i know i've been writing a lot of "i feel old" posts. i can't help it! besides, this is my blog. go get your own blog where you pontificate about relevant things.
so i went to that superchunk book reading/mini-concert. it was very well-attended, mostly by graying, middle-age-spread types. average age, probably about 30? 35? mac sang 3 songs, laura didn't participate in the musical portion (not sure why), and they read passages about themselves, spoon and the magnetic fields. nothing about the arcade fire, kids. sorry to disappoint.
they were kind enough to humor the audience by engaging in some q&a, usually my least favorite portion of any book reading. the heavily male crowd asked the usual fanboy qs, like, "erm, that 7-inch in limited release for that one week in 1992, how did that come about?" or " was [insert super obscure band name here] a big influence on you?" and one near spastic guy who couldn't stop gushing, "you are the greatest rock band, like, ever." all's i gotta say is, i was sitting near the bathroom that kid definitely did not wash his hands.
in response to one guy's question on how to get a demo in front of them, laura quickly shut him down, "we usually hear bands through our friends or friends of friends." then near-ironically, "you know, networking."
networking! superchunk!
anyway, back to how old i felt. amidst all this geeking out to the musicality of it all, i just wanted to hear about their business model, who their lawyers were, how they obtained financing, how they've sustained their profitability over all of these years. i mean, they can't just be all artistes. those guys know what they're doing.
i kind of reminded myself of this article. oh yeah, they wouldn't answer any questions about neutral milk hotel either, in case you were wondering.
aside from being like the most uncomfortably/ridonculously handsome and disarmingly witty tv anchor ever, brian williams apparently is super informed about indie rock. wha?
an interview about his foray into indierockbloggerdom here.
i'm sure i've done a "livin' in the 90s" post before, so sorry about the repetition. i can't help it if it was the greatest CD compilation ever. (extra 90s nostalgia: it's available in CASSETTE!)
what up with all of the 90s revivals of late? aside from my alicia silverstone sighting, i mean. (what about ed begley, you ask? i think he's pretty timeless, no?). plaid shirts are everywhere! have you noticed this? i suppose they're not as ill-fitting as they were in their first iteration, but i still wouldn't call them exactly flattering. also, c4ts i think went to some yo la tengo/flaming lips concert--not in 1995, but like last weekend. and finally, my friend just informed me of this.
[insert a totally 90s expression of surprise here]
the last time i saw superchunk they gave a really awkward concert at my college with nas. yes, kelis's ex-husband nas. i think it was raining that day and superchunk were kind of low-ish energy, then nas rolled up in a huge tour bus with the requisite number of video hos. or perhaps an inadequate number, since he proceeded to call up more hos from the audience. good times.
oh yes, in other 90s revival news: pavement are reuniting. setting aside the fact that tickets are sold out and of course i completely forgot to get some, i think it would be nice to go to a concert where i don't feel ancient. (for instance, can i really go to CMJ in good conscience?) then again, i don't know whether being surrounded by a bunch of olds would be all that fun. oh well.
omg i finally have another chance to use our balki bartokamous tag! have you read this interview? i know, it's more 80s than 90s, but hilarious is hilarious.
1. alicia silverstone (somewhere near union square) - now, mind you, she could be mistaken for any other random pretty blonde, but i'm 99% certain this was her. i even checked for that mole on her forehead (yeah, you didn't think to do that, did you). she is very pretty. nonetheless, i expected a vegan to have better skin. as if.
2. ed begley, jr. (on the N train near midtown) - y'know, i couldn't name a single movie/tv show this guy's been in/on, so don't ask how i know who he is or what he looks like. still, i heard/read somewhere that he's a huge environmentalist, and sure enough, he and his entire family were riding the train, looking extremely uncomfortable next to the rest of us. yeah, this ain't no prius, that's for sure.
So when someone makes a slippery slope argument, what they're really saying is this: I have no reason to object to this other thing in and of itself, but if I conflate it with this second other thing which is clearly objectionable, and which I conflate with the first other thingon the sole basis that the second other thingis outside my rigid understanding of the original thing, just like the first other thing is (even though, implicitly, I understand that alone is no basis to object to the first other thing -- hence the need to invoke the slippery slope in the first place) well, then, Jesus will smite you dead. Got it.
The e-grist of this blog mill has been and will always be petty schadenfreude and reckless snark. But once in a while my cold heart thaws a little and I have something nice to say about someone or something. And this post is an example of that rarest of mind-birds. The spirit of Munificence has visited my person, and, imbued with it, I share with you.
But first, a bit more self-indulgent meditation on my own nature: To wit, when this perfectly nice kid I knew from back in the day became a famous (at least in Brooklyn and Silver Lake and Austin) hard-drinking indie rock and roller, I seethed. When this other, very sweet girl I knew from back in the day wrote a silly blog and then blew up and became something of a pundit, I seethed. When the jovial and dashing South African fellow who lived down the hall from me freshman year became an international correspondent on CNN, I seethed. I know I should be happy for these people and their successes, but I am human, tragic and flawed, and I am wickedly jealous when perfectly normal-seeming people whom I know stumble into fame and riches.
That said, once in a while, a supremely nice person comes along, he treats you very kindly, is humble about his own talents, and is gracious and laudatory of yours, meager though they are. Once in a while you meet such a person and you think this person deserves much from this world; in the least this person deserves fame and riches. One such person is Uwem Akpan.
Tomorrow he will be chosen as Oprah's newest Book Club inductee. His enormously moving debut short-story collection, Say You're One of Them, will be 2009's first Oprah selection, and he will be launched into the literary stratosphere.
I met Uwem for the first time a few years ago in the frigid college town in which I spent some time. I was doing a reading of a short story I had written for our law school literary journal (best not to ask), and he, friendly with the editor, showed up for the opening night event. Afterwards, he introduced himself to me, told me how much he enjoyed my story, and, eventually, revealed that he too was a writer. As a result of this conversation, I made my way onto Uwem's email list. This is how I learned that he managed to get a second story published in the New Yorker in June of 2006. I read this story, prepared to hate it or hate him for his success. But neither came to pass. I then read the first story he had published, "An Ex-Mas Feast," and I felt stunned by what he had achieved.
A couple of years later, Uwem's book -- which Oprah has now selected -- came out and I bought it immediately. I re-read the New Yorker stories and felt neither jealousy nor hate. I felt in awe. Then I read one of the final stories in the collection, "Fattening for Gabon," which ends in a way that arrests the heart, and I thought, everyone should read this. Everyone.
Thanks to Oprah, from tomorrow, about one bajillion more people will read Uwem's book. Uwem, who is also a Jesuit priest ministering to a congregation in Nigeria, not some latte-drinking malcontent in Park Slope, will have earned all his success, and I for one will come to know genuine happiness for another human being. You should buy his book.
WSJ: You end the book with a gloomy visit to Afghanistan in early 2007. What did Mr. Tillman's sacrifice mean?
Mr. Krakauer: It didn't mean anything. It speaks to the mythology of war and how we glorify it for our national interests. There is nothing glamorous or romantic about war. It's mostly about random pointless death and misery. And that's what his death tells us. It reminds me that the good aren't rewarded, there's no such thing as karma. Maybe it says something about the dangers of any sort of idealism that isn't tempered by pragmatism or experience.
oh wow, that moment of excitement was a little much. back to our regularly scheduled programming. we at interweb detritus offer 1 channel: grumbling.
indeed, at our friend rachel's wedding, a bunch of us entered into a heated discussion over the movie rachel getting married. to no one's surprise, c4ts and i disagreed on this one. i think c4ts kind of wanted to agree with me since the movie seems so obviously annoying, but found himself actually liking it. you can't fight fate, c4ts!
anyway, so i'll vent. i don't think i've ever walked out of a movie. not even "shallow hal" or that second bridget jones movie where she goes to thailand or whatever. my usual thought is, i'm going to wait for that one redeeming moment. there were none in RGM. if i hadn't been sitting 5 deep in my row, i would've barged out. every one of the so-called poignant moments rang completely hollow to me. ok fine, i'll give you this. jonathan demme directed documentaries about the talking heads and neil young and the screenwriter is sidney lumet's daughter. perhaps spontaneous bohemian-ish band playing with robyn hitchcock and unattributable displays of ethnic clothing are the norm in their worlds, but certainly not in mine. this urgent desire to flaunt some semblance of authenticity, diversity and depth was so false on every single level. if i had rolled my eyes any more my contacts would've popped out.
ok, breathe. let's focus my annoyance:
1. connecticut? is there a yaddo in greenwich or fairfield that i'm unaware of? the closest thing connecticut has to minorities and/or artists is 50 cent (or 50 cents, if you're mike bloomberg). 2. saris? wtf with that? 3. yeah, ok, so nobody made a big deal about the groom's race. how come nobody made a big deal of the fact that he had negative personality? it only drew attention to his race. like, why couldn't they create a fully-drawn black character? the white people in this movie certainly had personality to spare. 4. and why did the groom ruin that neil young song for me? 5. i would pick on that dishwasher scene except that apparently it was taken directly from the screenwriter's life. it occurred between like sidney lumet and charlton heston or something equally implausible. (my badz, bob fosse--see? who has a life like this?) 6. don't forget: kYm. barf.
anyway, c4ts, the floor is yours. i'm sure you'll mount a lengthy defense of the movie. all's i gotta say is, someone should've told me that the director of philadelphia--my least favorite movie of all time bc it's the fakest--was involved. i would've saved my $12 or whatever.
grammar aside, we rarely express excitement here on interweb detritus, but i'm exasperated by exasperation and have decided that i'm so excited that, really, i just can't hide it. and no, it's not over "where the wild things are." c'mon.
1. glee. i found the preview pilot episode nearly hypnotic in its awesomeness. you can check it out here. would you believe this show's creator also created nip/tuck?! who woulda thunk it. yes, you can love this show about a high school glee club even if you're a self-professed hater of all things harmonized without accompaniment. sure, it recycles a lot of cliches, but only in the best way possible. also, jane lynch! (typical line, said to a bunch of cheerleaders in rehearsal: "think this is hard? try being waterboarded. that's hard.").
2. extract. i don't really know what this movie is about, except that mike judge wrote and directed it. that's all i need to know. ah yes, this exchange from king of the hill (another mike judge creation) makes me laugh every time.
3. jil sander for uniqlo. i am fairly certain that most wearable sizes will be sold out within an hour or so, but it doesn't prevent me from eagerly anticipating the prospect of purchasing something from jil sander for less than a bazillion dollars. and i have high hopes for this line, which i think will be superior in quality to the ill-fitting polyblend designer lines from h&m and the like.
4. this case between the maker of blackberry against the NHL. again proving that the NHL is the worst-managed league and causing me wonder, yet again, how gary bettman has managed to keep his job for this long, here comes a case in which all of the team owners in the NHL voted to prohibit jim balsillie from purchasing the phoenix coyotes and probably moving them to hamilton, ontario. (i know, where?) the case seems rather complicated, but essentially, the current owner of the coyotes jerry moyes filed for bankruptcy, and jim balsillie bid what is thought to be an inflated sum to purchase the team. the NHL's board of governors voted to prevent balsillie from completing the purchase bc they think he's unethical, all the other viable bidders have dropped out, which caused the NHL to enter a bid to purchase the team and operate it until it can find a buyer who is willing to keep the team in phoenix. there seems to be a lot of bad blood among those involved, and now moyes is accusing the NHL of violating antitrust laws.
i suppose this story should inspire some sense of outrage. politicizing terror alert levels? what next?! but then again, after falsely leading a country into war, torturing prisoners, obliterating the economy, and canceling arrested development, what's a little screwing with your sense of mortality? just another day in the office. nicely done, rumsfeld. i hope he writes a tell-all memoir some day.
anyway, i thought about looking for an apt photo, then i realized that i'm kind of bored by these "revelations" from former bush administration officials (notwithstanding what i just said about rummy). isn't that panda dog messing with your mind?
I know there will be idle talk in the morning about the continuing brutality of Death's Grip this, the summer of 2009. I believe E. has made mention of it in these pages as well. But seriously, if we make it to the September Equinox with Rue McLanahan and Betty White walking among us in God's Dominion, then Death, I will know, has a soul, and we should all breathe a sigh of relief that He has claimed only Michael Jackson et al.
Liberalism is a third-rail word in our electoral politics, As we know, despite occasional virtues, there is no real Liberal spirit among our elected officials. Watching our pragmatist, impotent President and the scatterbrained Democratic Congress he lets run wild, fail even to begin a dialogue on meaningful, universal health care coverage, without succumbing to the shrill masses, without stripping from their proposals health-care reform's central tenet, a public option, in some sort of pre-emptive compromise with the sullen and lame minority party -- watching this, we should know that the Liberal philosophy of equality, welfare, and social justice has no place in our Government. Ted Kennedy -- ever the parliamentarian, make no mistake -- did at least this: He wore Liberalism like a crest on his blazer. For that -- and not just that, of course -- he should be honored. And so I honor him.
But I am also a bastard. So, let me tell you my one Ted Kennedy story:
My childhood friend Paul, the eldest brother of three much younger boys, grew up in a stately manse near Embassy Row. One Halloween many years ago, he took his kid brothers out trick or treating. They got to Ted Kennedy's place, and rang the doorbell. The liberal lion answered the door, absolutely smashed, and with some fine Irish sloshing about in a tumbler in his hand. Bleary eyed, he sized up Paul's brothers, their arms outstretched for caloric bounty. In one graceless move Teddy reached for the bowl of Nestle Crunches, but in so doing knocked a lit candle into the dustbin. The contents of the dustbin immediately caught fire. Irish in hand, Irish in blood, Teddy let out a torrent of expletives and ran off for the fire extinguisher (or another drink, who really knows). Paul and the kids slowly retreated from his doorstep, sans Nestle Crunches. I'm not sure if they went back to casa Kennedy the next year.
I've never really understood what it is to hate your boss until I started work at ________ LLP.
When I worked at Tower Records, I had a supervisor, Talulah, who used to give me shit for sitting on the back counter during slow periods in cash register duty, but she was okay in the end. She smoked weed competitively and took solemnly her designated charge, the R&B section; whereas I was going to college in the fall and her authority was a fucking joke to me.
Years later, when I was a school teacher, I had a principal who generally left me alone, but one day--maybe the second or third to last day of school in my last year, when the kids were doing nothing but cleaning out their desks--she had the temerity to say something to me about young Joshua Reyes. He had been pissing me off and I had kicked him out into the hallway. Well sort of kicked him out into the hallway, since we weren't actually allowed to do that; so instead I made him stand in the hallway while keeping his right hand inside the classroom. That way I knew he was there and hadn't wandered off. Unfortunately, Joshua, who I wanted to kill constantly and who I also loved like my own flesh, bone, and blood, a duality only teachers know, couldn't keep still and started doing some ADD jig out in the hallway. This caught my wandering principal's eye -- though to this day I still don't know how she managed to lift herself to the fourth floor, part of her dominion she never patrolled. She barged into my classroom and dressed me down for kicking a student out in the hallway, even though, if she weren't such a narcissistic and moronic midget, she should have known I had not technically done. I mean, his hand was still pasted against that inside wall. Come on.
By the way, I had a double class that day. I had been minding another teacher's entire homeroom. I was doing my principal a favor, so I was doubly pissed at this affront. I stared daggers at her, and when she walked away, having deployed her bile, I yanked Joshua back into the class room, sat him down at a desk in the corner, and slammed the door -- hard. The kids all hissed "Ooooooh" in unison: I had just slammed the door on my principal. They knew it. And she knew it. She turned around, came back in and summoned me into the hallway. I can't remember our conversation, but, even though I was in the wrong, even though I had slammed the door on her back, if not her face, and had disrespected her in so unquestionable a way, I held my ground. I made it clear to her, in less profane terms than I am making it here, that I thought she was an unreasonable bitch and shouldn't have dared talked that way to me in front of my kids, that the classroom is my kingdom and I would not tolerate her meddling in my jurisdiction....blah blah blah. Youthful exuberance. I told her, more or less, she deserved my outburst. To her credit, she walked away, before things got really out of hand. Before Shit Got Real. But we were on icy terms for the next week or two. We came to a detante during the summer school term. But I never apologized to her, and she never apologized to me. That fall, I went off to law school, but in the years since I have visited my old school and she has always warmly received me. Water under the bridge, I suppose.
But around the time of the incident I do remember thinking, What the fuck is she going to do? Fire me? I bust my ass for this school, and I am good at what I do. She needs me here more than I need to be here. Let her fucking try.
I think of that incident now. I think of the collected moments in my life where, muddled by stupidity's slightly better-dressed cousin self-confidence, I didn't take my superiors' shit. I think of all those moments where I believed--and I acted in accord with the belief--that my employers needed me more than I needed them, that I had no fear of getting fired.
I think of that incident because I am no longer that person.
Now I have a boss -- let us call him Sean -- who sees himself as something of a teacher, but who has no patience at all, who fulfills television's worst stereotypes of lawyers (brimming with rage, mirthless, committed to destroying his adversary no matter how inconsequential the stakes), and who constantly belittles me, questions my intelligence and work ethic, and who I am beginning to think I will never win over. Now it should be pointed out the vast majority of the things that drive Sean to the brink of Hulk-like hysteria -- a comically melodramatic shuttering of eyelids, followed by a one-handed massage of his own temples, accompanied by very loud nose-breathing -- the vast majority of these things he is fully justified in criticizing. I fuck things up. This job has been a challenge to me -- I know nothing about the industries the firm's clients hale from and I did not have remotely the same level of responsibility in my previous job as I do now. Couple these realities of my job with my generally plodding way, and you can see how disaster might strike -- how it might strike all the time. I have no problem with Sean criticizing me, or my work, but what is bizarre is that he thinks bullying me, breaking me down, is the way to make me a better lawyer.
Now I know a lot of people have had bosses from hell, and maybe I've been lucky so far in my career in that this Sean experience is a new thing for me, but that doesn't change the fact that his tendency to fly off the handle causes me anxiety, makes me nervous, and consequently leads me to make other foolish mistakes that in turn draw further ire from his being. And none of this changes the fact that it's astonishing to me -- and I would think to you -- that Sean thinks he is helping me when he talks himself down from violent outbursts in my presence.
The other day Sean told me I don't have a "killer instinct" because he didn't like a fax I had written to some opposing counsel.
The day before he expressed his displeasure with the fact that I had taken a vacation "really early in my time at _______ LLP." I was dumbfounded. I racked my brain for a response to this statement; I thought I should defend myself. What would my younger self had said to Talulah if she said this to me? To my old principal? But no response sprung to mind. I had taken a week off after four months of work, and monitored my work email while away, and made sure the one or two matters I couldn't reschedule were covered by others. I had done it by the book, and now was being told I had done something shameful. Sean's statement hung in the air, and I just stared at him. I didn't mean that moment to mean anything; I thought this was just another example of him unloading on me and me just taking it. But then something strange happened. My silence, my dumb-stricken face looking at his, were counterpoint enough. Sean must have realized how preposterous his statement was, as it hung in the air, a stale fart from his mouth. He must have realized this was a bridge too far. He stammered, "I mean vacations are good. We all need them, but, you know, work piles up..."
I kept staring for a beat or two more. Then I gathered my papers, and said matter of factly, "Thank you, Sean," and took my leave of him.
I guess there's still some fight left in these old bones, but the fights going forward are going to be the tootless, bloodless kind.
a little more girth, a little less hair, a lot more gray...but they're back! nostalgia ensues...
picture it, you're 14 and kicking back a crystal pepsi in vancouver. some chubby southern guy running for president decides to don sunglasses and play the saxophone on arsenio hall. yes indeed, black people who are not the president are featured regularly on television during this crazy time. your school plays "smells like teen spirit" during the winter dance (the "snow ball") and all the plaid-clad white kids start screaming and smashing into one another while most of the asian kids decide to sit this one out. you don't know what to do, so you start bumping into other kids, too, despite lacking the requisite outfit and, erm, pigmentation.
first off, let's get the really important stuff out of the way. AA and AA--congratulations on the little cutie pie! and also let us know: did ayelet make the cut? if so, can i take credit?
anyway, so i took my first transatlantic trip in four years. old europe is still there, fyi. but you know what i actually want to talk about? movies i watched on the plane, of course.
#1 - anvil! the story of anvil. several critics fell all over themselves praising this film (anthony lane, in particular). why? i don't get it. essentially, this is a documentary about a canadian metal band that enjoyed a brief moment of fame some time in the 80's and the rough journey they have had since. the movie begins with a series of interviews with famous heavy metal musicians, e.g., slash, lars ulrich, some dude from megadeth, etc., all lauding anvil for its sound and lamenting its demise. i had no idea that slash could be so sincere, especially when you realize that you can't see his eyes.
anyway, so the two main members of anvil are in their early 50s, living somewhere in ontario working terrible dead-end jobs. the lead singer lips is an assembly line worker of sorts for a catering company and i don't even remember what the other guy did. they still play together as a band, as they have since they were 15. they have wives and kids and seem to come from supportive families, who either have given up trying to talk the two dudes out of continuing their childhood fantasies or actually believe that this 30-plus-year endeavor will pay off. the movie takes us on tour with them in europe, where they play in front of audiences of varying size (some as little as 4). long story short, you're left wondering whether you should admire or scorn them for their persistence and impossible optimism. i dunno, i thought documentaries were supposed to make you care about the subject no matter how ridiculous (case in point: spellbound). i guess this movie failed in that respect as far as i was concerned.
#2 - he's just not that into you. i know what you're thinking: why would any sane person watch this movie? what do you want from me, i was on a 6-hour flight. i remember that one of my usually mild-mannered coworkers went to watch this movie with a bunch of her girlfriends and returned actually physically angry. needless to say, my expectations were lower than low and perhaps for that reason i found the movie to be fairly entertaining. it tries to present itself as the definitive source on relationship advice, but i mostly spent my time wondering how anyone could find the mac guy attractive. also, is it me or does scarlett johansson always play the same person, i.e., the sensuous seductress who is shocked (shocked!) to discover that men are only after her body? and have jennifer aniston and ben affleck starred in a movie before? i can't believe this is actually a novel couple.
and finally, #3 - i love you man. can paul rudd be any more likable? foreal.
i know i've been writing a lot of "i feel old" posts. i can't help it! besides, this is my blog. go get your own blog where you pontificate about relevant things.
