myquasireintegration

A more complete accounting begins

2010-08-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

Now that I am safely removed (physically anyway) from the beginnings of my Ph.D. education at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, I thought it would be prudent to describe it and the lawsuits emanating therefrom.

As I discussed before, I came to Louisiana because they posted a scholarship opportunity: four years of paid tuition and a stipend for earning a Ph.D. I applied and in that application explained to the then-department Chair, a thoroughly indolent Welshman, that I needed accommodations because of a documented learning disability.

Shortly thereafter, I was accepted and granted a scholarship. The first issue which arose is where I would stay. I was coming over from Hungary (with a brief stay-over in New York City) and being on uncertain financial footing and not knowing a soul there I expressed- repeatedly- that I will need housing. (Whether this is something that needs to be stressed or whether a reasonably intelligent person can gather that if coming from 2000 miles away, you may need housing, is something we can totally discuss.)

Now Louisiana being the south and having, shall we say,certain social customs (from the link: "Louisiana is the 10th most segregated state for African Americans, with 42.3% of Black students in extremely segregated schools (those with a 90-100% minority student body"), I was unsurprised when they paired me with Mitch, the only other New York Jew in the program. (Heather was suspiciously nasal but I think she was from the Midwest.) An extremely literal fellow, Mitch stated that I could stay "a couple of days" while looking for housing and going to classes.

Somewhere on day 4 or so, Mitch stated that he wanted me out of there because a couple means two and wouldn't you know I was past my expiration date. Now, prior to my arrival, Mitch had penned a magnanimous note to the entire faculty that he would accept me as his houseguest. Like many generous souls, Mitch found that pontificating about generosity was a lot easier than practicing it. He unceremoniously dumped me on campus one day, stating that he volunteered to let me stay but was now "unvolunteering."

Needless to say, this pleased me to no end. Already displeased by the fact that I just traveled 5000 miles over the course of the prior week, I wrote the following to the faculty:

"Dear All,

As a piggyback to this email- as you may know, I have been staying with Mitch who has volunteered for it while I try to find a place. However, this afternoon Mitch has informed me that he is "unvolunteering" and would want me to find a new place starting tomorrow (Friday). If any of you are in a position to grant this request, please shoot me an email or call _______. Please do so only if you are genuinely capable of and interested in helping me so as to avoid such situations in the future. I am, by sheer luck, well set funding wise so can certainly pay. A permanent place- one that can last a semester without any such last minute surprises- is much preferred. If you do not wish to assist please do not feel pressured to act otherwise.

Thanks bunches
_______

P.S: Do to a phone reception that can only be described in tragic terms, please do not be surprised if I do not pick up and just leave me a voicemail."

I did this for three reasons: first, being dumped on campus with much of my worldly possessions displeased me to no end. Second, if Mitch was going to get brownie points for being such a kind soul, he should earn them. And finally, as I noted before, it wasn't as if my arrival in Louisiana was a surprise. I did not simply land on their front steps like a lice-ridden urchin and plead for a warm cot and a ration of bread.

While not the most courteous writing of my life, it was miles better than my initial impulse which was along the lines of "fuck you you fucking assholes get me a fucking place to live right this instant motherfuckers!" This was especially so since, in dumping me on campus, Mitch explained that he was having personal issues and has no interest in my welfare. I should add that I offered to pay him so that his generosity would have earthly rewards.

Now, one might think that having accepted me and gotten money from the government to host me, the University would have some concerns for my welfare. Okay, that's a lie. America, becoming more sociopathic by the day, seems proud in its lack of concern for people. Jack Da, a professor mentioned here previously, nevertheless reached out to me.

"_____,
I am going to give you a bit of free advice. You don't arrive at a new
place and take advantage of someone's hospitality and then "dis" them to
everyone else in the program. I don't know you are from son, but it is
inappropriate.
______"

A couple of things there hoss: 1) I ain't your son. If I am, you owe child support big time. Call me Mr. _____. 2) A pretense of concern would've been nice. "Where are you staying?" "Do you have cooties?" "I know a park bench." That kind of thing. 3) I did not "take advantage" of Mitch any more than I took advantage of the pizza I paid for. Mitch, rather publicly, offered his services so that he could accrue brownie points. Having done so, he needed to buck up and do what he promised. 4) It's none of your fucking business where I'm from you degenerate Republican.

With much self restraint, I did not voice these thoughts. Nevertheless, the fun didn't stop there.

A man after the shriveled vessels of my rock hard heart

2009-10-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

http://blog.simplejustice.us/2009/10/30/sentenced-to-the-bench.aspx?ref=rss

At the core of the legal system is a fiction. We all know it to be a fiction, but without it the system would be incapable of functioning, and so in the interest of maintaining a system to resolve disputes that doesn't involve swords or pistols at twenty paces, we accept the fiction as necessary and turn a blind eye to its existence. The fiction is that the players in the system representing the power of the Sovereign are inherently trustworthy.

From the police officer on the street, to the prosecutor in the well, to the judge on the bench, we accept their word because to do otherwise would be to have no starting point for a credible system of justice. We presume good faith. We presume integrity. We presume that they execute the functions of their office with integrity.

Why is this a fiction? Because they are all human beings, clothed in their respective official positions. They carry the same baggage that all other human beings carry, prejudice, misperception, ego, antagonism. Like all human beings, they are flawed. But to admit that we've put the system in the hands of flawed human beings is to concede that it is impossible to craft a system that has inherently integrity. Instead, we would admit to a system that is no better than the players upon which is relies, and we would be left with the system that could never be trusted to produce justice.

4 core values

2009-10-28T19:46:00.000-07:00

The four core values are laziness, greed, fear and ego. Lets take them by turn.

Laziness- "I don't wanna" is the rallying cry of the world. Be it niewazdnie in Poland, unom in Hungary, whaaaat throughout the English speaking world, it's our unifying core value. There is no stronger force out there. Eons go by as everyone waits for someone else to do something.

Greed- "Me wantee" they say, usually about 10 minutes before or after "don't wannaa". Everyone in life sees an opportunity in you. Whether its a job, a dinner, a fuck, a reference letter, a present- everyone is looking to get something. In fact, greed is the only force in the world that has any chance of competing with laziness.

Fear- Ahh the adreline rush. Its like the flipside of greed but much more short term and much less effective/motivating. Its fun to what tho when folks run around like chickens without heads but counterproductive. Usually, fear is the flipside to arrogance with is part of...

Ego- The New Testament may have said that the meek shall inherit the Earth but your pastor/preacher still wears $5,000 suits and drives a Mercedes while telling you that only sinners fail to tithe. 'Nuff said. No? More? OK. Greed (see above) comes from entitlement and no nation on earth is more entitled than the one I live in which has spawned an entire culture around "you're worth it." Youtube, Loreal, facebook, therapists, dates, meetups, etc are all based around the fact that with next to no effort you too are the best even if you're not. The rest of the world is catching on and this idea is spreading like a virus- it is not uncommon for Eastern Euro women to take voice lessons to sound like a movie star: because, see, if you sound sorta like a star, you actually are one!

"Women want you to be mean to them"

2009-10-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

Sounds counter intuitive right? Men are raised, or should be raised, to respect women. But, as many a single man has discovered over the years, respect doesn't get you very far. So the above advice, from a divorced lawyer in southwestern Louisiana is pretty spot on and experience backs it up.

Now lets be clear: I am not saying that you should get drunk, beat your wife and cheat on her and then beat the woman you cheat on your wife with, although that certainly seems to work for many men. Take my beloved state senator, an ex cop who is presently on trial for grinding shards of glass into his girlfriend's face. The girl got on the stand and did her best to take the blame. Why? The prestige of being senator so and so's main squeeze? The security provided by a hefty salary? The idea that she can hold this over his head forever? Pick all three and then some. From that perspective, being with a decent guy who doesn't cheat or steal or beat you doesn't pay. And as a young lady once explained to me, in a fit of frustration that the monetary and ego-related rewards of our relationship were unsatisfactory: "I am invested in this relationship." Plus, a few stitches is worth it for someone who thinks "I got senator such and such by the balls for-ever!"

Sure to a normal person all this sounds repellent, sociopathic, wrong wrong wrong. But look around you: see any normal people?

Didn't think so.

A few tips from Asiatown

2009-10-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

1) You are paranoid and they are after you: Ages ago, I was in a minor car accident in Arkansas. No big deal right? I get his insurance, he gets mine, we part ways, right? Uhhhh no. His first words are, after exchanging insurance info "Now that I think about it, my neck is really hurting." For more recent examples, take a peek at the stuff about Sylvie Ditman A/K/A Patty Patchrint and the Grant Foundation Center.

2) Take a tip from Mae West: "I never listen to what men say anymore. I just watch what they do." She was right and the same goes for women. Do you have any idea how many people made promises to me in my life? Do you know how few kept them?

3) Ambition is considered threatening, not inspiring. The goal of most people is to have a place to live, a car to drive, someone to have sex with, a tv to watch, cheetos to eat and a check from the government. Pulling themselves together and bettering themselves is hard, risky work. Watching you do it just pisses them off. This is true whether they live in a trailer in Utah or a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Most will reflexively try to undermine you every step of the way.

3a) People love comfort. Even if comfort is living in an outhouse. The worst thing you can do is disturb their comfort.

4) "Tell someone to go to hell in a way that makes them want to drop dead right there." I heard that on the Emmys and its true. Damned tough to do though.

5) Loyalty is dead. My godfather worked for almost fifty years: he had a total of two employers. I have been working for about sixteen years. I have had at least 200 employers, including freelance work/clients. Everyone is looking to get over on someone else. This goes beyond work. You can have a new BFF (best friends forever!) every three seconds, a new spouse every three months. Not long ago, a woman in Westchester, an attorney at a Manhattan firm, had the bright idea of hey, my kids are fighting in the car, so why not pull over and kick them out right there on the highway? Tom DeLay once adopted a kid- and then gave the kid back to the orphanage. Newt Gingrich ditched his first wife while she was ill with cancer. Get the picture?

6) Shame is also dead. Recently, I was in court. The lady testified that she and I never emailed each other. I promptly had her read the emails we exchanged into the record. She did. Then she repeated that we never emailed each other.

Now the hard part is not learning these tips, its putting them into practice.

Another update on the grant foundation center and Sylvie Ditman

2009-09-24T22:28:00.000-07:00

Sylvie is most likely the alias of a lass named Patty Patchrint. She and her boyfriend (the lad who called and threatened to kill me) run the Grant Foundation Center, pitching themselves to government agencies as trainers. The two live in L.A., not far from the Hacienda Heights hangout of Suvadepa (spelling?) Patchrint, who at 58 is probably Patty's proud pappa.

They then hire a schmuck (that could be you!) a week ahead of time and throw him/her/it into the classroom. Mass student dissatisfaction ensues over matters like lacking coursebooks. Its all very South Korea-i. By the time the students vented on the aforementioned schmuck, Patty and her loverboy are off to the next town. The grant foundation center used to be called the ICI- institute on communications something something.

They either pitch themselves to government agencies as people who know all about getting stimulus moolah: or at least they say they pitch themselves to government agencies. Its possible that no government body has ever heard of them.

A few more words about the grant foundation center and sylvie ditman

2009-09-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

I won a default judgment against them in small claims court here in nyc. Three default judgements would mean the ability to sue again, this time for triple damages. Just sayin'.

If you want to get in touch, make a paypal contribution. It can be a nominal amount: the sum is not the point- the point is to leave behind an email address that only I can see.

Thoughts?

teaching is totally hardcore

2009-08-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

So you think of teachers, you think "old lady in a sweater singing about cows." But hopefully this blog has taught you, my faithful reader(s?) better than that! Remember how incredibly useful the Korean mob was for enforcing my contract in Ansan? America is a slightly more evolved place of course: here, we sue.

Yes, I find myself being a litigious soul. Not just down south (hearing 8/31) but in nyc as well. Especially since that time that the grant foundation center (1 800 343 9073) and a lass who called herself Sylvie Ditman decided to hire me for a course, and then not pay me. Sylvie, whose # is available on request, rather prudently blocks my caller ID now, which is strange since she was the one who claimed that the check has been mailed. Of course, I did go through that phase where I simply redialed her # hours on end, back when she was going through the phase of ignoring my calls.

After making the rounds and reporting them to everyone under the sun, I could see my efforts bear fruit when, on August 5 2009, I received a phone call from (213) 804 3626, a Los Angeles phone number, at 6:34 PM EST on August 5 2009. Now, LA is also, by coincidence, Ms. Ditman's hometown. Just sayin'....

The called was a male, with no trace of an accent or any
other ethnic markers. His voice was distorted, possibly with a voice synthesizer. He said "next threat you make you gonna die." I took this to the NYPD's 115th precinct,
who said he would have to call three times in order for this to be called a criminal act. Pressed harder on the issue, NY's finest asked me "is your phone number really important to you?"

Coming this fall, I am slated to probe the minds of infants with the help of EEG's. Perhaps lab ratting will be a less arduous endeavor.

Worrying for the first time

2009-07-15T18:25:00.000-07:00

You know that saying from Machiavelli that if you shoot the king, you better kill the king? Well for the first time in a year I am wondering if I can kill the king.

So as my Malaysian, Budapestian and Parisian friends can attest, nothing ever really goes away

2009-06-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

I have said before that living in NY cramps my blogging style even if I may live in the most intimate/isolated place on earth, where people see each other every day and still leave you be. [A funny combo by the way.] That does not mean that nothing is happening. I am on summer break before starting CUNY where my GPA bounced back to 3.7 after being down in the 2.5 range in Louisiana. Funny that. Speaking of which, the hearing with the lovely Ms. L and her fetching attorney/pet whale went well- for me. I quite enjoyed hearing Ms. L's dulcet tones as she affirmed, under oath, that we never emailed each other and than have her read those emails into the record. The pet whale did not enjoy the proceedings quite as much, likely because that was the first time she truly grasped what an outstanding clusterfuck was coming her way. She gave it a try, mumbling that I must have made those emails up from scratch, a good argument that would have been better if she hadn't been the one to forward me some of those emails in the first place.

Email is awesome. Email is terrible. Emails never really go away. When Obama wanted to fill his White House with hopeful folks he asked all of them to give a list of any bulleting board/internet chat/message board comments they ever posted. Has he gone mad? What if Eric Holder got wasted on seventy proof liquor and posted on hunkylawyers.orgy that he was looking for an albino benefactor with a seven foot long schlong?

Of course that's how men are: entirely visual. That doesn't mean that men just want boobs tho. I have known many women with big boobs who weren't worth a bucket of warm spit. We just want to get a handle on who we're dealing with. But going back to email (hey its an Asiatown blog: if you can't deal with discussing boobs, spit, psychology and email in one sentence you really should leave), it sticks around somewhere out there, for ever. Just like blogs. So when I logged onto this thing for the first time in forever and a day, I noticed that people from Asia and Europe were still checking out my old blog at http://asiatown77.blogspot.com

And so you should. It's masterful if I may say so. Plus it will keep you occupied as I, asiatown the non reintegrated one, sits back and watches rats tear each other apart over the possibility, albeit a remote one, of maybe getting cheese outside of a cage again sometime.

No, but really

2009-04-10T12:34:00.000-07:00

So a quick work/life/etc update for the millions who want to know. (More like jillions I am sure.)

Stocks: pretty good actually

School: scored an A for the fall term. Funny how I had As before and after Louisiana...

Suit: After a prof told me that JackDa didn't like my schnoz I filed some papers asking for all their emails- including ones which I saved on my server. Funny how they told the court that the emails don't exist when i saved them. Court date at the end of the month. Should be fun. ("Mrs. L, you wrote that no emails exist between us. Would you please look at these 18 emails?")

Work: What the hell is that? No in seriousness, I am doing some editing stuff and co wrote some linguistics stuff for a prof here in NY.

Passover: excellent. Got home at 3 aM stuffed with some delicious apple thingies. (I am quite Kosher nu?)

Travels: The University of Iowa accepted the paper I wrote for JackDa as a poster (all failing papers get that treatment ya know) and paid for my flight so I'll be in Iowa City for three days, starting Thursday. Never been to Iowa City and I think its time.

I can feel it coming on

2009-02-26T15:02:00.000-08:00

It started yesterday. I was talking on the phone with a reporter down in Louisiana (yes, that's still going on) when he mentioned that he'll definitely be in touch once he is done covering the latest news down there which was a) a gang rape and b) a mother who sold her kid for $175 and a parakeet. I think it was the parakeet part that got to me. Then I was emailing with someone and the talk turned to family which naturally made me think of how my cousins and their dad got together to steal from my grandmother's bank account while she was dying. (my aunt, rest in peace, had phenomenally shitty taste in men.)

And today being a generally dark, windy, cold, shitty day just made things worse. It is the urge to crawl into bed, turn out the lights, and finish of a quart of Jack Daniels. This is why I never drink.

A couple of reasons why I don't update much anymore

2009-01-31T05:07:00.000-08:00

I started this blog in 2005 inside a charmingly decrepit apartment building in Seoul, South Korea, a country which didn't know much about me except that they loathed and needed me at the same time- possibly the worst combination ever- and wanted me to stay but also wanted me gone.

Being a snarky, detached, prickish sort was dead easy under those circumstances. I could blog about the most mundane, like going to the samsung store and it would still be a fascinating experience. Plus I could write "my boss is a big hairy cockroach" with impunity.

This is no longer quite the case. Since I decided to put Jack Da though the ringer I must control myself. Additionally, going to Radio Shack here in Queens does not have the same zing as it did in East Asia for a number of reasons- and the fact that American consumer service consists of people who don't very much wish to speak to you unless you're waving fistfuls of cash is just one of those reasons.

Additionally, being in my sort of home country I find that people actually know me here. While its easy to say that you're a rebel and don't give a damn about what anyone says, we all know that there is a huge gap between what we say and what we really feel and how we really act.

So whatever shall become of my quasi reintegration? I'll have the answer shortly.
Unless I wont.

Proud Hillary supporters

2008-09-28T20:16:00.000-07:00

Last night's debate

2008-09-27T09:13:00.000-07:00

So who won? It doesn't matter. McCain won just by showing up and Obama won since people have spent six months talking about how he is an incompetent punk so all he had to do was not hurl his feces at the moderator and he would be fine. So they both won. Ain't that nice?

Wall street never had a chance with me

2008-09-23T21:50:00.000-07:00

Many, many, many and oh did I say many years ago, I had an interview with a headhunter who was looking to "groom" investment bankers. Now, this was a surprise, since investment banking is not something you interview for- rather, investment banking, much like the Republican party, is something you have to be born into. The interview went well, except for one hitch: Nobody could tell me what investment banking actually is. See, there are banks. These are the places where you keep your money. Then there are investment houses, where you hope to put your money to work. (Your odds are better than at a casino. Sometimes.) But what the fuck is an investment bank or an investment banker? My feeble mind couldn't quite grasp it. All I knew was that I would be paid up the nose (and not in coke), work 130 hours a week, buy new undies because I wouldn't have the time to wash the old ones and make pie charts. Lots and lots of pie charts. In Excel. All day, every day. Monday through Saturday, sometimes Sunday. Oh, and because this was back when the U.S. was a capitalist country, I could be fired/laid off/shitcanned any second. Sounded like a great way to spend the flower of my youth, but sadly it fell through because recruiters generally have morals that resemble canine fecal matter.
But just think. If I played my cards right, I could be unemployed RIGHT NOW.

Why Democrats never win anything

2008-09-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

Because they don't have the imagery (two guys drinking coffee in anytown, USA) and don't have the ability to demagogue so effortlessly. "Boulder Liberal" is a great catchphrase. Vapid but great. (Sure it writes off 1/3rd of the state but meh...)

What's the reward for winning a pie eating contest?

2008-09-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

More pie.
What's the reward for a great audition? A callback.
On another note, more confirmation that the religious can be as scuzzy as the rest of us: no, insulting me won't make me more likely to wire you 40 grand for a property I have never seen before.

Awesomenitude

2008-09-03T19:13:00.000-07:00

Back in my Harlem days, my stoop sitting neighbor Edward encouraged me to 1) be an actor/stand up comic in L.A. and 2) give up on relationships and go for hookers instead. 1) is a modified success right now because I just wrapped up an audition for Birthright Israel's monologues project here in NY. It went well, or so I thought. As for 2).....lemme snooze on that one.

Super duper busy

2008-09-01T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'm stating at the City U of NY on Tuesday as a "non matriculating" Ph.D. student. The idea is that if I wow them, I'll get admitted in the spring, hopefully under a research grant. I also put together a website for a friend, and spent my spare time pounding the pavements of NYC. If nothing else, being here does wonders for my social life.

Oh Gross

2008-08-25T08:49:00.001-07:00

Nebraska 'Safe-Haven' Law Allows Abandonment of Teens
The Christian Post ^ | Aug. 24 2008 | Jean Ortiz

Posted on Monday, August 25, 2008 11:41:10 AM by Between the Lines

OMAHA, Neb. - Nebraska's new "safe-haven" law allowing parents to abandon unwanted children at hospitals with no questions asked is unique in a significant way: It goes beyond babies and potentially permits the abandonment of anyone under 19.

While lawmakers may not have intended it, the month-old law raises the possibility that frustrated parents could drop off misbehaving teens or even severely disabled older children with impunity.

"Whether the kid is disabled or unruly or just being a hormonal teenager, the state is saying: 'Hey, we have a really easy option for you,'" said Adam Pertman, executive director of a New York adoption institute and a frequent critic of safe-haven laws.

Nebraska's approach is surprising because it is the last state in the nation to adopt a safe-haven law.

But instead of following the lead of other states, which focus on the abandonment of newborns, lawmakers here wanted to extend the protection to all minors. And in Nebraska, that goes all the way up to age 19.

"All children deserve our protection," said Sen. Tom White, who helped broaden the measure. "If we save one child from being abused, it's well, well worth it."

White said it doesn't matter if that child is an infant or three years old or in the care of a parent or baby sitter. As for what constitutes a minor, he refers to common law, which interprets it to be anyone under age 14.

State Sen. Arnie Stuthman, who introduced the original bill dealing only with infants, agreed to the compromise after the bill became stalled in debate.

"The main interest I have is that it gives the mother or a parent another option of what to do with a child before they do something drastic," he said.

The measure, which took effect July 18, does not absolve people of possible criminal charges — for example, if a child had been beaten.

And since the law does not specify, it technically allows anyone, not just a parent, to legally surrender custody. Most other states narrowly define the role of the person surrendering the child.

Some hospitals have fielded questions from the public about the law, but no children have been dropped off.

"I hope there never is one," Stuthman said.

Pertman, who directs the New York-based Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute, said his research going back several years shows safe-haven laws are not accomplishing what they intended. Women who are distressed enough to want to abandon their children are not the ones reading billboards or getting the message about these laws, he said.

Pertman finds Nebraska's law particularly alarming because it is not focused on infants and parents.

Casting such a wide net "circumvents every rational practice in child welfare that I'm aware of," he said. "That's as nicely as I can put it."

California, for example, allows parents to legally abandon a child at a hospital or other designated safe zones within 72 hours of birth.

The brevity of the law could trigger litigation over its meaning, said Jonathan Turley, a George Washington University law professor.

"This law is obviously written in almost skeletal form," he said. "Drafters will sometimes try to say as little as possible so they don't create ambiguity, but drafters here succeeded in writing the law in such a limited fashion that the entire provision is ambiguous."

Nebraska lawmakers acknowledge the courts will have to sort out the details, and they have said they are open to revisiting the legislation if necessary.

The Nebraska Hospital Association has been working to help its 85 member hospitals statewide establish procedures for dealing with abandonment cases.

Sen. Ernie Chambers, who voted against the law, said he would prefer to address the reasons that parents abandon their children rather than offer them safe haven.

"I don't think such laws are wise," he said.

Kathy Bigsby Moore, executive director of the child advocacy group Voices for Children in Nebraska, said she also worries how the law might affect adoption rates.

"The sad thing is we have plenty of other mechanisms for people to use," she said. "I'm not sure the safe-haven law is really going to help in a majority of cases."

Unlikely to be Mr. Louisiana anytime soon

2008-08-22T07:51:00.001-07:00

Just a hunch. In other news, my new place is gorgeous, coney island is lovely and there is curry all around.

53 men and a path of self destruction

2008-08-19T08:18:00.000-07:00

So it only took four years or so, but I finally met Desiree Burch in person. We first spoke on the Onion, which has succeeded in demolishing the line between truth and parody. Since then, I have been busy being 12000 or so miles away (although recently only 1425 miles off base- an improvement) which gave me, "Not Dave", a chance to be close enough to see her show 52 man pickup down on Hudson street. It was one of those small audience gathering and when she walked up on stage between rows of chairs I thought to myself "behave...." And I actually did.

Good thing too, as 52 man pickup mixes that age old card game with stories of dating in NYC. I won't spoil it for anyone but while listening I marveled that she has not become a lesbian. After the play we hung out at a bar where I resisted alcohol and the lusty misadventures alcohol shall bring. I don't want to wind up in her monologue one day, even if I am an ace.

NY is much easier the second time around

2008-08-02T21:12:00.000-07:00

I first moved to New York City in 1999, having decided that I was going to live in a place where I was no more of a weirdo than anyone else. It was hard. I spent nearly two months in the Flushing YMCA while the (now mercifully defunct) New York City Board of Education tried to send me to various warzones around the city on a temporary basis.

I finally wound up in Harlem, teaching at a school where students majored in metal detectors and living in a neighborhood which was not yet "gentrified" [a fancy term which translates to "safe for middle class white people from Omaha".] I got on fine in Harlem, perhaps due to a combination of relentless politeness where I called everyone Sir or Miss, like a good European and the mere novelty of a white guy in a suit and headgear who actually lived there. My eventual landlord named me his "shwartze grandson" and all was well on the home front. Before finding that studio however, I had to endure about 4 months in an SRO or single room occupancy. An SRO, which is New York's answer to the cardboard box, is a room the size of a casket. Perched unsteadily on the second floor of a brownstone, mine was connected to a bathroom shared by myself, a dull witted german lad and a guy who called himself a doctor but something must have gone wrong in his medical career to have lived there at the age of fiftysomething. I caught a glimpse of what that something may have been when he attempted, several times, to hop in the shower with me, dissuaded only by my razor blade.

The school was the sort where there were no textbooks or parents. The principal had vague notions that I should teach reading, though how this was to be without books was a mystery. Not having a classroom didn't help either.

Contrast all that with my return. After a few days of being hosted by the participants of Couch Surfing, I landed on the third floor of a beautiful town house in Queens for only twenty dollars more than the Harlem spot. And yes, interviews are coming.

You mean they got laws here?

2008-07-23T14:13:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I'm shocked too. I mean this is the state where Edwin Edwards was once elected on the slogan "Vote for the crook. It's important." But appearances aside, they do have laws, including the Louisiana Public Records Act. Which I will be putting to good use shortly.

That means you, Jack Da.

Uh, no

2008-07-22T15:10:00.000-07:00

In the course of the spring, I got to chatting with a woman in northern Louisiana. She didn't do much in terms of practical help but did hook me up with the school's first [and likely last] Black football coach, who, in turn, is now [probably] trying to hook me up with his attorney. And, in the meantime, I am preparing for my northern migration. The lady, whose interest in me is sustained I think by the hope that I will soon join her church, has advised me to remain in my favorite southern town and wait to see what the litigation will bring. And what, pray, tell, will this 30 year old with a Masters in Education do in the meantime?
"Well you could be a waiter downtown."
Uh, no.

I always enjoy that look

2008-07-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

Sometime before Independence Day, a lad and I got to chatting. He tells me that due to my "ethnicity", it was pre determined by my professor [who shall go nameless] that I will fail his course. It seems that Jack [I did not say how long he shall go nameless- consider this a warning] decides, in consult with the dean of the graduate school, who passes and who doesn't, well before the student shows up for class. The deciding factor, according to Jack's colleague, is whether the student has the right ethnic makeup to earn a doctorate. An interesting methodology and one I did not learn about when doing my Masters in Education.

Not being totally bereft of brains, I put the "ethnicity" thing and the failing mark together and came to the conclusion that Jack D. [seriously, pay attention] doesn't like my schnoz. And so, for the second time in my life, I'm going to harp on the yid thing.

The first time was in the tenth grade, when I took a class- temporarily- from a lad named Chuck Yeager. Chuck bore a smile that seemed fixed to his face with nails and an attitude that conveyed the sort of insincere hospitality many down here are famous for. When not mocking my accent, he would call on me every chance he could. Surprisingly, my grades went from D's and F's to B's when I finally put my foot down and changed classes.

Putting my foot down with Jack D. was not an option, hailing as he does, from an old line Sicilian family around New Orleans and thinking that he owns the department by birthright. Also, he had the neat setup where only he taught the course required to graduate. I went in, knowing before I ever did, that I would fail. I knew this because his very first [electronic] words to me inquired about where I am from and he called me "son". I was sorely tempted to let him know that unless he hung out at the socialist housing blocks of Budapest in the late 1970s', it was highly unlikely that we were filial relations. I had also considered telling him that I was not his boy, kid, little fella, fella, or any such endearments but I held my tongue. [Yes, even I can hold my tongue.]

I also knew this because I decided to take his temperature in advance and send him a bit of research which got me an A in my masters program. Not surprisingly, he called it unpublishable drivel. So I bucked up for an F.

Ten weeks go by. No grades. At all. Then, one day before the end of the semester, I get a D. Not cool in grad school. I get a dismissal letter 3 days later. Then I find out that the department chair is no longer the chair. Then the phone call. With names.

So now, I use brutally honest shorthand:

"Are you in school?"
"No."
"How come?"
"I got kicked out because a prof failed me since I'm Jewish."

And that, is when I get the look.
There are actually two looks. The first look is sympathetic. The second is astounded. It's the second one that I enjoy. Where their heads whip around, their eyes widen and they just...look.

"No way."

"Nah."

"Really?"

"Wow."

"Yup."

Some kids are more worldly than others. Not surprisingly in the deep south, the worldly kids tend to be black.

"Aha."

"I can believe it."

"Yeah I totally see that happening."

I enjoy the look. Maybe because I'm a cruel bastard who enjoys disillusioning the youth of today. Or maybe because being disillusioned is a necessity at times.

An awesome night

2008-07-12T23:12:00.000-07:00

I got invited to see belly dancers downtown. And they were mostly really good- one was a friend of mine from school, so she, her friend and her mom joined me for a movie- Get Smart [side note: Anne Hathaway is drool worthy] and then we got home. The dancers were good, the girl was super cool and being with her mom wasn't as creepy as it sounds. Awesome.

Best Jesse Helms obituary ever

2008-07-05T23:01:00.000-07:00

this says it better than I ever could.

Points for honesty

2008-07-04T14:32:00.001-07:00

I had a lovely chat with a lad who informed me that my "ethnicity" (Jooooo) informs my course grade and, shockingly, not for the better.

Happy 4th of July Y'all.

This story might offer some clues

2008-07-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

Before coming to the southland, I was completing an M.Ed. in Eastern Europe and earning my keep as an EFL teacher at a University- and I use that word loosely- in Gliwice, Poland. It was there, in Gliwice, that one of my students wrote the following charming short story:

The story of the goblin, the goat and the hermaphrodite princess
(As told by the goblin)

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful Pricess in a lovely castle surrounded by a garden of pretty flowers. It was a beautiful time. However, the Princess, who was a hermaphrodite, suffered from constant diarreha. Such an affliction was brought about by having eaten a poisoned banana given to her by the goblin who guarded the garden, the castle and the princess.

Why would she eat the poisoned banana, especially since the castle had no bathroom, only a window for her to do her business? Well you see, this princess was not very smart and she would eat most anything a man or creature offered. Soon, she was afflicted with diarrehea day and night as she waited to be rescued from the goblin and the castle.

Her rescuer was neither a prince, princess or combination thereof. Rather, it was the zebra who had escaped from the zoo to munch on grass throughout the countryside when he happened upon the garden and goblin. He and the goblin fought ferociously over a patch of dead grass when the zebra knocked him over with his own horns (it was a special kind of zebra straight from Chernobyl.) The creature charged the castle and was soon inside the castle and the princess with whom he or she lived happily ever. Or at least this was the story my class told me when I was a fledgling student teacher in Silesia.

The more I think about it, the more likely it is that this story holds some clues to my present predicament.

Fucking Disgusting

2008-06-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

I don't generally get political and definitely don't get into Israeli stuff on this blog- i leave that to Yaeli but this story caught my eye earlier. It's about a lad named Samir Kuntar. Samir, a famous freedom fighter, struck a blow for his oppressed brothers by, as the blogger Sandmonkey puts it,

In
the coastal town of Nahariya, the terrorists shot dead a policeman and
forced their way into an apartment building, where they captured Danny
Haran and his daughter, Einat, 4.

While the terrorists rampaged
through the apartment, firing weapons and detonating grenades, Haran's
wife Smadar hid in a crawlspace above the couple's bedroom together
with their other daughter, two-year-old Yael, and a neighbor.

In
an effort to prevent Yael from crying out and alerting the terrorists
to their whereabouts, Smadar kept her hand over the child's mouth, and
accidentally smothered her to death.

Meanwhile Kuntar and his group took Danny and Einat Haran to the beach.

"There,
according to eyewitnesses, one of them shot Danny in front of Einat so
that his death would be the last sight she would ever see," Smadar
wrote later.

"Then he smashed my little girl's skull in against a rock with his rifle butt. That terrorist was Samir Kuntar."

Two years ago, Samir's pals kidnapped three Israeli soldiers, and have been proposing a trade. No, not exchanging the soldiers for Samir: Rather, as CNN put it ""We'll have a final answer when they are returned," Regev said of whether they were alive or dead." In other words, Samir's release will secure information on whether these guys are even alive. What a deal! I could understand [not accept]. releasing Samir in exchange for the soldiers. They have families after all. But that's not the deal. The deal is releasing Samir in exchange for confirming whether the soldiers are even alive. Assume, best case, that they are. Will they be released? No. But maybe, somewhere, another child killer can be released in exchange for the soldiers.

If they haven't died by then.

I want what they have

2008-06-28T22:58:00.000-07:00

So after eating some sushi in the Japanese restaurant that employs the other resident Heeb of Lafayette, I settled in to watch Harold and Kumar go to white castle. Take it from someone who has never touched a joint, it was still an awesome movie- and one I could definitely relate to. There is a moment when Harold and Kumar watch their Jewish neighbors scarfing down some hot dogs and Harold says "I want what they have." It's what Jews said 40 years ago. And no, its not about the hot dogs.

A good many years ago (not 40), I went to a fast food place that was similar to the hot dog joint in the movie. The food sucked, but that was beside the point. Everything was a production: from getting a drink ("Water please." "Wa...what?") to a menu ("You want a menu?") to ordering. Actually, I didn't get to ordering because by that time I was so pissy, I just up and left. And, partly because of that day and partly because of many, MANY similar days, I never set foot in Johnny Rockets again. But yeah. I want what they have.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose: at least here

2008-06-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

My quasi reintegration began when the great state of Louisiana, ecstatic over a bit of unexpected state funding, posted an ad on Linguistlist, hoping for a few adventurous souls to hop on down and do a Ph.D. Yours truly, then sampling Slovakian cuisine, was one of the applicants. This was so since he wanted a doctorate very muchly and the offer- free tuition and a graduate assistantship stipend- was greatly to his liking. However, your intrepid reintegrationst was mindful of the fact that because the docs didn't do such a hot job at his delivery and left him with hand tremors and a shitty memory, he would need accommodations to make it through school. In fact, Northwestern U. had mentioned that he should stay away from them for this exact reason. And so, taking the risk that he would be left to munch on carbs for another year, he sent off his many medical documents with his application.

But behold, if you will, a letter of acceptance which led to a hastily arranged departure from the quasi-motherland, leaving behind his 90something grandmother [whom he was very fond of- a rarity for him] to sample the delights, savory and otherwise of his newly adopted home state. Of course, he was used to adopting new homes, but that's neither here nor there.

And so it is, that he arrived on a rainy summer day, to the warm southern hospitality of the only other New York Jew on the premises, an anti-social lad who liked the idea of helping much more than helping. And in 2 days time, faced, again, with homelessness, he secured a place on campus, but not the place that most locals thought an "international student" [which he is not- which is neither here nor there] should occupy. Though a grad student, he was given a roommate- another international student. [The university housing survey's first item? Ethnicity. The Louisiana voter registration form's penultimate question? Religious affiliation.]

Sadly, all was not entirely well in La La Land. That accommodation thingie? Never happened. Of course there was a chat or three with one of the professors, which is how your intrepid academic wanker learned, much to his surprise, that his English may not be good enough for graduate school. The first semester ended on a definite downer, having secured a C+ average- not what grad school calls for by the way- and nearly getting kicked out.

Fear not though, for a letter high on legal mumbo jumbo earned a trip back to the cauldron of higher education. Sadly, some were displeased by this show of gumption and responded by saying many mean things about yours truly, and, much more importantly, setting about screwing him over grade wise. Which he does not appreciate. At all. So, for example, when his class ended after ten weeks without a single grade, only to learn, one day before the deadline, that he had failed, your newly minted Louisianan got grouchy enough to file all sorts of papers. (He got even more grouchy when learning that the lad who admitted him has been demoted from his position and that a friend of his was threatened by the faculty.)

And so it is, that your earnest blogger is once again on the outside of the tent, pissing in, rather than inside the tent, pissing out. This is quite liberating however. For example, I now wear a yarmulke, confident that my situation here can't detoriate any further. Should anyone ask why I do not live with the international students, or why I haven't been to church, or where I am from and when am I leaving [all questions I have gotten] I am free to respond with a stream of dirty words I have not previously uttered but very much wanted to, especially to the young man who still does not know my name but insists that I attend bible study.

Freedom rocks. The insecurity that brings about said freedom? Meh.

Another close one?

2008-06-20T17:49:00.000-07:00

I don't have any stories like this myself- and for this i am incredibly, incredibly grateful- but my godfather had a bunch and now a former classmate of mine is on his very own pregnancy death watch.

T, a lad with flowing auburn locks, whose Marine background prepared him superbly for the Poland-based Masters program we met in, a Masters program where we lived on the edge of penury for two years, a Masters program ran, on the local level, by a crooked priest who tried to sell us on an excellent tax evasion scheme- you know, that kind of program, the EFL kind- has, unlike most other males, stopped counting the number of women he bedded [i never even started that count but then, i AM weird]at 100. One of them was one of my former students in Poland. T, ever the student deflowerer, was also seen in the company of a well endowed lady whom i was briefly in lust with until i heard her speak. He then relocated to the swamps of New Orleans, three hours due east of my cosy spot. An amiable wanderer, he lives- in stark terror at the moment- in an elevated house in the garden district. Sharing his abode, on a hopefully temporary basis is a perky midwestern fundamentalist who, bless her sheltered heart, was taken in by his considerable non-fundamentalist charms. I thought the whole thing rather peachy- she did grate on me, at one point inviting me to "a real American church" [why not a sham one God?]- but i cut her youthful spirit some slack and am a sucker for domestic bliss anyhow.

Sadly, all is not well, as John Lennon, imagining a world with no religion, is not liked by the potential Mrs T. She IS only 22 though, so perhaps with time, she may open up to new experiences. Until then though, I gotta conceal my devil worshipping. She also imagines teaching overseas, which should be a real eye-opener for her so I totally encourage that. Not in the Medina though.

T himself seems to be running out of patience and no wonder- his whole world in perfect harmony pitch, while totally awesome from my perspective, is not going to find a happy audience with Mrs. T. But who knows? A few years in East Bumfucktownia, Africa, may do wonders. And I say this with total, absolute, sincerity. 22 is way too young to be absolutely certain of everything.I am seriously hoping that T sticks it out for a bit, because, as Uncle Kracker would say "You polished up my halo
And I dirtied up your soul"-- that would actually be healthy all around.

Bucky

2008-06-20T11:59:00.001-07:00

I always wind up surrounded by guys with names like Smitty or Bucky. I don't know why this is so. While in Memphis, I averaged a car wreck every six months and was tended to by Smitty, a jovial six foot tall tobacco chewer. Decked out in overalls and a baseball cap, he took a liking to me that was dampened only by the following convo:

"You go to church little man?"
"Ummmm.....no but I go to a synagogue if that makes you feel better."
"Nah. Go to church little man."

I declined and while we got on fine, I sensed a definite chill. The newest clone is Bucky, manager of the local computer repair shop. Since my screen is busted, I have been waiting for a replacement since mid-May. Various screen-related convos included:

"Is the screen ready?"
"Uhhh...I uhhh asked for the replacement but ordered the wrong part."
"Why?"
"Well my eyes are really bad and I can't read them little numbers."

"Is the screen ready?"
"Waiting for the delivery."
"Since when?"
"Why..ummm...last week."

"Is the screen ready."
"It will be. Totally."

It is moments like this- and there are many moments like this- when I consider salmon fishing in Alaska.

Oh and something educational is brewing as well, but this being an uber small town, I'll hold off on blogging it. I also have an interview next week for a Project Manager position. That's right. Being a Bossy Hermit. In Joisey no less.

My rap career is on hold

2008-06-14T20:34:00.001-07:00

Because I can't compete with these guys.

So true

2008-06-08T14:37:00.001-07:00

I found this funny story online and had to post it:

A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.

"Not very long," answered the Mexican.

"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American. The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family. The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."

The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise."

"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.

"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.

"And after that?"

"Afterwards? That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!"

"Millions? Really? And after that?"

"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your grandchildren, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends."

A first lady, two stalkers and a pothead walk into a Korean restaurant....

2008-06-07T15:06:00.000-07:00

True, the wicked witch of the west [or east] is gone. But in her wake, we can savor this tidbit about her marriage/business partnership:

"During the early Clinton years, political adviser Paul Begala, who had spent countless hours on the road with the couple during the 1992 campaign, told friends he had discovered the secret of their relationship: Both looked at each other in mystery at how the other person had married someone so undeserving."

In quasi-related political news, I trekked up to Memphis recently at the invitation of a friend who had taught at the same "University" [deliberate quotation marks] that I did when gathering my M.Ed. Said "University" was located in southern Poland, spread out over two campuses, one in Czestachowa and one in Gliwice. Serenly looked upon by myriad statues of Catholic figures (such as the Virgin Mary) and presided over by a crooked priest who tried to sell us on a really excellent tax evasion scheme, the "University" was endowed with a library that didn't allow books to be loaned out and an administration that had no idea what scheduling classes meant. Still, a good enough time was had by all, especially the young lady who called me at 4 AM one morn to confess her love for "teacher." Adorable in a certain psycho way. In a few years she may be fatal attraction material.

And speaking of fatal attraction, Glenn Close proved timeless when my former hometown's Congressman, Steven Ira Cohen [Yes. Really] compared Glenn's character to Hillary Clinton. I always adored how socially malfunctioning Steve was. When not showing his pot plants to reporters or comparing himself to black women on national tevee, Steve is always up for a Hillary as murderess analogy. That man rocks.

But not nearly as much as Korean food, which is one of the few (maybe only) foods to taste better outside of Korea. This was proven by my friend and I visiting a Korean restaurant on Mendenhall in southeast Memphis and lunging for tasty grub. I still refuse to eat kimchee unless it's been grilled, but the rest was outstanding. It's just that this stuff was way different in Korea because a) I had to eat it 3 times a day and b) Korea and health inspectors don't go together. (I refuse to elaborate).

The Memphis visit concluded with a trip to an excellent blues joint called Wild Bill's which is in North Memphis, exactly the kind of neighborhood where it should be. Anyhoo, good music, good grub. A fetching young lady, who only outweighted me by two hundred pounds or so, and had pupils the size of grapefruits wanted to get me on the dance floor [and in other places] but I was too flattered and terrified to move. Good thing too. Didn't we already discuss what happens with me on a dance floor?

What's in a name?

2008-05-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

When I was getting my citizenship in Philly, I had a chance to change my name. My father and mother both did. I took a pass and never regretted it. It's not that I hate America or that I don't like the sound of John Q. Smith as it whizzes by my ear. It's just that to change my name would have been to change myself, to shrug of my past and my roots. I didn't want to do that. And when I read this, I felt again that I made the right choice.

Especially when I read this part:

"Fritz and Otto excelled in their studies in Vienna. However, like other Jews, they suffered greatly from the anti-Semitism that prevailed in Europe at this time. As a result, both Kohn brothers abandoned their Jewish heritage and converted to Roman Catholicism.

In addition, in 1897, Otto decided to shed the Jewish-sounding name of Kohn. He chose a new name by dropping a pencil on a map. The pencil landed on Ireland's County Kerry. In 1901, Fritz followed his brother’s example and officially changed his name to Frederick Kerry.

Fred, who worked as an accountant at his uncle's shoe factory, married Ida Loewe, a Jewish musician from Budapest. Ida was a descendant of Sinai Loew, a brother of Rabbi Judah Loew, the famous Kabbalist, philosopher and Talmudist known as the "Maharal of Prague" who some say invented the character of the Golem. Two of Ida's siblings, Otto Loewe and Jenni Loewe, were killed in Nazi concentration camps.

Fred, Ida and their first son Erich were all baptized as Catholics. And in 1905, the young family immigrated to America. After entering through Ellis Island, the family first lived in Chicago and then settled in Boston. Fred and Ida had two more children in America, Mildred (1910) and Richard (1915).

Fred and Ida and their three children lived in Brookline, where Fred became a prominent man in the shoe business and regularly attended Sunday Catholic church services. Fred did not tell and no one would have guessed that the family had Jewish roots.

In 1921, Fred Kerry, at age 48, entered a Boston hotel and shot himself in the head. Some say the suicide was due to financial stress or depression. Perhaps the transition from Czech Jew to American Catholic was too great and unsupported a spiritual, psychological and social change."

I have mentioned before that many, many and have I said...many here have been making not-so-subtle overtures to have me convert to the local flavor. When I tell them to pound dirt, I'm doing them a favor. Because the new and improved me wouldn't be me.

Bye bye Hill

2008-05-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

Hi Hillary,

I feel for you. I really do. You have foresaken your own happiness in order to spend the prime of your adult life cleaning up the messes of an emotionally wrecked man-child. I get that. And I understand that your marriage was always a business proposition. No doubt, you felt, after 8 years of Bill and his girlfriends (well 30 years) that you deserved compensation. And since you had all the money in the world, you wanted that compensation to be more than that- you wanted respect and power.

So, after a period spent agonizing over whether you were a Cubs or a Yankees fan, you showed up in New York, waiting for your crown. Except that Lazio, that little schmuck from Long Island, actually wanted to have an election- a move that seemed so quaint in 2000 that I ponied up 50 bucks for his effort. It was touching.

You were offended. No doubt you figured that you deserved something. No doubt, you still feel this way, which is why you weren't going to spend your prime boomer years sitting on the Committee for Aging Ex First Ladies or something. No ma'am. You deserved better. Which is why, in a display of arrogance that seems second nature to you, you marched off to race to the white house as the presumed Democratic nominee. And they almost went along, which is why they are called the stupid party.

But then, out of nowhere, this young black guy from Chicago came along and actually campaigned. Against you. The nerve of some people. Didn't he know that your husband was the first black president? [I believe it was Toni Morrison who said that Bill was black because he grew up poor and liked fried chicken. By that standard I'm black too. Neat huh?)

So anyway, not only did he campaign, he started winning. True, he didn't say too much that was daring or original but he did have the singular virtue of not being you. Also, he was black but not Al Sharpton black so that helped. Nobody likes being told all the time how mean, greedy and evil they are and Obama didn't do that. [Off on a tangent, I met Al once. He struck me as the sort who would drown his mom for a nickel.] So that was nice, even if his pastor is a fruitcake. Meh. Given Black American history over the last 400 years he is entitled to be a fruitcake. To a point. [Not that being a fruitcake is something to aim for.]

Let's talk about you. See, the thing with you is, you are inspirational. You inspire people to hate you. Why? Well....how do I say this? Jon Stewart once called your face the place where boners go to die and that's part of it. But there is more to it. See, i know this Lady who is drop dead gorgeous- inside and out. Usually (not always) that's a package deal. I have known pretty women whom I wouldn't come near. Over time, that sort of prettiness usually fades. And after a point they become you. Everything about you says "I wanted to be president since I was five, I deserve to be president, and if I don't become president my life will lose all meaning." This is an unattractive quality you share with Al Gore. NOT a good thing. Plus, whether it's Hillary in tears or Hillary fighting terrorists or Hillary bowling and doing shots, there never was a real Hillary. Like your husband, you have no core. You are whatever you think people want you to be. Not a good thing.

And that, ultimately, is what's causing your meltdown, rambling on about how Obama can't win white voters like you can. This is probably true but he doesn't need your kind of white voters anyway. You won western pennsylvania counties by 70, 75%. Hill, I've been out there. No chance that those people will vote for a democrat in the fall. They're pro-life Catholics who hunt and eat lotsa pierogies. That's all good but those guys will NOT vote for a democrat. Ok? They voted for you because they are (ancestorally) registered democrats and because they don't like Obama's age, suits, fancy city talk or skin color, in that order. But McCain has them anyway because McCain can relate better to them than either of you two. So your argument is "I should be the nominee because I do better with voters who will never vote for me again." Kind of absurd, no?

Go home. Kiss your kid. Kick your husband. See a therapist. Look forward to doing something worthwhile in your twilight years. Bye.

Slowly grinding on

2008-05-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

I finished a paper that actually turned out to be tons of fun (I know- geekazoid) on Chinese education in the 19th Century. It let me dig into all sorts of stuff (online at least) like letters to the editor from 1903 and court decisions from the late 1800s. A part of me wants to be an archeologist when I grow up. Linguist may work tho.

I have 2 (maybe more like 1.7) papers left to write. It's more drudgery at this point than anything. Some may have noticed that I tend to be the emotional sort, no matter how much I hide it (or try to). And honestly, this semester I have just been sleepwalking (emotionally) through it.

On the bright side, there are some signs that even this state may, possibly, show interest in complying with the law and giving me testing accomodations, like they were supposed to all along. Which would be neat and may make me expulsion proof.

There is no forever

2008-05-04T12:36:00.000-07:00

Young'ins, lend me your ears. As we speak, you may be tempted by words like always, forever, eternally, everlasting and so forth. The person speaking these words is likely a fetching young lady (early 20s or so) who has grown up on Cinderella and is IN LOVE. Not with you tho. She is in love with the idea of love as she saw it on tv. That has very little to do with real life. Love is easy when prince charming is behaving himself. When he is tall and slim and has nice clothes. Love, to be fair, is also easy as long as Cinderella has an hourglass figure and the mind to use it.

However, love starts getting very sticky when other, less savory, less idealized aspects of this happy couple creep in. Say Prince Charming is depressed or loses his job. Say Cinderella gains weight. Say the two find themselves eating out of take away boxes instead of dining at Bertulli's. This, my friends, is when love is a bitch.

Now, some say that's what true love is made of. You see a person at their worst and accept that as part of who they are because you love them unconditionally. This is nothing more than a self-serving fairy tale. The truth is, both you and your loved ones put on airs to appear a certain way. You wear hot clothes. He drives a nice car. Neither of you shares other, less ideal parts of yourselves, the parts that scare even you, because you know that they don't REALLY want to see that side to you no matter how much they insist. So you both go on, pretending that these parts don't exist.

Forever.

first time

2008-05-01T08:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, even at my decrepit old age, I can have firsts and a few nights ago was my first visit to a hookah bar. Hidden away in the back of what I must summon all my generosity to call a pizza place, I gathered with a dorm mate and his friend over a bowl of sweet melon flavored stuff. And no, it wasn't wacky tobbacy. I'd never touch that since most of the high school elite back where I went to high school were stoned out of their minds and communicating with them was no fun. At all. Usually, the best I could get would be them raising their heads, sniffing loudly, looking at me with bloodshot eyes and then going back to sleep. In Poland, I saw many of my wasted classmates hunched over the equipment [pipes, lighters, tweezers, etc], tooling away like mad scientists, enveloped by the foul-sickly sweet stench of weed and two week old pirogies and wondered if weed makes you an idiot savant. So no weed. I have this fear that if I ever touch it, I will turn into a pot bellied, bald-headed forty-five year old eating pizza in his best friends' moms' basement.

I also never had any sort of tobacco before so I was actually getting slightly high (and sick) by the second bowl. Ahhh irresponsibility. Good bad times.

Minneapolis

2008-05-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

Yep, I'm off tomorrow. I had gotten 200 bucks from the student government but my hearing must not be what it once was since I distinctly heard three hundred at the meeting. If I were the ornery, unpleasant sort, which circumstances force me to be, I may just have to get a hold of the meeting minutes to check whether I need a cochlear implant or not.

In any case, Minneapolis promises to be a balmy 50 degrees. No crocs there. A friend tells me that St. Paul has a fun arty vibe so I'll see if I can check that out. Also, I may want to throw together a powerpoint for the presentation. Just a heads up to self.

I haven't spoken to the cousins yet and chances are, I probably wont. Somehow, stealing money from your grandmother while she is on her death bed strikes me as uber uncool. I have this tendency to basically cross people off- to decide "nah". Sometimes I even go out of my way to test their loyalty because to be honest, loyalty is in very short supply, especially loyalty without bounty. (Have you ever heard the phrase "I am invested in this relationship?" No? Good for you.) I know that's a naughty thing to do of course and I'd really rather relax and hold hands across the globe while singing kumbaya but usually when i get into those moods, I notice a pickpocket in the middle of the kumbaya circle.

One month

2008-04-21T22:39:00.000-07:00

I no longer think about her every moment. I no longer walk around in a daze. I no longer look like a train wreck. But....the world is moving on around me and I need to stop.

30 years. 30 years of hugs, unconditional love, kisses, affection. I no longer think of her every day like I used to. Just images here and there. Her smile. Her upcountry accent. Her fingers, bent by men who had no right to call themselves men. Her cooking. Her blue eyes. Her presence. Her apartment. Her little metal box which was inscribed "from the "night school" of survivors, 1949." I don't think about those last months except for one moment: When she was laying in bed and talking. She hardly ever talked about the camps or the deportation. But that day, she did. She told me how, in the village where she was born and lived her whole life, they showed up and rounded up all the Jews. Put them on the trains. And as the Jews were prodded with machine guns, their so-called neighbors and friends gathered around on both sides and cheered. They threw rotten eggs. They cackled. And then she looked at me, raised a finger and said "But I don't hate them. And I don't hate Christians." Because that's who she was.

And the kids she spent her life doting on got together with their dipshit father and decided to rob her blind as she lay dying. Classy huh?

One month. I need that month so I can go away. So I can be in a place where no one else is. So I can cry and scream and throw things. So I can get all that out of my system and then lay back, close my eyes and dream of her.

I hate money

2008-04-19T19:52:00.001-07:00

One time I saw this guy on the upper west side of manhattan. He had on a stained blue coat. A long, dirty, white beard billowed around him as he pushed a shopping cart, laden with garbage bags. And as I saw him, it hit me that I could be that guy.

I didn't know him. I didn't know if he drank, or did drugs, or was mentally ill. Or if he simply gave up on modern society. But if he did- I can understand.

My grandmother, after a lifetime of savings (and reparations for the Holocaust) scrimped together somewhere around thirty thousand dollars- a fortune in eastern Europe. She had visions of diving it equally between her two daughters and three grandsons. It was not to be. Her daughter died of cancer, leaving behind a drunken fool of a widower, a semi-literate anti-Semite whom I once considered beating to a pulp after he told my grandmother that Hitler didn't do enough. He helped raise one son who is a functional alcoholic and another who is blessedly oblivious to his surroundings. And together, they decided to steal every last cent as she lay on her deathbed.

I don't want to be like the guy with the shopping cart. But honestly, I can understand where he might be coming from. We are all mercenaries. Relationships are usually an exchange. Here, if someone speaks to me, chances are better than 2:1 that they want something. Once, when I was talking on gmail messenger, my father asked me "How much time do you spend on that and what do you get out of it?" I don't blame him. It's what's expected.

Yes, yes, but tell me something I didn't know

2008-04-10T12:59:00.000-07:00

Why Beautiful Women Marry Less Attractive Men

Jeanna Bryner
LiveScience Staff Writer
LiveScience.com

Choice quote: "Men are very sensitive to women's attractiveness. Women seem to be sensitive to men's height and salary," said Ariely, who was not involved in the recent study."

Duhness.

Add to that the pearl of wisdom imparted by a divorced lawyer in Lake Charles ("women want you to be mean to them") and you got the makings of true marital bliss.

Next stop: Minneapolis

2008-04-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

The asiatown express, barrelling away on rickety tracks towards a hazy doctorate has taken a few detours lately. When invited to speak at a conference in Madison, Wisconsin, the minor matter of cost was neglected. Just as well since Madison does not, as I had already mentioned, draw me in. Still, so much of this business is about making connections and being noticed that I am constantly looking for new opportunities. Well that and I'm a ham. My next projected stop, well outside of the Borscht Belt, is (probably gobbobly) Minneapolis. I've never been there but next to Chicago it's probably the biggest city in the midwest and sounds like a nice time. The mall of America is there and y'all know how incredibly greedy and materialistic I am.

Speaking of being greedy and materialistic, I squeezed 300 bucks from the SGA for this noble cause, but paypal buttons are your friend. Really.

It's official: We're all dogs looking for a bone

2008-04-06T18:21:00.000-07:00

I went clubbing last night. This was at the invitation of a friend, a construction worker from the Bahamas. Laffy's swankiest (ahem) nightspot is a lounge on the edge of downtown called KaBoom or KaBamBa or some such thing. The cover was six bucks- more than the five that others charge because it's swanky, right?

I had on a white dress shirt and black pants (had to sit through a hemorrhoid-inducing presentation that day on how people should actually talk to other people and how we can help them do this: only in America can someone parlay that advice into a career) so I was, yanno, swanky. My hair was at its Jewfroiest. And yes, that's an asiatown word. Anyhoo, after entering, I got a text that my friend was upstairs. He was sitting in the corner, drinking. Then he wandered to another corner and drank some more. A lass came by with vials of stuff and asked if I wanted any which inspired my wittiest line of the night "No, but I'll have you if you'd like." My comic material exhausted, I caught up with Bahamarama and his friends who were trying to talk to four black girls. Trying to talk to someone is of course no easy task. I had seen warmer ice cubes. (Can ice cubes be described as hot?) Gamely, I tried my sweet-innocent thingie but these ladies were not the sort I imagined who would like clever lines. They were the sort who were hot, knew they were hot and wanted to spend the night rejecting others as a way of flaunting the power of their hotness. Prince could have pulled up in a little red corvette and they would have ignored him on principle. Eventually, after much sighing and eye rolling, they left in a stream of ice water. As we speak, they are likely complaining that all men are dogs.

Which is sort of true. As a rule, I never go out to a club or bar or whatever with women on my mind. The more you push for something the less likely you are to get it so I try to go out dreaming of swanky tiles and flashy lights. Still, the theory goes, you got some boys, you got some girls, you got a recipe for a good time.

Uhhh....no. What you got, at least in this town, is a bunch of girls dancing with each other and comparing purses as boys sullenly stand by and drink. i decided to jump into the fray and join maybe three other guys on the dancefloor. Asiatown on the dancefloor is NOT a pretty sight. Nevertheless, i had a nice enough time until I tried my "game" (I don't actually have one- how about being myself? Is that a game?) and a lass, whom I have known for 45 seconds, asked me how I would like to go shoe shopping with her.

Yuckarama.

After about an hour and a half, I decided that the marathon non communication was enough for the night. As I texted Bahama this he dropped the following wisdom:

"Why so early"
"Tired of rejection"
"Me too but its part of the game"

Asiatown don't play. Afterwards, I went home and called my godfather who reacted to the shoe shopping offer by saying that she was worse than a hooker. True. At least with a hooker you know what you're getting into. Not that I would know mind you. So anyway, Asiatown went. Asiatown saw. Asiatown learned again about something for something. Asiatown took his marbles and went home. Asiatown is darned proud.

Asiatown has enough shoes.

Paying respects

2008-04-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

My aunt died last year and my grandmother died last month. Since they (and I) are Jewish and my grandmother was religious (she sent me a book of illustrated bibles right away after Communism ended) I want to pay my respects to both. When in New York, I usually go to the Carlebach Shul on W. 79th so when I manage to get there I'll be able to do so and ask the Rabbi say Kiddush. It's not closure (there is nothing like that) but it's...something I guess. Remember the way they may want to be remembered. And my Lady friend, who has been surprising me in all sorts of wonderful ways over the past 15 months has agreed to be there with me. She's not Jewish but I don't care. She means a lot and it's something I have to do. I'm glad she agreed to share in it.

Continuing on the theme of absence

2008-03-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

Specifically, my absence from the southland. My grandmother died on February 29. Today is the first day i could even think that thought without crying but it still makes me nauseous. There was of course a wonderful Woman who has helped me through it all. The crying, the sickness, the impulse to self destruct. I will never forget it. Still, I simply could not spend spring break in Louisiana´s patented isolation booth. Could not. So instead, I took up the offer of a friend here in Mexico City. Yes, Mex City, D.F., the so called navel of the world.

Actually, I am staying in a tragically unhip urban wasteland called Toluca, where New Jersey´s refineries, Arizona´s desert landscape and El Paso´s barrio feel meet. I do however spend much time in D.F., indulging in creature comforts like art exhibits and Indian grub. So yay!

More to come post yayness.

As always, Japan leads into the apocalypse

2008-03-07T16:31:00.000-08:00

I just blogged about being ensconed in a virtual world with virtual kids and virtual nookie. And doing all this only because I'm a hypocrite- or rather, virtually virtuous. But now you can read about some very real consequences of virtual living in the deliciously title When freaky-deaky equals hara-kiri an article which discusses how Japanese men are averse to real sex and prefer electronic and uh....manual stimulation. The money quote has got to be "Self-pleasure is a hell of a lot less demanding than trying to please somebody else", which is most definitely NOT a uniquely Japanese idea. Never fear for Japanese men tho, since, we are assured that "Some of the masturbation aids coming out nowadays are absolutely incredible."

And what might some of these masturbation aids be? I'm off to a (real) meal with (real) people so I guess I'll just leave you guys hanging until my next post.

Really, this virtual nonsense has to stop

2008-03-07T12:48:00.000-08:00

I'm a hypocrite. I'm a hypocrite because I blog. Because I'm on facebook. And have dormant profiles on friendster and myspace and linkedin. And yet, hypocrite or not, I am here to say that this virtual crap has to end.

Facebook, which I joined because speaking to someone in person is considered taboo on campus, has a new "socially conscious" campaign where you- yes, you- and I could become "virtual parents" to any one (or two or three) of thirteen million orphans out there. And by virtual parents, I mean give money to them.

This initiative, spear-headed by our very own Fearless Leader, the man who puts the G in G.W., a/k/a he-who-must-not-be-named, wishes to "save 13 million orphans lives and get 25 million HIV/AIDS sufferers treated to reverse the pandemic." Noble of course and this is where you can be a virtual parent. I am sure the the internet-savvy youngsters of rural Chad will be heartened to know that 4,000 miles away, in the comfort of your own home, you too care about them.

Of course this is just an update of those old Sally Struthers come ons- you know the ones where she speaks over photos of African babies without actually spending time around said babies- and how you too can "monitor the progress" of your "virtual orphan."

Now, on the one hand I'm totally in favor of helping orphans, African or otherwise. On the other hand, this is just another way to pretend to "care". You send out ten bucks and tell everyone how you're a virtual parent. Oh well. I suppose that after virtual sex, virtual kids are the next step.

Cheesing it up on my own

2008-02-26T11:07:00.000-08:00

So I took a look around and was told that the school could help me out with this stuff. (I will need to either fly or walk to Wisconsin- pick one. Also, I could swim or fly to Spain.) Having dutifully filled out numerous forms and obtained even more numerous signatures, I was informed on February 25th, that no help would be forthcoming as...ummm....they had spent their entire budget for '08. Which is totally understandable. As such, I am putting up a paypal button so that my thousands of readers, supporters and admirers can do what the school can't. This goes out to haters as well. Think about it- if I get sent to Spain, I'll be in a remote location about 10 miles from Africa. No blogging. At all. Sweet ain't it?

Cheesing it up

2008-02-25T09:46:00.000-08:00

I have two invitations in my mailbox. Three actually.
These invitations are for conferences where I am to present GROUNDBREAKING AND VERY IMPORTANT RESEARCH THE LIKES OF WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN PRESENTED BEFORE. The GROUNDBREAKING RESEARCH concerns second language acquisition or how someone else can learn a foreign language so you don't have to. Anyhow, these invites are to Madison, Wisconsin, southern Spain and Long Island, New York- all within an 8 day span in April.

I have had the chance to visit Madison, Wisconsin previously. What brought me there can best be illustrated by this graphic:

This was a visit to a lady I fondly refer to as potential ex wife #3, and I had the chance to explore Janesville, Racine and Whitewater as well. Not much needs to be said of these places except that once you have seen them you will either move to North Dakota or cross the entire upper midwest off your travel list. I saw them in December. Guess what I did.

But now I will have a chance to see it in April, with the cheese trees in full bloom and the scent of beer flowers everywhere. I may visit some Amish. We can watch their home movies.

Nevertheless, to my regret, I can't stay long since I am scheduled to be in Long Island that exact same weekend. How this will transpire will be most interesting to see. I do so like the impossible. Anyhow, as a warmup for all of this, I will probably (depending on the benevolence of my local benefactors) make a stop south of Barcelona, Spain the previous weekend for another presentation. This appeals to me very much as my cousin, who wised up and did a Ph.D. in economics instead of the namby-pamby social sciences, spent many summers on the spanish coast and, when he can be coaxed into human interaction, expresses the view that it was not the most loathsome experience of his life. As such, I'm looking forward to it. If I get there.

What in the hell is....

2008-02-18T12:38:00.001-08:00

systemic functional linguistics? What projects are being researched there? How can I show off my lack of knowledge in this area? Any ideas?

Won't you come with me...to Hymietown?

2008-02-17T13:58:00.000-08:00

Ray Bradbury was half right

2008-02-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

Many moons ago, Ray Bradbury (author. What's an author? Nevermind. Whoops, here come the troops. I gotta hide.)

-resuming from the bunker-

predicted that as people are no longer reading very much, we are "creating a nation of morons." As the present and forever occupant of the Extremely White House illustrates, RB had a point. However, I would like to upgrade his thesis thusly:

With the advent of the internet, we are creating a nation of moronic sociopaths. See, the internet has made it possible for us to have close non-relationships with each other whereby we send IMs (instant messages) to each other for ever and ever and ever (and ever) while emailing (also forever) and text messaging cell phones (guess for how long) all without ever meeting the other person face to face. Just imagine. A friendship in this brave new world could, theoretically, exist over the course of a decade or five without the "friends" ever meeting, shaking hands, hearing each other's voices doing anything together or even knowing their "friends" names. Of course this means that any emotional attachment is impossible as "friends" can turn each other off with the click of a button. On the upside, it is absolutely no problem to acquire 49,999,999,999 friends without ever remembering a birthday or even a name. In fact, after a while, all 49,999,999,999 friends will look pretty much the same and they will all be called Joanie. This new world is so gonna rock. Now if my friends will excuse me, I gotta go do stuff. Text ya later Joanie.

See, what we have here is a failure to want to communicate

2008-02-11T14:04:00.000-08:00

The South has a peculiar notion which goes something like this: We are special and unique. We are better than you. Because we are better than you, we get to decide whether or not we follow the law, not you. If we choose not to do what we have to do, suck it up. Got that? Good. Now go pound dirt you g-dless swine! And don't forget your station, boy!

Right off the bat, I have two problems with this, maybe even three: First, I happen to be the G-dless swine in question. This is, as you might imagine, bad. I'd much rather be inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.

Secondly, Louisiana, which has been a U.S. State since 1865 (or at least 1964- theoretically), is bound by all the laws of the U.S. So when you point an enraged finger at me and say that I am not entitled to certain things under the law until "this school says you are", you may be just a bit mistaken. Don't worry, this happens a lot.

Finally, I have a hunch I won't be able to correct this mistake diplomatically.

Oh and by the way, has anyone else* noticed that all the janitors here are black and all the professors are white**? It tells ya something.

*this assumes that I have local readers and may be discovered soon. Angola awaits?

**yes, there may be some professor of African-American lit around who is black, but face it, he'll fill the quota of one. And yes, I am aware that without Asian profs and students, there would be no Science departments here but since they are segregated into the Conference Center, it doesn't really count.

Happy fried baby day

2008-01-29T20:45:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season in Southern Louisiana for Mardi Gras. A French-originated festival where once upon a time the King rode through the villages on horseback, tossing jewels, cash and unpasteurized cheese at the masses, it has evolved to the point at which regular folk toss about beads and also cook gumbo. Mardi Gras also offers the opportunity to consume king cake. King cake is a cinnamony concoction which, much like the foods of Hong Kong (where nothing is served unless it's endangered) features a tasty surprise in the middle, namely a plastic baby which is supposed to represent the king. Psychologists, far more qualified than myself, will need to explain the symbolism of a charred plastic infant in relation to royalty, although if the French/Louisiana monarchs were anything like the current British ones, I can certainly understand.

Ding dong the witch is dead?

2008-01-26T20:11:00.000-08:00

So a few states away, Barack Obama won the South Carolina primary. Does that mean that Lady McBeth is done? That Caligula will be buried once and for all? That after twenty-eight years a nation of 300 million, a nominal democracy, will have a president/vice president team that does not include anyone named Bush or Clinton? Or, and I hate to raise this idea, will Obama be RFK'ed? Stay tuned.

The Louisiana handshake

2008-01-23T08:22:00.000-08:00

It's time to be introduced to another social custom here. The Louisiana handshake.
The Louisiana handshake is something like this: extend your index finger and thumb to grasp the tip of the other person's index finger for a nanosecond. Make sure your facial expression shows your opinion that you are thoroughly disgusted during that moment- but conceal your disgust with an insincere smile. Drop the other person's index finger and pull back your arm. In other words, the Louisiana handshake- so called because i have never encountered it before-is the handshake for people who don't want to shake hands. Ladies of a certain class-the ones Evita Peron railed about- are experts in this. It's fascinating because it conveys so much so quickly. Disgust, distance, reluctance and an air of unjustified superiority can all be felt. Sometimes, this handshake is accompanied by speech that indicates that the speaker considers you to be a fairly dimwitted two year old. When Chris Tucker first meets Jackie Chan at the airport in Rush Hour and says "do you understand a word that is coming out of my mouth?" he is providing a window into my daily life here. Except that the people who say this to me look nothing like him. And he really shouldn't go where they live.

getting back into the swing of it all

2008-01-22T16:15:00.000-08:00

Charles Bukowski said that nobody who is happy can write anything worthwhile. Since I met a lady (who shall remain nameless) my happiness quotient increased significantly, even in the face of my non reintegration. As such, I have been dormant. However, my new years resolution (one of them anyhoo) is to prove the late (ahem) Mr. Bukowski wrong. In the process, and as a tribute to my quasi reintegration, this blog will taken on a slightly more professional sheen and as befitting its newfound gravitas we will discuss the two books now on my nightstand. The first one features naked photos of Supreme Court justices while island desolation and rotten fish figure prominently into the second one. Both are quality materials to be sure. The first, highly academic in nature, suits one who is on his way to Turkey (and before that Madison, Wisconsin) to give scholarly presentations on topics that large numbers of people will feign interest in. The second suits one who is slowly, oh so very slowly completing a book about his own experiences in South Korea and is perhaps hoping to find a publisher for that.

When not reading porn disguised as literature and when not nursing literature related delusions of my own, I spend time trying to improve my photography. In that vein, I met with an art gallery owner in Lake Charles, an artsy laid-back town on the Texas border where, befitting Democrats, I spent a cozy eve with the party chairman, drinking beers on his porch. (If this was a Republican party gathering, I would have waited tables at the country club where the chairman was sipping sherry while ogling the underage Black woman in his employ. Note the subtle difference.) At some point, I had a chat with the gallery owner who would like for me to send her some good examples of my work. Note the term "good". And so, I turn to my loyal readership (anybody?) for pointers. In the coming days I will do my level best to update the gallery here and while I do, please leave comments regarding which 4 or 5 I should send off. Quality over quantity people. That's the watchword.

So I took off the last month to...

2007-12-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

do absolutely nothing of interest to anyone. However, in case I am wrong (it does happen), the highlights included:

- An amazing Thanksgiving feast with a family that included the world's most hyper three (two, one?) year old. Sweet kid made sweeter by not being mine.

-A bonfire in rural Louisiana which featured copious booze and a smidgen of Antisemitism. But after Poland and Slovakia (where a witty lad declared himself, via graffiti, to be an "anti-anti-Fascist") I can't complain.

- The hell that is statistics.

- A recent visit to Lake Charles, a small, ruralish town in western Louisiana where people drank, smoked, fucked and laughed like there is no tomorrow. I trampled a golf course. Yay for the proletariat.

- A visit to the local art gallery. Yes, there are art galleries in the rural South.

- Hanging out at the AIDS fundraiser and in the process (of the visit, the art gallery and the fundraiser) meeting, I am fairly sure, every last gay/lesbian person in southern Louisiana. I counted on both hands.

- Possibily getting a shot at blogging the Democratic National Convention in '08 and getting my photos exhibited that same year. This is worth watching.

Whoreship the Demon Slut

2007-10-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

Halloween here is a weeklong affair of self-conscious debauchery as the underfed, adequately nourished and grotesquely gorging gather in various outfits- many involving cross-dressing to some extent (none as terrifyingly hilarious as the muscle-bound six foot tall ballerina) and dance till dawn. A fine time was had by all including your lustful male correspondent who resisted many temptations because he is too emotional for one night stands. (Why, oh why! he cries). Halloween btw is deemed a pagan holiday which was once celebrated by witches. According to this I too worship a false god and so felt right at home.

And did anyone notice that the list calls atheism a false religion? Just sayin'....

The three flavors of social interaction

2007-10-23T15:51:00.000-07:00

Guy1: "Good morning."
Guy2: "Huh."
Guy1: "Can I have a muffin?"
Guy2: "Where you from?"
Guy1: "Here."
Guy2: "Hehe. No you ain't, come on."

Guy3: "How are you today?"
Guy1: "Pretty good, thanks. Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
Guy3: "That's fantastic. I was wondering if you were interested in coming to church sometime."

Guy1: "Morning."
Gal1: "Morning! I was wondering if you would like to purchase this metal doohickey for a thousand dollars." (Insert gloriously fake smile.)
Guy1: "Wow that sounds sweet. What's you name?"
Gal1: "This metal doohickey comes with a plastic whatchamacallit for only 999.99." (No smile.)

Those three cover 99% of the conversations I have most days. A fourth variety is something like this:

Guy1: "Miss, I sent you an email an ice age ago about the project that everything is riding on. Did you have time to read it?"
Gal2: "Yeah it sounds totally fine. I can't promise that it's exactly fine but it seems fineish. Totally."

Adventures in Democracy

2007-10-10T19:44:00.000-07:00

I like to vote just because a) I'm tourettic and enjoy touching shiny buttons and b)it's the only thing to do here for less than five bucks. Before anyone seeks my endorsement, here are some hallowed names from my electoral past:

Bradley, Nader and all the guys yesterday who lost. I can spin this I am sure. Asiatown for the other guy. First thing first, I had to register to vote. This was no easy task. The school had set up a registration table which was where I got an eyeful of the Louisiana voter registration form- where the perennial question was what religion said voter is. It seemed way retro. Anyhoo, I filled it out and pretty much forgot about it.
Elections in Louisiana are complicated affairs. Instead of primaries, everyone runs at the same time and then, if nobody gets 50%+1 vote, the top two run again in November.
Well the first round was yesterday and so about a week ago I had a notion to check up on that registration form. Much to my nonsurprise, it lay dormant. Seeing as I listed my birthplace as Foreigntown, Not USA, they asked for proof of citizenship. So I shipped off a copy of my passport. And waited. And waited.

And, three days ago, finally fed up, I trotted down to the registar who of course had no idea who I was. No matter though as the repeating, repeating and repeating of my name worked wonders. And so the lovely day came and went with a spiffy blue sticker to show for it. And all for a good cause. Who won you ask? This guy came out on top.

tailgating

2007-10-06T11:28:00.000-07:00

after a good swim its time for tailgating. No, I know nothing about football and no, I don't want to learn. They don't have to know tho.

Where I live

2007-09-30T19:28:00.000-07:00

aqua

2007-09-10T15:31:00.000-07:00

I was a swimmer since I was a kid. When I was about...five I guess...I started taking swimming lessons from an Olympic medalist who, being an un-PC Commie would haul us out of the water and spank us if we didn't follow instructions. This didn't exactly endear us to him but we learned to swim anyway.

My swimming days ended in high school. H.S. was in a small, very orderly town which sandwiched the school between a mental hospital and a cemetery, thus completing the circle of life. One day, a gent who was midway between the school and the cemetery urged me, through unintelligent mumbles, to remain undressed in the locker room and join him (he was also undressed) in the shower. During this encounter his mumbles were joined by more physical, if blessedly uncoordinated overtures. I relayed this to the management and pretty much stopped swimming altogether until about this summer (oh 12 years on- cuz I'm stubborn).

However, back in Budapest I could not resist the lure of Margaret Island and the Hajos Alfred swimming pool. An outdoor pool within sight of the Buda shore, it was populated by fetching pre-geriatrics (some of whom, in a sad testament to undeserved material wealth, bulged wayyy out of their itsy bitsy yellow polka dot bikinis)and served as a reminder of the many many benefits of exercise.

Transition to the Bayou. A beautiful, warm, clean (!) outdoor swimming pool. True, it's almost never actually open, but is sure nice to look at. Yes it is.

The thing about my station is that I don't have one

2007-09-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

One of the most common expressions down South is "my station." As in, "this is my station in the community," or "I married above my station". My station is shorthand for who is where on the pecking order. (I have never been in a more status-conscious area.) Station is everything- it is how much you earn, where you live, who you live with, what church you belong to( and it WILL be a church), what kind of car you drive, whom you voted for- and so on and on and on to infinity. This is tied in with a particularly Southern-fried notion that nobody (of a certain station of course) has any obligations unless they feel like taking on said obligations. This is the region which protested everything from integration to taxes all under the rubric of states rights- by which they mean the right to keep on doing as they have been for hundreds of years, doing nothing much at all. What all that amounts to is that things which ought to be settled everywhere else- paying your mortgage, hiring on the basis of merit, signaling when you turn left- are viewed as optional here. If you don't want to pay your mortgage, hire minorities or be courteous to others on the road, you don't have to be and darned if anyone can make ya.

Stations are not flexible. You can't just pool together the money to buy a nice house in a gated community and join the country club. So when, oh, lets say, a foreign-born Jewish guy moves in, the very first thing everyone wants to be sure of is that he knows his station- which, being that he is new, not beholden to their mindsets and not in any way their cup of tea AT ALL, will of course be below them.

Question tho- do I have to have a station? Can't I just get a fellowship, do my doctorate and get on with people in my charmingly anti-social way? Yes, yes I can. But it will cost me untold opportunities for, as the title says, quasi reintegration.

Some random observations thus far

2007-08-28T08:29:00.000-07:00

After the last forty eight hours I can say the following:

Once upon a time I believed that insane heat and humidity is preferable to insane heat without humidity. I am no longer sure of this.

The closest most here have ever come to meeting a Jew was Jesus and that was a long time ago.

My accent, nineteen years after moving to the States and fourteen years after becoming, nominally at least, a citizen with equal rights, still fascinates.

It also repulses, particularly white ladies.

Salt is A flavoring, not THE flavoring. Please take note. Also, salt is not a preservative. Not ideally anyways.

I will always take honest friendship over false kindness. Please do not smile at me as if I am a large, imperfectly formed piece of shit.

On that note, if you shake my hand, please take hold of my hand physically, rather than using your fingertips to hold it. On that note, please see above regarding the smile.

You are free not to shake my hand. You do not care if my day is alright, please don't bother asking. However, do your work, and do it before the next ice age.

And try not to steal from me.

In addition to a Ph.D., I am getting an education on class and race distinctions. However, despite my designation by my doctorate peers as being of a higher class and race, I am not entirely able to bring myself to give even a mouse sized shit about this.

Alcohol does not replace human interaction.

And neither does marijuana.

I miss New York. People there tell you to fuck yourself and mean it. You gotta respect that.