Lotta Dust to Knock Off

Jenn and I are moved in to our new digs in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Well, moved in to the extent that our stuff is here, but it looks like a bomb went off). Been a hectic week, dealing with a novice landlord trying to nickel and dime us, but on the flipside we've moved on to homeownership which brings new problems but no more of that bullshit. Hopefully this woman will see the light and we'll see all of the security deposit. If she doesn't, I will crush her in small claims court and make her wish she'd sold the place instead of renting it.

Moving coincided with some very nice weather (finally!), and some kick ass food. Top of the list was the best cookies and cream ice cream I've ever had as well the best grilled corn. Both places are a stone's throw from us (a stone thrown from our roof perhaps, but still), as well as more restaurants and bars than I can shake a stick at--and I can shake a stick with the best of them.

There's a low profile bar at the end of the block in what was a pierogi factory. The building in which we live used to be a bakery. Gentrification overdrive, sure, but I'm looking out our window across the street at the still-active U.S. Rubber Supply Co. -- "If it's made of Rubber we have it".

Finally, our favorite pint-sized cat, Piper, nearly gave Jenn a heart attack last night and me one this afternoon. With the doors open while moving stuff in she made a run for it last night, but I got a hold of her out on the street. Today while furniture was being delivered I noticed Piper was nowhere to be found. Calling her name and searching high and low inside and out, looking in drawers, on top of cabinets, you name it--I didn't flush her out or find her. I feared the worst.

Four hours later she saunters into the living room like "what? you lookin' for me?"

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming, which is me firing off posts with a vengence reminiscent of Popeye Doyle's return visit to the Hotel Du Tangier in French Connection 2 (the most underrated sequel of all time, you know).

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My Kinda Funny

Apologies if you've seen this particular version of this internet meme, but damn if I didn't spit take (see here for a delightfully deconstructed spit take) the first time I saw it in a comment thread. Whenever it pops up I still fucking laugh.

I'm tempted to break down why it's so awesome, but that would require a level of hubris I don't yet possess. (Though if you don't get the Christmas reference it's not nearly as funny, so here ya go. Victory or Death, indeed.)

Finally, in connection with this topic I want to share with you one of the formative images in my life. On a trip to Washington, D.C. in 1993 I saw a statue in a museum (can't remember which) depicting a seated George Washington. Sounds unremarkable, right? Ah, but this one was marble, oversized, and was basically Washington's head atop a body I can only describe as that of a Greek god. I devoured Greek mythology as a young lad and I also had a deep reverence for our founding fathers; clearly, this conflation blew my mind up. Myth meeting reality and merging into some sort of super-myth.

Sure, it's easy to relegate what we learned about America's origins into the dustbin of names and places foisted on us through rote memorization in a ham-handed attempt at a civic-minded socialization that passes for education. And it's just as easy to think that those same people and events have been mythologized all out of proportion by almost-dead white dudes who make their living writing books about long-dead white dudes. And it's even easier to think we can minimize the importance of such events and people because everybody back then was a misogynist/racist/native-murdering cretin. What makes me sad is that even though all of the above is true, it truly misses the point.

But I'm not going to tell you what the point is, because I keep my patriotism quite close to my vest, for it is deeply held and, I believe, deeply considered. Hard to get across in type, far harder to do in conversation. As it is for so many things, you can't know where to go if you don't know what to make of where you've been. Sometimes I just think Americans miss the entire point of being American.

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Eastbound and Down

Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin'
We're gonna do what they say can't be done
We've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there
I'm eastbound just watch ol' bandit run.



I recently discovered the title of my current favorite tv show comes from the theme to Smokey and the Bandit, performed by Jerry Reed, co-star of the movie and a country star in his own right.

This pleases me greatly. Can I get a "Kenny Fuckin' Powers"?



Amen.

Anyway, whatever happened to movie-specific theme songs? Granted, the director of S&tB, Hal Needham, complained to Jerry Reed that he didn't have any music for the movie so Mr. Reed turned around and cranked out 3 songs. That's not your everyday situation, of course.

Still, think about it: with all the cross-promoting synergy sell-out multi-platform hoo-hah in the world today, how is this not happening? Hell, bands put their songs in commercials all the time. What's stopping some band from writing a catchy tune to accompany the latest Will Farrell/Judd Apatow/Ben Stiller high-concept formulaic clusterfuck of a comedy?

Nothing but a failure of imagination.

P.S. The plot of S&tB involves driving from Georgia to Texas and back in record time with a load of Coors--which, back in the '70s, was illegal because Coors' higher alcohol content beer was illegal east of Texas. Who needed it? Two dudes in mustard yellow suits. Man was I born too late.
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Quick Hit: Why So Serious? Edition

The Dark Knight hit HBO last week. Since seeing it in the theater I've watched it in its entirety twice and seen lots of scenes lots of times. My conclusion is this:

The movie--though very good--is not as good as everybody thought.

But Heath Ledger's Joker was actually better than everybody thought.

Put that in your Bat-Pipe and Bat-Smoke it! Snoochie Boochies, Bluntman!




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A Page From My Brother's Playbook

It's clear to me now that, like my brother, I have--though to a much smaller degree--a desire to impose my will on:

a) all who cross my path, and
b) all who have yet to.



Right now, James is on a fishing boat (not right outside of Delacroix, sadly) off the coast of Alaska so I can't ask his permission, but I'm sure he'd permit me to engage in what he likes to call Imposition of Will.

This has been bubbling up in some of my more recent posts. I've let you know I'll be providing a primer for following English soccer. And also an ongoing...introduction? indoctrination? indoctriduction? to the Grateful Dead. I'm sure there will be more to come.

What compels me to do this?

The stuff I like kicks ass, and if you don't know about it you should. Do I want everybody to? Of course not. Do I want everybody reading this blog to dig what I think you should dig? Of course. It makes me right and it makes your lives better. Everybody wins!

You may now get on the good foot. The choice is up to you:






or




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