Saturday, April 12, 2003
Fragment of a Memo
There were so many things to sit down about
with the emergency eyes of sudden people
misunderstanding the office news and the grins
that the select we in the crowd
fought our way out of committees on failure
and into other committees on infinity's loping armstretch.
Among those growing, we live and are love-illiterate.
Above the adjusted boys and girls we hover like proud helicopters.
About the conversation and the need for us to sit one...
[much more to come after I get some rest; any thoughts?]
Source:
Only with Ginaballz can the following happen in a mere two hour stretch on a slow Friday night:
1) Her plowing over a large, suicidal mammal (racoon?) in her large white car: her first instance of roadkilling, and all the attending feelings of shock, horror, and guilt. My witnessing the death was just as visceral, and getting out of the car in the pub parking lot was anxiety-wrought... would he be under there, dying and waiting?
2) We see a commercial for today's item-of-insipidity: new Gour-Mayo!!! Now you too can make sandwiches with scented/flavored mayonaises. It's sad to see the glorious act of punning abused.
3) Phrases like "method Puerto Rican" and "hot-dog flavored ketchup" are born, as are original re-lyrics to "Creep" — I'm a freak/ I'm Gour-Mayo...
Only with Ginaballz can the following happen in a mere two hour stretch on a slow Friday night:
1) Her plowing over a large, suicidal mammal (racoon?) in her large white car: her first instance of roadkilling, and all the attending feelings of shock, horror, and guilt. My witnessing the death was just as visceral, and getting out of the car in the pub parking lot was anxiety-wrought... would he be under there, dying and waiting?
2) We see a commercial for today's item-of-insipidity: new Gour-Mayo!!! Now you too can make sandwiches with scented/flavored mayonaises. It's sad to see the glorious act of punning abused.
3) Phrases like "method Puerto Rican" and "hot-dog flavored ketchup" are born, as are original re-lyrics to "Creep" — I'm a freak/ I'm Gour-Mayo...
Friday, April 11, 2003
For Brains:
Finally caught up with Lauren Schiffer on the cellophone for a catchup conversation this afternoon; she and I have been swimming in similar situations/pains almost all year, and have been occasional invaluable IM comfort-commiserators. It was good to hear her actual voice, though, and I think I may actually spend Easter with her and the Schiffer clan at their compound somewhere on L.I. off of Jericho Tpke.
Finally caught up with Lauren Schiffer on the cellophone for a catchup conversation this afternoon; she and I have been swimming in similar situations/pains almost all year, and have been occasional invaluable IM comfort-commiserators. It was good to hear her actual voice, though, and I think I may actually spend Easter with her and the Schiffer clan at their compound somewhere on L.I. off of Jericho Tpke.
"Deep" Thoughts:
I had a Zenful day.
For the Friday School Meeting, we hosted the second and final installment of our visits from the Long Island Multi-Faith Forum. This panel featured representatives from Buddhism, Christianity, and Brahma Kavaris.
The Christian rep. was loud but articulate in a quirky, friendly way. Picture Harry Shearer's voice and postures meshed with an absolute sonic-replica of Dave Winninger's
voice (and humor), pitch and accent.
I sat in on the special session after a catered Persian lunch (all the way from Queens) to hear the rep. from Buddhism speak and share. Buddhism makes so much sense, or at least it did today; I was already on familiar territory with the basic mediation/relaxtions he guided us on from Experimental Theatre/ general acting experience. Then he challenged us with counting breaths and trying to kill the thought-rampage of our egos (my phrasing, not his). The man was caucasion, about 60 but with a peaceful and paced personality that gave him aura of both vitality and fragility. He reminded me of a stew of Bruce Smith, a saner Robert Blake, and Robert Olen Butler.
What struck me best about the Buddhist philosophy was that the goal of meditation is the attempt to silence the ego/ the existence of self, in order to plug into the connectedness of everything ("until we is the ony pronoun), which is something empathic/outreaching I've been feeling and thinking toward in recent memory. I'm not about to shave my head and pursue this much further than the memory of this afternoon, but it was a moment of self-discovery and it wasn't hokey or contrived.
On duty for the weekend, I chucked the trendy-bag full of media, including a Waking Life DVD, which I tossed into to kill the last hours before the boys' bedtime. A few of them were weirded out and watched parts of it with me intermittently (as usual). It being my second time seeing it, the film has changed in its appeal, and my approach/reaction to the "mental masturbation" is altered maybe not for better or worse, but because of the perspective(s) I've gained since this summer (when I first saw it). (Then again, last summes was somewhat of an intellectual malaise/slowdown due to high temps and humidity, a lack of stimulation, and being distracted by constant attempts at upping the ante in my game of responsibility-shrugoff.) Anyway, mind and ego considerations being continued is the point.
I had a Zenful day.
For the Friday School Meeting, we hosted the second and final installment of our visits from the Long Island Multi-Faith Forum. This panel featured representatives from Buddhism, Christianity, and Brahma Kavaris.
The Christian rep. was loud but articulate in a quirky, friendly way. Picture Harry Shearer's voice and postures meshed with an absolute sonic-replica of Dave Winninger's
voice (and humor), pitch and accent.
I sat in on the special session after a catered Persian lunch (all the way from Queens) to hear the rep. from Buddhism speak and share. Buddhism makes so much sense, or at least it did today; I was already on familiar territory with the basic mediation/relaxtions he guided us on from Experimental Theatre/ general acting experience. Then he challenged us with counting breaths and trying to kill the thought-rampage of our egos (my phrasing, not his). The man was caucasion, about 60 but with a peaceful and paced personality that gave him aura of both vitality and fragility. He reminded me of a stew of Bruce Smith, a saner Robert Blake, and Robert Olen Butler.
What struck me best about the Buddhist philosophy was that the goal of meditation is the attempt to silence the ego/ the existence of self, in order to plug into the connectedness of everything ("until we is the ony pronoun), which is something empathic/outreaching I've been feeling and thinking toward in recent memory. I'm not about to shave my head and pursue this much further than the memory of this afternoon, but it was a moment of self-discovery and it wasn't hokey or contrived.
On duty for the weekend, I chucked the trendy-bag full of media, including a Waking Life DVD, which I tossed into to kill the last hours before the boys' bedtime. A few of them were weirded out and watched parts of it with me intermittently (as usual). It being my second time seeing it, the film has changed in its appeal, and my approach/reaction to the "mental masturbation" is altered maybe not for better or worse, but because of the perspective(s) I've gained since this summer (when I first saw it). (Then again, last summes was somewhat of an intellectual malaise/slowdown due to high temps and humidity, a lack of stimulation, and being distracted by constant attempts at upping the ante in my game of responsibility-shrugoff.) Anyway, mind and ego considerations being continued is the point.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
Multi-Borough:
I'm just out of a hot 12 minute + shower, those of you familiar with my shower habits know this to be a severe anomaly.
Why the lengthy time in the increasingly hot water? :
A long, satisfying day in Manhattan/daBronx.
1) Slept in 'til 9:30 on a day of work.
2) Took the seniors and the 5 English exchangers to see Man of La Mancha at the Martin Beck Theater on 45th St. Starring the phenomenal Brian Stokes Mitchell (perhaps one of the few actors whose talents more than warrant the use of all three given names) as Don Quixote and the hauntingly slutty (even at her age) Mary Elizabeth Mastriantonio. Incredible set design that I can't quite explain right now, but hinted at freedom through imagination from prison similar to the film version of The Wizard of Oz or Brazil.
3) Picked up by fellow School new-teacher/soccer-coach J. ---- (who shares his last name with the most famous character ever played by Corben Bernson (Micah's all over this one)) and his girlfriend at 44th/8th, and on we went to YANKEE STADIUM.
4) Thanks to three Bass Ales, shots of Goldschlagger/Jack D. in Stan's (behind the stadium), and the clutch ski-technology of toe/hand warmers from aforementioned GF, we kept mostly warm during the 2hr 40m game which occured in an average of 35 degrees Farenheit.
In a swing of luck, I just happened to be on the cell with Dad when Jorge Posada connected for a solo, game-tying HOMERUN in the 5th (?)inning: my father got to hear a Yankee homerun live. Mondesi echoed him a batter later with his own game-winning solo jack. Victory, Yankees over the Twins. W-Mussina, S-Acevedo.
I downed 5 hotdogs, essences of which have been re-summoned during the course of a series of post-game belches, entertaining D---'s GF and myself, and distracting him from the treacherous stretches known as the L.I.E. and the Northern State Pkwy. Thanks only to perhaps Boston, triple Led Zepplin, and other classic-rock station staples, we made it home in a record 58 minutes from the stadium to the School's gates.
And now, at 11:33, I will attempt the last feat of the day: lesson plans....
I'm just out of a hot 12 minute + shower, those of you familiar with my shower habits know this to be a severe anomaly.
Why the lengthy time in the increasingly hot water? :
A long, satisfying day in Manhattan/daBronx.
1) Slept in 'til 9:30 on a day of work.
2) Took the seniors and the 5 English exchangers to see Man of La Mancha at the Martin Beck Theater on 45th St. Starring the phenomenal Brian Stokes Mitchell (perhaps one of the few actors whose talents more than warrant the use of all three given names) as Don Quixote and the hauntingly slutty (even at her age) Mary Elizabeth Mastriantonio. Incredible set design that I can't quite explain right now, but hinted at freedom through imagination from prison similar to the film version of The Wizard of Oz or Brazil.
3) Picked up by fellow School new-teacher/soccer-coach J. ---- (who shares his last name with the most famous character ever played by Corben Bernson (Micah's all over this one)) and his girlfriend at 44th/8th, and on we went to YANKEE STADIUM.
4) Thanks to three Bass Ales, shots of Goldschlagger/Jack D. in Stan's (behind the stadium), and the clutch ski-technology of toe/hand warmers from aforementioned GF, we kept mostly warm during the 2hr 40m game which occured in an average of 35 degrees Farenheit.
In a swing of luck, I just happened to be on the cell with Dad when Jorge Posada connected for a solo, game-tying HOMERUN in the 5th (?)inning: my father got to hear a Yankee homerun live. Mondesi echoed him a batter later with his own game-winning solo jack. Victory, Yankees over the Twins. W-Mussina, S-Acevedo.
I downed 5 hotdogs, essences of which have been re-summoned during the course of a series of post-game belches, entertaining D---'s GF and myself, and distracting him from the treacherous stretches known as the L.I.E. and the Northern State Pkwy. Thanks only to perhaps Boston, triple Led Zepplin, and other classic-rock station staples, we made it home in a record 58 minutes from the stadium to the School's gates.
And now, at 11:33, I will attempt the last feat of the day: lesson plans....
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Praise:
Out-shouting to and for Em Taylor and the smart company that reconized her brilliance and offered her a job: I don't recall the name of the publisher, but it puts out a series of highly respected/important medical journals. Coglate/London Study Group/Spring 2002 Poetry Workshop alumnus Jess Dickson also works there, and Em informed me she starts next Monday. SUPER HAPPY YAY!
Out-shouting to and for Em Taylor and the smart company that reconized her brilliance and offered her a job: I don't recall the name of the publisher, but it puts out a series of highly respected/important medical journals. Coglate/London Study Group/Spring 2002 Poetry Workshop alumnus Jess Dickson also works there, and Em informed me she starts next Monday. SUPER HAPPY YAY!
Billy Gloat:
It's only because I've had a few rich, tasty bierce and because the Syrcause Orangemen have finally won an NCAA Championship for Boeheim that I can brag like a cocky bastard and say "I FUCKIN' CALLED IT" (albeit motivated by pride and hope) three weeks ago just before the tournament of madness began. I picked Kansas and 'Cuse (the two teams I enjoyed watching the most this season) to make it to the final game, and the Orangemen to win it all, biotch. If I'm rarely right, it's worth it to be vindicated tonight.
It's been thrilling to come back to my appt. and read all the SU-supportive IM away messages: way to represent Northern New York!
Great game, Macnamara and Anthony rocked the THREES, Warrick was clutch, and even Forth and Edelin played key roles (and of course, Josh Pace).
Celebration = since we on the Island had to endure another six-inch coating of wet snow today/tonight (grrrr), our benevolent headmaster has initiated a "late start" for tomorrow: first class begins at 9:30AM, as oppposed to the usual 8PM. SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
It's only because I've had a few rich, tasty bierce and because the Syrcause Orangemen have finally won an NCAA Championship for Boeheim that I can brag like a cocky bastard and say "I FUCKIN' CALLED IT" (albeit motivated by pride and hope) three weeks ago just before the tournament of madness began. I picked Kansas and 'Cuse (the two teams I enjoyed watching the most this season) to make it to the final game, and the Orangemen to win it all, biotch. If I'm rarely right, it's worth it to be vindicated tonight.
It's been thrilling to come back to my appt. and read all the SU-supportive IM away messages: way to represent Northern New York!
Great game, Macnamara and Anthony rocked the THREES, Warrick was clutch, and even Forth and Edelin played key roles (and of course, Josh Pace).
Celebration = since we on the Island had to endure another six-inch coating of wet snow today/tonight (grrrr), our benevolent headmaster has initiated a "late start" for tomorrow: first class begins at 9:30AM, as oppposed to the usual 8PM. SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Monday, April 07, 2003
'CUSE!!!!!!:
Syracuse 81- Kansas 78 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Syracuse 81- Kansas 78 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Blog-out:
I am not the only one peeved by the repetative deaths of internet connection here on the campus network; it's pathetic, we mostly agree. Thus, I have been unable to share with the blog-readers the events of the weekend:
ø Strengthening of the mind, body, and rhythmic soul at The School's gymnasium. I packed my new trendy-messenger bag full of media (and a couple bierce) and jogged up around 3:30, just as the rest of the students were headed out on busses for dinner and a movie (so I'd have the gym to myself). I drummed on the school's kit for a half hour or so, the first I've practiced in some time (and I was rusty: I attempted some jazz rhythms I've internalized, and some 311, but resorted to the usual: Weezer's Blue Album, Radiohead from The Bends, and the P.O.T.U.S.A.) Next, I shoit hoops to the sounds of Miles and Hank Mobley, somewhat in ritualized anticipation of the Syracuse semi-final game that night against Texas. As a cool down, Cherry Wheat beer and Powaqqatsi on the large projection TV in the gym basement/student lounge area. I loved the film aesthetically, and respect (if take issue with) its political/social message. I'm awed at the accomplishment the film is: non-narrative, stunningly visual, rooted in form, grounded in ideas/arguments. It's rich stuff, although definitely inferior to the first film in the cycle, Koyaanisqatsi. Upon leaving the gym, I felt I had shed fat and lethargy.
ø Later that evening, Arden Beerose and I pre-gamed in his appartment with Long Island Toasted Lager, Kansas' slaughter of Marquette, and hockey on classic Sega. After the game, we headed out for Napper Tandy's, a Smithtown bar I've begun to haunt with Arden or Gina free evenings. Ballz called at some point and invited us to met her and her friends, and her friend's friends, at some tiny bar/club, the name of which she could only remember half: something Bernie's (at first I thought that "Something Bernie's" would be a great pun-name for a bar/restaurant— and yes, the kitsch-80s Terry Kaiser title role was referenced— but alas, the place is actually called Bungalow Bernies, and is a blend between The Glass and The Jug, only cleaner and more centrally themed.*
At Bernie's, we proceeded to watch Syracuse dominate the closing minutes of the game with breakaway dunks from Carmello Anthony, and drank plastic goldfish-bowl shapped/sized (literally) containers of "red death punch, including Joze Cuervo" which made us all loco amid a crowd of LI hoochies and leatherjacket meatheads. The music started out as neo-punk/pop / mid-90s ska-core (nostalgia!), but unfortunately digressed into hoochie-hop ass-shakin' crap (just like high school dances). While in the glory of the drink, there was much schmoozing, some awkward-in-retrospect "dancing" (which for me is really typical ironic non-dancing as defense mechanism for self-consciousness about lack of "hip-hop" dancing prowess), and I even (yes me) spoke to a stranger girl of the attractive blonde type, and had a mini-conversation. Nothing came of this, but it's a start! Many of the girls go for Arden, but since he is fastened passionately to his girlfriend of 7+ years (aww) he grits his teeth and refrains.
A good time of variety I know too seldom these days, and the fifth consecutive Saturday during which I've consumed large volumes of alcohol and enjoyed myself. I fear the streak will end this Sat., as I'll be on duty in WoodDorm (still, I get off around 11....).
Lunch calls. Sunday was a good Sunday by my standards: more hoops, baseball, book shopping (Baudelaire, Marquez, the rest of Salinger) at Borders with my 15% teacher discount, duty at night, conversations with Reetu, Dad, and Ballz (in that order, but not consecutively).
Now, to lunch.
I am not the only one peeved by the repetative deaths of internet connection here on the campus network; it's pathetic, we mostly agree. Thus, I have been unable to share with the blog-readers the events of the weekend:
ø Strengthening of the mind, body, and rhythmic soul at The School's gymnasium. I packed my new trendy-messenger bag full of media (and a couple bierce) and jogged up around 3:30, just as the rest of the students were headed out on busses for dinner and a movie (so I'd have the gym to myself). I drummed on the school's kit for a half hour or so, the first I've practiced in some time (and I was rusty: I attempted some jazz rhythms I've internalized, and some 311, but resorted to the usual: Weezer's Blue Album, Radiohead from The Bends, and the P.O.T.U.S.A.) Next, I shoit hoops to the sounds of Miles and Hank Mobley, somewhat in ritualized anticipation of the Syracuse semi-final game that night against Texas. As a cool down, Cherry Wheat beer and Powaqqatsi on the large projection TV in the gym basement/student lounge area. I loved the film aesthetically, and respect (if take issue with) its political/social message. I'm awed at the accomplishment the film is: non-narrative, stunningly visual, rooted in form, grounded in ideas/arguments. It's rich stuff, although definitely inferior to the first film in the cycle, Koyaanisqatsi. Upon leaving the gym, I felt I had shed fat and lethargy.
ø Later that evening, Arden Beerose and I pre-gamed in his appartment with Long Island Toasted Lager, Kansas' slaughter of Marquette, and hockey on classic Sega. After the game, we headed out for Napper Tandy's, a Smithtown bar I've begun to haunt with Arden or Gina free evenings. Ballz called at some point and invited us to met her and her friends, and her friend's friends, at some tiny bar/club, the name of which she could only remember half: something Bernie's (at first I thought that "Something Bernie's" would be a great pun-name for a bar/restaurant— and yes, the kitsch-80s Terry Kaiser title role was referenced— but alas, the place is actually called Bungalow Bernies, and is a blend between The Glass and The Jug, only cleaner and more centrally themed.*
At Bernie's, we proceeded to watch Syracuse dominate the closing minutes of the game with breakaway dunks from Carmello Anthony, and drank plastic goldfish-bowl shapped/sized (literally) containers of "red death punch, including Joze Cuervo" which made us all loco amid a crowd of LI hoochies and leatherjacket meatheads. The music started out as neo-punk/pop / mid-90s ska-core (nostalgia!), but unfortunately digressed into hoochie-hop ass-shakin' crap (just like high school dances). While in the glory of the drink, there was much schmoozing, some awkward-in-retrospect "dancing" (which for me is really typical ironic non-dancing as defense mechanism for self-consciousness about lack of "hip-hop" dancing prowess), and I even (yes me) spoke to a stranger girl of the attractive blonde type, and had a mini-conversation. Nothing came of this, but it's a start! Many of the girls go for Arden, but since he is fastened passionately to his girlfriend of 7+ years (aww) he grits his teeth and refrains.
A good time of variety I know too seldom these days, and the fifth consecutive Saturday during which I've consumed large volumes of alcohol and enjoyed myself. I fear the streak will end this Sat., as I'll be on duty in WoodDorm (still, I get off around 11....).
Lunch calls. Sunday was a good Sunday by my standards: more hoops, baseball, book shopping (Baudelaire, Marquez, the rest of Salinger) at Borders with my 15% teacher discount, duty at night, conversations with Reetu, Dad, and Ballz (in that order, but not consecutively).
Now, to lunch.
