Tuesday, February 28, 2006

For this, to hell you go

For the Catholics among us, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. Though I'm not Catholic I started observing Lent last year; nothing motivates one to keep a promise better than the threat of eternal damnation. I won't get the mark on my forehead, that would be inappropriate, but I will deny myself an indulgence as a sign of solidarity with my Catholic peeps. This year I'll be giving up the last shred of belief I ever had in religion. And Doritos. I just hope I can make it all 40 days; I'd hate to reach the pearly gates only to see Jesus munching on a grab bag saying, you didn't think I'd overlook this, did you?

The Good Old Days

This artist answers the question that has plauged us for decades; what were those innocent housewives of the '50s so shocked about? Probably not safe for work [P-NSFW].

Sunday, February 26, 2006

But he yelled ...

Howard Dean, in a speech two days before the start of the war in Iraq:
We have been told little about what the risks will be if we do go to war.

If we go to war, I certainly hope the Administration's assumptions are realized, and the conflict is swift, successful and clean. I certainly hope our armed forces will be welcomed like heroes and liberators in the streets of Baghdad.

I certainly hope Iraq emerges from the war stable, united and democratic.

I certainly hope terrorists around the world conclude it is a mistake to defy America and cease, thereafter, to be terrorists.

It is possible, however, that events could go differently, . . . .

Anti-American feelings will surely be inflamed among the misguided who choose to see an assault on Iraq as an attack on Islam, or as a means of controlling Iraqi oil.

And last week's tape by Osama bin Laden tells us that our enemies will seek relentlessly to transform a war into a tool for inspiring and recruiting more terrorists.

There are other risks. Iraq is a divided country, with Sunni, Shia and Kurdish factions that share both bitter rivalries and access to large quantities of arms.
But hey, he yelled so you know, laugh at him.

I'd NEVER publicly endorse this


From those crazy kids over at piratebay - not that I'm endorsing this kind of behavior. Because after all, piracy is illegal, and it prevents hard working artists from feeding their children. And most importantly, as rappers have taught us by their own example, respecting other people's property, respecting the law, and not choosing the easy way to get ahead is the only way to do things - if you're a sucker!


Thursday, February 23, 2006

Time is the fire in which we burn

This family has taken a photo together every year for the past 30 years. Very cool. And extra nerd points to anyone who can identify the quote I used in the title.

3 x 24 = Fun!

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us


Beer can covers - now this is a good idea. They need to bring it to the States and expand it to soda cans as well. I don't drink much canned beer these days, but when money's tight, I've been known to take advantage of my local bodega's 99 cent special on 24oz Coors cans. By the third one they taste just as good as any other beer. Yummy!

What don't we know? Plenty.

Some useful facts about that little piece of sand called the U.A.E.:

  • Oil discovered in the '70s;
  • Currently world's third largest producer of oil;
  • Before oil, an impoverished region;
  • Now one of the world's wealthiest states;
  • At current production levels, oil supply runs out in 100 years;
  • After oil, an impoverished region;
  • Very fond of Tiger Woods;
  • Enemy of Iran - hey, so are we;
  • Home of 2 of the original 9/11 terrorists;
  • A man may divorce his wife by saying "I divorce you" three times;
  • Soon to be running our east coast ports - WTF?

The decision to award a U.A.E. controlled company the contract to run east coast ports may not be as risky as it sounds (the coast guard is actually responsible for port security), but it is so counter-intuitive, so questionable, and so head-scratchingly violative of Rovian principles it does lend credence to the rumor that Bush is back on the bottle.

I mean for one, it forecloses an entire line of attack from the right; if the Dems were in office, they'd put Arabs in charge of our national security. Oops! More importantly, given the actual vulnerability of ports to future terrorist attacks, what rational basis can there be for placing this contract in the hands of an Islamic State?

The apparent irrationality of this decision is where the real story lies. Facts that are available to the public don't cast this deal in a very good light, but it would be foolish to presume, in my opinion, that the facts don't favor us. The facts that justify our government even considering giving a contract like this to an Arab company have not been disclosed. Why the dearth of information? If I were the kind to speculate, which I am, I'd say it's because the facts aren't neat, or convenient, and because it would be shocking to a lot of Americans to learn that the black and white version of good and bad they've been sold has nothing to do with actual foreign policy; that foreign policy is - gasp! - informed by pragmatism, not idealism.

Republicans have gained a lot by positioning themselves as our best defense against Arab terrorism and by painting Democrats as appeasers and apologists, but behind the scenes, Republicans (and Democrats) know that for the world to go round everyone has to stick their pee-pee's into each other's hoo-haas. Where Dems and Republicans differ is in how many people can profit in the process; in this area, Republicans are clearly the more effective party.

No matter what the nuke 'em now crowd wishes, the US can't successfully function by bullying every nation we disagree with; by labelling every Arab nation an enemy. The U.A.E. is a strategic ally by virtue of it's location, oil production, and distrust of Iran. The U.A.E. may not be a good or ideal friend, but I don't doubt that they are a useful one.

The irony here is massive; to win public support for this deal - or at least allay public concern - the administration will have to employ the sort of nuanced and multi-faceted - ie, reality based - reasoning that when employed by Democrats is often cited by Republicans as evidence that Democrats don't have a clear cut vision to deal with terrorism. Over at Hateful Green Footballs they're sure Hillary Clinton had something to do with this.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Where's the love?

I'm pretty sure my boss is interviewing for my replacement. I just saw the senior associate in my group escort an obvious interviewee to the elevator. It's highly unlikely she'd be interviewing anyone who wouldn't be coming into the department.
I don't see why they're so unhappy with me, I do plenty of work when I'm not blogging. I keep my billables right below that amount needed to trigger a bonus - more money for them. I usually make it into the office within an hour of when they want me here. I have a real passion for the law, I'm sorry, I mean for anything but the law. What's wrong with these people? Thank God I don't have kids to feed!
Because no important decision should be made without the input of intelligent people my readers brilliant, caring, supportive friends who may have to put me up while I'm unemployed and homeless, please vote to tell me what I should do:


What should I do?
Feign righteous indignation and storm out
Pre-empt them by giving two weeks notice
Wait for the axe
Increase efforts to get axed
Taunt them with a burst of exceptional productivity, then quit
Start downloading a lot of porn at the office
Try to make it work
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Must be a blonde (II)

Damn, they dusted off Miss Cleo for this bitch.

I do this all the time on Xbox

This is what happens when a fool with 60 mph skills pushes his million dollar sports car to 150 mph. Surprisingly, no one was seriously injured. I hope his insurance company denies the claim. This guy should have known better, as anyone who's played Project Gotham Racing 2 can tell you, the Enzo is notoriously skittish at high speed.



Monday, February 20, 2006

The Real New York



Photo courtesy of Travis Ruse via Express Train.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Classy and Tasty



I think God cried when he foresaw this. The one question I have is how'd Triscuits make it? Different family of snacking if you ask me. These aren't bad but to take it to the next level they'd have to be scratch-n-sniff.

Who do we eat first?

It's not a situation you ever think you'd find yourself in, stranded with five people you barely know, no provisions, no idea of when or how you will be rescued. Sure, optimism reigns initially, but it doesn't take long for people to begin to crack. Once hope of immediate rescue fades, you're left to ponder the cold hard truth. How long can you survive this nightmare? What happens when the hunger becomes unbearable; would you be able to eat the flesh of another human being? I haven't spoken about this much, the pain receding only recently, but I found myself in such a situation not too long ago. A terrifying nightmare of darkness and misery; bound to a seemingly inescapable fate, forced to retreat to an unoccupied corner of the prison I found myself in to begin preparing for a face to face with my maker.

Fortunately the elevator repair man only took half an hour.

Other than having to walk down 9 flights of stairs once we were rescued, and having to listen to Tony panic over how he was going to explain this to his wife - oh sure Tony, you're stuck in an elevator, how convenient - I was just thankful that I didn't have to eat anybody. Fellas, next time we have poker night, let's remember to bring the leftover pizza and brews when we leave, I wouldn't want to tempt fate twice.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Must be a blonde

Usually only missing white women get this much attention.

Straight Ballin'




What's funnier, these posers thinking they look cool, or black and hispanic guys who don't think they look just as stupid when they do it?

Perks of office - they're perky

Apparently one of the perks of holding elected office is free porn. During the Clinton years, Hustler was nearly bankrupted.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Good, Great, or Just Not Sucky?

We were all set up for dinner last night at Park Slope star - Al Di La - unfortunately, it was packed as usual. Al Di La does not take reservations so it's first come, first served. Instead of waiting, we switched gears and headed to Blue Ribbon Sushi down the block.
There's something about going into an upper echelon Japanese restaurant that makes you put aside all of your doubts; I mean, at these prices it has to be good, right? Blue Ribbon Sushi does it one better, you enter into a small vestibule where moody music and dim lighting instantly puts you into a relaxed and trusting frame of mind; you feel like you're entering into an exotic environment, a piece of Japan transported to New York. Very effective.
The place was busy, but not full. We were seated immediately and given hand towels that were hot but not scalding. We started with the usuals, edamame and shrimp shumai. Both good but, well, indistinguishable from edamame and shumai you've had elsewhere. For dinner we shared two rolls, a dragon roll and spicy lobster roll, and a sushi/sashimi deluxe combo. I washed it all down with a 22oz. Kirin.
Though I've been to Japan and have been to top flight Japanese restaurants here in the city, other than knowing when a place sucks, I'm not sure my palette is trained enough to appreciate the difference between good sushi, and great sushi. Price becomes a proxy. If I'm paying $28.50 for a sushi/sashimi combo, I am predisposed to think it's good. And it would have to really be bad for me to feel differently.
That, I think, is the story of Blue Ribbon Sushi. It has a good reputation and the food isn't noticeably bad, but I think I'd be hard pressed to tell you how it was better than other good places I've been to, some of which are less expensive. All this is not to say that I was in any way disappointed by my meal or the dining experience, because I wasn't. Frankly, the confidence that comes with knowing that a place uses high quality ingredients and has a reputation for excellence, is worth a lot to me, even if I'm relying on the determination of others.
Dinner for two consisting of what I outlined above came to $78 before gratuity.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Monster



Monster by Tony Santana.

Monster is the first in what I hope will be an ongoing series of original writing hosted on this site. If you've got some writing chops and want to have your work featured here, please email me. I don't expect any future submissions to include such fabulous cover art, we just got lucky this time. Writers featured in this space are looking for you thoughts and feedback so please leave comments. Enjoy! [cover art by Tony Santana]

Classic Tom Toles


The shooting victim has apparently had a heart attack. Anybody up to date on Texas manslaughter laws? Can we put Judge Judy on this. Law and order folks, where you at?

Look, it's shiny

It's Valentine's Day! Godiva stores are swamped. Surely there is no greater sign of love than standing in line for a good 20 minutes, maybe 25, to pick up a carefully crafted Ballotin for your special someone. Look hon, it's so golden and shiny. Those with less love to give seen hitting the Russell Stover aisle at Duane Reade. Those no longer trying seen rummaging through the half price bins at the 99 cent store.

I asked my mom to be my valentine, she said no.

Of course the big dogs don't mess around with chocolate, for them it's got to be the bling. Ah yes, diamonds are forever, marriages, not so much. By the way, have you ever tried to sell a diamond?

Monday, February 13, 2006

Next time, bring the Uzi

Anyone else find it ironic that so many creationists enjoy that quintessential cave-man activity, hunting? Anyone not surprised that even in his leisure time Cheney lusts for blood? Pity the guy who got shot by Cheney; the White House will soon force him onto the NRA lecture circuit to explain how getting shot is his 2nd amendment right. He'll lament the fact that due to the liberal nanny state, he wasn't shot by an automatic ...

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Intergalatic Message


From a farm in Billingsly, England (click to enlarge), as captured by satellite on Google Earth. If you haven't messed around with Google Earth, you're missing out. You can see clear satellite imagery of much of the world. The pyramids of Egypt, for example.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Your 4 year old wants beats



I swear dad, if I have to upload my teletubbies soundtrack one more time, I'm going back to 8 track. Now bring me some milk.

You will be missed

I recently got out of a long term relationship. After 15 years, the GE alarm clock I received as a gift for opening a checking account in 1990, passed to the great beyond - a land fill in Staten Island. In consumer electronic years, she was 492. She was old but man did I love her. Reliable, easy to understand and easy going, she wasn't the type to make it hard for me to set her after a night out drinking with the fellas.

She was from a different era, from a time when actual living Chinese snapped premolded plastic panels together with pride, now a days, some robot would do it (oh what I wouldn't give for a return to the halcyon days of hand craftsmanship). Her design was sublime; it was so easy to push back my wake up time an hour - or two, none of that finger twister modern clocks require. I have to admit, she was a seductive gal: I know you need another hour, stop fighting it, you don't even need to turn on the lights, you know where my buttons are.

Why did you take her from me God, why?

But you know, life goes on, you can't let things like this keep you in bed all day. I recently brought home a new alarm clock, she's from mainland China, a Timex. I'm keeping an open mind but this feels like a rebound relationship. She's modern you know, sets the time and date automatically, has dual alarms, a dimmer and all sorts of things that seem great, but she makes it clear, you have to operate her on her terms. Forget about pushing back that wake up time in the dark, it's not happening. You might as well just get up. We're gonna have to work it out but I'm willing to try, she's very pretty.

A thing for Snow Bunnies

The Confessions of Nat Turner by William Styron (1967)

In 1831 in a remote section of Virginia, Nat Turner led the bloodiest slave rebellion in America's history. It was one of only two significant slave rebellions in all of American history; a testament to the physical and psychological effectiveness of slavery as an institution. Historical data about Turner is sparse; much of what we know comes from the confession given to his attorney in preparation for trial. Gaps in the historical record provided the author, William Stryon, with considerable artistic freedom in writing Confessions, freedom which some members of black academia believe Styron crassly exploited (more on that later).

Confessions is told through the voice of Turner after the rebellion is quashed and he is imprisoned. In jail, awaiting trial, Turner is prodded by his attorney to provide insight into what could have unleashed such brutality. The rebellion spared no one; among the 50+ whites killed by Turner and his gang were infants and women; many decapitated. Though his execution was a forgone conclusion, Turner's attorney insisted that a full confession would help his case. Thus during weekly visits from his lawyer, Turner exposed more and more layers of his psyche and the events that shaped him. However, having existed in a time and place where duplicity toward whites was a matter of survival, Turner didn't tell his lawyer everything. Much of his story he kept to himself, reliving in his mind his life and the events that led him to his acts.

Compared to other slaves at the time, Turner's life was not exceptionally difficult or oppressive; but for a ten year stretch under a particularly crude and abusive owner, most of his life was spent under the domain of owners who recognized his exceptional talents and supported him. Literate and skilled as a carpenter, Turner was in some ways better off than some of the uneducated rural whites who lived in poverty around him. It wasn't any particular act of brutality that led Turner to his acts; Turner believed the rebellion was divinely inspired, that God spoke to him in dreams and visions. Of course maybe it was just indigestion.

As a preacher, Turner was trusted and respected by slaves in the region and used his standing to enlist 40 slaves for the cause. He carefully selected those he believed could kill without thought or emotion; slaves whose anger he could unleash. Turner wrongly believed that slaves he liberated would join the rebellion; his miscalculation was colossal. Instead of joining the rebellion, many slaves fought with their owners to repel Turner and his troops. The rebellion was suppressed within days. The fate of the rebels was sealed; the state executed the 50 or so slaves involved, citizens murdered another 200 - because they could. Instead of leading slaves to freedom; Turner's rebellion resulted in wrath and misery.

One of the most brilliant aspects of this novel is the duality of voices Styron gives Turner. On the one hand, Turner's voice and language for whites, full of the drawl, ignorance, and mannerisms that were expected of a slave and which Turner knew protected him from attention and suspicion. And on the other hand, the voice of a brilliant scholar of the bible and of human psychology who saw with clarity the destruction of his people all around him. That voice, Turner's true voice, is displayed to the reader through flashbacks and recollections but was rarely audiblized by Turner for obvious reasons.

As I mentioned above, when published in 1967, Confessions became a lightning rod for criticism from black academia. Let's not beat around the bush, among other things, Styron imagines a Turner who fantasies about sex with white women - (who doesn't love a snow bunny?) - and for some strange reason that didn't go over very well in the black community. I mean it's not like there's a history of demonizing black male sexuality as a threat to white female virginity ... Right . Many black academics saw Confessions as the perversion and cooptation of a black historical figure, a mis-representation of history and an all too typical pandering to stereotypes and white biases. Styron addresses some of the criticism in an addendum to the book in the 25th anniversary edition. For me, the criticism is the product of its era, I understand it, but I don't feel particularly bound by it.

I'm not one for ranking things; the best this, the greatest that, but this book is exceptional (one of Time Magazine's 100 greatest novels). Confessions is to me a perfect storm of subject matter and skilled writing, a psychological and literary tour de force. Styron was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1968.

"Miss Sarah was a fat, silly, sweet woman with a small intelligence but with an amplitude of good cheer ... and there was about her a plump unmean simplicity of nature that caused her, alone among the household, to treat me at times with what might pass, fleetingly, as genuine affection ... and I intend no sarcasm when I say that much later, when she became almost the very first victim of my retribution, I felt an honest wrench of regret at the sight of the blood gushing like a red sluiceway from her headless neck, and almost wished I had spared her such an ending."

"I do not believe that I had ever thought of the future; it is not in the mood of a Negro, once aware of the irrecoverable fact of his bondage, to dwell on the future at all ..."

"Beyond doubt Benjamin would never have been a cruel master, a nigger breaker. But if Benjamin's death brought no rejoicing among the Negroes, it would not be accurate to say that any were plunged into mourning. Even the dumbest slave shelling corn down in the most rundown and ramshackle cabin had gotten wind of at least the general drift of Marse Samuel's charitable notions and they all knew they had passed into more promising hands; so on the day of Benjamin's funeral, as the scores of humble darkies gathered with sorrowing downcast looks behind the big house and the more musically inclined lifted their voices in tender lament - "O my massah's gone! massh's gone! My massah's gone to heaven, my Lord! I can't stay behind" - the insincerity of their simple words was as plain as the difference between brass and gold."
"Hark was never (at least until I was able to bend him to my will) an obstreperous Negro, and for much of the time I knew him I lamented the fact that as with most young slaves brought up as field hands - ignorant, demoralized, cowed by overseers and black drivers, occasionally whipped - the plantation system had leached out of his great and noble body so much native courage, so much spirit and dignity, that he was left humble as a spaniel in the face of white man's presence and authority. Nonetheless he contained deep within him the smoldering fire of independence; certainly through my exhortations I was later able to fan it into a terrible blaze."
"I would go to a small, low ceilinged storage shed that was connected to the carpenter's shop by a door I could lock with a peg and thong. It was always a nameless white girl between whose legs I envisioned myself - a young girl with golden curls."

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Not So F.A.Q.

Answers to the questions I asked myself on a Friday night while huddled in a corner of my apartment telling myself that there was no boogeyman:

What is this site about?
When I tutor illiterate homeless people, or rather, if I tutored illiterate homeless people, I'd tell them that reading is fundamental; you know R.I.F. So in light of the fact that I read a few books every now and then I thought I'd share my thoughts about them. Just giving a summary of the plot would have been too easy, too efficient, the kind of thing someone with a girlfriend and a busy life would do. Therefore I've decided to go with the more time consuming and inefficient approach of providing characteristic and representative passages from each book - quotes - get it?

Wouldn't you be better served focusing on your legal career than wasting time developing web sites nobody but you will ever read?
If you think this is a waste of time you should see my collection of digital buffalos.

You probably think using the phonetic spelling of quotable for this site is pretty clever, don't you?

It's a little bit clever, but necessity is the mother of invention - "quotable.com" was already taken.

Why the blog format?
Sometimes at work I get bored - of surfing the web. By using a blog format I can edit this site on any computer with an internet connection. So it's really a matter of productivity you see. Furthermore, though the main purpose of this site is to review books, by using a blog format I'll also be able to create timely content on current events and other interesting things I come across.

Are you a book snob? And if yes, please name some popular books you feel suck and should be hated by everyone.
I'm not a book snob but reading The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, The Celestine Prophecy by some lunatic, and The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho were monumental wastes of time.

Why review books?
To remember them.

How many books do you read a year?
Less than I buy.

Who are your favorite authors?
Gabriel Garcia Márquez, José Saramago, Ian McEwan, Cormac McCarthy, Richard Wright, Doris Lessing, Haruki Murakami, Mario Vargas Llosa, Tolkien, Herman Hesse, Ann Perry, William Stryon, John Kennedy Toole, Kobe Abe, Jeffrey Eugenides, Edwidge Danticat, Piri Thomas, Nadine Gordimer, and Chinua Achebe to name a few.

Do you have any nicknames?
"Meanstreak" - cause I leave a mean streak of shit in my drawers.

Any parting thoughts?
It's all for the chuckle, people.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Crafty

According to Ad Age (registration required*), General Motors exhibited rare savvy in preparing to counter Ford's Super Bowl ad campaign for hybrid cars. It was widely known in advance of the Super Bowl that Ford would be launching a campaign featuring Kermit the Frog. GM knew and and prior to the Super Bowl, flooded the web with ads for their hybrid vehicles but embedded the meta tag "Kermit" in the ads. GM's goal was to influence search results so that anyone searching the web after the Super Bowl for "Kermit" - presumably in search of information on Ford's hybrid vehicles - would find that the top returned result was to information about GM's hybrid vehicles. Ford created and financed the Kermit campaign, and GM exploited it at virtually no cost. In some areas of life I'd find this sort of trickery distasteful, but in this case, among competitors in the market place, I think it was pretty crafty.

*Ad Age, like many other news sites, requires users to register in order to read content. If you're like me, you can't be bothered with this, particularly if it's not a site you visit often. Fortunately there's an easy way around these registration requirements. Bug Me Not provides a free database of usernames and passwords for thousands of websites. Simply insert the web address of the site requiring registration and Bug Me Not will provide you with a list of usernames and passwords that will get you in. Suck it, registration overlords!

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Pimpin' at 90

Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Márquez (2005)

Márquez is a member of the upper echelon of serious writers; have you read many books better than 100 Years of Solitude? Nonetheless, sometimes you may not be up for a 200 character, 10 generation epic. No? This 115 page gem is like the Splenda version of Márquez, all the flavor, easier to handle.

On the eve of his 90th birthday, a lifelong bachelor, utterly alone in the decaying house of his long dead parents, connected to the world only by the Sunday column he is still allowed to write for the local newspaper, feels the strong need for one more adventure; a wild night with a young virgin. After some trouble, it is arranged but presented with the peaceful sleep of the girl that has been carefully selected for him, he merely watches her and thus begins to grow the love that in his 90 years he has never known. Though his meager finances can barely afford it, the need to see her grows, as does his love for her, exponentially. Like a teenager in love for the first time, he can't sleep, loses weight, can only think of their next meeting when he'll be able so see her sleep, her body providing answers to the questions he thinks but doesn't vocalize. This impossible, but vital love affair sustains him for another year and through it the twists and turns of love makes him see what he never did; at the age of 90 he becomes a new man, love opening his eyes before they close forever.
"I have never gone to bed with a woman I didn't pay, and the few who weren't in the profession I persuaded, by argument or by force, to take money even if they threw it in the trash. When I was twenty I began to keep a record listing name, age, place and a brief notation on the circumstances and style of lovemaking. By the time I was fifty there were 514 women with whom I had been at least once. I stopped making the list when my body no longer allowed me to have so many and I could keep track of them without paper. I had my own ethics. I never took part in orgies or in public encounters, and I did not share secrets or recount an adventure of the body or the soul, because from the time I was young I realized that none goes unpunished."

"The secretaries presented me with three pairs of silk undershorts printed with kisses, and a card in which they offered to remove them for me. It occurred to me that among the charms of old age are the provocations our young female friends permit themselves because they think we are out of commission."

"For a week I did not take off my mechanic's coverall, day or night, I did not bathe or shave or brush my teeth, because love taught me too late that you groom yourself for someone, and I'd never had anyone to do that for."

"The truth is I'm getting old, I said. We already are old, she said with a sigh. What happens is that you don't feel it on the inside, but from the outside everybody can see it."


Monday, February 06, 2006

Bloody good

I finally made my way to Blue Ribbon in Park Slope. It was as good as advertised. I started with a fantastic potato onion soup which was topped by a superflous cheddar crouton (not that I didn't eat it). For my entree I had the hangar steak with mushrooms and onion rings - though seafood is primary on the menu, I was hankering for something bloody. The food was nothing revolutionary, just damn savory and delicious. The ambiance is more casual than you might expect, the service as proficient as you'd expect. The bill for two, with two appetizers, two beverages, and two entrees came to $81 before gratuity. It's really a reflection of how much money resides in the Slope that restaurants at this price point not only survive, but thrive. Next door is the award winning Blue Ribbon Sushi, and down the block are the similarly priced and highly regarded Tempo and Al Di La.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Rancid pork

Filth by Irvine Welsh (1998)

Filth is possibly the most aptly titled book - EVER. People who might not enjoy this book include women - all of you, people averse to racism, sexism, the cruel and inhumane treatment of others, people with morals, and generally, the living. I thought about not finishing, putting it down several times, but as brutal and foul as the story is, after a while, the humor grows on you. You may not want to admit that you laughed at a particular passage but don't feel too guilty about it. Welsh displays many humorous and psychologically shrewd touches and it's a testament to his skill more than a reflection of your depravity that keeps you going (so I tell myself).

The story starts off with a graphic and brutal murder. Our protagonist (as in main character, not hero), Bruce Robertson, is a Scottish detective assigned to the case. Robertson is a whoring, raping, drug using, parasite infected, lying, manipulative excuse for a human being, but not unschooled in the ways of police work and human psychology. He's really the perfect cop for the case except for a minor conflict of interest which I'll let you discover on your own.
When Robertson's not scheming to get more overtime, he's scheming on how to score more coke, how to sabotage the careers of friends and foes alike, how to get his wife back (but only when he's not scheming on how to bed the wives of his friends), and generally succeeds in accomplishing it all.

Robertson is no mere hack. He has strong beliefs about law, order, culture, society, weakness, winning and losing. Unfortunately rather than actually living up to his ideals, his behavior is the exact opposite of what he claims to cherish. His disdain for criminality is only surpassed by the scale of his own crimes. His disdain for political correctness in law enforcement (such as the hiring of female police officers - damn lezbos - and the need to investigate the murders of non-whites - they shouldn't be in Scotland to begin with, etc.) would hold him in good stead with your average republican. However, despite his numerous and all-consuming flaws, vices, crimes, regressive thoughts and actions, he operates behind the scenes, controlling people and events with careful manipulation, never revealing to others the depths of his pathologies.
The plot to me was subtext, the novel is really the study of a personality type. Welsh succeeds in developing this filthy character and if you can stomach it (and get used to the Scottish dialect used in the novel), you will appreciate its virtues.
" - Dunno if you've heard, he tells me - but Clell tried tae top himself this morning. Jumped off the Dean Bridge. This news sends me into an excited rapture. Even more thrilling than Clell attempting suicide is the thought that he must have been so miserable to try, and that by failing he's merely succeeded in humiliating himself and the pain will still be there."

"- The other week Bruce ... you told me you loved me? Remember? Her voice drops an octave. - Or was that just something you made up because you thought I wanted to hear it? It was made up because I had a stiffer and a standing prick hath no conscience. And if that standing prick is attached to Bruce Robertson then it hath less than no conscience. You cant afford a conscience in this life, that has become a luxury for the rich and a social ball and chain for the rest of us. Even if I wanted one, which I certainly do not, I wouldn't have the faintest idea as how to go about getting one."

"This is all bullshit, but life is one big competition. Ray is a pal, but he's also a potential or actual competitor and the only way to handle competitors is to control their level of uncertainty. That's what life is all about: the management of your opponent's uncertainty levels. We don't want this cunt getting too big for his boots, thinking that he somehow counts."

These things take time

Recently, Germany, Chile, and Liberia joined the international fraternity (sorority?) of countries that have elected a woman as president (in the case of Liberia, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf becomes the first elected female head of state in Africa). In much of Europe and Latin America, women have held the office of president or its equivalent. How likely is the US to catch up with the world in the near future?
Conventional wisdom tells us that Hillary Clinton and Condy Rice may run in 2008. The candidacy of Hillary is interesting because none of my liberal friends are craving a run by her. I don't dislike her, but I don't find her particularly compelling; she's not a great public speaker and family dynasties aren't very attractive to me. Frankly, if it wasn't for the right's constant demonization of her - don't you think it's interesting that God chose to send the antichrist in the form of a woman? yes, that is interesting, he almost never leaves important jobs to women - I wouldn't spend much time thinking about her (about the same amount of time I spend thinking about the other senator from New York - that other guy). As for Condy, hmmn, a black, never married, possibly closeted lesbian - good luck with that Condy.
Is a woman electable in this country? Given the perpetual state of war conservatives insist we now live in, how many woman have the "commander-in-chief" cred needed to win a presidential election? I mean, a draft-dodging coke head with the smarts of a cucumber is one thing, but someone who pees sitting down? I think not. And despite the fact that Ann Coulter may in fact pee standing up, even the right isn't in that much of a rush to see the world end in nuclear holocaust.

But it seems so real

I caught a segment of the series Race - The Power of an Illusion - on PBS the other night. Really fascinating stuff. If you have a chance to catch it, I highly recommend it. The science behind genetics, evolution, the selective mutation of genes, the migrations of human beings across the globe, and other biological and evolutionary factors are presented in plain english. The particular episode I saw - featuring one of my favorite scientists, Stephen Jay Gould - examined the idea of athletics and race. Did you know that in the 20's and 30's, Jews in major eastern cities dominated professional basketball? The Eugenicist movement, in full swing at the time, argued that the Jewish race was predisposed to excel in basketball because Jews were genetically shifty and crafty. Unfortunately, since it was the pre-dunk era, we still have no proof that white men can jump.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Why do I hate freedom?

Attack Poodles and Other Media Mutants by James Wolcott (2004)

During her days as a student at Cornell University, Ann Coulter edited the campus conservative newspaper, The Cornell Review. When I arrived at Cornell, Coulter was long gone, but the Review upheld Coulter's legacy as a source of inflammatory, race-baiting, dishonest and divisive stories. Progressive and liberal ideas were not only ridiculed and opposed, they were framed as immoral, illegal, treasonous, un-patriotic, racist, anti-semitic and un-christian. Now if any of this sounds similar to how liberals are described by today's right wing media - it's not by coincidence; then as now, the script comes from the same sources.

At the time, however, my friends and I had no idea of the amount of financial and intellectual firepower that was propelling the Review. The Review, versions of which existed (and still do) at many colleges across the nation, wasn't the product of a few budding campus republicans; the Review was part of a nationwide project by conservative elites who provided funding, talking points, technical assistance, and access to conservative media stars. Writers for the Review didn't have to come up with the inflammatory articles they infected the campus with, they were given article topics and talking points that had been poll-tested and researched by professionals to have the broadest impact. In many ways, those of us interested in progressive ideas and politics were terribly naive; we thought we knew what and who we were fighting, we didn't. The conservative movement was far more sophisticated, better funded and organized than we could have imagined.

Like the Review of my college days, the mainstream conservative media of today and the type of discourse it promotes is not merely an organic response to liberalism - the kind you would expect from a diverse nation like ours. Instead, the ascendancy of today's conservative media is the direct result of the decades old campaign by conservative think-tanks and politicians, who, after first hand real-world testing on college campuses and in other forums, know that by positioning issues in stark divisive language, by agitating and dividing, by framing in the most offensive possible manner, public opinion can be manipulated away from facts and toward the right's interpretation of American and Christian values. The goal has always been to use the media to regain control of a society progressing toward theological independence, equitable and compassionate social policy, and tolerance.

The foregoing provides context for why I'm a big fan of James Wolcott and this book. Wolcott is a writer and media critic whose acidic tongue and razor sharp mind lifts the curtain on the agenda behind the right wing noise machine. He targets the right wing in general, and it's media stars in particular - the Attack Poodles - but some non-conservative media assholes also get dealt with.

Chapter by chapter, Wolcott dissects, grills, and flambés (oh shit, a French word, how predictable of me) the right's media stars from ratings heavy weights like Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh, to blog stars like Rich Lowry and Andrew Sullivan, to hypocritical moralists like Peggy Noonan and Bill Bennett, to the unexplainable like Coulter - the Queen of Attack Poodles herself - Dennis Miller, and Alan Keyes.

The book examines the strategy behind the Attack Poodle playbook:
"Attack Poodles value friction. They thrive on it. For them, means drive the ends, and antagonism damatizes the issues and intensifies the responses. Poodles rely on the divisiveness of wedge issues to sharpen what may otherwise be fuzzy differences between conservatives and liberals, and to keep liberals on the defensive."
The hubris required for success among the pack:
"A pundit is someone who, unburdened with too much knowledge, reticence, and modesty, knows exactly how many twists on the tap Alan Greenspan should take to re-liquefy the economy, how many troops are required for counterinsurgency in Iraq, what Hillary's latest hairstyle signifies for the 2008 presidential race, and how much jail time Martha Stewart should serve. You'll never hear an attack poodle shake his curls and confess, "Man the Mideast, what a mess - I haven't a figgin' clue what to do about the Palestinians."
How the Poodles deal when they're shown to be wrong:
"Logical inconsistencies - championing states' rights until some states seek to legalize gay marriage, ridiculing "tax-and-spend" Democrats while defending the deficit-bloating spending binges of Bush II - can be tucked into the larger consistency of sticking to the ideological game plan. Twenty-twenty hindsight and a dose of amnesia allow even the most myopic opinion-maker to smooth out contradictory positions into the clean horizon of history.
Specific Poodles are deconstructed (Bill O'Reilly):
"He pretends to be an independent, beholden to no party or faction, but it's left-wingers on whose limbs his jaws most tightly fasten. Like so many conservatives who dress up as independents when they go into town, he bays about individual liberty and the overencroachments of the State, yet froths at the mouth over the ACLU, calling it "the most fascist organization I have seen in decades," the Aryan Brotherhood apparently having eleduded his notice. To O'Reilly, ACLU lawyers are Nazi swine with briefcases: "They're intellectual fascists. And they use the courts as their Panzer divsions."
And the target audience of the Poodles:
"With the election of George Bush in 2000, the Angry White Male has reasserted and reestablished himself as a member of the priviledged underpriviledged class, waking up with a fart after a decade in hibernation ... This newly formed possee was intent on righting the wayward path America has taken since the tribal sixties. Jutting their jaws like Charlton Heston defying his ape masters, getting their daily load of humorous indignation from radio host Rush Limbaugh, its members were fed up with the entire menu of liberal intrusion: high taxes, gay rights, gun control, feminist harping, yuppie snobbery, affirmative action, political correctness, multiculturalism, speed limits, Oprah's scented affirmations, and illegal immigrants grabbing good jobs that nobody else wanted. Angry White Males felt like a persecuted minority themselves as the complexion of America began to shade from white to beige, tailing toward burnt sienna."
What really sets Wolcott apart is the flair with which he takes down the Poodles and his un-apologetic intent in doing so. Some of my liberal minded friends feel that Wolcott doesn't really advance liberal arguments; that he is just another noise maker, a Poodle with liberal stripes. It frustrates me to hear that because it misses the point. Too many liberals fall for the right's gamesmanship; conservatives openly laugh at bumbling liberals tripped up by the most transparent of tactics, always on the defensive, always one step behind, always speaking one octave too quietly. Conservatives know the game and have no intention of disabusing liberals of their ignorance. Reliance on facts, laws, and progressive ideals has worked well for liberals in the courts where until now those arguments have prevailed on abortion, affirmative action, separation of church and state, and protecting due process and civil rights. But in the arena of news and opinion, fire must be met with fire which is why it's nice to have a flame thrower like Wolcott to beat back the nonsense.

For a daily dose of Wolcott's style and content, check out his blog

Somebody needs a drink

A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (2004)

James Frey has a huge chip on his shoulder. He's a drug addict but he doesn't want you to care or show him any kindness. You get the sense that if you showed him compassion he'd punch you in the face. His anger permeates the book and perhaps explains why he, unlike some other addicts, was able to get clean.

This memoir novel starts with the author's admittance into a drug treatment center. The treatment center is a big challenge for him. He needs help - a few more days out on the street and he's pretty sure he'd be dead - but he thinks the therapeutic aspect of treatment is bullshit. He made himself into a drug addict and only he can make himself sober. All the treatment mumbo jumbo is for the weak, and as he describes his stay in the treatment center, the characters he encounters, the challenges he is faced with, he lets you know he's not weak.

As he says it, Frey may just be the toughest criminal minded SOB you're likely to meet. I can't help but call bullshit on this. There are passages in this book dealing with his unflinching hard-assistude and tolerance for pain that suffice to say, are simply unbelievable. One passage deals with a trip to the dentist. As a recovering addict, he is prohibited from using any drugs, including anesthesia. I won't spoil it for you but when I explained the scenario to my dentist, he wasn't buying it either. Despite these flaws, I found the book hard to put down.

N.B. Oprah recently chose A Million Little Pieces for her book club so I guess despite all Frey's stated disdain for anything tainted with sentimentality or empathy, he's no fool. Rolling with the Queen of empathy is good for the bottom line. (And yes, if you must know, I read this well before Oprah got involved).

N.B.(2) I wrote this review before it was revealed that several significant aspects of A Million Little Pieces were fabricated, exaggerated and just plain lies. I had some suspicions though I certainly couldn't have guessed how extensive the lies were.

No quotes for this fraud

Runs like a rabbit - get it?

Rabbit, Run by John Updike (1960):

Rabbit, Run is the first in a four part series of novels about Harry Angstrom. Set in small town Pennsylvania, Harry was the star of his high school basketball team - a quick rabbit-like fella - but barely into his 20's, life isn't so great. He's the father of a toddler, his wife Janice is an alcoholic and expecting their second child, and he works demonstrating a vegetable peeler in a local department store. In short, his life sucks, he's miserable, and he really just wants to take off. Sorry honey, this isn't really working for me, gotta go.

So that's the backdrop, but what I find interesting is how this book, this story of average people leading unhappy, unfulfilled lives, people unable to fully love their loved ones, was regarded as so groundbreaking in its day. As though before Updike wrote about people who lived like these characters, this sort of life was not imaginable. It reminds me of that Dave Chapelle joke about white people who didn't believe black claims of police brutality until Newsweek wrote a story about it - ".. honey, did you see this article in Newsweek? Apparently the the police have been beating up Negros like hotcakes ..."

Don't get me wrong, this book is considered a classic for more than it's subject matter. Updike, a Harvard grad and Pulitzer Prize winner (twice) is a powerful writer. Obviously it was his treatment of the subject matter that made the book resonate with so many people.

"He seems to see Harry as just another in a parade of more or less dutiful husbands whose brainlessly sown seed he spends his life trying to harvest."

"You kept me alive Harry; it's the truth; you did. All winter I was fighting the grave and then in April I looked out of my window and here was this young man burning my old stalks and I knew life hadn't left me. That's what you have Harry; life. It's a strange gift and I don't know how we're supposed to use it but I know it's the only gift we get and it's a good one."

"Though her heart bathes the universe in red, no spark kindles in the space between her arms; for all of her pouring prayers she doesn't feel the faintest tremor of an answer in the darkness against her. Her sense of the third person with them widens enormously, and she knows, knows, while knocks sound at the door, that the worst thing that has ever happened to any woman in the world has happened to her."

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Franken-vette

Someone spent 115K to bastardize this Vette. I guess if you really need to get a year's supply of Charmin home from Costco in a hurry, this would come in handy.