July 27, 2007
Coney Island on the Sly
The boardwalk ballpark that is home to the Brooklyn Cyclones has a special tribute night this Saturday. Coney Island's Keyspan Park is hosting Sly Night, a tribute to Sylvester Stallone. I cannot improve on the promo material:
Stallone has created some of the most long-lasting and legendary characters in pop-culture history, from Rocky Balboa to John Rambo, to Lincoln Hawk, to Marion Cobretti, to Snaps Provolone, to Ray Tango, and more.It's been too long since I've seen Cobra, ("This is where the law stops and I start - sucker! "). If you're concerned that the Cyclones people have forgotten some of his more memorable roles, such as the unfrozen policeman, don't fear; organizers have their eyes on the ball.
20 years since Over The Top. Where does the time go? Tagged:
In commemoration of the 20th Anniversary of the 1987 movie Over The Top (in which Stallone plays a struggling trucker competing in a Las Vegas Arm Wrestling Championship, and sporting a New York City Arm Wrestling T-shirt), the New York Arm Wrestling Association (NYAWA) will host over 100 men and women competing that day for the 25th Annual White Castle ‘Kingsboro’ Golden Arm Wrestling titles, featuring a championship match taking place on the dugout during that night's game!
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January 9, 2007
THE 'SS' STANDS FOR SAVINGS
Private label brands are basically just knock-offs of more recognizable brands that are sold under the name of the store in which they're being sold. Drug stores are a great place to save money by switching to the private label brand. Why spend $7 on a bottle of NyQuil when you can buy the bottle that's essentially the same and with an identical amount of the active drug ingredient for $2 less?
One of the reasons private label products are cheaper than name brands is that the former doesn't have to spend as much (or any) money on marketing as the latter does. Offsetting that price advantage, however, is the lack of brand equity, i.e., the level of trust, affinity, and predisposition to purchase one product over its substitutes for a number of reasons. Brand equity, which is bought dearly with many advertising dollars and years of reputable operating practices, can be diluted heavily when a competitor attempts to co-opt the "name" competitor's brand equity. That is why a chain like McDonalds tends to frown on competing fast food restaurants opening under the name of MacDonalds with a red, white, and yellow color scheme.
That's why I had to laugh when I recently saw a bottle of private label cough medicine called Tussin. It is clearly an alternative to the name brand Robitussin product. Apparently, one of the likely ways the manufacturers of Tussin decided to reduce costs was by replacing its marketing director with an alcoholic drug-addled homeless person, who spent most of his workdays huddled under the desk in his office, occasionally screaming for more "TUSSIN! TUSSIN!" to chug down. And just like that, the name stuck.
The great thing about Tussin is that it can't even claim to be anything other than a blatant abbreviation of the brand it's trying to copy. Robitussin is a completely made up word whose only recognizability is due to decades of thoughtless repetition. Tussin is like a private label analgesic called MyLenol. Online retailer Drugstore.com, conscious that the makers of Tussin were straying into a grey area, includes the following notice under the product on its site:
*This product is not manufactured or distributed by A.H. Robins Company, Inc., owner of the registered trademark Robitussin®.
I'm sure A.H. Robbins Company, Inc. appreciates any confusion avoided.
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December 11, 2006
THE ACCIDENTAL HIPSTER
Just a few weeks ago, a friend gave me a jacket that she thought would fit me and came at the right price, i.e., free. I really like it. It's a dark chocolate micro-suede that's surprisingly warm; there's little-to-no wear; and I don't own another jacket at all similar to this one. So, it became a welcome addition to my closet.
Today, however, I was surfing the Internet, looking up books on Amazon.com, when the site shoved one of those "recommended items" in my face. And damn if the thing didn't look just like my new jacket! Maybe those Amazon.com recommendation algorithms are a little sharper than I thought they were. Then I read the item's name:
Kenneth Cole Reaction Men's Hadley Poly Bonded Hipster Jacket
Oh damn. At first I was hoping it was a "Hipster Jacket" merely because it falls naturally to the wearer's hips, just below the waist. Unfortunately no.
Easy, slick and cool, this Hipster has Ipod/Blackberry inner pocketing system. This is a simple and classic jacket that will meet all of your needs. Point collar, full zip closure as well as adjustable cuffs makes this the perfect jacket.
Alright, I may wear this jacket frequently along with my heavy black-framed glasses, and utilize its inner pockets to store my iPod, which I use to listen to bands like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Wolf Parade, and Bloc Party on my way from Brooklyn to Manhattan and then back to Brooklyn on the subway, but I am no hipster. I barely even get over to Williamsburg. And I didn't attend any of those McCarren Park Pool concerts this summer. Hipster Doofus perhaps, but definitely not a hipster.
I still like my jacket. And if you're a diminutive hipster wannabe, the Kenneth Cole Hipster Jacket is still available at Amazon.com in a range of sizes and colors, as long as the size is Small and the color is Black.
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November 14, 2006
"THIS IS AN INTERESTING SITUATION"
So says art dealer and appraiser Jerome Bengis, commenting on casino mogul Steve Wynn apparently accidentally punching a hole through one of the most valuable paintings in the world with his elbow.
"The blood drained out of their faces," Wynn said, identifying his guests as screenwriter
Nora Ephron and husband Nick Pileggi, broadcaster Barbara Walters, New York socialite Louise Grunwald, lawyer David Boies and his wife, Mary, and art dealer Serge Sorokko and his wife, Tatiana."They did not know what to say," Wynn recalled. "I just turned around and said, 'Oh, my God. How could I have done this?'
"At least I did it myself."
Well I gotta give the guy credit, that's probably the first time that group's ever been at a loss for words in their lives. I know that if a friend of mine--no matter how rich--punched a hole in a $140 million painting, they would have to carry me from the room I'd be laughing so hard.
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November 11, 2006
INTO THE HOPPER
Last week, I wrote an aside about painter Edward Hopper [see SCRIPT AT LARGE, 11/01/06] when discussing the possibility of a Jim Thompson script commissioned by Stanley Kubrick. Coincidentally, The Whitney currently has a full floor committed to displaying Hopper's work.
Most people are probably familiar with Hopper's work in a tangential way, via a popular reproduction that replaces the three counter characters in "Nighthawks" with Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean. Hopper's work is much less pop-art than that, however, capturing the quotidian isolation of urban living rather than something you'd buy at Spencer Gifts.
The entire fifth floor of the Museum is devoted to a large-scale presentation of works by Hopper, whose legacy is closely connected to the Whitneyhome to the most extensive holdings of his work in the world. On view are not only the Whitneys most iconic Hopper paintings, but also an extraordinary selection of drawings and sketches made in preparation for these works. The Whitneys holdings are supplemented by key loans, including such major paintings as the Art Institute of Chicagos Nighthawks (1942, on view beginning October 4) and the Museum of Modern Arts New York Movie (1939).
Hopper's work embodies an interesting inter-World War style that blends impressionism with classic realism. In my mind, it's representative of an arrested and hesistant style stuck between two worlds, as the world itself was about to experience cataclysmic upheaval. The staticness of a lot of Hopper's works seems to be symbolic of a world holding its breath.
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November 7, 2006
SPAM HAIKU
I receive about 50 spam emails a day, at least. Apparently one of the tactics to avoid spam-blocking software is to fill the email with free verse. In tribute to spammers' creative efforts at being total a-holes, I'm going to translate one's latest message into a haiku.
Always very fond of
Me, but of course she did not ment-
-ion My name to you.
Wait a second, that's not a haiku. The Japanese poetry form must adhere to the 5-7-5 syllabic structure. Thank goodness I have a lot of material to cull from.
Debts of honour. Which
Were very pressing; and scrup-
led not to lay all the ill
OK, that's a stretch to be sure, but no one ever accused spammers--or me--of being gifted in the writerly arts.
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October 31, 2006
HAPPY HALLOWEEN
(Betty Page reincarnate via Mariya)
Today is officially Halloween, when kids go out and trick-or-treat. My personal Halloween coinciced with a friend's b-day party this Saturday. It was a good party. Kudos to hostesses Colleen and Meghan for putting on a hell of a good time. They even had a trick-or-treat box, where one could either reach in and grab a piece of candy or choose wrong and put your hand into a box full of brains and eyeballs [possibly spaghetti and grapes].
Colleen's sister Erin outdid herself with the desserts. A chocolate grenoche damned us all to our own peraonal fatty hells. A puffed pastry stuffed with brie cheese, strawberrys and kiwi was equally damning. The only salvation we had were candy sushi, which replaced rice with rice crispy treats, seaweed with green fruit roll-ups, and tuna with licorice. Freaking brilliant!
Anyway, thanks to Colleen and Meghan for a wonderful party. You guys know how to throw down like champs.
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October 24, 2006
ILLEGAL ENTERPRISE AND ADVERTISING
The online gambling world has apparently hit hard recently by the strengthening and enforcement of federal measures:
NEW YORK (AP) -- Gamblers may look over their shoulder now, but experts say a new Internet gambling ban won't keep bettors from ponying up, just turn them on to overseas payment services out of the law's reach.
''It has put a terrible scare into people,'' said I. Nelson Rose, who teaches gambling law at Whittier Law School. ''But it won't by any means wipe out Internet gambling.''
The fright swept through the $12 billion industry on the heels of the recent arrests of two gambling company executives and a new law President George W. Bush signed Oct. 13 that seeks to ban most online gambling and criminalizes funds transfers.
I'm glad this article was run today in the Times because I've been wondering about something for the past few days. If one goes into almost any commercial establishment's restroom these days, placed over the urinal or next to the sink, one will find relentless advertising for online gambling sites. And I mean relentless. In addition, the company that owns PartyPoker.com must spend millions in televised advertising. Why am I not seeing bathroom ads for NYC weed delivery services? The drug trade must equal the gambling industry in revenues at least.
I think the recent crackdown has less to do with a moral objection to gambling than a way for established corporations that operate huge casinos involving massive capital investments to attempt to stifle competition. That's too bad and will ultimately force gamblers into shadier and shadier unaccountable online venues or traditional local sportsbook operations, whose operators are more likely to bust your kneecaps than ruin your credit rating.
NB: I'll admit that I have a gambling problem. While I don't care to play or lose money on craps, poker, the slots, black jack or sports, I can't resist a good game of Left-Right-Center. Before anyone gets too concerned, LRC is the ultimate in low-stakes gambling. It's a dice game played with dimes, quarters, or dollars. It's about as nefarious a pastime as spin the bottle. The low stakes and fact that no one is eliminated from the game until the final roll makes it about 90%-less-tension-filled than your average Monopoly game, but as lively as a group around a craps table. So every few weeks, when someone says "Who wants to play Left-Right-Center?!" at a party or elsewhere, I find it hard to resist. I would estimate my total losses to this pastime over the past year to be under $10, while I strongly suspect I'm on the plus side. That's a gambling problem I can live with.
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October 19, 2006
HALLOWEEN CANDY
Free candy. That pretty much makes Halloween the best holiday ever. The New York Times, however, has addressed the second-best-thing about October 31st: women feel emboldened to dress like total sluts.
“It’s a night when even a nice girl can dress like a dominatrix and still hold her head up the next morning,” said Linda M. Scott, the author of “Fresh Lipstick: Redressing Fashion and Feminism” (Palgrave Macmillan) and a professor of marketing at the University of Oxford in England.
The trend is so pervasive it has been written about by college students in campus newspapers, and Carlos Mencia, the comedian, jokes that Halloween should now be called Dress-Like-a-Whore Day.
Halloween is an adaptation of a religious holiday (All Saints' Day) copped from a Celtic pagan festival (Samhain), so perhaps we've just come full circle. I'm certainly not going to complain.
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September 26, 2006
TOO BAD
A year after I graduated from college down in DC, Aaron McGruder debuted his strip "Boondocks" to a national audience. He started the strip for the University of Maryland student paper The Diamondback, so I guess I had an affinity for a sort of home-away-from-hometown comic. Also, The Washington Post was one of the first major newspapers to pick it up in syndication and for four years I'd been a near-religious reader of the WaPo--ask anyone, they'll describe it as a sort of personal sickness on my part.
McGruder met with incredible success in his early years, getting syndicated in approximately 300 newspapers. "Boondocks" started out being incredibly iconoclastic and funny. It's downfall appeared to start with the War on Terrorism. What was regularly humorous social criticism from a refreshing African-American perspective turned into rather tired didacticism and what seemed like mean-spirited political demagoguery--he famously accused Condoleea Rice of being a lesbian. It just turned rather lame and unamusing. It was like Malcolm X meets Doonesbury: inflammatory but rarely even coming close to meriting a weak chuckle.
It's over for "The Boondocks" comic strip, at least for now. After six years -- a remarkably short run for a strip that found its way into 300-plus newspapers, including The Washington Post -- Universal Press Syndicate told subscribers yesterday they should start looking for someone to replace political/social satirist Aaron McGruder.
The reason I say this is too bad is that "Boondocks" originally caught my strong fandom because it was a tonic to the suchrose inanity or the insipid stupidity of most comic strips. I love the comics pages. I used to buy the WaPo every day because it featured four pages of comics and I'm a childish idiot. McGruder still has his Comedy Central animated series adaptation of "Boondocks", but it's doubtful it will enjoy much success without the base of interest the print-version provided.
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September 21, 2006
WORST IDEA FOR A COLUMN EVER
The Washington Post debuts a new column this week by the design editor of its WaPo Magazine, Jill Hudson Neal, a 37-year-old wife and mother of two.
The idea for this column came earlier this year, a few weeks prior to my 37th birthday. While picking up my kids from pre-school, I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a car window. Staring back was a sleepy woman in a Mommy Uniform: nerdy glasses, no makeup, paint-splattered nurse clogs, saggy jeans and messy hair ("paging Clairol -- stat!"). But the ensemble was only a symptom of the real problem. I realized that I hadn't read a newspaper -- my own newspaper, the one that pays my mortgage -- or watched the TV news in over a week. I could, however, quote entire pages of dialogue from Disney's "The Incredibles" and sing the theme songs of every single show appearing between 8 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. on the Noggin cable network.
Alright, that sounds reasonable. Women who subjugate their own personalities and interests just to satisfy their kids' needs kind of freak me out. Still, trying to fully realize onesself by not realizing one's age seems like an ill-fated pursuit.
"There's a stronger feeling of not wanting to give up that part of themselves that they knew before they became moms," she says.The good news is that the generation gap between mothers and their kids is much smaller today than say, 20 years ago, says Arond, who has two daughters, ages 18 and 20. And that's making it easier for women to retain some of their edge.
"We see it more and more. Moms are dressing in hip ways, even when -- especially when -- they're pregnant. They're listening to the same music and using the same technology that their kids are using.
"And kids enjoy that you're part of their trends," Arond notes. "Parents set the mood for their kids when they take a little bit of extra time out for themselves."'
The whole exercise starts on an unpromising note:
So if being a cool mom is all about being a little better informed, then the "Still Me" column should be a place where we can get our learn on. We'll be talking about a range of topics, from music and fashion, books and music, pop culture trends and even politics. Help me out, people. And, as the Black Eyed Peas would say, let's get it started in here!
Yeah, I don't think the Black Eyed Peas would even say that anymore because I think they may have disbanded months ago and quoting overplayed songs from early 2005 or even 2004 does not make one "cool." I think the correct terminology would be "lame." She should have her kids proof her columns before they go out.
Hudson Neal wants readers to nominate "cool moms" they know to be profiled in her new column. I think an obvious first choice is Yorkville, NY's Ann Marie Ciarcia, a self-described "Roccer Mom". Why a grown woman with kids would be maintaining a MySpace account is beyond me, but Gothamist excerpted The NY Post's description of it last week:
On it, Ciarcia says her occupation is, "Roccer Mom" who is "just an old fangirl rediscovering my punk rock roots after being bored in the burbs for years."
Ciarcia posted photos of herself and several young teens at Ramones concerts and at protests over the closing of the Lower East Side punk bastion CBGB.The caption on a photo of Ciarcia and three girls standing in front of a wall of graffiti reads, "Just another hard night entertaining the kids."
Cool Mom! Unfortunately, Ciarcia went to a show at a club show in the East Village last week with her daughter--Cool Mom!--and when they bumped into her daughter's friend, she offered her a ride back to Yorkville!--Cool Mom!. Ciarcia also didn't mind pounding many drinks in front of her teen daughter at the club--Cool Mom!--and saying she was cool to drive home anyway--Cool Mom! The coolness ended as she was driving back up north to Yorkville, in the southbound lane of the Saw Mill. The ensuing crash killed her daughter's friend. A friend of Ciarcia's daughter summed things up succinctly while visiting her in the hospital:
A friend of Alexa, who was visiting her in the hospital, told the Post, "She can't help it if her mother's an idiot."
Good luck to Hudson Neal of the WaPo, though. I hope her column demonstrates how to be an independent person apart the role of mother without acting like a total goddamn idiot.
I know several "cool moms." Some have tattoos and manage to wake up after two hours sleep to get their kid to school, while opening a business in her spare time. Others are still working in their 60s in the healthcare field. Some work multiple jobs and still manage to do volunteer work. Some are retired and taking adventuresome vacations. Others are educationally accomplished women who simply choose that they'd rather provide the attention to their children that their own mothers provided for the time being. None of this has much to do with what kind of music they listen to, the magazines they read, or what they're wearing. It has more to do with recognizing the meaning of a meaningful life. Kids' respect is what ultimately makes a "cool mom." Middle-aged women attempting to foolishly recapture their youth is not likely to engender a lot of respect. If you love and respect your Mom, that is, and should be enough, cool for any woman.
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September 19, 2006
MUCH BETTER THAN FAHRVEGNUGEN
Given their ubiquity on tv, I imagine car companies spend a huge amount of money on car commercials. I've had discussions with a friend about their total inanity. There's only so many roaring engines, spraying water, and northern California landscape that could make one want to fork over $40K, minimum.
That's why I was so impressed with Volkswagen's recent campaign to highligh the safety of its cars. The spots are relatively straightforward: regular people are driving what are not even identified as VWs, having the type of completely quotidian conversation one might have with a friend on any given day. Then, out of nowhere, a car accident occurs, usually in mid-sentence by one of the passengers. The spot ends with the surviving passengers looking at their wrecked VW and exclaiming "Holy--" and there is an abrupt end to the spot, but it's understood that that's what everyone says when contemplating a near-fatal accident: "Holy shit!", with half a choke in their throat.
These spots get an A+ rating from me because they bely the usual car accident scenario where one is assailed by falling I-Beams or careeening 18-wheelers. That rarely happens; most accidents occur when jackasses pull out of their driveways without looking or change lanes without warning. There is a visceral verite to the VW ads that is shocking to anyone who's ever been in a car accident. It is sudden, undramatic, but shockingly scary. The VW spots capture this emotion almost perfectly.
That's why I was stunned to see the latest ad in their campaign. In the latest one, the mundane conversation of the two women in the VW are about the VW campaign itself. They complain that is contrived and unrealisitic--the same way I'm discussing the VW campaign right now as if I were talking with a friend, very conversational. As they're discussing how fake the ad campaign is, one can see a car coming off a side street and possibly running a stop sign before smashing into them. Then the tag line: "Holy --."
There are two differences between this spot and the others. The first is that it is meta-advertising, i.e. it's a commercial where the actors are discussing the ad campaign in question. The second is that the accident is telegraphed by showing an approaching car in the penultimate shot. The visceral impact of the spot is reduced by the former, and both by the latter. But then again, maybe it makes the conversation between the two women seem much more real. It makes the commercial meta-ironical, meaning that it's making itself serious by mocking itself. It's a fascinating extension of the ad series and actually a really interesting development in advertising. I'd love to meet the people who made the spots and especially the creative director who came up with the concept. I could find out who did it, but I'm lazy at this hour. Perhaps tomorrow.
By the way, this may mark the first time in the history of advertising that the implied advertising tagline of a brand was "Holy Shit!" I personally like it. It's the most honest advertising I think I may have ever seen.
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August 24, 2006
DYSMORPHIA
Interesting. Gothamist.com links today that women aren't the only people with unhealthy body images that lead to maladaptive behavior. From Reuters:
Previous research has linked the sexual objectification of women in society to disordered eating behaviors among women. During the last three decades, however, men's bodies have also become increasingly objectified in the media.
One study showed that men who were exposed to ads that included a more muscular male image later expressed more dissatisfaction with their own bodies than those exposed to neutral ads. "Men see these idealized, muscular men in the media and feel their own bodies don't measure up," according to Tylka.
In light of such research, Tylka investigated the relationship between the pressure to become more muscular and men's adoption of certain behaviors. For her study, 285 male university students, mostly freshmen, completed various surveys about the pressure to be muscular and it's ramifications.
On a scale that ranged from "never" to "always," the study participants reported that they "often" felt pressure to be muscular, according to Tylka. They "often" or "usually" internalized the muscular images presented by the media -- i.e. believed that the only desirable shape is the highly muscular body type. They were also "often" or "usually" dissatisfied about their bodies.
These college men also reported that they "sometimes" engaged in maladaptive behaviors, Tylka reported.
Men who were dissatisfied with their muscularity, for example, were likely to be more preoccupied about becoming more muscular, which led to their use of supplements and possibly steroid use as well, to achieve that muscular image, according to Tylka. Dissatisfaction with their level of body fat predicted a higher preoccupation with counting calories and cutting off certain food groups, she explained.
Too fat, get a heart attack or Type II diabetes. Go the opposite way and you have an eating disorder. I think Americans have a pathological problem with pathologizing everything. Over the past nine months I've tried to take some sensible dietary rules into account, like don't eat cheesesteaks at 4am, don't feel the need to finish oversized portions at restaurants to the point where one feels ill, cutting down on unrefined flour and sugar, and getting more exercise. So far, so good. I've probably lost 35-40 pounds in the last year.
Still, people who never complained about my growing girth and me packing a double chin at 32 have started commenting on my weight loss, with pejorative tones. Not a lot of people; almost everyone I know. It's not very flattering. The thing is, I'm pretty much at my prescribed healthy body weight right now. Instead of adopting a healthier diet, I feel like I've contracted cancer or some wasting disease. Long story short: one can't win.
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August 11, 2006
THE ONLY TIME I'LL ADMIT BEING A 'LEFTIST'
Left-handed men get paid son. Lefties with one year of college education make 13% more than similarly educated righties. Southpaws that finish college wind up making 21% more than their un-gauche counterparts. And that's adjusted for lefties that make 0% of righties. Ha! Oh!
Studies like this reek of statistical misanlysis. Especially because they can't figure out why the anomaly doesn't carry over for women lefties. I'm guessing it's a reporting error based on left handers' desire to distinguish themselves.
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July 31, 2006
YOU CAN DANCE IF YOU WANNA
Sunday afternoon I met my sister and newphew for a performance of A Mini-Tempest, a Shakespeare production for kids at The West Side Community Garden. I mentioned it last week [see SHAKESPEARE REDUCTO, 7/24/06]. The West Side Community Garden is a great venue for such a performance. The garden is set up as a circular amphiteather with a grass lawn at center, surrounded by a terrace of flowers, and then ringed with benches for an audience.
The best part of the show is that attending kids are invited to take part in some of the scenes themselves. The picture above shows the kids donning masks and dancing around as sprites to help the wood nymph Ariel (Miriam Lipner) cast a spell . There's a little drunkeness and swordplay in the plot with intimations of violence, but everything is played for comedic effect and I wouldn't hesitate taking any kid under the age of 10.
The show is free, although donations are greatly appreciated. Performances continue every Saturday and Sunday through August 20th and begin a little after 5 p.m. A larger version of the picture above can be viewed here.
Oh yeah, my friend Belle who played the sorcer Prospero's daughter Miranda was superb. Good job Belle!
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July 28, 2006
YEAH, LIKE YOU'RE SO BUSY TONIGHT
Here's your big chance to be a patron of the arts on the cheap! An adorably cute and charming woman, Mollie, has a theater group called "The Mud Children Machine" and they're performing a play called "Remember Me" [I think] at the Black Box Theater space this evening. According to the very helpful young woman, Morgan, at the office of the Black Box, they have the space from 7pm-9pm, so show up before then. One of the cast members is Mariyah, a woman I know who is so delightful, she defies description. She's like a Bettie Page pinup crossed with the sweetest girl you ever met in high school. It's kind of nauseaous actually. I prefer to imagine such perfect women don't exist. Tickets to the show are only $5. Mariyah prefers lillies if you're going to start throwing flowers. The Black Box is at 440 Lafayette St., just south of St. Mark's Place and north of Cooper Square.
Last night, I plunged into midtown and the far West Side to watch my friend Belle do a reading of a farcical play. The downside was that she only had about two lines in an hour-and-a-half of play. The other downside was that I was the youngest person there by approximately 30 years. At one point, I thought an audience member in the front row was just overly agreeable with the dialogue. Then I realized she had a palsy. Aw, what are you gonna do?
Tomorrow, Belle takes on the much more meaty role of Miranda in a production of Shakespeare. It's the Mini-Tempest--adapted for kids! I love my friends. What a cool bunch of hot babes! I'm the luckiest idiot in NYC.
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July 24, 2006
SHAKESPEARE REDUCTO
While it may seem like my friend Belle occupies a good amount of time in an ongoing bitch-fest at this site [see DOUBLE-TAKE ADVERTISING AND THE BEAUTY OF SUBTLE GRAF], telling me I'm an idiot jackass is just her hobby. In her real time, she's an actress. Currently she's in a production of The Tempest--for kids!
The show is presented by DramaTune in association with The West Side Community Garden and written by William Shakespeare. The hour-long production was adapted and directed by Morna Murphy Martell. Unsurprisingly, Belle plays the character of Miranda (she's basically the star), the daughter of magician Prospero, who shipwrecks a bunch of unlucky bastards on a deserted island. "A Mini-Tempest" is a kid-friendly production that is performed every Saturday and Sunday at 5pm through August 20th at the West Side Community Garden on West 89th St. between Columbus and Amsterdam Aves. It only lasts an hour and is free, if you have kids that get antsy.
For more information, call 212-245-7498 or 212-316-5490.
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July 23, 2006
DOUBLE-TAKE ADVERTISING AND THE BEAUTY OF SUBTLE GRAF
Side-of-the-bus ads have been the norm in NYC for the last decade or so. It's a good source of revenue for the city and while some bitch that it over-commercializes urban life, well, those people need a hobby. I was walking down 2nd Ave. two weeks ago and saw this on the side of a bus:
Here's a larger version. What was it about this ubiquitous bus-side adver that made me stop dead in my tracks? Yeah yeah, hot chick, scantily clad, blah blah blah. I can see that without turning my head in NYC. But is that a nipple in a bus-side ad? WTF?! Let's look closer:
We've come a long way since Giuliani-Time! OK, perhaps I'm overinterested in boobs, but I was gonna get to the bottom of this, aside from just taking pictures. I examined the side of the bus, not believing that the MTA would authorize this type of advertising on a city vehicle. Upon examination, I found that this was very subtle grafitti.
I hate grafitti. I think its practitioners are insecure adolescents with ego problems--whatever their ages--who should be pilloried publicly. This, however, is freaking ART! There's no ego whatsoever. It's simply the beauty of the public doing a double-take. In my case, documenting it beyond reasonable expectation. Whoever the artist was in this case: Well done my friend; well done.
UPDATE: My comments are currently disabled, but certain VIPs (i.e. hot, smart women) get theirs posted:
Graf artists are real artists. Don't be so naive to
[some spellchecks made in the original to account for the late hour of posting; any solecisms are mine -Lexiphane]
say they aren't. Spray is a valid medium and the
canvas and more importantly its audience are NOT to be
underestimated. it just so happens that the public
nature of graf or tag art allows you visual to a lot
of the untalent taggers as well. if every artist got
to hang his work in the Met, the NEA would not exist.
bitch. -Belle
RESPONSE: The reason I hate graf is that the MAJORITY of its practitioners are untalented hacks, who offer little artistic merit. The medium also involves defacing private property and I've stopped and talked with supers and building owners early in the morning as they scrubbed away at their shops and buildings trying to get rid of some idiot's "art"; they were not pleased patrons. Here's a pic I took this spring down in DC at a show documenting the art and practice of graf. Here's more useful graf being employeed as a neighborhood PSA. I'm a big fan of artist James De La Vega, whose primary medium is storefronts and buildings in NYC.
UPDATE II: Reader Belle responds in kind:
okay see... that first link was excellent. badass. the
second was not funny david. im being serious, bitch.
(but if you like your own link) you need to see the
book about Katrina New Orleans Refridgerators. Its
great!
back to the point... I am very serious about graf
artists. I think you should post an apology. because,
and I RE_ITERATE, most artists who try to paint SUCK
and dont make it in the Met. and most singers and
guitarist are fucking terrible and don't make it
anywhere except the local coffee shop and dive bars,
where I sometimes have to listen to their miserable
dribblle in my head!! something I definately consider
a violation of my private property, but I dont say
anything. I do try to scrub it out, but I can't
usually.
I'm not talking to you till you make me feel like you
love Graf.
RESPONSE II: I agree completely that most graf artists suck; they are very bad untalented hacks who will never come close to having their pieces shown in a museum. I'm glad we've found some common ground. Does their mediocrity or complete lack of talent give them the right to shove their crappy art in my face by defacing private property? One is often forced to listen to bad musicians warble or strum away--don't even get me started on poets--at open mic nights, but that's different from them inviting themselves into your living room at 3am and forcing you to listen to shitty ballads about ex-girlfriends. I think you'd be able to ask them to leave in that case; in fact, I think you'd probably be able to shoot them and face few legal repercussions.
So, are you getting an apology Belle? Hells No! I am a HUGE fan of public art, and if someone wants to commission an artist to decorate the side of his or her building in spray paint, marker, or Play-Doh, I say power to them. If one is an untalented fool, however, who couldn't get their work exhibited in a mental ward on his best day, that's no excuse to use private property as your own personal canvas without the owner's permission.
Still feel like not talking to me? Bring that shit babe. Or . . . don't bring it. Whatever! You know I'm right.
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July 15, 2006
IT COULD BE WORSE, YOU COULD BE IN BOSTON
(A recent renovation of The Met involved getting rid of the banners that unfortunately ubiquitously malign many museum facades)
With the raising of the suggested admission price to The Metropolitan Museum of Art on 82nd St. and 5th Ave. to $20, The New York Times carried out an experiment in impecunity--offering only $.50 for admission, or 2 1/2% of the suggested donation.
In truth, there was not much noticeable scorn. There was, instead, that brand of aggressive disregard particular to New York that is sometimes much more effective in evoking shame and extracting money. The first clerk who was approached, a large man with a goatee, never even looked up from his screen when asked.“It’s just suggested,” he mumbled.
“What if I only have 50 cents?” he was asked.
“Uh-huh,” he answered, staring momentarily at the two coins plunked into his palm before ringing up $15 on the cash register, punching in a 50-cent subtraction and sliding over a green metal admission button with the detachment of a Vegas dealer parting with a dollar chip. If he had been trained in a psy-ops camp in the most effective ways of wounding a conscience, he could have done no better.
I don't know why a cashier would ring up $15, because the new suggested donation is $20. Those feeling bashful about shorting one of NYC's better museums should feel grateful they're not in Boston.
If, for example, you want to see the “Americans in Paris” show now at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, you will have to buy a $23 adult ticket on top of the museum’s $15 adult admission fee. (The show comes to the Met in October; it will not cost extra there.)
Holy crap! $38 is only $12 less than a full year's membership to The Met, and a visit to the latter includes proximity to Central Park, upon which the Museum resides on the eastern border. One could even walk 2 blocks north and cross the street to see the newly acquired Klimt paintings at the Neue Gallery while one was in the neighborhood.
Tip: The Met is open until 9pm on Fridays. If you're ready to decompress from a week's worth of work, some of the back galleries are a good place to sit and read for a few hours, while shedding one's work-week carapace.
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July 11, 2006
I DON'T THINK SO
I recently saw a commercial where a guy is standing in the checkout line at a grocery store. As his tofu, sprouts, and other healthy items are being rung up by the cashier, he exchanges an embarrassed look with the guy standing in line behind him, whose cart is full of stuff like bacon. He then spies an ad for the H3 Hummer in the magazine rack of the checkout line, goes to the parking lot, and then straight to the nearest Hummer dealer, where he purchases an H3. As he leaves the lot in his new car, the screen goes black and up comes the graphic:
RESTORE YOUR MANHOOD
That is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. Maybe it's just the sight of them in the city, where they serve no practical purpose and actually are to the owner's detriment, but every girl I've ever been with who sees someone driving a Hummer remarks "What a chump!" or something to that effect.
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July 10, 2006
BRAND MANAGEMENT AT ITS ABSOLUTE WORST
(Bad Idea Jeans)
Last March, ice cream producer Ben & Jerry's decided to cash in on St. Patrick's Day mania by introducing something with the taste of the "old sod" if you will. No problem there. McDonalds has been serving up seasonal Shamrock Shakes (which I personally think taste disgusting) for years.
So what did Ben & Jerry's come up with? Was it "Erin Go Braughzilnut"? "Fruity Failte"? "Marshmallow and Fudge Muck of the Irish"? No. They decided to go with the "Black & Tan" flavor.
If you're looking to enjoy a cold frosty one this St. Patrick's Day, then raise a pint... of ice cream! Just in time for the big day, Ben & Jerry's introduces new Black & Tan ice cream - real cream stout ice cream swirled with chocolate ice cream, topped off with a foamy stout ice cream head.
If you are a beer aficionado, then Black & Tan is for you. And even if your name isn't Paddy O'Reilly, we suspect that once you've tasted the way we've blended real cream stout ice cream with a whirl of dark chocolate, you'll be dancing a jig.
"Some may say that beer and ice cream don't go together, but we think the combination of deep, dark chocolate and the creamy stout flavor is the perfect marriage of tastes," said John Shaffer, Ben & Jerry's Brewmaster. "The challenge was finding an extract that would deliver on the taste of stout. We searched far and wide and found the perfect ingredient that meets the authentic flavor of a European stout beer."
On the surface--and I'm sure at the company's pitch meeting--this seemed like a brilliant idea. St. Patrick's Day is coming up; everyone likes to embrace the Irish in them, even if they're Slavic-Sino-Italian; the Irish like to drink their beers; Black and Tan is a beer that seems tailor made to mixing different flavors into our ice cream.
Yeah, there's just one problem: where the hell did the phrase Black and Tan come from? During the Republic of Ireland's struggle to become independent from England--in what was known as the The Troubles from 1920 to 1922--there was a paramilitary force situated in Ireland made up primarily of decomissioned British WWI veterans to put down rebellious actions by Irish Republican forces. One could say that all is fair in war and war, but the Black and Tans, as the constabulary force and the Auxilliaries were known, tended to overstep, to use British understatement. Violence against English forces were met with vicious retribution where the Black and Tans would raze villages and execute civilians somewhat indiscriminately. They were regularly seen by the Irish as butchers. To this day, the term Black and Tans is used as a slur for overly aggressive policing in Ireland.
So, what the hell was Ben & Jerry's thinking? I'd just as soon order a Black and Tan beer at a Dublin bar as a 9/11 shot (two flaming shots of Rum 151, I just made that up) in a bar on Rector St. in downtown Manhattan. Why carry that bad taste over to ice cream? I hope someone got fired over the incident. A simple Google search would've shed a little light on the origin of the term Black and Tan. How does a major corporation (B&J's is owned by Unilever) ferry a major product to market without researching the etymology of the name? As I said to a friend of mine I was emailing about this today: "I'll be looking forward to 'Kristallnacht Crunch' this November." How about an "Il Duce Dulce Leche" flavor to commemorate Italy's World Cup victory?
Alright, a friend has inspired me to institute a contest for the most offensive Ben & Jerry's flavor names possible. Please email your entries to the[at]lexiphane[dotcom]. I'll give you five days. Give me your worst.
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 11:18 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 4, 2006
40 MAY BE THE NEW 30, BUT 32 FEELS LIKE THE NEW 65
I was out the other night and talking to a lovely 22-year-old woman. A song came on the sound system where we were. It was "Cannonball", off The Breeders' 'Last Splash' album. We were talking about what a great song it was when she said
"Yeah, my dad bought this and was pissed that this was the only good song on the album."
I'm not sure I agree, but it made me realize she must have been 9 years old when the album came out. Oh God.
Alright, I recovered nicely. Then she asked me if I'd seen Superman, the movie.
"Are you kidding? I think that was the first movie my dad ever took me to, when I was five years old!"
She was talking about the new movie Superman Returns film. The Superman movie I was talking about was released 15 years before she was born.
Star Wars is now something you're likely to see on American Movie Classics (AMC), Coke Classic doesn't even exist anymore (I don't think) because it's considered rhetorical, 80s music is now on the Oldies side of the dial, and The Breeders are a band that young women talk about their parents' listening to. Gaaaaah!
On the upside, my corner store still carries Capri Sun juice 'bags', and that fills me with a deep sense of inner relief about getting older. One may not be able to find Tang, the drink of astronauts, on grocery store shelves anymore, but the Capri Sun futuristic silvery mylar bags are still there, waiting to be jabbed at with their attached straws. Aaaah!
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June 29, 2006
BLACK ON BLACK IS THE NEW BLACK, FOR KIDS
The Poughkeepsie Journal, my hometown paper and a daily that I used to deliver when I was a kid, is featuring a photo gallery of Senior Prom pictures. If I was 18 years old, I would be furious if my parents sent my prom pics to the local paper.
The young men above are students at my high school alma mater. What stuck out is how the majority of them are wearing black suits with black shirts. Interesting. I don't think I've seen a lot of that before, but apparently it is de rigeur according to the local tux rental shop attendant. The one exception, of course, is the guy in the center of the photo, who is dressed like the 1920s mafia boss Don Fanucci Robert DeNiro's character killed at the Feast of San Gennaro in The Godfather: Part II. Actually, he also resembles a really comfortable sofa upholstered in damask. Another highlight is the guy on the right who accents the black suit with a silk white scarf. I'm not sure if he looks more like Douglas Fairbanks playing a WWI flying ace or a very young rabbi.
Hope all you kids had fun at the prom! I didn't even go to mine senior year, wanting as little to do with high school at that point as humanly possible, so you're all one up on me there.
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June 28, 2006
GOOD SHOW I SAY OLD BOY, GOOD SHOW
I went to the Peoples Improve Theater the other night to catch the final performance of "Freedumb", which is a show/troupe of very talented men and women that do sketch comedy. Pictured above is friend Dave Spiecher doing a rap-paean to suicide bombers to the tune of "Bust A Move". That's funnier than it sounds.
Congratulations to Dave Spiecher, Andrea Alton, Allen Warnock, Theron Steiber, Robin Gelfenbien, A.C. Carabello, Jay Duffer, and Marshall York for putting on a kick-ass show. The show was great. You guys are okay.
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June 26, 2006
JUST A THOUGHT
EA Sports, the electronic gamemaker, should mix up its product line and produce "Steve Madden NFL 2006". There really wouldn't be too much sports. The game would mostly be huge athletes standing outside of NYC velvet rope clubs arguing "These aren't sneakers. They're Steve Maddens!"
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June 22, 2006
AT HOME WITH AMY
The New York Times profiles her West Village apartment and woman herself--Amy Sedaris--today in its Home & Garden section. While not as well known as her brother David, who is an author, humorist, and public reader in the tradition of Mark Twain, Amy Sedaris starred in her own Comedy Central show "Strangers With Candy", had a recurring role on "Sex in the City", has performed in multiple stage plays, and has written a few books.
Ms. Sedaris, the playwright and comic performer who has long portrayed the oversized, the deformed and the delusional, lives in a small, dark apartment in the West Village with a collection of plaster meats, a few stuffed squirrels, books on skin disorders, some plastic layer cakes, wallpaper made from candy wrappers she procured in Chinatown, sandwiches made out of felt and her celebrated rabbit Dusty, who replaced her celebrated rabbit Tattletail after Tattletail died.As much as her surroundings suggest a personality disinclined toward human fraternity, Ms. Sedaris is, of all things, a people person, and beyond that, a homemaker. Should she meet you and find you sufficiently genial, she will have you over for chili, baked ham or spanakopita (a Greek spinach pie, her mother's recipe), and she will undoubtedly bake.
I love Amy Sedaris. "Strangers With Candy" is one of the most bizarre shows ever to be produced for television. I've seen two of her plays and bought cupcakes from her in the lobby pre-show, when most performers are normally backstage. The first time I met her was at one of her brother's booksignings. The line to get my copy signed was interminable and I was at the end of it. In a sea of empty folding seats, one woman sat by herself in a row and talking to a person directly in front of her. I went over and introduced myself and found that it was, indeed, Amy Sedaris. For fans of "Strangers of Candy", it's shocking to see how beautiful the woman is in person. She was in her early 40s at the time, but wearing a gingham skirt puffed out with crinoline, she looked like she could have been half that age. She was incredibly pleasant, considering I'd just interrupted her conversation, and signed her brother's book "Dave, Pee on me. -Jerri Blank [her 'Strangers With Candy' character]" I loved it, although when I got to the front of the line, her brother seemed peeved that he'd been upstaged, signing "Dave, Pee on me first. -David Sedaris" What a great family!
I hate being a fanboy, but Amy Sedaris is awesome. Her home is filled with plastic models of meats and stuffed squirrels. She is hilarious. She earns extra money by cooking cupcakes and making cheeseballs to sell at her shows. She likes to dress up in fat suits and shows up for magazine photo shoots made up to look like a victim of domestic violence. She is bizarre. What's not to love?
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June 21, 2006
I AM OFFICIALLY OLD
The other week, my friend Katie got her hair cut. It looks really cute and has a little flip around the edges. And while this may sound like I'm frequenting a gay bar, I'm not. Steve the bouncer and I were commenting on how flattering it looked.
"Yeah, she looks like Mary Tyler Moore, when she was much younger."
"Dude! Are you kidding me? I can't believe that's who you came up with! Mary Tyler Moore? No one is going to know what the hell you're talking about now! It's over for you!"
Aw damnit!
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June 20, 2006
????????????
I recently talked to a friend of mine who was in DC for a wedding two weeks ago. While they were there, her fiance asked "Don't I know that guy?" when a bespectacled man walked past them. What was it about the guy that was familiar? The hair? The face? Perhaps the bowtie? No, it wasn't George Will. It was this guy.
(Matthew Lesko)
This is the idiot that one occasionally catches late at night on infomercials if you have a sleeping disorder, are plain just up past your bedtime, or have a serious cocaine problem. My friend was trying to describe who he was.
"You know, the guy from the infomercials who wants to get you government money . . ."
"Oh yeah, the guy with the question marks on his jacket!"
"It's not just a jacket; It's a suit! He's got question marks all over his suit!"
He's like the village idiot meta-civil servant cousin of the Joker, I guess. (No knock against civil servants; you people are awesome.) What amazes me is that this guy was not on his way to an infomercial. He actually walks around wearing that suit. And I thought NYC was a freakshow!
UPDATE: In addition to his question-mark suit, I am now informed that Lesko was also sporting traffic cone-orange clogs of the sort bought by old ladies at dollar stores for gardening.
Posted by Lexiphane at 10:53 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 13, 2006
SHOWCASE SHOWDOWN
(You're the next contestant!)
It's about time The New York Times adressed the phenomena that is "The Price Is Right." The paper of record notes today the noteworthiness of Bob Barker, his awesome microphone, and, his legendary command to "COME ON DOWN! YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT ON 'THE PRICE IS RIGHT!'"
Who under 50 — except for those raised by parents who banned television and put rice cakes rather than Ring Dings in their lunchboxes — did not spend dozens of childhood mornings zoned out on the couch, playing along with the Dice Game or screaming at the fool from San Diego about to overbid on a bag of corn chips?
Who indeed? Not me!
It is the democracy of the audience, and the show's theme — how to gauge inflation, essentially — that has sustained its appeal, said Mr. Barker, the show's 82-year-old host (and its executive producer)."Everyone in the United States can identify with our show," he said. "On most game shows today you will see contestants between 20 and 45 who are physically attractive. We have people on 'The Price Is Right' who are between 20 and 45 who are physically attractive too."
"But we have people who, when they became 18, the first thing they did was come to 'The Price Is Right,' " he continued, "and I had a big winner on a recent show who was 95. We deliberately select contestants that are black, white and brown. We deliberately pick contestants from all over the United States. We have fat people, thin, short, tall, you name it."
I will never forget the summer morning in my early tweens when I saw a humongous woman loping down the aisle after being summoned by Bob Barker, hysterically clapping her hands, and practically crying with joy, right before she tripped and bellyflopped onto her face in front of the entire studio audience. There was a pause of disbelief before my brother and I started laughing so hard I thought I was going to throw up. Ah, good times.
It can be dangerous for Bob Barker too.
And while television may worship 22-year-olds and body parts created in the operating theater, Mr. Barker is also part of the show's grand appeal, and he has the X-rays to prove it. One overzealous fan bear-hugged Mr. Barker and broke a rib; several have crushed his toes; and one raced onto the stage and head-butted him in the solar plexus.
I haven't actually watched "The Price Is Right" in years; maybe I should look it up. And don't forget to get your pets spayed or neutered!
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June 11, 2006
FAUXMANTIC
I'm making up a new word, coining a term, or originating a neologism, if you will, to be pedantically redundant. The word is "fauxmantic"; I think it's got some legs and will soon be part of the popular lexicon. I just wanted to go on record as its creator. Feel free to use it, however, in your everyday conversation.
fauxmantic, fo-MAN-tik, adj.: describing behavior giving the false impression of romantic intimacy where none exists. "His fauxmantic tendency to touch her knee during conversation at the party deterred other men from interrupting them, as they assumed the pair were a couple."
Variations are acceptable and highly useful. "She fauxmantically (adverb) whispered in his ear to drive his ex-girlfriend crazy." "He was a born fauxmantic (noun) who nonetheless always wound up going home alone."
So there you have it: fauxmantic. Enjoy. Just remember where you heard it first the next time it crops up in one of your conversations.
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 5:01 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 7, 2006
HOW GAUCHE!
Seemingly apropos of nothing, WNBC's site features a slide show today showing famous left-handed people. I'm not really sure the point of it. I always thought that about 12% of the population was left-handed, so just by default 12% of celebrities or famous people should also be left-handed. Picking them out and putting them in a line-up seems a little pointless.
The old canard about tens of thousands of lefties dying every year from mishaps using equipment designed for righties is a textbook example of poor statistical analysis. The theory was that a sampling of older people showed a marked decrease in the proportion of lefties in old people versus young people. The erroneous conclusion was that they must have died earlier due to accidents and those accidents must have been caused by equipment designed for righties. Yeah, every time I use a can opener it gets away from me and I wind up almost slashing my jugular. A more reasonable explanation is that school kids were discouraged from being lefties by nuns rapping knuckles a few generations ago. Expect the proportion of lefties and righties among the young and old to even out over the next 30 years.
And yes, Ned Flanders was included as a famous leftie in the WNBC piece.
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 12:01 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 10, 2006
BALLSY
Marketing is a mixture of art and behavioral science directed to the end of selling something to someone. It's a creative art that I simultaneously have a lot of respect and disdain for. It can be about fulfilling human needs or selling snake oil to suckers. Modern marketing holds that there are a few methods of increasing sales. One is to capture market share of a static market--stealing customers from your competitors. The other is to increase the size of the market by increasing consumption of the product, thus even a static market share would grow in business. The third method would be to enlarge the market by introducing new uses for one's products.
Let me give some real world examples. Almost all men shave on a regular basis. If one is a maker of razors that convinced consumers to switch brands, that would be example of stealing market share. On the other hand, if they convinced men that they should replace blades more frequently or shave twice a day, that would be a good example of the second method of increasing frequency of consumption. Or one could enlarge the use for one's products and expand the market by introducing new uses.
Like shaving one's balls.
Wait, what?
Shaving your balls.
I'm sure you think that's all well, shocking, and good, but surely modern marketing hasn't descended this low below the belt. Oh yes. It has.
Yesterday I was in a well-populated private business when the rep from InSite Advertising stopped by to change the talking posters that sit above captive audiences in the rest room. I asked him if he was going to put in some ads that address urinators with Jack Black hissing in a faux-Mexican accent about wearing tights. He said he wasn't. When I went to inspect his handiwork I found a poster/device from Phillips Electronics-owned Norelco advising me that I needed to/wanted to shave my balls. What? I paused for a moment and then exited. When I walked back towards the bar, the bartender noted that I seemed a little blanched.
"The poster just told me that I needed to/wanted to shave my balls."
"What? Let me see!"
When she came back she told me that the poster had told her that if she shaved her balls she could expect her [genitalia] to appear an inch longer.
Perhaps I'm old fashioned--and I suspect I am--but discussing [genitalia] length with a sweet young woman seems like it should necessitate a public duel or at least a good thrashing about the face and neck.
So we've officially crossed the Rubicon. Shaving your balls is now formally part of the polite public lexicon. Perhaps I am officially now exited from the youth zeitgeist, because I was literally taken aback at my balls and their hirsuteness addressed in a public place. I'm eagerly anticipating what I'll be addressed with next. I'm honestly curious.
You can find out more about shaving your balls at Norelco's site here. Congratulations Norelco, for raising the tone!
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 12:35 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
May 8, 2006
MARRIAGE AND BODY MODIFICATION--AS OVERHEARD
Three women talking marriage in a Brooklyn bar Sunday evening:
"If I was going to get married--again--I would cut my finger off and have them stitch it back on, so you'd have the scar instead of a ring."
There's talking about marriage in a bar to fend off unwanted advances and then there's talking about lopping off appendages. I've never heard the two combined. Hats off to these ladies!
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 5:25 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 5, 2006
DOPPELGANGERS
When I was in college I was frequently mistaken for someone else, to the point where people would seriously think I was putting them on when I claimed I didn't know them [alright, save your drunk jokes!, Ed.] . It even occurred with a professor, who told me that I must have a doppelganger on campus. A doppelganger is a ghostly presence of a living person, especially one that haunts its living counterpart.
"Doppelgangers" was the name of artist Tara Gayle's show that I visited last week at the Black & White Galleries on East 71st St. Above is one of her pieces--whose name I egregiously failed to write down in the Moleskine--that portrays a mutual friend. I would characterize her style of painting as blind impressionism, although I'm sure there's a more official and arty sounding name for it. It involves the artist sketching her remote subject while not looking at the canvas. The subject of the piece above was pretty positive about it, saying "She made my boobs pretty huge." And goddamn if that isn't what makes art great.
A larger digital image version of the painting can be seen at my flickr site here.
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 2:31 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 4, 2006
UNLIKELY
The New York Times attempts to predict one of the most unlikely trends about to develop today: "A New Size for Denim: Extra Tight".
The market for denim styles with escalating prices has become so sophisticated that some companies claim to be able to predict where the skinny trend will lead. "Somewhere between October and next February, it will hit all parts of the country," said Jeff Rudes, the president of J Brand, which expects to ship more than 140,000 pairs of skinny women's jeans this year, with leg openings as narrow as 10 inches around. "This cycle is then good for 18 months to two years. It can't get any narrower than this without stopping blood flow."
I am neither a cultural style leader nor a fashion afficionado, but I see this going nowhere. Until I see Kevin Bacon prancing around in a pair of skin tight jeans doing gymnastics in the presence of a gawky-again pre-teen Sarah Jessica Parker, I'm pronouncing this so-called trend dead on arrival.
Tagged:Posted by Lexiphane at 12:30 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
April 26, 2006
COMMENTARIAT
God bless the Irish, whose apocryphal heritage is drinking and arguing.
"The mere fact that you're born in England does not mean that you owe allegiance to the queen," replied a bearded Muslim. "If I was born in a barn, does that make me a horse?" But then again, this was not your typical pub. It was Leviathan, a kind of soapbox-in-a-pub that has become the city's hottest ticket by capitalizing on two time-honored Irish traditions: drinking and arguing. Held on the first Thursday of every month, it draws a sell-out crowd to Crawdaddy, a subterranean club in the arched stone vault of an old train tunnel on Harcourt Street."
And no exchange is better served than one exchanged when one is overserved:
The crowd wasn't buying it. "Answer the question!" barks a 30-something heckler from the balcony. The audience members nod their heads in agreement. "Yes or no!" Mr. McWilliams, seated on a stool between the couches, steps into the fray. Switching from provocateur to mediator, he struggles to keep the discussion from boiling over into unintelligible shouting. "Now, now! You're getting very rowdy," he says, pointing an accusatory finger into the crowd, like a headmaster of an elite prep school.
This isn't light hearted craic. Islamofascism is the topic of discussion--no breezy bar talk. It's too bad we all can't talk things out nonviolently. A drunken shouting match between a group of capulous idiots in a bar is unpleasant and disruptive, but preferred to a terrorist self-detonating in the same. Unrestrained dissent is the sort of thing the Muslim world needs more of, although it didn't help the IRA a wit.
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April 24, 2006
THE GREAT BEYOND
Yesterday I met and talked with writer and choreographer Colleen Hooper and a few members of her dance group, An Outer Space Project. AOSP is performing June 9-11 at BRIC Studio in downtown Brooklyn and were running bingo games and selling cupcakes last night to fund their efforts. From Hooper's site:
How often do you think about outer space? When is the last time you pondered black holes, space exploration or the sun? Confronting the vast unknown can be daunting and fun at the same time. I decided to rediscover outer space and learn more about our observable universe. Under my direction, Kate Garroway, Erika Hansen and Joëlle Worm have each researched a topic related to outer space. Together, we compiled facts and stories that you may have forgotten or never learned. The project is a combination of pe