What's Real and What's Actual

Somewhere, tucked in the microscopic cells of my brain, the daily minutae of my life are, I thoroughly believe, are somehow entertainment for some higher being. Either that, or I need to address this inescapable need to somehow take the boring tasks which fill my day and put them on a grand(er) scale.

The last few days have been blurry -- and no, I'm not referring to needing to change out my extended wear lenses. Lots has been happening, but most of what's been happening is deadline-induced excitement at work or the random stuff I get done when I'm a) conscious and b) not in the office. Mainly, it's been a lot of work stuff and a lot of coming home/passing out. The weather's been relatively agreeable, so that hasn't been too much of an issue; it's just the question of having lots to do and not much time in which to accomplish it.

Of course, the biggest thing on the reality menu is the revelation that al-Qaeda was/is plotting to blow up airliners traveling from the UK to the US. That's an actual; the real part, of course, is the tandem of knowing that one day we will be prohibited from bringing anything with us on an airplane. On the one hand, people have decried the fact they can no longer bring hair gel, toothpaste, perfume/cologne and contact lens solution with them on a plane. However, since they can bring these things with them -- stowed under the cabin in the belly of the plane -- it's not quite the monumental inconvenience as was originally suggested.

That's not to say, of course, that this isn't another chink in the collective armor of nations who don't train children to be suicide bombers and martyrs. Is this latest non-incident significant? Pretty much. Is it somewhat disconcerting? Absolutely. Is it going to mean air travel as we know it will hereafter be an awful, dreadful experience we must endure if we will ever go anywhere for business, pleasure or both? Not particularly. I'm still eager to fly westward to San Fran in a month or two, and hopefully Kaia will be landing here within a few weeks. I think, basically, that this entire situation has been a bit overblown, but the key to understanding the situation is acknowledging that there will never be another day when some number of radical muslims don't concoct new ways of attacking the West.

On that note, I was downtown this afternoon driving around between a few different destinations; normally I'm on foot, but today I took the car and was going from place to place as expeditiously as possible. As I head west on Fulton Street to the water, I came upon Ground Zero, and while -- with the trailer for Oliver Stone's "WTC" somewhere in my head -- I recall 9/11, I also noticed the whole site had become a combination of a tourist attraction and a mini-mall. There were people selling American flags, USA t-shirts, America bumper stickers, and hot dogs and pretzels. And what I noticed, for better or worse, was that the majority of people who were selling this crap -- to mostly people from outside the metro area, natch -- were from other countries and other cultures. Unfortunately, I did not fail to notice the irony.

The more things change, the more things remain the same.

There's more happening and I'm sure I'll head back here soon; for a change, however, I figured I'd be brief, to the point, and get out leaving the audience wanting more.

Or less -- I'm not completely sure.

But when and if I am, I'll be sure and let you know.

Where, When, How and Why

Considering the lack of Mel Gibson apologies these days, and the number of anti-semitic freaks seeping out of the woodwork -- but staying right below the surface -- bashing Israel's offensive against Hezbollah, it's pretty tough focusing on work and the stuff around the house on which I need to focus.

However, having said all that, the excitement around these parts continues. About twenty days ago the front panel on my microwave stopped responding, so about ten days ago I replaced it with a white Panasonic monstrosity that takes up a shitload of counter space; it's got some sort of cooking sensor in it so it heats stuff perfectly and another sensor that keeps stuff warm perfectly. The problem is it's the size of a catamarand. The other problem is that I only use it to make baked potatoes, chinese food, roast chicken and popcorn; now there's a nice dinner combination. All I need is some Boisenberry Barf-Crunch Cereal and I can officially submit my newly-radiated creation to Fear Factor or The Food Network. Of course, the final problem is that I got fed up with replacing microwaves so I was determined to read shitloads of reviews to insure this one wouldn't die. What do I do? I wind up picking Panasonic, which some dude on Amazon.com claims will blow up in my kitchen sometime over the next year. As long as neither Kaia nor I are in the kitchen -- or anywhere near it -- when this thing blows up, I'd actually get off knowing I had an exploding microwave. That's what -- 1-in-100 odds? If anyone has a Panasonic that exploded, let me know -- or send me pictures. Video would be even better if you have it ;)

Meanwhile, the days are full but, thanks to an actually pleasant day in New York City, I spent a good deal of time outside the office without wishing I was wearing a towel spooning water onto lava rocks in a wood-lined room. On top of that, we had a floor-wide fuse blow out that wound up frying a PC in our office; but the server, the copier and the phone system were fine and bounced back like a rubber check, so I can't complain.

But wait...there's more.

I confirmed Kaia and I won't be making it out to Seattle for a friend's wedding. We'd been planning on heading out there and staying at the W for a four- or five-day vacation -- I've never been to Seattle, though Kaia has -- but I have a major meeting that's going to keep me in NYC that weekend. It's really aggravating, because I've missed two big weddings over the past few years, this one included. If I had good reasons, I would be okay with it; for example, if Eric Clapton invited me to sit in on the studio session for his next album entitled "Boogie & Me: Jam in NYC" -- well, then I could see missing a good friend's nuptials. Yeah, I'd send a blender :) But both misses were for shitty reasons, and that never feels good.

Although, if anyone happens to have Eric Clapton's number and he needs some late-night studio time anytime between tonight and the end of August, I'll see if I can dig my Strat outta storage ;)

All I Can Say Is...

Wow.

It's so hot... (How Hot Is It)

...that I spied a naked homeless guy dancing in the fountains at Columbus Circle -- and was actually jealous of him.

...that Associated Supermarket on 57th Street shut down all its lights and all power to non-refrigerated equipment, effectively inviting its customers to hit the pavement.

...that tourists were buying cold pretzels from hot-dog carts.

...that I actually considered acing my dress shirt and tie, cutting the legs off my slacks and visiting City agencies sporting my first pair of homemade Kenneth Cole "shorts."

The thing is, I don't hate hot weather; as long as I'm not carrying 20 pounds of paperwork in my bag and I don't have to be rushing from one place to another, it's all good. On days like this, give me a convertible, a 100-mile stretch of open road, a selection of pre-loaded tunes and some tasty beverages, and I'm good -- as long as I can pick Kaia up before I start on Mile 1.

Problem is, the last couple days have been, essentially, me running around in this intense heat and humidity with loads on my plate. Being that today is the second day of a new filing period, I've been humming along with everything in the background, and sho'nuff, the first two days of said filing period have been the hottest of the calendar year. Two weeks ago, California was baking like copper-enamel figurines in a kiln; now it's our turn.

About five or six years ago, a friend of mine from right outside NYC relocated -- temporarily -- to San Jose for a quasi-lateral job offer. He was out there three months when the rolling blackouts began, and while the idea had been tossed back and forth in the public spectrum for awhile, he didn't believe it would actually happen. Well -- sho'nuff -- it did. He had a townhouse filled, like my apartment, with enough electronic equipment to power NORAD for a week. And while he had battery backup equipment in place, everything went down at once and he ended up with a room filled with dead computer equipment. By the time everything was replaced, the damage checked in at around $25k. I would bust his balls every so often thereafter, reminding him "Hey, got a spare surge suppressor around, my water-pik got fried."

At least in connection with this particular incident, he rarely appreciated my sense of humor.

Needless to say, karma leaves no stone unturned, and now that we're in the midst of a heat emergency in NYC, and Queens and Staten Island have already experienced significant power outages, I'm debating what my next move should be. I won't have a problem living if the power should go out for a day or two; I live on the ground floor of a six-floor building so I will have access to running water (cold -- cold is good), and I won't have to climb or descend a multitude of stairs in stifling humidity. Plus, if there is a blackout at some point soon, it will give me a chance to reconnect with the inner me -- in other words, it'll force me to defrost my freezer.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll slip on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and go join that naked homeless guy in the fountain.

A New Horror Movie: Return of Mel Gibson and His Many Personalities

Today brings, as per usual, a bevy of expected things. A sunrise, the sound of birds chirping outside my window, intense heat burning and roasting NYC, and more bullshit from America's Pee Wee Herman du jour, Mel Gibson.

Mel issued a new bullshit apology, since his last bullshit, publicist-penned apology only apologized to cops and not jews, ie the group he suggested caused all the world's wars.

So he spewed -- er, issued -- another apology, some of which is quoted below:

"But please know from my heart that I am not an anti-Semite. I am not a bigot. Hatred of any kind goes against my faith."

That's sort of like an al Qaeda member professing that he abhors violence due to his devout observance of Islam, which prohibits violence. Please note, I'm not comparing Mr. Gibson's stupidity and bigotry to that of a member of al Qaeda. While they may or may not share many beliefs, Mr. Gibson -- at least not to my knowledge -- never embarked on any endeavors in the hope of killing people by the hundreds or thousands.

I give him credit; he knows how badly he's fucked up. Of course, it's a day late (thanks to the universal criticism and abuse by the public to remind him he should have apologized to Jews as well as cops. Oops.) Problem is, at this point, he should just cut his losses and hide. The guy's a bigot, an anti-Semite and a piece of shit. To be frank, it's not the first time the American public will get a chance to see an anti-Semite on display. And I am sure it won't be the last.

Incidentally, I give him points for creativity. His ultra-devout religious observance led him to conclude Jews are responsible for all the world's wars, among many other ills. In addition, his religious beliefs dictate -- as evidenced by his film "The Passion of the Christ" -- he believes Jews killed Jesus. At the same time, he -- in theory -- wants to "heal" with the help of the Jewish community. According to today's apology, "Hatred of any kind goes against [his] faith." I thought his faith was the source of his hatred in the first place.

So which is it?

More importantly, does it really matter?

In a word: no.

Me, You, Dupree, Owen Wilson, Steely Dan and Some Idiot at CNN.com

Last week, before Mel Gibson's tequila-fueled romp through Malibu and Anti-Semitism, I happened upon the Steely Dan website, hoping to check out summer tour dates which I'd read about and considering if Kaia would be in town while The Dan was in NYC, or I was there if/when they were playing in or near San Francisco.

If you've never heard of Steely Dan, here's a short (and hopefully brief) bio: Steely Dan was a major 70's era staple of AOR (album-oriented rock) radio. They hung up their microphones after their 1980 release, "Gaucho," burned out on drugs, late nights in studios, paranoia, self-insulation and the backdoor dealings of payola and the music business in general. The two primary members of the band, Donald Fagen (vocals and keyboards) and Walter Becker (guitar, vocals), had been making hipster, ironic, well-crafted smart jazz-rock-pop for nearly a decade and they'd, for lack of a better term, shot their load.

However, while Fagen released a well-received solo album ("The Nightfly") in 1982, "The Dan" remained virtually silent. After a reunion of sorts for a Steely Dan box set and another Donald Fagen solo album ("Kamakiriad") in 1993, then a solo album by Walter Becker in 1995 entitled "11 Tracks of Whack," the duo opted to tour. They did two or three legs and reemerged as a talented, updated version of the old original.

Soon after -- in 2000 -- they released another album which featured, as per usual, a bevy of curious, intellectually mysterious tunes. One of these was "Cousin Dupree," a tune about a shiftless aging loser with no motivation who winds up crashing on his Aunt's couch...until he can get back on his feet.

Normally I don't veer off into spontaneous band bios, especially herein, but the whole story deserves mention.

Enter 2006 and Owen Wilson's newest film, "Me, You and Dupree," a film about a newlywed couple who take in a friend on the day of their wedding who has no real motivation but they decide to let him stay on their couch for a while...until he can get back on his feet.

See where this is going?

Apparently, the similarity between the song from Steely's album "Two Against Nature" and Owen's latest movie was a bit too significant to ignore. Back to my visit to the Steely Dan site...I came across an open letter to Luke Wilson, brother of Owen. The letter, which is written in a rambling, casual but acerbically sarcastic, over-the-top manner (much like everything written by Steely Dan), was presented on fake stationary: "The Residential Suites at Longworth" (sounds more like a prison than a hotel) featuring the slogan beneath, 'Where Value is King -- and So Are you!!!' -- is even more Dan-esque. The letter, signed by Fagen and Becker, basically charges Luke with reigning in his brother Owen to get the latter's career back on track and, more importantly, to apologize for ripping off their "Dupree" idea. Further, they demand Owen come to their concert in Irvine to apologize to the band and to their fans.

If nothing else, Steely Dan has made a habit of using their wit for ironic, wry gags. The name of the band was lifted directly from a William Burroughs novel ("steely dan" refers to a vibrator). Everything they do is the antithesis of serious; for example, one of their early songs, "Everyone's Gone To The Movies" is a bouncy, hook-laden song -- about a child molestor. Another, "The Fez," is a song about condom use. Yet another, "Haitian Divorce," describes the breakdown of marriage: "Soon everybody knew the thing was dead; He shouts, she bites, they wrangle through the night." Their goal, which they semi-readily admit, is to present irony musically the way David Letterman presents it nightly through comedy. The point is: the letter to Luke was a joke.

It gets better, however.

Sometime after reading the letter on their site but prior to Mel Gibson melting down, I visited CNN.com and noticed a piece on Owen Wilson and Steely Dan, right below a story about midget farmers in Iowa. Apparently, some clever reporter at CNN.com noticed the letter posted on the Steely Dan site and mentioned it; the next day, Owen Wilson, through a representative, released a statement in response:

"I have never heard the song 'Cousin Dupree' and I don't even know who this gentleman, Mr. Steely Dan, is. I hope this helps to clear things up and I can get back to concentrating on my new movie, 'HEY 19.'"

CNN missed the gag when Owen referred to "Mr. Steely Dan," he was goofing on CNN. Steely Dan, like the band names for Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull, isn't the name of a band member, just the band name. What is even more disconcerting is that CNN, in describing the band, mentioned "Hey Nineteen"as one of their hits, yet they didn't catch Owen's reference to that song as the name of his new movie. Essentially, whoever followed this story on CNN's behalf completely and totally missed the point, and the joke.

I don't know if Donald, Walter and Owen expected people would or wouldn't understand the letter was a joke; I presume they knew 99% of the people visiting the site would "get" it. But having CNN cover the whole thing -- and Owen firing off a statement in response that actually got picked up by CNN -- had to be the icing on the cake.

The punchline, of course, is if Owen Wilson had done The Dan "one petite solid" and showed up in Irvine on July 19th (the band kept asking between tunes if anyone had seen Owen, to their endless amusement); perhaps his appearance could be rescheduled to the Jones Beach or Atlantic City gigs. This way, I could record it and forward a copy to CNN -- just to be sure this exercise in journalistic integrity doesn't go for naught :)

After all, this thing we all do -- writing, creating, creating -- it's a glamour profession ;)

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My apologies for the reworking. The original version was an older draft and belonged, and landed, in the recycle bin. - Ed.