Rolling up to the meetings at around the same time was Goldman's chief, Blankfein. A Goldman aide, referring to days of meltdowns and meetings, carped to Blankfein: "I don't think I can take another day of this."
Blankfein retorted: "You're getting out of a Mercedes to go to the New York Federal Reserve -- you're not getting out of a Higgins boat on Omaha Beach. So keep things in perspective."
With a king-indie (sorry) Hal Hartley movie (his boss helped fund his first movie. Boss? Can I have $62,500 and somewhere to stick my boom?), I just wait around for bad-ass Martin Donovan
()
to hit someone, or to be inappropriate
().
If Donovan's not in it, at least a Hartley femme-hot fatale, please: Parker Posey, Adrienne Shelley, Elina Löwensohn
().
True Fiction Pictures & Possible Films (from Soft Skull -- buy it!it!it!), alas, contains narry a fight scene (coulda made a rad pull-out flip-book) but the Q-and-A-format photo-bursting paperback does explains how Hartley's earlier work (Flirt, Simple Men, et al.) was so highly staged it was like a filmed painting:
"My preoccupation at the time was this: is the dialogue necessarily more important than the camera movement? I didn't know. I had always seen my films as pictures of people saying the dialogue."
Or,
Ned Riffle: I want adventure. I want romance. Bill McCabe: Ned, there is no such thing as adventure. There's no such thing as romance. There's only trouble and desire. Ned Riffle: Trouble and desire. Bill McCabe: That's right. And the funny thing is, when you desire something you immediately get into trouble. And when you're in trouble you don't desire anything at all. Ned Riffle: I see. Bill McCabe: It's impossible. Ned Riffle: It's ironic. Bill McCabe: It's a fucking tragedy is what it is, Ned.
; but by the time of No Such Thing and The Girl from Monday, True Fiction Pictures shows how Hartley'd began focusing on and critiquing media and its creation (and need) of quickly digestible (then regurgitated) products (hello blogs).
"More and more, I find myself pursuing this question of determining what is real. And does the real even matter to people anymore? You know, making this distinction between the facts -- or the truth, I guess -- and information. We love information. People get excited about access to information. Networking. The speed at which information can be moved around. But fewer and fewer people seem to care if that information is accurate. Does it mean anything? Can it be verified? Is it just lies, for instance. Advertising, I guess, would assert that lies -- if they're believed -- are information too. So, we come to believe whatever is information. We believe in information. But information is not knowledge." [Embedded links mine.]
As an aside: Thank you to S.S.P. for putting out an oddly shaped 4C book on someone no one in my family will ever hear of. (What recession?) And now.
You may never see
in a Hartley film, but some of the images he constructs and choreographs are just as striking, as this books shows in with its film stills. He seems to think as much like a painter/photographer ("A movie can be very much composed. And this composition can be very exciting since it's executed by these living and breathing people.") as a filmmaker:
Additional plums the interviewer draws out from Hartley: -how he finances his small-audience films, -how/why he made a monster movie, -the difference of filming in Iceland vs. Long Island, -the filmmakers who influenced him, -and how we no longer have "a manner of living together as a community that has matured organically...through common expierence. Now, our manner of living together is dictated immediately through publicity and advertising... We don't, in fact, live together and experience things together that much anymore. It is mediated. In fact, not all of this worries me. A lot of it's fascinating, even."
In case you haven’t heard, Jews are talking about Jews again. The piece in question is sometimes fascinating, sometimes confusing, always Jewey in that wonderfully obsessive way of, say, Walter Benjamin (i.e., we probably didn't understand it). Following are the points you'll want to bring up at this weekend's Sisterhood Brunch:
Points of Agreement:
1. Most of the new Jewish media ventures mentioned in the n+1 review have been founded and/or backed by elderly Jews panicked about intermarriage and low birthrates. On their own, left to the free market, these ventures would simply not survive. (The beauty is that many, if not most, of these funding dollars are coming from otherwise histrionic champions of the free market)
2. With the exception of one point (see #3 below), its assessment of Heeb is chillingly spot-on.
3. Generally speaking, almost none of the Jewish ventures discussed has made any meaningful gesture in the direction of coming to terms with Jewish power today. To its credit, n+1 includes both Israel and "the head of neurology at Sinai" in its assessment of Jewish power, and pointedly gives praise to the rare exception: Jewcy's campaign against Abe Foxman for denying the Armenian genocide. Kudos.
4. The piece suggests an interesting quandary, one that has yet to be resolved: What is the purpose of a uniquely Jewish media when Jews are no longer dispossessed and when Jewish perspectives find full expression in American media?
5. Nice Hannah Arendt quote.
Points of Disagreement:
1. “Almost immediately [after the 9/11 attacks], the production of Holocaust literature ceased.” Sadly, this will never be true (although it's possible they were being ironic) (But wait, isn't n+1 post-ironic?) (or is that The Believer?) (McSweeney's?)*
2. Including JDate, even parenthetically, in the litany of Jewish ventures is misleading. Unlike the Jewish magazines, JDate did not originate from a panic impulse but from a profit impulse -- and in this it has succeeded where the others would almost certainly have failed. For this reason, despite its crassness and creepiness, JDate is the only organic venture of the entire lot.
3. I don't think Heeb's mission is "to insult, desecrate, and otherwise trample the feelings of religiously observant or just simply liberal Jewry." I think its mission is to remind the world (repeatedly) that they're edgy, go to cool bars, and have had sex in their lives. Oh, and that they were "brewed in Brooklyn." This will never, ever get old.
4. I enjoy Guilt and Pleasure, even though I'm too much of a Jew, and too middle class in my origins, to ever be invited to their elitist "salons" fashioned and executed by multimillionaires of the 8- and 9-figure variety. But we have to give G&P credit for pieces by Sander Gilman and Eddy Portnoy, and for reproducing amazing artifacts from earlier periods of Jewish cultural accomplishment. It's just too bad the people behind it are rich, self-satisfied pricks.
5. You sold me on "The greatness of this people was also that it once believed its experience of oppression to be a universal one, and its fortunes tied to all those who are oppressed" -- but let's be honest, this is a romantic view of Jewish history framed through the hindsight of the past 200 years. It's time to concede that the 14th century Court Jew crossing the bridge to haggle with the king was not concerned with universal oppression, but solely with Jewish survival. Major swaths of the community are returning to this ghetto-entrenched view, and as much as we're repulsed by its assumptions and behaviors, we can't deny that they have equally valid claims to Jewish history and destiny. The underlying question is whether we should make any effort to change their views, or simply cede the 14th century to them and start something entirely different and new.
* Emergency consultations with the n+1 staff have revealed that they meant the production of Holocaust literature has declined, not ceased.
Using subtle sarcasm while speaking to a jaded populace of New York City commuters on the subway seems to be a common ploy with advertisers lately, and in a current advertisement in the 123 Line, Jameson whiskey is taking off where Bank of America left.
Seen last week on the 1 and 3 Lines, ads for Jameson whiskey were written with backwards text, or made reference to the ship in their label. (not photo'd) Both ads achieved a desired effect, inviting riders to look closer at the ads, straining to spot the ship in the label or read the backward text. The three ads photographed above however, missed the mark. "Maybe people drink Jameson because they like to share, not like that guy taking up two seats." "Maybe because there are nine wrong ways to swipe your metrocard, but no wrong way to enjoy a Jameson." Yah, maybe.
The sarcasm might seem clever and targeted, but I think it's a little weak. I'm reminded of something YM's publisher once said somewhere, to paraphrase, "you're in newyork now, get in the passing lane and hit the gas or pull the car over." In that light, I'd suggest some phrases for this ad campaign that are more pointed, more honest, and more direct. If you're going to talk to jaded people, best not to mince your words or be cute. Speak directly to them.
"You drink a bottle of Jameson in one sitting because you're a total alcoholic...so stop pretending. Pick up two tonight."
"You just got fired from your job that you hated going to anyways, and often would've rather killed yourself than get out of bed for another day at work. Tonight at least, Jameson will make you feel warm inside."
"You want to go out dancing and have a great time, but need a a few Jamesons first. Three shots before you leave the house should do the trick."
That seems better.
UPDATE: The NYTimes has started a blog about alcohol(ics/ism). Hmm, weird. File that under one of the few things I did not know.
I never entirely bought into the idea of blog years, but I’m not sure what else explains the nostalgia I feel for the pre-Tumblr era. At the risk of sounding as if I am pining for some discursive never-never land, like I was some Frankfurt School refugee who wound up beached on a Great Lake, the internets were smarter before Tumblr:
1) Reblogging — The ease of reblogging creates an echo chamber effect, and works to ossify conventional wisdom when it is still far more convention than wisdom. Rather than quoting and responding, it makes it possible to participate in the conversation in the same way that snapping indicates agreement among some sororities. The reblog without comment is a discursive action stripped of content, kind of like poking in Facebook.
2) The feed — unlike Bloglines or Google Reader, it all comes at you in a single torrent. I follow about 30 people, some of whom are rarely active, but returning to the computer after even a few hours feels like shoveling the driveway during a blizzard. At the same time, it is rewarding, as there is almost always something, when after five minutes of actual work at your computer, you crave distraction. It may be a dozen pictures of Strawberry Switchblade, scanned from mid 1980s issues of The Face or NME, posted by someone you keep meaning to unfollow, but there is almost always something. With regular RSS feeds, there is at least the ability to opt to look at what you want, when you want, but still keep track. It may be me, but Tumblr makes me feel more like a rat hitting that little bar over and over than the rest of the internet does.
3) Follow/unfollow — the social networking aspect always seemed like a distraction, and something that offered the limitations of both RSS feeds and social network, with few of the rewards of either.
So I plan to keep posting now and again, as it’s convenient for things that don’t really make sense on the blog, but I plan to unfollow on Tumblr, and then add some back as RSS feeds.
I imagine none of this is of much interest, but I’m wondering if I’m alone in feeling this way.
Ditto for Twitter. (Oh god Rex, please don't tell me there's a HUGE difference.) Both dashboards are useless once you're following more than 10 people, hence our long reluctance to follow anyone. We've caved a bit on Tumblr; not including the personal ones of YM, we're following 3 people. We've succumbed to Twitter as well, mainly for professional (ha!) reasons. I wish both services would let users pick their "top followees" to display front and center, and put the rest in a rolled up ghetto sidebar reader. But even with that enhancement, nothing is stopping this microblogging shitslide.
I believe it was 99 who once said, "eventually blogging will be nothing more than Wikipedia and YouTube links." I guess we're just doing our part.
"The makers of the new movie 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' have arranged for it to be beamed into space on Friday. What movie, song or work of art should we transmit to outer space in case anyone is out there?"
The map above displays 10 current locations of Allan Molho's lock installations placed around the streets of Soho. Allan Molho's street art lock installations "are a clever attempt at making permanent a particular 'idea or emotion...Instead of a lock's normal function, I wanted to lock ideas and emotions to a particular place...Yet, it is clear that nothing stays the same. Neighborhoods, the city streets, its buildings and fixtures, its people and culture, its art and its ideas...""
Well over a dozen emergency vehicles responded to the Columbus Circle Subway Station on 59th St. at approximately 12:30 am early this morning to reports of a person hit by a train. The following information was reported via my Twitter as I gathered it at the scene.
A dozen or more emergency vehicles arrived at the Columbus Circle subway station N.W. entrance at approximately 12:30 am early this morning. A NY Post photographer present outside the station relayed to me that a person was hit by a train, and was dead. Moments later two EMT's walked past on their way into the station, and asked an officer "where is it?" to which the officer replied, "on the south bound D tracks."
The officer mentioned something inaudible to his partner, and noted, "he's DOA."
The station was open and in use, and I walked inside to see what was going on. All tracks and entrances were operating normally aside for one set of stairs leading down to the south bound train platform, which were roped off at the top with police tape, preventing passage to the platform. Standing at the tape allowed a view of the platform, where the front car of a train was stopped in the station. A dozen officers stood about, with a few more Fire Fighters and EMT's also present. Approximately 10 feet in from the front of the train, was a yellow sheet covering an object on the platform about the size of an exercise ball, an object which laid directly against the train. Laying messily near the sheet were a dozen or so credit card sized papers, which looked like i.d., business cards, etc...
In the spacing that exists between the train and the platform, you could see what looked like fabric—it appeared to be a jacket—peeking out from under the sheet. I overheard an officer on the platform mention, while looking towards the sheet, "there is one over there, and one under the train," and I wondered if the object under the sheet was half of a body.
A plain clothes officer saw me standing at the police tape tapping away on my phone, and marched directly up to me, demanding, "who are you with? who are you?" I told him in answer to both questions, "no one" to which he sternly replied, "you need to leave, you can't be here."
Following story and photographs by Polo Fernandez, 11, a student at M.S. 45 Stars Prep Academy on 120th in East Harlem, for a newspaper a group of students created under the watchful eye of Citizen School teachers Mr. Mastrangelo and Mr. Howell. My Domino Story By Polo Fernandez
My brother Zachary, 17 years old and my second oldest brother, is a good domino player and taught me how to play. He plays dominos in the house at least once a week, and is as good as my mother. He plays with everyone in the house; with me, my step dad, my mom. He plays with his older friends when they visit him from Puerto Rico. Watching them play hard and serious games allows me to learn how to play the game better. Often Zachary and his friends will play for money, usually five dollars or less. He always has money to play with. When I play with him, we play for fun, and I have a good time.
Zachary tells me I can get better if I keep playing, practicing with him and other older players. He started playing dominos when he was eight years old, and learned from the best domino player in the house, and that's my mom. My mother is very good and she shows my brother how to play. She should be called the trickster in dominos, because she tricks my brother wild crazy, causing him to play the wrong piece at the wrong time!
Zachary gets his great domino skills in his blood. Everybody in my family is nice in dominos, and Zachary is better than some, not as good as others. Soon, I will be the next best domino player in my family.
At the subway on 110 and CPW last week there was an MTA employee bent over a turnstile, wiping down one of two turnstiles in the small station, a bottle of Windex in her free hand.
Upon seeing this as I entered the station, I might have stutter stepped and tilted my head slightly at the sight, I don't recall. But I swiped my card through the available turnstiles and walked past. I made it about three steps at which point I definitely did stutter step, tilted my head slightly, paused, (maybe even raised an eyebrow) and turned around to query the woman.
"Um, hi. How often do you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Wipe down the turnstiles? I've never seen that before. I've see them clean the station before but I've never seen someone wipe down the turnstiles with Windex."
"Oh, we do it about every other day."
"Really? You wipe down the turnstiles every other day? In this station?"
"Yup."
She seemed bemused by the questioning, but took a moment from wiping down the turnstile to answer my questions with a smile on her face. I told her that it seemed so odd to me, I was confused, I had never witnessed this before. She kept smiling politely at me, and continued to finish wiping down the turnstile. Thanking her, I turned around to stand on the platform. An elderly couple waiting for the train had over heard the conversation, and seemed as perplexed as I. One offered that she neither had ever seen anyone ever wipe down the turnstiles, adding for effect, "and I've lived here since I was a girl and I don't recall ever seeing that. But I'm going to notice it now, when I walk through I'm going to look to see if it's clean."
It took Choire a little longer to get there then it did Andrew, but the important things is he got there. If you'd like to make it official Choire, meet him at the YSKB on Houston and sign the pact, then you can put the logo up on your site.
Was going to stop by David Blaine's place this evening to observe the festivities and maybe even have a cigarette with Andrew or someone, but then I remembered that the pain and suffering of those who are in need does not hit pause on the weekends, so I'm going to go have dinner and dessert with a homeless person instead.
The short story is, if your eligible or not for unemployment, don't bother calling the NY DoL on the phone to talk about. Some excerpts and comments from the longer version,
"David Carpenter, 29, a member of the Local No. 28 sheet metal union has not worked in 2 months. He said his union doesn’t have any work for him. He has not received any unemployment yet—at first not filing an unemployment claim for a few weeks as he waited for a job and then due to an error on his part when he did file his claim.
He described the last few weeks with frustration as he repeatedly failed to reach anyone at the Department of Labor to help correct his error. “I can’t get anybody on the phone,” said Mr. Carpenter, still holding his cell phone in his hand from a failed attempt just moments before. “I go through all of the menu options [on the phone] and at the end I get to a message that says due to the high volume of calls no one is able to assist you.”
Unfortunately Mr. Carpenter found out today that New York doesn’t provide walk-in centers to file claims, or obtain claim information. When Mr. Carpenter went to the office to ask for help, the reception area clerks gave him a pamphlet, and told him to call, write or go online. The reception area gives the same pamphlet to anyone with questions regarding unemployment claims...Leo Rosales, the spokesman for the New York labor department, failed to return any phone calls for comment. He did remark in August to the New York Times that the job market could not be seen in a positive light."
"I call this states Unemployment Number (literally have them on speed dial) and all i get is 2 rings and then get hung up upon. The website is beyond useless."
"The website IS useless. I am a gov doc librarian, and 3/4 of the time, I can't help people find anything on it, and when I do, it is written in such a way that not even most labor lawyers can make sense of it (I know, I asked a few). How the heck is the average person suppose to get their questions answered there?"
"Same here in Boston...."
"The State of Wisconsin has been like that for the last six months, except they don't even bother putting you on hold they just hang up."
p.s. Did this reblog work right? Hit the ♥ if you liked this post, ok?
UPDATE: Friend of YM Bucky Turco has just pointed me to this piece which helpfully explains that if Sheila, for instance, or any of you other recently laid off media people do get unemployment benefits, you need not worry about your immigration status when filing, as "By law, city agencies are not allowed to ask you about your immigration status or disclose your immigration status to anyone."
Last week I was at Yonah Schimmels Knish Bakery on E. Houston sitting at the table waiting for my knish, one chocolate and one potato. At $3.50 a pop I only stop by when I am flush with cash after having a good run at a pitch game.
I was reading some news report in the Times about how people don't have any money, or too much of it, I forget. The counter help at the bakery brought my knish over. As I glanced up to say thank you in Polish, I saw it wasn't the old guy I had given my order to, but Andrew Krucoff, looking pretty handsome in a crisp black shirt and pristine white apron and arm garter. Not only did he bring my knish, but also a peach spritzer I did not ask for. That kind of confused me but I did not protest because I love those fruit spritzers more than I like cigarettes so I just said thanks and drank it. He winked at me and walked away, back behind the counter to sit on a milk crate, having a conversation in Yiddish with the older guy I gave my order to.
No sooner did the last forkful of knish enter my mouth, and a paper plane came flying over my shoulder, sharply diving to the table, landing right in front of me. I reached to pick it up but before I could do so, it unfolded itself, unvealing a note written inside. I looked back at the counter and Andrew was no longer there. When I asked the old guy where he went, he just shrugged.
So I left and took the paper plane with me, reading the note outside. Nick Denton walked by and I snapped a photo with my camera phone and sent it into Gawker Stalker. They did not post the sighting.
Looking back at the note, this is what it said verbatim. "I am in receipt of your email. Here is your login for YM. Remember that this is an AD FREE blog that features long narratives, often on a continuing series of topics people can't follow, or material you've gathered while offering your services as a volunteer. You can write in either capacity. Further, I don't edit your posts, so please don't ask me to proof read first. I like to tell all my new hires we really only have one rule at YM. If in doubt, just do the opposite of what you think Brian Van would do."
And I can watch TV I can shuffle off to Buffalo I can do a backbend I will not call you back And I can start a book I can make some mac and cheese I can sleep twelve hours You'll never see my eyes
It is reassuring to me that there exist lyrics capable of summing up My Life And Times with such staccato efficiency. Oh, and accuracy: A full 25% of this verse, you'll note, pays homage to the tap-dancing, somersaulting Leotard Era (ca. 1988-1995) that so deeply imprinted itself into my fledgling psyche. (The other 75% seem to refer quite specifically to a more contemporary Age of Sweatpants, but I digress.)
With respect to both volume and extravagance, leotards : me :: shoes : Imelda Marcos. I owned sensible long-sleeved black scoopnecks to be worn with bunned hair for ballet, I owned florescent bedazzled numbers with minimal seat coverage and matching scrunchies. I may have even sported half of a mother-daughter matching set; its counterpart could be found Workin' It at our neighborhood Jazzercise.
The Leotard Era, like the garments themselves, stretched far and wide. No woman was safe. Nor were her hips. Luckily, "hips" as a concept was years away from being on my bony little radar screen and so I recall my Spandex-clad days with much neon-infused merriment.
Jenny Lewis' early backup career; scroll to the 2:00 mark for some hot leotard action.
The lead singer of Rilo Kiley is “child actress” Jenny Lewis. One of her early roles – in fact, if memory serves, I believe it was her “and introducing…” moment – was as freckle-faced Hannah Nefler in the 1989 cult classic Troop Beverly Hills.
I use cult here to refer specifically to my own particular operation of organized brainwash: Brownie Troop #492, Delaware-Raritan chapter. From the years I spent wearing beanies and knee socks with tassels I pretty much remember two things, one being this movie and the other being a paper-plane flying contest that ended in tears (mine). I suspect, however, that our misfit squad was only part of a much larger cohort of little girls whose repeated viewings of the movie have left them with the ongoing urge to recite, trance-like, substantial portions of the script upon hearing myriad trigger words: cookie, Jamboree, Tori Spelling.
I'll spare you the full recap – you've either seen the film at a full two-thirds of your girlhood slumber parties or you haven’t – but suffice to say that the movie is helmed by Shelly Long in the role of Phyllis Nefler (a-ha!), a pending-divorcee-with-a-heart-of-gold who sports the orangest and permiest head of hair this side of C.C. Bloom and who volunteers to lead her daughter's sad-sack Wilderness Girls troop in something of a coup d'fish-out-of-water. Hilarious hijinks ensue, including a "camp-out" at the Beverly Hills Hotel (Villainous rival troop leader Velda Plendor: “Is this what you call roughing it?" Phyllis: "One bathroom for nine people? Yes!") and an ongoing dance sight-gag (everyone in leotards, obvi) that a grown Jenny Lewis winks to, delightfully, in her lyrics:
And I can do the frug I can do the Robocop I can do the Freddie I cannot do the Smurf
The fucking Freddie. It’s like she's singing directly to 8 year old me! If only she'd thrown in a reference to French Kissin in the USA (Phyllis: "The last time I did this I got more than a patch for it!") I could die side-ponytailed and content.
I used to hate J-Lew and her ilk the way I now hate Anne Hathaway: borne entirely of a deep and painful envy. Precocious during the Leotard Era and possessing a flair for the dramatic, I recited commercial jingles into mirrors, tape-recorded myself belting showstoppers like "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" and "Part of Their World", and created an imaginary friend whom I so humbly named "Mrs. Katie". Unsurprisingly, I also burned green whenever confronted with mini-starlets like Jodi Sweetin, Thora Birch, and The Girl Who Played Curly Sue. These people were of my age and surely of equal talent. Why them and not me?
The girls cast in Troop Beverly Hills comprise something of a Greatest Hits compilation of my far-flung Lateighties jealousy, having on their resumes shows including but not limited to: Blossom, Full House, Small Wonder, Life Goes On, Punky Brewster, Step By Step, and both Saved By The Bell and its predecessor Good Morning Miss Bliss. Lewis, for her part, was able to parlay her Jell-o commercials and Wilderness Girl uniform into an awkward (but still unfair!) onscreen liplock with America's Son Fred Savage. (This in the kitschy The Wizard, a film in which she also introduced the tried and true "when in doubt, scream sexual harassment" tactic to a generation of opportunistic young girls.)
Personally, I've only found this trick useful like 40% of the time.
These days, I am paralyzed with fear and dread at the mere hint of leotards - American Apparel stores creating a particularly fraught environment for My Body, My Self - and where I used to covet a stint on the silver screen I now stick to simpler goals: 1) get people to think you are cool and 2) be skinny: these hips no longer lie! And so Jenny Lewis, with her who's-who portfolio of Privileged But Chill LA Music Scene Friends (the kind who just caaaasually collaborate with one another to, oh you know, critical acclaim) and her foxy hotpants (the efficacy of which is, admittedly, under dispute) ... well, she remains one maddening step ahead of me. Always.
And I can hate your girl I can tell ya that she's real pretty
Anyway. The Frug is an old track (am I using that term correctly? YM< is a music blog, guys!) that comes from the same 1999 album as Teenage Love Song, in which Lewis lambasts with a soothing Patsy Cline twang someone named Davey who callously loved-n-left her back in the day. To my great glee, The Internet seems to have deduced (based partly on such specific lyrical hints as "You were so famous, I couldn't resist" and "You've been in rehab, don't think I don't know" - that narrows it down! - but mainly on stalker-level intel about her historical acquaintances and whereabouts) that the target of her ire was...
...Dave Faustino. Better known as... Bud Bundy.
If these allegations are true, Teenage Love Song might be the most mismatched-in-hindsight "Up Yours!" screed since Alanis overshared about her theater-going acrobatics with Uncle Joey. And to me, this is great news. It humanizes Jenny and makes me relate with her music and connect with the lyrics and all that stuff.
Mostly, though, it just makes me feel better about myself.
Child Stars Who Went On To Have Successful Second Lives: They’re Just Like Us!
After graduating from college on the 5-year plan and then working for free on a gubernatorial campaign, I waited over 9 months to get my "payback" (with an inexplicable detour of turning down a junior staff position in the Clinton White House working for Dr. Jack Gibbons, Assistant to the President for Science and Technology and Director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy - a story for another time) in the form of a state government job with the MD Dept of Environment. Apparently I had dreams of going into environmental law and thought this was the best path and use of my degree ("where the wheel stops, nobody knows...") in natural resource economics.
Yes kids, the offer letter above is real and the starting salary was smaller than a fine for farting on a fish. I was reminded of this life phase when my brother forwarded me an email today from my old campaign connection/college friend:
Yes, we had the bureaucrat life set up for Andrew. If that fat man had not fallen dead from a heart attack in front of your brother - triggering some sort of pre-life epiphany sending him up to New York - he would be wearing short sleeve shirts with a tie today, driving around the state and fining the fuck out of Maryland businesses. Imagine the possibilities.
That's close to a true story but I did not witness the man die. About a month into the job, he was training me at a surface mine in Anne Arundel County and reviewing environmental impact guidelines when it was I who experienced a post-lunch rumble below that nearly doubled me over. This wise war vet said, "boy, you gotta take a dump?" When I nodded he threw me a box of tissues from our state-issued and emergency-stocked Jeep Cherokee and pointed in the direction of...well, nothing. We were surrounded by huge deposits of something, but it all looked like nothing to me. I got a hands-on, think-on-your-feet test in strip and open-pit mining. While I was happy to "pass" (oof), I got a pretty strong feeling this wasn't the job for me.
Late in the afternoon on the very next day, while on trainee rotation with another inspector, I heard the news that he died from a heart attack just hours before during lunch. I shit you not. I honestly didn't know how to react, which explains why I was dazed in the days to come and drove 2 hours to attend a funeral on the Eastern Shore for a man I really did not know. I sat in the back of the church and when I saw a male teenager next to the open casket with a resemblance that left no mystery to his relation to the deceased, I actually prayed to Jesus for several things. At least one was answered, for the day did eventually end.
I lasted a couple more weeks as I waited for the opportune moment to break the news to my family and department head that I would be quitting for a life unknown in New York. Of course there is no right time so I just blurted it to the person nearest to me after a group briefing one morning. The situation was even more strained because everyone in the office thought I originally got the job as a favor to the governor, which was partly true but mostly false. By that point the governor had no idea who the hell I was, if he ever did, though I'm sure my friend circulated memos depicting otherwise.
Anyway, no moral here and no state pension to pad my retirement but I have a few souvenir Polaroids that show me looking over blueprints on a construction site wondering if the silt fences were built to spec and where's the closest McDonald's.
Best Video Game System By Kareem Tucker, 11 Years Old, Student at M.S. 45 Stars Prep Academy.
Two portable video game consoles, the PlayStation Portable, and Nintendo DS, are vying for the top slot among the youth market. I set out to discover who among my peers prefer what console, and why.
Polo Fernandez, 11, a student at M.S. 45 Stars Prep Academy in on 120th st in East Harlem, in response to a query on the topic, said, "I think PSP is better because it has better things like music. You can not hear music on the DS."
I also conducted an informal poll of 12 students, which resulted in an even split of fans between both consoles, with each receiving six votes. The specs on each console vary, and some important ones are listed below.
PlayStation Portable 1). One Screen 2). Weight: 9.2 oz. 3). Gigabytes: 32 MB Ram 4). Price: $169.00 - 199.00 (Amazon.com)
Nintendo DS 1). Two Screens 2). Weight: 9.7 oz. 3). Gigabytes: 8 KB Ram 4). Price: $255.00 (Amazon.cm)
In conclusion, people should buy the DS because of it's graphics, it has great virtual games that children, teens, and even adults would like to play. Every time people come home they could relax and play the DS. It also has realistic features and better colors. That is why the DS is so popular.
The map above displays 10 current locations of Allan 
And I can watch TV
...Dave Faustino. Better known as... Bud Bundy.
