Gay-porn producer stabbed to death
Sure, it could have been a totally random murder. I'm sure there are tons of people uninvolved in any sketchiness who are...stabbed to death in their home then have their house burned and have to be identified by their dental records. But perhaps some industries are more mob-like than others. Right.
The part that's making my ears perk up at this story specifically is that there will inevitably be some speculation about whether one particular charming young porn star was involved. I'm a bit of a fan of this young man: I read his blog regularly, and I've seen a small slice of his work. For quite a few years he and the deceased were in a legal battle about the work the actor did for the producer and has done since. He was underage when he performed, so those videos have all been recalled (yes, he was 18+ in the vids I've seen), and the studio filed a lawsuit against the actor for breach of contract and trademark violations. Part of this was because the actor forged identification documents (I'm not sure that this has been established) and partially because the studio claims to own the actor's stage name as a trademark, but he's gone off and tried to start his own production company. They managed to stop him with the lawsuit last Novem...ok, I have no idea when this shit went down. The relevant entry has disappeared from the actor's blog without a trace. Perhaps I dreamt the whole thing.
Oh, so at work today (yes, I was working this weekend. I'm a "baller," as the kids say) I decided to listen to some of our illustrious art director's music. Of course I stumbled upon an amazing album and was forced to download it from iTunes. Bruce Springsteen toasts Pete Seeger in "We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions." No no, whatever you're thinking, it's better. Totally jubilant. Sure, Springsteen's singing isn't in absolute top form and he doesn't give the world's best rendition of Shenandoah, but from the first song, a toe-tapping romp of "Old Dan Tucker," I knew this would be coming with me on my next road trip out into the heartland. Yeehaw!
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Love, Actually?
This week, there was much blogospheric activity surrounding a recent Modern Love column, I Fell for a Man Who Wore an Electronic Ankle Bracelet. In the piece (read it, really), a young woman writes about her ex-boyfriend, whom she dated for three years. A few weeks into their relationship, she found out he was on leave from Harvard because another student had accused him of rape. She eventually got the law involved, he pled out, and he wound up condemned to house arrest and counseling. She didn't like who he became during counseling—inhibited, solemn, uneasy—so they eventually broke up.
It's a classic story of boy meets girl, boy reveals checkered past to girl, girl forgives boy, law isn't quite so forgiving. Or something. In any case, what's been getting people so worked up? For one thing, there are passages like this:
And this one:
Unsurprisingly people aren't thrilled with the New York Times publishing this girl's perspective, which occasionally comes across as hostile to the girl that accused the boyfriend of rape. The author doesn't believe that the rape happened: Her boyfriend told her they were both drunk and had sex; the plea he copped to said the girl told him to leave, but he forced his way into the room, her bed, and her.
Amanda at Pandagon writes:
So it's the word of what he told his girlfriend against the word of the girl/what he pled to. A lot of commenters at Pandagon dis the "he said, she said" approach to evaluating this situation. Really now, he pled to the charges. Well, I'm very hesitant to take any plea as undisputeduted truth. After seeing Capturing the Friedmans (mandatory viewing), I'll never underestimate the amount of tactical decision-making and personal crap that go into accepting a plea. While it's wholly possible everything happened exactly as he said, I don't think its place on the record gives it fact status.
So is the author deluded, as so many commenters say, or is she reasonable in saying that she knows the guy well enough to believe him? Here's an idea I'd like to throw out (if not actually advocate): She's wrong, but she's wrong because she's operating under the assumption that only bad people commit rape. That's the conventional wisdom, right? People who rape are bad people who are part of the rape culture and get off on disempowering women. Maybe that's true, I don't know, but I don't quite see why someone who's a generally good-if-imperfect person couldn't fuck up and rape someone. I mean, normal people do bad things all the time, right? They gossip and scheme and insult people and hit people who provoke them and do dishonest deals that make them more money and screw oinnocentsents. Non-hideous people prioritize their own immediate pleasure over the good of others.
So can this be what rape is about? Could it be that a drunk guy gets one "no, I don't want to" and little further resistance and just decides to go ahead? I don't see why not. To be clear, yes, this is rape. It is criminal assault and he needs to be penalized for that. Even if he was drunk, even if she wasn't very firm in her resistance. If she didn't consent he is guilty of something harmful and explicitly illegal. But I don't know that that's an indication that he is someone who gets off on dehumanizing women or is even likely to rape again.
It's clear the sex offender label has itself become nearly meaningless. Some 13-year-old who grabbed a girl's boobs may now have to register as a sex offender for life. Really, do people need to be warned that when he was 13, he assaulted someone in a not-especially-harmful way? And then there's that kid who's going to jail for ten years for getting a blow job from a girl two years his junior. I think he has to register, too. Great. Shouldn't this label and all the stigma that goes with it be reserved for people who are likely to be repeat offenders?
God, this post has been long and incoherent enough. I think it's time to stop. If you're a first time reader who got here via a search, please realize this blog is primarily written for myself and interested friends, so take it slow. All opinions represented here may or may not be mine. They're just what was running through my head while I was writing. I also ask that you please do not copy and paste sections of this post to another blog. Allow me to censor myself by deleting this post later on, if I deem it to offensive. Thanks.
It's a classic story of boy meets girl, boy reveals checkered past to girl, girl forgives boy, law isn't quite so forgiving. Or something. In any case, what's been getting people so worked up? For one thing, there are passages like this:
But for me the experience had fundamentally altered my previously programmed reaction to stories of alcohol-fueled date rape on college campuses. No longer was my response autopilot compassion for the girl. No longer would I assume the guilt of intoxicated boys in the company of intoxicated girls everywhere.
And this one:
Yet what alarmed me was not some sinister side of him I never saw but a passivity and retreat that I saw far too much of. In the end, I found it harder to love an emasculated boyfriend than one accused of rape.
Unsurprisingly people aren't thrilled with the New York Times publishing this girl's perspective, which occasionally comes across as hostile to the girl that accused the boyfriend of rape. The author doesn't believe that the rape happened: Her boyfriend told her they were both drunk and had sex; the plea he copped to said the girl told him to leave, but he forced his way into the room, her bed, and her.
Amanda at Pandagon writes:
Cross claims to have read everything about the case she could get her hands on, so it’s entirely unlikely that she isn’t aware that the victim was too drunk to fight him off effectively, that she tried to fight him off, and that he tossed the victim around. He forced himself on a drunk woman, which is way different than “they had sex”, a phrasing that implies that the woman was willfully involved.
So it's the word of what he told his girlfriend against the word of the girl/what he pled to. A lot of commenters at Pandagon dis the "he said, she said" approach to evaluating this situation. Really now, he pled to the charges. Well, I'm very hesitant to take any plea as undisputeduted truth. After seeing Capturing the Friedmans (mandatory viewing), I'll never underestimate the amount of tactical decision-making and personal crap that go into accepting a plea. While it's wholly possible everything happened exactly as he said, I don't think its place on the record gives it fact status.
So is the author deluded, as so many commenters say, or is she reasonable in saying that she knows the guy well enough to believe him? Here's an idea I'd like to throw out (if not actually advocate): She's wrong, but she's wrong because she's operating under the assumption that only bad people commit rape. That's the conventional wisdom, right? People who rape are bad people who are part of the rape culture and get off on disempowering women. Maybe that's true, I don't know, but I don't quite see why someone who's a generally good-if-imperfect person couldn't fuck up and rape someone. I mean, normal people do bad things all the time, right? They gossip and scheme and insult people and hit people who provoke them and do dishonest deals that make them more money and screw oinnocentsents. Non-hideous people prioritize their own immediate pleasure over the good of others.
So can this be what rape is about? Could it be that a drunk guy gets one "no, I don't want to" and little further resistance and just decides to go ahead? I don't see why not. To be clear, yes, this is rape. It is criminal assault and he needs to be penalized for that. Even if he was drunk, even if she wasn't very firm in her resistance. If she didn't consent he is guilty of something harmful and explicitly illegal. But I don't know that that's an indication that he is someone who gets off on dehumanizing women or is even likely to rape again.
It's clear the sex offender label has itself become nearly meaningless. Some 13-year-old who grabbed a girl's boobs may now have to register as a sex offender for life. Really, do people need to be warned that when he was 13, he assaulted someone in a not-especially-harmful way? And then there's that kid who's going to jail for ten years for getting a blow job from a girl two years his junior. I think he has to register, too. Great. Shouldn't this label and all the stigma that goes with it be reserved for people who are likely to be repeat offenders?
God, this post has been long and incoherent enough. I think it's time to stop. If you're a first time reader who got here via a search, please realize this blog is primarily written for myself and interested friends, so take it slow. All opinions represented here may or may not be mine. They're just what was running through my head while I was writing. I also ask that you please do not copy and paste sections of this post to another blog. Allow me to censor myself by deleting this post later on, if I deem it to offensive. Thanks.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
The Innocence Project
Please excuse me for co-opting the name of a seriously important non-profit for a post about graphing virginity loss.
So, Brad an I have a long-standing argument (one of many) about whether, if you were to graph the age at which people in America lose their virginity, it would look like a normal Gaussian. Brad says yes. I say no. My argument was, essentially, the graph would be very asymmetrical, with a sharp increase into the peak and a slow deline away from it (the average age is 16...many people lose their virginity at 20 or 21; many fewer at 11 or 12). Brad says that while it's true there's going to be some asymmetry, a normal distribution is still a pretty great approximation, or at least good enough to be useful.
I was reading about recent studies for work (what's new?), and I came across one study on premarital sex in the US. (Finding: The vast majority of people do it. The vast majority of people have been doing it for a really long time). The analysis was based on data from the National Survey of Family Growth, and I realized this survey might be just what I needed to prove my point (or be horribly shamed). Since all of this data is publicly available—if a pain in the ass to access—I was able to download the relevant questions for the women who took the survey: age, whether had sex, and age of first sex. I had data for 6500 nationally-representative respondents in 2002. The graph of number of people who lost their virginity at each age looks like this:
It's a very pretty graph, and it looks more or less as expected (although I'm a little surprised at the sharp drop-off in the 18-20 range). You can see where we're both coming from: It is pretty asymmetrical, and it also looks on the Gaussian side of life. It's also important to note that the data I took was from people aged 20 to 44 at the time of the survey. Therefore everything after age 20 is skewed down a bit.
So I did some fits. First I did the normal fit and it did look decent, but got far too low far too quickly. I did only fit it through age 25 (so the skew wouldn't affect the fit too much), but by age 21 it's already a suck-fest. Then I tried to fit a Poisson distribution. To put it mildly, that distribution doesn't exactly lend itself to Excel curve fitting. I attribute this mostly to the bitchy factorial in the denominator. I also tried to fit the black-body radiation function. Also a mediocre result. Then I had an idea and tried to curve-fit the integral:
As you can see, I got a nice little arctan thing going on there. While its derivative is still a symmetrical function (1/[x^2 + 1]), it seemed to drop off more nicely, so I fit the polynomial A/[ax^2 + bx + c] to the curve. It's not perfect, but it's actually quite a bit nicer than the sharp drop Gaussian. Anyway, here they are: THE FITS!
Light blue is data, red is the Gaussian, yellow is black body, green is Poisson and purple is the inverse polynomial. I still think a more generalized Poisson may make the best fit, but right now I think the inverse polynomial works best. If someone knows a better asymmetrical distribution, please let me know! But the important thing is that at two standard deviations, the Gaussian sucks :-P
Oh, and if you're curious, here are comparisons for different age groups in 2002. The peaks are a fair bit sharper and a little earlier for the younger groups, but they're all pretty similar:
I hope you've enjoyed the viginity loss post!
Now for some google loading so nobody else has to graph this stuff: virginity loss, age of first sex, america, usa, large sample size, age of first intercourse, age of first sexual intercourse, nsfg, 2002 national survey of family growth
So, Brad an I have a long-standing argument (one of many) about whether, if you were to graph the age at which people in America lose their virginity, it would look like a normal Gaussian. Brad says yes. I say no. My argument was, essentially, the graph would be very asymmetrical, with a sharp increase into the peak and a slow deline away from it (the average age is 16...many people lose their virginity at 20 or 21; many fewer at 11 or 12). Brad says that while it's true there's going to be some asymmetry, a normal distribution is still a pretty great approximation, or at least good enough to be useful.
I was reading about recent studies for work (what's new?), and I came across one study on premarital sex in the US. (Finding: The vast majority of people do it. The vast majority of people have been doing it for a really long time). The analysis was based on data from the National Survey of Family Growth, and I realized this survey might be just what I needed to prove my point (or be horribly shamed). Since all of this data is publicly available—if a pain in the ass to access—I was able to download the relevant questions for the women who took the survey: age, whether had sex, and age of first sex. I had data for 6500 nationally-representative respondents in 2002. The graph of number of people who lost their virginity at each age looks like this:
It's a very pretty graph, and it looks more or less as expected (although I'm a little surprised at the sharp drop-off in the 18-20 range). You can see where we're both coming from: It is pretty asymmetrical, and it also looks on the Gaussian side of life. It's also important to note that the data I took was from people aged 20 to 44 at the time of the survey. Therefore everything after age 20 is skewed down a bit.
So I did some fits. First I did the normal fit and it did look decent, but got far too low far too quickly. I did only fit it through age 25 (so the skew wouldn't affect the fit too much), but by age 21 it's already a suck-fest. Then I tried to fit a Poisson distribution. To put it mildly, that distribution doesn't exactly lend itself to Excel curve fitting. I attribute this mostly to the bitchy factorial in the denominator. I also tried to fit the black-body radiation function. Also a mediocre result. Then I had an idea and tried to curve-fit the integral:
As you can see, I got a nice little arctan thing going on there. While its derivative is still a symmetrical function (1/[x^2 + 1]), it seemed to drop off more nicely, so I fit the polynomial A/[ax^2 + bx + c] to the curve. It's not perfect, but it's actually quite a bit nicer than the sharp drop Gaussian. Anyway, here they are: THE FITS!
Light blue is data, red is the Gaussian, yellow is black body, green is Poisson and purple is the inverse polynomial. I still think a more generalized Poisson may make the best fit, but right now I think the inverse polynomial works best. If someone knows a better asymmetrical distribution, please let me know! But the important thing is that at two standard deviations, the Gaussian sucks :-P
Oh, and if you're curious, here are comparisons for different age groups in 2002. The peaks are a fair bit sharper and a little earlier for the younger groups, but they're all pretty similar:
I hope you've enjoyed the viginity loss post!
Now for some google loading so nobody else has to graph this stuff: virginity loss, age of first sex, america, usa, large sample size, age of first intercourse, age of first sexual intercourse, nsfg, 2002 national survey of family growth
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Let's Do This Thing
All right, kids, it's the vacation post. Each day gets one sentence. This is for posterity, not pretty prose.
The week kicked off with Schreier's eighth crazy night party on Friday, where Brad and the high school folks collided and compared notes about Cat's new exercise program, "pirates."
On Saturday I trained into Slave, chilled with the folks, and bounced right back to the city to see a totally awesome "Company" with V, familiar-looking debate boy on the side.
Sunday started with crosswording with V at Slave and finished with a very solid Seven Jews/Seven Woks/Seven-Thirty Christmas eve...albeit with only six Jews.
Christmas is a slow day in, well, most of the Western world, so Monday was low key, with a trip to Jacob Burns to see Volver with the fam and a chips-n-guac-fueled watching of the Jets' first victory with Dad and Adam.
Natalie and I meant to get some shopping done on Tuesday but emerged from the Westchester empty-handed, but at least we had some fun adventures on Central Avenue and a meal at Villagio before I saw The Good Shepherd with Mike L and nearly saw Mike L in The Good Shepherd.
I woke up back in the city on Wednesday but soon met up with Mom and Natalia for a Tennessee Williams play with a gorgeous, gorgeous actor who wouldn't let me take a picture of him (pshaw!), followed by a shockingly-good vegan dinner and terrific Bond movie with Lauren and Will.
I walked up to the Guggenheim on Thursday to see the Spanish painting exhibit (I <3 the Spaniards), after which Brad and I got overpriced Indian food then had a lively conversation with V over beers in ::shudder:: Murray Hill.
Friday held a nice Thai lunch with Mike L, where we ran into a cute boy he sorta likes, then I saw Children of Men with Will (the via Brad one), and the eve topped off with Greg's birthday party, which included cool kids (yay, Sam) and...a cute boy he sorta likes.
Saturday brought a long-overdue visit from Meremurti (woot!) and a just-plain-long walk from Brooklyn to my apartment so she (and I, and our buddy Thomas) could get a taste of New York.
Meredith wanted to see St. John the Divine for L'Engle-related purposes, so on Sunday we went to the Hungarian Pastry Shop (and the church, yeah yeah), and after we departed I headed to Adam's for Saturday's puzzle and Sunday's Jets victory before I prepared awesome deviled eggs for the fun New Year's Eve potluck at the Frushticks' great, new-ish place.
The weather blew on Monday, so I was a bit low energy while doing the puzzle and meeting up with Greg and V for a late-afternoon showing of the slightly disappointing Dreamgirls, followed up by Thai food and a far too rough night of sleep.
Well, there you go! Now my life of leisure is over, and I return to the grind. As long as I get a little sleep tonight, all will be well.
The week kicked off with Schreier's eighth crazy night party on Friday, where Brad and the high school folks collided and compared notes about Cat's new exercise program, "pirates."
On Saturday I trained into Slave, chilled with the folks, and bounced right back to the city to see a totally awesome "Company" with V, familiar-looking debate boy on the side.
Sunday started with crosswording with V at Slave and finished with a very solid Seven Jews/Seven Woks/Seven-Thirty Christmas eve...albeit with only six Jews.
Christmas is a slow day in, well, most of the Western world, so Monday was low key, with a trip to Jacob Burns to see Volver with the fam and a chips-n-guac-fueled watching of the Jets' first victory with Dad and Adam.
Natalie and I meant to get some shopping done on Tuesday but emerged from the Westchester empty-handed, but at least we had some fun adventures on Central Avenue and a meal at Villagio before I saw The Good Shepherd with Mike L and nearly saw Mike L in The Good Shepherd.
I woke up back in the city on Wednesday but soon met up with Mom and Natalia for a Tennessee Williams play with a gorgeous, gorgeous actor who wouldn't let me take a picture of him (pshaw!), followed by a shockingly-good vegan dinner and terrific Bond movie with Lauren and Will.
I walked up to the Guggenheim on Thursday to see the Spanish painting exhibit (I <3 the Spaniards), after which Brad and I got overpriced Indian food then had a lively conversation with V over beers in ::shudder:: Murray Hill.
Friday held a nice Thai lunch with Mike L, where we ran into a cute boy he sorta likes, then I saw Children of Men with Will (the via Brad one), and the eve topped off with Greg's birthday party, which included cool kids (yay, Sam) and...a cute boy he sorta likes.
Saturday brought a long-overdue visit from Meremurti (woot!) and a just-plain-long walk from Brooklyn to my apartment so she (and I, and our buddy Thomas) could get a taste of New York.
Meredith wanted to see St. John the Divine for L'Engle-related purposes, so on Sunday we went to the Hungarian Pastry Shop (and the church, yeah yeah), and after we departed I headed to Adam's for Saturday's puzzle and Sunday's Jets victory before I prepared awesome deviled eggs for the fun New Year's Eve potluck at the Frushticks' great, new-ish place.
The weather blew on Monday, so I was a bit low energy while doing the puzzle and meeting up with Greg and V for a late-afternoon showing of the slightly disappointing Dreamgirls, followed up by Thai food and a far too rough night of sleep.
Well, there you go! Now my life of leisure is over, and I return to the grind. As long as I get a little sleep tonight, all will be well.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Look Here, Don't You Know My Face?
Hey, check it out! There's a blog here. Who knew? Apparently not me, for a while.
At first it was pure laziness, because I did have plenty to say. Thanksgiving break was absolutely lovely. It started off with a perfect meal with V at Jean-Georges--I was dreaming about that foie gras for days afterwards. Fuck you, geese. Revel in your hideous pain. Your liver is delicious beyond belief. Seriously, now; have you had foie gras? It's unbelievable. It's, like, several cuts above any other food in the world. I can't even describe it...it's like a warm chocolate truffle that isn't overwhelming in its richness and has the natural hearty feeling of meat. The texture...Christ, it just melts. And then later that weekend I had my H.S. reunion, which was lovely. I said hello to my homies and found out what's been up with them (one even reads the blog; woot!). Afterwards (Much afterwards, actually. As is my way, I left around 11 pm, and this happened after 1:30.) I went to Therapy with Mike L. and Alisa. That was fun and relaxing and had the space and lack of ear-busting noise that the reunion wanted for so badly.
Since vacation, well, life's seen its better days. I've been operating on the "If you don't have anything nice to say..." principle, which is why you haven't heard much from me. Suffice it to say my family and friends and my relationships with them are all doing just dandily, and I haven't been sick. Infer away.
In any case, it's Daily Show time. I'll try to be better in the future.
At first it was pure laziness, because I did have plenty to say. Thanksgiving break was absolutely lovely. It started off with a perfect meal with V at Jean-Georges--I was dreaming about that foie gras for days afterwards. Fuck you, geese. Revel in your hideous pain. Your liver is delicious beyond belief. Seriously, now; have you had foie gras? It's unbelievable. It's, like, several cuts above any other food in the world. I can't even describe it...it's like a warm chocolate truffle that isn't overwhelming in its richness and has the natural hearty feeling of meat. The texture...Christ, it just melts. And then later that weekend I had my H.S. reunion, which was lovely. I said hello to my homies and found out what's been up with them (one even reads the blog; woot!). Afterwards (Much afterwards, actually. As is my way, I left around 11 pm, and this happened after 1:30.) I went to Therapy with Mike L. and Alisa. That was fun and relaxing and had the space and lack of ear-busting noise that the reunion wanted for so badly.
Since vacation, well, life's seen its better days. I've been operating on the "If you don't have anything nice to say..." principle, which is why you haven't heard much from me. Suffice it to say my family and friends and my relationships with them are all doing just dandily, and I haven't been sick. Infer away.
In any case, it's Daily Show time. I'll try to be better in the future.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Not-Real Death
I know at least one or two people were upset by the story in my entry 'Tis the Season, where I saw a man passed out on the street who may or may not have been dead. Well, I have a (possible) follow-up.
Today I was leaving The Coffee Pot, walking down 9th, when I saw a man sprawled out under the phone booth. His posture didn't look like he was just sleeping, and it was only 4 pm, so I was concerned. And hey...he actually looked a bit like the guy I had seen about a month ago. I mean, they both looked late 50s, white, light hair, red-faced, and, well, passed out in not-entirely-lively positions. Since no good Samaritan was on the phone calling, I took out the cell phone, dialed 911 (I should probably put the EMS in there, too) and told them a guy was passed out and looked like he could use some help. While I was on the phone, the unconscious guy coughed a little: good sign. The emergency crew came in a fire truck (slow fire day in new york?) and went over to the guy. One of the firemen told me that the guy's name is Richard, and he's a "regular." So I guess that means he was likely the same guy as I had seen before, considering he was passed out only about a block away from the first guy's spot.
On one hand, it's nice to know that the first guy probably wasn't dead and that this guy will live to see another day. On the other hand, it's just depressing to know that this guy keeps passing out in Hell's Kitchen and getting picked up and brought to St. Vincent's. He's probably an undernourished alcoholic, and really, what are the chances he'll get his life even vaguely together? Much more likely that one day he'll drink a little too much and pass out in a place that's a little too cold. I even wonder: can you collect welfare with no permanent address? I guess you go to a shelter and then collect from there? There was that passage in Howards End about the very poor just slipping away. You can be fairly poor in America today without that really happening, but there is a threshold, and there are plenty of people below it.
Today I was leaving The Coffee Pot, walking down 9th, when I saw a man sprawled out under the phone booth. His posture didn't look like he was just sleeping, and it was only 4 pm, so I was concerned. And hey...he actually looked a bit like the guy I had seen about a month ago. I mean, they both looked late 50s, white, light hair, red-faced, and, well, passed out in not-entirely-lively positions. Since no good Samaritan was on the phone calling, I took out the cell phone, dialed 911 (I should probably put the EMS in there, too) and told them a guy was passed out and looked like he could use some help. While I was on the phone, the unconscious guy coughed a little: good sign. The emergency crew came in a fire truck (slow fire day in new york?) and went over to the guy. One of the firemen told me that the guy's name is Richard, and he's a "regular." So I guess that means he was likely the same guy as I had seen before, considering he was passed out only about a block away from the first guy's spot.
On one hand, it's nice to know that the first guy probably wasn't dead and that this guy will live to see another day. On the other hand, it's just depressing to know that this guy keeps passing out in Hell's Kitchen and getting picked up and brought to St. Vincent's. He's probably an undernourished alcoholic, and really, what are the chances he'll get his life even vaguely together? Much more likely that one day he'll drink a little too much and pass out in a place that's a little too cold. I even wonder: can you collect welfare with no permanent address? I guess you go to a shelter and then collect from there? There was that passage in Howards End about the very poor just slipping away. You can be fairly poor in America today without that really happening, but there is a threshold, and there are plenty of people below it.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Real Smooth
I was walking along, minding my business, when love came and hit me in the eye.
OK, it wasn't love at all. I was buying a chocolate croissant at a cart (I'm out of cereal; don't you dare tell me I should "just buy some more") and I turned around to continue my walk to work, when this girl says, "Hi."
Uh, hi.
"How are you?"
I'm good...
She was holding a thick blue binder, so I figured she probably wanted me to sign a petition or give money or something. She was also wearing scrubs...maybe she wants me to donate to her hospital? But there was no form on her binder, and she didn't look like she was getting any paper out.
"You're pretty."
Woah...WTF, as the kids say. Was she actually hitting on me? Do GIRLS actually hit on people in the middle of the street? I thought this was more or less the best thing our sex had going for us (besides not starting wars): We don't annoyingly cat call or hit on people. Maybe she just really wanted that croissant? I mean, it did look like a good croissant.
"You busy?"
Gee, I wonder. I mean, certainly most people clear their schedules around 9:30 AM. I find it's generally the best time to schedule my social events, and, really, if I'm walking outside at 9:30 AM, I'm probably just waiting for someone to pick me up. I find the walks invigorating and quite relaxing after a long, hard night's sleep.
I managed to break off and continue walking, when the girl's much butcher friend cuts me off.
"She says you already have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend?"
Um...no? I don't want to be that total douche who goes "WoahwoahWOAH, I'm not into THAT! You can do whatever you want in the privacy of your bedroom, just keep it away from me!" Really, is there anything douchier? More evil, perhaps. But that's more or less the peak of douchedom. And even just saying, "Sorry, I'm straight" has a hint of that ughly insecurity. Although I think bumbling and looking scared really didn't do my image any favors.
If they were dudes, they would be in such trouble...dudes can't follow me and hit on me for two minutes when I'm clearly not interested. But chicks can get away with anything. And I wouldn't give up all the times I've used that to my advantage to lose a few minutes of early morning awkwardness. Heh heh.
OK, it wasn't love at all. I was buying a chocolate croissant at a cart (I'm out of cereal; don't you dare tell me I should "just buy some more") and I turned around to continue my walk to work, when this girl says, "Hi."
Uh, hi.
"How are you?"
I'm good...
She was holding a thick blue binder, so I figured she probably wanted me to sign a petition or give money or something. She was also wearing scrubs...maybe she wants me to donate to her hospital? But there was no form on her binder, and she didn't look like she was getting any paper out.
"You're pretty."
Woah...WTF, as the kids say. Was she actually hitting on me? Do GIRLS actually hit on people in the middle of the street? I thought this was more or less the best thing our sex had going for us (besides not starting wars): We don't annoyingly cat call or hit on people. Maybe she just really wanted that croissant? I mean, it did look like a good croissant.
"You busy?"
Gee, I wonder. I mean, certainly most people clear their schedules around 9:30 AM. I find it's generally the best time to schedule my social events, and, really, if I'm walking outside at 9:30 AM, I'm probably just waiting for someone to pick me up. I find the walks invigorating and quite relaxing after a long, hard night's sleep.
I managed to break off and continue walking, when the girl's much butcher friend cuts me off.
"She says you already have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend?"
Um...no? I don't want to be that total douche who goes "WoahwoahWOAH, I'm not into THAT! You can do whatever you want in the privacy of your bedroom, just keep it away from me!" Really, is there anything douchier? More evil, perhaps. But that's more or less the peak of douchedom. And even just saying, "Sorry, I'm straight" has a hint of that ughly insecurity. Although I think bumbling and looking scared really didn't do my image any favors.
If they were dudes, they would be in such trouble...dudes can't follow me and hit on me for two minutes when I'm clearly not interested. But chicks can get away with anything. And I wouldn't give up all the times I've used that to my advantage to lose a few minutes of early morning awkwardness. Heh heh.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Celebrities! I Want Celebrities!
Despite having a monster of a headache (if I actually vomit soon, I'll stamp it a migraine), I'm in quite a good mood. Tonight I met two of my favorite celebrities. Well, maybe "met" is a stretch, but I had contact with two handsome, smart, successful, opinionated-to-the-point-of-arguable-dickishness men in two VERY different professions. I stood within mere feet, nay inches, of Richard Dawkins and Michael Lucas.
Dawkins (young, studly, and pixellated here) was giving a talk at the New York Academy of Sciences on his new book, The God Delusion. I know a bunch of his arguments, so he didn't say too much that was new, but his deadpan-ish humor works very nicely in his voice. So that was a plus of seeing some of the more colorful passages performed live. Perhaps the greatest benefit was the conversation with some of my work buddies both before and after the talk. Lee and I discussed the differences between agnosticism and atheism and whether atheism is an arrogant position and any more tenable than religious belief. It was a good discussion, and I feel my brand of Godlessness and Dawkins's were expressed fairly well (they're not identical, but they certainly have common aspects). And Lee proved a very solid conversation partner. The dear-departed-boss was there with his very cool gf, so it was good to see and chat with both of them. I got Dawkins to sign my book, but as I was at the end of the line, he was a little grumpy by the time I got there. Still, I congratulated him on a good showing on the Report.
Michael Lucas (barely safe for work) was a more casual encounter. Greg had already informed me that he was to be leading gay men's chorus bingo a couple of block from where I live. I was walking back from the subway, and a cab turned, and the profile I saw in back was unmistakable. I did what any red-blooded internet-raised kid would do and followed that cab. He got off at the wrong corner and started looking around a little aimlessly. I tried to direct him, but by the time I got near, he was already getting directions on his cell. When he got off the phone, though, I introduced myself. I told him I was looking forward to his new film. I wonder if it freaked him out that I knew he was going to host bingo at the 9th Ave. Bistro. I kind of hope so. I like freaking people out that way.
And to add, um, compliment to physical intactness, one of the chicks from inkycircus left a positive comment over here. Check 'em out...they're one of the best science blogs out there. Although if you like science blogs, you've probably already seen a link to them from one of the folks at the Site of Power. Must always plug the site of power.
Dawkins (young, studly, and pixellated here) was giving a talk at the New York Academy of Sciences on his new book, The God Delusion. I know a bunch of his arguments, so he didn't say too much that was new, but his deadpan-ish humor works very nicely in his voice. So that was a plus of seeing some of the more colorful passages performed live. Perhaps the greatest benefit was the conversation with some of my work buddies both before and after the talk. Lee and I discussed the differences between agnosticism and atheism and whether atheism is an arrogant position and any more tenable than religious belief. It was a good discussion, and I feel my brand of Godlessness and Dawkins's were expressed fairly well (they're not identical, but they certainly have common aspects). And Lee proved a very solid conversation partner. The dear-departed-boss was there with his very cool gf, so it was good to see and chat with both of them. I got Dawkins to sign my book, but as I was at the end of the line, he was a little grumpy by the time I got there. Still, I congratulated him on a good showing on the Report.
Michael Lucas (barely safe for work) was a more casual encounter. Greg had already informed me that he was to be leading gay men's chorus bingo a couple of block from where I live. I was walking back from the subway, and a cab turned, and the profile I saw in back was unmistakable. I did what any red-blooded internet-raised kid would do and followed that cab. He got off at the wrong corner and started looking around a little aimlessly. I tried to direct him, but by the time I got near, he was already getting directions on his cell. When he got off the phone, though, I introduced myself. I told him I was looking forward to his new film. I wonder if it freaked him out that I knew he was going to host bingo at the 9th Ave. Bistro. I kind of hope so. I like freaking people out that way.
And to add, um, compliment to physical intactness, one of the chicks from inkycircus left a positive comment over here. Check 'em out...they're one of the best science blogs out there. Although if you like science blogs, you've probably already seen a link to them from one of the folks at the Site of Power. Must always plug the site of power.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Exposed
I was at the coffee shop, attempting to read a beautiful book, which is beautiful more because it's insightful and thought-provoking and less because it's a fascinating story. Unfortunately, insightful and thought-provokig doesn't work that well with a deadline.
I looked up at the man sitting in front of me—white, 30-something, sexual orientation non-obvious—and saw that he was making a list. I couldn't read his monitor that clearly, but I saw that the list heading was "My fxxxx." What was that second word? It looked most like "fiance," but that didn't seem like a very good list title at all. So I looked at the items. The first one I saw was #13: "Age." What kind of list would have "Age" as an item? Then slowly, I began to make out others. #14: "Work." The first item started with an A and was a long word. #1: "Abandonment." #15: "Ugliness."
Ah yes. "My fears."
Good to know.
I looked up at the man sitting in front of me—white, 30-something, sexual orientation non-obvious—and saw that he was making a list. I couldn't read his monitor that clearly, but I saw that the list heading was "My fxxxx." What was that second word? It looked most like "fiance," but that didn't seem like a very good list title at all. So I looked at the items. The first one I saw was #13: "Age." What kind of list would have "Age" as an item? Then slowly, I began to make out others. #14: "Work." The first item started with an A and was a long word. #1: "Abandonment." #15: "Ugliness."
Ah yes. "My fears."
Good to know.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Slapstick is Dead?
Yesterday, life accidentally imitated art. Low, low art. We had a working brunch at the über-boss's swank apartment in the WV. Number one rule in your boss's swank apartment: Don't mess anything up.
Anyway, it was a lovely affair, and before leaving I headed to the bathroom, as I tend to do post-coffee + cider + mimosa. As I headed in, the intern coming out mentioned that the toilet was in a sort of continous flush spiral. There are worse things than I continuous flush, so I headed in. The toilet didn't seem to be flushing anymore, but as I went to flush, the handle wouldn't engage. I turned it in a few different directions, attempting to get it to catch, but after a few tries, it came off in my hands. Then the handle broke apart into two pieces. I screwed the top on and, realizing I couldn't screw the handle back onto the toilet, just stuck it on, figuring that's how it was to begin.
So I decided to flush the toilet manually. I lifted the porcelain top and tried to find the chain you pull to start the flush. But I hit something else first. A plastic tube snapped out of place and started SPURTING WATER ALL OVER THE BATHROOOM. I stuffed it back into place but it kept flipping out and spraying the floor. I creeped out of the bathroom and whispered to our branding guy to come help me. We eventually figured out how to get the tube snapped in, the toiled flushed, and we left the bathroom quietly. Hopefully the boss didn't suspect a thing...or at least understands. I hope. Yikes.
Anyway, it was a lovely affair, and before leaving I headed to the bathroom, as I tend to do post-coffee + cider + mimosa. As I headed in, the intern coming out mentioned that the toilet was in a sort of continous flush spiral. There are worse things than I continuous flush, so I headed in. The toilet didn't seem to be flushing anymore, but as I went to flush, the handle wouldn't engage. I turned it in a few different directions, attempting to get it to catch, but after a few tries, it came off in my hands. Then the handle broke apart into two pieces. I screwed the top on and, realizing I couldn't screw the handle back onto the toilet, just stuck it on, figuring that's how it was to begin.
So I decided to flush the toilet manually. I lifted the porcelain top and tried to find the chain you pull to start the flush. But I hit something else first. A plastic tube snapped out of place and started SPURTING WATER ALL OVER THE BATHROOOM. I stuffed it back into place but it kept flipping out and spraying the floor. I creeped out of the bathroom and whispered to our branding guy to come help me. We eventually figured out how to get the tube snapped in, the toiled flushed, and we left the bathroom quietly. Hopefully the boss didn't suspect a thing...or at least understands. I hope. Yikes.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
'Tis the Season
Autumn is a very precious time. It's the shortest of the seasons, with the possible exception of spring. OK, technically they're all the same length, but you know what a season feels like.
Winter lasts from mid-November to the end of March, more or less. It can come as early as late October and end as late as the beginning of May. Winter is the time when you're uncomfortably cold outside and the trees are lifeless. The air is crisp to the point of unable to carry smells. It's a huge portion of the year.
Summer lasts more or less from late June through the end of September. It can start as early as early May and can occasionally push itself through the first week or two of October. Summer is short sleeves. The air is hot enough that normally innocuous smells reek, hanging heavy in the air.
Spring and fall get pushed in the cracks. Usually during spring I'm just so excited for summer that I rush it a little. The most fun part of spring is seeing trees flower before they grow their leaves. The second most fun part of spring is beginning to smell the sweetness of plant life. It's always a little unclear whether you're smelling it because things are actually blooming or because the air can hold smells again. It's both, of course, and it's fabulous.
Fall...well, fall is awesome. I could never really appreciate it in school because I missed the freedom of summer and was still adjusting to the year, unable to believe that I hadn't gotten more of the year over with yet. Which isn't to say I didn't like school...I just liked summer a little better. And I was stressed. Now that my workload doesn't change between summer and fall, I can appreciate how beautiful the season really is. The air is wonderfully crisp but filled with wonderful smells: apples and burning wood. Trees change colors; is there anything more beautiful? Fashion is great...light jackets are so hot, and I'm still comfortable going outside in them. And the featured holiday of the season is Halloween. Halloween! It's the best holiday ever! Sure it has weird-ass religious origins, but right now it's sheer fun. All about creepiness, but not about REAL death, just about vampires and zombies and other forms of fake death.
Oy, speaking of real death. There was a man lying on the sidewalk by my apartment as I was coming home today. It was wholly unclear whether he was still alive. His face was red, which I guess was a good sign, but really, he didn't look too good. Luckily for my moral confusion, a man was already calling an ambulance. I never know when it's appropriate to interfere. I guess if someone's passed out at 6:30 pm, when it's still light out, and he's not a "usual" in a spot, it's probably time to dial up 911. The ambulance came after I got home, and I couldn't see whether he was conscious when they loaded him in. Upsetting.
Winter lasts from mid-November to the end of March, more or less. It can come as early as late October and end as late as the beginning of May. Winter is the time when you're uncomfortably cold outside and the trees are lifeless. The air is crisp to the point of unable to carry smells. It's a huge portion of the year.
Summer lasts more or less from late June through the end of September. It can start as early as early May and can occasionally push itself through the first week or two of October. Summer is short sleeves. The air is hot enough that normally innocuous smells reek, hanging heavy in the air.
Spring and fall get pushed in the cracks. Usually during spring I'm just so excited for summer that I rush it a little. The most fun part of spring is seeing trees flower before they grow their leaves. The second most fun part of spring is beginning to smell the sweetness of plant life. It's always a little unclear whether you're smelling it because things are actually blooming or because the air can hold smells again. It's both, of course, and it's fabulous.
Fall...well, fall is awesome. I could never really appreciate it in school because I missed the freedom of summer and was still adjusting to the year, unable to believe that I hadn't gotten more of the year over with yet. Which isn't to say I didn't like school...I just liked summer a little better. And I was stressed. Now that my workload doesn't change between summer and fall, I can appreciate how beautiful the season really is. The air is wonderfully crisp but filled with wonderful smells: apples and burning wood. Trees change colors; is there anything more beautiful? Fashion is great...light jackets are so hot, and I'm still comfortable going outside in them. And the featured holiday of the season is Halloween. Halloween! It's the best holiday ever! Sure it has weird-ass religious origins, but right now it's sheer fun. All about creepiness, but not about REAL death, just about vampires and zombies and other forms of fake death.
Oy, speaking of real death. There was a man lying on the sidewalk by my apartment as I was coming home today. It was wholly unclear whether he was still alive. His face was red, which I guess was a good sign, but really, he didn't look too good. Luckily for my moral confusion, a man was already calling an ambulance. I never know when it's appropriate to interfere. I guess if someone's passed out at 6:30 pm, when it's still light out, and he's not a "usual" in a spot, it's probably time to dial up 911. The ambulance came after I got home, and I couldn't see whether he was conscious when they loaded him in. Upsetting.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Merry New Year!
Very satisfying weekend. Going back to Westchester always centers me. It's like I get to retreat back to high school or something. Go to simpler times. Well, actually, much more complicated times. More fulfilling times. I completed the regression by inviting V over for Rosh Hashanah, which was great because I a) got to hang out with V and b) had an excuse to avoid potentially awkward coversations with relatives. I love the relatives, but sometimes it's nice to laugh about stupid stuff. Like, when I was telling him about the movie "Shortbus," where all the sex scenes are filmed with people actually having sex. I got as far as the title and "all the sex scenes are filmed with..." when his eyes went wide and he covered his mouth in disbelief. I shouldn't even say where he thought that was going, but the title of the movie should give you a clue. Before he came, I told V to BHOB if he wanted potable wine, but apparently my Dad just stored it away without serving it, sticking V with the Jews' Booze. He was perhaps less than pleased.
Natalie brought half of Barnard, which was nice. It's good to introduce some new life into family dynamics, and a bunch of 20 year olds certainly accomplish that. They also asked to see my Mom's pictures, which she was more than happy to provide. Natalie and I were very proud of Mom for not spending the whole night snapping photos. It must have taken a lot of restraint.
I slept for about 11 hours that night, which was excellent, and I skipped temple on Saturday morning. I had better places to be, namely in bed and then at Slave. V was there (so I crashed his one free weekend between the beginning of school and thanksgiving, sue me...) and I sat with him as I read Howard's End. For about 15 minutes. He whipped out the Friday puzzle, and we tore through it, getting through all but one quarter of Saturday before splitting up. With my Mom at home, we managed to conquer the remainder. Put me with any of the brilliant peeps in my life, and we are unstoppable! Woot!
Dinner #2 was lovely as well...Mom made kickass glazed corned beef. Crazy delicious. I got to see my cousin Elliot's apartment building when we drove back into the city. It was a somewhat bizarre experience: He lives two blocks from where he works, in what can only be described as a corporate apartment building on the Hudson. It's, like, the Merril dorms. The neighborhood's fairly sterile, too. But the building does look really nice, and the convenience to work has to seriously pay off, considering the obscene hours he puts in. So obscene. They shouldn't show that to kids.
Today I did some work for GreGAMES! sitting in the Coffee Pot. Because I was on the comp, I sat by the window, where there's a long shelf for computers and such. The whole world went by. First, I saw Katherine (from work) with her roommate and friend. She lives nowhere near me, but they apparently wanted to take a bus from the Port Authority, missed it, and decided to wander around Manhattan instead. Excellent decision. Then I thought I saw this kid Jonathan Meier pass by. He was in Candide with me back in the day, but I haven't seen him since. I tried to catch his eye, but to no avail. Then Hannah passed by on her way home (no surprise). The whole world...by the coffee shop.
Tonight I saw Science of Sleep with Brad. The movie definitely hit me the right way. First of all, I love any movie that has a unique aesthetic. I appreciate being drawn into someone's world. Also, it was reasonably funny, and a bunch of it resonated with me, partially in universal ways, partially in very specific ways. Hm, there was more I wanted to write about my evening, but I'm doing too many things at once now. Perhaps more later.
Natalie brought half of Barnard, which was nice. It's good to introduce some new life into family dynamics, and a bunch of 20 year olds certainly accomplish that. They also asked to see my Mom's pictures, which she was more than happy to provide. Natalie and I were very proud of Mom for not spending the whole night snapping photos. It must have taken a lot of restraint.
I slept for about 11 hours that night, which was excellent, and I skipped temple on Saturday morning. I had better places to be, namely in bed and then at Slave. V was there (so I crashed his one free weekend between the beginning of school and thanksgiving, sue me...) and I sat with him as I read Howard's End. For about 15 minutes. He whipped out the Friday puzzle, and we tore through it, getting through all but one quarter of Saturday before splitting up. With my Mom at home, we managed to conquer the remainder. Put me with any of the brilliant peeps in my life, and we are unstoppable! Woot!
Dinner #2 was lovely as well...Mom made kickass glazed corned beef. Crazy delicious. I got to see my cousin Elliot's apartment building when we drove back into the city. It was a somewhat bizarre experience: He lives two blocks from where he works, in what can only be described as a corporate apartment building on the Hudson. It's, like, the Merril dorms. The neighborhood's fairly sterile, too. But the building does look really nice, and the convenience to work has to seriously pay off, considering the obscene hours he puts in. So obscene. They shouldn't show that to kids.
Today I did some work for GreGAMES! sitting in the Coffee Pot. Because I was on the comp, I sat by the window, where there's a long shelf for computers and such. The whole world went by. First, I saw Katherine (from work) with her roommate and friend. She lives nowhere near me, but they apparently wanted to take a bus from the Port Authority, missed it, and decided to wander around Manhattan instead. Excellent decision. Then I thought I saw this kid Jonathan Meier pass by. He was in Candide with me back in the day, but I haven't seen him since. I tried to catch his eye, but to no avail. Then Hannah passed by on her way home (no surprise). The whole world...by the coffee shop.
Tonight I saw Science of Sleep with Brad. The movie definitely hit me the right way. First of all, I love any movie that has a unique aesthetic. I appreciate being drawn into someone's world. Also, it was reasonably funny, and a bunch of it resonated with me, partially in universal ways, partially in very specific ways. Hm, there was more I wanted to write about my evening, but I'm doing too many things at once now. Perhaps more later.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Eek!
Clement and I had a little problem tonight.
Like, two inches little.
It's a very bad feeling to walk into your kitchen and have your eye caught by distinctly mammalian motion. Once it hit me that, yes, that was a mouse in the corner and, no, it wasn't going to work to scoop it up in the dustpan and drop it outside, Clement went to the deli and got glue traps, the only kind they had. After about an hour, we checked back on the traps and saw that one had caught the mouse. I googled "glue trap" and found lots of advocacy sites telling me how glue traps are the single least humane way of catching a mouse. Great. But one of them did say that if you have a live mouse in a glue trap, you can dissolve the glue with vegetable oil and push the mouse off with a pencil. So we took the entrapped mouse outside and did just that. Amazingly, it worked, and there's now an oily mouse with post-traumatic stress disorder roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
this post excerpted from an email to mom
Like, two inches little.
It's a very bad feeling to walk into your kitchen and have your eye caught by distinctly mammalian motion. Once it hit me that, yes, that was a mouse in the corner and, no, it wasn't going to work to scoop it up in the dustpan and drop it outside, Clement went to the deli and got glue traps, the only kind they had. After about an hour, we checked back on the traps and saw that one had caught the mouse. I googled "glue trap" and found lots of advocacy sites telling me how glue traps are the single least humane way of catching a mouse. Great. But one of them did say that if you have a live mouse in a glue trap, you can dissolve the glue with vegetable oil and push the mouse off with a pencil. So we took the entrapped mouse outside and did just that. Amazingly, it worked, and there's now an oily mouse with post-traumatic stress disorder roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
this post excerpted from an email to mom
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Mob?
Outside the front door of our apartment buiding is a large tire on its side. In the tire is a decapitated (or, rather, decorpitated) doll's head, scalp up, hair sticking off to the sides, looking like it has drowned.
I'm half-convinced we're living with the Middle Eastern mafia. I mean, our landlord is the nephew of a major Arab New York real estate king. They could easily be running this area from the underground. OK, maybe not easily, considering the landlord has a full-time job, a building to run, and a daughter. But possibly. The intrigue remains...
I'm half-convinced we're living with the Middle Eastern mafia. I mean, our landlord is the nephew of a major Arab New York real estate king. They could easily be running this area from the underground. OK, maybe not easily, considering the landlord has a full-time job, a building to run, and a daughter. But possibly. The intrigue remains...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
McGrievous Errors
Apparently NJ's old governor Jim McGreevey has a coming out memoir coming out entitled The Confession. He's talked about it on Oprah, in an episode to be aired this Tuesday, the same day the book comes out. The Advocate ran this story on Friday: "McGreevey tells Oprah of gay affair while wife was giving birth." Apparently while his wife was in the hospital, in labor, giving birth to their daughter, McGreevey was seducing Golan Cipel, the man who now claims he never had sex with the good gov'nor. This is how McGreevey describes it in the book:
It partially bothers me that he did it, acting like a 13-year-old boy while in his 30s or 40s. When a husband cheats on his wife with a woman, he's being an inconsiderate asshole, but when a gay husband cheats on his wife with a man, he's really being a 13-year-old boy—placing other people's rights and needs behind his own desire for self-exploration. And this is all fine when you're 13, it's to be expected as part of adolescence. But when you're an adult? I understand that society's expectations are why he never got to grow up during growing-up time, but that doesn't mean it's ok to pose as an adult toward people who care about you when you're reall not, thereby screwing them over. And I think that's why it bothers me so much that he was doing it: When you're wife is giving birth you are in the epitome of manhood, becoming a father, heading up a family. So it seems like the absolute worst time to show that you are ready for none of it. You are not ready for the responsibilities of parenthood. Your wife thought she was marrying a man, but she's married an adolescent. It seems very desceptive. Whereas if he were cheating on her with a woman, well, we could have discounted that douche a while ago. I don't think I'm being very articulate here. I'm just trying to figure out why this creeped me out so, so much, moreso than other creepy things.
The second aspect that bothers me is that he wrote about it. I almost don't feel like that's his secret to share. I feel like that's something so bad, so horrible to his wife, that it's her place to come forth with that information, not his. Does he have permission to incite that much pity?
I don't know what to do with this...we have this whole irritating "dual fault" thing going on...which is really how it is with most situations. A poor urban kid kills another in gang violence. Is it his fault or the fault of a society that does nothing for its poor? Well, both. But the fact that society should change doesn't let him off the hook, and I don't think it lets McGreevey off the hook either. He is really responsible for screwing people over.
Maybe this all comes from my grand fear of marrying a gay man. I don't think it's THAT unlikely.
Bah, bad mood today.
We undressed and he kissed me. It was the first time in my life that a kiss meant what it was supposed to mean — it sent me through the roof...I was like a man emerging from 44 years in a cave to taste pure air for the first time, feel direct sunlight on pallid skin, warmth where there had only ever been a bone-chilling numbness.Aw, how moving. And really, I'd be moved. Touched. Perhaps a little wooed, as is my way. Were this not happening while his wife was in labor. Really, there are many evils in the world far worse than cheating on your wife, even at an inopportune time, but this just rubs me like a deep-tissue retinal massage: the wrong way.
It partially bothers me that he did it, acting like a 13-year-old boy while in his 30s or 40s. When a husband cheats on his wife with a woman, he's being an inconsiderate asshole, but when a gay husband cheats on his wife with a man, he's really being a 13-year-old boy—placing other people's rights and needs behind his own desire for self-exploration. And this is all fine when you're 13, it's to be expected as part of adolescence. But when you're an adult? I understand that society's expectations are why he never got to grow up during growing-up time, but that doesn't mean it's ok to pose as an adult toward people who care about you when you're reall not, thereby screwing them over. And I think that's why it bothers me so much that he was doing it: When you're wife is giving birth you are in the epitome of manhood, becoming a father, heading up a family. So it seems like the absolute worst time to show that you are ready for none of it. You are not ready for the responsibilities of parenthood. Your wife thought she was marrying a man, but she's married an adolescent. It seems very desceptive. Whereas if he were cheating on her with a woman, well, we could have discounted that douche a while ago. I don't think I'm being very articulate here. I'm just trying to figure out why this creeped me out so, so much, moreso than other creepy things.
The second aspect that bothers me is that he wrote about it. I almost don't feel like that's his secret to share. I feel like that's something so bad, so horrible to his wife, that it's her place to come forth with that information, not his. Does he have permission to incite that much pity?
I don't know what to do with this...we have this whole irritating "dual fault" thing going on...which is really how it is with most situations. A poor urban kid kills another in gang violence. Is it his fault or the fault of a society that does nothing for its poor? Well, both. But the fact that society should change doesn't let him off the hook, and I don't think it lets McGreevey off the hook either. He is really responsible for screwing people over.
Maybe this all comes from my grand fear of marrying a gay man. I don't think it's THAT unlikely.
Bah, bad mood today.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
I Claim This Land...
The building next to the Seed offices is being converted into luxury lofts. It took them forever to get the scaffolding down (at least 11 months), but now the lofts are looking very spiffy. Still, half of the first floor is a wreck. The lobby only takes up half the building, which left a sizeable space filled with boards and building block. I wondered if this was going to turn into the boiler room or a storage area or some functional common space for residents. But this week we found out exactly what is to become of the space. Going into the office on Thursday morning, the building looked normal, but when I stepped out for lunch, there it was on the side of the building, just one sign heralding passers-by: Starbucks.
If you turn the right at the corner from my block to Sixth Avenue, there are two Starbuckses (starbuces?) on that block. TWO! On the same block. But that's not enough. We need one right next to our building. Apparently. I have the image of two guys racing down my block toward the empty lot, one with a Starbucks sign and one with a Duane Reade sign. Apparently the Starbucks guy stuck his in the wall first. Ah, me. At least they're also opening a Café Grumpy in Chelsea soon. If it's anything like the Times described it, I'm psyched.
I just saw an ad for Jeanine Pirro's Attorney General campaign. So funny. The message was theoretically the appopriate "Pirro has more experience than Cuomo." OK, fair enough. But it was really "Pirro: Not THAT Republican." The last light of the ad was something like, "For the last bladiblah years I've been protecting women from domestic violence, children from pedophiles and gays from hate crimes." See!? Pirro hearts the gays. This probably rubs me worse than it should because of my personal pet peeve against nouning adjectives that describe people. Gays? Blacks? Not my phrasing of choice.
All right, back to watching the Wolverines slaughter the Irish. Sounds like some twisted version of Roman entertainment...and it more or less is.
If you turn the right at the corner from my block to Sixth Avenue, there are two Starbuckses (starbuces?) on that block. TWO! On the same block. But that's not enough. We need one right next to our building. Apparently. I have the image of two guys racing down my block toward the empty lot, one with a Starbucks sign and one with a Duane Reade sign. Apparently the Starbucks guy stuck his in the wall first. Ah, me. At least they're also opening a Café Grumpy in Chelsea soon. If it's anything like the Times described it, I'm psyched.
I just saw an ad for Jeanine Pirro's Attorney General campaign. So funny. The message was theoretically the appopriate "Pirro has more experience than Cuomo." OK, fair enough. But it was really "Pirro: Not THAT Republican." The last light of the ad was something like, "For the last bladiblah years I've been protecting women from domestic violence, children from pedophiles and gays from hate crimes." See!? Pirro hearts the gays. This probably rubs me worse than it should because of my personal pet peeve against nouning adjectives that describe people. Gays? Blacks? Not my phrasing of choice.
All right, back to watching the Wolverines slaughter the Irish. Sounds like some twisted version of Roman entertainment...and it more or less is.
Monday, September 11, 2006
The Five Year Mark, Etc.
I doubt anyone's manage to miss the fact that today is the fifth anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center (and Pentagon (and Flight 93)). It was, unequivocally, a bad, bad day. Everyone has his or her own 9/11/01 story, so I might as well tell mine.
September 11, 2001 was the day I had the best callback of my life. The fall musical my freshman year (it was only the second week of classes, I think) was to be Candide and I was just destined to play the old lady with one buttock. Really, there are a few parts that are totally perfect for me, and that's one of them. After auditions the day before, we had callbacks on Tuesday. I sort of knew I had it in the bag, especially during callbacks, when I was explaining the jokes in the monologue to the other people called back for the part. I spoke to quickly, sure, and my singing is passable at best, but I sailed into that role. Such sweetness.
And frankly, it was exactly what I needed. Like everyone else, I had been sitting around campus all day glued to the news or wandering around feeling like there should be someone to comfort or blood to donate or something to do besides check in with my parents that they (and more relevantly my uncle, who worked at the WFC) were ok. Some skinny barely post-pubescent femme gay boy is clutching his cell phone to his ear screaming that his sister has an internship at the world trade center and he can't reach her. What do you say? "I'm sure she's OK?" Um, that would be dumb. And after a while, shock and sadness just turn to restlessness. You can't smile, but it's hard to maintain one emotion for hours on end. You need to relax, fall asleep, let your brow ease up. So going to an audition, where I had to be funny for a director whose boyfriend lived three blocks from the WTC. And being forced to be funny was perfect in every way.
Oh, and totally off topic, the facebook news feed has informed me that my ex is in love and he has posted cheesy (and seemingly inapt) French quotes about it. My own browsing (read: stalking) has informed me that he has taken his name off of the picture that Dave G. posted of us at prom and that the girl seems pretty cool. And by cool I mean dorky. Which is cool. I'm happy for him and all, but the old feeling applies: you want your ex to find someone absolutely wonderful...after you do.
September 11, 2001 was the day I had the best callback of my life. The fall musical my freshman year (it was only the second week of classes, I think) was to be Candide and I was just destined to play the old lady with one buttock. Really, there are a few parts that are totally perfect for me, and that's one of them. After auditions the day before, we had callbacks on Tuesday. I sort of knew I had it in the bag, especially during callbacks, when I was explaining the jokes in the monologue to the other people called back for the part. I spoke to quickly, sure, and my singing is passable at best, but I sailed into that role. Such sweetness.
And frankly, it was exactly what I needed. Like everyone else, I had been sitting around campus all day glued to the news or wandering around feeling like there should be someone to comfort or blood to donate or something to do besides check in with my parents that they (and more relevantly my uncle, who worked at the WFC) were ok. Some skinny barely post-pubescent femme gay boy is clutching his cell phone to his ear screaming that his sister has an internship at the world trade center and he can't reach her. What do you say? "I'm sure she's OK?" Um, that would be dumb. And after a while, shock and sadness just turn to restlessness. You can't smile, but it's hard to maintain one emotion for hours on end. You need to relax, fall asleep, let your brow ease up. So going to an audition, where I had to be funny for a director whose boyfriend lived three blocks from the WTC. And being forced to be funny was perfect in every way.
Oh, and totally off topic, the facebook news feed has informed me that my ex is in love and he has posted cheesy (and seemingly inapt) French quotes about it. My own browsing (read: stalking) has informed me that he has taken his name off of the picture that Dave G. posted of us at prom and that the girl seems pretty cool. And by cool I mean dorky. Which is cool. I'm happy for him and all, but the old feeling applies: you want your ex to find someone absolutely wonderful...after you do.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Trouble With Facebook
Never has the Web 2.0 community been in such a fury. Facebook, the homegrown, elegant alternative to such shitshows as Friendster and MySpace has made the hideous mistake of including an RSS feed on the front page of everything your "friends" have recently done. The elegant design looks cluttered, the move reeks of corporate misstepping, and the beautiful illusion of privacy facebook once gave (by not allowing you to click on the profiles of people you aren't in a network with) is shattered. The verdict is more unanimous than a Cuban election: The feed sucks.
But why does the feed suck? Sure, the clutter may be objectively unsightly, but it's not like any information is there that wasn't available before. Why does everyone complain about privacy? Well, in my opinion, it's because privacy is less about what information people can know and more about how that information is presented, whether it's presented with the respect it deserves. You can easily invision situations, I'm sure, where you know gossip, and you can tell all of your friends individually, but it would be tactless to tell them en masse. The same information gets conveyed, but the information seems graver and more important when it's presented personally. It actually feels like privacy was maintained, at least partially because the people you've told likely don't feel they can gab about the gossip to each other. The new facebook announces all information blaringly. Alex Kelston has made a slightly brilliant mockery of this by changing his marital status to every possibility over the last day. But on a serious note, if my friends break up, and they change their profiles, I don't think they'd want that announced on the facebook home of everyone they barely know. People self-censor. I only look at the profiles of people I'm interested in, and while I don't consider that information confidential, I do consider it personal. And worthy of some modicum of respect.
Also, there's an "opt out" box. The opt out box is the worst part of this whole experiment. First of all, it smells like the Friendster travesty where they created a new feature where you could see who looked at your profile. People didn't even realize this until they had done some stalking and later found out the person they stalked knew of their visit. You could opt out of this (and be unable to see who viewed your profile), but everyone was automatically set to the less private setting. This made people, especially me, feel violated. While this move isn't nearly as bad (again, it doesn't make new information available), it does just feel like privacy is something you have to opt into, not assume.
Also, if people opt out, the feed becomes totally useless. Everyone will still go to each section to see who's updated their profiles. They're not going to remember who opted in and who didn't, so they'll just check on people they're interested in. No time is saved. Frankly, I like to go to each section. Facebook is a time waster...extreme efficiency isn't a plus. The site runs cleanly, and that's what I want. MySpacesque technical disaster isn't a good thing, but a few buttons can be nice.
On the other hand, I kind of like the mini feeds. They shouldn't be in people's profiles, that just looks ugly, but they'd be nice on the sidebar to show us what people we're already stalking have updated.
All right, I'm done ranting for the night. No spell check or grammar check this evening. Later, kids.
But why does the feed suck? Sure, the clutter may be objectively unsightly, but it's not like any information is there that wasn't available before. Why does everyone complain about privacy? Well, in my opinion, it's because privacy is less about what information people can know and more about how that information is presented, whether it's presented with the respect it deserves. You can easily invision situations, I'm sure, where you know gossip, and you can tell all of your friends individually, but it would be tactless to tell them en masse. The same information gets conveyed, but the information seems graver and more important when it's presented personally. It actually feels like privacy was maintained, at least partially because the people you've told likely don't feel they can gab about the gossip to each other. The new facebook announces all information blaringly. Alex Kelston has made a slightly brilliant mockery of this by changing his marital status to every possibility over the last day. But on a serious note, if my friends break up, and they change their profiles, I don't think they'd want that announced on the facebook home of everyone they barely know. People self-censor. I only look at the profiles of people I'm interested in, and while I don't consider that information confidential, I do consider it personal. And worthy of some modicum of respect.
Also, there's an "opt out" box. The opt out box is the worst part of this whole experiment. First of all, it smells like the Friendster travesty where they created a new feature where you could see who looked at your profile. People didn't even realize this until they had done some stalking and later found out the person they stalked knew of their visit. You could opt out of this (and be unable to see who viewed your profile), but everyone was automatically set to the less private setting. This made people, especially me, feel violated. While this move isn't nearly as bad (again, it doesn't make new information available), it does just feel like privacy is something you have to opt into, not assume.
Also, if people opt out, the feed becomes totally useless. Everyone will still go to each section to see who's updated their profiles. They're not going to remember who opted in and who didn't, so they'll just check on people they're interested in. No time is saved. Frankly, I like to go to each section. Facebook is a time waster...extreme efficiency isn't a plus. The site runs cleanly, and that's what I want. MySpacesque technical disaster isn't a good thing, but a few buttons can be nice.
On the other hand, I kind of like the mini feeds. They shouldn't be in people's profiles, that just looks ugly, but they'd be nice on the sidebar to show us what people we're already stalking have updated.
All right, I'm done ranting for the night. No spell check or grammar check this evening. Later, kids.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
28 26 27
Tonight, I ate well. Really well.
Yesterday I was sitting at work, writing my column, reading up on science news, and trying to rope V into hanging out with me this weekend. After some indecisiveness he had an idea: Great food. This may not sound brilliant, but in New York, there's good food, and then there's great food. Good food is all over the city—semi-fancy spots, cozy corners and solid burger joints dot every area, especially my very own Ninth Avenue. But there are a few restaurants that are GREAT. Leading the list are Masa, Per Se, and Le Bernardin; also up there are Daniel, Alain Ducasse, Bouley, Union Square Cafe, Jean Georges and Gramercy Tavern. We went to the last. The numbers titling the post are Gramercy Tavern's Zagat ratings. Read it and weep...with envy!
Metro North conked out on V (oh, the rain...), so at 5:30 he left Westchester in his car for our 6:00 reservation. And he made it. OK, so maybe it was 6:02 when he got there, but I was impressed, and he was clearly adrenaline-pumped from his success. I don't want to imagine the driving he had to do to get there, but he arrived in one piece, so all was well. Since the restaurant is business casual, I had an excuse to wear the cute dress Mom got me for my birthday. It's not my usual style, and it doesn't bring out the best in my sizable thighs, but it's pretty snazzy.
We were seated in the back (the real restaurant), and as we walked through the place, the whole thing smelled like burning wood. It has a delightful lodge-like atmosphere. Very not Manhattan...in a good way. All through the meal, we got little "compliments of the chef" palate cleaners and supplements. They were pretty damn delicious, every one.
We ordered drinks: I got Chianti (shocker), and V got a cobbler martini thing. Both were excellent. Then we began to pick out the components of our $76 prix fixe meal. For an appetizer, I got the oyster stew, which consisted of fried oysters, fava beans and summer truffles in some sort of consumme/chowderish broth. It was delightful, and it had the bonus feature of allowing me to say I've had "fava beans with a nice Chianti." I mentioned that to V, and he was insulted when I asked if he got the reference. Great line, great line... V got a corn chowder, which is what I had planned on, until I saw the oysters. It was frothy. Mmm.
Second course was, for me, lamb shoulder with ministrone and goat cheese ravioli. I've certainly never had lamb that good before...Even the fat was totally edible and delicious. And how can you go wrong with goat cheese ravioli? You can't, and I didn't. V got the sirloin—three perfect slices of meat—with sides that for some reason I can't remember offhand. One was bone marrow. It looked good.
After our entrees, we ordered a cheese course. I posed Brad's question to V: If you had to give up one for life, which would it be: oral sex or cheese? By the end of the night he still didn't have an answer and looked like I had stabbed his mother every time I posed the question. Really, it's a horrifying Sophie's choice. In any case, while we retain the right to all of life's great pleasures, we had 5 cheeses selected by our waitress. All were lovely, except I've never been a huge fan of bleu cheese, so I didn't love that one. We savored every bite, no less, and I left the majority of the most intense one to a very happy V.
For desert we split the chocolate cake and the chocolate/hazelnut mousse. Oh Lord, we have sinned. SO good. Even their coffee was magnificent. Especially the pre-desert treat of cinnamon creme fraiche and raspberries was magnificent. Just heavenly. And they gave us muffins for the morning, so the experience can continue until tomorrow. Yay, Gramercy Tavern. We're buds, now.
V was kind enough to drive me back to my apartment, and he came up, as I promised him some fine, full-bodied, judgment-clouding-yet-legal, 18-year-old scotch.* We broke open the Macallan and hung out until he decided to beat the theater crowd out of midtown. Thus officially ended a pretty much perfect evening. V's always great company and good food makes anything wonderful. V's also not afraid to rave about things he likes, which makes every enjoyable experience so much better. It's so much nicer than ranking things or listing pros and cons during this sort of activity. The more you rave, the more you savor, the more you'll enjoy. And that's really the point.
As things go, the evening didn't actually end there. Adam gave me a call saying he was in the area, and he came over to work on the Saturday puzzle with me. He had already done a fair amount, but together we finished it (more or less...about 2 letters were off). Go us. We chatted for too long, and here I am, verging on two o'clock and typing away. It's time for a sure-to-be-sound night of sleep. Sweet dreams. Sweeter desserts.
*The joke never gets old. And given V's occupation, I should probably clarify: No, the double meaning doesn't apply. He's very age appropriate. I just like the line. Carry on, now.
Yesterday I was sitting at work, writing my column, reading up on science news, and trying to rope V into hanging out with me this weekend. After some indecisiveness he had an idea: Great food. This may not sound brilliant, but in New York, there's good food, and then there's great food. Good food is all over the city—semi-fancy spots, cozy corners and solid burger joints dot every area, especially my very own Ninth Avenue. But there are a few restaurants that are GREAT. Leading the list are Masa, Per Se, and Le Bernardin; also up there are Daniel, Alain Ducasse, Bouley, Union Square Cafe, Jean Georges and Gramercy Tavern. We went to the last. The numbers titling the post are Gramercy Tavern's Zagat ratings. Read it and weep...with envy!
Metro North conked out on V (oh, the rain...), so at 5:30 he left Westchester in his car for our 6:00 reservation. And he made it. OK, so maybe it was 6:02 when he got there, but I was impressed, and he was clearly adrenaline-pumped from his success. I don't want to imagine the driving he had to do to get there, but he arrived in one piece, so all was well. Since the restaurant is business casual, I had an excuse to wear the cute dress Mom got me for my birthday. It's not my usual style, and it doesn't bring out the best in my sizable thighs, but it's pretty snazzy.
We were seated in the back (the real restaurant), and as we walked through the place, the whole thing smelled like burning wood. It has a delightful lodge-like atmosphere. Very not Manhattan...in a good way. All through the meal, we got little "compliments of the chef" palate cleaners and supplements. They were pretty damn delicious, every one.
We ordered drinks: I got Chianti (shocker), and V got a cobbler martini thing. Both were excellent. Then we began to pick out the components of our $76 prix fixe meal. For an appetizer, I got the oyster stew, which consisted of fried oysters, fava beans and summer truffles in some sort of consumme/chowderish broth. It was delightful, and it had the bonus feature of allowing me to say I've had "fava beans with a nice Chianti." I mentioned that to V, and he was insulted when I asked if he got the reference. Great line, great line... V got a corn chowder, which is what I had planned on, until I saw the oysters. It was frothy. Mmm.
Second course was, for me, lamb shoulder with ministrone and goat cheese ravioli. I've certainly never had lamb that good before...Even the fat was totally edible and delicious. And how can you go wrong with goat cheese ravioli? You can't, and I didn't. V got the sirloin—three perfect slices of meat—with sides that for some reason I can't remember offhand. One was bone marrow. It looked good.
After our entrees, we ordered a cheese course. I posed Brad's question to V: If you had to give up one for life, which would it be: oral sex or cheese? By the end of the night he still didn't have an answer and looked like I had stabbed his mother every time I posed the question. Really, it's a horrifying Sophie's choice. In any case, while we retain the right to all of life's great pleasures, we had 5 cheeses selected by our waitress. All were lovely, except I've never been a huge fan of bleu cheese, so I didn't love that one. We savored every bite, no less, and I left the majority of the most intense one to a very happy V.
For desert we split the chocolate cake and the chocolate/hazelnut mousse. Oh Lord, we have sinned. SO good. Even their coffee was magnificent. Especially the pre-desert treat of cinnamon creme fraiche and raspberries was magnificent. Just heavenly. And they gave us muffins for the morning, so the experience can continue until tomorrow. Yay, Gramercy Tavern. We're buds, now.
V was kind enough to drive me back to my apartment, and he came up, as I promised him some fine, full-bodied, judgment-clouding-yet-legal, 18-year-old scotch.* We broke open the Macallan and hung out until he decided to beat the theater crowd out of midtown. Thus officially ended a pretty much perfect evening. V's always great company and good food makes anything wonderful. V's also not afraid to rave about things he likes, which makes every enjoyable experience so much better. It's so much nicer than ranking things or listing pros and cons during this sort of activity. The more you rave, the more you savor, the more you'll enjoy. And that's really the point.
As things go, the evening didn't actually end there. Adam gave me a call saying he was in the area, and he came over to work on the Saturday puzzle with me. He had already done a fair amount, but together we finished it (more or less...about 2 letters were off). Go us. We chatted for too long, and here I am, verging on two o'clock and typing away. It's time for a sure-to-be-sound night of sleep. Sweet dreams. Sweeter desserts.
*The joke never gets old. And given V's occupation, I should probably clarify: No, the double meaning doesn't apply. He's very age appropriate. I just like the line. Carry on, now.
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