February 25, 2005

Uncool Bananas

There is something in my apartment that apparently accelerates the aging process in bananas and it has me a bit concerned. I bought a modest bunch at the Met on Monday - nice and firm with just a hint of green (so I thought they'd last well through the week) - and by Tuesday they were already showing a prominent touch of the geriatric. I find this particularly distressing because I prefer my bananas unblemished and now they are freakish and unsightly. I'm almost embarrassed to bring them into work.

I tried moving them around to different storage locations thinking that perhaps some combination of altitude, warmth or dryness was contributing to their premature deterioration. But no, the steady decline that began atop the refrigerator continued on the countertop and further more in a ceramic bowl over by the couch.

It may be that I expect too much from the banana itself and that this life cycle is completely normal. Perhaps the impatience brought about my accelerated lifestyle that has led to unrealistic expectations in this regard. I'm not sure. Any input or enlightening banana tales would be greatly appreciated.

February 23, 2005

with a Banjo-lin on my knee

Sunday I went down to the Brookdale Guitar show where my old housemate and friend Jon Francis was giving a seminar on homemade instruments.

Accompanied by drummer Tom Bendel he demonstrated several instruments that he had created or modified using some common and some uncommon parts. His creations were received enthusiastically by the crowd, and he introduced and explained each with humor and insight. And even a little history of homemade musical instruments for good measure.

Among the instruments presented were modified banjos, a stringed box, a string cookie tin, a washtub bass, an approximation of a chinese stringed instrument fashioned from a cigar box, and a tension hoop strung with rubber bands.

Jon and Tom went into a couple of instrumentals to showcase each of the instruments. crazy loopy riffs, layered one on top of the other with the aid of a small amplifier and a digital delay.

I didn't really know what to expect coming down to see it all on Sunday, but I trust Jon to be entertaining and informative in each and every endeavor. And so, as usual, I was really impressed with everything I saw. Good stuff. Good stuff.

Jon plays and records with the band Like Moving Insects all along the east coast.

Pictured here are the Banjo-lin (above) and a washtub bass.

February 21, 2005

MOJO wire

...Perhaps he found what he came here for, but the odds are huge that he didn't. He was an old, sick, and very troubled man, and the illusion of peace and contentment was not enough for him... So finally, and for what he thought must have been the best of reasons, he ended it with a shotgun.

I don't find it surprising that Hunter Thompson met a violent end. That was almost to be expected given his lifestyle. Any prolonged exposure to a combination of drugs, alcohol and firearms almost certainly - or at least statistically - must end in some sort of tragedy. No, the means do not surprise me, it's the idea that he would take his own life is what has caught me off guard.

Throughout the day, however, hints and clues begin to materialize. The most prominent and resonating seem to be health related: a broken leg, a hip operation and failing health due to years of unbridled smoking and drinking. Perhaps this starts to make the picture a bit more clear.

Anyone familiar with his writing knows that even Hunter Thompson himself was more than a little surprised by his own longevity. He, along with many others, seemed incredulous that, despite his many indulgences, he continued to bounce back again and again giving no sign of lasting damage. In his 20's he wrote that he did not expect to live to see 30. In the late 90's he predicted that he would not see the year 2000.

He seemed to set deadlines for himself this way all through his life - but then blow past them just as he would famously miss his story deadlines for Rolling Stone. Is the secret to immortality an inablilty to finish work on time? Or could it be that he only wanted to stick around as long as things were interesting?

If, in fact, his health was failing, could the self proclaimed "champion of fun" really be expected to endure a slow drawn out death? Could someone who always wrote his own rules resign himself to a few final years trapped under the thumb of declining health? I would imagine not.

Parallels have been drawn between Thompson and Hemingway in an attempt to uncover the reasons behind the suicide and perhaps to introduce the theme of writers whose best years are considered behind them. There are similarities, of course, in the way they both lived and both chose to die, but how can we presume to know why they made the choices they made?

And so we come back again to a story Hunter Thompson wrote over 40 years ago about Hemingway's death...

Hemingway, he wrote, fled to Ketchum, Idaho because he could not adapt to the way the world had changed around him. Instead, he retreated to a community where he tried to surround himself with the illusion that everything had remained the same. But then, when age and illness caught up with him, he chose, for reasons known only to him, to take his own life.

Hunter probably came to this same conclusion for reasons similar to those he ascribed to Ernest Hemingway. But instead of seeking "peace and contentment" like Hemingway, Hunter was fighting to avoid it. Living life as he did on the edge - at redline - burning fast and bright, he could not envision a existence in which he was not in control. And so, after a lifetime of living life on his own terms, he chose to end it on his own terms as well.

And this, he must have thought, was the best of reasons.

Great Shark Hunt

I just read that Hunter Thompson commited suicide. I can't believe it. It almost seemed like that man would live forever. Sad.

February 17, 2005

So, tell me...

I was out last night with an old friend - someone I have known since before high school, fell out of touch with and recently reconnected. He was with his new girlfriend and they had recently moved in together. This explained why I had not heard from him for three or four months. She and I exchanged a few pleasantries; introductions and what-have-you. What do you do? Where are you from? Etc. Etc. Eventually she got around to the question I always seem to get... "so, do you have any stories about him?" Ah, yes. Of course, I do. But I'm much more careful now about spilling them all, my dear. And I require not just a little drink to coax them out.

It is funny that this part of our relationship has never really changed at all. All through high school and college I was the one pulled aside and quietly drilled for info. Filling in the details that always sound much better coming from someone else. And despite a 10 year gap when we did not speak, I seem to have picked up the role right where I left off.

It left me thinking about the friends that come in and out of our lives- how things seem to change and how some things never seem to. Some friends and relationships stretch back so far - who knows where they really began; and other, shorter relationships that burned with such an intensity that their brevity belies their importance. All these lives added on to our own and gently shaping our development - how we think, how we act.

I think about my friend and all the things we have gone through together: driver's licenses, college applications, crazy road trips, and long forgotten parties. All those years trying to figure out who the hell we were and where we were going to. Perhaps it is not so unusual to be asked for insights about him. After all, we know each other pretty well by now.

February 15, 2005

OMG

The Kaiser Chiefs have restored my faith in British Pop. Their show at the Mercury Lounge on February 14 was the loudest, most energetic and overall, one of the most enjoyable shows I've been to. If I could see them every week I probably would.

There really is such a big difference between playing and performance. Some bands play, The Kaiser Chiefs really perform. It's that extra bit they put into it that makes it a memorable experience. The music is a wall of sound and the lead singer thrashes about onstage, back and forth, up on the drum kit, almost off-balance but catches himself everytime. It seemed like the stage could barely contain this band. They had so much energy they might have lifted off and taken flight.

They ran through pretty much all the songs on their upcoming album, Employment: Na Na Na Na Naaa; I Predict a Riot; Oh My God; Caroline, Hey; and many others. After prolonged ear splitting cheers from the audience, they came out for one encore song, Time Honoured Tradition.

They are supposed to be coming back to town after an appearance at SXSW and I will certainly be going again.

February 14, 2005

VD gets around

This valentine's day is dedicated to the person you had an enormous crush on in homeroom but you never said anything.

Shame on you.

February 10, 2005

Chicks dig guys with skills

As I stood today, waiting for the F train, tugging on an impossibly long thread that led circuitously back to my jacket button (which was perilously close to detaching) I found myself once again contemplating the current state of civilization.

I believe we may, as a society, have somehow lost the knowledge and abilty to sew on buttons. I mean, at first glance, it seems like such a simple task. It's something we can all do... if we had to. Right? So why then are so many buttons flying off shirts and jackets? Why do garments - newly purchased - already have a resignation to failure and an admission of the substandard sewn into the hem in the form of extra buttons? These, I have found, inexplicably never fall off. The problem may be more serious than we realize.

In fact, I might venture a guess that if we had to start again from square one... or not even square one but maybe even 100 years ago, we might be far from able to recreate a nice comfy lifestyle. Instead, the plains would be crowded nomadic groups whose only marketable skills are setting a TIVO or writing a Google search string to find jpgs of Lindsey Lohan's nipple.

I'm tired of sewing buttons back on.

February 09, 2005

For Whom the Flu Tolls

I was upstate over the weekend for a wedding. I flew up on Wednesday night and made a long weekend of it. And it was a long weekend. So much packed into four days.

Unfortunately, while I was there I picked up the flu and it hit pretty hard Monday afternoon. Tuesday I stayed home and was pretty much useless. Today I was home, but able to work.

I was caught unprepared when this thing took hold and my cupboards were pretty much bare. Although I wasn't really hungry through most of it, I forced myself to put a few mix-and-match meals together consisting mostly of crackers, chicken broth and some old pasta (I told you there wasn't much). My main concern, really, was getting enough to drink.

So today when I ran out of orange juice, I got out to the supermarket to restock my shelves. This is when I discovered that people that shop during the day in the middle of the week have completely different ideas regarding the passage of time than the rest of us... perhaps it was my looming headache that produced an acute "no nonsense" style of food shopping today, but it seemed that the aisles were filled with people just loping along; dreamily removing boxes and cans from shelves, examining them wistfully then placing them back only to slowly shuffle three feet ahead and repeat the entire process. I was on the verge of collapse and wanted to avoid all trouble or inconvenience, so I was careful not say anything I might regret or overturn any floor displays, but my shopping experience was dreadful and I could not help but believe that at the root of it was a much larger conspiracy. Perhaps some sort of zombie shopping hour I unwittingly stumbled into.

February 01, 2005

Heh heh heh. Hey, Fred.

This billboard made me smile today. It's on the corner of Bleeker and Lafayette. Go check it out, maybe it will make you smile too.

After all the fuss about Betty, who knew that Wilma was so hot?

Stop living in the shadows, Wilma. It's about time you stepped out.