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Thursday, September 30, 2004

Post-Debate Spin 

I've stayed away from politics, but I'll remain quiet no more. I don't really want to debate the fundamental issues, not because they're not important, but because it's kind of a rathole and I really don't want this blog to become so political.

That said, Bush scares me. I cannot fathom how one can watch the debate and honestly say to themselves that Bush is better fit to run this country. Kerry was straightforward, poised, confident, articulate, and most importantly, knowledgeable. Bush had a simple answer for every single question - it's good at times to be simple, but the problem is that it was the same simple answer to every question. The issues we're discussing are not that trivial, though. There's room for growth and thought and nuance and intelligence and diplomacy and strength. And maybe that's not what the United States want to see, but that really frightens me. Anyone who believes that never changing your position is the equivalent of being strong is not a true leader.

And I guess that's the point. That's why I care so much. I don't want our country to be this simple-minded. I want to think that Americans are sincere and strong and can adapt and respond and keep America's best interest at heart while also solving some tremendous problems. I want our President to be better than me. I want him to be more thoughtful. I want him to be aware of what's going on in the world. I want him to admit failure and adjust and rebound. I want him to do things, instead of just say he's doing things.

I'm not trying to say that everyone who votes for Bush is simplistic or narrow-minded or stupid - that's not the case. There's room for debate about the issues, and I of course think that a reasonable person can come to the conclusion that Bush is better, but I also don't think this election is being decided by those reasonable people. It's being decided by the 76% of people without a college education, looking at the two men and the past four years and choosing the cowboy over the Senator. The man who says he's a leader because he never changes his position. That's not strength, not holding him accountable for his failures is not justice, and I worry about living in a country in which the majority of the people either don't know the difference, or just don't care that there is one.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Debate 

So, the big first debate is tomorrow night. I, for one, am excited, because I really see it as Kerry's best chance to get an edge in the campaign, which is something he's failed to sustain for a while. I don't really know what to expect. It'll likely be not as satisfying from a point-counterpoint standpoint, and I can virtually guarantee you that the media coverage will deal more with the superficial aspects of the candidates than the substance of their message. The only way to avoid having to rely on the media is by watching the darn thing yourselves. Of course, since they're not allowed to ask each other direct questions (gosh, I wonder which candidate requested that regulation), we still might get less substance than we're hoping for.

Here's an interesting article by Al Gore, entitled "How to Debate George Bush". It's partisan, but I appreciated his parting shot. You have to get an NYT account to read it, but it's free, and it'll pay off for you eventually.

Also, a little update on my previous post - it looks like the Sox are destined for the Wild Card, and the Yanks for the division. But, just today, the Yanks swept the Twins in a doubleheader, (beating Santana!), which may knock them back far enough that they'll face the Yanks in the first round. If Santana lights them up, they only have themselves to blame for sweeping them in the first place!

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Stuck In The Middle 

Let's say you're a downtrodden individual, and are continuously bested over the years, by others who fight dirty, have more resources, and are just outright evil. You're competing again against those who have beaten you, in some sort of important competition. Maybe it's sales for your company. Maybe it's an athletic event. Maybe it's in pie-eating. Whatever it is, the way the competition is structured, it's possible that if you do poorly in the preliminary rounds, you'll assure yourself of a better situation for the later rounds. Normally, you wouldn't consider this sort of crafty behavior, but after being beaten up over and over again, and having succumbed to the craftiness of others, you're considering pulling out all the stops...but will it work? What if you dog it too much and you shoot yourself in the foot? Fate will curse you again!

This somewhat contrived situation exactly describes two real-life scenarios with surprising accuracy. The first has to do with baseball, and the second has to do with politics:

So, clearly, in baseball, the Red Sox are the downtrodden entity, and Yankees are the evil ones. It appears that at this point, both the Sox and Yanks will make the playoffs again this year. Due to the fact that they're in the same division as each other, they won't play each other in the first round. If things continue as they are, one team will play Minnesota, and one will play Oakland (or maybe Anaheim). Last year, as in most years in recent memory, Minnesota has been the weakest playoff team, and as such, has to play the Yankees, who have the best record. As recently as a week ago, both Minnesota and Oakland had about the same record. Additionally, the Red Sox had a shot at beating out the Yankees for the division title.

This year, the Twins have an ace-in-the-hole, Johan Santana. You may not have heard of him, but you will. He's simply an amazing pitcher. And the baseball playoffs are structured so that in the first round, the teams play a best-of-5 series, which is just long enough to start one pitcher twice, and maybe two, if you really want to push it. Santana would definitely be that guy for the Twins. He's so much better than any other pitcher who would pitch against him (except maybe Schilling) that he gives the Twins a huge first-round advantage if he pitches twice - win those two games, and there's only one more necessary to take the series. I wouldn't want to face him.

So, you're the Red Sox. What do you do? Go all out and win the division title, knowing that if history is any indication, the Twins will have the worse record, and then you might have to play them? Or dog it just a bit, and hope you get to face the A's? I know, almost all teams would just play all-out and win. And, honestly, the way this has worked out, the Red Sox didn't quite do well enough to win the division...but the Twins are likely to beat the A's! So the Red Sox might be in big trouble. As if the downtrodden needed to be trodden down and more.

Now, in the second scenario, it's pretty obvious the abused party (heh) is the Democrats, and the masterminds are the Republican. In Colorado, some crafty Democrats are trying to pass a ballot that will allow Colorado to divide its electoral votes based on the state's popular vote. If Colorado goes for Bush again, then Kerry would still likely pick up 4 votes. It's a crafty move, and threatens to make Colorado irrelevant in terms of campaigning, but hey, if you need to pull out all the stops, then I guess you have to do so. Here's the problem - Bush only has an 8% edge, and as recently as a couple of weeks ago had a 2% edge. So what do you do if you're the Democrats? Vote down the referendum at the last minute, if the polls show that Kerry's making a push? Because if Kerry ends up winning the state, and your vote passes, then you've ended up costing Kerry 4 votes - but there's no way to know.

I know that the honorable thing is to just fight your hardest and let the results speak for themselves. I can understand the temptation of these underdogs to resort to whatever tactics they feel are necessary. But I can help but shake the feeling that if they end up sinking to sneaky tactics, and play down the level of their opponents, then they're likely to get snake-bitten in the end by cruel twists of fate.



Thursday, September 23, 2004

Authorship and Ownership 

I've never been a huge Star Wars fan. In fact, I appreciate it more for its role in cinematic history than as a crazed fan. It's fun, engaging, and at the time was groundbreaking. It also stands the test of time well, which is pretty impressive given how much it relies on special effects to create a convincing world. All of that said, I find George Lucas to be quite repugnant. I can understand how Star Wars devotees resent his destruction of the franchise through Episodes I and II (and I can't imagine III will be worthwhile), but my disgust with him isn't based on him ruining a franchise that many love. Rather, I find him to be amazingly ungrateful, self-righteous, and, frankly, irresponsible.

I just got my latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, featuring an interview with Lucas. I had always kind of resented Lucas just for making horrendous movies, but I had never really concerned myself with his opinions and thoughts on the franchise. Confronted with the article, I found him to be one of the most delusional Hollywood stars I've ever read about, and that's saying a hell of a lot.

In his interview, Lucas seems to display a fundamental misunderstanding of pop culture phenomena, and their role in society. Frankly, given his body of work, I really think that Lucas lucked into Star Wars. Clearly, he needed a decent amount of skill to make the movies, but I'm inclined to say his skills were much more on the technical side of things, not the artistic or even storytelling side. He wrote a fairly simple fairy tale, set it in space, revolutionized the effects industry, and managed to capture the imagination of millions of people. Part of it was the fact that it was the right movie, but part of it is that it was also the right time in America for it to grab hold of people, and I also think that he got lucky with the actors catching on as well as they did.

There are a couple of things that really stood out in his interview, and made me very disinclined to give Lucas any money ever again. The first one was when the interviewer if he seemed was as pessimistic about his new movies as he had been about his previous ones. He responded:

"I said, well, [Phantom Menace] is not going to work because I'm making it about a 10-year old boy and nobody is going to want to see this...they want to see Darth Vader and I'm not giving them Darth Vader; so don't expect this thing to be a hit. And then [Attack of the Clones] is a love story. It's old-fashioned like in the '40s, you know, so it's not a modern, hip, happening romantic comedy with the Olsen twins. It's kind of corny and it's using an aesthetic that is out of use now....It you take them all together it's a fascinating saga."

I have some gigantic problems with this quote. Maybe he's just being self-deprecating, and showing how he never really thought that any of his movies would be the gigantic commercial successes they turned out to be. But in doing so, he's being quite disingenuous, because all of that pessimism was completely and utterly warranted! The interviewer implies in his question that Lucas was excessively pessimistic in the past about the original Star Wars movies, but by no means was his apparent pessimism excessive with regards to the latest films. He completely ignores the fact that even though his new movies may have generated a lot of box offices, they are artistic failures. Maybe he doesn't see things that way, which is fine, although to not address the frustrations of fans and critics alike is really being obtuse.

Ok, so maybe Lucas just loves all of the movies he's made, and he doesn't really care what people think. We're on the right track here. Assuming he's not lying to just save a little face, that means he was completely aware of the failures of the two most recent movies, because he certainly summarizes their shortcomings quite effectively. If he knew that people wouldn't want to see this garbage, then why did he make these movies? To appease some inner demons? Just for the hell of it? Certainly, this was within his right, but just because he can do something doesn't mean that he should. I think there's something more there, though. Aside from the business motivations (and if you want to basically say he's solely motivated by greed, I'd be inclined to agree with you, even despite his current steadfast refusal to make Episodes 7-9), you see a man motivated by ego, but also seemingly trying to hold on to his last bits of success. I think he desperately wants to be that brilliant visionary who made Star Wars by latching onto things he liked about fairy tales and Saturday morning serials. So he goes back to the well - putting in Jar Jar, or corny romances, or big fake-looking battles, trying to appeal to kids, while still hooking in fans of the original series, because he can't let go or these characters. He makes a movie about a 10-year old Anakin, knowing that no one will really want to see what happens....except for himself. To Lucas, this is the greatest story ever told - there's nothing corny about it - Star Wars is the story that made him who he is today, and nothing could be more important.

Maybe that's a little overindulgent psychoanalysis, but I don't think it's too far from the truth. And maybe you think that really, Lucas can do whatever he wants. Once again, you're right - he has the right to, but that doesn't mean it's the appropriate thing to do. But what is really wrong with what he's doing? Well, I have a theory. See, Lucas believe that because he's the author of the series, and because he owns the legal rights to the story, that somehow makes him the owner of the Star Wars mythology. Want proof? Here's the second quote I wanted to share, in response to the question of what's the line between restoring a film and altering it:

"Film is so expensive and it's run by corporations. They just take it away from you, and it's frozen in time at the point where it got yanked out of your hands. I've been lucky enough to be able to go back and say, 'No, I'm going to finish this the way it was meant to be finished.' When Star Wars came out, I said it didn't turn out the way I wanted - it's 25 percent of what I wanted it to be. It was very painful for me. So the choice came down to, do I please myself and [finally] make the movie that I wanted, or do I allow the audience to see the half-finished version that they fell in love with?"

I don't know, George. Make whatever version you want...but if you're going to make it so that the movie everyone fell in love with isn't going to be available, then give back the hundreds of million dollars that the "very painful" version has netted you. No, I don't think that's happening any day soon, you greedy, megalomaniacal bastard.

The hubris of this quote amazes me. I think he really does see himself as some sort of freedom fighter - the last man who wrestled the rights to HIS movie away from the greedy evil corporations (who of course had nothing to do with getting the film made or distributing or marketing it or making it popular, of course...that was all Lucas) (nor would Lucas have anything to do with corporations, like Lucasfilm or ILM or Skywalker Sound) and he's going to use those rights come hell or high water.

You know, if it was just Lucas vs. production companies, I might be tempted to side with Lucas....but it's not. There's a critical third-party here. That third-party has truly made Lucas the man he is today, for better or for worse. That third-party is the fans, the movie-watchers, the rest of the world. It's not just the people that bought tickets or the VHS tapes, or even the ones that go to the conventions - it's all of American (and some foreign) culture that made Star Wars the phenomenon it became. It's Mel Brooks parodying Star Wars with Spaceballs. It's the Simpsons having Mark Hamill as a guest star that does dinner theater. It's the people who bought Star Wars action figures and Star Wars Legos and play Star Wars video games and own their own lightsabers. It's those people that have made Star Wars into a modern-day fable. And it's those people that Lucas is slapping in the face when he decides to please himself and finally make the movie he wanted.

I firmly believe that once something enters the culture, it takes on a life of its own. Some of those lives are quite short-lived, like Tamagotchis, or the Vengaboys, or Vin Diesel's career. But some of them carry on, and become something bigger than themselves, just like Star Wars. Lucas had some part in creating the initial impetus, and certainly deserves credit for the original authorship, but he cannot have ownership of Star Wars at this point because no one person owns it - everyone does. If he goes back and changes something to fit his whims, he's swimming upstream. You're going to have half the people having grown up thinking that it was cool that Han Solo shoots Greedo first, and THAT Han Solo (a murderer, if you will, or at least a telepath) is going to live on in people minds and impressions of the character no matter what Lucas does.

Lucas argues that aside from the Han/Greedo "correction", he didn't change anything - he's just touching things up, fixing little errors, because, as he says, "Star Wars was not meant, in the end, to be seen more than once in the theater." Well, tough. It was. And people loved it. For you to change it now to suit your own little insecurities, to go back and try and relive the high point of your career by improving on something that can't be improved, well, it's disingenuous, indulgent, and frankly, just plain stupid. Get over yourself, George Lucas, and just let Star Wars go. It's ours now. We'll take better care of it that you could ever do.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Samantha, Part 2 

Alright, so my plans were all set. Over the course of the week, a double- and triple-checked the reservations. I made sure to request a room with a view. I made sure that the restaurant knew my plans and that they had the menu. On Wednesday, I called Sam's dad (the only other person I was going to tell what I was planning), and got his voicemail. I asked for him to call me back at work, telling him that I had a question about Sam's birthday, so that he wouldn't somehow talk to Sam first and tell her that I had called him. He called back in the evening, and I told him that I really wanted to talk to him about something else. I told him that I knew his daughter was independent, and that I didn't have to ask for his permission to marry her, but that it would mean a lot to me if he would support us, as I planned to ask her to marry me in the coming weekend. He was very supportive, saying that he liked me very much, and thought that it was great. Later in the conversation, I told him that I knew ask the woman's father was a big old-fashioned, but he said that he thought it was a nice tradition and that he was glad I had called. Clearly, at this point, there was no turning back - not that I wanted to.

I told Sam that over the course of the weekend (remember, she thought this was all for her birthday on Friday, 7/23), there would be about six different surprises. She's usually pretty good about not trying too hard to figure out the surprises I have planned, and this time was no exception. She asked a couple of times what we were doing, but relented pretty quickly when it became clear that I wasn't going to give her any information.

I told her that we were leaving from Union Station, and to pack one very nice outfit. Obviously, these were a couple of huge clues, especially given that there's only so many places we could possibly be going via train. Nevertheless, we planned to meet at the Amtrak ticket desk at around 5:30. We both got there, and I got the tickets. That's when I revealed the first and second surprises: We'd be going to New York City, and we'd be traveling first class. One of the coolest perks of traveling first class is getting to be in the "first class lounge". It's nothing that fantastic, but it was nice to just not have to wait in the uncomfortable, crowded main terminal. They had couches and drinks and snacks and magazines, as well as a place for us to leave our luggage. Additionally, they had an extra-special door for boarding the trains, so you didn't have to mingle with the peons at all. We waited there for about an hour, and then boarded the train.

The first class train on Acela really isn't that different than business class. The seats are a little nicer, and there's a little more space, but honestly, the main difference is the service: It's exceptional. They take drink orders when you board, provide you with snack mix and pretty much whatever else you want, and then they give you a full dinner menu. The dinners themselves were quite good - about the quality of what you'd get in an average city restaurant. If you factor the cost of the dinner into the ticket price, first class is only marginally more expensive. The ride itself only took three hours, and was quite uneventful. Sam seemed excited, but didn't appear to have any idea what I had in store.

Unfortunately, when we arrived at Penn Station, there was a little surprise that I didn't orchestrate - it was pouring outside. We went to the taxicab stand (if I had been going all out, I guess I would have gotten a car, but I didn't count on the rain, of course), and the line was quite long. Fortunately, the waiting area was covered. We waited for about half an hour, and finally got a cab. It only took about five minutes, and we arrived at the hotel around 11pm.

The hotel, the "W Times Square" was amazing, bordering on absurd in how lavish and "trendy" it was. It really was in the heart of Times Square, right across the street from the "tkts" booth. It was kind of funny arriving, because the lobby area of the hotel doubled as an upscale bar and lounge. We first walked into the building, which had a type of overhead fountain, where the water flows into the ceiling, and then around down the sides of the walls. It was pretty cool. Sam and I just kind of looked at each other, wondering what we were getting into.

We took the elevator up to the main lobby, which was basically like entering a nightclub. Unlike most of the patrons, which were in their cocktail dresses or clubbing shirts, we were in our sweaty work clothes, hauling lugging, and mildly wet from the significant downpour that was going on outside. We were definitely out of place and got quite a few sideways glances. But it was our hotel, gosh darn it! So I went over to the lavish check-in desk, where they were very friendly and gave us our room card, confirming that we had an "Urban Suite", (I swear, it sounds like a euphemism for a run-down room in the projects, but it wasn't!) as well as a little envelope containing the contents of the "Sleep" package I had signed us up for. We went back to the brushed metal elevator and went up to our suite on the 20th floor.

Getting off the elevator was another experience. On the right was this strange panel that had moving images, and a little flat screen TV in the center, showing ads for the W. At this point, I think Sam was a little incredulous. We entered the room, and it was pretty much everything we expected. It had two rooms - a living room, and a bedroom. It was very modern, with sleek lines and interesting decorations. There were a lot of translucent pieces of furniture as well. We opened the window and saw that we did have a pretty good view of Times Square, just as I had asked for.

Both rooms had their own bathrooms, which were just as lavish as the rest of the suite. The fixtures were smooth and curved, very elegant, yet lacking unnecessary flourishes, to give it a somewhat futuristic feel. There was a walk-in shower, and five, count them - five! bottles of lotion, shampoo, conditioner, etc. Additionally, there were notepads, wireless phones, flatscreen TVs, and of course a ridiculously priced minibar. Oh yeah - there was an angora blanket on the bed.

At about that time, Steph, Sam's aforementioned friend, called her. Remember, this was her actual birthday. It was actually a nice bit of misdirection on her part. Sam was pleasantly surprised to get a birthday call from her friend. Steph asked Sam where she was (knowing full well she was in NYC), and told Sam that she was at school, in Bryn Mawr (Pennsylvania - this was actually true at the time).

After Sam got off the phone with Steph, I gave her her birthday present. I wanted to make sure to get her something nice for her birthday, as I didn't think my later plans should somehow override her birthday. As an added bonus, it would make her less likely to suspect that something else might be coming. I gave her her gift - which was a pink iPod mini. (There's a whole other story about hoops I had to jump through in order to get the iPod in time, but we can leave that for later.) At any rate, she really liked it. We went to bed, and I told her that we had plans to be somewhere the next day at noon. That allowed us plenty of time to sleep in on the snazzy king bed.

We got up the next day, Saturday for those of you keeping track, and left the hotel at noon. The rain had cleared up by then, but it was still pretty cool out, which was fortunate. I had written down the addresses of all of the places we had to be, but I wasn't quite sure how to get there. We went to the concierge, which was this nice big marble desk with a couple laptops on it. I got directions to everywhere we would need to go over the weekend, including taxicab distances. I had planned pretty well - everywhere was either within walking distance, or a 10-minute cab ride. It turned out that the restaurant I had made lunch reservations at was only a few blocks away, so we started walking.

Along the way, I told Sam that she was going to find out one of her surprises soon. Then, I told her what restaurant we were going to: The West Bank Cafe. When I told her that, she was confused, because she figured that the location was the surprise. So, as she tried to figure out what the surprise could be, we walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess that we had a reservation for four under "Berman", and Sam looked a bit confused. Then, I looked over at the bar and saw that Stephanie and her boyfriend were there. They turned around and walked towards us, as Sam finally saw her. She was completely surprised, and seemingly very excited. We were introduced to Steph's boyfriend, unfortunately also named Sam, and then we ate lunch.

Apparently, Steph's diversionary phone call had worked, as Sam(antha) was completely surprised. The West Bank Cafe, while having nothing to do with disputed Israeli territories, was quite nice to eat. We had a good time chatting and then went for a stroll. The four of us walked around Times Square, and then over to Central Park. Sam and Steph hadn't seen each other in quite a while, so it was a great opportunity to catch up. At around three, I told them that we had to head back, as we had to get ready for dinner. We parted ways, but it was definitely a successful surprise visit.

We headed back up to the room, and Sam decided to take a nap, before we headed out for the evening. She pretty much guessed that we were going to dinner and then a show, so I decided to show her the "Avenue Q" tickets that I had bought. She was pretty excited. She took a nap, and I started planning how I was going to actually make this proposal. I didn't know what I was going to say, or how I was going to do it, but I figured I should have some loose idea. I took a shower, and spent probably 45 minutes trying to make my beard perfect. It's tougher than you think to keep a goatee symmetric! I shaved a bit off the left side, then the right side, and ultimately, ended up with something clean-looking, but a little thin. That was a tad frustrated, as I really wanted everything to be perfect, including my beard, but I cut my losses and settled for something that wasn't too ridiculous.

I got out of the shower, and Sam was still napping. I woke her up and she went into the shower. I figured it was a perfect time to get dressed, and place the ring in my pocket. I put on my suit, but by the time I did, she was already exiting the shower. I placed the ring in my jacket pocket, but apparently I wasn't smooth enough, as later she would tell me that she thought she caught a glimpse of the ring box. D'oh!

By now, Sam was getting dressed, and I decided that the ring stuck out a bit in my jacket pocket, so I tried to put it in my pants pocket. She didn't see me move it, however, it stuck out even worse! Then, as I realized how obvious it was, Sam called me over, asking my to help her fasten her bracelet. Well, I didn't want to get close to her, because I thought she would see the unseemly bulge in my pants (and not in the usual location). Instead, I told her that I would but, I had to go to the bathroom. It was the best I could do. I ran into the bathroom, put the ring back in my jacket pocket, and came back out after an appropriate amount of time had lapsed. I then fastened her bracelet, and we put on our shoes, and we were off.

The restaurant I had made reservations at was called "La Grenouille", which I only recently learned means "The Frog". I guess everything sounds more romantic in French. At any rate, we got there pretty quickly, and walked in the door at exactly 5 pm. It was quite early, even for the pre-theater crowd, so we were the only ones there. It made me a little self-conscious, but at that point I was so nervous already that it didn't really matter. We were surrounded by servers and busboys and the maitre'd, all very friendly and eager to serve. The restaurant itself was very nice - small and intimate, with tons of flowers everywhere. As the host showed us to our table, I gave a nod to the maitre'd, who returned the nod with a smile. It was clear to me that everything was all set.

Our waiter was this friendly, elderly little man who happened to be French. Imagine that! Well, if he wasn't French, he was definitely great at the accent. Our table was the kind that needed to be pulled out from the wall in order for us to sit down. We did so, and they brought us the menu. To be honest, I forget exactly what I ordered, but I remember it tasting good. I think I had some sort of beef. I was definitely anxious during the whole meal, most because I wanted everything to be perfect than I was nervous about what I was doing. I'm sure Sam could tell something was a little bit strange. For one, we had ordered this fantastic (and expensive!) meal, and I could only eat a bit of it because I didn't feel hungry at all. I had to force myself to eat, because I knew I would regret it if I didn't. I figured it would feel more natural if I was eating, too. Finally, the main course ended, and I knew the moment was at hand.

At this point, I started wondering how I was going to get down on my knee to propose. The table was blocking me from getting to the floor, and if I did get to the floor, I was going to be pretty far away from Sam. I figured that I would tell her I was going to go to the bathroom. Not elegant, but at least a reasonable excuse for getting up. The waiter came out with the dessert menu (just one, suspiciously enough), and handed it towards us. I passed it to her, and said, "Why don't you take a look at this while I go to the bathroom." I started getting up, but it turned out that my excuse was unnecessary, as the waiter had enough presence of mind to pull the table out of the way. And then, in a rush, Sam was looking at the menu, then looking at me, as I was kneeling on the floor with the ring box in hand. I hadn't really thought of what I was going to say, but fortunately, I had written most of what was important on the menu. All I said was "I love you so much. Will you marry me?" I then gave her the ring (in the box - I didn't think to take it out and place it on her finger), and took her hand. I stood up, and she was still sitting down, to a pulled her up to me and we hugged and kissed there. She still hadn't answered me, although I could tell what her answer was, so I think I said something like "So, will you marry me?", and she said "Yes". She had a tear in her eye, but didn't cry much at all. We hugged again, and the waiters applauded. Phew!

We sat back down, and I was incredibly relieved. I was finally able to tell her about all of my plans and machinations. We both chattered away, happy as can be. I didn't like keeping all of these plans from her, and it was nice to tell her all of the stories and ideas I had. As we were jabbering away, the waiter came up and offered us the real dessert menu. We picked something out quickly and went back to talking. I asked her if she knew what was coming, and she told me that she had a hint of an idea, but didn't really know. She thought she had seen the ring, and thought that the birthday plans were a little over-the-top, but certainly wasn't sure of anything. They delivered our desserts, but we kept right on talking. I don't remember the content, but I felt great, like I could just be myself and not worry about things going perfectly any more. The waiter came by again, saw that we hadn't eaten any of our desserts, and asked in an offended tone if we didn't like our desserts. I said that they were great, but we were a little distracted, and he still seemed a little offended, but left us alone. We kept talking about everything until we had to leave for the show. The waiters all shook my hand and gave Sam a kiss. (Hands off, guys! She's mine now!) In truth, they were quite fantastic, and I couldn't have asked for them to be any more cooperative of helpful. The meal was great too. So, next time you're in New York City, go to "La Grenouille" !

The rest of the evening was a ton of fun, but not quite as exciting, comparatively. We saw "Avenue Q", a fantastic Broadway Show (it won the Tony for Best Play), basically a version of Sesame Street for adults. I highly recommend it. It was truly hilarious. It was nice to just relax and laugh a lot with Sam after the proposal. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel, but not before stopping at Jamba Juice for smoothies.

I have a couple other stories, about telling people that Sam and I had gotten engaged (in particular, my parents), and some other wedding-related stuff, but I'll end this post here, as it's quite long. Basically, it was a fantastic weekend, and I have Sam to thank for making it so wonderful and fun, just like her. I love you, Sam! I can't wait to marry you! Thanks for making me so incredibly happy.







Wednesday, September 15, 2004

What Happens In Vegas....Is Completely Insane 

So, I was in Vegas for the past few days, and had quite a fun time. It's really unlike any other place I've seen - a testament to American excess, but also a melting pot of diversity, and a real collection of people from all walks of life. The combination of the "anything goes" attitude and the variety of personalities combines to make it sort of a perfect storm of humans behaving badly.

For the first two nights, my fraternity brothers and I stayed downtown, in Binion's Horseshoe, the site of the World Series of Poker. The difference between downtown Vegas and the illustrious Strip is stark. Downtown used to be what it was all about, but the mega-hotels built on the Strip really put the old-school casinos to shame. They're nice for their simplicity, but they're also cheap and some can be rundown. However, they're also mostly devoid of distractions, and because they need to work hard to attract gamblers from the shiny Strip, the rules on the games are much more favorable to the player. For that reason, it's generally a better place for more hard-core gamblers. And, to be honest, it's got a decent rustic feel to it, not as showy, but not as fake, either.

So, we arrive in Vegas and convene at Binion's, then decide that it's only midnight, and we should start getting our blackjack on. I'm pretty sure the first place we stopped was the Fremont, one of the mid-range casinos, in terms of downtown quality. We find a blackjack table that can hold all seven of us (downtown never really seems to be crowded), and start playing, getting settled in for what will prove to be a long four days of gambling. Directly behind us, there's a ruckus, which is not uncommon for a late Friday night in a casino. Two guys are nose to nose, pushing each other around a bit in front of a bank of slot machines. They're probably about 20 feet from our table. There's a girl off to the side, shouting at them. A couple other guys stand around menacingly. Then, at some point, the girl throws her glass into the face of one of them, and all hell breaks lose. The guys start going after each other. One lands a stiff punch to the other's face. Then they start grappling and throw each other into the slot machines. Seeing that the brawl is headed our way, and not wanting to get between two 250-pound likely drunken, fighting idiots, we move around to the sides of the table. We're basically in the pit, but no one's really paying attention. At some point, the dealers realize their tables are exposed, and shout to each other to cover their chips.

The fighting goes on for at least two or three minutes. It ebbs and flows, but basically these guys are hurtling around the casino, unimpeded, for at least that long. FINALLY, a couple of security guards come over and start to break it up. We return to our seats, figuring that it's over. But it's not. For the next two or three minutes, instead of just two guys fighting, it's two guys fighting, with five security guards surrounding them, all flying over the room, just like before, but worse. These were the most impotent security guards I've ever seen. Chairs are getting knocked over, and old ladies are getting pushed out of the way. Finally, the security guards get the fighters out of the casino, but we never see any real cops. The pit boss implores us to go back to playing, as shards of glass are scattered about the floor. Later on, we see both of the guys in another casino, minding their own business. If this was the Strip, they would have been subdued and tossed out, likely arrested, in three seconds flat. But that wouldn't have been any fun now, would it?

Later in the evening, we head over to another fine establishment, Fitzgerald's, in search of more excitement. Out front is a seemingly drunk guy on the ground. A little later, we notice he's not moving. Security tries to wake him up, but it seems like he's dead. Finally, after a few minutes, he starts stirring. Apparently this happens pretty often, because they address him by name...I think it was Carlos.

As our trip progressed, it returned to normalcy. Honestly, I can't think of much else that happened that was out of the realm of normalcy for Vegas...which is definitely not normal for everywhere else. We stayed up until 4, 5, 6 AM, gambling, eating, talking, having fun. I ended up losing 400 dollars, but it was definitely worth it.



Monday, September 06, 2004

The Toughest Job In The World 

This weekend I was in Chicago for my cousin Jodie's Bat Mitzvah. It was a fun affair - lots of family, and tons of friends. Jodie had 80 kids there. I don't want to launch into a "back in my day" speech, but the differences between this Bat Mitzvah and mine and my brother's were stark. ("Hee hee! Dave, you didn't have a Bat Mitzvah! You're a boy!" I know. Shush.)

At my Bar Mitzvah, I believe we only had about 20 kids. To picture it, think of a sparse wedding reception - dancing, a band or DJ, dinner, dessert, a couple speeches, that's about it. Fun, nice, celebrating a tradition. But this Bat Mitzvah was unlike any I had ever seen. It wasn't incredibly lavish, although it was quite nice. Rather, in order to corral the 80 kids, it was strictly regimented fun, clearly aimed towards 13-year-olds. At mine, we had a couple standard "dance-related" games, like "Coke and Pepsi" (a combination of Red Rover and musical chairs, if you will), and maybe the limbo. Of course, there was the standard Hora, which may simultaneously be the most fun and most silly religious tradition that I've experienced.

At Jodie's, instead of just a DJ, Jodie's parents had hired what seemed like a mixture of a DJ, dance troupe, and violent militia. There were five of them plus an invisible DJ, and basically they led the kids in a gigantic series of dance steps for four straight hours. Picture the "Electric Slide", except to every song, going on nonstop, in front of five adults with permanent smiles and seemingly drug-infused energy. Honestly, it was kind of frightening. Every song, every game, every single step was choreographed, or so it seemed. Personally, I'm what you would call a "freestyle dancer", if you were feeling kind, or a "spastic, no-rhythm, white boy" if you weren't. Either way, I like to dance, but I like to do it my way. I figured out long ago that the most important part of dancing was not caring what you looked like, and if you can do that, you'll look fine.

At any rate, in front of this frightening crew, everyone was dancing the same way, and everyone had to face the DJ, so it was essentially like one big line dance (with many lines, of course). If you didn't go in the right direction at the right time, then you were most likely going to be trampled. The dance crew were always in sync, and always performed each step with the utmost intensity. In case you were curious, they were named Ryan, Ricky, China, and Isabel. The DJ was Lou. About every ten seconds during a song, he'd inform the group of the next step to perform: "cha cha cha" or "windshield wipe" or "spin to the right" or "three steps back". It was quite robotic, but what amazed me was how regimented it was, as if they had done these exact songs, in the exact order, about 500 hundred times previous. Part of it felt like an aerobics class, and part of it felt like a revival. Hallelujah!

I can understand why this configuration was good for the kids - with 80 hormone-drenched 13-year-olds, you need to keep them occupied. You could think of these dancing fanatics as really expensive babysitters. And, if Jodie and her friends enjoyed it, then that's what matter. It was actually quite impressive to witness the dancers go nonstop for four hours. At the end, they were drenched with sweat, but that didn't stop them from performing each step as if they were starring in an aerobics video. I can only imagine the conversations they must have upon returning home from work and seeing their friends:

"Hey, Ricky, how's it going?"

"Not bad. How was your day at work in the coal mines?"

"Well, it was pretty tough. I worked for about 15 hours, getting paid minimum wage, and one of the mines collapsed yesterday, killing three of my best friends."

"Damn, that does suck. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Hey, it's ok. It goes with the territory. But it is a pretty hard job."

"Hard? HARD? You spend 15 hours in the coal mine and you think that's hard? I spent my night TEACHING JEWS TO DANCE!"

"Whoa. You're right, buddy. I'm glad I'm not you. You've got the toughest job in the world."





Thursday, September 02, 2004

Joking 

If I could have any skill in the world, well, the following one probably wouldn't be at the top of the list, but it sure would be nice: I wish I had a greater aptitude for remembering and telling jokes. I enjoy good humor (I guess that's quite redundant - one might define good humor as necessarily being enjoyable), but I seem to have no ability to remember jokes that I enjoy. Fortunately, most of my friends don't have that ability either, so if we ever get in a joke-telling mood (which is quite rare), usually I'll tell a joke I remember from when I was 13, and then my friend will tell one, and then we'll sit around thinking...

"Er...yeah, there's one about the blonde on the airplane with Al Gore...remember that one?"

"Yeah, I kinda remember it. It's funny. Hey, how about the one with the gorilla and the team of monkey truck drivers?"

"Oh yeah, that's a good one....Do you know the one whose punchline is something like 'Well, Thursday night's your turn in the barrel!' ?"

"No, no, I don't. How does it go?"

"I forget."

Pretty weak. On these admittedly rare occasions, it would be nice to just have a database of jokes that I could pull from, entertaining friends and relatives at well. As it is, I have to resort to dancing poorly to gain pity laughs.

I'm off to Chicago for my cousin's Bat Mitzvah. I'll be sure to tell you the punchlines of any jokes I hear. However, in the meantime, feel free to post your favorite jokes...from memory. Here's one of mine...not my favorite, just the only one I can remember:

A man is standing on a corner, when a little old Jewish lady walks up to him. She sees him, and then enters into a rage, taking her umbrella and repeatedly smashing him over the head with it, shouting, "Herman, you vermin! Herman, you vermin!"

The man is clearly shocked, and more taking aback than hurt, as the lady is quite elderly. When he finally regains his composure, he shields himself, and shouts, "Lady, my name's not Herman!"

She stops hitting him, and then looks at him with disgust, saying, "Vhat, so you think you're poifect?"




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