Unless you live under a rock, you have heard something -- on some level -- about last week's comments by Don Imus, the morning "shock jock" DJ for WFAN in New York City. His program addresses a variety of topics; last Wednesday, however, his focus was on the Tuesday night Womens' Final Four Final game, which featured the Rutgers Womens Basketball team. Mr. Imus, in his discourse, referred to the team as a bunch of "nappy-headed ho's."
Had that phrase been uttered by Rush Limbaugh or any other conservative political radio pundit, the axe would have swiftly come down. However, because Mr. Imus is an "entertainer" rather than a serious political commentator, there's question over whether his remarks were really racially-motivated by bigotry and/or racism.
However, the uproar that has resulted from these comments is interesting. Al Sharpton, a frequent target of Imus insults, led the charge, calling for Imus's dismissal. In addition, Jesse Jackson also called for Mr. Imus to be fired by WFAN. The latter led a protest held at NBC in Chicago which saw 50 people picket the NBC affiliate there, while the former continued calling for Imus to step down. Imus offered to have Mr. Sharpton appear on his show, which Mr. Sharpton denied; however, Sharpton invited Imus to appear on his show, which Imus accepted.
While a transcript of the interchange isn't yet available, I watched some of the conversation between the two. First, I genuinely believe Al Sharpton thinks Imus is a bigot and a racist. Second, I think Mr. Imus genuinely was trying to be funny, not racist. Third, I think that the disparity of opinion over what actually transpired is too great to be successfully bridged. And fourth, I think that any time a white person makes any disparaging comment about a black person or black people in general, he or she will be branded a racist.
To expound on these points, we live in a tight-lipped, tight-ass culture. We speak in politically-correct terms, even when those terms are ridiculous. Several Presidents refer to black Americans as African-Americans, yet if a white person of African heritage became a citizen of the United States, that person would also be regarded as an African American. We're so careful not to insult or offend or step on anyone's toes that we walk on eggshells any time we even approach the topic of race, and while I understand the defensive nature of a minority against broad, stereotypical criticism, I cannot understand the overzealous need to apologize for years of systematic bigotry in modern contexts.
Essentially, in recent retrospect, what Michael Richards did onstage was fairly repulsive. So was what Mel Gibson did in the back of a police cruiser after being arrested for DUI. Each of those two individuals displayed, perhaps, how they felt at that particular moment without regard for the people or the ethnic group which they attacked. What Imus did, however, was a silly, foolish attempt at humor.
Part of the problem in the Imus situation is that Al Sharpton not only focused on the "nappy-headed ho's" comment but also another of the radio show's participants using the terms "wanna-be's" and "jigaboos." Those terms were taken from the context of a Spike Lee film; however, being that Spike Lee is black, his use of those terms, obviously, has far different meaning and consequence.
In this particular situation, Mr. Imus jabbed at the Rutgers' Womens' Basketball Team but didn't do so out of malice or racism, at least not in my opinion. If one listens to his show for a week -- or has done so in the past -- it's fairly clear that he uses base, foolish, silly humor to attack any and all members of the public. He, in the past, has referred to Janet Reno as a man, and he's poked fun at Al Sharpton -- the same man leading the charge calling for his dismissal -- by depicting him as a fool who shouts out his thoughts like a circus ringmaster.
When all is said and done, Mr. Imus isn't going to lose his job as a DJ, and I think within a month all of this will disappear from society's front pages. I think black people will continue to despise him and brand him a bigot and a racist, and I doubt that characterization will ever disappear. However, I think it's convenient that many people -- especially those calling for him to be fired -- ignore the fact that he's spent countless millions building hospitals and the Imus Ranch, which is dedicated to putting smiles on the faces of critically ill children and their families. He also hosts an annual telethon on WFAN which is dedicated to research for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. For a bigoted piece of shit, the guy seems to be awfully generous.
Was what he said racist? I'm not sure. If he said "I wouldn't give a job to a black person because they're all lazy," that's racist. If he said "I wouldn't give a job to a jewish person because they're all greedy and cheap," that's racist. If he said "The New York Knicks are a bunch of carjackers in shorts," that's not racist. Why? First of all, he HAS said it on his program -- a number of times. Second, because he's not being serious in his suggestion that the Knicks are a bunch of guys who actually go steal cars. He is trying to be funny; whether or not he's successful is another story. When he referred to the women on Rutgers Women's Team, I doubt he was referring to them in that way in truth; I think it was his way of attempting to be funny and characterize them as a bunch of tough women. His use of the word "ho" wasn't suggesting they were prostitutes, nor was he suggesting they were low-end human beings or somehow to be regarded in a lower light because they're female.
He was simply trying to be funny, and his attempt at humor failed miserably. He has admitted same numerous times, so there's no point in regurgitating that fact.
However, what all this shows is that any disparaging commentary aimed at black people in this country must be given with a disclaimer, or not be given at all. And the truth is, I think his attack on these women -- even in jest -- was way off base. And again, he'll agree. The bottom line is that he said something stupid and is being attacked for doing so. But what he did was use bad judgement, not reveal some bigoted, racist side to his character.
I only wish we lived in a culture that didn't spend so much time poring over the minutae of some dumb comment from a comedian and more time digging into the actual problems we face as a culture.
It's easier to chastise and brand Mr. Imus as a racist and a bigot than actually try and make some progress in any meaningful way.
I guess, however, that's why Reverend Al has his radio show; if things actually improved, he could actually go home, get a regular job, stay off the front page (and the 6 O'Clock News) and we could actually move forward as a culture.
Guess not.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Saturday, April 07, 2007
All The Way Back...
Sitting on a speeding 4 train heading back to Manhattan from Yankee Stadium is no place to compose a worthwhile post about this particular afternoon. However, thanks to Blackberry and a bitchin' game, I've decided to go ahead and do so anyway.
First of all, about two weeks ago we decided to use our season tickets, which we share in a consortium, to hit today's Yankee game against the Baltimore Orioles. My parents invited my cousin, who's about 14, to the game, and asked my sister and I which of us would like to be the fourth. My sister, having figured that Mikey, my cousin, has never been to the Stadium, would be better-suited to have me explaining everything that was happening rather than her, so I agreed to go.
Now having said all that, today was my first trip back to Yankee Stadium since my father got sick in August, 2004. It's not a matter of loving the Yankees any less -- I'm still a Yankee diehard and always will be. Same for him. It's just that getting over to the Stadium and doing as much walking as is necessary in this "post-9/11" world -- meaning with the newish Stadium security policies -- makes it a bit more difficult to navigate the throngs milling around after a game.
Yet we made it, and for the better part of the afternoon we wondered why we bothered. The Yankees debuted a new Japanese pitcher named Kei Igawa who basically had a horrid afternoon. He allowed seven runs in five innings and looked awful; so not only were the Yankees losing big, but by the time he left the game with the score 7-3, many in the crowd opined that his signing was a Yankee mistake.
Despite this, and the fact that the forecast had called for flurries and 40-ish degree weather, we (and most everyone else) stayed. It was cold all afternoon -- in fact, when I got to my seat, my parents and Mikey were already seated, covered in blankets and freezing. The first thing I said to them was "What a day for a ballgame...a football game." The weather cooperated, although it was cold all afternoon and I wore a puffy coat and gloves throughout the game. And once the Yankees shitted up the first half of the game, it was a cold, crappy day at the park.
And then it happened.
They began inching back and managed to get the score to 7-6. Finally, the bottom of the ninth approached and they were able to load the bases. The last Yankee hope -- Mr. Non-Clutch -- Alex Rodriguez approached the plate with most everyone in the Stadium cheering, hoping supporting A-Rod, who has a proclivity (as a Yankee) for not coming through under pressure, would help. He got into a 2-2 count, and with the Yankees one strike away from a long, cold loss, A-Rod connected and blasted a grand slam, walk-off home run into the seats. The Stadium erupted and in an instant, as my Dad, who gets weepy and emotional every time he visits the Stadium, I remembered why I love not just the Yankees but coming to Yankee Stadium.
As we departed, as promised, I got Mikey (and myself) a Yankee hat; his was an adjustable replica of the traditional Yankee hat, while mine is a mesh Yankee batting practice hat (they just came out with them this year and I'd been meaning to pick one up). On top of that, I scored him a pretzel (we didn't have much to eat during the game due to Passover observance) though he had broken it already so a warm pretzel on a cold day was a good way to wrap up the afternoon.
Despite the fact that, between the tickets, the parking, the food and all the other crap topped out at over $450, it was really a great afternoon, and definitely will be one for the long-term memory. And I can only assume that I'll get as weepy and emotional as I get older and return to the Stadium, and hope that it's my wife and my kid(s) with me watching the game and making fun of me, but smiling and treasuring the moment nonetheless.
First of all, about two weeks ago we decided to use our season tickets, which we share in a consortium, to hit today's Yankee game against the Baltimore Orioles. My parents invited my cousin, who's about 14, to the game, and asked my sister and I which of us would like to be the fourth. My sister, having figured that Mikey, my cousin, has never been to the Stadium, would be better-suited to have me explaining everything that was happening rather than her, so I agreed to go.
Now having said all that, today was my first trip back to Yankee Stadium since my father got sick in August, 2004. It's not a matter of loving the Yankees any less -- I'm still a Yankee diehard and always will be. Same for him. It's just that getting over to the Stadium and doing as much walking as is necessary in this "post-9/11" world -- meaning with the newish Stadium security policies -- makes it a bit more difficult to navigate the throngs milling around after a game.
Yet we made it, and for the better part of the afternoon we wondered why we bothered. The Yankees debuted a new Japanese pitcher named Kei Igawa who basically had a horrid afternoon. He allowed seven runs in five innings and looked awful; so not only were the Yankees losing big, but by the time he left the game with the score 7-3, many in the crowd opined that his signing was a Yankee mistake.
Despite this, and the fact that the forecast had called for flurries and 40-ish degree weather, we (and most everyone else) stayed. It was cold all afternoon -- in fact, when I got to my seat, my parents and Mikey were already seated, covered in blankets and freezing. The first thing I said to them was "What a day for a ballgame...a football game." The weather cooperated, although it was cold all afternoon and I wore a puffy coat and gloves throughout the game. And once the Yankees shitted up the first half of the game, it was a cold, crappy day at the park.
And then it happened.
They began inching back and managed to get the score to 7-6. Finally, the bottom of the ninth approached and they were able to load the bases. The last Yankee hope -- Mr. Non-Clutch -- Alex Rodriguez approached the plate with most everyone in the Stadium cheering, hoping supporting A-Rod, who has a proclivity (as a Yankee) for not coming through under pressure, would help. He got into a 2-2 count, and with the Yankees one strike away from a long, cold loss, A-Rod connected and blasted a grand slam, walk-off home run into the seats. The Stadium erupted and in an instant, as my Dad, who gets weepy and emotional every time he visits the Stadium, I remembered why I love not just the Yankees but coming to Yankee Stadium.
As we departed, as promised, I got Mikey (and myself) a Yankee hat; his was an adjustable replica of the traditional Yankee hat, while mine is a mesh Yankee batting practice hat (they just came out with them this year and I'd been meaning to pick one up). On top of that, I scored him a pretzel (we didn't have much to eat during the game due to Passover observance) though he had broken it already so a warm pretzel on a cold day was a good way to wrap up the afternoon.
Despite the fact that, between the tickets, the parking, the food and all the other crap topped out at over $450, it was really a great afternoon, and definitely will be one for the long-term memory. And I can only assume that I'll get as weepy and emotional as I get older and return to the Stadium, and hope that it's my wife and my kid(s) with me watching the game and making fun of me, but smiling and treasuring the moment nonetheless.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Back From The Living
Despite it being obvious, I'm appalled at the fact I've let this space get so run down, so infrequently updated and dilapidated, and, frankly, I'll be practicing self-mutilation later. In the meantime, my apologies for the boredom that's remained behind where laughter, exultation, enjoyment and self-fulfillment once reigned.
Now that I've gotten that bullshit out of the way, I do apologize for not stopping by sooner. I think that this most recent delay has been a product of a number of factors: first and foremost, Kaia going to San Fran threw me a bit. No more than usual, perhaps, but since we had spent two great weeks together -- including my birthday -- I had gotten used to her, even under pressure, smiling as I came through the door or making sure I was out of bed early enough to open the office, or even -- and most importantly -- being there even when nothing needed to be said aloud. Overall we are in a difficult place -- or places: we know that there's nothing better for the other out there, but when 3,000 miles and three hours separate us, it's difficult returning back to phone calls and e-mails when the last couple weeks had been anything but. We've conquered this territory before and I'm sure we will continue to do so, but it's frustrating for us both, as I am sure she's as unhappy to be packing and flying back to San Fran as I am in watching her leave. We'll get it right sometime soon -- sometime, perhaps, during her next visit in June, if not my next visit to SF (perhaps even sooner).
Meanwhile, on top of all that, work has been a steamroller rather than a roller-coaster. There are few ups and downs, but since March 15 ended a filing period (with a bang), there's still so much to handle, address and/or juggle it's been like running around in a circle until Boogie drops. Every time I contemplate a five- or seven-day period to head out to San Fran, something -- a client, something missing from a City agency I need to re-produce, etc. -- pops up like a gopher in a Boardwalk arcade. Things are never difficult, per se -- just overloading. Hence the steamroller versus the roller-coaster analogy.
On a positive note, I decided against joining a gym and instead -- finally -- purchased a folding treadmill. I bought one from Smooth Fitness -- the 5.25 -- and while I'm looking forward to getting that bad boy set up in my place, I'm not quite sure, with a Manhattan apartment, it's going to coexist with the rest of my crap. I've been and continue to extricate some of the various collectibles I've retained from the 80's -- like VHS tapes I no longer have the capacity to watch -- and without Kaia's involvement, I've been slowly but surely introducing these useless space-wasting goodies to the garbage chute. While she was here, Kaia was helpful and supportive but stopped short of forcing me to toss anything out; basically, as space increasingly is at a premium -- especially now, with the treadmill on the way, moreso than ever -- I've basically got to revamp everything in the bedroom before I can't fit into my own place.
As for why I didn't join a gym, I figured I would be lazy like the 85% of the population that joins a gym, pays monthly dues and then never bothers using it. I actually had been a member of a gym but things always managed to get in the way, so I finally decided that I wasn't going to be able to wake up in the morning or go to bed at night without seeing the treadmill, knowing it was draining my wallet as well as my bedroom space, so that would insure my guilt would translate into a daily hourly workout. The fact that it folds is sort of a plus (then again, if it didn't, I wouldn't be able to fit it through the door -- in or out -- or myself into my bedroom).
Overall I'm looking forward to getting back to daily workouts and -- with the summer upcoming -- skating on a regular basis. I've actually got a few invites to play hockey in a summer league or two, and since the summer leagues are outdoors, they don't have the negative aspect of the ice hockey game, which is the opportunity for frozen rubber pucks careening towards one's head or chest at 75+ mph. So we shall see.
On top of all that, I'm now a full-on, unabashed Crackberry addict. I started using a Blackberry device through Cingular but returned it due to lousy service, and as of late I've been using a Verizon Wireless Blackberry and more and more I find myself tethered to clients, the office and to the Internet. Remember when you, as an uber-geek, were stuck in the house and one or both members of your parental unit shouted at you to go out and play in the sun? Well now you can, without missing phone calls, e-mails, news or anything else. Blackberry has become an increasingly ubiquitous tool for navigating work and real life: it has a map feature that gives you directions (from one address to another or via GPS, if the Blackberry you're using is so equipped) and basically insures you are never lost, neither geographically nor informationally. Basically, in essence, the thing rocks. And by "the thing," I mean Blackberry service, not the device itself. Back when cell phones were first introduced as portables (as opposed to in-car handsets), cellular service was sorta sketchy. Now, however, you can be sitting on a beach in San Juan, on an air tarmac in Guadalajara, the third-base side of Yankee Stadium and/or a traffic jam on the LIE in mid-July and still be connected. While not all of those situations has the same effect on each of us, keep in mind that always being connected is a double-edged sword. There is no down time -- you are always tied into what's happening around you. That means that if you need to advise a client you need some paperwork, instead of calling them and shmoozing for twenty minutes, you can fire off a quick e-mail and save yourself 15 of those minutes. However, on the other side of the coin, if you somehow don't get around to e-mailing or speaking with a client, there's no excuse; no dog ate your homework, your cell battery didn't die (I've had phones that crap out like cheap Puerto Rican hookers, but the Blackberry battery lasts longer than a Tom Clancy novel), and you either ante up or you crap out. Translation: it's a blessing and a curse, but considering that my production has increased, my cell-phone call usage has dropped and my sanity is, for better or worse, about the same, I have no complaints. As I see more and more people -- regular people, not just suits and celebrities -- whipping out their Blackberries on buses, in City buildings and everywhere else, I am hopeful that one day Blackberry service is the norm rather than the exception.
Finally, I wanted to make sure to wish all my hebe friends a happy Passover, and my non-hebe friends a happy Easter. And to all of those who don't enjoy Matzah or Eggs, tough noogies.
My apologies again for such a delayed return to these pages; I'll do my best to keep the lawn mowed, the plants watered and the interesting commentary -- or what I normally include herein in place thereof -- rolling along.
And one final note: in celebration of the recently-commenced baseball season, these two words should, and shall, suffice:
GO YANKS!
-B-
Now that I've gotten that bullshit out of the way, I do apologize for not stopping by sooner. I think that this most recent delay has been a product of a number of factors: first and foremost, Kaia going to San Fran threw me a bit. No more than usual, perhaps, but since we had spent two great weeks together -- including my birthday -- I had gotten used to her, even under pressure, smiling as I came through the door or making sure I was out of bed early enough to open the office, or even -- and most importantly -- being there even when nothing needed to be said aloud. Overall we are in a difficult place -- or places: we know that there's nothing better for the other out there, but when 3,000 miles and three hours separate us, it's difficult returning back to phone calls and e-mails when the last couple weeks had been anything but. We've conquered this territory before and I'm sure we will continue to do so, but it's frustrating for us both, as I am sure she's as unhappy to be packing and flying back to San Fran as I am in watching her leave. We'll get it right sometime soon -- sometime, perhaps, during her next visit in June, if not my next visit to SF (perhaps even sooner).
Meanwhile, on top of all that, work has been a steamroller rather than a roller-coaster. There are few ups and downs, but since March 15 ended a filing period (with a bang), there's still so much to handle, address and/or juggle it's been like running around in a circle until Boogie drops. Every time I contemplate a five- or seven-day period to head out to San Fran, something -- a client, something missing from a City agency I need to re-produce, etc. -- pops up like a gopher in a Boardwalk arcade. Things are never difficult, per se -- just overloading. Hence the steamroller versus the roller-coaster analogy.
On a positive note, I decided against joining a gym and instead -- finally -- purchased a folding treadmill. I bought one from Smooth Fitness -- the 5.25 -- and while I'm looking forward to getting that bad boy set up in my place, I'm not quite sure, with a Manhattan apartment, it's going to coexist with the rest of my crap. I've been and continue to extricate some of the various collectibles I've retained from the 80's -- like VHS tapes I no longer have the capacity to watch -- and without Kaia's involvement, I've been slowly but surely introducing these useless space-wasting goodies to the garbage chute. While she was here, Kaia was helpful and supportive but stopped short of forcing me to toss anything out; basically, as space increasingly is at a premium -- especially now, with the treadmill on the way, moreso than ever -- I've basically got to revamp everything in the bedroom before I can't fit into my own place.
As for why I didn't join a gym, I figured I would be lazy like the 85% of the population that joins a gym, pays monthly dues and then never bothers using it. I actually had been a member of a gym but things always managed to get in the way, so I finally decided that I wasn't going to be able to wake up in the morning or go to bed at night without seeing the treadmill, knowing it was draining my wallet as well as my bedroom space, so that would insure my guilt would translate into a daily hourly workout. The fact that it folds is sort of a plus (then again, if it didn't, I wouldn't be able to fit it through the door -- in or out -- or myself into my bedroom).
Overall I'm looking forward to getting back to daily workouts and -- with the summer upcoming -- skating on a regular basis. I've actually got a few invites to play hockey in a summer league or two, and since the summer leagues are outdoors, they don't have the negative aspect of the ice hockey game, which is the opportunity for frozen rubber pucks careening towards one's head or chest at 75+ mph. So we shall see.
On top of all that, I'm now a full-on, unabashed Crackberry addict. I started using a Blackberry device through Cingular but returned it due to lousy service, and as of late I've been using a Verizon Wireless Blackberry and more and more I find myself tethered to clients, the office and to the Internet. Remember when you, as an uber-geek, were stuck in the house and one or both members of your parental unit shouted at you to go out and play in the sun? Well now you can, without missing phone calls, e-mails, news or anything else. Blackberry has become an increasingly ubiquitous tool for navigating work and real life: it has a map feature that gives you directions (from one address to another or via GPS, if the Blackberry you're using is so equipped) and basically insures you are never lost, neither geographically nor informationally. Basically, in essence, the thing rocks. And by "the thing," I mean Blackberry service, not the device itself. Back when cell phones were first introduced as portables (as opposed to in-car handsets), cellular service was sorta sketchy. Now, however, you can be sitting on a beach in San Juan, on an air tarmac in Guadalajara, the third-base side of Yankee Stadium and/or a traffic jam on the LIE in mid-July and still be connected. While not all of those situations has the same effect on each of us, keep in mind that always being connected is a double-edged sword. There is no down time -- you are always tied into what's happening around you. That means that if you need to advise a client you need some paperwork, instead of calling them and shmoozing for twenty minutes, you can fire off a quick e-mail and save yourself 15 of those minutes. However, on the other side of the coin, if you somehow don't get around to e-mailing or speaking with a client, there's no excuse; no dog ate your homework, your cell battery didn't die (I've had phones that crap out like cheap Puerto Rican hookers, but the Blackberry battery lasts longer than a Tom Clancy novel), and you either ante up or you crap out. Translation: it's a blessing and a curse, but considering that my production has increased, my cell-phone call usage has dropped and my sanity is, for better or worse, about the same, I have no complaints. As I see more and more people -- regular people, not just suits and celebrities -- whipping out their Blackberries on buses, in City buildings and everywhere else, I am hopeful that one day Blackberry service is the norm rather than the exception.Finally, I wanted to make sure to wish all my hebe friends a happy Passover, and my non-hebe friends a happy Easter. And to all of those who don't enjoy Matzah or Eggs, tough noogies.
My apologies again for such a delayed return to these pages; I'll do my best to keep the lawn mowed, the plants watered and the interesting commentary -- or what I normally include herein in place thereof -- rolling along.
And one final note: in celebration of the recently-commenced baseball season, these two words should, and shall, suffice:
GO YANKS!
-B-
Monday, March 26, 2007
Culmination
So after two months of planning, running around, signing and signing off, the party came off without a hitch... 171 people, no problems, and just a whole lot of fun.
There were some who were MIA, due to travel problems, sickness, timing issues and/or difficulties with getting everything straightened out, but overall we had a great crowd and a great party.
We rolled in around quarter to nine Saturday night, hung around with a few early arrivals, handled all the last-minute details with the head of the club, and then around 9:30 people started streaming upstairs. By 10ish, the party was 25 or so strong, and by 11 it was loud and hoppin'.
There were some minor issues with food and drink specials, as per usual; and there were the occasional wallflowers who we did our best to ingratiate with the remainder of the crowd. But overall everyone seemed to have a good time, and the club owner was very impressed by the fact that we filled the room until 3:30AM. Our last party at Club Iguana was an anomaly; everything was going well from 9:30 to midnight when the doors burst open and the public invaded the space, rendering any hope or semblance of a cohesive group useless. So our last party basically died around 12:30AM. This time around, however, the room was ours until closing -- 4:00AM -- and we had at least 30 or 40 people hanging around to 3:30 and they would have stayed around later had we not agreed to Last Call. Kaia had gone home around 12:30 or 1AM because we'd had a long day and she'd spent the night meeting, greeting and hanging out with a good number of the attendees, so I was ready to leave once the club owner suggested we call it.
I was really thrilled; assembling a number of people in that space was a dicey proposition. We knew the upstairs space was going to be perfect but we weren't sure how many people would come out after our last shindig; the rainy weather wasn't helping and it was a bit cold so we weren't sure if we'd get as many as we expected, but 171 people later -- plus my co-host and I, and Kaia and our friend Heidi -- wound up with a profoundly rewarding six hours of party-time. There were the usual hook-ups and the unusual ones (sshhhhh), but overall I was jazzed from start to finish. When we grabbed the mic from the DJ to give our regular Thanks For Coming shpiel, it really made me happy to see the response we received, and the response on an individual basis thereafter letting us know how much each of the attendees appreciated what we had managed to pull off.
My only disapppointment of the night was that I didn't have more alone time with Kaia, but as per usual, she was understanding and nothing but supportive; I worked the room along with my co-host to make sure everyone had every- and anything they needed, and it paid off. I'm looking forward to our next one, and even more importantly, I'm looking forward to spending some alone time with Kaia before she heads back to San Fran.
At this point the mass evacuation of all the party-goers is most likely complete; my Internet connection pooped out -- sort of -- so I'll try to get pictures up at some point soon. Meanwhile, if I've been and continue to be slow to keep this space updated, I apologize; I've been spending as much time with Kaia as possible prior to her trip back to San Fran. I'll try to keep updates regular and informative for your reading pleasure ;)
Check back soon :-)
There were some who were MIA, due to travel problems, sickness, timing issues and/or difficulties with getting everything straightened out, but overall we had a great crowd and a great party.
We rolled in around quarter to nine Saturday night, hung around with a few early arrivals, handled all the last-minute details with the head of the club, and then around 9:30 people started streaming upstairs. By 10ish, the party was 25 or so strong, and by 11 it was loud and hoppin'.
There were some minor issues with food and drink specials, as per usual; and there were the occasional wallflowers who we did our best to ingratiate with the remainder of the crowd. But overall everyone seemed to have a good time, and the club owner was very impressed by the fact that we filled the room until 3:30AM. Our last party at Club Iguana was an anomaly; everything was going well from 9:30 to midnight when the doors burst open and the public invaded the space, rendering any hope or semblance of a cohesive group useless. So our last party basically died around 12:30AM. This time around, however, the room was ours until closing -- 4:00AM -- and we had at least 30 or 40 people hanging around to 3:30 and they would have stayed around later had we not agreed to Last Call. Kaia had gone home around 12:30 or 1AM because we'd had a long day and she'd spent the night meeting, greeting and hanging out with a good number of the attendees, so I was ready to leave once the club owner suggested we call it.
I was really thrilled; assembling a number of people in that space was a dicey proposition. We knew the upstairs space was going to be perfect but we weren't sure how many people would come out after our last shindig; the rainy weather wasn't helping and it was a bit cold so we weren't sure if we'd get as many as we expected, but 171 people later -- plus my co-host and I, and Kaia and our friend Heidi -- wound up with a profoundly rewarding six hours of party-time. There were the usual hook-ups and the unusual ones (sshhhhh), but overall I was jazzed from start to finish. When we grabbed the mic from the DJ to give our regular Thanks For Coming shpiel, it really made me happy to see the response we received, and the response on an individual basis thereafter letting us know how much each of the attendees appreciated what we had managed to pull off.
My only disapppointment of the night was that I didn't have more alone time with Kaia, but as per usual, she was understanding and nothing but supportive; I worked the room along with my co-host to make sure everyone had every- and anything they needed, and it paid off. I'm looking forward to our next one, and even more importantly, I'm looking forward to spending some alone time with Kaia before she heads back to San Fran.
At this point the mass evacuation of all the party-goers is most likely complete; my Internet connection pooped out -- sort of -- so I'll try to get pictures up at some point soon. Meanwhile, if I've been and continue to be slow to keep this space updated, I apologize; I've been spending as much time with Kaia as possible prior to her trip back to San Fran. I'll try to keep updates regular and informative for your reading pleasure ;)
Check back soon :-)
Sunday, March 18, 2007
The Day After
Normally I wouldn't be brief, but being that this past week has sped by, there's too much to cover. Kaia's in town and we celebrated my birthday quietly yesterday. First we went to brunch with my sister, then since my mom had been feeling sick we told them to skip coming into NYC for dinner and rescheduled for during the week, and then chilled out for the rest of the day. We did some walking around and got some stuff for Kaia's back, which was bothering her, and we ended up basically just spending a nice quiet Saturday together.
I got some goodies for my birthday but I won't enumerate -- suffice to say that as nice as the goodies are, the real birthday present was spending it with my other half. I'm fighting a cold so I am kicking back and relaxing, but all I really wanted -- and got -- was to spend time with her, so I'm very much a happy camper.
Thank you to everyone who sent cards -- paper, electronic, etc. -- and for thinking of me. 'Twas and is very much appreciated :)
It's nice knowing there are so many good people out there who care about me -- that, most of all, made this a great birthday, and I again want to thank each of you and let each of you know how much I appreciate you.
Oh, and happy fargin' St. Patrick's Day ;-)
-B-
I got some goodies for my birthday but I won't enumerate -- suffice to say that as nice as the goodies are, the real birthday present was spending it with my other half. I'm fighting a cold so I am kicking back and relaxing, but all I really wanted -- and got -- was to spend time with her, so I'm very much a happy camper.
Thank you to everyone who sent cards -- paper, electronic, etc. -- and for thinking of me. 'Twas and is very much appreciated :)
It's nice knowing there are so many good people out there who care about me -- that, most of all, made this a great birthday, and I again want to thank each of you and let each of you know how much I appreciate you.
Oh, and happy fargin' St. Patrick's Day ;-)
-B-
Monday, March 12, 2007
Sacrilege At The Waldorf
Tonight, March 12th, was a bittersweet night in the annals of the annual Rock And Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremonies. The sweet, of course, was the induction of Van Halen, among others, into the Hall. With the sweet, however, the bitter was the fact that of the five members of Van Halen -- the original four members including Eddie and Alex Van Halen, bassist Michael Anthony and original lead singer David Lee Roth -- the only two individuals to accept Van Halen's induction were two former members of the band, the aforementioned Michael Anthony and David Lee Roth's replacement, Sammy Hagar.
The Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony is an annual celebration of rock as much as the Oscars are a celebration of film. The only difference is the theme of the Oscars, in general, is a gala paying tribute to the majesty of film and its surrounding personality. The Induction Ceremony, on the other hand, pays tribute to the achievement of musical performers, but it does so with a similar sense of reverence, but without the proper, polite, restrained praise; the feeling in the audience is, typically, akin to a pot about to boil over.
I'm not sure why these ceremonies are as restrained or as oddly entertaining as they are. What I do know, however, is that some of my favorite performers have been involved in them, either as inductors or inductees. The Yardbirds, Cream and Eric Clapton himself have been inducted; The Beatles; Led Zeppelin; Stevie Wonder; The Eagles; Bruce Springsteen; U2. The list is nearly endless. Watching the post-ceremony jam, a tradition, sends shivers up my spine as I watch the surviving members of Led Zeppelin -- Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones -- bounce around the stage with Neil Young for a makeshift version of When The Levee Breaks. This year, however, was not simply about celebration; it was about loss and noting who was not present for the ceremony.
The deaths this past year of Ahmet Ertegun, founder of Atlantic Records, and James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, were among a notable number of people who passed away since the last ceremony. However, more importantly, the absence of Eddie Van Halen, who currently is in rehab for an undisclosed condition, and his brother Alex, assured that Van Halen, the band named after them, was inducted without either of them in attendance. Velvet Revolver jammed to "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" and then Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony followed with "Why Can't This Be Love" but it was very strange watching the tribute to Van Halen and the only member of the actual Van Halen family in attendance was in the non-personage of a Fender Eddie Van Halen model guitar in the house (sported by Velvet Revolver's Dave Kushner).
Despite the inductions of Patti Smith and REM, perhaps the most odd thing about tonight's ceremony is the between-set broadcasts of past inductions, and I was transfixed watching the aforementioned Led Zeppelin induction jam with Neil Young as well as a stirring rendition of Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Let Me Love You, Baby" by Buddy Guy, a seated BB King and Eric Clapton. Perhaps the best one of them all was "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" from 2004 led by Jeff Lynne & Tom Petty (with a searing solo by, of all people, Prince). As much as I was looking forward to watching (and hearing) tonight's ceremony, I came away longing for DVD's of the prior inductions.
I suppose, in retrospect, it demonstrates to me that, unlike movies, rock and roll is a fluid, elusive, dangerous beauty that can't always be captured on a spur of the moment; that unpredictability, that random, reactive, combustible formula which emerges as part of our culture and our collective consciousness -- it is something to be celebrated and appreciated, and it is something not to be dolled up and taken for a stroll. The ultimate irony is celebrating and rewarding, like Mick Jagger observed at the Rolling Stones induction, 25 years of bad behavior by requiring artists being on their best behavior, at no less than the Waldorf.
It's an odd nostalgia, a bittersweet, fleeting flash into memory of seeing Bono perform with Bruce Springsteen; seeing Jason Bonham on the drums behind Robert Plant and Jimmy Page; seeing Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey flail away onstage as if they were 19 when they were more like 59. Very strange...a warm, odd, happy, awkward cavalcade of memory and the past.
Bittersweet.
The Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony is an annual celebration of rock as much as the Oscars are a celebration of film. The only difference is the theme of the Oscars, in general, is a gala paying tribute to the majesty of film and its surrounding personality. The Induction Ceremony, on the other hand, pays tribute to the achievement of musical performers, but it does so with a similar sense of reverence, but without the proper, polite, restrained praise; the feeling in the audience is, typically, akin to a pot about to boil over.
I'm not sure why these ceremonies are as restrained or as oddly entertaining as they are. What I do know, however, is that some of my favorite performers have been involved in them, either as inductors or inductees. The Yardbirds, Cream and Eric Clapton himself have been inducted; The Beatles; Led Zeppelin; Stevie Wonder; The Eagles; Bruce Springsteen; U2. The list is nearly endless. Watching the post-ceremony jam, a tradition, sends shivers up my spine as I watch the surviving members of Led Zeppelin -- Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones -- bounce around the stage with Neil Young for a makeshift version of When The Levee Breaks. This year, however, was not simply about celebration; it was about loss and noting who was not present for the ceremony.
The deaths this past year of Ahmet Ertegun, founder of Atlantic Records, and James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, were among a notable number of people who passed away since the last ceremony. However, more importantly, the absence of Eddie Van Halen, who currently is in rehab for an undisclosed condition, and his brother Alex, assured that Van Halen, the band named after them, was inducted without either of them in attendance. Velvet Revolver jammed to "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" and then Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony followed with "Why Can't This Be Love" but it was very strange watching the tribute to Van Halen and the only member of the actual Van Halen family in attendance was in the non-personage of a Fender Eddie Van Halen model guitar in the house (sported by Velvet Revolver's Dave Kushner).
Despite the inductions of Patti Smith and REM, perhaps the most odd thing about tonight's ceremony is the between-set broadcasts of past inductions, and I was transfixed watching the aforementioned Led Zeppelin induction jam with Neil Young as well as a stirring rendition of Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Let Me Love You, Baby" by Buddy Guy, a seated BB King and Eric Clapton. Perhaps the best one of them all was "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" from 2004 led by Jeff Lynne & Tom Petty (with a searing solo by, of all people, Prince). As much as I was looking forward to watching (and hearing) tonight's ceremony, I came away longing for DVD's of the prior inductions.
I suppose, in retrospect, it demonstrates to me that, unlike movies, rock and roll is a fluid, elusive, dangerous beauty that can't always be captured on a spur of the moment; that unpredictability, that random, reactive, combustible formula which emerges as part of our culture and our collective consciousness -- it is something to be celebrated and appreciated, and it is something not to be dolled up and taken for a stroll. The ultimate irony is celebrating and rewarding, like Mick Jagger observed at the Rolling Stones induction, 25 years of bad behavior by requiring artists being on their best behavior, at no less than the Waldorf.
It's an odd nostalgia, a bittersweet, fleeting flash into memory of seeing Bono perform with Bruce Springsteen; seeing Jason Bonham on the drums behind Robert Plant and Jimmy Page; seeing Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey flail away onstage as if they were 19 when they were more like 59. Very strange...a warm, odd, happy, awkward cavalcade of memory and the past.
Bittersweet.
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