This cup of coffee I am drinking is pretty damn good but it wasn’t free ($1.64 including tax). The first sip tastes a little bitter and it is too hot. Perhaps what I love about that first cup of coffee in the morning is primarily based on expectation. Perhaps I don’t really enjoy it as much as I think I do.
But then I take the second sip and it isn’t as bitter or as hot. My reading vision begins to sharpen without the reading glasses I have left at home. By the third sip I’m completely in love again. As it cools I can take bigger and bigger sips; each one more satisfying than the last. This love will last for about 10-12 ounces until the coffee starts to get luke warm and enough caffeine has reached my system to properly jolt it into action for whatever the day may require.
The effect of this drug is much more subtle than the high I receive from booze or from smoking a cigar. Coffee isn’t a euphoria-creating drug like the other two I mentioned. Coffee is about instilling awareness in its early-morning users. I haven’t really become fully awaken from the past night’s sleep until I am half-way through this morning coffee ritual.
I sometimes drink coffee at other times of the day but the effect on me is nowhere near as pronounced as the first cup in the morning. I don’t really need coffee later in the day; I drink it for recreational and not medicinal purposes. This is when I will order something wimpy like a cappuccino. I suspect that people who drink prodigious amounts of coffee throughout the day are like people who drink too much alcohol on a regular basis: They don’t really enjoy it so much as need it.
One of the joys of moderation is that you truly enjoy your vices instead of being ruled by them. Do I always practice what I preach? Are you fucking kidding? Do I look Mormon? Even though cigars are horribly taxed here in Washington I won’t buy them on-line. If I have a whole box of La Gloria Cubana* cigars lying around I simply cannot show a shred of self-control and I will practically chain-smoke them.
Only once, very briefly, did I consider dropping my coffee habit. Why would I want to exclude something from my life that gives me so much pleasure, costs little, and makes me smarter? I couldn’t answer that either so here I am, coming down to the last bit of coffee in my cup, ready to walk out and face the world.
*In my opinion the world’s best cigars. I prefer them to Cuban cigars. I may be prejudiced because I used to love going to the factory on Calle Ocho in Miami. You could buy these wonderful cigars direct and watch them being hand-rolled. The only ones I can get here are made in the Dominican Republic. They are still the best nicotine delivery system yet concocted. The La Gloria Cubana Corona Gorda’s provide about one hour of pure bliss.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Snow Day: Part II
How I know that I am old: I thought about taking my mountain bike out in the snow yesterday but I didn’t because I thought it might be dangerous. What a fucking wimp I’ve become. If you passed by Queen Anne yesterday you would have seen hundreds of people sliding down Counterbalance Hill* on anything and everything. Do you think the guys who slid underneath a parked car in an inflatable kayak were worried about it being dangerous? I don’t think so.
I actually met some girls who bought a cookie sheet just so they could use it as a sled. Other items used for recreation: a mattress, two skis with a tire on top, a kayak, skis, snowboards, a plastic garbage can, cardboard boxes, and various household appliances. The real fun comes when you get to the bottom and you have to dodge the cars. What the scene needed was someone with a video camera to inspire truly epic levels of stupidity.
Counterbalance Hill looked like the opening day of the grunge Winter Olympics. There were hundreds and hundreds of people skipping work to fuck-off by sliding down a very big hill on everyday household items. Every single dog in the city of Seattle was out running around in the snow; they all had a blast. A lot of people went to work but I’ll bet overall productivity was for shit. Everyone just wanted to walk around and enjoy something we only see in Seattle every five years or so.
Today is like the hangover for yesterday’s fun. The snow is still here but it is pure slush. The roads are pretty crappy and you’d better wear boots if you are walking. You can still make snowballs but if you try to sled down a hill it will be more like wake boarding. Yesterday was cool but today makes you realize that snow is pretty much a nuisance. You can always drive up to the mountains and get all the winter fun you could ever want. We get yards and yards of snow in the nearby Cascades but every so often in Seattle the winter playground comes to the street where you live. Go out and get silly.
*Counterbalance Hill got its name from the street cars that ran up and down it years ago. As one car went down it pulled the other car up to the top.
I actually met some girls who bought a cookie sheet just so they could use it as a sled. Other items used for recreation: a mattress, two skis with a tire on top, a kayak, skis, snowboards, a plastic garbage can, cardboard boxes, and various household appliances. The real fun comes when you get to the bottom and you have to dodge the cars. What the scene needed was someone with a video camera to inspire truly epic levels of stupidity.
Counterbalance Hill looked like the opening day of the grunge Winter Olympics. There were hundreds and hundreds of people skipping work to fuck-off by sliding down a very big hill on everyday household items. Every single dog in the city of Seattle was out running around in the snow; they all had a blast. A lot of people went to work but I’ll bet overall productivity was for shit. Everyone just wanted to walk around and enjoy something we only see in Seattle every five years or so.
Today is like the hangover for yesterday’s fun. The snow is still here but it is pure slush. The roads are pretty crappy and you’d better wear boots if you are walking. You can still make snowballs but if you try to sled down a hill it will be more like wake boarding. Yesterday was cool but today makes you realize that snow is pretty much a nuisance. You can always drive up to the mountains and get all the winter fun you could ever want. We get yards and yards of snow in the nearby Cascades but every so often in Seattle the winter playground comes to the street where you live. Go out and get silly.
*Counterbalance Hill got its name from the street cars that ran up and down it years ago. As one car went down it pulled the other car up to the top.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Snow Day
I love to sleep on my couch. My summer-weight sleeping bag is laid out on the couch like a house guest who won’t leave. Slipping inside my sleeping bag on the couch is about as cozy as it gets. It’s like slipping back into the womb. It is especially nice on these cold winter days we’ve had here in Seattle over the past week or so. My apartment is as warm as a toaster but I like to open a window that faces out to the Puget Sound to feel the salt air and to hear the yawing of gulls.
This may sound silly but I think the sea air improves the quality of my dreams. Falling asleep one evening while reading a Patrick O’Brian novel I dreamt I was sailing on a big square rigged ship. I swear that I was able to smell the sea in my dream. My couch, sleeping bag, and Puget Sound-facing window combine to give me a Proustian comfort and Disneyland ride.
The weather predictors predicted snow for Seattle. The storm was to begin late last night. I went to bed at a very late hour and not a single flake had fallen on the city. I decided to sleep on the couch with the window open. I wanted to be able to check the storm’s progress if I woke up in the middle of the night.
I didn’t wake up until early this morning. It wasn’t completely light yet and the first thing I noticed was the quiet. I couldn’t hear a single automobile. Usually when day is breaking the seagulls make a terrific racket but today they were silent. Nobody in Seattle gets much done when there is snow on the ground—even the gulls take the day off. We only get snow every couple of years (This is only the second time I’ve seen snow in my five years of residence) so you’ll have to excuse my enthusiasm.
There probably won’t be much open in Seattle for the short time the snow sticks. I’m going to go out and take a walk and look for coffee. I’ll probably spend the day in my sleeping bag on the couch, looking out the window and reading my new book Castles in Spain: A Traveler’s Guide Featuring the National Parador Inns.
In my relentless effort to keep this website on the cutting edge of the lowest common denominator I have decided to print all of the comments for this entry in the block of the text.
#1
Jan 07 2004, 08:16 am
You sound like a real slacker. Lying on the couch listening to classical music? Please! You'll be a happier person when you admit to yourself that there are things you want out of life, then go out and get them. Fame, pussy, money. It's all good, and you know you want it.
Type-A Hippie
#2
I am a real slacker. Please tell me how to acquire the three sacred objects of which you speak.
The Management
#3
By your writing you seem to be a decent guy, and you say you strive to live your life accordingly. Yet your writing also reveals an untapped vein of megalomania. Every human being is trying to 'win' this game of life, but you allow yourself to believe that you are an exception. You are not. Go out there. Adapt. Survive. Make yourself a positive, creative force in this world and you will find support where you imagined none exists. We're all counting on you.
Type-A Hippie
#4
Dear Hippie Person,
Your advice (words of wisdom?) makes absolutely no sense. First of all, I hate hippies, so you're already suspicious to me just from your stupid signature tag. Secondly, what exactly are humans trying to "win" in this "game of life" of which you speak? More Cheetos? A new SUV? Free passes to Vegas? A larger penis? Bigger boobs? The Lotto?
Also, please cite concrete examples of this so-called "untapped vein of megalomania" you say runs through Leftie's writing. Megalomania is defined as "a delusional mental disorder that is marked by infantile feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur." If anything, Leftbanker is more critical—and rather harshly, I might add—of himself and his life than he is critical of the world around him. As far as I know, no one suffering from megalomania is in the least bit self-critical. In fact, the complete lack of self-criticism is one major reason megalomaniacs are megalomaniacs.
Lastly, why should anyone care what you think? More to the point: why should anyone want to take your advice, which makes no sense?
To quote Hippie Person:
Go out there. Adapt. Survive. Make yourself a positive, creative force in this world and you will find support where you imagined none exists. We're all counting on you.
You've just brought coals to Newcastle, since Leftbanker writes almost exclusively about how hard he tries to improve himself every day. I don't know anyone who writes more openly and honestly about his or her struggles to make life more interesting and better than Leftbanker; it's why I am his biggest fan.
Here's some free advice for you, Hippie Person:
1) Start making sense and others will listen. The ability to communicate begins by having a REAL point, and then being able to communicate that point clearly, concisely, and coherently. You have done none of the above. You think you are much more clever than you really are.
2) Get your own weblog—since you have left no URL here pointing to your own bastion of wisdom, we’ll assume you don’t have one, or are too cowardly to point in it its direction.
Mat
#5
Although I appreciate you coming to my defense, Mat, I have to agree with the Hippie on this one. I am a big pile. I'm going to go read a book on how to get ahead in business.
The Management
#6
There's a new breed of websurfers who go around leaving pejorative, unjustifiably critical comments on other people's sites, without leaving links to their own blogs, either (a) because they don't have blogs and therefore feel the need to voice their opinions through comment boards, or (b) because they do have blogs which they know suck ass.
Their first and most obvious mistake is judging a person entirely from what's written on his/her web site. Um, hi -- if I had a quarter for every fuckwit to do no more than skim 1/2 a paragraph of my writing and promptly lash out at me for being a horrible person based on an out-of-context mention of, like, Brooks Brothers, I'd be one rich mo' fo'.
Hippiecakes, go peddle your advice to people you actually KNOW. Or, if you insist on continuing to grace this web site with your presence, how about first enrolling in a remedial reading tutorial or something, as clearly your comprehension could use a bit of work.
Bess
#7
I think Type-A Hippie is a great moniker even though you gleaned it from the contents of my essay. I wish I would have come up with it first. I accidentally banned your address so I hope you didn't think I was being a nerd (it was quickly unbanned). As I've said many times, I'm the first person to admit that I'm a big left-wing jackass but I think my heart has always been in the right place. Look at the top of my comments box. If you can't say something nice, say it here. Insult me all you want, just keep reading. I would give Type-A Hippie a big hug except you can get Salmonella from touching hippies.
The Management
#8
What you all don't realize is that Type-a -hippie is actually Leftbanker's alter ego and he is essentially having conversations with himself on his own comment page. Very twisted.
Catch-23
#9
...Megalomania in the colloquial - not the clinical - sense. When someone says 'that chick is psycho' no one imagines the speaker to be making a medical diagnosis.
Leftbanker is an often funny and always spirited writer. That's why I drop in. It's clear to me, though, that the scale of his hopes and ambitions might be better realized outside the limiting confines of a weblog. If you want to hunt big game, why stop at the petting zoo?
Type-A Hippie
#10
See, Hippie, if you try hard and bypass the corporate productivity seminar clichés, you too can articulate your thoughts. Thank you.
And I agree with you: Leftie needs to get off his lazy ass and do something with his obvious talent for articulating his thoughts. There are far too many writers (or vapid celebrities with their ghost writers) out there getting published who don't say a damn thing. I am sick of walking in bookstores and seeing the smiling mugs of dipshits like Dr. Phil and Deepak Chopra peddling their knee-jerk, drooling buttwipe philosophies to the starving masses. Or ghostwritten celebrity tell-alls that don’t tell diddley-squat except rehash the boring life story of some silly, illiterate, inarticulate actor, athlete, or musician. If Pete Rose, Madonna, and Tom Cruise really have something to say, they’d fucking write the book themselves, the morons.
So a foot upside the ass of Mr. Procrastinating Leftbanker ain’t such a bad idea.
Mat
#11
I'm taking a Tony Robins seminar this weekend so I promise to be completely self-actualized by Monday. Then can I hang out with you guys?
P.S. Have you ever hunted at a petting zoo? It's so fucking easy that I don't even bother going out in the woods anymore. The down side is that sometimes parents get a bit hostile when you shoot a rabbit out of their kid's hands.
P.P.S. I've decided to ditch my dumbass blog and just jerk-off full-time in the comments box.
The Management
#12
A friend of mine, his name is "Steve," married a woman nameb "Barbara." Steve and Barbara (or Babs, as she calls herself), traveled to Cincinnati, her home town, over Christmas 2003. There, Steve shot game with Babs' father, at his hunting club. There, they raise pheasants in cages, release them for "the hunt" in a large field, and then blast away at them. Some of the birds actually get away. I guess this "hunting club practice" is quite common in that part of the US, among elites and notables. The first time I heard this story, I thought Steve was joking--and laughed in Babs' face. When I realized that it was no joke, I was simultaneously embarrased and incredulous. Having grown up on an Iowa farm, hunting and fishing in the creeks and fields where I lived, I never would have guess that this is the way the noblemen live. I'd call that "hunting in a petting zoo." But what the hell do I know; I'm from Iowa, right?
Farmer Ned
This may sound silly but I think the sea air improves the quality of my dreams. Falling asleep one evening while reading a Patrick O’Brian novel I dreamt I was sailing on a big square rigged ship. I swear that I was able to smell the sea in my dream. My couch, sleeping bag, and Puget Sound-facing window combine to give me a Proustian comfort and Disneyland ride.
The weather predictors predicted snow for Seattle. The storm was to begin late last night. I went to bed at a very late hour and not a single flake had fallen on the city. I decided to sleep on the couch with the window open. I wanted to be able to check the storm’s progress if I woke up in the middle of the night.
I didn’t wake up until early this morning. It wasn’t completely light yet and the first thing I noticed was the quiet. I couldn’t hear a single automobile. Usually when day is breaking the seagulls make a terrific racket but today they were silent. Nobody in Seattle gets much done when there is snow on the ground—even the gulls take the day off. We only get snow every couple of years (This is only the second time I’ve seen snow in my five years of residence) so you’ll have to excuse my enthusiasm.
There probably won’t be much open in Seattle for the short time the snow sticks. I’m going to go out and take a walk and look for coffee. I’ll probably spend the day in my sleeping bag on the couch, looking out the window and reading my new book Castles in Spain: A Traveler’s Guide Featuring the National Parador Inns.
In my relentless effort to keep this website on the cutting edge of the lowest common denominator I have decided to print all of the comments for this entry in the block of the text.
#1
Jan 07 2004, 08:16 am
You sound like a real slacker. Lying on the couch listening to classical music? Please! You'll be a happier person when you admit to yourself that there are things you want out of life, then go out and get them. Fame, pussy, money. It's all good, and you know you want it.
Type-A Hippie
#2
I am a real slacker. Please tell me how to acquire the three sacred objects of which you speak.
The Management
#3
By your writing you seem to be a decent guy, and you say you strive to live your life accordingly. Yet your writing also reveals an untapped vein of megalomania. Every human being is trying to 'win' this game of life, but you allow yourself to believe that you are an exception. You are not. Go out there. Adapt. Survive. Make yourself a positive, creative force in this world and you will find support where you imagined none exists. We're all counting on you.
Type-A Hippie
#4
Dear Hippie Person,
Your advice (words of wisdom?) makes absolutely no sense. First of all, I hate hippies, so you're already suspicious to me just from your stupid signature tag. Secondly, what exactly are humans trying to "win" in this "game of life" of which you speak? More Cheetos? A new SUV? Free passes to Vegas? A larger penis? Bigger boobs? The Lotto?
Also, please cite concrete examples of this so-called "untapped vein of megalomania" you say runs through Leftie's writing. Megalomania is defined as "a delusional mental disorder that is marked by infantile feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur." If anything, Leftbanker is more critical—and rather harshly, I might add—of himself and his life than he is critical of the world around him. As far as I know, no one suffering from megalomania is in the least bit self-critical. In fact, the complete lack of self-criticism is one major reason megalomaniacs are megalomaniacs.
Lastly, why should anyone care what you think? More to the point: why should anyone want to take your advice, which makes no sense?
To quote Hippie Person:
Go out there. Adapt. Survive. Make yourself a positive, creative force in this world and you will find support where you imagined none exists. We're all counting on you.
You've just brought coals to Newcastle, since Leftbanker writes almost exclusively about how hard he tries to improve himself every day. I don't know anyone who writes more openly and honestly about his or her struggles to make life more interesting and better than Leftbanker; it's why I am his biggest fan.
Here's some free advice for you, Hippie Person:
1) Start making sense and others will listen. The ability to communicate begins by having a REAL point, and then being able to communicate that point clearly, concisely, and coherently. You have done none of the above. You think you are much more clever than you really are.
2) Get your own weblog—since you have left no URL here pointing to your own bastion of wisdom, we’ll assume you don’t have one, or are too cowardly to point in it its direction.
Mat
#5
Although I appreciate you coming to my defense, Mat, I have to agree with the Hippie on this one. I am a big pile. I'm going to go read a book on how to get ahead in business.
The Management
#6
There's a new breed of websurfers who go around leaving pejorative, unjustifiably critical comments on other people's sites, without leaving links to their own blogs, either (a) because they don't have blogs and therefore feel the need to voice their opinions through comment boards, or (b) because they do have blogs which they know suck ass.
Their first and most obvious mistake is judging a person entirely from what's written on his/her web site. Um, hi -- if I had a quarter for every fuckwit to do no more than skim 1/2 a paragraph of my writing and promptly lash out at me for being a horrible person based on an out-of-context mention of, like, Brooks Brothers, I'd be one rich mo' fo'.
Hippiecakes, go peddle your advice to people you actually KNOW. Or, if you insist on continuing to grace this web site with your presence, how about first enrolling in a remedial reading tutorial or something, as clearly your comprehension could use a bit of work.
Bess
#7
I think Type-A Hippie is a great moniker even though you gleaned it from the contents of my essay. I wish I would have come up with it first. I accidentally banned your address so I hope you didn't think I was being a nerd (it was quickly unbanned). As I've said many times, I'm the first person to admit that I'm a big left-wing jackass but I think my heart has always been in the right place. Look at the top of my comments box. If you can't say something nice, say it here. Insult me all you want, just keep reading. I would give Type-A Hippie a big hug except you can get Salmonella from touching hippies.
The Management
#8
What you all don't realize is that Type-a -hippie is actually Leftbanker's alter ego and he is essentially having conversations with himself on his own comment page. Very twisted.
Catch-23
#9
...Megalomania in the colloquial - not the clinical - sense. When someone says 'that chick is psycho' no one imagines the speaker to be making a medical diagnosis.
Leftbanker is an often funny and always spirited writer. That's why I drop in. It's clear to me, though, that the scale of his hopes and ambitions might be better realized outside the limiting confines of a weblog. If you want to hunt big game, why stop at the petting zoo?
Type-A Hippie
#10
See, Hippie, if you try hard and bypass the corporate productivity seminar clichés, you too can articulate your thoughts. Thank you.
And I agree with you: Leftie needs to get off his lazy ass and do something with his obvious talent for articulating his thoughts. There are far too many writers (or vapid celebrities with their ghost writers) out there getting published who don't say a damn thing. I am sick of walking in bookstores and seeing the smiling mugs of dipshits like Dr. Phil and Deepak Chopra peddling their knee-jerk, drooling buttwipe philosophies to the starving masses. Or ghostwritten celebrity tell-alls that don’t tell diddley-squat except rehash the boring life story of some silly, illiterate, inarticulate actor, athlete, or musician. If Pete Rose, Madonna, and Tom Cruise really have something to say, they’d fucking write the book themselves, the morons.
So a foot upside the ass of Mr. Procrastinating Leftbanker ain’t such a bad idea.
Mat
#11
I'm taking a Tony Robins seminar this weekend so I promise to be completely self-actualized by Monday. Then can I hang out with you guys?
P.S. Have you ever hunted at a petting zoo? It's so fucking easy that I don't even bother going out in the woods anymore. The down side is that sometimes parents get a bit hostile when you shoot a rabbit out of their kid's hands.
P.P.S. I've decided to ditch my dumbass blog and just jerk-off full-time in the comments box.
The Management
#12
A friend of mine, his name is "Steve," married a woman nameb "Barbara." Steve and Barbara (or Babs, as she calls herself), traveled to Cincinnati, her home town, over Christmas 2003. There, Steve shot game with Babs' father, at his hunting club. There, they raise pheasants in cages, release them for "the hunt" in a large field, and then blast away at them. Some of the birds actually get away. I guess this "hunting club practice" is quite common in that part of the US, among elites and notables. The first time I heard this story, I thought Steve was joking--and laughed in Babs' face. When I realized that it was no joke, I was simultaneously embarrased and incredulous. Having grown up on an Iowa farm, hunting and fishing in the creeks and fields where I lived, I never would have guess that this is the way the noblemen live. I'd call that "hunting in a petting zoo." But what the hell do I know; I'm from Iowa, right?
Farmer Ned
Hey You!
Hey you! Yes, you, asshole. Why are you honking your goddamn horn? I don’t care that you are late for your sales call or where ever you are headed. I’ll bet no one else on the road cares either so just sit in traffic stoically like the rest of us. I have a suggestion for you: If you are in a hurry then try leaving ten minutes earlier.
The other day I was on my bicycle and some jerk-off leaned on his horn. I stopped right in his path forcing him to come to a complete stop in the middle of the street. I asked him why he was honking his horn at me. He said I had cut him off. “How in the hell can 200 pounds of bike and boy cut off a car?” He answered me by rolling up his window, locking his door, and honking his horn again. I answered by smashing into the side of his car with the very sturdy bar ends of my bike. You can see the video on the new hit TV show When Bicycles Attack.
I can’t believe how driving turns normal people into aggressive assholes. The guy in the incident I just related was some middle-aged hippie. I’m sure he is the type that wouldn’t look me in the eye if I passed him walking down the street but get him behind the wheel of his Toyota Corolla and he suddenly turns into one of his heroes from Wrestlemania. My advice to Mister Aggro-Hippie: If you are going to blare your horn at a cyclist, in the future pick on little girls or the aged and infirmed. Don’t get shitty with an adult male who might be in the wrong mood one day, pull you from your shiny metal box, and beat the tar out of you.
I don’t expect everyone to have my own Zen-like calm in traffic. I gained my driving composure from living and driving in Greece whose motorists are certainly the worst in Europe. Greeks were in a hurry to get everywhere. They would literally drive on the sidewalk to get around you. When they got to where they were going Greeks weren’t in much of a hurry to do anything but don’t get in their way while they are driving.
If you were stopped at a traffic light in Greece and there was a driver behind you, no matter how quickly you pulled ahead when the light turned that person behind you would honk. I just started honking sort of peremptorily when I was the first car at the light just to amuse myself. I used to joke that all Greek drivers were delivering transplant organs which would explain their huge hurry. I swore that I would never again be in a hurry while behind the wheel of a car.
So just remember, Mister Type A Personality, Mister Salesperson of the Month, Miss Wall Street, just remember that none of us gives a big fuck that you are late so leave earlier or take the bus next time. Honk your horn at me at your peril.
The other day I was on my bicycle and some jerk-off leaned on his horn. I stopped right in his path forcing him to come to a complete stop in the middle of the street. I asked him why he was honking his horn at me. He said I had cut him off. “How in the hell can 200 pounds of bike and boy cut off a car?” He answered me by rolling up his window, locking his door, and honking his horn again. I answered by smashing into the side of his car with the very sturdy bar ends of my bike. You can see the video on the new hit TV show When Bicycles Attack.
I can’t believe how driving turns normal people into aggressive assholes. The guy in the incident I just related was some middle-aged hippie. I’m sure he is the type that wouldn’t look me in the eye if I passed him walking down the street but get him behind the wheel of his Toyota Corolla and he suddenly turns into one of his heroes from Wrestlemania. My advice to Mister Aggro-Hippie: If you are going to blare your horn at a cyclist, in the future pick on little girls or the aged and infirmed. Don’t get shitty with an adult male who might be in the wrong mood one day, pull you from your shiny metal box, and beat the tar out of you.
I don’t expect everyone to have my own Zen-like calm in traffic. I gained my driving composure from living and driving in Greece whose motorists are certainly the worst in Europe. Greeks were in a hurry to get everywhere. They would literally drive on the sidewalk to get around you. When they got to where they were going Greeks weren’t in much of a hurry to do anything but don’t get in their way while they are driving.
If you were stopped at a traffic light in Greece and there was a driver behind you, no matter how quickly you pulled ahead when the light turned that person behind you would honk. I just started honking sort of peremptorily when I was the first car at the light just to amuse myself. I used to joke that all Greek drivers were delivering transplant organs which would explain their huge hurry. I swore that I would never again be in a hurry while behind the wheel of a car.
So just remember, Mister Type A Personality, Mister Salesperson of the Month, Miss Wall Street, just remember that none of us gives a big fuck that you are late so leave earlier or take the bus next time. Honk your horn at me at your peril.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
It's Groundhog Day All Over Again
I could write an entire post just blathering on and on about why Groundhog Day is one of the best movies ever filmed but I won’t. Not today. I’ll just say that I watched it again and I was once again inspired. New Year’s Day, and our insistence on resolutions, always reminds me of the message of this wonderful movie: We can all become better people if we try—and we must try, every day.
In one of my latest attempts to become a better person I am learning the piano piece Bill Murray played in Groundhog Day, Rachmaninoff’s 18th variation on a theme by Paganini. Rachmaninoff originally scored this piece for two pianos and orchestra. I’ve never been a big fan of all things Russian, just too damn big for me. What I am plowing through is a solo piano arrangement of this piece—kind of like the musical equivalent of cliff notes to War and Peace.
I haven’t had a piano teacher in a couple of years. I think it’s time to start with lessons again. What I miss most about having a teacher is that I can have them play what I am learning so that I can hear what it is supposed to sound like which rarely happens in my imperfect world of musicianship.
There isn’t an awful lot to this piece although it is quite charming. I prefer the jazz improvisation Bill Murray concocts out of this little tune in Groundhog Day but for now I’m happy plinking away at the simple arrangement on my music stand. I’ll probably never be good enough to sit on a stage, bang out a cool riff, and get the girl like in the movie fantasy. You never know, maybe I’ll practice more this year than I did last year.
I have also been studying REA’s Handbook of Spanish, an all inclusive guide to grammar, writing, and style in Spanish. I already try to Speak Spanish every single day. I hang out with a gal from South America and our interaction is entirely in Spanish. I’m close to putting my Spanish over the top and to further that goal I just today booked a two week trip to Spain. I haven’t been to Spain in so long that it will be entirely new for me. I will probably just spend time in Madrid, Salamanca, and Toledo.
To further insinuate myself into the Latin world I watched Y Tu Mama Tambien again. Although the movie is in Spanish the characters use so much Mexican slang that I have a hell of a time understanding a lot of it without subtitles. Understanding the ultra-slangy dialogue in this movie would be the linguistic equivalent of playing the jazz improvisation in Groundhog Day. My Spanish is a hell of a lot better than my piano so I have a lot more hope in this area.
I’ve never made a New Year’s resolution before. I don’t believe in them but I do believe in evolution. I’d like to evolve into more of a musical person, more of a Latin person, a better person.
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