The Weakest Link

Sunnyside Lowdown is going global!

Or rather, Sunnyside Lowdown is going to other blogs that talk about Sunnyside, but considering all of the unique cultures in Sunnyside that's like going global. In my last post, I stumbled upon a fellow Sunnyside Blogger. She writes about food. I had a chance to look at her blog and she, apparently, has been to almost every restaurant in Sunnyside. In a pinch, I even ordered delivery from a Mexican restaurant, De Mole, which she highly recommended, and the food was great. I was enjoying the Sunnyside kinship so much that I reached out to her via email with an offer:
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Jared Goodman to shaunaeatssunn.

show details Sep 25 (4 days ago)

Reply

From: Jared Goodman
To: shaunaeatssunnyside@gmail.com
Date: Thu, Sep 25, 2008 at 5:02 PM
Subject: Hey

Shauna,

Hi, I came across your blog when my buddy sent me a link to an article of yours on about.com about cheap eats in Sunnyside. You had some good calls. Then we both scrolled through your blog. I really enjoyed the insider info and volume of pictures. I recently moved to Sunnyside and I have a Sunnyside/daily observation-type blog and I wanted to link to yours and maybe you could link to mine. Please check it out and let me know if that's cool.

http://sunnysidelowdown.blogspot.com

Also, I know I sort of teased you in my post, but it was all in good humor! Take care.

Jared
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That was on the 25th as you can see. And guess what? She never responded. I must have been a bit too casual with my quips.

Yesterday, Alex Bogdan (quickly becoming my biggest fan) sent me the following message at work:

You made the big time: http://shaunaeatssunnyside.tumblr.com/

I was busy and didn't get a chance to see what the link was about until later, but then I did. At the end of Shauna's latest post she writes this concluding remark, linking to my post:

This dude was feeling snarky and critiqued my entire write-up. Um, word?

Hook, line, and sinker. I was caught. I (a dude) expressed snarkiness and critiqued her write-up. It's true, I did. The question is (a) was that effectively a link to my blog and should I link her blog on the right hand column titled "links" on my blog, or (b) did I get punked? Let me know.

If (b), I probably deserved it.

Jared

Sunnyside Eating Low(cost)down

Honestly, that title is atrocious. Well, whatever. My colleague and Sunnyside Lowdown repeat offender, Alex Bogdan, emailed me this morning with a link to an article titled "Sunnyside Eats on a Budget." Recognizing that I am due to bring the discussion back to the neighborhood I'd like to share this article with you. I suppose I could just provide the link and let you read it at your leisure, but that eliminates my role as blogger and Sunnyside ambassador and could probably be considered cheating.

Who am I kidding? I'm going to link the article, here, it's not like I'm going to retype everything it says. To make this more my own, however, I will comment on the article in a section I'm going to call "Comments."

Comments

1. This is an article from Shauna of Shauna Eats Sunnyside. Please evacuate your apartment and take all of your belongings before Shauna completely eats the neighborhood. Rumor has it she's also in the mood for dessert. Astoria and Long Island City you've been warned. I'm glad Shauna is writing this piece because I would feel slightly short-changed if it was written by Nancy of Shauna Eats Sunnyside. If you're like me, you're probably assuming that the only person contributing to the media conglomerate of Shauna Eats Sunnyside is, most likely, Shauna. I guess she didn't want any confusion.

2. In her intro to listing the best cheap places to eat, Shauna, exclaims: "Behold, mama's favorite cheap eats in our glorious Queens 'hood." Thanks mama. Me love you long time.

3. First up, was Hanami Japanese and Nepalese Restaurant, which I've actually been to and enjoyed. Mama informs us: "Bold sushi spreads and a bounty of under-$10 Nepalese dishes entice: Try the $7.50 beef momo in a bamboo steam basket with homemade red chili sauce, or a $4 Samurai roll with fresh, hearty mackerel and shards of pickled ginger." So far, so good.

4. Next up is El Vagabundo Taco Truck. I'm beginning to love my mama. Anyone who knows me, and, by anyone who knows me, I mean anyone who knows me and knows that I love taco trucks, knows that I love taco trucks [The picture on the right is of the taco truck on 14th St. and 8th Ave. that I've been to quite a few times]. I just love Mexican food: tacos, burritos, quesadillas, sopa de polla, salsa, guacamole, tortilla chips, etc. "At dusk each night, this Mexican-fare mobile rears into its mainstay Boulevard parking space near 41st Street and gets to grilling. Late-night revelers, after-hours laborers, and local faithfuls line up to Vagabundo's stainless steel counter for masterfully assembled $2.50 tacos, $6 quesadillas, and $7 stuffed burritos with extra pickled jalapeños." I'm not an expert on tacos, but I like to consider myself a connoseiur and, frankly, $2.50 is a bit steep for a taco. I can get grade-A tacos in the city for $2.00. Now, that's in Manhattan. When you step across the river and enter Queens, you expect at least a .50 price drop. I guess the cost of gas, a necessary item for a taco truck, is spilling over into the price of tacos. Not to mention that $7 burritos is entering Chipotle prices. $5. That's where you want to be, extra pickled jalapeños or not. I'm not even going to complain about the lack of a proper schedule, dusk being way too ambiguous for my tastes. Oh, wait, I just complained.

5. There's a Korean restaurant that may or may not double as a bookstore (Book Chang Dong Natural Tofu Restaurant) or at least prove that I'm completely ignorant and not funny, a Lebanese market for schwarma and falafel (I like schwarma and falafel), and a place for Peruvian rotisserie chicken ("A tray of corn nuts with spicy green sauce comes first, always on the house. The tip's included in your bill, and the kitchen's open late."). Who eats corn nuts anymore? I chipped a tooth on a corn nut back in the day and vowed never again.

I'm glad there are people like Shauna doing the heavy lifting, finding out about my neighborhood, and sharing their experiences. Now, if only I could get Shauna to talk to those taco truck people about their prices. If I told them what I think, I'm sure they would curse me out in Spanish and spit in my carnitas taco, but who wouldn't listen to mama?

Jared

New Yorkers (Apparently) Love Alec Baldwin

Yesterday was Tuesday. A lot of people think that only the weekend is for going out. But people still ache to do "something" during the work week. I never want to just go home and sit on my couch and see what's on TBS. This is a phenomenon that sweeps across the country, even in an effervescent, cultural, bustling metropolis such as New York.

Let me set the stage:

Day: Tuesday
Time: 5:37 p.m.
Location: At my desk
Task: Doing nothing
Plans for the evening: None

I was ready to leave after a light day at work, but what to do what to do. I had Gmail open and Girl sent me a message, asking me what was I up to. I said, about to leave. She was also about to leave too. Did I want to meet up with her. Yes. To do what? She didn't know. Neither did I.

I went to Time Out NY and began looking for all events in New York for Tuesday. On the front page, I scrolled down a little, and found my plans for the night. I called Girl and said, guess what is going on at the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center, blocks from your apartment? She didn't know. And why would she? Surely, I had no idea and if not for the internet and this magazine dedicated to informing New Yorkers about every musical, comedic, artistic, athletic, dramatic, alcoholic event going on in this great city, then I would've remained in the dark too. This is why New York is great. Not only is there stuff going on, but there are people whose sole function is to tell people about this stuff because if left to your own devices the only suggestions you would come up with are let's see a movie, let's get dinner, or let's do nothing because those are our only options. Last night, I found something to do.

Day: Tuesday
Time: 7:30 p.m.
Location: Barnes & Noble, 1972 Broadway (At 66th St.)
Event: Alec Baldwin Book Reading
Book: A Promise to Ourselves: A Journey Through Fatherhood and Divorce
Cost: Free

I like free and I like Alec Baldwin. I've been a Baldwin fan ever since Beetlejuice and The Hunt for Red October. His Hall of Fame quote-fests from Malice and Glengarry Glen Ross put him over the top. Then he pulled an Eddie Murphy with The Getaway (when will actors learn not to work with their spouses? See, Swept Away with Madonna, directed by Guy Ritchie), The Shadow (which I actually enjoy in parts), The Juror, and Heaven's Prisoners. He came back with the wilderness adventure film The Edge with Anthony Hopkins, written by David Mamet (who also wrote Glengarry, so you can expect good dialogue). Then he jumped back on the Mamet bandwagon once more with State and Main, which I own on DVD and consider one of the more underrated ensemble comedies of the past decade. Now, he's only doing solid movies, like The Departed, and being funny on 30 Rock.

New Yorkers apparently love him. When we got to the Barnes and Noble at 6:35, almost an hour before showtime, we were directed to stand in line for the reading. Those who purchased his book were given preferential seating. We were not prepared or interested in purchasing his book, so we went to the end of the line, which wrapped around the stack of books like a unspooled ball of yarn. Every time I expected the line to come to its end, another turn existed, past which more people lined up. When I asked the in-house security guard, Ronald, whether he thought I would get in to the reading, he told me it was the longest line he'd ever seen for a reading and I should probably just leave, but if I wanted to stay, it was up to me.

Baldwin's appeal spread across demographics. There were young women, old women, black women, black men, white people, fat guys wearing Yankee sweatshirts, couples, old, liberal, hippie chicks, latinos, homeless people, etc.

The length of the line frustrated me. This is what I hate about trying to do anything unique in New York. Everyone else (out of 8 million people) is trying to do something fun and unique too. And you can guarantee that enough of the 8 million people will find out about those unique and cool opportunities much farther in advance than 1 hour and 53 minutes and they will go to the location and sit down and wait in line much earlier than I will and they will get in and have a fun Tuesday night, listening to Alec Baldwin read excerpts about why Kim Basinger is crazy and why he left a berating voice mail on his daughter's cell phone. And maybe they'll get to ask him thought provoking questions like, At any point today, were you worried that no one would show up?

What pains me the most is not that I missed out on Alec Baldwin, but that this would have happened even if it was Billy Baldwin. New Yorkers love anything that's free and hints at the slightest bit of culture. For instance, I'm going to try to go to Jonathan Ames' reading tonight in Brooklyn, and I expect the same disastrous result, i.e., leaving after standing on line for five minutes and realizing that I'm not going to get in and then ending up getting pizza for dinner with Girl, although tonight I'm bringing my dad and we'll probably get something other than pizza.

Or maybe, New Yorkers just love Alec Baldwin.

Jared

See Spot Not [insert verb]

Spot is not running or walking, barking or biting, licking or doing anything else because I don't have a dog and I'm not actively searching for a dog. Spot is a figment. Girl, however, thinks I should get a dog. Who can blame her? Dogs are fun, loyal, friendly extensions of yourself. I think this notion was first documented in Disney's 101 Dalmatians, which noted that people end up with dogs that remind them of themselves. Yes, I would like a dog, but there are a few reasons why getting a dog is not in my foreseeable future:

1. My lease doesn't allow pets. I'm sure I could finagle a deal with my landlord to get around this boilerplate clause, but still it's an impediment.
2. I hate waking up early. Someone will need to walk Spot in the morning and it will be tough to walk Spot while I'm in bed sleeping, dreaming about dancing with sea turtles and smoking a corncob pipe.
3. I'm usually not home for the majority of the day. I'm a lawyer and no matter how much I try to I try to increase my home-time, I'm still away from my apartment for 10-12 hours a day. As a result, Spot will be alone for most of the day with nothing else to do, but crap in my sneakers and rip up my new, upholstered couch. No one will be around to walk Spot during the day either, unless I hire a dog-walker and that's not my idea of spending money wisely. Ergo, I'll never see Spot. Poor little Spot.
4. Pets are expensive. First, there's pet food, then there's veterinary care, then there are toys and grooming. I can barely pay for my own toys and grooming. Basically, I should probably stop buying limited edition Lego sets and paying for handlers to bath me every week.
5. My apartment is not big enough. Neither is my non-existent yard. Dogs need yards, places to roam, dig, and chase away squirrels. In my apartment, Spot would only be able to watch bad TV shows on cable and drink water out of my toilet. If he/she wanted, Spot could also fold my laundry and hang my pictures.

Regardless, it's fun to think about getting a dog, just as it's fun to think about winning the lottery. It's fun to look at different breeds and come up with names. Speaking of names, we've been "Name-Gaming" a little bit here at Sunnyside Lowdown, but the other day I came up with an even better word to describe the process. Instead of Name Game, I suggest "Namestorm." Brainstorming/Namestorming. It fits. I hope no one else ever came up with that in the history of the world [Ed. note: I guess not, see here]. Tangent finished.

So, if I were to get a dog, what dog would I get?

Girl suggested the following:

I just don't see that happening. It looks like a beached furry flabby baby whale.

I'm thinking this dog:

Actually, I've just been told that's a baby Polar Bear. So, not a dog. How about this dog:

Okay, supposedly, that's a Mountain Gorilla, and also not a "dog" per se. Let's try this one more time:

Isn't she cute? She likes to play fetch with the Frisbee. Oh, wait, that's not a dog at all, but a Humpback Whale playing in the ocean, and without a Frisbee present. I thought I hit it on the head. Last chance, please be a dog.


Awww. He's adorable. Just like me. The maxim is true.

You can actually adopt the dog above. His name's Bogie, and he needs a great home. Just click his name to find out more. And please remember, if you're looking for a dog, make sure you come home with a dog, and not a Mountain Gorilla.

Jared

The Name Game: Part Deux

We played the Name Game a few weeks ago to help my friend Alex come up with names for his unborn, unknown-sexed child. Of course, this "help" was unsolicited. Now, I haven't heard from him, but I'm pretty sure he is not going with any of the selections. Actually, he called me and said Abby was in the mix. So, I was one out of fifty. And that is fine. When you're brainstorming, if you toss out 100 ideas and one is good, then it was worth it. If you toss out a 1000 ideas and only one is viable, that's fine too. All it takes is one idea. One idea can change the world. One idea can change the course of history. One idea can do it all.

I need one. One name for my friend's [Also, my barber] soon-to-be-opening, Sunnyside wine bar. The wine bar, which should be opening in November, will be on my block's corner, literally four doors from my apartment. It will be the one and only place of its kind in my neighborhood. I even got a glimpse inside today when I saw him walk by while I was doing laundry. The place is large for a wine bar and will have a raised back section with a fireplace and leather couches. Classy. The current corner walls are getting demolished to make way for full length, folding windows that will open out to sidewalk seating on both side streets (46th Street and Skillman Ave.). The bar plans to feature about 60 wines and 10 beers (3 on tap, 7 in bottles). The place will also serve a tapas-style menu, including a variety of cheeses. Needless to say, I plan on going a lot and bringing my friends and family as well. Hell, if worst comes to worst, I might even start working there.

With less than two months to go, however, it still lacks a name. Names like Vintage and Grand Cru are now blase and used in large amounts throughout the city. Names like Unwined are too tongue in cheek and would make a mockery of the minimal, upscale decor. My friend mentioned that he was considering the name, Bleu, highlighting the Bleu cheese and the French roots of the various wines to be served. It's simple, but is it too bland? It's time to brainstorm. It's time to help my friend. It's time to Name Game!

List of possible names for my friend's Sunnyside, Queens wine bar:

1. Red, White, and Bleu - It's patriotic and includes the "bleu" he was leaning towards, but doesn't lend itself to easy reiteration.
2. Dionysus - The Greed god of wine and the son of Zeus, not bad pedigree.
3. Bacchus - Dionysus' Roman appellation.
4. Bacchanalia - Sticking with this whole Greek subplot. My friend, on the other hand, is Irish.
5. Sunshine Wine - It rhymes.
6. Skin - As in, a Grape's skin. Sounds sexy.
7. Sangre - As in the root of Sangria, a Spanish wine with fruits, which translates as "blood." Cool, in an "I think vampires are cool" way.
8. Wine Bar - For those who don't get subtlety.
9. Varietal - Wines that are specifically born of one grape.
10. Glass in Hand - The name tells you what to do.
11. Come In, Buy a Glass of Wine, and Drink It - So does this.
12. Glass and Bottle - By the glass or by the bottle.
13. Flight - Is this a wine bar or an airport bar?
14. Tasting - I don't like it. Maybe you will.
15. The Cellar Door - Wine cellar. Door to the wine cellar. Donnie Darko reference. Exactly.

16. The Purple Foot - Stomping grapes is fun for the whole family.
17. Stems - Grape stems, glass stems. Stems.
18. The Steel Stem - The bar will have a lot of steel accents, and probably a steel bar top. Plus, you can't discount the cache of alliteration.
19. Ferment - These one word names are du jour.
20. Cork - See.
21. Corkscrew - See again.
22. Vine Gardens - We're in Sunnyside Gardens. Or so my Realtor told me.
22. Appellation - As in how wines are labeled.
23. The Hot Chick - Makes me want to go.
24. Crimson - One word names are en vogue.
25. The Crimson - Sounds more regal, no?
26. The Corkscrew - "The" strikes again.
27. A Turn of the Screw - A bit lewd, no?
28. The Bloody Cloud - There has got to be a better name that incorporates "red" and "white."
29. The Bloody Casper - That's not it.
30. The Bloody Virgin - Er, nope.
31. Betty or Daphne or Claudia or Vanessa or Audrey or Eve or Martha or ? - Sometimes a name just works. Eve was in the Garden of Eden. Martha has her vineyards. Audrey Hepburn was an icon. Archie had Betty. Daphne, Claudia, and Vanessa just sound like women who drink wine.

Let me know which ones you like best. The next time I see my friend, I'll make my pitch and, who knows, we might just name a wine bar, and every time you go there you can tell your friends, "I named this place," and you'll drink your wine or your beer and you'll eat some cheese or some flat bread and no one will care.

Jared

Dough-nations! Dough-nations!

"I thought it was the trash."

No, this isn't a quote-fest from Coming to America, the real, last, great Eddie Murphy movie. Holy Man, The Haunted Mansion, Daddy Day Care, The Adventures of Pluto Nash, Meet Dave, Showtime, Metro, Harlem Nights, Another 48 Hours, The Nutty Professor, The Nutty Professor 2: The Klumps, Norbit, Life, Doctor Dolittle, Doctor Dolittle 2, Vampire in Brooklyn, and Beverly Hills Cop III included. I actually liked The Distinguished Gentleman, but no one would ever go on record to say that it's one of Eddie Murphy's best and/or funniest films. His performance in Dreamgirls also won him an Academy Award nomination, but the release of Norbit during voting season didn't help him win any votes. 1988, that was his pinnacle.

This also is not a post about why Eddie Murphy went from hilarious to forcing yourself to find him funny as a donkey in Shrek. This is about dough-nations. Key prefix: Dough. Money. Cash. Dollars. Ducats. Deutschmarks.

I'm raising money for the 5th straight year for The National Multiple Sclerosis Society. Each year, I join my sister's company and ride 60+ miles on a bike; after not riding on a bike for the prior 364 days. This year is no different, except I might punk out at 45 miles. The last 15 are through New Jersey's Palisades Park where the hills are alive with the sound of bikers' exaggerated breaths. After conquering those hills for the past 3 years, I'm ready for flatter pastures.

I know I've already emailed a bunch of you to donate, but now I'm broadening my search to include random people who may read or happen to come across this blog and want to get some good karma for the weekend. It's a great cause and helps people in need.

Here's the link to my donation page.

Get on board and "pay it forward" [Not from an Eddie Murphy movie, but apropos].

Jared

Finding Strays in Sunnyside

The title of this blog is Sunnyside Lowdown. I think, as a result, I owe it to anyone reading this to actually talk about living in Sunnyside. In my introductory post, I think I even said that Sunnyside would constitute a large portion of the blog. After 20-something posts, perhaps 3 or 4 are Sunnyside-related. Twenty percent seems solid, but maybe it's not enough. Maybe I'm alienating the hardcore Queens readers. Sorry. And, to think, I haven't even written about the Mets, or as we say in the barrio, Los Mets, who beat one of the worst teams in baseball for the second night in a row [The Nationals]. World Series here we come!

In fact, I was going to write about how underrated the film, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is. It is an underrated film. It's colorful, quirky, funny, tender, awkward, creative, and has a great soundtrack. It's not as funny as Rushmore or as affecting as The Darjeeling Limited, but if you haven't seen it or haven't seen it in a few years, I recommend popping it in your DVD player. There's something about Wes Anderson's movies that make you smile even when they plod along.

However, I believe you've been aching for news from the outer boroughs. I finally have had some time to spend in my borough now that my emergency work project has finished. I've been walking around and I've turned up some things. First, I came across the United Artists Kaufman Stadium 14 [You've got to love it when the review says that the popcorn is "rarely stale"]. Technically, it's in Astoria, but I'm officially declaring any place that's within a 15-20 minute walk from my apartment to be in Sunnyside. I went there with Girl to see Righteous Kill last weekend. The theater was huge, with more dead space than a cemetery. It was designed with unnecessarily wide expanses and concession areas, considering that there were maybe twenty people in total walking around. Then again, it was a Sunday night. That's Queens for you. Inside the theater, it was surprisingly full. Unfortunately, it was congested with weird people including women sitting in back to back rows threatening to fight each other and, my personal favorite, parents who bring their crying baby to an R-rated movie with the word "kill" in the title. I assumed it was a fluffy cartoon piece with fluffy animals playing pick-up sticks. I'm sure they did too.

The theater is catty-corner to an Uno Chicago Grill (formerly, Pizzeria Uno), Applebees, and a Panera Bread. Welcome to middle-American suburbia! I mean, really, an Applebees next door to an Uno and a Panera Bread? Who among us can make that choice? It's a tough decision, to say the least.

We also have a cool, eclectic, vintage-ish, antique-esque, semi-new/semi-used goods store called Stray. I stopped by today. It's a block and a half from my apartment and it has some sweet stuff. Reclaimed windows with mirror and stained-glass, LP record players, picture frames, antique glasses, some vintage clothing, and other knick knacks, like the VHS version of Chasing Amy. A good spot to find a cool looking mirror or an ashtray. Something to spruce up your lame, sterile, mass-produced apartment that revels in conformity. I like character. I like living among things that have a certain charm or nostalgia to them. It reminds you of how things have been inhabiting this planet before you were born. Those metal cabinet stands are much older and have more cache than you. You are boring. They are cute, rusted, and useful. You need a shave, a haircut, and a toothbrush.

These are just a couple of places in my neighborhood. I guarantee to keep exploring and reporting back, but only 20% of the time.

The next time you're in Sunnyside, and feel like maybe you need antique furniture or a wall accent, walk east on Queens Boulevard, make a left on 48th St. and walk two avenues to Skillman Ave. It's on the north-east corner across from a Mexican bodega, of which there are about 40 in Sunnyside.

The next time you want to see a movie, stay in Manhattan.

Jared

The Present (and Future) State of Poetry

Poetry is dead. The hip-hop artist, Nas, declared on his unambiguously, identically-titled album, that Hip Hop is Dead. First, hip-hop, now poetry. Actually, poetry has been dead for a long time. It was dead as early as May 5, 2003. That's too recent. Surely, poetry has been dead for at least one score [Gettysburg Address reference, for those paying attention]. Why is poetry dead? Bruce Wexler states:

From the Me Generation of the '70s to the get-rich-quick '80s, our culture became intensely prosaic. Ambiguity, complexity and paradox fell out of favor. We embraced easily defined goals and crystal-clear communication (Ronald Reagan was president, presiding over the literalization of America). Fewer politicians seemed to quote contemporary poets in speeches, and the relatively small number of name-brand, living American poets died or faded from view.

His explanation is plausible, and, most likely, accurate. I would like to proffer a different reason. Poetry never adapted. It never became modern or experimental or tantalizing. At least not enough. I, as I have stated at least two other times, am a fan of Charles Bukowski. He was a prolific poet, in addition to his novels. Most of his poems deal with the same themes as his longer works: alcoholism, womanizing, gambling, depravity, mundaneness, etc. The difference is, in his longer works, there's more of a payoff. You become invested in the characters, their travails. In his poetry, which predominantly, if not completely, fails to rhyme, he tells a story. Quick blurbs. His words carefully chosen, selected for their inherent value and stacked up one after the other until he built a substantial enough enclosure to gaze at and admire. But it is not enough, it only provides an evanescent feeling of comprehension. Further, without rhyming, Bukowski's poetry fails to induce the sonic pleasure spawned from like-sounding words. His poems are direct and cold and rough like bricks sitting in your freezer.

For example, Trashcan Lives by Charles Bukowski:

the wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
I hope some of them have a bottle of
red.
it's when you're on the row
that you notice that
everything
is owned
and that there are locks on
everything.
this is the way a democracy
works:
you get what you can,
try to keep that
and add to it
if possible.
this is the way a dictatorship
works too
only they either enslave or
destroy their
derelicts.
we just forgot ours.
in either case
it's a hard
cold
wind.

Disjointed, straggling, short on punctuation. Experimental. When I read it, I know I'm supposed to feel moved. I should feel affected, but I don't.

My colleague, Fara, knows a lot about poetry. I know this because she can recite stanzas upon stanzas of poetry from memory. Sometimes, when we're having tea in my office she'll write out these poems on my note paper, which annoys me because (a) no one should know a poem by heart, let alone the number of poems that she does and (b) she wastes all of my note paper on poems that I never want to read. In fact, the last time she did this, I took the paper from her hands and ripped it up in her face and threw the pieces in the air hoping to teach her a lesson. I'm not sure whether that lesson was learned because that was my last piece of paper, so, regardless, there have been no more poems.

For example, here is an excerpt (or perhaps the whole) from one of those poems by some poet I believe she wrote was named, Vachel Lindsay, but that name seems like make-believe; as for the title, beats me:

Let not young souls be smothered out
Before they do great deeds and
fully flaunt their pride;
The world's one crime its babes
grow dull,
Its poor are oxlike, limp, and
leaden-eyed.

Not that they starve,
but starve so dreamlessly;
Not that they sow,
but that they seldom reap;
Not that they serve,
but have no gods to serve;
Not that they die,
but that they die like sheep.

At least it rhymes. Pride, leaden-eyed. Reap, sheep. If a poem doesn't rhyme, I usually don't want to read it. Still, no matter how enchanting this poem is, and many others like it are, I'm not satiated with a poem. It's fleeting, a parakeet that perches on my finger, then flies off swiftly before I've had a chance to feel it's feathers. When I read, I want to sink my teeth into the story, language, moral, characters, dialogue, meaning. I want a chicken dinner.

I want to make poetry relevant again. I want to revolutionize the genre. I want to create a new form. I've ventured into Haiku territory for movies, which I really enjoy, but to resurrect poetry, we need more. We need...wait for it...wait for it...wait for it...damn, I've got nothing. Fine, I want more rhyming and I want it to make some sense and I want it to be either very funny or something to seduce women (that actually works) and I want clever style, be it a lot of alliteration or interesting use of syllables, I want it to be well-written (unless your goal is to write poorly as a form of social commentary), I want more people to write poetry after they graduate high school where they spent countless hours brooding over their Mead spiral notebook wearing black jeans or plaid shirts or vintage clothing, sketching doodles or writing sonnets and poems and telling themselves that they were the next Walt Whitman or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow or Sylvia Plath and generally annoyed everyone else because of their pretentiousness and sense of monopoly on pain and cynicism. Now they have jobs, and their Mead notebooks lie dusty in boxes in closets where their poetry continues to decline at an accelerated rate in readability. It's time to go to the stationery store, walk past the protractors, skip over the crayons, thumb over the oak tag, and find a college-ruled notebook. Go to a Starbucks or a Panera Bread, sit down, and start writing poems. Now that you've lived a few years, you should finally have endured enough misery to actually write something worth reading. Poetry needs you, now more than ever.

And if that doesn't work, then I suggest we just change the name. "Poetry" and "poems" sounds lame. Rhymeys and rhymes. Now that's catchy.

Jared

Unrighteous Film

Righteous Kill. It's a movie. It stars Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. The second pairing of their careers. Technically, the third if you count Godfather II, which you shouldn't. The first one, Heat, however, only included one scene where they really faced off, and even that is subject to rumors. Allegedly, the "diner" scene in Heat was filmed separately and only edited together later. With Righteous Kill they finally have a vehicle for both of them. Should you see this movie? No. Should you rent it? Sure. There are a few things to take from this movie:

1. Pacino looks so old it's astonishing. He looks like a walking advertisement for euthanasia. His face looks like a mule that's been beaten with a rod continuously for 60 years. It's like tan-colored beef jerky.
2. De Niro looks like an old, beaten-down, scar-tissue around the eyes boxer. He's made so many bad movies, he hasn't remembered what a good movie is supposed to look like.
3. The script and story are disjointed, lacking humor, suspense, and intelligence.
4. Still it's worth renting because, well, it's De Niro and Pacino, so why not?

In the movie, there's a serial killer and he leaves poems [which weren't that good]. How fitting then, that, after seeing it, I will summon my poetic powers to bless it with a Haiku Review? Very fitting.

De Niro is old
Pacino is old times twelve
It's no Step Brothers

Jared

The Book In My Bathroom

My mom bought me a book. It's called "1001 Smartest Things Ever Said." It's a compilation of 1001 quotes by luminaries such as Satchel Paige, Susan B. Anthony, Abraham Lincoln, Aeschylus, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and, my favorite, Charles Bukowski on topics such as Life and Death, Love and Friendship, Success, The Life of the Mind, and Proverbial Wisdom. Naturally, I placed it in my bathroom. It's a good read.

One day, I came across this quote by Bill Cosby, which got me thinking:

I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.

Ain't that the truth, Bill.

From time to time, I think I'll be reciting other quotes that strike my fancy or seem appropriate to the story at hand depending on whether I have nothing else to write about or if I've been in my bathroom a lot. So, far from your typical "lead-in" today's quote actually relates to the present story. Kind of.

The other day at work, my colleagues and I were talking about movies, when Snakes on a Plane came up. Not sure why, but it did. If you've seen it, you know that (a) it's awful, (b) you should love that it's awful, and (c) as a result, it's a classic. The movie has no discernible plot and makes no attempts at creating a logical basis for why a plane would end up with hundreds of poisonous, violent snakes to try to kill just one guy. It does, however, have Samuel L. Jackson shooting snakes in the head at 35,000 ft.

Discussing Snakes on a Plane lead to our discussing other movies that take place on planes, which lead to me texting my friend, and occasional, online movie critic, Dre, suggesting that he write an article on the 10 Best Movies Involving Planes. I suggested at least 7. Then after more deliberation, I figured why not have the 10 Best Movies Involving Trains and the 10 Best Movies Involving Automobiles because it's probably the 30th Anniversary of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. After checking, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles was released 21 years ago. Still, it makes for an interesting article. This is where my Bill Cosby quote comes in. I'm going to pick the 10 (give or take 6) Best (more or less) Movies that Involve Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and I'm going to do it whether it pleases you or not.

Best Movies Involving Planes:

1. Snakes on a Plane - Obviously.
2. Soul Plane - It has the word "plane" in it.
3. Passenger 57 - "Always bet on black?" Especially if it involves tax evasion.
4. Air Force One - "Get off my plane!"
5. Airplane - It's a classic. Although, I have to admit, I've never seen the full movie, and, at this point, I probably never will.
6. Top Gun - Exactly.
7. Terminal Velocity - Kind of.
8. Drop Zone - Sort of.
9. Executive Decision - Wow, movies on planes are not that good.
10. Flightplan - Ditto.
11. Fly Boys - I should probably also toss in Pearl Harbor. By Pearl Harbor, I mean every war movie ever.
12. Stealth - The villain in the movie is an actual plane. Obviously, it makes the cut.
13. Broken Arrow - It's like Stealth, except the villain is John Travolta and it's actually a decent movie.
14. Pushing Tin - Starring a pre-adopted kids Angelina Jolie.
15. Die Hard 2: Die Harder - Not as good as one or three, but pretty entertaining on a rainy day.

Best Movies Involving Trains:

1. Money Train - It has the word "train" in it.
2. The Great Train Robbery - Ditto.
3. Throw Momma From the Train - Train movies like to inform you that they involve trains.
4. Under Siege 2: Dark Territory - Now that's what I'm talking about.
5. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - They used to live in a subway car.
6. Carlito's Way - It ends in a train station (The Untouchables, too).
7. Die Hard With a Vengeance - "If you have to shoot me, then go ahead and shoot me. But I have to answer this phone!" It has a train scene.
8. Matrix Revolutions - Ditto.
9. Species - Not enough train movies have scenes involving alien gestation. Species is a true pioneer, in that respect.
10. Midnight Meant Train - I'm sure at least one person saw it. Maybe the director?
11. Speed - "Pop quiz, hotshot."
12. The Warriors - Nothing like running through the New York subway tunnels trying to make your way back to Coney Island while every gangbanger in the city is out to kill you, bash your brains in, and bang some bottles, "Warriors...come out...to play."
13. Mission Impossible - It ends on a train and there's a hi-speed crash with a helicopter in a train tunnel.
14. The Darjeeling Limited - Highly underrated.
15. Strangers on a Train - Classic Hitchcock.
16. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - There's that big train scene in the beginning.

Best Movies Involving Cars:

1. Days of Thunder - There's, like, this rule that any list of the best movies involving planes, trains, and automobiles requires that you pick at least one Tom Cruise movie for each. It was either Days of Thunder or Far and Away.
2. Taxi Driver - Car? Check.
3. Cars - Cartoons count.
4. Ronin - Arguably the best car chase in movie history.
5. Bullitt - Ditto.
6. The Bourne Identity - Ditto.
7. Talladega Nights - It's like Days of Thunder, if Days of Thunder starred Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly and Sacha Baron Cohen and Amy Adams instead of a bunch of other people.
8. Driven - Just kidding.
9. Speed Racer - Ditto.
10. Action Jackson - There's a scene where Action Jackson (Carl Weathers) jumps on a car and he drives around a bit and he almost crashes into a wall. Basically, I just like Action Jackson and wanted it to be recognized. Also, I'm watching it right now on cable while I'm typing.
11. Used Cars - "Cars" is in the title.
12. Riding in Cars with Boys - Ditto. I can't believe I just referenced this movie. I might as well have said, Crossroads starring Britney Spears. I've sunk to a new low.
13. Who Killed the Electric Car? - Our first documentary on the list; cause to celebrate.
14. Death Proof - Booyah!
15. The Fast and the Furious - The first one was watchable.
16. The Lovebug - The star is a Volkswagen, so you know you're getting a better performance than if it was Dane Cook.
17. Etc. [There are just too many car movies.]

Please join me as we celebrate and commemorate the 21st Anniversary of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and as Samuel L. Jackson always says, "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherf*#@ing snakes on this motherf*#@ing plane!"

Seems to me, it should have been 1002 Smartest Things Ever Said.

Jared

Horoscopes and Hand Grenades

It's not exact. The future is unmapped and beyond description, but maybe not. Maybe there's a pattern, a thread throughout that can be traced. Maybe time is like that.

Life repeats itself, surely. Wars are fought over and over again. The same wars, for the same reasons, with the same destruction, just different years. The same women and men cheat on spouses, the same high school sweethearts fall in love, the same people tear themselves down, make sacrifices, raise themselves up, the same birds chirp in the morning, the same winds blow through trees and streets. So, maybe those pretending to read portents are just basing their predictions on high probability. Either way, my friend at work read me my horoscope the other day and I'll be damned if it's not starting to come true.

For starters, I'm a Capricorn. On a side note, in the Chinese calendar, I was also born in the Year of the Goat. So I've got double goat action going on. You can't disregard something like that. Not to belabor the point, but my law school's mascot was also the goat and we had a large goat statue in one of the student lounges. In conclusion, there are a lot of goats in my life.

I've never paid much attention to signs and horoscopes or fortune-tellers, but I know a couple people who like to dabble in those areas and I've learned that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Capricorn. I gathered from one of the office court clerks that I'm a Capricorn because I'm clean cut and easy to talk and joke around with. From my father's girlfriend, I've gathered that I'm a Capricorn because I don't like being cornered or pestered with incessant questions and because I'm generally thoughtful. I've never done any research to review their assessments, but I'll assume they're correct.

The first thing I learned, and this was integral, is that Pluto is about to enter my, I don't know, space, orbit, house, something, on November 27. Coincidentally, most people will live their whole lives without ever having the benefit of Pluto visiting their space, orbit, house, galaxy, studio apartment because Pluto is slow-moving. This is momentous. The entrance of Pluto brings great tidings, revolutionizing the structure of my life from the inside out. It will increase my determination and rebound ability.

In addition to Pluto, I have Jupiter too, which makes me the "Golden One" until January 5th. Being the Golden One sounds awesome. Like being the Golden Child from the Eddie Murphy movie, which wasn't that bad of a movie.

The world is my oyster this month. This month is very important for my career because Mars entered my "career zone." A whole new chapter is rapidly opening for me. I'm also going to meet with someone who will further my aims. The "buzz" about me is very positive and I need to take full advantage. Still, I need to be a little cautious sorting out my options from September 24th to October 15th. With predictions this sound, I'm surprised I was skeptical.

I'm sure there was more to the horoscope, but I stopped listening. It turns out, I should have listened further.

My friend, Ramsey, and I are trying to put a potential business plan together and the past few days have been very interesting. First, Ramsey moved back to New York after clerking in Miami for a year. He was the originator of the idea and no matter how often we talked about moving forward with it, nothing got off the ground while he was away. Our attempt at trademarking the name of the business was rejected and neither he nor I could summon the cognitive creativity to build a logical argument to appeal to the US Patent & Trademark Office. As a result, our name laid dormant, even though I'm convinced that when it comes to using the name we'll be fine because the only reason why we weren't able to use it was because it was someone's last name, but he's dead. In other words, we should be fine.

Second, I got in touch with someone who was providing us with industry information and they referred someone who might be interested in investing in the idea. I emailed him today and he got back to me. I even Googled him so when I talk to him on the phone, I'll appear knowledgeable. I found an article about his business and some of the innovations his company introduced and I felt, from reading the article, that here was someone who would be able to grasp our idea and could untap its potential. I even forwarded the article to my dad, who's been paying attention to our progress, and, coincidentally, he knew the guy and worked with him on a commercial project over 10 years ago. When I call him up, now I can say, "my dad knows you, etc." Name-dropping is everything.

This horoscope has been close so far, like a dart thrower inching closer and closer to bulls eye. Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Horoscopes too. I'm not saying I'm a believer. For all I know, hearing my horoscope motivated me to be proactive, and it has been that initiative, which produced these results. Either way, thanks Pluto, Jupiter, Mars, and any other planet, moon, or comet that I'm neglecting.

Jared

Couch Pototo

I hate buying things. Too often do I spend my money on unnecessary things. Drinks. Snacks. Shirts that don't fit me well. Books that aren't that good. Extra sets of sheets. Pot holders. Things. They just accumulate. When I moved to Sunnyside, I attempted to clear my life of clutter. If I had not worn an article of clothes in over a year, I tossed it, even if I'd barely worn it. Books were sold back to used book stores. Games and clothes, extra towels and picture frames, pots and pans, were all piled into garbage bags and dropped off at the Salvation Army. I like having certain material items, but I dislike the feeling that I'm beholden to my possessions. If something provides value, great, use it, but don't let those possessions dictate your lifestyle.

That overriding concept is what has prevented me from going ahead and buying a new television, computer, DVD player, toaster, underwear, etc. For example, I rationalized that if my current DVD player worked (constant skipping included) then why should I spend money on another one. Sure, I've had the same DVD player since 1992. Sure, it's the size of a refrigerator. Sure, it constantly skips. Still, it works. It plays (most) movies (most of the time). It serves its purpose.

Moving, however, has persuaded me to upgrade my lifestyle, while still downgrading other aspects. I already have a new TV. I'm laptop shopping. The DVD player is staying until Blu-ray players drop under $1,000,000. Most importantly, I just got a new couch.

I sold my chocolate-brown, leather pull-out couch, matching chair, and bedroom furniture, consisting of a bed, two nightstands, and a 6-drawer dresser with mirror to the tenant moving in after me. I sold this furniture for a few reasons:

1. I bought it all 4 years ago.
2. I was getting bored with it.
3. I didn't want to pay for movers and I wasn't enthusiastic about moving more than I had to.
4. The new guy paid me.

My move, of course, was simple. Just some boxes and bookshelves. My friend Chris helped out and it took one hour to load the truck and one hour to unload. Unfortunately, I've been couchless for the past 6 weeks. You never realize how difficult it is to entertain guests until you don't have a couch. You also fail to realize that people enjoy sitting. More so, they enjoy sitting on something plush, cushiony, something to really sink into, which massages and supports your back and butt, neck and shoulders. A flat, low, end table doubling as a stool lacks every sought for item and that is all I have to offer. In fact, I have two of them. They match. Neither one screams comfortable.

As a result, I have not scheduled my housewarming party. I want to put forth a favorable impression of my new apartment and nothing creates a more favorable impression than sufficient and comfortable seating. I've known this for years, but only now has it affected my life.

When I set out to purchase a couch I had two criteria. One, it had to be less than 70 inches wide so as to not block the French doors from fully opening. Two, it had to be cheap so I wouldn't feel buyer's remorse considering I just got rid of a perfectly fine leather couch. My first stop was Ikea.

My first stop lasted under 30 minutes, which was sufficient time to realize that I would not be purchasing my couch at Ikea. I actually had an Ikea couch in law school, which worked out well, but when I graduated I promised myself that I wouldn't buy Ikea furniture again. I was big-time.

I'm still a corporate lawyer, but, for some reason, I want to live small-time. So I dragged the girl that I'm dating [Let's just call her "Girl," this whole "girl that I'm dating" euphemism is neither catchy nor quick to type] for "speed Ikea." I think we ran through there faster than anyone in the past year or so. All of Ikea's furniture appeared cheaply constructed. The beds were rickety, the couches were unsupported, the light fixtures were flimsy. If it looked like metal, it was plastic. If it looked like plastic, it was the cheapest plastic ever. If it looked like cheap plastic, it was glossy construction paper. If it looked like wood, you were elsewhere.

In the end, I bought a $7 flower stand, which is currently being used as a towel stand. For accuracy's sake, I bought a $7 towel stand at Ikea.

My next stop was the internet. I devoured the content and, in the process, learned more about the couch offerings and styles at every furniture store in the tri-state area than any other 28 year old guy who doesn't do interior design for a living. I know about micro-fibers, micro-suedes, suedes, leather, upholstered pieces, slipcovers, square arms, rounded arms, tapered legs, chaise lounges, sectionals, stain repellant sprays, custom orders, love seats, high backs, low backs, accent pillows, sleepers, reclining seats, enough to stage design an entire apartment building. Nothing was perfect.

Then I went to Jennifer convertible, where still nothing was perfect, but it was pretty close. I quickly found two couches that could work. They were both narrow enough and cheap enough and both came with a sleeper. The only problem was that one was a lot cheaper. So, of course, everyone who saw the two couches liked the other one more.

I tortured myself for weeks, arguing over the points. Should I go for cost savings or better construction? Convenience or comfort? Serviceable or stylish? New underwear or what I've been wearing for the past 8 years.

I broke down last week. I came to a decision, pressured by the reality that any housewarming party demanded a couch and the desire to not sit on an end table while trying to watch a movie with Girl. I went with the nicer, cleaner, cooler, costlier couch. Do I regret my decision? Of course. Will I love that couch? Yes. Will I revel in its sumptuousness every time I recline into its folds? Undoubtedly. Will I get new underwear, ever? I sure hope so.

Jared

P.S. I'd like to thank my sister for going to Jennifer to pick up the couch for me while I've been shackled at work all week, all weekend, and for the foreseeable future. It's a long story (not really) and I'm not getting into it.

Mr. Ames, I Presume

I never read for pleasure as a child. It's true. Except for comic books, the New York Newsday sports section, and an occasional magazine, reading was not my cup of tea. This was true throughout high school. If I read anything "literary," it was mandatory for class. Reading was work. Comic books were fun. Why would I want to read Crime and Punishment when I could read The Punisher. Then comic books fell by the wayside because they got too expensive and I wanted girls to like me. I still had magazines. Then there was the internet, full of useless, time-consuming material. That kept me busy. Crossword puzzles were always good for a train ride, too. Then I met my friend Phil.

Phil was an avid reader and his enthusiasm for fiction swept me up like a riptide. He recommended a few classics, which I read, and I was hooked. Ever since, I've been a reader. I've even been in a book club for over 2 years, although I haven't shown up in about four months and haven't read a book we picked in three months. I blame them [I mean I blame myself].

Last year, one of my book clubbers, a girl named Claire, recommended that I pick up a book by Jonathan Ames because she knew that I loved Charles Bukowski, an author/alcoholic/gambler/womanizer. Bukowski wrote so simply, so directly, so without remorse that he grabbed me. What did it was, he made me laugh. If you read a book and laugh out loud, you've found someone to keep reading. His subject matter, his sarcasm, his perspective, his disregard for his health, his spare language adding no excess. Where other authors [probably myself included] add words to create an illusion of substance, he served substance with no side-orders. Just the burger, no fries. When you read Bukowski, you think about how easy it would be for you to write. If he could do it, drunk half the time, with his kindergarten-like sentences, what's stopping you? But using big words and having lofty themes won't make you a better writer, unless your audience believes you and trusts you and wishes to join you on your journey. I joined Bukowski.

Claire also knew that I was a guy and, for some reason, every guy she knew who read Ames, loved Ames. So I went and read Ames and I laughed out loud and I loved Ames and I read more Ames and I laughed more and I told my friends who read books to read Ames and I lent my Ames books to my friends so they could read Ames and they loved Ames, but I wrote down in my little black Moleskine book who borrowed what so when I got tired of waiting for them to return my Ames I could confront them with the exact title they possessed and shame them into returning it. Then one day, I emailed Ames.

I did this for a couple reasons. The first, you need to read Ames to understand. He's just like you and me or, rather, he's just like you see yourself sometimes. Self-deprecating, to a fault. Questioning his crazy life, the awful situations he's in, the poor decisions he makes, the success he never seems to achieve, the love he never seems to obtain, the edge he constantly seems to teeter on, the malaise that sets in, the disgust for the stupidity around him, the fondness for the little bits of human understanding and camaraderie, the moments of confidence, the naked, raw, frightful honesty. He doesn't shy away from any of it; life. He hates it one second, but loves it non-stop throughout. Laughing along. The freaks that he uses and use him, simultaneously. Dark desires. Transvestites. Pessimism. Solitary moments of creation. He shares it all.

Two, in his non-fiction works, he sometimes runs into authors on the street and he wishes he could come up with something interesting to say to them. Why not myself? If I could run into a "celebrity," I think Ames would be a good choice. He'd have a beer with you and tell you some wild stories.

So I went to his website and sent an email, saying, more or less: I just read your book, I really enjoyed its honesty and frankness, now I'm a fan, I'm looking forward to reading more of your work, take care. I sent it off hoping for a response, but never received one. Then the other day, more than one year after my email, I received a response:

Jonathanames3@aol.com to me

show details 5:29 PM (8 hours ago)

Reply

sorry it's taken me so long to write back . . . i'm rather disorganized AND overwhelmed . . .

but thank you for your kind words!

'what's not to love?' and 'i love you more than you know' are also somewhat in the tradition of bukowski, should you want to try some other books of mine, and i have a new book coming out in a few weeks, 'the alcholic' . . .

thanks for your note and for taking the time to write!

all the best,

jonathan ames

When I saw the email, I thought it was funny. To think, here was this author writing back a stranger, one year later. I had already forgotten that I even sent the email. That's dedication.

I had already read the books he mentioned, and they were great. I'm also looking forward to The Alcoholic. Personally, I think he should have sent me a free copy. I mean, I wrote him a year ago! It'll probably be, for me, what The Stranger by Albert Camus was for weird, French people. If you come across an Ames book, pick it up, read a few pages, and enter a world you know, but keep to yourself, and if it goes well, send him an email. Tell him Jared sent you.

Jared

Traitor Rater

As your humble Haiku Reviewer, I bring you Traitor. The Don Cheadle movie that makes you wonder why so many decent movies are, unfortunately, stuck with such poor, cringe-inducing titles that you can see the ticket sales dwindling. Traitor? Really, that's the best title you could come up with? The Middle Man would've been a better title. It even fits, a bit.

When you see the title, Traitor, you're already thinking why didn't this movie go straight to DVD? Or maybe you're wondering whether it's the sequel to Shooter starring Mark Wahlberg. It's not. Shooter, now there's a poor film. Sunshine, was another solid film unnecessarily weighed down by a title without substance. I doubt many people, other than myself, saw it in theaters because who wants to see a movie called Sunshine. It's probably a documentary about global warming (depressing) or an empowering children's film about kids who are allergic to the sun (boring, unless you're also allergic to the sun). Sunshine, in fact, is a science-fiction film with a compelling premise. In the future, our sun is dying, and a team of scientists are sent to send a nuclear explosion into the sun to rekindle its life for many more years, but the closer the team gets to the sun, the more they are plagued with obstacles. It's like the low-budget, better, futuristic, more plausible Armageddon, even though the end strays from what was working and gets a tad ridiculous.

Titles, they can be motors propelling films forward or anchors dragging the the ship to a standstill. The rest of the time, titles are just floating around like buoys, marking their location and taking nothing from the table. Traitor is an anchor. Don Cheadle deserved better.

Terrorists are bad,
but who are the terrorists?
Ask Cheadle, he knows.

If you want to watch a thriller with modern-day relevance, give it a shot.

Jared

Long Day at Long Beach

As is usually the case, it's late at night and I'm sitting in my collapsible, blue canvas chair that is the kind normally reserved for tailgating, especially since my chair (originally my sister's, but she didn't want something this tacky anymore) comes equipped with two, expandable cup-holders sewed into the armrests. It's quite the conversation piece [That's the actual chair, to the right]. I'm still waiting for my couch to arrive. Actually buying a couch would help with the waiting time, considerably. I haven't done that yet, but will soon.

I'm recapping my day. One that really wasn't that long. Coincidentally, the titles for these pieces are arbitrary and the product of whatever creativity I can muster in under 15 seconds that, perhaps, in some way relates to the main thrust of said piece. "Long Day at Long Beach" seemed to make sense. It seemed well-balanced. The word long appears twice. "Short Day at Long Beach" would have been more apropos. In fact, now that I'm looking at the words on my screen, letting it sink in, it seems balanced, funny, ironic, a real winner. Damn. It's too late, though. You're stuck, long day it is.

In fact, it wasn't a long or short day, but medium. The girl I'm dating wanted to go to the beach. She wanted to go Sunday. I had Fantasy Football drafts to attend to. She wanted to go Monday. I had nothing else to use as a shield. It was beach time.

Her desire to go to the beach stemmed from two things: she really likes the beach and it was Labor Day weekend. It's my opinion that whenever you have a federal holiday providing additional days off from work, it's your duty as an American citizen to take full advantage and cut loose. The plan was to go to Greenport, Long Island where my friends' family lives and take in the sea air, drink a bunch of beer, eat exceptionally fresh seafood, play some cards, tell stories, and revel in the three-day weekend. Plan A was destroyed because of a Fantasy Football draft at 10 a.m. Sunday morning that seemed harmless enough months ago when the date was set. A week ago, however, when I finally pulled my head out of the sand, it became apparent that this draft was going to sever my holiday weekend in half, eliminating any opportunity to travel to Greenport and still have time to enjoy myself.

Welcome to Plan B: Staycation.

Staycation. I had never heard the term before, then I saw it once in an online magazine and now I'm bombarded with people using the term. When did this word become ubiquitous? I demand to know. Apparently, it popped up in the New York Times last year, or so I was told. Now it's everywhere, like Pinkberry. A few months ago, I'd never heard of Pinkberry, and if I had, I'd have assumed that it was either a clothing store for girls age 9-14, a knock-off Hello Kitty competitor, or something to do with pink berries. Now I can't walk three blocks without walking past one. In addition, staycation has infiltrated common diction so thoroughly that now I, the guy who didn't get the memo, am using it incessantly. How could I not? It rhymes with vacation, but means the exact opposite. It's very clever.

My staycation involved the following: sleeping in, making pancakes and scrambed eggs for breakfast at noon, seeing the movie Traitor starring Don Cheadle (Haiku Review coming next), not one, but two Fantasy Football drafts (I'm such a dork, that I completely forgot about a fourth league I was in until the day before the draft, which was at 9 a.m. Sunday morning, who is up that early on a Sunday? Thanks guys), napping in Central Park, napping at the beach, napping at home, napping in my sister's guest bedroom, eating fried chicken in a Korean restaurant of all places (actually good), cooking Lentil Soup (I had lentils, you tell me what you would've done with them), eating hot dogs at my sister's, driving around the city looking at buildings with my dad, throwing frisbee at the beach, and, for the first time, under duress, sharing a medium cup of yogurt, fruit, and yogurt chips at Pinkberry with the girl I'm dating.

In other words, staycations are the work of the devil.

Here's where the beach came into play. Labor Day. The quasi-Summer death knell was ringing. No more white pants. Time to soak up the last remnants of vitamin D while we still could. She wanted the beach, she needed the beach, and I was powerless to resist. Let's Long Beach.

The train heading out at 2:15 p.m. was packed, which answers the question, how many people are as lazy as me and willing to arrive at a beach at 3 p.m.? A lot. Two girls sitting across from us were in deep conversation with a late 30s, married couple. One of the girls, probably my age, either made the train ride or ruined it depending on whether you enjoy listening to someone who's completely full of herself for 45 minutes straight. Some snippets:

"I'm in a movie. In a supporting role. The film is great and it's getting great buzz. The director is fantastic, he's experimental, you should see it."

"I'm also a musician. I do rock music. I'm putting out my second CD soon."
"Are you in a band?"
"No, that's not what I'm trying to achieve. A band wouldn't work."
"What type of music?"
"Well, rock, I mean I got in a fight with my agent and he was so mean to me. I wrote a song about that. You can see it on youtube. It'll be on my new album."

"I'm going to move to L.A. Now that I'm not acting anymore, I just want to focus on my music."

I wish I had a voice recorder. Everything she did was amazing, everything someone said was amazing, everyone she worked with was amazing. In her world, no one's average. What a place to live.

Finally, we arrived. The weather was perfect, which was strange knowing that at the same time down in the Gulf Coast, Hurricane Gustav was pounding the shore raising sea level by more than 10 feet. Still, we soaked in the sun. When it got hot, we walked into the chilly water. When we acclimated to the water, we splashed each other with water, chilling us again. When we stood around long enough, I grabbed my frisbee and we played. When she threw the frisbee and hit a girl full in the back, I said, "Sorry, she's not that good." But she was good, that throw was just awful. As was her next one, which almost decapitated an older couple causing the woman to storm off in fright and anger. In her defense, it was windy. When we tired of frisbee, we jumped back in the water, inched out towards deeper water, thick waves rolling over, smacking our skin with salty surges, sinking into our pores, saturating us. When we were wet enough, we laid out again, dried off, nodded off, listened to people talk in foreign languages behind us, waves cresting in front of us.

We left just before sunset. The day which started late, ended late. Maybe it was a long day.

Jared