Wednesday, December 28, 2005
I was so cold, and so very tired (I had to wake up early to drive a sibling to the train and then stay up in a stupor waiting for the heating repair man to arrive) I quickly curled back up into bed around 11:30 AM and fell promptly back to sleep until 2:30PM. I woke up cold and sniffling, head aching due to sinuses. The rest of my day was spent first in bed reading, a quick run to drive brother number two to the LIRR so he could get into Manhattan to pick up cookie dough he left in his dorm room fridge (also hang out with his friends); then back in bed where it was warm until my folks came home from an extended weekend away. Along with my folks came an unassembled entertainment center from Ikea I then assembled with the help of the first sibling who had since come home from work. By then it was warm in the house, but I was too tired to go online and fell asleep early to get to work on time to open the Starbucks this morning.
It wasn't a very busy day yesterday, but it was one that was the quite the opposite of being conducive to writing.
Chanukah (or Hanukah, or whatever - I never know how to spell it in English, so Amber, you're one up on me) is going fine I guess. Received no presents so far, but did not expect any. We aren't a big present giving family. The only reason presents are exchanged on Chanukah is due to its proximity with Christmas Jews wanted to get gifts too. Ever since Rebecca (Roni's Girlfriend - Roni being a brother of course) mentioned to my mom that she buys her folks a gift, my mom has been dropping a few hints. Thus, the four of us (from oldest to youngest: Me, Hillel, Roni, and Asaf) all chipped in and purchased them (the parental units) an ice cream maker. We figured it's a gift that they would enjoy (they do) and something we could partake from as well. They way I figure it's far better than a bowling ball with "Homer" inscribed on it (anyone who gets that is just as big as a dork as I am - so there).
The sweet spicy smell of hot sweet potato Latkes (for those of you who speak Yiddish), Levivot (for those of you who speak Hebrew) potato pancakes (for those of you who speak neither Yiddish nor Hebrew) that my father has made is slowly wafting its way to my desk. Hence I shall sign off here, sweet potato latkes and home made ice cream are both in my immediate future. Take care kiddies.
Post script: I saw The Chronicles of Narnia and my review will be posted on TheNoyse.com as soon as I write it. I'm just a lazy bastard.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Just needed to get that off my chest. Not the most intersting of posts, but I'm wicked tired and I reek of coffee and espresso. Luckily I don't have to go in to work tommorrow. Expect a new post 'cause I'll have nothing else to do.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
For any Yankee fans out there, nuts to you guys.
And for people who don't care either way, I give you the best advice I've ever received.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Thus, if all you care about is Naomi Watts's sexiness (even when caked with mud, sweaty, running from dinasours), Adrian Brody's adorableness (even when he's caked with mud running to dinasours trying to save Naomi Watts) and jaw dropping mindless action, all tied together with a thin plot involving monkey love, then you should go out right now - before you even finish this ridiculously long sentence - and see this movie.
Just like the original Kong, this one is filled with the most technologically advanced available special effects of the time. What the new one has that the older one doesn't: about 84 more minutes. Which is not to say I didn't like those extra 84 minutes. I have seen the Lord of the Rings theatrical releases, and I've also scene the extended versions. Watching King Kong felt like I was watching an extended version (albeit an extended version I liked) rather than the regular theatrical release. There are a few too many sub plots that don't add much to the rest of the story, and some character bits that are entertaining but slow down the plot.
And the action is gruesome. Not gory, there is no blood, but it's all violent none the less. One particular scene where I couldn't help but cringe was King Kong killing a T-rex in a very cruel fashion, basically ripping its head open and jamming it into the ground. It was harsh, but maybe I'm a bit too sensitive as all the kids at the ten year old birthday party seated a few seats behind me all broke out in laughter.
Jack Black, as Director Carl Denham sentimentalizes all the death and destruction for a brief moment, then glazes over larger considerations in his quest to make the prefect movie. Peter Jackson pretty much does the same - and I think this is the only real flaw in the film. Perhaps there should have been a disclaimer in the beginning of the picture: "No digital people were actually harmed in the making of this film." In Jackson's previous films the action was either for humor (yes black humor and kitsch value count), or had some sort of emotional connection to the audience. In this film, there isn't enough of either; mindless action for its own sake surprisingly does grate on you, especially after nearly three hours of it.
Here's what it really boils down to (to use a tool taken from the Donald Rumsfeld playbook), did I like this movie? Yes I did. Did I think it was too long? Very much so. Should you see this film in a theater? With out a doubt. Is this a must see movie? No, unfortunately it isn't.
So there you have it. I hoped that helped, and if not, I hope it at least entertained.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
It's time I just came out and admited it. I tried to hide it my entire life, especially in high school, I could barely admit it to myself let alone my freinds, and I know my family knew. I have curly hair. There I said it (wrote it). It's like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. I have curly hair. In my youth I used to look at all the kids with longs thin straight hair and wish my hair would look like theirs. I cut my hair short, I buzzed it each summer so no one would know. Then as I got older I grew my hair out and tried all sorts of cuts to hide the curls dying to be free.
I wore hats. Dear lord did I wear hats. All sorts of hats. Big hats, little hats, vitnage and retro hats, strange and multicolor hats. Anything so my frizzy curly (I used to say wavy but that was a lie) hair wouldn't be noticed.
It has been a long journey for me to admit what was so glaringly obvious to the rest of the world. My hair just isn't straight. Those of you out there with perfect straight hair will not understand this next bit. As a person with curly hair, shampoo kills me. It drains my head, my brown locks of all their essential oils and such. Thus upon exiting the shower, and drying my head, my hair is nothing more than a giant puff of frizz. Sure I use special anti-frizz shampoo and conditioner, but even the strongest dose just isn't strong enough.
I used to dream of having prefectly managable straight hair. The kind of thin strands than just fall across the head and sit perfectly regardless how often you do or do not comb them.
There is about one day in seven when my hair actaully works. The day when it's just oily enough not to be gross, but oily enough to keep my loose curls in check. Before that day there isn't enough natural oils and it's frizz city, and after that day there is too much oil and my that's just kinda gross.
One of the first things I'm going to do after I get my first paycheck (whenever that is,I should probably enquire the bosses of Starbucks as to when I get paid) I'm going to go out and get a hair cut. I don't know what it's going to look like, but I'm going to take the risk with a new barber. All I really need is to find one good cut and stick with it. So far, my rebllious hair does not like being told what to do. I hope that in time I can train it before it invariably falls out (I have a full head of hair, but as baldness has afflicted every generation of men on both sides of my family before me, I assume it's only a matter of time until I join them).
But it never listened to me before, so why should it start now?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
These are the type of shananagins I've missed by moving to Queens. Both fellows in the video are my former roommates. I didn't think I missed my freinds so much, but apparently I do.
As the song goes "Boston you're my home."
Also, my thoughts on the holiday season, summed up by someone else. I don't know who wrote it, but I really wish it was me. If you get gooey over christmas, this might not be the read for you. (I should thank Jeremy for posting this on his blog first, otherwise I would never have found it.)
Scientists have demonstrated that cats produce the purr through intermittent signaling of the laryngeal and diaphragmatic muscles. Cats purr during both inhalation and exhalation with a consistent pattern and frequency between 25 and 150 Hertz. Various investigators have shown that sound frequencies in this range can improve bone density and promote healing.
This association between the frequencies of cats' purrs and improved healing of bones and muscles may provide help for some humans.
quote taken from the Scientific American website, article entitled: Why do cats purr?
Also, you'll never see a cat use a lame set of stairs to get on and off the couch.
I have nothing against dogs, or those who love them. It's just that unless you are looking for drugs, or skiers lost in a mountain, or are a hunter, cats just make more sense (and are more usefull - and in my opinion more enjoyable - to have around).
So take that dog lovers! Cats are just cooler.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Noise pollution - I know this would certianly keep me away.
Capitalism at it's best and most fun - makes me kinda wish I was still unemployed (Also one of the few times I've wanted to be german).
Have fun kiddies.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
This morning when I went downstairs to eat breakfast I found the paper open to the style section. I'm not one for the style section. I tend to be a front page, metro, arts and leisure (and occasionally, sports) section kind of guy. Once in a blue moon I'll read the magazine, but rarely do I read any of the other sections. As Fashion was right in front of me I glanced over it and came across an article I felt a strong desire to discuss.
Chastity Rings. Small silver bands one wears on their ring finger in lue of a wedding band. The chastity ring signifies that the wearer will abstain from sex until it is replaced with a wedding ring.
Whether people have sex before marriage or if they decide to wait, I really don't care. What I do have an issue with is this: when speaking about the ring Jonathan Wagner, 16, of Wexford, PA. said this (quote is taken directly from the NY Times article), "It's a good tool to help you explain your decision and a reminder to you to remain pure."
It's the purity bit that gets me. I dislike the idea that sex is an impure action. The person back in the day who declared sex to be impure clearly wasn't doing it right. Though, as one who once was a dorky teenager with a veritable sexless high school career, I can see the desire to have an excuse why you're not having sex. It wasn't because I was a scrawny, acne riddled, comic book dork, and few girls found me desirable. It's a lot better for my self-esteem to think I choose to be celibate, instead of celibacy choosing me.
If people want to wait until they are married, to have sex, make love with someone they love and who loves them more power to them. I respect that. But if you are choosing celibacy due to some notion at "purity" or "remaining pure" I think you should get off your high horse and join the rest of us in the human race. Sex is natural, almost every living thing does it (well some reproduce asexually, but where's the fun in that?). In my experience, the repression of natural desires is more harmful than not.
I'm not advocating a balls out, hedonistic orgy of sex and other pleasures of the flesh. It's just when I read quotes like (again from the same article)
A statement on the website of True Love Waits, and abstinence group that encourages the wearing of purity rings, says purity also means saying no to "sexual touching," "to a physical relationship that causes you to be 'turned on' sexually," and to "pornography or pictures that feed sexual thoughts."
Maybe it's just me, but if I abstained from any physical relationship causing me to be turned on I'd be so stifled I'd become aroused at any image, possibly even:
So, if you are waiting until marriage because you want the sex to be meaningful, to be with someone you truly love, then I say more power to you. If it's because you think sex is impure and wrong, and anything remotely sexual is wrong, then what kind of relationships do you have, and how do you date?
All quotes taken from The New York Times; Thursday, December, 8 2005 - Fashion section, pages G1 and G2. Article titled: A Ring That Says No, Not Yet.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
This sudden growth of character occurred yesterday as I made my way from the butt end of Queens to the Starbucks at 31st and 7th for a Starbucks training class. First I awoke to the horrid sound of the telephone, my manager called to remind me that I did in fact have a class in Manhattan that day (a fact I knew and was hoping to sleep in a bit as I worked 'till closing the night previous). I was supposed to be dressed up to Starbucks standards (black or light khaki pants, white or black shirt, black shoes). As I wasn't going to be working behind a bar or waiting on customers, I decided they don't get to tell me what to wear, thus I wore my new semi-hipster looking brown checked pants (only six bucks on sale and the first article of clothing I've ever purchased from the Gap) and my blue sneakers (I was gonna wear my red converse high tops to really flesh out the hipster look, but it had snowed and canvas converse sneakers are the exact opposite thing one should wear in the snow). As a compromise I wore a black turtle neck, because it was in fact cold and a turtleneck was a good idea.
The class: boring, boring, boring. Five hours that could have been one, tops. Most of it was learning all about Starbucks corporate (who cares) and proper customer service. The meaningless phrases "enthusiastically satisfied customers" and "legendary customer care" were tossed at us as frequent as McCarthy would discuss supposed members of the red menace. I don't know how legendary I can be without removing a sword from a stone and then being crowned king of England (though I would make a good king). And how enthusiastic can a caffeine addict be before taking that first sip of coffee in the morning, and is the enthusiasm really because of my service or because they are addicted to caffeine? Though I think I finally got the hang of the coffee tasting thing.
After five and a half hours I left the Starbucks and made my way up to Midtown Comics to meet my brother Hillel who just got out of work. We decided (rather I decided and he was gracious to accompany me) to go to the Cake Shop in the lower east side to see the punk band The Vandervoorts. They were up with two other bands, the Ottomen and Paper Fleet. We had little interest in the other two and were hoping the Vandervoots would be up first so we can leave early. But the show wasn't until nine and it was barely six o'clock. We called our youngest brother Asaf (a freshman at NYU) and headed downtown to Chickpea - a falafel and Shwarma joint, to meet him for dinner. We ate, hung out, got a call from Lily - Hillel's girlfriend - to let us know she'd meet us at the Cake Shop, retired briefly to Asaf's dorm, then leaving Asaf behind (the show as 21+ and he’s only 18) hopped on the F train to Delancy Street to make it to the show on time.
We got there exactly at nine. No one started playing until around ten. Cake Shop itself is quite possibly my new favorite place in Manhattan. Upstairs (ground level) it's like a bakery/coffee shop in the front - selling pastries, coffee and such. In the back they sell cd's - lots of independent music I've never heard of, some of it really cheap. Downstairs in the basement is a bar and small area for the musicians to perform. It isn't very big, maybe 60-70 feet long and only about 15-20 feet wide. It's dark, lit solely by a few recessed bulbs in the back and over the bar, and Christmas lights over the "stage". It's small, cozy, and so eclectic you could plotz (hooray Yiddish! the ultimate dorkifier). Apparently they have a good beer I've never heard of but my brother likes for only three bucks a bottle - which is a really good price for a beer I've never heard of and have already forgotten, or so he says.
Why, you may ask, did I venture all the way to the lower east side, to this small underground (by which I mean literally beneath street level) bar for three bands no one (two of them, even I) has ever heard of? The answer is simple. If you check out my previous post, the first name on the list is Doroth Gambrell. Dorothy, author/aritst of my favorite web comic Cat and Girl is also the guitarist of the band (you guessed it) the Vandervoorts.
The place was anything but packed. I think Hillel, Lily, and I were the only people there who weren't friends with any of the bands. If I were to say there were 25 people there total (including the bands themselves) that would be me being generous.
So we sat, talking, Hillel, Lily, and I, waiting for an hour before the Ottomans got on (the Vandervoots were to play second). I was hoping it'd be a quick set because I didn't want to stay in the city so late, I still had to take the LIRR back to my place in Queens. What I thought would be a cheesy indie rock trio turned out to be very enjoyable. The Ottomen in my opinion sound a bit like early Weezer, but much more light hearted, happy. All their songs, save "lonely surfer girl" were fun, upbeat, some funny, and most tongue in cheek. Their songs ranged from a short bit about Dandelions, a bizarre slapstick song about bloody red socks and how they got that way, and a song about King Kong sung from his perspective on the whole affair. The acoustics weren't the best, and they sounded a bit like a garage band, with the playfulness of people still playing in their garage for their friends. I wouldn't call it amateur, just kids my age having fun playing rock star but not taking it seriously.
Next, the Vandervoorts. A punk rock quartet. All their songs were short, probably no more than a minute, and each ended very abruptly. It was very punk, in the more old school idea of punk. Not in the poppy perfectly mixed and harmonized young punks (Sum 41 I'm looking at you) you see on MTV who wear spiky green hair and some chains "punk." This was very much the unmixed, raw punk sound, played by people into the music, who dressed just the way they liked, not to make a "statement". But just like the band before them they played a bit tongue in cheek, never taking themselves too seriously. The bassist in particular made the most adorable faces when she played. Maybe not something one looks for in a punk rock band, but for these guys in this setting, it just worked.
They finished their set a little after eleven. We were itching to go (both Hillel and Lily needed to wake up early today, and I wanted to get home at a reasonable hour). Now here is the big news. After the set, after they cleaned up but before Paper Fleet went on, I walked over to the band. I shall repeat. I walked over to the band. Granted there was barely anyone else there but this was a big step for me. I am generally the shy and awkward guy who hides in corners during social gatherings. But I walked over to the band - well really just the bassist and guitarist as the other two members disappeared into a back room.
This is how it went down.
"Hi, I don't want to bother you, but I'm going to be a bit of a geek for a second, as I generally am a geek, which is neither here nor there really," I ramble when I'm nervous, obviously, "and I wanted to say I really liked your set tonight."
"Thanks." They both said and smiled, real friendly like.
"It was really good. Er... one of you makes Cat and Girl?"
The bassist pointed to the guitarist, smiled, then walked to the back room.
"I just wanted to say I'm a big fan of the comic. It's my favorite web comic. I like it a lot."
"Thanks." Dorothy said as if trying to hide in her beer. She was very quiet, and seemingly very shy (or she just wanted to get the hell away from me). "What's your name?" And she put out her hand.
Again, I ramble when I'm nervous. "Ami, Amichai, really but no one can really pronounce Amichai. Ami. I'm Ami. Dorothy, right?" She nodded and we shook hands. "It’s how I learned about your band and this show. I can’t stay to hear the next band, I gotta get back to Queens." I’m master of the more information than necessary school of conversation. "But I'm glad I came, and just wanted to say I really like your comic, and the band was really good."
I don't generally get star struck. Big names most often don't phase me. If, say I bumped into John Malkovitch on the street - and I have, literally on the crowded streets of Harvard Square in Cambridge, a bit embarrassing really - I wouldn't get all tongue tied (I wasn't in fact; I apologized and we both went on our merry ways). For some reason however, when I meet minor celebrities (or those who are only famous in my head) I am a loss for words. When I met Scott Mccloud at his book signing I couldn't come up with a thing to say. And now, shaking hands with a girl who lives in Brooklyn, draws a web comic, and is in punk band no one has heard of, I giggle with nervousness. The best part, was that she seemed so shy and embarrassed, demurely shaking my hand, quietly thanking me while seemingly wishing she could hide inside her beer bottle. Had I more money and more guts I would have offered to buy her a drink. Not due to any romantic inclination, just because I really admire her work. But I did not have more money, and I certainly am a coward so I excused myself saying I had to get back to Queens.
"Thanks for coming." Was the last thing she said as I smiled equally shy, and walked back to Hillel and Lily and the three of us walked back to the subway, not bothering to wait around to hear Paper Fleet play.
I took the F train to 32cnd and 6th, then walked up to Penn station, took the 12:21 train back to Queens, and walked from the station, about a mile home in the snow. Over all I'd say it was a very good day.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
John Flansburgh and John Linell (They Might Be Giants)
Sarah Vowell (More of my thoughts on Ms. Vowel, also here.)
Rob G (sorry I couldn't find a better link for this particular artist)
Scarlett Johansson (really just want to be with, this might make me a bit shallow but she's so freaking sexy)
The Dresden Dolls
Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Caroline Dhavernas (I have a big crush on her, and she's more realistically my type - as opposed to Scarlett - but neither hold a candle to Sarah)
There are many more, but I'll stop there.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Also: don't order hot apple cider from Starbucks, because they won't give it to you. Anytime you order hot apple cider you are actually getting hot apple juice with a few pumps of cinnamon syrup. The Starbucks recipe book claims there is no official difference between apple juice and apple cider. Cider in other countries equals fermentation, what we in America and Canada call hard cider, is just called cider most everywhere else. So if both are the liquid from the apple, and neither is fermented, what really is the difference? The great state of Massachusetts defines the differences here. So take that Starbucks, trying to cheat your customers of the true hot cider experience.
And as Ned Flanders once said, "If it's sweet and yellah, you got juice there fella'. If it's tangy and brown, you're in cider town."
On Monday I plan on going to the Cake Shop in Manhattan to see the Vandervoots. It's only six bucks and starts at 9pm. So if any of you fun loving readers out there happen to be in New York on Monday, and you like upbeat "punkity rock" you should join me. I'll be there with my brother Hillel, and we always enjoy company when we go to concerts.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Turns out the cute girl at work is only 17. For three days I thought she was at least 20. I have too many dirty thoughts running through my head for her to only be 17. If you need me I'll be taking a very long cold shower trying hard not to be the weird 25 year old leering at high school girls. I don't want that to be me. That guy is just creepy.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Jeremy's blog. It's new, it's fresh, it's funny.
Noodles Esquire even if she doesn't update often, her posts are very much how Jeremy describes his blog (clever ploy to have you check both blogs at once).
Cat and Girl updated tuesdays and fridays. I wish I was as smart and clever as Dorothy. Maybe just because I'm a dork, but I find myself laughing with every update. I mean come on, Devo hard hats? That's just funny.
McSweeney's because we can all use a nice literary laugh.
What the fuck dot com because even if it is just a free site for computer dorks and generic "free thinkers" it still has a funny name.
Kevin Banks even though he screwed me over and bailed on our comic book venture, he's still a good artist and I like his work. If you are in an artistic mood, you should check it out.
And finally: Nickelodeon for the child in all of us, and maybe for the child we keep locked down in the basement.
Other than that, if you haven't read A Game Of You, by Neil Gaiman, you should got out and read it immediately. It is quite possibly one of the greatest stories ever put to paper.
Carry on then.....
Sunday, November 27, 2005
My friend Michael on the other hand... He of Cambridge currently editing his first feature length film (which he financed himself and unless it sells, coupled with his student loans will cause him to be in debt forever) hopefully will one day be a famous film maker whom I shall be able to mooch off of. I'd link you to something of Mike's but alas his only online connection is an e-mail address, and I shan't be giving that out.
Two other friends of note whose bandwagon I shall hop on immediately if given the chance.
The first is my freind Gretchen Akers. Gretchen is a bit of a stretch as we aren't very close. The summer after her graduation from college she broke up with her boyfriend (with whom she was living) and moved -albeit temporarily- into the living room of my spacious four bedroom apartment. She was friends with two of my three roommates, and after spending a glorious Saturday with Gretchen (the first Saturday of our acquaintance - a long story involving all my roommates leaving town for the weekend, an awkward attempt to bond through the streets of Somerville, and more little debbie zebra cakes than you can shake a stick at) we became friends. She then moved off to California to make her mark in the movies (she starred in both Michael's thesis film and the feature length he's currently editing). For those interested in her progression you can check out her IMDB page. Yeah she's a cutie and talented and I expect her to go far. Thus when she does, I'll be there hanging on her coat tails.
Finally, there is my old roommate Jeremy. He is finishing up his graduate degree at BU. I believe his focus is theater and playwriting. He is quite possibly the greatest writer I have yet to meet in person, and would not be surprised if those of you into theater hear his name within the next few years. For those of you interested in getting in on the ground floor you can check out his blog. When you check it out (and you all should everyday, regardless whether he's posted or not) you will realize not only his literary prowess but his fabulous sense of humor. And once again, when his name goes up in lights I'll be there, hanging on, mooching off his success.
Then again, if I get rich and famous first I'll be the first one to send the elevator back down - yet only after I've cut the tether preventing them from following me back up. I mean really, why should I have to deal with people mooching off my success?
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Putting all that aside, my brother Roni has a friend who is interning at the Tribeca film center. Apparently last night Roni went out to dinner with his girlfreind (Rebecca) and the intern freind (I'll call her E). Rebecca - a sweetie - mentioned my name to E saying I was looking for work in the media arts (film, tv, radio). E mentioned that she might (and might is the operative word) be able to hook me up with an intership at tribeca. I'd prefer a real job with a salary and health benifits, but an internship at a reputable film institute (something I should probably have done in college) is at least a step in the right direction. I spoke to E today on the phone, and she seems like a very nice person. Much nicer than I would probably be in her situation (I'm not a very nice guy). She told me about what she does, and then said if I was intersted I can send her my resume and she'll hand it personally to her boss (the person in charge of the interns) and put in a good word for me.
I'm not expecting big things, as I have had freinds at other companies who tried to help but their influence wasn't as great as they thought it would be, but it was very gracious for her to make this offer (an offer I am going to take her up on). So we'll see what happens, the worst is they'll say no and I'll continue doing what I'm doing, and the best is they'll say yes and I'll have a leg up. Either way E is a very sweet girl who interviewed for a real job at Tribeca, and regardless as to whether I get an intership or not, I hope she gets the job.
Also, if I do get the position, it'll only confirm the fact which I already know to be true, I just don't like it: It's not what you know, but who you know that counts.
Anyway, for those of you too lazy to use the link I provided to said post, or if you like reading the full texts of posts before you read what they allude too, Noodles briefly discusses the C.S. Lewis classic The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and the upcoming movie adaptation.
I know, it's a parable, Aslan is Jesus, I get it. Not being Christian, and raised in a Jewish home I didn't pick up on any of that the first time I read it. I just thought it was a decent book but didn't really wow me either way.
At age 15 my family moved to Israel for my father's sixth month sabbatical. We lived in Jerusalem in 38 Tchernekofsky Street apartment #2, near the 32 bus line on its way out to Giloh. From the very small back porch on this second floor apartment I had one of the best vistas of the hills of Jerusalem I have ever seen in my entire life. Every night the sun would set over the hills and cast the city ablaze. The song Yerushaliam shel Zahav (Translation=Jerusalem of Gold - Phish covers the song as a bonus track on the album Hoist) took on a very literal aesthetic as I watched through the sliding glass doors. I spent those sixth months studying in an Israeli public high located between the shook (the open air market, where people in stalls and pushcarts sell and haggle for everything from fresh dates and produce to fresh meats - killed in the market itself - to toys and gadgets, to warm baked goods) and the central bus station. Everyday for lunch a few friends and I would walk past the guards at the gate, down the street and purchase fresh baked rolls and some sort of pastry (everyday something different) and a carton of Yotvatah chocolate milk. We'd walk back to school and eat outside because it being the Middle East, it was always warm out. The down side, I had school six days a week, from Sunday-Friday. I've appreciated the calm of a five day work (in comparison) ever since.
Getting back to the apartment, for about three months - and I don't even remember the reason why - I would sit with my brother Asaf (my junior by seven years - the youngest of us four Greene boys) on the back porch and read in order, the entire Lion, Witch and Wardrobe series. From the very first book to the very last one. I don't really remember the stories that well, but I remember sitting on the porch with my brother reading them. I remember getting a blanket and sitting outside wrapped up with him when it got cold at night (as it did during the first few months). I remember watching the sun set casting the city ablaze as Narnia would be in stewing in our imaginations. I remember coming inside after a chapter or two because my voice was tired and promise to pick up again the next day, or at the very least, by the weekend. He was able to read the books himself (all of us were big readers at a very young age) but for some reason it was something we did together.
For that reason I am a bit hesitant to see the movie. I don't really remember the stories that well, but I know I would rather my association with the books be of my brother on our back porch, and not some lavish Hollywood production.
Monday, November 21, 2005
sent out some resume's.
Was asked to write for a start up print magazine On the Rise whose first issue will be out some time in January. There is no pay up front, but the possibility of pay down the line. Normally I don't like writing for other people for free, but right now beggars can't be choosers. Once again, padding for a resume.
Had an impromptu phone interview with a rep from WGBH in Boston for the postion of Production Secretary. Didn't do the best I could do because I wasn't expecting the call and kinda fumbled my way through some of the answers - I had no time to prepare. Who interviews well sans preperation? Not me, that's for certain. I will find out after thanksgiving if they want to see me in person or not.
Scheduled an interview at the local Starbucks for tomorrow morning because I desperately need an influx of cash.
Moved a bunch of boxes full of random crap from the basement to the garage because the contractor is coming next Monday to begin the (hopefully not to lengthy) process of installing a bathroom in the basement.
Watched the Food Network Thanksgiving Holiday Special we taped (DVRed) last night. Got hungry for thanksgiving then remembered I don't eat Turkey and my hunger subsided (well after a fruit rollup and some fig newtons anyway). I am going to stick to my guns; Alton Brown is by far the best Food Network celebrity chef. Emeril Lagasse, Rachel Ray and the rest don't hold a candle up to this guy. He is the funniest, most personable, and most engaging of the bunch.
All right, carry on then...
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Jesse (last name with held for anonymity - also I have absolutely no idea what his last name actually is) has been a member of the Marathon Jewish Community Center (for some reason they don't use the word synagogue or temple in Queens, everything is a "community center") for quite some time. As an active member he enjoys celebrating his birthday after services on the Saturday closest to his actual day of birth by sponsoring a lunch or some sort at the "temple." This past Saturday we celebrated his one hundred and first birthday. Let me repeat that. HE'S ONE HUNDRED AND ONE YEARS OLD. He was born November 24, 1904.
Please shake from your minds the idea that he is some old bed ridden feeble asthmatic forgetful old man. He is as spry as a man in his eighties. He walks everywhere. Everywhere. He walks to the supermarket, to the drug store, to temple. He probably isn't allowed to drive anymore but still, it's a hell of a lot of walking. He even walks in the annual Israeli day Parade in Manhattan every year. At age 101 he has only just recently started to use a walker because he had some sort of accident about a month ago. In fact I'm starting to suspect he is actually Colonel Steve Austin and not the nice Jewish old man he who sits six rows up from the bimah every Saturday morning.
Forsaking the amount of money (six million dollars) put in to his body (we have the technology...) I find it helpful, to really put in all in perspective, to discuss what this man has witnessed throughout the course of his life. Just some of the major plot points (not necessarily in linear order).
-World War one, 1914-1918
-The great depression, 1929
-The invention of Marshmallow fluff, 1917
-The mass production of the and eventual commonplace of the Automobile
-Charles Lindbergh's first nonstop transatlantic flight aboard the Spirit of St. Louis, 1927
-The invention of the Oreo Cookie, 1912 (which actually came second to the now defunct Hydrox cooki,e 1908 - personal aside: I miss Hydrox and always liked them better than Oreos)
-17 Presidents of the United States (From Teddy Roosevelt to Bush the second, Presidents in between of note: all of them)
-World War Two, 1939-1945
-The creation of the state of Israel (big deal for the Jews), 1948
-The growth of America from 48 states to the whopping 50 we are today: Hawaii + Alaska, 1959
-The first man in space, 1961
-A man walking on the Moon, 1969
-The creation and dissolution of the Bull Moose political party, 1912-1916
-Fourteen near presidential assassinations (Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Truman, Nixon, Ford - twice, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton - three times, and Bush two - twice so far); 1912, 1933, 1950, 1974, 1975 twice, 1979, 1981, 1993, 1994- twice, 1995, 2004, 2005; and one actual assassination (JFK) 1963
-The film "The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai across the 8th dimension" 1984
-Korean War, 1950-1953
-Vietnam War 1965-1973
-Gulf War 1991
-Iraq War 2004 - ?
-Bud Bowl one through seventeen 1988- present
-The Red Sox winning the World Series in 1918 then again in 2004
-The civil rights movement
-Gay marriage legalization (at least in one state) 2003
-The rise of radio and then consequently the demise of radio followed by the rise of Television
-And though there are many more, in my mind the most important: The invention of Tang (The Greatest thing to come of the NASA!) 1957
He is literally four times older than I am. He has children, grandchildren and great grandchildren (and if he keeps this up he'll be alive with great-great grandchildren) During his 99th birthday celebration he turned to the congregation and said, "I'm thankful for the past ninety-nine years I've had and for the one year I have left." I don't know whether he expected to die at age 100, or just meant he was excited to reach a full century. Either way he has outlasted his own expectations as he's 101 and still kicking strong. The way things are going I almost expect him to outlive me; petrified of death as I am, for some reason, I'm OK with that.
(all information only half ass researched using the internet, mostly wikipedia, where you all can go to verify the facts)
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
And in the efforts to build my writing portfolio you can all go to The Noyse and check out my Newest Editoral.
Also, what does <3 mean? I've seen it on a few teen blogs and have yet to figure it out.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The hardest part is keeping a positive facade. I know, I know, I never seem positive or cheery on this blog, but that's because it's my blog. In real life when ever anyone asks I have to pretend it's going well, keep up appearences. After a while it really hits home - gets me in the gut that I'm broke, in debt, without health insurance and about to go back to doing one of the things I hate most in the world. I know I shouldn't complain because there are tons of people out there worse off than I am, who don't have the same support system I have in place family , freinds, et cetera. Realizing I'm better off than many doesn't really take the sting away, rather increases it as to how much crap there is out there. There has been a panic attack building which I have been supressing as best I can that I think is just going to burst soon, and am scared it's going to be an all out nervous breakdown since I've been holding it in for so long.
I don't know. All I know is that I'm sick of where I am and what I am (and am not) doing. It's not the rejection that gets me, it's the fact that I'm not even getting any consideration, I get no calls for interviews, and no one takes my call when I try to be assertive. And it isn't like I'm applying to jobs I'm not qualified for. Everything and everyone I've sent my resume to has been for something I am more than qualified to do (much of it has been stuff monkeys are qualified to do, at least monkeys with a college degree).
I'm not looking for pity, I'm not looking for compasion, I'm not looking for anything. I just needed to vent and delay the panic attack I felt building up inside. My next post will probably ignore this one completely as that's what I've been doing, ignoring the crap until it piles up so high it can't be ignored. This just raises the wall a little higher to keep it from tumbling down, at least until next time.
And because this has been such a whiny and annoying post (I know I'd find it whiny and annoying if it wasn't about me) I will leave you with something fun (if offended by bad language do not click on link).
Whenever I am stumpted on something I want to write I wind up writing something else far more silly, just to cleanse the my writing palate. It keeps me fresh and keeps the weird fun stuff from infecting the stories I'm more passionate about. It's not a finished work as I don't know what's really going to happen next, and I thought this would be a perfect time to get feedback (if any of you are so inclined to read thet story) so I can mold the story into what it will become. Read it, don't read it, at least it keeps me off the streets yelling at strangers like a crazy old man.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Speaking of wacky, go to Stellito's blog here and click on the link she provides in the post. It's quite possibly one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
(What a tool)
Friday, November 11, 2005
I haven't written anything on my blog for a few days, and still don't have much to report or to really say, so in lieu of a regular entry I shall present you with my answer as to why I am (or can be) a film snob. Only now do I notice my mistake: I used the phrase "when it's all said and done" twice, and I probably shouldn't have used it even a single time. Ahh, cest la'vie.
When it's all said and done, I don't think anyone wants to be a snob. What we do want, however, is for people to consider our opinions above those of anyone and most everyone else. The real problem is convincing the world that our opinions are worthy of said consideration. I graduated from Emerson College with a degree in writing and a strong background in media history and theory. If you need a guy to write a article on post-modern, post-structuralist, anti-essentialist, lesbian, independent cinema, I'm your guy. I can get into the history, background, evolution and artistry in film.
At the same time I'm a big dork. I wish it weren't so, but alas. Just because I know the big words and how they're used, and when they should be used, does not mean I only watch films where those "big words" can be applied. I can dig on the pop stuff too. As a fan of comic books I'm usually the first one in line for the next bright, four color, multi-million dollar adaptation. Simultaniously, due to my background, I'm usually also the first in line to see Jim Jarmusch's newest film.
I know movies. I know good movies, I know bad movies, and I know movies that are so bad they're good. When it's all said and done I am a connoisseur of story and that is why my opinion matters - why I should, as you put it, be a snob.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Short staccato verse.
latent emotion evoked.
Style dictates content?
29 Beckwith drive.
Amichai J. Greene
Dessert for breakfast
cannot nearly compare to
breakfast in the desert.
Wasting all my time
writing nonsense instead of
searching for a job.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Something I forgot before. I didn't list Rawbeans Rant as a blog I read regularly, only I do read it regularly so now it is listed.
Also, for the love of pete, people - you should all go out and read Stellito's blog. Please, for your own sake.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
I'm also very poor, as in quite literally broke (well more than just broke since I'm in debt up to my eyebrows - damn expensive college loans) so I don't even know if I can afford dinner and drinks, let alone just dinner, or just drinks. I would very much like to celebrate Lily's birthday but I think destiny is forcing me to do otherwise and once again stay home and watch TV (maybe with a nice bowl of soup and copius amounts of tea).
Regardless, tonight I have decided (inspired by lady hearteater) to throw out some links to other blogs I read. Some in fact I just started reading, while others I have been reading for a while. None of which are linked in my sidebar. I should probably do that too (at least with some of them) but I'm sick and far too lazy to really go into my template and do the additions. When I feel better....
But until then:
Lunatic Fringe just news and stuff, but I like how he writes it.
Ten Minutes Older a clever hopeful british film maker who has described herself as over educated and under employed - and I can completely relate to that.
Clandestine Call Girl This one really blew my mind. I'm pretty sure it's legit. It's the online diary of a woman who lives a normal life like all of us, yet on the side she's a proffessional escort. I actually took a day to go through and read all her old entries. From a psychological standpoint it's riviting (also she has a nice writing style that makes the blog very accessable).
XoTessamarieoX I love Jazi Fizzle!. Two blogs from two forteen year old girls. It's not riviting, or even that interesting, but I never had sisters, and there is something very interesting getting into the head of a someone who is so alien to me.
Friday's Web Most people who read my blog probably read hers first so there isn't much I need to say. If you haven't read it, you should check it out.
Lady Hearteater. Ditto with what I said about Friday's Web. Another fun lady with a fun weblog.
Now don't say I never gave you anything.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
In exactly 62 seconds I'm going to meet Eloise ___(real name with held so I don't feel like such an idiot).
Consequently, in 627,793 seconds I will fall in love with Eloise ___.
In approximately 1,585,534 seconds she'll break my heart, which I guess is all right because in 312 seconds she'll fix my glasses. Thus, karmically speaking, we'll have a total sum of zero, which - as I understand things - is the way to go.
But this all starts 62 seconds from now.
Approximately 136,960.87 seconds ago my glasses broke. I was playing frisbee, and due to a poorly lit night sky I took a disk to the face. Though my glasses were broken I didn't realize it until approximately 136,855.321 seconds ago that the left ear piece detached from the spectacles. This was confirmed when 136,846.7 seconds ago my glasses fell off my face and landed on the still wet though very unhealthy grass. Give or take a second and a half.
In 302 seconds she is going to fix my glasses using nothing but a pair of tweezers, some cloth, and wire she normally uses to make jewelry.
In 424 seconds I'm going to realize that she is also a staff member and not the older sister of a camper, as I will assume 120 seconds from now. This will immediately cause me to change my flirting strategy. In exactly 465 seconds I will stop being the lovable goofball who seems humorously addled by everything, to the goofball who knows everything about the camp; just in case she has any questions. As it will turn out she'll have no questions and will continue to ridicule me as she had before - but all in good fun. The fun sort of way you insult someone you immediately feel comfortable with. I can't quite explain it but in exactly 63.52146 seconds she'll say hi and call me a goofball thus changing my life forever. In 65 seconds, give or take a nano-second, she'll feel the connection too as I tease her back.
For the next 619,200 seconds we will be inseparable. Aside from our duties as staff members at the overnight camp we will spend every second of our spare time together. We don't have to say anything about it. She will seek me out just as much as I seek her. Being the naive 566,686,545 seconds old (give or take) that I'll be I'll figure we are just good friends, but an idea will be brewing in the back of my skull. In exactly 619,852 seconds I'll realize that she hasn't changed her dress in the past 259,200 seconds (approximately, I will not be around when she gets dressed so I could be off within 10,800 seconds). This is immediately after she realizes she forgot her shoes back at her bunk and instead of walking back barefoot to get them, she will tie two thin planks of wood to her feet (she works in the arts and crafts building and will have access to all sorts of neat stuff) to be used as shoes and will head out with me to the dining hall. It's at that second, as the final shoe is tied on, that I'll have an inkling that the feeling in the pit of my stomach is love and not indigestion as I previously assumed.
In 627,774 seconds we will be walking back from the dining hall to our bunks. In that moment I'll realize that no one else is around, a perfect time to breach the subject of some sort of romantic entanglement. In 627,782 seconds she'll take off her "shoes" saying her feet are chafing and the wooden planks weren't as good as an idea as she originally thought they'd be. In 627,793 seconds I'll offer to give her a piggy back ride to her bunk so she doesn't cut up her feet on the horribly rugged dirt road. In 627,793.6 seconds she will accept wholeheartedly. We will make our way down the dirt road, and I'll notice that even though she hasn't changed her dress in over 259,300.756 seconds (approximately) she still smells wonderful. Her scent is not like anything else and I couldn't describe it if I was given a million years and a million dollars; and even though it'll probably just be pheromones interacting with my brain chemistry, I'll know that I'd follow her to the end of the earth, if she just happened to be going in that direction.
In 627,825 seconds I'll open my mouth, not quite sure what I'm going to say but hoping whatever it is will turn us from friends into lovers (and in my mind I will actually use the phrase "lovers" but only because I'm an idiot).
77,329,553 seconds ago I sat in the library at this same camp (then as a camper), my girlfriend of the time resting in my lap. The lights dimmed as the entire age group (all 65 of us) stared ahead at the small flickering TV. We were watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. 77,329,520 seconds ago she took my hands, which were resting on her stomach, and moved them up to her breasts. No one noticed. The only one who seems surprised was Harrison Ford and he had other things on his mind at the time. 77,329,510 seconds ago I moved my hands back to her stomach not realizing the not so subtle hint she just gave me. 77,329,505 seconds ago she moved my hands back. 77,329,493 seconds ago I realized what was going on and I freaked out and 77,329,484 seconds ago I moved my hands back to her stomach out of cowardice.
In 12,042,723 seconds I'll be in my dorm room as I'm given my first blowjob. 433 seconds later she'll give up because, for a reason I'll never understand, I fail to maintain an erection.
In 22,107,600 seconds I'll be in my girlfriends apartment switching the TV off as I turn to engage in what I hope to be various sexual activities. In 22,107,689 seconds she'll stop me and ask that first I wash my hands and cut my nails before we go any further. Consequently I'll spend the next 634.45 seconds in her bathroom searching fruitlessly for her nail clippers.
In 627,826 seconds, before I get a chance to say anything to Eloise, she's going to ask if I like a fellow male staff member.
"Yeah I like him, why?" I'll ask.
"He has a crush on you and I wanted to know if you were interested, because I could set you guys up." But this is not when she will break my heart. That is still to happen 957,708 seconds from this conversation. This is just a precursor.
"I..." What, I'll think, could I possibly say to this?
"If you're interested."
"No. Thank you but no. He's a pal. I'm not.. I'm not... I don't... I'm not gay."
"OK. But if you were or were interested in it he does have a crush on you."
"Thanks. Thanks. I'm flattered, but I'm not interested in it. I mean, I like him, but not like that. I'm not gay."
"OK. I'm just letting you know you could hit that shit if you wanted to."
"When you put it like that how can I refuse?" And we'll both drop the subject right after my lame attempt at levity.
I will carry her back to her bunk wheezing by the end not because she's heavy but because I'm weak. I won't broach the subject I had intended when I picked her up. In fact I won't bring it up for the next 231,216,423 seconds, and still counting.
In 1,585,534 seconds I'll walk into Eloise's bunk only to find her fucking her new boyfriend. In 1,585,537 seconds I'll turn around and immediately walk out praying they didn't notice me. The reason I will walk into the bunk is because a mutual friend told me 345,427 seconds earlier that Eloise would be interested if I was interested. A fact I will have already figured out but will still wait those 345,427 seconds before I overcome the fear of actually broaching the subject. This, apparently, is 216,000 seconds too long. In 1,369,537 seconds she will have gotten sick of waiting for me.
But this all starts in 62 seconds.
In camp, sixty-two seconds is an eternity.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
And the final nail in the coffin that was his youth: he can have consensual sex with someone his own age legally and not be accused of statutory rape (not that he was ever accused of statutory rape, justing saying that as long as he stays sexually active within his own age group he'll never have to worry about it - also, who would want to rape a statue anyway?). That's right boys and girls, the government no longer has any say regarding his sex life.
But the happiness doesn't stop there. Not only is it Asaf's birthday today but Lily, Hillel's (the eldest of all three of my younger brothers) girlfriend, was born 24 years ago today. This isn't that big of a step for her as she can already purchase lottery tickets, cigarettes, porn, and the other junk only available through this special one time TV offer. But it is a momentous day for her as well because; well, just because it's fun to enjoy a birthday. I do feel bad for her though, she is allergic to wheat and it's difficult to find a birthday cake she can eat. Last weekend Hillel did a test run for a chocolate cake using spelt flour instead of wheat from a recipe in Gourmet Magazine. They way I see it, that's true love.
Happy birthday to all and to all a good night (or afternoon, or whatever time is when you read this)
Sunday, October 30, 2005
1) I have never been trick or treating.
2) In the seventh grade I nearly killed my best freind with an unsharpened pencil.
3) I have never been in love.
4) I'm still scared of what may be lurking behind a closed shower curtian
5) At 20 years old I realized at a lame college party I had a crush on the guy I went with and not the girl I was trying to pick up.
6) I want to die on an absinthe bender when I'm in my thirties amidst a bonfire of all my unfinished and unpublished work. I don't care what happens to the ashes.
7) I lie more often than I tell the truth (about anything and everything)
8) I tell the truth more often than I lie (about anything and everything)
9) I hate Grape Jello.
10) I am brillaint in bed.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Simchat Torah is actually a pretty fun holiday. A chapter of the Torah (five books of moses) is read every week during saturday morning services. Simchat Torah is the day of celebration when we finish the last chapter of the Torah, then start all over again for the new year. It's as big deal. Big party. In your sunday best (for jews I suppose it's our saturday best) you go to synogogue, hear the first and last chapter of the torah, then everyone dances and sings and gets drunk. As the way the jewish calendar works each day actualy starts at sunset so the holiday starts in the evening. As such the biggest party is in the evening. Some streets in Manahattan actually close to traffic so the Jews can empty from the synogogues dancing with the torahs and each other and singing mostly jewish folk songs and such. The drinking is done before, after and during.
So I'm not complaining that there are so many holidays, just that they come with such quick succession It's hard to get any work done. That's why the posting of the newest chapter is a bit delayed this week.
For those wondering Simchat torah starts this Tuesday night, so if you're bored this tuesday, regardless whether you are Jewish or not, you might want to check out what the local synogogue is doing. Services are always free as are drinks (though said drinks are usually schnapps of some sort and or Manashevitz wine). That's what I'll be doing anyway.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Boy howdy, I am not a goth (I don't think I'm an "anything" save really big dork) but I took what I believe to be a very scientific test and found out that if I was a goth this would be me:
Girl Name: Mistress Acaia
Guy Name:Sir Sebastain
* I see
sadness in your heart*
You carry too many
secrets in your heart. You should really try
and vent about things more often.
What Is Your Goth Name?
brought to you by Quizilla
So true, so true.... er what?
post script extra trivia point. Though completely coincidental, Sebastion was also my German name for that one year I studied German in high school. No, I didn't pick the name in either case, but apparently the cosmos is trying to tell me something. I figure I'm either supposed to change my name to Sebastion, kill someone named Sebastion, or marry someone named Sebastion. None of the choices are very appealing as: I like my name; I have taken a vow never to kill (again); and I don't know of any straight women named Sebastion. In theory I could marry a man (as it is legal in my home state of Massachusetts) but contrary to my mother's suspsions (she won't ever admit she suspects, but it's obvious she does) I am not gay. I just wish the cosmos would be more specific.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Anyway, the dork that I am, I read and post on various threads on the message boards, usually the ones devoted to specific aspects of writing. One such thread was a discussion as to how much one should focus on format when reviewing and rating other people's scripts. There were some complaints that some members are sticklers when it comes to "proper format". I put that in quotes because the main arguement against said sticklers is there is no completely standard screenplay format.
Thing is, there is a stanard format, it's just much more fluid that we give it credit for. In my opinion, format is important (bad formating says almost as much about the writing as it does the writer and distracts from the story) but shouldn't come close to over shadowing the story or the characters in regards to importance in reviewing. A happy middle ground.
But that's all background for this next bit. Because there is some arguement as to what is or is not proper format one member wrote:
"ironically, even the farmat Nazis can't agree on what format is."
First off, that's his misspelling on format, not mine; so there's that. But I let that one slide. What really bothered me was the usage of the word Nazi. And in response (and I guess the fault really is mine because I started this whole stupid thing) I wrote:
First this is my little side rant, (my pet peeve if you will), I know it wasn't meant this way, and this isn't a dig towards the writer, but I really can't stand it when the term nazi is used so loosely. To compare someone who is strict in regards to grammar, spelling, or the sales of soup (regardless as to how funny it is - and that was a funny seinfeld episode) to an ideology of genocide, never sits well with me. One would never call someone else a "spelling klansman", it sounds silly, and that's basically what I hear when I read the word nazi thrown around as such. But that's my thing and this is the end of my rant.
You can judge, but I tried to be civil whilst still getting my point across. My next paragraph (which I won't bore you with) was basically a summery of my thoughts on format, as previuosly discussed in the beginning of this post.
The responses I recieved? Damn did they get my blood boiling. The first basically said (boiling down to the essentials) that I justified the terms usage in my own paragraph because,
But isn't one writer comdemning another writer for being outside their parameters a form of literary genocide?
Not only was that one of the stupidest things I've ever read, I don't know what literary genocide is, save perhaps the wholesale slaughter of authors and poets then burning their work. And I'm pretty sure that's not what this person meant because said member went on and wrote about writers as artists and thinking out of the box and such while not worrying about the little bits and peices. It was a shame really as before I read this post I had some respect (via prevoius posts on different matters) for this member.
The second response - and god, I hope there will be no more - quoted my work then wrote:
wow, you're the biggest semantics nazi I have ever seen.
I've never wanted to kick anyones front teeth in more than I did to this member after reading the post. The term annoying monkey molesting stupid fucking douchebag bastard (commas omited intentionally) is one I rarely dust off, but in this members case the moniker fits because said member really is an annoying monkey molsesting stupid fucking douchbag bastard (and I have the pictures to prove it).
Anyway, I'm not nearly as frivolous and celebrity obsessed as these links make me seem. But I thought they were funny, and though most people out there probably already know what they are (as I found the second from the first) they are new to me.
Any for your hedonistic pleasure I give you
Go Fug Yourself
White Trash Palace
Friday, October 14, 2005
I fasted yesterday for Yom Kippur, and today (with out going too much into detail) my stomach and bowels are exacting their revenge for being so horribly neglected. If only I could convince them that it was not neglect rather a spriritual necessity. Alas, my bowels are not spritual by nature and mock my attempt at purity (my stomach just chuckles, always cowtowing to peer pressure from my other organs).
In other news some investment company or something like that saw my resume on Monster and left a message on my machine to schedule an interview. I need the interviewing practice so I shall call them back, but I am a bit scared as the only companies who have found my resume without my prompting seem to be the same companies who want to suck my soul out of my body through my nose (always through the nose, I can think of other places I'd prefer them to suck my soul out through, but it's not very polite mention such things in mixed company). I can't imagine this investment company is much different as I have absolutely no experience in money managment or investing. I figure it's like all the others and they are some sort of direct marketing firm, or want me to cold call people to sell bad investments. I shall schedule an interview none the less because beggers can't be choosers.
So, uh, carry on then....
Edit 5:30 PM
I have now uploaded the newest chapter ( Prelude part two) and it is available for your viewing pleasure. It's not as good as I want it to be, but as I concieved and wrote it in an hour I don't think it's that bad.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
One day I hope I will no longer need to pimp my own work, but until that day, the scarce readership that I have, please check out my new article What is Hip? featured at The Noyse.
Just remember, whether you are hip or not, I still love you and you're far better off than this guy.
Monday, October 10, 2005
I can imagine it slinking off to it's own tiny computer later, typing away in its sending a message to its kitty overloards:
Slept most of the day, watched the strange new human who has arrived. He is different than all the others; he doesn't leave as frequently, in fact I'm beginning ot suspect he is like me, and isn't allowed out of the house. In other news, the older female human once again stole my excrement. Almost every day the humans come down and scoop it away. I can't imagine what they use it for, or what they want it so badly. I must observe some more. But I need to be subtle, I think the new human was onto me, so to throw him off I immediatly started cleaning my genitals. I got so, er, carried away, that I did not notice him leave. I must go, I hear them fast approaching.
Friday, October 07, 2005
I just posted Prelude part one for said novel, which from now on will be called A Symphony of Sweets. You can check it out HERE
As always comments and thoughts on the fiction is always welcomed.
Prelude Part one
Prelude Part two
Prelude Part three
Thursday, October 06, 2005
I've only been here for a week and already I'm sick of the place. I love my family and all but I gotta get a place of my own. It's been a freaking year of this stupid job search and getting absolutely bubkis. I say I want to write but I don't really do anything about it. Thing is, I don't really know where to start. I write, mostly fiction, so I guess what I really need to do is look for small magazines that publish fiction, build a portfolio. I should probably do the same with some non fiction, only I don't know where to send my stuff. Research. I write for The noyse but that can't be it. I need a real paying gig. Trying to figure out how to accomplish this. Anyway, that's enough for now. I think I'm good enough, I just need to actually go out and do it now. We'll see what happens. All I know is my allergies are really killing me and I have to get out of Queens.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Instead feel free to read my review of Tim Burton's Corpse Bride over at The Noyse.
I'll probably be absent for the next few days as it is the Jewish New Year and I am a practacing Jew (practice makes perfect, and I figure I'll get it right one day, right now though, boy do I need the practice).
On a plus note, a script I wrote just to see if I could write a noiresque sci-fi just got to the top ten over at Triggerstreet. It's always the one you don't expect. I spent years of my life on a script and it doesn't break 300. I spend a month writing this one (you can't download it without joining Triggerstreet) and bang, it hits the top ten. It's never what I expect. And if you happen to check out Triggerstreet you will notice that someone named Chrysalis who may or may not be a bunny is the reviewer of the month. For those curious, Chrysalis is my Triggerstreet psuedonym.
And here I'm going to check out. The Red Sox are up 7-1 on Yankees, so take that all my new neighbors (though since I'm in Queens they are probably Mets fans and don't really care). Cleveland lost (sorry dad) so the Red Sox is (are? grammatically I'm lost here) the wild card for the world series. I'm hoping for them going all the way again this year, but I'm not going to push my luck. As long as it isn't the Yankees, I'll be fine.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
There is a good deal I would like to write about, but the house has been sold and I am in the midst of moving out (temporarily to Queens, then from there, who knows) and don't have the time. Just wanted to pop in and lament the passing of LB's blog.
Oh, and as the link to LB's blog only leads to a tomb put up by the person (psuedonym of Necromancer) who destroyed it in the first place, I am removing the link from my link section. Now, it really is over.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
But this post isn't about me, well it is, as most posts in someway are about me. Instead lets say this post is more about a friend and me.
Which is to say it's not really about anything at all, or might not be about anything at all. I'm not sure. The thing is - I think a good friend of mine just tried to come out of the closet to me. I was on the phone talking to her, enjoying the conversation as I always do when speaking to this friend, then when I mentioned I planned on getting a hair cut this week (it's been a year and three days since my last cut) she mumbled something very quickly.
Now, her response is what befuddled me. In her muddled response affirming that yes indeed I should cut my hair, I think she tried slipping something in about being gay. One of those really awkward:
"Yes, the roast is delicious. I'm a lesbian. Can you please pass the gravy?"
"What did you just say?"
"I was asking for the gravy."
Granted it was a phone conversation and didn't occur anything like that (as there was no roast or gravy to speak of; though as I mention it, I am getting hungry) but had that general gist to it. The whole bit happened so quickly I wasn't sure if she actually said she was gay, trying to make a joke about my long and crappy hair, or it was something else all together. I can honestly say I'm not sure. And it really isn't something I can ask her. I mean I can ask her, I just don't know how to tactfully bring it up in conversation, and worse, I wouldn't know what to do if I brought it up and she said she was straight.
Friends have come out of the closet to me before. I know how to be supportive and nonchalant. I write nonchalant because sexuality really has no bearing on how I treat people. I have gay friends, I have straight friends; there are gay people I hate, there are straight people I hate. The reason I like and or hate these people has nothing to do with being gay or straight, but on the person's personality. And this friend who may or not be gay knows that about me. We've been friends for six years now and have shared many of the same friends.
Random aside. As I write this I am completely flipping out. I'm home alone, it's nearing midnight and I heard a huge crash sound coming from the other room. Let me repeat. I am alone and the crash came from the other room. In horror movies this is the point where you yell at the scream, "don't be stupid and check the noise, run away as fast as you can." Well, I got up and checked on the noise, because in real life that's what you do when you live alone - though on the other hand it's probably what you do when you die alone too. The shower broke and fell, crashing onto the tub making the noise. I don't know how, or why, as I never use that shower (I use the one downstairs) or how to fix it. I'm kinda freaked but I'm trying to move on. Though if this winds up being my last post ever, you'll all know it was the monster in the bathtub that did me in.
And if I ask and she says she's straight, what do I say next. It can't be like "oh, are you sure, cause I thought you were." What's the next sentence after she says, "no, I'm not gay"?
If she is gay she needs to deal with it in her own way and I respect that. I will admit that it does saddens me a little, if she is, that she isn't comfortable telling me yet. She's one of my best pals ever, her being gay won't change that. And if she thinks it will, what does that say about how she thinks of me? So I hope she isn't, not because I really care whether she's gay or not, but because I don't like the idea that she isn't comfortable telling me.