I make my living walking dogs, in northern Brooklyn, just a few subway stops from Manhattan. I’ve been running my own business for six years (next month), and it’s been a wonderful opportunity for me to not only spend hours each day with my favorite of life forms – dogs – but it’s also afforded me the opportunity for mental downtime, allowing me to free up all of my thoughts so creative ideas can flow my way. I’ve written two screenplays as well as several short stories and short plays and have used my dog time as a means to formulate many of my creative ideas.
So, what I’m thinking here is to supply, to the Blogosphere, my observations of what’s been happening here, on the ground, of this planet earth. I’m just a week shy of turning forty-four, and, at times, I feel as though I’m ninety, having entered that old-age demographic of those who just don’t seem to understand all the advances that have occurred in their lifetime. For you younger ones, the internet was not happening until I was well out of college – scary, eh? – and cell phones? No. We had answering machines, with little mini cassette tapes, that recorded messages, and we got back with people, with our actual voices. No texting. No emails. Only talking. It even worked.
Ok, I digress with what I’m wanting to do here. My week in review, as I walk and sit . . .
I never take medication. I loathe the pharmaceutical industry. It started when I used to live in Cincinnati, where I grew up and lived until almost thirteen years ago. In my last job there, I worked as an account service representative at a commercial and web printer. One of our customers did a great deal of printing for Procter & Gamble – Cincinnati’s most high-profile company. The primary contact at the agency was a delightful woman who developed cancer, and while she was on chemotherapy, I learned that a pharmaceutical company was so wonderful and actually offered her a pill, that she could take, that would ease the nauseating and painful effects that the chemo took on her body. The pill didn’t make that much of a difference for her – she always felt awful – but each pill did cost her $100. Each pill. $100. That’s all I needed to learn to forever loathe that industry. I subscribe to the theory that karma’s a bitch and feel that the universe will get its revenge on the person(s) responsible for taking advantage of those in desperate need. That’s not up for me to decide though.
Wow, I digressed again.
Yes, I do not take medications. My cholesterol was high, so I upped my workout regime, started taking spinning classes, ate more whole grains, increased my flax seed intake by over 1000%. Viola! My cholesterol decreased 75 points in one year. But, a few weeks ago, after feeling sick for almost all winter, I finally called the doctor, and after a brief office visit, I learned that I had the beginnings of bronchitis. $49 later, generic antibiotics, six pills, and it would be wiped out. As I mentioned, I’m a dog walker, I’m not one of those who have an overabundance of cash lying around, and unfortunately, I became quite the douche bag at Rite Aid when the pharmacist informed me that my total was not to be in the $15-$20 range, like the doctor had predicted. I was that guy at Rite Aid that day. There appear to be an over-abundance of that guy’s walking around, so when it’s me, I don’t take it lightly. I’m grateful that I am not one of those people where unlabored douche-esque outbursts occur frequently, and I find myself mesmerized by those who have perfected it so effortlessly. But, being human and all, I’m not perfect and all, and most certainly wasn’t at Rite Aid. I wasn’t awful awful, but the profanity came flowing from my lips, and really, what stranger needs that while they’re trying to do their job? So, I went back to Rite Aid, two days later, and apologized to the pharmacist. I subscribe to the mantra: if ever you find yourself acting like a tool, you need to make amends. The pills all worked out, and I’m finally feeling better this week. So, yes, the pharmaceutical company came through in the end, even if they hosed me on the price.
Ok, be patient, I’m getting to the point.
With all that being said, we laid low this weekend. While my health improved, my partner developed a terrible cough, so he got his shifts covered, cancelled all his commitments and rested, taking good care of himself. So, my week in review revolves a great deal around television. Let’s get real here, though. Much of my week revolves around television, and I often find myself conflicted as to the number of hours I waste, each week, staring at our beautiful Sony 40” HDTV. I love that television and those adorable red Netflix envelopes that appear in our mailbox three times each week. You’ll learn that movies are pretty much everything to me – I watch, on average, about five a week. But, over this past weekend, while taking a break from movies, I finally watched a segment of MTVs full-day marathon of their latest hit Jersey Shore, the show that’s currently enjoying its pop-cultural climax with four-million viewers each week. One of my greatest weaknesses is name recollection, so I apologize with my inability to recollect the names of many of the characters involved. One of the characters was excited about starting his new job at a souvenir and t-shirt shop, and the day he was supposed to embark on his career in merchandising, he woke up, with what he self-diagnosed as pink eye. After sharing the news with all of his housemates – which was met with varying degrees of alarm and/or concern and/or who gives a shit?! – he was able to get a doctor’s appointment at 3:30pm. Crisis. His shift was something like 2-9pm that day. After going to discuss the dilemma with his new boss, he learned that he was required to get the entire shift covered. Two of his housemates would split the shift, but no one would work for him until 9pm for they all needed adequate primp time before going out. I think one co-star/housemate offered to stay until 7pm though. This, of course, led to further discussions about the fact that they don’t even go out until about 10:30pm, so the people who wouldn’t work for him until 9pm were ridiculous. Unreasonable even. And really, it was just so unfair to him! No one seemed to question why he couldn’t take over at 5pm, after the conclusion of his doctor’s appointment. That is what thrilled me the most. Oh, and before all of that drama, I learned about the latest money-making venture offered by one of the housemates, Nicole “Sooki” Polizzi, who I learned about somewhere in my periphery this week (t.v. news program, the internet, on the actual show, I don’t know), that she will attend your party if you pay her $2000. You’ve probably heard all about Sooki – she was the woman who got hit at a bar, punched in the face even. I think I even heard it happened a second time. Maybe? Apparently, you can go online and see a video of her bar assailant, sans Sooki, as he gets knocked out, in some fighting ring somewhere. Fascinating stuff. It was all the talk a few weeks ago as MTV had decided to not air the actual hit, but one could view the outtake, on virtually every website, and news program, imaginable. MTVs choice to exclude the footage yielded all kinds of new viewers for their program – a choice that was destined to not backfire. I’m sure someone will take Sooki up on her offer to make her one of their party guests and pay her $2000, even if it’s just so they can touch her hair. I’ve never seen hair do what her hair does. Like the show, itself, something about her hair works, in an odd, surprising way, and you can’t imagine Sooki with any other hairstyle – anything else would just be wrong, somehow. If you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing the show for yourself, it’s worth a quick viewing, even if just for Sooki’s hair. I learned, a few years back, that Halle Berry would attend your party but you’d have to pay her $500,000 to do so – I don’t know if she still has the same offer. Clearly, Sooki is no Halle, but I still feel that Sooki has undersold herself with a lowball appearance figure of $2000. Rumor has it that dating reality show offers are filling Sooki’s inbox, so if you’re interested in including her on your upcoming guest-list to your fabulous soiree, you’d better book her soon. There I go digressing again. Ok, back to the episode. Sooki brought some guy home from a bar so they could totally make out, but to her utter disappointment, he passed out, just slouching there, next to her, on a sofa on their second-floor, outdoor patio, and upon her attempting to awaken him so they could get down to business, which I’m sure would have been nothing short of vile, he vomited – on himself and on their patio. She asked that he go and finish his purging over the side, over the rooftop railing, so his vomit would land on the sidewalk below instead of on their outdoor patio. Vomit is a difficult thing to pull off on television, or anywhere for that matter, but when it works, it works beautifully. This scene fit into the works category. Again, I don’t know why. He, the vomiter, seemed like a nice guy, so he obliged Sooki with her over-the-railing request. We then got to see Sooki walk the vomiter home. He wanted a good-night kiss, but Sooki would have no part of it – as she pointed out to him, he had vomit breath after all. Again, he remained the nice guy that he was and told her that he expected that answer from her. Hey, a boy’s gotta try, under any circumstance. Also, on the episode, on the same night, and at the same club where Sooki met the vomiter, someone cheated on her boyfriend, and she felt awful – she played coy with her housemates and acted like she didn’t remember anything about the previous evening’s infidelity, but they all knew better. They were on to her lies. She phoned her boyfriend, but he cut their phone conversation dangerously short. She learned this after he hung up on her and wouldn’t answer any of her four or five additional attempts to phone him back. One of the characters in the home is named Mike “The Situation”. I don’t know what he did, but it’s funny, the only names I remember are Sooki and “The Situation.” I guess the white kids are now emulating the one-name-recognition success that African American hip hop artists have been enjoying for years. Finally. I can’t believe it took so long. All of this Jersey Shore fun I’ve mentioned occurred in about twelve minutes of the program. I could feel myself being sucked in, completely engrossed by its tasteless brilliance, but again, conflict entered my mind. The last thing I need is another television program to add to my weekly roster. We have DVR, so I rarely watch commercials, which saves about 15 minutes with every hour I watch, but still, my curriculum of televised entertainment could not, would not, include Jersey Shore. It did get my partner and I talking about the phenomenon the show has become though. I decided to name myself The Conflicted, and he settled with a name proclamation of The Problem. We don’t watch much reality television – ok, Denise Richards: It’s Complicated – he doesn’t watch that one, but I do – and RuPaul’s Drag Race, but they’re a must. Oh, and I watched the first season of Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab, which, if it still continues, I’m thinking, we may be seeing at least one of Jersey Shore housemates in one of its future seasons. Oh yeah. Then there was Survivor. We took the ride on the first season of that program, watched every episode, and even then, while we witnessed the excitement of the lying and alliances unfold, I knew we were well on our way to a universal demise, of some sort. I think Jersey Shore confirms my predictions.
Then, The Golden Globes came on. Yes, I, too, got wrapped up in the gowns. When Chloë Sevigny, or is it spelled Chloï? I think they wrote it that way on the screen when she won her award, just before she was pissed off because that guy who escorted her onto the stage, stepped on, and ripped her dress. You could tell she was upset because after her first or second sentence into her acceptance speech, she proclaimed: I can’t believe you just ripped my dress, with an emphasis on the word dress. My prediction: this beautiful line will be shared by many a drag queen for decades to come. I, for one, did not like Chloë’s dress. I think that Valentino is a genius, but it was either the wrong dress for Chloë or just the wrong dress, period. My partner grabbed our laptop and searched, online, as the event unfolded, and even before Chloë’s speech was a wrap, people had already tweeted about how hideous her dress was and that they’re glad it ripped – according to more than a few who tweet, the guy apparently had done her a favor by tearing it. We were both fascinated by the speed at which nastiness can unfold. It astounded us both. I used to dig Chloë but no more. I don’t even know why. I wasn’t pissed she won – it’s not that I hate her – but something about her speech, though, just confirmed to me that I still don’t like her. But I’m a bit off anyway. I hated Meryl Streep for more than a decade because I thought she was a total bitch, simply based on the fact that she had done such an amazing acting job in Kramer vs. Kramer. Don’t worry Meryl. I adore you now – I think you’re the shit! In a good way. This past Monday morning, the day after The Golden Globes had been handed out (Meryl even won for Julie and Julia), I searched and searched, hoping that someone, somewhere, would agree with me about Chloë ‘s Valentino gown not working. It took two days to find one though – everyone had photos of the best and worst dressed and no one, I found, had her in either category, until Tuesday. Wait a second. Something’s seeping into my consciousness. I think one of the sites I found actually had her on a best-dressed list. Clearly, I tried to block that revelation out. No fashion experts seemed to agree with one another, but everyone, with their chosen words, clearly had some opinion – some of which you couldn’t even decipher what their opinions were, for their language was overly littered with contradictory adjectives. Two days later, on some site, there it was. A picture of Chloë, in her gown, and with no ambiguities in the language. That person felt that she belonged in the category of the worst-dressed of the evening. I felt validated, even relieved that I could finally put that online quest behind me. But also, again, I felt conflicted. I hate opening pages that deal with that type of nastiness. I feel that by my opening them, I am contributing to the success of the downward spiral of the human race. (But really, it’s likely that by my writing this blog, I, too, am contributing to the demise as well – but hang in there, I’ll be getting to some points to be made soon, I think.) Sometimes, though, I just can’t help myself. Oh wait, before I continue, one more thing. If you’re reading this Chloë, don’t worry, many other famous people have traveled across my like/dislike-o-meter, just to return to like again. It could happen for you as well, so hang in there Chloë.
Then, on Tuesday, there was that ever-important election in Massachusetts. The Republican won. Health care in danger. Obama’s bummed but takes the blame – now he wants to use this opportunity to connect with the American people. The senatorial winner, Scott Brown, even used his victory speech as an opportunity to pimp out his two daughters. You can’t make this shit up. Really, if you haven’t watched his speech yet, find it on YouTube. It’s an unbelievable train wreck, but then again, it seems to suit our times in a most fascinating way. Again, I’m not exactly sure why. But it was on Facebook, where I read, a friend of a friend had commented: “Teddy Kennedy looks up from hell and cannot believe it. The audacity of failure.” I don’t even know what he meant by his post, but even writing that someone “looks up from hell” was something I still can’t believe I read. Wow!
Nike was the last advertiser to drop Tiger Woods – if it didn’t happen this week, I heard about it late, so it was this week to me. I find Nike to be brilliant in their marketing. How can a company exploit their workers and still have us eager to buy the shit out of their products? Maybe because the exploited aren’t American. Who knows why we accept it, but we do – and they made us, somehow they did, accept it. Okay, still though, I’m thinking that Nike finally dropped the ball with this Tiger story. What they should have done, is to continue to pay Tiger whatever it is that they had agreed upon, and to just lay low for awhile. Tiger always looked so impressive (clean and together) in his Nike – all athletes do. I’m thinking if clothes were cars, Nike would fall into the Mercedes or Lexus class. Nike likes to associate with athletes at the top of their game – Federer, Nadal, The Williams’ sisters – and they’re going to be awfully upset when Tiger returns to the game this Spring without a swoosh on his hat or one across his chest, that same chest we all saw uncovered on the cover of Vanity Fair. Tiger, Spring, 2010, The Reunion Tour. I can hear the advertising sales execs now, already lining up deals with their best advertisers, promising to hold thirty seconds of air time, for the discounted rate of 1.25 million (I’m totally pulling this number from an undisclosed orifice), for when Tiger returns to the fairways. And what’s Nike going to do then? They dropped him – how could Tiger go back to Nike now? It really is unimaginable – Tiger without a single swoosh. Note to self: if I find an abundance of free time, find my friend Melissa and borrow her sewing machine and design a line of golf clothing and somehow locate Mr. Woods, himself, and give him some samples, with the hopes that he’ll wear my pieces. It’d be a nice, lottery-win, sure-thing idea – for, like many fiascos, there is a backlash against the backlash, and there will, without a doubt, be one with Tiger as well. Look at Mariah Carey. We were supposed to love her, then laugh at her pain when she had her breakdown (i.e. Tiger’s in sex rehab), and then sometime around her Saturday Night Live appearance (i.e. when Tiger comes back and wins The Masters) when she popped out with that smokin’, hot body of hers, we were to like her again. I think we’re supposed to hate Mariah again – I think it’s because her breasts are large, larger than they’ve ever been – I’m not completely sure, but I think that’s the reason. As for Tiger, it is likely that Nike will regret this latest decision. Funny how infidelity has become the latest of hate crimes. I just don’t know why we’re so preoccupied with it all. Ex Governor Spitzer was such a trailblazer. I hope somewhere, inside of Eliot, he feels a great sense of pride for being like, any true artist, so ahead of his time.
Other than the occasional Olympics, tennis is the only sport I watch, generally spending only about four weeks a year involved in its volleys, with watching Wimbledon and The U.S. Open. I even go to The Open one night each year and sit high, in the nosebleeds, in shittier seats than our living room. Nadal’s my favorite player – I love anything and everything from Spain and he’s all Spanish – so I do watch at least one of his matches when he plays on clay at The French Open – his craft is most beautiful on clay. But, this week started The Australian Open. Time change is so extreme between this time zone and Australia, but I am able to catch it in the evening and have been seeing a bit of it, but it just doesn’t feel the same for some reason. If you haven’t been following it, the women’s game got a shot in the arm at the end of last season. Kim Clijsters rejoined the game after her retirement hiatus to have a baby. With her win at last year’s U.S. Open, she’s the first mother to have ever won one of the four majors. And if you haven’t been following The Australian Open this year, the first major of the calendar year, Justine Henin, the world’s previous number one, who few ever beat, is back and has already beaten fifth-seeded Elena Dementieva (in the second round.) You may remember Elena from the Beijing Olympics – she took home the gold. So, the Belgians are back, stronger than ever, and the women’s game just got a bit more interesting. And if you haven’t watched it on YouTube yet, you can see American Andy Roddick mildly lose his shit with a referee, even after he won the match. It was only a three-setter, too. Oh Andy! You make it so easy to not like you. Andy eventually tweeted an apology concerning this outburst. Tweeted his apology. Wow. Andy was briefly on my like meter, when Jimmy Connors was his coach, but those days ended when he fired Jimmy. See Chloë, how easy it is to travel across my like/dislike-o-meter?
I’m almost wrapped up for this week. I promise.
Rush and Pat not only stand by their ignorance and hatred, but somehow, through some miracle, that is likely to be financially, and not divinely, inspired, they both have kept their jobs. Bill Maher lost his job after 9/11 – maybe it’s time to send out a similar message to Rush and Pat. Wait as second, though. Is racism okay now? I can’t keep track of it. Imus got his job back. And wait, Rush and Pat are still occupying air time, so it must be okay to still be racist. Maybe racism will be out of style next season. One can only hope.
Before this Wednesday, I’ve only watched about a half hour of American Idol – I watched part of a finale, once, a few years ago. I don’t remember either of the contestants, but it may have been the year of the two Davids. Was that one of the years? It’s something about judge Simon that has kept me from watching. I know each contestant willingly enters their realm, each knowing that bad news could come their way. I’m just big on encouraging anyone to pursue any art that speaks to them, and when people like Simon say the nastiest of comments, just to generate good ratings and a large signing bonus, it makes me sad. I can’t imagine how many dreams have been shattered by Simon’s comments. But now that Ellen has joined the judge circle, I was curious to watch. Apparently, though, Ellen won’t be sitting in a judge seat until they start the next round in Los Angeles. I saw a half hour of their Orlando visit – unfortunately, I missed Kristin Chenoweth’s participation as guest judge. I loved her in the Broadway hit Wicked, on Pushing Daisies, even her guest spot on Frasier – didn’t love her on Glee though – I stopped watching Glee, I know that makes me uncool, but the writers removed everything likeable from all of the characters and I can’t take a ride when I’m not rooting for anyone. Ok, back to Idol. I saw one guy sing Amazing Grace – my all-time least-favorite church hymn – and he was not going to leave his audition without being told that he was going to Hollywood. They had to escort him out, after telling him he had a bad singing voice, and then the poor guy, after being carried off by security, got taken to the ground and handcuffed. It made me sad. Next, came on a 25-year-old who spent four years in prison for robbing a bank with a b.b. gun. His was a touching story, and his voice, and heart-felt presentation, were so engaging, I felt chills consume me. They worked the hell out of his story, and now, everyone who’s ever made any mistake will be hoping that he wins. He did have an incredible voice. A question I’ve had has finally been answered – I now understand the appeal of American Idol. I don’t expect to take the Idol ride – who knows, though, Ellen may win me over and didn’t I hear that Simon’s leaving to go do the exact, same thing on a show with a different name and isn’t LaToya Jackson rallying for his spot and isn’t Paula Abdul going to go with Simon to his show? Really, though, I was surprised how un-dick-ish Simon was in the half hour I watched. I was completely surprised how he only seemed douche-esque a couple of times. It did seem effortless, though, in those moments. He seems to be a natural. Note to Simon: make amends – you’ll feel much better.
Yes, my American Idol question may have been answered, but I have so many more. Perhaps my walking dogs and limiting my human encounters to quick, little (at times awkward) dog-to-dog encounters on Brooklyn sidewalks has kept me from fully understanding what’s been happening. After all, a lot has changed in the past six years since I got out of the subway-riding-rush-hour-commuting-corporate-world-craziness life that I led for so many years. And now, I’m left with the doggies trying to figure out where it all went so, not wrong, but strange. People seem to be losing their shit, and I don’t feel as though I’m an exception – look, I’m writing this and could be out having coffee, interacting with a friend. Texting, tweeting, Facebooking. No one seems to really be connecting anymore – some kind of disconnect seems to be occurring as technology evolves. A friend of ours took his high school daughter to a two-and-a-half hour movie a few months ago, and in the time it took them to watch the three acts of the movie unfold, his daughter got over 120 texts on her phone. I say OMG, WTF and I would just die (IWJD). Hey, did I just invent something useless? I was talking with one of my nearest and dearest friends earlier today – she is one of my biggest supporters who was happy to hear that I’m beginning this blog thing – and we were talking about how we all have more things to consume our days than ever before, so much more, in fact, that the only way to make it through is to make sacrifices, albeit, personal, social, economical, professional, even those involving issues of integrity. We’re all so worn out that we can’t possibly do it all, which leads to an ever-increasing sense of conflict. Conflict is “The Situation.” I think that so many of the answers, even the questions, lie in popular culture. We’re bombarded with so many of its references every time we turn around, and each image, soundbite, cable program, whatever, it all affects us in some way. I’m ready, finally, to see how I fit into it all and am eager to take the journey of attempting to unravel the mystery of our current human, condition? Dilemma? Whatever it is, I’m ready. I hope you enjoy taking the ride with me.
Everywhere you turn, people are making fun of NBC – especially on NBC. You can’t get through even an episode of SNL without three jokes about the failing network. Conan’s leaving now, it’s official, and what did I hear? He’s getting thirty million to do so. Wait, it went up to forty million. Get out! Forty-five million. Apparently, he’s getting around thirty-two million of that amount and will likely be sharing some of it with his staff as well. I feel sorry for the man. He clearly loves entertaining, and money, without the opportunity to entertain, can’t be a good thing for him. For anybody really. Conan continues to joke about his departure, but he’s got to be dying inside. His contract allows him to start on another network in September. Here’s hoping that he lands even better on his feet than he did when he landed the highly-coveted 11:30pm time slot. On Wednesday this week, he informed us all that, yes, he’s leaving, but he’s got whatever budget he needs to finish his show off. He brought on the world’s most expensive car, a Bugatti Veyron, and decorated it like a mouse. As we watched the stationary mouse car remain motionless, the The Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction was being played, bringing the total of the gag to one point five million dollars. Conan was having fun with this one as he relayed: “Let me ask you a question. Is this appropriate music for a car that looks like a mouse? No. Does it add anything at all to this comedy bit? No, it doesn’t. Is it crazy expensive to play on the air, not to mention the rights to re-air this clip on the internet? Hell yes.” Brilliant! You go Conan! I’m not thinking that NBC bashing is going to be ending anytime soon.
Hey, this may have been a bit longer than most blog entries. I’m so green at this, does one even refer to it as a blog entry, a posting? What? But, please forgive me. It’s my first contribution to The Blogosphere, and as I already indicated, I walk dogs for a living and have lots of time to dedicate to examination.
So, until next week . . . Adiós, from keV!
P.S. At the end of last week, we saw the Off Broadway hit The Understudy – I think we got in just before its extension closed. Brilliant piece of theater. If it comes your way, or if you’re involved with bringing theater to any venue near you and you’re looking to mount a crowd pleaser, see if you can nab it. Three characters – two men / one woman. A delightful evening of theater, indeed. Among its three stars, was none other than Zack from Saved by the Bell. Time has been kind to Zack, and he, like the other cast members, nailed it!
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