A Day in the Life, Part III"I Da Ho, U Da Ho"

Sometimes you can drive across an entire state and not see much of it.


All it takes is a mixture of persistent storm clouds


Extreme fatigue


And a confused GPS unit that keeps telling you to abandon the highway at every possible exit.



But even under the worst of conditions, a little beauty is bound to shine through.



And everywhere in-between, you amuse yourself with unusual signs you pass along the way.


From the juvenile


And the unintended racism



To the fallen.



Before you know it, you're 380 miles from where you started, and you realize you'd had GPS set to "pedestrian" — and not "automobile" — all the while.

A Day in the Life, Part II"The Tetons"

Everyone's a building burning
With no one to put the fire out
Standing at the window looking out
Waiting for time to burn us down

Modest Mouse, "Blame it on the Tetons"

---

I've spent the morning waiting for the night to shake off, certain that chronic fatigue is more than an urban legend.


And I wonder if for every one of these posts — every attempt at assigning words to the summer's thus-far-adventures — will be the same.



An exposition on wordlessness. A litany of the ineffable. A diatribe on appreciating aesthetics when all the while desolation is just around the corner.




And so it goes. And goes. These stories with no beginning, middle or end.



This diurnal battle to find the energy to speak when I want nothing more than to retreat to my bed


Pull up the covers


And dream the world away.


Or should I tell you? Should I say what I am thinking? Should I offer those few words I've jotted down in the margins of my notebook?


This is the first day of the last of our life together.


But where do I go from there? From here?


How do I continue when I am speaking of a recent past, now at odds with my present?


These are memories. Photographs are nearly always that, and a little more. Every image tells a story; an emotion.


And one, I fear, I'm losing the ability to articulate.


But I will say this for Wyoming: it's prettier than you might think.



Amazing, really, with all variety of landscapes and vistas: plains and desert; mountains and red rock.



And the wildlife is as diverse as it is accessible: deer, antelope,

moose, buffalo,




and wild horses.



[Rumor has it there are grizzly bears, too, though I didn't see any of those.]



I am glad for the time we took through the Tetons. Through Wyoming. State highways are nearly always more scenic than the ExpressWay, if not more than a little bit slower.



And that, I think, it what we need more of.



We need more slow.


Can I say that? Can I use an adjective as a noun?



It doesn't matter, really. The point remains the same.


There's a world of difference between letting life drag on, and seizing the day.

And so — whatever you do — don't wait to act until these moments have gone


too far away.

A Day in the Life, Part I"The Beginning"

For nearly two months now, I have had volumes to say. And yet: the moment a pen is in my hand, or my fingertips at a keyboard...

Everything fades away.

I become exhausted with words until there are none left to speak, and I crawl into bed hours ahead of schedule.

Only to wake up exhausted, again, the next morning.


But this summer, well... this summer hasn't been so bad. There have been ups, and downs, and for the most part I've surprised myself by venturing out into that brave new world, often in the company of friends.

[And sometimes alone.]


There have been concerts and plays; movies and festivals. I've traveled over 2,000 miles by car, only to fly back again.


I've played in the snow along the continental divide. I've camped in the storm of the century and realized that, in fact, I do not need any help taking down my massive, 7-person tent.

I can do it alone.


I've jumped up and down to REM; Modest Mouse; the National; the Young Dubliners; I've barbecued with an up-and-coming. I've sat alone next to the only empty seat in the house while the Swell Season took the city by storm.

I've babysat a small child (my one-year-old nephew) for the first time in my life.

I've changed diapers (also for the first time).

I've seen a beloved, but often overlooked, family pet suffer on her final day of life.

I've read four novels, witnessed countless sunsets, and — get this — started cooking actual meals at home.


I've knocked a minute off of my 3-mile jogs, and taken my oldest nephew for a swim.

And yet: for all of this. For every meaningful moment...

There's very little I can say.


But I will give you this: photographs taken from the past 2 months, the highlights of my adventures, posted (with slight exception) in the order in which they were taken until there's nothing left to see (this post, then, being the first of a series). I'll comment when I can but promise nothing...

Except, maybe, this:

This summer — quite literally — started with a storm: clouds ripe with rain, and dropping in the distance.


But once the storm clouds cleared, everything was beautiful again. But there was a reason I took pictures of so much.

Of the before



And the after


Because the thing we so seldom realize


The thing we waste our lives failing to understand


Is that it was beautiful all along.

Shadow Puppets Revisited

Bush or Batman

God Bless Viral Ads

(And thanks to BPP for alerting me to this video's existence.)'

Font U.N. (or, "F.U.N.")

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Sofa King Miserable

I have a headache today. I had a headache yesterday. I don't feel well.


I didn't get any sleep Saturday night (camping interrupted by the storm of the century), and Sunday I witnessed the most pitiful site, which I'll likely blog more about later (long story short: I found my parents dog — born when I was just a kid — dying in the backyard, unable to move and being eaten by flies despite being still alive).

Suffice it to say sleep Sunday night wasn't much better. My memory is a bit of a torture device in that I can't easily erase particular images from my brain.



But this week, well... this week is off to a poor start. This morning while getting ready, an odd, distant trickle of water erupted into a waterfall from above, as a portion of my bathroom ceiling bubbled to the size of a basketball and water spewed forth, pushing plaster (and with my luck: probably asbestos) from its path, creating a puddle of water on my bathroom floor that spilled out into the hallway.

I called my landlady and attempted to clean up the mess after the deluge slowed, and she informed me that she knew they were having "problems with the toilet" upstairs, and she'd take care of it "today."

She knew they were having problems, and she waited until this happened to take care of it?

And that was TOILET WATER I was cleaning up?! That I got all over my work clothes, requiring I change... and show up for work 90 minutes late?

And now I can barely concentrate, headache and all, terrified that the leak will start up again; that Maude might eat something that my landlady leaves on the floor; that our guest cat will escape if the door is left open.

I can't wait to leave work today, and for all the wrong reasons.


Estelle Getty is dead.



But, hey, there is this. At long last, a smile — albeit bittersweet — to mark the day.

Doors of Perception

Sometimes the only thing separating an unintentionally humorous image...



...from an outright perversion

...is a matter of perspective.


P.S. If you're not sure what I'm talking about, please don't ask. Oh! And I'm about a month behind in posting photos, though I've been busily snapping away. I hope to get up-to-date soon.

Mmmm... Spaghetti

Honey Bunches of Oats with Vanilla Clusters(A Review)

It's pretty much tasteless, with the vanilla flavor neutralizing the honey, ultimately resulting in... blah.

Regular Honey Bunches of Oats is much better.

But I'm poor, and I have a whole box. I'll eat it till it's gone, but I won't be happy about it.

[So this is what happens when you have a lot to say, but lack the energy to say it.]

It Could be Worse

A friend sent this to me with the title, "And you thought you have bad luck."

Well, this certainly puts things into perspective...

(Make sure your boss isn't around when you watch this.)

Indecision '08

'No Values Voters' Looking To Support Most Evil Candidate

Mov-E

Wall-E
The best animation I've seen since the Triplets of Belleville, and my favorite love story since Harold and Maude. It's cute, it's funny, it's endearing... and much to my surprise, it also makes a very poignant statement on consumerism and conspicuous consumption. It's set in a future where humans have evacuated earth and robots have been left to clean up their mess -- but the mission fails and humans orbit the solar system indefinitely while one lone robot, WALL-E, continues about the task on his lonesome. But the monotony of his otherwise charming existence changes when he falls in love with another robot, sent back to earth in search of life. I dare you to watch this movie and not smile. FINAL GRADE: A

Summercamp!
I love documentaries like this. Like King of Kong, it sounds silly — a camera crew follows around a group of kids and counselors at a summer camp in Wisconsin — but emerges as an interesting sociological study that positions children at its epicenter. Here you see 12-year-old boys crying for their mother; girls lamenting (and rather truthfully) how immature all of the boys are; kids battling the traumas of their home life; and the token "fat kid" being made fun of by others... pushed to the point of himself becoming a bully. Forget Meat Balls. This is a true summer camp movie. FINAL GRADE: A-

Pieces of April
Why more people haven't seen this 2003 film is beyond me. I mean, I was interested once I read the plot, and somewhat disinterested after I realized it starred Katie Holmes. But, well... I was pleasantly surprised. It's a fairly smart Indie film about a young 20-something screwup (played by Holmes) who's been all but disowned by her mother (dying of cancer) and her younger sister. Her father and brother cling to hope as they drive to New York City for Thanksgiving dinner, which the wayward eldest is hosting (along with her new boyfriend) for the first time. A very real movie with believable characters, some of whom you'll actually care about. FINAL GRADE: B+

Rushmore
I originally watched this Wes Anderson film shortly after its '98 release. I hated it. After rediscovering Anderson a couple years later, I decided to rewatch Rushmore, thinking perhaps my mood had impacted my impression. And I suppose it did, in a way... I didn't despise it anywhere near as much this time around, and in fact almost liked it. It's about a 15-year-old boy who gets into a prestigious academy on a writing scholarship, despite being an otherwise awful student (with little to no family income). He's quirky, neuorotic, and even a bit psychotic — particularly when he falls in love with a 1st grade teacher. FINAL GRADE: B-

27 Dresses
Romantic comedies generally aren't my thing — unless there's a very dark twist. I was hoping this would be an exception, as initial glowing reviews led me to believe this was more so a comedy than it was a romance. I mean: a woman is a bridesmaid in 27 weddings and thinks nothing of it — until her crush of several years proposes to her younger sister. Funny in some parts such that I could definitely relate... but it also relied a bit too heavily on the standard love story formula. In other words: you can accurately call the ending about 20 minutes into the film. This predictability doesn't altogether ruin the experience of watching 27 Dresses (it's still fun), but it certainly caused the film to lose a few street-cred points. FINAL GRADE: B-

Charlie Bartlett
Not as good as I'd hoped when I first saw previews, but better than the bleak reviews offered by the majority of critics. This one is about a wealthy teenage boy who just wants to be popular — and who'll do anything to make that happen (even if that means getting kicked out of countless private institutions before his mother resorts to public school). An indie-comedy with a slightly dark twist, it doesn't live up to its potential... but nor does it fail entirely. FINAL GRADE: C+

Kentucky Fried Movie
When it comes to a collection of sketch comedy, I'll take Monty Python and the Flying Circus over Kentucky Fried Movie, any day. Certainly funny and clever in some parts, Kentucky Fried Movie also relies too heavily on the shock value of exposed female body parts. Perhaps I'd have enjoyed it more if I hadn't watched it alone (hearing other people laugh can sometimes make or break a movie)... or with some chemical assistance. FINAL GRADE: C

Thoughts Concerning Atlas Shrugged

The worst thing about this book is that it has been cited #2 — preceded only by the Bible — as the most influential work on American lives.

The second worst thing about this book: just about everything else.

I mean, I appreciated the idea of it. And it's the idea of it (along with the ingenious title) that prompted me to ever pick it up in the first place. After all, I agree with most the basics: society would cease to exist as we know it, without brilliant new ideas and honest competition. Communism is bad, capitalism is good. Et cetera.

In fact, this nearly 1,200 page novel is a testament to laissez-faire economics (it's no wonder Allen Greenspan was one of the first members of Rand's inner circle). But it's the heartless rationale underlying Rand's objectivist philosophy that drove me bonkers.

I mean, her heroes and heroines are miserable people — and not just because they're stifled by a controlling futuristic government that punishes the successful (now very realistic, I must admit)... but because they're devoid of any real feeling, apart from a zeal for work and occasional bouts of nihilism. And those who do demonstrate any... compassion... are exposed as lunatics and/or sadistic frauds.

Add to that every pedagogical viewpoint spews forth like diarrhea of the mouth in very unlikely settings (with Rand having one character ask another a question that leads to 2 pages worth of rambling on sundry economic inanities), and it was difficult... nay, impossible, for me to side with those Americans (apparently I'm in the minority) who have allowed Rand to so greatly influence their lives.

But you know, in a way that makes a lot of sense: because I seem to be running into a lot of people who don't give a damn about anyone else. But I digress.

There is one scene early on that I really liked — a scene that so clearly defined what I actually liked about Rand — not to mention, a situation I'm very much so familiar with:

The protagonist, Dagny Taggart, wakes up from a train ride to realize the locomotive is no longer moving. She walks outside to find the engineer and the rest of the crew all standing around the signal, which had beckoned them to stop. And because it remained red, they refused to move on even though there was no viable reason for it to remain red for as long as it had.

Dagny insists that they continue and — as COO of the railroad — promises that she will accept blame if anything bad should happen as they continue down the line despite the warning signal.

But this is very early on in the book, and Rand spends the next 150 pages reiterating the same point over and over, in a far less poignant fashion.

And I limit my knowledge to the remaining 150 pages because I didn't bother finishing this book. I felt like I got the point after that scene, and everything else was wasted time.

I mean, even the single line that defines this novel — "Who is John Galt?" — loses its luster within the first 20 pages, as Rand couldn't let the reader figure out what it meant... she has someone come out and tell us exactly what it means. Seems she was writing this book for "looters" rather than "strikers" (her terms), assuming her audience was incapable of thinking for themselves.

Every time "Who is John Galt" is repeated after this initial expose, I was as irritated as Dagny was (though for different reasons). I can only be hit over the head with a point so many times before I forget why I wanted to read the book in the first place.

I'm also a little disappointed I didn't make it all of the way to Galt's Gulch, but I simply haven't the patience (nor the life left in my years) to listen to her hapless characters drone on about the same thing. So I skipped around and got the basics after I finished the first 200 pages.

And so: one of my favorite radio programs, Sound Opinions, rates albums on a "Buy It, Burn It or Trash It" scale.

If a comparable scale were to exist for literature, I'd direct all of you to Spark Notes to catch the highlights of Atlas Shrugged. It certainly makes some interesting points and contains some downright brilliant insights — and the basics of the plot are certainly interesting — but so much else is pedantic drivel. It'd be worth the read if it were, say, 500 pages. But 1,100+ of the same thing over and over?

That's just bad editing.

So, uh, sorry America. I don't like this book as much as you.

Why I Am Giving Up on People

It's nothing new, really.

Just the same old observations magnified by circumstance.

For example:

Last Thursday at the gym, I was using the elliptical and watching a film on my portable DVD player when a man — shorts barely keeping his appearance PG-13; legs so smooth they had to be wax; and skin evenly tanned by some UV machine — stretched in front of me (demonstrating not only all that god gave him, but also all of the hours he spends daily on the weight machines) and reached up to the television screen, changing the channel.

Now these TVs (there are several of them) are so high up for two reasons:

1. So people can't just change them on a whim.
2. So that multiple people can watch one television set, even from a distance.

And while I was absorbed in my DVD player, I was also keenly aware that other folks around me had been watching that particular program before he changed it.

I turned around and saw a girl glaring at his flawless pecs.

But he didn't stop there: oh, no.

Even though the treadmill he was about to board came complete with a small fan that a runner can direct directly onto his/her face, that would not suffice for my dearest Fabio.

Instead, he grabbed a nearby chair; jumped on top; and then stretched into the distance to turn on — and redirect — an industrial-sized fan towards his treadmill.

And since his treadmill was directly next to my elliptical, there was no escaping that Bertha-sized breeze.

Now before you think I'm over-reacting, allow me to explain that — though four years worth of allergy shots helped to curb the most noticeable effects — I am severely allergic to mildew, mold and dust.

These fans are never cleaned. In fact, I've been going to this particular gym for months, and I've never seen them on. But what I have seen: a layer of all three allergens, deposited on the fan blades and the surrounding screen.

Suffice it to say I didn't finish my workout on that elliptical.

***

Last night I picked up a few groceries after my workout, my trip timed perfectly (if you can call it that) to the entrance of a woman with four children (three old enough to run around; the fourth sitting in the cart and screaming). As luck would have it, they seemed to be visiting the same aisles as me, and in a similar order, such that I saw them multiple times during my 30 minute visit.

There were a couple times when one of the girls — about 5 or so — would stand in the middle of the aisle and just stare up at me when I tried to pass around her mother's cart.

"Excuse me," I'd say.

And she'd just stare. And stare.

And her mother, occupied with a box of cereal, would do nothing such that on more than one occasion, I simply turned around and circled the aisle from the other direction.

And I know this girl could speak — English and Hebrew, for that matter — as the three eldest kids fought and played in the aisles, conversing back and forth with their mother in both languages.

This general lack of consideration culminated at the front register, with the boy (at 10 or 11, probably the oldest) bouncing a gigantic ball (roughly the size of three basketballs) in the main aisle where people were trying to pass.

One of his sisters screamed, crying that she wanted to play.

"Let Sirah bounce the ball, Jonas!" yelled their mother from the checkout. "You have to share."

OK. So at least they learned a lesson on sharing... but what about a little consideration for the people around them?

I guess that's a moot point, right? Everything you do is all about you.

No one else matters; and if they do, it's only insofar as they contribute to your immediate gratification.

This isn't something I believe in, but I realize now — more than ever — that most people do.

Deja News

It's that time of the year again: when "no duh" headlines plague the front page of every major news organization.

I wrote about this last year, and have nothing new to add except that I really think this is non-news in that the consequences of the bull run are a given and so shouldn't warrant any media attention — and certainly not "above the fold" (if we can call it that in this fiber optic era).

And so long as I'm on a soapbox, I would like to add that perhaps it's equally useless to report on things blowing up in the Mideast, since that (also) is a constant.

You know what I want to see?

Raging bull given Xanax
Raging bull on steroids, sources say
Raging bull hits I-94, clearing lane of traffic
Pamplona "bull run" replaced by "bull skip"
Raging bull misunderstood, friends say
Car bomb ignites peace in Iraq
'Let's share Gaza,' say Palestinians, Israelis

Now that would be news.