Author: Gil

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What It Is: 11/2/09

What I’m reading: The Book of Basketball, by Bill Simmons, When The Shooting Stops . . . The Cutting Begins: A Film Editor’s Story, by Ralph Rosenblum, and that bio of Timoleon in Plutarch that I read a few months ago. I’m still thinking about the weird modernness of T’s story. As far as the hoops book goes, here’s economist, professor and blogger Tyler Cowen on it:

Could this be the best 736 pp. book on the diversity of human talent ever written?  It starts slow but eventually picks up steam.  It’s also devastatingly funny.  That said, if you don’t know a lot about the NBA, it is incomprehensible.  (I could not, for instance, understand the section of Dolph Schayes because that was not the NBA I know.)  In the historical pantheon, he picks David Thompson, Bernard King, and Allen Iverson as underrated.  The 1986 Boston Celtics are the best team ever, he argues.  And so on.  I found this more riveting than almost anything else I read and yes I think it is very much a work of social science, albeit in hermetic form.

What I’m listening to: Just been shuffling around in iTunes. But the battery on my iPod (I only use it in the car or on plane-flights) is dying, so I’ve ordered a battery replacement kit and will soon attempt a feat that ifixit.com classifies as “very difficult.” Fun!

What I’m watching: Yankees playoff games, although not to the end, since they’re past my bedtime.

What I’m drinking: Blue Moon Belgian White ale.

What Rufus is up to: Celebrating Halloween in style and going on his first greyhound-hike in weeks and weeks.

Where I’m going: Los Angeles next Sunday, for the annual AAPS meeting.

What I’m happy about: No one seems to have paid attention to the Oct. 30 “receipt of final materials at the printer” notice on our production schedules, giving me an extra day or two to wrap up the Nov/Dec issue.

What I’m sad about: Not getting to see Pee-wee Herman’s stage show when I’m in LA next week, as it’s been postponed until January. I’m likely going to a Clippers game to make up for it, but somehow that seems like adding insult to injury. Grr.

What I’m worried about: Burnett in game 5.

What I’m pondering: Participating in National Novel Writing Month!

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Sungrey

We haven’t gone on the Sunday greyhound hike in Wawayanda State Park for weeks and weeks, but the added hour overnight helped us get our thang together and join our greyhound pals. One of whom broke greyhound omerta by bringing along . . . a non-grey!

But Daisy — the pit bull above — was pretty well behaved and got along with everybody. Except for the dog to her left, maybe, but Reddy’s a little difficult sometimes.

Enjoy the pix! (even though there aren’t any Rufus pix this time around)

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Forlorn

Just got back from our Sunday greyhound hike, which we haven’t participated in in a while. Pix to come are here!; but meanwhile, here’s a shot I took in the parking lot of our local pet store, where we stopped on the way home:

His mom cruelly left him in the car while she went to the store.

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Happy Halloween!

Rufus’s costume: A greyhound that actually managed to catch the bunny. Photos courtesy of my wife (who’s getting ready to launch a photography business: hint, hint).

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Now to wait for the unsuspecting kids at the door. . .

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Don’t Tase My Pumpkin, Bro! (Or, You Look Like a Man-O-Lantern)

I haven’t posted a trip to the Drew Friedmanizer in a long time, but this morning’s scroll through the Wall Street Journal was too tempting:

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The accompanying article is about Boulder, CO’s annual naked pumpkin run. It’s a 4-block streak in a city famed for its laid-back, hippyish culture. Apparently, it’s gotten so popular that the police are out to crush it and ruin its participants lives:

[Police Chief Mark Beckner] will station more than 40 officers on the traditional four-block route tonight, with two SWAT teams patrolling nearby. All have orders to arrest gourd-topped streakers as sex offenders.

That’s right! He’ll need two SWAT teams in place, in case a group of people without clothes are armed and dangerous! Way to escalate a situation and just about guarantee violence, you fucking moron! Still, the law’s the law, right? Um . . .

Casting about for a law to apply, since nudity per se is not illegal, police hit upon the state’s indecent exposure statute, which makes it a Class 1 misdemeanor for anyone to knowingly expose his or her genitals in circumstances “likely to cause affront or alarm.”

Given that the Naked Pumpkin Run starts at 11 p.m., long after young trick-or-treaters have retired, and given that the route is packed with fans who come out specifically to see the event, runners argue that it’s absurd to think their prank is causing either affront or alarm.

Even if the run does catch a few people by surprise, “the joy it brings overall far outweighs the one or two people who could be offended,” says Callie Webster, who is 22 and a veteran pumpkinhead.

Police acknowledge they have not been flooded with pumpkin-run-related complaints, but say that’s beside the point. A throng of naked people with jack-o-lanterns on their heads is, by definition, an alarming sight, Chief Beckner says. Therefore, it’s illegal.

Keep reading for more of police chief’s bullshit attitude, which even the mayor and the D.A. find to be over the top. Go, Pumpkinheads!

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The L Gets An F

For the first time in years, there’ll be no Virtual Memories NBA Preview, dear readers. Neither Tom S. nor I were too enthused by the league this year and couldn’t get motivated enough to put together even crappy one-liners about the teams.

I can’t recall ever seeing such clear lines between champion contenders (LA, San Antonio, Boston, Cleveland and Orland), playoff fodder, and truly horrible teams. The idea that the Atlanta Hawks are a near-lock for the 4th or 5th seed in the east speaks volumes about the league’s mediocrity.

In any case, “my” team

  1. gutted its roster in the off-season in order to save money,
  2. is just the pivot for Bruce Ratner’s giant real estate scam in Brooklyn anyway, and
  3. will be sold to a Russian gangster by year’s end, so it’s possible their new building will actually go up in Sheepshead Bay.

The other local team is going into its second consecutive year of deliberate awfulness as part of its plan to attract the league’s best player. Prior to this, its awfulness was accidental.

My local hoops scene is so bad that I can’t make any jokes about how Tom’s team (he’s from Indiana), stocked with such great white nopes as Jeff Foster, Josh McRoberts, Troy Murphy, and Mike Dunleavy, Jr. on the roster, decided to use its lottery pick on . . . Tyler Hansbrough.

So we’re going to pass on the NBA Preview this year. Go about your business.

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What recession?

On Saturday, Amy & I met her pal Claudia for dinner at Marea. We knew going in that it’d be a pricey meal; after all, the restaurant is in the shadow of Masa, the most expensive dinner in NYC (which has a $200 fee if you don’t cancel your reservation with more than 48 hours’ notice(!)).

The meal was phenomenal; I’ve learned to appreciate fine dining this past decade, and my Marea experience was easily a top 5. Both my dates were heavy-duty foodies, and they too were floored by the meal. You can go check out the dinner menu here. For the record, I ordered:

  1. Ricci (sea urchin, lardo, sea salt)
  2. Sgombro (pacific jack mackerel, eggplant caponata)
  3. Polipo (grilled octopus, insalata di riso, fava, yellow tomato)
  4. Cotechino (not on the online version of the menu, but it was a pork, cod belly, wine sauce and maybe some cinnamon, in a mind-blowingly perfect risotto)
  5. and a chocolate panna cotta for dessert.

But as I said, it was a pricey meal. I won’t be so gauche as to discuss the final tab, but I will share with you the exchange I had with the Thomas the bartender when I was looking to get a gin & tonic before the meal.

GIL: I’d like a G&T. I notice you have Old Raj back there.

[THOMAS reaches for bottle]

GIL: Hold on. I had a G&T with that at Tabla once, and it cost $17. So, would you mind just ringing one up first, so I can see what it runs?

THOMAS: Sure! I’ve never served on with that gin before. [touch-pads for a few moments, then turns to look at GIL with shocked expression on face] Uh . . .

GIL: Twenty-two dollars for a gin & tonic?!

THOMAS: That’s what it says . . .

GIL: I’ll have a Hendricks & tonic, thanks.

THOMAS: You want cucumber with that?

GIL: Slightly bruised, thanks.

I’ve never felt relieved to pay $12 for a G&T before. (But it was the first bar I’ve been where they have Q Tonic on hand.)

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What It Is: 10/26/09

What I’m reading: When The Shooting Stops . . . The Cutting Begins: A Film Editor’s Story, by Ralph Rosenblum. It’s a book about the art of film editing, with a ton of awesome anecdotes. I also bought a bunch of books off my Amazon wish list last week: Jamilti & Other Stories (Rutu Modan), Mister i (Lewis Trondheim), Little Nothings: The Prisoner Syndrome (Lewis Trondheim), Collected Essex County (Jeff Lemire), The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, and Your Movie Sucks (Roger Ebert).

What I’m listening to: Boxer (The National), Dear Science (TV on the Radio), Chimera (Delerium), Oblivion with Bells (Underworld), In Our Nature (Jose Gonzalez) and Bill Simmons’ two-part podcast with Chuck Klosterman. I had a bunch of driving to do last week.

What I’m watching: Bored To Death, South Park, not a lot else. Oh, and Glee because, hey, Jane Lynch.

What I’m drinking: Silverado cabernet sauvignon 2005, during my Peter Luger dindin on Thursday. First time I drank in 2+ weeks.

What Rufus is up to: A fun trip to the Ridgewood dog park on Thursday, but no Sunday hike, on account of parental laziness. We got in at 1 a.m. from dinner in NYC on Saturday night; sue us.

Where I’m going: Maybe to Chillerfest next Saturday, if only so Amy can help Patrick Stewart pay for his divorce settlement.

What I’m happy about: The Years Have Pants, Eddie Campbell’s massive anthology of his Alec comics, comes out this week!

What I’m sad about: I discovered a few days ago that Robert Caro gave a lecture on biogrphy in NYC last month. Two upsides:

  1. I found there’s an audio recording of his speech online
  2. On Saturday, walking through Columbus Circle, Amy & I passed a shoe repair shop that included Mr. Caro on its customer “wall of fame” in the window:

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What I’m worried about: I won’t have a meal as amazing as last Saturday’s dinner at Marea for a long time. And, yes, this description of the ricci by the NYTimes reviewer was apt:

The very first item on the menu at Marea is ricci, a piece of warm toast slathered with sea urchin roe, blanketed in a thin sheet of lardo, and dotted with sea salt. It offers exactly the sensation as kissing an extremely attractive person for the first time — a bolt of surprise and pleasure combined. The salt and fat give way to primal sweetness and combine in deeply agreeable ways. The feeling lingers on the tongue and vibrates through the body. Not bad at $14 a throw — and there are two on each plate.

What I’m pondering: What it’ll take me for me to get on the wall of fame at a shoe repair store.