Spent most of these three days that I have off trying to find a job. Thursday through Sunday I'm spending in Asbury Park, doing my best to build Benny Go Home into something more than a slogan. It's going pretty well, but it is, as it always has been, a labor of love. That's how I always describe BGH, though when I talk about love, I'm not just talking about BGH, I'm talking about my home. It's awesome to be doing something that people appreciate, that they can get behind whole-heartedly.
But alas, I gots ta get paid. Thus I am seeking outside employment that I can use to pay the bills. I'm perfectly capable of doing everything that I need to do for BGH and holding a full time gig. Hell for the last semester of school I did what I needed to for BGH, held a part-time job, an internship, and went to school full time. I like to stay busy, keeps me focused. I have way too much time on my hands right now and would love to sacrifice 40 hours a week to the higher cause of paying bills. At least I'll be working for the weekend.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thankful for Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is my second favorite holiday with my first being Christmas and third being Independence Day. Not surprisingly, this correlates with my list of favorite things: gifts, food, and explosions.
Not only is Thanksgiving the start of the holiday season, which while being the most exploitative time of the year still manages to hang on to its "most wonderful time of the year" label, its the only holiday that is completely food oriented. With no birth of nations or messiahs to get in the way, food takes center stage. People obsess over their meals and it seems that no matter how many times people cook a Thanksgiving dinner, they're always unsure about it. That means that every year something turns out different, even if the menu never changes.
Not to mention the fact that I love turkey and it is the one day out of the year that I get to eat it home cooked. Some people luck out and have it for Christmas too, but I usually get stuck with dry, salty ham. The rest of the year it's either "It was just Thanksgiving" or "Thanksgiving's around the corner" and the turkey drought continues until the following November. At least I still have a few days of leftovers before gravy soaked breast meat, marshmallowed sweet potatoes, and savory sausage filled stuffing become just memories for another long year.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Lament of the Comic Nerd
This is probably the angriest I've ever been after coming home from my weekly trip to the comic shop.
Normally I come home looking forward to diving into one of my favorite books, but not so much this week. I'm home empty handed. There was not a single thing out this week that was worth my time and money. Why?
Let's start with Captain America: The Chosen #1. This is the story about the last days of Captain America and is supposed to be like the Spider-man: Reign mini-series which was supposed to be like The Dark Knight Returns. There's a huge flaw with this book and that happens to be its timing. It comes out months after Captain America was killed off in a way that is nothing like this book. "Captain America is dead! But here's another way it could have happened..." No thanks. Any weight the story may have had is gone thanks to the whole 'killing off a dead character' angle.
Next we have the beginning of the end of J. Micheal Straczynski's way too long run on Amazing Spider-Man with Amazing Spider-Man #544. Sure his run started out good and for a while featured the awesome art of John Romita Jr. but fell off pretty quickly due to his seemly stubborn refusal to use classic Spider-Man villains in a way that didn't involve them sleeping with the long dead Gwen Stacy. Now we have poor old Aunt May on her death bed since Civil War and Peter Parker's been crying ever since. Her death has been dragged on for months and any impact it may have had was scraped off miles back up the road. Not only that but this whole "One More Day" story has been hyped for so long I feel like I've already read the damn thing. Guess what? Apparently Peter and Mary Jane won't be a couple anymore or whatever. Marvel chose to use the ends this "event" is supposed to accomplish as a way of promoting it thus removing the point of telling the story. I'm just looking forward to the next arc which will be JMS-free and may actually feature some of the witty banter and awesome villains that makes reading Spidey worth while. Oh and one more thing. Joe Quesada is a douche-bag. He's the one drawing "One More Day" and while he is a great artist and decent Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics, that little "Still Only $3.99!" tag he slapped on his cover is not in the least bit funny. "This issue is over-priced! Isn't that a stitch?" Must be hilarious to the folks collecting the dough but it's a slap in the face to those on the other side of the equation.
Normally I come home looking forward to diving into one of my favorite books, but not so much this week. I'm home empty handed. There was not a single thing out this week that was worth my time and money. Why?
Let's start with Captain America: The Chosen #1. This is the story about the last days of Captain America and is supposed to be like the Spider-man: Reign mini-series which was supposed to be like The Dark Knight Returns. There's a huge flaw with this book and that happens to be its timing. It comes out months after Captain America was killed off in a way that is nothing like this book. "Captain America is dead! But here's another way it could have happened..." No thanks. Any weight the story may have had is gone thanks to the whole 'killing off a dead character' angle.
Next we have the beginning of the end of J. Micheal Straczynski's way too long run on Amazing Spider-Man with Amazing Spider-Man #544. Sure his run started out good and for a while featured the awesome art of John Romita Jr. but fell off pretty quickly due to his seemly stubborn refusal to use classic Spider-Man villains in a way that didn't involve them sleeping with the long dead Gwen Stacy. Now we have poor old Aunt May on her death bed since Civil War and Peter Parker's been crying ever since. Her death has been dragged on for months and any impact it may have had was scraped off miles back up the road. Not only that but this whole "One More Day" story has been hyped for so long I feel like I've already read the damn thing. Guess what? Apparently Peter and Mary Jane won't be a couple anymore or whatever. Marvel chose to use the ends this "event" is supposed to accomplish as a way of promoting it thus removing the point of telling the story. I'm just looking forward to the next arc which will be JMS-free and may actually feature some of the witty banter and awesome villains that makes reading Spidey worth while. Oh and one more thing. Joe Quesada is a douche-bag. He's the one drawing "One More Day" and while he is a great artist and decent Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics, that little "Still Only $3.99!" tag he slapped on his cover is not in the least bit funny. "This issue is over-priced! Isn't that a stitch?" Must be hilarious to the folks collecting the dough but it's a slap in the face to those on the other side of the equation.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Post-Modern World Rant
As of late, I find myself increasingly infatuated with a time long passed. Like a little girl dreaming of being a princess in the days of knights and dragons, I wonder what life was like for my grandparents when they were my age. Romanticizing about a time when men were men and all of them proudly wore fedoras unless they were bathing, sleeping or fornicating (and I’m sure sometimes even then). A time when actors of the silver screen had grace and poise despite their rampant substance abuse. A time when America’s greatest enemies stood under a foreign flag and not in her highest halls of power. A time when skirts were long and pants were higher than the crowd at a Dave Matthews concert.
Today I sprayed myself with Old Spice and tried to imagine it being an alluring scent to all women and not a stench associated with old men and colostomy bags. I also bought a fedora and am hoping that people will understand that I believe it to be a classy, practical hat and not ask me if I feel “Justified” in wearing it. I’m not trying to make a fashion statement, I’m trying to make a cultural one.
Once upon a time people had passion. I cannot think of anything that shows our world’s lack of passion more than text messaging on cell phones. Here we are with the power to contact our friends and loved ones with the push of a button, location be damned, and instead of choosing to speak and hear each other’s voices we send a brief short-hand message. I doubt a single person in our generation is capable of producing anything as heartfelt and passionate as a Civil War letter or even a WWII letter.
They say letter writing is a lost art, but it was never an art at all. At the time it was just another communication medium like talking on the phone is today. We look back on it and see it as art because of how well-written and meaningful it is and how dreadfully mundane our own interactions have become.
It was once considered rude to take a phone call while interacting with another person. Now people will whip out their cell phones and start texting without hesitation or excusing themselves. People will only grow manners when it is absolutely necessary. Unless you have control over someone’s job or sex life you can expect them to be as polite in front of you as they would a toilet.
Perhaps these problems will solve themselves in time, but as long as people continue their lives in a self-centered manner it is doubtful. People used to treat each other with respect simply because they were another person. I myself feel that respect should be earned, but when I look around and see teenagers being berated for not knowing every little detail about every product their mall job carries I can’t help but rethink that philosophy. I don’t know these people and don’t know whether or not they deserve respect, but wouldn’t a positive upbeat person assume they deserve respect and wait to be shown otherwise? Maybe that’s how people used to think but now we all think we’re so damned important and special that we feel everyone owes us for gracing them with our presence.
Today I sprayed myself with Old Spice and tried to imagine it being an alluring scent to all women and not a stench associated with old men and colostomy bags. I also bought a fedora and am hoping that people will understand that I believe it to be a classy, practical hat and not ask me if I feel “Justified” in wearing it. I’m not trying to make a fashion statement, I’m trying to make a cultural one.
Once upon a time people had passion. I cannot think of anything that shows our world’s lack of passion more than text messaging on cell phones. Here we are with the power to contact our friends and loved ones with the push of a button, location be damned, and instead of choosing to speak and hear each other’s voices we send a brief short-hand message. I doubt a single person in our generation is capable of producing anything as heartfelt and passionate as a Civil War letter or even a WWII letter.
They say letter writing is a lost art, but it was never an art at all. At the time it was just another communication medium like talking on the phone is today. We look back on it and see it as art because of how well-written and meaningful it is and how dreadfully mundane our own interactions have become.
It was once considered rude to take a phone call while interacting with another person. Now people will whip out their cell phones and start texting without hesitation or excusing themselves. People will only grow manners when it is absolutely necessary. Unless you have control over someone’s job or sex life you can expect them to be as polite in front of you as they would a toilet.
Perhaps these problems will solve themselves in time, but as long as people continue their lives in a self-centered manner it is doubtful. People used to treat each other with respect simply because they were another person. I myself feel that respect should be earned, but when I look around and see teenagers being berated for not knowing every little detail about every product their mall job carries I can’t help but rethink that philosophy. I don’t know these people and don’t know whether or not they deserve respect, but wouldn’t a positive upbeat person assume they deserve respect and wait to be shown otherwise? Maybe that’s how people used to think but now we all think we’re so damned important and special that we feel everyone owes us for gracing them with our presence.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Six Feet Under the Boardwalk
Bury me under the boardwalk,
Bury me at the shore,
What sounds await in a graveyard,
I’d rather death not be a bore.
I don’t believe in heaven or hell,
I don’t believe in hades, Vallhalla or sheol,
While these ideas comfort some,
In death awaits only a cold, dark hole.
Why be buried in a place of sadness,
Where widows, sons and daughters come to weep,
Why rest where you’d never go in life,
When you’d rather be at home to sleep.
And your home is where you make it,
Where your best memories are made,
For me home is the Jersey Shore,
In death that’s where I want to be laid.
Don’t think this verse morbid,
Don’t think my thoughts to be black,
I plan to live a long life,
I just know there’s no turning back.
And when my time comes,
I want to hear the crashing waves,
I want no part of the silence,
Others will get from their graves.
So bury me in Seaside,
Bury me down in Point,
Six feet under the boardwalk,
And roll yourself a joint.
For when I shuffle off my mortal coil,
There will be no reason to cry,
The sea will be my roommate,
My neighbor the starry sky.
And in the summer the beach will come to life,
And I’ll be the only one,
Sunbathing underground,
Still in on all the fun.
Bury me at the shore,
What sounds await in a graveyard,
I’d rather death not be a bore.
I don’t believe in heaven or hell,
I don’t believe in hades, Vallhalla or sheol,
While these ideas comfort some,
In death awaits only a cold, dark hole.
Why be buried in a place of sadness,
Where widows, sons and daughters come to weep,
Why rest where you’d never go in life,
When you’d rather be at home to sleep.
And your home is where you make it,
Where your best memories are made,
For me home is the Jersey Shore,
In death that’s where I want to be laid.
Don’t think this verse morbid,
Don’t think my thoughts to be black,
I plan to live a long life,
I just know there’s no turning back.
And when my time comes,
I want to hear the crashing waves,
I want no part of the silence,
Others will get from their graves.
So bury me in Seaside,
Bury me down in Point,
Six feet under the boardwalk,
And roll yourself a joint.
For when I shuffle off my mortal coil,
There will be no reason to cry,
The sea will be my roommate,
My neighbor the starry sky.
And in the summer the beach will come to life,
And I’ll be the only one,
Sunbathing underground,
Still in on all the fun.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Dream a Little Dream
My alarm clock is taunting me. It's just sitting there on the floor, showing me the time as it always does, but right now it's showing me that it's 7:30 in the morning. That is earlier than the time it normally tells me.
I had been fast asleep. I was lying on my stomach on my worn mattress, which now fells more like a sidewalk with a sheet over it than anything else. But I was also driving somewhere far away to see someone I did not want to see. It was the experience of seeing that person and not the hardness of my bed that has me sitting here uncomfortably, typing instead of sleeping.
Remembering my dreams is something that I do about as often I go to the library, almost never. When I do, however, they tend to leave a bit of an impression on me. Like right now as I think about driving with someone I barely know to see someone I have hurt in the past.
Telling someone about your dreams is useless. If you and I were to walk into a bar and then go on to describe what happened there to someone, they would understand fully. Chances are they've been in a bar and would be able to put together a mostly accurate picture of what you describe. They would build upon their own experiences and memories in order to visualize the anecdote (or fain interest in what you are saying and think about what they want for lunch).
Now what if you describe a dream? You may be able to convey the dream down to the last detail but dreams are not like reality. Everyone's mind's eye is different and capable of different things. Dreams can skip around, not make sense, take place from a perspective not your own, and generally defy every law that limits your reality. Dreams are just as much emotion as they are imagery. And those emotions mean something to you but cannot be felt the same way by others. Dreams are deeply personal for this reason (not to mention the fact that the whole thing takes place inside your head).
So while I'll probably tell someone today about the trip I took while I was asleep and what happened when I saw her, I'll do it merely to get the dream out of me. To alleviate the pressure from the feelings it stirred up and to help me maintain my sanity.
I had been fast asleep. I was lying on my stomach on my worn mattress, which now fells more like a sidewalk with a sheet over it than anything else. But I was also driving somewhere far away to see someone I did not want to see. It was the experience of seeing that person and not the hardness of my bed that has me sitting here uncomfortably, typing instead of sleeping.
Remembering my dreams is something that I do about as often I go to the library, almost never. When I do, however, they tend to leave a bit of an impression on me. Like right now as I think about driving with someone I barely know to see someone I have hurt in the past.
Telling someone about your dreams is useless. If you and I were to walk into a bar and then go on to describe what happened there to someone, they would understand fully. Chances are they've been in a bar and would be able to put together a mostly accurate picture of what you describe. They would build upon their own experiences and memories in order to visualize the anecdote (or fain interest in what you are saying and think about what they want for lunch).
Now what if you describe a dream? You may be able to convey the dream down to the last detail but dreams are not like reality. Everyone's mind's eye is different and capable of different things. Dreams can skip around, not make sense, take place from a perspective not your own, and generally defy every law that limits your reality. Dreams are just as much emotion as they are imagery. And those emotions mean something to you but cannot be felt the same way by others. Dreams are deeply personal for this reason (not to mention the fact that the whole thing takes place inside your head).
So while I'll probably tell someone today about the trip I took while I was asleep and what happened when I saw her, I'll do it merely to get the dream out of me. To alleviate the pressure from the feelings it stirred up and to help me maintain my sanity.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Pier Village Sidebar
I transfered to Monmouth after graduating with an Associates Degree from Ocean County College. I've never lived in a dorm. When I began going to Monmouth I found myself in Pier Village. The place is like nothing I've ever seen. Its big, beautiful and surrounded by poverty.
From what I've seen of the place, my best guess is that the buildings were hastily put together and opened before they should have been. My first year here saw countless false alarms with the fire alarm system, the complete repaving of the entire complex and surrounding roads, the construction of about a dozen businesses downstairs and more nail pops than i thought possible. From what I hear, this beats living in a dorm by a long shot and I gotta say I wish I could take this mattress home with me.
Everyday I go downstairs and see the happy shoppers buzzing around going...I don't know where. There really isn't that much to do here. A couple of specialty shops and lots of food. The pizza's great but I'm not about to pay $90 for a Bruce Springstein t-shirt at Nirvana (which by the way is completely sacreligious to a homegrown Jersey boy). The whole point is that Pier Village is gilded and not all its cracked up to be.
Where I have to walk by one of the Mexicans cleaning the building daily, I'm filled with an overpowering guilty that only increases as I drive through the beat up streets of Long Branch. I can't help but think of Kubla Khan.
I live in a Shore town myself, in Toms River (which hugs the Barnegat Bay). I have to agree with my source that I would not want a Pier Village there. The last thing we need there is more tourist money. And as far as Long Branch goes, I seriously doubt Pier Village is going to improve the quality of life of the townspeople. The people with barred windows by the train tracks. Is Pier Village going to lower their taxes and improve their schools? Not if this becomes a resort town. Look at any resort town, you get the nice resorts where all the money comes in and stays and then there's the section where the people might as well be serfs.
Town councils lose sight of the real picture. They want what's best for their town and that is to have a place in there that everyone thinks fondly of. And of course they want their name to be associated with it so they can move on to bigger and better positions. Pier Village does not help the people in the town. Does it create jobs? Yes, for middle class people who live in Ocean and other surrounding towns. The fact remains that some people lost their homes so this place could go up and the poor stayed poor.
From what I've seen of the place, my best guess is that the buildings were hastily put together and opened before they should have been. My first year here saw countless false alarms with the fire alarm system, the complete repaving of the entire complex and surrounding roads, the construction of about a dozen businesses downstairs and more nail pops than i thought possible. From what I hear, this beats living in a dorm by a long shot and I gotta say I wish I could take this mattress home with me.
Everyday I go downstairs and see the happy shoppers buzzing around going...I don't know where. There really isn't that much to do here. A couple of specialty shops and lots of food. The pizza's great but I'm not about to pay $90 for a Bruce Springstein t-shirt at Nirvana (which by the way is completely sacreligious to a homegrown Jersey boy). The whole point is that Pier Village is gilded and not all its cracked up to be.
Where I have to walk by one of the Mexicans cleaning the building daily, I'm filled with an overpowering guilty that only increases as I drive through the beat up streets of Long Branch. I can't help but think of Kubla Khan.
I live in a Shore town myself, in Toms River (which hugs the Barnegat Bay). I have to agree with my source that I would not want a Pier Village there. The last thing we need there is more tourist money. And as far as Long Branch goes, I seriously doubt Pier Village is going to improve the quality of life of the townspeople. The people with barred windows by the train tracks. Is Pier Village going to lower their taxes and improve their schools? Not if this becomes a resort town. Look at any resort town, you get the nice resorts where all the money comes in and stays and then there's the section where the people might as well be serfs.
Town councils lose sight of the real picture. They want what's best for their town and that is to have a place in there that everyone thinks fondly of. And of course they want their name to be associated with it so they can move on to bigger and better positions. Pier Village does not help the people in the town. Does it create jobs? Yes, for middle class people who live in Ocean and other surrounding towns. The fact remains that some people lost their homes so this place could go up and the poor stayed poor.
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