The Social Dilemma

When I started my own personal blog, I thought that I would be writing something every day. I got hooked. One post would breed another, or one small idea would breed one big post. It was one of my new found passions. But sometimes when you have a lot of passions, not all of them get the attention that they deserve. In fact, if you are lucky, all of them will get the bear minimum of attention needed to survive, but more likely, some will just fall by the wayside.

Now that I actually have a social life, it is hard to keep up with everything. I actually have more to blog about, but just not the time. Then when I have the time, I usually just do an all out brain dump, to try and make up for my past indiscretions. It’s a shame that I don’t make more time on a regular basis, because it is cathartic, and it is something that I love to do.

I think that the same goes for personal relationships. When you are social and are fostering many personal relationships, along with having many hobbies and interests, life becomes a huge juggling act. You have to stay engaged with your friends while still being true to yourself and being true to the commitments that you have made. You have to make sure that you stay in touch with everyone and make time for them on an ongoing basis. It’s proving to be pretty tough, because it is great to have so many people who you like, but when that happens, each relationship probably does not get the attention that it deserves.

This is definitely a challenge that I like though. If your worst problem is that you have too much fun stuff to do or too many friends, then I think that you are better off than most. It sure does beet vegging in front of the TV, eating junk food, and never getting out of the house.

Iguana of Germantown

So my Bike has been busted for the past few weeks. I have been feeling like a total fiend to ride and have been totally cranky without my precious Iguana in top shape. Who would have thought that my ass would be craving exercise? If only you knew.

I finally broke down and took it to a Bike Shop that my friend recommended to me, because my very eccentric and unreliable, yet very good and cheap, neighborhood Bike mechanic has been MIA. That’s the problem with Germantown, or anywhere for that matter. If you want a service that is cheap, good, and reliable, the best you can do is get 2 out of 3.

Hell, in Germantown, one out of three isn’t bad. People will usually do stuff cheap, but it will be half ass, and they will show up when they want to, or even better yet, when you don’t want them to. This usually coincides with when then they want their next fix of whatever it is that they use, from cheap Malt Liquor to Philly dirt weed to Crack Cocaine.

A lot of my neighbors tend to try and help these scrappy young pseudo entrepreneurial losers, but I tend to think that they are doing more harm than good. I think that if you allow people to walk all over you, then you will get just that, and you will teach them that that is OK. I think that there are plenty of good apples still on the tree, so why concentrate on the ones on the ground, rotten, eaten by bugs, that probably aren’t even good enough for cider? Sure the good ones may be a diamond in the rough, but they are diamonds.

It is sometimes a pain in the ass to live in an area like this, but at the same time, there is a certain character to these kinds of funky situations in Germantown that make it great. Two blocks one way, I have high-rise projects, and two blocks the other way, I have beautiful quarter million dollar Victorian houses. I’ve met greats artists and con artists, straight edges and addicts, professionals and criminals, hippies and conservatives, rich and poor, Black and White.

Let’s just say, it isn’t the best neighborhood in the world, and it isn’t the worst. It is, however, my neighborhood, and I am proud of that.

The New Programmer High

I found something that is almost as good as the programmer high. I guess I’ll call it the “I just pulled off a kick ass Salsa move” high. Tonight we were continuing what we learned last week. It was the basic step, the side step, and turning. For most of the class, the guys turned the girls. Then, in the last ten minutes of class, the teacher asked us to turn her, then turn ourselves, then turn her. This is kind of funky, because you always have to turn on the correct step, and you signal a turn in the middle of a step. So doing one after the other is kind of tricky.

So we did a basic step, a side step, half a basic, turn the lady, turn, turn the lady, and finish the basic step. I did it right the first time, and I high fived the women I was dancing with and did that little programmer dance that I do when I fix a hard bug or write some hardcore kick ass code. I can’t wait until next week!

I Hate Meetings

I hate meetings. I mean, is there anything more fake and overly time consuming in life? Ever go to a meeting with 20 people that only needs 3? How many times do I have to be interrupted by some ass face who forgot to turn off his cell phone that plays loud and annoying Classical music in MIDI format? I mean, these people are shitting on Haydn’s grave, aside from annoying me. That’s worse than the Phrenologists that stole his head. Look douchbag, they will call you back! Believe me when I tell you that YOU ARE NOT THAT FUCKING IMPORTANT!

See, that is what this whole meeting thing is about, making people feel special. Hey, your Boss may be a dick, and he may never listen to you, but hey, at least he “keeps you in the loop”. Then there are these bureaucrat assholes who do nothing but go to meetings all day. I mean it is that unique combination of self-importance and total and utter sloth that is astounding. “Hey Bob, I would do that thing for you that I actually get paid for, but I have a meeting in 10 minutes with the Vice President of Widget Affairs.” Don’t get me started on all the fake ass self important VP’s, chairpersons, and coordinators of nothingdom there are in the world. “I’m the VP of Custodial Affairs.” Nope, you are a Janitor, you douche.

And please, one at a time. I propose that the next meeting that I have to go to, I will bring a Conch ah la Lord of the Flies. No one can talk without the Conch. Hey, Piggy has the Conch. I know that no one will listen to him, but shut the fuck up and act like you are. It’s the least you can do, if we are all going to be put through this preposterous exercise. Right? As my man Benny Frank used to say, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Will the self-important circle jerk ever end? I mean, didn’t your Grandma tell you that you will go blind or have hair grow on your palms? When will the madness ever stop?

Bodily Functions

Ever have to bust ass in a crowded place? Does this usually coincide with just starting to talk to an attractive interesting person of the opposite sex?

Ever have to take a dump in the middle of a very good phone or IM conversation?

Ever have a great conversation interrupted by having to piss like every 10 minutes?

Now, usually, I would have something profound to say about this, but I don’t. I mean, I could probably make up some metaphor or talk psychobabble. Maybe I would say that your bodily functions are a symbol of a blocked wish for a cathartic experience. Or maybe I would say that your bodily functions are just a metaphor for your not letting anyone into your life.

Now, I could do this. I really could. And I would make a great argument and make it sound all pseudo intellectual. I could even throw in mathematical terms like isomorphism. But sometimes you don’t need to be intellectual. Sometimes you have to just sit back and look at the ironies and absurdities in life. Hey, and sometimes, you might even need to hear a good piss and fart joke. It is beneath no one.

Cos, say it aint so

My friend who went to Central once told me that Bill Cosby went to Central. This came up because, supposedly, Bill Cosby was on the Letterman Show, and a group from Central was there. The Cos tried to lead the crowd of Central kids in a singing of Central’s school song. Supposedly, Cosby was the only one who knew this song.

Why does this matter? Well, it turns out that, as rumor has it, Cosby got kicked out of Central for smoking weed. The guy from Picture Page smokes the ganga? I mean, could you even imagine Cosby smoking weed? It might sounds something like this:

Could you please pass the joint? Cause I need the joint cause I wantta get high. Look man, you know the rules, puff puff give, puff puff give. You got to keep the Cipher going. [does the little Cosby face]

…

I’ve got the munchies, so I think I’m going to go in the fridge and eat all of the Jell-O pudding. [does the Cosby dance on the way to the fridge]

If this is true, then all I have to say is what has the world come to?

Let's Dance

So it turns out that one of the things that I learned on my last vacation was that I actually like to dance. But I also kind of figured out that I had to learn something a little more advanced than what would charitably be described as drunken dry humping to extremely tasteless music.

So last week, while I was visiting my friend, I took a crash course in swing dancing. That was pretty fun, but I think that I will need a little more schooling in order to actually get out on the dance floor.

Then, last Thursday was my first Salsa class. I was struck at how similar the basics of these dances are. The key is always to make sure that your feet keep doing their thing no matter what you are doing. The funny thing is that it is sometimes easier to stay on count when you are doing a turn than when you are just doing the steps in place. What’s really weird is that keeping your feet doing their thing while you turn someone or send them out is the hardest. I think that it has to do with the fact that the turns naturally end in a certain step, where as when you are waiting, you are just hoping not to mess anything up and hoping that your partner will do the same.

I also think that it must be a lot harder to be a follower than a leader. When you are a leader, you know what to do, where as the followers have to be a half a step behind but still not miss a beat. It must suck even more to be a follower when the leader is awful. I noticed that sometimes, the followers try and lead a bit, and that is fine as long as they are good. If they aren’t, then you are up shit’s creek.

I’d be interested in knowing dance theory and the history of dance. I’d love to know how all this stuff fits together and why. Did it all originate from the same place? Is there some co evolution going on? Or are we, as humans, programmed to dance, and these similarities come from the fact that we are all, in essence, the same? I don’t know the answer, but it certainly is food for thought.

Misticrick...Misticrack

The other night, I saw a show at the Kimmel Center called Kadanse by a group named Tamango’s Urban Tap. It was an extremely fun and interesting experience. They mix the sounds and dance of Jazz with that of Afro/Haitian/Caribbean music and dance, and the combination is breath taking.

Sometimes they would do pure Jazz stuff, then they would do pure Caribbean stuff, and sometimes there was a healthy mix of the two. But what I like most is that this guy did some tap moves where he seemed to float around the stage. I’ve never seen that before.

A lot of the music made me want to dance. You couldn’t help but clap your hands and move around in your seat. The coolest thing was this tap challenge. One guy was in tap shoes, and the other guy was dancing on stilts. That is fucking bad ass! Then they had this thing where they would say Misticrick, and we would say Misticrack, and they would say Ye Crick, and we would say Ye Crack. I still have no freaking idea what this means, but audience participation, when done the right way can be so cool. I remember something some Comic said about how he hates it when the bands make them sing the songs. He was like, I paid 100 fucking bucks to hear you sing, asshole.

But I think that this all reminded me of how much Black culture has influenced the Arts, especially Dance, in America. They call Jazz the only true American art form, and it was created by Blacks. I love Bob Fosse, but the isolationist movements that he did were taken directly from Black influences. George Gershwin was so good because he was a Jewish guy with some soul to him. I’ll tell you, there is nothing cooler than white people who grew up around Black people. They are fearless and sometimes act like more of an angry Black person than I do.

Shoot, now I want to see more stuff from other cultures. I would love to see a live showing of Alvin Ailey’s “Revelation”. I’d love to see Ladysmith Black Mambozo. I have great memories of them in the famous Paul Simon “Graceland” concert in Africa. I would kill to see Juan Luis Guerra live, especially if it is in the Dominican Republic. It would be such a fun time. So I guess now is the time to kick ass and expand my artistic horizons even more.

The One

I was just thinking of some of the people around me who are in happy marriages, and how touching it is to be around people who love each other deeply. My parents have this kind of love, but when it’s your parents, it seems kind of disgusting. I mean you want to think that you were born by Osmosis or something. Even the thought of the birds and the bees when it comes to my own parents makes me sick, but it is great to be the product of such a deep and loving relationship; the kind of relationship that I want to have when I “grow up”.

I remember going to a wedding party for my friend’s older Brother, and the Mom got up and talked about her relationship with her husband, and about how they love each other and their kids. She had this whole thing where she said how she was always a lapse Catholic, and then tried Buddhism, and then just settled for “not Jewish”. It was funny and also touching because of how it marked how accepting they are of one and other. But hearing her and her husband talk about their love for one another was just amazing.

The same thing goes for another friend of mine. One of the times I was over his house for dinner, he and his wife were telling me how they met, how he proposed, and some of the struggles that they had early on. But their words were not as powerful as their expressions. See, the kind of deep love that I saw brings up a lot of emotions, and their faces were filled with pure joy over their love for each other, mixed with sorrow over some of the things that they had to face together. It was quite moving, and it is good to be friends with people who are capable of loving like that.

See, I want the kind of love that my parents have and my friends have. I want to wake up every mourning and thank God that I found this women. I want to look at her and not be able to keep my hands off her. And this has nothing to do with looks. Although, we all would prefer a Helen of Troy who could both literally and figuratively launch a thousand ships. But looks don’t last forever, and they don’t really matter, and love should. Thus, the old saying, “You show me a hot chick, and I'll show you a man who's tired of fucking her.”

See, what is sexy is a persons mind. The ability to always have a great conversation about anything, even if one person knows nothing about the subject. That beautiful volley back and forth like a great women’s tennis match. The kind where you serve them hard, and they give it back to you hard. Then you try and trip each other up with great shots that get you off of your game, but you recover beautifully, returning a great shot of your own. The kind where you keep each other on you’re A game.

What also is sexy is a person’s heart. Look, Pamela Anderson’s fake tits are not going to take care of you when you are sick, or rear your children into fine upstanding citizens. A real beautiful and strong woman will. They will also make you feel like you are the shit but at the same time call you an asshole when you need it. There is nothing sexier than being called out on your bullshit. The difference between that and nagging is subtle, but clear. Nagging is about her, and her calling you out on your bullshit is about you.

When you talk to people who are down on relationships, there is a common theme. They all say that they don’t like the sacrifices that they had to make. Now, I’m not real experienced with this sort of thing, so I’m sure I have a lot to learn, but I think that there is something common in their stories. It wasn’t that they were asked to make sacrifices. It was that they were asked to sacrifice the essence of who they were for this idea called a relationship or a marriage. It wasn’t that they were stubborn and didn’t want to go out with the guys less, or any of that. It’s that their mate basically said that if they wanted to be in the relationship, then they couldn’t be who they really were. How would you like to be with someone who basically says that who you really are is not enough.

Hopefully, we can all find that special person who loves who we are and makes us better people as well. Not many people do find that and keep it. I don’t know if I’m ready for that now. That’s because of my lack of experience and just not finding the right girl yet. I do want it eventually, but if I’m being honest, right now, I would just settle for a girl getting naked and talking dirty to me. Who knows? Maybe she could be the one.

Total Buzz Killer

So yesterday was a great day and night. I got my taxes done, took a bike ride, saw a great performance at the Kimmel Center, met up with an old friend, bumped into a few new friends, went to an after hours spot, and all that Jazz. Then, I decided to share a cab with a guy who is a complete stranger, because he was going the same place as me. Well, I’ll never do that again.

The guy was trying to act like I was going to stiff him. Then he started trying to grab at my wallet. Then he pushed me out the cab and stole my wallet. I’m totally fine and not even traumatized. I mean I lost my transpass and 20 bucks or something, but I’ll live. It’s just that is was a shitty ending to a totally perfect day. I hate that, because instead of basting in the glory of this great day, I’m going to be thinking about this douche bag robbing me.

The weird thing is that the Police couldn’t take me all the way home. They left me off about a mile and a half away. I guess that Cops get a lot of fake calls from drunk people trying to get a ride home, but it kind of pissed me off. And then I tried to catch the Bus, and the Bus driver wouldn’t let me on. I told him my wallet got stolen, and then he asked me if I had the two dollars. Hello Mcfly! My fucking wallet got stolen! Do you think that I would have the two bucks? So I walked home from there. I have done that walk before a few times, so it wasn’t a problem.

Calling the credit card companies to cancel your cards while you are drunk is definitely an experience. From what I gather, they must do this a lot, because they didn’t seem fazed at all, and the whole thing must have taken like 3 minutes. Verizon may suck, and dealing with the City about your Taxes is a bear, but the money fuckers have their shit together. At least there is still hope in the world.

Skeet Skeet

Curse all rappers who make ignant ass songs with hot beats. 50 cent is a good example of this. When you listen to his songs, you can’t help but bob your head. But what are his songs about? Well, there is one about going to a club, meeting a girl, taking her home and fucking her. There is another about how, if he went to jail, would his girlfriend still love his sorry ass. And who could forget the one about how a bitch can’t get a dollar out of me because he’s a muthafucking P-I-M-P.

Another example is the infamous Lil’ John. Chris Rock actually did a routine about this. The crux of the routine was that he loves rap but is tired of defending it, but also that many of the songs are entirely indefensible, but he still likes them. The specific song that he talked about was a song called “Get Low”. Here is the chorus:

3,6,9 damn she fine hopin she can sock it to me one mo time
Get low, Get low 2x
To the window, to the wall, (to dat wall)
To the sweat drop down my balls (MY BALLS)
To all these bitches crawl (crawl)
To all skeet skeet motherfucker (motherfucker!) all skeet skeet got dam (Got dam)
To all skeet skeet motherfucker (motherfucker!) all skeet skeet got dam (Got dam)

Believe it or not, I actually like this song. It makes me sick to say that. It really does. But, I don’t know, the song is so fun. And I think that it has a weird quality that it is so ignorant that it is almost charming, kind of like how some jokes are so bad that they are funny.

But I think, to reference a past post, that I associate this song with good times. I didn’t like it until after my vacation to the Bahamas. I mean it is kind of hard to not like a song that you listen to while in the tropics, drunk, and dancing with extremely hot chicks. I think that the good times about that vacation were a lot deeper than that, but it is food for thought.

Cabaret In Heaven

Those that know me know that I am sort of a Musical Theatre freak. Probably more than any Heterosexual male should be. I mean, when I’m drunk, don’t get me started on the show tunes. Naturally, when I hear one of the questions asked at the end of Inside the Actors Studio, I can’t help but think of Musical Theatre. The question is, “If God exists, what would you like to have him say as you arrive at the pearly gates?”

When I hear that question, I can’t help but think that I would love my welcome to Heaven, assuming that I got there, of course, to be a musical number. I am kind of imagining God as the MC from Cabaret doing the whole opening number, with angels as the Kit Kat girls. I mean wouldn’t it be so cool to just open those gates and see God in the full MC garb singing, “Willkomen, bienvenue, welcome, Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret.”

Then I couldn’t help but think about one of the coolest death scenes in all of film. It’s from the semi-autobiographical movie by the legendary Bob Fosse called All That Jazz. The scene of his death is marked by various musical numbers, culminating in a wonderful remake of the song “Bye Bye Love”, performed by Fosse master Ben Vereen. Every once and a while, there is this whole cool zapping sound, and whenever I hear them scan stuff at the best convenience store on earth, Wawa, I can’t help but think of this song.

So when I die, I want Broadway legends around me singing “Bye Bye Love”, and I want to be welcomed into Heaven by the big MC in the sky to the opening number from Cabaret, and maybe, when that is over, I can spend the rest of my days in Jazz Heaven, ah la Stardust Memories.

1, 2, 3, What are we fighting for?

So the other night, Jane Fonda was on “60 Minutes”. Naturally, the issue of Vietnam and the whole “Hanoi Jane” stuff came up. I think that we can all agree that her actions were a little misguided, and that’s what happens when we are young, passionate, and your life is out of control. But I think that the fact that there are people, to this day, who hate her guts speaks volumes to the fact that we as a country, have not gotten over Vietnam, and because of that, we haven’t learned the lessons that we should have learned from Vietnam.

I think that we on the left are way to freaking nostalgic about the 60’s. I don’t want to diminish what was accomplished. I mean my Mom was one of those young adventuresome lads who “asked not what their country could do for [them], but what [they] could do for [their] country” and was one of the first groups of people who were in the Peace Corps. However, I think that we make the 60’s out to be a better time than they actually were.

I think that we all forget how privileged most of the Hippies were. They were protesting the War because, after all, they didn’t have to serve in it. I mean burning your draft card? I asked my Dad whether or not he did this, and his response was, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” See, if you were Black and couldn’t furnish your draft card, you would be lucky just to spend a night in Jail. You have no idea how many times I have heard my Dad say, “A Black man can never carry too much ID.”

And let’s not act like everyone at those protests was sincere. Frank Zappa used to always say that Hippies think that they don’t wear uniforms, but they actually do. Also, a lot of them, if not most, were just out to get laid, and anyone who tells you differently is a liar. Want to know a sure fire way to get laid back in those days? Go to a protest, and make sure that you are visibly seen in the front with all the National Guardsmen and yell “die you fucking pigs”. Then, go to the after protest party, because what is Revolution without a party? At that party, you will most likely see a nice young lady who saw you curse at the National Guard, and, well, as they say, the night is yours.

Well, you think that this whole thing would have been great. Well, just imagine when you turn 19, and every year they have this great game show that comes on primetime TV. They pick people’s Birthdays in order. If your number is low, then the announcement might sound something like this:

Tell him what he’s won Bob! Well, you are the lucky winner of an adventure filled excursion to South East Asia, compliments of the U.S. Army. "Be all you can be.” You will sleep in a luxury Fox whole with all the Malaria ridden mosquitoes, get shot at by the Vietcong, become addicted to Heroin, and get Venereal Diseases that we haven’t heard of yet. “Come on Penny, I’ve got something for your ass.” A lucky few of you will have an extended stay at the luxurious Hanoi Hilton. “We know torture.” This is all thanks to good old Uncle Sam. “I want you.”

You see, when you are 19, you are supposed to be trying to get laid, smoke pot, and get your older friends to buy you beer. You shouldn’t be waste deep in a rice patty getting shot at. You shouldn’t be forced to kill children to stay alive either. In fact, you are a child yourself. See, when people talk about how great the 60’s were, they do it from a point of view of the privileged “Fortunate Son” as CCR would call them. For many, “Drugs, Sex, and Rock and Roll” was a reality, but for many, there was an alternative reality that wasn’t so bright. Even the “Drugs, Sex, and Rock and Roll” thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I’ve talked to a few people who have gone to Woodstock, and the consensus description was “Cold, wet, rainy, and miserable”.

Now that I have dissed my peeps, many of whom are still re-living the 60’s today, I’m going to jump on the other side. I think that there are many Gung Ho military guys who still can’t get over the fact that we lost the Vietnam War, and they blame young idealistic kids for it. I think that these are the same types who were Gung Ho about Iraq. Now, I was always against the Iraq War, but not on spec like most of my liberal brothers and sisters. I was against it because I knew that the proponents of the War were lying to me. See, I’m all about a good argument, and if you have one, then maybe you can get me on board, but if you lie, then well, I can’t even respect you, especially when lives are at stake. Iraq isn’t the next Vietnam, but there are some distinct similarities. Iraq War Resolution? Gulf of Tonkin Resolution? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Brazilian Bombshell

So it occurred to me that there are two movies that I absolutely love that almost no one that I know has heard of. Those movies are Moon Over Parador and The Milagro Beanfield War. You would figure that this wasn’t so, because the former starred Richard Dreyfuss and the latter was directed by Robert Redford and had Christopher Walken in a supporting role. It occurred to me that these two movies had something in common, and that something is the wonderful Sonia Braga.

Moon Over Parador was a remake of a movie called The Magnificent Fraud , and the basis of the movie was copied in the more popular movie Dave. Richard Dreyfuss plays Jack Noah, a New York actor who is filming a movie in the fictional Banana Republic named Parador. While there, he does an impersonation of the Dictator. The Dictator dies soon thereafter, and his right hand man, Roberto, played by the late Raul Julia, forces him to act as the Dictator, with Julia as the real force behind the Government. Braga plays Madonna Mendez, the former Dictator’s girlfriend who thought that she could change things behind the scenes. She later becomes friends with Jack, and they become a dynamic duo. The coolest part of the movie is the late great Sammy Davis Jr. singing the national anthem, “Parador, Parador I love you. Your mountains, your beaches, your coffee, your peaches…”

The Milagro Beanfield War is about a land dispute between a small village in New Mexico and a big developer that wants to take the village and turn it into a resort. The land has dried up, and this public development company has control of the only source of water for farming, which is a stream that runs aside some of their properties. One day Joe, played by Chick Vennera, gets frustrated working in his father’s bean field. He kicks a piece of dirt and notices the water start to flow into his farm. He then gets the idea to steal water from the stream, and this starts a whole political hoopla. Joe’s bean field becomes a symbol for the town, the whole small guy sticking it to the man, if you will. Sonia Braga’s character is a political activist who is pretty much the driving force against the developers as well as the corrupt politicians. Other actors involved in this movie include Christopher Walken as the corrupt state policeman and the extremely multi-talented Rubén Blades as the kindhearted local Sheriff. I seriously can’t do this movie any justice with words, but I recommend it to anyone.

So many people probably haven’t seen either of these movies. But they would recognize Sonya Braga as the temporary Lesbian lover to Samantha on Sex and The City. Why do I like this actress so much? Well, maybe it is because I kind of need my own Bombshell. Now I know why people in my Dad’s generation liked Marilyn Monroe so much. Sometimes it is just good to have a dream girl. But I think that it runs deeper for me, because Braga is not only drop dead gorgeous, but she plays strong, smart, independent minded, and feisty women characters, and to me, that the is the epitome of sexy.

The Spirit of Enterprise

So I finally got to get onto my Bike yesterday. I road 21 miles total, with a few short stops to get water and one long stop to fix a flat. Note to self, when you fix a flat, always check and see if there is any crap in your tire that will cause another flat. Oh, and Schraeder Valves just suck. They are hard to inflate and deflate. You would think that something with almost the same name as one of the coolest Peanuts characters would be great. I mean the guy doesn’t really talk much. He is just like, I’m going to break off some Brahms for your Ass. How cool is that? But I digress.

It was great to get out on the drive again. I’m a little soar now, but that will get better in time. Now the blood is flowing again and I have that exercise high. Once I get my Road Bike, I’m going to really start going crazy. Hopefully, I can do a Century next season.



The Spirit of Enterprise

So in doing this whole Kelly Drive thing, I can’t help but remember a statue that I always see there. I call it “The Penis Statue”, but supposedly it’s called “The Spirit of Enterprise”. What is the point of having a statue with some guy looking forward, having his penis go down to the ground and curve up, only to have a bird parched on the tip? I like this statue because it is so freaking absurd and I have found memories as a kid going by in the car with my friends saying, “Hey, there’s the Penis Statue.”

But I can’t help but ask, what is the obsession with everything Phallic in our society? I mean look at all these Sky Scrapers. Do you mean to tell me that a Sky Scraper isn’t some guy saying, hey, look at my big penis? I mean most of them are even curved at the top. What gives? Maybe I’m not obsessed with this kind of stuff because I have one. I would probably find it cool to see a building shaped like a huge Vagina.

The Children of Marx and Coca-Cola

Last Friday, I saw a Godard film called Masculine, Feminine. I really loved this movie, and when I walked out of the Theatre, I didn’t know why, but I had an idea. The Cinematography was amazing, mostly because of the framing. Every frame looked like a Pulitzer Prize winning photograph. My friend told me that this is common in Godard films and that it never hurt that these frames usually had drop dead gorgeous French women in them.

I think that I also loved this film because of its intellectual undertones. There wasn’t a lot of play on words or even any grand symbolism, but there was just this aura of intellectualism about the film. I think I probably missed a lot of stuff, and if I saw it again, I would pick it up. There was definitely an intellectual nature to the flirtations in the movie. There was also this soft aura of existentialism. Of course this makes sense when we are talking about a kid who is a want to be revolutionary out to score some tail. But Godard put in a few scenes of people just getting killed for no reason that just seemed to work. I guess he put them there to remind us how ridiculous life can be.

It shames me to say that I think that I identify with the main character Paul a lot. I was kind of like him a few years back. He is this intellectual who hasn’t really found his voice or a clear point of view. He is very opinionated about current events and politics, in his case, the War in Vietnam, but he can’t form a coherent argument about his beliefs. All he can do is spray-paint crap like “End The War Now” on cars. He has this kind of smug sense of intellectual superiority, and it is all nonsense. He got smacked down by an airhead model. He is out to date extremely hot girls, who aren’t exactly evil, but let’s just say that they aren’t cutesy nice girls that he thinks that they are.

After this movie, I am hooked on the French New Wave. I just received another Godard film called Breathless, and once I’m done with that, I think I will start seeing films by Truffaut. See, the feeling that you get when looking at old European masters such as Godard, Fellini, and Bergman is kind of like the feeling that you get when listening to all the old tunes that all the Hip-Hop stars stole from. I used to think, wow, that M.C. Hammer beat is great. Nope, as they say, “Rick James Bitch.” It seems like a lot of the voiceover stuff that was done in Amelie came directly from Godard's Masculine, Feminine. All those figures of the Grim Reaper, with the black gown and the white clown face comes directly from Bergman's A Seventh Seal. I could have sworn that the Choreography from the famous dance scene in Pulp Fiction came directly from Fellini’s 8 ½.

I think that at the end of the day, going old school is great, but I think that, as the old saying goes, it is just great to see Shakespeare how is was supposed to be performed.