And now it might be too late.
Today while looking for a parking spot outside 4th street cafe I accidentally drove my car into a passing Chevy Malibu. Nobody was hurt, but four cars were involved and my car got pretty fucked up and, sentimental person that I am, I'm a little choked up at the thought of never driving it again. After all, if this wasn't my first car, it was my first car that didn't suck, my first car that didn't leave me feeling ashamed and uncomfortable and wondering what the dirty stuff coming out of my AC vents was. It seems too important a thing to be referred to as "my black 2002 Saturn L-200."
But can you name a car posthumously? What would I call it? Does it have to be a funny name? What exactly is a funny name for a car?
If anyone has any suggestions, I think it might help me with my grieving process.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The Meek, Earth yet to be inherited, hit me up for spare change.
Now that I live in the city I interact with more poor people. Typically our interaction is brief, and ends with me either giving them a dollar or telling them that I am “strapped.” The homeless person then, depending on the circumstances, either asks for God to bless me, or rolls their eyes and acts huffy. The homeless can be surprisingly unsympathetic to the financial troubles of others.
The Panhandlers and Their Techniques, Reviews for December 2005-January 2006
12/28/05— A man approached me on my way home from a bar with the line “Hey, Big Man.” Still distraught over the four XXXL sweaters my Grandmother gave me three days prior, I ignored him. * 1/2
12/31/05— About 2 am on W Grace Street a man asked for “a piece” of a young lady I was walking home. No attempt was made at response. *
1/11/06— On my way to a bar I was approached by a man who told me the story of how he had just arrived in town, was lost, and had three hungry children in a car around the block. Could I help him get them some food? Wanting to believe his story, I gave him $2. ***
1/13/06— On my way to a work party I was approached by a man who told me the story of how his brother had been thrown in jail on “some bullshit,” and he had been left responsible for three hungry nieces and nephews, who were in a car around the block. Could I help him get them some food? Put off by his lack of creativity, I said that I was broke. **
1/22/06— On my way home from a friend’s apartment I was approached by a man who offered the line, “Brother, I’m homeless as a bitch. Help me get a drink?” I gave him $5. ****
The Panhandlers and Their Techniques, Reviews for December 2005-January 2006
12/28/05— A man approached me on my way home from a bar with the line “Hey, Big Man.” Still distraught over the four XXXL sweaters my Grandmother gave me three days prior, I ignored him. * 1/2
12/31/05— About 2 am on W Grace Street a man asked for “a piece” of a young lady I was walking home. No attempt was made at response. *
1/11/06— On my way to a bar I was approached by a man who told me the story of how he had just arrived in town, was lost, and had three hungry children in a car around the block. Could I help him get them some food? Wanting to believe his story, I gave him $2. ***
1/13/06— On my way to a work party I was approached by a man who told me the story of how his brother had been thrown in jail on “some bullshit,” and he had been left responsible for three hungry nieces and nephews, who were in a car around the block. Could I help him get them some food? Put off by his lack of creativity, I said that I was broke. **
1/22/06— On my way home from a friend’s apartment I was approached by a man who offered the line, “Brother, I’m homeless as a bitch. Help me get a drink?” I gave him $5. ****
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
My Interview with Jesus
One of the most important people in history, Jesus H. Christ, since his death and resurrection at the age of 32, has been a central figure of western civilization, hero to both the righteous and the wicked, cause of wars and political movements, and the subject of countless books movies and television shows.
I spoke with at his home in West Baltimore.
Me: So Jesus, I'd like to get this one out of the way right off the bat-- I posted a blog about you a couple weeks back.
Jesus: (laughs) Yeah, I thought you might ask me about that.
Me: Were you offended by it?
Jesus: Not really. I mean, everyone always gets so worked up anytime I'm portrayed as being in any way a sexual being. People need to calm down.
Me: Do you have a sexual preference then?
Jesus: (laughs) I won't go near that with a ten foot pole.
Me: Really?
Jesus: Alright, fine. I go both ways. Let's change the subject now.
Me: Okay, what do you think about the war in Iraq?
Jesus: Well, I'm pretty much against war.
Me: Always?
Jesus: Yeah, pretty much always. So I guess I hate the war in Iraq, but I try not to be too hard on the Bush administration.
Me: I realize that you are kind of known for your compassion, but I think that's a little much even from you.
Jesus: Yeah, I mean I get mad at them too, sometimes, but then I remind myself that most of those people have serious personal issues that have shaped them into what they are. If that happens to be repulsive, well, that's not 100% their fault.
Me: What sort of problems?
Jesus: Well Rumsfeld has had syphilis since the age of 23, and it's developed to the point where he is pretty much totally crazy now. Thinks he's talking to skunks and rabbits and baby deer. And George W. is autistic. Very high function, of course.
Me: Wow.
Jesus: Oh yeah. And then there's the child abuse. Loads of that. Cheney, for example. His father used to dress him up like Snow White and peg acorns at him in the backyard.
Me: What about Condoleeza Rice?
Jesus: Actually, she doesn't really have an excuse. She's just sort of a cunt.
Me: Changing topics, what's your take on John 3:16 signs at sporting events?
Jesus: I guess I'm okay with that. I mean, if you want to invoke my heavenly father sacrificing me to save man from eternal damnation, in the hopes that a man will be able to kick a ball between two poles, well I'm not going to stop you. You'll look like a dick, but whatever.
Me: Are you my homeboy?
Jesus: Uhm, frankly? No.
Look, I find that shirt really irritating. I mean, I know I love every one, you're all my children, blah blah blah, but it's just presumptuous you know? I mean, who the fuck are you man, calling me your homeboy? Not you specifically Andrew, I mean a general you. "You" (makes quote marks in the air with his hands) don't know me. Every one thinks they know me, everyone thinks I'm their fucking homeboy. It got old years ago, let me tell you.
Me: I'm going to throw out some names, and I'd like for you to say the first word or phrase that comes to mind.
Jesus: Alright.
Me: Marcus Vick.
Jesus: Troubled young negro.
Me: Barbra Streissand.
Jesus: Narcissitic clown with the voice that makes me weep.
Me: Pat Robertson.
Jesus: Surprisingly on target much of the time.
Me: Really?
Jesus: No, I was fucking with you.
Me: Well I'd like to thank you for taking time to speak to me, Jesus.
Jesus: That's It?
Me: Yeah, that's all I got.
Jesus: Wow, I can't believe it's done so soon. It's been a pleasure.
I spoke with at his home in West Baltimore.
Me: So Jesus, I'd like to get this one out of the way right off the bat-- I posted a blog about you a couple weeks back.
Jesus: (laughs) Yeah, I thought you might ask me about that.
Me: Were you offended by it?
Jesus: Not really. I mean, everyone always gets so worked up anytime I'm portrayed as being in any way a sexual being. People need to calm down.
Me: Do you have a sexual preference then?
Jesus: (laughs) I won't go near that with a ten foot pole.
Me: Really?
Jesus: Alright, fine. I go both ways. Let's change the subject now.
Me: Okay, what do you think about the war in Iraq?
Jesus: Well, I'm pretty much against war.
Me: Always?
Jesus: Yeah, pretty much always. So I guess I hate the war in Iraq, but I try not to be too hard on the Bush administration.
Me: I realize that you are kind of known for your compassion, but I think that's a little much even from you.
Jesus: Yeah, I mean I get mad at them too, sometimes, but then I remind myself that most of those people have serious personal issues that have shaped them into what they are. If that happens to be repulsive, well, that's not 100% their fault.
Me: What sort of problems?
Jesus: Well Rumsfeld has had syphilis since the age of 23, and it's developed to the point where he is pretty much totally crazy now. Thinks he's talking to skunks and rabbits and baby deer. And George W. is autistic. Very high function, of course.
Me: Wow.
Jesus: Oh yeah. And then there's the child abuse. Loads of that. Cheney, for example. His father used to dress him up like Snow White and peg acorns at him in the backyard.
Me: What about Condoleeza Rice?
Jesus: Actually, she doesn't really have an excuse. She's just sort of a cunt.
Me: Changing topics, what's your take on John 3:16 signs at sporting events?
Jesus: I guess I'm okay with that. I mean, if you want to invoke my heavenly father sacrificing me to save man from eternal damnation, in the hopes that a man will be able to kick a ball between two poles, well I'm not going to stop you. You'll look like a dick, but whatever.
Me: Are you my homeboy?
Jesus: Uhm, frankly? No.
Look, I find that shirt really irritating. I mean, I know I love every one, you're all my children, blah blah blah, but it's just presumptuous you know? I mean, who the fuck are you man, calling me your homeboy? Not you specifically Andrew, I mean a general you. "You" (makes quote marks in the air with his hands) don't know me. Every one thinks they know me, everyone thinks I'm their fucking homeboy. It got old years ago, let me tell you.
Me: I'm going to throw out some names, and I'd like for you to say the first word or phrase that comes to mind.
Jesus: Alright.
Me: Marcus Vick.
Jesus: Troubled young negro.
Me: Barbra Streissand.
Jesus: Narcissitic clown with the voice that makes me weep.
Me: Pat Robertson.
Jesus: Surprisingly on target much of the time.
Me: Really?
Jesus: No, I was fucking with you.
Me: Well I'd like to thank you for taking time to speak to me, Jesus.
Jesus: That's It?
Me: Yeah, that's all I got.
Jesus: Wow, I can't believe it's done so soon. It's been a pleasure.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Productivity
Every morning after I put the kids on the bus I get a three hour break. I do wonderful things with that three hours: bill paying, errand running, napping, cooking. Sometimes I get home in time to catch the final ten minutes of Dawson's Creek on TBS. It's fun to imagine what events lead up to each day's tearful climax.
DAWSON: And... I want to figure out where we are. What's going on between us.
JOEY: And how do we do that, Dawson?
DAWSON: Oh, God... I'm sorry, Joe. I'm -- I'm not -- I'm just not all there. I mean, I can -- I can analyze somebody else until the cows wander home, but as soon as I turn all that indulgent perception on myself, it's like I completely lose connection between my heart and my head. It's like the two are incompatible, and I -- I can't get it together. And I really wish I could, because I'm so scared of what might happen if I don't. I... Does this make any sense to you at all?
JOEY: What are you so scared of, Dawson?
DAWSON: I don't know. I don't know.
Today I used my three hour break to watch an episode of Six Feet Under, and then I ate more than half a box of Corn Pops. My stomach hurts and the after-taste isn't pleasant either, but I'm not sorry.
For more memorable lines from Dawson's Creek you can go to the official website. You can also go there to buy your own personalized Dawson's Creek soundtrack-- you pick the songs, you pick the cover. Mine has Joey and Pacey on the cover, and features the song Juliette by Vanessa Daou, which played in Episode #615 while Joey shaved Pacey's goatee off. I always thought that was so moving.
DAWSON: And... I want to figure out where we are. What's going on between us.
JOEY: And how do we do that, Dawson?
DAWSON: Oh, God... I'm sorry, Joe. I'm -- I'm not -- I'm just not all there. I mean, I can -- I can analyze somebody else until the cows wander home, but as soon as I turn all that indulgent perception on myself, it's like I completely lose connection between my heart and my head. It's like the two are incompatible, and I -- I can't get it together. And I really wish I could, because I'm so scared of what might happen if I don't. I... Does this make any sense to you at all?
JOEY: What are you so scared of, Dawson?
DAWSON: I don't know. I don't know.
Today I used my three hour break to watch an episode of Six Feet Under, and then I ate more than half a box of Corn Pops. My stomach hurts and the after-taste isn't pleasant either, but I'm not sorry.
For more memorable lines from Dawson's Creek you can go to the official website. You can also go there to buy your own personalized Dawson's Creek soundtrack-- you pick the songs, you pick the cover. Mine has Joey and Pacey on the cover, and features the song Juliette by Vanessa Daou, which played in Episode #615 while Joey shaved Pacey's goatee off. I always thought that was so moving.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Our Beethoven
Hey man.
The blog is OK. There's a BIG typo at the bottom: "Bath" instead of "bathe".
It's like some of your others in that you detail stupid things that people do- but in this case, instead of picking something that is illogical or ridiculous (i.e. Kenny Bevan hits a guy with his car and shrugs it off, or a politician pathetically calls Barnes and Noble to order his own book), you pick something that only seems like a problem for you.
Also, it's kind of a one-joker. Like, it would've been similar if it'd been titled "If Beethoven could talk to us today" and then it was one sentence: "Fuck you, cocksucking troglodytes".
Nick
That's an e-mail from my friend Nick. He is, of course, right about my post (January 2nd) being a one-note joke. However, I wanted to correct Nick's impression, and I suspect it's an impression I've probably given others, that this was my own angry comment on popular music. Not at all; popular music grows on me more all the time. And while admittedly I can be fairly angry, these days the only time I get really angry about bad music is when I can't turn it off, which is rare.
No, this post was about Beethoven, and what someone with his immense ego and bad temper would say if he knew what our culture was like and where he fit into it.
(Truthfully the post was about the phrases "vapid twadlings of garishly painted teenage concubines" and, "toneless whore voices writhing up and down the scale in sickening melismas whose sound compares unfavorably with that of my dog's bowel movements," and not much else).
I'm still thinking about Beethoven and popular music, specifically who in the world of contemporary popular music most resembles him? Who is our Beethoven? Here are a few possibilities:
The Wu-Tang Clan
The Wu-Tang are innovative and ambitious enough, but their work isn't consistent and they lack Beethoven's seriousness. It seems unlikely that Beethoven would make an appearance on Chappelle Show, let alone say "Konichiwa, bitches." (Side note: they call Raekwon "the Chef" because he cooks up all kinds of marvelous shit.)
Radiohead
As innovative and ambitious as the Wu-Tang, Radiohead is also completely without a sense of humor. However, Beethoven, as humorless as he was, did tend towards the optimistic side. Radiohead songs, which may fool you because of their often ironic titles, are frequently quite depressing.
Enya
Lacks intellectual heft.
Tim McGraw
Shares Beethoven's uncanny ability to dissect and get to the heart of a theme, though his themes are not as good. Loses points for whoring himself out to Monday Night Football, which Beethoven would never do. Never. Can you imagine if they reworked the Ninth Symphony each week to incorporate football highlights?
Colts, beauteous, godly sparks,
AFC South champions,
Drunk with fire, O Heavenly Manning,
We come unto your sacred RCA Dome.
Your audibles once again unite
That which boat parties sternly parted,
All men are made brothers
Where your perfect offense drives.
It would never work in German.
(For those who don't watch Monday Night Football, this past season at the halftime of every game they would play a highlights clip featuring Tim McGraw's heartbreaking "I Like It, I Love It," the lyrics reworked to describe the actions of the previous days football games. Apparently this was a major undertaking, and every Sunday night writers had to work furiously to get the words to Mr. McGaw so he could record them for the Monday night broadcast. And their hard work paid off in spades. SPADES. )
The blog is OK. There's a BIG typo at the bottom: "Bath" instead of "bathe".
It's like some of your others in that you detail stupid things that people do- but in this case, instead of picking something that is illogical or ridiculous (i.e. Kenny Bevan hits a guy with his car and shrugs it off, or a politician pathetically calls Barnes and Noble to order his own book), you pick something that only seems like a problem for you.
Also, it's kind of a one-joker. Like, it would've been similar if it'd been titled "If Beethoven could talk to us today" and then it was one sentence: "Fuck you, cocksucking troglodytes".
Nick
That's an e-mail from my friend Nick. He is, of course, right about my post (January 2nd) being a one-note joke. However, I wanted to correct Nick's impression, and I suspect it's an impression I've probably given others, that this was my own angry comment on popular music. Not at all; popular music grows on me more all the time. And while admittedly I can be fairly angry, these days the only time I get really angry about bad music is when I can't turn it off, which is rare.
No, this post was about Beethoven, and what someone with his immense ego and bad temper would say if he knew what our culture was like and where he fit into it.
(Truthfully the post was about the phrases "vapid twadlings of garishly painted teenage concubines" and, "toneless whore voices writhing up and down the scale in sickening melismas whose sound compares unfavorably with that of my dog's bowel movements," and not much else).
I'm still thinking about Beethoven and popular music, specifically who in the world of contemporary popular music most resembles him? Who is our Beethoven? Here are a few possibilities:
The Wu-Tang Clan
The Wu-Tang are innovative and ambitious enough, but their work isn't consistent and they lack Beethoven's seriousness. It seems unlikely that Beethoven would make an appearance on Chappelle Show, let alone say "Konichiwa, bitches." (Side note: they call Raekwon "the Chef" because he cooks up all kinds of marvelous shit.)
Radiohead
As innovative and ambitious as the Wu-Tang, Radiohead is also completely without a sense of humor. However, Beethoven, as humorless as he was, did tend towards the optimistic side. Radiohead songs, which may fool you because of their often ironic titles, are frequently quite depressing.
Enya
Lacks intellectual heft.
Tim McGraw
Shares Beethoven's uncanny ability to dissect and get to the heart of a theme, though his themes are not as good. Loses points for whoring himself out to Monday Night Football, which Beethoven would never do. Never. Can you imagine if they reworked the Ninth Symphony each week to incorporate football highlights?
Colts, beauteous, godly sparks,
AFC South champions,
Drunk with fire, O Heavenly Manning,
We come unto your sacred RCA Dome.
Your audibles once again unite
That which boat parties sternly parted,
All men are made brothers
Where your perfect offense drives.
It would never work in German.
(For those who don't watch Monday Night Football, this past season at the halftime of every game they would play a highlights clip featuring Tim McGraw's heartbreaking "I Like It, I Love It," the lyrics reworked to describe the actions of the previous days football games. Apparently this was a major undertaking, and every Sunday night writers had to work furiously to get the words to Mr. McGaw so he could record them for the Monday night broadcast. And their hard work paid off in spades. SPADES. )
Monday, January 09, 2006
Go Hokies!
This past week Marcus Vick, quarterback for Virginia Tech and younger brother of NFL star Mike Vick, was dismissed from his team. Virginia Tech sited a long history of trouble with Mr. Vick, the most recent incident being his behavior at the Gator Bowl, where he was nationally televised stomping on a defensive lineman's leg.
This past weekend, still claiming that the Gator Bowl incident was an accident, Marcus Vick announced he would participate in this April's NFL draft.
Today he was arrested on charges that he threatened three teenagers with a gun at a McDonald's in Suffolk.
I can't help feeling that, as bad as Marcus Vick appears to be, it isn't really fair to single him out. Sure, he's selfish, reckless, and violent, but then, isn't college football meant for people like that?
Take for example this last season when, following the VA Tech/Miami game in which Miami gave Tech its first loss of the season, there was a drunken riot featuring numerous beatings, rapes, attempted rapes, a stabbing, and one incident in which an 18-year-old freshman was found beaten into a coma (He died later that week).
And then there's the fun story about the students at Tech and other schools who have football scholarships but live in subsidized housing so they can pocket their $500 a month housing stipends.
So Hokie fans commit rape and murder when their team loses and Hokie players cheat poor people out of subsidized housing, but God forbid the quarterback step on somebody's calf muscle, THAT's inexcusable.
All Marcus Vick did was drive under the influence, attempt to seriously injure a member of an opposing team, and threaten some kids with a gun; bad surely, but not murderin', rapin', cheatin' single welfare mothers type bad. He's not near ready for the pros.
This past weekend, still claiming that the Gator Bowl incident was an accident, Marcus Vick announced he would participate in this April's NFL draft.
Today he was arrested on charges that he threatened three teenagers with a gun at a McDonald's in Suffolk.
I can't help feeling that, as bad as Marcus Vick appears to be, it isn't really fair to single him out. Sure, he's selfish, reckless, and violent, but then, isn't college football meant for people like that?
Take for example this last season when, following the VA Tech/Miami game in which Miami gave Tech its first loss of the season, there was a drunken riot featuring numerous beatings, rapes, attempted rapes, a stabbing, and one incident in which an 18-year-old freshman was found beaten into a coma (He died later that week).
And then there's the fun story about the students at Tech and other schools who have football scholarships but live in subsidized housing so they can pocket their $500 a month housing stipends.
So Hokie fans commit rape and murder when their team loses and Hokie players cheat poor people out of subsidized housing, but God forbid the quarterback step on somebody's calf muscle, THAT's inexcusable.
All Marcus Vick did was drive under the influence, attempt to seriously injure a member of an opposing team, and threaten some kids with a gun; bad surely, but not murderin', rapin', cheatin' single welfare mothers type bad. He's not near ready for the pros.
Monday, January 02, 2006
If Beethoven could speak to us.
Children,
I address not only those of you who may be underaged, but all of you, because you are all children. Feeble-minded and insolent children whose parents never married.
I hate you. You are unworthy of my music, of my message of universal brotherhood, of the triumph of the human spirit through love. Unworthy because you choose to be so, because you prefer the vapid twadlings of garishly painted teenage concubines, their toneless whore voices writhing up and down the scale in sickening melismas whose sound compares unfavorably with that of my dog's bowel movements.
There is a terrible stench about you because you never bathe. Fuck you.
Ludwig van Beethoven
I address not only those of you who may be underaged, but all of you, because you are all children. Feeble-minded and insolent children whose parents never married.
I hate you. You are unworthy of my music, of my message of universal brotherhood, of the triumph of the human spirit through love. Unworthy because you choose to be so, because you prefer the vapid twadlings of garishly painted teenage concubines, their toneless whore voices writhing up and down the scale in sickening melismas whose sound compares unfavorably with that of my dog's bowel movements.
There is a terrible stench about you because you never bathe. Fuck you.
Ludwig van Beethoven
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