The latest New Yorker story called "Bad Neighbors" by Edward P. Jones here.
and
"Aeroplane: Or, How He Talked to Himself as if Reciting Poetry" by Haruki Murakami, in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. Available here.
Quite strange in that both stories featured a clock as a focus of attention at crucial points in the narratives.
On Sunday, August 6, The Family went down to Baltimore with Grandpa Barry to see the Yankees play the Orioles. Here are some photos. It was an exciting game to watch, as the Yankees hit four home runs and won handily.
There were four tickets in a very nice location...six rows behind the Yankee dugout. Grandpa sat with Melanie and the girls. Here is a view from where they sat:
Here's another perspective. If you look in foul territory on thr right side, my scalped-face value ticket was under the overhang in the shade. The view was still pretty phenomenal, and it was much cooler (92 degrees at game time).
Before the game, Jolee and Shayna got some autographs from two of the Yankee pitchers, starter Chien-Ming Wang and reliever Kyle Farnsworth. Below is a shot of Farnsworth signing a ball.
At one point in the game Shayna joined me in my section, but soon realized she had it much better in the sun, closer to the action. I took her back to her seat and the folks nearby scooted over, allowing me to sit for the last two innings. Pure baseball heaven! Camden Yards is such a pretty park. This was my eighth stadium (joining Dodger, Pac Bell, Petco, Anaheim, Busch, Yankee and Shea). You can tell by my smile I was a happy camper. Of course, Shayna had to due her Gene Simmons impersonation:
Here's a few more family shots, Jolee and Grandpa:
and throw in Melanie, intently watching the game:
Later, she took a great shot of Mariano Rivera in the act of pitching:
All in all, fun for all.
53rd and 3rd by the Ramones is playing right now on the BilliPod . . . according to Mapquest, the intersection is 1.93 miles from where I am right now (or where I would be if I were composing this at work, which I would never do). You can see how I'd get there from work here.
But that's beside the point. Now, the Band is playing "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down".
Anyway, I am a month away from celebrating a full year of BillyBlog. Can you believe it? I've had over 6800 hits in that time. Mind-bloggling indeed.
Anyway, if anyone would like to send me an e-mail and give some thoughts about BillyBlog, I'll incorporate them into a huge self-congratulatory post in September, celebrating the enormous impact I've had on modern civilization. Thoughts, memories, favorite posts, etc. Don't send me anything negative thinking I'll use it and everyone will send you hate mail. I don't work that way. Or do I?
Really, as you can tell, I've little to say today. Except I'm now listening to a track called "Ping Island/Lightning Strike Rescue Op" by Mark Mothersbaugh from the soundtrack of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Awesome.
If you haven't seen this yet, remember you saw it first on BillyBlog. If you've already seen it, you should enjoy another viewing.
Just awesomely cool.
I blatantly ripped this off from the blog Each Note Secure.
Since it's Lollapalooza weekend, and the heat of Summer concert season, I feel it is appropriate.
At the end, I'll give you my take.
1. When wearing another bands t-shirt, try to keep the same genre or influence.
ex. a) David Bowie @ NIN
ex. b) Placebo @ Futureheads
2. The ironic concert t-shirt is the big exception. if you wear a Culture Club or Michael Bolton t-shirt to a Cure show you will get many compliments.
3. There is a sliding scale of the obscurity of the band vs. the genre.
for example: A Tapes ‘n Tapes shirt could be worn to any rock show.
4. When wearing a old concert t-shirt to a newer tour by the same band, it is prefered to wait at least eight years. too soon will show you to be lame, but to follow this guide will give you street cred as a long time fan.
~It should also be noted that a shirt purchased off EBay can break this rule, therefore a stain or hole of some sort is required. (YANP Matt)
5. It is also a violation to wear any shirt of any band members former band or side project to the current incarnation of that band members show.
6. It is a violation to wear the shirt you just bought at that same concert. Especially when it is over whatever you had on before.
7. You may not wear a new concert t-shirt for 2 weeks (especially the next day)
~The exception to this is when you saw a show out of town and wear the shirt at home the next day.
8. It is a violation to wear a concert t-shirt you purchased from the band at a second show on the same tour.
9. No Beatles, Bob Marley or Jimi Hendrix t-shirts, unless you actually went to one of their concerts.
10. It is a violation to wear a concert t-shirt that has been signed by any member of the band.
Welcome to BillyBlog's newest feature, "Links that Make Me Laugh". This is stuff that I come across (in non-working hours, all you job spies and prospective employers) that I think is funny. If you agree, come back and post a comment. Sometimes it will be a link by itself, other times there may be a teaser. If the link is broke, move on. Life is short.
Here's your first link.
And here's a preview, the cover of a recent periodical:
Well, maybe I am biased because I love Mark Strand to begin with, but I thought this was worth sharing.....
TWO HORSES
On a warm night in June
I went to the lake, got on all fours,
and drank like an animal. Two horses
came up beside me to drink as well.
This is amazing, I thought, but who will believe it?
The horses eyed me from time to time, snorting
and nodding. I felt the need to respond, so I snorted, too,
but haltingly, as though not really wanting to be heard.
The horses must have sensed that I was holding back.
They moved slightly away. Then I thought they might have known me
in another life—the one in which I was a poet.
They might have even read my poems, for back then,
in that shadowy time when our eagerness knew no bounds,
we changed styles almost as often as their were days in the year.
-Mark Strand.
Reprinted without permission from the June 3, 2006 issue of the New Yorker.*
It's too hot to be creative, so let me just throw some stuff your way and see if anything sticks.
Through the beauty of the blogosphere, I grabbed a 1982 U2 show at the Ritz in New York City on St. Patrick's Day. Fabulous stuff from a band that, at the time, was ascending to greatness. I listened to two-thirds of it this morning on the nice air-conditioned subway in. You can listen to/grab the tracks, split into two posts, here and here. According to a U2 setlist site, the show may not be complete, but it's almost all there and the quality is not bad. Thanks to the blog Mars Needs Guitars for the posts.
I finished another back issue of the New Yorker which included a good story by Lara Vapnyar about a young Russian woman trying to make ends meet in Brooklyn. Worth a read here, if you are interested.
Also finished a couple more stories in Haruki Murakami's Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. One, called "Birthday Girl," is unavailable for perusal online, as far as I can tell, but the other, "New York Mining Disaster," is here. Vintage Murakami, both. If you don't want to get the book from England like me, please buy this in the U.S. at the end of the month, or order from an online bookseller like this one.
That's all for now. . .
For my birthday last month, my co-workers chipped in and got me a $40 iTunes gift card. E-Cash. Yummy. But I didn't want to blow it all in one place and at one time, so I waited patiently to use it.
Last night I cashed the first $9.99 out of it for a great new album.
While tripping through the blogosphere this past weekend, I chanced upon a band name that intrigued me. Then I read the post (and you can too, here on the mp3 blog Another Form of Relief).
The blog offered up three tracks (WARNING: PARENTAL ADVISORY: DIRTY WORDS AHEAD) and I liked them all. You can listen to them at Another Form of Relief (link above) or go to the band's website or their myspace page here.
For those of you who have yet to click and still don't know their name, here is their album:
Yes, I am talking about Jesus H Christ and the Four Hornsmen of the Apocalypse. They rock, they swing, and they're goofy. And funny. Check out these lyrics:
Again, if you are easily offended, run away. This is juvenile. To note, the lead vocalist on this song is female, so the irony is, well, ironic. You'd expect these words coming from the mouth of a male singer (well, at least I do):
NIPPLES
© 2004 Mickenberg/Shelton
Its summer
So you can see my nipples
Yes, its summer
Nipples, nipples, nipples
In the summer
N-n-n-na-na-na-na
Melons
Who can concentrate with all these boobies in our faces?
Can I babysit your twins?
Knockers
Excuse me mademoiselle
I guess that I was staring
I cant look you in the eye.
Hooters
Bouncing, shaking, heaving
Necklace moving when youre breathing.
Shimmying, shaking, swaying, sweating
I can see your heart beating
I guess she will never drown with those torpedos
She jumps rope and gets black eyes.
Its summer. So you can see my nipples, yes its summer.
Its summer so we can see your nipples.
Yes its summer.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
They remind me most of The Dickies. And they are entertaining and silly.
Enjoy!
Weekend Wrap-Up
Saturday: Read a good story from a back issue of The New Yorker by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, whose writing I was introduced to in college (most notably her novel Heat and Dust). Anyway, her story, "Innocence," can be read here.
Had delicious dining experience with friends at Ruby Foo's on the Upper West side.
Saw The Ant Bully with wife and kids at the UA near Union Square. Hit Trader Joe's afterwards and snagged some more salsa. The movie was entertaining and a worthwhile kid flick. Can't remember when I last saw an R rated movie in the theaters.
Whole weekend punctuated by not being able to get into landlord's apartment to take care of their dog while they are in Greece. The cousin who takes care of the dog Monday through Friday threw the deadbolt and we only had the key to the bottom lock. No way to let the poor thing out. Fortunately the A/C was on and we got to him Sunday afternoon, so don't be calling the ASPCA on us.
Surrealistic twist: While trying to reach the landlord, got an incoming call on the cell and confusedly mistook it as a call from Greece...young lady on the phone sounded a lot like landlord's daughter, said she was drunk, and then the call turned weirdly obscene. Just a little bit disconcerting.
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't solved the Sunday New York Times magazince crossword, stop reading. Yesterday, as I was working my way through the Sunday puzzle, I discovered that the theme "Finanical Funny Business," referred to a quote by a comedian. The quote, which extended over 6 long clues is "My output is down but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cashflow."
Sound familar? The quote is from George Carlin, and is an excerpt from his act, a video of which appeared last Sunday here on BillyBlog. See? We're a practical problem-solving resource!
Also, my Friday post has messed-up links to domain names that had silly addresses, all things considered. The Mrs. questioned me when they weren't working as to whether they are real or not, the links have been repaired. Hop to the post here.
Sometimes spam is fun. Case in point:
"Hello my new friend.
My age is 27 years. My birthday is April, 11, 1979. I was born in the
city of Kazan. This city is located on territory
Russia federation. My name is Karina. I have higher education.
I am very hardworking person. I am very responsible the
person. I am the nice girl. I have no harmful habits. I do not
smoke, I do not drink, I do not use drugs. I am very romantic. I am very
cheerful, I was good spend the leisure. My hobby: I love sports, in
particular volleyball, tennis, swimming. I like to read! I love to
learn new things. I like to study culture of others are strange. I had
no the husband (I was not married earlier) I have no children, I like
children. The purpose of my acquaintance - I search the satellite for
the man, I want to find love, I want to create real family. I had no
opportunity to create family in Russia, I could not find the partner
in life in Russia.
My friend, if you have interested to me, that answer
to my e-mail: karina@moscowlights.com
I will be waiting your reply with big impatience.
Your new friend Karina from Russia."
Ok, this is a work-related post, but since blogging at work is such a high-profile Human Resources issue, and I am, uh, a H.R. Director, I am making some small edits [which will be indicated by brackets]. What we have here is an e-mail sent by a candidate for employment. He is following up because he received a letter from us advising that we would not consider him for employment at this time. This is copied verbatim, all spelling and punctuation (or lack thereof) are preserved for effect.
I kid you not. This is an actual e-mail. Anyone care to guess whether we have reconsidered his plea to be reconsidered for employment? Let me know, in all dude time.
Hello Mr. [Name of H.R. Manager, misspelled]
Unfortunately I wasn't consider a position at your company and that's why I'm not going to stop i was refereed by [name of former employee] He worked there a few years very good guy I must say and why i wasn't consider a position when i passed the [industry-specific test] with a 90% [80% according to our records] and I'm confident to say that I'm qualified for this job I'm strong motivated aggressive for this position and way over qualified and I know i deserve a reason & reconsideration on why i wasn't hired
PS Mr [Name of H.R. Manager, spelled correctly this time] please I'm desperate and very eager for this position and i know i can do this job please contact me [phone number] if i just so so happen not to hear in dude time i will contact you as soon impossible Thank You Sorry!!!!
Parents aren't the only ones who don't think when they name their children (just ask the parents of anyone named Harry Dix). Company webmasters also should be throttled on occasion for their lack of insight. Then again, we wouldn't have these examples to amuse us:
See if you can guess what these sites are for:
www.whorepresents.com
www.expertsexchange.com
www.penisland.net
www.therapistfinder.com
www.molestationnursery.com
www.ipanywhere.com
www.cummingfirst.com
www.speedofart.com
www.gotahoe.com
Ok, so this is base and juvenile. But if it brought a smile to your face, it was worth it. Have a great weekend!
Funny how things happen. You may recall my telling of how I came about reading A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Let's rewind to the end of May. I received the following e-mail from someone I had never met:
"Hello, I stumbled on your top 20 booklist while looking up some info on Haruki Murakami. Run, do not walk to get Helen DeWitt's The Last Samurai (no relationship to the Hollywood film by that name). If I had an all-time list, this book would easily be in the top five. Cheers--Now, I do not take book recommendations lightly. Ask anyone. Ask the Mrs., she will tell you how resistant I am to even reading books that she says I should read. But this e-mail intrigued me.
Keneta"
In essence, this sounded like no other book I had ever read, and was instantly drawn to it. Of course, it helped that I enjoyed Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, which is an integral piece of the book.
Helen DeWitt's extraordinary debut, The Last Samurai, centers on the relationship between Sibylla, a single mother of precocious and rigorous intelligence, and her son, who, owing to his mother's singular attitude to education, develops into a prodigy of learning. Ludo reads Homer in the original Greek at 4 before moving on to Hebrew, Japanese, Old Norse, and Inuit; studying advanced mathematical techniques (Fourier analysis and Laplace transformations); and, as the title hints, endlessly watching and analyzing Akira Kurosawa's masterpiece, The Seven Samurai. But the one question that eludes an answer is that of the name of his father: Sibylla believes the film obliquely provides the male role models that Ludo's genetic father cannot, and refuses to be drawn on the question of paternal identity. The child thinks differently, however, and eventually sets out on a search, one that leads him beyond the certainties of acquired knowledge into the complex and messy world of adults.
The novel draws on themes topical and perennial--the hothousing of children, the familiar literary trope of the quest for the (absent) father--and as such, divides itself into two halves: the first describes Ludo's education, the second follows him in his search for his father and father figures. The first stresses a sacred, Apollonian pursuit of logic, precise (if wayward) erudition, and the erratic and endlessly fascinating architecture of languages, while the second moves this knowledge into the world of emotion, human ambitions, and their attendant frustrations and failures.
The Last Samurai is about the pleasure of ideas, the rich varieties of human thought, the possibilities that life offers us, and, ultimately, the balance between the structures we make of the world and the chaos that it proffers in return. Stylistically, the novel mirrors this ambivalence: DeWitt's remarkable prose follows the shifts and breaks of human consciousness and memory, capturing the intrusions of unspoken thought that punctuate conversation while providing tantalizing disquisitions on, for example, Japanese grammar or the physics of aerodynamics. It is remarkable, profound, and often very funny. Arigato DeWitt-sensei.
I will admit, this book is not for everyone. Initially it was a bit of a struggle, as we are given the 
perspective of Sibylla, the female protagonist raising her son, Ludo, in London, while struggling to make ends meet. Ludo is a prodigy, and he learns multiple languages (Greek, Hebrew, Inuit, etc) at an early age. There are digressions that distract, but prove essential to the narrative.In an exhilaratingly literate and playful first novel punctuated by divine feats of intellectual gamesmanship, Ms. DeWitt joins Dave Eggers, Zadie Smith and Michael Chabon in going to the head of this year's class of flamboyantly ambitious novelists whose adventurousness spins out on an epic scale. And like their books -- ''A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius,'' ''White Teeth'' and ''The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay,'' respectively -- her ''Last Samurai'' is a sprawling, aggressively showy book with flashes of genius to keep it soaring. It is possible to recognize the hubris here without, like Ms. DeWitt's characters, being able to read that word in Greek or elaborately analyze its derivation. But it's also possible to be utterly delighted by this author's high-risk
undertaking and her fresh, electrifying talent.
Along the way, the reader will also learn the Icelandic word for seal meat and the precise way (''heptakaiogdoekontapodal'') to indicate an 87-legged spider, which is a concept Ludo comes up with after he sketches an 88-legged one and imagines that it got into a fight and lost a leg.
Ms. DeWitt, an American who seems to have written this book as if her life depended on it and poured vast reserves of inquiring intelligence into the process, saves her most fanciful efforts for presenting potential candidates for the role of Ludo's father. She spins enchantingly surreal stories about the overrated artist, the Nobel laureate, the foreign correspondent and the bogus consul (''When asked why he had impersonated a member of the Belgian diplomatic corps he had replied: Well, someone had to'') on the short list of candidates whom Ludo sequentially discovers.
I have begun reading the new book of Murakami stories, but the UK version. So I am getting a lot of mums and flavours and realises and some other British words. The title story is the first in the collection and Murakami explains in the forward that he has made significant changes to it since being originally published.
I'm not sure which version this is, but there is an earlier incarnation online here.
This version is entitled "Blind Willow, Sleeping Girl".
First, a happy birthday to Little Sister, Alicia. Happy Birthday!
Also, I raise an imaginary glass toasting the twenty-third anniversary of my first occasion of intoxication at "Blue Beach," a bar in Northern Israel, on the Galilee. Two cheap screwdrivers in plastic cups and I was flying high. Yee-haw. The things we remember.
Finally, an acknowledgement of the music blog Feed Me Good Tunes, which I discovered through the Best Week Ever site this morning. FmGT, as it is affectionately called, provided me with a sampling that served as my commuting soundtrack this morning, a nice mix of Sonic Youth, They Might Be Giants, R.E.M., The Meat Puppets, and Oingo Boingo. Check 'em out!
I found this a couple weeks back on 86th Street and 4th Avenue in Brooklyn, crumbled and ripped in half. Of course I had to reassemble it, especially when I saw it was addressed to "Derrick DooDoo Head".
Ah, Graduation! A Time when we leave behind all those immature people from high school and find that they've all gone on to become immature people in college and in the workplace...
In case you can't make it out, it reads: "Dear Derrick: Congrats! You didn't even go to graduation so you're still a senior! Goodbye. i love you. NOT"
Gee, can't imagine why Derrick would want to skip graduation. Maybe to avoid Maggie Wong?
Found at the corner of 92nd Street and 3rd Avenue, Brooklyn, July 22, 2006
