Ferrario Rules

Summer Music

This is turning into the summer of music.  I honestly haven’t been this giddy about new music coming out since the mid-1990s.  Seriously.  And not everything on my horizon is strictly new, but certainly from 2006 or later.  Here is a list of what is in the recently purchased or about to be purchased bin:

Silversun Pickups, Caranvas

Mastodon, Blood Mountain

The White Stripes, Icky Thump

Velvet Revolver, Libertad

Smashing Pumpkins, Zeitgeist

Queens of the Stone Age, Era Vulgaris

Granted, that’s only six albums, but still – when was the last time you were excited for six albums?  Has it been ten years?  Silversun Pickups and Mastodon came out last year, so I’m a little late to the party on those two, but I still feel pretty good about the slate of summer tunes.  Since I moved to New York, there has been precious little in the way of new music that I’ve been in a retro kick for the last few years.  Oh sure, there is the occasional Arcade Fire or Raconteurs that really gets it done, but by and large the great albums have been few and far between.

No, I don’t expect all of the above albums to be great.  In fact, I’ve already given the Silversun Pickups and Mastodon albums a listen through.  Mastodon I just don’t get yet – everything I know about the band and the album leads me to believe that I would like it, but I don’t.  I’ll give it a few more listens though – sometimes it takes a while.

SSPU on the other hand rocks my face off.  It’s like someone took what I’ve been looking for in music since 1996 and created that album.  More emotional that Jack White, more melodic than Breaking Benjamin, cooler than Coheed and Cambria, and braver than Coldplay – SSPU are the love-child of Billy Corgan and Doug Martsch.  I think I’ve listened to this album about 10 times since I bought it last week, and every time through I find another track that I have to hear over and over.  Right now, “Three Seed” takes the cake – a beautiful ballad of social acceptance that it’s ok to go against the grain.  I wonder what I would have thought of the line, “Fooled by the notion that the sums don’t add up at all” when I was in middle school.

I’m a little nervous about the Smashing Pumpkins album, only because it’s being termed a reunion, but it’s fundamentally no different than Zwan (Billy, Jimmy, and a couple of yahoos).  I heard “Tarantula” the other day and really liked it – hopefully Billy doesn’t get into one of those crappy phases where he wants to wear a dress all day and write songs like “Glass and the Ghost Children.”  Of course, I’ll buy the album on principle, but I hope it lives up to even minimized expectations.  I’m still waiting for that letter of apology from Weezer for Make Believe.  Maybe that one will come in the form of an album, but for right now, the summer release schedule looks pretty awesome to me.

Jailhouse Ruckus

Paris Hilton has been ordered back to prison.  Thank God.  Go directly to jail.  Do not pass go, do not collect $200.  You know, this whole situation is flat-out ridiculous.  If anyone else had been arrested, they would have received a sentence in a less posh jail than the one Paris was formerly in, nor would they have been released in the first place for whatever “medical condition” forced her out (probably herpes).  She got caught driving drunk, and was twice stopped after that driving with a suspended license.  Why should she receive special treatment?  She is the poster-child for bad celebrity behavior, and she deserves to be punished.

Still, you know what really pisses me off about this whole thing?  After her first incident (DUI) she was fined $1500.  That’s all you could do?  $1500?  Her fucking dog’s leash probably cost more than that.  This makes no sense to me.  When you fine the extremely rich, you have to alter their lives by at least a small degree in order for them to take it seriously.  This is why the NFL needs to have larger fines – so someone like Chad Johnson doesn’t openly mock the policy by having his checks written out ahead of time, knowing full well that his behavior would incur a fine.

The point is, get Paris Hilton to jail, keep her there, and pray that she learns a lesson (even though the inevitable conclusion is that she won’t).  This ordeal is nothing if not a mockery of our legal system and paints the LA Police as even more woeful than would otherwise be assumed.

Work Elevators

Our elevators at work have TVs in them that display little tidbits of news throughout the day.  Every now and then, there is a slide titled, “You Tell Us” where the network poses a question on their website and people who see the slide can respond.  Today, the question was “How are you different from everyone else in the elevator?”  I really wanted to respond to this, but I think my answer could be taken the wrong way.  Because I work for Ann Taylor, my response would have to be, “I’m a heterosexual male.”  Now, this response is emphatically true – there are about 80 people who work on my floor, and six guys, three of which are gay.  So, being a heterosexual male makes me completely different from everyone in the elevator.  However, I’m not sure the HR people here would appreciate me submitting that to the Captivate Network to be displayed across the country.  Maybe some other time when I have more gumption …

Mystery

Time flows much too rapidly as I lurch into my late twenties.  It seems like only yesterday, I was the green-horned 24 year-old moving into an apartment I had never seen with a person who could only be described as a stranger.  I remember looking forward to that new chapter of my life with eager anticipation, the time dripping so slowly, like old honey from a jar.  Since moving here it’s been a whirlwind – a range of emotions that I wasn’t prepared to deal with, but look back on with happiness that I got to experience everything I had looked for, and most of what I hadn’t.  People who know me tend to ask if I regret moving here.  The short answer is no, the long answer is a little more complicated.

I don’t believe that things happen for a reason, at least not as they’re happening.  Believing in life as a measured recipe doesn’t gel with my personality.  The reasons why things happen is only learned in hindsight, and for those people like me who constantly remember the past I guess you could say that things happen for a reason, but only insomuch as that’s how I choose to live my life – by learning from the past.  In that respect, I don’t regret moving here; I’ve learned a lot about myself, what I’m capable of, what my limits are, and what motivates me.  I’ve had some experiences here that I could never have had in San Francisco.

On the other hand, I did leave a pretty nice little job with Gap, Inc. because I believed in something I thought could be.  Would I have gained more had I stayed?  I don’t know.  Personally, no, I wouldn’t have gained more.  And it is impossible to answer that question from a professional standpoint.  In this respect, again I do not regret moving here, but I do wonder what might have been had I not taken the plunge in Manhattan.  Ken Kesey once said, “The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer.”  I think this quote sums up why I can’t and won’t look back with regret: people always search for answers but rarely find them.  Because humans are at root hedonistic creatures, they fool themselves into thinking they have found the answer.  Sometimes the answer is simple, other times no one can understand it.  But when you think you’ve found an answer, you fool yourself into closure, which cannot be truly claimed until the penultimate moment of one’s existence.  Then you stop thinking, and I know that I haven’t stopped thinking.

The mystery of east coast living grabbed me, and I explored it.  I think I explored it to the furthest reaches of meaning for myself.  No, I never went to the Hamptons and I probably won’t see the fireworks show from Battery Park.  But, I don’t think those fleeting moments can add to what I sought when I moved here.  And now that the seconds tick away, incessantly and with increasing speed, I crave the next mystery of my life.  If you believe things happen for a reason, then I understand that this is what must occur.  And if you don’t, learn something in the journey – not the destination.

A Year in the Making

I meant to write this last week, but to be honest many of my thoughts have been directed in areas other than this blog.  Oh well.  I’m sure both of my readers won’t have a problem – and yes, mom, I’m including you.

It’s been a year since I left the Macy’s Home Store, albeit under less than perfect circumstances.  I have no enemies there, or at least I don’t think I do.  In fact, I keep in touch with many of the people I used to work with, so in that regard I’ve made good friends/contacts there.  However, I can say with complete conviction that I have spent nary a minute in the past year looking back with regret; I fully believe in the decision that I made and am completely happy with my choice to move to Ann Taylor.  While certainly the perks of going to shows and meeting with vendors were nice, in no way did they outweigh the oppressiveness of the environment.  Treating other people with blatant disrespect and purposely setting others up to fail are facets of a workplace that I cannot support.  There aren’t many principles in my life, but those which I do have I abide by, this being one of them.

Despite the sweeping winds of change that have busied my life in the past year, I know that the next steps I take will be rewarding.  Reflecting on my time in New York is something to which I have tried to devote more time recently, and without fail I will look back years from now with thoughts that begin with, “I’m glad I did …” rather than, “I wish I would have …”

The Quiet War

Yesterday, Ben and I received a notice to cease for our apartment.  I can’t say it was completely unanticipated, but it still is a little shocking.  Here’s a recap of the last few months that have led to this infraction:

Sometime around January: psycho-hose-beast moves into the apartment directly above us.

February: Complaints begin – she tells us to be quiet at 9:00 on a Friday night.

March: Complaints continue, although some of them have more merit, but still the vast minority.

April: Two separate occasions she comes down before 11:00 on Friday and Saturday nights when only two people are in the apartment playing darts.

Now, I understand that people may not live the same lifestyle that Ben and I do.  Really, I do.  And we will do everything in our power to be as considerate as possible.  But, now our management perceives us to be these two careless shit-disturbers and with another infraction we will be evicted.  Ok, now I’m pissed.

What pisses me off is the fact that the neighbors directly next to us have not had a problem with any ruckus we may have caused.  And in the entire time we’ve been there we have never had a visit from anyone until she moved in.  So, let’s recap: Ben and I move in nearly two years ago and have not had any problems until February.  The people directly next to us have been there the entire time and have never had a problem.  So, either we have all of a sudden become too loud for our own good or the sensitivity of the new tenants is unreasonable.  I leave you to make the decision.

The part that really grinds my gears about this whole situation is that we are without challenge quiet as can be Sunday through Thursday.  Both of us are usually in bed by 10:00 and never make loud noises.  So sue us: we work hard throughout the week and we want to have a little fun on the weekends.  If the noise bothers you, please let us know and we’ll keep it down.  Done deal.

Apparently, the soul sucking succubus above us has the nerve not to inform the supervisor of her complaints.  This much we confirmed.  Furthermore, we even approached her on a weekday night to try and come to an agreement on what is and is not acceptable.  Certainly, that is more of an olive branch than she ever extended to us.  And still, we get a notice to cease.  If I’m going to get evicted, I’m going down with guns blazing – of that much you can be sure.

We’re going to meet with the management company tomorrow and see where we can go from here.  Obviously, I don’t want to get evicted, and would prefer if I could secure a reference of on time payment, respect for the grounds, etc for the future.  But lest there be any doubt, it’s full on war for that bearded goat-woman from hell above me.  You want it quiet?  Fine.  But I’ll bet a buffalo nickel I can piss you off to levels you’ve never even dreamed without opening my mouth or turning on the stereo!

Congratulations Warriors!

I must give respect: congratulations to the Golden State Warriors for toppling the best team in the NBA during the regular season.  Warrior fans have waited a long time for this moment, and they should relish it for as long as they wish.  Admittedly, I’m not a huge GSW fan.  I didn’t really start following basketball until high school, and by then the Warriors were a joke of a franchise.  Consider the following: no Warrior team has won a best of seven series since 1977.  The Warriors had not made the playoffs since 1994.  These are not badges of honor, nor do they serve to justify the team’s pride right now.  The team should be proud of their accomplishment, but as it relates to the last 13 years all we can really see is how terribly the franchise had been run until now.

The Warriors out-hustled, out-fought, and out-lasted the supposedly superior Mavericks, and in doing so gave themselves a huge confidence boost that may even allow them to make it to the NBA finals.  I certainly hope they get there – and God knows, their rabid fans would follow them to the depths of the earth if it brought back a championship.  I wish I could partake in the melee that would ensue, and I certainly support the team, but even though they represent professional basketball in my home, I would feel like a bandwagoner for latching on now instead of through their pitfalls of the 1990s.

I don’t recall the exact wording, but Sports Guy Bill Simmons articulated my feelings perfectly in his book, Now I Can Die in Peace.  He always preaches that you root for the home team.  Check: I will never root against the Giants, the 49ers, or the Wildcats.  Never, ever, ever.  But, Simmons goes on to say that there are circumstances that exist that alienate fan bases to the point where it is ok not to root against the home team, but to support another team.  The Golden State Warriors of the 1990s did this in spades.  Bad drafting, poor trades, flat-out miserable coaches … you name any aspect of incompetence and the Warriors committed it, again and again and again.  As such, I couldn’t invest emotion into the franchise – it would have been too painful.  It would be similar to falling deeply in love with a girl whom you never to be lecherous from the get go – all you would end up with is heartache.  Perhaps it’s because I was a spoiled sports fan growing up.  I had five 49ers Super bowl victories by the time I was 13; I witnessed (albeit embarrassingly) a Giants World Series before I was 10.  Emotional fortitude in sports is not something that is formed by constant success.

Anyway, I actually met the Sports Guy in NY when his book came out at one of the signings.  Now, I’m not a huge basketball fan to begin with, but I do enjoy watching games, regardless of who is playing.  I specifically asked him if it was ok NOT to root for the Warriors given the edict that he spelled out in his book.  According to him, it was.  Now, don’t get me wrong: I don’t look to other people for every decision I make, but it did make me feel better to have an objective opinion reinforce my feelings.  But, that is why I’m not rabid about the Warriors now.  It would cheapen what they have accomplished.  The true fans that packed the Oakland Coliseum in 1999 – this belongs to them, not me.  Yes, I grew up in the area and they are my home team, but this means so much more to those devoted few who stuck with them over the years.  I’m happy they can have their moment of glory, and I hope it continues through June.  I’ll be there, golf-clapping in the background; but you won’t see me jumping into the fray because it would just take away from the moment.

Casino Royale Is Really Fucking Terrible

Casino Royale might be the worst James Bond movie I have ever seen.  I haven’t seen them all yet (but I’m really close), and my initial instinct is that License to Kill is probably worse, but I’m just not sure yet.  I had such high expectations for this movie – everyone I knew that saw it (and many whom I didn’t know) found it to be amazing.  I didn’t find it to be that exactly, nor was it exactly in the ballpark of amazing either.

First of all, I’m not poo-pooing Daniel Craig’s performance.  I actually thought he was pretty good, easily better than Timothy Dalton and George Lazenby.  But, we must keep in mind that as rugged and steely-eyed as Craig was, he was equally poor at delivering witty banter, especially with the women in the film.  Save one line (where Bond tells Vesper that she’s not his type, she responds, “Smart?” and he responds, “Single.” – that was awesome), Craig did not make a very smooth Bond; tough, yes.  But he certainly didn’t have the charm or disarming wit of Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore, or Sean Connery.  Granted, that’s pretty exclusive company, but this is about delivering lines not scripting them, and for that I have to fault Craig.

Even still, I liked Craig enough to give him a few more chances at perfecting the character.  What I have a huge problem with in this movie (and stop here if you haven’t seen it, even though I wouldn’t dare recommend it to you) is the fact that Bond is such a wuss.  How the hell can James Bond fall in love?  Isn’t that against the 00 code or something?  Furthermore, after all of his experience, how on earth can James Bond (James fucking Bond) be out-teased and completely duped by another woman?  Furthermore, yes Vesper is hot, but in no way does she even crack the top ten on hot Bond girls, which begs the question why her?

There was a line towards the end of the film where Bond says something like, “I have no armor left.  Whatever is left of me, I’m yours.”  I almost took the disc out of my DVD player to make sure I wasn’t watching A Walk to Remember or some other maudlin piece of crap.  Seriously, WTF?  Look, sensitivity towards women is something to be valued in this life – I get that.  But not from James Bond – he is supposed to represent everything dark, mysterious, and uncaring about man, selfish and stoic with the capacity to fall in love, but never to love.  The character of James Bond was brutally betrayed by this movie.

The biggest defense I have heard for this movie is that it was intended to be the story of how James Bond became James Bond – i.e., his character was not established as it had been in all of the other films.  Well, to that I saw balderdash – James Bond does exist within the confines of time, therefore we must assume that his life can be transposed to any period of time.  This is why it is still ok to have Bond films – we don’t assume that the Sean Connery James Bond of Dr. No in 1962 is 45 years older in Casino Royale or even 40 years older in Die Another Day.  Whatever the intent of the movie was, it succeeded merely in butchering one of the greatest film characters of all time.  I may have to boycott the next James Bond movie, but I probably won’t because my determination in such matters tends to wane.  But I will not forgive the abomination that was Casino Royale.

Here Lies Kilgore Trout

Farewell, Kurt Vonnegut – you have touched and inspired us all.  I remember discovering Vonnegut my junior year of high school.  I read Breakfast of Champions in a span of about two days (which is really fast for me – I usually take my time reading books), I couldn’t put it down.  From there came Slaughterhouse 5, Cat’s Cradle, Galapagos, and Sirens of Titan, all of which were amazing.  Just recently, I read A Man Without A Country flying from New York to San Francisco.  The book is nonfiction and is basically Vonnegut’s take on the world today.  His genius struck me once again when he asserted that the most addictive substance on this planet is not heroin or nicotine, but oil, and that our war with Iraqis merely the action of anyone going through withdrawal when he realizes that his drug is in short supply.  Brilliant, Mr. Vonnegut, brilliant.

When I began taking writing classes after college, one of our first assignments was to write a poem about having dinner with a famous person.  I chose Kurt Vonnegut instead of those heavy hitters from history like Winston Churchill or Jesus Christ, mostly because I believe conversing with someone of Vonnegut’s wit and intelligence would be fascinating.  Furthermore, it would be true of the Vonnegut who died at age 84 or the man who completed Slaughterhouse 5 in 1969 at age 47 – his charm and passion for life were not restricted by his increasing age.

It’s sad that we won’t be able to enjoy more of his works, but we should be thankful that we had any to begin with.  The world needs more people like Kurt Vonnegut; people not afraid to speak their minds and do so in a way that is meaningful to a broad audience and not detrimental to the opposition.  Isn’t that what healthy debate is all about?  Rest in peace, sir.

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For the third time in this still new year, I will be traveling back to California.  It will be good to get away from the hustle and bustle of New York for a few days – time seems to move faster on this side of the country, and I’m not in any kind of hurry to move into the routine of mid-life.  Perhaps this is my quarter life crisis, if there is such a thing.

I’ll be getting the boat on the water for its maiden voyage tomorrow, and we’ll see if that Bravo 3 outdrive is all it’s cracked up to be when I ski behind the rig.  I’m debating naming the boat, but my mind is so scattered these days I wonder if I’ll ever be able to settle on something that I won’t prefer in a few days time.  We’ll have to wait and see.  Catch you on the flip side, peeps.

Oh Happy Day!

We finally got it done last night and put the first W on the scoreboard for 2007, on the heels of a stellar pitching performance from Matt Morris.  Wait a minute … Matt Morris?  10-15 Matt Morris?  Ineffective, batting-practice fastball Matt Morris?  This is going to be a longer season than I thought.  At least Pedro Feliz wasn’t in the lineup to strike out four times last night.  Let’s see if Lowry has figured out how to adjust tonight when we take on the source of all evil: the Los Angeles Dodgers.