Tell 'Em How the Cow Eats the Cabbage

The semi-funny Rob Riggle did a bit on the Daily Show this evening [2-27] where he interviewed some Texans regarding an Islamic Center that was being built in their neighborhood. The interviewee stated that he was going to tell his prospective neighbors "how the cow eats the cabbage."

The quote was even accompanied by an animated graphic. So after you view the artwork proudly hanging in my downstairs bathroom, once again, you will be able to see that I am ahead of the curve.

Don't Wanna End Up Like Bonnie and Clyde

... which is from the early reggae classic "Israelites" by Desmond Dekker. An infectious tune, if you ask me.

Just watched the revisionist noir classic "The Long Goodbye", directed by Robert Altman and starring Elliot Gould, and a band of gypsies. Or so it seems. While I enjoyed the movie, I made the mistake of listening to the interviews with Altman and Gould that accompany the film. So I learned what the "concept" of the movie was, which was to have Philip Marlowe return from being asleep for 20 years, a la Rip Van Winkle.

To that end, Gould's Marlowe wears the same cheap dark blue suit throughout the movie [he sleeps in this suit], he smokes [no one else does], and he has "morals" [unlike most of the characters, who kill, lie, commit adultery or run around topless while doing yoga]. Other than that, he looks and talks like David Crosby.

Which makes for a funnier and stronger movie than the Rip Van Marlowe concept that Altman and Gould were trying to achieve. There is a lot I could say about the movie to recommend it. The greek chorus of stoned hippie chicks that live next door to Marlowe, that is genius. The addition of the character [not in the original book] of Jewish gangster Marty Augustine is brilliant. Sterling Hayden as Roger Wade, the doomed Hemingway-esque writer is great. Just seeing so much of Los Angeles and Malibu from that era makes the movie enjoyable.

The movie has all of the Altman weirdness that makes his movies so good. I think the following can be said of Altman: All of his movies were different, all of his movies were the same.

My five days in Indiana last week went pretty well. I survived the time change, and the somewhat frozen weather [the time change being the bigger deal to me.] I caught the double overtime game between the Pacers and the Bucks, which the Pacers [who led by 17 at one point] barely won. First, the referees call WAY TOO MANY FOULS these days. Second, your average Indiana basketball fan knows a lot more than your average California basketball fan. A woman behind was yelling at the refs for not calling 3-second violations. And we were in the cheap seats. Third, you have never seen so many white people [other than at a Lutheran Church, Nascar event or Kenny Chesney concert] in your life. What gives, Indiana? You're supposed to be the basketball epicenter.

I've been bounced from the gf's blog. I'm thinking it was for the tart comment I made in response to her post about mercurial multimillionaire midget David Geffen. She had some sort of reference to Mrs. Keanu Reeves in her post, and I commented, to paraphrase, that it was unlikely she would be getting a call from the Free Man in Paris, as he was not interested in the ladies [hence no Mrs. David Geffen.] And that probably explained why he supported dreamy Barack Obama vs. Evil Frau Clinton [which I thought was a neat summation of DG's term for her, which was "unelectable" and "polarizing."]

So, as Desmond D. feared he would be in "Israelites", I have been shot down like Bonnie & Clyde. It happens to the best of us, and me as well.

Make Me Laugh!

I'm always giving my [long suffering] gf a hard time about her "not being funny." But she came through today as the Britney Spears head-shaving stories circulated. She said that Britney likely shaved her head so that "the carpet would match the drapes."

We walked her dog, Goldie, tonight through my neighborhood, which is cavernous and hilly. About a quarter mile from home, we could clearly hear my dog, Kelly, crying as if she were being roasted alive on a spit. As if her soul was being pulled from her incarnate body. All this, because she was jealous that another dog was being walked in her stead. She is the dog embodiment of guilt, that one.

I mentioned Emo Phillips in my last post. This is my favorite joke of his [and I like many, many of his jokes]:

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, "Don't do it!" He said, "Nobody loves me." I said, "God loves you. Do you believe in God?"

He said, "Yes." I said, "Are you a Christian or a Jew?" He said, "A Christian." I said, "Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?" He said, "Protestant." I said, "Me, too! What franchise?" He said, "Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?" He said, "Northern Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?"

He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region." I said, "Me, too!"

"Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912." I said, "Die, heretic!" And I pushed him over.

That joke was voted Best God Joke Ever, at least in the Guardian Unlimited.

I bought a bicycle. We'll see what no good comes of this.

Off to Indiana for 5 days, starting tomorrow. It's all good.

Wake Up Call

Ah, morning! And by "morning", I mean "almost noon." Like my mother, I am nocturnal. I think I should live on the East Coast, and work for a company based on the West Coast. That would be perfect.

But of course, I live on the West Coast, and work for a company based in Indiana. So, I am screwed on that front.

My gf mentioned that some intrepid scientist should clone Mitch Hedberg, and while I agree in principle, I would surmise that the clone, too, would die of multiple drug toxicity. So she and I share a love of Mitch Hedberg.

Which got me to thinking about my earlier reference, a couple of posts ago, to the true geniuses of comedy that walk amongst us today. Or, like Mitch, did so until recently. I believe that the comedy today is as good or better than comedy from any era.

[1] Highest Order [almost literary quality to their work]: Stephen Colbert, David Sedaris, Dave Chappelle, Ricky Gervais [oddly, he's maybe the best straight man since Jack Benny or Stan Laurel.]

[2] Outrageously Talented [original, intelligent]: Jim Gaffigan, Mitch Hedberg, Wendy Liebman, Bob Saget, Eddie Izzard, Sacha Baron Cohen, talented homophobe Norm MacDonald, Chris Rock

[3] Notably Talented: Gilbert Gottfried, Margaret Smith, Jimmy Carr, remarkably petulant David Cross, Ben Stiller, Steven Wright

I have a soft spot for Emo Phillips, but wouldn't require others to watch him. He's a good writer, but maybe an acquired taste as a performer. Rita Rudner was very good before she got married, but like Paul McCartney, married life has dulled her edge.

Keep in mind, the ability to thrill a live audience is but one aspect of my analysis [otherwise Cedric the Entertainer would be at the top]. The ability to write new, novel and creative material is perhaps the most important. And a certain "rawness" is important as well [The first time gf and I saw Norm MacDonald live will be indelibly etched in my memory until I die. Incredibly edgy.]

That's my list and I'm sticking to it. Mitch is the only dead guy on the list, and in my perfect world, he isn't dead, he's just sleeping in.

Things That Are Valuable

I had this thought the other day while looking at Zillow ... why not put together a site that more or less comprehensively details how much people pay for commoditized goods and services throughout the United States?

For example, how much does a person in Chicago pay to heat their 1,800 sq. ft house each month? What are their property taxes? Car insurance? Average car payment? I mean, these are the nuts and bolts of all our lives.

Say, if a person lives in Milwaukee has a house payment, on average, of $1,300 per month, what does that mean compared to the person living in Cerritos, California who has, on average, a house payment of $2,200 per month? Do the people in Cerritos just make $900 more per month? Somehow, I doubt that it is as simple as that.

My point is that real people lack the basic information that they could use to live their lives better [that is, their choice making would be more informed, and their lives would reflect actual decision making, as opposed to guessing]. I think it would be both surprising and interesting to have an actual working tool on the internet that would allow people to see how other people live their financial lives and realities.

On a related note, the City of New Orleans is still around 40% of its pre-Katrina population [according to that venerable source Wikipedia].

While I do feel some sadness about the lack of population resiliency, I would stop short of doing anything much about it [short of providing funds to rebuild actual infrastructure]. Why? Because people have the right in America to live where they choose. It's always been this way, and so it should be.

The Great Depression drove people en masse out of the South, and out of the Midwest. The collapse of the traditional manufacturing sector drove people out of the rust belt, out of Detroit and Pennsylvania.

Cheap transportation, VA loans and better weather enticed people to populate California after World War II. The advent of air conditioning coupled with cheap land and plentiful jobs has allowed both Phoenix and Las Vegas to recently recognize aggressive growth.

In short, people come, people go. And while I would love to see New Orleans thrive, she, like all other areas, has to to earn it.

Party Like It's 125,000 BC!

... at the Geico Caveman's Crib.

Make certain that you

• flush the toilet
• read his diary
• check out his iPod
• See his scribbles in the margins of his magazines

Why not?

Not Much Here.

I complain a lot. It's my nature.

My gf is giving up complaining for a month, or so she claims. She can, however, make "statements of fact." Which means she can complain, but not ... fictitiously? I don't get it.

And there is such a lot to complain about these days.

But mainly the thing that bugs me is the lack of cultural touchstones.

If you lived in 1950, you lived in the era of:

1. Painting. Picasso, Matisse, Pollock, Miro

2. Fiction. Hemingway, Faulkner, Ayn Rand, Nabokov, Steinbeck

3. Movies. Billy Wilder, John Ford, John Huston, Orson Welles, Akira Kurosawa

4. Politics. Churchill, Lyndon Johnson, DeGaulle, a host of others

5. Humor. Groucho Marx, Dorothy Parker, James Thurber, S.J. Perelman

6. Philosophy. Will and Ariel Durant, Albert Camus, John-Paul Sartre

7. Poetry. Robert Frost, Stevie Smith, William Carlos Williams, Dylan Thomas

What I'm saying is that in 1950 you could legitimately look to a veritable legion of great figures in art, politics and even [gasp] popular culture.

I didn't even mention Einstein, Richard Feynman, Cole Porter, Oscar Levant, Noël Coward and literally dozens of others.

And these greats [by and large] were considered and recognized as greats in their own day [despite no cable TV, and really ... not much TV at all.]

The difference in my mind is that today, there is no sense of wonder and optimism fueled by the expectation for the next great work by a Hemingway, the new film by Welles, a new play by Hammerstein or Coward ... a great speech.

Aside from a few genius stand-up comedians and the resurgence of the NBA, who are the stand outs today? Culturally, what makes you want to get up in the morning? Anything?

How Can I Miss You?

Yes, another fake celebrity is dead, and I am supposed to muster up some real emotion, I guess.

Yes, she was a fellow human being, I am told, and as such, I do feel a certain kinship.

But all in all, I am reminded of the immortal words of Norm MacDonald, the homophopic genius comic, who said [the day after Steve Irwin bit it], "It was tragic at the time." [3:01 in on the clip]

I feel much the same about Anna Nicole Smith. But what can you say.

Except express your revulsion at people like this. She barely expired, and yet already the commerce infestation has begun. But I guess that it would be ironic of me to condemn someone golddigging off the memory of a golddigger. Instead, I should find it somewhat appropriate.

I just can't muster the enthusiasm to care one way or another.

Space Madness

It is pretty clear what caused the astronaut lady to lose her mind: SPACE MADNESS.

Let's just leave it at that.

Sick & Tired

I have a cold. I'm a pretty cranky person when I'm not sick, so you can imagine what I'm like when I'm sick.

My idea of fun, a couple of years ago, was to call my friends up and yell "F$#% You!" into the phone and hang up. I have no idea why that struck me as funny [actually, I do have an idea. It has to do with rebelling against every meaningless social nicety.]

I am really tired of Thai food lately. It just seems like a sweet, gooey mess to me. A fraud of a cuisine, as it were. I would like to eat steaks and vegetables and rice for about a year. Food that is the equivalent of what David Mamet called the crewcut: honest.

I want to compile a list of all the sayings [her idiomatic speech] of my late mother, Pat. It's odd how I miss her, and how I don't miss her ... what is odd is that so much of her spirit and idiosyncracies inform my own, so I am her more than I would like to be. It is like she will not leave me alone.

She would say the following to me and my siblings:

• "Can you keep it down to a dull roar? I cannot hear myself think."


• "Immediately, if not sooner!"


• She would use the word "skiwumpus" when things were out of order

During the mood ring fad of the mid-seventies, she thought it would be a good idea if everyone wore some type of readily visible mood indicator, so that everyone could see what mood you were in.

When I was in college, I would come home and play Yachtzee with her and have lunch. Probably some of the best times I had in my life.

Smart & Special!

I think people who know me know how smart and special I am. I'm really, really smart. And really special. People who don't know me don't know what they are missing. In short, someone who is really smart and really special.

That's basically a summary of all personals ads, all blogs, all liberal bumper stickers and the rallying cry for most indie bands.

And really, it is just so sad.

I had the great good fortune to be raised in a family where the motto was "On the menu tonight: You." That taught me that no matter what the softies at school said about your enormous potential, it didn't mean %$#@ at home.

And if, by some mistake, they decided to coddle you at home, you got smacked at school. See, it evened out. You were bound to be beaten. Or beaten to be bound.

So when I see cutesy blogs about people who think they should occupy a few more millimeters of God's own sunshine than they already do, I think ... uh, maybe you don't deserve the space you do occupy.

Can you imagine your own grandparents if they had blogged? I can't.

The difference between the current landscape and the landscape even 90 years ago is unfathomable. And sadly, many many people judge today's environment against the high-water mark of liberal culture established in the late sixties/early seventies [and not against 1917, or even 1957]. But back in 1970, the liberals forget to tell you that women were not competing with men for jobs to the degree that they are now [because to do so would be to implicitly reference the impact: a gain in the rights of women meant that more women had income, which meant greater hardship for all women who didn't want to/couldn't work, and greater downward economic pressure on men's wages, at least temporarily], blacks and other minorities were similarly excluded, and many, many more countries were unable to reap any benefits from the gains the First World was making. Increased global trade means something positive to many more people than you'll hear about in the media. That ol' agrarian lifestyle ain't all it is cracked up to be.

So, yes, we work more hours than we did in 1980. But I would gladly make that tradeoff if it means greater opportunity for women and minorities [and it does]. Mind you, I don't want to pay any additional taxes to assuage someone else's liberal guilt.

I just want the playing field to be open for all players.

I'm Livin' on the air in Cincinnati ...

... Cincinnati, WKRP.

I can't get that song out of my head.

I'm in the Cincinnati airport right now. I've been here in the river city for a little over a day. It's snowing [lightly] and I fly out in about 2 hours. We'll see how well the big bird handles a little weather, eh?

I've had a four-way [Skyline Chili, that is.] I could swear there is a Greek influence in the spices for that stuff. Cinnamon and chocolate are indicated as ingredients. Altogether, you need to cut the usual amount of cheese they give you in half. Otherwise, you get a mouthful of cheese and it inhibits your ability to taste the chili. I mean, what good is a mouthful of cheese?

Cinci, as I call it, having been here twice now, seems like a pretty nice city. The people are friendly but make much less eye contact than in most cities I've been to. It's an old city, and the freeway from the airport handles both commuter traffic and commerce up to Canada and it was packed this morning, much worse than LA commuter traffic [especially due to the wall-to-wall semis whizzing by]. I can only imagine what it is like if there is an accident [that's how it was in the Bay Area. Bad during peak times was usual, and if there was an accident on either bridge, you'd just give up. Traffic would literally come to a stop for tens of miles with no hope for movement. That almost never happens in LA.]

A couple of unusual things. In the Sheraton, where I stayed, they had just remodeled. Very nicely done. And someone decided that it would be appropriate to pipe in some mood music to the restaurant and common areas. And the songs would alternate between classic 40s/50s/early 60s jazz vocal [the amazing Julie London, Sinatra, Lou Rawls] and trance-electonica music. Like on the Geico caveman commercial where our hero is walking through the airport [the song is called "Remind Me" by someone or something named Röyksopp.] Who on earth thinks that one of the most beautiful and organic forms of music [I'm referring to JAZZ here folks, not trance] melds well with the least organic most soulless form of music, electronica? This is a scandal, people! Wake up before they take away your essential rights!

Ah well. I will go back to chubby people watching and searching seat cushions for change. Wish me luck.