Showing posts with label Daily. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daily. Show all posts
Friday, November 15, 2013
Before Sundown
Because I love Stephen Elliot's Daily Rumpus, and since I've been wanting to test out Tiny Letter for the longest time, I'm prepping a personal newsletter of my very own! I have no idea what it'll be, maybe just mass emails posing as individual emails. Or the other way around. Either way, it won't quite be a blog because this blog is now dead -- except for a few entries finishing up the budgeting Ways and Means series. Farewell friends, farewell!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Days Are Gone
Since being back in New York, I've just been trying to catch up to my online life. Mostly that has meant doing emails, slamming together a bajillion fantasy sports blogs, and trying to capture via documentation all the things that happened in September. For most of the month I was in San Francisco and if moblogs are the true measure of exciting things happening, then September was a banner month. I had fifty-five moblogs for the month, a huge number considering that I had just 169 for all of 2012. The last time I had over fifty entries was in June and December...of 2007.
The first thing I dropped into SF for was houseboating year two. It was a slightly different lineup, and this time we invested in both a bigger boat and one with a top deck jacuzzi. I had this whole theory about the inevitable decline each year of group trips, but this one was spectacular. Everything exciting about last year's trip was amplified and being a more experienced crew, we knew how to iron out all the kinks. It felt like two days was actually too short, as another day or two of relaxing would have been nice, but between the jumping, swimming, singing, dancing, flip cupping, and having funning, there was just no time.
Sidenote: I was horrific at flip cup -- in contrast to last year -- and I was equally inept at beer pong. It's been awhile since I've been so terrible at something that everyone made fun of me. I mean, I usually try to avoid those situations. The whole point of life is to not do things you'll suck at right? Or was it to not suck in the first place? Anyway, this time out even my buddy, a sweet sweet someone who won't be named, turned on me and berated me for my inadequacies. That's okay though, I understood. In the heat of competition, it's sink or swim and I definitely sunk (the whole team). Why was I so bad? I have no idea. But if there's a year three of houseboat, I'm coming for redemption. While there were many highlights of the trip, one of mine was everyone getting invested into doing the cup song thing from Pitch Perfect. I don't care if it's overdone, my greatest dream was to have it happen. And it did.
You know you wish you were there to learn it too.
Every weekend in SF was jam packed with stuff. In-between it was major laundry and recovery days. George had cleared out all the stuff in the front alcove where her desk usually sits. She announced that she wanted me to have all my stuff in there and that I should drag the tatami mat into the room to sleep. I refused, because it was too far from the action and not in front of the TV. I took to calling the room "the doghouse" and used it as a staging and storage area, but didn't cave in to her demands to be relegated to the time out room.
Also the first day I was back in SF, coming off the high of a beautiful warm weekend on a lake, I was all like, "I'm ready to move back!" A few hours later, stuck on the wrong bus down to the Mission, all the things I detested about San Francisco came rolling back. Of course, that was before AMR lent me his spare bike. Riding around New York all summer had been super fun but now it was an essential part of my transportation. Without a bike to zip me from George's to AMR's, I would not have survived.
For our birthdays, George had the brilliant idea to gather everyone up for a ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and we did exactly that. We got our little crew together, waited out the delay of me popping a tire not two minutes into our journey, and then had a perfect ride down to Sausalito for brunch. Actually, come to think of it, the only other time I did that ride was right around our thirtieth birthday, five years ago. I was once again in SF piggybacking off of George's birthday plans and for some reason we had rented bikes and done the exact same SF to Sausalito route. This time around, everyone had their own bikes and AMR, Victor, and DLMOU did the trip in fixies. From what I understand, that's an impressive feat. Click here for their recent joyride video. The West Coast riders club is getting big. (JMZ is already threatening to defect if I don't step up my game.) I even took a bike on the BART, and rode from Oakland to Berkeley with the quickness. Although my friend
To live in San Francisco would require like every mode of transportation possible. Walk, bus, bike, drive, board. The costs must be enormous. Also we/they started playing basketball in the Mission on Tuesday nights. There's a beautiful near empty court right on Valencia and it's lighted with glass backboards. I only got to stick around for two sessions but so far the enthusiasm has kept up and if it keeps going, it's my number one reason for re-visiting. I don't recall there being a time when we had enough people wanting to play sports altogether in SF. Next, next, I got next!
On weekend three, we drove forty minutes south to an YMCA campsite for our friend's wedding. I knew Camp We+Do was going to be incredible because Stef is just the type of person who would know exactly how to make a camp wedding be perfect. Back at Michigan, Stef was literally the coolest person on campus and it was intimidating just to talk to her. I remember when she left a super nice message on my web page's guest book back in the day -- yes, web page -- and it was like "Stef knows who I am!" Fast forward many years and I was gearing up to attend her wedding.
The whole thing was inevitably amazing. Each detail was perfect and when the saxophonist burst out of the tree stump squawking out Estelle's "American Boy," that was the capper. Best wedding ever status. I mean, the ceremony itself was already reaching Hall of Fame levels because two guitars strummed a few chords and then Stef's family started off singing "Edelweiss" as the whole crowd joined in right when Stef and Mike walked in. All of this happened under a canopy of lovely trees. I haven't been touched watching two people get married in awhile, but this one almost made me shed a tear. For some reason, half of our friends sitting next to us had no idea what was going on. "Why does everyone know the words to this song?! I'm so confused." A group viewing of The Sound of Music was clearly in order.
Also, shout out to the debut of AMR's handmade boomcases. We had them on the houseboat but at camp they were even more of a hit. Speakers in a vintage suitcase? I've never felt cooler holding luggage. Speaking of music, the second night of the wedding, we danced from like nine in the evening until three in the morning. No stops, barely any bathroom or cigarette breaks. The music was that good, and the freestyle saxophone guy was killing it. Stef and Mike found him playing during Pride and hired him for the wedding. It was an incredible touch. The whole atmosphere of that night was magical.
Having already hit up a summer camp earlier this year, I think it should be an annual must do event. Since there's no cell phone reception and no schedule, camp is just a glorious time to be free and to have fun. I highly recommend summer camp for all of life's ailments, especially if you're planning a wedding.
Last thing. During afternoon activities announcements, my friend said that they were looking to organize a Dirty Dancing flash mob. Needless to say, I could not have been more excited. Re-enacting Dirty Dancing at summer camp! That's the dream! Under the guise of a yoga class, a dedicated group of us got together and practiced an impromptu routine set to "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." It came off perfectly, complete with some leaping (off tables) and twirling. Ultimately I declined to actually perform because it was only the girls doing it, but I recorded some footage and boy did I make sure I knew the moves. My only regret is that JonG was laid low by allergies, otherwise he would have replicated the Patrick Swayze moves. I mean, during practice he got up off the bench and showed us the proper steps ("No no, that's wrong, it's this move...") and literally every girl swooned. Dirty Dancing man, whew.
Videos:
My original flight out had me leaving a few days before Jasmine's thirtieth birthday. Influenced by George's poor decision making, it was clearly the wrong move. George had told me that I should just leave SF after the wedding but it didn't take long for me to realize that it was just an attempt for her to rid herself of me. Jasmine's birthday weekend was going to include too many festivities to miss out on so I just bought another ticket back to New York while ditching my original non-refundable one.
Fantastic decision obviously, as it's not every day you get to attend a birthday roast and toast. It takes balls to put yourself in front of people and have them say mean (but hopefully nice) things to your face. Like one of the video roasts declared, "Cuz Jasmine has the biggest *bleep*!" Haha, the best.
There was more of course. Old friends, new friends, camp friends, lots of naps, movie nights, Hello Kitty karaoke, birthday dinners cooked by top chefs, a lot of stuff. Fifty-five entries worth.
The first thing I dropped into SF for was houseboating year two. It was a slightly different lineup, and this time we invested in both a bigger boat and one with a top deck jacuzzi. I had this whole theory about the inevitable decline each year of group trips, but this one was spectacular. Everything exciting about last year's trip was amplified and being a more experienced crew, we knew how to iron out all the kinks. It felt like two days was actually too short, as another day or two of relaxing would have been nice, but between the jumping, swimming, singing, dancing, flip cupping, and having funning, there was just no time.
Sidenote: I was horrific at flip cup -- in contrast to last year -- and I was equally inept at beer pong. It's been awhile since I've been so terrible at something that everyone made fun of me. I mean, I usually try to avoid those situations. The whole point of life is to not do things you'll suck at right? Or was it to not suck in the first place? Anyway, this time out even my buddy, a sweet sweet someone who won't be named, turned on me and berated me for my inadequacies. That's okay though, I understood. In the heat of competition, it's sink or swim and I definitely sunk (the whole team). Why was I so bad? I have no idea. But if there's a year three of houseboat, I'm coming for redemption. While there were many highlights of the trip, one of mine was everyone getting invested into doing the cup song thing from Pitch Perfect. I don't care if it's overdone, my greatest dream was to have it happen. And it did.
You know you wish you were there to learn it too.
Every weekend in SF was jam packed with stuff. In-between it was major laundry and recovery days. George had cleared out all the stuff in the front alcove where her desk usually sits. She announced that she wanted me to have all my stuff in there and that I should drag the tatami mat into the room to sleep. I refused, because it was too far from the action and not in front of the TV. I took to calling the room "the doghouse" and used it as a staging and storage area, but didn't cave in to her demands to be relegated to the time out room.
Also the first day I was back in SF, coming off the high of a beautiful warm weekend on a lake, I was all like, "I'm ready to move back!" A few hours later, stuck on the wrong bus down to the Mission, all the things I detested about San Francisco came rolling back. Of course, that was before AMR lent me his spare bike. Riding around New York all summer had been super fun but now it was an essential part of my transportation. Without a bike to zip me from George's to AMR's, I would not have survived.
To live in San Francisco would require like every mode of transportation possible. Walk, bus, bike, drive, board. The costs must be enormous. Also we/they started playing basketball in the Mission on Tuesday nights. There's a beautiful near empty court right on Valencia and it's lighted with glass backboards. I only got to stick around for two sessions but so far the enthusiasm has kept up and if it keeps going, it's my number one reason for re-visiting. I don't recall there being a time when we had enough people wanting to play sports altogether in SF. Next, next, I got next!
On weekend three, we drove forty minutes south to an YMCA campsite for our friend's wedding. I knew Camp We+Do was going to be incredible because Stef is just the type of person who would know exactly how to make a camp wedding be perfect. Back at Michigan, Stef was literally the coolest person on campus and it was intimidating just to talk to her. I remember when she left a super nice message on my web page's guest book back in the day -- yes, web page -- and it was like "Stef knows who I am!" Fast forward many years and I was gearing up to attend her wedding.
The whole thing was inevitably amazing. Each detail was perfect and when the saxophonist burst out of the tree stump squawking out Estelle's "American Boy," that was the capper. Best wedding ever status. I mean, the ceremony itself was already reaching Hall of Fame levels because two guitars strummed a few chords and then Stef's family started off singing "Edelweiss" as the whole crowd joined in right when Stef and Mike walked in. All of this happened under a canopy of lovely trees. I haven't been touched watching two people get married in awhile, but this one almost made me shed a tear. For some reason, half of our friends sitting next to us had no idea what was going on. "Why does everyone know the words to this song?! I'm so confused." A group viewing of The Sound of Music was clearly in order.Also, shout out to the debut of AMR's handmade boomcases. We had them on the houseboat but at camp they were even more of a hit. Speakers in a vintage suitcase? I've never felt cooler holding luggage. Speaking of music, the second night of the wedding, we danced from like nine in the evening until three in the morning. No stops, barely any bathroom or cigarette breaks. The music was that good, and the freestyle saxophone guy was killing it. Stef and Mike found him playing during Pride and hired him for the wedding. It was an incredible touch. The whole atmosphere of that night was magical.
Having already hit up a summer camp earlier this year, I think it should be an annual must do event. Since there's no cell phone reception and no schedule, camp is just a glorious time to be free and to have fun. I highly recommend summer camp for all of life's ailments, especially if you're planning a wedding.
Last thing. During afternoon activities announcements, my friend said that they were looking to organize a Dirty Dancing flash mob. Needless to say, I could not have been more excited. Re-enacting Dirty Dancing at summer camp! That's the dream! Under the guise of a yoga class, a dedicated group of us got together and practiced an impromptu routine set to "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." It came off perfectly, complete with some leaping (off tables) and twirling. Ultimately I declined to actually perform because it was only the girls doing it, but I recorded some footage and boy did I make sure I knew the moves. My only regret is that JonG was laid low by allergies, otherwise he would have replicated the Patrick Swayze moves. I mean, during practice he got up off the bench and showed us the proper steps ("No no, that's wrong, it's this move...") and literally every girl swooned. Dirty Dancing man, whew.
Videos:
- Houseboat: Cup Song | Heads Up | Dancing (via George)
- Birthday Ride
- Camp We+Do | Dirty Dancing
- Mission Basketball
My original flight out had me leaving a few days before Jasmine's thirtieth birthday. Influenced by George's poor decision making, it was clearly the wrong move. George had told me that I should just leave SF after the wedding but it didn't take long for me to realize that it was just an attempt for her to rid herself of me. Jasmine's birthday weekend was going to include too many festivities to miss out on so I just bought another ticket back to New York while ditching my original non-refundable one.
Fantastic decision obviously, as it's not every day you get to attend a birthday roast and toast. It takes balls to put yourself in front of people and have them say mean (but hopefully nice) things to your face. Like one of the video roasts declared, "Cuz Jasmine has the biggest *bleep*!" Haha, the best.
There was more of course. Old friends, new friends, camp friends, lots of naps, movie nights, Hello Kitty karaoke, birthday dinners cooked by top chefs, a lot of stuff. Fifty-five entries worth.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Quiet Storm
During the Fugees surprise reunion on Chappelle's Block Party, people in the crowd ask Lauryn where she's been. "You say where I been?" And she points to her kid hanging out in the background. Unfortunately where I been is nowhere near as exciting. No children lurking around here! I mean, I hope there aren't any… I had a few friends ask me if I was okay because my blog was so dead. It took a N'Sync reunion to blog on my normal public one, and this past July budget blog was sitting in my draft folder for weeks. Basically I've been busy doing something but I'm not even entirely sure what.
There was a concert on a yacht, a Broadway show with Nathan Lane, the usual smattering of seeing people here and there, a really fun 90s Pop Singalong party. I dunno what else actually. I've been hitting up a few more book events because of friends' readings and releases, but not anything too heavy. I'm in the middle of like five books I can't seem to get to halfway through on any of them. Not on account of goodness, they are all good, but I just don't sit down and read I guess. One of them is due this week for book club. Even though I'm not that far into it, Americanah is already good bordering on super excellent, I can tell. It's by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who did the "The danger of a single story" TED talk that got around. That, along with the previously posted about Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. has reignited my fire for fine reading.
I will conquer some books soon, or pass out trying.
New York summer has slipped away from me. All the late nights, the wandering around, the things that I come to New York for, all of that hasn't really happened. And now I'm headed to San Francisco for three weeks, and when I return it'll be fall. Part of the problem is this weather. I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually miss the heat. Nights have been almost chilly, like seventies, and the thickness of summer is gone. Come back humid weather, come back so I can complain about you again.
Yesterday night I biked from Midtown all the way to my apartment in Fort Greene. It's the longest ride I've taken, maybe five or six miles in total. I felt like it was my last chance to catch any summer before it passed away. I rode down late, music blasting, even though I didn't have my newly acquired helmet on. (I mistakenly bought a woman's helmet, but it's so pretty that I'm keeping it even if it sits weird on my head.) It only took me two and a half songs to get across the bridge, but it was enough for me to say goodbye and to come to terms with the fact that summer is over.
Sorry, I totally let you down.
A few weeks ago JMZ took me across the Manhattan Bridge for the first time, on the way to ramen. It was pretty awesome, if initially a bit tiring. JMZ rode his skateboard and was somehow twice as fast as me. He's ahead of me carving up the street on his mini-board as I hustle to catch up. At times, JMZ would hang onto the back of my seat, sitting sidecar -- apparently this is called "skitching" and it's what real skaters do. One passerby yelled out "cute" as he shot by us on the bridge. He may have meant it mockingly but whatevers, it was damn cute. Everyone should skitch with one other.
Also, skate video four. As you can see, I'm not getting any better, I just want to buy more skateboards.
The ramen place we ended up was Bassanova. It's pretty new and it's from Keizo Shimamoto. If you are a ramen person, his Go Ramen blog is probably familiar to you. A couple of years ago, Keizo quit his job, moved to Japan, and became a ramen chef. And now he's got a place in Chinatown, right on Mott Street. The prices rival Ippudo's but I have to say that his Thai green curry ramen is pretty freaking delicious. And different. Watch his short documentary Ramen Dreams if you wanna see someone doing it, living out their dream.
What it must feel like to have your passion, and just get to it. I've been thinking about that. If you just had to pick one thing to do, with no excuses, what would it be and why aren't you doing it? Or not even one thing, but putting 125% into anything. I'm also reading through a camp acquaintance's book, Do Cool Sh*t, and it's inspiring to see how much one person can do. Well, deflating, but ultimately inspiring. In the book she says to surround yourself with the right people. So I've been thinking about that. Surround myself with the right people to achieve what I want. Who are these people? Is it you, me, them, us?
There was a concert on a yacht, a Broadway show with Nathan Lane, the usual smattering of seeing people here and there, a really fun 90s Pop Singalong party. I dunno what else actually. I've been hitting up a few more book events because of friends' readings and releases, but not anything too heavy. I'm in the middle of like five books I can't seem to get to halfway through on any of them. Not on account of goodness, they are all good, but I just don't sit down and read I guess. One of them is due this week for book club. Even though I'm not that far into it, Americanah is already good bordering on super excellent, I can tell. It's by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who did the "The danger of a single story" TED talk that got around. That, along with the previously posted about Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. has reignited my fire for fine reading.
I will conquer some books soon, or pass out trying.
New York summer has slipped away from me. All the late nights, the wandering around, the things that I come to New York for, all of that hasn't really happened. And now I'm headed to San Francisco for three weeks, and when I return it'll be fall. Part of the problem is this weather. I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually miss the heat. Nights have been almost chilly, like seventies, and the thickness of summer is gone. Come back humid weather, come back so I can complain about you again.
Yesterday night I biked from Midtown all the way to my apartment in Fort Greene. It's the longest ride I've taken, maybe five or six miles in total. I felt like it was my last chance to catch any summer before it passed away. I rode down late, music blasting, even though I didn't have my newly acquired helmet on. (I mistakenly bought a woman's helmet, but it's so pretty that I'm keeping it even if it sits weird on my head.) It only took me two and a half songs to get across the bridge, but it was enough for me to say goodbye and to come to terms with the fact that summer is over.
Sorry, I totally let you down.
A few weeks ago JMZ took me across the Manhattan Bridge for the first time, on the way to ramen. It was pretty awesome, if initially a bit tiring. JMZ rode his skateboard and was somehow twice as fast as me. He's ahead of me carving up the street on his mini-board as I hustle to catch up. At times, JMZ would hang onto the back of my seat, sitting sidecar -- apparently this is called "skitching" and it's what real skaters do. One passerby yelled out "cute" as he shot by us on the bridge. He may have meant it mockingly but whatevers, it was damn cute. Everyone should skitch with one other.
Also, skate video four. As you can see, I'm not getting any better, I just want to buy more skateboards.
The ramen place we ended up was Bassanova. It's pretty new and it's from Keizo Shimamoto. If you are a ramen person, his Go Ramen blog is probably familiar to you. A couple of years ago, Keizo quit his job, moved to Japan, and became a ramen chef. And now he's got a place in Chinatown, right on Mott Street. The prices rival Ippudo's but I have to say that his Thai green curry ramen is pretty freaking delicious. And different. Watch his short documentary Ramen Dreams if you wanna see someone doing it, living out their dream.
What it must feel like to have your passion, and just get to it. I've been thinking about that. If you just had to pick one thing to do, with no excuses, what would it be and why aren't you doing it? Or not even one thing, but putting 125% into anything. I'm also reading through a camp acquaintance's book, Do Cool Sh*t, and it's inspiring to see how much one person can do. Well, deflating, but ultimately inspiring. In the book she says to surround yourself with the right people. So I've been thinking about that. Surround myself with the right people to achieve what I want. Who are these people? Is it you, me, them, us?
We watched Drinking Buddies the other night. It's got Jake Johnson from The New Girl and Olivia Wilde, and Anna Kendrick. It's from Joe Swanberg, who did all the mumblecore stuff like Quiet City, Nights and Weekends, Hannah Takes the Stairs. Some real gems right? Drinking Buddies was like accessible mumblecore, with more plot and shine than stuff Swanberg has done before. I loved it, absolutely.
The loose idea of Drinking Buddies is that it's about exploring the line between friendship and romance. Johnson has a girlfriend, Wilde has a boyfriend, but the relationship depicted is between them. They are friends, maybe more than friends, maybe not really, they are mostly platonic but also not just. Whatevers, it's grey area. It's worth a watch, even just for the discussions it might bring up. I mean, unless you're in a relationship, in which case this could be alarm bells.
Bill Simmons wonders on his podcast, with pop culture genius / intellectual douchebag Chuck Klosterman, if this is the Singles or Reality Bites for the current generation. (The Gaga Generation? Miley? Ha, just kidding. What is the right reference here?) I'd say not quite but maybe. I'll have to give it a re-watch. Also, if Ben Stiller successfully pulls off bringing Reality Bites back as a television show, as rumored, I'll have to hate him even more than I do now. Of course I'll hate watch Lelaina and Troy, but I won't like it. Not one bit.
- The B.S. Report: Chuck Klosterman on Miley Cyrus, Breaking Bad, and Drinking Buddies
- NYT Review: When It's All About the Timing | New Yorker review
- Meet Drinking Buddies Director Joe Swanberg, the Man Behind Your Next Favorite Movie
- Joe Swanberg On Why He Felt a Social Responsibility To Make Drinking Buddies
- Lessons in Extreme Productivity From the Director of Drinking Buddies
When I get the time in the next week or so, this blog is going down. It's time to go newsletter with Tiny Letter. Jon Wow has outlived its purpose. What purpose you ask? Ha, you're hilarious.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Move Something
A friend got broken up with the other day. The separation of their lives sounds painful. He was supporting her, they shared animals, they shared space, they shared lives since college. Now it's all over and she's unloading pet supplies, clothes, games, just about everything. I don't often get whatever the opposite of schadenfreude is -- sympathy? -- for breakups, but this one seems awful.
One of my summer goals is to get three chapters of this relationship book done. I keep collecting links and articles and fun things to go over when I finally do the proposal. (Note: I have also been talking about doing this book since 2009.) Here's a few recent ones I've been digging through.
First up is this Forty Days of Dating experiment. Two friends decided to date each other for forty days to see what would happen. The project took place in the spring but they are releasing their entries now. It's getting a ton of press and Internet love. Of course I'm jealous, as this is a project I clearly should have. Maybe I'll still do it, but you know, to less acclaim and with less creativity. The whole thing reminds me a bit of Breaking Upwards, the semi-fictional movie about a real life couple breaking up but still trying to live together.
I've also been reading about the term "monogamish." Dan Savage coined it and it's making the rounds once again due to the recent Supreme Court decisions. Here's Slate's Double X ladies talking about it. Ever since being introduced to the concept of open relationships, etc., I've been an advocate. Applying it in real life, that's another story. This may not be news to you, but most people aren't quite up on the idea. Shocking! Social norms aren't changing anytime soon and I haven't met anyone (yet) who's successfully pulled off an open relationship.
At a writing group I went to a few years ago, one of the guys was trying to write a book about polyamory. Half of the session was spent with him answering questions about his lifestyle. You'd think it would be interesting, but it actually got boring pretty fast. Maybe it was the guy though, he was just kind of smug-y. I used to listen to Savage's Lovecast a lot, but not so much now. Maybe it's a thing couples should do together.
With his exit, half my social life is gone. I mean, I mostly associate summers with hanging out and drinking wine at Veloce, singing karaoke every other night, and running around to wherever Amit is. He was always up to something, always with the cool people, and could be always be counted on to spice up my nights in the city.
Last week, we also had one last karaoke session, and we added another Lion King song to our repertoire. A few months back we discovered that we are awfully good -- and enthusiastic -- about "Circle of Life." Well, we're almost as passionate about "Can You Feel the Love Tonight." Anyway, we did that and now it could be months before I hear him do "Hallelujah" or any of the other songs I've gotten accustomed to hearing Amit sing. I wonder how many other similarly Amit-shaped holes will be felt by his friends. A lot, I'm sure.
Also, as we were moving stuff out of his house, I reminisced a bit about his apartment in Chelsea. He'd been there for seven years and so much has happened there. Oh the memories. That couch, that carpet, the bathroom we would sit around DDTing because everyone else was asleep.
I can't remember the last time anyone had a DDT.
One of my summer goals is to get three chapters of this relationship book done. I keep collecting links and articles and fun things to go over when I finally do the proposal. (Note: I have also been talking about doing this book since 2009.) Here's a few recent ones I've been digging through.
First up is this Forty Days of Dating experiment. Two friends decided to date each other for forty days to see what would happen. The project took place in the spring but they are releasing their entries now. It's getting a ton of press and Internet love. Of course I'm jealous, as this is a project I clearly should have. Maybe I'll still do it, but you know, to less acclaim and with less creativity. The whole thing reminds me a bit of Breaking Upwards, the semi-fictional movie about a real life couple breaking up but still trying to live together.
I've also been reading about the term "monogamish." Dan Savage coined it and it's making the rounds once again due to the recent Supreme Court decisions. Here's Slate's Double X ladies talking about it. Ever since being introduced to the concept of open relationships, etc., I've been an advocate. Applying it in real life, that's another story. This may not be news to you, but most people aren't quite up on the idea. Shocking! Social norms aren't changing anytime soon and I haven't met anyone (yet) who's successfully pulled off an open relationship.
At a writing group I went to a few years ago, one of the guys was trying to write a book about polyamory. Half of the session was spent with him answering questions about his lifestyle. You'd think it would be interesting, but it actually got boring pretty fast. Maybe it was the guy though, he was just kind of smug-y. I used to listen to Savage's Lovecast a lot, but not so much now. Maybe it's a thing couples should do together.
- What You Should Know About Monogamish Relationships
- All My Exes Live in Texts: Why the Social Media Generation Never Really Breaks Up
- I Think I Am In Friend-Love With You (2012)
- Modern Love: Uh, Honey, That’s Not Your Line
"Normal frictions that arise in any relationship -- sour mood spoiling a dinner, tension around whose apartment to sleep at -- start coarsening their time together. The fade-out is slow and hazy -- it's a devastating portrayal of the subtle shifts in power that can ruin the blossoming of real love and sympathy between two people."We helped move Amit out of New York the other day. It was just two years ago we were celebrating his ten years in NYC. Out of nearly everyone, he's the one non-native that has stuck around here the longest. Now it's time for a change and he's driving back to Ohio and then on to Los Angeles. Who knows how long he'll be gone?
-Love, Actually: Review of Adelle Waldman's The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P.-
With his exit, half my social life is gone. I mean, I mostly associate summers with hanging out and drinking wine at Veloce, singing karaoke every other night, and running around to wherever Amit is. He was always up to something, always with the cool people, and could be always be counted on to spice up my nights in the city.
Last week, we also had one last karaoke session, and we added another Lion King song to our repertoire. A few months back we discovered that we are awfully good -- and enthusiastic -- about "Circle of Life." Well, we're almost as passionate about "Can You Feel the Love Tonight." Anyway, we did that and now it could be months before I hear him do "Hallelujah" or any of the other songs I've gotten accustomed to hearing Amit sing. I wonder how many other similarly Amit-shaped holes will be felt by his friends. A lot, I'm sure.
Also, as we were moving stuff out of his house, I reminisced a bit about his apartment in Chelsea. He'd been there for seven years and so much has happened there. Oh the memories. That couch, that carpet, the bathroom we would sit around DDTing because everyone else was asleep.
I can't remember the last time anyone had a DDT.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Plunk, plunk
Did some real honest work for the first time in well, forever. Honest work meaning I sat my ass in a chair for more than five hours and mainly did responsible things. JMZ's annual MLB event happened to be in New York this year so I volunteered for some card making duty on Friday. Working these things can be draining, especially when you're faced with the prospect of four or five days of people pushing through. I can see why JMZ does fewer events now. I'd want to burn the whole place down after seventy two hours.The last time I joined JMZ on the assembly line was at the 2008 Super Bowl in Arizona. Back then I was just his assistant, sitting to his left and rolling/cutting the cards out. This time I was able to actually man a Photoshop station and given the responsibility of snapping the photo, using some keyboard shortcuts to shift things around, and then get the proper spelling of the fan's name. Moving on up in the world! Here's a sample card, and here's JMZ sitting next to Tony the Tiger.
I was only at the Javits Centre from about ten to seven, and because it was more for fun than anything, it was very enjoyable. But it gave me flashbacks of doing jobs where you just hate being there day after day. Like "More of this, tomorrow? Wah wah." Whenever my good fortune runs out and I can't just glide along doing nothing, it's going to be a tough tumble back to regular life.
The difference in our volunteer help was stark. One of my guys was entirely useless. He didn't position the people well, he didn't tell them what to do, he was basically just standing next to the rack of jerseys being invisible. The lady that replaced him was, in contrast, spectacular. She anticipated my needs before I even voiced them -- adjusting people's stances, making small talk, suggesting fun ideas, tipping hats up when people's eyes were covered -- and I wanted to ask what she did in her real life, just so I could go work with her. I guess my point is that you can generally tell if someone is capable at something within about half an hour. This is how the hiring process should be for most things. "Show me what you can do, I'll just watch for a bit."
During high school, we did a ton of volunteer stuff and we had little summer gigs where we'd stand around trying to be useful or something. The most fun one I can remember is when A Bug's Life was coming through the local mall and we were hired to stand around next to the roped off statues and make sure nobody touched them. Basically we did nothing, but it sure felt important.
During high school, we did a ton of volunteer stuff and we had little summer gigs where we'd stand around trying to be useful or something. The most fun one I can remember is when A Bug's Life was coming through the local mall and we were hired to stand around next to the roped off statues and make sure nobody touched them. Basically we did nothing, but it sure felt important.
Basically R&B is the thing to mix into everything right now. Lately I can't get enough of Quadron, which is Danish R&B/Soul, and AMR has been hammering me with (horrible) R&B tracks being sampled and remixed into house stuff. He explains in this T.E.S.T. post. It's hard to complain though, as Discovery and Purity Ring has brought me much joy. And of course Weeknd and Frank Ocean. Now I'm getting into Haim, a band from L.A. that brings together folk and R&B. There is absolutely no end in sight here.
"It isn't surprising that indie and indie-sounding R&B became cool again this year. With its emphasis on melancholic confessionalism and interior concerns, so-called 'progressive' R&B (far more so than most mainstream club-oriented R&B) delivered authentic blues feeling to a post-affluent culture suffering from collective disillusionment."It was a weekend of iPhone disasters. I took Mae riding down West Side Highway on a Citibike and it was all glorious until we noticed that her purse was gone -- fallen out of the front non-basket thingy. We traced our route a few times but it was not to be found. After contacting AMR to see if he could use Find My Phone on it, a few hours later he texted that George too had lost her phone. Stolen right out of her bag! Luckily, from the messages and photos I received throughout the night, it seemed like she was too busy twerking and drinking to get too down. Anyway, this is a public service announcement to get the protection plan for your iPhone. I used to not ever do it, but the list of people who haven't ever lost their expensive phone is dwindling.
-Should we be suspicious of hipsters' newfound love of R&B? (2012)-
Also: "My sister twerks?!" If you haven't fainted, and you need to do a little twerking tutorial yourself, may I recommend this Youtube Howcast. Activate those hips and push your ass out...
Last thing. Like my basically best friend got surprise/shock engaged last week. And I found out via Facebook. Et tu, Brute? Actually I'm semi-okay with it because I didn't tell her I had a girlfriend for months. Whoops.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Always Ballad
Okay, so Rosemary's Baby was not scary, not like The Exorcist, which is what I was expecting. It's one of those films that's constantly referenced in pop culture -- and a few times this past season on Mad Men -- so I thought it was about time to watch it. Over two hours later, my verdict is: meh. I'm sure it's a super classic and there's a lot to admire about it, but rewatching certain old movies is almost a chore. The archival stale wheat germ before you can move onto sugary summer fare like Despicable Me 2. Now that's a movie! I don't care if I'm trying not to overhype stuff, go see it. That and Sarah Polley's brilliant Stories We Tell were recent things that I'd highly recommend. Plus 20 Feet From Stardom if you're into that type of thing. Heck, here's my last three months of movie watching, in too many words.
Roman Polanski is a child sexual abuser, Orson Scott Card opposes same sex marriage, and George R.R. Martin probably has a few skeletons in his closet too. I was thinking today about the idea of boycotting art because of the creator. That would eliminate a wide swatch of consumables. A lot of great stuff comes from super fucked up people. I mean, I can't say I love David Choe's stuff always, but I do love following him, even if his interests and expressions are way off from my morals. Then again, what morals right? Excited to see Ender's Game!
But seriously, where do you draw the line?
I do this thing, where I'm always checking in on an old blog, Hipstomp, on the month that I'm currently at, weighed against his archives. It's one of my absolute all time top five blogs and I've probably re-read the whole thing like ten times over. Being in New York lends even more interestingness to Rain's posts. He blogs like I want to blog. I emailed him once, a few years ago, to see if he had an agent for his work in progress. I guess that project never got finished. Now he writes for a design magazine or something. I should try to see who we might know in common, so I can go gush/grovel at his feet.
Lately I've been trying to figure out a topic for a newsletter I can start. I saw a friend on Facebook follow The Skimm and hopped on a few months ago. Now I see articles about it everywhere and there's a weird uptick in newsletters. I'd been hoping to start a friend circle gossip one using Tiny Letter, but that idea requires people to tell me secrets they either a) don't have or b) won't divulge. So that project is out.
But I'm mulling over the idea of doing a Skimm-esque newsletter, perhaps for pop culture. It would take an intense amount of energy but I'm basically doing it already on some level. I just need to find some fellow heavy consumers and get on the ball. I think the key behind the newsletter resurgence is that you have a very tightly focused demographic to advertise to. Because that's where the money is right? Telling people what to buy. But under the cover of something else.
And on Saturday afternoon we rode bikes from JMZ's apartment in Bed-Stuy to Williamsburg. It was a short three mile ride and we arrived soon after Jenn and her friend, who drove. What I have noticed tooling around on a bike are the varying quality of the streets. I'm scanning everywhere for potholes, bumps, potential danger spots. All while trying to look around for traffic too. It's incredible how alert you have to be to survive, and I'm pretty sure I'm not even that good at being alert. I made a vow to myself to not ride a bike when tired or post-drinking. At least until I get on that helmet stuff. Then I'll drink, ride, and listen to Tupac on full blast. "Picture me rolling..." I'm going through a Tupac phase for some reason right now. I hope it ends soon so I can return to regularly scheduled programming.
Also this past weekend, we went out dancing two nights in a row, both until super late. The line for Le Poisson Rouge was down the block and they weren't letting guys in shorts in so I chose to scoot home, change, and then get back out. It's possible to do this because things don't close in New York, I love it. So back on the scene at twelve thirty and then dancing till four. It was an absolute hot box, like everyone was just drenched through.
But that heat was nothing compared to our sauna the next night, at a place called Tender Trap. We didn't get there until two thirty but it was still packed, smelled like what you'd expect it to smell like, and sweat was literally dripping off my elbow at certain points. The music was all booty rap with overtures of late Nineties jams, and if it wasn't so late we probably would have looked for other options. I loved it ten minutes in though, as it was grimy but super fun.
The summer is for dancing, it's true.
Roman Polanski is a child sexual abuser, Orson Scott Card opposes same sex marriage, and George R.R. Martin probably has a few skeletons in his closet too. I was thinking today about the idea of boycotting art because of the creator. That would eliminate a wide swatch of consumables. A lot of great stuff comes from super fucked up people. I mean, I can't say I love David Choe's stuff always, but I do love following him, even if his interests and expressions are way off from my morals. Then again, what morals right? Excited to see Ender's Game!
But seriously, where do you draw the line?
I do this thing, where I'm always checking in on an old blog, Hipstomp, on the month that I'm currently at, weighed against his archives. It's one of my absolute all time top five blogs and I've probably re-read the whole thing like ten times over. Being in New York lends even more interestingness to Rain's posts. He blogs like I want to blog. I emailed him once, a few years ago, to see if he had an agent for his work in progress. I guess that project never got finished. Now he writes for a design magazine or something. I should try to see who we might know in common, so I can go gush/grovel at his feet.
Lately I've been trying to figure out a topic for a newsletter I can start. I saw a friend on Facebook follow The Skimm and hopped on a few months ago. Now I see articles about it everywhere and there's a weird uptick in newsletters. I'd been hoping to start a friend circle gossip one using Tiny Letter, but that idea requires people to tell me secrets they either a) don't have or b) won't divulge. So that project is out.
But I'm mulling over the idea of doing a Skimm-esque newsletter, perhaps for pop culture. It would take an intense amount of energy but I'm basically doing it already on some level. I just need to find some fellow heavy consumers and get on the ball. I think the key behind the newsletter resurgence is that you have a very tightly focused demographic to advertise to. Because that's where the money is right? Telling people what to buy. But under the cover of something else.
- A Daily Newsletter You'll Want To Actually Open (2012)
- Meet The Women Behind The Skimm, Your New Secret Weapon
- You Need To Know About: The Skimm
- Tour The West Village With The Skimm's Gorgeous Founders
- Roommates Quit Jobs At NBC To Help You Skim News Every Morning (2012)
And on Saturday afternoon we rode bikes from JMZ's apartment in Bed-Stuy to Williamsburg. It was a short three mile ride and we arrived soon after Jenn and her friend, who drove. What I have noticed tooling around on a bike are the varying quality of the streets. I'm scanning everywhere for potholes, bumps, potential danger spots. All while trying to look around for traffic too. It's incredible how alert you have to be to survive, and I'm pretty sure I'm not even that good at being alert. I made a vow to myself to not ride a bike when tired or post-drinking. At least until I get on that helmet stuff. Then I'll drink, ride, and listen to Tupac on full blast. "Picture me rolling..." I'm going through a Tupac phase for some reason right now. I hope it ends soon so I can return to regularly scheduled programming.
Also this past weekend, we went out dancing two nights in a row, both until super late. The line for Le Poisson Rouge was down the block and they weren't letting guys in shorts in so I chose to scoot home, change, and then get back out. It's possible to do this because things don't close in New York, I love it. So back on the scene at twelve thirty and then dancing till four. It was an absolute hot box, like everyone was just drenched through.
But that heat was nothing compared to our sauna the next night, at a place called Tender Trap. We didn't get there until two thirty but it was still packed, smelled like what you'd expect it to smell like, and sweat was literally dripping off my elbow at certain points. The music was all booty rap with overtures of late Nineties jams, and if it wasn't so late we probably would have looked for other options. I loved it ten minutes in though, as it was grimy but super fun.
The summer is for dancing, it's true.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Man on the Run
Back from camp! Over at this post I more or less detailed what we did while we were away, device-less for a weekend. But some of the other stuff that I didn't get to talk about was what it felt like to be there. When I returned, I told George that it was "magical," and it was. The purported goal of the camp was to feel like a kid again, and while that was accomplished from an events level, I think it was also supposed to reflect on how we interacted with people.
By not talking about work, or revealing our real names, and generally just blocking away the outside world, it felt like we were in a dream time experience. There were moments when I was walking around in the woods, with my lone flashlight guiding the way, when I thought "Man, this is fantastic, this is what I want every day to be like!" For me, adult camp was less of a getaway, as my general day to day is pretty structure-less.
While I'm generally not a rah rah spirit type of person, I made myself do it during most of camp. I decided that I had to buy in when I could, and even though there were group events when I felt myself recoiling from the group, I tried to push myself into the fray and cheer and stuff. Very unlike me. From my talks with other fellow campers, this was a challenge for a lot of other people too. To suddenly have their introvert or insecurities ("Do they like me?") challenged and brought to the forefront.
While many people at camp took the opportunity to have meaningful conversations -- which was encouraged due to the ethos and circumstances -- I found myself going the other way, just shallow. In real life I want to get to know people but at camp I found myself mainly interested in light conversations that didn't consist of more than a few generalities. I figured I wouldn't see most of these people again, and that felt freeing.
There was a silent dinner, during which you didn't say anything, or even look at the people around you. It was an experience. It's eerie to have a few hundred people seated and eating, without any sounds save chewing and clickety clacking of silverware -- plus a violin in the background. One thing the counselors said was that was as soon as you make eye contact with someone, you are already formulating what to say or how to react.
Disconnect to reconnect, that was kind of the theme of the camp. I'm not sure if I felt reconnected afterwards, but reflecting upon the experience after a week has made me feel like summer camp will be a definite highlight of the year.
"You just had to be there." I guess.
Also, finding out fellow camper's real names and occupations afterwards has been interesting. Aside from the sheer parlour game aspect of it, some of the people seemed downright amazing. Artists, writers, tech people, entrepreneurs. A few of the people I briefly exchanged work info with totally undersold what they do. After a few Google searches, I was just cowed and inspired. People doing cool shit, everywhere!
By not talking about work, or revealing our real names, and generally just blocking away the outside world, it felt like we were in a dream time experience. There were moments when I was walking around in the woods, with my lone flashlight guiding the way, when I thought "Man, this is fantastic, this is what I want every day to be like!" For me, adult camp was less of a getaway, as my general day to day is pretty structure-less.
While I'm generally not a rah rah spirit type of person, I made myself do it during most of camp. I decided that I had to buy in when I could, and even though there were group events when I felt myself recoiling from the group, I tried to push myself into the fray and cheer and stuff. Very unlike me. From my talks with other fellow campers, this was a challenge for a lot of other people too. To suddenly have their introvert or insecurities ("Do they like me?") challenged and brought to the forefront.
While many people at camp took the opportunity to have meaningful conversations -- which was encouraged due to the ethos and circumstances -- I found myself going the other way, just shallow. In real life I want to get to know people but at camp I found myself mainly interested in light conversations that didn't consist of more than a few generalities. I figured I wouldn't see most of these people again, and that felt freeing.
There was a silent dinner, during which you didn't say anything, or even look at the people around you. It was an experience. It's eerie to have a few hundred people seated and eating, without any sounds save chewing and clickety clacking of silverware -- plus a violin in the background. One thing the counselors said was that was as soon as you make eye contact with someone, you are already formulating what to say or how to react.
Disconnect to reconnect, that was kind of the theme of the camp. I'm not sure if I felt reconnected afterwards, but reflecting upon the experience after a week has made me feel like summer camp will be a definite highlight of the year.
- Into the Woods and Away from Technology
- How I Survived Without Tech at Digital Detox Camp
- Inward Bound: Summer Camp for Adults (and Joyful Hippies, Curmudgeon-y Tech Addicts and Wonderful Weirdos)
- A Trip to Camp to Break a Tech Addiction
"You just had to be there." I guess.
Also, finding out fellow camper's real names and occupations afterwards has been interesting. Aside from the sheer parlour game aspect of it, some of the people seemed downright amazing. Artists, writers, tech people, entrepreneurs. A few of the people I briefly exchanged work info with totally undersold what they do. After a few Google searches, I was just cowed and inspired. People doing cool shit, everywhere!
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Shadowrun
For a week or so, summer weather hit New York hard. I struggled to find water to jump into, but of course none was had. (Summer goal: Meet someone with a pool!) The humidity was so intense I even resorted to wearing a tank top. I never realized how much cooler one is, since San Diego is rarely that cold, especially up by Del Mar. I found myself just wanting to wear tank tops the rest of the sure to be sweltering summer, with a linen shirt to go over it if I needed to get fancy.
Of course, after a few days of intense heat, the rains came and drowned out all dreams of summer actually being here. When we left New York to head to Vegas -- site of 100+ degree weather -- our plane was delayed an hour and a half due to pounding rain and low visibility. Ridiculous.
In Vegas, Jimmy got married, with a small ceremony that lasted exactly 8:37 minutes, from the moment his wife walked down the aisle to their "You may kiss the bride." We bet on how long the thing would last, and true to Vegas form, it was short short short. Jimmy provided an exciting moment of levity when he butter fingered away his ring, recovering to catch it right before it hit the floor. It made me flashback to our times playing football, when Jimmy would invariably drop every pass I threw to him. Yet when he played for the other team, his huge mitts would Calvin Johnson snatch every pass in his vicinity. I was sure it was personal.
At dinner, we figured out that I'd known Jimmy for almost twenty five years, although we couldn't pin down the exact time we met. We grew up doing endless amounts of sports, video games, RPGs, and all that wonderful stuff. When I was homesick and dying out in barren Michigan, Jimmy was the only person who came out to visit me. A true friend! He also organized George and I's surprise high school graduation party. And I'm sure he's done lots of other nice things, but since we have an antagonistic brotherly relationship, I can only say so many good things.
During a summer trip to Warner Springs, where we had parent-free weekends once we came of age, Jimmy once said that he wished he wouldn't know any of us in ten years. Well, that didn't quite work out did it? Also, during one of our Warnerpalooza trips, we got him some long/short underwear emblazoned with "Powder's Booty" for his birthday. Jimmy was pale as shit all the time, as he worked hard to maitain his FOB-hood. It's still one of my favorite photos.
I'm actually trying to write a book right now, about little Asian gangsters, partially based on Jimmy's experience in high school. I'm naming the lead character after him, and it's hopefully going to be a heist novel, with some of Michael Douglas' The Game thrown in, crossed with a touch of Better Luck Tomorrow. Given the chance, I'm going to dress the character like Jimmy too, in all white vest and pant suit ensembles, sometimes black, with those long bangs that screamed "punk."
As this was the first time Mae was meeting my home friends, I noticed that trying to explain how everyone knew each other, and the complex web of who/when shared history, it's just unwieldy. Will Facebook one day take over this task? Can it do it already? Will social networks get to the point where you can at one glance see how close two people are, or used to be, and provide a semi-personalized timeline of a friendship? That would have some utility right?
Got in a little run today. My friend, whom I talked about a few months back, is still in San Diego, with a fresh haircut, a new car to replace his bike, and an entrepreneur business that he just started. I was happy to hear that he's happy with his new direction. Every Wednesday, he plays ball up at this gym in Carlsbad and I got up there as quick as I could.
I haven't seen much of the Spurs versus Heat Finals, but I've been reading tons of articles online. All season long, Grantland has been pounding in the idea that outside shooting, spacing, and corner threes are of utmost importance for new age offensive juggernauts. Well, playing with these Carlsbad guys, that's all true. Usually, at the level of pickup I play, only one or two players are actual three point threats. At this court, almost everybody can shoot, and most of them from beyond the arc.
The game really does become drive and dish, spot up and chuck. I can't do either of those, of course, but the passing lanes are wide open and it's always much funner to play with people who actually know how to fill space and cut to the basket. They also played with a time clock in case nobody could efficiently score eleven points, and the short ten minute runs made people give max effort the whole time. My team played three games in a row and I was dead tired by the end.
This body isn't built for moving at top speed for more than three minutes at a time. It's not even a decline anymore, it's just gone. Poof.
Of course, after a few days of intense heat, the rains came and drowned out all dreams of summer actually being here. When we left New York to head to Vegas -- site of 100+ degree weather -- our plane was delayed an hour and a half due to pounding rain and low visibility. Ridiculous.
In Vegas, Jimmy got married, with a small ceremony that lasted exactly 8:37 minutes, from the moment his wife walked down the aisle to their "You may kiss the bride." We bet on how long the thing would last, and true to Vegas form, it was short short short. Jimmy provided an exciting moment of levity when he butter fingered away his ring, recovering to catch it right before it hit the floor. It made me flashback to our times playing football, when Jimmy would invariably drop every pass I threw to him. Yet when he played for the other team, his huge mitts would Calvin Johnson snatch every pass in his vicinity. I was sure it was personal.
At dinner, we figured out that I'd known Jimmy for almost twenty five years, although we couldn't pin down the exact time we met. We grew up doing endless amounts of sports, video games, RPGs, and all that wonderful stuff. When I was homesick and dying out in barren Michigan, Jimmy was the only person who came out to visit me. A true friend! He also organized George and I's surprise high school graduation party. And I'm sure he's done lots of other nice things, but since we have an antagonistic brotherly relationship, I can only say so many good things.During a summer trip to Warner Springs, where we had parent-free weekends once we came of age, Jimmy once said that he wished he wouldn't know any of us in ten years. Well, that didn't quite work out did it? Also, during one of our Warnerpalooza trips, we got him some long/short underwear emblazoned with "Powder's Booty" for his birthday. Jimmy was pale as shit all the time, as he worked hard to maitain his FOB-hood. It's still one of my favorite photos.
I'm actually trying to write a book right now, about little Asian gangsters, partially based on Jimmy's experience in high school. I'm naming the lead character after him, and it's hopefully going to be a heist novel, with some of Michael Douglas' The Game thrown in, crossed with a touch of Better Luck Tomorrow. Given the chance, I'm going to dress the character like Jimmy too, in all white vest and pant suit ensembles, sometimes black, with those long bangs that screamed "punk."
As this was the first time Mae was meeting my home friends, I noticed that trying to explain how everyone knew each other, and the complex web of who/when shared history, it's just unwieldy. Will Facebook one day take over this task? Can it do it already? Will social networks get to the point where you can at one glance see how close two people are, or used to be, and provide a semi-personalized timeline of a friendship? That would have some utility right?
Got in a little run today. My friend, whom I talked about a few months back, is still in San Diego, with a fresh haircut, a new car to replace his bike, and an entrepreneur business that he just started. I was happy to hear that he's happy with his new direction. Every Wednesday, he plays ball up at this gym in Carlsbad and I got up there as quick as I could.
I haven't seen much of the Spurs versus Heat Finals, but I've been reading tons of articles online. All season long, Grantland has been pounding in the idea that outside shooting, spacing, and corner threes are of utmost importance for new age offensive juggernauts. Well, playing with these Carlsbad guys, that's all true. Usually, at the level of pickup I play, only one or two players are actual three point threats. At this court, almost everybody can shoot, and most of them from beyond the arc.
The game really does become drive and dish, spot up and chuck. I can't do either of those, of course, but the passing lanes are wide open and it's always much funner to play with people who actually know how to fill space and cut to the basket. They also played with a time clock in case nobody could efficiently score eleven points, and the short ten minute runs made people give max effort the whole time. My team played three games in a row and I was dead tired by the end.
This body isn't built for moving at top speed for more than three minutes at a time. It's not even a decline anymore, it's just gone. Poof.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
We'll Always Have Summer
A few years ago, a friend and I, in an attempt to stay in touch once she moved cross country, kept a photo diary that was just random images from our day. No organization, no commentary, just a quick glimpse. Considering we're both horrible at keeping in touch, this was our shared solution. We did pretty good too, going strong for three months and keeping the site alive for about six. It ended when I moved to New York that winter.
Now along comes Days, a iPhone app for doing exactly what we did: using photos to stay in touch. What's the difference between this and say, Instagram? I think it's more a culture thing. Days prevents you from retouching your photos, it's supposed to simply be a record of events. It's supposed to be ugly (and probably boring) by design. I would have scoffed at such an idea if I didn't have that blogging experience with my friend. I mean, who really needs another photo app to document your life? Between Facebook, Instagram, Path, etc. it's more often you'll see three versions of the same photo. With Twitter for little thoughts and links, you could hypothetically know more about someone just by following all their shit online than actually seeing them.
Which is, in a way, what I expect people to do. I've recently discovered that I'm pretty bad at keeping people in the loop. I dislike catching up, I can't stand recapping stuff, I don't know how to fill friends in. But without those things, you can't really move forward I guess. Generally I just assume that if someone cares, they can check out my blog, my moblog, whatevers. Really, who has time for the minutiae of people's lives? I can barely keep track of what I've done, much less stay up to date on the lives of the people around me.
But that means you're also missing out, I guess. The minutiae is what bonds people, not to mention it often tends to yield the more interesting stuff. Unlike me, my friend has a friendship model where she's in constant contact with her close friends. I'm basically in zero contact with my close friends. I've generally always been that way. My top five friends from college and on, I'd probably see most of them once or twice a year, at most. And speak with them on the phone about as often.
Actually, for most of my twenties, my current roommate was one of those top five people, and now that we're in close proximity, we see each other only in passing. Our first excursion together into the city was two weeks ago. This after living here for six months. And we're both great with that. Different models, different ways of being close. Although it could be argued that not knowing what's going on could be construed as not that close. A debate for another time.
The friend I did the blog with, I haven't even seen since being in New York, despite being separated by a mere five miles or so. Maybe we need to get on Days.
In early April, after our skateboarding session in Central Park, JMZ and I went to pick up Jenn at her work place on the Upper West Side. Hungry for a bite, we parked at a wine bar in Midtown and then proceeded to chat up a wonderful lady who wowed us with her verve for life. She looked forty, was sixty, and did New York like it's supposed to be done. She ran NYC's events marketing, her daughter was just off to college, and her social life never slowed throughout the decades. An inspiration to all.
After about an hour or so, her dinner friend arrived and the five of us had a good time chatting it up while the rain poured outside. We hit it off so well that Rachel invited us to her house for dinner. Apparently Rachel and her husband did a dinner party each month where they invited ten semi-friends or near strangers. It was a thing to meet new people, and to eat good food. That "D.I.N.N.E.R." happened a few weekends ago, as the three of us trekked up to Harlem.
Strangely, despite how often I've hung out with JMZ and Jenn, we've never really done the social thing as a trio before. Mostly I'd say it worked out well, and the dinner was fun and a good experience. Our hosts were tremendous and they showed us their art works and projects. Having a house gathering in New York seems like such a novelty, but perhaps only to my personal sphere. I guess you can't really invite people over for dinner unless you cook…and have the space for it. Rachel's apartment had a big round dinner table that seated everyone, which was impressive by New York standards.
Another night, I was talking to my other friend about how we'd like to switch over some friends. Not friend dump per se, but like a culling. New people, new perspectives, new conversations. I've been feeling this way for awhile, and had been waiting for summer -- when people come out to play -- to implement this. My friend and I compared it to adding a new wardrobe for the season. Out with the old, in with the new. This may seem shallow, but it's really more about shaking things up, or being a bit tired of it all.
In June I'm headed to a wedding in Vegas, followed by a short sprint in San Diego, and a very short jaunt up to San Francisco for Camp Grounded. The latter is a "summer camp for adults." Then it's back to New York to fully enjoy summer. The weather is still not shorts ready yet, but soon it will be.
New York is about to start its bike sharing program and I have visions of myself zipping around as I drink lots of calamansi juice. Calamansi is my new non-alcoholic drink of the summer. I don't know how my Filipinos have failed me, since not one of them have ever told me about calamansi juice. I'm hoping Jamba starts incorporating it into their lineup soon. And courtesy of Amit, my alcoholic drink of the summer is Grey Goose and soda, with a splash of pineapple. It's appropriately called "The Amit."
Oh yeah, I had a book come out last week. I'd nearly forgotten about it. It's ghostwritten so I'll be flogged for publicly revealing the title. The cover is shiny and pretty to touch. Seven years, three books. I'm on a roll. Clearly.
Now along comes Days, a iPhone app for doing exactly what we did: using photos to stay in touch. What's the difference between this and say, Instagram? I think it's more a culture thing. Days prevents you from retouching your photos, it's supposed to simply be a record of events. It's supposed to be ugly (and probably boring) by design. I would have scoffed at such an idea if I didn't have that blogging experience with my friend. I mean, who really needs another photo app to document your life? Between Facebook, Instagram, Path, etc. it's more often you'll see three versions of the same photo. With Twitter for little thoughts and links, you could hypothetically know more about someone just by following all their shit online than actually seeing them.
Which is, in a way, what I expect people to do. I've recently discovered that I'm pretty bad at keeping people in the loop. I dislike catching up, I can't stand recapping stuff, I don't know how to fill friends in. But without those things, you can't really move forward I guess. Generally I just assume that if someone cares, they can check out my blog, my moblog, whatevers. Really, who has time for the minutiae of people's lives? I can barely keep track of what I've done, much less stay up to date on the lives of the people around me.
But that means you're also missing out, I guess. The minutiae is what bonds people, not to mention it often tends to yield the more interesting stuff. Unlike me, my friend has a friendship model where she's in constant contact with her close friends. I'm basically in zero contact with my close friends. I've generally always been that way. My top five friends from college and on, I'd probably see most of them once or twice a year, at most. And speak with them on the phone about as often.
Actually, for most of my twenties, my current roommate was one of those top five people, and now that we're in close proximity, we see each other only in passing. Our first excursion together into the city was two weeks ago. This after living here for six months. And we're both great with that. Different models, different ways of being close. Although it could be argued that not knowing what's going on could be construed as not that close. A debate for another time.
The friend I did the blog with, I haven't even seen since being in New York, despite being separated by a mere five miles or so. Maybe we need to get on Days.
After about an hour or so, her dinner friend arrived and the five of us had a good time chatting it up while the rain poured outside. We hit it off so well that Rachel invited us to her house for dinner. Apparently Rachel and her husband did a dinner party each month where they invited ten semi-friends or near strangers. It was a thing to meet new people, and to eat good food. That "D.I.N.N.E.R." happened a few weekends ago, as the three of us trekked up to Harlem.
Strangely, despite how often I've hung out with JMZ and Jenn, we've never really done the social thing as a trio before. Mostly I'd say it worked out well, and the dinner was fun and a good experience. Our hosts were tremendous and they showed us their art works and projects. Having a house gathering in New York seems like such a novelty, but perhaps only to my personal sphere. I guess you can't really invite people over for dinner unless you cook…and have the space for it. Rachel's apartment had a big round dinner table that seated everyone, which was impressive by New York standards.
Another night, I was talking to my other friend about how we'd like to switch over some friends. Not friend dump per se, but like a culling. New people, new perspectives, new conversations. I've been feeling this way for awhile, and had been waiting for summer -- when people come out to play -- to implement this. My friend and I compared it to adding a new wardrobe for the season. Out with the old, in with the new. This may seem shallow, but it's really more about shaking things up, or being a bit tired of it all.
In June I'm headed to a wedding in Vegas, followed by a short sprint in San Diego, and a very short jaunt up to San Francisco for Camp Grounded. The latter is a "summer camp for adults." Then it's back to New York to fully enjoy summer. The weather is still not shorts ready yet, but soon it will be.
New York is about to start its bike sharing program and I have visions of myself zipping around as I drink lots of calamansi juice. Calamansi is my new non-alcoholic drink of the summer. I don't know how my Filipinos have failed me, since not one of them have ever told me about calamansi juice. I'm hoping Jamba starts incorporating it into their lineup soon. And courtesy of Amit, my alcoholic drink of the summer is Grey Goose and soda, with a splash of pineapple. It's appropriately called "The Amit."
Oh yeah, I had a book come out last week. I'd nearly forgotten about it. It's ghostwritten so I'll be flogged for publicly revealing the title. The cover is shiny and pretty to touch. Seven years, three books. I'm on a roll. Clearly.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Ring the Alarm
The other day, AMR blogged about his first cell phone. I thought I had to do the same, as everyone knows my cell phone is closer to me than most humans are. A mobile phone has been my loyal companion through more than thirteen years of friendships, and contributed mightily to my personhood. In all that time, I've never lost a cell phone, never dropped one in a toilet, and only got one stolen recently. Not bad right?If you've ever seen my phone, it's always kept in immaculate condition, with a case -- sometimes two, the "double bag method" -- to protect it. Call me anal, call me paranoid, I just don't like to risk my phone's well being. Also, I can't have any liquids near my phone. The number one cause of cell phone damage is from being left out on top of a table. Or taking it to the bathroom. I'm sure of it. As AMR was helping me hunt down old cell phone photos, he hypothesized that we were having a hard time because most of our photos during a certain era were taken during eating sessions, or the poker table -- where beer and snacks were plentiful -- and my phone was safely tucked away.
I was also looking for photos of my notorious array of cell phone belt holders, but they are nowhere to be seen either. I think it's all the baggy clothes worn during the mid-2000s. I should probably be thankful for those oversized t-shirts. No evidence remains of my clear fashion faux pas. A few years ago, we did a peer-to-peer fashion evaluation poll and a comment I received was, "Ditch the cell phone carrier." Thank you friends, duly noted.
What follows is my history of cell phones. As you'll see, I never went in for the phones that flipped, or had external antennas. Also, I liked nothing better than to swap out phone covers. I thought a cell phone cover spoke a lot about a person. Do I still? Probably.
Nokia 5110 (AUG 1999)
Entering senior year at Michigan, I was one of the last kids around to get a cell phone. I think I was still just really attached to my white pager. The first weekend back at school, I got a phone call from my friend in the middle of the night. Somehow she knew my number even though I hadn't memorized it yet. They were drunk and needed some help. I walked down a few blocks to the post-party and somehow successfully carried a girl out of a basement and then back to our apartment. I banged her head a few times, I'm sure of it. To this day, this stands as the most heroic and manly thing I've ever done. All hail, cell phone.
The 5110 stayed with me for many years, finally succumbing to battery death. It started off encased in orange but I eventually threw on some blue Hawaiian flowers. You know, to be Californian. Also, this phone had some reception issues, if I recall. I had to buy thin booster strips off eBay and stick them behind the battery.
Nokia 3595 (MAR 2004)
On an old blog, I covered the transition from the 5110 to 3595 in some detail. This side photo is an actual image of my phone, scuffed on the case, and with an important hack on the screen: a Calvin background. For some reason, this is the only phone I have with photos of it in the wild.
The case initially was just another version of my previous blue Hawaiian flowers, but then I transitioned to this fish phone cover that had colorful clown fish all over it. Some called it ugly, I called it strategy. My philosophy was that the brighter the phone, the harder it would be to lose. After I moved on from the Nokia, AMR used my fish phone case for awhile. Somehow neither of us have photos of that cover. Clearly we were slacking.
Here's a fun story. On the 3595, you could assign icons to show up when a particular person called. A coffee cup, a head, a digitized house, a flower, etc. I asked my then girlfriend which one she wanted to be. She picked the daisy. Then I assigned the rest of the icons to my other frequently dialed numbers. One day, my (female) best friend called and what did my girlfriend see next to her name? A heart. Cue explosion! I tried to use some form of defense that she could have chosen the heart but since she didn't, I had to assign it to someone else.
You can imagine how well that explanation worked.
Also, speed dial was a big issue. In my head, I had this whole hierarchy of who was where on the speed dial. #1 was voicemail, #2 was someone more important than #3, and so on. Except for #5, I reasoned that since that was the middle of the dial pad, that's where I should stick the person I spoke to the most. Needless to say, that was not my girlfriend. My friend Meesh's number was lodged permanently at #5 on all my phones.
Sidekick 2 (OCT 2004)
Ever since the original Danger Hiptop came out, I had lusted after it. AMR was ahead of me and got the original but when T-Mobile finally got the Hiptop, I was ready to jump aboard. Rebranded "Sidekick," this phone was way ahead of its time. Internet access, a fantastic keyboard, the ability to chat with people on AIM, it was the best! (Danger also created personalized sites for its users, called a "hip logs," for photos. That became the precursor to our moblogs.)
This awesome technological breakthrough allowed me to text and talk at the same time. Since the buttons were so tactile and perfectly placed, I trained myself to talk to someone in front of me while at the same time chatting or texting. People around me loved it, I'm sure.
At the height of my Sidekick use, I was texting my friend like a hundred times a day. She had to up her cell phone plan because we texted so often. Obviously, my girlfriend (a different one) wasn't as big of a fan of my Sidekick. Of the contributing factors to our eventual breakup, I would say the Sidekick ranked in the top three. She threatened to break it more than once.
iPhone (2007)
Finally, the promised land. AMR and I had been tracking the iPhone for some time, and when the time came to buy one, I didn't hesitate. Well, I didn't hesitate on the buying, but I didn't open the box until a week or so later. After all, paying $600 for a cell phone seemed slightly ridiculous. But when a friend asked to buy my unopened phone for her boyfriend's birthday, I panicked and ripped the box open. Mine, mine!
I had some initial gripes about the iPhone but those were quickly washed away. Since then I've upgrade twice -- 3GS and 5 -- and am loyal for life. Until they can implant a cell phone in my head or something. Then I'll switch. That original iPhone went on to have a happy second life, as I bequeathed it to my technologically backward friend. She had my music and contacts on there long after it was hers.
There are no stories about how the iPhone impacted my relationships, because I was single throughout its reign. Sorry, no passive aggressive instances of mobile phone use to kill relationships here. I'm so mobile phone mature now.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Everything Revolve Around the Penny
Listening to: Mountain Brothers, "Paper Chase."
Asian-American rappers are taking over the world! Or maybe just my small corner of the Internet. Two recent articles, one on Awkwafina and another on Dumbfoundead. I can't say I'd heard of either before reading about them, unless you remember Dumbfoundead from this 2010 Top Ten Greatest Asian American Rappers of All Time list. I didn't. Of the two, Dumbfoundead has little appeal to me, as his lyrics, sound, and presentation seem to be outdated. Maybe fifteen years ago it would have been something, having an Asian American rapper like this, but not anymore.
Awkwafina on the other hand, I like. She's funny, for one, with lyrics that are witty and got stuck in my head after a few listens. "My vag, squirt aloe vera / yo vag, look like Tony Danza." Yeah, at first listen she came off like an Asian Kreayshawn, but after reading more about her and listening to her music, she's got some depth, and a hint of intelligent subversion, and her whole thing isn't operating on a level that just encompasses her songs. I'm interested to see where her career goes. I mean, besides college campuses.
The other night I was in the Meatball Shop, talking to a couple of near new acquaintances about our favorite podcasts. One of them brought up This American Life and I immediately verbally recoiled. Having come off of reading some old articles about This American Life -- and NPR in general -- that skewers its very white, upper middle class, perspective, I was more anti-TAL than usual.
I hesistated to explain why though, because two of the three acquaintances were white. It seemed out of place to denigrate This American Life right then, so I only offered up that Ira Glass and his voice annoyed me. This American Life has some very interesting topics, but it's also run into its share of controversies and criticisms. I have been wondering all week if I should have brought up TAL's perspective problem while I had the chance.
Of course, my general anti-NPR stance is hypocritical because I'm a huge Slate fan. I devour all of its podcasts, most of its articles, and used to feed many of its RSS into my Reader. The number of minority voices I read/hear on Slate is very few. But oh, Slate has a special site for women and for black people. The taglines for them are "XX Factor: What Women Really Think" and "The Root: Black News, Opinion, Politics, and Culture." Take from it what you will.
Also, a few months ago, I had lunch with a friend who went on a few dates with the guy who started Asian Avenue. Remember that? His company also started Black Planet and early community sites for Hispanic and LGBT communities. Now he's rolling in yachts and fancy apartments. So I guess there's some money in it. Again, I platform for an Asian Mom OK Cupid where they can set up their children. Please send me all investment inquiries. This site will make us all rich.
I just wrapped up reading My Korean Deli, a memoir by a former senior editor at the Paris Review. Along with his Korean mother-in-law, and his ex-lawyer wife, Ben Howe drains his family's savings to purchase a Boerum Hill deli for $120,000. This was maybe ten years ago, before Barclays Center contruction had begun, and gentrification had truly set in. The deli they bought is close by me, and that was another reason I wanted to read it, beyond a general curiosity about the ins-and-outs of New York delis.
The book bothered me a ton at first, as I couldn't figure out how I felt about Howe's depiction of his new immigrant family -- he and his wife, Gab, lived in her mom's house during this time -- and the deli's mostly ethnic customers. He came off, rather harshly, as the white WASP he is/was/is. (He does seem self aware of this though.) It wasn't that he wasn't informed or open minded, it was just the casual way he seemed to unable to understand another perspective. Then again, neither could the Korean mother-in-law, so I guess the schism cuts both ways.
The book was one third exploration of Korean culture, one third about the challenge of starting up a deli, and one third about the inner workings of the Paris Review under George Plimpton. That latter part I enjoyed. However, if not for fiftyfifty.me, I would have given up on My Korean Deli halfway. Most of the time, while reading My Korean Deli, I wondered why a book like this wasn't written by someone who had actually immigrated here and was wedded to the deli life. I guess the obvious answer would be: where would they find the time? But I also suspected that maybe a book like that would never be published because what was the hook? A Korean deli owner's daughter writes a memoir about her Korean parents' deli? Far more saleable is the white man adopts deli hook.
I guess what I'm saying is that I should have been reading Eddie Huang's book instead.
I'll tie post all in together. Howe, has the following to say about his deli, when he discovers that his Brooklyn neighborhood is now mostly evenly divided between whites and non-whites. "One way of looking at this is that we've achieved the American social ideal, a perfect demographic balance, like in the happy pictures you see in college brochures." Half white and half non-white is ideal eh? Fantastic. We've reached ultimate parity. Rejoice!
Asian-American rappers are taking over the world! Or maybe just my small corner of the Internet. Two recent articles, one on Awkwafina and another on Dumbfoundead. I can't say I'd heard of either before reading about them, unless you remember Dumbfoundead from this 2010 Top Ten Greatest Asian American Rappers of All Time list. I didn't. Of the two, Dumbfoundead has little appeal to me, as his lyrics, sound, and presentation seem to be outdated. Maybe fifteen years ago it would have been something, having an Asian American rapper like this, but not anymore.
Awkwafina on the other hand, I like. She's funny, for one, with lyrics that are witty and got stuck in my head after a few listens. "My vag, squirt aloe vera / yo vag, look like Tony Danza." Yeah, at first listen she came off like an Asian Kreayshawn, but after reading more about her and listening to her music, she's got some depth, and a hint of intelligent subversion, and her whole thing isn't operating on a level that just encompasses her songs. I'm interested to see where her career goes. I mean, besides college campuses.
- Meet Awkwafina: an Asian Female Rapper on Vaginas, Tackling Racism & More
- Dumbfoundead: A Rising Star In A Genre In Transition
- Ladies Delight: Rocky Rivera and the Female Hip-Hop Movement (2010)
- More on Asian Privilege
- Album Review: The Notorious MSG Get 'Heavy' (2011)
- Album Review: Jackie Chain's Bruce Lean Chronicles (2012)
I hesistated to explain why though, because two of the three acquaintances were white. It seemed out of place to denigrate This American Life right then, so I only offered up that Ira Glass and his voice annoyed me. This American Life has some very interesting topics, but it's also run into its share of controversies and criticisms. I have been wondering all week if I should have brought up TAL's perspective problem while I had the chance.
- This American Life Completes Documentation Of Liberal, Upper-Middle-Class Existence (2007)
- Asians Are Stealing Our Boyfriends On This American Life (2012)
- This (Black) American Life (2009)
"As you've probably heard, the U.S. is in the midst of a big demographic shift. Over the next few decades, people of color will come to compose a majority of the country's population, a transition that's already happened among the nation's youngest residents. Already, race, ethnicity and culture play a starring role in some of the biggest stories unfolding in the news, and that role will only increase as this demographic shift continues. We want to cover these matters with the depth, nuance, intelligence and comprehensiveness they deserve."Heaven forbid these are just regular things NPR rolls into its coverage. A special section wil now be earmarked for the ethnics. This kind of thing is prevalent everywhere. I think immediately of instances where ethnic authors are only invited to speak at the diversity panel. (The "ethnic ghetto" of conferences as my friend likes to call it.) Or you know, when women are only invited to speak about being women in such a such a sphere. It's a blast!
Of course, my general anti-NPR stance is hypocritical because I'm a huge Slate fan. I devour all of its podcasts, most of its articles, and used to feed many of its RSS into my Reader. The number of minority voices I read/hear on Slate is very few. But oh, Slate has a special site for women and for black people. The taglines for them are "XX Factor: What Women Really Think" and "The Root: Black News, Opinion, Politics, and Culture." Take from it what you will.
Also, a few months ago, I had lunch with a friend who went on a few dates with the guy who started Asian Avenue. Remember that? His company also started Black Planet and early community sites for Hispanic and LGBT communities. Now he's rolling in yachts and fancy apartments. So I guess there's some money in it. Again, I platform for an Asian Mom OK Cupid where they can set up their children. Please send me all investment inquiries. This site will make us all rich.
I just wrapped up reading My Korean Deli, a memoir by a former senior editor at the Paris Review. Along with his Korean mother-in-law, and his ex-lawyer wife, Ben Howe drains his family's savings to purchase a Boerum Hill deli for $120,000. This was maybe ten years ago, before Barclays Center contruction had begun, and gentrification had truly set in. The deli they bought is close by me, and that was another reason I wanted to read it, beyond a general curiosity about the ins-and-outs of New York delis.
The book bothered me a ton at first, as I couldn't figure out how I felt about Howe's depiction of his new immigrant family -- he and his wife, Gab, lived in her mom's house during this time -- and the deli's mostly ethnic customers. He came off, rather harshly, as the white WASP he is/was/is. (He does seem self aware of this though.) It wasn't that he wasn't informed or open minded, it was just the casual way he seemed to unable to understand another perspective. Then again, neither could the Korean mother-in-law, so I guess the schism cuts both ways.
The book was one third exploration of Korean culture, one third about the challenge of starting up a deli, and one third about the inner workings of the Paris Review under George Plimpton. That latter part I enjoyed. However, if not for fiftyfifty.me, I would have given up on My Korean Deli halfway. Most of the time, while reading My Korean Deli, I wondered why a book like this wasn't written by someone who had actually immigrated here and was wedded to the deli life. I guess the obvious answer would be: where would they find the time? But I also suspected that maybe a book like that would never be published because what was the hook? A Korean deli owner's daughter writes a memoir about her Korean parents' deli? Far more saleable is the white man adopts deli hook.
I guess what I'm saying is that I should have been reading Eddie Huang's book instead.
I'll tie post all in together. Howe, has the following to say about his deli, when he discovers that his Brooklyn neighborhood is now mostly evenly divided between whites and non-whites. "One way of looking at this is that we've achieved the American social ideal, a perfect demographic balance, like in the happy pictures you see in college brochures." Half white and half non-white is ideal eh? Fantastic. We've reached ultimate parity. Rejoice!
Friday, April 5, 2013
Notice Me, Take My Hand
Last Friday I fell into obsession. Stop right here if you're planning to see Spring Breakers aka the movie of the year. Seriously, stop right here. I mean, I think everyone should go watch it, but as AMR pointed out, my track record for things I get excited about is far less than perfect. Apparently I am an overhyper-er. But trust me, this movie is amaaaaazing. Things I've overhyped to friends that haven't turned out to be the best thing ever. Drive, the Footloose remake, Moonrise Kingdom. Apparently I know nothing about my friends' movie tastes. Well, I feel safe in recommending Spring Breakers to a select few. And by "select few" I mean everybody.
At worst it's a cultural conversation. At best it'll make you want to re-watch it. Immediately.
I realize Rotten Tomatoes is giving Spring Breakers a 65% approval rating, and that the critics' score is even lower. I realize the movie stars Vanessa Hudgens, Selena Gomez, and that girl from Pretty Little Liars that nobody actually knows. I realize it has James Franco in gold teeth. I realize these are the exact reasons this was a must see for me, but maybe a "hell on" for you. I realize you maybe saw the trailer and dismissed Spring Breakers as hedonistic trash. If it helps, director Harmony Korine did Kids and Gummo. He calls this movie a "pop poem," and that's the perfect description.
As anyone hanging out with me during the past weekend can attest, I've been irresistibly whispering "sprinnnng breaakkkkk, sprinnng breaakkk" in Franco's drawl all the time. I've also been constantly chuckling to myself about scenes from the movie. My friend and I, the only two people who may ever see this movie among our circle of friends (she's a closeted ABC Family fan and we bond over horrible television shows) have been texting each other post-watch with quotes from the movie "I just want to be baaaad." Currently I'm downloading the soundtrack -- done by Cliff Martinez, who also sheperded the great Drive soundtrack -- so I'm about to get into some Skrillex. Please save me.
To be honest, in planning to watch the movie, I was afraid of dragging people along, since the chance of this being a bomb was pretty high. But I'm happy to report that despite whatever comes out during the rest of the year, Spring Breakers will be a favorite.
Also, there is a Britney Spears scene in the movie that has to be seen to be believed. I didn't think it would be possible to beat "Fireworks" in Rust and Bone but this does it. If this is a trend, using pop songs during emotionally uplifting/downsliding moments, I'm all in. I would link to the clip but that would ruin the surprise -- and the impact. Needless to say, I've been Britney-ing all day.
I got to check out the newish MLK Memorial, which was of interest because it was made by a Chinese sculptor, Lei Yixin. If you'll recall, there was some controversy about its origins. I guess this tends to happen a lot. (The Vietnam Veterans Memorial was designed by Maya Lin.) As I've been recently struggling with the "who made what" problem, I tried to summon an opinion on memorials and who gets to make them.
The best I could conjure up was when my mom and uncle wanted to put a cross on my dad's funeral stone thing. I was vehemently against it -- my dad wasn't Christian -- and fought hard to keep it off. My reasoning was that I'd be damned if someone put symbols on my gravestone that misrepresented me. Our compromise was that there would be Christian symbology at the funeral. This story is unrelated to the MLK Memorial but that's the closest I could come to relating to it.
Here's a question we encountered: When was the Korean War? The Korean War Memorial depicts a group of larger than life sized soldiers walking through the bush on patrol. It's striking and quite impressive. Except I had no idea when the Korean War was, or really what the U.S. had to do with it. Time to Wikipedia. (Speaking of Korea, I just backed this Twinsters documentary on Kickstarter. I felt compelled to contribute due to the stirring nature of Samantha and Anais' story.)
The rest of our stay in D.C. was spent cruising museums. I hate to say it but their natural history museum beats New York's by miles. The entire museum row seems to be quite impressive as well, even though we only had time to shoot through the Hirshhorn and the aeronautics museum. Next time back it'll be the National Gallery and everything else. While at the Air and Space Museum, I was reminded of how many biographies of the Wright Brothers I plowed through when I was young. Wilbur and Orville forever.
I was also hit by memories of the days when I was into assembling model airplanes. And how about those monthly binder inserts where they gave you specs on individual planes? I had a lot of those collectable sheets. Well organized, of course. I also subscribed to one for cars and animals. I wonder if I spouted useless facts then like I do now. Probably.
For the same reason, I feel compelled to get into House of Cards, of which I watched the pilot and will try to clean up when time permits. In other news: I haven't finished a book in a month. Sound the alarm. Galang galang.
At worst it's a cultural conversation. At best it'll make you want to re-watch it. Immediately.
I realize Rotten Tomatoes is giving Spring Breakers a 65% approval rating, and that the critics' score is even lower. I realize the movie stars Vanessa Hudgens, Selena Gomez, and that girl from Pretty Little Liars that nobody actually knows. I realize it has James Franco in gold teeth. I realize these are the exact reasons this was a must see for me, but maybe a "hell on" for you. I realize you maybe saw the trailer and dismissed Spring Breakers as hedonistic trash. If it helps, director Harmony Korine did Kids and Gummo. He calls this movie a "pop poem," and that's the perfect description.
As anyone hanging out with me during the past weekend can attest, I've been irresistibly whispering "sprinnnng breaakkkkk, sprinnng breaakkk" in Franco's drawl all the time. I've also been constantly chuckling to myself about scenes from the movie. My friend and I, the only two people who may ever see this movie among our circle of friends (she's a closeted ABC Family fan and we bond over horrible television shows) have been texting each other post-watch with quotes from the movie "I just want to be baaaad." Currently I'm downloading the soundtrack -- done by Cliff Martinez, who also sheperded the great Drive soundtrack -- so I'm about to get into some Skrillex. Please save me.
To be honest, in planning to watch the movie, I was afraid of dragging people along, since the chance of this being a bomb was pretty high. But I'm happy to report that despite whatever comes out during the rest of the year, Spring Breakers will be a favorite.
Also, there is a Britney Spears scene in the movie that has to be seen to be believed. I didn't think it would be possible to beat "Fireworks" in Rust and Bone but this does it. If this is a trend, using pop songs during emotionally uplifting/downsliding moments, I'm all in. I would link to the clip but that would ruin the surprise -- and the impact. Needless to say, I've been Britney-ing all day.
- Video interview with Harmony Korine
- Pitchfork review of Spring Breakers soundtrack
- In Spring Breakers, Black Lives Matter Less Than White Ones
- Bennett Madison FAQ on Spring Breakers
- Slate Cultural Gabfest on Spring Breakers | Dana Stevens review
I got to check out the newish MLK Memorial, which was of interest because it was made by a Chinese sculptor, Lei Yixin. If you'll recall, there was some controversy about its origins. I guess this tends to happen a lot. (The Vietnam Veterans Memorial was designed by Maya Lin.) As I've been recently struggling with the "who made what" problem, I tried to summon an opinion on memorials and who gets to make them.
The best I could conjure up was when my mom and uncle wanted to put a cross on my dad's funeral stone thing. I was vehemently against it -- my dad wasn't Christian -- and fought hard to keep it off. My reasoning was that I'd be damned if someone put symbols on my gravestone that misrepresented me. Our compromise was that there would be Christian symbology at the funeral. This story is unrelated to the MLK Memorial but that's the closest I could come to relating to it.
Here's a question we encountered: When was the Korean War? The Korean War Memorial depicts a group of larger than life sized soldiers walking through the bush on patrol. It's striking and quite impressive. Except I had no idea when the Korean War was, or really what the U.S. had to do with it. Time to Wikipedia. (Speaking of Korea, I just backed this Twinsters documentary on Kickstarter. I felt compelled to contribute due to the stirring nature of Samantha and Anais' story.)
The rest of our stay in D.C. was spent cruising museums. I hate to say it but their natural history museum beats New York's by miles. The entire museum row seems to be quite impressive as well, even though we only had time to shoot through the Hirshhorn and the aeronautics museum. Next time back it'll be the National Gallery and everything else. While at the Air and Space Museum, I was reminded of how many biographies of the Wright Brothers I plowed through when I was young. Wilbur and Orville forever.
I was also hit by memories of the days when I was into assembling model airplanes. And how about those monthly binder inserts where they gave you specs on individual planes? I had a lot of those collectable sheets. Well organized, of course. I also subscribed to one for cars and animals. I wonder if I spouted useless facts then like I do now. Probably.
- A Mirror of Greatness, Blurred (2011)
- Meet Lei Yixin, the Chinese Artist Behind D.C.'s New Martin Luther King Monument (2011)
- The King Memorial: Dreams at Odds (2007)
For the same reason, I feel compelled to get into House of Cards, of which I watched the pilot and will try to clean up when time permits. In other news: I haven't finished a book in a month. Sound the alarm. Galang galang.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
So Petrified
Listening to: Kool Moe Dee, "How Ya Like Me Now." They used this track on the early Nineties Hakeem Olajuwon NBA Superstars video -- back when he was still "Akeem," a talented but petulant player. That entire VHS is just the greatest.
Two blogs I'm really into right now: Kink Praxis and This Is Not About Adoption. The first one is by Corey Alexander, who is "a white queer polyamorous transgender stone butch. I am invested in a concept of sex positivity that honors desire, multiplicity and complexity, embodied wholeness, critical analysis, and self determination." All the links Corey drops are amazing -- there's a lot of reblogs -- and along with s.e. smith's blog, it's become my most consistently great reading.
Oh, and AMR put me onto Ouran High School Host Club, this anime that is right up my alley as it, minor spoiler alert (highlight if you want), is about a girl posing as a guy as she joins a host club to seduce female students. I haven't watched much anime since I tore through Fullmetal Alchemist but I should really get on it. The problem is that I know I get sucked into series and I can't stop once started. Speaking of which, Mad Men season six is right around the corner. I am still pissed off that Peggy left SCDP but I'll give the show some leeway. More Peggy and Don, please! (But not in that way.)
Oh and not to forget about This Is Not Adoption. I don't know if it's part of an upcoming book or if it's already done and these are excerpts, but author Matthew Salesses is a Korean-American adoptee and his posts explore his story, his relationship with his adoptive parents, and perhaps eventually, his reunion biological parents.
Salesses also writes for the Rumpus and his most recent article, "PSY the Clown vs PSY the 'Anti-American,'" had me up in arms about all the references to his Korean wife, as I initially read the article as if the author was white. (I didn't look at the byline.) When I realized it was Salesses, I had to restart from the beginning to place myself. Then I just read it with a tilted, and sad, eye toward his self loathing.
I'm a little over stories about Asians discovering their Asian-ness, but there are just so many around since those are the ones that get any sort of mainstream traction. Actually, what I should be more concerned about is my complete inability to take seriously anyone writing about something unless they are from that community. I just dimiss them immediately, which is sort of a reverse -sim of some sort. Thus the overreaction to all the perceived (over)references to "my wife is Korean so..."
It's definitely becoming a problem.
Took a break and just read Salesses' pieces on Jeremy Lin. The comments section is a doozy. And Salesses' Guernica story, "High Schools, or How to Be Asian American," is quite good also. Like I said, I'm a fan.
Two blogs I'm really into right now: Kink Praxis and This Is Not About Adoption. The first one is by Corey Alexander, who is "a white queer polyamorous transgender stone butch. I am invested in a concept of sex positivity that honors desire, multiplicity and complexity, embodied wholeness, critical analysis, and self determination." All the links Corey drops are amazing -- there's a lot of reblogs -- and along with s.e. smith's blog, it's become my most consistently great reading.
"The American idea of racial progress is measured by how fast I become white."JMZ has been long touting Paris is Burning, a documentary about the minority transgender community, and it popped up on Kink Praxis the other day too, so that's being moved right up my Netflix queue. I mean, as soon as I get done with Jackie Brown, which I've possibly never fully seen. Odd considering I normally just blindly watch any Tarantino film. Grantland did a career retrospective of Pam Grier and it made me realize I'd never seen a single blaxploitation film. Like ever.
-James Baldwin, "On Language, Race, and the Black Writer"-
Oh, and AMR put me onto Ouran High School Host Club, this anime that is right up my alley as it, minor spoiler alert (highlight if you want), is about a girl posing as a guy as she joins a host club to seduce female students. I haven't watched much anime since I tore through Fullmetal Alchemist but I should really get on it. The problem is that I know I get sucked into series and I can't stop once started. Speaking of which, Mad Men season six is right around the corner. I am still pissed off that Peggy left SCDP but I'll give the show some leeway. More Peggy and Don, please! (But not in that way.)
Oh and not to forget about This Is Not Adoption. I don't know if it's part of an upcoming book or if it's already done and these are excerpts, but author Matthew Salesses is a Korean-American adoptee and his posts explore his story, his relationship with his adoptive parents, and perhaps eventually, his reunion biological parents.
"I arrived a skinny, ill, voiceless child. My parents had waited a long time to have kids. They had wanted badly to have kids of their own, but were unable. I think it was friends of theirs who had suggested Korean adoption -- what did my parents think when they saw me? Did they think they had been ripped off? Like coming home from the outlets and finding that what you picked out so cautiously was already broken?"The only real research I did on EC -- unless reading US Weekly counts as research -- was to look into adoption stories and statistics and histories. I wish I had found a blog like this then, it would have been fantastic.
-Adjustments 2-
Salesses also writes for the Rumpus and his most recent article, "PSY the Clown vs PSY the 'Anti-American,'" had me up in arms about all the references to his Korean wife, as I initially read the article as if the author was white. (I didn't look at the byline.) When I realized it was Salesses, I had to restart from the beginning to place myself. Then I just read it with a tilted, and sad, eye toward his self loathing.
I'm a little over stories about Asians discovering their Asian-ness, but there are just so many around since those are the ones that get any sort of mainstream traction. Actually, what I should be more concerned about is my complete inability to take seriously anyone writing about something unless they are from that community. I just dimiss them immediately, which is sort of a reverse -sim of some sort. Thus the overreaction to all the perceived (over)references to "my wife is Korean so..."
It's definitely becoming a problem.
Took a break and just read Salesses' pieces on Jeremy Lin. The comments section is a doozy. And Salesses' Guernica story, "High Schools, or How to Be Asian American," is quite good also. Like I said, I'm a fan.
Monday, March 18, 2013
This Is How You Find Her
Drinks consumed this weekend, over a twenty four hour period: soju that came in a giant watermelon, three beers, two Moscow mules, two shots of some vodka that was very chilled.
That encompassed two meet up for drinks and a karaoke session that went until four thirty. Over the watermelon soju, my friend was telling me about her Relationship Funeral. She recently had a breakup (amicable) and since they often frequented the same places, she went up and down to those bars, drinking in each one and toasting to the past. In an unexpected twist, she said the toasts she did were all positive. It was a purging and a welcome to new things. Great idea right? An uplifting funeral? So many break ups are about cursing the other person afterwards. I say we institute Relationship Funerals for everyone, and maybe trademark that shit right now.
Afterwards, my friend jaunted off to a club on the east side to perhaps put the moves on a hot young man. She was nervous, since she'd been away from singledom for a few years. Fortified with the aforementioned shots -- she took twice as many as I did -- and my pack of gum, off she went into the future.
At a bar on the Lower East Side the next night, I finally caught up with a friend about his relationship. A few months ago he'd introduced us to someone new and then said "He's my boyfriend." All nonchalant and just like that. I was taken aback because this friend hasn't called anyone his significant other in quite awhile. So yesterday we talked about how that was going, what he's learning and experiencing. We are similar in some ways, as we tend to be good at being friends but possibly not so good at being in relationships. It was an enlightening and warm talk, long overdue.
When I say we "talked about it," what we were actually doing was comparing notes. Doing my best to imitate my friend's nonchalantness and absolute fact of it all way, I'm here to say: I have a girlfriend. (I haven't said that since 2007.) We go on dates, I wore a knit tie once, she said "yes," I bought flowers, it's quite something.
There's a lot of stuff I'm trying to wrap my head around, mostly the idea of actually being together with someone. It feels foreign and familiar at once. Given my track record with relationships, there's some trepidation for all parties involved. But hey, you don't know till you try right?
One of the first blogs I followed, and possibly anybody followed, was BluishOrange, who won Best Designed Weblog way back in 2002. Alison came back after a long hiatus with a post reviewing her twenties. I sort of tried to do something similar a couple of years ago, but that was for a reading and the end result was very tongue in cheek. I think I'll give it another shot -- focusing on relationships perhaps -- even though I'm far past that bridge. I must have learned something during that decade though...
That encompassed two meet up for drinks and a karaoke session that went until four thirty. Over the watermelon soju, my friend was telling me about her Relationship Funeral. She recently had a breakup (amicable) and since they often frequented the same places, she went up and down to those bars, drinking in each one and toasting to the past. In an unexpected twist, she said the toasts she did were all positive. It was a purging and a welcome to new things. Great idea right? An uplifting funeral? So many break ups are about cursing the other person afterwards. I say we institute Relationship Funerals for everyone, and maybe trademark that shit right now.
Afterwards, my friend jaunted off to a club on the east side to perhaps put the moves on a hot young man. She was nervous, since she'd been away from singledom for a few years. Fortified with the aforementioned shots -- she took twice as many as I did -- and my pack of gum, off she went into the future.
At a bar on the Lower East Side the next night, I finally caught up with a friend about his relationship. A few months ago he'd introduced us to someone new and then said "He's my boyfriend." All nonchalant and just like that. I was taken aback because this friend hasn't called anyone his significant other in quite awhile. So yesterday we talked about how that was going, what he's learning and experiencing. We are similar in some ways, as we tend to be good at being friends but possibly not so good at being in relationships. It was an enlightening and warm talk, long overdue.
When I say we "talked about it," what we were actually doing was comparing notes. Doing my best to imitate my friend's nonchalantness and absolute fact of it all way, I'm here to say: I have a girlfriend. (I haven't said that since 2007.) We go on dates, I wore a knit tie once, she said "yes," I bought flowers, it's quite something.
There's a lot of stuff I'm trying to wrap my head around, mostly the idea of actually being together with someone. It feels foreign and familiar at once. Given my track record with relationships, there's some trepidation for all parties involved. But hey, you don't know till you try right?
- Aziz Ansari gets candid about love: "elusive and sadly ephemeral"
- New Love: A Short Shelf Life (2012)
- Match.com Presents Singles in America 3
- Inside OK Cupid: The Math of Online Dating
- I Googled My Dates Until One Of Them Googled Me (2010)
One of the first blogs I followed, and possibly anybody followed, was BluishOrange, who won Best Designed Weblog way back in 2002. Alison came back after a long hiatus with a post reviewing her twenties. I sort of tried to do something similar a couple of years ago, but that was for a reading and the end result was very tongue in cheek. I think I'll give it another shot -- focusing on relationships perhaps -- even though I'm far past that bridge. I must have learned something during that decade though...
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