Thoughts From The Jimmyhead™

Louis CK

2007-01-17T16:45:00.000-05:00

Louis CK, my new favorite comedian (superceding Jake Johansen). I love his take on parenthood. Check out his new HBO special "Shameless". Honest, inappropriate and hysterical. He's been around for years, was a head writer for "The Chris Rock Show", but I really only sat down and listened this past week.

Boy, Dog and Guitar

2007-01-10T10:54:00.000-05:00

Here's another video of a kid playing guitar (really playing this time). Though he's small and talented and everything, it's the dog and his interaction with the boy at around 55 seconds that made me smile. The rest of the video gets to be a bit long, but sleeping dog fans will want to skip to the end.

Global Warming Report 01/09/07

2007-01-09T13:44:00.001-05:00

It has been an extremely warm winter here in the northeast. The strange weather is affecting local animal and plant life. Birds are confused, and some of the shallow planted bulbs are prematurely sprouting in the garden. Plus, I've noticed some disturbing trends in my own behavior.

This warm weather is causing me to crave and consume chilled white wines, usually reserved for the warm weather months. Also, I usually pay attention to College Basketball only during the month of March, but I'm finding myself tuning in to ESPN in search of some madness here in early January (which, by the way, I found last night during Villanova's close victory over Georgetown).

There are also some disturbing warm weather fashion trends that are re-emerging. Emboldened women are wearing those awful bermuda shorts with galoshes again. Horrors. I know this look was introduced on runway models during spring fashion previews last year, but when regular gals sport it, it evokes the outfit my dad would wear whenever our basement flooded.

How bad does this environmental crisis have to get before we all take notice?

2007-01-08T22:13:00.000-05:00

You've gotta love this kid rocking out in the family computer/sewing room (dig the sewing machine in the background). I must admit, right down to the sloppy fro, this looks like me circa 1982 (if the internet existed, and I had smaller glasses) with my cheap-ass Fender Strat Fake and my Gorilla amp. Even if I was more of a Rush man myself. Behold.

Rocky Balboa

2007-01-03T14:14:00.000-05:00

I was given the rare opportunity to go to the movies all by myself one afternoon last week. (Some people think the solo movie experience a lonely one, but for me it is the best way to take in a film.) In order to avoid future movie viewing inequities, my wife asked me to pick one that she would probably never want to see. It didn't take me long to choose Rocky Balboa (boxing + Sly Stallone + 5th sequel = Winner!)

The premise of the movie is that a computer simulation of a fight between Rocky and the current champ shows Rocky winning, which brings Rocky, now 60, out of retirement for an exhibition match.

With only one fight at the end, "Rocky Balboa" strays a bit from the formula used by most of the sequels. All except "Rocky II" had two fights to bolster weak scripts and bad acting. This story has more heart and is better acted than most of the others. The first half of the movie is a loving examination of Rocky's retired life. His beloved Adrian (Talia Shire*) has passed on, and he holds court every night in his restaurant named for her, where patrons listen to the boxer tell stories about the good old days. Paulie (Burt Young) is still around, still a mess, and often comes by Adrian's for free booze and to harass the hostess. Rocky's son, now in his twenties and surrounded by thoughtless assholes is dealing poorly with the stress of living in his father's shadow. Rocky is bored and depressed with his retirement, and after much soul searching the slugger decides he's got one fight left in him. There were at least two touching moments toward the end of the first half where I was sure it would fade to black and the inevitable training sequence would begin. I was beginning to get itchy.

I'm a sucker for the Rocky franchise, so of course as soon as the "Gonna Fly Now" trumpets did peal out those opening notes, I was rejuvenated and ready for a good ol' Rocky training sequence. I was not disappointed. You could put that music under a shot of Stallone brushing his teeth and it would inspire. Since Rocky now owns a restaurant, the unconventional training method this time is lifting and throwing a keg around**. Rocky also revisits to the meat punching and raw egg drinking from the first movie, and runs up the steps of the Philadelphia museum to jump up and down with his newly adopted old shaggy dog in his arms (that was a bit goofy).

The fight sequences are typical Rocky fare (completely fictional, rarely is a heavyweight fight that exciting), as is the course of the match. Rocky is compared to George Foreman, who fought his last fight when he was 48, but any fight fan will recognize that a 60 year old could never go 10 rounds with a reasonably fit guy in his 20's. Even bad boxing requires incredible endurance. The beating that Rocky survives in this fight is just relentless. I'm all set to suspend disbelief during a Rocky fight, so I did. A lot. But that's why we love Rock. He's got that intangible stuff. And he needs to be hit right in the face repeatedly and with deadly force until the final round to find those intangibles.

Stallone did a decent job writing and directing, he clearly loves this character and his script and acting redeem the faults of the lesser Rocky films. He also captures the feel of Philadelphia with the same sentimental rawness I remember from the original. All in all, I rank it as the third best of the Rocky movies.***

*Apparently the awful Godfather III was her last sequel, she should have chosen this movie, it was better.
**For you Rocky neophytes, each movie uses some new, unusual training method that often reflects the setting and initially makes no sense, but ultimately turns out to be a really good idea: "Rocky" - punching sides of beef in the meat packing plant where he works; "Rocky II" - chasing a chicken ; "Rocky III" - training in an inner city gym, swimming, and racing Apollo Creed on the beach in short shorts, tall socks and sleeveless belly shirts - really ; "Rocky IV" - chopping wood, carrying logs through knee deep snow, and running in the mountains somewhere in the Soviet Union; "Rocky V"- an embarrassment for everyone involved, and I can't remember - I get that one mixed up with the arm wrestling movie.
***
1. Rocky
2. Rocky III
3. Rocky Balboa
4. Rocky II
5. Rocky IV
6. Rocky V

Crack Mommies

2007-01-03T11:51:00.000-05:00

When my wife and her siblings were growing up, they made a double entendre of the phrase "doing crack" to describe what many of us refer to as "plumber's crack". "Look, girls! Daddy's doing crack!" I would hear as my pants dropped a bit while bending under the kitchen sink. Well as we all now know, doing crack is no longer a problem for plumbers only. The ass crack is the new pierced navel. The perfect accessory for your low rise jeans. And this trend, once reserved for teenagers and twentysomethings has become acceptable for some adventurous older women (and unfortunately some men) as well. That's right, suburban mothers are doing crack!

Crack mommies are in evidence all over Westchester County. I see them at the supermarket, I see them at the mall. I saw a woman last summer bent over, weeding her lawn with almost her entire ass out. I've also seen moms doing crack at elementary and preschool events and at a number of kid's birthday parties, which makes me a little uneasy.

As a man, my eye is drawn to any bared skin below a woman's neck and above her knees. I've tried to fight it, but I've got very little discipline, and I consider it a victimless social crime. That said, it does make me uncomfortable to see a woman doing crack while I'm trying to be a good father at a school event or some similar gathering. Enslaved by my hard wired man brain, my eyes cannot help but wander to the crack. As a result, I feel like a pervert for objectifying women during what should be quality time with my daughters. Those feelings of perversion soon turn to confusion when I begin to wonder why these women aren't being more crack conscious in such places. In a setting like a bar, one expects to see some crack. And one can assume either drunken neglect or alluring exhibitionism as rationalizations. But those reasons don't seem to apply at a preschool birthday party or a scholastic book fair.

One assumes that most crack moms are simply the victims of fashion and circumstance. Surely they would be devastated to know that the men in the room (and some of the boys, I'm sure) had seen so much. Or would they? I suspect that for some of these women, doing crack is akin to wearing a very low cut top. The denim curtain drops to "accidentally" reveal the butt cleavage which shouts, "Motherhood took the belly, but please take some time to enjoy my ass crack while I bend over wipe my toddler's nose."

There is, however, an important difference between bum and breast cleavage. The plunging neckline has an elegant quality.
We see it often at posh red carpet events. The low cut top helps accentuate a woman's neck and creates a line of vision that leads to a woman's face. Plus boobs can be a warm happy home for a priceless necklace. The ass crack points to a less sophisticated place, and it's location allows for more surreptitious viewing at close range. This gives it a seedier image than its forward facing counterpart. If boob cleavage is Elizabeth Hurley, ass crack is Divine Brown, and most men are Hugh Grant, and would like a taste, so to speak, of both the elegant and the seedy (even if Divine might not quite be their type).

Don't get me wrong. The crack mommy epidemic is mostly harmless, and I'm a big fan of the female rear end and all roads that lead there. I just think it's inappropriate to have Divine Brown propositioning me when I'm supposed to be enjoying my three year old singing jingle bells at the preschool Holiday party.

You can read more about ass cleavage fashion here, and here.

Clips I Love

2006-12-25T23:01:00.000-05:00

U2-Window In the Skies
Not my favorite U2 song, but a fun video. Musta been great fun to cut.

A special gift from SNL

Counting Crows - Anna Begins

John Mayer - Bold As Love

Christmas Soul

2006-12-07T12:44:00.000-05:00

My wife bought this CD home from Kohl's yesterday. It seems they've teamed up with good ol' Rhino Records and put out this Ray Charles Christmas CD. It's a part of the Kohl's Cares For Kids program, and "100% of the net profit from the sale of these items will support health and educational opportunities for children nationwide." It's waiting in the impulse purchase section of their stores and online, and can be yours for just five bucks.
I'm not usually big on department store music releases, but there's not a bad track on this CD. I did a quick google search and couldn't find an original release of Ray Charles Christmas, so I'm assuming this is some kind of compilation made to look like a re-release. The 24 hour Christmas radio station is in heavy rotation in my house all through December, and this will be an excellent addition.
The big three classics "Little Drummer Boy"; "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"; and "Winter Wonderland" are here and Ray makes each of them his own. In addition there are some other songs that I've never heard before, from what sounds like a bunch of different eras. They're all original sounding and full of jazz, soul, and some gospel.
You can't go wrong here. Good music, good cause, good price.

Other Jimmyhead Christmas Faves:

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band: Santa Claus is Coming to Town (Live)
James Taylor: Winter Wonderland, and anything else from his xmas CD
Dave Matthews: Christmas Song
Anything with Bing Crosby singing

And as a Jew I'm sad to say that for me, aside from Adam Sandler's Hannukah Song, we have nothing that can compete with the classics. It's a shame considering all the great songwriters we've got in the tribe. I mean with Leonard Bernstein, George Gershwin, Bob Dylan, Burt Bachrach, Billy Joel and all on the team you'd think we'd have one decent song. No such luck. Just the friggin' Dreidel Song.

Unhealthy In New Orleans

2006-12-05T22:11:00.000-05:00

CNN is reporting a study that ranks New Orleans as the least healthy city in America. This may upset nutritionists down there, but it's relieving to know that I am not the only one guilty of unhealthy food and lifestyle choices during my visits to the Crescent City. Surely some of my least healthy weeks were happily spent there.
(Not a healthy Fat Tuesday.)
I can sort of remember a rainy mid nineties Mardi Gras that I spent eating Popeye's, drinking Jack and Cokes and barely sleeping for a week. And I'm just the tip of the iceberg. My pals who lived down there screwed with their bodies in ways that most of us can only imagine.

The Man in the Yellow Hat: Neglectful Parent

2006-12-04T22:14:00.000-05:00

The man in the yellow hat is a bad parental role model.

As parents, my wife and I work hard to avoid potentially messy, dangerous and unpleasant situations with our kids. If we'll be out late, we have our children nap during the day so they won't melt down before bedtime. We keep a change of clothes for each of them in the car in case of a mess. And of course, we try not to leave the children alone long enough to get involved with any mischief. If they are in a different room from us we listen and check in on them regularly.

Not so for the Man in the Yellow Hat, primary caregiver to Curios George. He makes absolutely no effort to keep his monkey in line. George releases animals from an animal shelter, dangerously operates a parked dump truck, makes a mess of an ice cream parlor and lots more. In many episodes of his new PBS series, George is left to wander around his apartment building and an entire city by himself. All unmonitored by any kind of adult human supervision.

So what's the deal with Yellow Hat? To start, he never changes his clothes (except for the beach). His fashion sense is not a monkey care issue, but does indicate some sort of larger problem. He keeps a troublesome monkey as a pet in what looks to be a fairly large city. He uses no leash, no cage, no discipline at all. In the real world he would long ago have been evicted from his apartment and poor George would be doing time at the Zoo or some awful cosmetic research facility.

But perhaps Curious George author H.A. Rey had an allegory in mind. Maybe Yellow Hat is God and George is humanity. Left to our own free will, we are slowly destroying the world with our insatiable curiousity. We reek havoc on our environment every day, just like George in the ice cream parlor. We mean well, but without proper guidance from The Man we are lost in the big city.

Heavy stuff for a series of children's books? Maybe, but after the fiftieth time reading them to the kids, my mind tends to wander.

11/26/06

2006-11-26T23:23:00.000-05:00

I sat with my three year old in our swingset tower this weekend and watched the autumn sun set behind the trees and houses. Then we went down the slide together and played until the moon came out.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Jimmyhead Top 10 Most Played Tracks

2006-11-17T12:58:00.000-05:00

Ah yes. It's getting to be that time of the year again. Publications worldwide are making lists, ranking music, movies, books, performances and checking them twice. So I thought I'd contribute the top ten most played tracks on the ol' Jimmypod, now nearly a year old. Mind you, not a single one of these tracks was released this year, but that didn't stop me from enjoying them repeatedly since last January. I believe the Ipod has to play the entire track from start to finish (a partial play does not count) to get counted as a play. This may account for what seem to be a low number of plays for my favorites, because it seems like I probably listened to them more than is indicated.

1. I Second That Emotion (Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, 16 plays)
2. The Tracks of My Tears (Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, 15 Plays)

Wow, Smokey dominating the Jimmyhead top 5 with two of his biggest hits. Bob Dylan once referred to Robinson as "America's greatest living poet."

Take a good look at my face
You'll see my smile looks out of place
If you look closer it's easy to trace
The tracks of my tears.

Love that. These songs probably reached their lofty position on the list because I enjoy them so much that I often play them twice in a row. Also, earlier this year I was learning how to play the guitar chords for "I Second That Emotion" which I'm sure bolstered the play count.

3.Who Did You Think I Was? (John Mayer Trio, 14 plays)
Not a normal suburban child, the Fairfield County Kid channels Stevie Ray Vaughn on guitar, but his lyrics evoke the sharp wit of Paul Simon. On this track (which by the way comes closest in the list to having been released this year), he shreds what's left of his teen pop prodigy image, revealing a closeted blues freak.

4. Karma (Alicia Keys, 13 Plays)
This version, from the "Unplugged" album is white hot. Played short as part of a two song medley with "Heartburn"(which I would think gets played just as much, but must be excluded from this list due to some applause and banter at the end of the track that I skip over), this track shows off a well honed band with Alicia front and center. I once read that she initially had trouble communicating with her backing musicians. Problem solved.

5. (Don't Go Back To) Rockville (R.E.M. 13 plays)
This is my favorite R.E.M. song. Great lyrics about how depressing it is to live "Where nobody says hello, they don't talk to anybody they don't know." I consider learning the guitar part this year to be one of the major musical achievements of my long, slow, undisciplined journey to guitar mediocrity. Favorite lyrics:

At night I drink myself to sleep
And pretend I don't care that you're not here with me
Cause it's so much easier to handle
All my problems if I'm too far out to see
Something better happen soon
Or it's gonna be to late to bring me back

I love when Michael Stipe sings about getting shitfaced.

6. Baby Love (The Supremes, 13 plays)
Motown at it's finest. Diana Ross' voice is so sweet it sounds fake. I've actually played this one out a little bit.

7. Walk On (Live) (U2, 13 plays)
This song came out before 9/11, but when they performed it for the post 9/11 "A Tribute to Heroes" telethon it seemed made for the moment. Bono seems to be getting choked up during some of the verses, and the line "Stay safe tonight" always gives me a chill.

8. When I Paint My Masterpiece (Live) (The Band, 12 plays)
This is from the "Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Tribute Concert" and features The Band with their 90's, post Robbie Robertson lineup, and Levon Helm in full voice before his health problems set in. Just a great acoustic performance of a great Dylan song with Helm on Mandolin and Rick Denko singing his signature harmonies. This whole album is a perfect example of how a great cover of a Dylan song can transcend the original.

9. Least Complicated (Live) (Indigo Girls, 12 Plays) Yet another live track. This from the Indigo's album "1200 Curfews". To start, one of the girls (I think it's the blonde one) tells this great story about buying a ring for her cute little fifth grade boyfriend and discovering that "it wasn't the cool thing to do", which the lesbians in the audience (and me) just love. This song is sort of about that story and the performance is incredibly powerful. A recent episode of "The Office" featured two guys drunkenly bonding while singing another Indigos song, "Closer To Fine". This scene made me feel like it was okay to be a heterosexual man and love the Indigos. They rocked when I saw them at the Lillith Fair.

10. I Want You Back (The Jackson 5, 12 plays)
If you want to understand what's wrong with Michael Jackson, listen to his vocal on this track. A normal 11 year old should not be able to summon the emotions required to get a performance like this on tape. Michael sings far beyond his years. Even at 11 there is clearly nothing normal about him.

Film Making and Finger Paintings

2006-11-13T13:42:00.000-05:00

Recently, my wife and I saw "Thank You For Smoking", a disappointing comedy about a the Public Relations guy for tobacco companies. Directed by Jason Reitman, it had a great cast, but fell short as a cohesive film.

Last weekend, we saw Sofia Coppola's "Marie Antoinette"
an even more disappointing period piece starring Kirsten Dunst in the title role. It had a decent cast, beautiful art direction, but fell short as a cohesive film.

Both of these films were directed by the children of hugely successful Hollywood writer/producer/directors. Men who must have also found the films disappointing, but couldn't say so because it's a parent's job to encourage the creative ventures of his children.

I can relate. As a father of young children, I've often had to look at an indecipherable brown and black finger painting blob caked thickly onto a large thin sheet of newsprint and exclaim, "Oh sweetheart! This is beautiful!". So I can imagine Ivan Reitman feigning delight as the lights came up in his private screening, "Great job, Jay Jay! Love the talk show scene." while he must have been thinking, "I was about your age when I produced 'Animal House', punk". And Francis Ford in the screening room of the Coppola compound, wiping bread crumbs from his beard and exclaiming, "Sofia, what a beautiful film", but thinking "By the time I was 35, I had finished both 'Godfather' movies, little miss."

Of course, I'm sure both fathers are very supportive (Francis is an Executive Producer on "Marie Antoinette"). Even a black brown blob finger painting carries some level of achievement for a parent to find pride in, "Wow, you covered the whole page sweetie!" But in their deepest and most selfish of places, they must also find some comfort in the fact that their kids have not yet eclipsed their own achievements. No need to worry thus far, fellas.

Deli Math

2006-11-13T10:20:00.000-05:00

I've recently taken to trying to order one third of a pound of certain cold cuts at the supermarket deli. A quarter often isn't enough and a half is too much. A third seems to fit our family's consumption quite well. But ordering a third of a pound certainly seems to throw a wrench in the works behind the deli counter. The people in deli management seem to have taught their hires only how to work in quarters, halves and wholes. Occasionally I get an enterprising person who knows that a third translates to roughly 0.33 pounds on the digital scale, but most of the time my request creates a small crisis as the poor clerk is forced to ask a co-worker how much a third is. It often takes two or three of the deli folks to figure it out if I don't intervene myself.

Waiting on line for cold cuts is boring. If there's any fun to be had it's in watching whatever small drama unfolds behind that counter while waiting for your number to be called. The search for a missing hunk of cheese, or the unpackaging of a new roast beef is always somewhat entertaining. So anyone who's paying attention to the deli stage would note the short math crisis behind the slicers. The clerk's poor math skills are suddenly on display for numbers 63 through 70 and for any nosey folks browsing the gourmet cheeses and olives.

So I get a pang of guilt every time my order causes such an exposure. But should I have to waste three slices of low sodium turkey breast (or worse, to come up short) to make the deli workers look smarter? I think not. I call on management to eliminate this painful interaction by better educating our deli workers in fraction to decimal conversion. I'm tempted to start ordering more complicated fractions, like a 2/3 or even 5/8 as a form of non violent protest, but that would truly be cruel, unusual, and sure to extend my time in line. Not to mention that my brilliant protest (which would surely make Ghandi and Dr. King proud) would most likely go unnoticed by the deli manager. Better to amuse myself by silently wondering what head cheese really is.

Musical Thoughts For the Day

2006-05-26T10:27:00.000-04:00

I hope that Alicia Keys and John Meyer will someday soon do some recording together. . .in my basement. They would make a fine team.

The Dixie Chicks' "Not Ready to Make Nice" is catchy as hell. I got a chill listening to the bridge->chorus today.

My guilty pleasure for the week is the "High School Musical" Soundtrack.

Back from Sabbatical

2006-05-26T09:58:00.000-04:00

I'm back from my Sabbatical, studying the effects of global warming on the taste of wine. I'm feeling all bloggy again. When did gas get so expensive?

Little White Lie

2005-10-22T15:20:00.000-04:00

I lied to my 5 year old this morning. She asked for some milk with her frosted flakes and I told her we were all out. I felt that we really didn't have enough to make a "complete breakfast" of her dry cereal. So I held out on my kindergartener.

Oh, there was about a quarter cup of leftover milk that I sparingly saved last night. She had asked to use it to dunk her cookie in, and I warned her that there would not be enough left for her cereal this morning, but she insisted. Of course instead of finishing it, she left most of it to be added to the 2 pints of milk that I usually toss down the sink every week. Thinking myself rather crafty, I extracted the tiny bits of cookie with a perforated toddler spoon, wrapped that cup tightly in cling plastic and set it in the fridge to be used in the morning.

My five year old refused breakfast at first and only later asked me for the frosted flakes with milk. Had I combined the cookie milk with the annoyingly small amount I had left barely covering the bottom of the gallon milk jug, it probably would have been enough for her cereal. But to be honest, I considered the cookie milk mine after she abandoned it on the kitchen table last night. Finder's keeper's. I'm man enough to admit that I rescued that milk for the sole purpose of cutting my morning coffee and never gave my poor girl a second thought. I used it before she ever got a chance to ask for it this morning. That left the sheer layer of milk in the gallon jug which I lied about, and used for my second cup. More milk would arrive later.

The milk's really just a vehicle for the sugar frosting anyway. It's secondary to her cereal experience. But I absolutely hate black coffee. My need simply superceded hers. Without my coffee I cannot get within spitting distance of my children's energy level and successfully care for them on a rainy weekend morning. So with love in my heart, I sipped my mug of lies while my girls played with play dough on the kitchen table, snacking on dry frosted flakes.

Denim, Leather and Drugs

2005-10-21T02:00:00.000-04:00

My wife threw out her back yesterday. Her doctor called in a prescription to our local pharmacy. Sitting in the shadow of a big, shiny, red CVS Pharmacy, this is the pharmacy that my parents used when I was growing up. Although it's changed hands a few times, we've continued to frequent it in defiance of the red monolith next door. As a result, my face has been known there for years. Ye Olde Pharmacy recently changed hands again, and although some of the clerks seem to have stayed on, there is a new couple of chemists behind the counter. They don't know my grubby ass.

Apparently the doctor's office got my wife's birth date incorrect. The druggist came from behind the counter to give me a look see. I was wearing my excellently faded jeans(frayed perfectly behind the ankles), sneakers, white t-shirt and trusty, well worn leather jacket with torn lining.

(Yeah, I looked pretty tough, punk.)

My wife's prescription must have been some good stuff, because the pharmacist seemed very suspicious. She looked me in the eye and asked "What is the date of birth?" Pausing to think just a bit too long, I answered correctly, and although she still didn't seem completely convinced, she explained that the script had the wrong birthdate on it and went back to her perch.

Now I worked in a pharmacy when I was in high school, and I can remember a certain customer who also favored well worn denim and leather jackets. His presence in the store inevitably lead to an intense, hushed conversation with the nebbish pharmacist who would come out from behind his counter to tell Denim and Leather that he was out of refills. The interaction would usually end with D&L departing, defeated and shaky, to score himself a fresh prescription. He'd usually come back later that month to proudly slap a new one on the counter and give nebbish pharmacist a victorious smile.

So when my new chemist came out from behind her counter to check me out, I knew what time it was. She wanted to make sure I wasn't some grubby, denim and leather clad pill popper with a misinformed accomplice, calling in a fake order for pain meds.

Looking at the "May Cause Drowsiness" label on the amber vial, I realized that my wife's physical discomfort would soon be relieved, but her anguish over my sometimes sketchy appearance would not.

About a Train

2005-10-19T09:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, a friend related a story to me about a devastating breakup. Silly girl, I thought to myself. Allowing yourself to get all caught up in trying to have a meaningful relationship. I crassly told her not to get all involved with her "bitches".

Well, I'm eating my words now, because I'm smitten. That's right, I'm in love with the 8:55 Harlem Line Express to Grand Central. Sure, she's got a long name, but that's just a detail. This one really gets me. I met her in White Plains earlier this month. She's new, just added to this quarter's timetable, and man is she hot.

She usually shows up just a little early, and she's always got time and plenty of free seats for me. Not like that bitchy 9:00 express, so repressed and crowded, like some confused Catholic hooker.

8:55 really understands me. I'm a family guy. She knows that. "But I've gotta drop my daughter off at school at exactly 8:40!", I say. "Don't worry honey, you'll make it,"she coos reassuringly. "Don't forget your coffee."
"I've got a meeting at 10am", I stammer. "Just relax. . .listen to Howard and enjoy the ride." My kinda train.

And she doesn't mind if I take a call from my wife while we're together.

Approachabilility Log - 10.07.05

2005-10-07T13:54:00.000-04:00

12:45pm.
During the long wait for my meatball parmesan sub today, a young lady approached me with a strange question.

"This is gonna seem like a really wierd question," she said, "But I have to ask you."
"Okay", I replied, "I'm ready."
"Do you know what a catheter is?" She asked with an embarassed smile.
Suprised by this bold coed, I turned to the friend who was waiting patiently with me who said,"You want to take this one?"

I gave the quick explanation of the gruesome task that I understand as the job of the catheter. She was still a little confused and explained that she had just heard a convict talking about the things he had brought into prison hidden in his most private of areas. Some drugs, a razor blade, and apparently a catheter.

Oh my. I could see why she was so confused. What would one want with a catheter in prison? Do they not allow straws in prison? Are straw lovers sneaking catheters into jail so that they can continue to enjoy sipping beverages while behind bars? What else would you do with a catheter in prison. The possibilities are a little disturbing.

As she walked away from this strange interaction I called "Have a good lunch!" with a sarcastic grin. That got a laugh.

Just another day in the life of Jim W: The Most Approachable Man in the Metropolitan Area

I don't trust my government anymore.

2005-10-07T01:51:00.000-04:00

Tonight a terrorist threat to the NYC Subway system was announced. Also, "President" Bush spoke about the continued threat of terrorism in Iraq and invoked 9/11 once again. About and hour after my initial, alarmed reaction to the threat (and yes, hearing the FBI talk about a very serious threat gets my heart jumping)I start thinking about the events of the past month and how the leaders of the Federal Government are having a hard time with the law. Karl Rove's being summoned to court to talk about leaking. Bill Frist is in trouble over insider trading. Tom Delay has his ass to the coals over misuse of corporate funds. And of course, "President" Bush is busy transparently appointing his friends to the highest offices he has available.

I gotta be honest, I'm thinking there's nothing like the threat of a terrorist attack to take the pressure off the real issues. The story took up at least half of the news broadcast I watched tonight on CNN. Not much about the Republicans and thier problems. I don't want to distrust my government, but I'm feeling a strong sense of being manipulated tonight.

Approachability Log - 10.04.05

2005-10-05T12:42:00.000-04:00

2:43pm
Three teenage girls sprinting to catch the 2:48 train to points north choose me, after only seeing me from behind, to ask if the train stops at Mt. Kisco. I don't know the answer, but do offer "You don't need to run, you've got 5 minutes." They continue running down the ramp, wiser for our time spent together.

Jim Weiner: The Most Approachable Man in the Metropolitan Area

Open Letter To My Fellow Commuter

2005-09-30T10:34:00.000-04:00

To the man on the crowded train taking up the seat next to him with his laptop. Your passive agressive attempt to avoid close contact with another human failed miserably today, didn't it? I'm not going to enable you, Mister. I think you need help, and so you are a target for me whenever I board a crowded train.

I don't know if you think other people are dirty, or smelly, or if you're just so self impotant that you think you deserve two seats, but I'm here to help you work it out.

You're right about other people you know. My breath often stinks of coffee in the morning and although I showered this morning and am wearing newly laundered clothing, my car is full of dust and bacteria and my wife is just getting over a debilitating stomach virus that I am probably carrying around. Oh, and I cleaned snot off of my 2 year old's face just this morning. She's got a bad cold as well. Can't recall if I washed my hands before I got on the train.

I'm not angry at you, brother. And I'm ready to help you get over this selfish acting out. I'm always going to sit next to you if I see you taking up that extra seat on the two seat side of the aisle when every other soul is sitting next to someone. You're my boy! Whattup dude! Oops, sorry if I spit on you.

And to the person who sits alone in the middle seat of the three seaters: you frighten me a little. I'm still working up the guts to face that level of self centered dysfunction. But don't worry, I'll come around. People like you shouldn't be left to themselves.

Pale, Bald Freaks

2005-09-27T14:39:00.000-04:00

My apologies to any of my fair skinned and shiny bald readers. But while walking by the ol' TV yesterday I noticed what a striking resemblance James Carville and Billy Corgan share. I've always talked about buzzing all my hair off, but the shiny clean shaven look only really works for darker skinned fellas. A Stipelike stubble is neccessary to create a bit of contrast up there. Once a pale man shaves his head completely clean, he looks like a clone of every other guy, and frankly it freaks me out a little.

Honestly, I think Gollum is the only one who's really pulling it off. It's that little bit of hair that's working for him.

I'll Let You Be In My Dream If I Can Be In Yours

2005-09-26T23:18:00.000-04:00

Wow. I was gonna write something about how much pale, totally bald white guys freak me out, but I just watched the first half of Scorcese's Bob Dylan documentary, "No Direction Home" and I'm just feeling the love. Obviously I didn't grow up in the Sixties (unless you consider "growing up" learning to walk) and as far as my history of music listening goes, I didn't really discover Dylan until the early 90's, but when I did, he hit me hard. Listening to the likes of Allen Ginsburg, Pete Seger, Joan Baez gush about him tonight, and hearing him talk so frankly about himself was a rush. Watching his story being told by one of America's premier storytellers didn't suck either.

We all get to read about great art and great artists. Picasso, Monet, Bach, Mozart, Shakespeare, Whitman all seem so far away. What a treat to be able to listen to the man who turned pop music on it's ear tell his own story. Sure, if he didn't do it, someone else would have come along and made Rock n' Roll a fertile ground for something other than singing about lost love and partying, but it was him, and there he was tonight in a very rare, candid interview in my own living room. Thank you Bob, and Martin. I can't wait for tomorrow night, when he goes electric and really starts fucking with everyone.

Jim W: The Most Approachable Man in the Metropolitan Area

2005-09-26T10:52:00.000-04:00

That's right. For some reason, my good looks and my snappy wardrobe make me the go to guy for lost tourists, novice truck drivers, and other desperate folks in need of directions.

I must get a request for directions a couple of times a week, both in Manhattan and Westchester. Something about me clearly states, "This handsome man with the beard and glasses looks like he knows where he is." Is it the outdated hoops in my left earlobe? My trusty, well worn Birkenstocks? The lovely sheen of my light olive complexion? Who knows. Just last week, a Hispanic truck driver with New Jersey plates slowed down at a green light in a busy midtown intersection and chose me from the 15 people waiting to cross the street to ask, in broken English, which way Madison Avenue was. And yesterday, a young mother approached me at the playground (where I was busily trying to keep my two year old Eva from plummeting six feet into the "protective" woodchips beneath the 5-12 year old playset) to ask where Saxon Woods Golf Course was. I am happy to report that the trucker got perfect directions from me, but sadly the mommy got a bungled mess that, if made into a map, would resemble what happens when you close your eyes and randomly turn the dials of an Etch a Scetch™.

This brings up an interesting point, which makes my approachability even more puzzling. Unless it involves a simple finger pointing gesture (Madison Avenue was just one block east), I'm really piss poor at giving directions, and receiveing them as well. Also, the presence of my earbuds does nothing to deter the confused from my path. Instead of choosing someone with open ears, they walk right up to me, and begin speaking with no regard to the fact that I might not be able to hear them. Of course they then have to repeat themselves while I tune out the music or Howard Stern blasting into my ears at a decibel level strong enough to block out the screetchiest bus brakes. What's up with that? Perhaps they think I'm wearing some kind of clunky hearing aid.

Sir Paul McCartney once wrote "In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make." I only hope it applies to giving directions as well.

TBA: The Jimmyhead

2005-09-26T10:42:00.000-04:00

Please excuse the temporary Bill the Cat picture in my profile. After several attempts to compress Jason Ubaldi's famous rendering of the Jimmyhead, I finally gave up and just posted Bill, who is almost as cute and huggable as I am, if not quite as dashing. Fear not, fans, the Jimmyhead is on the way.