Only time will tell.

I am working on my second novel and because I want it to consume me, I have no energy for blogging at this time. I will resume blogging when novel is finished. thank you.

What I Have Been Reading

1. Recently finished David Mitchell's impressive though not as mind blowing as 'Cloud Atlas' novel, 'The Thousand Autumns Of Jacob De Zoet'.
2. Too many to name books on the Irish Potato Famine
3. Book of Irish Folktales
4. Walt Whitman: miscellaneous selections from Leaves of Grass
5.  John Berger- 'Sense Of Sight'
6.  Willis Thorton- 'History; Fact & Fiction'
7.  Barry Yourgrau- 'Man Jumps Out Of An Airplane'
8.  Diane Ackerman- 'A Natural History of the Senses'
9.  More books on Irish History and Irish Slang
10. Yi-Fu Tuan- 'The Good Life'

Dog Days

                                      

                           Why do some days inevitably feel half-lived? Why do some decisions cause deep regrets? Why don't I have a 'planner' like most respectable adults? Why don't I settle down, get married, have 2.5 kids, get a good job that has benefits like health insurance, buy a big flat screen t.v and just try to be fucking happy? Live closer to my family? Why don't I do sit-ups even though I know my stomach is out of shape from too much pizza and junk food? Why am I still so hung up on creating something beautiful that has meaning and is relevant for human beings besides myself? Why do I live in NYC? Why do I go to the cinema alone sometimes? Why do I care about the anti-eye-candy art of Richard Serra? Why am I frustrated by three well known NYC Art Museums featuring exhibits where 1980's style video games are employed? (I love the 80's too but enough is enough.)
Why do I sigh late at night alone in my room wondering what could have been, should have been? Why must I still be thinking on you? Why did Rilke see that marble torso of Apollo and say to himself, "you must change your life"?

Impressions Of Boston On A Recent Visit

            


                First impressions: Boston is cleaner, more restrained and more tasteful than NYC. Manhattan and the outer boroughs lambast one with a million different advertisements on buildings flashing products like clothes, cars and technology. Not so in Boston. There is a quaintness that I appreciated as I walked along the esplanade next to the Charles River. Even in the middle of Summer the nights are cool. Intrigued by American History as I am, I visited the graves of Paul Revere, Sam Adams and the five victims of the Boston Massacre; an event I took a guided tour for later in the day at the place where it actually happened.
               Walked along the Boston gardens in full sun shine as the Swan boats ferried eager faced kids and their parents thru the park. Every other male wore a Boston Red Sox hat. Boston Harbor was nautically cool and old feeling with areas where rich people ate expensive food outside at table with fancy umbrellas probably owned a sail boat as well. My friend and guide remarked to me, "There's alot of old money in Boston."
Another impression: Boston is a white-bred city. I haven't heard that much of my own language since I was back in Ohio. What else? Several surrounding neighborhoods with tree lined streets, small yards, huge old houses converted into apartments. Three blocks from where I stayed JFK was born on such a quiet residential street. I walked and saw it from the outside. My Irish Grandma would be smiling knowing I visited his house(being the huge Kennedy fan she was when alive). Safe areas from what I could see in my limited time. I didn't see the ghettos or the run down areas. Saw the statues commemorating the Irish Famine and the emigrants who fled to Boston. I toured King's Chapel and sat in weird box pews I had never seen before. A person could get comfortable in this city yet for some I could see how it might not be enough. Enough what? I am not sure. Better ask Ben Franklin. He split to go live in Philadelphia when he was 16.

Summer Without Air-Conditioning

            

                         Right now we have an air-conditioner in our closet collecting dust when the last few nights in my small bedroom have been gruelingly muggy and stifling; when two nights ago I had to use an ice pack from the freezer to sleep with just to have a chance to sleep--which I did by 5am.
Before you think I have come down with a special kind of madness or are the victim of a delusional embolism, or just a glutton for punishment, you should know it is part of my approach to Summer; to want to experience it the way it used to be experienced--which includes uncomfortable moments and annoyingly unrelenting heat waves. My aims are noble and healthy I tell myself but hotdamn last night was a suffering too-long sauna in moist sheets. Granted I had two cheap electric fans whizzing quietly but these seemed only to blow around more hot hair. A joke as it were--on me. For of course people 'experienced' summer without electric fans for thousands of years as well as air-conditioners; (though there are several examples through out history of attempts at cooling housing interiors going back to the ancient Romans.)
                Who cares. Back to the topic at hand. What is the topic? Sweat beads fall onto the keyboard as I type this. How long shall I hold out? In 1965 only 10% of U.S. households had air conditioning. By 2007 the number was up to 86%. (This is one reason jobs have been more plentiful in, and people have moved to, the south for the last few decades in the U.S.) Still, I forge on without Air-Conditioning. What a trooper.
                      They say the crime rate in New York City has gone down drastically from where it was at in the 1970's and 80's and experts have several reasons for this, but I think part of it has to do with people got air-conditioning on a mass scale in a short period of time. Really. Oh, what feverish torments await me tonight? Last night for a snack I had mouthfuls of hot air. Not tasty. Lake Erie is too far away. Even sleeping in the nude doesn't feel good. This is no complaint tangent. These are fevered musings in a small solitary room in the depths of July. An inner voice yells,  'Then go outside!' But I don't really hear it 'cause I instead passed out in a pool of my own sweat and misguided notions of 'experiencing summer'. Cheers.

Song Of The Day

Word Of The Day

crotchet \KROCH-it\, noun:

1. An odd fancy or whimsical notion.
2. A small hook.
3. In British musical nomenclature, a quarter note.
4. A curved surgical instrument with a sharp hook.

"The Wild haired Scientist threw one crotchet after another at me in hopes I could be persuaded to his own personal utopian vision of reincarnation and rebirth. The crazy fucker."

The Further Adventures of Lewis and Clark

So, what'd you do today?
                  For Lewis and Clark and the rest of the group one spring day they came upon some Buffalo carcasses where Buffalo had tried to cross the frozen river in winter and drowned when they broke thru. Judging by the tracks near the carcasses, grizzly bears had been feeding off the mess. They hadn't encountered one yet but many tribes have told them about the dangers of the grizzly bear, how warriors never fight one unless with six or seven other men and even then one man usually dies. Lewis and Clark witnessed tribes preparing to go attack a Grizzly, how they went thru elaborate dancing and prayer rituals, 'superstitions' as Lewis called them.
                 Then a few days later they wander thru areas that had been hunted by local tribes to the extent where they couldn't find live game for half a week. That soon changed when Captain Lewis shot and killed a dear. For dinner they had venison steak and beaver tails. I had spaghetti with a hot spicy red sauce and Italian Bread in my apartment in Astoria. Two French Beaver Trappers hopped a ride for a bit. They cruised the Missouri River in the spring when the land was alive with the sounds of nature and Only nature. Think it was all fun and games? One of the men stole a little whiskey from the barreled rations and when the Captains found out, he got 75 lashes across his bare back.

Water and the Journals of Lewis and Clark

                              
                                 As I was at my sink the other day letting the faucet fill my glass with cold water, I let some spill over and even set the glass down while the faucet continued to run and I thought, 'well that's wasteful' because I remembered back to the book I'm currently reading; 'the Journals of Lewis and Clark' and how at times the men in the expedition as they studied the land in Southern Minnesota or South Dakota were desperately thirsty. When they got back to their main boat(keelhaul) and resumed their path up the Missouri River (they don't call it the 'muddy river' for nothing) several of the men came down with dysentary. This also had to do with their lack of vegetables probably but still. I'm only about 100 pages in. Sacagewea hasn't even showed up yet but already you get the feeling that for what we take for granted without question was for them at times an extremely laborious and difficult task; to drink fresh water day in and day out.
                                  Though that was just one of many challenges the explorers faced it was perhaps the most vital. After all, we humans Need water to live. There was no Coke or Gatorade or Paul Newman's Lemonade or Vitamin Water or Walmarts to stock up on plastic bottles of water back then. No Snapple either. Really, no Snapple? Really. Most of the time it was the mighty and muddy Missouri River and its tributaries. Two Hundred and Seven Years later, in the heat of Summer I can go to the faucet and let it run until it gets cold. I can watch the water go down the drain and then quench my thirst. Or I can go to the fridge and pour forth a delicious river of my own. It is called Minute Maid Tropical Punch and I can drink it cold right out of the carton. It reminds me to think of the expression, "Nectar of the Gods", as I do.

Song Of The Day

On Being Without a Cell Phone For Almost a Full week

    

            

                     At first, of course, you feel liberated. That annoying appendage has been sheared off and once again you feel free, breezy, like a child tossing himself into the wind. (It was especially nice Not to have the phone jammed in my pocket during the MAN MAN show where I was in the middle throb of the gleeful yet borderline violent shoving and bouncing crowd.) (Incidentally, they are the best live band in America right now I think with maybe the exception of 'Of Montreal'.) So a few days pass and then one day you are walking in Greenpoint with an urge to call your best friend who lives in Portland. Shit. No phone. Or you're on the train here in Queens and you want to check in with the family back in Ohio-- Shit. No phone. But you move on with your day and its fine. The next day you wake and at some point you remember how lonely a person could feel back in the days before cell phones. You had totally forgotten. Back then, when you needed some ones attention, when you needed that human contact, you had no choice but to deal with it on your own. Does anyone remember this? And I don't just refer to the times before cell phones-- but to how utterly stuck with ourselves we once were. I certainly do not mean loneliness in general but that particular feeling is gone from our way of being these days for better or worse. So by the fifth day without a cell phone you begin craving it. Maybe not like a meth head yet. But maybe like a pothead. You begin picking yr. nails and wondering what people in your life who live far away are doing at various moments. Then the next day you wonder what the hell bullshit is UPS up to and why the fuck they have not delivered you your new phone  when it was supposed to have arrived three days ago.  You curse ashes and postcards. You see phantom brown UPS trucks with flames and clown faces painted on their sides. You hear squirrels out yr. window mocking you and your contemporary human need for such things. You read somewhere that Doctors now know cell phones may cause cancer. You don't care. And so you wait like a miserable fiend or a disgruntled child. Cars and trucks pass outside without stopping as you sit down at the computer and pray to the Gods of the Internet.

Song Of The Day

The Preakness Stakes Horse Race

                      

                               In what is known as the second jewel in the Triple Crown of  Horse racing, the Preakness happens later today down at Pimlico Race-track in Baltimore, Maryland. 14 horses will go at it in this particular race.(Its good to know that this is not the only race of the day. It happens to be race 12 out of 13; Of course this is by far the most important one of the day. It is afterall, the 136th Preakness Stakes. It also happens to be the one with worth the most in terms of how much the winner gets. {Million dollar purse.})
Anyways, to cut to the chase: I'm choosing 'Shackleford' to win by a nose over 'Midnight Interlude'.
That's my pick. I think I'll play an exacta and then just 'Shackleford' straight up to win. He might be the fastest horse in the race and he led for most of the Kentucky Derby before being soundly beaten but here the track length for this race is much shorter. If he can get out a head and get a clean run or if he sits behind Astrology and then takes him late I think he's got a good chance. How ever the hell he does is just fine with me.
So now you know. Place your bets. Let's all go win money.

Word Of The Day

foofaraw \FOO-fuh-raw\, noun:

1. Excessive or flashy ornamentation or decoration.
2. A fuss over a matter of little importance.

Example: "The novel, written about homeless men living in a facility for Veterans, could not be written in an ornate, flashy style. This was no foofaraw. These were the lives of real men." -Shuble Morgan

Song Of The Day

'Badlands' at The Museum of the Moving Image

                                God damn, what a great movie. Rarely does a film in all its aspects seamlessly contribute to the totality of the vision. An early 20's Martin Sheen is amazing; his every move is a natural extension of his character. There is no doubting his star power. Sissy Spacek is a perfectly balanced blend of bizzare, naive and girly. (They are two young people on the run from the law in the Badlands region of Montana.) Everything works to add to the story. The cinematography, the landscapes, the soundtrack, the editing, the dialogue, the bits of dry humor sprinkled here and there before and after multiple killings, the sense of playfulness within the chemistry of the two leads. It all works and it all adds up to a genuine American Masterpiece of a Motion Picture. Director Terence Malick burst on to the scene with this, his 1973 debut feature. This is, for me, the rare film that I can't even knit-pickingly find some small flaw. (Unincidentally a film that should be seen on the big screen.) If I had some Ebertesque rating system, I'd give it the max. You'll even notice how later films like 'True Romance' borrow heavily from this movie. Shit, anybody who truly cares about experiencing  good films should have this on their 'absolutely-must-fucking-see-list'.
Terence Malick's 1973 debut Film, 'Badlands'.

Song Of The Day

Song Of The Day

Richard Serra at The Met

                        
                  So I went to visit the recently opened Richard Serra exhibit at The Metropolitan Museum of Art the other day. By my estimation he is one of the most famous and influential and prolific American artists still living and working today. Now he made his name(and rightfully so) with large scale steel sculptures experienced sometimes in public, site-specific places but this particular retropspective features everything except what he is primarily known for. No sculptures here--yet as you walk through each room and spend some time with each piece, the Richard Serra signature becomes apparent.
Here we get drawings, notebook doodles, three videos from the 1960's  but mostly(and this was my favorite part anyway) we get large wall size or half-wall size pieces painted black using a custom built 'paintstick' as he calls it on either Belgian Linen or Hiromi Paper. In his world we do well to think about weight, gravity, process, material, and our own bodies experience with those things.
These works are not about image. When you confront or are confronted by one of these massive black Belgian Linen pieces tight against the wall so that the whole what was once a spacious white room is fundamentally altered and your feeling about where you are is altered too. In the last room these giant black rectangles(in other rooms they are triangles in the corners) reached the ceiling some 50 ft high and as you approached they became a towering barrier but only a barrier if you were trying to look into them, through them. These were not walls of airy darkness. Despite their scale and solid black color, these were not something you looked into as though it was a window on another dimension or whatever. In these pieces there is nothing 'out there' or 'in there' because these are not portals or like looking up at a night-time sky. This is physicality. This is material. This is not to help illusion. This is about physical interaction in the present. If you're a big fan of all things colorful, you prolly aint gonna dig this jam. There are no other colors except black in any of the work. Using his custom paintstick which was a combination of crayon, oil, wax, and pigment, he plays on similar themes by varying how thick or thin he paints it on. The exhibit itself is called 'Drawings' but I can't see how these particular pieces(and there are quite a few) are to be considered drawings; not that its a big deal. It isn't. (I'm not covering every piece in the in exhibit in this post.)
In terms of the notebooks under glass cases with certain pages open to the viewer, we see basically a hyper creative individual doodling. If these weren't the notebooks of Richard Serra one gets the impression they wouldn't garner such spotlight. In one room of pieces from the 1970's, the glare from the plexi-glass or whatever it was makes it impossible not to see a reflection. It totally distracts the viewer from the work. This I have noticed is becoming more and more a problem in museums. I realize the need to a have a protective see-thru shield of some kind but find something that doesn't function as mirror and totally change the experience of what we are supposed to be looking at.
All in all, Richard Serra restores my belief in the relevance of a brand of Art for Arts sake that I don't mind subscribing to. I'm gonna go back to the Met next week and take a look again and see what happens.

Song Of The Day

Herzog's Newest Film, 'Cave of Forgotten Dreams' (3-D)

          

                        The subject matter: 35 thousand year-old cave paintings in the Chaveut Cave in southern France--a cave that was only discovered in 1994. Permitted to use a small crew with cold-lit battery powered lights and forced to stay on a narrow steel walkway and touch nothing-- Werner Herzog shows us both the images left by these pre-historic human beings as best he can,(horses, bison, mammoths, now extinct cave lions, bears, human hand prints) and the particular geological beauty of the cave itself while juxtaposing all that with interviews of the various scientists who are engaged in studying the cave in all its many facets.
                         The traces of human activity adorned on these cavern walls should be of interest to most human beings who are even remotely curious as to what being a human was like 35,000 years ago. Herzog calls the cave paintings 'art' but these cave dwellers didn't have any notion of 'art for art's sake. These images were their lives and exhibited a closeness to animals that I don't think we can really comprehend in modern times.
                         There is certainly great mystery instilled in these pictures. Mysteries that have to do with what it meant to be alive and interacting with your natural environment as this early day and age.  We still don't know why exactly they painted a horse, one lapping over the other in a row of about five. Or why a bear skull is found up on raised platform. Were these depictions part of a spiritual ritual? The Chaveut Cave is without a doubt one of the most significant archeological sites in the world and from this we can ruminate on our great ancestors but all of this is not to say that 'Cave of Forgotten Dreams' is a great cinematic experience.The 3-D is at times kinda cool but more often it dims everything too much. The lighting in the cave from the filmmakers lights are pale and cold to begin with so at times it just made for a discomforting visual. And then Herzog adds his quirky and sometimes silly voice-over narration making dubious claims here and there for example that some of the depictions could be seen as a proto-type for cinema. Maybe. Doubtful.
                       And then a scene where everyone gets quiet and we're deep in a chamber--and we hear heart beats getting louder and louder and Herzog loves these hokey dramatic effects but really, it's kinda dumb. For people that already adore this man's films,(or the mythology surrounding the man himself) you will prolly love this as well. (You should also know that a few seats away from where I was sitting a man had dozed off so what does that tell you.) It may be the case that there are parts of the film that just come off as too repetitious and a lil' boring.
                      Now because it was in 3D it cost 17 Dollars for one ticket.(This was at IFC Center.) That is one expensive movie to go see. And I'm also left with the feeling that like all great art that has to do with painting, if its to be truly experienced and appreciated you need to be there and see it in person. Maybe for the youtube generation this is close enough.  3-D is no savior. And there's not a chance in hell the French Government would let me or you get inside. So I guess if this was a typical movie review I would say if you got 17 bucks to throw around, go ahead and see it.

Weather Report

                           There's a gang of birds whistlin dixie or who knows what with their soft plumage warm. Sunlight is out over everything. Flowers bloom and burst and live out their colorful lives in this new spring season as an old Italian lady sweeps her steps and then the sidewalk in front of her house that doesn't look like houses in Ohio. The trees have their new green leaves and are perfectly content to soak up the sun. Here and then a little breeze dances past but you should know that there's an awful lot of concrete too.A plane soars in the pure blue sky. A squirrel scampers. At night asleep, he dreams of  forests.  Two people walk down the street conversing in a language I can't quite identify. Cars cruise by with their windows down. Temps in the low 60's but here comes a cloud or two to remind folks to wear something long sleeve, to remind us that we're never too far from something huge to fuck it all up.

Song Of The Day

Song Of The Day

Public Submitted Poem Of The Day

(From the Haunted Briefings of NFL Quarterbacks)

I wonder if Vinny Testaverde drives a Lamborghini and a
Hot one follows him around to the tanning salon in the valley of the shadow of death.
Or if he's a laid back family man, sheparding the health and prosperity of those he loves the most.
Or if any old fans or haters, throw eggs at his mansion in the middle of the night
Or at midnight.
This seems about right.

-Shubel Morgan (Western Reserve, Ohio)

NYC Observations(Cheap Cell-Phone Snapshots)

What I Should Do

                            I could be fussing and still pissed at the fact that I was kicked out of the 'of montreal' show at Webster Hall on Saturday night because some lame guy was mad that I was bumping into him I guess and was trying to start shit with me even though it's supposed to be a let loose fun and dancy concert where physical contact in a fun non-violent way is the norm; which it was until this asshole guy couldn't just drop it so I grabbed his shirt--but then my roommate quickly separated us and everything seemed fine. Next thing I know some big security guard has made his way to the middle of the crowd and is non-chalantely asking me to follow him. Which to my detriment, I did. I followed him as he lead me outside, marked two big 86's in black magic marker on my hand and left me on the front sidewalk. Bastard.
                            I could be ruminating on last night's announcement that Osama Bin Laden had been killed by US Navy Seals in a night time raid just north of Islamabad, Pakistan. People were cheering in Times Square, Ground Zero, and in front of the White House but I'm not sure celebrating the death of any other human being is a cool thing to do. I mean I'm glad we got the man responsible for so many innocent deaths but c'mon. What's humanity after all? And my Father is still out of work and my Mother can't afford to pay her hospital bills.
I could continue reading David Mitchell's mysterious 'Cloud Atlas'.(I'm on page 157.)
I could take a hot bath with David Mitchell's 'Cloud Atlas' and rest my tired muscles and hope I never grow old while eating left over Easter candy--afterwards climb into bed-- and in the morning I could take the subway to ground zero by myself to spend several moments where I would be totally and utterly--- silent.

When my Computer Was Attacked By Hideous Viruses...

I could not update FREEZE TAG for almost two weeks. Now we're Healthy and Good and it's Spring and my Mom is safe and my family back in Ohio are safe and sound.

Song Of The Day

Song Of The Day

NYC Observations (Cheap Phone Snapshots)

Worst Pizza in New York City

              The following statement lacks any sort of empirical data to back it up but I'm gonna throw out there anyway: For every good pizza shop in NYC there are atleast five bad ones. Earlier today I had the worst Pizza in my life. It was at a little shop called Figaro's on the upper east side in Manhattan. Two slices of sicilian with just cheese on top. It was awful. The dough was flaky and tasted like it had sat there for days. The cheese was a near tasteless and rubbery dry clot. There was barely any sauce. I heard it once said that Pizza was like sex. Even when it's not that great it's still good. There was nothing good about this Pizza. It was horrible but I was hungry. Hungry enough to make you cranky and cranky enough to settle for it and dig at it even though before I ordered, when I looked at the dim glass case holding the pies, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be very appetizing. It was atrocious. As I was leaving I noticed an article in a local newspaper hung up on the wall and a little blurb that read "Figaro's Pizza is known for their rice and beans"! Which, as I looked over to my left, was exactly what two other customers were eating. That makes sense.
Maybe that's all they should sell. Change the name to Figaro's Rice and Beans and get rid of that montrosity to all things edible they call Pizza. Not only do I want my money and my time back but my stomach wants its self respect back.

Sebadoh (Live at The Bowery Ballroom 4/9/11)

                      I took a trip down memory lane last night when I went to see 'Sebadoh' play at the Bowery Ballroom.Oh how they were one of my very favorite--most influential--bands from my high school days. I hadn't seen them in over ten years. It was nostalgic--I got drunk--and truly had a fun time. And by fun time I mean I had a fucking blast. Before they went on I saw Lou Barlow and gave him a big bear hug and babbled for a moment and thanked him for making my formative years so much better. Though in my Vodka fueled state I don't think I used the word, formative-- yet, I was sincere and it felt good to spontaneously express my gratitude to him in this way. As for the music, I was totally into it; singing along to what are now veritable indie-rock classics (though  I was prolly screwing up the lyrics,) bouncing and moving; at times hopping around much to the dismay of other stick in the mud cruds around me. A few of us actually had the gall to lift this eager younger kid up to try crowd surfing! I think he landed hard. So what! I got the feeling that a bunch of the audience weren't as emotionally invested as I was. Whatever. Let them grow old in any way that they choose.
 In my opinion Sebadoh's songs hold up very well over time. My favorite album, 'Bakesale' is now 17 years old! The thing with them is that their songs are so interwoven into a time and place in my life when I was teenager and still living at home that they can never loose value in my world. Even if I don't care for every single song as much as I used to, and even as my musical horizons expanded the older I became, it's refreshing to still enjoy Sebadoh in a live setting and rock out and be silly and have fun while I'm still genuinely moved by music and compelled to express myself without caring what others will think. However, to the majority of the crowd last night I humbly ask, "Have you no passion left?" I mean no one is expecting you to freak out or have some cathartic body and soul release but c'mon. It's a rock concert. It's ok to move.

In the News (Canada)

                 So just the other day was the sentencing for this 23 yr.old girl from Canada, Ashley Kirilow, who shaved her head, waxed her eye-brows and pretended to have cancer, eventually scamming over $20,000 from kind, unsuspecting folk trying to help. Did she do it purely for the money? Did she do it because she desperately craved attention and sympathy from others? How many screws she had loose is hard to tell from the little I know. I saw the story on gawker.com and it sorta got me thinking about Canada in general and it reminded me of how Canada is rarely involved in anything on a global scale. Rarely in the news. Whenever there is a war, Canada is either totally isolated or offers mere tokens of background support virtually out of sight--like in Iraq and Afghanistan.
                What news comes drifting down in big bleak clouds from Canada and sets the world on fire? What's Canada known for besides cold snow and ice?What do people in Ottawa do? Do they have Taco Bells in Calgary? Once when I was in a cathedral in Quebec City I was moved by how they hung small wooden ships from the ceiling inside above the pews as a way to pay reverence to the treacherous journey their kith and kin made across the north Atlantic. Where are the youth of Canada today? I have no idea. Wait, of course there's Arcade Fire and bunch of great music blooming in certain Canadian Cities.(They actually won a Grammy award this year.) Do they care about the Grammy Awards in Canada?
                Is anyone in Canada starting new software programs in spare bedrooms? Of course I know they have hockey (the NHL must be huge in Canada) and maple leaves and John Candy and Tom Green. Do they ever have any natural disasters? Do they have any seriel killers? I don't think so. Do they have an equivalent of P.T  Barnum? Montreal is a beautiful city in many ways. What else? I used to laugh my ass off reading this Canadian guys' website called dontshakethebaby. Anyways I'm sure Canada is filled with tales of adventure and romance, of high stakes action and inherent drama--But here in the U.S. we don't really ever hear about it. It's like Argentina or something. I say let's be better friends Canada because we already are friends. And we know you like to be left alone and that's ok too.You are not like this girl in the news at all--no way. The girl who pretended to have cancer in order to rip off a bunch of people was sentenced to 15 months of conditional detention with 10 of those months being on house arrest. She also has to do 100 hours of community service. I could think of a few jobs for her.

Public Submitted Poem For The Day

 'The Oilers Star'

Warren Moon's Pool is angled against missing rings
and bat-shit reflections down down down
in sunny Texas where my country tis of thee
powerhouse crumble briefing
Warren Moon rides the wave long gone
Flattened throb of crave.
Faded Gridiron.

           -Jack Fowler
   (Houston, Texas)

Song Of The Day

Recent Recollections

          Recently I saw two hispanic speaking teenagers kissing on the steps leading to the 7 train in Long Island City. They looked turned on by eachother. They looked happy. Last night on my way to a variety show in the West Village, after I got off the subway, I saw a crack pipe next to the bottom step of a group steps leading above ground at Christopher St. I just glanced at it, verified what it was, and kept walking. I saw a man playing the saxophone on the platform of the subway station at 42nd st.
I remember the pock marked face of a heavy-set man on the train back to Astoria in Queens; his bulbous nose, his pudgy cratered cheeks.
          Recently I saw a blind man sitting on the train with his trusted guide dog underneath the seat; the man wore those big dark glasses most blind folk wear; his golden canine buddy rested comfortably with its chin on the floor waiting for his command to lead.
          I saw photographs of Steven Seagal on the walls of my favorite pizza shop in Greenpoint, Brooklyn where I order two slices of sicilian and a pepsi and am forced to sit through Bon Jovi songs on the radio polluting out from multiple speakers high up on the wall. But I keep going back. Earlier today I saw an old grey haired lady running to catch the bus--which she did--and I was impressed.

Song Of The Day

The Film, '3 Backyards'

From the writer and director Eric Mendelsohn whose only other film is one of my favorite movies of the last 10yrs or so(Judy Berlin) comes this humble charmer of a film, '3 Backyards'. Here we have in the span of a single day in a mildly upper class neigborhood on a bay in Long Island, three stories unfolding at the same time but that never directly touch eachother. The movie is beautiful, humble, small-scaled, well acted, and refreshing. Though it may be disceptably simple, it never decieves; the moving camera being just as intrusive as we want it to be as it floats in on the scene, the characters or the clouds or the leaves on a tree, the somewhat old fashioned dissolves used liberally yet tastefully. Three little gems; three little peeks into the lives of these folks on this particluar day.  My only complaint, if you can call it that, is that at an hour and a half, the movie ends too soon. I wish it could have kept on and on. One story is about a man (played by Elias Koteas)  having marriage problems who when his business trip gets cancelled while he's at the airport, instead of returning home, hangs out near the airport hotel and begins to follow a mysterious woman. One is about a little girl who on her way to school loses an expensive bracelot of her mother's and who must retreive it from a seemingly dangerous backyard before she can return home. The third story concerns a lady (played by Edie Falco) who is given the honor(much to the envy of her neighbor) of driving a local, semi-famous movie actress to the waiting ferry. We go back and forth between each tale seamlessly and by the end, though the characters do not literally ever interact, there is some heart-pumping, unnameably agreeable cohesion to it all. Now that I realize this sounds awfully similar to a mundane movie review, I will stop and simply encourage anyone so inclined to go see it. It's playing now at Cinema Village on 12th st. near Union Square. Here's the trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4esd8aYO3vs

Song Of The Day

Beginning Of A Story That Never Existed

The amateur Chocolatier trampled thru the jewelled forest with his gear bouncing and hanging intact until he reached the base of the mountain. There, he peeled off his backpack, his heavy fur coat, his tools, and began to make a fire. Staring into the flames, clutching a tin cup of hot cocoa, he pondered the ascent towards Widow's Peak that he'd embark on at daybreak. He understood his mission well. He was confident in a way that also breeds caution. He studied his map one last time, took two yellow pills and then, wrapped in fine-fibered sleeping bag, laid his body down next to the dying fire as rickshaw wolves howled in the distance and a big half moon peeked out behind an enourmous dark cloud.

Song Of The Day

I wouldn't complain one bit if this song was played at my funeral. And just the way it's done here. Fiddle, Banjo, Guitar.
This recording is from 1920 something. Still gives me the goose bumps like it did when I first heard it back when I lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
Click on the link to give a listen.(Preferably with headphones on)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hy_netsTaR8&feature=related

Color Of The Day

Magenta.

Fact Of The Day

The City of Cleveland has not won a major sports championship since 1964.

The Spread Of Yoga Is Freaking Me Out

        The proliferation of Yoga Studios is now gone totally out of control. Not only are there studios in second floor buildings next to train tracks in the burroughs of major American cities, but those professed supposed guides to meditation and strength-- a sure way to improve one's quality of life-- are found nowadays in all sized locales from backwood dives to college towns to mountain cities, and all throughout the largest metropolis here in New York City. In each place I have lived, there's never been a shortage of yoga studios. Even in my hometown of Ashtabula,Ohio there are  now places to go take yoga.(Something unheard of 20 years ago.)  Here in Astoria in Queens would you believe me if i told you that down the street somebody just opened 'Yoga For Kids'?!

The thing that really bothers me is that I can not exactly figure out why this bothers me. I realize that people all over the country are helped by going to take Yoga; that for them maybe even if in small ways, their life is made healthier. I also appreciate anything that gets people out of their house, away from the computer screen or blackberry screen and into the real world. So why should I joke with friends and put 'yoga studio' and 'epidemic' in the same sentence? What's more, kids these days grow up saturated in digital media, social network technology, youtube. They grow up developing routines early of checking e-mails, and tweets, and facebook first--checking in with themselves and physical interactions with people come later or not at all. So wouldn't a Yoga For Kids be a helpful tool for children developing their own healthy minds and bodies and abilities to reflect on their own actions in the world? Maybe the greatest thing it does is to slow things down a bit. I guess I just wonder if there aren't other ways to acheive these things; if we might as adults, try to develop our own homegrown way of the same thing without always attaching 'yoga' to the equation. A kid can just go to a playground or to a feild with other kids and play a game of wiffle ball or Freeze Tag or a million other things. Childhood doesn't-- or shouldn't-- require yoga.
My roommate Danielle says, "I'm done with yoga because they're a bunch of pretentious fucks."
Now let's all take a deep breath.

Public Submitted Poem For The Day

"Three Year Anniversary"

You did this to yourself.
Now swim until every fiber
In your body is sore.
Until every last fiber is sore--
And then dog,
Swim some more. Bastard.
She said. And hung up the phone.


-Rosemary Acropolis

(Denver, Colorado)

Song Of The Day

Song Of The Day

NYC Observations

Why do the man-hole coverings that cover the holes going to the sewers, on the steets of NYC read, 'MADE IN INDIA' ?

Public Submitted Poem For The Day

Triple Threat Evaluation


Those dogs at midnight who cometh
Rip out memories of you and them
Of yours and theirs
Movies last forever but not for you.

So you gather arms where you may.
A knife from the kitchen, a lamp from the living room.
You fend them off as you best you can until the morning--
When it's back to another day-light and those pancakes
With way too much syrup.

-Travis Peckingpah
(Zanesville, OH)

Freeze Tag: Quick Appreciation For Cinematographer Dean Cundey...

Freeze Tag: Quick Appreciation For Cinematographer Dean Cundey...: "This is the guy that has given that certain look that I really love to some great 1980's films not to mention the classic 'Halloween.' &nbsp..."

Ingredients for Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate Bar

(Ah, how I adore this mildly sweet delicious 4.25 ounces of pure chocolatey joy. But what's in it?)

Sugar, Chocolate, Cocoa Butter, Cocoa Processed with Alkali, Milk Fat, Lactose, Soy Lecithin, PGPR, Emulsifier, Vanillin, Artificial Flavor, Milk.

180 calories per serving and 7 grams of saturated fat and there are about 3 servings per bar.
Yikes, sometimes I eat the whole bar in one night. I'm helpless to its power. I think the all-organic dark chocolate bars my roommate buys from the store is supposed to be much healthier but you know what?

Those ones just aren't as scrumptous.

Alain Resnais's film 'Je T'aime Je T'aime

Director--Alain Resnais 1967.  (Viewed at the Museum of the Moving Image)

There's alot to like here of course---although there were times early on when I wondered if the film wasn't teetering on the verge of being cheesy---yet the melacholy story of a man whose failed suicide puts him in position to be used in a time travel experiment and goes back in time revisiting (sometimes multiple times) scenes between him and his girlfriend who somehow ends up dying, keeps the movie above cheese territory and is able to stun the viewer with quick cuts between scenes of the past repeated until the movie gathers its non precise cycle and soon we find ourselves under Resnais's spell again.(And only a few lines ago I was saying something about parts of the movie almost being too goofy.) It's actually too sad and the leading actress's performance I think is too believable for such a label. I'm sure every French Cinephile knows this film.
This was made six years after 'Last Year at Marianbad' in 1961 and after seeing each film once on the big screen, I still prefer 'Marianbad' but this particularly somber yet zany French film is staying with me more and more and I keep thinking about the doomed love affair of the couple in the film and about regret---and I guess how time travel retains its romantic appeal for its potential to change everything for the better; to make everything happen the way it should have happened.
Or Something. Allegedly influenced 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.'

NYC Observations (Cheap Phone Snapshots)

Public Submitted Poem For The Day

                               Barb on Barbituates

Oh, I already knew that 'cause
Barb on Barbituates sometimes sleep walks
and wakes up in our garage naked
with motor oil all over her breasts
muttering something about her cheatin husband.


Lance Bandello      (Culver City, California)

Chewbacca's Head at The Museum of the Moving Image

                                                        Yes, it's come to this. Recently I witnessed behind a glass show-case at The Museum of the Moving Image, the head of the one and only Chewbacca from Star Wars. That is to say, Star Wars 1977. It took me awhile but I started to dwell on this odd spectacle--this heroic figure to so many, enclosed by glass as though he were an artifact at the Smithsonian. I don't think it was until after I returned home that I thought to myself, "My beautiful mythological creature from childhood, what have they done to you?" 
There's nothing in my childhood as nostalgic as Star Wars is for me. And please don't mix up Star Wars with Star Trek or I will have to kill you.
Before I left the Museum I took a picture of the decapitated good-guy, frozen in time, on my cell phone and sent it to my cousin back in Ohio who may love Star Wars more than I do. I guess it was kinda cool, right? (And the little placard at the base behind the glass read something about it containing 'Yak hair'.) Yak Hair?! No, that's Chewbacca's hair damn you unnameable villain!
Naw, I like the world better when we believed in the make believe and mysteries were preserved. There's just something wholly unnatural about seeing Chewbacca like this.
Having said that; I really had a good time at newly renovated (spaceship interiored) Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, Queens and highly recomend it. In fact, give MoMA a break on Free Fridays, (the Pollacks do little for the young kids these days anyways.) Go instead to the Museum of the Moving Image and if the force is strong with you, use stealth and Jedi mind tricks and bust out Chewbacca so he can recieve a proper buriel in that place where he lives on forever in those first three sacraments of cinema.

Song Of The Day

Brief Guide On How To Go To Museums Once A Week With Barely Any Money

For the poor folk who might be curious about going to Art Museums:

 1.  First off, the Metropolitan Museum of Art is actually pay what you can. Of course they suggest you pay twenty dollars which might not be a drop in the bucket to the people who live on the Upper East Side but to some of us, it is way too expensive. Luckily they redeem themselves times over by allowing the poor folk in for what-ever-you-can-pay. And this applies to every day of the week.
2. MOMA is free on fridays from 4-8pm.
3. American Folk Art is right next door and is free on fridays from 5:30-7:30.
4. PS 1 Contemporary Art Museum in Queens. Free with your admission ticket from MOMA which you got for free by going between 4 and 8 on friday.
5. Whitney Museum of American Art pay what you can fridays from 6 to 9pm. (As you may be able to tell, this is why if you have the option of not having to work on fridays or of getting off early, try to keep it open.)
6. Guggenhiem Museum steps up to plate and comes thru by giving pay-what-you-can on saturdays from 5:45 to 7:45pm.
7. The Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, Queens is free from 4 to8 on fridays as well.
Now this is just a partial list to be sure but it simply demonstrates that for the poor folk who might be interested in this kind of experience repeatedly, have easy access each and every week. Basically, in NYC, if you have the time, and this is the fact part-- you can go to two museums per week for two dollars a week. That is realistic. It's that simple. (Of course I'm not including subway fare but still.)
So, no excuses people, ya hear. Unless you hate going to museums--in which case I wouldn't mind at all sitting down and hearing your argument and may even be inclined to agree with you on why certain elements on the experience can totally, how I shall I say---suck.

NYC Observations (Snapshots)

The Color of the Day

Maroon.

Floating mysteriously without so much as a sound. That is until the dew begins forming on the grass and a soft melancholy in the form of a melody comes from the other side of the hill. Looking at it here it reminds me of Ranier Maria's first album which I used to absolutlely love and wish I could listen to right now but my records and record player are in Ohio and the one we have here is broken and I guess I could listen to the album online but I haven't heard it in a long while and I don't want to ruin the experience by cheap quick listens; plucking songs randomly here and there. Such a great fucking album 12, 13 years ago.  I wonder how it would hold up now? I need to revisit that place soon. Ah, Maroon.

Year of The Day: 1989

I recently came to find out that the first time anyone anywhere in the world typed www. whatever and got an address was in the year 1989. The Berlin Wall collapsed as well that year. The war between Russia and Afghanistan ended. The Cold War ended too. Nirvana's first album, 'Bleach' was released on subpop records.
Mike Tyson was Heavyweight Champion of the world. In China the Tiananmen Square Protests were going down. 1989; The world was changing. That was the year me and my cousin and a friend on some innocent Saturday night were dropped off to see those zany heroes in a half shell, the Teen-Age Mutant Ninja Turtles on the big screen at the old Nichol's Plaza Theater on route 20 in Ashtabula; the one that was torn down a few years ago leaving only blank space so that now you'd never know in passing, that it ever really existed and that it was a great source of wonder and enjoyment as we were growing up.

Charlie Sheen Is My New Temporary Hero

Not only has he recently spit out some rather awesome semi-spontaneous poetry lately in these interviews he's been doing, but more importatnly he's being honest about who he is.  He's actually telling the truth and it is making the media feel uncomfortable. How can he be so brazen? Instead of taking the usual celebrity tactic of denying everything and not discussing personal things in specific ways or letting a publicist guide your public responses, Sheen comes out firing; admitting that he has been smoking crack and having wild runs with drugs and porn stars that he said would put Sinatra, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards to shame. He comes out brandishing a wild ego that yet at the same time seems reasonably justified. If you were making other people millions of dollars and you yourself as the highest paid star in all of television were making about two million per episode, you'd probably have a gunned up ego too. Let's be real here. To my way of thinking it's much more fucking annoying when celebrities try to act just like normal people. You know how they sometimes claim in an interview or talk show or whereever, "I'm really just an ordinary person." Sheen is saying, 'you go be ordinary. I'm going to be my wildly wreckless, passionate, loving, risk-taking moneymaker, star-self.' Why deny who you are?
From my perspective there is something noble and enthralling about embracing the the 'true you', something great about refusing for better or worse to live life in the middle.
Though I barely ever watched his silly show, I find him a more fascinating creature these days then ever before. At one point he says, "I'm an f-18 and I'm winning." Who wants to live life in the middle anyways? As Sheen said, "That's where you get slaughtered. That's where you get embarrassed in front of the prom queen."http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4Iz0p0E_RY

Why Do The Walls In Every Modern Art Museum Have To Be White?

I am sure the answer to this question maybe obvious to alot of you but I have been thinking on this and I can't quite figure it out. Every modern art museum has their reasons which I'm sure are valid and well founded and time-tested and all that but can we just try a place where the walls are uniformely Black? Black is a non-color right? What better way to say to the art hanging on its walls, "you are the special stuff in here, I'm just a non-color." Is the reason we don't do black walled museums because of the lighting? Is that it? The white walls illuminate the whole space, the floor, the people. Is that it? Would dark walls just be a big drag? Can't we try hanging a beautiful Keith Herring painting or an Edward Hopper or a Rembrandt or who the hell ever, on solidly dark walls yet properly lit with the right lights and see how it goes?
Has this been tried ad nauseum in the past and failed? Maybe it would feel more solemn at the Whitney if this were the case. Maybe solid black walls throughout would make everyone sub-consciously think about death. I mean even at moma we are re looking at dead people or things painted by other now dead people. And I know certain galleries that do not subscribe to this system and given the right context it seems to work out very well for them. And I'm sure there are a few art museums in the country that experiment with shades of colors on their walls but still.
Wouldn't the power of each indivdual painting supercede everything anyways? How does the wall color effect the way we look at a painting on the wall? Does it matter? It must, because every major art museum in New York and I gather just about all of the rest of the country does this whole, "Every modern painting must have white walls!"
It's the standard practice by now of course. I just wonder about seeing one of those big wall sized Jackson Pollacks with those flinging colors and popping whirls in a room lit up where everything else was complete darkness. Who knows.

Quote Of The Day

"You got to love violently and hate violently. I don't live in the middle any more.
That's where you get slaughtered. That's where you get embarrassed infront of the prom queen."

-Charlie Sheen (Radio Interview 2/24/11)

Public Submitted Poem For The Day

Scabborous Blizzard


No, not unless that Dairy Queen is open 24 hours.
 Like I said before, No, not unless that Dairy Queen is open 24 hours.
Queen's best song has to be 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.
If a Butterfinger Blizzard don't start giving me some real concrete answers on how to live my life I'm gonna be sick.
That's not Queen's best song.
"Let's all go hang down at the DQ" could be our new motto. We would say that every night to gather the gang.
Then we'd sing "We are the champions."-- and for a minute or two, we'd believe it.

(Dave Champana)
                               Grove Park, Illinois

The Color of the Day

Violet. This really is simply a beautiful color. Cool, non-violent, and because of its rarity in the everyday grind of life, it takes on a mysterious quality. Whatever the most beautiful flower in the world looks like, among its range of color combinations, must include violet.

Song Of The Day

Craigslist Ad In Dublin

I like my candles flameless group (Dublin)

---

Date: 2011-01-21, 5:59PM GMT
Reply to: gobdodd@yahoo.com ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

If you like your candles flameless, know someone with a flameless candle, or would like to be first in a group buzzing about it contact me!!

• Location: Dublin
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Tell The Museums of NY I Want My Childhood Back

I'm sitting here trying to figure out why1980's pop culture is so prevalent in the museums right now. Not only that but I'd like to understand also why its beginning to bother me. As I have written earlier in FREEZE TAG, having the decapitated head of Chewbacca behind the glass at the Museum of the Moving Image is disheartening, unnatural, and ruins a childhood mythical figure only the way adults can do it. P.S. 1 in Queens has an exhibit by Chinese artist, Feng Mengbo, where he reconfigures elements of old Nintendoesque games and graphics to creates his own video game that takes up two walls  facing eachother and is of course interactive allowing the viewer to become the player as well by using a cordless controller. The scale is outrageous. I played it myself and had fun doing it. Rather fucking fun actually. But now let's shoot over to the The Museum of Modern Art. They have a whole exhibit devoted to 80's music and videos named 'Music 3.0' or some crap. Which isn't to say that the music was crap. I love many 80's pop songs and rap songs. I grew up with them. I know and love them. Believe me. But I guess I can't help but to wonder, 'Why is this stuff in a museum exhibition?'
I can go easily to the internet for all my nostalgic inclinations towards videos or t.v. shows or live concerts from the 1980's. Why mOmA? Not only that but what is the point you are trying to make? I wonder what Kirk Varnedoe would think? Enough already. I can see every video RUN DMC or the Beastie Boys ever made by clicking over to youtube. I'm sure as the season goes on I will find more examples of this weird museumizing of my pure childhood everythings.

Laurel Nakadate at PS 1

Laurel Nakadate at PS 1

http://www.nakadate.net/

Laurel Nakadate's retrospective at MoMA PS1 (Only the Lonely) has some of the most interesting video performance peices I can remember seeing in a museum context in a long time. What I like about her work is that she brings an element of real risk back into the equation. At times, she takes the video camera into the unknown, anonymous homes of middle aged men.

In one piece, she randomly asks three men, total strangers, if she can come over to their house and have them sing Happy Birthday to her around a birthday cake lit with candles. So we the viewer see three seperate t.v. screens with three different interiors with a different man singing happy birthday to her in their home and then her blowing out the candles. She looks like a teenager and the men are in their 40's and 50's. Are they perverted creeps or just down-to-earth living-alone-men being kind to a stranger? After that question swings for awhile, it appears that these men are happy to be singing to her for her birthday and the initial sense of menace is lifted. The video quality itself adds something authentic to the precedings as though we were watching a home made movie of a birthday scene. But this scene is sometimes akward, sometimes hilarious and sometimes debilitatingly lonely. And so it is in her other video peices where she goes into other strange men's houses(or young women's) to pose, dance and to play dead. Also in this exhibiton are copious amounts of large photographs of herself as part of a project where she documented her shedding tears everyday of the year calling it a, "Catalogue of Tears." The exhibit goes until MAY 2. 

Song Of The Day

What Film Should I Go Out And See Tonight?

Not only is the cinema still a great place to hide from the world but it is a two hour mithridate if you can believe it. It is little exaggeration to say it is that sanctuary where we can escape the rigors and bonestrong grunt work and commercialism and guilt in our lives. And since I live in NYC, a typical cinephile has a multitude of theaters and museums and screenings to choose from.
So how do I, being the conscientious movie viewer that I am, choose wisely? Of course we can exclude the huge chain-theaters since 90% of what they offer is garbage. ( I mean c'mon.When in NYC, never go see something that you can just as easily see at some mall in Ohio!)
Film Forum is showing Godfather 1 and 2. (I have actually never sat down and watched those movies from beginning to end. I need to.)
Film Anthology is showing a Spanish documentary about an elderly woman who returns to her native village after many years away.(Doesn't exactly fire me up although I know that in general, what Film Anthology shows, is worth it.)
Then we need to find out what's at IFC Center, The Angelika, Landmark Sunshine, All of the numerous museums, Lincon Center Film Society, and beyond.
Time Out New York does a good job of printing all the various schedules of all the various theaters in the city.
Luckily my roomie has a subscription. Being a serious watcher of great films takes a lil prep work in this city but for my time and interests and because I usually don't have very much money-- it's worth it.