a partial funny

So I was watching an old episode of The Office the other day and Michael Scott and Jan had taken one of their clients, Tim Meadows, out to lunch. Jan wanted to get straight down to business, but Michael had his own idea of how the meeting should be run, beginning with this somewhat dumb, but actually funny joke. (It's a three parter, but I was so amused by the second part, I don't remember the rest.)

There's this guy, and he's an astronaut, so he drives a Saturn.
There's another guy, and he's a pimp, so he drives a cheap Escort.

It's probably better when Michael Scott tells it, but I'm still amused.

new lights

In high school, as I loved Catcher in the Rye and dreamed myself on the edge of indie, I found myself coerced to read the book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which some of my friends touted to me as the Catcher in the Rye for the 90's. I didn't care for the book and if I were to read it today, I probably wouldn't have finished it, for I've lost some of my patience since then. However, back in high school, I was a more persistent reader, I suppose, and completed the book. So many years later, I don't really remember much about the book other than it revolved around a whiny teenage boy who loved the song "Asleep" by The Smiths (something that I do give him credit for). I also remember a passage in which he talks about how much he hates when people tell him to forget about his problems, for at least he's not a starving child in Africa. His response is that, though he is a fortunate kid, his problems are problems nonetheless, and must be dealt with. At that time, and still today, I find myself, like everyone else in the world, faced with numerous problems, most of which aren't so great in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment often seem like monstrocities. In the midst of my freak outs, I'm aware that there are people who have a lot more to deal with than I do. But when you're freaking out, that's not what you tend to focus on. And I find myself comforted by the idea that, since everyone has problems and each is conditional to his or her own life, it's okay if every once in a while, I find myself freaking out about whatever situation I've found myself in.

Currently I'm reading What is the What, by Dave Eggers, which is, simply put, about starving children in Africa. It is a beautifully written account of Valentino Achak Deng, who suffered through the civil war in Sudan, and as a very young boy walked across the country with hundreds or thousands of other children to refugee camps in Ethiopia. It is also one of the most graphic and difficult novels I have ever tried to read. Though I'm less than half way through, it's beginning to alter my opinion of the "at least you're not a starving child in Africa" response to my or anyone else's griping. While I really do believe that all people have things to complain about, it does help to put different problems in perspective. People are capable of so much. If ten year old boys able to walk barefoot across a desert with little food, dodging the attacks of lions and men hunting down any people considered Dinkas, then I am most certainly capable of getting through a day of work, no matter how bad a day it might be.

a false sense of reality: part 1

A few weeks ago, there was a giant party at my work--literally hundreds of people, 22 gallons of margaritas, endless buckets of beer, multiple tables of food. For entertainment there was beer-pong, Nintendo Wii, and Rock Band. After the party was over and all was cleaned up, the Rock Band remained in the gym (the multi-purpose room on our lower floor). A large white sheet used as a giant projection screen still hangs on one wall and black lights glow to enhance the rock-star feel. Daily, as the work begins to wane, you can hear the loud rocking music emanating from behind the closed door of the gym. It has become an office-wide obsession.

And rightly so, because playing Rock Band is SO MUCH FUN. Perhaps I enjoy it because Rock Band is the first video game I've taken to successfully, or that I actually play a couple of instruments, or that I not so secretly want to be in a real rock band, but I can't seem to tire of the game (and neither can anyone else). And when I tried to convey my enthusiasm for the game to my friend Sophie, she began to question its popularity. "It's just so fun!" I tried to explain, but at the time couldn't really pinpoint anything much more specific than that. This wasn't a satisfactory answer.

What I was aware of, but too busy fake-drumming to care about, and what Sophie eloquently pointed out to me, was that most of the popular video games of recent years are ones where a person is simulating an activity they might actually be doing if they weren't playing video games. Rock Band and Guitar Hero feel like playing instruments, but it is really nothing like playing a guitar; the sports games on Wii may involve actual physical movement, and though I can bowl strike after strike in the game, I'm hopeless in a real bowling alley. The video games I remember best from my childhood were role-playing games where you ran around as a little Italian man named Mario searching for a princess or Sonic the Hedgehog, trying to collect as many golden rings as possible. Even games that more closely resembled real life activities were controlled by a keypad on a controller--baseball games weren't played by actually motioning the swinging of a bat.

We revel in a false sense of reality. It's not a productive way to spend time--it doesn't necessarily make one more capable of playing music or hitting a tennis ball across the net. My friends and I waste so much of our day pretending to be social by collecting "friends" on Facebook or Myspace and "chatting" on AIM or GChat. And it doesn't seem to matter that these actions are only based in a physical reality. While some people may long for the days of old fashioned human interactions, virtual reality is here to stay. And though a conversation on gchat will never been as satisfying as a conversation in person, perfecting a song on Guitar Hero will never feel as great as being able to play it on a real guitar, and winning a wrestling match on Wii Sports will never get the adrenaline going as pummeling someone to the ground, it can still be a lot of fun. And that's worth something too.

if only we are pilots once a day

I sometimes find myself surprised to be sitting around at a bar drinking with my friends; to be calculating my expenses and referencing my bank account; waking up at an early hour to get to my job where other people rely on me; or just realizing that I'm actually capable of taking care of myself. It's strange to recognize how, over time, you have changed and grown up. And it becomes apparent in small and unusual ways.

On the days where I don't have to be at work until 10am, I've taken to walking rather than riding the subway. Most people seem to think it's a bit ridiculous--it's only about three miles--but I find it quite pleasant, as an opportunity to be outside and to have some time for myself. While the weather can determine how enjoyable the walk may be, the proper soundtrack is also imperative. Lately, I've been listening to my most recently downloaded songs, carefully arranged into my "new" (inventive title, I know) playlist. A few days ago, I added a few songs by The Notwist to my playlist, a band I've known about for a number of years, but have not, until now, had the pleasure of falling in love with.

When I studied abroad in Ireland, I made a music video for a local band called Halite. On the day of my shoot I had my Ipod laying about and the lead singer, Graham Hopkins, asked if he could take a look at what music I had--which is the one of the few ways I don't mind being judged. His overall consensus was that I generally had very good taste with a few obvious guilty pleasures, and I was pleased with this response, since as a musician who seemed to have good taste himself, I valued his opinion. He was particularly excited that I had Pinback on my Ipod, explaining that "They're from San Diego," to which I replied, "I know. Me too!"

As a parting gift Graham gave me the CD "Faking the Books" by the band, Lali Puna, whose music is considered some amalgamation of German/indie/electro/pop, thinking that since I liked Pinback, I would like Lali Puna. I listened to the CD a lot, and eventually became familiar enough with the songs to like them. Years later, I've actually come to really like Lali Puna and listen to their music with much more enthusiasm than I did back in 2004. After graciously thanking him for the gift, Graham recommended that I listen to another German/indie/electro/pop band called The Notwist. I gave them a brief listen, and finding myself fairly uninspired kind of forgot about them until recently, when they've been popping up on a number of my favorite blogs. Since I trust the musical tastes of the bloggers who posted about The Notwist, I decided to give them another try, and to my surprise, found that I really like them. Had I not heard of them before, this band would have been my great new discovery.

Learning that I like a band I thought I didn't particularly care for, forces me to recognize that over time my tastes have changed--a telltale sign of growing up. Though it often seems the idea of "growing up" embodies negative connotations (who actually enjoys paying bills), perhaps there can be some benefits as well. If growing up also means re-discovering and appreciating great bands like the Notwist, it clearly isn't all bad.

In Regards to the Battle of the Telemarketers Vs. Receptionists

A significant portion of my day is spent answering the phone. Though answering the phones may be one of my least favorite things to do, most of the people who call in are nice and considerate, which makes my job much more pleasant. A portion of my time on the phone is spent warding off telemarketers, who I thought were a nuisance before, but have recently become the bane of my existence. Since I have difficulty telling people off outright, I have to dance my way around why I cannot connect them with the "hiring manager" "the person in charge of the computers" or the name of an actual person who works at the company, but has nothing to do with what they're asking about, and should most definitely not be bothered by the call.

Telemarketers are worst in the morning, when I'm still battling the desire to go back to sleep and have not yet built up the stamina to deal with them. This morning, as people were just beginning to arrive, someone called asking who he could speak to about our company's Verizon account. I replied in my standard, polite way, asking if he had a name of someone I could connect him to--knowing full well that even if he did, I wouldn't connect him. At first he didn't veer far from our polite stock responses, but after I told him that if he didn't have the name of the person he wanted to speak with, there wasn't anyone I could connect him to, he started rattling off random guy's names--John, Tim, Steve. I managed to stay in character, which I think pissed him off even more, saying that there was not anyone by this name or that at our company, which strangely enough was true. After the fourth or fifth name, he pushed a button that made a loud beep and hung up.

Now there was no need to push that button and make a loud noise in my ear. And in this situation, I'm fully in favor of that saying "don't shoot the messenger." In the battle of the telemarketers vs. the receptionists, I believe there's no reason not to fake politeness to one another. We both stand in each other's ways and don't want to be talking to each other, so why not at least feign a mutual regard for the other's responsibilities and call a truce. I'll listen to your schpiel and pretend to attempt to connect you with someone and you say thank you and quietly hang up. Neither of us will have gained anything, but at least I'll still have my ability to hear.

one of my favorite words is apropos

Looking through the daily picture posts of graphic designer Christopher David Ryan, of all the pictures, I thought it was appropriate this one landed on my birthday, even if her hair isn't quite so curly. He's done some pretty neat work.

The Great Escape

I've just discovered (via Pitchfork) that Alex James, bassist for the band Blur, writes a column called "The Great Escape" for the The Independent, a British newspaper. Surprisingly (or perhaps not, considering the various endeavors the Blur boys have embarked upon in the last few years) the column has nothing at all to do with music, but instead with his daily life at his home in the country—dealing with his chickens and their eggs and watching the sunrise on a winter's morning. Basically he writes about why he loves his quite life in his country house in the north of England. While it seems James may be taking from the Blur song "Country House"--the one in which the man in the song retires to the country seeking respite from his chaotic city life--their stories may begin in the same way, but the endings are clearly different. The protagonist in the song finds his life in the country one of continued discontent, but from what he writes, it seems Mr. James has found his ideal locale.

There were two things in particular that struck my interest as I read a few of posts from "The Great Escape." The first was rather unsurprising—a longing for the peace and quiet, the laid-back nature and beauty of life at the country house. In a passage discussing a routine of sitting around to watch the loveliness of morning sunshine he writes, "I could see everything from up there. The dog, Socks, had formed an allegiance with Mackerel, one of the cats, and they were trotting around with purpose. Rooks tumbled out of the big oaks, fighting and screaming. The whole of the Evenlode valley, my valley, was laid out and it was hard to believe anyone was doing anything, anywhere." James describes a calm life, one not necessarily of invariable consistency, but one where not much happens and the small details are what provide excitement. As someone who has only experienced city life, I sometimes find myself wondering what living in the country would be like, not to have the alluring amusements of the city at hand to keep oneself occupied. Sometimes it sounds really nice.

What was even more surprising was that, in a way, I found myself, a dweller in the city-est of cities, relating to what James writes about. I have a different set of pre-occupations—I don't have to worry about the number of cockerels in my back yard—but like James seems to do, I also try to find my own way of taking pleasure in the little things. Sometimes I'll go a couple blocks out of my way to walk down 5th Avenue along Central Park on a mid-winters afternoon, just to see how the soft, pale light filters through the bare tree branches. However, living in New York and working a 40+ hour work week, I don't often have the time to sit and just watch the day pass, appreciating the world for merely existing, but perhaps it is precisely for that reason that I find it necessary to take pleasure in the minutia. I suppose it's important to take notice of these things no matter where you are, whether it's sequestered in the country on a farm or bumbling about in the big city, for without those interesting details, a person might find themselves aching painfully of boredom in the country or swallowed up by everything that one must do to sustain life in the city.