Once Upon a Time in America

We’d spent weeks trying to get our apartment subleased for the summer. We put an ad in the school paper. None of the students read the paper so that was as beneficial as buying commercial time on C-Span. We put ads up in classrooms around campus. No one goes to class so that was as productive as hanging flyers in a mortuary.

I finally harassed our landlady into finding us someone and she called me on a Friday morning after a particularly heavy Thursday night. I was in bed rehabbing and ignored her call so I wouldn’t have to interact with real humans at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning. She was kind enough to leave me a message telling me that she would come by in five minutes with the prospective renter. “Excellent,” I thought as I laid my head back down on my pillow, “the place is rented out.”

The good times ended when I jumped out of bed realizing that the apartment was a few empty beer bottles short of the Bonnaroo fairgrounds. Let us also not forget that the numerous holes in the wall were not exactly giving off the welcoming, “please pay us to live here” atmosphere that we were going for. We shoveled as many empties as we could into the trash bin and finished putting posters up over the holes just as we heard a knock on the door.

Tom opened up the door and ushered in our prospective Lessee and the landlord. By the way, I'm against the term ‘landlord'- It's a little strong of a categorization.

Lessee - we will call him this for now on- was an Egyptian who now lives in Italy. He was overly nice and seemed like a good person to rent to.

As they entered the establishment one of the posters took a very opportunistic drop. As it fell to the floor it revealed the two fist holes that we were hiding; a great first impression. I could just imagine what was going through this kids head as he stood in the couch room.

The place doesn’t smell; that’s good. Whoa, are those holes. Wait, there are more of them. How did they get one over there? Someone had to have kicked that one in. Why are there so many empty bottles? There’s more on top of the counter, it looks like they are displaying that trash for everyone to see. Look at all those liquor bottles on the fridge. That’s just downright dangerous.

You get the picture. It ended up that Lessee was just looking to rent one room, and we were happy enough to get any sort of payment at all. We assured them that the holes would be fixed and the garbage picked up by the beginning of next week- when he wanted to move in. We also guaranteed that the bathroom would be restored to “normal-human-being” living conditions, since it hadn’t been cleaned at any point in recent memory.

The Sunday before he was supposed to move in we spent the entire day fixing the holes in the wall and making the place presentable. Being that he was an exchange student, I cleaned that bathroom like it was going to be our ambassador to other nations. I scrubbed it like my citizenship depended on it. On a side note, we thought it would be a fun idea to paint the opposing walls in the coach room bright red and orange.

Lessee moved in on Monday, with no visible signs of astonishment from the “Pee Wee’s Playhouse” appearance of the TV room. Probably because the U.S. didn’t allow Pee Wee to be exported to other countries after that whole hands in the pants ordeal.

“This is your room,” I instructed as I led him to Swirsky’s room- the one in the middle.
“I can put my stuff in here now?”
“Yea, it’s all set. You can move right in”
“So I can bring my bag in now?” He looked at me questioningly, with an awkward glance, like I was leaving something out.
“You can do whatever you need; this is your place now.”
We walked back into the other room, by the kitchen, and he looked back at me.
“The refrigerator, I can use it?”
“Yea, definitely. There should be room in there.”
“I have a chicken. I can put it in there?” Again that same look.
“You do what you have to do man. As long as you pay the rent, you have the run of the place.”
“So it is ok for me to put my chicken in there?” He was just being nice, trying to not cross any boundaries. Apparently he forgot that we had numerous holes in the wall just days before and that the digs currently resembled a dilapidated McDonalds.
“We don’t really have too many rules here. You’re free to do whatever you have to do.”

He seemed all set at that point. As Tom and I left the place we were pretty content with our situation except we wondered aloud about one thing. We were just hoping that the chicken he was talking about was not a live one. We didn’t mean this in a barbaric kind of way, we were just hoping that we wouldn’t return to the apartment to see feathers scattered all over the place as he was hacking away at the neck of a screaming chicken. I guess we all have our pet peeves.

Lessee returned that night as we were barbecuing and enjoying a few beers with the afternoon sun. As spring begins to show its true colors it feels like a crime to not have a beer or two with those first warm days of the year. It would be like peanut butter without jelly. We offered him a beer but he told us that he did not drink.

As it began to get chilly and dark outside the party migrated in. Not a party in the raucous set-couches-on-fire sense, but party in the restaurant meaning of the word, as in, “Henderson, party of five.” I went back to his room tell him to come get me if we got bothersome.

“Oh, why? You have party tonight?”
“No, we are just going to watch TV, but let me know if it is loud. Feel free to come sit down.”
“Ok, well I change. I coming over there.”

He came and sat down just as, “Deal or No Deal” was coming on. Everyone got along great. The girls quizzed him on every dirty word that he could translate into Egyptian and everyone else was interested in his studies of mechanical engineering. I can’t say that we were interested in what he was actually learning, more the fact that we wouldn’t be able to define what his subject was if we had a gun to our heads. The show came back on so everybody turned their attention back to the television and all energy was centered on the game show.

As everyone leered and jeered at the screen, I fixed my attention on Lessee to see what he was picking up. He looked genuinely interested in the action but I could tell that he was pretty lost when it came to what exactly was happening. During a commercial I asked him if he understood what the program was about.

“It is like lottery right?”

A very perceptive observation by him. The show returned and as the contestant got into the thick of things, the cheers in the room got louder. Suddenly people had feelings about what they hoped should would happen to the hopeless man standing center stage. Personally, I’m afraid this show brings out the worst in me. Maybe it is because of the completely arbitrary manner of the game, but I always find myself rooting for the worst things to happen to the competitor. I am always crossing my fingers for the highest amount to be held in the next briefcase he picks. Maybe it is because no skill is involved so I just get mad because I think anyone could be successful. I’m not sure, sometimes I don’t understand myself.

While we are discussing the game I think there are a few amendments that could be made to make the show more enjoyable for everyone. First of all, Howie is a little weird to begin with. Between his OCD and his overall borderline-sketchy demeanor, he is no Bob Barker. I think Howie should have an earpiece telling him what amounts are in each briefcase so that the contestant could try and read his reactions- adding even a modicum of skill to the game.

I also think they need to do away with the part where they let the models react to the opening of each briefcase. Each one of them seems to think that they need to offer some divine insight. The problem is most of them are just barely able to conjure up some words that pass for a sentence and react to the amounts by attempting to contort their faces into some semblance of an expression but the abundance of botox impedes this exercise. I’m starting to realize I might think about this show too much, let’s get back to the story.

As the cheers got louder, the scene dawned on me. This exchange student was sitting on a couch in a random, oddly decorated apartment with some half-drunk Americans who are screaming their heads off at a screen that was showing a program about briefcases with money in them. That’s all the glorified spectacle was, random metal briefcases with different money values inside.

It was so American of us- booze and money. All that was left was for us to start doing drugs and erupt into an orgy and the scene would have been complete. Hopefully that’s coming tonight.

I’ll be back with more updates on how the living situation is working out- if only because Swirsky asks me hourly if his room is still intact.

Steinbrenner prints his own money

Roger Clemens announced his return to the Yankees as Andy Pettitte giggled like a girl who has just been ushered into her surprise sweet-sixteen party. Clemens, meanwhile, looked like Steve Carrel in "The Office" announcing something that he thinks should get everyone into a state of ecstatic bedlam except he has a creepy smile on his face and everyone is a little less than enthused. How can any fan be genuinely excited about a 45 year-old pitcher joining your basement dwelling team. Sure he is a needed shot of adrenaline, but who can honestly see him being the catalyst for a playoff run. The best the Yankees can hope for here is that he becomes a solid piece of a staff that will pitch productively across the board. He is definitely an exciting player to have on your side and he will bring an intensity to the pitching crew that seems to be absent form this year's club.

The biggest issue that stands out here is that his signing is sure to launch the merry-go-round of criticism about the Yankees’ spending habits and Steinbrenner’s tactics. We’ll hear the same sly jokes and then be reminded that their bank-busting payroll hasn’t done shit lately. Steinbrenner will be personally called out again as a spoiled brat walking through a toy store pointing at things that he wants and throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get what he wants. In fact, I could just see him standing in Clemens’ agent’s office acting out Isla Fisher’s (the redhead) performance in “Wedding Crashers” when she was asking her dad if she could bring the boys back to their lake house.

Next we will begin to rehash the whole argument that the Yankee’s are what is wrong with baseball, there should be a salary cap, etc. This could all be true, but in the purely competitive sense of the sport, what is wrong with what he is doing as an owner? His spending, for the most part, has always been for the pursuit of a championship. His present motives might not be for a win in the pure baseball fanatic sense of the word, but rather to uphold his reputation, either way, all he wants to do is win, no matter the cost. What is so wrong about this if it’s done within the parameters of the leagues rules? Why shouldn’t an owner do whatever he can for the team to win? Sure it might be bad for baseball, and prove that a salary cap is needed, but while this is the case, why shouldn’t he spend like Pacman Jones at a strip club.

If he has the resources how can you fault him for working the system?

Sobering Thoughts

My first time through Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 cannot fairly be classified as a reading. It was more like the first time you got a glimpse of pornographic material- you don’t really remember what you saw and you didn’t exactly understand what you had just seen but it was pretty damn intoxicating and you couldn’t believe something like that existed. For those of you who are a little lost here, you need to know Hunter Thompson was a journalist and a substance addict whose paths were eternally linked. His reports were not merely recants of certain events but rather tales of his exploits trying to cover whatever story he was assigned to. He was a brilliant madman, and that wasn’t hard to witness from his prose.

That’s why this book, or any of his writing for that matter, is a little mesmerizing at first glance. It’s like a trip inside a political funhouse, where fact and fiction is blended and the line between them is blurred.

This is why I had to sit down a second time with this book. I needed to get past all the smoke and mirrors and see what he really had to say, what he really was talking about on all those pages. After all, Frank Mankiewicz, the campaign director for eventual Democratic nominee George McGovern, stated that this book was the “most accurate and least factual account of the campaign." That statement is confusing too but a prime example of this logic is when Thompson attributed one of the candidate’s erratic behaviors to a secret drug addiction. When describing the politician’s actions he would explain why they were out of sorts and point out where the drug was affecting him. While the addiction part was not true, the questionable decision-making was occurring; Thompson just decided to put his comedic twist on it. That is what distinguished his work from the bland recounts that the regular reporters filed each day in the newspapers.

Now I’ve explained all this nonsense because I’m trying to get somewhere and the funny part is it isn’t even something Thompson wrote. See, due to his questionable lifestyle decisions, he sometimes did not make his writing deadlines. In fact, he was notorious for this but what he did manage to produce was so captivating that the editors would put up with his shenanigans. In one section of the text, he explains that he is just plain exhausted and he lets his fellow correspondent at Rolling Stone (the magazine had sent them to cover the campaign) finish the rehash of that month’s events and outcomes. The writer, Tim Crouse, filed a more traditional story. Absent were the absurdities and personal opinions that Thompson littered his pages with, and it was definitely less entertaining. It dealt with McGovern’s win in the Wisconsin primary and included a section where he had interviewed all the young volunteers who had been vital to the grassroots effort that boosted the candidate to victory.

The kids, all college age, were riding an evident high that was partly due to the victory-party booze and partly due to the realization that they had just made a difference. McGovern was an underdog in the state, in the entire race in general, and Wisconsin became a turning point for him that eventually propelled him into the National Election.

When asked about their reasons for participating the consensus was that most of them were unhappy with the country’s current leadership and wanted a change; Nixon was in the White House at the time, in the thick of the Vietnam conflict. How many of us today have ever said to each other that we are unhappy with the current leadership, and we fervently want a change. Sure a lot of people agree that George Bush would without a doubt lose on “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader,” and that he is a pawn for the political powers in control, but how many times have you been sitting around with your friends discussing what needs to be done in this country. I know I have never done that, and I can only speak for myself, but I feel that this is something that is generally missing from our generation. We are completely detached from the political picture.

Some people want to say that it was the drugs, and those surely played a part, but back in “the day” there was an audible voice coming from college campuses all around. They had something to say about the current situation and they set out to make statements. They protested. Sure there was violence back then, but it had a purpose. Now we overturn cars in the parking lot just for pure enjoyment- each other’s cars. I mean if your intent on flipping something, at least have a reason for it. If you don’t like the way your university is handling an issue, go overturn all the cars at the Dean's office. Now that’s not a suggestion, just an example that is probably going to come back to haunt me.

Now before this gets too depressing and downright critical of our generation, we have to also talk about how this is not completely all our fault. Rolling Stone’s 40th anniversary edition recently hit newsstands and its core consisted of interviews with the feature players from the generation of the magazine’s emergence as a socially relevant voice. Rather than just a piece of entertainment, it became a vehicle for the liberal, sometimes radical, section of society to get some airtime. Some of it was relevant, and some of it was just the gibberish of the times.

George McGovern, Hunter’s old friend, was interviewed and he made a very interesting observation.

Interviewer: “You spend a lot of time speaking on college campuses. Are students different today than they were in the sixties?”

McGovern: “They have less faith in the political system changing
things, no matter how hard they work. In the sixties young people genuinely thought they could change the direction of the country- and to some extent were vindicated in that. But after the shooting of all these great leaders, the two Kennedys and Martin Luther King, and the overwhelming loss that I suffered in 1972, it became harder for young people to believe that intelligent political action can make a difference. But I still think it’s worth doing. At the very least, it keeps things from getting worse.”

We as students are continually bombarded with the idea that we are going to enter the real world, and it’s going to be a drag, so live it up in college. Go to spring weekend and get fall down drunk because come graduation time you’re going to hit that ground and you better start walking fast or find a sturdy card board box for shelter. We are basically told it is a tough world so deal with it, end of story. There doesn’t seem to be a visible window for change, to make a difference and make it a better place for ourselves.

Sure there are young people out there that are organizing, but I think on the broader picture, the voices in the magazine agree that the world has become stagnant; we have lost grasp with the possibility that the country could be the place that we want it to be. And why should we, after the re-election of a president that had the lowest approval ratings in history.

Now this thing is getting mighty preachy when all I set out to do was make an observation, so let’s try to wrap this up nice so we can all go home. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what we should do, if it’s our fault, or who to blame. All I know is we need to look at our situation. “Question authority,” as all those aging hippies say.

Maybe what we lack is passion, that gut feeling of utter care for something, anything. Sure when the basketball team wins a championship we celebrate like uncaged animals- and it’s a hell of a good time- but that kind of energy should translate to anything in life that you care about. It’s just a matter of finding that object, that idea that strikes a chord.

Now I’m not saying you should set fire to your couch after acing your chemistry exam, I’m just saying that our generation just needs to keep thinking, talking, and discussing. Never get caught in that rut where the only thing that matters is getting that paycheck. Michael Moore, the gorilla with a video camera who seems to just set up his equipment wherever he can find controversy, actually makes a very interesting point. He explains, “There’s a reason credit-card companies are so prevalent on college campuses today. They hook students as early as possible. The more you’re in debt, the more you’re going to have to work at a job you don’t like to pay off your debt. It becomes a freedom-of-speech issue. You don’t dare organize on the job, because you need that job to pay off your debts. So you learn to look the other way and not say anything.”

While that’s another depressing thought, and I’m beginning to get myself depressed just writing about this, it also bears thinking about. It’s just a mindset that you never want to fall into. Looking the other way and not doing anything is just a step away from bondage. At that point we are just wage-slaves, there to make sure the country runs the way that the “appointed” leaders intend.

This brings me to my conclusion- fuck whitey. To clarify, I’m speaking of the old white haired men and women who amble their way through the doors of congress each day. To think that these people know what we as a youth group want for our future is like saying that every order Jack Bauer has received from headquarters is a correct one- breaking protocol is always wrong. We need to always have a visible opinion; sitting on the couch in front of the TV for the rest of our lives is just not an option. In the words of Buzz Lightyear, “Never give up, never surrender.”

Marc's Sentra

As s Sunday football couch potato I am bombarded with a fair share of commercials that make me want to hurl sharp objects at my television set. Congress and old people everywhere have argued vehemently against the violent video games and loud music that is apparently tearing this country to shreds but they have looked past these crass advertisements that I think are doing as much damage as anything else. Aside from the Chevrolet commercial where John Mellencamp reminds us that “this is our country” and that Chevy Trucks embody all the ideals of “our country,” the commercial that really catches my eye is the one for the new Nissan Sentra. The marketers at Nissan have evidently decided that people will forget to buy their cars if the commercial is not shown 767 times daily so I’m sure you’ve seen it at least once. In case you don’t own a television set, the series of commercials depicts an evidently troubled young man named “Marc Horowitz” who has decided to live in his new Nissan Sentra for seven days. He spells out the rules to his endeavor and then proceeds to film his exploits during this “experiment.”

His first rule is that he cannot return to his apartment. Now this rule is laughable and almost insulting as it is evident that this man definitely does not own any sort of living area. He has decided to live in a car the size of a commercial washing machine. Anyone that makes this move is either mentally unstable, or homeless. Now some may argue that maybe Nissan has paid him to live in the car for seven days, and afterwards he will go back to his comfortable home. First of all, he does not mention this anywhere in the commercial and his attitude and general demeanor give off the vibe that this is something more personal than just a ploy for money, but I will entertain this suggestion for a moment. If this is indeed true, then the people at Nissan are the delusional ones. What would be their purpose in proving that someone could live in this car for seven days and who would they be advertising this to? What percentage of the market is looking for cars they can sleep in? I always thought that the people who are currently living out of or are making the move to live out of their car, are not in the market for a new vehicle. Also, if you are actually basing your car buying decisions on whether you could live out of the automobile or not, I suggest taking a step back and maybe evaluating a few more life decisions. Even if they still are directing their advertising towards people who want to inhabit their rides, maybe this isn’t the best message to send to America. Maybe it’s just me but when I see people living in their cars, the word freedom doesn’t immediately come to mind. Let’s move on.

The second regulation Marc must abide by is that he must continue to work his job during his week in the Sentra. Again, this rule seems like an attack on America’s intelligence. To think that this man, who is currently living out of his car, could hold down a steady job is ludicrous. His shaggy haircut and unkempt appearance would not fly in any workplace other than a 7-11. At one point in the commercial it does show him working on a laptop, suggesting that he works from “home”, but the commercial does not explain where he stole this laptop from or whose wireless internet he is pirating in order to get his daily dose of porn. If he does indeed have a job, why can’t he drive to it during the day and work, and then sleep in his car? Did he tell his boss that he could not come in for the week because he has to dwell in his coupe? Did he also tell his boss that he had to do this because he is now homeless, and if so, why did his boss not let him sleep in the office? For those that say that Nissan is paying him, why would he accept the offer if he already has a job that he apparently can do from home? There are too many inconsistencies and unanswered questions, but I digress.

Now his next rule may be an attempt at comedy but it comes off more pitiful than anything. He says that he must go on one date during this week. Any women out there looking to date a homeless, jobless man living out of his car…anyone? That’s what I thought. Now this is compounded by the fact that since he is a vagrant he probably has very little money to use for this date and it will probably just come down to him making awkward advances on her in the back of his Sentra. The commercial actually does show him picking up a woman for a date, but they don’t mention how much she is being paid. As she gets into the car she is immediately a bit confused and asks him if he lives in the car, to which he replies, “yes and no.” Parents, is this how you want your children to learn how to treat women, by lying to them just to get in their pants. Marc sickens me.

He also states, a little too proudly, that he has to sleep at a different location each night. This one comes more out of necessity than anything else as who is going to let a social miscreant sleep in his car on their property. He would be in jail by the second night, and that would not make a great Nissan commercial. He also says that he has to find a different place to shower each day and then it shows him using various methods, involving sprinklers, and bottles of water. Does this man not have any friends? Are all his cohorts homeless too? Why is Nissan making him videotape evidence of his lack of friends? If this man ever does manage to have children I’m sure they will love the video of daddy bathing himself on someone’s front lawn

His last rule is that he must host at least one social function in his “residence”. Come on Nissan, this man has no money, no home, no job, and not even any friends to invite over. What sort of function is going to take place if he does lure three strangers into his car? You might as well call the car the Nissan Sex Crime. Something needs to be done about this atrocious, misuse of television advertising. I’d help out, but I’m too busy moving all my belongings into my new Sentra.