Categories
Short Subjects

Further notes from a commuter

*12/2 10:23 pm*

— I have a button on my messenger-bag that says “I read banned comics.” It’s a fairly old button, and I got it because it the late 80s and early 90s there were a few comics that were being banned. I don’t think I actually read any of them, but I supported the people who did. It wasn’t so much a rebelious thing as an act of solidarity. But those days are gone. I don’t really read new comic books, and I couldn’t tell anyone what’s being banned, if anything is.

![I Read Banned Comics button](http://gallery.me.com/macphoenix/100023/IMG_0465/web.jpg “The dirty secret is I don’t read much of anything anymore.”)

Outside of my [necklace][2], the most-commented part of my apparel is that button. Most of the folks I work with are 25 years-old or younger. Someone at work will see that button and ask me, “You read banned comics? What comics are banned?” Truthfully, I answer that I don’t know.

I’m sure in some small communities there are [people who are trying to ban][3] works of fiction, but today there just isn’t the nationwide push to ban supposedly dangerous comic books like there had been starting from the 50s. I’m pretty sure this is because of the Interweb. Not only does it make attempting to ban something pointless, but it’s changed the distribution model, too. If some [young Turk][4] wants to put out something so edgy that no publishing house will touch it, the artist can skip the publisher all together and get it to an audience online. He won’t make any money, but that’s not what edgy, dangerous art is about anyway. Rarely does a boundary-pusher live comfortably.

[2]: http://www.macphoenix.com/creative/blog/archives/2008/11/notes_from_a_commuter.html#necklace

[3]: http://www.snopes.com/politics/palin/bannedbooks.asp

[4]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Turks

— That [Marley-covering busker][5] was back in Penn Station. He did this medley of “Stir It Up” and “[The Tide Is High][6]” by Blondie. It lasted like 10 minutes. I purchased his CD.

[5]: http://www.macphoenix.com/creative/blog/archives/2008/11/notes_from_a_commuter.html#busker

[6]: http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?i=21700292&id=21700341&s=143441

*12/5 10:09 am*

— Having a regular schedule is soothing. I’m sitting on the same seat on the train coming in to the City and going home. I’m getting the same parking space in the morning at the train station. It’s oddly relaxing to have these things be consistent from day to day. I’ve never understood why humans desire this, but now I certainly appreciate the mindless joy of it. I’m guessing that this has something to do with the primitive part of the brain, the animal instinct. And I’d also guess that it’s the same part of the brain that believes the past is more comforting than the future. It’s the conservative mindset. I wonder if having a rigid schedule makes one less likely to accept radical ideas and change. I wonder if they go hand-in-hand.

*12/16 10:23 pm*

— An unfortunate combination: a loud, grating voice and my train ride home. Oh, well, gives me a reason to listen to some tunes. Oddly, I don’t often listen to music on the train. But I will tonight. Thanks, woman who is just blabbity-blab-blabbing two seats in front of me.

— My poor phone. Today, before I left work, I put the phone on a chair when I had to do something with two hands. There’s a setup here. The chair is in a stairwell against a wall facing out, on a landing, one flight up. The stairwell almost, but not quite, butts up against the wall, leaving a one-inch gap between the stairwell-landing floor and the wall. The chair is plastic and slightly slopped towards rear of the chair, and the chair back is open and does not meet the seat of the chair. See this setup? I put the phone on the chair, where it slides towards the rear of the chair and out the space between the back and the seat. The phone falls perfectly into the gap between the landing floor and the wall and falls one story to the concrete floor below.

It falls so quickly that all I have time to do is laugh, because I can’t believe that the phone would fall so perfectly into that tiny gap, but, of course it does! There wouldn’t be anything funny or interesting about this anecdote if it didn’t fall through that gap.

I run down the stairway to the first floor hoping I didn’t bean anyone with it, and it’s face down on the floor–and intact.

I should mention that I have an [Agent 18 case][7], which is plastic like the seat is, explaining why my phone was so slippery on its surface. But the Agent 18 case extends over the phone a bit. This gap prevented the glass surface of my phone from shattering into a spiderweb of misery.

I’m surprised as anyone that my phone continues to function as it had before the fall, but as soon as it happened, I thought it was not only something that I could write about, but also a great story to tell customers at work when they ask me about cases for their phones.

— Last night in Penn Station, a guitar-playing busker sang “Babylon Sisters,” by **Steely Dan**. Never–not in a dozen score years–did I expect to hear “Babylon Sisters” covered by anyone. It’s a fairly complex song, musically, and he did it pretty well. It’s really ambitious to play it solo, for sure. He said afterwards that he thinks it was written about women from Babylon, a town on Long Island, a busy stop on the **LIRR**. I think he was serious, unfortunately.

[7]: http://www.agent18.com/productdetail/iphone-ecoshield-g1-black/90.aspx

Categories
Essays

Too long between Guinness draughts

I just finished off a nice can of **Guinness**. In a plastic cup. On a train. It only bothered me a little bit that a pint of Guinness is only 14.9 ounces. But the taste was exquisite. When I was really drinking the stouts, I preferred **Murphy’s** to Guinness, especially on tap, but having that last pint, in a plastic cup, on the train, tasted just like a [Murphy’s *Irish Stout*][2] after downing a pint of **Anchor Steam’s** *Old Foghorn* (on tap) while hanging out with Tom McTeirnan at **Tubby’s** in Hauppauge. After drinking the bitter barleywine, Murphy’s tasted like liquid chocolate. On the train, too, drinking that can of Guinness, yum… liquid chocolate.

Today was a pretty good day for unexpectedly delicious treats. I grabbed some coffee that my wonderful wife brewed before she left for work. I think it was Amaretto-flavored. I don’t sweeten my coffee, and flavored coffees tend to be rather bitter without sweetener, but I’ve gotten used to it. At any rate, today I thought I’d pour in some **Silk** eggnog into the coffee, and it was rather tasty. I wasn’t sure what it was going to taste like, but it actually reminded me of an eggnog latte from **Starbucks**.

I’m going to backup here. Silk’s eggnog, like all the Silk products, is made from soy. So, yes, it wasn’t a milk-based product; it was soy. I know several folks who would be repulsed by this, and I used to be one. But when I worked at a vegetarian kitchen, they didn’t feel comfortable with animal’s milk in the refrigerator, and I reluctantly tried some Silk in my coffee. The plain flavor didn’t do much except cool the coffee down. But the vanilla and hazelnut flavors were pretty good. All alone, soy-milk is chalky, but when it’s in coffee, it’s pretty smooth.
And then there is the soy-milk eggnog. I like eggnog, but it’s so rich that I can usually only have one cup a year, and then I’m good until next Christmas. Two years ago, on a whim, I purchased some Silk soy eggnog. It’s definitely not as creamy as the real thing, but it was delicious and it didn’t leave me feeling like I just drank 12 oz. of liquid butter. I could have two or even three glasses of it in a season.

Another thing that’s increased my consumption of eggnog, and led me to appreciate it even more, is discovering that it’s made for whiskey. Get a decent Bourbon in there and it’s a jolly Christmas season. Grind a bit of [nutmeg][1] on top and it’s kind of like Jesus was born to just experience this. Putting whiskey (or rum!) and nutmeg in Silk eggnog allows me to have more than one, which, of course, is the point. The milk/cream version is richer, and a slight bit tastier, but the Silk-version doesn’t lack for anything.

So, back to breakfast, I had my coffee with the Silk eggnog. No whisky, though. Then for lunch, I had a sandwich that my wonderful wife had purchased for me the night before from **The Good Steer** in Lake Grove. The Good Steer has been around for 50 years. It’s a Suffolk County institution. It’s mascot, on the sign in the parking lot, is a [smiling bull’s head with a halo between his horns][4]. Many of my friends referred to it as *angel cow*. I now live two blocks away from the Angel Cow, and they have great burgers, shoe-string onion-rings that my wife has a love/hate relationship with, and a nice turkey-meat Reuben. That’s what I usually go for when we eat there. Just give me rye bread, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut grilled together with Thousand Island dressing to dip it in, and it would buy it. The turkey meat is in there to justify the $12 price tag.

The Good Steer has a cole slaw that people who would never consider eating cole slaw actually eat, and a pretty decent red-potato salad. I had both of those with my cold, left-over sandwich for lunch. [Reubens][3] are meant to be eaten warm, but I don’t really care at what temperature I eat my food. Well, let me be more specific, I prefer cold food unless it’s French fries or white rice. Anything else, congealed or otherwise, I’ll eat right from the fridge.

So my Reuben was cold, but it was so so yummy with the cole slaw and potato salad.

And on the way home from work, I wasn’t really hungry. I often get something in **Penn Station**, just because I’m bored waiting for my train and can’t resist temptation, but, tonight, nothing grabbed me. I didn’t feel like a beer, either, until I thought that I hadn’t had a Guinness in a while. For those people who don’t drink beer, you may not be aware that Guinness, and other Irish stouts, are in a class by themselves. Comparing a Guinness to any lager (like **Budwiser**) is like comparing a stylish hat to white jockey shorts. Sure, they’re both technically clothing, but only one of them demonstrates my extremely refined tastes.

The major problem with buying beer in Penn Station, though, is the lack of vessels to pour it in. I’m a firm believer in letting the scent of beer be a part of the experience of drinking beer. As much as I prefer bottles over cans when purchasing a beer at a store, I prefer pouring a bottle into a nice pint glass when I drink it, because bottles trap the aroma of beer. Guinness is one of the few beers that I buy in a can, because of the amazing widget that adds nitrogen to the beer upon opening. (Other than Irish stouts, Sapporo is the single beer that’s better in a can than in a bottle.) But drinking straight from a can of Guinness is an awful beer experience. It’s foamy and soapy–not yummy. But when I went to see what the beer vendor was selling, I saw a stack of plastic cups next to him. I got the cup, and the beer, and waited for my train.

I finished it before the train left the tunnel on it’s way towards Long Island. It was chocolatey and delicious. I had, honestly, forgotten how good a can of Guinness was. I think I have to pick up milk when I get home tonight. I think I’ll get me a 4-pack of Guinness, too, when I’m at the store. I’m going to let the deliciousness continue this weekend.

[1]: http://video.google.com/videosearch?client=safari&rls=en-us&q=nutmeg+song&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&um=1&sa=X&oi=video_result_group&resnum=4&ct=title#q=john%20legend%20nutmeg%20song&emb=0
[2]: http://www.murphys.com/
[4]: http://www.thegoodsteer.com/about.htm
[3]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reuben_sandwich

Categories
Short Subjects

More notes from a commuter

*11/18 1:21 am*

— The old LIRR trains with the blue and red seats were just not made for typing on a portable computer. They have outlets, but there is no way to get comfortable while typing.

— Today at {computer company that shall not be named} there was a graduate student who was working on her end of semester paper when her computer crashed and wouldn’t come back on. When she tried, a very specific indicator that her hard drive was ruined would appear on her screen. She came in, hoping against all that was reasonable, that somehow we could help retreive her school work. There was nothing I could do, and she was in tears, having potentially lost a semester of work. It was the most heartbreaking moment I’ve had at work. I’m so empathetic, though, that she apologized for getting me upset. I assured her that I was fine, and I offered information about some data recovery companies.

My point though is to keep a backup of your data. Seriously people. You’re going to kill me if you don’t.
On that subject, my iMac’s hard drive is clicking and occassionally will not mount. I will have to bring it in for service, and the hard drive will have to be replaced. I will lose what ever is on that hard drive. Am I concerned? No, my friends, for I have seen the light and am true to the way. I have a backup of my data. All hail the external hard drive!

Photos! Email! School work! Music! [LOL Cats][2]! Whatever it is on your computer, why would you risk losing it all to a micrometer sized bit of ferro-aluminum oxide flipping from north to south? Back up your data!

— I tend to rant a bit at night.

*11/21 11:07 pm*

— Okay. There was a hockey game again tonight, and the hoochie ladies were out in full force again. There was a group of them with totally inappropriate footware getting pictures taken with NYPD officers. At one point they shouted “Islanders suck!” which promted mixed reactions from the sea of Islander-jersey wearing male fans who were gawking at them anyway.

— I don’t know when the eighties fashions came back, but I want to hurt the designers and shops that are pushing them. Those women by the cops were straight out of a Whitesnake video, with only slightly smaller, slightly less teased, hairdos.

— John Hodgman didn’t say hi to the Genius Bar when he made a speaking appearance tonight at {computer company that shall not be named}. I’m a bit disappointed. I was probably one of the few who knew him from the “[Ask a former literary agent][1]” days, and not just as the PC guy. The folks I was helping at the store asked if “the Mac guy” was there too. To which I should have replied, “We’re all the Mac guys here,” but didn’t. I’m a bit disappointed in that too.

[1]: http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2008/11/13hodgman.html “Not an *Ask a Former Literary Agent* but funny nonetheless.”

— It’s good to have a steady gig in this economy. I’m suspicious of my current good fortune.

*Thanksgiving Update* — computer is back from repair with new hard drive. My system is restored from my backup. No muss, no fuss.

[2]: http://icanhascheezburger.com/

Categories
Rant

Notes from a commuter

*11/15 11:16 pm*

— I don’t know what was going on tonight. There were some people wearing Ranger’s jerseys, so I’m assuming there was a hockey game tonight, but there were also these women who were dressed like they were going to ladies’ night at some singles’ club–lots of sequins and cleavage. I don’t think that was for a hockey game.

— I missed the 10:16. I almost always miss the train I want to take home. Instead, I’m on the 11:16 and it’s packed. At least the front couple of cars are. I normally like to hit the cars in the back, but I saw a seat with a plug by it, and I took the opportunity to grab some juice. I probably could have found something closer to the rear, though.

There was a pretty good busker in Penn Station tonight. He was covering Bob Marley songs on a guitar. He played them kind of jazzy. I was considering spending $5 to buy his CD, but I didn’t. Maybe if I see him again.

— Two people asked me for change. One was a tiny, old Asian woman. She had a handful of quarters and asked me for a quarter. I said, “You look like you have a lot of quarters already!” and proceeded to fish in my pocket for a quarter to give her. The other one was this guy who I see constantly in Penn Station. He asks for change all the time. I’ve seen him when he’s not begging–he’s usually harassing women and listening to music through very expensive headphones. He’s got stylish jeans, and, like I said, I see him there all the time. I consider him a professional beggar, and since I don’t like his service, I don’t give him money. If I ever get up the nerve, I’ll tell him to grab an instrument and pretend to offer something like all the other professional beggars out there. I give the buskers money all the time. I give homeless people money or a meal more than I’d care to admit. But that dude? C’mon, man, do something to earn it. Tap dance or mumble or offer to read palms. Do something.

I’ve gotten a couple of people asking me about my necklace at work. It’s a silver sun with a round amber stone in the middle. My wife gave it to me for our anniversary. The last guy to ask about it was a customer at the Apple store, and he wanted to know if the symbol had some sort of meaning. I thought to myself that usually suns mean something about the sun, but I explained that my wife is the sun, bright, blonde and cheery, as opposed to me, cold, dark, and brooding–the moon. I don’t think the answer satisfied him, but I’m not sure what he wanted the sun to actually represent. Maybe next time, I’ll talk about the cult that I belong to.

— My new MacBook is great, but the sharp aluminum palm rest digs into my wrists when I type. Playing a game is fine, but typing this hurts.

*11/16 8:40 am*

— So far, **Optimum WiFi** service sucks. The system delivers data fine to my iPhone, but the iPhone is much smaller than the one on my MacBook, so I only get the WiFi signal on the iPhone when I’ve stopped in a station. The MacBook antenna gets the signal for a few seconds outside of the train stations, but gets a fraction of the data that my iPhone does. And then, the service logs me out almost immediately, so I have to go to a website to log in again. I have an automatic login app ([DeviceScape][1]) that will bypass most website login screens, but it doesn’t work with Optimum. Then, too, if I’ve logged in with either the iPhone or the MacBook, I can’t log in with the other, even after the service has logged me out of the first device. I get what I pay for with this, I guess.

[1]: http://devicescape.com/

Categories
Uncategorized

Sleepy Cat — In Memory

Sleepy Cat playing with a cord

*This is a repost of a poem I wrote in 2002 about a friend’s cat.*

**Sleepy Cat**

Small of foot
Black and white
Queen of cats
Your throne is my lap
My pillow
My bed
The blanket upon the back of the recliner

Your name
A gift from strangers
Is truer still
Since a lazy Sunday
Can be spent with you
Never leaving the warmth of my body
Impeccably groomed
Capriciously feline
Wary of your domain
Quick with hiss, swipe, or bite
To whatever you dislike
Still you find a spot
To curl and cozy
In some nook created by my limbs

My thoughts can never be grey
With you sleeping and serene
A fitting goddess for my altar
Where I sacrifice the day

Sleepy Cat resting on a fluffy comforter

Categories
Rant

Leave a message

About every other month or so, either Katherine or I will get a phone call from an unknown number, which we won’t pick up. Invariably, the caller will *not* leave a message, but will instead call the phone back 3 or 4 times in a 10 minute span, until I get enraged enough to answer it.

“Hello!” I demand.

“Elisa Shabadoo?” says someone on the other end of a horrible, static-y connection.

“Wrong number!” I yell and hang up.

I just don’t understand why the other person who is so insistent on getting through to Elisa won’t take the 5 seconds to listen to the voicemail greeting that clearly says “Hi, this is Katherine,” or “Hi, you’ve reached Jonathan’s voicemail.”

Speaking of voicemail, if you try to reach me, that’s probably what you’ll get. Last week, I accidently dunked my smartphone in to a glass of water. This was not the stupidest thing I have ever done, but I think it’s in my top 20. At any rate, after some extreme and active drying techniques were applied, the phone was restored to an almost pristine state, except that it shuts off whenever I put the phone to sleep.

It’s odd; the phone will stay on while I use it, and if I passively let it go to sleep after using it, it won’t shut off. But as soon as I click the sleep button, the phone must be manually turned on, and will shut off whether actively or passively put to sleep until I put it in the charger for about 8–10 hours.

And since dunking in water is not covered under the warrantee, and I don’t really want to spend another $200 to replace it, I’m going to live with my phone shutting off for some time.

But as I said, if you call me, expect to get my voicemail; it’s nothing personal.

Categories
Beer!

Corsendonk Abbey Brown Ale

Brewed and bottled by **Brewery Du Bocq**, Oud-Turnhout, Belgium
Purchased at [Lake Ronkonkoma Beverage][1] in June 2008, $12/4 pack
Opened bottle in August 2008
Served in pint glass at 45°F

Photo 58.jpg

A Belgian *dubbel* style beer, the Corsendonk is smoky but not overly bitter. This is a yeasty, barley-ish beer with a fruity fragrance and a slightly subtle body, reminiscent of raisins or currants. The label states it will mature in bottle, becoming softer and smoother. The bottle that I drank has a “best enjoyed by” date of June 2009, yet it’s still pretty soft and smooth. I think after another year, there may have been nothing left to it.

It pours as a nice dark amber color with a medium, foamy head. I don’t have a lot of experience with Belgian beers, but this one strikes me as beginner-friendly–not overly complex, not too hoppy, just a bit of smoke that lingers on the tongue.

It’s a decent beer with not a lot of zing. I picture enjoying it on a winter’s night, but I’m not sure if this would make it into my regular rotation.

[1]: http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=ronkonkoma+beverage&jsv=113&sll=40.857448,-73.080711&sspn=0.095168,0.1157&ie=UTF8&latlng=40832310,-73129490,17779916612421631878&ei=j39ESPmrC6jEigHOlc0N&cd=4

Categories
Essays

The Police at Jones Beach

I saw **The Police** play at [Jones Beach][1] on August 5. Back in the early spring, my friend Melissa said she was going to the August 4 show. At the time, I was sure I missed the opportunity to see The Police in their extra-final-for-real-we-mean-it concert, as they had came through the area last year, and the August 4 show was already sold out. But through a perfect example of serendipity (but not [synchronicity][2]), the day that Melissa came over, they had just added the August 5 show and the tickets had gone on sale that day.

The seats I got were expensive, but not great seats. Still, Katherine and I were sitting in the middle of the theater, and, while in the top section, we had a great view. Some of those seats at the top suffer from really awful echo effects due to the concrete walls around that section, but we far enough away from any of them, so the sound was pretty good, too.

Now, when I purchased the tickets, the **Ticketmaster** site proclaimed that **Elvis Costello and the Attractions** were opening the show. Of course, it was **Elvis Costello and the Impostors**, since the Attractions bassist, **Bruce Thomas**, and Elvis Costello haven’t spoken for over 10 years. Still, I was extremely excited to see a show that I could have very well seen back in 1979, except that it would have been very irresponsible for my parents to let an 8-year old go to a *new wave* concert at **CBGBs**.

I am a huge fan of Elvis Costello, and his opening act was fantastic. He’s a *performer-extraordinaire*, and he got the thin but dedicated crowd excited and involved. (Most of the audience didn’t begin to enter the theater until the sun began to set around 8 o’clock, but Elvis got on stage before 7:30.) However, except to mention that **Sting** came out to sing “Alison,” and all three of The Police came out dressed as late 70s Elvises during Elvis’s last song, “Radio Radio,” I’m not going to talk more about Elvis’s set here.

Nor will I point out that most of the audience, a bit on the older-side, was there to see Sting, because he is so sexy or something, and not the band “The Police.” My wife, Katherine, was amused at the inappropriate shoe-selection of many of the women in our section, high up and plenty of steps to get there. “What?” she wondered, “Did they think that Sting was going to see them up here and notice how sexy their shoes were?”

The Police started off their set with “Message in a Bottle,” and “Walking on the Moon.” Both of these were a bit jazzier than their studio-versions, but very recognizable. Sting sang every song with a kind of wizened detachment. It seemed he was older and didn’t recognize the kid that wrote these lyrics–or maybe that was more of a reflection of the person watching Sting. I don’t know how many people recognized “Demolition Man,” because it’s not often played on the radio and it certainly lacked the signature horn-section from the studio-version. It was then that I noticed that The Police were just the three of them. I *knew* it was just going to be the three of them. But I’m jaded, I guess, seeing concerts with 57 people of stage. But they’re a power-trio. It’s only going to be them on stage. So, I dug “Demolition Man,” even though it was vastly different from the only version I’ve ever heard before. The essence was there without the production.

At this point, I noticed, too, that Sting and **Andy Summers** were using a single bass and guitar, respectively. They didn’t have racks of instruments behind them, using a different one for each song. The varnish on their guitars was wearing off in spots. This really impressed me for some reason.

Their next songs were “Voices Inside My Head,” joined with “When the World Is Running Down, You Make the Best of What’s Still Around.” Then, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” and “Driven to Tears.”–a nice “Zenyattà Mondatta” set. “Zenyattà Mondatta” was the first album I really got into, thanks to my mom. She would play it often, and the sound of this album was truly unique. Years later, I found out that The Police were rushed in the production of this album, and were never satisfied with the end results. There were problems in the studio, and they had lost the original track reels. It was this reason, that in 1986, they went back in the studio to re-record “Don’t Stand So Close to Me.” We all kind of dodged a bullet there, since the re-recording sessions were so awful, ending The Police recording together That 1986 version was really, really awful and is never discussed in polite company. The concert version on August 5 was closely hewed to the version from “Zenyattà Mondatta,” thankfully.

“Everything She Does Is Magic” followed a wonderful version of “Hole in My Life.” Then they played “Wrapped Around Your Finger,” where I explained to Katherine that the song helped increase my vocabulary way back when, with words like *alabaster* and *fruition*. My dad had a cat named “Mephistopheles,” so I already knew that one. They followed that with “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da,” which I believe decreased my vocabulary way back when.
And then they played “Invisible Sun.” For most of the concert, the screen behind The Police was just showing various close-ups of the band, with the occasional gratuitous graphic embellishment thrown in. But for “Invisible Sun,” the images were black and white photographs of children’s faces, mostly, I suspect, from [war-torn nations][3] because most of the children were not white. All at once, I remembered why I practically worshiped The Police back in high school. The song, nominally about [growing up in Northern Ireland][4], has not, sadly, lost its relevance. “I don’t want to spend my time in hell/Looking at the walls of a prison cell/I don’t ever want to play the part/Of a statistic on a government chart.” Seems there are a score of places I can apply this to. I’m shocked that my nation is one of them.

The Police aren’t all about geo-politics though, and their next songs returned the screen to what the audience wanted to see, Sting and his skin-tight shirt soaked through with sweat. Blending “Can’t Stand Losing You” and “Reggatta De Blanc” into an audience participation bit was inspired, and it closed the first set.

They opened the next set, or the first “encore,” with **Jimi Hendrix’s** “Purple Haze.” I imagine this was a bit for **Stewart Copeland** and Andy Summers to show off their chops. Then “Roxanne,” “King of Pain,” “So Lonely,” and “Every Breath You Take” completed that set. “Every Breath You Take” may have been necessary, as it’s their most popular song, but it was as much a downer live as it is on the radio. The video was cool, I remember, but just about everything else about this song rubs me the wrong way, from fans misunderstanding its totally horrible message of controlling another person to its constant overplay on the radio and its use in an even more awful **Puff Daddy** track.

But all was forgiven by a second encore of “Next to You,” my second-favorite early Police song. (The first is “Hole in My Life,” for those of you with scorecards.) They showed pictures of the roadies and technicians on the tour while they played it, and Sting came out without his shirt to sing it. Everybody wins.

Katherine had heard they were closing the show with “Synchronicity II,” but after “Next to You,” the lights came on and we were done. At 10:30. Old people suck.

At any rate, the show was worth every dollar. I wish it wasn’t, since it just encourages these older acts to charge way too much for shows. The concert t-shirts–“without sleeves,” I kept yelling–were $35. (With sleeves–$40. I wish this was a joke.) The bottled waters, oddly not branded by The Police, were $4.50. And there’s no beer at the Jones Beach Theater. Bah. I guess complaining about things is another thing older people do. Now get off my lawn!

[1]: http://www.livenation.com/venue/getVenue/venueId/287
[2]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicity
[3]: http://www.incore.ulst.ac.uk/services/cds/countries/
[4]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invisible_Sun

Categories
As seen on cars Rant

The Wrong Fight

It’s that time again. Every four years, we’re treated to the spectacle of very rich, white men explaining how elitist and out-of-touch is the Democratic nominee for President. This time, instead of the scion of an oil-rich family, we have the husband of a multi-millionare heiress telling us that [the working-class black guy from Kansas is really a wanna-be celebrity][1]. John McCain, the BBQ Maverick, of course, only owns several houses and has served as a senator for 20 years. This is exactly the same as you and me. He is truly a man of the people.

There is an argument, of course, that anyone running for President is an elitist, since only 43 men have ever held that position. 43 out of several hundreds of millions is certainly pretty elite. But that’s not the real argument this time. It’s not that Barrack Obama isn’t part of an elite group. He is. Everyone who runs for public office is. Obama graduated from Harvard. Everyone who graduates from Harvard is part of an elite group. He earns more than 95% of the people in this country. That, too, is going to put him in an elite group.

But there is something more threatening about Obama–something more exclusive; something only 13% of the country can claim to be. And McCain is doing everything in his power to make you *get it* without saying it. Remember, [Obama threw a basketball into the hoop from behind the three-point line when he should have been visiting the troops][2]. They want so desperately to make us hesitate in the voting booth. “Don’t you know?” they whisper conspiratorially, as we’re about to make our decision. “He’s one of them!”

—————

I was driving home from **Whole Foods**, (yes, I’m an arugula-eating elitist, too), when I saw this bumper-sticker:
nobama_sticker.jpg

It says: “NObama ’08: Just Say No To Socialism in 2008.” I’m guessing the socialism that the driver was concerned with had to do with health-care and not public roads or the military. In any case, I think this bumper sticker fails, since it pretty much looks like they’re supporting Obama. The way it’s designed, it forces the reader to put the “obama” in “nobama.” The *n* just kind of fades away when I say it out loud. I’m sure whoever designed it, and whoever puts it on his SUV, he’s proud of his cleverness. “Huh. Huh. Nobama, huh, huh,” says [Beavis][3].

I was pretty furious with this car. Impotent, impotent rage, really. I’m sure this would please the driver to no end. But, socialism? What makes Obama any more socialist than anyone else in the government? Who was the party of ethanol subsidies, coal-mining subsidies, Fannie- and Freddie-Mac bailouts, and a thousand other bits and pieces of corporate welfare? I’ll admit it. I want my government to shore up the infrastructure of our nation, repair roads and bridges, regulate runaway markets and financial bubbles, and make sure things don’t get blown up.

And Bush couldn’t handle any of that. Why would I assume that McCain and his brain-trust–the same incompetent fools that gave us the last 8 years–why would I assume that he can do better?

Socialism? Christ! As if that’s our fucking problem!

—————

I like Obama as a person. I like him as a politician, too, which doesn’t mean much, of course, but I like him as just a guy. He’s not *regular* folk, because no one is. But he’s inspiring and, so far, has been able to let his opponents say stupid things without mucking himself in their mud. He’s walking a fine line, because, as soon as he gets angry, he’s lost the race, if you’ll pardon the pun.

When he wins the election, though, I’m going to be very happy thinking of all the idiots whose [head a splode][4].

[1]: http://tpmelectioncentral.talkingpointsmemo.com/2008/07/mccain_camp_defends_comparison.php#more
[2]: http://tpmelectioncentral.talkingpointsmemo.com/2008/07/mccain_ad_obama_isnt_there_for.php
[3]: http://blogs.chron.com/specialfeatures/archives/beavis.jpg
[4]: http://asplode.net/

Categories
Rant

My libertarian is itchy

I’m confused by [this][1]:

> A New Jersey woman has been arrested for prostitution after police say she used the Web site Craigslist to find clients….
>
> A 32-year-old Smithtown man accused of being her client also was arrested.
>
> Suffolk County police say they set up surveillance at the hotel after they learned that the woman had allegedly set up shop there and was using Craigslist to advertise.

I understand the quality-of-life issues that make “street” prostitution illegal and meriting intervention by the police. But what about this situation that made it something law enforcement had to surveil? If this woman met this man online, met him at this hotel, had sex, and *did not charge* him, then it was all fine. If she was ambitious and did this act 20 times a day, and never made one cent, there would be no arrest.

Recalling the prostitute on the street corner, even if no money were exchanged, neighborhoods tend to frown on illicit sex in parked cars. There are still crimes taking place. Free or fee, it’s still illegal.

But this situation? Suffolk County wasted a lot of money to catch this woman. I genuinely don’t understand why.
What makes it worse for the guy from Smithtown is, potentially, he can be charged with trafficking, under the *White-Slave Traffic Act of 1910 (Mann Act)*, because she crossed state lines. That’s probably not going to happen, since the law is kind of dubious and is generally applied as a [politically motivated act][2].

I understand that prostitution is a symptom of our patriarchal society. I understand that there are women who are abused, injured, and killed because they are, or are forced to be, prostitutes. I would hope that the young woman from New Jersey in this article is doing this by choice and not under duress, but, even if that were the case, the crime she is being charged with here is accepting money from a man. And I don’t see how that helps her or society.

[1]: http://www.newsday.com/news/local/suffolk/ny-lilist0712,0,535873.story
[2]: http://www.theroot.com/id/45224