Nothing makes you go "uh-huh" too more like talk about pulling yourself up off the bootstraps and individual responsibility. You want to know who the biggest recipients of government subsidies are? No, not poor black crack-heads, but farmers. Yep, the heart of the heartland. Turns out farmers are nothing but a bunch of huge welfare queens. Ever hear of a thing called ethanol? You want to know something else? Who do you think gets the higher percentage of government funding? Southern states. Yep, we blue staters pay a higher percentage of taxes (earn that tax rate even) but you guys receive more of the money. Of course, some of it is because you're a bit on the poor and backwater side (which one could argue can be blamed on the less taxes, less government stuff), but we're also thinking that it's pretty easy to be for law taxes and less government when it's our money that's going to support all the government programs you guys claim you don't want. Or, in some cases, have to pay for because of government mandates you guys voted for. Look, we're okay with helping out. We're okay with helping farmers. We like farmers. We have a whole bunch ourselves (add up California and Pennsylvania and that's a whole lot of farmers). We just believe that if you want government programs, you should pay for it.

Then there's this whole election. You know, democracy is, as the President is so fond of saying, hard work. You have to pay attention, know what's going on, know what the facts are. That's how you make a good decision. That's the whole philosophical basis behind democracy, in fact, that an enlightened and educated people are the ones who should have the power to make decisions. Notice, however, the key words enlightened and educated. Frankly, you guys just aren't holding up your part of the bargain here. A majority of you people who voted for Bush thinks Iraq had WMDs. In fact, you think experts have proven it. You also believe that there are substantial connections found between Iraq and Al Queda. But wait, it gets even better- Bush voters also believe that Bush is following along with international concuss on most major treaties, including Kyoto. Oh, and you also think we're well supported throughout the world on what we've done over the past few years. Not even Fox News pretends that’s true.

That's the kind of stuff we're talking about here. You guys just aren't holding up your end of the bargain on this here democracy thing. How are we supposed to make smart decisions on things when we're not being smart. And you wonder why we're so despondent over the election? You want to know who else you voted in besides Bush? There's this guy in Oklahoma, the new senator there, who says that the biggest threat to the country is "the gay agenda" and that abortion doctors should be tried for murder. The new Senator in South Carolina said during a debate that he doesn't think gay people should be allowed to teach. Then there's the guy in Kentucky whose getting so senile he was virtually drooling during the campaign. These are the people you guys just elected to the Senate. Thanks a fucking lot. Seriously.

So that's why we come up with this here proposal. And no, it's not necessarily to punish you or because we're angry, although we are, it's just that we think it's what's best for you. See, we think that if we let you do what you actually want to do, without us to be the responsible adult and bail you out, you just might start getting it. In other words, we're letting you guys do whatever you want. So if you want less taxes and less government, go at it- you just ain't getting our money to help you out. If you want to teach creationism and have school prayer and base your leaders on their supposed Christian morality, go for it, don't let us stop you building that bridge to the 19th century. Just don't blame us if you become the laughing stock of the world and find that nobody in your schools are getting educated. Hell, if you want to ban abortion or gay people we'll let you do that too. Just good luck with that. We're sure the banning of abortion and the teaching of abstinence is gonna keep little Bobby Sue and Bobby Jack from getting busy after Chem class lets out. And the banning of gay people is sure gonna prevent your precious little Sally Mae from becoming lesbian or your next door neighbor from cranking opera and Cher til all hours of the night. That is if there still there because I'm sure most talented, intelligent people are gonna the fuck out of Dodge as soon as you start doing that. We'll see how well your economy does after that when the only people left are a bunch of illiterate hicks who think the Bible is fact. Most importantly, if you want to go blow up other countries, tell the rest of the world that we're "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" and we can do whatever we want, leave us out of it. Please.

There's this really interesting book out right now called What's the Matter With Kansas? How Conservatives Won the Heart of America. In it, the author wonders why is it that Kansas can do so poorly economically yet constantly vote against the very people who are trying to help those people. The economy hasn't gone anywhere in years, the schools suck, the wages stagnant- it's just one big huge state of Wal-Marted strip malls. In the book, the author writes how the Republicans have been able to get away with it by stressing cultural issues. Those even though everyone's lives could be made better by the government and by Democratic policies, people vote against their own self-interest because they just don't think the Democrats "speak for them." That they don't "share their values."

I guess what we're trying to say is that it's fine that you think that. In fact, we respect it in a way. We just don't want that. We don't want to be in a Wal-Marted strip-mall of a country. If you want that, go nuts. Just leave us out of it. Which is what we're trying to say here. We're tired of bailing you out. We're tired of holding up our end of the bargain. And until you can become full and equal partners in this here experiment in Democracy, we don't want to be partners with you.

Signed,

The Blue States

PS- and yes, I feel much better about things after writing this. Oh, I'm still sitting shiva over the election, but I'm finally able to read the news without getting virulently ill.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Don't know how things were going for you today, but everyone at work was totally tired, hungover, depressed, angry, and on edge. People came about as close to you could get to snapping at somebody without actually snapping and at some point, almost everyone had to apologize for how they came off when talking. People would just say "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, it's just that, well, you know.

As for me, I'm so depressed I can't even watch "the Daily Show." It's just not funny right now. No way, no how. All I can say is thank God for ESPN because that's all I can watch over the next couple of days. Well, that and Skinemax, but that's a given.

PS- we saw lightning today in the sky during one of the quicky storms that hit. Obviously a sign. But of what? It doesn't look like the Bible Belt got hit with anything. Maybe Smirkyboy is the God's chosen one? Or maybe it was just lightning.

From Hunter Thompson's Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail speaking about a time much like our own- " It is Nixon who represents that dark, venal, and incurably violent side of the American character almost every other country in the world has learned to fear and despise. . . . He speaks for the Werewolf in us; the bully, the predatory shyster who turns into something unspeakable, full of claws and bleeding sting-warts, on nights when the moon comes too close. . "

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

You know what the worst part is? I spent all day reading the "exit polls" and saw nothing but a Kerry victory. So I spent all day on the phone and talking to coworkers telling them it's all good and it's all gonna be a celebration. Now I have to go eat a lot of crow tomorrow, not to mention try to catch up on all the work I didn't do yesterday.

Thanks Slate. Thanks Wonkette.

Guess I learned an important lesson today- don't believe anything you read online.

I feel sick. Really, really sick.
And with that, I voted. Got dressed, grabbed my coffee and ran to the polling booth. In light of the importance of this election, I felt like I needed to make a statement and vote early, not wait til after work when most of the East Coast was done and the blabbering heads were in full gasbag mode. Hell, this thing could be over by 5:15 California time. Or, maybe 5:15 next Tuesday, but whatever. Felt it so important to vote early I'm going into work late.

I have to admit, however, I'm kind of disappointed that nobody tried to harass me as I walked in. No gangs of roving Republicans telling me I can't vote there, no documentary crew and team of lawyers to make sure nothing happened, no Republicans pretending to be gay people and scaring my heterosexual ass into voting for the party that loves Jesus more. Oh well. And in light of 2000, I felt like after voting, I should have announced to everyone that I was voting for Kerry, just to make sure nothing happens and somebody thinks I voted for Nader or that Consitutional Party guy.

I also have to admit that while I did vote for all 30 or so propositions (after studying them for several hours last week) I didn't vote at all for College Community Board or School Board. College Community Board? Who cares. Seriously. School Board, slightly important but as I have no kids, means nothing to me. The thing is that for both of the positions, I don't think it'll make a damn difference. Just as long as the people being voted in don't support creationism or something like that, I'm fine with it. I'm sure whoever wins will do their best. It's not like they're going to start a war on a country without a plan or something like that.

Monday, November 01, 2004

And so tomorrow is the day. I think I speak for a lot of people when I say I'm pretty fricking freaked out. Those polls are way to tight all things considering. I mean, is it possible for a President to fuck up as much as this one has? What the fuck, people?

When I was younger and a lot more into football, I was a huge Cleveland Browns fan. When I was in college, they had those almost great Bernie Kosar teams, the one's that always made it close only to lose in completely horrible, awful fashion. For two years in a row, they made it to the AFC Championship and I can remember the whole week before the game, having that feeling that was a combination of excitement and dread. I knew that in one week, I could either be in the promised land or heartbreak city. I even remember being so excited that I went to bed early the night before the game, set my alarm to wake up in enough time to watch the pre-game show and went banging on the door of the RA to get them to open up the lounge. That's how I feel about tomorrow, except instead of a week to anticipate the game, it's been four years. Again, I think I speak for a lot of people when I say that I've been wishing for tomorrow ever since a bunch of old Jews thought they were voting for Buchanan.

For the past two weeks, whenever I've come to write a posting, I've thought that it's time to rant on. I've written it several times in my head, but when I started it just went all over the place. I was going to compare the polls to one of those bell curves in which the smart people keep the grades from being too low but all the idiots knock down the high scores. Or how if Bush wins, we, the blue state people, should just pretty much tell the red state folks that they're on their own now, that we'll stop carrying them. I was even thinking about writing how there might be some good things to come out of a Bush victory (like how pop culture is getting interesting again and for proof, check out the Eminem video- it's amazing. Or how Bush is going to have to deal with the mess he created in Iraq and for the first time ever, not have someone who can bail him out).

But I won't. For now. Hopefully I won't have to write any of it. Truth is, nobody knows what the hell is going to happen tomorrow and while I have my guesses (I'm thinking it's not going to be close just because everyone thinks it's going to be close and whenever everyone says something is going to happen, it never happens) I don't know. I'm just hoping the vaunted Democratic ground war is as good as they're saying it is. After all, all those pictures of people lined up in Florida to vote early sure don't look Republican.

Still, all I can say about tomorrow is this- gulp.

We got to pump the stuff to make us tough
from the heart
It's a start, a work of art
To revolutionize make a change nothin's strange
People, people we are the same
No we're not the same
Cause we don't know the game
What we need is awareness, we can't get careless
You say what is this?
My beloved lets get down to business
Mental self defensive fitness
(Yo) bum rush the show
You gotta go for what you know
Make everybody see, in order to fight the powers that be
Lemme hear you say...
Fight the Power

Totally Random, Totally Inexplicable Song Going Through My Head This Morning- Ethel Mermen's "There's No Business Like Show Business."

I dunno either.

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Random notes on Halloween….

-Considering tonight is Sunday and last night was the night that had all the big parties, tonight being Halloween feels anti-climatic. Yeah, people are in costume and, yeah, the Castro is happening, but, oh well. It's hard to get the party groove on when all I'm thinking about is the couch, some TV, and sleep. Hell, I turned on the TV this morning, saw all these people talking about Halloween and I actually had to think for a few minutes before I realized that today was Halloween and not last night.

-Kids today love (love!) their 80's music. Which means having lots of fun-filled conversations like these while at parties.
Me (as the DJ puts on the always rocking "It Takes Two" by Rob Base & DJ Ez Rock): Just wondering, but how old were you when this song came out?
Friend: I was 7th grade.
Other friend: Wow, you're that old? I was in fifth grade then. How old were you?
Me: Uh, I was in Junior year. Of college.

-Got a pair of cheapo Elvis Presley sunglasses at work for the office Halloween party, the kind that have rock star frames and fake sideburns hanging down from the sides of the stems. Put them on in front of a mirror and I realized it didn't make me look like Elvis, it made me look like a Hasid, albeit the hippest Hasid you'll ever see. So I put on a black hat, black jacket and pants, and went to the party as (take your pick) either a Jewish Elvis or a hip Hasid.

I am such a bad Jew.

-And speaking of being a bad Jew, I noticed that people either got the outfit or didn't, usually depending on their knowledge of Judaism. Sometime early in the party, some girl cornered me and after telling me how much she loved my costume (score!) she started telling me about how much she respects Jewish people because of how we've survived four thousand years of oppression. For fifteen minutes. Now, for a few minutes, I started to think I'm about to have my Portnoy moment, my using white liberal guilt to, as the kids say, "hit it." You know, get a little back for the four-thousand years of oppression. I know it works for other minorities, but didn't realize it still worked for us Jews. But after about fifteen minutes of all of this, I realized that despite all of my Zionist Indoctrination and years of Hebrew school, not even I could play along for fifteen minutes of discussion on the suffering of my people. So I bailed

-Another woman loved my costume. She had a bit of an accent so I asked her about her accent and where was she from. She then proceeded to get upset because I said she had an accent and even though her dad is Nicaraguan and her mother Mexican, she was born in America and most definitely did not have an accent. Sorry. My bad. Bitch did have an accident, though. Guess she didn't respect my people for four-thousand years of suffering.

-Sometime last night at the party, I remembered a Halloween Party I went to while in Paris during the '92 election. Half the people at the party were French and the other half were Americans and a few days earlier, the International Herald Tribune had a big headline about how Bush Sr. was closing the gap in polls with Clinton. As we sat there at this amazing party, Notre Dame in the backround and the Pompidou center off to the side, all of us ex-Pats sat around the table and had a long, half-way serious discussion about whether or not we were going to go home if Bush won. That was a hell of a party. And yes, we all came home. I'm sure that discussion is going on all over the world these days.