Trolls (Or People Who Are Just Angry).

Recently, on this blog and on another blog I like, some derisive and unpleasant comments have popped up.

I don't frequent a lot of discussion boards or blogs, and so am a latecomer to the term troll.

Troll is a seductive word to throw around, because it automatically nullifies the speaker. There are contradictory viewpoints, and there are trolls; the former is to be considered, the latter to be dismissed. (In this case, I would say the shoe fits, but trolls don't typically wear shoes.)

When someone (anonymously no less) mocks, criticizes, or makes a personal attack on something I've written, here or elsewhere, my first reaction is shock and indignation. How could they? I am accustomed to friendly banter, at best, and silence or non-sequiturs (Pete) at worst on this blog and on Verbungle.

"You often seem surprised that there is a reaction [to your blog], or a negative reaction, and seem to really resent that such a thing at all could exist," the point was made to me by someone who knows quite a bit about reacting negatively to me.

It's a worthy point. If I'm going to put my petty, bourgeois, angsty thoughts out there for anyone to read, why shouldn't I expect (if not welcome) the consequences, whether good or bad? Why make something public, and then be surprised -- happily or unhappily -- when something unpredictable happens?

I'll admit I was sort of stunned when it turned out that not everyone considered my thoughts on men and singles events to be entertaining and actually cried foul. It did make me think twice about blanketing generalizations across a demographic, which is something that frankly, I can't promise I won't do again, because well, I still think it was kind of funny. But it opened up a discussion, which was one of the things I hope to but often fail to do on this blog.

If you take the time to post a thought -- a real thought, as opposed to blind slander or angry mockery -- to this blog, I owe you a debt. If, on the other hand, a you want to spew anger, I can only turn to resignation or pity, because you are never going to get the kind of return on your energy that you need.

Music: "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm"

Sunny and Rainbow.

It's spring, which means it's time to post my favorite springtime photo ever, taken several years ago in New York.
Be sure also to check out the close-up of these defeated Easter treats. It looks like they, too, suffer from allergies. Original posting here.

Music: "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)"

A Feel-Good Friday Film.

Came in on Synecdoche, New York as it was in progress. It's exemplary as a cinematic, two-hour uncomfortable moment. In the same evening, I received this e-mail. Please enjoy these uplifting passages from Charlie Kaufman's script, as you head into the weekend.

"Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along."

"I've watched you forever, Caden, but you've never really looked at anyone other than yourself. So watch me. Watch my heart break. Watch me jump. Watch me learn that after death there's nothing. There's no more watching. There's no more following. No love. Say goodbye to Hazel for me. And say it to yourself, too. None of us has much time."

"What was once before you -- an exciting, mysterious future -- is now behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone's experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter."

"I will be dying and so will you, and so will everyone here. That's what I want to explore. We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't."

Music: "Little Person"

One Night Stands: 'Gotta Stay High'

Unless you are among the modest number of people who purchased and really listened to the album Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too in 1998, then you probably only know one song by New Radicals, and that's the single "You Get What You Give," which, in itself, is not a huge incentive to hear more.

Frontman Gregg Alexander has many talents, but naming a band is not one of them. Despite the exquisitely poor name of New Radicals, which sounds like it was named by a corporation, their one album is one of my favorites and for some reason "Gotta Stay High" has been in my head for the last three days (no, I don't do drugs).

Aside from being the lead singer, Alexander wrote and produced all of the tracks on MYBBT, then virtually disappeared. One of my favorite band tidbits is that the lineup features Danielle Brisebois of All in the Family. It's Brisebois who says, "Make my nipples hard, let's go" on my favorite track, "Mother We Just Can't Get Enough," though unfortunately it is cut out of most versions on YouTube. Check out Brisebois' bio: She has been sampled by Jay-Z and has written hits for Natasha Bedingfield. Way to skirt the child-star curse, Danielle!

It is sad to me that Alexander isn't very visible anymore. I really liked his style, both vocally and musically. In places on MYBBT, he channels Mick Jagger.

I was wondering what it is about this album that makes it, to me, a better pop experience than most. It must be the fact that it's Alexander's project (as opposed to a team of producers'). His energy in it is palpable. It's kind of earnest, in a very non-radical way.

Music: "Gotta Stay High"

P.S. Apologies for the thoroughly uninspired and unclever nature of this post. I forgot how working full-time can really take it out of you.

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day.

It's not perfect. It's a little chaotic sometimes, a little warped. There are fights, carping, yelling, bitching. There is dysfunction, past and present. There is unnecessary showboating. Injuries, both external and internal, do occur.

Still: I'm really f-ing glad to be back home.

Some things are missing here: a quorum of available friends, a cadre of specific friends I already dearly miss, decent produce, a good karaoke place, and for now, living quarters I can call my own.

Some things are also gloriously present: persons whom I love desperately; a return to my previous job (at least temporarily), where I have friends and colleagues I respect; WHUR; frosting; the promise of cherry blossoms; the feeling of home.

My friend's son, who is 5 years old, made the cookie at left for me. I was asked whether I would like the cookie "burnt, or unburnt." I chose "unburnt" and here is the lovely result. In case you cannot distinguish, the cookie is meant to be shaped like a doughnut, but with a smiley face attached to it.

A doughnut with a smiley face: It takes certain 5-year-olds to express certain emotions in exactly the right way.

An Interesting Post.

Lately I've been looking at The New Yorker's offerings online. The New Yorker is the only substantive thing I read lately, unless I get adventurous and pick up a book. Otherwise it's a steady media diet of Entertainment Weekly (which, don't get me wrong, I adore), food magazines and e-mail.

The New Yorker site features a surprising number of blogs, one of them titled Interesting Times. The description is: "Semi-regular thoughts on foreign affairs, politics, and books, from George Packer."

Seriously? This struck me as possibly the worst blog title ever. Why not something more evocative, such as Wow, What a World or Here's What I'm Thinking or What's the Deal with That? I mean, who would title their blog with just a garden-variety adjective followed by a temporal noun? Oops...

Some time ago, I encountered the observation (don't remember where) that when a person responds, "That's interesting" to someone when he or she is talking, that is a blaring sign that the listener is really fucking bored. In this context, "stultifying" may be substituted for "interesting," and Packer's blog may as well be titled Whatever, I Just Don't Care. (However, it's worth noting that when faced with a list of blogs with which I'm completely unfamiliar, one of the few I clicked was Interesting Times. Now what does that say about me?)

Ever since I heard that comment, if someone says "that's interesting" when I am talking, my first instinct is to apologize, to pack up my conversary and hit the road. My banter has been labeled "interesting," the conversational equivalent of being voted off the island. What could be more damning?

However. In my case, when I am listening and I say something is interesting, about 50 percent of the time, I actually mean it -- it's just that I simply have nothing else to say. So, if someone is telling me about, say, the intricacies of a boxing match while I am watching it, I may actually find that interesting, but am unable to offer more than my approval for hearing about it, and maybe another question. I'm not going to be able to say something like, "Yeah, I remember when I was in the ring, that was totally true," or, "Exactly. Remember that classic match in 1994?"

Often, when I find myself using the word "interesting," it's not because the other person is boring. It's because I am boring and have nothing else to say. This sometimes makes me think about trying synonyms, as if using a different word would make me sound any less like a) I am insulting you or b) I have a tea bag for a brain. What if I broke out fascinating, absorbing, intriguing, or some other word? I'd sound more like Barbara Walters, for one thing, but would it break me out of the ennui of "interesting"?

How often do you use the word, and what would happen if you tried to stop using it for one week? Now wouldn't that be... enthralling?

Music: "Another Day"

One Night Stands: "Waltz"

Thank you to Kristie and Jackson for introducing me to blip.fm, another venue through which I can attempt to impose my musical tastes on other people. So far, I have a grand total of one follower. Bless you, 2Serenity! If anyone else happens to be using blip.fm and wants to join the crowd, my handle is UncMo.

If you like piano-heavy music, and I think you know I do, then by all means take a moment to contemplate Ikuko Harada. Unfortunately, it is very hard to actually listen to Ikuko Harada, because her music doesn't seem to ever be released in the States (and she is not on blip.fm).

Radio host Chris Douridas chose the Japanese singer-songwriter's Piano in a 2005 NPR roundup of most overlooked CDs, but somehow failed to mention that it was only available as a ridiculously priced import, and therefore quite overlookable. Music from Harada's band, Clammbon, also remains unreleased in the United States, judging by a search on Amazon.

I managed to get a digital copy of Piano and have gone back to it regularly over the last three years. "Waltz" is the only lyricless song on the album -- the other songs feature Harada as a vocalist, singing in Japanese -- and it is one of the most beautiful, happy-sad songs I have ever heard. Everything on Piano sounds very casual, but in a way that feels more serendipitous than sloppy. I love the whole thing. I also love the way Harada sings wordlessly over the music in "Waltz," and how playful, meditative and rhythmic the music is.

I will try to post direct links to this and other songs by Ikuko when I get past a technical glitch on my other site. In the meantime, here's the imeem link.

Music: "Waltz"

I Got Nothin'.

The apartment I am leaving isn't much, but it does occasionally let you in on some secrets through the windows. If you wake up early enough, and look out the window enough at the relentlessly changing sky, you can catch glimpses of wonder such as that poorly captured here.

Does anyone look at sunshine streaming through clouds in this way and not think of God? This morning, it looked like mercy. I felt mercy for the fact that I was a near shut-in last week, paralyzed and overwhelmed with the sadness behind me and the transition in front of me. I felt mercy for being awake way too early, and way too far afield from the person I want to be. I felt mercy for being unemployed and yet not being the yoga-practicing, book-reading, gourmet cook I imagined I would be in this block of free time. I felt mercy for being silent and boring. I felt mercy for never giving my friends as much as they give me. I felt mercy for being alive.

And then it was gone.

Music: "Power Fantastic"

Patrol Pledge.

Not long ago, I made a reference to the "patrol pledge" among friends and got blank stares. "Weren't any of you guys safety patrols in school?" I said.

"No. What's a safety patrol?"

The more I tried to explain, the dorkier it sounded: Well, in grade school you could apply to be a patrol and if you got it, you wore an orange belt with a badge on it and would get off the school bus and wave kids across the street when they were boarding and exiting.

It was a desirable position. Really!

I mean, not just anyone could be a safety patrol. You had to have good grades and a flawless obedience record.

Okay, it was dorky.

But still, I was psyched to be a patrol in (I think) fifth grade. First, there was the belt, which to me connoted leadership and also was an additional accessory that needed to be cared for and folded properly. Second, you got to sit at the front of the bus at all times, which I liked to do because the view from the big front window was much better than from the sides, and also I liked Mrs. Kidd, the bus driver. Finally, it felt pretty official to be helping kids cross the street and, most importantly, reciting the Patrol Pledge:

I promise to do my best to:
·report for duty on time
·perform my duties faithfully
·strive to prevent accidents
·always set a good example
·obey my teachers and officers of the patrol
·report dangerous practices of students and
·strive to earn the respect of fellow students.

Between this and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, I was doing a lot of pledging on a regular basis in grade school. And you know what? I like the Patrol Pledge. I still think it's a good idea to report for duty on time, perform my duties faithfully, strive to prevent accidents, always set a good example and strive to earn the respect of my fellow humans. Not sure about obeying the authorities or snitching on dangerous behavior, but I'm sure in some cases that makes sense too.

Any fellow patrol alumni out there? Anyone?

Music: "Goody Two Shoes"

Pass It On.

I put this page up approximately 10 years ago.

First of all, is anybody out there still weirded out when they can say things such as "I've known so-and-so for 20 years," or "Yeah, that was 10 years ago?" I mean, I feel like I was born 10 years ago. And then, the World Wide Web came along a few years after that. No?

Anyhow, Haruki Murakami is like this awesome vacation spot you found that eventually got overrun by tourists just like you. His novels and short stories are bizarre affairs marked by disappearing women, pensive men, impeccable clothing, jazz and whiskey. He has also written nonfiction, about the sarin gas attacks in Tokyo and about running. He is an author the way Christopher Walken is an actor: He inhabits different roles, but is always resolutely himself.

I was really getting into Murakami when I typed up his short story and put it on that page, which has languished on my other site, which additionally has languished on the vast Internets, in the decade since. But what's nice about the Web is that people can find just about anything. And everyone once in awhile, one of them will write to me. Here is the most recent note:

Hi,
I am just writing to let you know that your painstaking transcription of Haruki Murakami was not in vain. I just read the story and it reminded me of stories my dad used to tell me. I started scanning the book to send it to him in email, but my scanner is very slow. So I decided to take a look around the internet to see if I could save some time. Anyway, I googled "The Second Bakery Attack" and your transcription came up. Thanks for doing that.

It's nice because most of the time, I am never the person who put up that thing you were looking for. That song, that movie clip, that image from the '80s, that commercial... I greedily consume it all and link to it all and rarely contribute. I leave it to the saints of YouTube and imeem. But in this one instance, I am helping out people who want to know and/or share what this author is about. Also, I am committing copyright infringement. But I hope the spirit of the former helps mitigate the latter.

Anyway, I recommend "The Second Bakery Attack" and anything else by Murakami. If you like what's on that page, get the collection from whence it came, The Elephant Vanishes.

Music: "Star Crossed Lovers"