From a pre-race research day where Mneserate and I toured the city's subterranea looking for worthy clues for our Rail World: Underground subway race. Still don't quite get what was going on here.
I am entering the final planning stages for an event i'm working on and we had a meet and greet night this week to recruit volunteers to help us execute everything. Hilariously, I received this email today to access a spreadsheet summarizing the volunteer involvement:
One person was actually listed as ""very, very special".
I promised in an earlier post to after losing my work camera lens cap to the subway system at the Bergen St. stop that I would come back with a photo.
Well, here it is, a week later, and the cap is still there. Apparently the subway attendants have grabbers to retrieve such lost items but I think my cap is just doomed to die on the tracks until it disintegrates or is carried off by rats to help augment their Flotilla Toward God that will eventually take down all of the humans left on earth.
Cabbie: ben D is down for dinner tonight Cabbie: roasted chicken, kale/garlic salad Cabbie: he's going to get chicken, im going to grab kale/garlic Cabbie: any other thoughts on sides? JeffreyBeaumont: some kind of potato? Cabbie: haha i was just thinking that Cabbie: roasted potatoes? JeffreyBeaumont: yes
BenD: ok change of plans YOU ARE BUYING THE CHICKEN BenD: i have good wine BenD: and i am providing the rice
JeffreyBeaumont: Umm...
JeffreyBeaumont: hey i will happily pay for the chicken JeffreyBeaumont: but am concerned about having time to buy it Cabbie: what is Ben D telling you? JeffreyBeaumont: can you grab and i'll give you dollarS? Cabbie: i dont want communication to get crosswired JeffreyBeaumont: BenD: ok change of plans YOU ARE BUYING THE CHICKEN JeffreyBeaumont: BenD: i have good wine JeffreyBeaumont: BenD: and i am providing the rice JeffreyBeaumont: hahaha Cabbie: what rice? Cabbie: nobody said anything about rice
BenD: ok change of plans YOU ARE BUYING THE CHICKEN BenD: i have good wine BenD: and i am providing the rice BenD: ok no worries just come over BenD: this is a hilarious three way conversation
Cabbie: hahahahahaha Cabbie: this is amazing
JeffreyBeaumont: google, we need a "chatroom" function
Dropped my work camera's lens cap onto the subway track at the Bergen St F/G station. Even though it was 1am, I chose not to jump down onto the tracks... safe but now unprotected.
JeffreyBeaumont: john just sent me this http://www.mediafire.com/?jmyhxv4myyd JeffreyBeaumont: quote: "ShrimpCracker: 1st song is legit" hotdorknobs: good god. JeffreyBeaumont: 99 problems over scarlet begonias hotdorknobs: good god. hotdorknobs: i didn't bother downloading hotdorknobs: haha JeffreyBeaumont: no, dont JeffreyBeaumont: also JeffreyBeaumont: IT'S 2010 JeffreyBeaumont: BLACK ALBUM CAME OUT SIX+ YEARS AGO JeffreyBeaumont: SERIOUSLY DUDES
JeffreyBeaumont: so..... JeffreyBeaumont: "dirt off yr shoulder / fire on the mountain" JeffreyBeaumont: ok nevermind hotdorknobs: LOL @ "almost annoyingly reasonable"
Total Slackers are the worst band I have seen, for dollars or for free, in years and years--in a way that they combine terrible tuneless songs with underage trashcore pretension to make a magnified centerpoint of awful..
So, umm.....
"Sorry, Dudes!"
On Jan 6, 2010, at 10:42 PM, Jeffrey Beaumont wrote:
These bros are called Total Slackers, and they are the proud inaugurators of a new post theme on Slang to replace what used to be lengthy and belabored blogscreeds of Beaumont hate.
Here they are playing a song called "Secret VHS Tape Collection". It is, I think, their best song.
JeffreyBeaumont: i'm still kinda morning groggy JeffreyBeaumont: i woke up at 9:35 and was like, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK JeffreyBeaumont: (we have a staff meeting at 9:45) Cabbie: hahahah oh no JeffreyBeaumont: i emailed my boss that i'd be way late and got here at JeffreyBeaumont: but somehow he was also way late and hadn't even gotten in yet JeffreyBeaumont: !! JeffreyBeaumont: so lucky luckness for me Cabbie: hahahahahah Cabbie: you are lucky to have a boss whose incompetence outpaces your bad luck and tendency toward outrageous disaster
Every once in a while do questionable things to remind me why I shouldn't make decisions late at night. The most recent particular such incident occurred last week in the wee hours before heading off on the upstate adventure with Odd Job Jaffe, where I decided that it might be worth my time to purchase the just-released Flaming Lips cover of Dark Side of the Moon.
Nope.
It seemed to me like it might actually be cool in theory (at least to the me of 10 years ago--better than Phish covering them on 11/2/98 anyway), though I can understand how it wouldn't even seem cool in theory to many of you. However, it sadly just isn't really worth any ears--much like Beck's recent attempts to cover classic records with his Beck & Friends Record Club project (which are, by the way, worth checking out nonetheless).
I picked out three songs for your "listening pleasure"--Dark Side's concluding suite "Brain Damage>Eclipse", the sweetest and most pleasurable part of the record, and "Great Gig In The Sky", featuring Peaches on full-throated scream-mongering.
The first choice is obvious enough--while much of Dark Side is more or less atmosphere working to conjure sonic ambiance, "Brain Damage>Eclipse" are just two relatively straightforward pop tunes. Wayne Coyne makes this salient and I think often underlooked point on the record: "From a musician's stance... it's not very long. It's only nine songs and some are reprisals of the same theme over and over." Most of us never put much thought into the depth of the record while getting geeking out to it in dark bedrooms or upstate forests, but it's really a pretty short little number with only a couple of actual tunes.
The other track I'm offering is a bit more of a head-scratcher, given that "Great Gig In the Sky" is generally considered by many as the one track on the original record that most of us think we could do without. As a sort of non-Floyd number featuring a swirling instrumental underneath an opera singer more or less belting her heart out to the end of a nonsense world, it's inclusion on the record always seemed a little weird--which I think is why, in some ways, "Gig" ends up surprisingly as the most interesting cover here. Bringing in Peaches was actually an inspired choice, as a) hearing Coyne wah-wah his way through this one would have been about one tick less annoying than hearing Jon Fishman wail and vac his way through it, and b) she obviously brings something different and modern to the fold outside of the psych-drugs-haze Floyd and the Lips. I'm not suggesting that I would try to convince any haters that this is worth their time, but for any of us who wanted this record to work, it's definitely worth a listen.
On this point though, strangely enough most of the other tracks on this record are pegged as "Featuring Henry Rollins"-- but for the life of me I can't really tell what exactly his contribution is to all of this. Most of the leads sound like Wayne Coyne (or else at least not like Henry Rollins), but am I mishearing? All I can make out of the former Black Flag singer are some moments where I hear a speaking voice that appears to be his. It could have been interesting had Rollins been screaming all over this disc, but the end product turns out to be more of a non-event.
In the end... this record would be more interesting were it given away for free. Instead, I feel slightly like a bozo for having given them any dollars (especially when I haven't even bought or heard the most recent Lips record Embryonic, which is actually supposed to be pretty good).
Flaming Lips ft. Peaches - "Great Gig In The Sky", from Dark Side of the Moon And one bonus: the always fantastic "Turn It On", from the Lips's '94 poptasmagoria, Transmissions From The Satellite Heart:
This is kinda long, but that's sorta the point (stick with it til the end, please)...
5:07pm FriendZ: i presume before too long google will let you forward your voice number to gchat or something like that FriendX: Just one more step on their way to taking over the world. FriendZ: of course so few people actually call me... FriendX: haha me too.
5:17 PM FriendZ: how much snow did you guys get in DC? FriendX: 15" so far, it's pretty crazy. FriendZ: wow! FriendX: At one point it snowed 3 inches in an hour before. FriendZ: when was the last time that there was that much snow? FriendX: Are you in Boston now? FriendZ: yeah FriendX: Getting any there? FriendZ: we are supposed to get 12 or so tonight and tomorrow FriendX: We've never had this much snow as long as I've been here. FriendX: A few years ago we had a huge storm and some places got like 20" near here, but we got like 6" FriendZ: well i'm sure everything is closed down FriendX: It was so weird, like we had a little snow blocking bubble over us :( FriendZ: what are you doing for xmas? FriendX: Visiting Buffalo for a few days with GirlFriendX then heading home on the 24th-27th FriendZ: ah ok FriendX: What you doin? FriendZ: we're going to GirlfriendZ's parents and then Portland
5:21pm FriendX: Going to get some skiing in out there? FriendZ: not sure about skiing FriendX: Mt. Hood has gotten like 150" this year. FriendZ: wow FriendZ: actually...we have some exciting news FriendZ: GirlfriendZ is pregnant :) FriendX: 173" actually FriendZ: so no skiing for her
Anyone who knows me knows that one of my many mantras is "I'll try anything once", and how could a trip to a farm to load milk onto a truck not include an offer to do a little chewing tobacco, right?
Above on the ground you will see the chaw that I held in my mouth for approximately three minutes before being advised by a ten year old girl to spit it out so as not to end up like her cousin, who spent a night puking after his first time chewing.
It was both more intense and more gross than I'd imagined it to be, but also a worthy experience in the Book of Beaumont Life Actuation.
I haven't been on my bike much in the past month due to weather, work and shit in my life, but i'm still shocked that somehow I missed this.
jazzwick: so Jeffrey I have to ask, are you repainting all the bike lanes that the Hasids painted over in Williamsburg? JeffreyBeaumont: ummmmmmmmm, what??? jazzwick: wow, you mean I'm breaking this news to you?? jazzwick: http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/brooklyn/bike_war_paint_g7EizkFEZktV3IlNUJosQM JeffreyBeaumont: what the fuckjjjjj. last summer there were complaints raised by hasids JeffreyBeaumont: but i didn't think this would actually happen jazzwick: i just can't believe the city did it JeffreyBeaumont: it's certainly no surprise that they waited until late fall when the weather is bad and people aren't biking as much JeffreyBeaumont: so that people like me don't notice JeffreyBeaumont: i haven't biked that route in about a month jazzwick: yeah, I'm kind of disappointed to learn you haven't been arrested over this yet, Ben JeffreyBeaumont: well, give it some time jazzwick: please keep me posted on your police record
So it turns out that was felipe's his roommates. Felipe chose the music. then the next night the Hassids had people arrested. my anger cannot be described but may solve the energy crisis if harnessed.
I wish I could explain why I'm feeling interested in watching this film, beyond my inexplicable lifelong crush on Sandra Bullock and the fact that I've been obsessively watching Friday Night Lights in the past week.
JeffreyBeaumont: lately i've been feeling odd JeffreyBeaumont: two more friends got engaged in last two weeks JeffreyBeaumont: and coming home, the few people i've seen all seem hellbent on having settled down, grown-up lives JeffreyBeaumont: meanwhile i live with my little sister and i'm throwing dodgeballs and organizing scavenger hunts EKLittle: we are at an age where people are starting to take on more responsibilities EKLittle: but you live in NYC EKLittle: you can play dodgeball and put on scavenger hunts until you're 40 EKLittle: but ignoring the fact that we are getting older is bad too
EKLittle: i think its just important to always bring yourself back to reality and to the rest of the world EKLittle: its like, play dodge ball but recognize "I am playing dodgeball right now, but will go home and pay my bills"
I take it as a sign that officework-driven madness is afoot when my dreams at night entail situations where I'm hanging out with coworkers and Cam'ron together, them mostly bombarding with me questions about "lazer spit" and "baguettes".
anonyfriend: So, Dude i'm seeing was mistakenly convinced i had an std all week JeffreyBeaumont: !!! anonyfriend: hahaha anonyfriend: because he said "just so you know, i don't have anything" anonyfriend: and i thought he meant condoms anonyfriend: and i was like, "oh, i do" anonyfriend: hahahaha anonyfriend: and then like three days later, he was like, "can we talk about what it is that you have?" anonyfriend: hahahahahaha JeffreyBeaumont: is it all sorted out now? anonyfriend: yes anonyfriend: i was like, "wait, what do you mean what i have?" anonyfriend: and he was like, "when i said i didn't have anything, you said you did" anonyfriend: and i said, "right, like condoms" anonyfriend: and he was like, "wait, you mean you're CLEAN!?" JeffreyBeaumont: but he still boned you anyway thinking you had an STD? anonyfriend: no no anonyfriend: we didn't bone until after this conversation anonyfriend: which made things extra confusing at the time, because i was like, why is he telling me he has no condoms when we aren't even doing it? anonyfriend: but also, i love the fact that after i cheerily said something that led him to believe i had an std, he waited three days to bring it up again JeffreyBeaumont: hahaha anonyfriend: ah, modern life
My uncle wrote Lil Beau and I an email today letting us know he'd pick us up from Boston. Love that man:
"It is my understanding that you folks are taking the bus (Chinese bus way too fast!) up from NYC. Just in case the bus driver is driving too fast I took the liberty to look up the Chinese translation for slow down. It is 'chi huan xiang xia' so please feel free to yell it at the bus driver if you feel the need. If by chance I got the translation wrong then I'm sure you will know immediately by the drivers reaction........"
When I texted him 15 min ago to say there'd be an accident on the road and we were delayed by an hour-plus, he wrote back:
"No worries..sorry I didn't translate "go faster!'"
I am 27ish years old and well aware of my place in the world as a man nowhere near "settling down." I'm honest with myself; it just ain't happening soon.
Nonetheless! This is the kind of shit that makes me feel like I am 1,000,000 years old.
A BIG baby prize!! I would even say why hold out on the kid--may as well give her the "Super-Double Baby-Ingrown Toenail WOW WOW WOW Songbird Prize"! This is the route to the heart of champions and unquestionably a path toward baby happiness and long-life livingness. Winning winning cornish hens morticians nonsense cow's dung tinkerbell linger dinger alpha male.
Can it be I stayed away too long? Did you miss these rhymes when I was gone? As you listen to these crazy tracks Check them stats then you know where I'm at And that's that!
Also: I read that post four times before only realizing that by "airplane rides" she means "rides on a gas-powered airborne craft" and not "flying high in the air on daddy's legs".
JeffreyBeaumont: not really sure what the hell to make of this.
BeaumontBoss: MSNBC is Living on a Prayer JeffreyBeaumont: HAAAAA! JeffreyBeaumont: BA-ZING BeaumontBoss: Bon Jovi to Rachel Maddow: "these five words are true: "I'll be there for you..."
Sanam: dude Sanam: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfmoms/detail?entry_id=47119 Sanam: you may not be able to carry a child, but apparently, you can breast feed. JeffreyBeaumont: !!!!!!!!!!!!!! JeffreyBeaumont: ummmmmm JeffreyBeaumont: "I'm going to have to pull out the pump during lectures," he told The Local. "But really it doesn't bother me if it makes people uncomfortable. If they have issues with it that's their problem." JeffreyBeaumont: also, there are four consecutive hilarious comments by someone named "Jamie1977" JeffreyBeaumont: "Act like a man you if you were my son I'd take you into the back garden and give you a few slaps, although no doubt being some effeminate swede you would back down and cry or run away instead of being a man" Sanam: that is amazing Sanam: "What happened to the race of men that were once hard bastard Vikings ???" Sanam: she makes a good point Sanam: I've often wished that more men in my life would act like vikings Sanam: or specifically, dress like vikings JeffreyBeaumont: hahahahahah.
JeffreyBeaumont: i don't even understand this, other than that he's not so keen on "japs": JeffreyBeaumont: "Probaly the same as those idiot Japs, for some strange and bizarre reason Japanese men are wearing bra's god only knows why but when I think of Japs I think of hard warriors, Samurai, good machines, Honda, suzuki and good techological know how and hard souless trading techniques that made Japanese Buisneses the way it is !!!!" JeffreyBeaumont: the fact that there are four lengthy and somewhat disconnected comments spaced 5 minutes apart too adds to the whole, "yep" factor Sanam: I like the one addressed specifically to the guy Sanam: "hey dude," Sanam: also important to point out: this guy is reading the SF Gate, which is the most liberal, pansy ass newspaper in the world JeffreyBeaumont: he feels like he's gotta speak four times to make up for the dearth of Real CountryMen Sanam: seriously Sanam: I can dig it, though Sanam: when I went down south Sanam: I suddenly felt very protective of my country Sanam: and also very suspicious of liberal yankee fucks Sanam: like evan and joe Sanam: if one of them had started breastfeeding, I probably would've punched them in the face Sanam: it's all about context
ALSO:
JeffreyBeaumont: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfmoms/detail?entry_id=47119 jaychampvinyl: hahahahaah holy shit jaychampvinyl: he's just pumping away jaychampvinyl: waiting for milk jaychampvinyl: that's horrible jaychampvinyl: where the fuck does he think it's going to come from??
Lil' Beau' ordered a record for her beau's birthday which finally arrived today after two weeks of mailorder shenanigans. It just arrived at my office today in the hilarious packaging above.
A full box for a record? Really?
[ED: Red "paint" added after I was informed that I'd inadvertently risked revealing the whole surprise. Yep.]
Looking back, Richard Pryor explains his freebasing habit had fuelled his paranoia to unparalleled heights.
"I left all my guns right out in the open so when the boogey man bust in my house... he could see 'em. I thought everyone was stealing from me. I continued to smoke until I ran out of coke. I was suffering serious dementia. I was miserable. Alone. Frightened. Then I thought. 'Okay, I'll set myself on fire."
Dousing himself in cognac Pryor set himself alight, dived through the bedroom window and ran down the street. "You know what I noticed. When you run down the street on fire, people get out of your way."
Oh yes. No matter how much the popular absorption of statistical analysis increases and improves the quality of a history of typically shoddy sportswriting, these guys will always find ways to kill my fuck.
An optimist might counter that Roberts is laying the foundation for a Hall of Fame run.He just recorded his third season with 100 runs, 70 walks, 50 doubles and 25 stolen bases. Tris Speaker, Kiki Cuyler, Craig Biggio and Bobby Abreu are the only other players to manage that combination, and they all did it once.
For the love of God, this is how inexplicable reputations about sportsfigures develop. Well-known sportswriter bears witness to three minutes of sunshine from an otherwise humdrum B+er, and due to a need for copy casually tosses off a RIDICULOUS notion that a dude like Roberts even has a sniff at the HoF... and sure enough, in nine years there's a diehard contingent of Roberts fans writing on blogs and shitty local newspapers about how "the mom's basement stathead jerks" are barring a deserving guy like Roberts from entering of his pre-destined resting place. Sounds familiar.... oh yeah, it happened for fifteen years with Jim Rice, and now he's finally elected. (And truthfully, Jim Rice was five times the player that Brian Roberts has ever been.)
And seriously--"100 runs, 70 walks, 50 doubles and 25 stolen bases"? Are you kidding me? What kind of nonsense nonstat is this? This entire article is a smorgasbord of barely to not-at-all meaningful number-correlations:
-the fifth player in history to post a 20-homer, 50-double season before age 24 -the first Cleveland right fielder to surpass 20 stolen bases since Von Hayes swiped 32 in 1982 -the first Mets player ever to lead the National League in batting average at home (and also keep in mind that the player in question is hitting .250 on the road) -the first Padre to drive in 100 runs or more three straight years -the second third baseman to hit 40 homers and steal 25 bases in a season. -the fourth pair of Milwaukee teammates to score 100 runs each in a season
Yep, all of these "stats" present various levels of fake-real nothingness. Thanks, Jerry Crasnick for inserting a bit of nonsense into our day. Though I think he left out the fact that Jerry Hairston, Jr. is "Number four all-time in leadoff homeruns by of a left-handed A/B blood type." However, to his credit, I can't remember the last time anyone referenced Von Hayes, so that was good for a laugh.
Jayson Stark is usually the ESPN writer responsible for pumping out time-wasting nonsense like this fluff, but with him it's different because he's always telling (bad) jokes and you expect that he'll say little to nothing with a pretense of seriousness. Crasnick though usually plays it pretty straight-and-narrow (in a typically unstatistical fashion), so this column comes off as more of a desperate "Please. Stop." And unlike Stark, Crasnick seems to imply that he's found some value in this gibberish, under the aegis of the heading, "Players who've thrived for losing teams".
Ack. All bad. But the Roberts mention especially: fuck man, please. TERRIBLE. Really not ok, even as trade among the mongers of hyperbole.
What's extra hilarious about the comment by Von Hayes09 is that I've actually seen the band he links to (his band?)--they played a show in 07 or 08 I think with one my friend-related bands and I remember being astounded by the degree to which they sound EXACTLY like mid 90s Guided By Voices. Worth checking out if somehow Bob Pollard's 94ish releases aren't quite enough for you.
Sighing, I put on my jacket and took her by the shoulder and trudged off down Fifth Avenue toward the Barnes and Noble 7 blocks away. She relayed to me a rather ridiculous story about a sudden stated need to provide every person in the room of an event with a copy of Newsweek focusing on issues related to the Taliban. We went into the store and grabbed every copy they had, but of course there were only 26 and the intern squealed with concern. I told her not to worry and then asked if they'd given her money to pay for them and she handed me three $20 bills. Ahh, yes.
Best part: there was a writer from Newsweek actually in the room participating in the discussion, who could have arranged for copies to have been made available for everyone (gratis, natch) had any of the event-producing parties had the foresight to consider the possibility... but instead we end up with a frightened intern, an annoying need for me to submit expenses, and $160 of nonprofit dollars unnecessarily wasted. Holla holla.
[WARNING: This is one of those terrifyingly long Beaumont posts (tagged hereafter as "JB screeds"). And actually, it's two long stories, but well, I don't feel like separating them from one another. So, yes. Sorry?] PART I: Bank of America, I Would Like To Completely Obliterate You And Demand That You Take Reverse TARP-Funding
After a wonderful and lengthy (but not long enough) visit, last week my visitor is now gone, off to see more of the world on her long, strange world tour--seriously, her voyage will last SEVENTY-SEVEN DAYS and is touching down on six countries on three continents--but I had a great weird ten days wandering around parts of the greater New York environs and amazing seeing things that I've either never seen before or saw long ago and have since taken for granted.
The whole experience last week of "time off at home" was truly fantastic, EXCEPT for one financially-related blip having to do with my entire world of funding (two bank accounts and a credit card) having been frozen due to some overzealous Bank of America "fraud preventioneering".
The issue was triggered on Monday Sept 14 when I headed with Lil Beaumont to go pick up a new bike from a girl in the heart of Bushwick. As she temporarily had only limited dollars, I agreed to cover her purchase temporarily. I went to the ATM to withdraw funds from my credit/debit card but accidentally added an extra digit in attempting to get money from my account (therefore going over the limit) and was rejected. I then attempted to withdraw the correct amount from my account on the same ATM but was again rejected. Trying once more (thinking perhaps i'd mistyped something) but this time even less funds, I was declined a third time.
I then received an automated call from Bank of America asking me to approve three potential fraud transactions, which I did, but then I immediately called the Bank to make sure that in doing so they didn't think I'd actually withdrawn any money from the account.
"Hi, thank you for calling Bank of America. I look forward to helping you today."
A rep on the phone confirmed for me that nothing had been taken out and said he'd help me make sure the fraud lock is lifted if I'd just wait a second. In the meantime though I was warned by the person on the line when asked a variety of security questions that despite having opened my account at a Fleet Bank in Saratoga Springs in 2001, my account now stated that it had been opened at Rockefeller Center in some time more recently...also apparently my "user account phone password" is "customer", which I also got wrong. I'm assuming that BofA chose this for me since I have to believe that I would have never chosen such a hilariously terrible password (I would have at least gone with "password" if I was going to go the ridiculous route). Finally, after being placed on hold, I was for a second time sent to the automated fraud removal line. I groaned--and probably shouted out loud--but went through the prompts yet again and then went home without attempting to use my card again.
After going Tuesday without using my card, on Wednesday, I went to work and managed to use the card three times as a credit card at a Duane Reade and to get food at a nearby eatery--seemingly without problems. I did not attempt to withdraw any cash from an ATM though.
Coney Island sign, from behind train station entrance
I was under the impression at this point that everything was fine, until on Thursday Mia and I went to Coney Island. Immediately after getting there I decided to get some cash so I could show her the wonders of corn dogs and fried clams (amazing honestly, being able to give someone a first experience on that stuff). However, when I attempted to withdraw $60 from my account I was given an "external decline" message and told to contact my bank. Sure enough, within minutes I received yet ANOTHER call from the automated fraud prevention line asking me to sanction potentially fraudulent activity. I did not go through the prompts this time though, and immediately hung up and dialed customer service because I was so angry that simply attempting to withdraw reasonable amounts of money from random ATMs throughout the CITY I LIVE IN would signal the "fraud preventioneers" and wanted to talk to someone immediately to straighten things out. After getting someone on the line and explaining my situation (including the desperate plea NOT to be sent again to the automated line), I was put on hold and then... sent back to the automated line.
Increasingly frantic in my desperation for dollars and annoyance at BofA bullshit, I dialed them back once again and this time insisted on speaking to a human who could help me. They finally transferred me to a "fraud prevention specialist" who said he could take care of things.
This is where things went rapidly downhill: he asked me my security word ("customer") and my social security number, fine, but then the question of the age of my account came up. He asked if my account was older than five years. Obviously it is based on what I mentioned above, but to make sure I was clear to him I said, "Yes, it is. My account was opened at a Saratoga Springs, NY Fleet Bank location in 2001 or 2002, but I have been told that it may now say Rockefeller Center and I have no idea therefore what year you have listed."
Long pause.
He then asked if I have any direct deposits set-up (yes, my work). He asked me the amount it was for. Mind you, I'm standing on a boardwalk at Coney Island starving and staring at corn dogs. I have absolutely no idea what the amounts of my direct deposit are, only that each paycheck is a slightly different amount because of my health insurance deductions.
Long pause.
He then asked if I had any regularly scheduled monthly payments (yes, credit card and a checking-to-savings swap). Did I know the exact amounts though? No.
Longest pause.
Speaking slowly, he said, "I'm sorry sir, but since you have not been able to pass the security requirements I'm going to have to ask that you go in person to a Bank of America to verify the account."
I couldn't believe it. I had more or less answered all of his questions and could provide exact detail on a variety of things he didn't ask. I then pleaded we him if there was anything else we could do to get the fraud prevention removed and he said no, and so I then asked for his BofA ID # so I could file a complaint against him and asked to speak to his supervisor. He then paused again and said hold on and then the line was disconnected. gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
So after spending about 25 minutes of me being on and off hold and answering question after question, I had accomplished nothing. Or so I thought. I called back once more, resolved to get things taken care of, only to find out that my friendly Bank of America attendee had put a lock on my account so that the only way it could be reopened would be to physically go into a Bank somewhere. Thanks a lot, dude.
Coney Island Boardwalk (near "Shoot the Freak")
Again, we were in Coney Island and my friend was just visiting. I think there may have been a bank somewhere nearby but I didn't want to waste Mia's time so I just decided to go to the one in Williamsburg when I got home. We spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon exploring, taking photos and counting the trash cans and crazy people (seriously, there are innumerable amounts of them both) and then headed back to the Burg around 3. We got home at 4 and I headed immediately to the BofA on Graham Ave expecting I had plenty of time, but sure enough, blammo, the office had closed at 4 and I was fucked, immediately, and for the next 17 hours.
Since not just one but all of my accounts were locked, I had literally no access to funds (note to anyone: here's one good reason to use multiple banks for different accounts). This wasn't inherently the end of the world, as I could certainly borrow dollars from Mia, but the next day was Friday and we planned to be gone the entire day visiting Storm King upstate and had plans again early Saturday morning--meaning that if I wanted any funds before Monday, I would need to get into a Bank of America the next morning before heading to Storm King.
Unfortunately, the lone bus to Storm King leaves each day at 10am...meaning that we needed to be there by 9:40 to ensure we would have enough time to get a ticket and make it onto the bus.... leaving us but 25 or so minutes to "make it happen" at Bank of America and then rush from the location on 44 St & 7 Av to the Port Authority bus terminal.
We woke up earlyish the next morning and began getting our stuff together before finally leaving the house (late) at 8:45. We got out of the train at 42 & 7 at 9:15 and I almost ran fullspeed to Bank of America from there. Upon entering, I quickly grabbed the attention of salesperson and relayed to her my plight.
"Ok, come with me Sir. I can help you," she said, leading me into an office. I walked in and "handed" my identification to her (which was admittedly more of a "forced my identification on her"). "Ok, great, I can help you," she said, repeating herself, "Just have a seat and let me get a representative on the phone to help you with your issue."
Scrrrrrreeeeecchhhhh! [insert phonograph needle skating across vinyl]
"Umm...," I said, "Why do you need to get someone on the phone? They told me I had to come in here so you could unlock the account and then it would be fine."
"I'm sorry sir, but actually, I'm only able to verify your identity for a representative who can help you with your issue."
At this precise moment I was torn between my rapidly increasing need to get out of the bank and over to Port Authority to catch our bus and my urge to pick up the now dialing telephone and throw it as hard as possible at the glass window behind me. Probably the intense confusion of feeling at this moment actually saved me, because rather than barking at the in-store attendant and causing her to stop what she was doing, I simply sat there, too stunned to move or say anything until the voice of yet another Bank of America phone operator cut the silence.
"Hi, thank you for calling Bank of America. I look forward to helping you today."
I then had to for the fourth time explain my situation, whereby the skeptical sounding woman then requested to speak with a BofA rep who could attest to my identity claims. I then called another attendant in, who verified I was indeed Me, and I thought it was finally over but then I heard the woman on the phone ask him for some kind of special authorization code. "Seriously?" he said, "Can't I just give my employee ID#?" No. The man left the room and was gone for a bit before finally returning a few minutes later during which time my anxiety-stricken brain began to assume that there was no way that the call wouldn't somehow be dropped and we'd have to start all over again. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
But instead he gave her the code, handed me back the phone and we proceeded.
"Ok, Sir," the woman said, "Now I can begin to help you with your issue." Duh-what?????
"We're all set now, right?" I asked hurriedly, adding, "I'm late for a bus and need to get going."
"Sir, I need in order to assist you with this fraud-related issue I need to ask you a few security questions about your account." Stunned silence from me, followed by, "... Uh. [sigh] Ok."
"First can you please verify the following transaction..." and she proceeded to ask me about the Coney Island ATM withdrawal which I'd already verified twice to the automated teller, twice to a human on the phone, and once to the in-store bank attendant. Umm. O. ... K. ...
"Ok. Now can you please tell me what were the last three purchases made on the card and the exact amounts they were for."
.... !!!! ... !!!!
There do not exist words or punctuation to describe my feeling at that very moment. Only the knowledge that I could potentially drop the call and have to start all over again prevented me from slamming the phone repeatedly onto the table and my own face.
I drew a deep breath and spoke slowly:
"Ma'am. Wow. I honestly have NO IDEA what my last three purchases were on this card, and I definitely have no idea what the amounts were. The account has been locked for over 24 hours now and moreover, I'm not sitting in front of a computer screen where I might be able to review this information and share it with you***. In fact, I'm currently in an actual Bank of America where I was told I could come in and show my identification to prove that I am who I say I am and get this all taken care of. I'm pretty sure that I made two purchases at Duane Reade, for amounts totaling less than $20 in each purchase. But I couldn't tell you what the dollar figures were, or what the third transaction was. Please, please, stop asking me questions and let me get my money so I can go try and catch a bus that your bank seems hellbent on making me miss."
Pause.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I need you to answer these questions in order to remove the fraud security lock from your account. Can you please tell me the amounts of these purchases?"
At this point I shouted "Hold on, one second" and then raced out of the room to the attendant standing in the hallway.
"Please, dear god," I said, "Tell this woman on the phone that I am who I say I am. I have no idea what my recent transactions were. I only know that I have done everything that should be necessary to prove my identity and that I am on the verge of missing a bus that will ruin one day out of my friend and I's vacation. Please, please help me."
The attendant then followed me into the office and put the receiver on speakerphone.
"Ma'am, this is [name], [title] of the Times Square Bank of America branch again. Mr. Beaumont has provided enough evidence to remove the fraud lock from his account. Let's please wrap this up."
It's 9:48am.
"Ok, I am just making sure that we have answered all the necessary questions. We are all set now and you may use your account immediate--- [CLICK]" I threw the phone back on the receiver and dashed out the door, grabbing Mia by the shoulder and saying, "Run!" She handed me a cigarette she'd rolled for me and we raced off toward Port Authority, whispering, "I have donuts and a New York Times" in my ear.
Ten Morals Of The Story (WITH CONVENIENT BOOKEND POINTS): 1) Fuck you Bank of America. 2) CONSIDER USING A BANK OTHER THAN BANK OF AMERICA 3) I am deprariously lackadaisical when it comes to doing things promptly or carefully, and could have easily avoided a lot of this absurdity by being on top of my shit a little more. 4) We are near the endpoint in our civilization when humans serve no purpose but to annoy each other and make babies. 5) There is already almost no way to avoid these kind of braincrushing commercial interactions.
6) For every action, there is an opposite and actual reaction.
7) Coney Island is more fun to take a visitor in the fall on a weekend when all the action is open.
8) Banks are destined to grow more and more powerful.
9) If my skin were made out of money, I could avoid these kinds of issues by shaving dead layers off into people's hands in the form of currency. 10) FUCK YOU BANK OF AMERICA. THANKS.
PART II: Storm King, After I Found You, You Provided Me With Rich Excitement And Assuaged My Feelings Of Weltschmerz
Epilogue: After arriving at Port Authority, we tore up the stairs frantically looking for the ticket booth, and upon finding it, I attempted to bribe the woman in front of the line with a fiver to cut her (she demurred and let us pass gratis). We bought our tickets (the ticketeer had no smiles to give) and rushed over to the departure gate. When we got there the gate attendent was gone already and so we burst through the exit, just to see the bus closing its doors. I ran to the bus and banged once before the driver opened and let us on. Exhale--until two seconds later my heart dropped as I saw that every seat on the bus was taken except for two singles in the back; for a moment it suddenly occurred to me that after all this malarkey we'd have to spend a 90 minute bus ride sitting apart from each other. These fears were almost immediately allayed, however, as Mia quickly offered gummi bears (gummibärchen!) to one of the singles in exchange for his seat. Phew. Yes. Of course.
Bus booths, Newburgh Bus Terminal parking lot
Fairly Tangential Epi-epilogue: After all of this craziness Mia and I were so relieved that we rather depariously somehow failed to exit the bus when it reached Storm King. Despite seeing a location that looked very much like what I had imagined Storm King to be, we didn't hear the driver announce anything [he was apparently using his throat and vocal cords rather than amplified microphone to broadcast his voice??] and so we didn't get off until about 15 minutes later Mia said, "Umm.... did we miss the Storm King?" We had, in fact, missed it (I'd thought since it only went there once a day that Storm King was actually the end of the line and that we wouldn't be able to miss it). The driver let us off at the Newburgh Bus Terminal, which my iPhone told me was 8.9 miles away from Storm King, and found out almost immediately from a near-laughing ticketeer that there was no "next bus to Storm King".
I burst into maniacal laughter and wandered outside for a cigarette, wondering how much a cab driver would gouge me to take us there, and how I might go about finding one. I crossed my fingers it would be less than $50. But much to my delight, upon exiting, I heard two middle-aged women on a nearby bench talking say the words "Storm" and "Museum". I wandered over to them and asked if they were by chance going to Storm King. To our luck, they were. Meaning... !!!!!! (this did not in reality merit four exclamation points). They immediately asked if I wanted to split the cab and I pumped my fist unnecessarily and sat down to enjoy my cigarette.
10-15 minutes later a yellow minivan pulls up with reggaeton BLASTING out the windows. I attempt four times to open the side door before the driver finally reaches over and throws it open.
Mia and I quickly climbed into the back and the cabbie looked at the two women as the entered and barked, "Hola. Que tal? Donde vamos?" Seriously.
He also had not turned the music down, so they looked at each other and then began shouting in English to him.
"Que Uds dicen?" he asked$. I began to see steam coming out of their ears and began attempting to communicate in pidgin Spanish, which was enough to get the car moving (but not the music lowered). For whatever reason, after everything that had happened, this situation seemed not remotely annoying but instead entirely hilarious.
The driver then began speaking muy rápidamente into his radio, asking for directions and saying something to the effect of "What the fuck is Storm King and where the fuck is it?" The women in front of us began alternating between feelings anger over the loud volume of the music and concern over the fact that the driver appeared to have absolutely no idea where he was going.
After turning around for the second time, I busted out my iPhone and pulled up directions from its Google Maps GPS%%%. I then started shouting directions while simultaneously assuring the ladies that everything would be fine and we'd be there shortly.
When we finally got there--which honestly was only about 10-15 minutes later--we got out of the car and the driver said, "Ok sÃ, $10, gracias."
We all looked at each other in disbelief--$10! For a nine mile trip! In NYC that would have cost a minimum of $25, and I was just expecting it would be more here. Nope. Topping it off, the women stunned me by then speaking in Spanish with the driver to arrange for him to pick them up again in the same spot at 5pm.
And then I looked ahead, and there we were, finally: Storm King. And the rest is history.
NOTES: ***-- Ok, ok. Yes, Mom, to be fair, if I balanced my checkbook like old people do, I probably could have pulled it out of my briefcase and recited the figures back to her and avoided a lot of these troubles. But it's 2009, and I feel like I don't want that to be the lesson of this whole thing. I guess I would hope it wouldn't have to come to that by now. And anyway, sheesh. $$$--Or something like that. Paraphrasing, obviously, because I don't remember and I don't really speak Spanish. %%%--Aside: yes, a world without cell phones would be great, but also, really: fuck that, right? Bring on the future!
ChosenPeople: what does your schedule look like in the coming week? JeffreyBeaumont: hmm JeffreyBeaumont: think i am free on either wed or thurs ChosenPeople: can u pencil me in for wed? JeffreyBeaumont: oh but hmm...yes though i am waiting to find out if i have a dodgeball game on wed JeffreyBeaumont: they haven't released the schedule yet ChosenPeople: yeah ChosenPeople:wait i forgot im going to a lecture on wed ChosenPeople:so thurs is ok? JeffreyBeaumont: wait JeffreyBeaumont: haa no, shit forgot i have plans. ChosenPeople: i just remembered im going to DC on Thursday ChosenPeople: so i just realized that im booked everyday through the next week ChosenPeople: what about the following week?
While at the airport this morning to see my departing visitor off to San Francisco, we stopped to grab a coffee and for a last-drink-and-a-cigarette moment.
Mia ordered, as always, a cappuccino, and I ordered a mocha, a drink I've gotten maybe twice in my life. I tend to stick to straight cheap drip coffee when drinking caffeinated beverages, but today I was feeling in need of something a little sweeter.
However:
Upon ordering the mocha, the barista making our drinks to the left of the cashier looked up and asked me, "Do you want whip cream on your hot chocolate". I looked her in the eye for a moment and then, narrowing mine, said, "Oh... sorry. I ordered a mocha." She then glanced at me with a look that I thought was comprehension, and then after it seemed like she'd begun making my drink asked, "Well, would you like whip cream on your mocha?" "Sure," I said, smiling. In another minute after that she handed me my drink.
This small bottle of maple syrup appeared on my desk this morning from some unidentified co-worker.
After staring at it all morning, I just decided to drink it ten minutes ago. It was satisfying, and I could easily have drank more. Made me think of March's experiment with the Master Cleanse Diet--perhaps I'll give that another try if I plan on having another week without exercising (not bloody likely, but in winter anything is possible).
The fact that I have just ravenously consumed a small bottle of syrup seems to lend some credence to my anecdotal theory that my increase in physical activity has significantly upped my internal desire for carbohydrate consumption.
A good friend sent me the below a few weeks ago, which I'm passing along to you now not only because the story is AMAZING, but also because his mix is equally stunning and I've been listening to it every day non-stop for the past few weeks.
Enjoy!
---------- Forwarded message ---------- From: Stevarino Date: Tue, Aug 18, 2009 at 7:22 PM Subject: summer jamz and some asshole named vince True Story:
I'm drinking at an outdoor table in front of a bar on Clinton St. late Monday night. Suddenly the table starts shaking. It jumps up once, then twice, then completely flies over spilling drinks, breaking candles. A head emerges out of the ground, and then a body proceeds to crawl out of the mess and onto the sidewalk. Turns out we were drinking on top of one of those metal trapdoor contraptions that let you into the basement of a restaurant. Dude crawls out of the basement, and begins to introduce himself to people, shaking their hands and bowing like a gentleman, slurring "Hey, I'm Vince."
This guy was obviously wasted, and looked like he was locked in there for a while. His pupils were the size of dinner plates. Eventually he sat down and I offered him a smoke, in response to which he looked at me cockeyed, stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and tried to kick me in the shin. Someone snaps a picture of him. He refused to tell us how he got underground and eventually stumbled away. This girl comes over to me from inside, sits down and asks:
"You know that guy?" "Who, Vince?" I say. "Fuck no."
I'm vacationing in New York this week to spend time with a friend in town visiting. She went off on her own yesterday and so I started my day with a fast-paced 40 mile ride (or 64 kilometers, as I told her) before heading into the office for a few hours for some unavoidable meetings.
Those 40 miles put me over the 2400 mile threshold and I'm now 90 miles away from my "goal" of 2500. As my friend will be here from now until September 22, I'm not sure there's any way I'll be able to reach 2500 by the end of summer, but it's nice to know that I'm so close and I'll be there shortly. I feel like, just as I "came a long way" from the beginning of 2008 through the end, the same can be said for my "progress" in 2009, as a human and of course specifically as a human who also enjoys channeling his life-energy through the pedaled wheels of a bicycle.
On the crazy/ok/"New York I hate you and love you" front, on Sunday I received a call from Lil' Beau that her bike, a 43" 2007 Fuji Track SE had been stolen from outside of her friend's house in Manhattan in broad daylight. It was of course locked, but not with the kind of heavy duty security that I use to prevent theft. I've had seats and lights and fenders and even Presta-to-Schrader converters stolen, but never (yet) a whole bike... gone! And one that poor Lil' Beau had just purchased last fall. It was a real bummer, and especially so since she's still an impoverished student just trying to get by in the world, to whom a purchase such as a new bike is a huge financial commitment (ok, the same is true for me but that's probably due more to my own financial irresponsibility than the impossiblities of adult purchasing).
And of course, beyond the dollar damage, there is also the issue of the fact that the bike--as I mentioned, a 43" track bike--is of a rare size that almost literally NO other bike manufacturers produce. Lil' Beau is only 5'1 and let me tell you that finding a nice bike for a girl that size is a challenge and I half--I probably took her to 15-20 bike shops last year looking for a bike, desperately leaving my card with requests to call me if anything even in the remote similarity of size appeared. She finally found her Fuji champion on, of all places, the List of Craig, where she was able to snatch up a more or less brand new 43"er for $400 from a girl who'd realized she hadn't actually wanted to commit to a track bike after all.
With this in mind, it was with heavy heart that I came home to console her on Sunday night, with the thought that between dollars and inches, it would be some time before Lil' Beau would be mounting a new chariot. So convinced was I that she wouldn't be riding anytime soon that my Visitor and I began cruising Williamsburg for open pet shops in the hope that if I brought a new cat home it would distract her from the sting of the lost bike. Yes, desperate measures, times etc.
But, of course, this is New York and fuck yes, I underestimated her beastly resolve to remedy any situation within moments of becoming unperfect. By the time I got home, Lil' Beau had already gone straight to The List and BOOM, sure enough found a 2008 version of the exact same bike she'd just had stolen [see photo above]... for the exact same discounted used price she paid for her last one.
What the fuck, right?
Though she was nervous about how she might pay for the bike, she set up an appointment for last night to go check the bike out... and then, of course, BAM!--after getting to the office, an envelope appeared on my desk for her (sent to me for security reasons) from her summer internship... with a check for $500.
And now, here it is on Tuesday, a mere 36 hours since her bike was stolen, and there's a new, prettier version of the exact same bike in our house. New York, You Fucking Dick, I Love You.
About to close up shop for on this Thursday here at work and happened to check out WSJ.com to see if there was anything I needed to know before heading home. Umm.... apparently not.
I know it's still technically summer and everyone downtown wants to get a 24 hour head start on the Hamptons' weekend traffic and all, but seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? COUNTING CROWS?!?!
I know that Rupert Murdoch is hellbent on slowly mainstreaming the Journal from insular bizpaper to everyman freedom rag, but SERIOUSLY?? A COUNTING CROWS LIVE IN-SESSION ON THE WSJ FRONTPAGE??
I am beyond stunned. Try to imagine for a single minute the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Financial Times, CNBC.com, or FoxNews.com shilling news-less crap like this in the lead web-article slot. Even the NY Post reserves this slot for items theoretically construable as news. I can imagine that maybe ABC.com might run a piece like this, but it would at least be an interview with quasi-culturally relevant entities like Bono or the Jonas Brothers (I'm not joking).
Saw this guy asleep in front of the 42 Street Public Library last week.
While I sort of envied the fact he had time to just chill out and rock a cool attitude, I was a little bewildered by his decision to take his shoes off and then stand on them. Particularly given that he didn't appear to be homeless.
"Last month Harmonix announced that it will license software tools and provide training for anyone to create and distribute interactive versions of their own songs on a new Rock Band Network, which will drastically expand the amount and variety of interactive music available. The Rock Band Network is so potentially consequential that Harmonix went to great lengths to keep its development secret, including giving it the unofficial in-house code name Rock Band: Nickelback, on the theory that the name of the quintessentially generic modern rock group would be enough to deflect all curiosity."
Also, as an aside: one of Lil' Beaumont's friends once received for Christmas not a requested cd of the folk-bluegrass group Nickel Creek, but instead a live Nickelback DVD. Whoops.
Which is not unlike Christmas '99 when my grandmother accidentally gave my young cousin a Blackstreet cd instead of the new Backstreet Boys cd. Yes, the same grandmother who bought me the Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam. No diggity.
Had the realization tonight when making myself chocolate milk that the container of Nesquick powder we have is nine years old--I got it in the fall of my freshman year when I went to college. The Hot Wheels racing contest on the back expired in 2002.
Yep. if it doesn't go bad it will probably kill you.
You may or may not be aware, but I have spent years unsuccessfully trying to get Jay Greene to sign on as a co-collaborator on this blog. Jayson Greene is not only an erudite, learned man, but a quick wit and a great writer. He is also often hilariously funny. Alas, each invite I've extended has been met with a decline because he's too lazy busy to make the time to sit down and pump out the kind of crap that I've lately been generating like summer sweat. However! I've uncovered a solution, which is to begin offering in larger installments excerpts from the horse's mouth, so to speak: "Jayson Greene In Spirit" (the tag going forward for all such entries). You will now also see his name appear on the left hand column as "Executive Ghostmaster". This means he is made out of silicone.
Therefore, please give a hearty welcome to our friend, the great and wonderful....
jaychampionvinyl: haaa Robert Pollard titled a solo record "Standard Gargoyle Decisions" jaychampionvinyl: I love this man jaychampionvinyl: "Should I fly over the night sky and terrorize villagers, or just perch forbiddingly on these castle spires?" jaychampionvinyl: STANDARD GARGOYLE DECISIONS JeffreyBeaumont: standard gargoyle decisions makes me think of that afterschool cartoon that came out just as we were too old. Gargoyles jaychampionvinyl: it makes me think of really angsty gargoyles paralyzed by a surfeit of gargoyle options
JeffreyBeaumont: ok, wow:
jaychampionvinyl: hahahaaa WHAT!? JeffreyBeaumont: that is one of the "Most Helpful Customer Reviews" on amazon for the record jaychampionvinyl: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa jaychampionvinyl: except that 0 of 16 people found it to be actually helpful jaychampionvinyl: which is amazing JeffreyBeaumont: HAHAHAH jaychampionvinyl: "I think he is tellling us to be creative with our minds. " jaychampionvinyl: YES JeffreyBeaumont: "beatles Reference, PEO-PLe! of a great album you have to hear if y9ou dont no aobut" jaychampionvinyl: YES HE IS jaychampionvinyl: BE CREATIVE WITH YOUR MIND
I cannot for the life of me understand who thought this might be a good idea, as the visuals that immediately come to mind when I think of a "shack" are not images I connect with places I can go to buy fancy technological devices. I can understand that the word "radio" is somewhat antiquated in these modern times, but it's also the lone word (out of two) in the title that is remotely germane to the wares the store peddles.
JeffreyBeaumont: did you read that RadioShack is renaming themselves "The Shack"?
CabbieM: AHAHHA CabbieM: hahAHHAHA
CabbieM: no CabbieM: HAHAHAHA CabbieM: they are so much more relevant now!
CabbieM: actually, it sounds like we could get burgers there
LizC: reminds me of shaquille o'neal. shaq attack.
I certainly hope at least that Shaq considers using all of this as tie-in cross-promotion for his new reality show --- "Shaq Vs. The Shack" (or "Team Shaq vs. Team Shack").
I just had the misfortune of viewing the entirety of the 1985 filmSt. Elmo's Fire (umm, thanks Netflix InstantView :-/), and I now want 100 minutes of my life back.
At one point I could probably have relied on knowing that a sizable portion of any under 40s I spoke to would have seen St. Elmo's Fire already and therefore I would need to explain nothing, but I guess it's a good thing for you all that we're far enough removed from 1985 now that its mediocre b-movies can sleep silently in peace.
It's not really worth an explanation, but the short of it is that St. Elmo's Fire is a movie that almost astonished me in its terribleness. I expected it to be a bit hokey and solipsistec like many what-should-the-white-folk-do?! 80s films, but the petty, self-interested depravity of every single one of the characters made me wanna vomit all over my TV.
The thing that felt strange about St. Elmo's is the deprarious degree to which the film seemed to be lacking in self-awareness. Were this film to have been made in the past ten years, it would have been a dark comedy where everyone's in on the joke and they'd all laugh mirthlessly as each new "tragedy" befell another member of Team I; or perhaps a straight-up Todd Solondz film culminating in a scene where Emilio Estevez, in climactic stalker wing-spreading is either arrested or killed in a car crash and Rob Lowe finally seduces lowly "Wendy" into boning him and he gives her AIDS.
Instead we have a picture that is utterly unable to imagine the realistic viewpoint in which all of these people are actually just fucked. In watching, I could hardly contain myself--with each passing frame, I found it harder and harder to control myself from shouting at the assholes in front of me and their bullshit perceptions of a life they haven't begun to live. And don't even get me started on the poor women in this film, some of whom represented the few arguably not terrible humans, all of whom allowed themselves to be treated like garbage by the self-centered twats they were surrounded by. Grow some balls! Stand up! Dear god.
But most significantly, this film served as a reminder to me that, culturally speaking, the 80s were not in fact the beginning of the Forward-Looking Future Generation, but instead a quaint last gasp ode to the limited-thinking/dreaming dogmatism of the 50s; and, dare I say it, a period where Americans were worse even: people of the 50s at least bought into McCarthyism because it was new and they didn't know much else, but in the 80s we looked back despite knowing the dark side because we thought we might rather choose death over an uncertain future so desperately feared.
The long and the short: do us all a favor and keep on living righteously. Let yourself get bent out of shape when you witness awfulness, and be prepared to catch a sunbeam if it crosses your path.
GET BEHIND ME DEAD MAN
I promised in an earlier post to after losing my work camera lens cap to the subway system at the Bergen St. stop that I would come back with a photo. 
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Apparently Jimmy Buffet wrote a ... novel. And ... people, including 
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