Virtual Memories
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A convergence of publishing, politics, pharmaceuticals, and the personal.
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2003
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6.30.2005
Fight the Future
It's unfortunate that the NY Observer's article-links go dead so quick, and don't get reposted to a free archive setup. Otherwise, I'd like to Ron Rosenbaum's recent columns on the folly of the Freedom Tower. Ron's argument against the tower is simple: who in their right minds are going to move their offices to a location that will clearly become the #1 target of terrorists the instant it's completed? Sure, it's a "symbol of our determination" or something, but if it ends up with no occupancy, it's going to be a symbol of a lot of other stuff. As Nick Ouroussoff of the NYTimes writes in the International Herald Trib, "But if this is a potentially fascinating work of architecture, it is, sadly, fascinating in the way that Albert Speer's architectural nightmares were fascinating - as expressions of the values of a particular time and era. The Freedom Tower embodies, in its way, a world shaped by fear." I don't think my solution--make it a big memorial park, shunt the commercial rights to other locations, and put up those "towers of light" every September--is going to happen, sadly enough. Of course, I also thought that the West Side Stadium boondoggle was going to get shoveled down New York's throat, so what do I know? Glad you (I) asked! I know a lot of blogs, for one thing! At Mickey Kaus', for example, he writes about the silliness of telling people "you work in the safest skyscraper in the world." He also provides a link to the Freedom Tower's quasi-official website. I'm not sure which genius thought that silent "flyby videos" of the hypothetical tower were a smart idea. Click on "East River Flyby" for the most "creepy" (Kaus' word) one. [you'll need Real Player or Windows Media Viewer installed] Beyond the sheer idiocy of showing an aerial view of a building that replaces two hit by passenger jets, I like the undisturbed wilderness off to the west. That would evidently be the pristine wilds of northern New Jersey. If you look really closely, you might be able to see one of the native goombahs giving you the finger. 6.28.2005
Update
Fixed some links and added some sites to the blogroll (see left), including Gennady's site Newzspeak. Go there and harass him into writing more. I'm gonna get back to laying out those Pharma profiles. If I post "Is Pfizer Pfucked?" at 3am, ignore it; I'm punchy.
Rock Out?
Looks like John Rocker's walking away from his attempt to return to Major League Baseball, after a not-so-effective stint with the Long Island Ducks of the Atlantic League (6.50 ERA in 23 games, 19 Ks and 28 BBs in 28 innings). Last month, I wrote about the time I bumped into Rocker and discovered that his public persona was not exactly the same as his conversational self. So I'm a little bummed to find that he's just not able to compete well enough to get back to the big leagues. It would've been a nice story, especially if he could've demonstrated a little more restraint when confronted with the idiocy and provocation of drunken fans. On the plus side, this whole episode gives you, dear reader, the opportunity to do something good! If you head over to Rocker's website, you'll find that he's participating in a 150 km bike-ride charity event for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. If you have a little spare cash and want to pledge some money to the cause, you can do so here. And you get to leave him a personal message. I clicked past that option too quickly when I made my donation, so I didn't get to tell him the most important thing: Get a haircut.  6.25.2005
At ease
I finally have a morning of rest, dear reader. No conference to get to, dinner parties for departing friends, company picnics, or late-starting NBA finals games! I still have a ton of those Pharma & Biopharma profiles to write, but I'm taking today off. The official VM fiancee & I are heading down to a party at the shore soon, but that won't stop me from dropping some pix from the past week on you! Without Freddy Adu: Generic crowd shot. At the BIO conference, there were plenty of oddball sights. I'm still not sure why this guy was dressed like this. Mr. Kamikaze? Mr. DNA! The conference consists of lots of regional pavilions, because of the importance of attracting venture capital to economic areas. The Hawaii pavilion was pretty near our booth. After the second day, all the regions start breaking out local entertainment. Evidently, Canada's idea of local entertainment was a dude handing out test-tube shots. I should've gone over to the Louisiana pavilion in case they had a guy dressed like a hand grenade, giving out shots. Well, after I left BIO on Wednesday afternoon, I went home for a brief nap, then headed into NYC for a going-away dinner for official VM buddy Bryn. He's the guy on the left in this pic, which is busy being worth a thousand words. Note: she's 24 weeks into her first pregnancy. What'd I tell ya? It was week of preggers for me, as I dined with Mary & Liz that night, and stayed in Philly with my friends Blake & Ines, who are expecting their first kid. Back in the office, we have two bloatinas meandering around. It's a conspiracy, I tellsya! Bryn decided to show us his baby, too. I sure love my friends. Then I get home yesterday and find some young buck just hanging around outside my house! There are no manners anymore! 6.23.2005
Job Opening
There's a vacancy in the NBA! With Shawn Bradley's impending retirement, we'll need a new "favorite guy to dunk on" next season! After this play last January by Stromile Swift, I nominate Yao Ming as the guy everyone will try to throw down on: 
I'm having a seizure!
Nice job by the Supreme Court, deciding that property seizure for private development is Constitutional. I guess I've changed over the years, because I never thought I'd say, "I really agree with Rehnquist, Scalia and Clarence Thomas on this one." Between this and the retards in the House bringing up that dumb-ass flag-burning amendment again, I almost wish they'd go back to trying to legislate against Jose Canseco.
Self-Aggrandizement Thursday
Just got back from the BIO show last night, but I'm swamped with work. I'll try to write about the event during the weekend. Meanwhile, it's Self-Aggrandizement Thursday here at the palatial Virtual Memories estates. In honor of the last game of the NBA Finals, I figure I'll share a story with you from last year's Finals. This happened last June, the night of what would turn out to be the last game, when Detroit completed its stunning 5-game upset of the Lakers. This year we have a game 7, so this'll be the last night of pro hoops for a while. Here's what happened last year: I went out after work, did some shopping, and got home about 15 minutes before the game started. I settled into my comfy leather chair and got ready for the game. At which point, a blackout hit my section of town. I waited a couple of minutes, then went out to see how bad it was. It turned out not to have hit houses about 100 feet away, but there was a significant stretch of town that was blacked out, here in my little suburban, wooded enclave (the aforementioned palatial VM estates). So I drove around, picked up a Cherry Coke at a convenience store in the next town over, and listened to the game on the radio for a while. I decided to drive out to my dad's place and watch the game there. He lives about 12 miles from my house, and his electricity was working fine. It was pretty stuffy/stanky around here, mid-80s and humid all day, with a big rainstorm impending. On the way to the main road outta town, I saw a guy walking pretty forlornly, with a rolling/carry-on suitcase and a shoulder bag. I figured he was heading down to the bus stop on Skyline Drive, about half a mile away, for the bus to NYC. I didn't want him to get caught in the rain, so I stopped and asked him if he needed a ride. He hurried up to my passenger window, peered in and excitedly asked, "Spreichen sie deutsch?" No, really. I stared at him for a second. He was wearing a button-down shirt, but it was soaked with sweat. I thought, "This guy's been walking a while. There's no power, so there's no one in the central shopping area of town, where he might otherwise find people who can help him out. And that big rain's gonna hit soon." Here's what I believe: if you're in a position to help someone and you choose not to, then you're a bad person. So I opened the passenger door and said, "Get in." He put his little suitcase in the back, and we drove. He could barely speak English. I was able to figure out that he was Polish, not German. He must've figured there was a better chance of finding a German-speaker than a Pole. I wasn't either, but I'm pretty good with etymologies, so we worked at it. As far as I could tell, he had some sort of job waiting in NYC, but that didn't explain why he was in my town, trudging down the street in the evening. It's a small town. I figured I'd take him to the train station a few towns over, and then he could get the train to Hoboken, go on to NYC, and get to his job. But then, as we started driving over the mountain out of town, I thought, "Well, shit: This guy's not going to find anyone in that town who can tell him where to go, and he's much more likely to get pinched by the cops there." Okay, I decided: I'll drive him to NYC. A few minutes later, I called my buddy Rene, who's German, and put my passenger on the phone with him. My passenger must've talked for at least three straight minutes, without seeming to pause for my friend to say anything. I think he was REALLY happy to have someone he could vent to. He gave the phone back to me, and Rene explained the situation: Janusz, my passenger, had been in my town for a month or so, doing renovation on some guy's house. That day, the guy refused to pay him, and kicked him out. He'd been walking a while when I found him (and he was pretty sweaty and stanky). He had a friend in Forest Hills (but didn't have the guy's phone number), so if I could just get him to a bus or train, he'd be able to get out there to him. I was a little dubious, because I can't find my way around Queens with a map, but hey. We drove to NYC. Near the George Washington Bridge, I stopped at a gas station so I could hit an ATM and get some cash, since I was down to $5. Janusz got out of the car and started walking around. He thought we were in New York, but I convinced him that we weren't there yet. "You'll know when we get there," I said. A few minutes later, we reached the bridge, and he knew. "THAT," I said, pointing to the city lights. "NEW YORK!" he said. We drove down the West Side Highway, then turned off by the Intrepid on 46th St. We got down to the Port Authority, where we sat in some traffic. We talked, in our limited manner. He asked about cars and engines, figured out that I had the basketball game on the radio. A block away from the Port Authority, we were behind a cab, backed up at a traffic light. A rear door opened, and a woman of, um, ill-repute got out. "Janusz," I said, pointing at the girl, and speaking in a weird, east European accent, rolling my Rs, sharpening my Ts, "you know: prostitute?" "Ya, ya!" he cried. "Prostitute! Like in bordello!" We laughed. The light changed. Around the corner, I showed him where the PA information booth was, figuring he'd find SOMEONE who could speak Polish, German, or Slovakian (the other language he tried out on me). I tried to give him $20 (my real reason for stopping at that ATM earlier), because I wasn't sure how badly he'd been screwed by his employer. He refused to take any cash from me. I watched him go inside, then headed home. I got back with about 6 minutes left in the fourth quarter. The electricity had been restored. Actually, when Janusz and I were leaving town, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the lights coming on in the parking lot behind me. I thought, "Sonofabitch . . ." I got back to my comfy leather chair. Detroit beat LA, people celebrated, and I haven't heard anything about Janusz since. The chair got moved downstairs. I have a sofa and loveseat up here now. The next morning, I said to the official VM girlfriend, "There are people in this world who think I'm a bad man. Other people think I'm alright. There's now a day laborer from Poland who thinks I'm delivered from God, even if he has no idea what my name is." A long-ish story, I admit. I didn't make a Virtual Memory out of it when it happened, because I prefer to be self-deprecating. But I like being able to do beautiful things for people, so hey. Spurs in 7. 6.20.2005
All things considered, I'd rather be in Philadelphia
I'm off to the BIO conference down in Phila., PA. We likely won't have as many protesters as last year's BIO, which was in San Fran; you'd figure anyone dressing up as a giant monarch butterfly is likely to get his ass handed to him on these streets . . . (For those of you who are wondering about those Pharma/Biopharma profiles I'm working on, it's kinda depressing so far. A lot of companies are facing a ton of problems, starting with the #1 guys. Here's last year's online version, which oughtta keep you entertained while I'm away.) 6.16.2005
Better than sunscreen
You've probably read this already, but if not, here's a link to the commencement address Steve Jobs just delivered at Stanford. It's pretty wonderful reading. 6.14.2005
I never liked Cameron Diaz anyway
This article about how celebrities are freaking out over being seen in hi-definition TV is pretty funny. It includes a great description of Jewel's makeup, and the word "frankensteinian," which is impressive, considering it's the NYTimes.
Pants-Down Work Day!
Working at home today, writing up profiles of the top 20 pharma and top 10 biopharma companies, for our annual Top Companies issue. It's a ton of research and writing, so I figured, " Depending on your level of curiosity, it can be a pretty entertaining project. Especially when you have to write about Merck. 6.13.2005
Women are from Venus, Islamofascists are from Mars?
Evidently, Steven Spielberg believes that his new War of the Worlds flick reflects post-9/11 angst, instead of just being a summertime special effects monstrosity. I think the movie poster shows that we have plenty in common with these aliens: we both like bowling.  Meanwhile, this makes me laugh more than the other foreign-language posters. Not sure why. Probably because it reminds me of the "Jews In Space" piece from the end of History of the World, Part I:  6.12.2005
The Devil's Marinade
It was a wedding-plan weekend, dear reader, interspersed with some other entertainments. On Saturday, the official VM fiancee visited a Nicole Miller boutique and fell in love with a gown. At the same time, her parents were testing out the food at the venue where we're planning to get hitched, down in New Orleans (they're locals). Today, we bought a stone for The Ring, at a little jeweler in the East Village. (No hyperlinks for any of these places till they've done their jobs and I can guarantee their link-worthiness.) In-between? We risked our very lives. And I'm not talking about today's return-trip to New York during the Puerto Rico Day Parade. Very rarely, I'll find myself struck with a peculiar notion that supersedes every other priority. Saturday afternoon, for example, I noticed a remaindered-book warehouse-store, and it instantly became imperative to stop in. Why? I can't really explain it. My library is over a thousand volumes at this point, and I'm still immersed in Proust's In Search of Lost Time, which keeps me from opening any other book. Still, we do as needs must, when the devil drives. Forty-five minutes later, I left with an armload of books, accompanied by a fiancee who has smaller arms and hence a smaller load of books. Perhaps it's a mood that makes me susceptible to these uncompromisable whims. I like to think I've been much more compromising and flexible in recent years, but how then to explain the mania that grabbed me later that evening? What possessed me, as we were doing our food-shopping Saturday evening, to grab this grotesquerie? To be fair, at the moment I picked up the Jack Daniel's Mesquite EZ Marinader bag, I turned to my One True Love and said, "I'll try this during the week, while you're back in the city." But she'd have nothing of it. If I was going to brave a steak immersed in "EZ Marinade," she'd be by my side. She's a heck of a girl, that way. So we bought a pair of unsuspecting steaks, got home, and placed them in the gelatinous muck of the marinading bag. I can't believe I just wrote that. Anyway, the marinade needed a minimum of 30 minutes to We put the steaks in the broiler. Because we're the sort of people who bought Jack Daniel's Mesquite EZ Marinader, the packaging comes with explicit instructions: namely, take the food OUT of the bag before cooking it. Yes, dear reader, it's apparently necessary to warn consumers not to put A PLASTIC BAG into a broiler or onto a grill. We took the bag's advice. Ten or so minutes later, we got our brown-jelly-covered steaks out of the broiler. Most of the brown jelly seemed to have burned away, but we were afraid it was hiding somewhere in the broiler. This is the last known picture of me, just a moment before my first bite. Fortunately, my digital camera has a bemusement-filter. As it turned out, the marinade wasn't bad. It wasn't good, either. It was phenomenally generic. Two weeks earlier, Amy & I tried out a rib place here in NJ, but it turned out to be bar food, and the sauce on the ribs was "utterly adequate," as she put it. These steaks came out the same way; we basically cooked up bar food at home, with better quality meat. Fortunately, we blew off Spirited Away for some Family Guy reruns, and offset the over-sweet marinade with a broccoli rabe and garlic side, but I think I learned my lesson: Never do anything on a whim in a supermarket. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see how these frozen, microwave-able White Castles came out. 6.09.2005
Hair and Gin
Went into the city last night for my friend Elayne's birthday get-together. Her birthday was last month, actually, but she and her co-worker James decided to delay their festivities till the semester was over. So we met at the Telephone Bar, where we had a room sorta reserved to hang out, drink, nosh, and gallivant. But first, I got a long-overdue haircut. I needed to get it cut for about two months, but kept getting delayed and then lazy. Eventually, I started looking like a big angry Q-tip, so I hit the Jean-Claude Biguine on E. 23rd and had a large, swarthy French-speaking guy "style" me. The final result was great. I felt like I was the best-looking straight guy at the party that evening. Not that anyone else believed it. Anyway, here are some pix, which is all you're really in this for. I can tell: Some people talked. Others sat in a comfyish corner. Renowned author Samuel R. Delany put in an appearance! Even though Elayne asked me to bring my camera, she seems terrified that I'm taking this pic. That's better. Both guests/hosts of honor! Belated happy birthdays abound! I had a little too much gin last night, so I'm a bit run down today. I'm also working on a really writing-heavy issue of the magazine (as opposed to the issues where I get in a lot of contributed articles), so I'm outta words right now. I'm gonna go catch Game 1 of the NBA Finals. If I get a chance this weekend, I'll write up the Mad Mix that I made for Elayne's birthday gift. 6.05.2005
6.04.2005
Red, Red Wine
In case the past month had made me forget what it's like to spend a day in the hospital with Dad, I got a reminder today. Yesterday, he called to say he was having trouble with the big toe of his left foot, that it was so painful (though not swollen) he couldn't walk on it. I went to his place last night, got him an icepack, and looked over the affected area. Nothing out of the ordinary, and he didn't remember any accidents that would've caused the pain he was feeling. This morning, he called bright and early (8:30am) to ask me to help get him to the hospital. We (me, him and his girlfriend) rolled into the emergency room around 9:15, before the rush, and got Dad looked over. The immediate diagnosis (from the admitting nurse) was that he was suffering from gout, possibly stemming from one of his heart medications. The rest of the day consisted of variations on a theme, as Dad got x-rayed, blood-tested, and circulation-monitored until we finally rolled out of the place at 3:30. Everything else was negative, so the diagnosis remains gout. Dad was freaked out by the diagnosis, since he'd never had gout before. Like I said, it was probably due to his heart med, and a slightly weird diet (he had liver twice this week). I once got nailed by gout in my ankle, but it correlated to my consuming sizeable amounts of red wine for several nights straight. Hey, when in Milan . . . It was a pretty long day for me, as I hadn't slept much the night before, and didn't get much food in me at the hospital. After we wrapped up at the hospital and got Dad's new prescriptions filled, I had to take care of a computer-repair/replacement job for him. This involved meeting the owner of a bait & gun shop here in NJ, where I had some good conversations about home protection. I've now finished two volumes of Proust at the same hospital: the morning of Dad's surgery, I read the last 120 pages of The Guermantes Way, and today I read the last 60 pages of The Captive. For those of you scoring at home, this means I have 900 pages left in Proust's mega-work. Funnily enough, it feels like it's all downhill from here, while 900 pages of just about anyone else would be insanely daunting. If you're interested, the up-to-date list of everydamnbook I've read since around 1989 is here. 6.02.2005
Not So Deep
I never really thought about the identity of Deep Throat, so the revelation this week that it was a disgruntled FBI exec who leaked all that info about Anthony Hopkins to Redford and Hoffman didn't cause a lot of waves at the Virtual Memories Palace. I was more interested in the story about that dude who solved Fermat's Theorem. The answers to either of these questions has no real effect on my life, but hey. I was also more interested in something that grabbed Mickey Kaus' attention: What about all those other Watergate characters who used to not-exactly-deny that they were Deep Throat? It's kind of funny that so many other people were fingered as possible sources, but few of them came out and straightforwardly said it wasn't them. Instead, it was as if they could cloak themselves in a little notoriety, an air of mystery about their true identities. Not content with being has-been political hacks, they had a little something to hold on to. Till now. Many of them are dead, and the rest can now celebrate complete has-been status, soon to join Mr. Felt in a nursing home. That's history for you. 6.01.2005
Friends
An ongoing thing in this blog is the importance of friendship. I care a lot about my friends, even though I've seen a couple of decades-long friendships melt down in the past year or two. Tonight, while I was yo-yo'ing on Rt. 287 (I felt like a vroom, okay?), I thought about the ways we stay in touch with people, and the ways we let them go. Last night, one of my friends and I talked about a mutual buddy, and how he was losing friendship points by repeatedly falling out of touch. So, here's the challenge: Imagine that you're getting married, and you need to work on your guest-list. Write down the names of all the friends whom you'd invite to your wedding day. Then, next to each name, write down the last time you were in touch with that person. Then start getting back in touch with them, starting with the one you've been out of touch with the longest.
Sibling Rivalry
My brother and I get along pretty well. We live somewhat different lives, but that's never been a source of conflict between us. We tend to read many of the same books, like the same sports, and survived the same set of parents. Our politics have grown apart in the last few years, but our disagreements are pretty civil, and we each understand how the other came to think what he thinks. In contract, I offer you Christopher and Peter Hitchens, who evidently haven't spoken in nearly 4 years because of a joke about the Red Army. The Guardian newspaper brought them together for an appearance, and the results are pretty entertaining: CH: [. . .] And I thought [the joke] was quite funny, and must have told it many times, and must have told it in the hearing of Peter, because a week after September 11, when I'm up to here with fuckwits in the United States who are saying Chomskyian things, what I don't need, is to get [in] the Spectator my brother recalling, 'I don't see why Christopher has become so pro-American; I can remember when he said he wouldn't be happy until he saw the Red Army watering its horses in the Thames.' And I thought, well what I thought was 'Fuck you'. I don't need this, I don't need it from [my] brother. The best part is, in the middle of a conversation about belief in the divine, some idiot in the crowd complains about Christopher's cigarette: Female audience member Excuse me. I'm not usually awkward at all but I'm sitting here and we're asked not to smoke. And I don't like being in a room where smoking is going on. "I'm not usually awkward at all"? I love the British. Anyway, read the whole thing.
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