It's been a long time so briefly at the top here I'll give you a free film review. High Plains Drifter, Clint Eastwood's second movie as a director, is a mid-seventies western starring Clint as the "Stranger," a character that is so obviously copied from his Sergio Leone roles that it's actually jarring not to see his mexican poncho. All the other trademarks are there: black flat-brimmed hat, skinny cigar, general mute stoicism. Aside from the simple joy of watching Clint do this familiar dance, I was quite disappointed in this film. It seemed to go out of its way to incorporate all the lame conventions of the western without adding anything. In fact, I didn't even finish it cause I realized an hour into it that it wasn't really necessary. This might have been fun for people who like westerns back in 1973, but I can't really recommend watching it for any kind of value. In 2030, would someone who generally enjoys romantic comedies ever go back and watch You've Got Mail for any good reason?

I've got a more formed opinion now of There Will Be Blood, of which I watched the first 90 minutes of again the other day. There are three things about it that are utterly extraordinary: Daniel Day-Lewis, the music, and the beautiful camera movements within virtually every scene that isn't simply static. DDay pretty much speaks for himself and unless you've been subjected to cold-war era psych treatments, his power emanates right from the first time you see him. To speak more (or really at all) on his performance is superfluous.
The music too was intensely enchanting even throughout my first viewing of the film, but I'd like to say that perhaps not enough has been made about how truly amazing it is because upon a second tour I found it often to outshine the verbal story it's woven into. I know the guy from Radiohead did it; let's hope he stays in the movie business cause he's a natural genius for it.
Finally, the camera action. This is something that I noticed initially but felt like maybe I didn't appreciate it as much as I should have, and so paid particular attention to the way Mr PT Anderson was technically delivering his images to us. I'd like to report that he did it phenomenally. through extensive movie-watching, I've come to realize that something I fundamentally love is an intelligent use of editing, or more specifically a conservative use of cuts combined with well-thought-out uses of pans and zooms between shots. Go watch some of the classics of Kurosawa for a visual course in what I'm talking about. Anderson seems to have done his homework in this regard, to the extent that several times throughout I found myself thinking about Kurosawa. He seems always to start on a general wide scene shot and drift forward or laterally across the scene so we can take everything in before finally settling on what will ultimately be important in the scene. Think of a shot where he surveys the land and the camps near the Little Boston well before finally bringing the derrick itself into the frame and zooming in, where Plainview is usually involved in the true action of the scene. Another specific example is when Eli is walking down to confront Plainview about where his church's money is. Instead of simply letting Eli walk into Plainview's frame, we follw from Eli's perspective as he walks along a pipeline and a vast lake of oil finally walking into where Plainview had been talking to some assistants. All the information that we see as Eli walks is important and stimulating. To top off this particular example, we get a beautifully framed shot with three men forming a perfect Kurosawsa-esque triangle, whose gap is of course filled by the entering Eli. This is the stuff that most people might not notice but most definitely adds to the overall experience of the film. If you are like me and do notice, then it moves everything to another level. My only nitpick is that none of this style seems very ambitious, innovative, or creative, so while it's certainly fine work, it falls quite short of being anything truly brilliant. Nonetheless, this is more argumentative and should not get in the way of your noticing the wonderful quality of this aspect of the film. So do enjoy.
(I'd like to finish off the last hour of the film again before passing a complete judgement (even though I'm quite sure the last hour will only serve to intensify my opinion), but the main problem I still have with There Will Be Blood is the character of Eli and/or perhaps also the actor Paul Dano. There is something quite seriously not right with this performance. I haven't yet determined who's at fault here: the writer for screwing up the dynamic of the character, Dano for screwing up the role, the casting director for hiring Dano in the first place, or Anderson the director for simply leading him to all the wrong decisions in playing the part. I suppose I can see how it might be desirable to have someone projecting extreme calm in the face of DDay's/Plainview's intensity, but in my opinion something is forced and awkward about Eli/Dano. It's uncomfortable, which I suppose would be preferrable if the film were an allegory, but of course I don't see that it is. It seems like someone made that decision somewhere along the line but then everyone just went too far with it. The entirely of this film is grandiose and intense and just simply large--all things that should be considered not only positive but essential to its quality; however, too much of the character of Eli is merely theatrical. (Again, I'll wait until I've watched it again, but this for me is exactly the underlying problem with the ending, that all of the sudden the foundation was absent from epic story, leaving only the bombastics.)

Some other things I've been thinking about:

1. What is a New Yorker? This is more a question for a first-year resident, but for whatever reason I've found myself considering it in the last couple weeks. My automatic reaction to this meditation is that I'm still not a "New Yorker." But is that true? I'm finishing up my fifth full year living in the city, and since I can't imagine moving out of my awesome apartment after just one year, I'm guaranteed to spend not just a sixth year here but also at least half of a seventh. That's quite a commitment to a place. I've got a somewhat tenured job here that has given me a rapibly growing 401k and a not-insignificant mutual fund. I've got an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the transportation system and the geography, both street- and ground-level. I've voted in local elections, choosing candidates ranging from our current mayor to the founder of the Rent Is Too Damn High Party. I've lived in three apartments in three somewhat different neighborhoods. I've seen businesses open and close and maybe I'm being presumptuous but I think at this point I can even accurately predict success or failure when a new one arrives. I've even adopted a local pro sports team (the Mets) and believe it or not, but when I find out someone like Charlie Villanueva is from the city, a curiously civic or pride-filled (perhaps also preposterous because there are 8million of us here) emotion causes me to root for him. So I guess what I'm trying to say--even though I can't stand some of the local accents, and I am still often amazed at the concentration of Irish and Jews here, and I can't bring myself to actually fold my pizza--is that maybe I've crossed the New Yorker threshhold.

2. Another line that I think I've crossed is a certain relationship line. I'm not experienced enough with this stuff to know exactly where I'm at or what's happened but I know that I was given a phone number by a rather attractive Asian girl this past weekend, and that this seemingly nondescript event made me think for two reasons. First, though I don't remember (I don't remember because it wasn't important enough to file the memories, not because I was too drunk to know what was going on) having any kind of flirty contact with this girl, apparently I was communicative enough for her to have the confidence to proffer a wholly unsolicited number. Basically, I've slipped into contented relationship mode so much that I don't even notice when an attractive chick is flirting with me, or even vice versa. The second, and personally deeper, issue is that when I realized what had happened, my reaction was not to be satisfied with myself or become arrogant or in any way emboldened, as would be the natural effect for most men. Instead, it occurred to me how happy I am where I am and how I've taken for granted the whole flirt/phone number/maybe-I'll-call-maybe-not/is-it-worth-it process of meeting people or escalating something or simply hooking up with a ho. I've taken for granted that I don't need to enter into this process and that I've already got the end result of such process, and I've got it as positively as I could imagine. So, while admittedly it can be a little exciting dipping into the lady pool, and there is a particular excitement that's possibly only at the very outset that of course I'm unable to truly recapture at this point, but it's much more pleasant to know that I don't really have to bother with all the crap that inevitably will follow. In fact, (though I'm even trying to overstate it) it would be hard to overstate the positive effect of this.

3. I don't know where it came from or how long it will last, but in the last two days I've strangely encountered a renewed desire to become a runner again. I don't know if--after immersing yourself in it as deeply as I did for several years--a person can really ever stop being a runner, but I do know that I haven't really felt like a "runner" for quite a while now. "A person who runs" is a better label. From time to time, I get serious pangs of determination relating to physical improvement. These can usually be sated through a few quality runs and a recommitment to regular gym visits. But this time it feels like a true and focused motivation for running. Though I don't know how disciplined it is, it's an excellent feeling and I'd like to see how long it will last. Rather, I'd like to see how long I can make it last. Proactivity.

4. I might make another longer post about this, but a man, acting without any consideration for other people, quite likely personally cost me at least $5,000 yesterday. That is a lot of money, enough to easily displace the displeasure I still have toward Chris Douglas-Roberts for failing to make uncontested 15foot shots and therefore costing me approximately $600. A couple missed free throws and spectacularly poorly timed act have likely conspired to make April 2008 the great month of missed financial opportunity.

5. On a lighter note, I've finally discoverd the joys of Fox Soccer Channel. I expect my Saturday and Sunday mornings/early afternoons will never be the same.

Manufacturing Dissent

Probably sometime today the governor of my adopted state will resign. His name is Eliot Spitzer and it seems he likes the ladies, and this is why he has to resign. My name is Josh Folger, I too like the ladies, but no one is clamoring for me to willfully unemploy myself.
Those three sentences are temptingly simple, and yet for a discerning man with a sense of perspective (me, hopefully you too), those sentences are all that's necessary. For a world that is more complex but unfortunately filled with simpler-minded people, they are woefully inadequate.

1. Why exactly is prostitution illegal?
2. Why exactly is a john completely stigmatized in our culture?
3. Why are people seemingly inherently hypocritical?
4. Why must admitted philanderers always conduct their press conferences with their wives by their side? (The wives didn't do anything, right? I can see it as a show of strength if the wife has weighed the situation and ultimately truly forgiven her husband, but what kind of woman rolls over and plays subservient so quickly?)
5. If the wife-at-press-conference is just a show, what is it in our culture that demands such a show?
6. If in fact this show isn't demanded by anything culturally intrinsic, then who is responsible for deciding that this show is needed?
7. For the person(s) responsible for making this decision, what is his motive exactly?
8. As a responsible member of the society (culture), is it our responsibility to accept (or even consider) this motive?
9. Further, must we also question the decider, the culture itself, the wife, the philanderer?

Yes, we must. And once we've finished doing that, we must finally and fundamentally question ourselves, for buying into the false escalating circle of importance in the first place, for allowing someone else to determine what's acceptable and what's not, for creating this faux world of constant posturing and acquiescing to the assumption of what's preferred by the masses, only it's not preferred by the masses, it's what has been decided that the masses prefer (should prefer), so that the masses are then being spoken for and being spoken to by the same entity and never unfortunately are they encourged to think (let alone to speak) for themselves.
Media, I'm talking to you.
I don't see why a woman can't take money from a man (or a man from a man, etc) for sexual favors if the man is willing to give it. If a doctor prescribes me a pain reliever, I am expected to pay him. Body, mind, and spirit.
I don't care that Eliot Spitzer likes a high-class ho. (Disclaimer--I would care if he was stealing from the public to pay for it.)
I am wholly unaffected by the presence of his wife at the press conference.
I am angered that those in our culture with a voice have used it to decide that all this shit is necessary, that this whole thing is even a story.
I am angered that those in our culture without a voice accept all this and respond in kind, sometimes hysterically.

on chaos (ruminative dissonance)

i wish i had more time to just think while at work.

have i mentioned that i really love the little tv thing we have in our elevators here at 90 park ave? they aren't actually tvs but more just a small screen that scrolls news items which are sometimes general and sometimes quirky. it's a perfect form or low-key "entertainment" for the 30 second ride to/from the 18th floor, and the brief bits of info quite often get me to thinking.
such as the one i noticed yesterday remarking that oil hit an all-time inflation-adjusted price of $103.95 per barrel. this alone as business news is of zero interest to me (perhaps it would disgust me an vague anti-capitalist way but nothing more), but the info that accompanied it--that the previous high was $38 in 1980--i found to cause great thoughtfulness.
$38 in 1980 equals $103.95 today, in 2008. that's 28 years. that's a 274% increase, or you could say a 274% decrease in the value of our dollar. again, on their own, these numbers might not be overly exciting, but put them in context and they become more and more illustrative.
I'm still fairly young and so should be immune to hang-wringing relating to how the world is going to hell and how nothing is worth a damn anymore, but i was alive in 1980. this isn't like those dumb-ass little books you can buy at bob evans or cracker barrel that are full of shit about what a gallon of milk cost in 1906, and how there were still only 46 states or whatever back in the golden days.
i was alive in 1980 for chrissakes. $38 then is the same as $104 now. or, take the somewhat arbitrary symbols away and put it a different way: 38 then is the same as 104 now.
i'll roundly admit i don't know enough about economics to get into anything remotely resembling an intelligent discussion thereof (about all i do know on this matter is that inflation of this magnitude is bad news for the u.s.), so i'll stick to the existential bits.
so what does it mean when something presumably stagnant (a number) and empirical (a value) proves dynamic over time? i should say how does this affect us?
for me--someone who fancies himself above (or below, depending on your opinion of me) the fray most of the time--i think it certainly produces a further kind of chaotic dissociation from what i've been exposed to throughout my life. how can i take seriously emphatic claims, even those seemingly backed by scientific processes, when the world proves itself to be hardly consistent?
i'd call myself a kind of skeptic, so it's in my nature to doubt, but this doesn't mean that i'm necessarily comfortable with the idea that all is anarchic, that nothing simply is what it is. on the contrary, i rather strongly need to have certain parts of my world to simply exist as themselves, to be something that i understand or at least something that i think i could understand: i need to have a general framework of sturdiness within which i may question, ponder, muse, deliberate and epiphanize.
so you can see that when oil does not equal oil and 38 is the same as 104, it can have a sky-is-falling type of effect on me. no, "effect on me" is not the right descriptor. what i'm forced to do in response to these anomalies could be called ruminative dissonance.
something ain't right and i'm not comfortable with what it is or isn't.

2008 - Year of the (Man)Skirt

I want to talk about something different today. It's a topic I've expressed consternation over for quite some time, but perhaps not consistently enough to make clear its importance to me.

Skirts. For men. For me.

I've long had the desire to wear a skirt and experience the airy freedom that has so long been granted only to the fairer sex, but in the last few months this desire has reached a kind of critical mass so that I'm not simply going to rue my y-chromosomed fate and save my feelings for complaints; instead I'm going to do something about it. When spring comes and it gets warm enough, I'm going to wear a skirt. I don't care anymore: I'm 27 for crying out loud so why should I?

(I'm not talking about the image above, of kilts or some other silly twist on the man-skirt. I'm talking about a straight-up, no-frills skirt. Something that isn't being belittled or undermined by ethnic or cultural excuses. Really though, I don't begrudge a man wearing a kilt, that would be hypocritical. But what I'm aiming for here is something more utilitarian, something more.......natural, something that doesn't require whatever that silly little pouch is that's always hanging in front of a kilt, that bit of added clothing doesn't much jibe with my desire to loosen things up.)

Since the epiphanic moment when I was 18 and decided that I didn't really need to wear underwear really ever, my clothed life has always been first about comfort and second about comfort. For me, comfort is directly proportional to openness or freedom. (Not Bill of Rights freedom, or Braveheart freedom, but physical, untuck and unbutton your shirt freedom.) I'm very comfortable naked, and while I understand that society simply isn't ready for unabashed nudism, I still know that I'm more comfortable the closer I get to being naked. Also--and this is probably even more important--I truly cannot stand wearing pants. I will wear shorts for as long as is meteorologically possible. True anger forms when I think about how conformity dictates that a man must wear pants, especially that he must wear them year-round in "professional" settings.

I used to feel that overcoming this pants-only social policy, in favor of a more shorts-friendly one, was the hurdle I needed to clear, but lately I've come to realize that this thinking is like ordering a Diet Coke with a Big Mac: half-assed, and missing the root cause (with McD's the root issue is not the hypocritical ordering of the diet drink but the ordering of the fat-ass food in the first place). I don't need to attack pants, I need to attack the convention that doesn't allow garments other than pants. Not just shorts but skirts should also be permissible.

I remember a line from golfer Greg Norman expressing his own frustration with the pants-only PGA Tour rule: "We should be allowed to wear shorts. God almighty, women are allowed to wear 'em, and we've got better legs than they do." And right there you have another reason to let us let em hang out: we men look good down there too. I appreciate that a woman has a more delicately appealing physique, including usually-shaven legs, but it's not like a man's legs are so hideous that they must be hidden at all times. (Aside: if you're thinking logically, no I do not also think that a man wearing a skirt should then be expected to shave his legs. While I don't really have much problem with a man doing that, bowing to standard expectation is just exactly what I'm trying to combat here.)

Assuming that most men who choose to go skirt would probably not decide to shave, and further that a man's hairy legs--while largely inoffensive--are still usually not as attractive as a woman's smooth ones, it only makes sense for a man-skirt to be of a sufficient length. I'm thinking about as long as most men's shorts are: roughly to the knee or just above, at minimum. Let's say that any brave--or, put another way, flamboyant--soul who wants to bare a bit more has my blessing but not my communion.

Now that I've gotten some of the generalities out of the way, I'd like to acknowledge the hill I'm trying to scale. Scorn and derision (and worse) have always accompanied even the stray thought of a man wearing a skirt. It's impossible at this societal moment to not at least be labeled as a homosexual for wearing a skirt; this is simply a stigma that must be either ignored or else somehow overcome. I can say with experience that when initially confronting the world with an admittedly much-less-stigmatized moustache, responses varied from shock to ridicule to repulsion, but that after some time and some confidence exhibited by myself, these reactions have unanimously disappeared. The only way to go with this is to do it and do it without irony, without embarrassment, and without hesitation.
It's not a fashion statement, it's a cultural and sociological statement. There is no good reason why a man should not be able to wear a skirt and be accepted, respected, or even applauded for it. In fact, I think that most men, if they would only give it a chance, would find a skirt so pleasant that they wouldn't ever think of going back to our current unfortunate skirtless ways.

I don't know where I'm going to find a skirt to wear. I may have to befriend a designer or someone in the textile industry. But I'm going to make it happen. The tipping point has been crossed. It's too late to have my mind changed. But it's never too late to change yours. So get on board. Man-skirts in 2008. If we can elect a black guy as president, we can do anything.

Oscars

I've got to admit now that I'm pretty excited about the Academy Awards tomorrow night. For some reason, it seems like enjoying an awards show is a kind of guilty pleasure; hence the admission. I don't know though. I always like watching them cause I like movies and generally they get at least a couple decent films in the running for big awards (though they are often lost in the swarm of shit that gets nominated seemingly only to pet the egos of big traditional Hollywood crap).
The main reason I'm particularly excited about these Oscars though, is that I've got a horse in the race, so to speak. No Country for Old Men is my favorite new theatrical release maybe ever. (Remember now that I'm just 27 years old and have been culturally sensitive for only maybe 10 of those years, so we're only talking about a best-of-the-last-decade level of excellence.) I've stated many times--though only a few in this space--how fond I am of this film, but only recently have I divined the real truth of the matter regarding this fondness: that my love respect for it has gone beyond a simple artistic reverence into a more personal and opinionated love. What I mean is that my passionate fondness for this film has rendered me incapable of discussing it in any comparative or unbiased manner. The reason this is relevant is that No Country for Old Men happens to be competing directly against another holistically similar film: There Will Be Blood; and additionally that many of my friends have stronger positive feelings about this latter film. For a time, I exerted small amounts of energy exclaiming my taste for my favorite vs. the (in my opinion) the comparative shortcomings of the other. Now I've accepted that artistic quality is unfortunately something I simply cannot soundly consider when examining these two fine films. I'll tell you now again that I think that There Will Be Blood--while certainly a powerful experience highlighted by an even more powerful performance by Mr Daniel Day-Lewis--simply has its imperfections, while No Country for Old Men is amazing for its lack of them. (This statement is one that I deem to be factual, not opinionated.)
I don't have the list in front of me at the moment (which, since I'm obviously sitting at a net-ready computer right now, is code for: I'm too lazy), but I'm fairly sure that each film is nominated for eight awards, and further that they are in direct competition in seven of those eight categories. You can't help but sense the man-vs-man nature of this; and, as a sports/competition/gambling lover, I am eating it up with a big fat spoon. So, looking at everything from this perspective, you've got to share in my enthusiasm for the show: it's like anticipating a big game or especially a big boxing fight.
I don't know now if this has helped to spur your own excitement for the LA love-fest to ensue tomorrow night (mostly cause I'm into my third pint glass rum & coke), but hopefully it has. No Country for Old Men is my Buckeyes, my Steelers, my Pirates (well, maybe not my pathetic Pirates). I'm rooting it on just as I would any of the others.

SI Diary

Annual Staten Island Pilgrimage
Saturday, February 16th, 2008
1:08pm - SI trip is starting exactly as it should: ugly. We are now curiously in Brooklyn, riding an R to Canal St where we must transfer to some train that is hopefully not diverted due to construction. We're supposed to take the 1:00 ferry, now we may miss the 1:30.
1:46 - Waiting for the ferry. There is the cutest little black kid you'll ever see here. He's maybe three and he's totally smittenby a pigeon that is walking around the room. Unfortunately I'm not a good enough writer to share how magnificent it is to watch this kid track this bird.
3:41 - We're here. Finally. Tough travels. Travails. Regrettably, our waitress isn't nearly as enthusiastic as last time. She's got a tattoo--I think she's an antisocial.........She just said "It's going to be a few minutes still. I've just got to go find a bucket." (We ordered a 5beer bucket, cause we're at Applebee's, duh.)
4:58 - Dude just walked by. Me: "That guy looks like the Marlboro Man only if the Marlboro Man were a loser."
5:24 - Dave: "What am I writing? What am I writing?" Devon: "Sexy kids."
6:16 - Post Applebees. Mall time. Nothing of note yet. Going to check on the balloon girl.
8:10 - 1414 Club. 1414 Forest Avenue. Us four, one other guy missing at least one of his front teeth, and the bartender--lovin life. My new favorite bathroom is here. Sparse and rustic are two useful adjectives. Four TVs--two showing AMC (Letters from Iwo Jima), other two showing horse races: OTB next door, of course.
8:54 - Pack of four middle-aged women in front of us waiting to cross a desolate 2-lane road to get to the Drunken Monkey (our current spot), one of them hops out to cross as a car approaches, another yells "Jesus Christ Cheryl, we're in Staten Island now, you're crazy you can't do that out here. Sheesh." Should be noted that these women look like caricatures of classic SI women. Thank you, thank you.
11:08 - In the last hour I've just gotten definitely drunk. So I've got that going for me. Ill have to go at half-speed the rest of the night. So I've got that going against me.
11:11 - These hoochies at the Burrito Bar have some serious bootys. I mean that in a very complimentary way.
11: 13 - Should also here note that in the last 90 minutes I've watched the best NBA Dunk competition since MJ and Dominique.
11:30 - Here is a why a douche working out all the time can often be stereotypically pathetic (as learned by keeping my eyes open in an awful SI bar): because often they don't have anything else going for them; if they weren't fit then they'd be utterly worthless, and their relative fitness keeps them from acquiring any useful qualities.
- The Black Dog sucks dick.
11:37 - Something that I was not aware of as a phenomenon until the last two bars: the Staten Island Booty. These chicks have my kind of ass. Related aside: I guess this makes it official that I'm hopelessly in love, but whenever I see a hot chick I have a strong desire to bone not the chick but my absent girlfriend. So it is. So I am.
11:47 - Something peculiar I've noticed about this borough: as a rule, dudes don't ever kick up the toilet seat before pissing. As a man, I shouldn't be offended by this, but come on man, that shit is nasty just pissing all over the seat.
12:58am - Three black chicks here waiting for the ferry with us. Two are hot, one is attractive but too chunky. One is smoking hot but real skinny. Other is a 10 body but not as pretty. They're making me want to do it. Maybe it's cause it's after midnight and I'm still in Richmond County but I'm impressed. I wish I had my lady here now. I'm pathetic, granted, but sheesh I wish she were here. Maybe I'm a failure after all. But alas, I don't care.
1:14 - As it turns out, I'm a pervert.
2:18 - Back in the cit, finally. Feeling pretty weak, might not be able to finish the beer I just ordered. Questionably barfy, just ate a slice. Back in my old hood at Peculiar Pub. Blasphemously it appears more strumpety here than in SI. Hos abound. Short skirts even though it's frigid. Some forgot pants, even.
3:10 - Do you want to know what Dave's butthole smells like: it smells like if you took a bunch of old rotten clams, took a big diarrhetic shit on them, then steamed them in a heavily garlicked bowl of asparagus piss.

Semi-Random Diary

A little late with this:

Friday, February 8th (one day after Hudik's Birthday)

7:54pm - Just missed the F to Brooklyn, now will probably have to wait forever. Fuck you, Hudik.
8:17 - Sometimes you've just got to look good. Yeah I'm sportin the jacket and tie combo again--finally. Been shabby most of the last month.
9:46 - Almost finished Chad's New York Times crossword from Thursday. Talkin Bondi's now workin up a lather for burgers, crab biscuits, fries, and greyhounds. And mimosas, of course.
10:12 - We're at an open bar for Coors O right now. It lasts just an hour and preposterously it seems like we five are the only ones on the premises who are indulging in the freeness. This thing was publicized on myopenbar for chrissakes. Shows you how much this place must suck ass.
11:00 - Jackie Fucking Treehorn. Fuckin Fuck. Dave smokes lights now.
11:01 - Emily thinks I need a brooch. Chad thinks I'm an English douche.
11:43 - Just put Scotty's number behind a toilet in a bar in Park Slope. Have fun with that, Oily Beat-Off.
11:48 - I've been to this bar before. Last time I was rendered off-balance by a girl. I sat outside on the curb and took notes the whole time cause I couldn't stay inside and faux-flirt with the girl. I'm dumb and I'm impressionable but I'm no faux.
11:58 - I just made a fried-egg stain of wax on Emily's leg.
time unknown - Dave just agreed that he's an AIDS victim. I just talked to KRobbins about my girlfriend (her query). Hunter just mocked me for writing in this notebook. Eat shit, Josh.

On Arts

do you know how to start an argument? here is one way:

a big problem i have with music as an art form is that it is simply too accessible. it's too easy for any single person to grasp it and enjoy it and appreciate it. it's too simple.
of course i've never played or created music so i guess that's a disclaimer (obviously it's not easy), but i think it's not complex enough, not nuanced enough, not--dare i say--sophisticated enough.
(clearly using these words i'm setting myself up for at least criticism and more likely scorn. that's ok. this is opinion after all. and surely it should be understood that i'm not belittling what musicians do or suggesting that they do not clearly possess impressive and enviable talents.)

to me, the arts--music, film, literature, painting/sculpture, or simple performance--are interesting and enjoyable because they are unscientific; they are necessarily impossible to parse out into exact parts or meanings. i think what i like most about arts is its pure expression. not necessarily what something is or is about but just how it feels, and part of the joy of claiming that feeling is finding something in the art that is real or shared and then "getting it." the process, the necessary process of personally finding the art, is for me the most important effect of the art.
many people would surely disagree here, but this is my problem with music, or my reasoning in deriding it compared to the other forms of high art: that quite often there is no process, that the essence of the music is immediately presented for you, that it's just too easy for anyone to appreciate it.
i'd like not to be completely elitist but unfortunately that's exactly what my last point is doing. it's unfortunate but not everyone in the world possesses the same gifts of intelligent discernment, so necessarily there should be some things will be beyond the realm of understand and certainly deep appreciation for much of the populace. music doesn't do this. it's too inclusive. don't get me wrong now, because this is the greatest thing about music, something people have always and should always point to in describing it's necessary value: that it crosses all social and demographic lines: everyone can enjoy it at it's deepest levels. it's like baseball or barbecue or television or any other parts of americana, everyone can share its experiences communally and this of course gives it tremendous populist value.
however, at the same time, it completely undermines it's artistic being. i'm not trying to discredit music's status as an art, just to differentiate it from the other forms of art, to perhaps decry the mere act of discussing it as you might another form of art. to me, discussing music as art is to express mere opinion because the form itself is too accessible so as to have nothing to argue about. if you like a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich more than a grilled cheese, that's fine, but if you want to spend a lot of time telling me why a pbj is better than a grilled cheese, well that's just silly. a pbj is a pbj. they're delicious, lots of people love them, but let's not get carried away.

i'm going to pause now and acknowledge the difficulty i may be having in showing my point. likely the difference between music and film, music and sculpture, is simply a matter of my personal taste, which would make this whole essay a commentary on the value of all art as a starting point for discussion, rather than an explanation of the differences of stature within the world of artistic forms.

(hmmmm. now that i've about it a moment, perhaps the problem i'm encountering in being fair has something to do with the nature of our consumption of the musical art form, or the relative lack of breadth thereof. if i were to compare film to "music" then i could say sure many films are enjoyed by all and certainly wholly accessible to all, but you'd surely agree if i were to claim that many richer and (better) films are not really appreciated or gotten by the mass of the population. film like anything has a spectrum ranging from the highest exhaltant complex form down to the basest least-common-denominator unoriginal crap. with film, this whole spectrum of quality is often discussed publicly in the media. with music, the only types we ever hear about, therefore the only types we ever talk about on an individual level, is the baser, simpler, more easily accessible forms. there is a whole vast world of classical and extremely complex and difficult to ascertain music. this is not the type that is ever really seen or discussed outside a tiny sliver of aficionados. consider: citizen kane, widely thought to be the finest film ever made, was released to a national audience; the godfather films--surely not lagging far behind citizen kane on quality--are some of the most popular movies ever and we're subject to massive populist scrutiny even while being publicly judged for their quality (at the academy awards). what i'm saying is that the public discourse on film spans the entire spectrum of the form, while the discourse on music is constrained to the lower portion of it's breadth. what this means, if my thinking is consistent here, is that in the first several paragraphs of this essay, as i was having trouble condemning music without being hypocritical, what i was actually doing was condemning some music, which in light of what i've described about the film/music public distinction, is i believe more than fair.)

so, in the way we operate within the world, i find it somewhat silly, indeed impossible, therefore useless, to effectively carry on intelligent discussions about "music." and what i was saying at the top about not liking "music" because it's too accessible and not complex enough still stands because now i've figured out that there exists a distinction between music (everything) and "music" (the segment of music that we actually digest).

so i guess what we learn from this enterprise is that it indeed is an easy way to start an argument, so easy that i've just conducted one with myself.

Film Review(s)

So let's see, I've seen a few movies since my last review. For one thing, I saw There Will Be Blood, and I have some definite opinions on it, including some that would be interesting because they aren't fully in line with what you may have heard in most of the mainstream. I must have been busy shortly after seeing it; I don't know why else I wouldn't have written about it. Here is the small list of movies I've seen since November 20th (seems very long ago), with brief thoughts: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (very very good, quite interesting film by Julian Schnabel. I liked this one a lot, largely because I feel that Schnabel's experimental (for a vaguely mainstream film) techniques are fascinating and not in this instance at all intrusive.), Sanjuro (another Kurosawa/Mifune samurai movie, sequel to Yojimbo (one of my favorites of the genre), nice little movie, not much to say about it except for someone like me, who likes Japanese film and particularly this type, it's very pleasant to watch if not classic material.), Before Night Falls (Schnabel/Javier Bardem biopic that was good but not great, somewhat oddly told story that was off-putting to me at times but with many redeeming qualities including my new favorite Mr Bardem), and Chinatown (I'd seen this one before but it was on TV so I went with it again; reminiscent of Casablanca in how outside of its context it can lose a little luster as an all-timer; interestingly not one of Jack Nicholson's best performances but maybe his best movie; I love a well-done noir; finally I'd read that DDay Lewis's character in There Will Be Blood owes lots to John Huston's in this, so I paid close attention to that and it turns out to be true, though probably not to the extent that those would have you believe who might try to discredit DDay's excellent job with his character.).
So those are my recent ones. Perhaps I will try to share some thoughts on There Will Be Blood going into the Oscars. As a teaser I'll tell you now that I don't think it's as good as most people, though the more I think about it the more I might come to the realization that it's just because I'm judging it too harshly in the shadow of No Country For Old Men, a film which I think is spectacular, moreso every day that passes. In fact, these two films have me more excited for this years Oscars than any since I was enamored with Saving Private Ryan as only a historically-inclined high school kid can be. Like anyone, I like watching the awards being given out and like some I do put some small weight behind the results but I think too many times I've been slapped with reality when a clearly inferior product defeats a superb one (obvious current example--Diving Bell wasn't even nominated by its own country for the Best Foreign Film award, even though I think it should be up for the overall Best Picture prize), so it's hard to take the actual results too seriously. In a lot of ways, I find the nominees more interesting than the winners as I ascribe to what must be a widely held notion, that you can't use words like "best" when comparing art, but I do feel that you can reasonably parse out a year's worth of film into smaller groups of excellence. And of course I do feel that when a truly special film comes along, I can have a specific rooting interest regarding it winning or losing.

Anyhow, right now all this has been a long prologue to what will be a short main body of this post: my review of the movie I saw last night with my fawning girlfriend (she's smitten with the movie, not me, not in this instance at least), Across the Universe. It's a somewhat abstract musical released last year set to the songs of the Beatles. Opinion time: it's good, for a musical, which means it's decidely average, for a film. As with any musical, the acting is subpar but that's to be expected because they need to be able to sing. Now, I'm far from a musical expert, but I found that the main character has an amazing voice that's ridiculously suited to singing Paul McCartney songs, so much so that when he tries to sing Lennon or Harrison songs it doesn't sound very good. Most of the other singers are good but no one else as notable as the lead. I don't want to nitpick this film cause it's first priority is not toward simple film-ness but to musical-ness, but the story was weak. Put another way, many scenes seemed very contrived and the propulsion of plot through the too-long 133 minutes was far too often forced, though many of the cuts from scene to scene were very well done, stylistically and thematically. Again, I'd like to profess some ignorance regarding the musical genre but I suspect something they all have in common is difficulty maintaining a smooth plot; they are likely more successful when considered episodically. This film is no different, as--taken separately--almost all the scenes are very well done, always interestingly creative and sometimes visually rather breathtaking experiences. If you approach this film in that way, you will not be let down. And, speaking subjectively, two hours of your life that is spent accompanied by Beatles songs is a pleasant two hours indeed. (It's heavy on the White Album songs too, another plus in this reviewer's opinion.)

you remember that pathetic woman i work with? well i still can't stand her. "hi josh! happy friday!" -- i can't here effectively describe the pluckiness present in this greeting, nor the transparency of the pluckiness. she's a bitch. she knows it, i know it, and worse--she knows i know it. so why carry on the charade? on a more fundamental level, what disgusts me not so much about her specifically but people like her that have nothing in their lives (that comment might sound harsh but let me specify that her circumstance is through no fault but her own, it's not like she's lost friends and/or loved ones through tragedy or anything of that sort), is that these people don't get any joy from it actually being friday. they only look forward to the ability to say "happy friday!" in other words, she couldn't care less about having a weekend ahead of her (in fact she probably despises them as it cuts her off from her only real connection to the "real world"), she only enjoys the ability to be awful and obnoxious and waste people's time. and i can't stand it. it make me upset and uneasy so that i have a physical need to recoil from it. kinda like how some people feel about being around nursing homes. sure, maybe it's insensitive on my part but let's get real, that shit is just unpleasant.

The NFL Hate List

The Patriots lost the Super Bowl two days ago, to the NY Giants. As a lifelong Steelers fan, this shouldn't really cause much pain or joy. Pittsburgh was eliminated (not by the Patriots) nearly a month ago, and our traditional rival--the Browns--never even made the playoffs. However, as I was conversing with a friend yesterday, it was obvious that the SB result caused me great joy and this friend great discouragement (which is doubly odd as his allegiances are as equally dispersed as mine).
This got me to thinking about sports fandom, and more what it means to be a fan in general (ie of football) than to the more traditional idea of being a fan in specificity (ie of Pittsburgh). To illustrate the point, I've prepared a listing of teams I least like to see win the Super Bowl. I considered doing a top ten least like to see win and a top ten most like to see win, but I realized my specific Steeler fandom automatically eliminates all 31 other teams from being eligible for the latter list, whereas the former could cover any of the 31. Also note this list is "least like to see win it all," not least favorite, and there is an important difference, as least favorite is more simply about a team, whereas least like to see win is broadly about the team, their fans, their city, and any number of other variables. I'm talking about the joy/disgust of a title versus the pleasure of aesthetics.
Here it is, in reverse order:
31. New Orleans Saints -- not much needs to be said here.
30. Arizona Cardinals -- hard not to root for a perpetual loser with nothing really unsavory about them. They are the one team I'd have no trouble riding the bandwagon of should they suddenly get good, as long as it's not at the Steelers' expense. Bonus points for taking Pitt's coaching staff and installing Steelers West.
29. Green Bay Packers -- Old school. Cold. Football. And Brett Favre is all man.
28. Philadelphia Eagles -- Good quality teams usually and pathetic pitiful fans, they all would deserve it.
27. Indianapolis Colts -- Another great team with the greatest player, plus classy s.o.b. and ex-Steeler Tony Dungy. You have to respect it when you see it.
26. San Diego Chargers -- A fairly harmless good team, though Phil Rivers is dragging this team down the list singlehandedly.
25. Chicago Bears -- A good fan base and a classic team lately dominated by defense. Probably should rate them higher.
24. Washington Redskins -- can't really explain this one. Just another innocuous and classic old team.
23. Buffalo Bills -- Kinda have to feel bad for them a little, plus I was a fan of the exciting offensive early 90s teams.
22. Oakland Raiders -- Steelers used to have a little of a rivalry with them, but that was long ago. Plus the jerseys are awesome their reputation is awesome and even just the name is awesome. 21. New York Giants -- I don't really care for the NY teams but the Giants are far more preferrable and really they've never done anything to me.20/19/18. St Louis Rams/Tampa Bay Buccaneers/Atlanta Falcons -- three basically nondescript NFC teams that don't displease me in any way but also don't really ever cause me to want to watch their games.

17. Detroit Lions -- if it weren't for the Pistons being good, I'd be much more sympathetic. A classic team as well.
16/15. Houston Texans/Tennessee Titans -- two AFC South teams that don't do much for me. If Tennessee were still the Oilers, they'd be rated much worse.
14/13. Minnesota Vikings/Carolina Panthers -- two more basically nondescript NFC that for whatever reason I have more respect for.
12. San Francisco 49ers -- Boy, fifteen years ago they would have been in the top 5, easy. Many years of suck, plus Frank Gore carrying me to a fantasy title in 2006, plus Pittsburgh tying them with their fifth Super Bowl in 2005, have brought them down quite a bit.
11. Kansas City Chiefs -- I'm not sure why but I still remember losing to them often in the 90s. And there is just something that seems snotty about this team, maybe it's the way they always pose for their individual pictures wearing those pissy white turtlenecks.
10. Denver Broncos -- Their period of goodness has overlapped pretty exactly with the Steelers the last 15 years, so fuck them. Something not aggressive but definitely unsavory about this team and their fans.
9. Jacksonville Jaguars -- Kindof a quietly intense rivalry between this team and Pittsburgh. We've gone toe-to-toe many times in recent years, not always getting the better of it.
8. New York Jets -- As I said earlier, I don't care for the NY teams, the fans are really no good, which is odd because I respect NY baseball fans. For me, the difference between Jets/Giants is this: Giants are the old-school team, the better team usually, the better looking team, and the team less likely to force me to sit in a bathroom for 45 minutes while I wait for their kicker to shank two game-winning FGs so my 15-1 team can scrape by a divisional-round playoff game.
7. Miami Dolphins -- Don Shula has basically shown the world this season what's awful about the Dolphins and their odd smugness. Fuck you. And Dan Marino better keep blindly picking the Steelers to win every week cause his delicate douchebag idiot routine is close to getting him disowned by the city of Pittsburgh.
6. Cleveland Browns -- This is the toughest team to rate. On one hand, I get no more joy than from beating the Browns. On the other, it's frequency is slowly taking away the satisfaction. On one hand, this is the one fan base that probably deserves a title more than any. On the other, you know they'd abuse the priviledge of being arrogant. On one hand, they are a classic, well-respected team. On the other, I hate them. On one hand, this team shares more in common with my own than anyone else. On the other, Bernie Kosar was a hugely overrated hack, for crying out loud. Webster Slaughter. Kevin Mack. Fuck you too. Clips of The Fumble and The Drive are fun to watch.
5. Baltimore Ravens -- Most heated Pittsburgh rival of the last 10 years. Already won a Super Bowl. Brian Billick needs no introduction(though they just fired him so there is a chance they could fall a few spots). Ray lewis used to be good, but now he's just a dancing fucko ex-Miami cock.
4. Cincinnati Bengals -- We had a mini-rivalry with them for a few years there but it seems to have dissipated. Still, theirs is our freshest intradivisional hate-fest, so they rate the highest of the three. Their offense is good but there is lots about this team that screams Mickey Mouse (stupid garish unis, no defense, offense that wilts against good defenses, coach that's overmatched, just a team that you know has no chance to win a playoff game. A Mickey Mouse team one that's cute but has no spine. Texas Tech is a decent example of a college team of this ilk), and there's nothing that elicits my scorn more than a Mickey Mouse team. Plus, their record of thuggery is so ridiculous that it's not even funny anymore, just pathetic. Damn, I almost forgot: Boomer Esiason: All-Time Douche.
3. Dallas Cowboys -- Old-school Steeler rival. Tied with Pit and SF with five Super Bowl wins. Legendary arrogance. Legendary incorrigible owners and coaches. Mentioning the phrase "America's Team" is a real sure way to get my blood up. Tony Romo. TO. The most retarded stadium in the NFL. The worst most out-of-the-woodwork fans in the league. They're kinda the Notre Dame of the league, when it comes down to it.
2. Seattle Seahawks -- 75% of my distaste here comes from Super Bowl XL. Get over it. You lost. There was a game played, and some people hired to make sure it was fair, and you lost. By 11. There are close calls in every game that people complain about, but congratulations, you win the prize by far for being the biggest whiners in the history of the sport. In addition, I hate that they are basically a Mickey Mouse team that gets by because they've got a quirky stadium that gives them a built-in edge and they play in easily the worst division in football. St Louis, Arizona, and San Fran would have all gone 2-14 playing in any AFC division in any of the last five years. Good job making the playoffs Holmgren, you fuck. Even with decidely mediocre teams, you're going to go no worse than 5-3 at home because of the stadium and you're going to go 4-2 in your division. You're like Hawaii for godsakes.
1. New England Patriots -- The combined effect of the 2001 and 2004 AFC Championship Games, coupled with their three Super Bowl wins, were enough to put them in this spot before the absurdity of the 2007 season vaulted them basically off the charts here. In fact, I should rank them zero, that's how disgusted and angry thinking about this franchise makes me. Watching them lose a Super Bowl as heavy favorites is the next best thing to seeing the Steelers win one.

it's been too much so i'm going to embrace it: i'm fucking frustrated. with all of this, all of you. that's right. you. sorry to bring shit. goddman self-interests, either broadcast or clandestine, make everything more difficult than it ever needs to be.

(that space is what it looks like to punch the keyboard. yes, nothing. it looks like nothing. hitting too many keys at once disables any of them from working. instructive, i think.)

i'm bout out of freshness. people are still accusing me of farting though. far too drunk right now. dizzy almost. should be in manhattan right now. forgot if i told you but i bit another beaver tonight now, this one not belonging to my gf. it was deliciously meaty enough to count as totally awesome.
hudik is smooching on erin and it's embarrassing. that's all i've got there.
go team. go meat.

they went on a beer run after the second keg went limp and chad of course asked me for money. of course it's not really a concern of his that i've spent approx $130 on this beautiful holiday, including his damn pork chops and chicken wings. but hey that's the man for you.
the dumb crip is still here, still scandalously slooping on hudik. damn dumb crip. going to steal the wd40 she uses to lube up her knee joint. bitch.
life and life only.
my lady friend just left and i'm missing her already but that's cause i'm a sappy son of a bitch and pretty much completely smitten, still. congratulations, sara.
drinking bourbon now even though chad &tc have already come back with beer. screw you you cunt. like kenny devine, that filthy cunt.

holy shit. we crashed the second keg. that's amazing work. to kill two kegs and it's barely ten o'clock now. i'm now drinking bourbon on ice. like beer but for a man.
david fucking gonzalez is on his way here right now, that son of a bitch. i don't know whether to be outraged or outrageously excited. i'll defer to the latter.
the keyboard is horribly sticky from someone spilling beer on it earlier. it wasn't me, just like it wasn't me who farted in the living room earlier though i was pathetically blamed for it. whatever.
fear it. the ham. the bacon. the tripe. the rabbit. the goat head. the meat houses. fear it. fear the love of a human, strong enough to take the life of animals. fear that shit, bitch.

devon is a worthless dried up cuntflower.
tommy duss sucks eggs.
garland is a sappy proposer.
meat tastes yummy.
winners. lots of real winners still here.
eat shit ken devine. eat fucking shit like you're bergeron.

hey kenny devine!! eat shit, you motherfucker!! suck my balls you filthy cunt!
go to hell, you pussy!

just finished a meat sweats shot, made infinitely better by the presence and greatness of one theodore bauer. good work, disciple, sir.
second keg is live and good, not as good as the first but awesome still.
matthew pulled me aside a while ago and just had to tell me in confidence how awesome it was. i said "it?" he said yeah, just everything here. that's what you call a convert.
i'm drunk now, by the way, but not drunk enough not to go back and correct my many typos.
i ate a roach a little earlier. unfortunately, i'm not talking about the insect species, or else we'd be able to add another animal to the list. we've got salmon now too.
i successfully did a beaver talk from sara's coot, which made me wonderfully happy. coot.
dave is pressuring people into doing meat sweat shots right now, god bless him that son of a bitch.
ken and sara are pathetically trying to talk their way into the blog as "awesome." no f-ing way.
we watched the goat's other eye pop not long ago. and dave poked the shit out of it and its goo was dripping sweet. was happy. am happy. success is all amongst us. damnit we are the best people ever.

back. warmer. dave has already gotten mad at me for "giving up." he's entirely distrustful of me and sara. thinks i'm a failure, probably.
good turnout, thus far. erin and meg and whatever epic creation they're bringing have not yet arrived so it's kinda like we're holding our breath waiting for the exhaltant release. dave has started his meat house so i'm curious to see what happens there. scotty is pervin on me now with his meatloaf apron with little pockets that he's been carrying around bbq sauce in all day. a nice touch, i think.
drew has reminded me to mention hudik's poor performance from last night. thanks, drew. hudik you my friend are the real failure. promised me a place to sleep. decided maybe it would be more fun to make out with a crippled strumpet instead of boarding me. thanks for that. slept on a hardwood floor. hope it was worth it. know it musn't have been. verbally abused him for this not long ago and he told me i wasn't allowed to speak of it later after the crippled strumpet gets here cause she's coming with her boyfriend. hmmm. drama.
i successfully warmed my hands by sticking them between sara's legs. it's warm down there. also i bit her beaver and she was unfazed. yes indeed there is reason i like her.
we're collectively anxious to tap the second keg. not sure if i mentioned this last night but the first one is a pale ale and amazing. second one is some kind of a lager bock so probably far too heavy to be drinking after a meatstravaganza. i had half a meat cupcake and couldn't finish the rest. by drew's count, we've already had seven different animals today, including the goat and the a whole rabbit. number eight will be shrimp but i haven't seen them so i can't count it yet. our official goal for next year is to have a live animal and to slaughter it ourselves. so definitely that's going to happen. some squirrels were running around in the trees behind their place and were horribly teasing us. wish i had my pellet gun, that would have certainly embody the hamsgiving spirit.
finally, my mother called earlier and i reminded her that today was hamsgiving and she wished me a happy holiday and it didn't even feel weird. so we've made it, i guess.

we have a goat head cooking on the grill right now.
spare ribs, pork chops, chicken--a chicken that was alive just two hours before we cooked it--have populated the grill thus far. i'm almost disappointed in how warm it is today, the challenge of frozen grilling was rather easy to overcome. my fingers are competely frozen right now though so i can't type with any kind of speed. so i'll come back later and be more prolific.
scotty and buddha currently have the prize for best food for the aforementioned ultrafresh chicken and the goat head.
there is a turducken coming out of the oven very soon. it's a veritable meat bacchanalia here, a meatanalia.

hamsgiving eve. drinking some absolutely fantastic semi-bootleg pale ale that supposedly comes from a private brewer from just upstate. whatever the story, it's delicious.
eaten about half the ham already. i'm happy, others are at least mildly satisfied. we did a count of meat poundage and after the contributions of just ten people we are in possesion of 49 pounds of meat. actually we are probably in possesion of 45 pounds of meat thanks to the prior ham consumption. i bought some pig's feet, so i'm happy about that. now i just have to figure out how to cook them. also got a rack of spare ribs which cost me--if you can believe this--just six dollars. almost four pounds of pork ribs for six bucks. we also have a frozen turducken and the genesis of a meat house.
we're watching chad's rolling stones circus dvd, or whatever the hell it's called. sure it's pretty good but criminetly i feel like i've seen it ten times already myself. to say he's obsessive would be an understatement.

hamsgiving 2008 is almost upon us. i want to say i'll have a delicious liveblog for you like last year but my only recent efforts at liveblogs have dissipated in a haze of unfocused drunkenness.
i think all is set for the holiday. my "tshirt" arrived yesterday. i say "tshirt" cause it's actually a sweatshirt, a white hooded sweatshirt. perhaps the white will prove to be a foolish decision. the added warmth is essentially though, as i don't yet know what i'm cooking, but i'm grilling for sure. hopefully folks will bring some meat with them for me to grill cause i'm going to have plenty of charcoal. should be noted the forecast is for mid-30s and windy. might make for tough grill conditions. we'll see what i'm made of, especially considering the fact that i'll fairly surely be drunk the whole time. the ham should be delivered tomorrow. most everything has been sufficiently considered and prepped for. all that's left is the execution, and for me at least, that is an equally important part of the planning process as the preparation. overplanning will only lead to anticlimax. you've got to let shit happen, you've got to act and react. i'm looking forward to it.

i don't know where it's coming from, but there is a lot of energy going out of me today. i should be exhausted as a continuing byproduct of not just the move wednesday night, but also the slow process of putting the little material pieces of my life back together. though i'm feeling good--for now--so i'll take it and not ask questions.

we put together our new sectional black leather couch last night. in related news, last night was a very good night.
i now live in an apartment that makes a big sectional black leather couch look small. in related news, this year is going to be a very good year.

maybe this is unnecessarily intimate information, but my girlfriend and i are "making love" now. so big cheers to me, her, and us.

i won two more fantasy football leagues this year for a total prize of $950. i won one last year worth $1000. and i'm doing extremely well (20-9 vs the spread) so far in a bowl pool right now. i really should quit my job and devote myself full-time to fantasy sports and other sports-related gambling/contests. by my count, i've participated in 10 fantasy leagues covering 3 sports over 3 years, plus one league (basketball) that is currently in midseason. of these 10 leagues, i've won 5 and placed third in another. my total buy-ins for all 10 leagues has been $970 and my winnings have been $2725. that's a 281% return on my investment for the non-MBAs out there. if only LaDainian Tomlinson and Albert Pujols were NYSE trade-able commodities, then maybe i'd have some chance at being a successful member of society.

here's something negative now. not negativity emanating from me, but something that bothers me. we've got a middle-aged (45ish) woman working as an executive assistant here who--and i'm saving myself some adjectives here--is just pathetic, in the dictionary definition. and unfortunately, she likes me, and not in a platonic way. i'm pretty sure i'm at least an occasional subject of her sexual fantasies. let me state now for the record that this woman is as attractive as a bucket of vomit and the mere mention of this has caused my testicles to assume their natal size and position. she's fond of coming to my office and standing in the doorway while asking me to do something, which will invariably require me to get up and check it out. except she doesn't much like to move out of the doorway. she'll sorta half-turn so it's not incredibly awkward but still forces me to brush up against her to get by. i told you it's pathetic, but i'm 95% sure these little brushes are what she uses to get her rocks off later on. (now i know what some of you are thinking. and yes i do often like to joke about chicks being into me when obviously they are not, but you'll just have to trust me on this one. if i were female and she were male, what this woman does would be called sexual harassment.) she also likes to ask me to come help her with a painfully obvious problem with her printer, which just so happens to be all the way around her desk so i've got to essentially crawl over her chair to get to it. most non-perverts would just get out of their chair and let me do my work, but not this one.
so this morning as i'm stocking the fridge, standing with the door open probably about a foot back from the shelves, she comes bounding into the pantry and with no warning leans down to the lowest shelf and just shoves her whole head and shoulders in front of me to grab a bag of something. if you're wondering, yes, this put her directly in line with my crotch. and these things happen--not all the time, but as often as she can find a way.
through most of the 4.5 years i've worked here i haven't minded these silly encounters. i mean, it bothers me but not in any serious way, more like how someone tapping their finger constantly would bother someone. in some deviant ways (because i can't stand her), it almost amused me to think of what a sad human being she is to sink to these depths. and really, if someone wants to use a little folg-candy to enliven the later experience of double-clicking the mouse, then sure, i'm happy to help.
but today, and one other time in the recent past that i can't as effectively recall, i have been annoyed by it, in more than a passing or frivolous manner. i have a girlfriend now, so it irks me a bit to think she has the right to get a cheap thrill from me. this shit ain't hers to take. it's sara's. so i don't like it. so there was a lot of words on the subject, more than such a pathetic person deserves.

yikes it's been a long time here. been a busy little beaver, but you already know that don't you. not the last few days though, been largely unoccupied the last few days. spent quite a bit of QT with the family members, which i feel pretty good about. lots of times when i mentally prepare myself to go home, i fondly anticipate spending time with my parents and everyone, but then once i get home all i want to do is lay around and watch tv and more or less do my own thing. i prove to be much less talkative than i envision myself being. i am not sure why, but this time has been different. i've had boundless energy for my family; i have not lost interest or developed a sour attitude. so that feels good. i suppose it helps that people are rather busy around me preparing for first christmas and now my sister's wedding. it's hard to be lazy and/or introverted amidst this kind of hustle and bustle.
last night at get together at a friend's house i was innocuously asked by my friend's father how i was doing. people ask each other this question mindlessly throughout the holiday season; if you know me at all you know that these kinds of rote questions drive me insane. this time was different, however. as i was delivering my involuntary response ("i'm doing really well"), it dawned on me that, in fact, i am doing really well. this realization hit me literally as i was saying it, so that after finishing the response, i had the genuine satisfaction that accompanies the knowledge that i am doing well. i haven't taken much time to step back and analyze my ups and downs lately, but lo and behold i've come into a pretty pleasant state of being.
i can attribute this effect to a couple of causes. first--and this would deserve its own post and then some--is the continued and escalating presence of my new girlfriend sara. (i say "new girlfriend" as though i possess old girlfriends, or that i move from one to another. she is a "girlfriend," and she is "new," so try to read the phrase in that way.) but i like her and i like spending time with her, and it's only been four days since i've last seen her and i'm already eagerly anticipating her arrival here in steubenville tomorrow to accompany me to my sister's wedding. in any normal relationship, it would be a bit soon to invite a girl to a wedding, much less one involving immediate family, but with sara everything is different. everything is unencumbered by the stench of expectation or convention or any form of adherance to norms. it's hard to convey how refreshing this is.
the other thing that's got me well right now is the resolution of my housing situation, a situation that caused me much (as it turned out) unnecessary stress and consternation. the removal of any kind of stress always has an amazing effect on me, probably because i live so great a percentage of my life stress-free. but the other side of this housing resolution is that starting next week, i have a much nicer and much much bigger place to live. i've been living in small little nests for 4.5 years now, so i can't even really comprehend what it's going to be like to life comfortably again. it's rather exciting.
so, even after true and thoughtful consideration, i am doing really well right now.

i'm writing a poem to read at my sister's wedding and it's about finished. perhaps i'll share it here once i'm done.

i subscribe to New York magazine. every monday, excepting holidays or mondays after a double issue comes out, a new issue arrives in my mailbox. the first thing i do with it is go to the back sections with the art/movies/etc reviews and listings, and see if anything interesting is going on. then i like to check out the "approval matrix" and to see if there are any features worth my time. and at some point during the week i'll do the crossword, unless my brain isn't clicking very well, in which case i'll do 90% of the crossword.

anyhow, for whatever reason, i didn't find the time to do any of these things last week. there is an untouched black magazine in my apt right now with an asian woman on the cover about to kiss some toes, and there is also a new one with good old rudy giuliani on it that just arrvied yesterday.

i have been busy lately. people say that all the time, usually as an excusal. as i say it now i am wholly forthright. friday i didn't get home from work til after the bars. saturday i spent only enough time in my apt to get dressed, get a shower, and get dressed again. sunday only long enough to eat the mcdonalds that i passed out before getting to the night before, have sex, and spend 90 minutes or so at the end of the day being exhausted (more on this later). the only day from last week that i had fully to myself was thursday and i spent most of that evening shopping for a suit and doing laundry. so i have been busy lately. perhaps i will go back and skim last week's New York, perhaps not.

i have been busy because i've started seeing a girl, something that doesn't happen often. actually, counting mornings after which she or i had spent the night, i have seen her now nine consecutive days. and this doesn't bother or worry me at all. it, and she, is completely comfortable and effortless for me. these are very high compliments from me. so it's good.

a side effect of this girl (and we can now confirm it's a side effect of seeing any girl) is that i have become moody. not violently so, but still very susceptible to sudden swings in mood. what's good is that i have recognized this quite early and so shouldn't be doomed to suffer because of it.

now, back to the aforementioned 90 minutes which finished off my sunday night. (warning this is an admission that shouldn't possibly be misconstrued as endering or anything above that which might cause you to mournfully shake your head at me the next time you see me.) after a long day of beer consumption and football watching, i returned to my apartment--team victorious--to what i expected to be a satisfying glass of water before heading off to beer-assisted sleep. what i didn't count on was my turning on the tv and flipping around the 7-8 channels i get before stopping on an episode of sex and the city. of course i became engrossed and watched the entire episode. now let it be known that my eyelids because dry and very heavy and yet the allure of the show kept me from submitting to sleep. now let it also be known that this particular episode was one i had already viewed in its entirety. yes ineed. and also that another episode immediately followed on what i think was cw11, and that of course i stayed up and watched all of that one too, and that--yes it gets worse--the second episode that i forced myself to stay up for was also one i had seen before.

i don't have any analysis for you at this time. i'm not sure it can be intelligently considered. it's a classic case of "it is what it is."

i am what i am