tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44174940187507797382024-03-12T20:09:10.921-07:00STEAL THIS BLOG!I love lamp.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-89179750422337752642019-10-21T20:03:00.001-07:002019-10-21T20:03:28.116-07:00<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7597507660256759438" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #c0a154; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 13.524px; line-height: 1.5; position: relative; width: 568px;">
Father's Day is Sunday. I am lucky enough to still have my Dad around even though, at 72, he is still relatively young. His father, my grandfather, Joe Bean, passed away when he was 93, leading me to think that my Dad will be around a long time. Am I in denial about my father's mortality? I sure am. But anyone who knows my Dad can attest to his invincibility. With two huge hands and the suppport of my Mom, he built everything that we hold dear: our family, our farm, our way of life that hums steadily in tune with nature. It's perfectly normal on a summer day for either of my parents to grab some tomatoes out of the garden and make some fresh BLTs, like it's no big deal to be so connected to the Earth. I know that kids always think their dad is Superman, but my Dad is Superman.<br /><br />Last year I broke my leg and then my Dad fractured his pelvis. His injury was much worse but, despite some tough times, he's bounced back. We spent most of the winter in dual recliners in the living room, trying to find something to watch on tv to stave off the boredom. My Dad was not meant to spend much time indoors. I could read and watch movies and have a drink every day at 4 o'clock like it was no big deal. My Dad, however, spends his winter days outside with his friends, chasing fox with his dogs. He likes to listen to the dogs run. But, like I said, he's bounced back.<br /><br />My parents moved us out of town when I was only five and plunked us down on 98 acres on a dirt road in Lima. My Dad started farming shortly thereafter and we became a "farm" family. We had horses, chickens, pigs, cows, cats and dogs. There were combines in our driveway and if it was 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning and you hadn't heard the tractor yet it was because my Dad was somewhere else, probably an auction. I knew and my family knew at an early age that my Dad did <em>everything</em> for us. We were the reason he got up in the morning.<br /><br />As I've grown up, life around me has changed. My Uncle George, probaby my Dad's best friend, was my Dad's brother-in-law. I had a sort of hero worship for my Uncle George. He took me to ball games. He talked my Dad into taking us on a family trip to Florida to see my Aunt Margaret and her family. It was the kind of trip that cemented childhood memories. We went to DisneyWorld and the Ocean and I brought back oranges for some of my 5th grade classmates and I was smooth and styling because it was April and I was tan. George passed away from cancer in June of 1979. He left his wife Rosemary (my Dad's sister), sons Billy and Tommy, and daughter Amy behind. My cousins were in their twenties and my Dad did the best he could to be there for everyone. Eventually, he and Bill became close friends and went into a variety of businesses together. Bill married a great gal named LuAnne and became a father himself and they built a house on the road where my parents still live and where I grew up. Bill and LuAnne and my Mom and Dad were inseparable for a long time. There were a lot of laughs and good cheer. My Aunt Rosemary married another George and the family kept growing. Looking back now it seems like the love and friendship and commitment to family that my Dad lived is a tree that keeps on giving to this very day.<br /><br />Friends that I grew up with have had fathers pass away. Friends that I went to school with have had fathers pass away. I finally caught up to a girl I had worked with a couple years ago. A sweet, cute, kind-hearted girl that just entered her thirties. Her father had passed away since the last time I saw her. I knew some of these men pretty well, as well as one can. I respected them and also had a healthy fear of them. They were not the kind of guys that you lipped off to. As I heard someone say recently about someone else's father, "Your Dad don't play no f***ing games!" and that pretty much sums them up. One friend's father caught some kids shoplifting from the neighborhood liquor store. He picked the kid up by the collar and the seat of his pants and tossed him onto the concrete sidewalk like a bag of beans. The kid sat there until the cops arrived. Another one of my friend's fathers responded in kind when a neighborhood kid lipped off to his wife. That kid got tossed over the porch railing and into the bushes. I liked these guys and I also think that a little bit of fear of your elders when you're a kid is healthy thing. Now their sons have become fathers.<br /><br />Contemplating my father's mortality is taxing. I know it's all a part of the cycle of life but that doesn't make it any easier. I think about the times that my Uncle George has missed and how my life might have been different had he lived longer. I think about the fathers of friends and how they will miss seeing their sons grow into fatherhood. And then I think about my brother and his five kids (yes, I said five) and how they sometimes follow him around and you can see the hero worship peeking through when they're with him and I grin when I realize that my brother has turned into the type of man that you don't lip off to. I don't know why but I have been continually blessed with family and friends who know what's important. And today, like yesterday, I am going to stop by and see what my Dad is up to, and tomorrow I am going to wish him a Happy Father's Day. I am that lucky.<div style="clear: both;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="post-footer" style="background-color: #c0a154; border-top: 1px dashed rgb(119, 119, 119); color: #997755; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 12.88px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px;">
</div>
Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-74310032555938165252012-08-09T12:31:00.000-07:002012-08-09T12:34:51.011-07:00Wall TherapyThe City of Rochester came up with the wacky idea of a series of murals across the city to help stem violence. The art is supposed to be soothing. They brought in mural artists from around the world. One of them created this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboQ5CirDcv0arUTCvyFIK0Wbsx8Iu04-EEJdl-5DHSz_zMe_53unOM8vuBvbyVB6QzZjcJ8T-rgi72beVrg1RBUORhfeY3kbfiE_Cs_LSAOAeBuy_46d4tQNuT7o3E-Ss_kXcjWelTN9O/s1600/jux_liqen4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboQ5CirDcv0arUTCvyFIK0Wbsx8Iu04-EEJdl-5DHSz_zMe_53unOM8vuBvbyVB6QzZjcJ8T-rgi72beVrg1RBUORhfeY3kbfiE_Cs_LSAOAeBuy_46d4tQNuT7o3E-Ss_kXcjWelTN9O/s640/jux_liqen4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
You can see it a little clearer <a href="http://www.juxtapoz.com/Street-Art/liqen-wall-therapy-in-rochester" style="color: red;">here</a>. It was created by Spanish artist Liqen and meant to show American freedoms in chains (I guess). Have you ever invited someone over for dinner so they could tell you what an asshole you were? Yeah, me neither, but it seems to be what the City has done here. I think that Americans are more in danger of being under surveillance than ever before, thanks to the technological developments of the past ten years, but I don't need a Spanish artist to tell me that. I also resent him coming here from a nation very familiar with Fascism and wagging his finger at us. On the other hand, maybe no one knows what freedom under fire feels like more than an artist from a totalitarian nation. <br />
<br />
Another mural that created "buzz" was this one:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzlF1NqHQ1kvUsQ8aJ22RvXm7ajMHRxT1dGv8KKSRgMJMl5D2qIPvic1Ylrd4C7r_P4jKfgPv44gVw2usiBF8_rGg_bVeXPhwIBRyi5h8c8sfSm4IJpmWf6UqfZo0Z42OU1ZcrGDFiwSS/s1600/ROA-620x370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzlF1NqHQ1kvUsQ8aJ22RvXm7ajMHRxT1dGv8KKSRgMJMl5D2qIPvic1Ylrd4C7r_P4jKfgPv44gVw2usiBF8_rGg_bVeXPhwIBRyi5h8c8sfSm4IJpmWf6UqfZo0Z42OU1ZcrGDFiwSS/s640/ROA-620x370.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
So what do you think these animals are? I'll give you a hint: they aren't rats. I know what you're thinking: "Oh, they're not?!" Nope, they're supposed to be bears. To the Belgian artist Roa who created this mural, this is what a bear looks like:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5c6DSslc9XdY8gzcyo6JrjyRBdMsQG0nrMh_LCs9SeajLeJlVOCukQ5YAsxMbCX0gdry_OoHVetP-2BkuLD_Jmn21PaKiVTnCt8iM9TSBS3ZhIgxA3hlDpX1CqiCbjfKnUeHU0SxPp9o/s1600/Bears_bw.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5c6DSslc9XdY8gzcyo6JrjyRBdMsQG0nrMh_LCs9SeajLeJlVOCukQ5YAsxMbCX0gdry_OoHVetP-2BkuLD_Jmn21PaKiVTnCt8iM9TSBS3ZhIgxA3hlDpX1CqiCbjfKnUeHU0SxPp9o/s400/Bears_bw.GIF" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Or this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLE1nlmAqXyxtF6fWw7YEEIknS4yvaTwHKDT2jGiqvhgyCZQVyrMWJ5GW1c7BP6qF8Vr9U_wo0ONZ-u7hVOw-J6agrRNDcEitb4xqvF6SjrFHLohOgpAr5JqS7fDhLQOh7yhugLhljxWq/s1600/grizzly-bear_566_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLE1nlmAqXyxtF6fWw7YEEIknS4yvaTwHKDT2jGiqvhgyCZQVyrMWJ5GW1c7BP6qF8Vr9U_wo0ONZ-u7hVOw-J6agrRNDcEitb4xqvF6SjrFHLohOgpAr5JqS7fDhLQOh7yhugLhljxWq/s320/grizzly-bear_566_600x450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Or even this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9P7v5kML0bXeszslxA-9EgejPfOS5fRG14arZEsvsbXjdhrwZ7bbLCbbKsaQrjSaDReTGy8buUagtQPyItMBp7-HnYlRDw_yvQA9_Tx39wsKrwW_WhAzxi8VHkw1epHZIp4xHVlsaqbne/s1600/Cartoons_Yogi+Bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9P7v5kML0bXeszslxA-9EgejPfOS5fRG14arZEsvsbXjdhrwZ7bbLCbbKsaQrjSaDReTGy8buUagtQPyItMBp7-HnYlRDw_yvQA9_Tx39wsKrwW_WhAzxi8VHkw1epHZIp4xHVlsaqbne/s320/Cartoons_Yogi+Bear.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This is what a rat looks like:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZRUJCMHvBSpabV6csxgVtaI7r0JkrwaMA8ZiT_N5QJdSimuhjJwH91dpcf1blqbheXqqqjV5LIGIFhnV2b3OD_2mIAZKTzy8VKSfpnQhVNsMiDnlxoPifUQELq-eSmWyDFl3fDifXrnl/s1600/$%28KGrHqV,%21ikE5ev,UteCBOfO0yqfMg%7E%7E60_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZRUJCMHvBSpabV6csxgVtaI7r0JkrwaMA8ZiT_N5QJdSimuhjJwH91dpcf1blqbheXqqqjV5LIGIFhnV2b3OD_2mIAZKTzy8VKSfpnQhVNsMiDnlxoPifUQELq-eSmWyDFl3fDifXrnl/s320/$%28KGrHqV,%21ikE5ev,UteCBOfO0yqfMg%7E%7E60_3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Or this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbz7Ia0_V4pszy0veV_K-6Kvy2mClW_k59iwetTD1D01R8IydqBW3LQvKg4EbDC4MfCtP6EapYTwSC4fMyEoO3UwjKUvNJVYgzcuN7b0S9-Q0kRp0DkFNVomTAdl8yqWn-ed1DDmxQBeGB/s1600/obama+the+rat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbz7Ia0_V4pszy0veV_K-6Kvy2mClW_k59iwetTD1D01R8IydqBW3LQvKg4EbDC4MfCtP6EapYTwSC4fMyEoO3UwjKUvNJVYgzcuN7b0S9-Q0kRp0DkFNVomTAdl8yqWn-ed1DDmxQBeGB/s320/obama+the+rat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
People in the neighborhood have said they were offended by the Roa mural because it shows the animals, whatever you think they look like, in a sexual position. I am more offended that the artist apparently can't draw a bear. It was suggested to the artist that he design something soothing and natural and use the Adirondack Mountains as inspiration. I think he missed the mark by a little. Looking at the murals has not soothed me in any way but I am a little hungry. I think I'll go steal a picnic basket.<br />
<br />
<br />Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-57303151505053076332012-08-06T12:10:00.000-07:002012-08-06T12:16:49.164-07:00I Tell People Off<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviZXWPkvig0K2Jb-QgDOSFfJIOAz6-efBoDdLAgU6tLKWWvIj5VTzTsQAnMfW1Ngcd4AihxGC4d_LfZz9Sp9BZJT7EC7fYpbKIXP0HxqCmMNH1XiPemWs87hub7j253VBMlH0-o8p69hz/s1600/gin-martini.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviZXWPkvig0K2Jb-QgDOSFfJIOAz6-efBoDdLAgU6tLKWWvIj5VTzTsQAnMfW1Ngcd4AihxGC4d_LfZz9Sp9BZJT7EC7fYpbKIXP0HxqCmMNH1XiPemWs87hub7j253VBMlH0-o8p69hz/s400/gin-martini.jpeg" width="338" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The moral of the story is: be nice to your bartender.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I work as a bartender and my job is great but there are lots of things I'd like to say to people that I don't. I am not a very confrontational person, so I have developed different ways to deal with people that I don't like. When you are serving drinks, whether it's at a wedding or at a hotel bar, you will come across people you don't like. I like to deal with people passive/aggressively. I know what you are drinking but will stand in silence and stare at you until you tell me what you want. I hope that it makes you feel uncomfortable. I may put your drink in a shorter glass. If I see you waiting for a drink, I will take an extra long time talking to the person in front of you. "Where are you from? Did you have to travel far to get here? Oh, really! I heard it's been hot there this summer (it's been hot everywhere). How was your dinner? Did you get the prime rib?" When I see you turn your head away and mutter something under your breath, I'll deliver the drink to the person in front of you and just when you are getting ready to step up and tell me what you want, I'll draw the other person back in for another thirty seconds of meaningless chatter. It's the same thing Lt. Columbo used to do on <i>Columbo</i>. "Ahh, just one more thing...." The key is to make it seem like I am genuinely unaware of what I am doing and I'm just being friendly. When you finally get your chance to order your drink I may do something like not give you lime with your gin & tonic. I'll make you ask for it and then say, with great cheer, "Oh, sure!" And just when you think I'm the biggest dick in the world, I'll ask you an inane question or make a trivial observation like, "Nice day for a wedding, huh?" When it's worked the best, I shame people into giving me money while treating them like shit. They never come back more often when you treat them like this. It's a win-win. Just remember that if you really piss the bartender off, you run the chance he will stick a napkin in his underwear, wipe off all the sweat he can, let it sit in some olive juice, and then pour the juice in your dirty martini next time you come back. And when he asks, "You said 'dirty', right?" maybe you'll think he's just changed his attitude. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If I could say whatever I wanted I might tell off people like the jerk that comes into my bar at 10:15 when we close at 10 and then acts like we're buddies: Dave, I know you don't know this but you're kind of a dick and a know-it-all. People are sitting at the bar to relax and have a drink, not so you can argue with them, and no one cares or wants to know about how much you made when you sold your house...To the father of the bride/groom: you are a dick. When your son/daughter leaves right before dinner is served, everyone is going to wait. Don't expect thousands of dollars to be taken off your bill because your dinner is overcooked....Also, I know you spent a lot of money on the wedding but you should tip at least once in awhile, you effing lush. Don't stand at the elevator at 7:59 waiting for the bar that opens at 8. God forbid you spend five bucks and get a drink at the hotel bar instead of stalking the bartender. And never say, "If I don't get a drink by 8, I'm gonna get another discount," because it makes you sound cheap. But you are cheap, so.....To the other aholes in your party: Open Bar doesn't mean "it's free so I'm gonna drink as much as I can." "Can I get a double? Can I get a triple?" If you are at my bar every fifteen minutes, you are going to get less and less alcohol in your drink as the night goes on. Go buy a bottle and sit in the alley if that's what you want. It's almost the same thing. Are you really that cheap that you can't buy a drink at the bar while the open bar is closed? People are like animals when they are getting food or drink for free. No wonder Americans are so fat....If you give me a direct order when I'm working you can be sure that I won't do it, I'll ignore you, and I will make you feel as uncomfortable as possible....To the chick with the boobs: they look okay but nothing about you is real except your grating personality. I don't know what you charge your johns but they're paying too much for that stretched out....Pussy Galore is my favorite Bond movie name. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Other stuff has been bugging me, like the people voting on IMDB: when I do a search for "list of influential films," it is inevitable that <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i> comes up. It's not an influential movie. <i>Battleship Potemkin</i>, <i>The Birth of a Nation, City Lights, La Dolce Vita, Citizen Kane, Pulp Fiction, The Matrix</i>, <i>Deep Throat</i>: those are movies that influenced movie making. And what men expect out of women. <i>Shawshank</i> is a good movie but it's not influential. This is why true Democracy is always a failure. People are morons. If you don't believe me just turn on the TV. Idiots....This should be a headline: "Did Michael Phelps drown in the pool? Find out tonight on NBC." What is with the stupid Olympic coverage NBC? Just put it on TV live. The U.S. Basketball team had a five point lead going into the fourth quarter. They showed 20 seconds then cut away. WE ALL HAVE INTERNET AND TWITTER!! Just show the damn games.....To all the Lefties who cry diversity and tolerance but show none: people have the right to believe whatever they want, even Holocaust deniers. If some d-bag owns a company and he wants to give his employees Sundays off, so what? If he opposes gay marriage, let him. If you disagree vehemently enough, go protest. Live what you believe but don't hide behind tolerance when you are intolerant.....Think about this: white supremacists are always the best example against white supremacy, people that preach hate are the best examples against hate, people who are aholes are the best advertisement for not being an ahole.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This guy, Adam Smith, does not pass the 'Not an Ahole" test. He's very smug and self-satisfied while he bullies this teenage girl at a Chick-Fil-A protest: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-wyS6Rrs2hg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He's so tolerant that he makes it a point to tell the girl that he's totally straight and not gay at all (not that there's anything wrong with that)... America is a big, patched together mess of a nation, with everything and everyone from Protestants and Catholics, atheists and Evangelicals, the Aryan Brotherhood and the Nation of Islam, represented by groups as diverse as the gun and gay lobby (to be clear - there is no Gun and Gay Lobby that I know of - there is the gun lobby (the NRA) and the gay lobby (people who watch <i>Glee</i>) to the Christians, Caucasians, Catholics, Catheterized, etc. I'm glad people feel strongly enough to support their individual causes, and I want people like Adam Smith and Dan Cathy to have freedom of speech, even if I'd like them to STFU....I can barely get my nephews to do what I want them to do. Forcing other people to live by my values sounds exhahusting....To the people who ran the banks into the ground in '08 and screwed our economy: you also suck....Penn State again? The victims were the raped and sexually abused, not the Paterno family, not the students or retailers who lose out because Penn State won't play for a bowl game. If it helps, just pretend you were a German citizen during WWII. Your nation, whether you supported them or not, did some horrific things. Whenever you are overcome with a sense of persecution or injustice, put it into perspective by thinking about those who were abused....To Emily Goode and the Occupy Rochester idiots: would you please grow up? The Chief of Police is dealing with issues like, I don't know, DEATH. Murder on the streets of Rochester, which is happening every week, trumps your silly parade and your right to block traffic in the name of fighting the same Capitalist system that gives you the means to protest it. And, moron, you should <i>expect</i> to get arrested and <i>want</i> to get arrested when you are protesting. You're like children having a pretend tea party while the adults are out working.</div>
<br />
OK, that's it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-29935723014423403332012-08-03T09:05:00.003-07:002012-08-03T09:08:48.482-07:00Rest In Peace Heather Boyum<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,47,0" height="270" id="flashObj" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="flashVars" value="omnitureAccountID=gpaper164,gntbcstglobal&pageContentCategory=NEWS&pageContentSubcategory=NEWS01&marketName=Rochester:democratandchronicle&revSciSeg=&revSciZip=&revSciAge=&revSciGender=&division=newspaper&SSTSCode=news/article.htm&videoId=1768261275001&playerID=1654994579001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAACICWEek~,2yBHh-rLl4EDfEHb-gGIQcC2q1S07nqo&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" /><param name="base" value="http://admin.brightcove.com" /><param name="seamlesstabbing" value="false" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="swLiveConnect" value="true" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><embed src="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashVars="omnitureAccountID=gpaper164,gntbcstglobal&pageContentCategory=NEWS&pageContentSubcategory=NEWS01&marketName=Rochester:democratandchronicle&revSciSeg=&revSciZip=&revSciAge=&revSciGender=&division=newspaper&SSTSCode=news/article.htm&videoId=1768261275001&playerID=1654994579001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAACICWEek~,2yBHh-rLl4EDfEHb-gGIQcC2q1S07nqo&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" base="http://admin.brightcove.com" name="flashObj" width="480" height="270" seamlesstabbing="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" swLiveConnect="true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash"></embed></object><br />
<i>Megan Merkel walking into court to be arraigned for vehicular manslaughter</i> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have a bad temper. Anyone who has worked with me, played video
games with me, fished with me, or golfed with me is well aware of this.
I have taken some steps to deal with my anger issues. These steps are
me thinking to myself, "It's okay, it's just an inanimiate object...."
two seconds before I'm overcome by Tourette's and throw said inanimate
object across the room. It reminds me of a funny radio commercial I
heard for a computer repair store: Guy goes into store and says to
clerk, "My laptop makes a funny noise when I punt it across the room." I
chucked my latest Blackberry across the room a few months ago when I
tried and failed, for the emeffing fifth time, to text my friend
Melissa. It bounced off of something into something else and the screen
cracked. Good riddance, I thought. I don't get mad
at people, at least not people in my life. I get disgusted with
politicians, public figures, faceless bureaucracy, the phone people, the
utility people, the a-holes that try to gouge me with banking fees, and
I get mad and rant at them, but I have a tolerance for the real people
in my life.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_P-KKjE8WmV7MiAwezaqosjP_ORiR3ovdCQMtGPtCkpaLfbnFlaZgEuUyiWSaIK-meTAF0_EK9oDka-CnbSnXd1Ax0MNWZ2mH0h3MuVlSq3NT3d5nu1esa_9Kac1DiOSvyH-IdCKTvHX/s1600/boyum_heather-use.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_P-KKjE8WmV7MiAwezaqosjP_ORiR3ovdCQMtGPtCkpaLfbnFlaZgEuUyiWSaIK-meTAF0_EK9oDka-CnbSnXd1Ax0MNWZ2mH0h3MuVlSq3NT3d5nu1esa_9Kac1DiOSvyH-IdCKTvHX/s1600/boyum_heather-use.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fairport teacher Heather Boyum</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
However, there are real people that I think are lowlife scumbags, like the pair that caused the death of Heather Boyum, a wife and a mother of two, who was killed at 7:45 on a Sunday morning as she was out riding her bicycle. She was killed by a twenty-two year old 3-time DWI loser who was passing his girlfriend, twenty-three year old Megan Merkel (possible ex-girlfriend who was just "hanging out" with him), on the shoulder of the rode on his motorcycle. Merkel and 3-time-DWI-loser had both been up all night drinking. Neither of them has ever held a license to drive and despite their young age both have an intimate and extensive experience of the criminal justice system. Merkel, feeling like she was being attacked unfairly, went on the radio to defend herself. She said her boyfriend (or possible ex-boyfriend who she's just screwing around with) was being "retarded" and doing wheelies and generally being the low-life scumbag that he is. She was driving a car with no brakes and couldn't stop when 3-time-DWI-loser struck Boyum and drove her body in front of Merkel. Merkel then said she did not know how to express remorse to the Boyum family, which was evident in her Facebook post that told critics they could "suck a d**k and choke on it". Class act, Merkel. She has since been charged with vehicular manslaughter and is sitting in jail with no one to bail her out. It is a story that elicits great sadness from me if I think too long about it, but my bloodlust for Merkel and the 3-time-DWI-loser has kept me coming back to news of Heather Boyum's death over and over. Is twenty years long enough for these two to serve? How about a life sentence?<br />
<br />
The road to Hell isn't paved with good intentions so much as small ethical compromises that erode character. Shoplifting doesn't seem like a huge infraction when you are fifteen but what does it lead to? Dealing drugs when you're nineteen? Maybe you've stolen something before or resold some pot to make money or driven when you've been intoxicated, and if you have done these things you've probably done so without hurting someone or being arrested. But the moral of this story is that the standards we set for ourselves should be compromised as little as possible. Looking back on stupid things we've done and shaking our heads at what buttheads we were is a good sign that we are still here and escaped unscathed, that we got through our transgressions and emerged with a little more common sense. I think these two are very different than the psychotic person in
Colorado who fantasized about committing mass murder and then committed
it. We are all much closer to making a mistake like Merkel than we are
to killing strangers in a movie theater. Merkel and the 3-time-DWI-loser's compromised ethics led to the death of a good person and they deserve a long time in a prison cell to think about what they've done.<br />
<br />
<br />Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-35985514040182052162012-01-30T18:26:00.000-08:002012-02-01T07:40:28.672-08:00The Eighties<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Iibz2aFY2c49yowbKLcSxdoSf54V1CBjRvlVJOXw__9_k0kyA1-m3iPwFAtQgS5_CcCGw5p0L_kzgzjczrP9z1xELFhq0V-mPsEjQf1xaLI-S8XmoCVKn9qH4x-dqCdi6Mbf7EcNiKR/s1600/Ronald%2520Reagan%25201600x1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Iibz2aFY2c49yowbKLcSxdoSf54V1CBjRvlVJOXw__9_k0kyA1-m3iPwFAtQgS5_CcCGw5p0L_kzgzjczrP9z1xELFhq0V-mPsEjQf1xaLI-S8XmoCVKn9qH4x-dqCdi6Mbf7EcNiKR/s400/Ronald%2520Reagan%25201600x1200.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Not Obama.</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
President Obama said some funny things during his State of the Union address this year. He declared that there will be no handouts or bailouts while he is President (I think he meant any <i>more</i>). He trumpeted the need for Green Energy (but didn't mention the half a billion dollars (handout) that disappeared down the rabbit hole at Solyndra). I think the most hypocritical moment was when he quoted Abraham Lincoln and said that "Government should do for the people what they cannot do for themselves and no more." I guess parents deciding what their kids have for lunch is something they cannot do for themselves because the next day the First Lady's lunch initiatives went into effect. I really, <i>really</i> don't think it's Big Brother's business what kids are eating for lunch, but apparently Obama does. However, I will give him the benefit of the doubt on this because sometimes it's just easier to do what your wife wants. My Dad says he discovered two words that made his life after retirement much easier: "Okay" and "Yes." For example:</div>
<br />
My Mom: "I think we should get marble counter tops put in."<br />
My Dad: "Okay."<br />
Several weeks and some money later......<br />
My Mom: "Don't they look nice?"<br />
My Dad: "Yes" (puts on boots and goes out to the shop).<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
I don't want to be a contrarian and just say that everything Obama does sucks but I disagree with him on principle on just about everything politically and on a personal level on just about everything else. I think the Government should pave the roads and kill the bad guys, not decide what should be on the lunch menus at the local Elementary school. That is a political difference. I don't want a President hypocritical enough to say b.s. things like "the Republicans want dirtier water and dirtier air" and then hang his head in frustration because "they won't work with me." That is a personal difference. He talks out both sides of his mouth and I don't fully trust what I hear from either one. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
I like to learn as I go along. I don't want to ignore what happened on Wednesday just so I can believe the same thing on Thursday that I did on Tuesday. If you have all the same opinions at forty that you did at twenty, then you don't think. Liberals and Conservatives may not agree politically but bleating that the other side is 100% wrong, 100% of the time, is just depressing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> . . . . . . . . . . . .</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7PMroaKAju04ZSJNHNGpGROIZ1ccGIKE6B8aXJNg4KF5Ng4057mtddpD8TigHHu_mf0297E4Zvz745IvRm994bKKE95_7JrcOLKVb-dwx0ZFfchrpEqLur7LyWTR8BZt2roNRKXclIFX/s1600/145341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7PMroaKAju04ZSJNHNGpGROIZ1ccGIKE6B8aXJNg4KF5Ng4057mtddpD8TigHHu_mf0297E4Zvz745IvRm994bKKE95_7JrcOLKVb-dwx0ZFfchrpEqLur7LyWTR8BZt2roNRKXclIFX/s320/145341.jpg" width="175" /></a>The Republican primary debates continued this week. Republicans keep jockeying for position to claim the mantle of Ronald Reagan when what they should really do is look at the man in the mirror. Newt Gingrich preached Family Values but served his wife divorce papers while she was going through chemotherapy. He may be smart but he's also a hypocrite with flexible moral values. Mitt Romney may have the Right Stuff morally but he's too much like a Republican Jimmy Carter. If politicians were sold as action figures, Romney and Carter would have to be packaged together, and made out of extra hard plastic to ensure life-like stiffness. Newt's doll would come with a briefcase full of cash and ready-made divorce papers from LegalZoom, Ron Paul's doll would be at the helm of a U.F.O., and the Rick Santorum figure would only be available with <i>The Complete Will & Grace</i> on DVD. <i>Will & Grace</i> fans can stick pins in him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
I was young during the Reagan Years although I didn't know it then. He was my Dad's President and that was fine by me. It made the generational lines a little clearer. The Sixties revival took place during the Reagan presidency, so there were pseudo-hippies and there were jock-y, Establishment types like the Reaganites (check out <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBD_d9SZYnw"><span style="color: blue;">Conservative Christian, Right Wing Republican, Straight White American Male by Todd Snider</span></a>). Me and my friends liked the music of the Sixties but didn't think much about politics. I was anti-Establishment then and I'm even more so now, the difference being that the Establishment then was Reagan policy, and the anti-Establishment now is...Reagan policy. I believe now what Reagan said then: Government isn't the solution to our problem, Government <i>is</i> the problem. I had an argument over the summer with a friend of mine when he told me he was smarter than Reagan and I said, “When you do something like win the Cold War then let me know.” He objected on the grounds that there were no winners or losers in the Cold War and I thought it was a purely semantic differentiation. I rephrased and reiterated what I said, that Reagan ended the Cold War <i>on his terms</i>, and if that’s not winning then I don’t know what is. He knocked me for giving Reagan credit and then made a bunch of other b.s. arguments like, “You can’t really prove that Reagan made the world safer. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, there are nuclear missiles that are unaccounted for, thereby the world is less safe and because Reagan was responsible then he in turn made the world less safe.” To which I replied, “Really?” and rolled my eyes. We might as well blame the Indians for high property taxes because they didn't stick up for themselves two hundred-thirty-six years ago. Eventually I told him to G-F-Y and hung up on him but the argument made me think more and more about the Reagan Years and how much I missed them.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRtjswWt1hcO1UD3rpGgzfdn6U9edBcq5DFX9yXjxoWoRcxkYI7K-JHG3CZghkP6bzlw-2FvCvM2AOEr2yNI1YOod0CsPxRQWkmaplbqIP3wMd7GTQAQ1tVk7zgn7YiixONByylNZzAaL/s1600/scarface2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRtjswWt1hcO1UD3rpGgzfdn6U9edBcq5DFX9yXjxoWoRcxkYI7K-JHG3CZghkP6bzlw-2FvCvM2AOEr2yNI1YOod0CsPxRQWkmaplbqIP3wMd7GTQAQ1tVk7zgn7YiixONByylNZzAaL/s400/scarface2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Al Pacino is Tony Montana in </i>Scarface. <i>As cut throat as Tony was,<br />he had nothing on Jon Roberts aka John Riccobono.</i></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Reagan Years began in 1980, leaving the drab Seventies behind in an explosion of pastel shirts with little alligators on them. There were lots of movies about rich teenagers who looked down their nose at their poorer, more creative classmates. <br />
A disproportionate number of these movies involved skiing and a race down the mountain at the end. MTV set styles as New Wave invaded the radio charts. A big part of the Eighties was <i>Miami Vice</i>, money and cocaine, from the junk bond traders that went to prison to John DeLorean getting busted in a drug buy. <i>Scarface</i> came out in 1983 and everything was glitz and glamour. It's interesting now to read about events I lived through. I remember the U.S. hockey team beating the Russians in Lake Placid (I was at my friend Pete Dugovic's house), the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding (I had just come home from school and my Mom and sister were watching it on tv), the Iran-Contra hearings (good tv), and the fall of the Soviet Union (I also watched this on tv). I recently read <i>Rawhide Down</i>, a book by Del Quentin Wilbur about the day that Reagan was shot by John Hinkley (could've sworn I was in Mr. James' English class but I wasn't). The following week I watched <i>Cocaine Cowboys</i>, a documentary about drug smuggling in Florida during the Reagan Years. Two men took two very different paths that made history in the Eighties. One was Jerry Parr, Secret Service agent, and the other was John Riccobono alias Jon Roberts, who became a drug smuggler and helped to flood Florida with cocaine.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPorWHQe3z_NGMFDT3Wu0aZkjXrW3ifPFhkPjFo0S8spF2fpFyzTA6VQXvvquiywHwKf3jXDnIBLs9L1oGlA8iPDb9iOZqd0tlHhSl4DysrF2RrjOV7iQNds36a6FkocXkl54KV_Lxwzv/s1600/rawhidedown_the_near_assassination_of_ronaldreagan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPorWHQe3z_NGMFDT3Wu0aZkjXrW3ifPFhkPjFo0S8spF2fpFyzTA6VQXvvquiywHwKf3jXDnIBLs9L1oGlA8iPDb9iOZqd0tlHhSl4DysrF2RrjOV7iQNds36a6FkocXkl54KV_Lxwzv/s640/rawhidedown_the_near_assassination_of_ronaldreagan.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Agent Jerry Parr grabs President Reagan as soon as he hears gunshots and dives into the back of the limousine<br />to shield him from John Hinkley. March 30, 1981.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jerry Parr was born in 1930 in Montgomery, Alabama, and raised poor in Miami, Florida. His parents, a cash register repairman and a beautician, divorced when he was nine. After the divorce his mother married, got divorced again, then married again, this time to a man who bragged about killing his first wife and threatened to kill her if she ever tried to leave him. Young Jerry Parr slept with a knife under his pillow for four years in case his hot-headed stepfather ever attacked. It was not a conventional upbringing by any means. Parr took a job out of high school working as a lineman for an electric company. He joined the Air Force, got married and attended and graduated from Vanderbilt University at the age of thirty-one with a degree in English and Philosophy. As a boy he was entranced by the 1939 film <i>The Code of the Secret Service</i> and dreamed of one day becoming a Secret Service agent. He joined in 1962 and was the oldest cadet in his class. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ei24YydED06RiAEn252xBHU4G2Wh2sV4UdMdENWlmobC64lYxjQ_Ru91FJIgVYub93CkXJEd9oEgEj9TzgCbuAFdjyEuYMyXGcH1atrLJV3Mz8GJ0RWCPnCwFu7DYbg1iAfSvUEQLyEl/s1600/141764446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ei24YydED06RiAEn252xBHU4G2Wh2sV4UdMdENWlmobC64lYxjQ_Ru91FJIgVYub93CkXJEd9oEgEj9TzgCbuAFdjyEuYMyXGcH1atrLJV3Mz8GJ0RWCPnCwFu7DYbg1iAfSvUEQLyEl/s320/141764446.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Jon Roberts aka John Riccobono is his 1986<br />mug shot. He tortured, killed and maimed<br />and only served three years in prison.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
John Riccobono also had an unconventional upbringing. His father was part of the Gambino crime family and taught his son very early on that Evil is stronger than Good. As if to prove his point, the elder Riccobono killed a man in front of John in broad daylight (the man had been blocking traffic) with no consequences. John was seven. The Riccobono name was associated with the Gambino family (John's Uncle Joseph was consigliere to Carlo Gambino and was one of the men busted in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apalachin_Meeting"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Upstate Raid of 1957</span></a>) long before John was born in 1948. Riccobono's father was deported after the raid and John never saw him again but he did take his father's lesson to heart. When faced with good or evil, he always made the most evil choice. He was running with older kids when he was eleven and twelve. At thirteen he was robbing and extorting classmates (he shot someone on the basketball court when he lost. Like his father and the man on the bridge, John faced no consequences). Neither his mother or grandfather could control him. His mother died when he was still a teen and John started doing drugs and robbing the drug dealers. He would gain the trust of the drug dealer and then kidnap and torture them. They would call their clients with an unbelievable deal that was only available <i>right now</i>. When the clients showed up, John would rob them too. He did this over and over. Eventually, one of his victims escaped before John returned and pressed charges against him for kidnapping and attempted murder. He was given a choice by the judge: prison or Vietnam. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Riccobono went to Vietnam where he fell further into darkness (he talks about skinning Vietnamese men and women while they are still alive). When he came home from Vietnam he was only twenty years old. He got into the nightclub scene in New York City, backed by his uncles in the Gambino family, and went on to rob, maim and kill people as he exerted his power and influence. When the heat got to be too much in New York City it was suggested that he leave town. He relocated to the same town Jerry Parr's family did thirty years earlier: Miami. He worked his way up the ladder and by the time that John Hinkley read about Reagan coming to a local hotel, Riccobono, who had changed his name to Roberts, was smuggling millions of dollars of cocaine into the U.S. for the Medellin drug cartel. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdwiJxg_6PpC9W2r6kpNho_1FQ_ga6JwNx8h69Q7OKRDvG2ZhCI87-_CsbTOtVe7wQTFhvoiJYavh8sIcCxsmZTZcWZwFh5nWKadPKejbhbUWF5Y70P9CAVvT9IgCMeK0xfEUk6aPKGfQ/s1600/tumblr_ksydjbkCsX1qzexpio1_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdwiJxg_6PpC9W2r6kpNho_1FQ_ga6JwNx8h69Q7OKRDvG2ZhCI87-_CsbTOtVe7wQTFhvoiJYavh8sIcCxsmZTZcWZwFh5nWKadPKejbhbUWF5Y70P9CAVvT9IgCMeK0xfEUk6aPKGfQ/s320/tumblr_ksydjbkCsX1qzexpio1_400.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>I'll never pass up a chance to add a<br />pic from one of my favorite movies<br />ever - </i>Taxi Driver.<i> John Hinkley became<br />obsessed with the movie and Jodie Foster. <br />Here is Travis Bickle right before the Secret<br />Service runs him off.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
John Hinkley was someone without friends going all the way back to high school. He dreamed of being a singer/songwriter and moved to Los Angeles several times without success. He became obsessed with the film <i>Taxi Driver</i>, in which the protagonist slips into a delusional life of loneliness and isolation. He followed President Carter around for several weeks. His mental health faltered and his dream of becoming a famous musician was replaced by a dream about being killed in a hail of bullets by the Secret Service. He tried to date Jodie Foster, the actress who plays the young runaway in <i>Taxi Driver</i>. Eventually Hinkley's parents cut him off financially and after one more desperate trip to Los Angeles to sell his music, he gave up and decided to end his life. He took a bus back to Washington, D.C. and planned to go to Yale one more time and kill himself on campus. Then, just by chance, Hinkley read the newspaper and saw President Reagan's visit to the Hilton. Hinkley decided he would rather die by Secret Service than commit suicide. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jerry Parr was not initially deemed “White House” material, perhaps because of his late start or upbringing, but he nevertheless worked his way up the Vice-Presidential detail in the late Seventies. He became the lead agent in President Carter’s detail in 1979 and when Ronald Reagan was sworn in on January 20, 1981, he left Carter’s side and fell in behind the new President. Parr worked the kill zone, the area in front of the President, where he had to be ready to throw himself in front of a bullet or on top of a bomb. Two months later, wishing to get to know the President better, Jerry Parr assigned himself to follow the President to his speech at the local Hilton. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
While the President was walking out the door of the hotel after his speech, Hinkley started firing. He got off six shots in 1.6 seconds. Jerry Parr heard the <i>pop pop pop </i>of Hinkley's gun and drove Reagan headfirst into the backseat of the limousine. Agent Tim McCarthy turned towards Hinkley and spread his body out to act as a human shield. He was shot in the abdomen. As Reagan lay in the back of the limo he complained of pains in his chest. Jerry Parr saw no blood on the President's body but there was blood in Reagan's mouth. Had he been shot or did he simply bite his tongue? Did Parr break a rib when he launched the President into the limo? Should he take the President to the White House, where he would be safe, or to the hospital? What if there were other shooters waiting for the President at the hospital in an attempt to finish him off? How secure would the hospital be? Parr quickly decided to go to the hospital. The President may not have been shot but there was clearly something wrong with him. When they pulled up to the hospital Reagan insisted on walking in under his own power. One of the EMTs wondered why the heck Reagan wasn't lying flat on a gurney. He looked gray and ashen. ER attendants hooked up an IV to the President and several doctors examined him. Finally, one of them noticed a small incision, about the size of a dime turned sideways, under the President's arm. The bullet ricocheted off the limo door and into the President's side, and had been flattened into a disk shape in the process. It was lodged in his chest and the resulting damage shut down the President's left lung. The President continued to lose blood and was in danger of going into shock. By the time he entered surgery at 3:08, exactly forty-one minutes after he was shot, he had lost thirty-five percent of his blood. If Agent Jerry Parr had taken Reagan back to the White House, he would have died along the way. But Reagan may have also played a part in saving his own life. In the 1939 movie that inspired Jerry Parr to join the Secret Service, <i>The Code of the Secret Service</i>, the always cool-under-fire agent that Jerry hoped one day to be was played by Ronald Reagan. Oddly enough, it was the only one of his movies that the President found so awful that he refused to watch.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Jon Roberts, aka John Riccobono, continued smuggling cocaine into Florida and eventually became the top American in the Medellin drug cartel. When the Colombians started doing business in South Florida, it became the Wild West. A shootout at the Dade County Mall in 1979 brought national attention to Miami and the drug trade. Jon Roberts ran cocaine for the next seven years and didn't get arrested until September 20, 1986. He was released on bail, spent five years as a fugitive and after he was captured turned informant for the government. He was a despicable person, not because he ran drugs, but because he thought nothing of crippling a Hippie girl to teach her friends a lesson, whipping an ex-girlfriend with a belt for hours while she was tied up, telling his mother to f-off, shooting people in the knees, and a thousand other acts. He did more bad shit in one afternoon when he was a teenager than I've done in my whole life. He died in December 2011 of cancer. He only did three years in prison.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Jerry Parr and Ronald Reagan were both changed by the events of March 30, 1981. Reagan felt that he had been saved by God for a purpose greater than himself: to end the Cold War. The Eighties and the Cold War ended when the Berlin Wall fell in 1990, thanks at least in part to Reagan's defense spending and his support of Mikhail Gorbachev. Jerry Parr also believed that his life had been directed by God. He received a Master's degree in pastoral counseling and became the pastor and spiritual director of a Washington, D.C. church. He also served on the Board of Director's at Joseph's House, an organization for men with AIDS.<br />
<br />
I liked the Eighties. Times were simpler then. The Russians were our only enemy, Reagan was our only President, and my only worry was getting back in time for work after visiting my friends in Pennsylvania. It was the decade in which I passed through all my rites of passage. But mostly I miss it because I was young and everything was new. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong> . . . . . . . . . . . .</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Taxi Driver</i> was my favorite film for a long, long time. I often thought it was a good companion piece to Pink Floyd's <i>The Wall</i>. I saw both movies less than a month apart in 1989/1990. I felt a lot like Pink, closed off and isolated. Then I saw <i>Taxi Driver </i>and felt a lot like Travis Bickle. There is a scene in which he stares into his coffee cup and people are talking to him and he is a million miles away. That's what I felt like. I was living in North Tonawanda and it was the dead of Winter. Across the street was a rusted chain link fence that protected the grounds of a run down factory. There was trash everywhere and things were bleak and ugly. An early Spring brought me out of my funk. I started going for walks along the river and imagined myself as one of the old men that sat on the park benches. <i>That will be me one day,</i> I'd think to myself. I watched the Travel channel every day at 10:30. They were always <i>somewhere else</i>. My <i>Taxi Driver/Pink Floyd </i>isolation ended one morning when, after standing up too fast, I fainted. When I awoke I wasn't sure where I was for a few seconds. I felt like Jack Kerouac, waking up in a hotel one morning when he was hitchhiking across the country and unsure of who or where he was. A few minutes later D.J. called me and I took it as a sign. He told me we were going fishing next weekend and he was coming to pick me up. After that I started making more frequent trips to Edinboro to see my friends, and then to see Genienne, a girl I found unique, sincere, and enigmatic. The summer that followed was one of the best of my life. I worked at my Mom's cafe during the day and rode the four-wheeler like a mad man in the late afternoons and evenings. Genienne came up to see me and she was with me when I bought <i>Blood On the Tracks.</i> The Eighties were over and the Nineties were just getting started, just like me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-731775113480965622012-01-15T07:13:00.000-08:002012-01-15T15:26:09.763-08:00<br />
<br />
<i>This is a reprint of a classic column that none of my readers demanded.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZITp3UiuhqNtBpbJnDlTzeiKr0OUR_BnsYCLWMM5HyFfgXNemYiiZi7gw5mpB6ZRIklZe6FJUsxdYWXpbPgaISsUyiBqrprbUmINm2DM2Z7q7u3xRxKbPxrftIvZLbUNkD_suyFNY6mXL/s1600/IMG00439-20111213-1401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZITp3UiuhqNtBpbJnDlTzeiKr0OUR_BnsYCLWMM5HyFfgXNemYiiZi7gw5mpB6ZRIklZe6FJUsxdYWXpbPgaISsUyiBqrprbUmINm2DM2Z7q7u3xRxKbPxrftIvZLbUNkD_suyFNY6mXL/s640/IMG00439-20111213-1401.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A glass plate negative I found in an attic circa 1890's. I love the formal wear. This was most likely in the Parsells Avenue neighborhood in the city of Rochester. </i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I started a new job a few weeks ago and one of the payment options, since we are all "going green" (whether we want to or not), was payment by a cute system called the Global Cash Card. There is no paper involved, no paycheck to pick up, and all the money you earn goes directly onto your card. The taglines for the upside of this service are bites like "Accepted Everywhere" and "Grow Your Money Through Your Global Cash Card". Sounds great, right? The first transaction after your deposit every week is "FREE". So, I thought to myself, every transaction from the second to the ninety-ninth is not free? As Sarah Palin would say, "You betcha!" I paid a bill this morning. It cost me $114.75 to pay $111 towards my balance; $3.75 was for "service" and "convenience" fees. When I stopped to get gas I wanted to use my card because, like it says in the brochure, "Get Cash Back For Free". Except that there is a two dollar charge to get cash back from a debit transaction. I would have paid $2 for $22 worth of gas. Disgusted, I paid with cash. At this point in my day I was getting ornery over the use of my card. I called the company and tried to check the local ATMs, where there is alleged to be no fees. Again, not true. The good people at the Global Cash Card company directed me to Target, CVS, and other convenient locations. "So, there won't be a fee if I go to one of these locations and use the ATM?" I asked the lady. "No sir, there won't." She is a big, fat liar. It cost me $2.50 to get my money out. I had a balance of $95 and wanted to get $90 but I could only get my money in increments of $20 bills. I stood in the front of the Target store mother-hucking the stupid ATM machine. I called back the hucksters at the GCC corporation and pressed them on the issue. "No sir, if your <i>very first</i> transaction after your deposit is a withdrawl, only then is there no charge."<i> </i>So, at the end of the day, I paid a total of $6.25 just to use my own money. And the remaining $15 balance on my cute cash card is trapped until I get paid again and bump it up over $20. It is going to stay on there because there is also a fee, $3.50, to put money <i>onto</i> the card. I think that the Occupy Wall Street people are goofballs, but I could really get behind them on burning this place to the ground. The G-D banks and everyone else that handles my money should be paying me for the privelege, not the other way around.<br />
<br />
Speaking of the Occupy Wall Streeters, they are goofballs. One of them (in Atlanta?) demanded free food from a McDonald's at two in the morning. "<i>I'm protesting! Give me my fair share!" </i>I don't know if he really said this but he did throw a fit like a sissy girl, enough so that the police were called. The OWStreeters in Rochester demanded to meet with the Mayor so he could listen to their list of demands. He acquiesced and granted a leadership coalition his time to discuss their occupation of Washington Square Park. They refused. They thought that he should come down and address <i>everyone</i>, since they were all equal, and they balked at the offer of his time. After the slight standoff, the rallying cry, the purpose of the protest, became a First Amendment issue: they wanted the right to protest all night and the Mayor wouldn't let them. At least, not in the park. I applauded the Mayor's use of common sense. Until last night when he reversed his decision. The OWStreeters - Rochester Chapter - can now use a third of the park for a permanent settlement. The Mayor actually broke the law when he decided this because the only person that can approve this is the Board of Something, but it's not him. He is a big lawbreaker. The rule of law is getting run ragged lately. The Founding Fathers founded this country as a country of <i>laws</i>, not men. We do not have an all-powerful King who rules on a whim. It's why, when you are accused of a crime, the State must prove your guilt. You aren't required to prove your innocence. When I choose to break the law, which I do all the time, I am aware of the consequences. If I tell you I don't then I am a big, fat liar.<br />
<br />
<i>The preceding was written at the beginning of November. Since I got my laptop fixed yesterday, the ninth of January, I decided to post it today. From my kitchen. While listening to Mike and Mike online. I love my laptop.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUH2yaWIdgsNFIsXCQqOdAJzJc3yde1Xjn_tj6zNhOr18ZqSjyqVk6fc0tnM74zEkHY1S9wLpMNjGGJZZ0d5LxsENjY6vnSOjh9Q028lY7a6Y4BlBKnQItnzj2FUGxTq-aFTEh46Lj5UY/s1600/IMG00478-20120110-0908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUH2yaWIdgsNFIsXCQqOdAJzJc3yde1Xjn_tj6zNhOr18ZqSjyqVk6fc0tnM74zEkHY1S9wLpMNjGGJZZ0d5LxsENjY6vnSOjh9Q028lY7a6Y4BlBKnQItnzj2FUGxTq-aFTEh46Lj5UY/s320/IMG00478-20120110-0908.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Richard Nixon, the foremost criminal of Watergate, shaking hands with an unknown man, </i></b><br />
<b><i>possibly G. Gordon Liddy in disguise</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It looks like the OWS people have gone the way of the Pet Rock, the Hula-Hoop and Newt Gingrich's Presidential Run: just a passing fad. About time. A friend cuts me off when I start ranting about them and says, "<i>Why do you care</i>?" It is a good question. Maybe it's because taxpayer resources have to be used to deal with them, maybe it's because they don't have a clear agenda, and maybe it's because I'm an old crank in the making, just getting warmed up to rock in my chair on the porch and shake my fist at the neighborhood kids. But I think it's because, even though they care enough about something to do something about it, they're idiots. I remember going to see G. Gordon Liddy lecture at MCC and the reaction I had to this snarky, doughboy R.I.T. student who asked him a condescending question. He was wearing a scarf and one of those gay, round hats on his pointed head and looked like he'd never seen the sun in his life. Liddy, as you may know, was one of the main criminals involved in Watergate. He may be a blowhard and shameless self-promoter but I didn't care about that. I was there to see a historical figure that will go down in infamy (infamy being defined as being well known for nefarious reasons). My reaction to Mr. PorkPie hat was that I wanted to give him an atomic wedgie. He was a weenie. That's how I feel about the OWS people. I'd like to hold all their heads in a giant toilet and give them a swirlie.<br />
<br />
The holidays were great this year but I am glad to be back to a routine. From the beginning to the end of the Holiday season, the calendar fills up with Stuff You Gotta Do, like meeting people out for drinks. (I'm reminded of a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip in which Calvin's dad boots him out of the house and away from the tv and Calvin throws a fit. His dad says, "I know, I know. How cruel it is to be forced to go outside and play.") For me the holidays start right before deer season in November. This year it was the 19th. I took the day off from work and went to bed early the night before. I know from this day forward, until the beginning of January, my life won't be normal. Drinking on a Wednesday night. Eating in the middle of the day on a Thursday. A few weeks of meeting up with friends, ringing the bell for the Salvation Army, and wrecking my stomach with Bailey's and vodka. My routine for the holidays, and I never deviate from it, is to do all my shopping with three days to go. This year I pushed the envelope and went out on Christmas Eve day, too. It was awesome. I put some miles on the stationwagon but it was worth it. We downscaled our Christmas this year and I wasn't supposed to buy for everyone but I did anyway, but just little things and a Christmas card. My family is awesome. <br />
<br />
I watched <i>The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i> as soon as I could over the holidays. It was pretty loyal to the book and it was good. I've read the book and seen the Swedish version twice so it lacked some tension but, if I had never done either, I think it may have been hard to follow. Yesterday I saw <i>The Descendants</i> from Alexander Payne, the director of <i>Sideways. </i>I was really looking forward to it because <i>Sideways</i> is on my list of Compulsively Watchable Movies, like <i>Scarface</i> or <i>The Godfather</i>, one of those movies that you can't stop watching if it comes on. <i>The Descendants</i> is a film that's not afraid to take a moment of silence and let it linger. There is a scene in which the family goes to see the 25,000 acres of prime Hawaiian wilderness they are turning over to developers and Payne gives the viewer an extended, silent look at the beauty that may be destroyed. George Clooney looked saggy and a little beaten, definitely not the scoundrel he was in the <i>Ocean's</i> movies. His pain played across his twisted face and his eyes conveyed a sense of loss of conviction, a "what do I do now?" expression. I cannot be manipulated by movies but I have been extremely moved by <i>Toy Story 3</i>, <i>My Dog Skip</i> and I was moved by a scene in <i>The Descendants</i> when Clooney's ten-year old daughter learns that her Mom is never going to wake up (Okay, okay, I did get choked up during <i>Toy Story 3</i> and <i>My Dog Skip</i>). I don't have the normal, American gene for liking crap (<i>How to Lose A Guy In Ten Days</i>, any movie with <i>Maid</i> or <i>Made</i> in the title - <i>Made of Honor</i>, <i>Maid in Manhattan</i>) and sequels (<i>Sherlock Holmes and the Blahblahblah</i> sequel to the first <i>Sherlock Holmes and the Crappy Rock Soundtrack featuring Nickelback</i>) and feeling disdain for anything that doesn't assault my senses for ninety minutes or resolve every question and plot line for me, so the movies I like might not be your thing. Next on my list is <i>Drive</i> with Ryan Gosling and Albert Brooks. It looks like a 1970's flick that could have starred Steve McQueen. My friend Kristina from work saw <i>Martha Marcy May Marlene</i> and she liked it. I may see it and I may not. I just wanted to mention my friend Kristina from work. That's Kristina, not Kristine. Or you could say "Kristine....uhhh," like I did a few weeks ago. She made us all warmers for Christmas (stares off into space dreamily....). She's so sweet. Did I mention I work with a girl named Kristina and she's really sweet? Ok, just checking.<br />
<br />
I lived in the city of Rochester for about ten years, give or take the time spent with a few girlfriends that lived off Monroe Ave. I worked at the corner of St. Paul and Main St. for ten years too, and the closest I got to the "bad parts" of the city was when I'd take my buddy Tony home to Lill Street off of Clifford (his neighbors almost called the cops on me my first time there - suspected drug buyer). On the way home I'd have to pull up and stop at the corner of Clifford and Conkey, one of the more dangerous corners in the city for sure, but that wasn't my neighborhood. All up and down Monroe Ave., (I lived no more than two blocks away at any given time) can be shady and dangerous, but I felt safe walking from Jeremiah's all the way down to Mark's Texas Hots. There were some characters around. Homeless people, drunks, homeless drunks, panhandlers, hippies, and lots and lots of young people getting their drink on, especially on the weekends. Random crimes took place every day but that happens everywhere. Whenever I read the paper and saw a shooting or a homicide, I'd always gauge my safety by seeing how close it was to Mark's Texas Hots, my favorite place to eat. Then one day I got a shock when there was a shooting and it was <i>at</i> Mark's Texas Hots. Some idiot, drunk, tussled with the bouncer, went across the street to his apartment and returned with a rifle. He shot and killed an innocent bystander, just a kid home from college getting something to eat after hanging out with his friends. Violence can happen anywhere but where I have been working in the city, it is not a fluke.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgwqTRVWIPL-d2Ueq1ALq6ek-_NrsAaLDZ-bfKfHwybm6QXghzPTj9lEmIbSaFCobxdL53XmZknAvIKATeTeAZc0JHYKCZQAnxEkSwP8Ecx6C24BKDqxvwlRd5eEqhpwcyxCyt3AiQQ3q/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgwqTRVWIPL-d2Ueq1ALq6ek-_NrsAaLDZ-bfKfHwybm6QXghzPTj9lEmIbSaFCobxdL53XmZknAvIKATeTeAZc0JHYKCZQAnxEkSwP8Ecx6C24BKDqxvwlRd5eEqhpwcyxCyt3AiQQ3q/s640/2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The red blocks represent the murders last year in the Remington Street neighborhood and the black box is the house where I worked. A young man was shot and killed on the steps of the house next door. The purple bullseyes are shootings and the tan fists are assaults. These have all taken place since November of last year. The red line is Avenue D, the most notorious street in the city.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My very first work site was Durnan Street, a one-way street a block north of Avenue D. Avenue D is the Rodeo Drive of violent crime in Rochester. I assume the nature of Durnan being one-way is attractive to drug dealers because they were out there, standing two driveways away from the house we were at, and there were lookouts on both sides of the street. They looked at me a few times and I looked at them. I've taken to wearing coveralls that make it obvious I am there to work and nothing else. Another wonderful neighborhood I worked was Remington Street near the corner of Avenue D. I got a very uneasy feeling about this place and I was right. Three murders on that block in the last calendar year, the most recent being in October. I've grown accustomed to working in the city but not to the destruction of the beautiful old neighborhoods that once existed. I find it sad; sad for the houses, sad for the people, sad for our society. People once dressed up and wore their Sunday best on Sundays. The loss of formality in America has led to our moral downfall, the disintegration of the family unit, and is directly related to "bitch", "ho", teenagers in the 50's, Elvis the Pelvis, Watergate, and the moral disgrace of the Clinton presidency. I'm not judging but that's my opinion. Tommy Lee Jones character said in the great film <i>No Country For Old Men</i>, "It all goes downhill when kids no longer address their elders as 'Sir' and 'Ma'am'." I think he has a point.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhZTZPI01G0xo9pp6FE0mgusGIbocm5ijy7O2RN3QKGqm2BPoYyguFbv5ac49IQ4igOGr5OCqTo9X9lEmCDgl3ACRAKm6YgcngKFxBagjzqO7atBOzQYzF_1yX9SCdQV_lns2VJIeBPsP/s1600/IMG00457-20120105-1450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhZTZPI01G0xo9pp6FE0mgusGIbocm5ijy7O2RN3QKGqm2BPoYyguFbv5ac49IQ4igOGr5OCqTo9X9lEmCDgl3ACRAKm6YgcngKFxBagjzqO7atBOzQYzF_1yX9SCdQV_lns2VJIeBPsP/s320/IMG00457-20120105-1450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have also been working on Parsells Avenue in what I believe was an old German neighborhood. I believe that because there is a German market there that serves fantastic food and has all things German. The schnitzel was especially good. It's like chicken fried steak and I bet Elvis ate some when he was in Germany. When I was in the attic I found some old glass plate negatives, about forty in all, depicting life in the neighborhood. They are really cool. While I was up there one day I noticed some cop cars out front. I waited to see what was going on when the officer went to the rear door to let someone out. It was a K-9 unit and the german shepherd bounded out of the car pretty excited. They caught this guy and his buddy in an abandoned house presumably there to salvage the copper pipes that were torn out long ago.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_dgju4DNZsudPd4WTlaLR0qL0O1jV0CQdehuFZ4JFYekV_2kRthynbHd31kxuyys__fsaz0-H7Iz-WQpLWjRaDDpiswGPYkOUPLRrRWUSnOO3TzV-0b6RBwKf0Dt1kKX_Jq3zfI7Ncu0/s1600/IMG00458-20120105-1450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_dgju4DNZsudPd4WTlaLR0qL0O1jV0CQdehuFZ4JFYekV_2kRthynbHd31kxuyys__fsaz0-H7Iz-WQpLWjRaDDpiswGPYkOUPLRrRWUSnOO3TzV-0b6RBwKf0Dt1kKX_Jq3zfI7Ncu0/s320/IMG00458-20120105-1450.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>I witness my first arrest in the city.</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three nights ago someone was shot and killed two blocks down from the most recent worksite at the corner of Avenue D and Hudson. It is really interesting working in the city but I am glad I am out of there every day by 4pm.<br />
<br />
The Broncos got steamrolled by the Patriots last night, putting an end to their incredible, odds-defying run. When Tebow threw the game-winning touchdown in overtime against the Steelers, I jumped off the couch and shook my friend by the shoulders. It was awesome. I caught Tebowmania at some point during their 6-game winning streak. I had to see for myself how a team could complete just two passes and still control the game from beginning to end. It was a good run while it lasted. Maybe I haven't seen what Tebow does on the sidelines that gets people so upset. He takes a knee when he scores a touchdown, but is there more to it than that? Message boards and Facebook have blown up with comments about him praying during the game and people act like he hired a contract killer to murder his pregnant girlfriend. They are offended and disgusted and say things like, "Religion should be kept in the closet." I say, "Whatever." Which leads me to the last subject of today's blog. I liked <i>The Descendants</i>, and I hate Kate Hudson movies. I loved <i>The Royal Tenenbaums</i> and hated the new Sherlock Holmes movies. I like Adele but I hate Nickelback. But if you love Kate Hudson, and the Sherlock Holmes movies and Nickelback, I don't think you are wrong. I think you have bad taste, but I don't think you're wrong. Maybe you think<i> I </i>have bad taste. We'll call it a draw. <br />
<br />
Ok, that's it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-72074552291582600572011-08-20T18:09:00.000-07:002011-08-20T18:27:18.534-07:00Ghosts, Summer and IEK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nBQTTq57Bx8HonfIfNWnsGEnQWluDLsQ0VgUgwpPegxkwDZH4O0isBbMhubuhocl6D7-hBuTQkDGCYb4P8TKkTO_Q1W-h738ZUntFse4zF_6yodcCm1_LUAozMklqNwJDHPiihmWtqid/s1600/phi_sigma_kappa_big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nBQTTq57Bx8HonfIfNWnsGEnQWluDLsQ0VgUgwpPegxkwDZH4O0isBbMhubuhocl6D7-hBuTQkDGCYb4P8TKkTO_Q1W-h738ZUntFse4zF_6yodcCm1_LUAozMklqNwJDHPiihmWtqid/s1600/phi_sigma_kappa_big.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>The Phi Sigma Kappa crest</em></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oas2txBA-vGqv4K8qzHosaGKEoDaw3E0GnWcaJiY4-F0oElV6LuZd7-DSf53jE3sOFgkfrWeqKGhNOk7uCIB21pcS7eAV-eliBFZ_H6dfwEDQ03A3Y01VP0mMksY7wNm7EYU9pc0ulT5/s1600/me+and+tyler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oas2txBA-vGqv4K8qzHosaGKEoDaw3E0GnWcaJiY4-F0oElV6LuZd7-DSf53jE3sOFgkfrWeqKGhNOk7uCIB21pcS7eAV-eliBFZ_H6dfwEDQ03A3Y01VP0mMksY7wNm7EYU9pc0ulT5/s400/me+and+tyler.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Me and Tyler on his first day at the dorms.</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Even the Lil Wayne t-shirt and throwing up </em></strong><br />
<strong><em>gang signs does </em></strong><strong><em>not help me look</em></strong><br />
<strong><em> like I belong here.</em></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I took my nephew to school last week. He's a Freshman on the soccer team at SUNY Canton. He's 18 and skinny. I'm 45 and have a head like a melon. I don't miss the 18 year old skinny me that much but I would definitely go back and do it all over again. Moving Tyler into the dorms brought back some memories of Edinboro and Scranton Hall and living with D.J. and living next door to George and Eric: the time they stole my door, the time Eric put a used condom on my door handle, the times we would call the guys who lived next door and then hang up on them. Over and over. They would start to shout "Hello!" in the phone and then slam the receiver in the cradle so hard that it shook our wall. So g-d funny...I told him not to worry too much about getting the perfect roommate. Some things are just better left to fate.<br />
<br />
I like The Cure more and more as I get older. I like the Doobie Brothers less and less.....I am ready for some football. However, can the Buffalo Bills get it together? Put it together? Don't we have someone in management that can fight for a Michael Vick? Yes, he killed dogs, but I can separate that from his performance on the field. Hunter Thompson was a great writer but he slapped women. So did Hemingway. Maybe that should affect how much I like their writing but it doesn't. I guess Ralph Wilson possibly put the kibosh on signing Vick. He's going to his grave with his prinicples and a losing football team....I was mourning the end of Summer a few weeks ago. I'm doing better now.....A shout-out to the girl I massaged last week. Call me....Facebook is a fun place to mess with people. Really? I can't call people retarded anymore? That is so gay....I am watching my nephew and my sister's place starting tomorrow and I am really excited. Pool every morning, then after work and then after dinner and then before I go to bed. Been working out all summer and I keep building muscle but not losing fat. Curious. The pool is great but am more looking forward to hanging out with my nephew Kyle. Gonna get some bikes and ride the Lehigh Valley Trail either down to Lake Ontario or the other way to Geneseo and Piffard where monks make bread. I also want to take him to see all my favorite things in the city: used book store, Mark's Texas Hots, Mt. Hope Cemetery, maybe East Ave....He wants to read <em>The Catcher in the Rye</em>. Hopefully we can get him a copy.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgVebSBLtCdXY_9UFRfZL3XIbbKVyfxJc5cKCrvAPrJXnbOeoeDPCsXAjVbQ4P1HJGIx2vruv1AzECLpUZa10KvBLF_u1I8Af_BYoxNZANsIegfoSPkzeGXsy-AO4J8EKwEVzU9wmAt8Z/s1600/hell+night2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgVebSBLtCdXY_9UFRfZL3XIbbKVyfxJc5cKCrvAPrJXnbOeoeDPCsXAjVbQ4P1HJGIx2vruv1AzECLpUZa10KvBLF_u1I8Af_BYoxNZANsIegfoSPkzeGXsy-AO4J8EKwEVzU9wmAt8Z/s400/hell+night2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Johnny, D.J., Eric and George during our second semester at school</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>but first semester as Phi Sigs. George is sitting on Deanna's lap,</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>a girl who almost spent more time in our rooms than we did.</em></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Been reading up on the end of the Cold War. Been reading about the rise of Southern Soul music, mainly my man Otis Redding. Been reading <em>The Great Shark Hunt</em> by Hunter Thompson. Raymond Carver and <em>What We Talk About When We Talk About Love</em>. I keep having dreams that I'm in school and working on a project that's overdue. I think my brain is trying to tell me something.....I really, really like going to work, especially if it's outside and I work with people that make me laugh....Can't bring myself to be home long enough to make my small apartment visitor friendly. Stuff all over the place. It has become a place to shower, watch dvds and store ice for my drink while watching said dvds....I visited my brother and his family last week at Fairhaven. They rented a house between the bays and it was really spectacular. A huge old place with many windows. It's odd to me what people put effort into. Making money is fine but it doesn't matter if you have money and no family and no one to share life with. Why make money at the expense of time with your family? I know everyone has to pay the bills but pay them and then spend some time with the Fam. Talking about this with a friend of mine the other day. He said: "If I have a chance to take my daughters out to dinner and spend time with them then I'll take half a day off and do it. I don't want to look back on my life and regret times I could have had." Someone say Amen! My brother has quite the brood and they're all interesting. They spent the week fishing and sailing and boating and going to the beach. Someone say Amen!....<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcl_ZH1_pVwbXACtBD3wUbnbl_gHwCZwBiEovxJmLouSUZ0QMS9-IunjrbQvPqBIWgoOGUWWa5xLO3wDXmzNkXCNaGw_lukY7xHqszQ0sWcwk4LeaY0RQCnmE9NrfnKAW8tZfrSL0uAkT/s1600/buzz+on+toga+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcl_ZH1_pVwbXACtBD3wUbnbl_gHwCZwBiEovxJmLouSUZ0QMS9-IunjrbQvPqBIWgoOGUWWa5xLO3wDXmzNkXCNaGw_lukY7xHqszQ0sWcwk4LeaY0RQCnmE9NrfnKAW8tZfrSL0uAkT/s400/buzz+on+toga+night.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Buzz and the nicely racked Marge at the </em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Toga Party, </em></strong><strong><em>circa 1990; </em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Eric is drinking out of a Massengil bottle</em></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Gonna have a killer, killer music collection very soon. Got a ton of music from D.J. Been burning cd after cd from the libary. Adele, Otis, Rilo Kiley, Fleet Foxes, Roy Orbison, and (like the guy on tv says) more! Now I just need an Ipod....Have not been drinking much this summer....Haven't gone to Camp much....Haven't fished much.... Saw a great free show the other night. Tommy Brunett opened for Shooter Jennings. I liked Tommy Brunett more. Shooter was not the rocker I thought he'd be. But still good. My nephew Ben says, "There's alot of old people here," and he wasn't talking about me. There were a lot of old people there....So I went to the skin doctor a few weeks ago. Last time I went I wasn't wearing underwear and had to put on the paper gown. Definitely not enough material to cover me comfortably. This time I wore underwear and felt alright just hanging out in my gown. Got the feeling that she was checking me out which did not make me feel weird at all. Is that wrong? She is a hardass doctor. Raised on a farm south of Buffalo, her father was very harsh with the kids, making her self-reliant at an early age. A drinker also, it makes me glad I had two good people for parents.....Spent some time at my neighbor's house a few weeks ago. I grew up there. Not literally, but I spent many, many hours there. First the Pooley's lived there, then the McGurer's. They moved away in 1994 but I had been visiting there since 1971. Twenty-three years. I think that spending time at a place ties your emotions to that place and maybe that's why places are haunted. Not saying there are ghosts but I'm not saying there can't be....I'm surprised that more college dorms aren't haunted. Ok, that's it. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-23768152636470906012011-07-14T16:52:00.000-07:002011-07-14T16:52:04.625-07:00My Mom Will Kick Your Ass <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYP-G4aLIS3gdupwObE6I1eq50qK4_cybyCbY5WF4o3OegFK5WoFjB1xVQNN4UgOevtwp5gjNZG6NlnMFO99clGOW1yTW6zPXorgY-i_AKZXSrCpdfF-32KjJBIIAbNVIY7Yzaqr9QqzD/s1600/227862_1794038097467_1435134169_31702742_1665964_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYP-G4aLIS3gdupwObE6I1eq50qK4_cybyCbY5WF4o3OegFK5WoFjB1xVQNN4UgOevtwp5gjNZG6NlnMFO99clGOW1yTW6zPXorgY-i_AKZXSrCpdfF-32KjJBIIAbNVIY7Yzaqr9QqzD/s400/227862_1794038097467_1435134169_31702742_1665964_n.jpg" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>The Grandkids: Spencer, Luke, Sam, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Kyle, Ben, Tyler, Cole and Josh on the silo behind the barn</em></strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div align="justify"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I stopped by my parents’ house last week and was hanging out in the driveway shooting baskets when my Mom came walking from around the front of the house. “Mom,” I shouted, “let’s play H-O-R-S-E.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “I can’t,” she said. “Maybe when I’m done.” She was puttering around in one of her flower gardens. She has a lot of flower gardens. Last year she put a decorative brick border around the pine trees in front. Last week she planted some new flowers down near the barn but had to dig them up and move them when the faucet in the barn broke. There is a little area behind the garage, off the driveway, that looks like a garden at the Smithsonian. It’s made up of flower upon flower, mixed in with some bushes and decorative laurel, none of which I know by name. My Mom makes sure the yard looks nice, but it actually looks fantastic. She likes that stuff. When we would drive by the house we lived in in Rush, many years after we had left and moved to the farm, she would spy the bushes she planted along the house. “How are my bushes doing?” she wondered aloud. She has a nurturing essence that has made her a good landscaper and a great mother and grandmother.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> When my brother and sisters and I were in high school, and college, and junior high - and really, ever since - my Mom took our appearance seriously. I would often hear comments like “What the hell are you doing without shoes on?!" or "You look like a vagrant!” directed at me. My appearance has been a point of contention since we moved to Lima and I stopped wearing shoes. In the summer the soles of my feet would become black with dirt and grass stains and she would make me scrub them night after night. They would be clean and white when I was done but by noon the next day they would be back to their altered state. In fairness to my Mom, I often looked like a vagrant, especially when I had long hair and a penchant for wrinkled shirts. It was only, I believe, my youth, my innocent face and my ability to play dumb that kept me out of any serious trouble with the authorities, but that didn't fool my Mom.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She doesn’t like looking at photos of herself but on her wedding day she looked like Audrey Hepburn if Audrey Hepburn lived next door and wore cat glasses. Her and my Dad are young and handsome and happy in those photos, with everything in front of them. Last year I was in the church where they got married, St. Joseph’s in Rush, and I crept up in the balcony and thought about them and the day they got married. After they married they lived on West Rush Road. My parents fixed up the first house, sold it, and then moved to my grandmother's old place across from the golf course in town. They were barely in their thirties when we left Rush and moved to the farm in Lima. Their place sure didn’t look like it does now. There are some buildings that no longer stand, having been buried years ago now, but that’s not the real difference. The place was rough when they bought it. It might be a family legend, but I believe that the former owners had chickens in the house. I know that I moved into a house that was clean and had new carpets (I still love the new carpet smell), a new kitchen, a new bathroom, pretty much new everything, and I got to pick the color of my room (I liked purple). I spent a lot of time making forts from couch cushions or throwing blankets over radiators to make a hot house (we trapped the warm air until we were sweating) or playing with hot wheels in my Dad's office. Kids spend a lot of time in the nooks and crannies of a house, time that makes a house a home. The bathroom was always clean, the dishes were always done, and the clothes always washed and folded. As a little kid, a clean house is a cozy house, and our house was always clean. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> My Dad was at Kodak every day, then home at five, and then on the tractor or in the shop until dark. We spent a lot of time with him because he was fun to be around and because there was always work to be done. He was like the Godfather - he was the head of the network. My Mom was more like Sonny Corleone. She ran the day-to-day operation from the front lines. She made the doctor and dentist and orthodontist appointments, took us shopping for school clothes, bought the food we liked and didn’t like, took us to our friends' house, paid the bills, cleaned the bathroom, and set the standards. Not only did she drive us to the orthodontist appointments, but she was also the one who <em>decided</em> that we were getting braces. We were her domain.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> When we fell short of her expectations she let us know it. How many times did I get whacked in the back of the head when I was walking out the door? Her rants were like a mad lib. “Now you get your ass (“out there” or “in there”) and you (insert task - clean your room, take out the garbage), or I’m gonna (insert threat - i.e. “tan your behind”),” she’d say, and then she’d position herself strategically so she could smack you in the back of the head on your way by. It also irritated her when we dragged our feet. She would tell me that "you are slower than molasses in January," and "you take forever and a day to do anything." If you had screwed up enough for her to say, “Just wait ‘til your father gets home,” then you had won the battle but lost the war. The mention of my father was the big stick. My Mom got results. We were polite and well-behaved in public (and most other places) like it was second nature. We didn't know any other way to be and for that I have to thank my Mom. Of course, beneath my Mom's intolerance for foolery was a Mom whose heart was as big as the outdoors, who always thought the best of her kids, always wanted the best for her kids, and always did her best for her kids. She was the Mom who was on point against every fever, every crooked tooth, every smear of dirt, and every teardrop. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> My friends kind of laugh now when I talk about growing up on the farm and they say, "Geez Bean, when are they gonna rename your parents' street 'Bean Road? There's enough Bean's on there." My brother and my sisters live on the road and there is a path that runs from my Mom's to my older sister's house. We are close enough that we compare the situation to <em>Everybody Loves Raymond</em> (<em>most</em> of the time in a humorous way). Everyone comes and goes. I can stop in at any time to find both my sister's talking to my Mom in the driveway, or my nephews in the shop with my Dad, or my brother picking someone up or dropping someone off. There's a kind of randomness and ease that doesn't require a formal occasion for any number of our family to find themselves together talking. I like to joke that my Mom never took me to the circus and that's why I turned out the way I did, and of course I'm being sarcastic. I turned out the way I did because of my Mom and while the jury may still be out on me, I don't know many families that are still so connected even into adulthood that they would want to have a day-to-day interaction with the rest of their family. For that I have to thank my Mom, and my Dad, but my Mom is the center, the coordinator, the default babysitter and the quality control specialist. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> It’s really neat to see my Mom with the grandkids. My Dad is pretty cool but the little kids think that Grandma is where it’s at. She paints and colors and draws with them, they sit in her chair and watch movies on her tiny dvd player, and she always has candy. Whenever I babysit the kids for my sister, I ask seven year-old Cole what he wants to do. “I want to go to Grandma’s.” And that would be that. Watching her with the grandkids, I can see how she raised us. My Dad noticed it too and one day mentioned how great my Mom was with them. I always thought that my perpetual optimism and happiness was something that was hardwired inside me, that I was just born that way, but I was mistaken. Somehow, someway, my Mom made me a happy person. How many people can say that?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> When she got done hauling brush from her gardens, she took off her work gloves and we played a game of H-O-R-S-E. My Mom, at seventy years old, was leading by a letter when we quit. She is still taking me to school.</div>Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-86360427622018308012011-06-25T21:02:00.000-07:002012-01-10T15:06:17.559-08:00Karl Marx Is Not Gay. Not That There's Anything Wrong With That.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPe6pWTopyWTC1njVweO29R-KuCrFUJ-A-79thxIWps5zFbz1K98P7GC7LfJOraA6G57-hM0BZAKEXDyBU39kZIpFjNQ8en2PgDz_0Ked6_i-Noc_eAurI5QFVDYiFUv-iFW5jzM77G_WC/s1600/imagesflag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPe6pWTopyWTC1njVweO29R-KuCrFUJ-A-79thxIWps5zFbz1K98P7GC7LfJOraA6G57-hM0BZAKEXDyBU39kZIpFjNQ8en2PgDz_0Ked6_i-Noc_eAurI5QFVDYiFUv-iFW5jzM77G_WC/s320/imagesflag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>"Two guys wanna get married? Well, that's just stupid."</em><br />
<em> </em>Eight year old Luke Bean<br />
<br />
<em>"The Take Back the Land Movement is rooted in the following principles: housing is a human right; local community control over land and housing."</em><br />
Take Back the Land Mission Statement<br />
<br />
<br />
New York State is really making headlines lately. Former Congressman Andrew Weiner finally stepped down after weeks of Weiner jokes following his sexting of almost every woman in the U.S. under the age of twenty-five. The odd thing to me was that our capacity for outrage has become so burned out that news of Weiner's texting a high-school girl was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a "Congressmen will be Congressmen" indifference. Yeah, the guy is/was a deviant. I don't think he is the type of public servant that Thomas Jefferson had in mind when he envisioned our Nation's representatives.<br />
<br />
New York made the national news again last night when it passed the Gay Marriage Bill into law. In thirty days it won't be just Adam and Eve getting married, but also Adam and Steve (as well as Guy and Manny, Neil and Bob, etc). My nephew's reaction to the uproar was classic eight-year old brevity: "Two guys wanna get married? Well, that's just stupid." I don't think that my nephew is biased against gay people but those on the fringes of the political spectrum may disagree. There is suspicion and distrust everywhere of every representative of the straight, white, male social structure, even (I'm sure) amongst the elementary schoolers. Wake up people! Our children are being brainwashed that eating meat, driving cars, earning money and trusting the police are all okay and socially acceptable. What will become of our society with these sorts of values? Just think of all these elementary school kids as adults, obeying the speed limit as they drive to work, paying their taxes and coming home to eat a steak with their families, or worse yet, some venison tenderloins from a deer they shot and killed. It's a Lefty's worst nightmare. Personally, I miss Ronald Reagan. He was steady as a rock. Sure, he cut welfare spending and increased our military budget tenfold, but he was a good foil for a young kid like myself that was anti-Establishment. Like D.J. says, "If you're twenty and you're not a rebel, you have no balls. If you're thirty and you're not part of the Establishment, then you have no brains." I have had both and neither.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkUb7KU46GAj4FNh3ykUUgy4O8U_fPb2hInHjr54O05Uckn2Bld5mfe4yoFO0s6BMSGI3goD6NnwaHa_dtCAngNvysDA3Xgn5fflryS99dKChB-UD2Sr4VuIcoqYwnSNFpHl_bO24ZHtw/s1600/billal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkUb7KU46GAj4FNh3ykUUgy4O8U_fPb2hInHjr54O05Uckn2Bld5mfe4yoFO0s6BMSGI3goD6NnwaHa_dtCAngNvysDA3Xgn5fflryS99dKChB-UD2Sr4VuIcoqYwnSNFpHl_bO24ZHtw/s320/billal.jpg" width="259" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill Clinton and Al Gore share an intimate moment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I was conflicted when I heard that New York may allow two women to get married, and I wasn't sure what to think, so I did a little research. College-Girls and Pinkbabes were both useful websites with some very informative videos regarding the marriage issue, apparently also known as "Girl On Girl". I did not know that so many teenage girls had friends' moms that were willing to hold them and comfort them and do other things to them just to make them feel better when they were going through some rough times emotionally. I still don't know if two women should get married. Sure, two ugly women getting married wouldn't bother me but, as for the hotties, I am still determined and willing to watch as many videos as it takes to arrive at an informed opinion.<br />
<br />
Emily Good was another New Yorker to make the national news, having been featured on the Huffington Post, Glenn Beck, MSNBC, Newsday, Fox News, and USA Today, as well as many other news outlets. Ms. Good was arrested on her own property for videotaping members of the Rochester Police Department making a traffic stop. She wanted to get evidence of racial profiling in her neighborhood which, she says, happens all the time. In this case the officers were white and the person they pulled over was black which, of course (according to Emily), would be racial profiling. During an interview with the <em>Democrat and Chronicle</em> she noted that the officers making the traffic stop were white and she ran into the house to get her camera to record evidence of their crime. The cops come off a bit short-tempered in the video and it appears that the arresting officer acts quickly once he makes up his mind to arrest Ms. Good. She keeps shouting "I don't understand what's happening," as he is arresting her, which would have been funny if it wasn't so......okay, it was kind of funny.<br />
<br />
I have been subjected to racial profiling once and non-racial profiling another time. My friend Tony Mouzon (may he rest in peace) lived off Clifford Ave. in the city. There was a crackhouse at the end of his street. I was driving an old pick-up truck at the time and was (and still am) white. The first time I went to his house to pick him up for work, I sat in my truck outside his house and waited there. After waiting for a few minutes, I aroused the suspicion of his neighbors. What is this white guy doing on our street? The short and most logical answer to them is that I was there to buy drugs. That is why most young, white males came to this African-American neighborhood. When Tony came out of the house I saw him have a quick conversation with one of his neighbors that was standing on their porch. When he got in my truck he was laughing and said that his neighbor was getting ready to call the cops on me. I liked the idea of Tony having vigilant neighbors who cared about what was happening on their street. I liked it even more that they would do something about it. My other profiling incident was when I had long hair and was a passenger in a car that was traveling in a well known drug corridor headed to Washington, D.C. We didn't know we were in a "drug corridor" as the officer called it. It was the same route that my parents took when I was in fifth grade and we were driving to Florida. We were just on the highway, going to see the dinosaurs at the Smithsonian's Natural History Museum. The cops said that they pulled us over for speeding but I am pretty sure they pulled us over because we had New York license plates. It was an undercover car and I think they had shadowed us for a ways to get a good look at us. Like I said, I had a lot of hair. They made us wait while they brought a drug-sniffing dog onto the scene. Did we do anything wrong that would warrant our getting pulled over? No. But we did fit the profile. <br />
<br />
Distrust of the Establishment was a given in the post-Sixties/Watergate society that I grew up in. My first year away at college was 1986 and we were still in the wake of the 1960's. The Grateful Dead were making a comeback, Hunter Thompson was essential reading, and the drugs of choice were still pot and acid. Politically and socially, the Sixties cast a long shadow, like an overachieving big brother that me and my friends would never measure up to. Not that we cared much. We were doing our own thing. We still carried a distrust of the Man, the Establishment, and Big Brother, but I don't think that's what Emily Good's deal is. Sure, if you read her Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=527943245">page</a> you will see comments like "very corrupt and they are out of control!" and "<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">RPD must love wasting money and resources by just being douches" and "Your story is living proof that America is looking more and more like a Police State" but I think that she thinks the problem goes deeper than that. </span> I think she subscribes to the theory that the police are just a part of the problem in our society, a tool of the Establishment to keep the needy and impoverished in their place, and to maintain the status quo for the Haves, the people who run or support Big Oil, Big Banks, and Big Fill-In-The-Blank. <span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">I am certainly not the first person to defend the police. I have had plenty of run-ins with cops who were jerks but I don't think the guy making a traffic stop is doing so because he's defending some secret network where white, priveleged males get everything handed to them. He's just a guy enforcing the law who wants to get home alive at the end of the day. The arresting officer in Ms. Good's case may be wrong but I don't think he's part of a bigger conspiracy.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg1Uw5Ijb5b9RlNNdwHPUX2AeTpkpfHtpO5_CpAAhZspSnv4Ul90DsbbGOB78Qpl9xBjD690qa12oVHFi-UP4TNZsZyojITxa3diXurYRUTISogHKsQGKmve2pjZShwqHAbLWyfuigFM7/s1600/Osho-on-karl-marx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg1Uw5Ijb5b9RlNNdwHPUX2AeTpkpfHtpO5_CpAAhZspSnv4Ul90DsbbGOB78Qpl9xBjD690qa12oVHFi-UP4TNZsZyojITxa3diXurYRUTISogHKsQGKmve2pjZShwqHAbLWyfuigFM7/s320/Osho-on-karl-marx.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karl Marx</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">The Rochester Police Department was also put on the spot earlier this year when Ms. Good and others were protesting the foreclosure of a home in the city. On March 28 of this year two dozen RPD officers executed an eviction notice at the former home of Catherine Lennon, a Rochester woman who had her home foreclosed on. She hadn't made a mortgage payment in nearly two years and either she ignored warning letters from the bank or the bank refused to discuss refinancing with her. She was called the "Rosa Parks of the Housing Market" because she stood up to the Big Bank (in this case Fannie Mae) who foreclosed on her house. Fannie Mae was bailed out with taxpayer money two years ago, lending a murkiness to the morality of home foreclosures of taxpayers who supposedly are paying the bills of the institution kicking them out of their house. Along with this, Fannie Mae is currently being investigated for fraud. With the help of an organinzation known as Take Back the Land, Ms. Lennon returned to her home, and awaits further action. Or something. I don't really know. I do know that Take Back the Land, or TBTL, has a mission statement that reads as follows:</span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><em>Take Back the Land Rochester believes that <strong>housing is a human right</strong>, not a commodity. We believe that <strong>land and housing should be controlled by the community, not the banks</strong>. In order to elevate housing to a human right and secure community control over land we defend people from foreclosure-related evictions and <strong>assist homeless people to move into vacant, bank-owned homes</strong>. In this process we are wresting land from the control of the banks and turning it back to our community in the form of community land trusts—where land can be taken off the speculative market. As long as housing occurs at the whim of the banks and the market homelessness and poverty will plague our community forever. In short, <strong>housing should be for people not for profit</strong>. That‘s why we’re taking back the land!</em></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">These houses - which are the private property of the bank - must not be sold "for profit" (because making a profit is just wrong apparently) but rather be held by a "collective" and given to homeless people and others in a lower economic strata, particularly women of color. I have just a few issues with the TBTL, and when I say a few, I mean everything they stand for. </span>To wit:<br />
- Housing is not a human right any more than having a car is a human right. It is not a human right that you should have what your neighbor has even though you don't work for it. However, if you can't afford to pay for your own housing, sign up for Social Services and the New York state government will subsidize your housing. That's pretty nice of them. <br />
- Land and housing costs money. Whoever owns it, gets to control it. It's called private property. Go to school, get good grades, get a scholarship to go to college (or take loans like everyone else), then get a job. Save your money, pay your bills, establish good credit and then buy a house. Or don't. <br />
- If you are a homeless person, you should be able to squat on someone else's property and the TBTL will protest that it's not fair that you, who are an alcoholic/drug addict who has never worked for more than three months at one job, don't have the same living conditions as the person who worked and saved their money. Huh?<br />
<br />
Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness does not guarantee that you get to own a house, especially not a house that you don’t pay for. I know that everyone has an excuse nowadays. Weiner sexts underage girls and then checks himself into rehab. For what? To cure himself of being a creep? Yes, the job market is barren, but that doesn't mean you can quit paying your mortgage. If banks like Fannie Mae are using predatory interest rates then foreclosing unfairly, then there should be investigations to see if laws were broken. If we need legislation to prevent predatory bank practices, then let's pass those laws. We were founded as a nation with the power of law, not man. We have no King and there is no Judge that does not have to answer to the rule of law. If our system works properly then we cannot be convicted on a judge's whim. If the system works properly. But the citizens have to be held accountable to the law as well.<br />
<br />
It's insulting to Rosa Parks to call Lennon the "Rosa Parks" of the housing market. Owning your own home is not a human right. Being able to work and go to school without prejudice or fear of reprisal because of your race or social status is. Human rights are generally the right <em>not</em> to have awful things done to you. You can determine your own fate. You can vote and you can vote without getting your head bashed in. You have a right to private property and you have the right to be protected from unlawful searches and seizures. You have the right to be protected by the law, regardless of your color, creed, or sexual orientation. You can't be beaten or tortured by the police or held without cause. In New York, you have the right to marry someone of the same sex with equal protection under the law. I don’t think that people have a right to free housing or free food. It is by the largesse of our brothers and sisters in society that we are charitable enough to help the less fortunate, even those who refuse to meet society half way.<br />
<br />
It has become fashionable to bash Big Oil (the Gulf spill), Big Banks (where did the bailout money go?), cops (why are they harassing that poor girl?), people not of color (they lack compassion for immigrants even though our families were all immigrants), people who try to make money, carnivores, people who don't recycle, people who don't believe in global warming (I'm not convinced) and people that like Sarah Palin (this I understand). I am never going to apologize for making money or eating meat or driving my car. I'd like to live in a world where college education is free, healthcare is free, museums are free and frequent, and libraries and parks are the center of every town. My dream society is a true meritocracy, one that rewards hard work and skill and talent and vision, a nation in which the best man or woman gets the job because they do the best job. We are all lucky to live in America. Of course if society goes the other way then I would like to request a house now. Preferably somewhere near a lake. With a patio, because I like to grill. Oh, by the way, I'll need a grill.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"></span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"></span>Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-75975076602567594382011-06-18T13:31:00.000-07:002011-06-18T13:31:40.794-07:00Happy Father's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJCFtL2L3Whg0fqlhn7IYj-8uLjf5gr0oR5wrp5P3Xgg5xjtQ_sB9csTor8n1pU7IWrQy0fukb6HnMxyuW-xcDZ0dx-QPatqRc0y_svYcDCy27e34alhGA4nIt0mlA5VL2DsfrgmmFSK3/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJCFtL2L3Whg0fqlhn7IYj-8uLjf5gr0oR5wrp5P3Xgg5xjtQ_sB9csTor8n1pU7IWrQy0fukb6HnMxyuW-xcDZ0dx-QPatqRc0y_svYcDCy27e34alhGA4nIt0mlA5VL2DsfrgmmFSK3/s320/dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Father's Day is Sunday. I am lucky enough to still have my Dad around even though, at 72, he is still relatively young. His father, my grandfather, Joe Bean, passed away when he was 93, leading me to think that my Dad will be around a long time. Am I in denial about my father's mortality? I sure am. But anyone who knows my Dad can attest to his invincibility. With two huge hands and the suppport of my Mom, he built everything that we hold dear: our family, our farm, our way of life that hums steadily in tune with nature. It's perfectly normal on a summer day for either of my parents to grab some tomatoes out of the garden and make some fresh BLTs, like it's no big deal to be so connected to the Earth. I know that kids always think their dad is Superman, but my Dad is Superman.<br />
<br />
Last year I broke my leg and then my Dad fractured his pelvis. His injury was much worse but, despite some tough times, he's bounced back. We spent most of the winter in dual recliners in the living room, trying to find something to watch on tv to stave off the boredom. My Dad was not meant to spend much time indoors. I could read and watch movies and have a drink every day at 4 o'clock like it was no big deal. My Dad, however, spends his winter days outside with his friends, chasing fox with his dogs. He likes to listen to the dogs run. But, like I said, he's bounced back.<br />
<br />
My parents moved us out of town when I was only five and plunked us down on 98 acres on a dirt road in Lima. My Dad started farming shortly thereafter and we became a "farm" family. We had horses, chickens, pigs, cows, cats and dogs. There were combines in our driveway and if it was 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning and you hadn't heard the tractor yet it was because my Dad was somewhere else, probably an auction. I knew and my family knew at an early age that my Dad did <em>everything</em> for us. We were the reason he got up in the morning.<br />
<br />
As I've grown up, life around me has changed. My Uncle George, probaby my Dad's best friend, was my Dad's brother-in-law. I had a sort of hero worship for my Uncle George. He took me to ball games. He talked my Dad into taking us on a family trip to Florida to see my Aunt Margaret and her family. It was the kind of trip that cemented childhood memories. We went to DisneyWorld and the Ocean and I brought back oranges for some of my 5th grade classmates and I was smooth and styling because it was April and I was tan. George passed away from cancer in June of 1979. He left his wife Rosemary (my Dad's sister), sons Billy and Tommy, and daughter Amy behind. My cousins were in their twenties and my Dad did the best he could to be there for everyone. Eventually, he and Bill became close friends and went into a variety of businesses together. Bill married a great gal named LuAnne and became a father himself and they built a house on the road where my parents still live and where I grew up. Bill and LuAnne and my Mom and Dad were inseparable for a long time. There were a lot of laughs and good cheer. My Aunt Rosemary married another George and the family kept growing. Looking back now it seems like the love and friendship and commitment to family that my Dad lived is a tree that keeps on giving to this very day. <br />
<br />
Friends that I grew up with have had fathers pass away. Friends that I went to school with have had fathers pass away. I finally caught up to a girl I had worked with a couple years ago. A sweet, cute, kind-hearted girl that just entered her thirties. Her father had passed away since the last time I saw her. I knew some of these men pretty well, as well as one can. I respected them and also had a healthy fear of them. They were not the kind of guys that you lipped off to. As I heard someone say recently about someone else's father, "Your Dad don't play no f***ing games!" and that pretty much sums them up. One friend's father caught some kids shoplifting from the neighborhood liquor store. He picked the kid up by the collar and the seat of his pants and tossed him onto the concrete sidewalk like a bag of beans. The kid sat there until the cops arrived. Another one of my friend's fathers responded in kind when a neighborhood kid lipped off to his wife. That kid got tossed over the porch railing and into the bushes. I liked these guys and I also think that a little bit of fear of your elders when you're a kid is healthy thing. Now their sons have become fathers.<br />
<br />
Contemplating my father's mortality is taxing. I know it's all a part of the cycle of life but that doesn't make it any easier. I think about the times that my Uncle George has missed and how my life might have been different had he lived longer. I think about the fathers of friends and how they will miss seeing their sons grow into fatherhood. And then I think about my brother and his five kids (yes, I said five) and how they sometimes follow him around and you can see the hero worship peeking through when they're with him and I grin when I realize that my brother has turned into the type of man that you don't lip off to. I don't know why but I have been continually blessed with family and friends who know what's important. And today, like yesterday, I am going to stop by and see what my Dad is up to, and tomorrow I am going to wish him a Happy Father's Day. I am that lucky.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-85458358634846232262011-05-26T06:43:00.000-07:002011-05-26T12:35:03.399-07:00My Favorite Corey Haim Films<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVJ_d60WS-_5dfBHsJH06dcjqTU6AfqRXbPieUj18YhjiUatfyU0JruBlmONx8u_llv1VCqAtBy2XTjnznjlHv4xGer9YOHGMJ3y4s6PiNcCOofQdnlgM2CDTyHry1KC4tST_bwxfhy0j/s1600/corey-haim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVJ_d60WS-_5dfBHsJH06dcjqTU6AfqRXbPieUj18YhjiUatfyU0JruBlmONx8u_llv1VCqAtBy2XTjnznjlHv4xGer9YOHGMJ3y4s6PiNcCOofQdnlgM2CDTyHry1KC4tST_bwxfhy0j/s320/corey-haim.jpg" t8="true" width="227px" /></a></div><br />
Some people define "blog" as "Any of various internet destinations maintained by tragically deluded people who actually think you are interested in their all-time favorite Corey Haim movies." Please, Jennifer, when referring to Mr. Haim's work, call them <em>films</em>, not movies. Afterall, he was an <em>auteur</em>.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>The Godfather</strong></em>. Corey Haim was great in this movie and I don't know how he did not win the Oscar. He plays Michael Corleone, son of the Godfather, Vito Corleone, and held his own going toe-to-toe against the great Marlon Brando.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Apocolypse Now</strong></em>. Who could forget Corey Haim growling the famous words: "I love the smell of napalm in the morning."<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Citizen Kane</strong></em>. Some say it is the best movie of all time. Corey wrote, produced, directed and starred as a man who wants the world, gets the world, and then regrets his life and what it took to get him there.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Gone With the Wind</em></strong>. Corey plays Scarlett O'Hara, a wretch who is loved by Rhett Butler. Who could forget the look on Corey's face when Rhett says, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." Classic cinema.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>The Wizard of Oz</em></strong>. Who could play Dorothy better than Corey Haim? I love the part when he puts on the ruby red slippers and sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow".<br />
<br />
And my favorite all-time Corey Haim film has got to be <em><strong>Star Wars</strong></em>. George Lucas usually gets all the credit for this film but it's Corey's performance that, just like the Dude's rug, truly ties this film together. We follow Luke and Han and Obi-Wan as they battle Darth Vader and the Empire and then, against all odds, blow up Corey Haim at the end. He is virtually unrecognizable as the Death Star, just another example of his ability to disappear into a role.<br />
<br />
Ok, that's it. Tune in next week to learn what my <strong>All-Time Favorite Martin Scorcese Movies </strong>are. Hint: <em>License to Drive</em> cracks the top five. Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-83627198764698618522011-05-20T12:31:00.000-07:002011-05-23T08:10:15.542-07:00And That's What Really Grinds My Gears....Everyone complains about the weather but no one does anything about it. Mark Twain said that. But why complain about the weather when.....<br />
<br />
President Obama has abandoned Israel. He came out last night in support of the Palestinians and embraced the pre-1967 borders. Iran must be licking its chops. Why would Saddam Hussein not allow weapons inspectors in? Because then the world, and specifically Iran, would know <em>he had no weapons! </em>But we did what Iran couldn't: we weakened Iraq beyond all recognition. You're welcome. Now we are going to give billions of dollars (that we will probably borrow from China) to Arab nations whose most mainstream political parties would like to see Israel wiped off the map. Could we please have Ronald Reagan back? Heck, I'd even settle for Jimmy Carter.<br />
<br />
Public Safety Advocates, a fancy phrase for "People Who Know What's Best For You Better Than You Do Because You're A Dumbass" want to bump off Ronald McDonald because he's a bad influence. The last time I checked (I didn't really but it's just good, common sense) toddlers <em>can't drive</em>.<em> </em>Their parents are the ones who decide what the kids eat, and if parents want to take their kids to a G-D Mickey D's, it's none of the State's bizness. Sure, kids are fat. I'm fat. But I still think choosing what I eat is a basic human right even if it's not in the Bill of Rights.<br />
Part II of "People Who Know What's Best For You Better Than You Do": New York State wants to pass a law banning teens from tanning booths. If you are not yet 18 it's going to be illegal to get a tan so you don't burn on the family vacation to Myrtle Beach or so you can look nice for your prom pics. Shouldn't that be up to the parents to decide? Oh, that's right. They're dumbasses.<br />
<br />
The three-headed monster of Hochul-Corwin-Davis are running for Shirtless Chris "I'm Really Buff" Lee's empty Congressional seat. The 70-year old Davis gets assaulted by a phony camera crew, who edit the tape to make it look like they haven't been following the guy around all day and getting in his face, and then the incessant radio and tv spots accuse all three candidates of trying to kill Medicare. Way to make a play for the Frightened Senior Citizen voting bloc, you idiots. These ads run alongside others in which, apparently, if you agree with the Ryan Budget Proposal from a few weeks ago, you want everyone and their mother to have an abortion. I don't know who to vote for and I just want it all to be over.<br />
<br />
It's NBA playoffs which means a series started on a Sunday should end right before you begin your Christmas shopping. The Heat-Bulls series is averaging a game every four days. Can we please pick up the pace, Mr. Stern? If Oprah was really that powerful she would have killed bin Laden a long time ago.<br />
<br />
I think there was some other stuff that was bugging me but, except for people who hit straights and flushes on the River, I can't think of it now. Ok, that's it.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-6377431741220820602010-12-06T15:05:00.000-08:002010-12-06T15:05:13.659-08:00Don't Put On Any Airs When You're Down On Rue Morgue AvenueI was surfing Facebook (cybeer-peeping) recently, when I came across a girl that used to ride my bus. I'll call her Mary Anne. When she was in seventh grade, Mary Anne was friends with my little sister along with two other girls I'll call Cherie and Gretchen. My sister used to miss alot of school, usually on Mondays and Fridays ("Sounds like someone's got a case of the MONDAYS!" ), and after missing one of these days, she went back to school and found out that these girls weren't going to be friends with her anymore. Apparently they had decided this over the weekend and used my sister's absence to stage a friendship coup. Kind of like when Idi Amin took over Uganda. Anyway, they decided they were going to freeze her out of their little clique. The one girl, Cherie, was my sister's "best friend". They both had horses and she was an only child. Later in the week Cherie folded and became friends with my sister again but the other two kept their distance. I remember an ugly scene on the bus with this girl Mary Anne making a sour face at my sister, as if swallowing the devious, catty and mean truth of her actions. I didn't give a shit about the other girl, Gretchen. She was an amazon for a seventh grader and she always came across like a bully and an asshole anyway. <br />
<br />
My sister is blonde and sunny and, although we fought from 7th grade until college, not fake. She isn't a schemer, she doesn't act a certain way to be popular, and she treats everyone with respect. I've gotta believe that this little clique of girls had had enough of my sister's perpetual sunniness and that is why they froze her out. My sister was crushed. She cried. I set about, true to my Irish roots, not liking those girls, especially Cherie, who was too cowardly to confront my sister to her face and then too cowardly to fully abandon her. Although my sister was friends with her, and maybe even best friends, throughout high school, I never cared for her after that. I was a wuss back then so I never said shit to anyone but that's what I felt like inside. The girl that rode our bus, Mary Anne, continued to ride our bus, and eventually I graduated and never saw her again. She kind of started to blossom in high school and, even though she had betrayed my sister, I liked sitting next to her and peeking at her bra and its perky contents. Yes, although I didn't like the girl I didn't let that keep me from looking down her shirt. <br />
<br />
She lived in a weird little collection of houses that were in an area we called Factory Hollow. It was almost a trailer park - it's a flat basin area with trailers everywhere. She lived in the extended part, across the main road, and lived in a house. I just drove by there the other day and not much has changed: tires in the yard, kids' toys and wagons abandoned in tall grass, lots of rusted propane tanks and automobiles in various stages of repair. There's an abandoned mobile home, windows shot out, about forty feet from the cracked and muddied vinyl-sided house that she lived in. Her mom was a single parent, she had a half sister, and I think they rented. <br />
<br />
My sister graduated with Cherie and they even performed in the talent show when they were Seniors. My sister and I went to the same college for a year and somehow she had gotten older and more responsible than me. The last time I saw Cherie was at my sister's wedding. It had been twelve years since I saw her and she seemed like the same selfish, little person that I remembered. <br />
<br />
This had all faded from my addled brain until recently when I came across Mary Anne on Facebook and I read something that gave me a new perspective on all those happenings from long ago. Mary Anne writes a blog and was sharing her current circumstances. Her and her husband (some sort of carpenter/roofer I believe) moved down to Florida with their kids and lived in a trailer in the hopes of making a new start. Then they were in the process of moving back to New York after things somehow did not work out in Florida. She said "It's difficult to put on airs when you live in the crappy little house in front of the Sugarcreek" (the Sugarcreek is a gas station/convenience store). Suddenly, for the first time in thirty years, I felt empathy for her. When I knew her she lived in the weird little (crappy) houses that were down the road from Sugarcreek. And now she lived in front of a Sugarcreek. My sister and I came from a whole, loving family that lived on a beautiful farm and had horses to ride. My Dad worked his ass off to give us an upper-middle class upbringing and my Mom worked <em>her</em> ass off to make sure we were raised the right way and didn't embarass her in front of the neighbors. Mary Anne never had horses or a sweet house to live in or a farm to run around on. Or a yard that had more grass than mud. I never judged her for living where she did and it didn't really even register with me, but after reading her comment about putting on airs, I'm sure it not only registered with her but shaped who she was. I realize that she must have been supremely self-conscious about it, kind of like we all are at times. I was recently reading Mary Karr's <em>Lit</em>, and she told a tale of being at a fancy ceremony with her plaster pearls and cheap shoes with cardboard soles, and feeling like she didn't belong. I think we've all felt like we are faking it at one point or another, like we weren't good enough and we didn't deserve to be where we were, or maybe we did deserve to be where we were, and where we were was a crappy house across from the Sugarcreek.<br />
<br />
Bullying is big in the news right now. Kids are commiting suicide or just having a generally hard time, getting harassed on Facebook, etc. I think now that I might have done more to better understand Mary Anne's situation and maybe not judged her so harshly with my Irish temper. Maybe. I think bullying comes from a place where people can lash out at those weaker than themselves because somewhere in their life they have to take shit from someone else. Or maybe, lacking worth elsewhere in their life, they latch on to a Gretchen or an Idi Amin, to give them some sort of status as opposed to getting a bucket of pig blood dumped on them like Carrie at the prom. Or maybe they just don't want to be the slowest gazelle in the herd and abandoning one of their own to the lions is the only sure way they won't get eaten. I don't feel sorry for bullies and I don't like them, but for everyone else I think a little empathy goes a long way. Think <em>To Kill A Mockingbird </em>when Scout stands on Boo Radley's porch for the first and only time, and sees the world from his point-of-view. I don't have to like Mary Anne but I do understand her better. We've all been the person with cardboard soles in their shoes, haven't we?Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-83869600749167693092010-11-03T15:03:00.000-07:002010-11-03T12:00:19.376-07:00The Hub Of Power In HoneoyeHUN-ee-oy is how you pronounce that word. Honeoye is an Iroquois word meaning "a lying finger" or "where the finger lies." I know this is true because I looked it up on Wikipedia. The town of Honeoye sits on the north shore of Honeoye Lake which feeds Honeoye Creek which flows through the town of Honeoye Falls, where I grew up and went to school. Honeoye Falls is a long ways from Honeoye, probably a good fifteen to eighteen miles (I'm too lazy to look it up just now), a little known fact which has repeatedly led me to have this conversation:<br />
Stupid Person: Where are you from?<br />
Me: Honeoye Falls.<br />
Stupid Person: Wow. And you drive all the way here?<br />
Me: Umm, yeah. It's all of twelve miles or so.<br />
Stupid Person: Yeah, right. It's like fifty miles away.<br />
Me: No, you're thinking of Honeoye, which is about twenty-five miles away.<br />
Stupid Person: Oh, really? Are you sure?<br />
Me: Yeah. I grew up in Honeoye Falls. You're thinking of Honeoye.<br />
Stupid Person: Yeah, Honeoye, Honeoye Falls. Same thing.<br />
Me: No, they're actually two separate towns. I would tell you how far apart they are but I am too lazy to look it up just now.<br />
Stupid Person: Oh. Gosh, now I feel stupid (they never say this!).<br />
<br />
Honeoye is not a big town nor particularly ornate. No big houses on Main Street, no nice side streets lined with elm trees, no solid block of interconnected brick buildings as its business center, but it does have a lake, and a main strip, and a barbershop. There are some nice houses in Honeoye but they're more here and there than most Western New York towns. The barbershop is part of the main drag in town, with an old fashioned barber pole and a storefront walkway that looks like it was made to hitch your horse to. I mentioned to my dad that I needed to get my haircut and he called me and mentioned this place. "I'll take you down to Ralphie Angelo's." This seemed more like a foregone conclusion than a suggestion. Ralph Angelo is known for his hunting dogs and his barbershop. His shop is next door to Ace's Restaurant, for years the best place around to get a fish fry. The town didn't look like much on a Wednesday afternoon in April but I think that on a summertime Friday evening, when people are renting houses and enjoying the lake, it might have a bit going on.<br />
<br />
My dad called Ralph ahead of time to make sure he was open. "Yeah, I'm open every day except Sundays. If I'm not there when you get there, just wait. I probably ran over to the town hall." Sure enough, I walked in and no one was there except for a couple guys waiting. What kind of proprietor, I thought, leaves his business and leaves it open in the middle of the day? I thought that was pretty cool. When I sat down in the chair Ralph didn't ask me how I wanted my hair cut but he did ask to see the monster buck I shot last year. How did he know me and how did he know I shot a monster buck? Well, he knew I was coming, knew who I was, and heard from my cousin about my trophy deer. Then he clipped my hair like he was Edward Scissorhands. After that he put shaving cream around my ears and on my neck and shaved it with a straight razor. A straight razor! Definitely old school.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTPPTgfkHJ5o1Aktibdq1jIsWVLsE3Iou2g9Q1TCvJeLMkL59Gpw3ItJ9vTbOP5YJfZH-zVD9cZbQskuQi-aXlnKjLn8IuG6yjB8KKOKAf5Bf8Wz61x6oHAP5GEWGYw2J3WpPjpAk70OF/s1600/240px-Honeoye_Lake.JPG.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTPPTgfkHJ5o1Aktibdq1jIsWVLsE3Iou2g9Q1TCvJeLMkL59Gpw3ItJ9vTbOP5YJfZH-zVD9cZbQskuQi-aXlnKjLn8IuG6yjB8KKOKAf5Bf8Wz61x6oHAP5GEWGYw2J3WpPjpAk70OF/s320/240px-Honeoye_Lake.JPG.jpeg" /></a></div>When I was done I paid him and gave him a fifty percent tip (it was only an eight dollar haircut). I was impressed: the barber pole, the straight razor, the Edward Scissorhands-like efficiency. I left and told my dad about Ralph being late and asking me about my deer. "There was nobody in there? Really? Usually the boys are there hanging out." Oh, I thought, I get it. Ralph's was like the old barbershops where the boys went to hang out. It made sense. "Yeah, I think Ralph is the Town Supervisor. And, I'm not sure, but I think he's also the head of the schoolboard." Now it <i>really</i> made sense. The town that gave me a Mayberry vibe was actually old-fashioned enough to have its hub of power centered in the barber shop.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-44035672589841366162010-11-03T14:49:00.000-07:002010-11-03T11:51:51.613-07:00SH**T THAT'S PISSING ME OFF(Friday conversation: 4:45p.m.): <br />
This really has to be done today. <br />
I know. I've looked for it. I can't find it. The office closes at five and it's half an hour away. <br />
I know, but he needs it today. Can you look for it now? <br />
I've looked for it, I'll keep looking for it, but I can't find it. If I find it I will fax it to him. <br />
Ok, because he would really like to send it out today. <br />
Yeah, I know. <br />
(Twenty minutes later): Did you find it? <br />
No, I haven't found it. When I find it, if I find it, I will let you know. If not I'll have to wait until the office opens on Monday and get it then. <br />
Ok, because he really needs it. <br />
Yeah, I know. I talked to him. He told me to fax it to him Monday after the office opens.<br />
Ok, because he really needs it as soon as possible.<br />
Yeah, I know. I don't have it right now. I talked to him. He said I could go to the office and get a copy and fax it to him Monday.<br />
Ok. Well make sure you do that.<br />
Yeah, I know. <br />
The next day (a Saturday - same conversation , different person): Do you have something you need to get to him?<br />
Yeah. I can't find it. I have to get it Monday when the office opens. <br />
Well make sure you get that to him as soon as you can. <br />
Yeah, I know, that's why I asked you to take me first thing Monday morning. <br />
Ok, because he really needs it as soon as possible. <br />
Yeah, I know. The office doesn't open until Monday. That is the earliest I can get it. <br />
Oh, okay. <br />
The next day again (Sunday): What time is your appointment tomorrow? <br />
I'm not sure. I have to call. I figure we can go to the office before the appointment. <br />
Well, let's go to the office as early as possible. He really needs that thing. <br />
Yeah, I know. It's why I asked you to take me first thing in the morning. <br />
Okay. We gotta get started early though. <br />
Yeah, I know. <br />
Like, eight o'clock. <br />
Yeahhhh, I knowwwww. I told you - the office opens at eight. It's why I asked you to take me first thing!<br />
Ok. Well, you got to get this stuff taken care of.<br />
Yeah, I know. We'll go in the morning, before my appointment.<br />
Ok, because he really needs that thing as soon as possible.<br />
I knowww. The office doesn't open until eight. I can't get it until then.<br />
Repeat ad nauseum. It's the god-damned TPS reports over and over again.<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVkEk-ci8xk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVkEk-ci8xk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
Let's talk about it and talk about it and talk about it some more when there isn't anything we can freaking do about it right now. I hate being nagged when the problem that is the source of the nagging can't be solved immediately. Why, women, do we have to hear about it over and over and over again? Will you give it a rest already? I know that women like to talk about their problems and men like to fix the problems. I get that. I can listen. That's fine too. But please, for the love of God, there is nothing that can be done about it <em>right now</em>. I say I'm gonna take care of it first thing and I mean it. Can we please move on to something else?Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-85623473292606033462010-11-03T09:12:00.000-07:002010-11-03T10:49:40.715-07:00Books I LoveMy friend Vicky posted a new Facebook profile pic of herself and I could swear it's Audrey Hepburn. Not that she looks alot like Audrey Hepburn, but it's a neat pic and she looks shy and coltish. She is wearing a yellow dress and holding a gauze umbrella and wearing cowboy boots (?!), standing with her back to some pretty fall trees. She doesn’t look like a girl who knows all the words to Jay-Z. I had to send her a note telling her how much I liked the pic and, knowing that she's always looking for books to read/music to listen to/and (especially) films to watch, I recommended the book <em>Winter's Bone</em> to her. It got me thinking about some other books she might like to read, which again got me thinking about my favorite books to recommend to friends. These are books that I buy over and over again, just in case I want pass one along. I like books and books that I really like, I like to horde. That sounds like a sentence from Dr. Seuss. Anyways, here they are.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong> <u>Winter's Bone</u> by Daniel Woodrell</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1nDJlbVe_T9ADQmF0lBp6DLMGKVp36mMyy9dWIIDZZKHH79JlUg_c8BKp7-z9p104kWu5pHxQfJMTzU9OL3givbdtw5ZZ5FJ4Ggzva18iOyNx_CGdmQv_2nCXMYWwo_x-oRUtRQ0DkVB/s1600/bone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1nDJlbVe_T9ADQmF0lBp6DLMGKVp36mMyy9dWIIDZZKHH79JlUg_c8BKp7-z9p104kWu5pHxQfJMTzU9OL3givbdtw5ZZ5FJ4Ggzva18iOyNx_CGdmQv_2nCXMYWwo_x-oRUtRQ0DkVB/s1600/bone.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Ree Dolly is sixteen and lives with her family in a part of Missouri and the Ozark mountains where people don't care to keep up with the times. If not for the references to Ipods and crystal meth, you might think that it's set in the Depression. Ree is the head of the family, caring for her mentally absent mother and her two younger brothers. She chops wood and kills squirrels for sustenance. She dreams of joining the Army, where there is order and people need to keep things neat and clean. A visit from The Authorities brings Ree a dilemma: her crystal meth-making father put their house up for bond to get released from jail and, if he doesn't show to court, Ree and her family will be put out on the street or, in the case of this part of Missouri, she'll have to live in a cave like a dog. Ree must confront distant family members that are clannish and closed off and who think nothing of knocking a teenage girl on her ass, or worse, if she starts asking the wrong questions. Woodrell brings Missouri to life in a way that is captivating, fascinating, and revealing. Ree Dolly reminded me of Lisbeth Salandar from <em>The Girl Who...</em> series by Stieg Larsson. Mr. Woodrell builds suspense while creating a world I did not suspect still existed. His style has the skeleton of a thriller told with the words of a poet. I hope I can read about Ree Dolly again.<br />
<br />
<strong> <u>The Great Shark Hunt</u> by Hunter S. Thompson</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNSdrB8q5xfDOP32szBlWsATsWn6fo9fQcAYfx2rMIRV7EsrhSDW1pss-rj86jrOddylAS2rlx3KgSzItB2bOAf0gnma4NJ6OXl1YWsNdifSpSUvPWVuIlMZ35VT6EQr52WiY_BgOx8r8/s1600/302239506_25f72c3a2d%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNSdrB8q5xfDOP32szBlWsATsWn6fo9fQcAYfx2rMIRV7EsrhSDW1pss-rj86jrOddylAS2rlx3KgSzItB2bOAf0gnma4NJ6OXl1YWsNdifSpSUvPWVuIlMZ35VT6EQr52WiY_BgOx8r8/s320/302239506_25f72c3a2d%5B1%5D.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><br />
This is a classic collection of essays and whatnot by the great Hunter S. Thompson. Although he received alot of attention for his drug, alcohol and weirdness consumption, Hunter was above all else a compelling writer. His "serious" pieces on Peru or Hemingway or Kerouac and the Beats are interesting as straight reporting. His later "Gonzo" pieces are pure entertainment for entertainment's sake. The rest of his work splits the middle, with humorous asides and serious analysis, without a false word. The neat thing about this collection is the time and events and cultural shifts that Thompson covers. I must have read a paragraph he wrote about breakfast about a thousand times. He writes about Watergate, Jimmy Carter, Muhammad Ali, Jean Claude-Killy, and this book also includes his classic piece "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" and notes on the genesis of <em>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</em>. I carried this book everywhere I went for years.<br />
<br />
<strong> <u>To Kill A Mockingbird</u> by Harper Lee</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bo46Vc84HgAgWG1gLJqLqrga-Ve-ZyJxgY1H5f4IpWRyRnf2MXFBXMPS2r96jkCqZVPCp8sx_yd0wQ-CwnmMC95k7smmKJYHBBYhEdlMUgJPYta74ztKsdi7cu9JX125o-Fqi3wHZzVC/s1600/mock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bo46Vc84HgAgWG1gLJqLqrga-Ve-ZyJxgY1H5f4IpWRyRnf2MXFBXMPS2r96jkCqZVPCp8sx_yd0wQ-CwnmMC95k7smmKJYHBBYhEdlMUgJPYta74ztKsdi7cu9JX125o-Fqi3wHZzVC/s1600/mock.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I know it's cliche but I love this book. I read it every summer. It takes me back to the summer nights that Scout and Jem and Dill spent running around the neighborhood. You know what's going to happen but who cares? This is Harper Lee's only book. Talk about a one-hit wonder. If you really like this book, then read <em>Mockingbird </em>by Charles J. Shields, a history of the book's genesis and a biography of Harper Lee.<br />
<br />
<strong> <u>Me Talk Pretty One Day</u> by David Sedaris</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2XKN3eA6lCd-JQ0-OJGeelL3yQE_OH_-sfG4rf5i0FMP7V4zgoX1kYSN6QKDLOuCxWbgIfLVzqUnRD5jk4rHeAoNof9j-TsFMXGdKh0PKR51wGpQBm6f2qxMYwi12M_KpQIb4Zqt4f3f/s1600/metalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2XKN3eA6lCd-JQ0-OJGeelL3yQE_OH_-sfG4rf5i0FMP7V4zgoX1kYSN6QKDLOuCxWbgIfLVzqUnRD5jk4rHeAoNof9j-TsFMXGdKh0PKR51wGpQBm6f2qxMYwi12M_KpQIb4Zqt4f3f/s1600/metalk.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Critics have called him a modern day Mark Twain. This collection by David Sedaris exposes the humor of a guy who just kept writing despite a crystal meth addiction and various shitty jobs. Sedaris' essay ("Go Carolina") chronicling the battle with his 4th grade speech teacher is funny but, like the rest of his work, hints at something below the surface. In this case it is the indoctrination of might-be-gay fourth graders into the Straight world. There is another hilarious piece about his sister Amy Sedaris, who wears a fat suit home to fool her dad, another in which she is featured in a New York magazine as one of the most eligible bachelorettes of Manhattan (at the photo shoot: "Make it look like somebody beat the crap out of me") and yet another about Big Boy, a "party favor" that won't flush. I gave this one to a waitress at my favorite diner and haven't gotten it back yet. And that was six years ago.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong> <u>The Liar's Club</u> by Mary Karr</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA6CJJ93kwfRHGF0U5m2OXuotUc27QPIMf8Us_UWBkg82NAzQrcFi5F4uiKTlfBrJITkgKvPZC5Lm4NS5lWWQ6O-hK1OIFwXBMTL_Yv_b9LCqGlp9NI9aaLeC680WcZALE0raBNR86l5f/s1600/liars+club.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJA6CJJ93kwfRHGF0U5m2OXuotUc27QPIMf8Us_UWBkg82NAzQrcFi5F4uiKTlfBrJITkgKvPZC5Lm4NS5lWWQ6O-hK1OIFwXBMTL_Yv_b9LCqGlp9NI9aaLeC680WcZALE0raBNR86l5f/s1600/liars+club.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I don't know what to say about this book. It's the best book I've read since the 1980's. I fell in love with the twelve year old Mary Karr when she ambushed her neighbor with a bb gun as they were coming home from church. Mary's father had the high cheekbones of a Cherokee, fought in WWII and worked the oil rigs off the coast of Texas. Her mother was a would-be artist who nearly killed the whole family at one point or another. Both drank full-time. Mary's recollections are all true and all hotter than a Texas August afternoon. I am not kidding when I say you should read this book immediately. It's available everywhere, but if you can't find a copy email me. I always keep a spare on hand for just such an occasion.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-70607357285502662772010-10-31T15:41:00.000-07:002010-10-31T15:41:12.836-07:00RIP My Poor Jeep<strong><span style="font-size: large;">R.I.P. My Pretty Pretty Jeep</span></strong><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidj8kFHUEe1Ezf2kAk4ksCFeFMCuD8FWpzCp81fJG3SsrepeL8CtCBEUfGGA4OrbwmDxU2OC51HkhxFERkgRMPM6tdruCSvWZ8_gS_Jf79v95IyLu70KPxgFoEyDVdwuU_KIwkppRXXlh7/s1600/jeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidj8kFHUEe1Ezf2kAk4ksCFeFMCuD8FWpzCp81fJG3SsrepeL8CtCBEUfGGA4OrbwmDxU2OC51HkhxFERkgRMPM6tdruCSvWZ8_gS_Jf79v95IyLu70KPxgFoEyDVdwuU_KIwkppRXXlh7/s1600/jeep.jpg" /></a></div>My pretty pretty Jeep is no more. I hit a 200 pound deer at fifty-five miles per hour. As my friend Dave would say, "Do the math, motherfucker!" The above pic is my Jeep in happier times, this summer, parked at a local cemetary. I broke my leg last year and after getting the ok to put weight on it, I started walking again, and after I started walking again, I needed a new vehicle to drive. My Jeep was rescued from my Dad's barn, fixed by my brother who got it started, and then fine tuned by me; the hood release needed to be repaired, the doors were frozen and needed to be unstuck, among other maladies. After a few weeks I had to replace the starter. After that it was something else that I can't remember, but I didn't care. This is definitely the best vehicle I have ever owned. It has a sunroof, something I have always wanted. I got lots of sun this summer because it was always open. It has a 10 cd player which means I have Live Springsteen On Demand. I've never had anything more sophisticated than a tape player in anything I've ever drove. The back seat folded down to make room for my bike. It has <em>electric start</em> for Chrissake! My Jeep was a way out, it was my freedom and allowed me to live my life with a sense of adventure. I actually washed and waxed it. Here it is near my Grandmother's gravesite:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKS0Qy9JSpQ9FvunqXpFdcQtGy0Wb-nNPR6cfpfuIrTDdeeHQRaLqEh_IOLrmrcsuZzlcc-1tAoDvy21h7LtpMmRscfNKBXFIw4JaLfKGF1wL6hDfaO50PKhC1WJbT7sPBXpdO2JqV_nB/s1600/Bean's+photos+(13).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKS0Qy9JSpQ9FvunqXpFdcQtGy0Wb-nNPR6cfpfuIrTDdeeHQRaLqEh_IOLrmrcsuZzlcc-1tAoDvy21h7LtpMmRscfNKBXFIw4JaLfKGF1wL6hDfaO50PKhC1WJbT7sPBXpdO2JqV_nB/s640/Bean's+photos+(13).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>My uncle planted that tree nearby to make his parents' markers easy to find. Here it is post-accident:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5kEtfK1w0jwtOMBcdKS_qnFQ_choeq1-2yozNr6s7zbBZpOr-Zo4HtJ0dc6bF-1pz11W27Cta7Cx6P721oAdcvYZLQUM3hDI8ZahMbLrlDfFv4eCXVrxgCuCE_TkjkKnMDMjAhN_Xegg/s1600/mycrushedjeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5kEtfK1w0jwtOMBcdKS_qnFQ_choeq1-2yozNr6s7zbBZpOr-Zo4HtJ0dc6bF-1pz11W27Cta7Cx6P721oAdcvYZLQUM3hDI8ZahMbLrlDfFv4eCXVrxgCuCE_TkjkKnMDMjAhN_Xegg/s640/mycrushedjeep.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I've never been emotionally attached to a vehicle but if my Jeep was a chick, she could really do a number on me. If you have ever been in a vehicle that hit a deer (or anything else I guess) there is a strange crunching sound. I thought a window had shattered. I drive at night all the time, through Mendon Ponds Park and Clover Street in Honeoye Falls, where deer are <em>everywhere</em>. When I drive home at night I don't get above forty-five. This damn deer was running full-speed (according to the driver behind us) when he jumped in front of me. I braked and swerved slightly but it was no use. I had a sinking feeling since I've owned it that it wasn't going to last long. I'm sick. With any luck I can get it repaired although, moron that I am, I didn't have collision insurance on it. The person that I wish I was could take it apart piece by piece in my Dad's shop, replace parts as I went along, and put it back together good as new. We'll see what the real me does. My Mom suggested already that I should start looking for something new (new to me). To me, that's like suggesting someone should pick up a new kitten on their way to the vet to put the old cat down. My poor Jeep. Please send donations in lieu of flowers.<br />
<br />
Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-32996084008092776112010-10-26T06:42:00.000-07:002010-10-26T06:42:00.963-07:00Thoughts On the NewsWhen I heard that a woman had been found burning in the middle of the road in Richmond I was immediately disturbed. Richmond is in the sticks, what would be considered my neck of the woods, and the road she was found on is definitely country, only miles away from where I grew up. How sick to think of a human being dumped on the side of the road like a bag of trash and then lit on fire. To make you even sicker, she was eight months pregnant. The D&C did a story about her in its morning edition today. She was Amelia Rivera-Castoire but "her family said she only used the last name Rivera." Despite this, the article continually refers to her as Rivera-Castoire. Why keep using this name if, as her family <i>just told you</i>, she prefers to be known as Amelia Rivera and not Amelia Rivera-Castoire? Using the name she preferred seems like a simple way to respect her. Ms. Rivera was a beloved sister, daughter and mother of six children as well as an admitted drug user. Her drug use, presumably, led to a stay in the county jail. She was released in August. She was found in her pajamas and was last seen on North Clinton Avenue in the city at midnight Friday, less than six hours before her body was discovered. For whatever reason it seems that the life she lived away from her family led to her brutal murder and the disgusting disposal of her body in a ditch along the side of the road. Her family said that she had been threatened in the days before her murder. Assuming the police track this person down and he (most likely) or she is convicted, the punishment is not going to be enough. My heart goes out to Ms. Rivera's family. Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-16601968174794939632010-07-04T04:09:00.000-07:002010-07-04T04:12:50.845-07:00Top Five Songs For The 4th Of JulyHere are my top five songs for the 4th of July. <br />
<br />
<em>American Land</em> by Bruce Springsteen from the <strong>Live In Dublin</strong> cd/dvd. This tune rocks and is about America and the promise it held for 19th century immigrants. <br />
<br />
There's diamonds in the sidewalks, there's gutters lined in song<br />
Dear I hear that beer flows through the faucets all night long<br />
There's treasure for the taking, for any hard working man<br />
Who will make his home in the American land<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kuHIGn-ZXJM&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kuHIGn-ZXJM&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Jimi Hendrix plays <em>The Star Spangled Banner</em> at Woodstock. This is a 4th of July standard as far as I'm concerned. The status quo thought Hendrix was intentionally disparaging the national anthem and Jimi's reply was "I thought it was beautiful."<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WCSS1Xy6kfE&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WCSS1Xy6kfE&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Paul Simon wrote this song about traveling across America. I think it's called <em>America</em>. I always loved this song. And Paul Simon. I wonder if hitting the road is just an American thing. I know that "Going West" is.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3ninu6q5jc4&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3ninu6q5jc4&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Here is Ray Charles singing <em>America the Beautiful</em>. I wouldn't have included this (because its too cliche) but I still love it. I saw Ray a handful of times - front row! - and he was awesome.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ghz4_kikLkE&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ghz4_kikLkE&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
I love this James McMurtry tune. Can we make it here anymore?<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Iv0q3cW3x1s&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Iv0q3cW3x1s&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
I could have included lots more Bruce, as well as Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Merle Haggard. If you have any good 4th of July tunes please leave me a message.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-58336229338089014532010-06-30T16:11:00.000-07:002010-06-30T16:11:22.447-07:00The Summer Movie Preview Halfway Into The Summer Movie Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVh0wOdsnQJmnAuYYHi7T6exw_iP_1X_fXhqATgffDsv4rmaz6SgYaz4_u8R2DbHrS-7qbLF_qO81O2dOCfpkMB6F9OuRQWSYrGcJSsRvKs_AIJZqszwH3Z2XXDu1IXuGhXJ00GBNzTQs/s1600/expendables_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVh0wOdsnQJmnAuYYHi7T6exw_iP_1X_fXhqATgffDsv4rmaz6SgYaz4_u8R2DbHrS-7qbLF_qO81O2dOCfpkMB6F9OuRQWSYrGcJSsRvKs_AIJZqszwH3Z2XXDu1IXuGhXJ00GBNzTQs/s640/expendables_poster.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><br />
It feels like it's halfway over, doesn't it? The cussed (that's pronounced cuss-pause-ed) thing started on May 7 so technically I guess I am correct. What are all these shenanigans going on with the box office numbers? The media frets "Ohh, the numbers are down - people aren't going to the movies!" We both know why presumably: Your Movies Suck. In lieu of that and in light of the new <em>Twilight</em> movie there is some good stuff coming up. I am like a kid fighting through dinner to get to the ice cream and just as impatient: Gimme gimme gimme some good freakin' movies. No <em>Shrek</em> bullshit, no god-damned Tom Cruise movie with a cute title like <em>Knight and Day</em> (Get it? Someone in the movie is named Knight and someone is probably named Day), and no Adam Sandler crap where the best parts are in the trailer, a dead giveaway because the trailer wasn't all that funny. The remakes and the sequels are out of their cages and now it's time for them to die and make room for some good and original stuff. To wit:<br />
<br />
<em>Inception</em> - It's got DiCaprio (watch <em>Catch Me If You Can</em> and <em>The Departed</em> and you'll be waiting for every next thing he does), Joseph Gordon-Levitt (he's gonna be an A-list movie star someday - watch <em>Brick </em>and <em>(500) Days of Summer</em>) and Chris "I-Directed-<em>The Dark Knight</em>" Nolan directing. They steal shit out of people's brains while they're sleeping.<br />
<br />
<em>Dinner For Schmucks</em> features Steve Carell as a pathetic loser and Paul Rudd as the guy who is exploiting him. But something tells me that Steve is gonna go all <em>Fatal Attraction</em> in the most hilarious and uncomfortable of ways.<br />
<br />
<em>Salt</em> featuring Angelina Jolie. She might or might not be a secret agent. Even she doesn't know. What is it about her in an action film that is so compulsively watchable? Besides her rack...<br />
<br />
<em>Get Low</em> features the Greatest Living Actor Mr. Robert Duvall as a hermit who is planning his own funeral and Jimmy Stewart's Evil Twin Bill Murray as the undertaker. There have been rumors of an Oscar nomination for Duvall. I met him one time and I wasn't disappointed.<br />
<br />
I can't wait to see <em>The Other Guys</em> which features Marky "when did I get so respectable" Mark Wahlberg and Will Ferrell as cops trying to bust a big case. Ferrell is nerdy and deskbound and Wahlberg is given one last chance despite his short temper. It's from the writer of Talladega Nights and the other Ferrell stuff.<br />
<br />
If you grew up in the 80's like I did then you'll probably want to check out <em>The Expendables</em> just on principle. It has (I swear I'm not making this up) Sly Stallone, the Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Mickey Rourke, Dolph Lundgren and Eric Roberts as well as some other people who were, like, ten when these guys were at the top of the box office. How do you miss this one?<br />
<br />
And maybe the movie with the most reliable built-in fan base is <em>Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World</em>. Based on a popular graphic novel, this one has Michael Cera as a geeky (go figure right?) musician who has to defeat seven evil ex-boyfriends in order to win the girl of his dreams. That sounds ok and might be enough to get me to a theater but what really puts it over the top is Edgar Wright (<em>Hot Fuzz</em> and <em>Shaun of the Dead</em>) directing.<br />
<br />
Ok, that's about it. Except for a Jennifer Aniston movie. The good: if it sucks bad enough she might not ever make another movie again. The bad: it has Jason Bateman who is borderline very good/awesome. I have a feeling I'll be disappointed and it will be halfway decent and she'll keep making movies.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-35247978808447691482010-06-30T12:15:00.000-07:002010-06-29T09:44:51.423-07:00Is Your Name Craftsman? Because I Think You're A Tool<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIhnYPjAWFlGTr62Okomwr0k4-xpys1qwBQpU79ZktArmpd7Fd7DIk95I0rhDvM65vh8LJYsJF8LojAWgy0GLyfDmjLfTF-66XLn9kXaQxHUEDgYI3F4InhZkF5_c39Z8X4ADHz9p_mHX/s1600/1930282_height370_width560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIhnYPjAWFlGTr62Okomwr0k4-xpys1qwBQpU79ZktArmpd7Fd7DIk95I0rhDvM65vh8LJYsJF8LojAWgy0GLyfDmjLfTF-66XLn9kXaQxHUEDgYI3F4InhZkF5_c39Z8X4ADHz9p_mHX/s400/1930282_height370_width560.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I hate these people. I downloaded the above photo from this thing called "Metromix" at the <em>Democrat and Chronicle</em> website. The D&C is the Rochester newspaper published by the Gannett company. In its desparation to maintain sales, Gannett newspapers have resorted to publishing photos of local people out on the town, most likely in the hopes that they will come to the website to look at their photos. Pretty much the same thing as the weekly Wednesday section that features a town near you and what makes that town unique. The D&C will post a little blurb in the paper looking for people to write in their stories. This "Our Town" feature has been running for years now. Let's say, at a minimum of three years mulitplied by fifty-two weeks a year, the result is one hundred fifty-six towns featured. Do we have that many towns around here? No. It's the same towns featured over and over and over again. It's easy to bash the D&C (and fun too!) but that is not exactly the reason for this post. Look at the people in that photo and you will see signs of an epidemic among young people: Why the fake gang signs? Why the pursed lips by these girls whenever they get in front of a camera? How much do these people spend on hairgel and tanning supplies in any given week? It's like they're saying - Look At Me! To The Extreme!!!! Yeah, I know I'm old and out of touch but I've been out of touch with this type of stuff since I was in my mid-twenties. Oh well. I'll go put on my flannel shirt, turn on some talk radio and shut the eff up.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-44040550069336734322010-06-29T05:27:00.000-07:002010-06-29T09:50:40.239-07:00Very Random Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx25H2a7Uqijov_jPCVe1IWtN6oV5YiyUHbg33tGNAKVz58ac92G55l0JJa3g3rp7TZt3lUawUhwUM-z_m_3zmxbxlILXgRDRvzvNpLjOg_5TOT2AddAxbpRL81z6Z0MQx9ipQ1TpIx2lU/s1600/jeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx25H2a7Uqijov_jPCVe1IWtN6oV5YiyUHbg33tGNAKVz58ac92G55l0JJa3g3rp7TZt3lUawUhwUM-z_m_3zmxbxlILXgRDRvzvNpLjOg_5TOT2AddAxbpRL81z6Z0MQx9ipQ1TpIx2lU/s640/jeep.jpg" width="640" /></a><em>Here is a pic of my awesome Jeep.</em></div><br />
<br />
I haven't written in almost two months. I started to get tired of hearing my own voice droning on about trivial and derivative stuff. Plus I put my Jeep on the road. I'm in love with it. It's red with a sunroof, a 10 disk cd player, and a big ol' hatchback where I can stash my summer gear. My summer gear consists of a fishing pole, my fishing vest stuffed with tackle, and a canvas bag that's packed as if I was going to the beach every day. Believe me, if there was a beach around here I <em>would</em> be at it every day. Since I got my new wheels I have been like a teenager skipping class and just as happy. I go see friends, I stop off at bars for a quick beer (and to see the US lose to Ghana), I drive to the park and sit in the sun and read. This has to be my favorite thing to do, maybe ever. <br />
<br />
I should have written about the beautiful time of year when the days are longest, when the end of the day seems to linger endlessly and the mornings come early. I think this is my favorite time of year, but choosing a favorite time of year is alot like picking your favorite musical artist or record. Or book. The first cool Fall evening is pretty neat as is the first thaw of Spring when green grass is peeking out from the snow and there are endless mini-tributaries that run-off into endless pools filled with the demise of Winter. But the beginning of June has such nice, pleasant weather. It's been a perfect time to feel free and loose.<br />
<br />
I read <em>The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo</em> which I thought was pretty good and made me wish I could hack computers. The closest I get is typing "hack" or "how to hack" into the Google search bar. I am really computer illiterate. But I liked <em>Tattoo</em>. The Girl was an interesting protagonist and I felt weirdly protective of her as I was reading. <br />
<br />
I burned through a book about Laurel Canyon in about two days. I think it was called....Laurel Canyon! Laurel Canyon is in Los Angeles and was home to the hippie movement of the Sixties. Joni Mitchell and Graham Nash lived there in a house (<em>Our House</em>), Mama Cass introduced Crosby, Stills and Nash to each other in her living room. Frank Zappa had a sort-of compund there (No Drugs Allowed!) with his family and a big stone fireplace. Apparently the Hippies were too hopped up on goofballs to notice that Charles Manson was a weird guy but Zappa's wife noticed ("People say it came as a shock but not to us. For those with clear heads, you could see Manson was a strange guy"). Stills and Crosby were apparently grade-A egomaniacs and that was before the coke. Warren Zevon's wife Chrystal lived there and adopted two kids when she was only twenty and the kids four and six (?) or something like that. They were abandoned and she took them in. I thought that was pretty interesting and I would like to know what happened to them. <br />
<br />
Right now I'm reading <em>Rip It Up And Start Again: Postpunk 1978-1984 </em>and James Michenor's <em>Space</em>. <em>Rip It Up</em> is about music after punk rock and before....what? Maybe before corporations reclaimed the business of the music business. I graduated in 1984. It was the year of Prince, Bruce and Madonna and they were huge: <em>Puple Rain</em>, <em>Born In The U.S.A</em> and <em>Like A Virgin</em>. This book, however, concerns itself with stuff like "Tainted Love" "Don't You Want Me" and bands like Bow Wow Wow, Depeche Mode, New Order, etc. Just go to Amazon and search the <em>Pretty In Pink</em> soundtrack and you'll get the idea. I liked some of this music. Some of it is too new-wavey for me but some of it is good. I have gained a new appreciation for the Cure as I've gotten older. Music history is interesting. I don't know how long I'll stick with Michenor's <em>Space</em>. I bought it at a garage sale (a great place to meet women) and it came without a book jacket but I think it's about the beginning of the Space program. It might get me interested in the stars. Or maybe the stars will just be a passing fancy like WWII reporting (I still want to get those books).<br />
<br />
Ok, that's it.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-59296291519265356192010-05-05T17:43:00.000-07:002010-05-05T17:49:47.395-07:00The Windmills Of My MindI love Nico's "These Days". Jackson Browne apparently wrote that song and plays guitar on it. I thought it was put to good use in <em>The Royal Tenenbaums</em>. And "We Both Go Down Together" is a really good song by The Decemberists. "Here we stand on the cliffs of Dover..." I have a cd I made with a bunch of random songs on it from the summer of 2007. 2007 is when I made it, not when the songs were released. It has "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway" by Genesis, and "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta" by the Geto Boys. Or is it Boyz? Don't matter. That song has some serious language in it. I can't play it in front of nephews; that's for sure. I had to look that one up after I saw <em>Office Space</em>. "Give Up The Funk" by the P-Funk All-Stars is <em>such</em> a good song. It feels really good listening to that song. I feel like bopping my head up and down like Huggy Bear. I hope that's not racist. Right now I'm listening to Patty Loveless' "Blame it on your lying cheating, cold dead-beating, two-timin' double-dealin', me-mistreatin' lovin' heart." I love the energy of that song. Throughout the cd I also have some Dusty Springfield "Windmills of my mind..." and a song about making pies all day and a song about a girl who's mother works at the Motel 6, now she gets free guitar picks and that's how she learned to play and sing. She is Catie Curtis and that song is "Memphis". I recently wrote a blog about Joni Mitchell calling Bob Dylan a fake and a phony and a plagiarist that got alot of responses (11!). Somehow I'm connecting the melding together of other people's work to create something new with the Joni/Bob argument and that's what I made with this cd. It provokes different emotional responses from me and I don't really care if they all fit perfectly together. Which made me think of Neil Young. I think Neil just does what feels right and when his muse is gone, he's gone. This cd came from an unconscious place in me. Or maybe a drunken place. Along towards the end is "Peek-A-Boo" by Siouxsie and the Banshees and then Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah" which seems to be required playing anywhere you go lately. Local band Donna the Buffalo has a song called "No Place Like Right Time" that is laid back like "Memphis" and "Making Pies" by Patty Griffin. People talk about Dylan as the preeminent poet of our modern time. My friend D.J. thinks its Bruce Springsteen. And when he says this he usually refers to "Blinded by the Light", a song with such non-sensical lyrics that who knows what Bruce is talking about. I think <em>The Raven</em> is a good poem. Maybe one of the best. How did Poe get all those lines to rhyme? Must've taken alot of work. It's a story in a poem, which is nice, but not quite the same as <em>The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock</em> by T.S. Eliot. Poe was a prolific writer and I don't know that <em>The Raven</em> had to be dredged out of him with the same earnestness that Eliot put into <em>Prufrock.</em> What is a poem supposed to do? Provoke a response? Create an image? Recreate life? I say a little of all of the above. If it doesn't provoke a response, or any feeling whatsoever, then is it serving itself? e e cummings was a good poet but lots different than Robert Frost. I think Emily Dickinson had it write (whoops - right) when she said poems are foolish when compared to a tree. I think that's what she meant. The cd that I made feels like poetry to me; something good that washes over me with no particular agenda. Parts of it, like making pies, make me think about the creation of life. Other parts, like giving up the funk, make me feel life. My favorite quote about poets and poems and my life philosophy: "And the poets down here don't write nothing at all - they just stand back and let it all be." After all, who can really add anything to a beautiful summer day like today to make it more spectacular nature-wise? I can't. But that's just me. I like to stand back and let it all be.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-33566663845782896752010-05-04T03:12:00.000-07:002010-05-04T17:44:46.926-07:00Tin Soldiers And Nixon's Coming....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="200" id="wgvSingleTrackWidget" name="WGV_SingleTrackWidget" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="281" xiredirecturl=""><param name="movie" value="http://concerts.wolfgangsvault.com/common/swf/wgv_st_player.swf"/><param name="bgcolor" value="#ffffff"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="swliveconnect" value="true"/><param name="flashvars" value="trackID=22802"/><param name="wmode" value="opaque"/><embed src="http://concerts.wolfgangsvault.com/common/swf/wgv_st_player.swf" flashvars="trackID=22802" width="281" height="200" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowScriptAccess="always" allowFullScreen="true" name="WGV_SingleTrackWidget" bgcolor="#ffffff" wmode="opaque"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AYG8bPb_o51eeaG_usSlZrG43v0qLT3NcETjzqVQHhDvDQMTD457vIWq0OUsFx2AlvrXvYC1XkBie6Xyhyphenhyphen5b-rUKyj46ERa4FH7A5_dzpVtXGpiOT7qeiQkRPVZ3mPJOZ09DkWSAWhu4/s1600/800px-Kent_State,_Site_of_Jeffrey_Miller%27s_Body.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AYG8bPb_o51eeaG_usSlZrG43v0qLT3NcETjzqVQHhDvDQMTD457vIWq0OUsFx2AlvrXvYC1XkBie6Xyhyphenhyphen5b-rUKyj46ERa4FH7A5_dzpVtXGpiOT7qeiQkRPVZ3mPJOZ09DkWSAWhu4/s640/800px-Kent_State,_Site_of_Jeffrey_Miller%27s_Body.jpg" tt="true" width="640" /></a></div><em>A fairly benign pic at first glance, this is Kent State, where a dead student's body once lay.</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On May 4, 1970, the Ohio State National Guard opened fire into a crowd of student protestors and killed four people. My friend D.J. and I were roommates in 1986-1987 when we were students at the Edinboro University of Pennsylvania. D.J. had a Crosby Stills Nash and Young t-shirt that he wore quite a bit from a concert he went to the summer before I met him. We all liked CSNY, our crew. D.J. would make mix tapes for the afterhour parties and he always played "Ohio" because he liked to point at me when they sang "and Nixon's coming." I looked (look) like Dick Nixon apparently. Eventually D.J. would marry Eva, whose father (I swear) was a dead-ringer for Henry Kissinger. I think he must have thought it was fate that we should come together. I'd been fascinated by Nixon, even before Watergate, and when I was all of six years old I did a Nixon impersonation. Weird kid, right?</div><br />
1986 was the beginning or maybe the middle of a cultural revival of the Sixties. The Grateful Dead found their way back into the mainstream and the neo-Hippie movement was in full swing. The good kids that we were, being young and all, we were Liberal and anti-establishment. Mostly we liked to do stuff the kids in the Sixties did but I think we had more fun and didn't take ourselves nearly so seriously. Which was easy for us. We didn't have Vietnam, or the murders of 1968, or the cultural schism between the Hippies and their parents to deal with. And we had no chance of being shot on a collge campus. My only link to those kids who got shot at Kent State was the Neil Young song, my relationship to the political ghost of Nixon, and the hopes and dreams I had for a society in which people are free from prejudice.<br />
<br />
In 1990 I got a call from my buddy Eric and he said that CSNY was going to play a concert at Kent State in two days. I lived in Buffalo at the time and high-tailed it down to Edinboro. It was Friday, May 4th, the twentieth anniversary of the shooting. We probably got drunk that night but for sure me, Eric, and Johnny (and maybe George) drove to Kent State in the morning. There was no concert, that was pretty obvious, and there was actually not much going on. I was wearing my Phi Sigma Kappa hooded sweatshirt while I was walking around the campus and I remember someone taking my photo. I wonder where that photo is? It was a rare moment we get sometimes in life where who we are brings us to where we feel we should be, even if it's only for a moment. The song that had played so many times at the after hours parties became a reality that morning. People were shot and killed here. My significance to the event, my trek to see CSNY, seemed like a small, selfish act. It reminded me of Abraham Lincoln and what he said at Gettysburg:<br />
<br />
<em>We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. </em><br />
<br />
It was a somber ride back home.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4417494018750779738.post-27279515864335344802010-05-03T18:28:00.000-07:002010-05-04T17:26:05.961-07:00I'm A Big Fan<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LWSjUe0FyxQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LWSjUe0FyxQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
In the week leading up to <em>Iron Man 2</em> comes the anticipation and dread: how is it going to be? Is it going to be <em>The</em> <em>Dark Knight</em> or <em>Spider-Man 3</em>? That is not a fair comparison at all. One was close to a masterpiece and different and the other, well, what a mess. With great power comes great responsibility. With great anticipation comes the possibility of a great letdown. Poor Jon Favreau must be under a lot of pressure. If you have read this far and wondered, why are you so <em>concerned</em> about this? <em>It's only a movie!,</em> please move on! Haha. This post will <em>bore</em> you. But for those who really like superhero movies....<br />
<br />
I was indifferent to <em>Daredevil</em> and thought it was just plain awful. Loved the book, didn't like the movie. Ben Affleck with his hair in his face the whole movie, the flirtatious martial arts scene with Elektra on the see-saw, the constant night-blindness and too-close-to-see action ruined the movie for me. I don't have a sacred cow fetish for the heroes. I'm not a strict tradionalist but I want the movies to make some sense. I could take <em>The Fantastic Four</em> even though the movie was miscast and Reed was a pussy. Reed Richards is a smart guy, not a doormat. Jessica Alba (I can't believe I'm saying this) didn't look super-hot in that movie, nor does she come across as the science-ey type, but I sucked it up and watched and was entertained. I liked the Silver Surfer in <em>FF2</em>. Not bad stuff. <br />
<br />
<em>Ghost Rider</em> is a movie that I didn't hate. I had no expectations for it: it was cheesy, over-the-top, and light but it was entertaining. Maybe because I watched it with my nephews. It's hard to be a cynical old bastard when they're sitting next to you. <em>Superman Returns</em>, <em>Hulk</em>, <em>The Incredible Hulk</em>, <em>Spider-Man 3</em>: those movies got to me in a bad way. They left the comic behind somehow. <em>S-M 3</em>: Peter Parker playing bad like he's on his was to an emo concert; Harry vascillating between being a good guy and an enemy; Topher Grace playing Eddie Brock like he's a smoother version of Eric from <em>That 70's Show</em>: that's not who these guys were in the books. More than anything the architecture of <em>Spider-Man 3</em> was just way off. The light touches that Raimi added in <em>Spider-Man 2</em>, Peter walking down the street to "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head", the "oww, I hurt my back" reference to Tobey Maquire's alleged stalling to step onto the set of <em>S-M 2</em>, the scene in the coffee shop when Peter throws himself over Mary Jane: Peter was real. He was kind of a buffoon in <em>S-M 3</em> and it killed the movie. And why did he keep taking his mask off? <br />
<br />
Try to get too cute and the lions will eat you. I could put up with Nick Nolte's howling in <em>Hulk</em>, and Ang Lee's pretension to create an art house film out of a comic-book movie, but that doesn't mean I had to like it. Which I didn't. I also don't want to see a soldier, a regular guy, going toe-to-toe and hand-to-hand with the Hulk. The laws of the Marvel Universe <em>must</em> apply. If the Hulk could crush Spider-Man, or Iron-Man for that matter, then please don't have him fight some guy Spidey could backhand in two seconds flat. And why was Bruce Banner wearing a bicycle helmet around the office? Not dorky enough just to be a scientist? Which gets to the architecture problems with Hulk:<br />
First, the name. Just <em>Hulk</em>. Remember: too cute equals lions. Ang Lee cited influences from <em>King Kong</em>, <em>Frankenstein</em>, <em>Jekyll and Hyde</em>, <em>Beauty and the Beast</em>, Faust, and Greek mythology for his interpretation of the story, but guess what: there's a whole comic book about the guy! Why not base it on <em>that</em>? When an interviewer asked him if he had read the comic books as a kid, Lee said, "No. I did see a little bit of the TV series in the late 70s (cheesy fun but a weak facsimile of the books), but I didn't pay any particular attention to it. But then when I came to the States, I found that there was such a character in the comic books (Really?! The Hulk was a character in the comic books!). Then when I saw the big green guy it clicked right away. I saw it as a psychodrama." <br />
<br />
Lee's partner discovered a book in which David Banner, Bruce's father, returned and after that the movie became a father-son story about experimenting with Bruce's DNA and yada yada yada, we're three steps away from the source material and the Hulk is getting attacked by overgrown poodles. Fans take this stuff seriously, maybe as seriously as <em>Twilight</em> fans take their stuff or as the leave-Britney-alone guy takes Britney Spears. We want one thing: Do Not Screw Up Our Movies!<br />
<br />
Two years ago when George Lucas was making the rounds promoting <em>Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Lost UFO's</em>, or whatever he called that movie, he sounded bitter. "I've learned (I'm paraphrasing) that no matter what you do, people aren't going to like it." Apparently he was jaded from his experiences with the second round of <em>Star Wars</em> movies and their rejection by the adult fan base. Remember: cute equals lions. Someone get the lions and feed them Jar-Jar Binks already (tastes like jerked chicken!). These were not good movies. People didn't take down their expectations from a jar on the top shelf and say, <em>Ahhh, this is what the movie is going to be</em>, and when it wasn't they were disappointed. He had a chance to create <em>The Godfather Part II</em> of movie serials but he didn't have it in him. That's where the disappointment lies. Lucas reminds me a little of Jay Leno: a guy that became wildly successful with nowhere to grow. His empire expanded while the thing that got him there shriveled and shrank, and he's left with nothing but memories of his sled Rosebud (or was it Sleddie?)* and his billions of dollars.<br />
<br />
A lot of bad superhero movies have been made. <em>Superman IV: The Quest For Peace </em>consistently comes out on top in the internet searches, but there is also <em>Catwoman</em>, <em>Batman and Robin</em>, <em>Steel</em>, <em>Barb Wire</em>, <em>Supergirl</em>, <em>Judge Dredd</em>, <em>Captain America</em> and who could forget (the original bomb!) <em>Howard the Duck</em>. But of all these movies <em>Spider-Man 3</em> has to be the worst. And do you know why? Because I cared. All that being said, <em>Iron Man 2</em> arrives soon. On Friday I'm gonna open my mind, leave my expectations at the door, walk into the theater, sit in the dark and wait to be dazzled. No pressure guys!<br />
<br />
<br />
*Please note that the "Sleddie" joke was stolen from last week's episode of <em>30 Rock</em>. Please don't tell Joni Mitchell.Kevin Beanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106835687814075127noreply@blogger.com0