Back to School Mix for Silver 8.31.05
For his new academic/ statistical forays. It's very hard to find songs about or titled with "variance" or "correlation." Did my best. Likelihoods, probabilities, books, and references to hypothesis testing.
1. ice cube: the first day of school (intro from "american me")
2. the roots: the next movement
3. average white band: work to do
4. boards of canada: music is math
5. frank black: places named after numbers
6. mates of state: open book
7. the go! team: feelgood by numbers
8. dizzee rascal: learn
9. the appleseed cast: steps and numbers
10. ellen allien: data romance (toktok rmx)
11. elvis costello + burt bacharach: such unlikely lovers
12. the new amsterdams: are you true?
13. the russian futurists: the science of the seasons
14. beastie boys: the new style
15. mos def: mathematics
16. the fucking champs: c'mon smash the quotile
17. thingy: homework
18. pinback: this red book
19. soul asylum: 99%
20. ladytron: true mathematics
21. boogie down productions: you must learn
22. mike watt: coincidence is either hit or miss
23. tahiti 80: aftermath
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Hey, I Have To Put Something on the Blog. 8.30.05
I hope Silver’s first day of class was edifying. Because this is exciting, he gets to try something fairly different. Maybe even interesting. Maybe even something he finds worthwhile? But what will we do without the complaints about work or the constant IM’ing?
Meanwhile, I’m all finished with school, complete with degree, out on the job hunt path. And of course I can’t get past the feeling that nothing g much has changed. And I knew that going into school. I wouldn’t be much different (though more mature); I thought I might be armed with more knowledge, of course. Maybe that I would become more of a flaming liberal. But I am still the same. Interviewing.. And I am temping.
I promised not to temp anymore—I don’t get all pent up as some people, calling it soul crushing and talking about my underemployment (I’d rather be eating, thanks). But I did feel that maybe I could that vagabond work past behind me, dedicate to something. But not yet. Now seems to be a hot interview/ hiring period, and that’s good. But I am still here. I said to a fellow temp off hand that I hope to leave after my trip to SD/ LA in the last week of September, and his reply was “I used to think the same thing.” Granted, he’s a writer, but I remember saying the same thing when I was temping back in the day.
It’s not so much about being stuck as it is about being uninspired. And about having not written in weeks. And about many of my people all engaged in school as I was, using that “I have work to do excuse” I so effectively used.
I hope Silver’s first day of class was edifying. Because this is exciting, he gets to try something fairly different. Maybe even interesting. Maybe even something he finds worthwhile? But what will we do without the complaints about work or the constant IM’ing?
Meanwhile, I’m all finished with school, complete with degree, out on the job hunt path. And of course I can’t get past the feeling that nothing g much has changed. And I knew that going into school. I wouldn’t be much different (though more mature); I thought I might be armed with more knowledge, of course. Maybe that I would become more of a flaming liberal. But I am still the same. Interviewing.. And I am temping.
I promised not to temp anymore—I don’t get all pent up as some people, calling it soul crushing and talking about my underemployment (I’d rather be eating, thanks). But I did feel that maybe I could that vagabond work past behind me, dedicate to something. But not yet. Now seems to be a hot interview/ hiring period, and that’s good. But I am still here. I said to a fellow temp off hand that I hope to leave after my trip to SD/ LA in the last week of September, and his reply was “I used to think the same thing.” Granted, he’s a writer, but I remember saying the same thing when I was temping back in the day.
It’s not so much about being stuck as it is about being uninspired. And about having not written in weeks. And about many of my people all engaged in school as I was, using that “I have work to do excuse” I so effectively used.
Monday, August 22, 2005
This One Needs to Stop Making Friends With Bartenders 8.22.05
a hurried post, i have to get some work done
Recap:
Friday night I was in search of something to do so I linked up with Lana-P and Jules and their Irish friends. Good kids. The guy and I talked about early to mid-90’s music. We’re old. He likes the Stone Roses which will of course thrill one of my readers. We tried to get into this party but there was a line- a queue as the Irish said—and I left for Billyburg. But not before running into friends from the Wuniversity, Ellie and Jay. Jay still DJ’s. I have to link up with that kid but I have been too lazy to send emails.
In Billyburg I was meeting Distaster Dave—so known because his parties back in the high school were often broken up by cops and/ or bad trips and/or underage girls in compromising positions and other unsavory moments. He keeps hope alive; and Friday was a bar crawl. Which seems ludicrous. But I went. Met up with Dave’s friend Peter. There was jazz, there was a bartender who slipped me a shot of mean, there were more shots, there was rock and roll karaoke, wherein I was rocking out to Fugazi’s Waiting Room.
Also of note was Dave’s friend Katie. Who he was trying to hit on but she seemed to have a lot more interest in me. I thought that would be a dirty move if I tried something right there but we did hit it off… but then I had to leave before I got her number (I don’t know where she got off to).
Also of note is that I have no idea how I got home. I mean, I kind of know—I took the G train towards the LIRR station in Brooklyn but my train-dar effed up and I found myself at the highest elevation in the subways system, Smith-9th Streets. I’m not sure what I did but I found myself on a G train going the other way. And stayed on until Queens. Then I woke up on an E train. Then I got outside and it was morning (makes sense, I left the last bar around 4 AM) and caught a bus. I think.
******
Saturday I woke up hurting but I got out anyway, met up with Niffer and Rini and we walked up Smith Street. Where we ran into Kandle’s old roommate Rochelle, a couple from the Wuniversity, and Fuzzy Sweater and Jeremy (who are keen on the idea of this weekend’s barbecue/ game day. You will be invited).
I left Niffer’s party for Manhattan to see the Kurtsnoggle, Kristen Pinstripes, Kami, and the birthday girl Southern Yankee Martha. Also there were Lee and my twin Jamie. We invented new dances like the Vietnam and the Dry the Hands. And I re-met Holiday’s old roommate crazy Laura. Who is still crazy but a lot more pleasant. Made friends with the bartender at a cool ass bar called Palais Royale or something—it’s next to Double Happiness—and got bourbon shots. Or maybe only one. And a microwaved White Castle Hamburger that was like heaven.
....
a hurried post, i have to get some work done
Recap:
Friday night I was in search of something to do so I linked up with Lana-P and Jules and their Irish friends. Good kids. The guy and I talked about early to mid-90’s music. We’re old. He likes the Stone Roses which will of course thrill one of my readers. We tried to get into this party but there was a line- a queue as the Irish said—and I left for Billyburg. But not before running into friends from the Wuniversity, Ellie and Jay. Jay still DJ’s. I have to link up with that kid but I have been too lazy to send emails.
In Billyburg I was meeting Distaster Dave—so known because his parties back in the high school were often broken up by cops and/ or bad trips and/or underage girls in compromising positions and other unsavory moments. He keeps hope alive; and Friday was a bar crawl. Which seems ludicrous. But I went. Met up with Dave’s friend Peter. There was jazz, there was a bartender who slipped me a shot of mean, there were more shots, there was rock and roll karaoke, wherein I was rocking out to Fugazi’s Waiting Room.
Also of note was Dave’s friend Katie. Who he was trying to hit on but she seemed to have a lot more interest in me. I thought that would be a dirty move if I tried something right there but we did hit it off… but then I had to leave before I got her number (I don’t know where she got off to).
Also of note is that I have no idea how I got home. I mean, I kind of know—I took the G train towards the LIRR station in Brooklyn but my train-dar effed up and I found myself at the highest elevation in the subways system, Smith-9th Streets. I’m not sure what I did but I found myself on a G train going the other way. And stayed on until Queens. Then I woke up on an E train. Then I got outside and it was morning (makes sense, I left the last bar around 4 AM) and caught a bus. I think.
Saturday I woke up hurting but I got out anyway, met up with Niffer and Rini and we walked up Smith Street. Where we ran into Kandle’s old roommate Rochelle, a couple from the Wuniversity, and Fuzzy Sweater and Jeremy (who are keen on the idea of this weekend’s barbecue/ game day. You will be invited).
I left Niffer’s party for Manhattan to see the Kurtsnoggle, Kristen Pinstripes, Kami, and the birthday girl Southern Yankee Martha. Also there were Lee and my twin Jamie. We invented new dances like the Vietnam and the Dry the Hands. And I re-met Holiday’s old roommate crazy Laura. Who is still crazy but a lot more pleasant. Made friends with the bartender at a cool ass bar called Palais Royale or something—it’s next to Double Happiness—and got bourbon shots. Or maybe only one. And a microwaved White Castle Hamburger that was like heaven.
....
Friday, August 19, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
In Case You Didn’t Feel Like Asking About My Weekend. 8.16.05
Friday night I did karaoke to celebrate Holiday’s leaving. I sang Bobby Brown’s “Every Little Step” and I must have been good because some girl freaked me. And then she spanked my ass raw.
Saturday I played softball. It was 90 degrees. I kept hitting the ball and running; I hit a triple to begin with and by the time I hit a 5th inning double (ok there was an error) I had to ask for time to collect my breath and take off my sweatband which was all sweat and very little band. The players wilted in the 6th. We called the game early.
Went to an afternoon barbecue with the Caribbean students from my former program. Which is cool because I didn’t know any of the Caribbean students in my former program. Hot damn there was some good food and when I have my housewarming party for the apartment I do not yet have, I will have that guy bring in some spicy ass eatin’.
Passed out on Eben’s couch. Met up with Raycroft. All the bars were dead ass empty. No one. Tumbleweed on the floor, dust on the barstools. I passed out there too. It was still sauna humid and Africa hot.
Friday night I did karaoke to celebrate Holiday’s leaving. I sang Bobby Brown’s “Every Little Step” and I must have been good because some girl freaked me. And then she spanked my ass raw.
Saturday I played softball. It was 90 degrees. I kept hitting the ball and running; I hit a triple to begin with and by the time I hit a 5th inning double (ok there was an error) I had to ask for time to collect my breath and take off my sweatband which was all sweat and very little band. The players wilted in the 6th. We called the game early.
Went to an afternoon barbecue with the Caribbean students from my former program. Which is cool because I didn’t know any of the Caribbean students in my former program. Hot damn there was some good food and when I have my housewarming party for the apartment I do not yet have, I will have that guy bring in some spicy ass eatin’.
Passed out on Eben’s couch. Met up with Raycroft. All the bars were dead ass empty. No one. Tumbleweed on the floor, dust on the barstools. I passed out there too. It was still sauna humid and Africa hot.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Demons Are Trying to Escape My Ass 8.12.05
Last night after work I met up with mjr for really no good reason. So we had beers and a burger and mjr convinces me to have one more.
Which leads to:
• Seeing an old boss on the mean streets of no-longer-Hell’s Kitchen.
• Drinking with the sweetest and most affectionate kid, Sophie, from the HS—she was my favorite when I ran peer counseling.
• Talking to her ex-pat Aussie roommate even when it was clear I wasn’t going to show her that the rumors are true about black men.
• Being shushed a lot in the bar’s backyard (it was Rudy’s if you’re wondering).
• Drinking with the Drinking Liberally crowd (Schnapp, Justin says hello)
• Missing Councilman Bill Perkins who apparently rolled by the bar to make an appearance.
• Driving back with Arroz the Rice-A-Homie.
And today I am tired. Last night’s activities leads to the demons in my ass. This week, I have been in love with my flatulence. Not the SBD’s, but the sound and fury one. Not the ripping of the cakehole ones but the deep bass line releases. My flatulence is normally frickin’ awesome, regular and active, ready to draw attention at the drop of a thought. Today’s has not been as pleasant; it has been the funk phenomenon, the stankonia. Which is simply to pound in today’s lesson—my body just doesn’t process drinks like it used to.
Last night after work I met up with mjr for really no good reason. So we had beers and a burger and mjr convinces me to have one more.
Which leads to:
• Seeing an old boss on the mean streets of no-longer-Hell’s Kitchen.
• Drinking with the sweetest and most affectionate kid, Sophie, from the HS—she was my favorite when I ran peer counseling.
• Talking to her ex-pat Aussie roommate even when it was clear I wasn’t going to show her that the rumors are true about black men.
• Being shushed a lot in the bar’s backyard (it was Rudy’s if you’re wondering).
• Drinking with the Drinking Liberally crowd (Schnapp, Justin says hello)
• Missing Councilman Bill Perkins who apparently rolled by the bar to make an appearance.
• Driving back with Arroz the Rice-A-Homie.
And today I am tired. Last night’s activities leads to the demons in my ass. This week, I have been in love with my flatulence. Not the SBD’s, but the sound and fury one. Not the ripping of the cakehole ones but the deep bass line releases. My flatulence is normally frickin’ awesome, regular and active, ready to draw attention at the drop of a thought. Today’s has not been as pleasant; it has been the funk phenomenon, the stankonia. Which is simply to pound in today’s lesson—my body just doesn’t process drinks like it used to.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Two For the Gallery
1.I am in an office with some attractive young women and something I have become used to is that when an attractive woman walks by, they usually have an attractive scent. Not always cologne—often it’s a lotion or a shampoo or a soap. But it attaches to memory, as scents are supposed to. The women here, however, are scentless. Or maybe I am not leaning close enough. But it makes me want to ask—what are some of your signature/ favorite scents? Or for the fellas, what scents do you like/ remember on people? Like how the Little Brown One often smelled of sandalwood—things like that.
1.I am in an office with some attractive young women and something I have become used to is that when an attractive woman walks by, they usually have an attractive scent. Not always cologne—often it’s a lotion or a shampoo or a soap. But it attaches to memory, as scents are supposed to. The women here, however, are scentless. Or maybe I am not leaning close enough. But it makes me want to ask—what are some of your signature/ favorite scents? Or for the fellas, what scents do you like/ remember on people? Like how the Little Brown One often smelled of sandalwood—things like that.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Rector? I Was Very Gentle When Tapping That Ass 8.10.05
A rector at St. Patrick's has been charged with shucking his vows, and his robe, and getting biblical with a married secretary. A man who railed against our sex-saturated society. At least he knows what he's talking about!
Nice work. Remember kids, don't become a priest because people will laugh harder when you are caught with your secretary.
A rector at St. Patrick's has been charged with shucking his vows, and his robe, and getting biblical with a married secretary. A man who railed against our sex-saturated society. At least he knows what he's talking about!
Nice work. Remember kids, don't become a priest because people will laugh harder when you are caught with your secretary.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Five Notes 8.7.05
<>Spent Friday night with mjr and the wondertwin. We drank and talked trash.
<>Missed out on going dancing on Saturday with Cappy and Ali-Pack.
<>Sunday: M.I.A. show. I didn’t like the sound of her—junior league rhymes, a cruddy hodgepodge of garage and grime and dancehall and hip hop and dance pop. Overhyped by MTV. The it-girl that everyone wants to see (what happened to the Arcade Fire?).
But I went, met up with Lana-P and Rinda and her friend Conrad. We got to Summerstage early under partly sunny skies and surrounded by a certain kind of hip kid—the not-so-pretty ones with good clothes and ironic or obscuring haircuts, and lots of Office Space-style “flair.” You know, there but for the grace of a hot body they would be a stripper/ porn star.
On line, right before the floor opened, the fella in front of us realized his friends were never going to reach us. So he opened his bottle of wine to us and became our new buddy. Which started a long afternoon of beer swilling, olive eating, blueberry photographing, thai-stick smoking. Best of all, it was the Summerstage show that was like it was ten years ago. We made friends with a kid from Cali who showed us what medical marijuana looked and smelled like; we met couples; saw friends from the high school; saw some crazy blonde dancing and some ill Latina dancing. And made friends with the guy who gave us the wine.
And M.I.A. was incredible. Energetic, fun, and when I realized that I don’t have to take her seriously, I don’t have to compare her to political artists. I can… just enjoy the music.
I’m all danced out. Lana-P, shuttle them pictures over. I promise not to post any of you.
<>This week, have some temp work. So if you’re wondering why I don’t email you back… that’s why.
<>This week’s Entourage was the best. With the OC’s Melinda Clarke playing the bitchy actress made for a bitchy role… and then gratuitous all-alone dancing the hip hop music. Purr.
Plus: R.I.P. Peter Jennings, the man who, if I remember correctly, was live amongst gang members in Los Angeles during the riots in street clothes and a bulletproof vest. And a shot rang out. He reacted with all the gang members—first a duck and I swear he reached down like he was packing a heater in his waistband. For real. Coolest moment in news in the past 15 years. And seriously, he’s my favorite news anchor (I’m too young for Uncle Walter Cronkite).
<>Spent Friday night with mjr and the wondertwin. We drank and talked trash.
<>Missed out on going dancing on Saturday with Cappy and Ali-Pack.
<>Sunday: M.I.A. show. I didn’t like the sound of her—junior league rhymes, a cruddy hodgepodge of garage and grime and dancehall and hip hop and dance pop. Overhyped by MTV. The it-girl that everyone wants to see (what happened to the Arcade Fire?).
But I went, met up with Lana-P and Rinda and her friend Conrad. We got to Summerstage early under partly sunny skies and surrounded by a certain kind of hip kid—the not-so-pretty ones with good clothes and ironic or obscuring haircuts, and lots of Office Space-style “flair.” You know, there but for the grace of a hot body they would be a stripper/ porn star.
On line, right before the floor opened, the fella in front of us realized his friends were never going to reach us. So he opened his bottle of wine to us and became our new buddy. Which started a long afternoon of beer swilling, olive eating, blueberry photographing, thai-stick smoking. Best of all, it was the Summerstage show that was like it was ten years ago. We made friends with a kid from Cali who showed us what medical marijuana looked and smelled like; we met couples; saw friends from the high school; saw some crazy blonde dancing and some ill Latina dancing. And made friends with the guy who gave us the wine.
And M.I.A. was incredible. Energetic, fun, and when I realized that I don’t have to take her seriously, I don’t have to compare her to political artists. I can… just enjoy the music.
I’m all danced out. Lana-P, shuttle them pictures over. I promise not to post any of you.
<>This week, have some temp work. So if you’re wondering why I don’t email you back… that’s why.
<>This week’s Entourage was the best. With the OC’s Melinda Clarke playing the bitchy actress made for a bitchy role… and then gratuitous all-alone dancing the hip hop music. Purr.
Plus: R.I.P. Peter Jennings, the man who, if I remember correctly, was live amongst gang members in Los Angeles during the riots in street clothes and a bulletproof vest. And a shot rang out. He reacted with all the gang members—first a duck and I swear he reached down like he was packing a heater in his waistband. For real. Coolest moment in news in the past 15 years. And seriously, he’s my favorite news anchor (I’m too young for Uncle Walter Cronkite).
Friday, August 05, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
A Better Ink
So, the nuclear option has happened to my laptop. The hard disk has gone from full of Pico's writing/ schoolwork/ info to a set of red letters that add up to useless during a diagnostic check at the Apple store. So it goes. It would be better if I had backed up more of my school stuff or the progress I made on fiction pieces. Or saved the name/ time/ location of my interview on Wednesday.
What's done is done, unfortunately. I am a fan of the positive; this is a new week (or so) of my life, being almost computer free. My brothers use an old Dell; it's from 1998 or so, a heavy brick of a laptop that is now missing some buttons, lacking in memory and full of virus problems. It's slow and they use AOL for access. I've added Firefox, but still, I won't be a constant e-mailer, nor will I be able to research whims about basketball players or long-tail distribution.
Those distractions have come to define my life + dominate my way of thinking. I get distracted, treating topics like moving targets in a carnival shooting gallery. Never delving into any one thing. It shows in my writing-- ideas and snippets and maps to where I want to go, unfinished + unconnected words that represent great hope and passive failure. This is a chance to make sea change, turn the rudder, hoist the main sail, swim to a different shore, and introduce midsummer nautical themes.
I am writing this (originally) with a pen I thought did not work. It's dry, the ink is not always constant. But it serves its purpose. Using my hand in this way- writing like in second grade versus typing-- hurts, requires exercise, as it does for Eben. My hand hurts from a page. That is good, I have to hold my thoughts longer using pen and paper. I edit with strikethrough lines not deletions. I don't turn away to read more about baseball trades that didn't happen (but SIlver, Raycroft, &c, y'all can catch me up).
Further: I have time. To finally organize my papers. To create new writing samples. To rediscover the concept of "end of page." To restart the short stories that have been kicking around my head. To think longer and harder about podcasting. To finish books. To practice my backhand. To run.
To rediscover self without the regular crutches like reading the paper + looking through jobs I'm not qualified for + skimming dozens of blogs + playing with my music and address book and photos, emailing for hours, checking RSS feeds, IMDB'ing actors, checking AllMusic for music information.
If you want to reach me, it's better to call. It's gonna be good, and in a week my laptop and I start over fresh.
But damn, I'm gonna miss all that good ass porn I had saved on my 'puter.
p.s. khadijah, i hope you're doing well.
....
So, the nuclear option has happened to my laptop. The hard disk has gone from full of Pico's writing/ schoolwork/ info to a set of red letters that add up to useless during a diagnostic check at the Apple store. So it goes. It would be better if I had backed up more of my school stuff or the progress I made on fiction pieces. Or saved the name/ time/ location of my interview on Wednesday.
What's done is done, unfortunately. I am a fan of the positive; this is a new week (or so) of my life, being almost computer free. My brothers use an old Dell; it's from 1998 or so, a heavy brick of a laptop that is now missing some buttons, lacking in memory and full of virus problems. It's slow and they use AOL for access. I've added Firefox, but still, I won't be a constant e-mailer, nor will I be able to research whims about basketball players or long-tail distribution.
Those distractions have come to define my life + dominate my way of thinking. I get distracted, treating topics like moving targets in a carnival shooting gallery. Never delving into any one thing. It shows in my writing-- ideas and snippets and maps to where I want to go, unfinished + unconnected words that represent great hope and passive failure. This is a chance to make sea change, turn the rudder, hoist the main sail, swim to a different shore, and introduce midsummer nautical themes.
I am writing this (originally) with a pen I thought did not work. It's dry, the ink is not always constant. But it serves its purpose. Using my hand in this way- writing like in second grade versus typing-- hurts, requires exercise, as it does for Eben. My hand hurts from a page. That is good, I have to hold my thoughts longer using pen and paper. I edit with strikethrough lines not deletions. I don't turn away to read more about baseball trades that didn't happen (but SIlver, Raycroft, &c, y'all can catch me up).
Further: I have time. To finally organize my papers. To create new writing samples. To rediscover the concept of "end of page." To restart the short stories that have been kicking around my head. To think longer and harder about podcasting. To finish books. To practice my backhand. To run.
To rediscover self without the regular crutches like reading the paper + looking through jobs I'm not qualified for + skimming dozens of blogs + playing with my music and address book and photos, emailing for hours, checking RSS feeds, IMDB'ing actors, checking AllMusic for music information.
If you want to reach me, it's better to call. It's gonna be good, and in a week my laptop and I start over fresh.
But damn, I'm gonna miss all that good ass porn I had saved on my 'puter.
p.s. khadijah, i hope you're doing well.
....
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Supreme Court Note.
Since when was "I have no recollection of being a member" an excuse? Especially for a lawyer? Isn't that what the guilty say?
This guy is brilliant.
I am sure you have heard of the Arabic Assassin, a wanna-be rapper with no record deal that worked as a baggage screener. Until he was found out and fired. What a great way to get publicity- his name is now nationwide and it won't even matter if his rhymes are as junior-league as M.I.A.'s, the people pissed at life, Dubya, and the rest will be on the lookout for his single.
AA- I bet you can find his album online.
Happy not to Smear Santorum
PA senator Rickie Santorum says he's leaning towards not running for the presidency in 2008. Fingers crossed.
New Yorker = Behind the Bitter Sea
New Yorker's article on Diplo. I was at that show, you lazy, month-lag-time suckass writer. God, I am so very cool. Anyone feeling hot today? Bask in my chill glow.
Since when was "I have no recollection of being a member" an excuse? Especially for a lawyer? Isn't that what the guilty say?
This guy is brilliant.
I am sure you have heard of the Arabic Assassin, a wanna-be rapper with no record deal that worked as a baggage screener. Until he was found out and fired. What a great way to get publicity- his name is now nationwide and it won't even matter if his rhymes are as junior-league as M.I.A.'s, the people pissed at life, Dubya, and the rest will be on the lookout for his single.
AA- I bet you can find his album online.
Happy not to Smear Santorum
PA senator Rickie Santorum says he's leaning towards not running for the presidency in 2008. Fingers crossed.
New Yorker = Behind the Bitter Sea
New Yorker's article on Diplo. I was at that show, you lazy, month-lag-time suckass writer. God, I am so very cool. Anyone feeling hot today? Bask in my chill glow.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Search Me Where It Smells Funny
Another hot ass day in New York City. But we have a new wrinkle—bag searches on the subways! Is the city/ police administration in DC instituting this change if not, why not? All I know is that I’m glad I have been keeping my concealed weapon at home… I wonder if the cops will report this weekend about how many brass knuckles, plastic + metal unregistered weapons, liquor bottles from teenagers, and porn they collect? And how many bitter privacy lovers and conveniently brown people (the police department claims there will be no profiling) they will arrest?
Is there better ways for their time to be spent? Here are some reactions.
p.s.: this story is covered in the ny times by some fine reporters, Sewell Chan and Jennifer 8 Lee.
Another hot ass day in New York City. But we have a new wrinkle—bag searches on the subways! Is the city/ police administration in DC instituting this change if not, why not? All I know is that I’m glad I have been keeping my concealed weapon at home… I wonder if the cops will report this weekend about how many brass knuckles, plastic + metal unregistered weapons, liquor bottles from teenagers, and porn they collect? And how many bitter privacy lovers and conveniently brown people (the police department claims there will be no profiling) they will arrest?
Is there better ways for their time to be spent? Here are some reactions.
p.s.: this story is covered in the ny times by some fine reporters, Sewell Chan and Jennifer 8 Lee.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
camp. 7.13.05
camp was awesome. rewarding. almost inspiring. this time, you could feel the african heroes theme. the kids liked it even though we made some hasty rain-date plans on friday; all the locations we were supposed to have at the college seemed to be taken over by the other camp groups. i understand we have to share the space... but i did think we had those assigned to us.
small potatoes. we had workshops on history and stress reduction and identity and storytelling/ african songs. and they all seemed to work- a fairly rapt audience, and good commentary. i think. i don't know because i was running around all weekend making sure the next thing on the schedule would happen like it should.
in fact, that was the strangest thing about the camp weekend. unlike putting on WILD back in the wu days, i never had a chance to stop and look out among the crowd and grab my nuts and say, "yeah, i did that." nonetheless, camp was tight.
i had the arroz rice-a-home and dirty jersey sammy and my sibling aqua dulce in the house to help things out.
the last day left a little to be desired, though. the kids' portion of the talent show climaxed with a half funny, half gripping retelling of the amistad story, where some slavejacked sierra leoneans took over the ship, landed on american shores, and found allies to help them legally fight for freedom. if you happen to be in connecticut you should check out the amistad exhibit in new haven and look for a fellow named donald who will tell you great tales. after the talent show the gift and thanks ceremony took forever. and ever. i missed my gift, chasing after little ones.
on the same subject, i was cleaning out the last of our stuff- later than we should have- and i knew i was late. i did not, however, expect the bus to pick up and leave my ass. i was running behind a yellow school bus, cussin' with all the creativity a weekend of interrupted sleep and harnessing adolescent energy will leave.
there were some people still on campus; i caught a ride with one and caught up to my bag, already put on the bus by someone else. though i might have lost my gift, which was a badass candle holder.
p.s. i forgot to mention about jury duty. my ass got tagged. today. hopefully, not much more; i am fixin' to see shakespeare in the park's production of "as you like it." i might even skip out on something thurs or fri to see it.
p.p.s. i can't seem to stop saying ass.
camp was awesome. rewarding. almost inspiring. this time, you could feel the african heroes theme. the kids liked it even though we made some hasty rain-date plans on friday; all the locations we were supposed to have at the college seemed to be taken over by the other camp groups. i understand we have to share the space... but i did think we had those assigned to us.
small potatoes. we had workshops on history and stress reduction and identity and storytelling/ african songs. and they all seemed to work- a fairly rapt audience, and good commentary. i think. i don't know because i was running around all weekend making sure the next thing on the schedule would happen like it should.
in fact, that was the strangest thing about the camp weekend. unlike putting on WILD back in the wu days, i never had a chance to stop and look out among the crowd and grab my nuts and say, "yeah, i did that." nonetheless, camp was tight.
i had the arroz rice-a-home and dirty jersey sammy and my sibling aqua dulce in the house to help things out.
the last day left a little to be desired, though. the kids' portion of the talent show climaxed with a half funny, half gripping retelling of the amistad story, where some slavejacked sierra leoneans took over the ship, landed on american shores, and found allies to help them legally fight for freedom. if you happen to be in connecticut you should check out the amistad exhibit in new haven and look for a fellow named donald who will tell you great tales. after the talent show the gift and thanks ceremony took forever. and ever. i missed my gift, chasing after little ones.
on the same subject, i was cleaning out the last of our stuff- later than we should have- and i knew i was late. i did not, however, expect the bus to pick up and leave my ass. i was running behind a yellow school bus, cussin' with all the creativity a weekend of interrupted sleep and harnessing adolescent energy will leave.
there were some people still on campus; i caught a ride with one and caught up to my bag, already put on the bus by someone else. though i might have lost my gift, which was a badass candle holder.
p.s. i forgot to mention about jury duty. my ass got tagged. today. hopefully, not much more; i am fixin' to see shakespeare in the park's production of "as you like it." i might even skip out on something thurs or fri to see it.
p.p.s. i can't seem to stop saying ass.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
East River Waterfront?
I didn't know the city was working on the East River Waterfront. Is this going to get in the way of Black Top Street Hockey? Though I think the proposal stops short of the East River Park where today's hip heroes bang, scrape, and sprain their way to street hockey glory.
I didn't know the city was working on the East River Waterfront. Is this going to get in the way of Black Top Street Hockey? Though I think the proposal stops short of the East River Park where today's hip heroes bang, scrape, and sprain their way to street hockey glory.
In My Time of Slacking 7.6.05
I have been working towards camp. And reading a lot. A trio of highlights:
She’s Just Not That Into You is interesting, but I really hope my female friends can figure out when a fella is jerking them around. I also realized that I have been “not that into” a number of women I’ve dated. Hm.
Read Fall River Dreams, in part because I am ingesting more basketball books and also in part because I wanted to see if the book made reference to a fella named Justin McDonald. I thought most of my friends had met him but that was not true; Eben met him a while back when he worked for my sales unit at the failed dot-com. Justin was a star for his high school team, playing in all-star games and winning a state championship in Massachussetts; he played at a Div II school and a little bit in Europe and when we met him, he was figuring out what to do with himself. When he got drunk, he would show us his “shake-and-bake” headfake. And in the book there he is, Juddy McDonald, a specter over the next year’s team, the upholder of basketball skill and virtue, the outsider who becomes a Fall River hero.
Also reading Jeff Chang’s Can’t Stop Won’t Stop, which is amazing. It’s a history of hip hop that goes back to the sound system DJ’s of Kingston, Jamaica, to the gang warfare and bankruptcy of NYC’s 70’s, to the graffiti art scene. It’s a reminder that while New York was a tad scary even when I was growing up, it had some fire and some tension. I think in 10 years, all the fire and the tension will be in the Poconos and White Plains and whichever Connecticut city is the most bankrupt. And we’ll have an Eckerd/ CVS/ Starbucks/ Applebee’s on every corner, indie movie theaters to remind us what it looked like living in a place where bad things could happen to you (and you adapted by being tough and careful), and our music will sell us more Western-like fantasies of gunplay and deals that barely exist.
I have been working towards camp. And reading a lot. A trio of highlights:
She’s Just Not That Into You is interesting, but I really hope my female friends can figure out when a fella is jerking them around. I also realized that I have been “not that into” a number of women I’ve dated. Hm.
Read Fall River Dreams, in part because I am ingesting more basketball books and also in part because I wanted to see if the book made reference to a fella named Justin McDonald. I thought most of my friends had met him but that was not true; Eben met him a while back when he worked for my sales unit at the failed dot-com. Justin was a star for his high school team, playing in all-star games and winning a state championship in Massachussetts; he played at a Div II school and a little bit in Europe and when we met him, he was figuring out what to do with himself. When he got drunk, he would show us his “shake-and-bake” headfake. And in the book there he is, Juddy McDonald, a specter over the next year’s team, the upholder of basketball skill and virtue, the outsider who becomes a Fall River hero.
Also reading Jeff Chang’s Can’t Stop Won’t Stop, which is amazing. It’s a history of hip hop that goes back to the sound system DJ’s of Kingston, Jamaica, to the gang warfare and bankruptcy of NYC’s 70’s, to the graffiti art scene. It’s a reminder that while New York was a tad scary even when I was growing up, it had some fire and some tension. I think in 10 years, all the fire and the tension will be in the Poconos and White Plains and whichever Connecticut city is the most bankrupt. And we’ll have an Eckerd/ CVS/ Starbucks/ Applebee’s on every corner, indie movie theaters to remind us what it looked like living in a place where bad things could happen to you (and you adapted by being tough and careful), and our music will sell us more Western-like fantasies of gunplay and deals that barely exist.
Explanations of Post-Autistic Economics 7.6.05
From True Cost Economics:
[Economist Bernard Guerrien addressed the] disconnect between mainstream neoclassical economics instruction and reality. Economics has an ideological function, he told them, to put forth the idea that the markets will resolve everything. In fact, he added, economic theory absolutely doesn’t show that.
But why “post-autistic?” Is Rain Man involved?
From Wikipedia:
The term autistic is used in an informal way, synonymous to "closed-minded" or "self-absorbed". It has been criticized for using the term in this way, which could offend people suffering from disorders in the autistic spectrum, for example Asperger syndrome.
The movement is best seen as a forum of different groups critical of the current mainstream: from behavioral and heterodox to feminist, green economics and econo-physics.
From True Cost Economics:
[Economist Bernard Guerrien addressed the] disconnect between mainstream neoclassical economics instruction and reality. Economics has an ideological function, he told them, to put forth the idea that the markets will resolve everything. In fact, he added, economic theory absolutely doesn’t show that.
But why “post-autistic?” Is Rain Man involved?
From Wikipedia:
The term autistic is used in an informal way, synonymous to "closed-minded" or "self-absorbed". It has been criticized for using the term in this way, which could offend people suffering from disorders in the autistic spectrum, for example Asperger syndrome.
The movement is best seen as a forum of different groups critical of the current mainstream: from behavioral and heterodox to feminist, green economics and econo-physics.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Water Advisory 6.30.05
From Crain's NY Business, a water advisory for NYC for the next 24 hours:
Water advisory issued for city
New York City’s health department issued a water advisory, citing potential problems with the city’s water processing following recent heavy rainstorms.
The health department recommended that boiled water be used for the next 24 hours by infants, the elderly, pregnant women and those residents with conditions that compromise their immune systems, such as those with HIV/AIDS.
The department said it found higher-than-normal levels of “particles” in the city’s drinking water that could “interfere with the water chlorination process.” The levels were observed at the Hillview reservoir, one of three reservoirs that provide drinking water for the city.
From Crain's NY Business, a water advisory for NYC for the next 24 hours:
Water advisory issued for city
New York City’s health department issued a water advisory, citing potential problems with the city’s water processing following recent heavy rainstorms.
The health department recommended that boiled water be used for the next 24 hours by infants, the elderly, pregnant women and those residents with conditions that compromise their immune systems, such as those with HIV/AIDS.
The department said it found higher-than-normal levels of “particles” in the city’s drinking water that could “interfere with the water chlorination process.” The levels were observed at the Hillview reservoir, one of three reservoirs that provide drinking water for the city.
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