on freedom

There's not much additional praise I can heap on to Jonathan Franzen's Freedom. I haven't seen any bad reviews. I'm sure there'll be some kind of backlash at some point. ...I'm about half way through the book and really enjoying it. His prose is so effortlessly spot-on. I wonder, however, if his mastery of language and style perhaps masks a shallowness of thematic content. It's a hard book to put down, but it might be the equivalent of eating Twizzlers or Dorritos. You can't stop once you start, but you still feel empty and a bit out of sorts at the end. I'm not saying this is my final verdict on the book since I still have a lot of it to go. Not all literature has to be heavily thematised and deeply meaningful, but you want someone with Franzen's gifts to do something really ambitious and intellectually compelling. That's my hope for the book anyway. There's no question that he's a very smart and observant cat. But is he thoughtful? Thoughtfulness is admittedly a hard concept to pin down these days. Still, I want so badly for someone to come along in literature and be the voice of my generation... Maybe I'm setting the bar too high. Maybe it's enough that the book is entertaining the shit out of me. Let's see what he does with this thing. I hope he doesn't blow it...

a new era begins

The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is read about five or six blogs, including a few baseball blogs, and this morning I found out that the Mets have hired Sandy Alderson to be their new GM. The move was very much expected for quite some time now. I'm cautiously optimistic, though I don't see the Mets being all that much better than they were this year until 2012 at the earliest. I know very little about Alderson except that he ran some of the successful Oakland A's teams of the 80s and 90s, including the World Series champion A's of 1988. I seem to remember him coming off as a dickhead in Howard Bryant's book about the steroid era, Juicing the Game, but being a nice guy does not necessarily translate into being a good GM. It will be a major improvement on things if he can bring some seriousness to the job and some respectability to an organization that has been in disarray since getting bounced from the NLCS in 2006 at the hands of the underdog St. Louis Cardnials. Alderson is a bit of an old fart at 62, and the game has changed a lot since the last time he was a GM, so we'll have to see whether he's able to adapt. His first move as the head of baseball operations will be to hire a new manager. I have been hoping that Wally Backman would be given the call because he's fiery, stresses fundamentals, and doesn't tolerate players who don't play hard and hustle. Backman would be a bit of a wild card with his lack of Major League managerial experience, his hair trigger temper, and his fairly recent history of off-the-field problems, all of which could be strikes against him for somebody as buttoned down as Alderson appears to be. But Backman would inject some personality into the team and would bring some fun and excitement back to Queens. On top of this, hiring Backman would be a nod to the team's history and tradition, which I think is important. My sense is that somebody vanilla like Bob Melvin is more likely to get the call. But fans should not expect miracles right away. The Mets still have horrible contracts on their books that they will have to either eat or trade in exchange for somebody else's shit. Oliver Perez, Luis Castillo, Francisco Roddriguez, and Carlos Beltran together account for roughly $50 million in salary for the coming season, which is about a third of the team's on-field payroll, and this will severely limit the kinds of moves the team can make in the near future. The good news is that all these contracts, with the possible exception of K-Rod if he meets certain vesting benchmarks, will be gone after 2011, so we will not get a full sense of Alderson's competence until this time next year. In any case, it feels good as a Met fan to see the team starting to move in the right direction, or at least I hope it's the right direction...

a clash of civilizations

I mentioned in yesterday's post that the World Series this year, pitting the Texas Rangers against the San Francisco Giants, is a nifty little metaphor for the cultural divide in the USA. To call the polarization between red and blue America a clash of civilizations, after Huffington's right-wing theory of the motive force driving contemporary geo-politics, is maybe a little extreme, but it doesn't feel that way to me living in this country at this time. Granted much of my thought process was filtered through dense clouds of pot smoke this past weekend, but when we made the passage from LA County to Kern County on Friday night, it seemed to me like we were traveling into another world.

...Bill Clinton recently told a group of Democratic fundraisers that, among his generation, those who think the 60s were a good time in America tend to be Democrats, and those who think the opposite tend to be Republicans. That seems about right even if it's oversimplified. The former are concentrated in the densely populated cities of the coasts and parts of the Midwest, the latter are everywhere else. This has been discussed to death at this point from every conceivable angle, and I can't add any additional insight. But I would like to clarify something for myself. No one to my knowledge has yet provided a satisfactory answer to the question of why poor and middle class rural and suburban whites consistently vote against their economic interests. This seems to me to be the key to so many other issues. In fact, you can broaden the issues and ask why so many people in America vote against their interests? The quick answer to the question is that they see their interests differently than I see their interests, so the question itself is based on assumptions that aren't accepted by all. But what if we grant a little latitude and pose the question as why do so many people vote against their economic interests? Why, for example, do they vote for candidates who are beholden to laws and corporations that will inevitably crush any and all possibility for upward mobility in the future? Thomas Frank's book, What's the Matter with Kansas? comes close to a satisfactory answer, but it's written more as a memoir and journalistic expose than a rigorous theory. I like my explanations to be sustained and tight, while Frank's book is loose and somewhat amorphous. The best I can do at this point is to list a number of factors that together have some bearing on the outcome in question...One factor is religion, Christianity in particular. The fascinating thing here is that, while there have always been conservative strains and sects within American Christianity, there were also progressive strains in previous periods of crisis in the United States, such as the Civil War, the Great Depression, Viet Nam... But you don't hear much about liberal Christianity these days. I know it still exists, but the loudest and most well organized bible thumpers are conservative fundamentalists and evangelicals, so that Christianity has become a deeply conservative force in the nation's politics, at least among whites. Since Nixon's Southern Strategy of the late 60s, the Republican party has been able to paint the opposition as a party of godless secularists who are coming to burn your bibles and teach your kids how to be gay.

...The second factor is the superior and sustained organizing efforts on the American right. Sydney Blumenthal has written a great book about this called The Rise of the Counter-Establishment. The theory in its bare essentials goes something like this: The New Deal created a consolidated liberal consensus after World War II. Eisenhower was actually more liberal in many ways than either Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton. But at the same time, a counter-establishment began organizing at the grass roots level. This counter-establishment was in the political wilderness for 25 years or so, but during that time various segments sharpened their organizing skills, learned how to manipulate the media and the terms of political discourse, and developed all kinds of think tanks and message factories, like National Review, Heritage Foundation, Cato Institute, and today Fox News. All the while, the progressive wing of the American party slept, and you really see the results of it now. Republicans are so vastly superior in getting their message out by comparison with Democrats, so much so that the Democratic party has pretty much adopted all the Republican assumptions and simply put a slightly more human face on things. I have largely tuned out politics for reasons I've described before, but I am quite amazed at how astoundingly bad and clumsy the Obama administration has been at shaping the overall level of political discourse. During the health care debate in particular, I found myself asking how the Administration could not have been more prepared for the onslaught from the right. Did they not learn anything from Monica Lewinsky? Do they not understand the nature of their opposition? Much was made during the election about the Obama campaign's deft use of new social networking technologies for the purpose of mobilizing voters. But where is the carryover? At a certain point the bullshit hope and change emails I get everyday from David Plouffe (which at this point I delete without reading) have to translate into something more forceful , something that takes on the right wing talking points and demolishes them for the drivel they are. you can't be conciliatory and compromising with an opponent that views you as a mortal enemy. But I can't completely blame the Administration because the right has had a 45-year head start in terms of organizing and manipulation of the media.

...The third factor is really two factors that intersect with one another: the decline of the labor movement and the backlash against civil rights gains. American unions began their precipitous decline in the mid 60s, at exactly the time when the civil rights movement was winning its big victories, so that working class whites felt little solidarity with working class minorities. There was no mechanism through which they could be brought together to fight for common goals, or whatever mechanism existed was weak and not very well organized. We would be living in a very different world now if the labor movement and the civil rights movement had become more coordinated and intertwined. Minorities and working class whites would be much better off today. But instead of the counter-factual scenario, what actually happened is that as the world economy went into the shitter in the 70s, there was little working class resistance to the assault on unions or to the impetus towards privatization. Likewise, there has been fairly weak resistance to the right's efforts to roll back civil rights gains. The superior organizing on the right is important to point out here as well. It's like a perfect storm for the emergence of conservative hegemony, one in which employers use race to divide workers, white workers gravitate towards their whiteness and their religion, and the seeds of Reaganism are planted in fertile soil.







The fourth and final factor I can think of, which is really an amalgam of the other four, is the weakness and incoherence of the Democratic party. I know this has been said a million times before, but there's really not much difference between the two parties when you cut through all the ideological bluster. The notion of government as the enemy is an article of faith on both sides of the aisle. Privatization good, government bad. Social spending bad, free market capitalism good. These are taken as points of departure in mainstream politics today, not as points of debate. And on the rare occasions when the assumptions are taken as points of debate, the right wing noise machine, almost 50 years in the making, is there to steer the conversation with little countervailing resistance...






It's remarkable how little things have changed since the last ten years, except that things have just gotten steadily worse. The stagnation may be unprecedented in American history given the number of catastrophes we've been through since Bush took office. The Reagan Revolution is still alive and kicking, and it continues to be propped up in part by the people it has hurt the most. It's depressing. There's a lot of anger out there. I see everyday instances of frustration and rage that feel different than anything I can remember feeling before. It's sad to think that rage and stagnation will likely be the defining concepts of our times. When I look back on this period 10, 20, 30 years from now, I think I'll remember it as the angry era. And I'm not immune to it, of course. What troubles me most is that I don't perceive any path out of the current impasse. Maybe that's why there's so much anger. I know a path will develop, but who knows whether it'll be of the democratic or authoritarian variety?

on the way home...

I'm back in LA. I couldn't make the road journal thing work. This blogging program will not let me write posts from my phone, so it all became too complicated. Oh well. ...After the misadventure with Terry's car on Friday afternoon, the rest of the trip turned out to be quite enjoyable. I broke my eating regimen all weekend long. On Friday night, we stopped at an In and Out Burger off the 5 freeway, somewhere in Kern County. I inhaled a double-double with fries like they were oxygen. I must look like a rabid dog when I'm eating. We arrived at the hotel just in time to see the Rangers finish off the Yankees. It made me very happy, but I called it wrong. I guess I'm no handicapper. A little more on this later. Terry and I were both pretty tired, so we had a quick drink at a local dive in Sunnyvale and then went to sleep around 1am. The Best Western we were staying at seemed to be some kind of weird magnet for Indians because the night person there was Indian and the whole place smelled vaguely of curry. And then at about 7 on Saturday morning that vague smell became much more powerful, nauseatingly so, as if the people in the room below us were preparing the most pungent curry ever. It felt like I had woken up in a ten-ton vat of the nasty fucking curry. We found a breakfast place and then drove to Santa Cruz for a visit with Tom's family. It's weird seeing his kids now as teenagers after having not really spent much time with them since they were little kids. It was at Tom's house where I had the insights to which I've previously alluded, about the two Americas and my quitting academia. Santa Cruz, as I said, is archetypal coastal, liberal America, the kind David Brooks describes so pompously in his book about bourgeois bohemians, what he calls Bobos. In any case, Santa Cruz is a nice place to visit for a day or two, but I think its provinciality and its smallness, in both the literal and figurative senses, would drive me crazy after awhile. ...At around 4:00 on Saturday, I drove with Tom and Terry to the Shoreline in Mountain View. First we ate killer burritos at a place near the venue called La Bamba. I'm not a big burrito eater at all - I prefer tacos if given a choice - but La Bamba's fare was out of this world. I was trying to be good, so I had chicken instead of steak in mine, but I don't think it matters because the burritos were so filled with greasy, peppery goodness that the meat was beside the point. Again, I made my food disappear in mere minutes. I was very hungry all weekend, actually, and I was very aware of how fast I was eating at meal times. ...A bone chillingly cold rain began to fall when we got to Shoreline. I could have very easily bummed out at the prospect of having to stand in the wet weather for four hours, but I chose instead to roll with it. Tom brought some Maker's Mark in a flask. It helped warm me up and made me appreciate the hot sweetness of burboun... One thing that made the night interesting was that the Giants were playing Game 6 of the NLCS at the same time, and the crowd roared when they recorded the final out against the Phillies and clinched the Pennant. ...So I was exactly backwards in my prediction for the World Series. It'll be Texas and Frisco starting Tuesday night, which seems a bit like a clash of civilizations. I don't really have a rooting interest, but I think the Rangers will win in five or six games. I've been underestimating the Giants all year, and they still don't seem like they're that good to me, but they made it this far and anything can happen in baseball. ...Most of the acts prior to Buffalo Springfield on Saturday were boring. I'm really not interested in hearing Elvis Costello sing country music, for example, and Lucinda Williams always sounds drunk and tired to me. Perhaps this is part of her appeal but it's just not my thing. One exception to an otherwise uninteresting lineup was Billy Idol. He played a half-hour set, dividing things evenly between his 80s hits and a few Generation X songs. ...The Springfield finally came on at 11pm. They were well worth the wait. I thought they might just play a few of their hits and well-known songs, but they went pretty deep into all three albums. For guys who are near 70 at this point, they sang and harmonized really well together. They did quite a few of my favorites, including On the Way Home, Do I Have to Come Right Out and Say It, Nowadays Clancy Can't Sing, Bluebird, Rock 'n Roll Woman... Richie Furay is the best preserved out of the three of them. Terry pointed out that this is no doubt the result of his 40-some-odd years of clean living. ...In spite of the bad weather and the stuff we had to deal with on Friday afternoon, the weekend was quite enjoyable. I definitely feel exhausted now, so I think this is as good a time as any for me to put my virtual pen down...

for what it's worth

Being around academics throughout much of the day today has made me so happy I opted out of academia. I will have much more to say about this when I can sit down and focus more intensively. ...We are currently on the freeway driving back to Sunnyvale. We'll freshen up at the hotel and the make the short drive to Mountain View and the Shoreline ampatheater. The weather is grey and rainy. We're gonna get wet tonight. I've definitely decided that I should avoid the fungus. Why fuck with your head so profoundly when you're predisposed to depression? It's a little thing called self knowledge, closely connected to a recognition of one's limitations, both of which fall under the rubric of wisdom...

uno mundo

Santa Cruz conforms to every right wing stereotype - or 'meme' - about the two Americas. It's the kind of place that makes being right wing appealing to a certain degree. Everyone here is so guarded and precious, as if everything a person says could potentially be subjected to rigorous (but also ridiculous) scrutiny. I like to throw bombs into polite conversation, and I find paradoxically that the most repressed people here are titillated by it, like 'who are you and what planet do you come from?' I made some crack about my Salvadoran cleaning lady and found that I became something of a court jester. Being a court jester is a role I've always excelled at, especially when you can poke fun at folks without them knowing that you're poking fun at them. I think I've mentioned my affinity for this before. ...The thing is, as farcical as I find places like this, I can't help thinking about how paranoid I felt last night blowing up through those conservative rural areas along the 5 freeway...

broken arrow

I did not sleep well last night as my body doesn't really function correctly in unfamiliar environments. Several things happen to me. My metabolism slows down, my sinuses clog up, and I sleep fitfully. But it's nice to be here in Sunnyvale, far away from all my responsibilities. Today we'll drive to Santa Cruz and pick up Tom for the concert tonight. We are loaded with a number of different strains, and some fungus. I'm on the fence about the fungus part of it. We'll see. This road journaling stuff is not easy. I'll have a chance to write about this stuff in much greater depth when I get back to LA. Yesterday was actually a pretty trippy day, but I need some time to process it. Never a good idea to cross over the Grapevine while you're green crossing it...

flying on the ground is wrong

Things got off to a rocky start today, but we're here in Sunnyvale, and in one piece. We had car trouble in Gorman, and then we hit some tough nasty fog as we traversed the Grapevine. A tweaky strain put us in an even more uneasy frame of mind. We were driving right into the teeth of right wing California. The bulls were out in full force. They were pulling people over all over the place. So it was uncomfortable for awhile. But we settled down, and Terry has the Beatles mono box set. I focussed on the music and found something inside myself that allowed me to relax. Is this progress?

buffalo springfield, again

Terry called me about a month ago suggesting that the two of us take a road trip up to Palo Alto this weekend for the Buffalo Springfield reunion at the Shoreline Amphitheater. The reunion is part of a large benefit concert for Neil Young's Bridge School. I was skeptical at first because, let's face it, Neil Young, Richie Furay and Steve Stills are all approaching 70 at this point, and watching them try to rock out sounds a bit pathetic. From what I understand, Young and Stills can barely stand to be in the same room with each other, and Furay is some kind of Jesus freak. So who knows what kind of chemistry these guys will have on stage. On top of this, it's an outdoor show where there will be lots of irritating people. Not my cup of tea, usually. But the more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me, not because of the concert necessarily, but more for the fun of getting out of town and having a nice weekend with a friend. Our mutual buddy, Tom, lives up that way, where he teaches at a local community college and his wife is a professor at UC Santa Cruz. Tom is a great guy and loves to have a good time, so there's added incentive for me take the trip. I've known their kids since they were little. They used to call me Uncle Lonely One back in the day. ...Sometimes when I leave my familiar home environment, I have trouble getting relaxed. It's that inability to 'be in the moment,' I keep referring to. I'm gonna try really hard to have fun this time around. But isn't that sad, that it takes such effort for me to enjoy myself? Some people can just let go of their inhibitions like it's second nature. For me, at least when I'm in unfamiliar territory, it takes a conscious effort. I think having Terry and Tom around will make things easier for me. Maybe that's the key to living more freely, surrounding yourself with people you love and trust, who know and accept you, and who value your eccentricities ...We leave Friday afternoon. I'm no Jack Kerouac, but I'm gonna try as best I can to keep a road journal of sorts here. We'll see how it goes...

without the beatles

I don’t watch a whole lot of TV other than baseball, but the sheer perfection of the Mad Men concept hooked me in right away. The show strikes particularly close to the bone since both my parents worked on Madison Avenue during the 60s. I like to tell friends that my dad was a mad man. And even though I’m a child of the 70s and 80s, the values of the Mad Men period, like those of the 60s more generally, persisted long afterwards and cast a long shadow over my most formative years. ...So much has already been written about the show that there’s really not much left to say except to offer my opinion that the season just ending this past Sunday night was the weakest so far. The reason I say this is that Mad Men has become less a show about the 60s, where the period itself is the star of the show, and more a character-driven soap opera that happens to be set in the 60s. Much of the social context now seems almost beside the point. This may be what most viewers want, and it may be the case that what I’m looking for is more or less a documentary about how advertising came of age in the 60s. I just hope it doesn't mean that the show has jumped the shark. ...It’s not that I won’t watch Mad Men next year or that I object on principle to the soapy direction it’s taken. There have been a number of soaps – or what TV Guide used to call ‘serials’ – that I’ve enjoyed over the years, like General Hospital, The Edge of Night, All My Children, Dallas, Falcon’s Crest, Dynasty... But none of these shows tackled the admittedly daunting task of reconstructing and projecting the zeitgeist of a historical period through the points of view of their characters. It’s most certainly not an easy thing to do, but Mad Men executed it so well over the first few seasons, and I guess I got spoiled. ...Part of the problem may be that this season focused a lot on women’s issues, which are less interesting to me than, say, music, drugs, and the commodification of cool. Some of the women’s stuff was fascinating, like they way they've dealt with pre-Roe v. Wade abortions through the character of Joan, while other stuff, like the various depictions of women's struggles in the workplace, were only mildly interesting to me. ...As the season progressed into 1965, I just kept waiting for the Beatles to show up, which they did, but only through a few scattered references. Rock ‘n roll more generally is almost entirely absent from the Mad Men scene, which is hard to believe since ad men would presumably have had their finger on the pulse of what was arguably the most important cultural force of the times. Where are the people at the firm who are hip to the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys...? Maybe my periodization is off here. Maybe ad men didn’t figure out what a potent market force rock 'n roll could be until well after it became a mass cultural force. But I rather doubt it. I think advertising played a key role in making rock so forceful. The Beatles had already made two movies by mid 1965, played the first of their two shows at Shea Stadium (which was alluded to on the show, but only in what felt like an afterthought), and played The Ed Sullivan Show twice. ...So from this point of view, I was quite disappointed. I'll have to ask my parents how they experienced things. Perhaps my expectations were misplaced. I'm remembering just now that my mother, who was a copywriter in the mold of Peggy, gets a great deal of pleasure in telling people that the 60s just passed her by, that she didn't even notice they were happening. She was too busy building her career to notice any social or cultural upheaval. But I think she's an anomaly in this regard, and I also think that her notion that the era passed her by is bunk insofar as she was a career oriented women and a divorcee who married a second time. She may not have noticed the 60s, but the changes were happening to her in a pretty forceful way. ...I know my father noticed things just by remembering his record collection, which featured plenty of mid-60s classics, like the Rolling Stones' Aftermath, Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited, and plenty of Beatles LPs, including Rubber Soul, and the one I liked best as a little kid...

Part of the problem here is that I'm so obsessed with everything Beatles, and I expect everybody else to be the same way. When I think of what it would have been like to be 13 years old in 1965, I imagine myself breathing, eating and dreaming Beatles. But maybe that's just tunnel vision on my part. On the other hand, perhaps this season of Mad Men was just a bridge that sets the stage for what will be an explosive fifth season. I hope so, but we won't know for nine months.

a rainy sunday with roy harper and black peter

The rains have come early this year, confirming my conviction that this is going to be a very wet winter here in the Southland. The rain depresses me, but there's always music to guide me through the darkness. This afternoon, I made a nice stew for myself and played some great rainy-day music. ...I have only come to appreciate Roy Harper in the last ten years or so. His voice comforts me when I need it most...

Grateful Dead music comforts me under any number of conditions, but Black Peter really helps me when it's rainy and grey out...

I don't know where I'd be without music.

the goldman sachs of baseball

The Yankees are going to win the World Series this year. Again. What's worse, they'll be playing the Phillies. Again. Wake me up when it's over. It's a nightmare for us Met fans. The two teams we hate the most playing for the whole burrito. Wouldn't it be great if they could both lose, or if the weather was so bad for such an extended period of time that it had to end in a draw? ...Nah. that's not the way the game works, alas. One of them has to be the victor, and I think the Yankees just have a knack for knowing how to win. I hate the term 'Yankee mystique,' but only because there's something to it, something that makes me wanna throw up. The Phillies are younger and their rotation is stronger, but the relentlessness of the Yankee offensive attack will eventually find a chink in Philadelphia's armour. Joe Blanton will hang a curveball to A-Roid at a pivotal moment, or Jimmy Rollins' hamstring issues will get the better of him at some point when the Phils absolutely need a double-play. I would love to be wrong, but I have that sinking feeling that the Yanks will find a way to get it done. Of course, both teams still have to make it through their respective Championship Series...

The Texas Rangers are the most likable of the four teams left in the playoffs. I would love to see them get hot, pull an upset over the Yankee behemoth, and then power their way past the Phillies in the World Series. They have a great group of guys. Vlad Guerrero, the former Angel, has discovered the fountain of youth. I've always loved his free wheeling approach at the plate. He'll swing at anything, and he can hit any type of pitch hard and a very long way. A few years ago, I saw him hit a walk off home run on a pitch that bounced in front of him, a la Yogi Berra. ...Ian Kinsler, who is Jewish, plays a very steady second base for the Rangers, and he has the kind of upper-cut swing that's exactly what you're not supposed to do when you make a pass at a ball, but somehow he always seems to be in the thick of things. ...Michael Young, their third baseman, is a great player to watch on both sides of the ball. And then you've got Josh Hamilton. Oy vey. He's a recovering alcoholic cum Born Again Christian Jesus freak, which automatically makes me hate him, but I grudgingly admire what a great ballplayer he is. He entered the playoffs with several cracked ribs and did not hit well in the ALDS against the Rays, but he's a five-tool player, and he's absolutely fearless. Even with the rib injury, he's running into walls and sliding head-first into second base... Another former Angel playing for the Rangers now is catcher Bengie Molina, a very shrewd midseason acquisition for Rangers GM Nolan Ryan. ...One other position player on the club that I really like for sentimental reasons is former Met Jeff Francoeur, aka 'Frenchy.' He was pretty terrible with the Mets, but a good guy in the clubhouse. He strikes out a lot, but he can jack the ball out of the yard. Usually there's one guy in the playoffs, an unsung hero who flies in under the radar and does something huge. It'd be great to see Frenchy come off the bench and hit a big home run or gun somebody out at the plate. He has arguably the best outfield arm in the game. ...The Ranger rotation is good but not great. The biggest weapon they have is lefty superstar and future Yankee Cliff Lee, who my compatriot Paul Lebowitz calls the Stone Cold Killer, which is just about right. He has uncanny command of all his pitches and almost never walks batters. If the series with the Yankees goes seven games with Lee pitching in Game 7, which would take place in Texas, the Yankees will be toast. He loves the big stage and is pitching not only for a championship but also for what will undoubtedly be the huge contract he'll command as a free agent when the season is over. Unfortunately for the Rangers, Lee had to pitch in Game five of the ALDS, so he will not be ready to go until Game 3 of the ALCS. The Game 1 starter for the Rangers will be CJ Wilson, who has what baseball people like to call 'electric stuff,' but he can be wild, and guys who are wild often wilt under the bright lights of playoff baseball. The serviceable Colby Lewis is slated to start Game 2...

If there's one thing that could derail the Yankees, it's their age. Guys like Mark Teixeira, Robinson Cano, and CC Sabathia are each in their prime, but Derek Jeter is getting old. He has lost a lot of range at shortstop, and he had a down year offensively. Still, he's Derek Jeter - Mr. Fucking Wonderful - and he has the experience and the know-how to rise to the occasion. A-Rod is still a huge threat, but we don't know if he'll be the hero he was in 2009, or the choking goat he's been in all previous playoff appearances. He's been hampered by a bad hip, which I think is the result of having juiced for so many years prior to PED testing, but you can never take the guy lightly, even at age 35. Jorge Posada can still hit, but he's old and a defensive liability behind the dish. If the Rangers are to have any hope of winning, they'll need to get on base and exploit Posada's inability to throw runners out. Manager Joe Girardi may opt to use Posada as a DH and have Francisco Cervelli catch, but then the Yanks would not be able to use Lance Berkman as their DH, and, quite frankly, without even having the numbers in front of me, my gut tells me that I'd rather pitch to Posada than Berkman. ...In addition to Sabathia, the Yankee rotation will consist of Andy Petite, probably the greatest big-game pitcher of all time, Phil Hughes, and A.J Burnett. So it's a good balance of lefty, lefty, righty, righty. Hughes has had an excellent year but he's thrown more innings than in any other season up to now. Burnett has not been good this year, especially given his enormous contract, and the guy's a head case, but he still has one of the most devastating curve balls in the game and could rediscover his dominant stuff at any time, so don't rule him out. ...The Yankees have a better bullpen than the Rangers, with Kerry Wood setting up for Mariano Rivera and that ridiculous cut fastball that no one can hit. Rivera has lost about 4 or 5 mph in velocity over the last few years, but he's still as close to a sure thing as there is in baseball. It's cliche at this point, but Rivera turns baseball into an eight-inning game when the opposition is trailing. The Ranger closer, Neftali Feliz, is quite good but can get rattled easily. ...I'll be rooting hard for the Rangers, but look for the Yankees to put them to sleep in five games.

The NLCS will pit the Phils against the Giants. I hate most things from San Francisco, notwithstanding my love of the Grateful Dead and the Jefferson Airplane, but I'm pulling for the Giants. Unfortunately, I just don't think they have enough to get it done. They have no offense to speak of other than catcher and probable NL Rookie of the Year, Buster Posey. Their strength is in their pitching, with righty Tim Lincecum, lefty Jonathan Sanchez, and righty Matt Cain. Sanchez and Cain would easily be aces on any number of other teams, but Lincecum is off the charts. I love the tork he generates with his stick-figure body. It's almost painful to watch his delivery, and I can't imagine what it's like to have to stand in against him. I'd love to do a few bong rips with the guy, though. ...The Giants have great pitching, but the Phils have great pitching and a very good offensive attack, with Ryan Howard, Chase Utley, Jimmy Rollins, Shane Victorino, Raul Ibanez, and the mercurial Jayson Werth. What will kill the Giants, I think, is that the Phillies' rotation is every bit as dominant, featuring Doc Halladay, he of the Church of Latter-Day Saints, Roy Oswalt, and Cole Hammels, plus Joe Blanton, who’s ok if a fourth starter becomes necessary. All of these guys are innings eaters, and with closer Brad Lidge regaining most of his 2008 form, I just don’t see the Giants getting it done. All the games will be close and low scoring in the NLCS, which I love, but I think the Phillies will close this one out in four or five games.

It's way too early to start talking about the World Series, but I'm as certain as I can be that it'll be the Yankees and Phillies, with the Yanks winning it in six games. A lot can and will happen between now and then, so my predictions are fluid, but I'm reminded of Joe E. Lewis' famous quip - I think he said it amidst the Yankee dynasty of the 1920s - that rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for U.S. Steel. It's still true today, except that we should update things and say that rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for Goldman Sachs. Both corporations, the Yankees and GS, maximize their massive financial might in their respective fields of endeavor. Each is a perfect symbol of greed American style and and the obscene concentration of wealth that's allowed to take place in USA, Inc. They also both happen to be very, very good at what they do, especially when it counts most. Their victory is our defeat. The beat goes on...

groupthink

Wednesday night is group therapy night for me. I'm not sure yet whether it's helping. I feel less anxious than when I started a few months ago, so that's a good sign...unless it's just coincidence. The group features an All Male Cast. It's actually billed as a 'men's group', and it's a strange mix of personalities. The other guys are quite a bit older than me, so there's a definite degree to which I feel I have little in common with them. Then again, I don't feel like I have much in common with anybody, regardless of how old or young they are. This is one of the main reasons I decided to do group therapy, to find some avenue through which I might be able to balance out my tendency towards isolation. But the net effect so far has been to create yet another circular process for me. My life is full of circularity, so much so that I might even be tempted to say that it's all one big circle for me, and not in a Joni Mitchell kind of way, but rather in the sense of a dog chasing its tail... You're supposed talk about all this shit in the group, which I do, but then the ensuing conversation leaves me feeling like it's not so bad for me to be on my own after all. Perhaps this is positive. The group makes me feel like less of a weirdo, though it strikes me as being an inadvertent benefit, one I derive in spite of the group. I tell the group I'm comfortable being alone --> They tell me that too much aloneness is unhealthy --> But I have almost nothing in common with these people trying to talk me out of the lone wolf existence I lead, and so what they say ends up making the lone wolf existence all the more attractive to me. Welcome to my world.

Normally I relate well to older people, or I should say that I prefer older people to younger people. Always have. But whether they're older or younger, there are certain types of freaky personalities I just can't abide. One guy in the group is extremely annoying in a way that only intensely jewy people can be. I feel I'm allowed to say this since I'm a M.O.T.T. myself. I have lots of experience with his type of personality in my own family. But this guy's jewiness by itself is not what gets to me. It's the jewiness combined with the fact that he's a hoarder. He can't throw anything away. The problem has completely wrecked his life. His wife and kids left him long ago because of it, and yet he doesn't seem able to grasp that he has a problem that could reasonably be expected to drive them away. He insists his wife is at fault, and he does it in a pushy, jewy way that makes my whole body tighten up with anger. He reminds me of my grandfather's second wife, who I absolutely couldn't stand. I wanted to dance the Lindy hop on her grave when she died. I threw in an extra shovel full of dirt at her funeral, just to make sure she'd stay the fuck underground.

The hoarder guy annoys me in the same way she did. The County's child protective services agency would not allow his kids to even visit him at the house after his wife left him because the place was such a goddamn pigsty. The biggest issue for him is an accumulation of seltzer bottles. He cannot bring himself to throw the empties away or even recycle them, so the house is apparently a mountain of glass. All he ever talks about are those fucking seltzer bottles. It just doesn't interest me in the slightest. You're supposed to say what you're feeling when you participate in a therapy group, but I can't do it with Mr. Seltzer Bottle without violating the rules of conduct and mutual respect. Picture it, if you will: Lose the bottles, you fucking moron! What the fuck's the matter with you? Are the bottles really that important to you? Is being right, even when you're obviously wrong, so fundamentally critical to your ridiculous self-concept that you can't just be a grown up for once in your pathetic life and get rid of the bottles? And when are we gonna arrive at the point where we don't have to hear about these stupid fucking bottles anymore? It bores me. YOU bore me, and you sicken me. Grow up. ...I actually usually have sympathy for hoarders and pack rats. My parents are pack rats, and I believe it's symptomatic of a larger constipated state of mind. I often feel like they hold back something they want to let go because they don't know how to express it. When I call my dad, just to say hello and see how he's doing, he always tells me he's cleaning up the house and throwing things away. But each time I go back to New York to visit them, their apartment seems ever more cluttered with junk and paper and crystallized memories. It makes me sad in a strange way. Maybe the sadness I feel about hoarding turns to anger when it's refracted through Mr. Seltzer Bottles' personality?

There’s another guy in the group who’s an out-of-work actor, which is to say he’s a limo driver. I refer to him privately as Nat West. You'll come across a lot of Nat Wests out here in Los Angeles, of course. It’s pathetic and sad when they’re 20-somethings, but when they’re 50-somethings it’s just irritating. Again, I find myself holding back... It ain’t gonna happen, dude. Repeat after me: It. Ain’t. Gonna. Happen. It was never gonna happen. Look at how much of your life you've wasted chasing nothingness. I don’t care that George Clooney was nice to you when you drove him from LAX to the Paramount lot. It doesn’t mean shit. It doesn’t mean that he thinks you’d be a good fit for his next feature. How could you possibly be so damn delusional? When you start sentences with the words, “my agent,” you need to know that people tune out the rest of what you have to say. Your so-called “agent” is a 24-year-old kid who plays X-Box and does bong rips in the middle of the workday. You’re a limo driver. Maybe it's not what you pictured for yourself, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s a skill other people can actually use. I know you think you did a great job in your walk-on on Murder She Wrote back in the fucking 80s, but nobody noticed it, nobody remembers it, nobody cares. I certainly don’t care, and no, I don’t want to see the head shot you have stored on your iPhone. I really don’t...

A third guy in the group owns a telemarketing business. But this isn’t the worst thing about him, although it is admittedly pretty bad. The worst thing about him is that he’s bald and wears his neck hair in a ponytail. Cut that fucking thing off before I yank on it like the bell for Lurch on the Addam’s Family... You rang? Why yes, I did ring. I wanted to be sure to tell you in no uncertain terms that you need to lose that stupid necktail, you dumb fuckwad. Steve Cropper can get away with a necktail because (a) he’s not nearly as bald as you are, Mr. Cue Ball, and (b) he’s Steve Fucking Cropper. You’re you, and you’re not allowed to wear a goddamn necktail. You’re just not. Why can't you understand that when people meet you, learn that you’re a telemarketer, and see your necktail, the effect is the same as if you were wearing a bumper sticker that said ‘I’m a scumbag and, oh by the way, did I mention that I’m a scumbag’? And if none of this is enough to convince you to take a scissors to that thing, I would simply ask you this: Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, on the wrong side of 60, to be walking around with a fucking necktail? I mean, really…

Well, I guess one thing is crystal clear: Being in this group has put me in touch with what an angry, nasty, mean, unfeeling motherfucker I can be, even though I can’t really outwardly express what I’m thinking. I should say that there’s one guy in the group, an animator, whom I like and respect a great deal. He’s very smart and says things, often in passing, that suggest to me that we’re similarly wired. I get the sense he’s got a lot of anger as well, but he’s also got a soft side, which he reserves for the small handful of people he likes. A lot of this is projection on my part, but sometimes he flashes me a passing look that lets me know – or I think it lets me know – that we’re thinking the same thing. I find those passing glances very gratifying. It’s too bad the rules of the group prevent us from becoming friends. I was dismayed a few weeks back when he announced that he might be leaving the group. That would be bad because then I’d be stuck with Seltzer Bottles, Nat West, and a god knows what else in terms of who might join the group to fill the vacancy. I made a joke – one with a huge kernel of truth – about how his leaving would tap into my abandonment issues, which he thought was funny, but everybody else just stared at me blankly. He hasn’t left yet, so maybe he’s reconsidering things. Maybe the joke I cracked worked its passive-aggressive magic. Abra cadabra! Or maybe I’ll just arrive at the group one week and find that he’s quit for good. I almost wish the group was just the two of us. On the other hand, perhaps it’s good for me to deal with people I don’t like or respect. Maybe it’s revealing something for me that will help me as I try to branch out a little. Maybe the anger and exasperation I feel so often in the group is part of a larger set of personal issues and complexes that tend to derail my attempts to branch out. Or maybe it all just means that the world is full of people who are even more fucked up than I am, and that branching out is overrated, one of those things I feel I should do because other people tell me I should do it, and not because I really want to... That's a lot of maybes. But there’s one thing for certain: No amount of therapy, whether in a one-on-one format or in a group, will ever make me more open-minded or forgiving about bald guys with necktails.

shout it out loud!

Whenever a Kiss song pops up on my iPod, I flash on Christopher, a boy I knew in second grade. My home room at school that year was half second graders and half third graders. Chris and I were in the same house, which is what home rooms were called at my school. Christopher was a third grader. For some reason I haven't been able to figure out, I've tended in my life to gravitate toward maladjusted people, the guys nobody else wants to be friends with because there's something wrong with them. Nowadays, Christopher would be on Ritalin and diagnosed with aspergers, if not some other new fangled affliction. Christopher had incredible charisma and knew a lot about Evil Kenevil, rated R movies, and Planet of the Apes. I'll never forget the day he drew a swastika in magic marker on a piece of paper, taped it to his arm, and ran around the classroom screaming Heil Hitler! I didn't know what it meant, but it caused a big ruckus, so I knew instinctively that it had to have been a cool thing to do. I went home and pulled the same act for my parents that night. I couldn't have picked a worse thing to do in front of my dad, and he gave me a very serious and scary talking to about it...

Christopher lived with his mother and her boyfriend in a tall building, on a floor that stank of stewing onions and cabbage. The mom's boyfriend had Oui, Playboy and Viva lying around the house. I bet he had David Hamilton books as well, but I can't remember for sure. ...On play dates at Christopher's house, we would watch the Monkees and Batman in the kitchen with their black housekeeper. Chris' mom let him join the Kiss Army, and I completely lost my mind on the day he played Kiss' Destroyer for me on the hi fi record player in their living room. ...I know now that Gene Simmons is a dickhead, with his dumb spiel about Kiss being a brand as opposed to a band, but this doesn't diminish how completely Kiss was able to capture something so basic and elemental for me when I was a kid. The Beatles and the Beach Boys had already trained my ear by the time Christopher introduced me to Kiss. The memories are blurry now, but I don't think Kiss would have had nearly as much of an impact on me, or on other kids my age for that matter, if not for the great melodies in their music. With everything else that was going on with Kiss - the costumes, the theatricality, the mystery, the danger - it's easy to forget that their music was pretty damn good for about four or five years...

I don't know why more people don't think of Kiss as being in the glam tradition. Maybe it's because Kiss, along with Queen, did things backwards by comparison with the more legitimate glam groups. Sweet and Slade, for example, made pop songs with a hard edge that would sneak up on you. Kiss and Queen, on the other hand, did the opposite, making hard rock songs that were not really as hard as the packaging might lead you to believe. I think the melodic hookiness of Queen, and especially of Kiss, is why young kids liked their music so much. I was forever changed after hearing the driving guitars that open Detroit Rock City. I think of it in the same way as I think of LSD. Even if you're exposed to it just once, you never quite see the world in the same way again.

These days, Destroyer sounds like just one more poorly recorded mid 70s corporate rock album. I can crank it all the way up and still have a very hard time trudging through the murky Bob Ezrin production effects. But back in 1976 Destroyer sounded like nothing else I could have imagined, and yet it was precisely what I wanted and needed from music. I became absolutely obsessed with Kiss. My parents were very concerned about it. Chris' mom was much looser with him. On one play date, she bought us copies of Creem and Circus, which by then had both virtually gone to an all Kiss all the time format. I brought the magazines home with me that night. I can't really remember what I did or said to cause my mom to react the way she did, but she tore both of the magazines up and threw them in the garbage. I must've done something to set her off, or maybe it was the pictures of Gene spitting blood and wagging his tongue like he was about to eat the yummiest twat in the world. Whatever it was, my mom couldn't handle my frenzied enthusiasm for Kiss. And I think the fact that she couldn't handle it stoked the flames of my frenzy all the more. That's the way it works with kids sometimes...

My nanny back in those days was a very peculiar older lady from Belgium. She more or less raised my sister and me, and sometimes she would do the most lovingly generous things for me. I came home from school one day and found a brand new copy of Kiss, the Originals on my bed. It was a repackage of Kiss' first three albums - Kiss, Hotter than Hell, and Dressed to Kill. I'm assuming now that Casablanca records put The Originals out in an attempt to cash in on the mega success of Kiss Alive, the album that made them stars in much the same way as Frampton Comes Alive made Peter Frampton a huge sensation. For my 9th birthday, or Christmas, or some occasion, my nanny got me Kiss Alive and Rock and Roll Over, and a little later on I got Love Gun. ...One of the things I really appreciate about Kiss in retrospect is not just that so many of their songs had ridiculously porny lyrics, but also that as an eight and nine year old I was walking around singing lines like she's been around, but she's young and clean. I don't think you could market stuff like that to kids these days...

Shortly after Kiss Alive II came out, a kid named Andy invited me to the Kiss concert at Madison Square Garden. This must've been sometime in 1978. My parents reluctantly let me go, even though it was on a school night. They didn't approve of Kiss, but they must've known that forbidding me to go would have created a lose-lose situation. They were smart that way. The concert was phenomenal, or at least that's the way I remember it now, but it also strikes me that this was the last gasp of my Kiss obsession. By this time, Christopher's behavioral problems proved to be his undoing and he was kicked out of the school. I slowly moved away from Kiss and on to Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, the Who, and Jimi Hendrix. Perhaps I sensed that the Kiss thing had played itself out after they released four ill-conceived solo albums, one for each member of the band. Actually, I should say that three of the solo albums were ill conceived. Ace Frehley's album is actually quite good and features the only hit to come out of the Kiss solo album experiment, Back in the New York Groove, a great song that gives a nod to the new supremacy of disco, while still packing quite a bit of a rockin' punch. For what it's worth, Ace was always my favorite guy in Kiss. I liked them all, but Ace was the one that fascinated me the most. ...Sometimes I wonder what happened to Christopher. Where is he today and what's he doing? I'd like to tell him how profoundly he changed my life, even if only in an accidental and once-removed kind of way. Then again, people you knew when you were little are rarely as interesting when you meet them again as adults. That's been my experience, anyway. I think I'd rather just have my memories of Christopher as a free spirited boy who could not be contained. I admired this quality in him back then, and I admire the memory I have of it now.

he did what?

I hate the Phillies and I especially hate their scuzzy douchebag fans, but how can you not love what Roy Halladay did today, throwing the first post-season no hitter since Don Larsen threw a perfect game for the Yankees against the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1956 World Series? It was his second no no of the year, the first one being the perfect game he threw against the Marlins back in May. I have been watching baseball since the 1973 World Series and I have never seen a more dominating performance than Doc Halladay turned in today. I know the guy's a fucking Mormon, and it's hard for me to overlook something like that, but I love the guy's game. I love the way he comports himself out on the mound, and I love the way he doesn't waste any time. He just gets the ball and throws it. He faced 28 batters today and threw first-pitch strikes to 25 of them. He pounded the strike zone with such uncanny command of his fastball. Carlos Ruiz set the target, and Halladay hit it all day long The Reds were completely off balance. I can't really recall any of their hitters making solid contact. Everything seemed to be weakly hit ground balls in on the hands of the batters. It was a performance for the ages, the kind that reminds you what a great game baseball is. And if you're a player on the Reds, it ain't gonna get any easier. Roy Oswalt goes in Game 2, and Cole Hamels goes in Game 3. Much as it hurts me to say this, I think the Phillies are gonna win it all this year.

a long distance relationship

In my professional life, such as it is, I conduct research on disadvantaged populations. The very fact that I use the term disadvantaged populations gets to the crux of what I'm thinking about right now. It's like calling retarded people special. I'm sorry if this is a harsh analogy, but I get so damn tired of mincing words all the time and of trying to convince others that I'm more sensitive and kindhearted than I really am. Don't mistake my professional identify for who I really am. I'm not such a nice and caring guy. I stumbled into my job by accident. And now, almost ten years into it, I'm considered an expert on urban poverty within my professional milleux. But I have no real intuitive understanding of poor people on a human level. I deal with poverty strictly from a distance. I know everything about the poor, and I know nothing about the poor. My work reduces poverty to SAS code. In my more reflective moments, I ask myself who these people really are. What kinds of thoughts go through their minds late at night when they lay their heads down on concrete sidewalks, wanting nothing more than for sleep to take them away from their waking misery. I haven't got the slightest fucking idea. Occasionally I do ethnographic analysis that brings me in a little bit closer, and it always leaves me feeling shaken, like I'd rather not know what's going on out there.

This has been my coping strategy more generally for quite some time now. When the banks melted down a few years ago, I melted down with them. I felt on the verge of losing all the security I had worked so hard to create for myself . With every 500 point plunge in the Dow, I became more anxious and depressed. I think I might have mentioned this before, but I'm quite enamored of Gramsci's concept of hegemony, which is the phenomenon wherein ruling class interests are successfully represented as universal interests. It's a kind of false consciousness. My actions, perceptions, and feelings seem to be informed by this form of false consciousness. So with each violent market gyration, I felt like I was mere moments away from losing my job, my house, my savings, my sanity. I pictured myself living in my car until I'd have to sell it in order to be able to eat. I thought I might very well become one of those people I study from a distance. The only way I could escape from the fear was to not know, to essentially become an unaware ignoramus. I stopped reading the papers, stopped watching the news, stopped talking politics with friends. And guess what? It worked! Or, I should say that it's working. I've kept my head in the sand for quite some time now. I'd rather not know. That's the mantra I comfort myself with everyday.

Still, sometimes not knowing isn’t viable. In my line of work there are things that I have to know in order to do my job. I can’t always be completely removed from the life experiences of the poor, for instance. My status as an expert on disadvantaged populations dictates that I know as much as possible, and nothing puts me in a better position to know than ethnographic work. Ethnography forces me to look at all kinds of depressing shit up close. I'm talking about people with serious ailments and physical disabilities who sleep under freeway overpasses. I may be cold and unfeeling in a bunch of different ways, but seeing complete and utter destitution pierces my armour. It makes me feel sad, and it makes me feel paranoid about having it happen to me someday... I interviewed a guy recently who used to own his own business. Then he got divorced, started drinking, started drugging, lost the business, lost his house, lost his kids, lost everything. Now he sleeps in a tent under the 110 freeway in San Pedro. He seemed like a regular guy. He was articulate and cogent. If you met him under different circumstances, you'd never know the guy was homeless. He wasn't mentally ill or anything like that. And if it can happen to him... I felt very bad for him. I told myself I’d go back and check up on him once in awhile, maybe even try to help him, even though he seemed perfectly content, like his life had been stripped of stressful complications and simplified down to the bare minimum. But over time my conversation with him receded further and further into the past. The humane impulses he stirred up in me faded. I got wrapped up in my own shit. The old patterns and tendencies reasserted themselves. I’d rather not know. I’d rather hop in my sports car, drive to my comfortable suburban home, have a few drinks, eat some good food, watch a ball game on TV. Out of sight, out of mind. Roll another number for the road... I don't even know any poor people, except maybe Jesus, the guy who cuts my grass, and Esmerelda, the lady who cleans my house, and Jorge, the dude who shines my shoes while I'm working out at the gym. But I'm an expert. If you need any information on disadvantaged populations, I'm your guy. ...How did I become this expert who knows nothing? The only way I can even begin to answer that question is to say that my life has taken some very strange twists and turns. Some people have a preordained destiny, while others fall into the whirlwind of randomness. I think I'm a little bit of both. I was a jokester who became very serious, and now I'm in the middle between the two. Everything for me seems to take place in the middle of two contradictory things. I'm serious about poverty, but I'm not really all that serious about anything, let alone something that has nothing to do with me...

As a younger man, I embraced Marxism as both a political philosophy and an analytical framework for understanding the world around me. I deluded myself into thinking that I gave a shit about the working class. But it was always the ideas themselves that were the real source of the attraction, much more so than the practical implications of the ideas. I still think Marx’s concepts and theories provide a fundamentally correct interpretation of why things happen, it’s just that the only thing I’m interested in is the interpretation. Marx has that thing about how philosophers interpret the world whereas the point is to change it. Well, what if you’re like me and you don’t really like change? I guess then you side with the philosophers, right? ...A good friend of mine who was always incredulous about the authenticity of my radicalism, with good reason, told me once that I was way too into Derek and the Dominoes to ever be a true revolutionary. It was probably the most insightful thing anybody has ever said about me. Bobby Whitlock’s backing vocals affect me in a much deeper and more visceral way than Das Kapital. ...I was introduced to radical theory by a ‘radical’ English professor. To hear him tell it, reading Donald Barthelme’s short stories through the lens of Marxist literary theory was somehow supposed to bring about a worker’s state, a socialist heaven on earth. That was the pitch, and I greenlighted the script. Never mind that workers in actually existing socialist states produce goods and provide services at the point of a bayonet. I overlooked the facts, so intent was I on rejecting my class origins...

Eventually I lightened up and voted for Clinton. He felt my pain, and he had this phenomenal capacity to be all things to all people. He was constantly triangulating, splitting the difference between the 60s and the 80s. It was cynical, sure, but there's no denying that it was effective politics. I see myself as a bit of a triangulator, actually. I'm an expert who doesn't know shit. I care but I really don't care. Even when I get close, I always make sure to keep my distance. So much of what I do and say and think is deadly serious, and yet it's all a big joke. I'm kind and caring and respectful, but I'm a nasty, mean spirited fucker, too. If you try to pin me down, I'll slide right through your fingers. My friends and family and colleagues see who they want to see when they look at me, and I encourage them in this. But they don't know me, and I'm not so sure I do either...

cleaning house

Omar Minaya and Jerry Manuel have been fired by the Mets. It didn't take long for the Wilpons to make the move, just a day after the conclusion of the regular season, but it's been expected for a long time. The writing was on the wall when the team began to falter at the All-Star break back in July. I don't blame Manuel much for the failures of the last three years. A manager is not a magician, and you can't win if there's not enough talent on the roster or if the talent you have is constantly on the DL. Manuel was an OK strategist. Nothing great. Pretty vanilla, really. I get the impression that he's an ok guy and that most of the players liked him, but these are not necessarily traits that qualify somebody to be a big-league manager. Not that Manuel's not qualified. He had some success managing the White Sox in the past. In any case, Omar Minaya is much more responsible for the team's losing ways than Jerry Mnauel. He gave too many hefty contracts to too many guys who didn't perform. He seems to have a hardon for over-the-hill Latin players who break down at the end of their backloaded contracts. I'm thinking in particular of Luis Castillo and Carlos Delgado. I don't fault Minaya for the Carlos Beltran contract. When Beltran has been healthy he's been a five-tool player. It remains to be seen whether he can come back next year and still be productive. Minaya's spendthrift ways will hamstring the Mets next year with Johan Santana, Carlos Beltran, Luis Castillo and Oliver Perez still on the books. One of Minaya's biggest failures, in my opinion, is his notion that New York fans will not tolerate a rebuilding phase. It seems he thinks that all New York fans have the Yankee mentality, which is not true. Met fans are a different breed. We'll accept rebuilding as a natural and cyclical part of the game if there appears to be a long-term game plan for winning. I would love to see the Mets go young next year and begin to rebuild for 2012 and beyond. By then, a lot of the bad Minaya contracts will be gone, and the new guy can make some strategic free agent signings that would help them be a pennant contender by the middle of the decade. A Yankee GM can't do this type of rebuilding thing, true enough, but we're Met fans in large part because we don't wanna be the Yankees. Here's hoping that the Wilpons will hire good people with some vision. I won't hold my breath because I don't think those guys are very smart. But as the players like to say when they're interviewed, "let's just see what happens..."

fragments...

The weekend kind of got away from me. Friday after work I came home eager to listen to some live Grateful Dead. One of my oldest and dearest friends is a GD obsessive and made me a comprehensive list of shows worth hearing. It's easier than ever these days to find live recordings thanks to the internet. No more dealing with undesirable people who want to trade tapes, no more having to buy the mostly so-so shows that are available commercially. There's a part of me that feels nostalgic for having a tangible object, in this case a tape or a cd, but this goes out the window when it becomes clear just how much stuff is readily available for free with the press of a few buttons. ...I decided to get things started with a few shows from 1971. I vacillate depending on my mood, but I do 'objectively' think that '71 was the peak year for live Grateful Dead music. There's still some leftover fumes from the psychedelic 60s, but they get sifted through the tighter roots/folk/rural approach the band moved towards at the dawn of the new decade. I listened very carefully to a show from the Hollywood Palladium from 1971, and I was struck by how much shorter and more compressed a lot of the songs were. I think I like it better in some ways when they get to it more quickly. There are some exceptions to this, of course, like when they started playing Here Comes Sunshine, Eyes of the World, and Mississippi Half Step in the mid 70s, but something about a nice compact version of Loser, Deal or Me and My Uncle, played crisply and without any extra fat on the meat, is very satisfying indeed. I'm sure I'll change my mind as I begin to explore the decade in more depth, but right now I'm liking things when the Dead do things more concisely. This clip is a little bit later, from the Europe '72 tour, but it's in the same stripped-down vein...

...In between dosages of Grateful Dead, I supercharged with some early Fleetwood Mac. In their late 60s and early 70s incarnations, the Dead and the Mac seem to complement each other nicely. It's not that they sound alike. Nobody sounds like the Grateful Dead. I hate it when people find out that I'm a head and assume that I'll also like New Riders of the Purple Sage, or Quicksilver, or Hot Tuna, or Little Feat. I don't like any of that stuff. I don't like 'jam bands' per se. I like bands with great songs, and if they happen to throw some good jamming into the mix then that's great, but the jamming itself is almost never what draws me in to, say, the Allman Brothers or Jefferson Airplane. I don't really get Phish. They sound like muzak to me - stoner muzak for college kids. It's not my thing at all. The Dead are a completely distinct animal, though there are records you can play alongside live Dead music that go really well. Peter Green-era Fleetwood Mac would be in this category for me, and maybe even two or three albums after Peter Green left the band. Then Play On, Fleetwood Mac's masterpiece from 1970, might just be the greatest guitar album

ever made, though not in an ostentatious way. The playing is in fact quite understated when it needs to be. Their approach to music is similar in my mind to Richard Thompson. He is a phenomenal guitar player, but he doesn't feel like he has to beat you ever the head with it. Sometimes it's what isn't played or what's left to the listener's imagination that counts just as much as what what is played. Don't mistake what I'm saying. There's furiously slashing interplay between Peter Green and Danny Kirwan throughout the Then Play On, but it's never showy, always just exactly right in setting the proper mood and vibe. I'm fascinated by Fleetwood Mac and want to say more about them at some point when I get my shit together...

I saw The Social Network last night with a friend and found it to be very depressing. I don't think the folks who made the movie were intending to make a depressing movie, but it ends up projecting an image of such ruthless social darwinism, where high-tech hyper-capitalism is as natural and unquestioned as a morning piss. The movie made me feel even more acutely out-of-touch with the way we live now. I was not made for the world of today. I'm an extra and not a principal actor. I don't mind being an extra except that the world depicted in The Social Network is one in which extras are the wretched of the earth. And just to give you a feel for how apparently out-of-touch I am, all the scenes in the movie that made me wince the hardest were the ones that the audience howled with laughter at and applauded most vociferously. It's only a movie, sure but it's never only a movie, and the deeper implications of this one made me feel like finding a big rock to crawl under...