The world is small but I'm smaller still A reflection of my need to grow tiny ants marching up a hill This is how I've come to the unknown.

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posted by Japhy at 7/04/2004 12:41:00 AM || #

The Gothamist Interview In which our hero pretends to be famous I love the Gothamist. Well, actually, I love Gawker, but the Gothamist is a close second, honest. The semi-snarky blog has graciously listed its most popular interview questions, so that lesser lights like me can answer said questions and thereby pretend, that I, in fact, am Gothamist worthy. Let's pretend now I'm sitting at Teany with some black-plastic bespectacled hipster. He rubs his lips and with his pasty hand pulls out the Cross pen his Aunt Sylvie gave him for graduation. Leaning in, he asks: - 9pm, Wednesday - what are you doing? Well, I've been on the road for the last six weeks, so most likely it would be driving through a mountain range smoking cigarettes. Back in New York, I'd be getting ready. Who goes out at 9pm? - What's your New York motto? "Come fly a plane into us!" - What happened the last time you went to LA? I moved there. - If you could change one thing about New York, what would it be? The climate. No, the people. Actually, the architecture is pretty hum-drum too. Other than that, it's pretty swell. - Not including Manhattan, what is your favorite neighborhood? Who leaves Manhattan? I'd say L.I.C. - What is your favorite NYC bar? The Slide. Daniel Nardicio is the only promoter I know who can pull off getting East Village hipsters into a pick-up truck filled with hay. - Where is the best beach? In New York. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! - In your opinion, what is the best slice of pizza in New York? Oh, this one's easy- Como Pizza. It's up in Washington Heights, is a hole-in-the-wall filled with posters for Disney World and has been run by the same family for fourty years. Patsy's is way too upscale for New York pizza. Como has the cardboard crust floated with a soft ocean of cheese thing down to perfection. - What is the longest subway ride you've ever taken? (Meaning time and/or distance) I commuted from Washington Heights to Flatbush every day for two years. It taught me the value of having headphones (ie: idiot filters) on at all times.

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posted by Japhy at 7/03/2004 11:34:00 AM || #

If we were all a little bit smarter, we would all live in Albuquerque. Here is a city with video stores that proudly refuse to carry Jerry Bruckheimer so that there's more room for their Fassbinder collection. Stroll up Central, a revitalized portion of neon-lined Route 66, and you'll see vintage camera shops, a cinema showing a film noir festival, a cafe that gives free internet access to its customers, art galleries and a gay club with a volleyball court in the back. Everything costs half of what it does in New York and the girls and boys dress like hipsters without, you know, the brooding pretentious and debilitating angst. It's sunny here, so we could all have tans, and while it does get hot- as anyone will tell you, it's a dry heat. I haven't even mentioned the Indian casinos, green chiles, Baloon Fiestas or Tinkertown. Alright, now I have. Albuquerque remains my favorite undiscovered gem of a city. Everybody- move there: Now.

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posted by Japhy at 6/19/2004 09:38:00 AM || #

Postcards from the Center Well, I've been on the road now for enough time that I don't know just how long on the road I've actually been. I'm in Dallas now, a city which, by virtue of being near another city (Fort Worth) has been given the high-fallutin' nickname, "The Metroplex", which, to me, sounds like something out of a Robocop movie. I've been wildly busy shooting all kinds of people all over the South and this constant interviewing has made it extremely easy for me to go up and meet people, something which normally, causes me to break out into hives. In New Orleans, I found myself chatting up everyone on Bourbon Street: " So how long have you been a voodoo crack dealer?...Really, and how did that make you feel when your mother tried to burn you alive?" Life's become a Barbara Walters Special. The biggest shock of all, so far has been the poverty. Oh sure, we have homeless people in New York, but at least they can read or sleep on the Times. No such luck in Dixie. I was shooting a barn and the farmer cae out and started talking to me, asking what I was doing. After telling him I was shooting a documentary, he nodded and said, "Yeah, sure are a lot of poor people to film out here." I blushed with shame, but looking back, I'm still not sure he said it with bitterness. Anyrate, I must go shoot the wild world of Dallas gamers now, so I'll talk to you all soon. I'm having fun and my hair is, mercifully, growing back. -J

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posted by Japhy at 6/09/2004 08:32:00 AM || #

I HEART NY Today is my sixth anniversary of being a New Yorker! Hooray! Hooray! Here's some secrets I've learned that I'd like to pass on to you. BROADWAY IS CRAP Between Disney, the Roundabout and the tourists, American theatre on 42nd Street is dead dead dead. That's why we have BAM. CHEAP DATE THAT ALWAYS WORKS Take the Staten Island Ferry. It's free and there's a nice park near the Whitehall Terminal on S.I. for you to make out in. TO SURVIVE YOU NEED THREE FRIENDS It's true. They just have to be the right three friends and you'll never be bored, sad or alone. Friend #1: The first friend must simply know a lot of people and be all in and up on "the scene". This friend will, on the whole, be a pretty lousy friend- he or she will think they are way cooler than you and will call you "girl" regardless of your gender, but you don't care because you can call them up any night to find something to do. Friend #2: Your second friend is younger than you, or just generally naive. You bring them along to the parties that Friend #1 tells you about. This person is valuable because a.) they are impressed by how cool you are for knowing about said party thereby making you feel more important than you, in fact, are and b.) having them around you increases your own cool quotient in the eyes of other by contrast. Also, becuase you are obviously a heartless cynic, this person's natural warmth and naivete will either warm the cold cockles of your heart now and then or, more likely, remind you of the true monster you are. You should sleep with this person now and then. Friend #3: This friend must never leave the house. The more anti-social this friend, the better. If they were to leave the house, they would eventually run into someone else who knew you and would then probably find out what a monster you are. The purpose of this friend is to have a confidante. You tell them all about your other two friends, but in a way that always makes you look like a hapless victim. It always helps if Friend #3 is a stoner. DON'T BE GAY Seriously. This city's pretty gay already. Straight men should stop being gay because, as a gay man, I can tell you- homosexuals laugh at you behind your back. Straight women should stop being gay (and by "being gay" I mean "hanging on to gay boys all the time") becuase no matter how much we say we love you, we are never going to fuck you. As far as the real gays are concerend- don't be gay. Remember the man of your dreams probably doesn't own a "Fierce Bitch" t-shirt. Go burn your wardrobe and grow back your chest hair. I don't have any advice for lesbians other than, "Please don't hurt me." READY TO KILL SOMEBODY? It happens. Go to the Hudson Piers and watch the sun set. It's okay, baby. Still mad? Go hit a few balls at the Chelsea Piers batting cage- or watch the gymansts through the giant sidewalk windows. RETURN PHONE CALLS Charlie, this means you. Nobody (I mean "me") likes people who can't return a damn phone call. I'm not talking forgetting for a day or even a week- try a month. I have a friend who shall...remain nameless, who I last saw in a seedy basement drunk and talking about "fondling the crowd". Haven't heard from him since. DO NOT WALK ON THE SIDEWALK IN A GROUP THAT BLOCKS EVERYONE ELSE! Same goes for escalators, ramps and any other thing where normal people want to walk. Usually these groups are either drunk or are with children. Both of these situations (drinking...children) are completely preventable. No excuse. LEAVE BEFORE YOU HATE IT

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posted by Japhy at 5/17/2004 02:55:00 PM || #

The American Vision In the past years since September 11th, 2001 I have watched men who seek to control this country for their own agenda defy the will of their own party, the American people and the world. It is the right and the duty of Presidents to create a vision and see it through, but when that vision includes lying to your own people, restricting their rights to assemble, speak out and share in that vision; influence it or even, if they so choose, reject it, that vision is no longer a vision for the country, but the myopic vantage point of a tyrant sitting aloft in his fortress tower on the South Lawn. Though he has called those who challenge him “un-American” for doing so, nothing is further from the truth. The core of America, what has distinguished itself from all the other crumbled empires that came before it, is the spirit of dissent, embodied in liberalism that extends freedom and equality both at home and abroad, while rising to the challenges of bringing the many voices of Mankind under one roof, to one table. Americans know in their hearts that this is their promise; to fulfill the challenge that History has left on our doorstep. It was left on our shores by those who came here for a better life, whether it was during an Ice Age fifteen thousand years ago, to escape persecution for beliefs five hundred years ago, or whether they come today to escape strife in their homeland and seek a better life here. Calvin Coolidge famously said, “The business of America is business”, but with respect to the dazzling Mr. Coolidge, he is wrong. The business of America is Freedom. The business of us all is Freedom. Harry Truman's desk in the Oval Office had a sign that read “The buck stops here”. To "Give em' Hell" Harry, it meant that at the end of the day, he would be the man who would stand accountable for his country, whether for better or worse. That little sign no longer sits on the desk in the Oval Office, but I know it will again. It is not faith in a politician or in a party that makes me believe this, it is my belief in my friends and my family, that small segment of America that I have become privileged to know, for I know that they- that is I know that you have a vision of America. For me that vision is an America that once again sits in the driver’s seat of the progressive libertarian chariot that it forged in its own backyard. I no longer wish to see us be the only major industrialized nation in the world without universal healthcare. I want to see an America that will hold fast to the banner of equality for all its citizens when the prejudices of racism and homophobia try to burn up the staff upon which that banner rides. I want to see abortion made safe, the arts supported and capital punishment outlawed as something as barbaric as Hammurabi’s edict of “An eye for an eye” written nearly three thousand years ago. I want to see these and many other issues come to pass, but more importantly, I want to see a rebirth of the American character. I wish for my age to rediscover that apathy towards politics is the defense we use when power oppresses us. That to be political does not mean being radical or corrupt, but simply being engaged. Americans are not the lazy and fat couch potatoes the network news would have us believe. That conformist lie serves their purposes. America is on the verge of resuming the Great Debate that began in Philadelphia two-hundred and twenty eight years ago when our Constitution brought this nation into existence. The question before us: What is America? While corporations and zealots will tell you time and time again they have the answer, they are fools. The question is its own answer. As long as we keep questioning America- questioning its values, its leaders and its path, it will be America. Last night, the President stood before the nation and said, "If there was a threat before September 11th, we would have moved heaven and Earth to do something to stop it." Mr. President, there was a threat. Your hubris and myopia has convinced you that even today, if it is not in your vision, it does not exist. That lack of vision of course, led to the destruction of the World Trade Center and deaths in D.C. and PA. Mr. President, the buck stops here.

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posted by Japhy at 4/14/2004 04:41:00 PM || #

Get FRAG'd FRAG’d is a hi-speed transcontinental feature-length documentary investigation into America’s LAN parties and gaming subcultures. Big and small, these events are amazing and interesting to a large, diverse, and rapidly growing community. We are coming to your town soon. Shooting on DV and super-8, we will be conducting interviews and capturing footage of your gaming competitions, events, and gatherings. We will start off in NY in late May and end up in Los Angeles at the end of June 2004. We are looking to capture a glimpse of the gaming cultural phenomena that have recently swept across the world: anything and everything from elaborate to funk’d: LAN parties, FRAG BBQs, BYOC garage parties, commercial LAN centers, old school arcades, your best friend’s basement rig, etc... We're planning to hit the cities listed below. If you’re in or around (or even if you're really far away from) any of these cities and have a fun event, location, or party coming up... email us! New York City, NY Philadelphia, PA Washington, D.C. Virginia Beach, VA Charleston, WV Pittsburgh, PA Cleveland, OH Columbus, OH Indianapolis, IA Springfield, IL St Louis, MO Columbia, MO Kansas City, MO Lawrence, KS Denver, CO Colorado Springs, CO Santa Fe, NM Albuquerque, NM Flagstaff, AZ Phoenix, AZ Las Vegas, NV Palm Springs, CA Los Angeles, CA San Diego, CA More info @ Meekermagic.com Send email to: The FRAG’d ‘04 Team FRAGd@meekermagic.com “We put the party in the LAN”

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posted by Japhy at 3/27/2004 07:30:00 PM || #

Spring Arts Review 2004 Welcome to Japhyjunket's look at what's new, what's good and what sucks deep donkey ass in New York's art world this spring. While the Spring is usually a good time of the year to check out New York's art scene, this year is especially good. With the arrival of the Whitney's 2004 Biennial, galleries have gone into overdrive to produce unique- and for the most part, "cutting edge" shows, even if the "cutting edge" is 1972. The review is not meant to be comprehensive. Look to Time Out or The New Yorker for gallery listings. Instead, the review aims to look at the larger trends evidenced by the art arriving into New York this year. With that in mind, the review will also include one theatre piece and - a japhyjunket first- one film review as well. It's my hope that this can be your guide to finding art which is devoid of pretension and as vital as spring itself. - Japhy

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posted by Japhy at 3/22/2004 01:00:00 PM || #

Spring Arts Review: Special Biennial Section Whitney 2004: An Old Navy Kinda Biennial To put it briefly- the most exciting thing about the Whitney Biennial this year was that I saw Lili Sobieski among the crowd of attendees. Considered to be the show which defines the state-of-the-art of art for America, no article about the Biennial can omit the phrase "the show everyone loves to hate." The problem, this year, is that the Biennial fails to fulfill its mandate- rather curators Chrissie Iles, Shamim M. Momin and Debra Singer have thrown in everything but the kitchen sink (actually...) in an attempt to please everyone, which is a shame. I'd rather the Biennial be incredibly wrong than banal. The thing about this banality tough, is that it's exciting- in a State Fair, Old Navy kind of way. It's bright, brash and has the feel of a midway designed to sell you easily digestible concepts. The seventies still remains the decade to draw inspiration from, as the psychedelia of assume vivid astro focus's pop art installation and Spencer Finch's Mylar and silkscreened macrame wallpaper more than attest to. Installation art makes up a larger part of this Biennial than previous ones, but it is video that reigns supreme. The best of the lot is Sue de Beer's Hans und Grete, a combination of both installation and video that is a satisfying trend. Too often, video is displayed against a blank wall- de Beer's displays her two-panel projection like a giant pop-up book and fills the space with oversized stuffed animals for the viewers to lay on. The video itself is a fascinating conflagration of youthful tomfoolery and savage violence. Two morose teenagers play on guitars in separate rooms- the whole thing plays like a bad school project, even the guitars are fake. De Beers then cuts to another youth savagely cutting open a bleeding dog- or is it another stuffed animal. Through the sopping blood, it's hard to know the difference. In every Biennial there emerges art which is great, regardless of trends. The best of the best include Roni Horn's, Doubt By Water- a series of photographs displayed in head height Plexiglas stands. Some are scattered in the stairwell, others in a jumble you have to navigate through. The images: of a tow-headed boy and of a raven are deglamourized and extremely accessible. The repetition of the images, even while subtly changing, combined with the presentation, are a subtle, but entirely engaging meditation on the nature of seriality. Kim Fisher's painting Beryl 81 is a wonderful addition to the minimalist genre. With the extra canvas spilling over the frame and onto the wall, Fisher's abstract geometries seem to burst with life. Other must-see artists include A-Z West's homespun narrative on creating sustainable architecture in the desert, Jack Pierson's evocative Self Portraits, actually photographs of other people taken to evoke himself at various ages and printed in soft pastels with inkjet on canvas, as well as David Altmejd's sculpture Delicate Men in Positions of Power, which seems to be unearthed bodies made of salt, glitter and twine. It's a shame the Biennial's curators were unable to provide some kind of synthesis for this show. On a case-by-case level, much of the art here is to be enjoyed, but take a step back and all you see is clutter. The Whitney Biennial is open now through May 30th. Tickets are available at the Museum and cost from $12-24 dollars. Fridays after 6pm is pay as you wish and generally a great pick-up joint. The museum is closed Monday and Tuesday. The Whitney is located at 846 Madison Avenue and 75th Street. You can reach the Whitney at 1-800-WHITNEY or http://www.whitney.org/

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posted by Japhy at 3/22/2004 12:54:00 PM || #

Spring Arts Review: Theatre The Best Dream I've Ever Seen BAM presents The Watermill Theatre's triumphal all-male version of A Midsummer's Night Dream Oh, what a gimmick these Brits do have! Directed by Edward Hall, this UK import of Shakespeare's most beloved comedy is a fantastically inspired work of genius. Playing at BAM through March 28th, any Shakespeare lover should hightail it over to Brooklyn as fast as they can. The aforementioned gimmick is that this version of the play is played, just as it was in Shakespeare's time, exclusively by men. Michael Pavelka's designs do little to try to hide this fact, dressing the ladies in dresses, but leaving the actors stubble firmly on their cheeks. It is the all male twist that brings out the enduring heart of this play. The tale of mismatched lovers crossing in the fairy woods is, in the hands of these actors- funny. I'm talking Curb Your Enthusiasm funny. With all the characters played by men, the femineness of the male lead roles, Lysander and Demetrius become all the more apparent. The Fairy Queen and her King take on greater stature when we are constantly aware of their artifice and Puck, well, Puck becomes a tutu-wearing Loki God. The concept's great, but it is the actors here who are the real heart of this brilliant staging. Jonathan McGuinness's Helena takes what is usually considered a rather undistinguished character and brings her into hilarious three dimensionality. When the two men who previously had no interest in her fall in love with her under the fairy spell, her response is not demure bashfulness- it's outright indignation. As they heap on talk of love that she can only perceive as joking taunts, she screams and slaps the young men. Simon Scarfield, as Puck is really one of those actors who is just fantastic to watch. His timing is impeccable and even in the background, he becomes a mischievous presence- the very spirit of potential mayhem waiting to be unleashed. The greatest moment of the play, however, is usually the part that director's first cut. The Mechanicals production of the "lamentable comedy of Pyrimus and Thesbe" is usually, kind of a snoozer, but with Tony Bell's Bottom at the lead, the play within in a play becomes an uproarious bit of sketch comedy come to life, constantly topping laugh for laugh, stunt for stunt- it's as if Monty Python's Flying Circus had taken up residence in the Bard of Avon's head. This production has actually expanded my idea of what Shakespeare was capable of. It's one thing to see the best production of a play you've ever seen, it's another to see a play which expands your idea of what going to a play can be. A Midsummer's Night Dream is playing through March 28th at Bam's Harvey Theatre. Tickets are $25,40,60 and available at the box office or online at www.bam.org or by phone at 718/636.4100

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posted by Japhy at 3/22/2004 12:54:00 PM || #

Spring Arts Review: Galleries Spring Galleries Now. What to see in New York this spring. Kashya Hildebrand Gallery Tianbing Li: New Hybrids March 4 - April 17th 531 W. 25th St. #:212/366.5757 e: infony@kasyahilebrand.org http://www.kashyahildebrand.org Tianbing Li's deal in the kind of surreal hyperrealism usually reserved for David Cronenberg films. His New Hybrids deal directly with the interlocking of Chinese and American Culture, but rather than portraying it as a cultural war, sees mutation as the result. The paintings are done in an intense pallette that betrays Li's attempts at painting in a style "based on ancestral techniques". Metis 2, shows a series of bizzare creatures, including a lizard-dragon with Louis Vuitton logos instead of scales, on a flat cerulean background with Chinese text alongside, reminiscent of the illustrated menu boards used for foriegners in China; a sly suggestion that both cultures will be feasting on the freaks that result from our genetic swapping. Self Portrait V shows the artist as a bulbous organic plume of smoking, facets of the face arising from flesh. Most prominent is a set of bared teeth, but to the left another plume of flesh has burst, a failed experiment of recreation. Tianbling Lee's work is not only masterful, but disturbing. Gallery Henoch Eric Zener: Recent Paintings 555 W. 25th St. #:917/305.0003 e: ghenoch@earthlink.net http://www.galleryhenoch.com Eric Zener's painting, Releasing, is the first painting I've ever viscerally needed to own. Maybe it's because she reminds me of my mother's way of swimming in the ocean, but this woman staring up at an uncoming wave seems fraught with the crackling energy that comes when any two opposites attract. It is the binary of Life/Death that concerns Eric Zener's latest paintings, nearly all of which deal with swimmers in underwater scenes. Though Zener rarely gives us a face to view, these bodies, gliding beneath the current or curled up into a suspended fetal ball in the water become pockets of life in death. There's a real tension that undergirds what are essentially bucolic scenes. Even in his non-water-related-work, Zener seems caught up in the danger and drama of suspended animation. In Journey, a bather stands on a small green platform off of a tall metal ladder that continues beyond both the top and bottom edges of the canvas. He's high up, as the clouds below attest to, but we don't know whether he is terrified or confident as he looks away from us- and down at the Earth below. Evocative and subtle, these are paintings to be lingered over and God, Almighty, do I ever want to own one. Sandra Gering Gallery Leo Villareal: Chasing Rainbows 534 W. 22nd St. #:646/336.7183 e: sandra@geringgallery.com http://www.geringgallery.com Chasing Rainbows is an apt title for Leo Villareal's LED installation at Gering Gallery: It is too exuberent to be Minimalism and too fanciful to be Light Art, though, I suppose, technically it is both. A series of three panels made up of plastic tubes filled with LEDs, they shimmer and undulate according to cellular automata inspired software. The software running it looks like it's no more complicated than the game Life that used to come bundled with Windows 95, but it's entertaining to watch. The piece captures the sometimes organic qualities of technology in what is really, at it's heart, a fun way. The piece does not require much of the viewer other than someone who can enjoy looking at a really cool Lite-Brite, but sometimes that's all you need. Ziehersmith Wes Lang: Home at Last Karin Weiner: Shades of White Chiem & Read Lynda Benglis: A Sculpture Survey (1969-2004) Mary Boone Gallery Barbara Kruger: Twelve 303 Gallery Thomas Demand: New Work LFL Gallery Jim Meyerson: "More than you want, less than you need" Yossi Milo Gallery Alec Soth: Sleeping by the Mississippi Andrea Rosen Gallery Sean Landers: New Paintings and Sculptures PaceWildenstein Sol Le Witt: Structures 1962-2003 Sonnabend Andrea Robbins & Max Becher: Where Do You Think You Are?, France in America, America in France Candice Breitz: Becoming Haim Steinbach: Selected Works from the Late 80's Max Protetch Brian Alfred: Overload Museum of the American Indian George Longfish: Continuum 12 Nora Naranjo-Morse: Continuum 12 Matthew Marks Gallery Martin Honert: Selected Works

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posted by Japhy at 3/22/2004 12:54:00 PM || #

Spring Arts Review: Film

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posted by Japhy at 3/22/2004 12:53:00 PM || #

Censure Bush A gigantic Spring Arts Review is on it's way (including the Whitney Biennial), but today, I'd like you to take a look at this interview with Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. I'd then ask you to call your representative (if you live in New York, his name is Congressman Charles B. Rangel. His DC phone number is 202-225-4365. His aides are very polite) and let them know that you are a constituent and that you support and urge your representative to begin censure proceedings against the President for deliberately misleading the American people. What He Said: “Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraqi regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised.” President Bush, March 17, 2003 (from official White House transcript) What He Knew: “We do not have any direct evidence that Iraq used the period since 1998 to reconstitute its Weapons of Mass Destruction programs.” CIA report, February 2003

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posted by Japhy at 3/18/2004 01:26:00 PM || #

"How was your trip to L.A.?", people ask me. Well, I'll tell you later- for now, read this L.A. Craigslist Ad, which is a.) funny and b.) so very sad.

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posted by Japhy at 3/12/2004 11:10:00 AM || #

Greetings from La La Land- So, I'm in L.A. doing writer stuff. Here are the impressions so far: -All the stereotypes are true. I walk in to a coffee shop in the Valley with my producer and there's not one Valley Girl- there's 8, one of them in her mid-fifties, but with roots as straw blonde as Britney and lip liner as black as Whitney. - Oddly, the work ethic in L.A. is much stronger than in New York. People go to bed early, get up early and work a lot. My guess: Nothing better to do. - The weather is wonderful. Even smog has it's charms. More to come. Off to enjoy the sun :^)

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posted by Japhy at 3/06/2004 10:51:00 AM || #

I am a Russian.

What's your Inner European?
brought to you by Quizilla

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posted by Japhy at 2/26/2004 03:50:00 PM || #

Sleeping with Doug Faneuil I'm fascinated by Douglas Faneuil, the broker assistant who is the key witness in Martha's ImClone trial. Appearing yesterday in court, Doug was polite and sweet, but what makes him so fascinating is that he's a breed of boy that makes this city run: the young gay boy with aspirations. He's everywhere. Clean cut, agressive, with good sense for what's appropriate and what's not, he is the attractive twenty-something assistant of choice and today he may or may not destroy Brand Martha. The pizza guy he used to work for as a kid figured he'd wind up in "arts or theatre" and he even asked if he could say "bleep" instead of obscenities when repeating during his testimony what his boss, Peter Bacanovic had said to him about Martha. Doug's the best little boy in the world and he's working in your front office right now, wearing an Armani suit he got on discount at Century 21. Doug also has a darker side. He's admitted to being a frequent pot smoker and having used Ecstasy at clubs. Martha's defense team has painted him as a inveterate upstart who's obsessed with Stewart. They'd call him a bitchy little drama queen, if public opinion would let him and essentially, he kind of is. Even in court yesterday, while trying to be on best behavior, he couldn't help but gossip that Mr. Bacanovic turned to him after a meeting with Stewart and said, "See what I have to deal with!" Doug is our generation's Gatsby or perhaps the fufillment of the Nietzschean Superman. With artistic aspirations, but (presumably) no talent, Doug has made himself into his greatest work. This guy who lists "gay booty" as one of his interests on his Friendster profile has single-handedly (alright, with a little help from the Feds) brought our country's icon of domesticity to her knees. I realize this makes him, you know- a bad bad man, but he's also something of a little guy hero. He's such a type, so ubiquitous to the Corporate American millieu that he deserves his time in the sun. He's the twenty-something who is hired after four years at the finest school in America and given menial clerical work to do. He's your copy boy and your P.A. He's all the boys and girls out there who are, if not necessarily smarter than their bosses, then are more tuned in, more aware of the big picture and frankly, a lot wiser to how the game is played than their older more trad bosses. Remember, it's the pawn who sees the front line of battle. A generation of great minds have wound up being treated not as team members, but serfs. They play the game for corporate America by day and at night, they have lives. An end to job-security has meant an end to loyalty, the rise of cynicism and the realization by America's youth workforce that they owe their bosses as much loyalty as 25k a year is really worth. No wonder this pawn's taken the queen. P.S.- This has nothing to do with the fact that he's cute as hell.

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posted by Japhy at 2/10/2004 03:13:00 PM || #

Proof of Life Yes folks- dear sweet Japhy is still with us. Forgive him for not posting. He's been awful busy (I'll tell you why later) and am also redesigning the site. Till then- Look! Pretty map! Pretty shiny map!
create your own visited states map or write about it on the open travel guide

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posted by Japhy at 2/07/2004 09:56:00 AM || #

Tarnation News Hey there folks- This is more for my benefit than yours. Here's a small compilation of press articles about my friend Jonathan' Caouette's film Tarnation, which got raves at Sundance. Congratulations Jonathan! Wired News- on how the movie cost a little more than TWO HUNDRED dollars to make. Movie City News - on how it's being called a masterpiece. Sunspot - on how the film, an autobiography with fictional scenes, blurs the line between documentary and fiction. Baab's Insanity - rates the movie along with the rest of Sundance's selections. Gaywired - on critics weeping upon seeing Jonathan's film. Not bad for a feature film edited on iMovie!

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posted by Japhy at 1/25/2004 11:30:00 AM || #

2004. A buzzword lexicon. To ring in the new year this year, I journeyed forth to bonny Salem, Massachusetts, home of witches and shoe-manufacturing in search of a way to divine what is to come in the coming year. Stumbling into "What a Witch!" a small store not far from the Peabody Essex Museum, I gathered the things I needed: a scrying mirror, bloodwort and Roget's Compendium of Political Campaign Follies. Unfortunately, my traveling companion foolishly started playing with the Ye Olde toy flutes while I wasn't looking. The store owner, all 300 Goddess-infused pounds of her, promptly placed a curse on us both. For him, he is accursed to wander the world being mistaken for a relative of Freddie Muniz, for me, like poor Cassandra, I can see the future, but am only able to tell it to you in the form of a short compendium of popular buzzwords, presented here. Antitheory- As I've written about before, the great age of Theory is dying and not a moment too soon. From Theory scion Terry Eagleton's book Beyond Theory to the existence (and popularity) of the Which Post Modern Theorist Are You? Test on Quizilla, even the staunchest proponent of Theory will admit that its time has ended. Theory has left a generation of thinkers unable to speak about the important topics of love, war, peace, virtue and self that are both universal and eternal conditions as well as immediate elements of our political and social landscape. Instead, we've had twenty years of parsing the gender narratives found in McDonalds commercials. 2004 promises to be the year thinking comes back into vogue and posing goes into the rubbish bin it belongs. Neoromantic Postfuturism- I know, I know, big words get me nowhere, but I'm cursed, okay? With the exception of May's The Day After tomorrow, the world is getting over it's millenial apocalypse obsession. Not to be glib, but it takes a good brush with tragedy to remind civilization every once and a while that it's worth saving. While war seems to loom in every valley on this planet and freedom's bell sounds like a tin toy clanking, it seems from my vantage point that humanity is ready to live again. The joyous calls of The Polyphonic Spree for sun is like the sound of saplings blowing in the spring breeze. Unironic spring saplings, you see. A new Romanticism is blooming; it does not look backwards to some glorious lost past like it did in the 19th Century, but to a future that lies beyond postmodern techne. If the mind was the organ of the 1900's and the eye the witness of the 20th Century, it is the hands and heart that must work together to shape the 21st. 1969- Anti-war. Hippies. Politics. The Republican National Convention in NYC. The Do or Die Moment for the Democrats. Will this be the year that the waters spill over and the rising tide of cultural change finally arrives like an army of horsemen to Minis Tirith? Americana- Yeah, it's an election year, but 2004 looks to be a seminal year for the New America that is forming before our eyes. Is America a corporate empire that only serves its Lord and Master, The Marketplace or is it the efforts and struggles of its people? Expect Dolly Parton, apple-pie slingin', the quadrennial recognition that "Oh-Yeah, There's more to America than New York and L.A." and if we're very very lucky, come November, the Supreme Court might allow us to elect our own president. Hipsploitation- After years of Billyburghers whining about how they're not really hipsters, since hey- they only bought half their wardrobe at Beacon's Closet, the poor unwashed mass of faux-hawked Keds wearer's will finally pull off their self-imposed shackles of shame and come out as loud proud Hipsters of the Millennium! Hipsters will "take it to the streets", proudly admitting that their culture is totally appropriated from racial and social classes who, if given the chance, would gladly murder them in their sleep. Their sullen, sallow faces will turn into beaming lighthouses of pride as they'll sing from the rooftops Jack White's new album, "Let's Have an Original Idea, People!" Huzzah!

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posted by Japhy at 1/03/2004 10:55:00 PM || #

Sappy Solstice, Everyone! Hey there folks. As usual, the season is filled with the sounds of the season: the clash of battle axes as you join the barbarian horde fighting your way through Bloomies, the soft crackling sounds of fire as you set ablaze all the crappy fuzzy sweaters given to you by Aunt Mildred and what's Christmas without a little stressed out screaming with the one you love? In that spirit, Japhyjunket is going to take a brief winter's nap. When I return in January, expect some new changes and new features, including my interview with Pansy Division. And now, a request: I'm currently looking for a few good bloggers. Or even a few good non-bloggers. I would like to continue developing this blog or another like it, but can not do it alone. If you are or know of someone who has opinions about culture and and has an interesting way of expressing them, please send them my way. Japhyjunket has grown to the point that it needs to be more than one voice. Have an idea for a column? Let me know. This need not be a weekly gig or even a monthly one. My goal for this site has always been to be an experiment. If you'd like to join me, hollah. Wishing you all the warmest of holidays. - Japhy

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posted by Japhy at 12/19/2003 03:26:00 PM || #

Theatre Review: Conspiracy Mom A trip down memory lane leads to saccharine tears in “Frame 312” When I used to work at ABC, one of my co-workers would try to bond with me over his pet interest in the JFK assassination. One day, he actually explained to me, using real English words, how Elvis was in fact, responsible for the death of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. JFK’s death was undeniably the touchstone for a generation and the slight Frame 312, now playing at the Atlantic Theatre Company, wants desperately to capture both the greatness of the event as well as the intimate impact it had on the private lives of Americans, but instead winds up being little more than a very special Lifetime event, that is neither very special, nor ultimately, much of an event either. Lynette (Mary Beth Peil) is celebrating her first birthday since her husband died, or rather, her grown- up children are celebrating it for her, since she shows little interest in marking the day, and who can blame her? Her daughter Stephanie (Ana Reeder) defines herself by her depression medication and her son Tom’s (Greg Stuhr) defining characteristic is that he’s both bombastic and banal, asking Mum for cash and then, when Mommy reveals that she has the original Zapruder film, takes it as proof she never really loved him. I found myself praying to God that these characters were drinking something stronger than iced tea; nothing is as maddeningly dull as a sober suburban family gathering, even if Mommy does have the most valuable piece of conspiracy evidence- ever. The aforementioned Zapruder film is, as conspiracy buffs know, an 8mm film that shows President Kennedy as he is shot. It was purchased by Life Magazine and eventually turned over to the government, where some allege it was altered to conceal evidence that there was a second gunman. The conceit of Frame 312 is that Lynette, who was a secretary at Life at the time (played in flashbacks by the perennially pert Mandy Siegfried) winds up with the original copy through a series of circumstances fueled by subterfuge and paranoia. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, the bulk of Frame 312 is set in the present, where we get to watch Tom and his wife (Maggie Kiley) bicker about whether he knows his kids names or not. The main point of this play is not Kennedy or assassination at all; rather, it’s that Lynette’s ungrateful kids need to realize that Mommy once had a very interesting life before they came along. Playwright Keith Reddin could have easily titled this play Parents Are People Too, and nobody would be the wiser. Do Mom and her estranged daughter share a tender bonding moment watching Jack and Jackie-O get shot at? You bet your Oprah Book Club subscription they do! It’s telling that the program notes that the “modern day” of this play is the 1990’s. Throughout the play, listening to Lynette tell us about how That Day affected all Americans, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the parallels to our generations’ own Day of Infamy. What does Lynette’s silence and acquiescence to live a suburban life say to our own times when we our leaders warn us to watch what we say and when Americans mysteriously disappear into the night? Not much. The larger issues here are repeatedly pushed aside so that we can focus on lukewarm fuzzies like Stephanie giving her mother a teddy bear she made out of her grandmothers old coat. Oh wait! Is Stephanie’s addiction to depression medication an indication that not much has changed? If only there was a line from Lynette to Stephanie like, “You’re not that much different from me” to bludgeon the point into my skull. Oh wait! There is! Where’s Lee Harvey Oslwald when you need him? As far as the acting goes, Mary Beth Peil’s Lynette is luminous and believable and lends a gravitas to the proceedings that is lamentably missing in the text. Ana Reeder is worth looking out for in the future, but the same can not be said of her co-stars. Greg Stuhr plays Tom as well as a number of equally one-dimensional characters throughout the play and seems too caught up in the business of playing multiple roles to ever really inhabit any of them. Maggie Kiley has the same multiple roles challenge, but solves the dilemma by playing all characters exactly the same way, however Mandy Siegfried as the younger Lynette and soap opera scion Larry Bryggman, who plays Lynette’s boss at Life have real chemistry as two people caught up in something larger than themselves. Walt Spangler’s set is a fantastic hyper-pretty white meditation on suburbia and Robert Perry’s lighting inventively moves us between the past and the present. The only thing I will remember about Karen Kohlhaas’ direction, however, is that she forces the audience to endure a ten minute scene in which Lynette’s son Tom doubts whether she has the actual film or not while having her hold the film in her hand the entire time. The greatest conspiracy of this play has nothing to do with reels of film, but rather the clever foisting of another kitchen sink drama onto an audience that has grown desperately weary of the genre. Frame 312 is currently playing at The Atlantic Theatre Company (336 W. 20th Street) Tickets are available at the Box Office or through Tele-Charge (www.telecharge.com)

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posted by Japhy at 12/11/2003 11:48:00 AM || #

The Most Pompous Thing I Have Ever Done Yet. Quizilla is like Old Faithful, only for quizzes, instead of geothermically superheated steam. Every week or so a new "Must Do" quiz comes out. Since I've written before about my dislike of academic jargonism (which has nothing to do with real intellectual inquiry), I thought it would be fun to take the What 20th Century Theorist are You? Quiz. The Result:
I am Jacques Derrida! I founded
Deconstructionism in 1966, and have been a
thorn in people's sides ever since. I argue
that texts cannot be reduced to a single
meaning, among other things. I am dense,
impenetrable, and not dead. I was kinda hoping for Noam Chomsky.
brought to you by Quizilla

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posted by Japhy at 11/19/2003 05:39:00 PM || #

Let's Never Marry A Gay against Gay Marriage Dearly Beloved, We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Love and Law as expressed by the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. How glorious is the Divine Creator who looks down upon these two anthropomorphizations this magical day and says unto them, "Lo! May mankind legislate every emotion under the sun!" If any of you know of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace. Um- hi there. Marriage is a sacred institution that is defined as being between a man and a woman. I'm no Jerry Falwell loving, self-hating fag, but really, that's what marriage is. From Biblical times up until today, marriage has always been there for the hets and really, it's on their home turf. The straights invented marriage. Imagine if, all of the sudden, the NBA decided to make Judy Garland their official mascot. Get the drift? I'm all for inclusiveness, but if homosexuals want their culture and lifestyle accepted, then they have to respect the heterosexual culture; a culture for which marriage is their yellow brick road and Oz all rolled into one. Marriage is religious. The less our presidents and our priests snuggle up to one another, the better. The question of who can marry whom is one that individual churches should be left to decide. It is the governments job to afford all of its citizens equal protection under the law. In that respect, civil unions are a must for any two consenting adults. They must be given the same essential privledges in regards to healthcare, property and custody as any traditional married couple, but I see no reason why the government is obliged to marry anyone. Those supporting a constitutional amendment to define what marriage is are frankly, idiots or political grandstanders. It's unlikely that Americans would stand for what would ultimately be a Gay Dredd Scott Decision. The wiser move is to support an amendment that would recognize that the sanctity of marriage is one conferred upon by God, and as such is not under the domain of the State. The amendment should then go on to define a civil union and what it's rights and protections are. I may get accused of being a turncoat here, but before you get you start pelting me with your fish taco bridal bouquets, here me out. I'm all for marriage. It's a beautiful wonderful thing when two people, of any gender, decide to commit before the world their love and devotion to each other, however, the ritual of marriage is more than that. Why should gay men and women take on the baggage of an institution that has never been their own, and more importantly, why does the state need to be involved? I don't need the State to tell me who I love, nor do I need its permission to declare that love publicly. What I require of the State is that it provide me the same privledges it admits to heterosexual couples- no more and no less.

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posted by Japhy at 11/18/2003 05:46:00 PM || #

Will the Real Metrosexual Please Stand Up? A Phone Call One of my childhood buds is a Red Sox fan, but being an adopted New Yorker, I’m a Yankees fan. Two hours after the Yankees inevitably beat the Red Sox in Game 7 of the AL Championship, my friend called me up, obviously a little bit drunk: “Rooting for the Yankees is stupid.” “If by stupid you mean, being on the winning side, sure.” “You suck.” “You know, my heart goes out to you, bro. I mean, rooting for the Sox is like dating a hot girl with syphilis. Sure she’s hot, but it’s always going to wind up in you contracting a horrible wasting disease in the end.” “Like you even know anything about baseball. You’re gay.” “What does that have to do with anything?” “Please, you couldn’t even play tee ball, gay boy.” “I was on a baseball team and I don’t exactly remember you bringing home any trophies yourself.” His roommate shouts from the background, “Just because the Yankees uniforms are prettier doesn’t mean you should root for them.” I answer back, “No, the fact that they’re a better team is, though. Their uniforms really are pretty, though.” My friend laughs and tells me he has to go and hangs up on me. Now, I’m not exactly sure what just happened, but I’m a little hurt and pissed off that my friend would play the gay card like he did, especially in front of his roommates. My friend, on the whole, has been pretty cool about such things and has been really the only person from childhood I talk to that I’ve been able to share details of my personal life with. In the past few years, however, he has become increasingly boorish and dismissive towards me. Where we used to exchange pick-up tips he now tries to “beat me up” and shows little interest in talking to me, except to regale me with stories about his frat . Perhaps this is the inevitable growing apart that all childhood friends must come to terms with as they go their own separate paths, but it seems to me there’s something else at work here. I Blame The Metrosexual. The term “metrosexual” was coined by British author and self confessed “skinhead Oscar Wilde” Mark Simpson and it was coined to describe a new breed of man whose primary object of sexual desire was, well…himself. Whether straight or gay, Simpson’s Metrosexual was the ultimate consumer, who slept with people not out of any gender preference, but out of a desire to find someone whose skin matched the Prada sheets. Too complex a concept for the mainstream, the term metrosexual was soon appropriated by mass market publications (including MSN, Time, People and Business Week), but with a new more market friendly meaning: the new Metrosexual is simply a straight guy with gay tastes. I’ve watched this semiotic change with irritation. If there is a vast heteronormative conspiracy out there, they surely manufactured this change in meaning. It’s quite clever, really. The main point of Simpson’s definition is to transcend the straight/gay binary; meterosexuality has nothing to do with the type of gonads you get off on, but the attitude you have. The watered down version not only gets rid of any notion of sexual transgression but actually further perpetuates the straight/gay dichotomy by clearly defining things like manicures and mud masks as “gay” activities, while at the same time brilliantly encouraging straight men to engage in the kind of luxury spending indulgences gay men have been practicing for years. This isn’t just a semantical issue here; something really has been lost, or perhaps, more charitably, missed. The original definition of metrosexual could have helped out guys (and gals), straight and gay alike. Men Have PMS Too. Men have, in their own quiet way, been engaging in a liberation movement for the past decade and a half. The Male Liberation movement can be seen in guys lobbying for ending circumcision, guys devoting themselves to gyms and diets, the rise of Mark Walberg née Marky Mark and in the phenomenal success of Fight Club, which is my gender’s Stepford Wives. While women have self-consciously battled their gender stereotypes for more than a century, the men have quietly perfected theirs into this truth: In America a man drinks beer while watching football. If he doesn’t he’s probably a sissy. Guys are told that we’re supposed to be a pretty stoic bunch, so, excluding a brief foray into speedos and long hair in the sixties and seventies, we’ve silently endured our cast-iron macho man mold. The problem is that there is no man alive who could possibly fit within the mold, so we’ve all turned on each other. Look, in this country, the only way a straight guy can show affection to another guy is if they are both on their third beer and Bob Costas is on the TV. Guys who are into music are cool as long as the music involves an electric guitar. Being knowledgeable about a subject that doesn’t involve canyons, automobiles or drill saws is a guaranteed way to be labeled a geek. I’d weep for the state of my gender if it weren’t for the fact that it would make me a wimp. It’s not much better for the gay guys, who not only engage in macho Aberfag posturing and competitiveness, but also extend it to the bedroom. For many gay men, it seems bedding as much of the disco dance floor as possible has replaced winning the touch football game. On the surface it seems oh-so-out there, but it’s just as rigid a hierarchy as the straight paradigm. In other words, being able to sleep with a lot of people does not make you sexually liberated- oh, that needs to be repeated, I think: Being Able To Sleep With A Lot of People Does Not Make You Sexually Liberated What this puritanical “Oh My God Look at J.Lo’s Booty!” nation needs is a new kind of sexuality. This isn’t a call for a post-gay America, it’s a call for a post-straight America as well. Why divide sexuality along the lines of what kind of loins you rub up against at night? All the people who want to drink beer and talk sports or be alpha males who backslap or bareback each other can all move over to one corner and make room for a new breed: The Metrosexual. The Metrosexual is not a guy who likes to do gay things, nor is he, apologies to Mark Simpson, just a guy who’s into himself. The Metrosexual is the man or woman who, as the name implies, has abandoned the rural (or seemingly rural) sexual stereotypes that have dominated American culture, politics and lore for two centuries and embraces—no, gropes, a sexuality which is as unique as personality. Unlike the dippy flower children our parents used to be, the Metrosexual does not consider himself a sexual rebel. The heart of the Metrosexual credo is “As long as it’s between two consenting adults, who cares?” Unlike the Act Up Crowd or other grand-dame’s of the queer movement like John Epperson aka Lypsinka who bemoans the “Gay boys with strollers on Eighth Avenue”, the Metrosexual is not about “subverting the straight establishment”. The Metrosexual realizes that all along she has been the establishment. Men don’t do it like Brad Pitt does and real women are more creative than Madonna when it comes to bedroom antics. What’s even hotter is that in the morning, they put on a suit, grab some Starbucks and head off to work. The Metrosexual is Sex Getting Real. Rather than defining what’s ‘hot’ by the pages of Vogue or Details, the Metrosexual instinctively knows you make something hot by owning it. Have a collection of snails? Don’t stash them under your bed when you’re first bringing a girl home. Show those gastropods off passionately enough and seductively enough and you’ll soon have your lady turned on far more than a bottle of Drakar ever could. What makes something sexy? It’s obvious: It’s the passion you imbue it with. The Metrosexual lives in a world where women gather together for sex toy parties instead of Tupperware parties, where the local Fraternity holds a monthly bondage party (Come on- if there was ever a group better suited…) and the High School Sex Ed teacher says to his students, “Each of you are incredibly sexy if you believe you are.” Low self-esteem, that perennial social malady, would evaporate like afterglow sweat. The g-spot is not a place on the body, but a place in the mind. The Metrosexual realizes this instinctively. The Metrosexual is The Self-Actualized Libido. If men and women create their own definitions of sexuality and gender role, rather than being slaves to what they’ve been told, the world will be a much better place. We don’t let anyone tell us what to think, why should we let anyone tell us who or how we can get it on? Hey Geeky Guy with the Pimples!: The next time you’re at the family barbecue and Uncle Ralph starts bugging you about the pennant race, ask him what he thinks about the latest release of Red Hat…and treat yourself to a facial. Hey Confused Kinda Lesbian Girl!: Solve your dilemma by dating both a girl and a guy at the same time. Go on dates as a group. Save money on cabs! It’s not radical, it’s reality. Be your damned self. Every last one of you turns me on.

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posted by Japhy at 11/12/2003 02:55:00 PM || #

Why The Matrix Revolutions is Great To read the reviews for The Matrix Revolutions, you would think the final installment of the wildly ambitious sci-fi trilogy was a remake of Battlefield Earth. Having just seen it, I have to say to all the detractors, "Give us [the moviegoers] a fuckin' break!" I'm not exactly sure what these people expected, but apparantley a movie that is one of the most visually thrilling, fast paced and epic two hours ever developed to celluloid just isn't good enough. [SPOILERS AHEAD] The argument against The Matrix Revolutions is essentially this: All of the secrets and teases of the past two movies are either a.) not revealed enough, b.) betrayed or c.) revealed too much. I'll admit that Revolutions suffers from the X-Files Syndrome, in which tantalizing secrets always trump actual revelations, but looking at the movie as the Wachowski brothers intend it to be viewed; a trilogy of birth, life and death, you can't help but be impressed. Just as the original Matrix presented us with a hero for whom everything was new and every truth an illusion, and Reloaded gave us a hero who relishes his role, knowing his place in the universe and fighting for it, Revolutions gives us a hero who acts not for his own life, but for the life thereafter. The entire trilogy has been called cold by more than a few, but I find it splendidly expressionistic. The Wachowski brothers give us a wonderful rumination on the nature of endings: the end of love (both in the Trinity and Neo relationship, but also in Morpheus and Niobe's long dead love which in this movie transforms itself), the nature of death and war and destruction and also the end of conflict itself. There are also some amazingly kick-ass action scenes. What I'm saying here folks is that through the course of the three Matrices, audiences have been delighted by fantastic visual effects, have been introduced to some philosophical concepts (admittedly, watered down concepts) and enjoyed a fairly entertaining heroic narrative story. There has been nothing like the Matrix trilogy: it makes Star Wars look like a kiddie pool. Any careful viewer of the Matrix trilogy will see that the Wachowski's never set forth to create a solid-air tight narrative. The discussions that people have because of the ambiguities built into the Matrix are, I believe, deliberate. To turn marketing into tautology: Every ending is a beginning. Also- just to quiet the naysayers who say the ending goes against the whole humans must be coppertops premise: In Reloaded we learn that the humans have found an alternative source of power, so, in theory the new matrix (no longer green and all) could be a virtual meeting place for the machines and the humans to work out how to live in the real world. Neat!

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posted by Japhy at 11/06/2003 07:31:00 PM || #

The Aesthetic of the Cheap. New York is the capitol of capital. For a city that has been the home of the likes of Duke Ellington, Jackson Pollack, Elia Kazan, Jack Kerouac, Bob Dylan, Laurie Anderson and countless others, the New York of today is a nearly impossible place for artists to both survive and create. The galleries are filled with artists from Pittsburgh, Providence, Berlin and beyond. The theatres, when not playing revivals, mount productions of regionally developed works as a sort of Gotham canonization ritual that eludes me. Musicians seem to have it easy, or at least the sort of musicians that only require a guitar and a trucker hat as an investment. I mention all this, simply to set the landscape. Finishing strokes might include acknowledging that the biggest art show of the decade was Matthew Barney’s multi-million dollar Cremaster Cycle and a brief glance at the American Airlines Theater on Forty-Second Street. This is the town in which I work, and serves as the practical impetus for what follows. As a young artist living in New York, I find myself trapped in the same dangerous cycle that so many of my friends have found themselves in: To create art, you need money- to get money you must work- to work in New York means to work in a cubicle- to work in a cubicle is to kill the impulse to create. I know writers who are dying as editorial assistants, I know painters who design GAP ads. This in and of itself is not a bad thing. If your goal is to make a lot of money, this is a good way to do it, however, if your goal is to create art, it’s a fairly counterintuitive way to go about doing it. Talent is not a rock, it is a sensitive and precisely tuned Stradivarius that must be bowed and plucked by the most sympathetic of hands. If I were to spend the next five years in a cubicle, I would, best case scenario, lose my mind. The dilemma: Short of a trust fund, how does the artist create? I’ve told you all this to establish that there is a practical reason for the theoretical aesthetic that follows. This in itself is completely fitting within the concept of “cheap”; as you will see. Most art today is inherently capitalistic. In theatre especially, the specter of commercial viability looms over every aspect of production- from choice of material, to casting to marketing. This does not hold true simply on Broadway, where over staged musicals (42nd Street, anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber) and upper-class liberal hand-wringing straight plays (The Goat, Take Me Out, Proof) are the norm. The supposed tautology between high quality and high budget also informs downtown theatres, who show their rejection of this ideal through bare stages and self-consciously avant-garde staging. This is a mirror of the audience that theatre caters to, one which in youth rejects the very bourgeois attitudes it will embrace in maturity. The hippie who grows into a middle-management bureaucrat is no longer simply a cliché, but a modern day rendition of Joseph Campbell’s hero myth; that is, we are expected to lose our ideals and so we chose ideals from the outset that we are comfortable with surrendering later. That our nation’s youth are savvy to this carefully constructed series of morphing poses has left them dispirited, ironic and nihilistic. To them and logically so, the act of having ideals, being political and attempting to enact change is not just futile, but folly. They know, if not always consciously, that in the totalizing system of capitalism, even the act of rebellion exists only to be commodified and marketed. It is not my goal to find a remedy to this totalizing force, but to offer an aesthetic response to the total milieu of late stage capitalism. That response is “Cheap”. Cheap is political. Cheap is the enemy of capitalism. Cheap is already a force embraced by youth. Drinking Pabst beer is Cheap. The ‘irony’ of our generation is not ‘irony’ at all, but rebellion. Wearing a trucker hat, while not terribly original, is a political act that rejects capitalism by deliberately seeking out and embracing what capitalism fears most: the tacky, the functional, but above all, the unmarketable. While retailers have quickly started selling designer trucker hats, the ultimate trucker hat is one that can be bought for seven dollars in Missouri. Cheap has nothing to do with things. Cheap acknowledges that capitalism will upscale any object deemed to be ‘popular’, but Cheap will have rejected the object by that time, for Cheap is the material expression of anti-materialism. It sets capitalism on a hamster wheel, vainly chasing after increasingly unsalable things. For an artist, Cheap represents a way to escape the poverty of the capitalism’s gauntlet of success. Cheap allows the artist to arbitrarily commodify and sanctify whatever is at hand. It invites excess as both parody and earnest undertaking. Like all movements, Cheap is not an unexplored country. John Waters has used Cheap not just to shock (Cheap is always shocking to a capitalist) but to politicize. Waters’ films are profane because they are made Cheap and advocate Cheap, not because they include pubic hair and teabagging. That the recent Broadway version of Hairspray totalizes Waters’ cheapness into the rubric of later day capitalism only highlights theatre’s role in America as the ultimate bourgeois institution. It this role that the theatre plays in America that makes it the perfect forum for advocacy of the cheap. Cheap can be found in other places. In performance, there is The Trachtenberg Family Slideshow Players, who create songs and narratives for disused and forgotten memories. Cheap can be found in the impromptu memorial to September 11th near Saint Vincent’s Hospital that was created from individually marked glazed tiles. Its eloquence lies in its cheapness; the memorial is unabashedly sentimental, genuinely heartfelt and simply rendered by individuals who respond with immediacy instead of tortured test-ballooned deliberation. It is virtually indestructible, for even if it is dismantled, it will continue to exist as individual tiles or even individual fragments. Its cheapness allows it to be fractured by design; an assemblage of disjointed parts that becomes an inversion of the tragedy it memorializes. Cheap can be a tin-pot opera, a racecar action adventure told through soapbox derby cars, a king in polyester, the exultation of toilet bowl cleaner as divine and MUCH MUCH MORE!. Cheap reduces complexity into the symbolic. ACT NOW! The semiosis of the generic can be reworked into opulence. TIME IS RUNNING OUT! If we want to insult a woman, we call her cheap. A cheap suit is emasculating at best and oftentimes fatal. When the artist embraces the cheap, she manifests the nightmare visions of the CEO, but reworks them into the sublime fantasia of truth and hope that is the cubicle dweller’s daydream.

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posted by Japhy at 11/05/2003 12:13:00 PM || #

dearest internet, For my Lesbian Love Tragedy version of Othello (I'm calling it 'Othellia'), I need lots of cardboard. Can you get me some or tell me where I can get some? All my love, Japhy P.S.- I also need girlish actors to audition for me. P.P.S- And a pony.

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posted by Japhy at 11/03/2003 01:10:00 PM || #

TRICK OR TREAT! TRICK Japhy Presents the Top Costumes of 2003 The Metrosexual: Put on a mud mask, manicure your nails and wear your favorite Diesel jeans and Burberry jockstrap! Finish it off with some lip glass and a really tight t-shirt and be everybody's favorite media-coopted fashion statement du jour! This costume is not complete without a quintent of nelly stereotypes following you around making catty comments. Deviled Angel: Show that you too understand how binaries are meaningless in our post-millenial world by dressing as both an angel and devil at once. People will stare at your halo and horns with bemused enlightenment as you free them from the chains of moralistic duality. For Couples: Pimp Bush and Ho' Lady Liberty: Um, this one is pretty obvious, right? Elliott Smith: Buy a knife, attach it to your chest. (courtesy of Justin) Falcon Pornstar: Recession hitting you bad? Go naked and give lots of blowjobs to people. Not only will you make LOTS of new friends, you'll save a bundle on your costume! TREAT The scariest movie of all time. Have I got a tale for you. It involves, ghosts, reincarnation, a mysterious necklace, a gentleman's agreement gone horribly awry, death and death again, a push up bra, madness and obsession. It is the obsession that is most terrifying, so terrifying in fact, that it leaves us, and the man caught in its grip, dumbstruck. Can you guess the movie, I'm refering to? If you haven't figured it out, highlight here: It's Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. If you haven't seen it, get thee to a cinema. The following has lots of spoilers in it. More than any monster movie, it is this movie which fills me with terror and dread. Movies with blood and gore are fun, but the whole thrill comes out of knowing that you made it out alive. When this movie fades to black, you aren't so sure. Scotty (James Stewart) is asked by an old friend to investigate the odd behavior of his wife. Scotty follows the woman (Kim Novak) who is, in fact, not who Scotty has been told she is at all. She is an actor, and her audience is Scotty. The rouse is ludicrous and complex, the machinations of a madman, but the result is that Scotty falls in love with the woman, whose fate, literally scripted, is to jump off a belltower, the one place, Scotty, who has a fear of heights, can't go to watch her. And then, after months in an asylum, getting well, Scotty sees a woman on the street who looks like the woman he loved. He doesn't know that this woman is in fact the same woman, but she does, and as she quietly acquiesces to his demands to transform her into the woman she used to be, we find ourselves lost in a dizzying fall into obsession and love, until they become the same thing. What makes this movie so amazingly creepy is that we, the audience are not let off the hook that we are voyeurs to this drama. When Scotty watches this woman, we watch her. His obsession with the image is our obsession. It's primal, it's perverted and there is no release. A nun appears in the last seconds of the film and blesses the woman who has just fallen, a second time, for good, but she does Scotty, and she does not bless us. We are not absolved of the sins we have commited as passive viewers, needing, like fiends, more images, more and more, to satisfy the unsatisfiable: The desire to recreate a moment of truth, that was always, has always been, a lie.

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posted by Japhy at 10/29/2003 02:03:00 PM || #

Blogs Suck. Camille Paglia says, in her new interview in Salon: "Blog reading for me is like going down to the cellar amid shelves and shelves of musty books that you're condemned to turn the pages of. Bad prose, endless reams of bad prose! There's a lack of discipline, a feeling that anything that crosses one's mind is important or interesting to others. People say that the best part about writing a blog is that there's no editing -- it's free speech without institutional control. Well, sure, but writing isn't masturbation -- you've got to self-edit. " Read the whole article here. What a breath of fresh air! I have had countless arguments with other bloggers (mainly on LiveJournal) about whether blogs are open to criticism, and time and time again I get responses like, "Well, it's a transcript of my cortex" or "I only write it for my friends." One even told me that I could criticize her content, but not her style; a style clearly enamored with itself, but for no reason I could discern. So that Camile (and the rest of us) don't have to suffer anymore, I present the following: Japhy's Rules of Blogging I, John Q. Blogger do hereby proclaim: 1.) My blog is not a diary. If I publish something, I realize it is for other people to read and that if I only wanted my friends to read what I write, I could always just email them. A blog is a public thing. 2.) I accept that if I publish something on the web, I must accept criticism of it, even if I don't agree. 3.) I will spell check. 4.) I will not simply copy the text of someone elses work and say something like, "Look, this is cool" . 5.) I promise to try to write better each time I write. 6.) The majority of my blog entries will be longer than five sentences long. 7.) I will punctuate and capitalize and do my best to follow the grammatical conventions of my native language- unless I have a damn good reason not to. 8.) I will google the subject of my blog before posting. I will see if someone has already written the thought I have in my head. I do this not only to take part in the online community I am a part of, but also to see if my thought has been expressed in a way which is better than mine. If I can not expand on what has already been said, I will shut my piehole. 9.) I will not be boring. Any bloggers who wish to agree to these rules and emails me will get a swanky "Japhy Rule Certified" banner for their site.

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posted by Japhy at 10/29/2003 01:30:00 PM || #

Come One! Come All! Oh! Don't I feel like Uncle Walt opeing Disneyland right now? I do! It is with deep pride and insincerity that I introduce to you Japhyotype - Portraits and Views 1824-1928, the latest expansion to the Japhy empire. To get there, just click on the "Images" link above. Go my children! Go!

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posted by Japhy at 10/23/2003 05:01:00 PM || #

Adam Superstar I'd like to tell you all a story about a young man named Adam. I have known Adam for a few years now and on the whole, he's mainly irritated me. Adam has an intensity that kind of makes you want to run screaming. He also happens to have a terrible- I mean, terrible, love life, which he wants to tell everyone about. The combination, of course, is just what we want in a *pop star*, which is what Adam wants to be more than anything and he'll tell you this every chance he can get. What Adam does have is a huge amount of drive. I have seen him do just about every shitty job there is to do in the entertainment biz here in New York and he manages to take each job seriously and put all of his commitment into it. He doesn't come from the greatest of childhood's and perhaps what irritates people most about Adam is that he continually believes in his success when it seems that the cards are so ludicrously stacked against him. This is why I admire Adam Barta. This is why, despite his nonsensical IM's about Buffy, I respect him. It is also, in my opinion, the secret to his success: He's never once considered himself, unsuccesful. His single, I Told Her, is now available. Listen to it here.

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posted by Japhy at 10/22/2003 05:37:00 PM || #

What an amazing game! Cop cars are playing their sirens in the streets! Cheers everywhere!

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posted by Japhy at 10/16/2003 09:26:00 PM || #

Waiting for the Goldbergs Though I am no longer a student at NYU's Department of Dramatic Writing, I'm excited to hear that they've received over a million dollars from Rita and Burton Goldberg, specifically for playwriting. As reported in The Times, they've admonished department chair and beret-wearer, Mark Dickerman, to focus the money specifically to playwriting, which I think is just wonderful. As frequent Japhyjunket readers know, one of my problems with NYU's program is that it pushes its students to write for film and TV and in a particular manner. The Goldbergs seem determined to change all that. I would love to see a New York based playwriting program that truly focused on the needs and perspective's of the contemporary theatre writer. I don't believe that Tisch currently is that program, but perhaps under the watchful eye of the Goldbergs it will transform itself into something more than a factory for Aristotilian three-act commercial screenplays. Perhaps they should engrave Mr. Goldbergs words in the hallway of DDW; ""I think that playwriting is about the highest calling that a person could have; I think this is the best way possible to explore the human condition."

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posted by Japhy at 10/15/2003 12:39:00 PM || #

The Love of Japan Entirely There are We! America loves Britain. We love the tea, we love the accent, but most of all we love their constant disdain for us "Yanks". We like to see each other as allies. While Barbados and India still chafe under the banner of post-colonialism, the original rebelling colony has moved on. We're a country of free-spirits and independent thinkers- we don't hold a grudge against Great Britain, at all. Bollacks, I say. Even cultures have a subconscious. America reveres Great Britain. We have emulated its traditions ever since we managed to spank them off the Continent like an abused child longing for the lash. It continues to this day: The New Yorker reported last week that Britain's famous black cabs may be coming to New York as an upscale alternative to our own, yank-yellow taxis. We revere the British as the last bastion of true culture, and see ourselves as the trashy loudmouth cousins of a more refined, tea- swilling branch of the Familia Anglica. Which brings us to the Akihabara district of Tokyo. Nicknamed "Otaku Town", Akihabara is a maze of neon, internet rooms and shopping malls dedicated to Japan's "geek culture". Fifty-eight years ago, the U.S. dropped two nuclear bombs onto the Land of The Rising Sun, and after a post-war rebuild by the U.S., a new generation of Japanese have become obsessed with all things American. Pepsi in garish neon, game shows with insane propositions, Levi's, Jordache and Catholic schoolgirls have all been Sinofied into brilliant, glossy life. As Americans, we can't but help but looked on in bemused horror. Welcome to the Funhouse of Mirrors known as globalization, where every culture is a reflection of someone else's. Of course, the mirror bounces back. It is unlikely Great Britain will ever find itself in the throes of U.S.-mania, but, almost so improbably that it's inevitable, the 21st Century Empire is finding itself in the thrall of its first great colony. America is going Japan-Crazy!!! In Rockefeller Center, Takashi Murakami's Reversed Double Helix was just one more assault by the superflat artist on the American psyche. His glorious mutated eyeballs have been spotted on everything from gallery walls, Grand Central Station and Louis Vuitton handbags. The "Andy Warhol of Japan" is the hottest artist in America. The two most critically acclaimed films of the Fall season are Lost in Translation, Sophia Coppola's tale about two lost Americans spending a week inside a Tokyo hotel and Kill Bill, Quentin Tarrantino's ode to chop-socky films and the warrior code. In Lost in Translation, this tale of romance, not only introduces America to the cultural mash that is modern Japan, but also introduces them to a storyline that seems to mirror the style of Japan's top novelist (and America lover) Haruki Murakami (no relation to Takashi). The final scene, in particular, seems to echo a motif of Murakami's: A girl running away through a shop market, pursued by her lover. Kill Bill, for all its gore and violence, actually, because of all its gore and violence, it clearly reflects the great tradition of samurai myths. The anti-hero, an American invention, is nowhere in evidence in Tarantino's slick, iconic masterpiece of storytelling. Instead, Uma Thurman's character, known only as The Bride, has more to do with Zen tales of heroism, in which action is all and overthinking is a good way to get your arms lopped off. The latest trend in sportscar driving is "drifting", which involves skidding the car so that it rides side first up or down a hill. The trends origin and home of the first semi-professional league? Japan. There has always been "The Japan kids", Americans obsessed with Japan, but the cultures seem to be spilling into each other- a potent signal that the America of tomorrow has less to do with tea and crumpets and more to do with sake and otaku. From 1786-1793, Thomas and William Daniells traveled extensively through India, then under the direct control of Britain through the East India Company. They brought back to the mother country a huge number of watercolored drawings of the Indian subcontinent, now on view at the Yale Center for British Art. The vast majority of these drawings consisted of two types: beautiful traditional shrines and tombs and images of the newly erected British neoclassical government buildings. How the British must have marveled to see their own graceful architecture amid palm fronds, elephants and rickshaws. How exotic the temples and palaces must have seemed. There is nothing more alluring than seeing ourselves as the exotic; for the master to delude himself into thinking he is the outsider. The result can be fatal, not just to empire's now gone, but also empire's that are just beginning.

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posted by Japhy at 10/14/2003 04:07:00 PM || #

Death of a Blog My deepest sympathies to Ms. Modern Age for being voted by The Village Voice, "Best Scenester of 2003". How cruel of the Village Voice to essentially damn what was a wonderful site with such a destructive title. You'll see now that The Modern Age is in ruins. Since, if any of her cadre, I'd be the one most likely to be Elton John, I'd like to pull out my sunglasses, sit by the piano, and sing a little song to you: *ahem* Goodbye, Modern Age I sang with you up on the roof Loved your photos of Jack White and Travis and sometimes Bowie too And it seems to me like you lived your life Like a perfectly sane rock girl Singing in the next room a party of just you and I would have liked to see The Modern Age on MTV make fun of Carson Daly and show that music's not just industry But it seems to me like you ran your site Simply for the love of it. You think if I called The Voice and told them how you like to sing showtunes, they'd take it back? So I could have you back- Ms. Modern Age. Thank you. Goodnight.

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posted by Japhy at 10/12/2003 09:39:00 PM || #

Craig & Me Update In which Craig Newmark shows his love for the little guy Earlier this week, I wrote craigslist founder, Craig Newmark about a problem I was having regarding Craigslist, which he has described as " a place for people to get a break". I placed an ad for a casting call and offered one dollar as renumeration (in addition to a video tape/transportation and food) to fufill the craigslist requirement that all jobs be paying jobs. My ad was refused. What I wanted to know: What's the minimum amount needed to get me on Craigslist. I never got a satisfactory answer and wrote an entry (see below). Craig saw it and wrote me back. What follows is the whole email conversation, unedited, between me and craigslist founder, Craig Newmark. Craig writes: I'm not entirely happy with this [ie: the entry I wrote] , since it's very unfair, but I don't know how to show you otherwise. are you actually listening to either Geoff or myself? our policies are based on what thousands of people have told us. You seem to think that your priorities are more important than everyone else's. What am I missing? Japhy writes: Well, see, that's rather the whole point. I asked Geoff what the policy was. The policy on the craiglist board is that it must be a "paying" job. I offered a dollar. I was then told that it was "minimum wage", but the vast majority of paying jobs are not minimum wage at all. All I really wanted was a clear answer as to what the policy was. The film/TV/theatre community is an odd duck. People work for reels or doughnuts all the time and do so willingly. Not all payment is cash- it's contacts and networking. Look at a copy of Backstage or any casting paper and you'll see "reel" as payment. Craigslist COULD be a great resource for these kind of jobs, but instead if you peruse the film/tv/ section it's all ads for various softcore porn stuff. This still isn't the point. All I want to know is how much does craigslist consider to be a minimum? Why can't I get a straight answer? I think it's unfair to tell someone, even if it's a free site, that if they aren't getting the help they need, they should "just wait a few days"...it seems antithetical to what craigslist is about. Craig writes: Japhy, get serious, $1 is not paying. You got a straight answer. How about getting reasonable. Japhy writes: So- then I ask again, what is "pay"? I'm a frikken college student trying to cast a student film and you're essentially dictating to me how much I have to pay my actors when I know that they'll work for a reel. I'm not trying to screw anyone over- talk to anyone in the entertainment industry. Regardless, tell me how much Craig Newmark wishes me to pay my actors and I will list that amount so I can get an ad up on his board. Craig writes: I think Geoff already answered that, please review, or ask, nicely. Japhy writes: Dear Mr. Newmark- I am a teensy bit confused as to craigslist definition of "pay". While you mentioned that Geoff has already told me what that policy is, I simply can not seem to find it anywhere. If it is "mimimum wage" then why are there so many other ads up that do not offer it? I know you are a busy man, so all I ask is that you answer this one simple question: "How does craigslist define what 'pay' is?" Sincerely, Japhy Grant Craig writes: Japhy, how about using some common sense? That works for millions, literally. If there are problematic ads of any sort, please flag, or post the URLs in Feedback. Japhy writes: Dear Mr. Newmark- Thank you very much for refusing to answer my question. I would also like to thank you for insulting me. Repeatedly. I am writing to tell you that I have decided to place an ad, which I will pay for, in Backstage magazine for my Lesbian Love Tragedy version of Othello. I will, as many filmmakers, not offer any payment to my actors, but will provide a reel of their work and transportation as is the custom in my clearly non-common sense oriented world. It is a shame that I could not use Craigslist to place this advertisement. I stand by my belief that if you offer a resource to the public, you are responsible for their questions and inquiries regarding it. That I have asked the same question now, fifteen times (I counted) and not recieved an answer is not a sign of my lack of common sense, but yours. -Japhy Grant Craig writes: Japhy, I'd sure appreciate either 1) if you'd commence an honest approach, or 2) approach this as an adult. Craig Japhy stops writing and contemplates starting Japhyslist. To top it all off, Craig recently wrote this on his blog: "We're not sure what people usually do various business situations, so we plunge ahead. Sometimes we do get into trouble, but usually, it works out well for all concerned. That is, we try to do the right thing, and it works for everyone, particularly as part of the "culture of trust" that's very important to us. "

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posted by Japhy at 10/12/2003 09:12:00 PM || #

LAST DAY TO REGISTER!!! Hey New York! Tommorow (Friday) is the last day to register to vote and switch your party affiliation if you want to vote in the Democratic primary on March 2nd! The forms are available here. In NYC, drop off the forms at: New York County Board of Elections 200 Varick St. New York, NY 10014 Phone: 212-886-3800 Serioulsy, y'all, don't go putting down "independent" cuz it's cool. Register Dem and get the criminal out of office.

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posted by Japhy at 10/09/2003 02:24:00 PM || #

Craig & Me Japhy's brief encounter with the Craig Newmark: craigslist founder, geek politico and chill guy. In my Inbox this week: An email from Craig Newmark. Any semi-savvy young metropolitan knows about craigslist, the free community meeting ground where you can meet the love of your life, get a new apartment together, find a free bed to shag on and then find jobs to get away from your new found love. Craigslist has cultural cache up the whup-ass, partly because it's free, partly because it' so "community-oriented" and partly because there's no ads and almost no design (in fact, Japhyjunket's design aesthetic stems from craigslistian utilitarianism) and so it goes without saying that the "craig" in craigslist, Craig Newmark, is a pretty important guy. He's also been sued by Hollywood. This all begs the question: Why is he writing me? I had tried posting a casting notice for my Othello video project in the film/TV/radio classifieds on craigslist, which seemed a pretty good place to put it. The site warned that only paying jobs would be accepted, so I listed the compensation as a reel of the shoot to use on auditions and $1.00. Five minutes later I get an email from Geoff Flemming (geoff@craigslist.org) telling me that I can't put up non-paying jobs, but try again if you think there was a mistake. I try again. No luck. I write Geoff and ask him what the deal is. He writes back, "If you are paying $1.00 then you man [sic] *NOT* post this here." I write back to him and ask what the minimum amount is and why this pay minimum is not listed. Geoff replies: "Minimum wage. It's the *LAW* We shouldn't have to list it. It may be the industry standard not to pay people, but it is NOT acceptable in our[sic] job categories." I then write him back explaining that in the theatre/TV/film industry nobody works on an hourly wage rate. It would be cost prohibitive to do so and that offering a reel is kind of a standard student film thing to do and point out a similar ad on the same board I am trying to post to that offers the exact same thing, except with a $25.00 fee attached. I ask again what the minimum is and if I can talk to someone besides him. Geoff replies: "Japhy, I will respond one last time to your email. We do not accept unpaid jobs in th ejob [sic] categories. We are not talking about any other post but *YOUR* post. You are welcome to post in the artists category. If that's a problem then I suggest seeking out another FREE resource for your ad. Thanks." Now, I'm a little miffed. This bozo still hasn't answered my question and he's being pretty haughty about it. Whatever happened to "the customer is always right"? I'm even more miffed because this is craigslist, a community striving ever towards greater perfection. Partly I just wanted to get my classified up, but I also thought the wording on the site was vague, and like a good democratic craigslist member, I wanted to improve the system, but here I was being harassed. I reported the whole incident to abuse@craigslist.org. Five minutes later I get an email fro, you guessed it- Craig Newmark. "Japhy, I have complete trust in Geoff, and I suspect you might have been overly persistent. Is that a possibility? Craig" Amazed as I am that the Craig Newmark has written me it's not quite what I expected, so I email Craig the whole email exchange between Geoff and me and add that I only bring it up because of how utterly pleased I am with craigslist usually. A minute later, from Craig: "Japhy, thanks, but I'm no big deal. It looks like Geoff was really patient to you, particularly considering we're all very badly slammed. Maybe wait a day, ask him again, patiently. thanks! Craig" Now I'm sitting here at my desk and thinking, "Craig Newmark is a communist". My illusions are so utterly shattered. I had always imagined craigslist as this mutual community and Craig as a deist deity watching over us all. I had to fight off my Gothamite urge to sneer at what seemed to me an utterly flaky San Franciscan thing to say. "Maybe wait a day, ask him again, patiently."? Was there really so deep a cultural divide? New Yorkers are always accused of being rude, but I was simply trying to get an answer and Geoff kept using ALL CAPS and *asterisk* around his words. He made it a totally emotional issue and Craig seemed to agree. Are New Yorkers from Mars and San Franciscan from Venus? The other question raised by this whole encounter is exactly what are Craig Newmark's responsibility to craigslist. Sure, it's free and he created it, but it's become such a staple of the internet, like Google, that the question arises: How much accountability does Craig have to those who use his eponymous list? Is craigslist really Craig's or does it belong to everybody? Robber baron's once invited workers to their mines with the allure of opportunities and created whole villages for the workers to live in, and yet, they had no voice in public affairs or even what kind of bread they could buy ("You will buy Westinghouse bread!"). Craig Newmark has, for far more altruistic purposes created a community that now reaches across the globe. What has made craigslist great is not Craig Newmark, but the people who have posted on the site. Does the town belong to the people or to the mayor, even a feel good San Franciscan like Craig Newmark? For such a New Economy kinda guy, Craig's list sure looks like a company town.

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posted by Japhy at 10/09/2003 12:02:00 PM || #

My Dearest Jill- Miss Quinn, it has been far to long since I have touched your ivory face or gazed upon your sun-wheat hair. As I think of you, somewhere past the gull cry, I find myself asking, "Why oh why did you go and become a pirate?!?!" Pirates are horrible bloodthirsty scavengers of the sea! You were fair and kind and now you probably have a peg leg and a crew of deserters and chinamen. Well, I'm resigned to your fate- that's why I found you this: Dave Egger's Pirate Store. They say it's the best around for "your kind". In San Francisco, obviously, but they'll ship to wherever the Aolians take you, my dear, dear, much missed she-pirate. Eternally Landlocked, Japhy

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posted by Japhy at 9/24/2003 02:41:00 PM || #

Theatre Review: Over-Dose: The Weird and Mainly Unpleasant World of Dose: The Musical "-Do you like me? Yeah? -Would you do something really special for me? What? -Heroin." (from Dose: The Musical) I'd like to begin this review by pointing out that most people, me included, go to the theatre to enjoy themselves. The audience, for the most part, wants to have a good time. The audience that attends new musical theatre in the East Village is an especially tolerant breed. They've seen some pretty bad stuff and so, don't ask for much. I bring this up because for most of the seemingly unending eternity that is the new musical Dose, the audience remains pretty much silent as a heroin addict. Well, a normal heroin addict, not the singing, mincing, monsters on stage in this disaster. See, Dose is about heroin---and fat people...gay stereotypes too. I could go on about how confusing the plot is, but I could better use my time to say, read a book or pick my nose, so here's the briefest synopsis possible: Fat girl Lily (Shanna Sharp- who is buried under the world's most unflattering fat suit. Who knew that there were no genuinely fat girls who could sing left in the world? Thank god for fat suits- without them we'd have to see people who really ARE fat tread the boards!) is obsessed with model-boy Jamie (Kahan James)who is a heroin addict and not much else. He turns all of her friends on to heroin while she remains annoyingly oblivious and actually is the source of funds for Jamie's addiction. There's a minor sub-plot involving the most ridiculous gay character this side of Paul Lynde's grave and another about a performance artist with a Daddy-Catholic-Spank-Me fetish. Wow: An hour and a half of my life wasted on a storyline that thin. It kinda makes me want to do heroin. Alright, let's review this baby: The show starts off promising enough with Lily (aka Fat Girl), entering lonely and dejected, crying over her salad until she pulls out a salami and two prancing faggy chorus boys and starts singing about the joy of food. It's about time we had a musical number making fun of chorus boys and it's well done here. Someone should write a musical about chorus boys and girls- I'd bet it would be a big hit. In any event, this light hearted acidic comedy soon dissolves into the depressing and morose middle section of the musical, which could easily be retitled: D.A.R.E- The Musical. The usual problems that plague bad musicals are all here: One dimensional characters, boring plots, expositional songs, songs which really have nothing to do with the musical, songs that stop the musical dead in its tracks (no pun intended) and then, of course, reprises of all those useless songs throughout the second act. However, Scott Schneider's score is actually quite good. The tunes were catchy, even if the lyrics were generic or nonsensical. I hope to hear him again someday in a better musical. There are moments of enjoyment in the show. One number especially, "Manipulation" comes together in a catchy, proto-Fosse way that manages to tell the audience something without bashing them over the head with it. Also, the last ten minutes of the play are fantastic- and completely out of context with the rest of the show. If book writer/lyricist Tim Aumiller really wanted to make the point he makes at the end of the show, he would not have given us such entirely pasteboard characters. If the show could only be as witty as it is in it's final moments (there's bit about "karma" in the final number that is absolutely hilarious) the creators of Dose might have a show that doesn't leave its audience wishing for the narcoleptic bliss seen onstage for themselves. As it stands now, when the fatty finally gets around to shooting up, I found myself muttering, "Well now, maybe she'll lose some fucking weight." Dose is playing through September 26th at the Kraine Theater (85 East 4th Street between 2nd and 3rd). Tickets are $15 and available through www.smartix.com or at the box office. Showtime is 7:30. www.dosethemusical.com

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posted by Japhy at 9/23/2003 09:11:00 AM || #

Advice for the High School Senior From the College Senior Hey there Senior! Congratulations, you're almost out of high school! You've taken your senior photo and now, if you haven't already, you find yourself spending each weekend at some new campus that tries to woo you with impressive talk about "academic rigor" and "fun dorm living!". You've eaten at more Sodexo cafeteria's than you can imagine and you've collected enough embossed informational folders to start a small stationary store, but little senior, I know how lost you really are. You have absolutely no clue what's going on and if you think you do, you're probably in even worse shape. That's why you have me: The College Senior. Oh sure, I'm probably not the best one to be giving advice. I'm not at Harvard and it's taken me five years to get here, but Lil' Senior, trust me. I've been to three colleges: the rural state school Plymouth State College (now Plymouth State University), the highly urban private wannabe-Ivy New York University (where I attended Tisch School of the Arts) and now I'm at my soon-to be alma mater, the public, ethnic and urban Brooklyn College, here in sunny Flatbush, Brooklyn. My instability is your gain. I've seen almost every kind of college set-up and met almost every kind of college student. I took two years off to work and still came back. Most of all though, like you, I came into college wanting to get something more out of the experience than simply a piece of paper. Here's my advice to you, the High School Senior: Don't go to a University. This is the strongest advice I can give anyone looking at an undergraduate degree. Universities are large and serve the needs of researching professors and graduate students. As an undergraduate, you will find yourself taking classes that are extremely large and taught by T.A.'s, not professors. Save the university for your grad degree, when you'll get the attention you deserve. A university may sound prestigious, but unless you are going for a specific program, skip it and choose a college instead. The only difference it will make when it comes time to graduate is that your recommendation letters will come from someone who actually knows you. Major in what you want. Students are constantly majoring in things they "think" they should be majoring in and wind up miserable. Major in whatever moves you. It's not as if you're going to actually wind up doing what you major in anyways, so you might as well do something you enjoy. What if you want to get into a good graduate program? A friend of mine did his undergrad at the University of Austin and then went to Harvard Law. He's making tons of money at a major law firm now. His undergraduate major? Cello Playing. Be an adult. I don't mean act mature (god forbid!) but the way to succeed among your friends and impress your teachers is to simply act like you have a handle on things. If you act like a lost little kid, that's how you'll be perceived. Everyone is terrified in the first few months of school, but if you fake confidence, you may actually build up some real confidence in the process. Pick a college town. The big city universities are great fun, but that's their downfall. While you should be focusing on wearing baggy t-shirts and plaid, the big city campus makes you think about being a grown-up far faster than you really need to be. It's hard to consider class all that important when you can get a job in your industry now. Some students excel at big city college life, just realize that it's more city life than college life you're getting. Get involved in campus activities, but have a life as well. Sure, if your campus is the only game in town, your life is going to revolve around it, but get some real world experience as well. Meet people who are not in your college. Take up a job. The campus can be a bubble that shelters you, but eventually you need to burst it open. Take a semester off. Better yet, take a year off. Go travel. Write a novel. Have a passionate affair with a Latvian archeologist. Whatever it is, do it now. Once you graduate, you will most likely never have the opportunity to do so again. Find a mentor. If there's a professor you adore or who infuriates you in a positive way or if you have a director, coach or boss who you really seem to click with, hang on to that person. Develop a real relationship with someone older and wiser and in your field and you'll be orders of magnitude ahead of everyone else. This might sound too Mrs. Robinson-esque, but trust me. My first and best mentor, Matt Kizer, of Plymouth State University, challenged me in ways I would have never challenged myself. I still email him now and then, two colleges later and his advice is always on the mark. Do what you want. The great thing about college is that you get to reinvent yourself and unlike high school people are going to be pretty much cool with that. Always dreamed of being a jock, but was labeled a wimp in high school. Go for it! Didn't do drama because you thought it was gay? Get over yourself and do a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta! Be who you want to be. Just, for god sakes, don't be boring. And one bit of advice about your last year in High School: Enjoy it! Those jerks that think they're the kings of high school? Four years from now, they'll still be living in the same town, doing some crappy job and talking about how cool high school was. Get close with your friends and cry like crazy when they leave, because year or two from now, you'll be lucky if you're still talking to three of them! So, don't be afraid of college. It's just like high school- only the classes are easier, you get to do whatever you want and the jerks are the ones everyone makes fun of. Excelsior!

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posted by Japhy at 9/16/2003 12:38:00 PM || #

This is General Wesley K. Clark. From NPR.com: "Clark was Supreme Allied Commander of Europe from 1997 to 2000. A West Point graduate, Rhodes Scholar, and decorated Vietnam War veteran, Clark was the director of strategic plans and policy for the Joint Staff at the Pentagon from 1994 to 1996 and lead military negotiator for the Bosnian Peace Accords at Dayton, Ohio, in 1995." This week, General Clark, a Democrat, will announce his candidacy for President of the United States. Oh yeah, he's also anti-war.

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posted by Japhy at 9/15/2003 12:37:00 PM || #

The War on Terrorism Count...It Keeps Growing and Growing and Growing... Hope you had a Happy Terrorism Day! I'm not going to write about September 11th specifically today. Suffice it to say that turning on my TV this morning, I saw a special news segment on "What Celebrities Were Doing on September 11th" in which I found out that Christian Slater called his agent to find out when his flight to New York...blah, blah, blah. I turned off the TV and felt sick, disgusted and dirty. I think there are a myriad of ways to remember this day. That was not an appropriate one. Here is my way: The War on Terror began on September 11th, 2001. Two years later, let's look in on how we're doing: I guess this means we're winning.

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posted by Japhy at 9/11/2003 05:33:00 PM || #

Our Dull tomorrow: The Latest Issue of Time Hails the Death of The Future Take a look at the September 8th issue of Time, a special report entitled What's Next- Our fearless forecasts in the worlds of Science, Medicine, Tech, Sports, Design, Movies and More.[Click here to see it online] The "Look into tomorrow" theme is certainly not a novel one, but what's so telling about America's favorite magazine's take on tomorrow is how close tomorrow is from now. Managing Editor James Kelly writes, " we decided to avoid fanciful long-term projections of what life might be like in, say, the year 2050...we decided instead to focus on the near future, to look at the trends that will make a difference later this year and in 2004." That's right. The future is next week. While groups like Daniel Hillis' Long Now Foundation urge to think of things on a cosmic scale of thousands of years, we have become a culture obsessed in quarterly, even weekly future. James Gleick chronicles this trend in his book, Faster: The Acceleration of Just About Everything, but the latest issue of Time seems to transcend mere overcaffinated myopia. In fact, in 104 pages, James Kelly seems to be telling Time readers that future, or at least the vision of the future as ultimate cultural carrot that drives society forward, is gone. The first half of the magazine is filled with full page spreads of the recent bombing in Najaf. Looking like an eerily familiar post-apocalyptic scene, men yell and struggle to pull bodies out of dust soaked cars. Rubble fills the streets and a man cries into his t-shirt. This could be last year, two years ago, the Middle Ages or Armageddon. Time folds in on itself in Time. Afghanistan is back (as if it ever went away), conspiracy theories about Saudi Arabia and American politicians smiling and riding motorcycles (John Kerry, to be precise) all seem to exist without any real historical context. This might be the now, but when sandwiched between a cover about the future, these events already look hazy and dim. With the war on terrorism a war that can never be won, it seems that the future, past and present have all collapsed into rubble, leaving us to sift through the eternal now. Once we get to the actual section on The Future, we don't find flying cars or even new gadgets. Instead, we meet Irma Zandl, a media consultant who's job is to spot the latest trends. Her guesses: iPod DJ parties, Latin Flava, and Burlesque. Burlesque, of course, as my savvy readers know, is so last year it hurts. She describes the people who set trends as 'alpha consumers' and then describes the process by which, creative original ideas are commodified and transformed into bland, soulless, politically harmless trends to sell to shoppers. Happy Future! Then there's a nice article that you've read thirty times already about the security risks this country faces and then a little dazzle article about NASA's new Martian golfcart. Shiny Future! What else does the future bring? Chinese basketball players (again!), talking dolls (again!) and cyberspace and real space will blend according to the perennially unbuilt Asymptote (who's most public project, a virtual Guggenheim was cancelled after the dot com crash wiped out funding). Brad Pitt will star in an epic- actually, The Epic- The Iliad and in the music world, black people will get back to their roots while white people will be more soulful and sensitive. The eighties are back in as a fashion-style. In short, it's last year all over again. Or 1955. Or 2050. Welcome to Tomorrow- Everyday.

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posted by Japhy at 9/09/2003 12:10:00 PM || #

Come Have a Happy Ending! Once a Chinese massage parlor (with release!) Happy Ending is now a hip, swank, soiree (with release!) Come celebrate the birth of one party and the death of another! At 8 p.m.: The Happy Ending Reading Series begins with music, magic and Rick Moody! Free. (details) At 10 p.m: Dean Johnson and Johnny McGovern say goodbye to their own Happy Ending party. I'll sure miss their weekly emails with their clever quotes. Not for the faint of heart or the broke- it'll set you back five bux. The location: Happy Ending Bar 302 Broome Street @ Forsyth; 212-334-9676 6; N, R to Canal Street or F to Delancey

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posted by Japhy at 9/02/2003 07:19:00 PM || #

An Open Letter to Daryl Lang (Which You Can Read Too) "I'm just writing to point out that the destination you describe in your "Gone Hikin'" entry sounds an awful lot like New *Hampshire*, not New York. But have a great trip, wherever the road takes you!" - Daryl Lang, regarding my most recent blog entry *Japhynote: Daryl Lang can be read every day at his stupendous journal @ www.daryllang.com Dear Daryl, How are you? I'm well. You're absolutely right. I was referring to New Hampshire, not New York. Truth of the matter, I was standing in the middle of a library web kiosk at Brooklyn College while writing that blog. Looks like I must have been a bit distracted by all the...books, since I clearly mistook one 'New' for another. You can't really blame me though, since I've lived in every 'New' state save New Jersey (gak!) so it's easy to get confused. I'm not surprised that you were the only one to notice though. New Yorkers probably believed that Mount Washington might as well be in New York for all they care- it's all upstate to them. As I was driving past Concord, I thought of you and your days at the Concord Monitor. While New Hampshire might be home to a thousand human interest stories (exactly one-thousand, in fact), I can't imagine the frustration you encountered in your search for real news in the Granite State. New Hampshire defies the concept of The Now. I had not been there in five years and the only qualitative differences about the state I could discern were that Plymouth State College is now a university and The Old Man in the Mountain (a.k.a. The Great Stone Face- which is more majestic sounding if you ask me) is now a pile of dust at the bottom of Mount Cannon. In any event, I'm rambling. What I wanted to tell you about, Daryl, was my trip up the mountain. Mount Washington, home of the worst recorded weather on Earth.....reachable by road, cog railway and by foot. My Dad had been bugging my brother Mo and I to go on a father-son summer trip for years. Inevitably, whenever the three of us camped together, it rains. My childhood father-son bonding memories are a permanent water-logged alblum of playing checkers on a mushy cardboard surface, pock-marked by rain dripping down the sides of the tent....or nights of falling asleep to the sound of rain hitting the windshield of our Aerovan while Dad slept next to me in the driver's seat, fully reclined, minimally comfortable. The rain never really concerned us all that much, to be honest. Rain on Father-Son Weekend had become like Snow on Christmas....only, more inevitable. Which is why we stayed at a condo. And there wasn't a drop of rain. Someday, what we will do is make reservations for a hotel, pay for it, check in and then make a mad dash for our tents and camp, hopefully fooling the great storm spirit, Ammonoosuc, into thinking we're at Holiday Inn and giving our camp trip the impossible dream of a dry, dry camp. Seriously, we're doing it. This is what I want to write to you about Daryl. I want to tell you about Ammonoosuc, who makes his home on Mount Washington, who is a creation of the Abenaki people, and who I met at about 9:30 a.m. on the 21st of August. So, Dad, Mo and I hit the trail at around seven o'clock. Ungodly, I know, but the air up there defies sleep, too thin to ever lull you into a sense of relaxation. Down at sea level, the air is soup, perhaps a chowder, really. Up in New Hampshire, the air is more like an abstract concept that you might run into time to time while traveling through empty space. So we start walking- Mo in front, my Dad behind me, carrying his walking stick with feathers he had found on trails past tied into the leather lanyard at the top. I'm in the middle and for the first hour or so, true to form, I don't shut up. Every thirty seconds or so, there is an arrangement of rock walls interspersed with peg-like trees and lit by the morning sun in such a way that surpasses any Hudson school painter. My mind races with the idea that once the world was all like this and what it would mean to come upon such grandeur for the first time. Which I was, but I mean, to be discover this. Which I did! But to be the first. Which I am in my own heart. I am the frontiersman and the guy who died before ever hitting the mountain and who have endured snow storm and death and bears only this time, this umpteenth first time, it is beautiful and I am reminded of paintings that everyone call 'impressionistic' because nobody gets out enough anymore. Nowadays we call the fantastic unbelievable and call a painting surrealist if it's colors are to vivid, it's contrasts too contrasty, it's reality too stupendous. (Aside: Great joke I heard this week- "Dadaists are just keeping it surreal") This is what I'm thinking about. I'm also thinking about how to write a nature poem in a way that doesn't reference the man-made. No "rivers like ribbons" or "vast canopy's of green", but rather to find ways of talking about the natural without turning it into a dressmaker's shopping list or an architect's glossary. I'm thinking about this and crossing the Ammonoosuc, which when not being a mountain or a great storm spirit, is also a river. This is a mad river, really more water falling off the side of a giant rock than actual river, with banks and shores and things. It goes barreling down the mountain like dragon's flames, only wet and white. We reach this perfectly amazing waterfall that looks like it took thirty zen monks fifty years to arrange in perfect harmony each tree, boulder and pool into a balance that expresses the One True Nature of All and then we go up. This is a staircase. My knees are up to my chest in each step, bah-dah, shuffle, bah-dah, shuffle. If it was steeper, I'd need climbing equipment. This goes on in short intervals for about twenty- thirty minutes and then something happens. The trail gets harder. I'm dying here and the trail gets harder and all the sudden I'm flying. Crossing the ever shrinking Ammonoosuc back and forth, splashing it's fucking way-too-early-in-the-morning water in my face and I'm laughing at the boulders and the way they have absolutely nothing to do with a trail at all other than that I'm making my way up and over them. I'm falling up the damn mountain! Fuck the cliche, I am the cliche and I'm dangerously close to becoming the guy I'm named after, but I don't care, really because this is the most incredible thing I have ever felt, as if my heart has become this giant metal thing slicing out of my body and reaching out to the valleys below, the ravines and gorges, to the water and moss and lichen beneath my feet and I'm giddy. I stop every few minutes and scream out into the valley below and my voice is just absorbed into the mountains and the forests. My hollars and whoops are just sucked in and Ammonoosuc is saying, "Yeah, baby, let it all out, you aint' gonna' get me riled up. You scream and you hollar and I'm just gonna take it allllllll in, you hear?" Rhapsody of stubby pines shrinking down from vertical towers into nothing, into moss and shrub and nothing. Into nothing and nothing and nothing. Man on rock. Man up rock. No man. No air. No rock. Just the demarcations, the line of where footprint hit stone. When traced: A lightning bolt in empty space. Thanks for listening Daryl. (Everybody else, too) -Japhy

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posted by Japhy at 9/02/2003 11:39:00 AM || #

Gone Hikin' Japhy will be spending the next week or so summering in the glorious White Mountains of New York. His goals are to climb Mount Washington, see Clark's Bears, swim out to the shark rock in our lake, go ride one of the rock flumes and see (or rather not see) the remains of the Old Man in The Mountain. He'll return next week, rested and hopefully capable of writing in the first person again. As a special treat, Japhy has invited his long time friend, Gregor, to write while he's absent. Hopefully, Gregor will be entertaining, but not more so than me. It's also possible, he'll flake out and write nothing at all. Again folks, you get what you pay for. Till then- Cheers!

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posted by Japhy at 8/19/2003 11:56:00 AM || #

Jerry's Kids Love Japhy. So Should You! Welcome back folks! I'm proud to announce that The Get Japhy His Clie Back Fund is more than a third of the way to its 300 dollar goal! Thanks to generous contributors who value the prose and puns of Japhy, his Clie is well on the way to becoming a reality! However, we still have a ways to go and we need your support...your support in greenbacks, that is. For those of you who don't know how to scroll down the page, Japhy lost his Clie in tragic circumstances and needs your help! Don't take my word for it, though. Here's celebrity philanthropist Jerry Lewis, here to tell you more: Freunleven Mister Blogger Reader Man! Japhy's Clie is serious business. He travels and moves about so often that without it, he forgets where to be, what to do and who to call. He's notoriously disorganized and without it, he spends his days being absolutely nutty. And I know nutty! Bwahhahaha! That's why I have cancelled my annual telethon to help out kids with muscular dystrophy, so that those dollars can go to Japhy. The kids, well- I know they look cute, but they're really brats. Drooling all over my lapels! Freunleven! Give the money to Japhy, instead. Guffaw Guffaw! Thank you Jerry. Remember, every person who donates money to the Fund receives a poem, especially written for them, created by Japhy himself! Don't delay! Think about how much Japhyjunket means to you. Great blogs like this take energy and resources to create. Show your appreciation now by clicking the button below and donating to The Get Japhy His Clie Back Fund. Even a dollar will get Japhy closer to his dream. Think of the children. Help Japhy out. You'll be glad you did.

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posted by Japhy at 8/18/2003 01:06:00 PM || #

I Heart Electricty Hey there folks- 9:12pm Causing people to cheer and holler out their windows, power just returned to my current location (25th Street and 8th Avenue) about ten minutes ago. Amid both the general community friendliness that marks New York and the price gouging done by markets and restaraunts as food supplies dwindled (I managed to snag some chicken from Chez Brigitte downtown, but most restaraunts are just serving drinks and chips) everyone seemed to survive the blackout fairly well. Personally, I think Bloomberg should turn off the power to the city one day every week as a cost cutting measure to save the budget. We can call it "Frontier Fridays" and we'll all learn a useful colonial skill. Me- I'll be dipping candles in my quaker boots. As you can tell, I'm a little punchy. I was in Flatbush, Brooklyn when the power went out and managed to snag a bus to Burrough Hall, which for those outside NYC, is downtown Brooklyn. From there, I walked with a classmate of mine across the Brooklyn Bridge, fighting the overwhelming tide of people coming out of Manhattan. They flooded not only the pedestrian walkways, but the roads as well, forcing automobiles to park fifty feet above the East River. Other exciting things to note about the blackout: - For probably the only time ever, you could see the stars (the literal kind, that is) above Manhattan. - Deli owners are the unsung heroes of our time. While most stores closed up and refused to open, the deli owners kept us all alive on potato chips and increasingly warm water and juice. Bringing us a taste of their homelands, New Yorkers wandered through the candle-lit delis and stood in lines that looked more like something you'd see in Communist China than in the 212. - I really wanted to go looting, but nobody would join me. Losers. - For the first twelve hours, having no power is a beautiful transcendentalist experience, where you can really ruminate on the state of Nature, both within yourself and in the world. After that, you start to want to hit people. So- while we still have no subway, no perishable food, and the smell of uncollected garbage piling up is wafting through the streets, I'm happily staring at this most remarkable new novelty of the modern age: the lightbulb. P.S.- If anyone needs anything to do, reads this soon and is in the Chelsea area- give me a call. We're gonna make it a Julianne Moore movie night and screen Safe and Vanya on 42nd Street on the kinetiscope!

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posted by Japhy at 8/15/2003 06:33:00 PM || #

See Me. Feel Me. Touch Me. Buy Me. Like Tommy, I'm a kid in need Hi there folks. Bad news. My Clie, which I love and adore, which stores all my phone numbers, ideas and notes, has been lost. You have no idea how I've looked all around for it. It's my own fault, I'll admit it- I was in such a rush to get to the orphanage to help out those poor little tykes, that I must have left it lying in my gym locker. So now, I'm without it and I'm sad. You don't want Japhy to be sad, do you? The Clie is a mere $300.00. Rather than wasting your money on the homeless and the destitute, donate whatever you can to the Get Japhy His Clie Back Fund. No amount is too small. In exchange, all donors will receive a poem written especially for them, by Japhy. Japhjunket has always been free. Think of all the joy and insight it has brought you over the years. Think about the cultural cache you have earned by being able to name drop me at society parties. Being a writer is a sad, lonely profession. My Clie was a small glimmer of sunshine slicing its way into the murky gloom of my heart. Won't you help me get it back? Together, we can make me happy.

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posted by Japhy at 8/13/2003 02:19:00 PM || #

Tiresias Speaks: Blind Items from a He-She Know-It-All Greetings Gossip Hounds, I've been working on a new blog for a while that will prove that the concepts of "Freedom" and "Liberty" are utterly meaningless and must be struck from the lexicon at once if we are to save democracy. It's a bit involved, and seeing as how we're in the dog days of August, when brains turn to fried eggs and concentration only musters its strength to order a Tanq and T, I thought that rather than try to repeal 250 years of democracy, I'd hold off for a bit. Instead I'll engage in some good ole' fashioned blind-item rumourmongering. With out further ado: What Broadway "Boy Wonder" does double duty down in the Bowery showing off his fuzzy puppet to anyone who knows that the number of the day is five? What Hollywood harthrob dujour has been cultivating a "silent and brooding" attitude with interviewers because his agent does it want it to slip out that this rising star started out as a poolboy for a big time producer? What neurotic Must-Read gossip columnist still has his octagenarian mother do his dishes- hates her for it and only wants help so he won't feel bad when she dies? What out of this world pop star tells the fellows that he likes it the way Andrew Sullivan likes it? What former MePa denizen is having so much trouble getting his sex up, that he's resorted to writing emails to everyone he's ever known to get someone to help him out? What reader of gossip-mongering blogs is doomed to sunburns, floods, poor leaders and the occasional rape at the hands (er..wings) of a swan? (hint: Look in the mirror, honey-child) Don't believe me? I'm Tiresias. Don't fuck with me or you're gonna wind up poking your eyes out. Off the record, on the QT, and very HUSH HUSH - Tiresias

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posted by Japhy at 8/11/2003 01:11:00 PM || #

A Call to Arms Dear Friends, I'd like to take this opportunity today to officially announce my candidacy for Governor of California. While rumours have been rampant over the past few weeks, it brings me great delight to say to you, and to the people of the Sunshine State (no wait, that's Florida...) um, the state with the bear on its flag, that I intend to throw my hat into the gubernatorial ring. Some of my opponents have questioned what qualifications I have to run for such an esteemed office. To them, I say this, " I too, like tacos, can speak in funny accents and can point out California on a map of California- as long as I have advisors nearby to help me out." I will run on a platform of advocating rights for mariachi bands and the establishment of the Walt Disney Corporation as the official replacement of the state legislature. I will also demand gifts to appease my savage will, and if they do not please me, I will eat you. In conclusion, I'd just like to say that I look forward to running against all my opponents and hope that you too, will join us and run for Governor of California. Viva la Revolucion! -Japhy

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posted by Japhy at 8/07/2003 08:06:00 AM || #

A Touch of Class: The O.C. is Good Dumb Summer Fun Ryan Atwood (Benjamin McKenzie) has it rough. He scored in the 98th percentile on the PSAT's, he looks like a dimpled, cuter and younger version of Russel Crowe and he has the biceps that come from hours spent at a high class gym perfecting them. The thing is, Ryan's guns weren't toned at some tony gym, but on the mean streets, where, in the opening moments of Fox's new teen drama The O.C., he finds himself arrested while helping his brother steal a car. The brainchild of Josh Schwartz, who at 26 is the "youngest person to ever create a TV series" according to Fox, The O.C. piles on the storylines fast and furious in its pilot episode which premiered last night. After being sent to juvie, Ryan is befriended by his public defender, played by the usual revolting but somehow endearing Peter Gallagher. After Ryan is released and sent home to his smoke-infused, peroxided, straight out of White Trash Central Casting mother who promptly kicks him out of the house, Ryan winds up being taken home by Peter Gallagher- home to The O.C. (ie: Orange County) that is. Why Peter Gallagher (I'm sure his character has a name, but really, does it matter?) takes Ryan home is something of a mystery. It seems that his motivations are partly altruistic and also partly because he wants to bring a taste of "the real world" into his beautiful upscale life. Once installed in the pool house (with views of the Pacific Ocean filling the all glass walls), Peter Gallagher seems to hope that like a cross between a lawn ornament and Jesus, this rough-hewn kid can bring some sense to this upper class life of his. Indeed, early on at a fashion party, someone asks Ryan what he thinks of Orange County. He replies, "I think I could get in less trouble where I'm from." There's a lesson to be learned there! Alright, The O.C. is over the top. In fact, I'll admit that every time I type "The O.C." out, I kind of want to vomit. However, as ridiculous as this show is (in the first episode we meet the next door girl that is in love with a meathead, but she's also an alcoholic whose friends leave her passed out in her driveway and her Dad is being investigated by the Feds, and Peter Gallagher's wife is concerned because, hey! she almost married this guy, but now he's married to a fashionista half his age and she's married to Peter Gallagher who, when not bringing home criminals or surfing is messing up his neurotic son's life, not that it needs messing up since the boy has already named his catamaran after a girl he is in love with, but has never met- and oh yeah, he's probably gay- or will be by season three) there seems to be a balance to it all. Hell, it's fun, it's goofy and amazingly, avoids being histrionic. The key to this is Benjamin McKenzie's performance as Ryan. He's silent. I mean, completely silent. He broods and occasionally beats people up. However, he manages to anchor the rest of the characters in something vaguely resembling a believable reality. The O.C. is worth watching, especially for anyone who grew up on Beverly Hills 90210. Is it dumb? Very. Is it vacuous? Puh-lease! Is it a good way to waste an hour? Please. Hot chicks, Hot boys, Scandals, Sex and Booze. What more do you want?

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posted by Japhy at 8/06/2003 08:42:00 AM || #

The Anti-Intellect or, Why Theorywankers Piss Me Off You meet them at loft parties in Brooklyn, or outside the Film Forum. They are young and most likely English or Film majors. They are universally apolitical. They are, or rather fancy themselves, the heirs of Bohemia and the Left Bank, and yet they are slavish in their devotion to the ideas of the past. Meet the Intellectual, who's forte is not the exploration of the mind, but the mastery of syntax. I should begin by pointing out that many of these self-styled Intellectuals are my friends, and I, for the most part, like them. They are decent people who happen to feel that a conversation is much deeper when it employs words like "meta", "post-structuralism" and "binaries". This doesn't make them bad people, exactly but, after years of enduring their tortured self-involved discourses on how my love of apple pie is a gastronomic dialectic between knee-jerk patriotism and oppressed self-oppression, I feel like I must speak out in defense of knowledge, wisdom and intellectual curiosity, the latter of which is the true enemy of the Intellectual. It is not the Intellectuals fault that they are self-absorbed, unoriginal and convoluted in their ability to reason. They are the children of post-structuralists like Lacan, Derrida and Foucault (pictured above). Post-Structuralism, for those who hate "isms", is essentially a reaction to Structuralism, which posited binary relations as the keys to understanding meaning (ie: good is good only in relation to bad). Post-structuralism set the stage for my Intellectual friends by arguing that meaning is always shifting and mutable, which is not necessarily a wrong idea in itself, but given to an undergraduate literature or film major who dives in to say, Derrida's On Grammatology, without ever having read Plato, and the meaning of the post-structuralist writer becomes convoluted (irony! ha!) and you have a bunch of theory-wankers sitting around thinking they're brilliant when they're not really saying anything at all. The problem with the Intellectual is that they are true Platonists without holding themselves up to the mental rigors and standards of a philosopher. They have made the fatal mistake of trying to apply an a priori system of logic to the real world. Their discussions, which sound deep when filled with an arsenal of carefully learned terms, are mere tautologies, often self-evident ones at that; which is to say nicely, their just engaging in mental masturbation. It wouldn't be so bad, if they were simply misguided, but the Intellectual (and the Intellectual is always in italics, you see), has no real interest in knowledge, wisdom or learning. They use the symbols of the intellect, but know none of its meaning. They have no use for such things at all. Their primary goal is simply to assert themselves as superior, and do so by adopting an arcane knowledge of specific vocabulary, and though they speak it pidgin, since the outsider is not in on the code, nobody is the wiser. These are the same folks who learn the most obscure bands, films and books joylessly, memorizing details not out of a love or passion for the work, but out of a desire to use this knowledge to gain the upper-hand in any debate. "Oh, you haven't seen The Three Thistlebrock Sisters Project?", says The Intellectual. "Well you really need to see it. Then you'll understand what I'm talking about." It's this tactic that The Intellectual employs time and time again, and his or her victim has no recourse but to feel as if they are simply not cultured enough. A true Intellectual would never do any of those things. He would constantly ask questions and often admit to not knowing. She would be curious about what others thought and also about how much she really knows. He would realize that if you can not paraphrase an idea in your own words then you truly do not know it. Relying on the language of the past does not make you a leading light of your age, but a dim fading candle to be blown out by the winds of the past. The Intellectual is the modern day Anti-Stratfordian, believing that no idea can really be useful unless it is gussied up in noble foppery. Just at the Anti-Stratfordian believes it is impossible that Shakespeare was commoner, the Intellectual refuses to believe that any idea that has not been codified is worthwhile. Like all true aesthetes, their code of view is expressed not in ideas, but in their clothes, the things they own and the places they love. They are suburban kids making poverty into a pose, not only denying their own perfectly mulched and fertilized sod heritage, but making a mockery out of the lower classes they appropriate, gentrify and oppress. They call themselves artists but create nothing. Their art, such that it is, seeks out the original and criticizes it, generalizes it and make sit the object of their scorn through the tired "lens" of irony. How many young saplings have the Intellectuals crushed in their effort to turn the Earth into an intellectual mega-mall parking lot? There must be a better way. For the Intellectual it may be too late, but do not let their pretension and insecurity stymie the rest of our minds. They have made their secret club; let the rest of us have open and lively talks, filled with passion and not pretense, dynamic differences and not dogma and new ideas, rather than the garbled echo of minds past. Let us view fellow men and women not as significations of our own psyche, but rather as living beings of heart and mind and work towards a community of open doors where past and present mingle to make future. I have no use for the dry pages of dust which have shackled my Intellectual friends. I seek the living word. Note: This blog has been updated since it was first posted

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posted by Japhy at 7/26/2003 09:05:00 AM || #

Japhy is Having More Fun Than You Are One never knows what will happen at Fiammi. Rather than talk about the party, per se- let's focus on this photo of the party- ya know, as a piece of art. Fantastic composition, yes, the use of color sublimely restrained and the subjects are at once beautiful and horrifying. Let's break it down shall we? From left to right, we begin with T.Sammi. Her face draws us in with its beguiling smile, yet look into her eyes- is that fear, is it embarrassment we see? "What's that purrty gal with the pre-Raphaelite hair worried about?", asks Cletus, the slack-jawed art connoisseur. She's like the Mona Lisa. She's got a secret and that secret is that she's sober. Foolish Sammi, hasn't anyone told you that your inhibitions and fear melt away in the sweet baths of liquor? Next to Sammi is someone who clearly knows the bottle well. Look at his rugged, manly physique, poking through and held aloft by a bevy of arms. A more discerning viewer will notice that Sammi, for all of her nervous wariness is, in fact, holding my ass! Truly, a greater contrast between Apollonian serenity and Dionysian squalor the world has never seen. Is my mouth open in pleasure or pain? Oh the duality! Perhaps, as we move to our right and take Dyann into the picture, we can reassess this image as something of a Bacchanal Piéta. Dyann here becomes the Mother Mary, holding the Christ-like (well, emaciated) body of Japhy in a tender, motherly embrace. Sammi then becomes an Angel of God, pulling me heavenwardd by holding my ass. And then of course, Denver, just right of Dyann, becomes a demon, pulling me down into the fiery depths, cackling all the while. And in the fiery pits of hell resides the cool, very very evil, pink-gingham wearing Overlord of Darkness herself- Satan...or Laura, as the case may be. If only Michelangelo could have sculpted such intertwining, sinewy madness, he would have achieved the greatness that the artist of this masterpiece, who is, as you may have guessed, none other than the dear darling, spawn-mother of my children, Fiona. Truly, Fi- you have created a work for the ages. It's also entirely possible that drunkards should just be kept away from cameras, because, Jimminy Cricket, they act like fools.

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posted by Japhy at 7/23/2003 09:33:00 AM || #

Theatre Review: Avenue Q: A Beautiful Play for our Neighborhood There are so many superlatives I want to throw at Avenue Q, currently in previews and opening July 31st at the Golden Theatre, that I risk burying my message underneath a mountain of adulatory roses, so let me begin simply: Go see this musical. It is by far the best thing on Broadway and the most exciting and heart-warming piece of theatre I have ever seen on the Broadway stage. With a cast that has the committed passion that the original cast of Rent had when that show first moved to Broadway, a cleverness that is sarcastic, but never caustic and relevance to real life that most "serious" dramatists can only aspire to, this is the musical to see if you don't like musical theatre. In fact, there is not a person I know who I could not guarantee will enjoy this show. As you may have noticed from the posters canvassing town, Avenue Q stars puppets. Yes, it's Sesame Street for twenty-something's. The brainchild of Robert Lopez, Jeff Marx, and Jeff Whitty, Avenue Q is about my friends, your friends, and all the people you meet at your local neighborhood dive bar. Our hero (and a puppet), Princeton, has just graduated from college and moves to Avenue Q to find his "purpose". With the help of his neighbors, which include a closeted Republican, a sweet sensitive monster, and Gary Coleman, Princeton learns some Important Life Lessons- as is evidenced by song titles like "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" and "The Internet is for Porn". This is one of those shows that could easily dissolve into too-clever-for-its-own-good winking. That it doesn't is due in a large part to the infectiously spirited and emotionally honest cast, both the human "friends" and the puppeteers themselves. John Tartaglia, the puppeteer for Princeton, is a standout. He's sweet without ever becoming saccharine and easily wins you over with his honesty and affection. Too often Broadway appeals only to the "theatre crowd" and ignores the other groups that make up this city, especially, well- me. Avenue Q is the musical of our generation. Go see it. Avenue Q is now playing at The John Golden Theatre (252 W. 45th Street). Tickets are $20 - $86.25 and available at the box office or through Tele-charge at 212-239-6200. Special Rush ticket lottery: Prior to each performance, a limited number of first row orchestra seats will be sold via lottery at the theatre for $21.25. Potential ticket buyers are asked to line up in front of the theatre and print their own name and the number of tickets requested on a card provided. Duplications will be disqualified. Cards are available starting at 5:30pm for 8pm shows and 11:30am for 2pm matinees. There is a limit of one card and two tickets per person. Daily drawings will be held two hours prior to each performance. After the names are drawn, eligible ticket buyers will line up at the box office window to show proper identification to purchase their tickets. At the conclusion of the lottery, no additional $21.25 tickets will be available for that performance.

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posted by Japhy at 7/21/2003 01:44:00 PM || #

Get Ready for The Fireworks How a universally ignored issue has suddenly become an election flashpoint. If you had asked anyone six months ago what the major issues going into the 2004 elections would be the answers would most likely be the usual: the economy, social security and healthcare. Today, bewilderingly and seemingly out of the blue, one issue seems to be shaping up as the fulcrum on which all candidates must teeter, and inexplicably, it's the one issue that's been hiding furthest back in the closet of American politics: gay rights. In a little over a month Canada has legalized same-sex marriages, the Supreme Court has handed down a stunning decision in Lawrence vs. Texas that states that the government has no right to legislate in the bedroom and Wal-Mart, America's #1 retail chain, has included gay workers in their anti-discrimination policies. Most likely, before this month is out, Massachusetts will be the first state in the Union to grant marriage rights to same-sex partners. What's most telling is that most of the country is rather non-plussed by the whole thing. The two groups most in shock: The Christian Right and gay people. The group with the most to lose: The candidates for president come 2004. What makes gay rights such a major issue is that it is merely a focus for a much larger debate going on in America between the Red and the Blue. While it's true that the two parties have become virtually indistinguishable in their policies, their spirits have never been further apart. The conservatives see America as something defined by its values while the liberals see it as a country defined by its freedoms. Gay rights is merely a convenient field to wage the battle upon. To the conservative, gay rights, and especially gay-marriage, are incompatible with the American way of life, which they feel is assaulted on all fronts. This Mom and Apple Pie Politics is obsessed with making America safe- safe for its children, which is shorthand for "safe for our innocent way of life". To the liberal, gay-rights are the logical extension of the civil rights movements of the 60's. The core tenant of the liberal is that the more freedom and choice we grant to the individual, the more freedom and choice our society will gain on the whole. The gay rights movement crystallizes these fundemental differences in our political parties and so becomes the focus of much debate in the coming months. Because the "gay question" so clearly illuminates where a politician's heart truly lies, the question is the last one a politician wishes to address. Clinton was the first president to raise the gay issue, but while observing Gay Pride Month, he also managed to institute the disastrous "Don't ask, Don't tell" policy that led to en-masse discharges of service men and women based on their orientation. Clinton also signed into law the Defense of Marriage Act, which allows states to ignore civil unions performed in other states. That law now looks to be unconstitutional under the Supreme Court's Lawrence vs. Texas decision. Bush has two-stepped the issue by making small overtures to homosexuals (appointing gays in various positions) while appeasing the right by defending heterosexual unions as the only legitimate kinds of unions. If there's anyone who could most be harmed by the gay issue, it's Bush. His Big Tent will collapse no matter how he responds to the gay issue. If he comes out against it, right wingers will applaud, but he will lose those in the center who don't wish to appear to be homophobes. Even Cheney, who has a gay daughter, supports states rights to create civil unions. If he chooses to support gay-marriage, he will lose the support of the far right, which Bush can not afford to do. In the past, this issue could be easily diced into various conflicting policies, that while pleasing nobody, offended nobody as well. In the wake of the sweeping changes, this time he will be unable to get away with not making a stand- one way or another. This all begs the question- Why now? What has happened to make gay-marriage (for that's the ultimate battle) come to the forefront? What radical change has occurred in our country? A May Gallup poll shows the country is split 49 to 49 on the question of granting marriage to same-sex couples, however, as the Village Voice reports, "when Gallup took a step back and asked whether gay people should receive the fundamental protections of marriage, such as Social Security benefits, approval jumped to 60 percent." Is it possible that America, after so many nights of watching Will & Grace on TV has just gotten used to the idea of gay people? Is it possible that, because gay men and women no longer hide who they are, most straight people now know somebody in their lives who is gay? Has gay become boring for middle America? The changes that are sweeping across the courts and board rooms of this nation are not changing the world we live in, they are changing to reflect the world that we do live in. There is an endgame to all of this- and it's coming sooner than later. The laws regarding gay-marriage and gay-rights are currently incompatible with each other. Either gay men and women are fully consenting adults with the same equal rights as their straight countrymenin regards to visitation, custody, social security, etc... Or, they are persona non-grata. Congresswoman Marilyn Musgrave, a Colorado Republican, has reintroduced a Constitutional amendment that would define, once and for all, marriage as a thing between a man and a woman. Gay advocates are already preparing their strategies to bring the gay marriage question before the Supreme Court. It's a zero-sum game. Either the United States will allow gay marriage or it will ban it. It's a road who's end is coming up shortly and it's a road no candidate can stand on the side of- not anymore. P.S.- While my pseudo-dispassionate tone clearly favors one side over the other, I do not want to give the impression that I, in any way, support the rights of The Anna Nicole Show fashionista Bobby Trendy. I will glaldy queer-bash Bobby Trendy any day. You hear that, you pock-marked, gloss-lipped little twerp? BASH YOU. I fully support any legislation which involves flaying Bobby Trendy alive. If there's one thing that all Americans can rally around this day, it should be are unforgiving hatred forBobby Trendy. Somebody should fly an airplane into that guy.

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posted by Japhy at 7/04/2003 12:01:00 AM || #

Brockobitch Yes, I hate just blindly linking people to other sites (after all, you should be paying attention to ME!), but Wagner James Au's piece in Salon about Julia Roberts love of the hardcore violence videogame Halo, is just too funny to resist. So here's to Deathmatch, Julia Roberts-style

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posted by Japhy at 7/02/2003 01:17:00 PM || #

Katharine Hepburn: 1907-2003 It was only two weeks ago I sat in my Modern Drama class watching the film adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey Into Night. Onto the screen stumbles a frail looking woman, frail but for her chin, which thrust outward as if decreeing by sheer will the nobility of this frozen, fractured woman. The character of course, is Mary Tyrone, a dope fiend. The woman playing her- Katharine Hepburn. Just say the name and you're likely to give a small, almost imperceptible wobbly twitch to your head, your mouth curving upward with a knowing, almost confrontational smile. My first encounter with Katharine Hepburn was watching Desk Set with my mother. It's, I believe, the only film that both she and I agree is universally brilliant. You see, Hepburn plays the head of an Information Department and Spencer Tracy plays an efficiency expert who comes into install the Eniac 5000- a big vacuum tube computer. Hepburn and her gals are convinced "Enny" (as Tracy calls the computer) is there to replace them- and of course...Well, you'll just have to see it yourself. As many of you know, one of my favorite genre's of film is the screwball comedy, which has been lost to the ages. Two of the best, The Philadelphia Story and Bringing up Baby were made by Hepburn's shrewd, wickedly funny performances. It's funny that she's passed away on Gay Pride Day, which commemorates the anniversary of the Stonewall riots, which were set off by the death of another screen legend, Judy Garland. I've always thought that Hepburn was, if anyone should be at all, a far better female icon for the gay movement than Judy. Judy dreamed of going over the rainbow, but wound up in loveless marriages ringed with booze and pills. Katharine, on the other hand, famously wore pants and for years claimed her brother's birthday as her own. Tom Hepburn died at 16, having hung himself by a rope. Katherine was the one who found him. She had her tragedies, she too was caught in a love that could not be public (with the married Spencer Tracy) and yet, this woman- no- this Woman, throughout it all remained dignified, witty and never left a soul without a doubt that she was the one in control. While Judy was a diva, Katharine Hepburn, on screen and in real life, was one of the most talented, socially challenging, rule-breaking, ball-busting, dignified women of all time. Her movies include Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?, Rooster Cogburn, The Glass Menagerie, The African Queen, Woman of The Year, On Golden Pond and The Lion in Winter. Her persona and her characters have been the inspiration for easily a half-dozen characters I've written, but I doubt I will ever come close to matching on pulp, the rich, bold and amazingly vibrant ribbon that was the life of Ms. Katharine Hepburn.

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posted by Japhy at 6/29/2003 09:28:00 PM || #

Hulk Smash! The metaphysics of the monster In a perfect world, Ang Lee's "Hulk", which opened in theatres yesterday, would be nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars. Lee set out to raise the action-blockbuster genre to a new level and he's succeeded brilliantly. I haven't been this jazzed by a movie in a very very long time. From Danny Elfman's nearly perfect score, filled with ever more urgent crescendos, to the fantastically Brechtian use of comic book panel inspired layers to the fact that "Hulk" is at once a treatise on the limits of free will AND a great big green smash fest makes my little geek heart soar. Many critics have been complaining that the movie is emotionally uninvolved. There's some truth to this, but it's deliberate. Lee wants us to be observers, for if we were emotionally connected with He-Who's-Literally-Too-Big-For-His-Britches, then we wouldn't see him for the outsider he truly is. This movie is deliberately cerebral and the mad editing is designed to keep us always at a distance from the characters: a movie of ideas, not heart strings. The Hulk is a character besieged by his own limitations: a missing past, a genetic deformity passed on by his father (Nick Nolte, who despite at one point literally chewing the scenery, is one of the most fascinating screen villains of all time) who loves him both as Daddy and Mad Scientist in love with his own Frankenstein, and most of all by the limits he puts on himself as Bruce Banner (Eric Bana), a man who, even though he is adopted, has managed to wind up in the same field as his creepy, dog-lovin' Dad. There is a moment when Banner's sweetheart Betty (Jennifer Connelly, who takes the girlfriend sidekick to places far more dangerous than you would expect) confronts Banner's Dad about the horror he's brought on his son and the elder Banner replies, "It has nothing to do with him. It never has. I wanted to improve on the flaws inside of me. In me! Isn't the search for truth? To find out what our true nature really is?" While wildly Oedipal, this is a story more about the fact that despite our dreams to the contrary, human beings are a limited, ever-fallible race. If only we could Hulk-out and be free of the limits life has put on us- and it's in the scenes where the Hulk finally embraces his inner monster that the movie, literally soars. As the Hulk jumping-bean bounces across Monument Valley, for a brief moment we are allowed to ride along with him, as he listens to the wind flapping across his massive green body and the Earth below look like some strange abstraction of the mind. Our heart soars with him as we for a moment, get a taste of what it might truly be like to be free- and then the Apache helicopters start firing rockets at the green meanie and once again, we're just a small limited race fucking up on a tiny little planet. If that's not the stuff of tragedy, what is? PS- For those interested, I haven't been blogging becuae I've been working on a new play. I'm going to try to post at least once a week for now on, so there will be new content. Promise :^)

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posted by Japhy at 6/21/2003 02:18:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged : im not dead will explain all soon much to tell

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posted by Japhy at 5/13/2003 03:42:00 PM || #

Sunday Brunch @ Japhyjunket: Damien Rice Ed Note: Sunday Brunch is an occasional series focusing on the things in life that justify humanity's continued existence. Like Brunch. I've been sitting here for the past five minutes trying to think what magic words I have to say to get you, gentle reader, to go out and buy Damien Rice's CD this very instant. First, I thought I'd write, "If I was forced to have to spend eternity forever listening to the same albulm on repeat, Damien Rice's "O" would be the one I'd pick". My next attempt was, "The only thing that seperates Damien Rice from John Lennon and Bob Dylan is that John and Bob's debuts weren't nearly as smart, mature or as heartfelt as Damien's." I'd go on, but the truth is, it's only a matter of time before this small-framed Irish lad with the baby face full of whiskers blows you all away. It only takes one listen to fall under his spell. I'll prove it to you- go download the single "Volcano" from his website. Do it now. I'll wait. No, really. Go do it. This is why Al Gore invented the Internet, after all. Told ya so. Damien Rice's 'O' will be released in the U.S. June 3.

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posted by Japhy at 5/04/2003 12:14:00 AM || #

Everything's Coming up Ben Brantley He-Who-Makes-Great-Shows-Close-With-A-Flick-of-His-Pen, New York Times theatre critic Ben Brantley, has delivered a gorgeous, big wet, sloppy kiss to the perennial Bernadette Peters and her new show, a revival of that Sondheim classic, Gypsy. The show, which opened last night, had been plagued by rumors that it would be a huge tremendous failure and that Ms. Peters was to blame, however with Bentley's review, which begins, "You can tear down the black crepe, boys. Take the hearse back to the garage, and start popping Champagne corks. Momma's pulled it off, after all — big time", you can be assured that Gypsy is now the must-see hit of the season. Hell, the review has not only instantly guaranteed Peters the Tony, the show will now sweep the awards. Mr. Brantley, who single-handedly closed one of my favorite shows in less than two weeks after its opening, Wrong Mountain, has used his mighty power to make the Sam Mendes-helmed Gypsy into a star. He's the Mama Rose of American Theatre. Read the rest of his review here.

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posted by Japhy at 5/02/2003 09:26:00 AM || #

Burn Westford Boy, Burn! X2 Opens Nationwide, Giving my High-School Hometown, at Long Last, a Hero I first really noticed Aaron Stanford, who plays Pyro in the new X-Men flick opening today, back in 1995. I was at the Roudenbush Community Center in my adopted hometown of Westford, MA to see my acting coach's production of Equus. The production was something of a seminal moment for me. I had always considered the theatre world to be the kind of place that overweight girls with vocal talent went to have chandeliers dropped on their heads. That night, however, I saw Aaron playing opposite my German teacher, Herr Joyce, manically repeating over and over again the name of his character's self-created god, a giant virile equine creature represented by actors wearing open-faced steel horse masks. The play, by Peter Schaffer, opened up new doors to me as to what Performance (capital intended) could be. Here was a theatre that engaged the mind in a way that made your heart beat faster. It was the beginning of a journey for me.\ Truth be told, I never knew Aaron all that well. I talked to him a few times throughout high school, but that was it. He has since gone on to obviously big things, including the lead role in Tadpole, which is sort of an Igby Goes Down lite. However, this is not a "look how I'm vaguely associated to a celebrity-to-be" blog. Instead, I'm going to talk about Westford and why, for some reason, it has created a group of people very different from most towns. Westford was, until recently, a small farming town just past Concord, MA. It's biggest claim to fame is that Paul Revere forged the school bell and his son went to Westford Academy, which nowadays, is a public school. Like many New England towns, one of the houses on the green has a "Washington slept here" plaque and just down the road a small granite block with a raven cut into it lets people know that Edgar Allen Poe has slept in town as well. Like any town much like the one's surrounding it, it has developed over time it's own myths and legends. The Scottish Knight is a poorly carved pictograph that either proves that the Europeans were in America centuries before Columbus or a clever 19th century schoolboy prank. National Geographic has apparently been planning a documentary on it for the past thirty years or so. Part of the town used to be a summer cottage village for wealthy Bostonians, but has since become a year-round community. Known with typical Yankee frugality as "Nab", this area is considered "the bad side of the tracks" by the kids who live there and many of them aimed for a ghetto aesthetic in high school. It was a typical joke for neighboring Chelmsford kids to make that they would go down to Nab to see the drive-by apple shootings. The town has successfully fought off Wal-Mart, but succumbed to Applebee's and Chili's. The school mascot is the Grey Ghost. When it was co-opted by the LGB alliance, people started calling it the Gay Ghost. All in all, typical New England quirkiness ala Stephen King. I can't speak for everyone, but my experience living there was all in all, a strange one. First off, the kids were loaded with talent. I didn't realize it at the time, simply assuming the whole world was like Westford, but pound for pound, Westford students were frighteningly creative and this was not a town that even vaguely encouraged creativity. There was literally nothing to do and while this breaded in us a deep apathy towards everything, including ourselves, few schools had students with such an optimistically cynical world view. Westford kids, on the whole, disdained any kind of "look-at-me!" success or achievement. You can see this attitude in Aaron's website, which he shares with his brother and which, even now, includes his acting resume. You can see it in WBCN DJ and Westford alum Andy Hick's blog, which has comments like "Well, it's happened again - Easter's fallen on the same day as Hitler's Birthday, the anniversary of Columbine, Waco, and the Oklahoma City bombing. It's almost enough to put you off your chocolate bunny." Hell, even our class valedictorian had her cherry popped at Rocky Horror. I used to really hate Westford. It was dull, dull, dull. The thing is, all that dullness seems to have made many of us, wildly open to creating our own fun. In high school, I remember some bored after-school drama club kids deciding to become velociraptor's (okay, fine, I was one). After naming each other "Bob" or "Gertrude" (because "Xorax the Terrible" is a stupid name for a velociraptor), we went around the cafe (pronounced kaf) "mauling" people, which involved effeminately brushing someone with our hand while bouncing up and down. When our Dean came in, we mauled her as well. She asked us what we were doing and of course we told her that we were velociraptor's and we were mauling her. She looked at us warily and then backed away. Pure Westford. Boredom breeds ironic velociraptors. Since I've left, the boring cinderblock school has been renovated into Bayside High, the town has started a cultural center and property values have tripled. They even have a hometown celebrity to rally around. I imagine the kids at good ole' W.A. have a lot more to do now, but I can't help wondering if velociraptor's still roam the halls.

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posted by Japhy at 5/01/2003 10:33:00 PM || #

I Just Looked in the Mirror and My Hair Looks Like Daryl Hannah ala Bladerunner and I've heard this Damn Beck Song ("Lost Cause") 32 Times in the Last Three Hours. Ah, May Day: That verdant time of year when dirty Communists join hands with flaky Wiccans and dance around the traditional May Day statue of Lenin tonguing Beltane, He Who Works The Way Of Life. In the poorly paraphrased words of Russian funnyman and Branson celebrity, Yakov Smirnov, "What a holiday!". Incidentally, Yakov recently performed two (count em'!) TWO shows on Broadway (brought to you by The Roundabout Theatre Company- The Roundabout: If We're Not Changing around our season for no reason, then we are selling out- OR YOUR MONEY BACK!). My theory behind "Yakov Smirnov: LIVE on Broadway" was it was put up simply so Mr. Smirnov will now return to his Yakov Smirnov Theatre in Branson and will forevermore be introduced as "Direct from his Broadway appearance, iiiiit's Yakov!". But, I digress. Let's return to the topic at hand. Which was? Oh, yes: Sleep. Sweet sweet sleep. It's almost five in the morning now and while I sorely wish my play was finished, it is not to be. It will be there for me tomorrow, staring at me with it's beady black and white Courier-font eyes. Kids, never become a writer, for words in the end are as hollow as a Commies' revolutionary promise, as irritating as a neo-pagan's skyclad smudgestick ritual, and when you want words to be funny, they give you Yakov Smirnov. (insert sound of head crashing onto keyboard now) That sound- for those interested in the rubrics of onomatopoeia- that sound is "Ouf". By the way: It was recently mentioned to me that my blog makes me sound like I am not enjoying myself while writing these blogs. Well guess what bunions, I'm not. There is a person who I met off the internet and they have worked their way into my life, stealing my credit cards, stealing my identity, and threatening to end my brief brief life unless I continue writing blogs. It's like "Misery", but without Kathy Bates' pleasingly plump bedside manner. More details to follow. Is this the lead in to an online whodunit blog mystery, you ask? You bet.

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posted by Japhy at 5/01/2003 02:02:00 AM || #

Mem'ries...That's What Malt Liquor Is Foooooor... In which our intrepid Birthday Boy (ME!) does his best to remember his special day April 28th, 7:49 a.m. (EST): Your beloved Japhy first entered into this realm of existence, shedding light and poorly executed blogs onto this fair fair little planet. The year was 1979, Jimmy Carter was in charge (heh heh) and Ma Japhy (the first name being the ancestral signifier in my clan) looked upon her darling bouncing blue-haired boy and turned to Pa Japhy and said "When's 'Welcome Back Kotter' on next?" Flash forward twenty-four long years. Now back up two days, since nobody celebrates their birthday on a Monday. Now, for those who couldn't make it (Jill- I'm looking at you. Teleportation troubles my lily-white ass!) I'm going to recount my birthday party for you. Unfortunately, I remember none of it (or at least that's the conceit this blog is based on), but I just got back from the one-hour photo lab, where the disposable cameras that I gave to my Smizmar and Mme. Producer-Face (nicknames make other feel excluded!) have come back. Their job: To document my party for posterity. So, without further ado, I will tell you what happened on my birthday, based on what these telling documents provide. Roll #1: We start with Mr. Producer-Face's roll. It looks like I started the evening by being blinded by a big white flash of light. More accurately, it seems my shoulder was the target, snappily outfitted in a herringbone jacket that appears to fit just right. Next, I am sitting on a bench next to my Smizmar (Google it, if you must). My Smizmar is smiling smarmily, I look on in terror. Next it appears I was in some kind of tropical forest with chandeliers. The men (and there are a lot of them, it seems) are all dressed either like extras for "Rushmore" or an Annie Lennox video. Strange. Wherever could this place be? It seems then that I attacked Mr. Producer-Face, beer in hand in hand in mouth, who was busy telling people, "I know what you are" (It's coming back to me). Next people around me, people like Fiona and Sammi and Dyann and her long-lost-brother Denver, all drink. And here's some more pictures of people drinking. And some more. Sammi drinking. Dyann drinking. Little plastic red straws in little plastic cups. My drinks were all in glass. And Fi called my drink (a gin and tonic), "bourgeois"! Whatever plastic cup girl! Oh, here's some more shots of people drinking. My Smizmar looks drunk and is giving the hang-ten sign. Go Wildcat Go! There's an awful picture of me here. I look like a crackhead. Actually, in all these pictures, I look like a crackhead. More drinking pics. Oh look! My Smizmar is necking Fiammi (no small feat, come to think about it, considering the nature of Fiammi). Some Smizmar you are. Next, I'm outside smoking with my former roommate, Ms. Bette Davis. (You're still reading this?) I look like a crackhead, but it looks like someone gave me a rose. Was it Bette? No, no- Ms. Davis only brings herself, and that's enough. She talks about how she is dating an eighteen year old and how he thinks she's a homophobe. Poor Bette. Next, I am drinking again. Ah- here we enter into a series of shots. It seems I was serenaded by a group of Amazons. Large, statuesque Amazons in heels.Picture after picture. Why, Mr. Producer-Face seems to have gone crazy with taking pictures of these statuesque creatures. So very many pictures. All this film. It seems Mr. Producer-Face loves those Amazons. Thank God, I have all these pictures of Amazons to remind me of my birthday. Oooh, look! drunk people that I know! They're all having the kind of fun that comes from a .09 blood-alcohol level! Huzzah! Roll #2: On to my Smizmar's photo's. My Smizmar , being a professional Smizmographer, manages to get the smizography in focus far more than Jared..er- Mr. Producer-Face. There's some photo where I am in shock. I think it has something to do with one of the Amazons. Perhaps it was Hedda Amazon. Oh look, my Smizmar is taking photos of himself! There's Denver, Fiona and Sammi each in a pose that perfectly encapsulates their personality. If only I had decided to get the Photo CD, you could see what I mean. They all look great! I'm really white it seems. So chalky. Do I really look like this? God, I'm old and white! It gets better though- because now, I am singing. But not really singing, because I am drunk and this is karaoke. Somehow I manage to turn "Suddenly Seymour" into a hard rock song. What the hell is musical-theatre doing at my party?!? There's so much beer on the karaoke table, but look, look, Jared drinks it all down. I look so weird. Everyone else looks great. I'm a freak, I'm a chalky, white, old, freak! To hone in the point, my Smizmar and Producer-Face sing me a finale of, "Space Oddity", showing me that the path of all chalky white, old freaks. Dyann, seeing a buxom young woman in lycra on the karaoke screen, screams out, "That's Ground Control!" That's Ground Control indeed, Dyann. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget all of you who came to my 24th! Except for Charlie, since he's only in one blurry picture and is half-cut off. I'll forget you. The rest of you, however- thank you so much for making my birthday so unforgettable. Now that I had these rolls of film developed, that is. Fer the record- I loved loved loved loved loved my birthday party and loved loved loved all who attended for making it so great- even Jared! P.S.- For a more cogent description of my bday celebration, I suggest you check out Ms. So-Much-Modern-Time, who I am forever indebted to. I owe you taquitos galore!

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posted by Japhy at 4/28/2003 05:08:00 PM || #

A Day Late For Shakespeare* Here in this seasons melancholy winter'd spring, My roach-filled room and convalescents robe becomes the scene by which I play out a plotless tale of self-reckoning. Where Stratford's long-dead son's the mirror I think most keen, Most like in Plato's form, to that future thing I long to be, Or not; more likely just a younger versions daydream of quilled keyboard skills that have no bearing on impotent me. You've become a bronze-hewn statue and an idolater is what I seem. Born the date you died, a lousy worshipper, I miss the mark by a day and bring your feastly offering too late, a dish now served cold, So your bright candle's spark will surely fail to light my way. Thoughtless, thankless, I will depart from your folio's temple fold. If I must choose between slavish love to your storied everlasting flame and nothingness, I'll forget you Will, take to the storm, and seek out my own quicksilver fame. *Shakespeare's birthday/deathday was April 23rd. Yesterday.

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posted by Japhy at 4/23/2003 09:35:00 PM || #

Dirty Girls Come Clean A big day for feminist entertainment: "Spirited Away" is released on DVD and "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer" airs the first of it's finale-arc episodes. Inevitable comparisons follow. In Hayao Miyazaki's brilliant Oscar-winning animated epic, "Spirited Away", out on DVD today, a bored ten year old girl finds herself in a world where she must confront horrific and wondrous creatures and in doing so, finds her own inner power and and joy for the world. In Joss Whedon's seven-year long show, "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer", which begins its five part finale tonight, a spirited young girl finds herself in a world where she must confront horrific and morally ambiguous evils and in doing so, finds her inner power and loses her soul. These two heroine's, Chihiro and Buffy, both represent a neo-feminist vision of girl power, where women are warriors without being Amazons, but they achieve their ends through wildly different means. Both begin their journeys as typical girls, more or less, but while "Spirited Away"'s Chihiro succeeds because she opens her eyes to the magic and beauty around her and rises to her challenges with silent determination, Buffy has railed against her calling for five years and then when she finally resigned herself to her fate (and rising from the dead), she abandoned her lust for life in the process. I've been wishing that Buffy would die (for good) for a while now. She has become bitter and caustic and sees saving the world as a real chore. Though series creator Whedon has long been tauted up as a feminist, it seems that the later-day Buffy, after suffering death, abandonment, near rape and betrayal has more in common with hard-drinking 40 year old divorce's than with Chihiro's soft-spoken dreamer. Buffy is a hero, but inhuman, while Chihiro is a hero because of her humanity. Chihiro is driven by her love for her parents, Buffy is driven by- god, will somebody please tell me? This isn't to disparage "Buffy". It remains a show that is a cut above the average television fare, but with five episodes to go, it seems that the once sweet and wisecracking girl who gave her one-true-love a tear-stained kiss right before she was forced to kill him is unlikely to return. Perhaps "Buffy" is the truer vision: People, when confronted with the incomprehensible, tend to cauterize their emotions, but give me Chihiro's kindness to No-Face any day. Any girl who can ask a monster that just tried to eat her to join her for an enchanted train ride is fine in my book. Chihiro wins us over through the purity of her heart, Buffy just knows how to stake them.

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posted by Japhy at 4/15/2003 12:54:00 AM || #

Gone Fishin' till Sunday.

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posted by Japhy at 4/11/2003 08:11:00 AM || #

V-I DAY Well, unless you're living in a bunker, you've seen it: Hundreds of Iraqi's surrounding Firdos Square, taking individual shots with a sledge hammer at the base of a giant statue of Saddam. You've seen the Marine tank come over to help, first covering the face of Saddam with a U.S. flag and then replacing that with Iraq's pre-Saddam national flag. You saw Saddam's statue with chains around it's neck, then pulled from the base by the Marine tank. Then you saw the fallen statue covered with cheering Iraqi's. You saw the head of the statue being dragged through the streets, Iraqi's riding their former leader's head. You saw Iraqi's taking off their shoes and throwing them at the fallen statue, one of the greatest insults in Arab culture. Congratulations to the people of Iraq. Congratulations to the U.S. and British men and women who have had the courage to make this day possible. What you haven't seen is infighting between all the Shiites, Suni's and Kurds in the city, as old scores suddenly feel an urgent need to be settled. You haven't seen civil war break out sporadically. You haven't seen the struggle to feed and provide medical aide to a war torn country. You haven't seen the long hard road to peace, but you will. Let's not win the war and lose the peace. Whatever feelings you have had about this war, I think we can all rally around the task ahead. What a day. Footnote: We still don't know if Saddam is alive or dead. Al-Jazeera is claiming that Saddam may be seeking refuge in the Russian Embassy in Baghdad. Who knows what the truth is, but I post it here because it hasn't shown up in any of the U.S. coverage. Needless to say, Saddam's power has vanished.

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posted by Japhy at 4/09/2003 10:05:00 AM || #

Cécile de Brunhoff, Creator of Babar, Dies at 99 In 1930, Cécile de Brunhoff told her sons, Mathieu and Laurent, a bedtime story about an elephant who leaves the jungle to live in Paris. Mathieu and Laurent told the story to their father, Jean de Brunhoff, an artist and book illustrator, the next day he turned his wife's story into a book called "The Story of Babar". Yesterday, at the age of 99, Cécile de Brunhoff died. I adored Babar as a kid. I had the kind of enthusiasm for Babar that only a child can have for something he loves. My Mom and Dad would read me the stories constantly, and there were over forty in all. I don't know if it was the beautifully illustrated drawings that seemed to come from a different universe entirely or if it was simply that the elephant's name was fun to say, but I could not get enough of Babar. The things that happened to Babar were not unlike the things that happen in many children's books, but Babar seemed to take it all in with a sense of detached wonder. Clearly, being from the Indian jungle, he had picked up some Buddhism. He was also defiantly not cute. His eyes were mere pinpricks and his ears were wrinkly. Compared to today's saccharine, google-eyed cartoons, Babar was downright homely and I loved him for it. Babar's genius was that he showed kids just how ridiculous the lives of grown-ups are, but also how fun it is to be a part of it all.

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posted by Japhy at 4/08/2003 12:37:00 AM || #

Saddam & Me In which our intrepid author explores the nature of good and evil, admits to some troubling desires and reminisces on what it's like to share a birthday with one of the most evil men on the planet. While most people share birthdays with celebrities like Melanie Griffith or maybe at worst, Don Rickles, I share my birthday, April 28th, with none other than Saddam " I've named everything in Iraq after me" Hussein. I found this out on my fifteenth birthday, when my parents bought me one of those tiny little books they sell at Hallmark filled with useless facts about your special day. I can only assume that the good people at Hallmark must have had a hell of a time finding famous people born on my birthday and having to include somebody, included Saddam. April 28th also happens to be Holocaust Remembrance Day, which is ironic to you, I'm sure, but really a bummer for me. Since I turned fifteen (almost nine years ago), I occasionally have thought about this man who usually celebrates his birthday by having his Republican Guard fire several hundreds rounds of ammunition into the air over Liberation Square. Like him, I enjoy making a big deal out of my birthday. I consider birthday's to be the one day out of the year that someone can do whatever they please and everyone has to like it. Unlike Saddam, though, I limit my megalomania the other 364 days of the year. Still, I can't help but wondering what it is that divides us, Saddam and I. I mean other than the fact that he's a despotic torturer who has ruled with fear and force, while my most notable leadership position so far has been being the Senior Patrol Leader of my Boy Scout Troop. Saddam was born in the tiny town of Auja in 1937, growing up in a mud brick village northwest of Baghdad. I was conceived in a trailer park just downwind of the the local race horse track in Pawtucket, Rhode Island in 1979. His parents were poor farmers, mine were a policeman and a respiratory therapist. Saddam joined the Socialist Baath Party when he turned 19. In my high school's 1996 mock presidential election, I campaigned vigorously for Monica Moorehead, who was the Socialist candidate. She lost, but garnered a remarkable 15% of the vote. Of course, I did that just for fun, though I think Saddam was more serious. Three years after Saddam joined the party he took part in a failed assassination plot against Iraqi Prime Minister Abudul Karim Kassim and was forced to flee the country for several years. I have not tried to assassinate anyone, though I have been known to say mean things about my "former high school rival" Andy Hicks, making me a definite part of his own personal Axis of Evil. In 1968, Saddam took part in the revolt that put Gen. Ahmed Hassan Bakr into power in Iraq. Eleven years later he deposed Bakr and made himself sole ruler of Iraq. I moved to New York and pretended to be living in a tony West Village apartment in a 1999 interview with the New York Post, after a real estate friend of mine was unable to get any of his own clients to agree to be interviewed. I was also on MTV, briefly, where I "boy band danced". I failed to depose Bryan McFadden. In the 80's Saddam used chemical weapons to quell a Kurdish uprising in the North. In the 80's my favorite television shows were "Punky Brewster", "Mr. Belvedere" and "Silver Spoons". Hussein has tried to invade Iran (with the help of the U.S.) and Kuwait (not so much help). He was unsuccessful on both occasions. I spent many of my underage years getting into clubs and bars with fake I.D.'s and was, most of the time, pretty successful. Saddam has posters of himself plastered on almost every building of any importance in Iraq. I admit, I'd be pretty cool with having my face plastered all over Times Square, but not if it requires the brutal slaughtering of women and children (heck, men too). Mr. Hussein is surrounded by a cadre of elite soldiers and yes-men who follow him out of fear. I am occasionally surrounded by a cadre of hard-drinking friends who on occasion, regardless of their sobriety, feel the urge to tell me just how dorky I am. Unlike Saddam, I do not summarily execute them. Saddam uses dozens of doubles to confuse the populace as to his exact location. I've been told I look a little like "An American Werewolf in Paris" star Tom Everett Scott. In short, we have a lot in common. Other than the fact that Saddam is a man with utterly no morals, who is willing to kill his own people if they get unruly and who has absolutely no respect for the lives of anyone other than his own. Also, I am not a dead man.

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posted by Japhy at 4/07/2003 09:00:00 PM || #

Sunday Brunch @ Japhyjunket: The Last Picture Show Ed. Note: Starting today, Japhyjunket will be featuring a "Sunday Brunch" each week. In the spirit of the Sunday Brunch, Japhyjunket will serve up some of life's little pleasures for you to enjoy over some eggs benedict and mimosas. As a major snowstorm threatens to hit the NYC area, this week's brunch is designed to be enjoyed from the comfort of your home. Only a trip to your local non-Blockbuster video store is required. In 1971, a little known director took a cast of unknowns to the unknown town of Wichita City to film "The Last Picture Show", a film that, while it was nominated for eight Academy Awards and won two, has become once again, unknown after years of being unavailable on video. The film is now on video and DVD, and it's easy to see why at the time it was released, it was called "the most important work by a young American director since Citizen Kane". Set in Texas in the fifties, "The Last Picture Show" is an honest and sexually frank depiction of one year in the life of town that is barely alive when we first meet it, and is on life support by the time the picture ends. In stark contrast to the town's poverty and desolation, the people who inhabit Abilienne, Texas are full of passion and desire, even if it is boiling under the surface. The story focuses on two friends, Sonny Crawford (Timothy Bottoms) and Duane Jackson (Jeff Bridges), both the stars of a losing football team, and both with eyes for the innocent, yet withering Jacy Farrow (Cybil Shepard, in her screen debut). Sonny works for Sam the Lion (Ben Johnson) who owns the local pool hall, diner and movie house, which are the only sources of entertainment in the town. Along with Sam, three older women: Jacy's comfortably bored mother (Ellen Burstyn), a wise and bitter waitress (Eileen Brennan) and the sexually frustrated coach's wife (Cloris Leachman) mirror the younger sets lives and seem to point to their own future. This, of course, is all the stuff of soap opera potboilers, but the way it is handled by director Peter Bogdanovich, is stunning. Sonny finds himself in a clandestine relationship with the coach's wife, awkwardly getting undressed on separate sides of the bed. Sonny then drops her when Jacy takes an interest in him, even though he seems to know that Jacy's interest in him is out of boredom. There is a scene where Jacy's mother is in her home and she hears a car coming into the driveway. Recognizing the engine's sound as belonging to the car of her own lover, she races to the door in excitement, only to see her daughter in the doorway. Without saying a word, we see Jacy's mother register confusion, realization, jealousy, disappointment and then maternal concern. Jacy makes out with Duane, who she is going steady with, only to appease him before she announces she's going to a pool party with a rich kid (Randy Quaid). He gives her a watch that he has spent months saving up for and then, when she gets to the pool party, she jumps into the pool with the watch on. She shakes it to see if it's still working, but catching the eye of a boy, she abandons the effort and smiles at him. These moments are so beautifully realized, so abundant and so cohesive, that you find yourself becoming intimately aware of the rhythms and limits of these characters' lives. They are all bound to the town, even though it can barely sustain them and really, it's one of the most involving things you'll ever see on film. In stark black & white, the film is shot and lit in a way that is at once luminous and gritty. If Ansel Adams were to have photographed people instead of landscapes, I imagine it would have looked something like this. The film made its cast into stars, but it in some way, by virtue of being so perfect, also set them up for failure. Jeff Bridges and Cybil Shepard have had moderate success, while Timothy Bottoms, who is the heart and soul of this picture and who's every glance from his sad puppy dog eyes is pitch perfect, has spent the past few years impersonating George W. Bush in things like the cancelled Comedy Central sitcom "That's My Bush!"and "The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course". Director Peter Bogdanovich even went so far as to create a sequel to the film called "Texasville", which was universally panned. It seems that the film, like the town in the film, has made them who they are, but refuses to let them leave. Get it @ Amazon.com!

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posted by Japhy at 4/06/2003 01:21:00 AM || #

I Think I Just Changed My Mind From the New York Times: ``Tonight we will do something unconventional, not by the military,'' [Iraqi Information Minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf ] said. We will do something which I believe is very beautiful. Those remaining soldiers who did not surrender I don't believe they have a great chance of surviving.'' Asked whether ``unconventional'' meant the use of weapons of mass destruction, he replied: ``No. that's not what I said ... What I meant are commando and martyrdom (suicide) operations in a very new, creative way.''

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posted by Japhy at 4/04/2003 10:06:00 AM || #

The NotABlog Hey there gentle readers. This is one of those blogs where I aim to entertain you because I've failed to blog for the past few days. See, I was going to do an April Fool's post, but I couldn't think of anything non-snarky to say (ie: "George W. Bush announced today that once he takes over Iraq, he will hand out 3 million dictionaries with "revised spellings" for such tongue twisters like "nucular" and "misinderestimate", in lieu of humanitarian aide") so I just kept my mouth shut. I was then going to write about "McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales", which has just been released, but Slate beat me to it. I was then really depressed when I heard that my friend Daryl had gone and visited some quirky roadside attraction without inviting me and I debated never blogging again. Also, I was busy celebrating my producer-friend Jared's birthday at Hooters, which sounds like as blogworthy a topic as you can come by, but really, what can you say about a Hooters in New York? I see more ta-ta's on my daily subway ride. Then there was the "April is Poetry Month!" blog that never materialized. It is, you know. Once again, Slate beat me to it- introducing us to one of America's most underrated poets, Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfield. A sample: The Unknown As we know, There are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know There are known unknowns. That is to say We know there are some things We do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns, The ones we don't know We don't know. —Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing I almost wanted to write about a discovery I made: If you have an MP3 player or Walkman and play anything by Phillip Glass, somehow everyone around you seems to match perfectly to the soundtrack. Subways speed away with import and when the deli guy puts mayonnaise on your sandwich, you suddenly realize the indescribable beauty and sadness that comes from condiments. I tested my theory and did jumping jacks while listening to Phillip Glass and still somehow, my jumping jacks matched the soundtrack. Of course, they were melancholy jumping jacks. Then, Jill called and since she's who I write this blog for anyways, there really was no point. I'm working on a song about our conversation- It's called "You know it's funny but I have more freedom in Japan then you do in New York" (The "6 year old draws me as a naked stick figure" mix). What I've settled on is to pass along an AP article from South Korea about people named Kim Jong Il. Clearly the good folks at the AP News Desk in Seoul are a little bored as of late. However, all those Kim Jong Il's gives me an amazing idea for a show- "The Many Lives of Kim Jong Il", wherein we see various KJI's dancing, cavorting and possibly breaking out into song. Tee hee, right? Tee fucking hee. Hey, on a positive note, our troops have now taken over Saddam International Airport (Don't get any ideas George, your Dad's boss already got Dulles. Oh God- Will there be a George W. Bush Airport someday?). It seems the Republican Guard aint so elite after all. Although, my screenwriter's brain says, "That was easy. Too easy." See, the reason we haven't found any chemical or biological weapons is because Saddam is combining them together to create a transformation serum that, while untested, will make him into the fire-breathing monster from the U.S. Marines recruitment commercial (you know the one), thereby causing mass destruction (by the way, Boston bands take note: "Mass Destruction" would make a wicked name for an emo/metal band). Yes, I'm detaching from reality. Did I mention I have a tiny Swiss flag on a toothpick?

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posted by Japhy at 4/03/2003 11:53:00 PM || #

I Am Now a Song Title This is one of those things that defy description. WBCN DJ and former "high school rival" Andy Hicks has composed a song called "The Japhy Grant Experience", available for download at his site. If you had happened to download my audblog audio post a while back, you may recognize some of the lyrics. Honestly, I'll have to say it's not exactly the runaway pop hit I always dreamed of becoming- It's the kind of song you would expect to be playing in a gay dance club in a late nineties romantic comedy (or ya know, "Queer as Folk" circa 2003). Of course, this might be Andy'sgoal (he is my "rival", ya know!), but it's really pretty funny, I come off as Canadian, and now I know the warm fuzzies Moby felt when Eminem name-checked him. Really though, I'm just smitten to death, right now. He finally got my name right! What Andy really needs to do now is play the single on 'BCN. I smell the makings of a cult classic.

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posted by Japhy at 3/30/2003 10:38:00 AM || #

SMOKE! At 12:01 tonight (Saturday- technically Sunday) it will be illegal to smoke in bars, restaraunts, or most other places in New York. Smoking will be a thing of the past in our fair city and bars will be filled with air as clean as a mountain glade. Yeah, right. You can fill our subway stations with machine-gun equipped soldiers, tell us to stock up on duct tape and take away our rights to speak out, but to paraphrase the great Moses- "From my cold cancer-ridden, dead body." Thank you Mr. Bloomberg for making smoking cool again.

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posted by Japhy at 3/29/2003 04:37:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged : taylor mack just did the most amazing version of dont worry be happy. An explanation: His name is really spelled Taylor Mac. He performed "Don't Worry, Be Happy" dressed completely in white, blood smeared across his skin, his head sticking out with tampons like a multi-fused bomb. It's been a long time since I've watched something with my jaw on the floor. As he sang the chorus, he went from utter monotone to sing song as his face litteraly fractured into a perverse smile. As he turned the "Don't worry" anthem into a staccatto gunshot ("D-D-D-D-D-on't Worry!") I knew ( and the audience knew) they had seen something truly remarkable. When Flotilla DeBarge gives you credit three times during her own set, you know you're onto something big. The place to see this and more is Queen Size, hosted by The World Famous *BOB*, Friday nights at The Slide/Marquee, right on Bowery and 4th Street, next to Marion's. Next week is *BOB*'s birthday. Jackie Beat will be there. You be there, too.

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posted by Japhy at 3/28/2003 10:07:00 PM || #

Arab News Agency Now in English Al Jazeera, the CNN of the Middle East, has launched an English version of its website. Claiming to be "objective and balanced news coverage and analysis", I include the link here simply because much of the footage that U.S. networks are using are coming from this source, which while biased, has access that American "embed" reporters don't have. They also have a fairly good article on how it seems a wee bit hypocritical for Bush to claim that Iraq is violating Geneva accords by showing American P.O.W.'s on TV, when U.S. media outlets have been showing Iraqi P.O.W's over and over again. That said, there are articles posted that show both U.S. and Iraqi dead and the site is quite graphic. I'm of two minds about it- certainly I deplore anything which exploits the death of anyone, be they Iraqi or American, but if some feel it is right to co-opt images of the World Trade Center collapsing and the faces of those who died for their own political purposes and agendas, maybe the sight of a dead soldier or civilian, regardless of their nationality will embolden us, and by "us", I mean, humanity, to seek out a world in which conflict can be solved without bloodshed. Go here for Al Jazeera on the web

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posted by Japhy at 3/24/2003 11:47:00 PM || #

Concert Review: Damien Rice @ Joe's Pub It's just amazing how much sound comes out of Irish singer-songwriter Damien Rice. Armed with only a guitar and a vocoder (and occasionally a cello and a solo female backup) , Rice manages to transmit more energy than most full out rock bands, with tons more heart to boot. Already a star in his native Ireland, the scraggly and invitingly shy musician comes to the States with a set that builds on, rather than abandons, his previous melancholy and lyrical David Grey meets Nick Drake sound. The Damien Rice who performed last night at Joe's Pub has transformed himself from Hurt Lover to Scorned Lover, going from plaintive regret to vicious accusations in the span of a bruised heartbeat. While his first album O was a refreshing jolt to the moody boy singer-songwriter genre, kept to bare bones and filled with inventive lyrics like "Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth/ Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt/ Still a little hard to say what's going on", Rice's new stuff, some from the UK EP Woman Like a Man and much of it unreleased, is stronger both in terms of lyrics and music. The mopey and dejected boyfriend has found his natural alter-ego, The Guy Who Won't Let Go, and yeah- it's a little scary, but as the largely female audience attests to, nothing is more compelling than a dangerous sensitive guy. When Rice sings on The Blower's Daughter that he "can't take my eyes off of you" over and over again, it's sweetly romantic and frighteningly stalkerish at once. I have a feeling Mr. Rice will be around for a while. His versatility as a musician, his ample and varied songwriting ability (He's not all serious as the lyrics from The Professor illustrate: "Loving is good if your dick's made of wood/ And the dick left inside only half understood her/ What makes her come and what makes her stay?") and yes, the fact that he's a really cute Irish boy, make him the kind of artist you want to keep your eye and ear on for a long time to come. Damien Rice will play Tuesday, March 25 at Joe's Pub, April 28th @ TTS in Cambridge,MA, May 15th @ The Cotton Club in Atlanta,GA, May 17th @ Rudyard Kipling in Louiseville, KY, and May 22nd @ 400 Bar in Mineapolis, MN. More dates are forthcoming. Tickets available through Ticketmaster. Visit Damien Rice and download songs on the web at www.damienrice.com *special thanks goes to Chris VanE. for introducing me to Rice.

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posted by Japhy at 3/24/2003 10:03:00 PM || #

Rollin' UP the Red Carpet The most offensive thing about last night's Oscar Awards was not Michael Moore's speech calling Bush a "fictitious president waging a fictitious war", but rather Hollywood's hubris in believing that anyone cares what it thinks. In this time of war, terrorism and curtailed freedoms, who would possibly want to see the court jesters standing up and discussing politics? Yes, I consider myself an artist, and I respect the rights of anyone to say whatever they please, but while it's one thing to speak your mind, it's another to pretend that the Oscar's really matter. Conservative and liberal stars alike treated the Oscar ceremony as if it was up there with the Liberty Bell as a sacred institution that needed to be defended and justified. In a sea of tasteful black dresses and nauseating veiled references to the war (a sampling: Barbara Streisand: "I am glad that I live in a country that guarantees every citizen, including artists, the right to say and to sing what you believe.", Nicole Kidman: "Why do you come to the Academy Awards when the world is in such turmoil? Because art is important.", Adrien Brody: "Whether you believe in Allah or God, may he watch over you, and pray for a peaceful and swift resolution to this war."- Susan Sarandon, muzzled by virtue of being Death Patrol Girl, still managed to get out a peace sign.) the Academy sought to elevate itself to a level that matched the tenor of our times. Of course, what America really needed was for Sally Fields to tell us that we really really liked her or maybe some random streaking. The last thing Americans tuned in for was four hours of somber treacle. You can't blame the Academy entirely. After all, it had to figure out what the appropriate response to a four day old war would be (POSTPONE THE DAMN SHOW!); balancing the needs of Harvey Weinstein with the needs of the nation. All things considered though, there were some moments worth enjoying. Both Meryl Streep and Kathy Bates seemed to deliver their presentations with a refreshing measure of contempt and boredom, with Bates breaking down halfway through her sing-song TelePrompTer spiel and deliver an aside, "Hey, what do you expect here?" in her usual hoarse cackle that somehow manages to make everything that comes out of her mouth sound like a four letter word. Streep, for her part, was either very drunk or winningly sober as she looked out on her colleagues and the whole glittering affair and just laughed. P.S.- Mr. Moore, congrats on your Oscar. You may be the Rush Limbaugh of the Left, but "Bowling for Columbine" was an amazing work about America and you certainly deserved to be recognized for your work.

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posted by Japhy at 3/24/2003 01:29:00 PM || #

BTW- The comment feature is now working on Japhyjunket again!

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posted by Japhy at 3/21/2003 01:15:00 AM || #

Japhy's Believe It...You Ho. Optimus Prime, Commander of the Autobots, is in the Middle East now, fighting with the U.S. against Iraq. The Pentagon even sent him a letter saying that they feel safer with him on their side.Believe it...You Ho. While Turkey says it refuses to join the "coalition of the willing" and allow the U.S. to station troops there because they oppose the war, Turkey is sending 20,000 Turkish troops into Iraq---to claim it for themselves! Believe it...You Ho. If we go to red alert under the Homeland Security Threat System, all highways will close and you will not be permitted to leave your homes! Believe it...You Ho. As Baghdad is being bombed, one young Iraqi man inside the city continues to update his blog. Some people thought it might have just been CIA propoganda, but even skeptics believe that he is for real- and blogging away while war engulfs his nation. Believe It...You Ho.

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posted by Japhy at 3/20/2003 11:53:00 PM || #

Channel Surfing- 1:50pm NY1: Nightscope view of Baghdad. "You just pray and hope..." CBS: Nightscope view of Baghdad. "Well, Baghdad is burning, at least parts of it." TNT: Jimmie Smitz interrogating a suspect. "So you want to take a minute?" NBC: Regular video of Baghdad. "They're going to look around and see that a lot of things dear to them are gone." Fox: Nightscope view of Baghdad. "There are really two parts of it: The main element of the Republican Gaurd and the Special Republican Gaurd." C-Span: Rep. David Dreier. "What it's all about is taxes." ABC: Regular video of Baghdad. "This must be one of the most terrifying moments that an infantryman could go through." UPN: Fox News Feed of Nightscope view of Bhaghdad. " They say that this is not really the beginning, that when it happens, we'll know it." WB: Split screen between talking head...and nightscope view of Baghdad. "President Saddam Hussein has not been seen in uniform for almost two years." PBS: Talking Head. "He needs for hundreds of millions of people across the world protesting in the streets. He really thinks that will happen." MNN: Chinese Guy doing Tai Chi. "All the excercises are done in twelve reps." WLIW: BBC News Feed of Baghdad nightscope. "British troops are now involved in the growing ground assault." TBS: Urkyll tied to a playground dome with garden house duct taped to him. "Look, now the park has a fountain!" UNI: Regular video of Baghdad. "Deseo funcionar con qué ahora está sucediendo." And as full out war breaks out, you'll have to excuse a little religion: The Prayer of St. Francis Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy. 0h divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek To be consoled as to console, To be understood as to understand, To be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; It is in pardoning that we are pardoned; It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life. *I'm not super religious, but it's good advice, regardless of whatever faith you might be. *bunnies and sex to follow.

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posted by Japhy at 3/20/2003 10:51:00 AM || #

A Rant For lack of any better term Well, bloody hell- seems Japhyjunket has become a weekly blog. Blarg. Actually, there's a few reasons for all this. First off, after staying out too late at John Cameron Mitchell's middle school inspired soiree last week, I caught the flu. I blame it entirely on John, of course :-) In any event, I was all excited when my symptoms turned out to be a dry heavy cough, fever and extreme fatigue. I was hoping to give you Japhyjunket readers an exclusive account of the first American case of that weird Asian bug, but alas, it turned out I had nothing more than a little case of Pre-War-Anxiety-Syndrome and with President Bush's speech nearly two days ago, I, just like the stock market, recovered nicely. Yes, even my excuses are ripped from the headlines. So, two hours from now, Saddam's deadline is up. Actually it's 1 hour, 11 minutes and 32 seconds from now according to Fox, which has set up a countdown ticker to scroll in the corner of your screen. They also do this for the Superbowl, the Oscars (poor red carpetless Joan "Anne Frank was a bitch. Always whining!*" and Melissa "I'm no celebrity, but I'll go to the rainforest to become one" Rivers- if ever there was a case for U.N. Aide...) and moments leading up to the latest Madonna controversies. God, that last parenthetical statement just went on way too long, didn't it? Really ruined my flow. Ah, well- war. I'm going to say this once, and then I'll have had my peace: Mr. President, I am opposed to your war, even though I support military action when necessary, am against Saddam Hussein and do not believe that you are only interested in Iraq for its oil. Mr. President, I am opposed to your war, because, while we will surely win it, you have proven to the rest of the world what it fears most about the U.S.: That we are a big bully who will do whatever it wants if the rest of the world does not agree to what we demand. Your actions have convinced the people of the world that America is a loose cannon that will do whatever it pleases, whenever it pleases. I do not believe that the U.N. inspections had failed or been exhausted and while I am happy that our troops will be liberating a repressed people, I am ashamed of the road your administration has taken to get us there. God, I liked it back when Japhyjunket's main concerns were thrashing the Dell Boy and getting drunk on Tuesdays. Stupid recession, stupid war, stupid cigarette ban, stupid Bloomberg, stupid cops, stupid rent, stupid electric bills, stupid inconsistent weather, stupid sun and stupid moon and stupid people everywhere. This is what you get for paying attention to the world. I am officially switching my Home Page from The New York Times to The Onion. I am fed up with falling buildings, bearded guys, mustachioed guys, doomsayer fish, concrete bunkers and most of all the fact that it's all brilliantly marketed by Fox. This is my youth (well, relative youth) and goddamnit, I'd like at least a little part of it to be charmingly naive! God, I miss the Cold War. So- for the forseeable future, Japhyjunket is gonna focus on happy things. Like bunnies. And sex. *actual quote by Ms. Joan.

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posted by Japhy at 3/19/2003 03:49:00 PM || #

Anti-War Sentiment Hits Home "Give Peace a Chance" goes mainstream With this country on the doorstep of all out war, some unlikely voices are coming out in opposition to it. This weeks episode of The Simpsons, "Mr. Spritz goes to Washington" was startlingly political, showing the Springfield Republican party convening in a Dracula-ish manor house where the Republicans (among them, Dr. Hibbard, which in retrospect makes perfect sense) worked on their scheme to rename as many public places after Ronald Reagan as possible. The majority of the episode dealt with Krusty becoming a Congressman who, with the help of Walter Mondale and the Simpson family, finagles the system to pass a bill to reroute the air traffic flying over the Simpsons house. While the Simpsons have always been somewhat cynical, this episode was overloaded with contempt for the entire political process, showing corruption not as a thing to be thwarted, but used to your advantage. While Washington has been skewered by the Simpsons before, most notably in "Lisa's Spelling Bee", the difference here is that while "Lisa's Spelling Bee" ended in Lisa taking a stance against political corruption and standing up for The American Way, "Mr. Spritz Goes to Washington" ends with Lisa slyly paperclipping an amendment onto a bill about to be voted on. The Beastie Boys have released their new single, "In a World Gone Mad" for free on the web. The anti-war song has lyrics comparing Bush to Zoolander, "trying to look tough for the camera " as his "midlife crisis war unfolds". Adam Horowitz explains, "This song is not an anti-American or pro-Saddam Hussein statement. This is a statement against an unjustified war." Get the song here. Perhaps most alarming of all, George Bush Sr., speaking at Tufts University, urged his son to work with the U.N. and that the case against Saddam was “less clear” than during the Gulf War. Full details at the London Times.

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posted by Japhy at 3/12/2003 04:07:00 PM || #

audblog audio post

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posted by Japhy at 3/12/2003 01:44:00 AM || #

New Yorkers For Democracy Hello there gentle readers. I know some of you have expressed some concern that Japhyjunket has not been regular as of late (though, rest assured, Japhy has been), but what with all the work I've been doing for the new site, as well as my other more pressing projects, I just haven't had the chance. Of course, I am spending most of my free time lately fighting terrorism. "What's that?", you say. "Japhy, you're from New York City. A stronghold of Democrat..er UnAmerican sentiment. New Yorkers are a treasonous lot! How can YOU- a New Yorker, be fighting terrorism?" Never mind that. It's classified. However, to prove you wrong, oh cynical reader, I recently asked some other New Yorkers what they are doing to stand up for the good ole' red, white and blue. Here are a few responses from some apple-pie-loving Manattanites: Sam Bennet, Upper West Side "I've taken up eyeing my neighbor suspiciously. Not for any real reason, but I like to think that my judgmental glances help keep him on the straight and narrow path of Democracy." Chris Duncan, Chelsea "Well, I for one, see those poor boys in my subway station everyday and my heart- it just goes out to them. You know the ones I'm referring to, those nice gentlemen with the M-16's. Thank George for our boys in green! Of course, if I were a terrorist, I would just dress up in a uniform and demand to be let in to the highest building I could find, what with everyone so kowtowed and unquestioning of any kind of authority. Of course, I'm not a terrorist because I'm white." Kim-sun Park, Lower East Side "With crocheting all the rage among the smart set, I've taken up making Liberty blankets (ed. note: She is referring, of course, to afghans) and selling them to high end retail boutiques. They come in a set of five: one each in green, blue, yellow, orange and red. That way you can have one for each level of the Homeland Security Threat System and wake up each morning knowing just how alert you need to be." Sumer Al-Balji, Midtown "I stay in. A lot." Dorothy B. Rosa, West Village "I'm quite proud to be doing nothing whatsoever. You know, when someone brings up war or civil liberties, I patriotically let my eyes glaze over and think about something else, usually a reality TV show I saw recently. I know, nothing makes our brave politicians and bureaucrats more pleased than a complacent populace. I'm doing my best to be uniformed and uninvolved, because with my silence, I'm helping our noble El Presidente and his cadre do whatever they damn well please. It's the American thing to do."

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posted by Japhy at 3/12/2003 12:45:00 AM || #

Is This Really the Future of Ground Zero? Daniel Liebeskind's design for the World Trade Center makes me want to wretch or An unbiased look at that crappy design that shouldn't have won. A last minute "No" from Governor Pataki and Mayor Bloomberg killed off the LMDC's decision to chose THINK team's crystaline towers as the replacement for the World Trade Center. Instead, last week at the World Financial Center Pataki praised Daniel Liebeskind's design as the one chosen to be built after an "open and democratic" process. Liebeskind, most widely known for his Jewish Museum in Berlin (pictured above) has created a vision of the World Trade Center steeped in kitschy concepts: A garden tower 1,776 feet tall, a "wedge of light" created by the buildings that will illuminate on September 11th of each year and a sunken pit for a memorial, leaving the exposed slurry wall of the original World Trade Center as a focal point. The execution of this design will draw visitors down into the Earth, leaving the rest of New York gazing up at an anemic tower jutting out downtown like some emaciated phallus. The surrounding buildings will be clad in Liebeskind's characteristically disheveled gashes and openings, creating an overall picture of what I can only see as jumbled chaos and an open wound as the centerpiece. Rather than reaffirming the spirit of democracy, Liebeskind's plan terrorizes us with the horrors of destruction. While entirely apt for The Jewish Museum, Liebeskind's harsh and deconstructed structures will be a constant reminder of the devastation of September 11th, not a vision of hope that transcends the act. The contender, which was the LMDC's initial choice, was by the THINK team, a New York based firm that proposed a World Cultural Center that mirrored the original Twin Towers, but in a form both ghostly and kinetic that would transform the skyline into something truly exciting and, above all, unique. It is a design that would have been both optimistic and reverent and frankly, exciting. Looking at the latticed towers, I wondered what such structures would look like in real life. Wandering around downtown last week, I imagined them rising up and it was something I knew I wanted to see, wanted to visit and wanted to be a symbol for our city. Liebeskind's design inspires nothing other than anger and disappointment. While the fight for what will be built at the World Trade Center has been a battle, Liebeskind's plan will leave the site looking like a battlefield.

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posted by Japhy at 3/04/2003 09:49:00 PM || #

"Q: Why is the United States so certain that Iraq has weapons of mass destruction? A: Because we saved the receipts!" --Liz Smith

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posted by Japhy at 2/24/2003 08:28:00 AM || #

Congratulations Matthew! Last night, I attended the opening reception for "Show 2" at NYU. I would love to review the works shown, since this was a really strong show with quite a few interesting pieces, but I know about half of the people in the show, so there's really no way I can be unbiased. Of course, my main reason there was to celebrate Matthew B's first New York Show. Here he is, being loved and adored. I've seen his Untitled Street Portraits 2001-2002 for almost a year now, but seeing them up on the wall and displayed was pretty amazing. It's been really fun watching these photos come together, from the initial idea till now. Go see them and the rest of the group show in the Gulf & Western Gallery (lobby) and eighth floor galleries of 721 Broadway from February 20 - March 15.

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posted by Japhy at 2/21/2003 09:31:00 AM || #

Be a Pimp! Oh sure- unemployment in New York remains a real problem. We're all going to end up on food stamps and we're spending our free cash on duct tape. What's a New Yorker to do? Why, turn to crime, of course. Though if it's a crime to offer the sweet sweet services of my ho's to fine gentlemen, then in my opinion, the terrorists have already won. Introducing another way to waste your time on the web: Bordello Battles. A multiplayer game along the lines of "Drug Wars", Bordello lets you take on the role of a pimp. Sell your girls, keep them clean with condoms, improve your house and give that flat chested dame a boob job while racking up cash and attacking the competition. Best of all, there's gangs to join. Mine is called "The Bitch Slappers" and if you want to join, just enter that name in the Join Gang section. The tag is TBS, btw. To boot, all this nasty ho-slappin' fun is free! Let's see which Japhyjunket reader can make the most coins by putting out some fine honeyliscious booty! Those who find an entertainment game who's entire premise is the exploitation of women, revolting and sexist, need not apply. Personally, I hope they add man-whore's soon to even the playa's field. Click here to sign up.

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posted by Japhy at 2/19/2003 02:08:00 PM || #

Japhydex- Your Personal Web Portal I will be updating a little less frequently in the next few weeks as I get Japhygrant.com up to its new and expanded form. In the meantime, check out the annotated Japhydex- essentially a listing of sites that I like and are relevant. Happy surfing! Web Design Toolbox Jeffrey Zeldman Presents - Blog with tons of useful information on all things web designish. Friday Five - Five new questions to answer on your blog each Friday. Save yourself from coming up with new content. Computer Arts Online - UK-based site with loads of information and tutorials for web, digital imaging and animation. Webmonkey - Tutorials and guides to making your site better than mine. CNet - The hardware and software review site. The Media BBC - Not just Fawlty Towers. China Daily - English news from China. Jerusalem Post - Biased MidEast News. The Atlantic - Lefty in-depth analysis. Japan Times - English news with a tendency towards weird humour. New York Times - The Grey Lady of Journalism. The New Yorker - Oh so very urbane. Arts & Letters Daily - Arts news and reviews from world-wide sources all in one place. The Moscow Times - English news from democratic Muscovy. Alternative Press Blogcritics - Snooty group of bloggers throw in their two cents on the latest music, books and video. NYC IndyMedia Center- Community based participatory news. Salon - THE independent news site. Crappy new subscription policy. The Village Voice - 10 pages of hard hitting journalism, 30 pages of trendy fluff and 100 pages of sex ads. On the Rail - News for foodies. The Whole Earth Magazine - Crunchie granola lovin'. Musicbox The Modern Age- photos, concert reviews and coverage of NYC's indie rock scene. Nominated for a Bloggie! The Art of The Mix - A site dedicated to dedicated mix tape and cd enthusiasts. Make your own concept albulm! The Posse Sushiporn Daniel-san Flying Vicar Musings So Much Modern Time The Modern Age Daryl Lang Hottest Chick Ever Matthew Barela Peter Rosa Subversive penguin and the arizona asphault Kristin Schubert Who I Read Andrew Sullivan - Everyone loves a histrionic gay conservative. Sir Ian McKellen - But not as much as they love Gandalf. Mark Simpson - Coined the term "metrosexual". Little. Yellow. Different. -I promise there will be some straight people on this list. Honest. Neil Gaiman - Creator of The Sandman and all around mythopoetic expert. Also married. To a woman. See! How to Be Hip - While not answering the question, leads by example. Katherine Hall - Katie linked to me, I don't why, but her blog is pretty cool. Trabaca - An NYU student in Paris. Greg.org - About making movies, making art- great site for filmmakers. Zaccan's Xanga Site - Live from Japan- a friend of Jill. NYU Web Log Portal - Doesn't seem to be updated, but a good smattering of NYU student blogs to be found. Agent #1 - Pretty, witty and yeah, that other thing too. Baby Sue- They make them meaner in New Orleans. Adnan.org - Great design, mediocre content. The Computer Vet - Promises not to neuter your hard drive. Delicate Barbican - The wildly personal blog I would never write. The Darkroom RetouchPRO - Offers photos to retouch and the community reviews them. Not professional, but fun to try. The C Lab - Great photo lab, but kind of pricey. SoWear - Gallery and resource site for fashion photographers. Photojunkie - Photography blog with news and information for the curious photographer. Photography Tips - Don't you love it when the domain name says it all? Holga Central - Lots of information on the popular twenty dollar plastic medium format camera. Photo District News - Profiles and contests on the cutting edge of photography. For Writers and Readers One Word- You'll see a word. You have sixty seconds to write about it. Read what everyone else wrote. All Consuming - What the web is reading. Create your own reading lists. Good Use - NYC-based literary journal. Writer's Market - Online version of the industry standard for seeking out editors and publishers. For pay. Project Guttenberg - The Web's Library. Hollywoodland Slayage- The Online International Journal of Buffy Studies. Drew's Script-O-Rama - Want to read the shooting script for Serpico? Screenplays online. Screenwriter's Utopia - Doesn't quite live up to its name, but a great resource for script news. Writer's Guild of America, East - Screenwriter's union. Register your scripts here before sending them out. Visual Arts Artcyclopedia - Search all museum websites at once for info on artwork and artists. ArtMuseum.net - Online home for many virtual exhibitions staged by major art institutions. Douglas Kelly Show List - List of gallery openings in New York City. Gallery Guide - Just that. Info on shows and galleries in the U.S. Art Forum - Art news. If You're a New Yorker The New York City Anti-Hipster Forum - Need I say more? Mr. Hipster - The flip side of the coin. Urban Hound - All you could ever want to know to keep your sophisticated Fido pleased. My puppy is here. Domino's Quik Order - Get your crappy pizza online. Craigslist: New York - Apartments, jobs, stuff and love: Indispensable. St.John the Divine Events- Upcoming events at the world's largest cathedral. Citysearch New York - Restaurant reviews and upcoming events. NYC Government Portal - Bureaucracy in action. Flavorpill - Weekly listings of hot events in the city. Causes Inclusive Scouting - America's finest youth program is tarnishing its image through discrimination. The Black Cross Collective - Medical advice for the would-be protester. Learn what to do when pepper-sprayed. Performance The Art Party - Alan Cumming's multidisciplinary art group. Symphonyspace - Uptown venue for film, readings, dance and music. Spin Cycle - Downtown shows and nightlife.< Burning Man - Arts festival in Nevada each August. The Writer's Guild - Union for playwrights. The Playwrighting Seminars - Have used this site as a reference since my very first play. Covers all the basics and then some. Crass Consumerism J- List - Get cool shit from Japan. Home of the Hello Kitty vibrator. Deal News - Hand picked bargains. AndyCo. - The most important corporation. Ever. Derelict Clothing - Arty T's, hoodies and ties. Things I'm Currently Researching MesoAmerican Deities MesoAmerican Civilizations Guilty Pleasures Widen Your World - Dedicated to Walt Disney World attractions that are either gone or never happened. AstroJem - Johanna Ellen Corn is my preferred source for signs from the stars. Mason Morse Ranches - I want to own a ranch one day. Just like Dubya. Only on my ranch, we'll name the horses after Communists. Giddyup Trotsky! Recipe Resource - Want to know how to make lobster bisque?

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posted by Japhy at 2/18/2003 02:27:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged : at the protest police are protecting a guy with a sign saying bomb iraq

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posted by Japhy at 2/15/2003 06:12:00 PM || #

Love: Googled Happy Hallmark Day! Nothing shows love quite like a handmade gift and so to show you, Loyal Readers, my undying affection for you on this special day, I made you all your very own Japhy Valentine- made up of the most popular images that come up when you do a Google image search for "Love". I hope you like it! Now-- *blush* Will you---um? *scuffiling of feet* be well...mine?

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posted by Japhy at 2/13/2003 10:41:00 PM || #