Advent: First An Introduction: Beginning today and running through the 24th of December I will be performing a little performative experiment; namely a short story serialized through the season of Advent. Think of it as the online equivalent of a cardboard advent calendar, with a new treat behind it each day. Now, I know many of the people who read my blog know me personally, so I'd like to point out now that this is a work of fiction. It is based, like all literature, on things that have happened in my life, but don't believe a word of it as gospel. Also, though I have the general outline of the story mapped out, I will, for the most part, be writing it each day- so bear with me. Included with each day will be a photo from my real life road trip that is the inspiration for this story. I chose Advent as the framework for this story because I have an interest in writing about the anticipation of arrival, of prophets and portents and of doors being flung open. I hope you enjoy. The first time I had ever been to New Mexico was in an dorm-style apartment on Fourteenth Street in Manhattan. Daniel had taken the leftover turkey from Thanksgiving dinner and rolled it into two soft Fresco tortillas glazed with mayonnaise. That was the night I asked him to go out with me. I’m not saying I dated him for the tortillas his mother would air mail to him every month or so from Albuquerque, but the soft baked flesh of el tortilla became something shared between us like an edible pet name. Breakfast was eggs and potatoes wrapped in tortilla, with sweet cheese, fatty bacon or chorizo added for flavor. Staying up all night, Daniel would throw a couple of tortillas right onto the range. When I did it, I would leave a big spiral brand across the whole thing that, combined with melted butter, tasted like what I hoped sagebrush would taste like. In bed, I would tell him that his flesh tasted just like tortilla and then I’d lick him in a way he only pretended to hate. From family recipes he had made enchiladas, sopapillas and rejenos; always presenting them to me in pans lined with aluminum foil. Too young and too greedy to savor these gestures, I would scarf down the food while making little suggestions on how he could improve next time. It wasn’t until long after he had stopped making these dinners that I had realized what I had done. Daniel and I had this deal, a pact, really, though like all important pacts, it was unspoken, at least by Daniel. I talked about it constantly. We’re one of those relationships, the type where we strive to be polar opposites, to be all the things the other person is not. It’s a pretty tricky dance and most of the time I felt like he was simply caring for me. I envisioned myself as this great, somewhat broken, stroke of brilliance and Daniel was my padding, wrapping me up in a giant down comforter from the world. I even bought him a down comforter for Valentine’s Day, part of an inside joke I’m not going to let you in on now. We named her Downy. Often, we would use Downy to express our feelings; rather Daniel would. Grabbing the giant expanse of soft whiteness around him he'd look like a young emperor intoxicated with the power of the throne. “Downy wants you to come to bed now. She misses you.” Then we got the dog that succinctly replaced Downy. You are going to be the dog for this journey. Your name is Natalia, you’re a Miniature Pinscher and you like to chew on things and dance on your hind legs. You’re our child, our baby or as James put it, “The really obvious last ditch effort to save your failing relationship.” Actually, he said, sardonic as ever, “Oh yes, a dog. Perfect. That will solve all your relationship problems. That poor animal is going to be so fucked up.” I’m afraid he may wind up right. It’s very likely you’re going to wind up fucked up, but from your vantage point, my poor darling symbol, my little orphan stepchild, you’ll get to see all. Watch us carefully, learn deep things, but remember you adore us completely; we’re your meal ticket and when I abandon you at the end, please try to forgive me. You meet James for the first time on September 11th. He comes up to our castle in the sky on 43rd Street and looked out the window at our beautiful view, paid care of my amazingly overpaid job at a major cable network, in blank horror. A perfect view of downtown Manhattan replaced by Vesuvius erupting, Vesuvius smoking. From behind our double glazed windows on the twenty-ninth floor it looks just like it does on TV. A week later we are all on TV. Daniel’s volunteered us to be interviewed by a German television news crew for a piece about people leaving Manhattan in the wake of the attacks. I don’t know how major American news outlets do these things, but the Germans are rather underwhelming. There are only two of them, for starters: a tweedy newscaster without a trace of Prussian clip to his speech and a Camera Guy who looks like what you expect a Camera Guy to look like. I agreed to this because I knew they’d need counterpoint. I didn’t want the Germans to think we are running away from the city, that we’re cowards. Against the window I explain how my cable network succinctly fired me and it’s a matter of economics, not fear. Germans like Marx, right? I just know they are going to do a story about scared Americans fleeing all Godzilla-like. I am certain I’m the only one who can prevent the German public from believing this is a reality. They interview Daniel first and I have to restrain you from biting Camera Guy’s head off. You are far more work than a dog your size should be. Eventually we retreat to the bathroom and we play the paw game. In case you’ve forgotten (how could you!) the Paw Game is where I keep patting your front paws until you freak out and start biting me like crazy. You love it. Once done with Daniel, it’s my turn to talk and Daniel’s time to paw. The newscaster is very friendly, but I’m somewhat upset there isn’t any mottled canvas for me to sit in front of and I’m certain there will be no soft haze around my face as I talk. A week ago I worked for Barbara Walters and now this! We’re shooting mock-footage of us packing up. “Just throw some clothes into the suitcase.” Fine, I’ll be Human Interest fodder. I pull out the “Osama Bin Laden- Wanted Dead, Not Alive” t-shirt I bought and making sure the camera gets a good view of it, add it to the pile of clothes in my suitcase that I am only packing for TV. “That’s perfect! Can you do that again? Camera Guy, get a few takes of that!” We all ride the elevator down to our lobby. Every time I step into the lobby, I’m amazed. Built at the height of Eighties excess, it’s austere and gaudy at the same time. Blonde wood pillars intersect and emerge from walls for no reason. I’m not amazed at the architecture so much as the fact that I inhabit it. At twenty-two, I am so much ahead of the game. This lobby was built to make me feel great. The doorman and the concierge both watch the Germans and us with bemused disinterest. We’re now filming Daniel, his sandy brown hair spiked up by the wind, with a single suitcase, heading out the doors to get a taxi. I wonder how this is going to play. We were pretty clear that we are leaving for New Mexico in the interview. Will the Germans back in Düsseldorf think we pack really light and traverse the continent in cabs? I sure hope so, because Germany, if you’re reading this, that’s how we do things in America. The actual night of our leaving came a few days later. Our last meal was at the Times Square McDonalds, which, just for thematic unity has, has as its dining area centerpiece, scale models of all of Manhattan’s great buildings, the Twin Towers included. James ate with us and I was feeling a little more than despondent. Somehow, James had decided that this was a good idea, Daniel and I leaving New York and that just made it worse. So rushed and so worried and so soberly drunk on the unknown, Daniel, Downy, you and I passed out on the Aerobed not moments after getting back. Surrounded by air and feathers, fur and flesh I did not once think of the dawn.

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posted by Japhy at 11/30/2002 09:00:00 PM || #

Happy Birthday Jacques Barzun! Born in France in 1907, Jacques Barzun is one of our civilization's last true gentlemanly scholars. He has been a champion of broad liberal education and his teaching methods and writings have influenced the way Western Civilization has been taught for more than fifty years. For years a fixture at Columbia University, Barzun fought against academic pedantry and demanded of his students and colleagues clarity and honesty in their work and created one of the most useful writing guides ever written, Simple and Direct, which has become a must-have for any writer. Author of over sixty books, including classics like Race: A Study in Modern Superstition (1937), Darwin, Marx, Wagner (1941), Romanticism and the Modern Ego (1945), The Teacher in America (1945), The House of Intellect (1959), Classic, Romantic, and Modern (1961), Science: The Glorious Entertainment (1964), The American University (1968), Berlioz and the Romantic Century (3d ed. 1969), The Use and Abuse of Art (1974), and Begin Here: The Forgotten Conditions of Teaching and Learning (1991). His latest work, From Dawn to Decadence: 500 Years of Western Cultural Life, 1500 to the Present, has become an instant classic and possibly the only 800+ page history book to become a bestseller. He is, in short- one of The Greats. His works are not only informative and illuminating, but witty and a joy to read. He fights against boredom and his works have become indispensable for anyone seeking to know about their world. Today Mssr. Barzun turns 95. Those wishing to wish him a Happy Birthday may do so here.

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posted by Japhy at 11/29/2002 09:00:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged :@ celtics game with the old man. Basketball is better with beer

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posted by Japhy at 11/29/2002 05:37:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged : mexican in cambridge. Im in cambridge. Not in cambridge together. Feels weird.

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posted by Japhy at 11/29/2002 04:31:00 PM || #

Buy Japhy! Hurrah! It's the busiest shopping day of the year and I'm getting in on the act! Check out my store where I'm hawking some things based on my digital photography work. Save yourself from the mall crowds and buy a Japhy product for every member of your family!

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posted by Japhy at 11/28/2002 09:00:00 PM || #

A Thanksgiving Grace Dear Heavenly Father/Lord/Osiris Master of the Underworld We are gathered here today loudmouth uncles and cuckolded wives (Sorry Bernice!) ratty children who we adore when they're at day care and bitter brooding teens who are probably stoned off their right now Alcoholics all to celebrate this union of blood ('cept for Danny- the bastard boy) in hopes that none will be shed before the pies are brought out. We ask you most divine Creator to look down on this gathering and not smote a certain someone who shall remain nameless for not paying back the loan I gave him. Five Years Ago. and also we ask that you find it in your Will to show us the way to drive home with a blood alcohol level that is off the scale for as a wise man once said, "He who stays the night with the relatives is doomed to hear a years worth of gossip over Bloody Mary's come morning" We ask for this and for Margot to stop taking those damn pictures when I'm talking in your name Till we do this again next year. Amen Now- I do this all in jest. Thanksgiving is actually my favorite holiday and my family is uber-cool. Rockstars all of them. And not to appear like a total misanthrope: Things I am Thankful For (the short list) - My Mom and my Dad. Our relationship has never been better and they have become a real source of strength for me. -The opportunity to return to school. -My friends: especially Jill, Chris, Kevin, Ray, Jar Jar and of course, The Mexican. -My brother. Like buttah he is. Only in a non-greasy, non-dairy way. -The people who make Silk, the soymilk. I can enjoy something that approximates the taste of milk now without experiencing intestinal pain. -My girlfriend, Ms. Janet Jackson. -I'm even thankful for Andy Hicks, who has been such a good sport. -My blogger friends, who encourage me to write and inspire me to write better. -My laundry lady. She's always so happy when I bring my laundry to be washed. -Nina Simone for singing "Oooh Child...Things are Gonna Get Easier" -New York City for building me up and tearing me down and building me up again. It's refreshing and maddening all at once. -The Oompah Loompah's- for bringing me joy as a child and for their endless jihad against bratty children -My Nana, who really is something else. We're just not sure entirely what that is. -And of course, you Faithful Reader. More than you'll ever know.

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posted by Japhy at 11/27/2002 09:00:00 PM || #

japhy unplugged : in a cab to laguardia cabbie is charging me 50 and thats after i talked him down and called him a theif!

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posted by Japhy at 11/27/2002 02:56:00 PM || #

Always good for a little fun, here's the Color Quiz to shed light on the inner depths of your soul through pretty blocks of orange and blue. And for those interested in the inner depths of my soul- here are Japhy's results: Your Existing Situation Sensitive; needs esthetic surroundings, or an equally sensitive and understanding partner with whom to share a warm intimacy. Your Stress Sources Has an unsatisfied need to ally himself with others whose standards are as high as his own, and to stand out from the herd. This desire for preeminence isolates him and inhibits his readiness to give himself freely. While he wants to surrender and let himself go, he regards this as a weakness which must be resisted. This self-restraint, he feels, will lift him above the rank and file and ensure recognition as a unique and distinctive personality. Your Restrained Characteristics The situation is preventing him from establishing himself, but he feels he must make the best of things as they are. Wants to broaden his fields of activity and insists that his hopes and ideas are realistic. Distressed by the fear that he may be prevented from doing what he wants; needs both peaceful conditions and quiet reassurance to restore his confidence. Your Desired Objective Feels the situation is hopeless. Strongly resists things which he finds disagreeable. Tries to shield himself from anything which might irritate him or make him feel more depressed. Your Actual Problem The need for esteem--for the chance to play some outstanding part and make a name for himself--has become imperative. He reacts by insisting on being the center of attention, and refuses to play an impersonal or minor role. I'm sure you are as shocked as I am. Neat, right? Just saved me $100 dollar trip to the therapist!

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posted by Japhy at 11/27/2002 11:31:00 AM || #

I am Love's Bitch God-awful Byron-esque poetry for this- what has been for those I draw close to me, a season of heartbreak. Are you thinking about me right now? Are you planning never to speak to me again? In the morning, do you notice the absence of my body by your side? How staccato does your pulse get when you think of that night when we rode the elevators of the Marriott and saw the world descend and rise again beneath our feet? Do you even remember that time? And by remembrance I don't mean facts but spirit- for memory is stronger than history. Are you awake now, as I am, afraid to dream of what we once were? Do you still keep a secret hope in some box in your unknowable heart that is crying out for "us"? It would have been our millionth year anniversary almost today, and still I do not know you- but still you draw me to know. I have in this foul season of tedious days been rubbing at my calluses to reveal the raw pink tenderloin skin underneath, all so that I might feel your touch.

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posted by Japhy at 11/26/2002 09:58:00 PM || #

A Japhy epigram: Love: It will add life to your years and bags to your eyes For a season of fallen tears is short payment for a lifetime-lasting moments' suprise.

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posted by Japhy at 11/26/2002 01:05:00 PM || #

Let's Get Racy! The Race Card's Back- In the Wake of Political Correctness, A New Dialogue Emerges...yo! The most honest and engaging debate about race in America is being waged not on the floor of the Senate or at a Harvard colloquium, but at Blackpeopleloveus.com. The site, claiming to be the creation of two lily white WASPS named Johnny and Sally opens up boldly proclaiming, "Black People Love Us!" Highlights include quotes from Sally and Johnny's Black friends ("Sally's always saying: "You go girl!" while "raising the roof" to mainstream hip-hop tracks at cheesy bars. That's fun! I relate to that.") and photos of Sally and Johnny clearly losing a game of Hangman where their Black friends have given them the clue, "R _ C I S M". However, the satirical nature of the site is not what makes it so enthralling. It's the comments people who visit the site have made that make this site such a success: "If I saw you people on the street, I'd run you over with my truck" "I imagine this site began from the idea of a mixed-race group of individuals. If it is not, I hope its creators, who pose the pro/antagonists as white people, recognize the implications of doing so, and do not seek to reinforce racial hierarchies of language and debate inherent in our social and academic worlds." "that $hit was hilarious, if people don't get it, fcuk em! sincerely, a big fat black chik who enjoys surfing and skydiving" "Everyone is laughing at the site. I know it is a joke, but there are actually some people out there who don't believe that it is. Please confirm that it is for me so that I can tell these people!" Blackpeopleloveus.com goes beyond the SNL parodies and Chris Rock jabs to create a snapshot of how race is perceived in America today. Political correctness has been exposed for what it always was, a whitewashing of racism and stereotypes that served only to assuage white guilt, and in its place a new conversation has begun, often heated, never correct, but involving all colors and views. It's okay to talk about race again. Recently released from the now defunct hip-hop magazine, Ego Trip's Big Book of Racism, is an in-your-face tour guide through the many ghetto's and mansions that make up American race culture. Catch a showdown between The Beatles White Album and Prince's Black Rain. Find out who is more Latina, Cameron Diaz or Christina Aguilera, based on such criteria as "size of booty" and "likelihood she'll whip out some crazy nasty Spanish sh-t on you". Ego Trip seems primed to offend, but the effect is actually disarming. In one section there is a proclamation of "Things We Can and Not Forgive White People For". It forgives, "Enslaving our people for centuries while denying us the right to even have our own names" while not forgiving "SUV's". The Big Book of Racism packs just about everything- and everyone into its pages. Perhaps if we can laugh at ourselves, it finally means we can recognize ourselves as well. * special thanks goes to Jimmy Dunlop for pointing out the site to me From Amazon.com:

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posted by Japhy at 11/25/2002 12:40:00 PM || #

The Show Does Go On! The Westford Academy Drama Club Seniors of the Class of 1997 as South Park characters. Created by yours truly with a little help from The South Park Character Creator. Can you guess which one is Japhy? Should you happen to be in the Westford Massachusettes area today, this is the final day for you to catch the current Westford Academy Drama Club's production of Godspell. I, unfortunately, can not make it and unfortunately won't be able to write a review of what will surely be a stirring production. Here are some pictures of the students rehearsing the play. I do not know any of them, but like me, I'm sure if you've ever been in any high school drama club, you will recognize them. Scrolling throught the photos you will know at a glance the Pretty-Young-Thing-Who-Is-Sensitive-But-Knows-She-Has-Talent, the Guy-on-a-Sports-Team-But-Is-Acting-In-A-Musical-Because-He's-Dating-The-Pretty-Young-Thing, the Big-Girl-And-I-Mean-Big-Girl-Who-Is-So-Happy-To-Be-Singing-Her-Heart-Out and of course The-Gay-Boy-Who-All-The-Girls-Love. I always liked drama club. It was fun and awfully moody and I suppose that's what it is supposed to be. It's not real theatre training at all, but it is real life training; not only teaching you to be part of a team in a different way then Varsity Football ever could, but also preparing you for the incredible ups and downs that inevitably come when you're the kind of person who likes to sing The Little Mermaid's 'A Part of That World' with their friends while dressing up in silly costumes. So- here's to you good ole' Westford Academy Players: Break a leg!

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posted by Japhy at 11/24/2002 01:17:00 AM || #

japhy unplugged : in a cab going to 1984 saw punch drunk love still hate adam sandler

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posted by Japhy at 11/22/2002 10:14:00 PM || #

Fun aside: You all know how much I loathe and detest the incouragable Andy Hicks. (Recent IM conversation- paraphrased from memory) Andy: Whatchya doin'? Japhy: Drinking soymilk. Andy: Decided to go vegan? Japhy: Nope. Lactose intolerant. Andy: Well, I guess that's the trendy thing to do in the Big City. Japhy: Be lactose intolerant? Andy: Yup. (pause) Andy: I'm licorice intolerant. Well, I'm biased. Here's an account by a former bandmate of Andy about the rise and fall of their indie heart-rock band Soma. It presents a softer side to Andy, which I am unable to provide, him being my former high school rival and all. If you don't give two cents about my rivalry with Andy (which I understand), you still may want to read the article, if only to get a sense of how grandiloquent garage band musicians can get about their work. The Beatles never had it as bad.

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posted by Japhy at 11/20/2002 12:50:00 PM || #

AWWW NUTS! I was on the subway this morning and saw the cover of the Daily News. There was Michael Jackson holding his baby over a metal hotel railing, above him, in giant white type, was the headline: "WACKO!" I laughed out loud, as I often do when presented with a metro New York paper and went back to reading my subway book of the week, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, by Michael Chabon. Walking to class I remembered how, when I was a little kid, I would love it when at Thanksgiving, my older cousin would pick me up and throw me in the air, sometimes narrowly missing the ceiling fan. My brother and I would beg him to do toss us around or swing us in a circle, while he spun around in place. Up I would go like a discus ready for flight and the terror I'd be let go and sail out the window was half the fun. So, I kind of got what Michael was doing. It was either that or he was reinacting that scene from Roots, still upset that Levar Burton beat him out for the part of Kunta Kinte. Unfortunately, Michael being Michael, a little harmless kid tossing isn't going to go over too lightly. The story has made the front pages of many major newspapers and you know what that means- As I write this, Jay Leno's crack comedy writing staff is coming up with some snappy one liners, Letterman is perfecting his 'Top 10 Things Michael Jackson's Son is Going to Blame His Dad For When He Grows Up' (#6: Hiding my face till I was 16 so people wouldn't know I am blacker than you) and Jackson's people (ie: Liz Taylor) are setting up the Very Special Baraba Walters Interview with Michael (CLIP: Michael dangles baby over railing. CUT TO: The Interview. Michael is bathed in soft gauzy light. Barbara: It must be so hard sometimes. Michael: I love my son. I really do.) Yes- Michael is weird. Whether riding down Madison Ave with Al Sharpton in tow acusing Sony of being racist or accepting an MTV Artist of the Millenium Award that didn't really exist, Michael never fails to do the socially inept thing. It's as if he's replaced the microphone in front of his mouth with his foot. Still, I expect more from our Schlock Media journalists. Michael is just too easy a target. Here are my suggestions for new holders of the AMERICA'S FAVORITE WHIPPING BOY/GIRL post. 1. Mayor Mike Bloomberg Pros: Public figure. Can never live up to predecessor. Rich. Eccentric. Rides the Subway. Hates Smokers Cons: Not in the media much. Republican (those guys could stab Daschle to pieces on the Senate Floor and the Democrats STILL wouldn't go and vote them out of office) Folksy charm exuded by asking to be called 'Mike'. Old White Dude. Sample Headline: MIKE HIKE! Healthnut Wackjob Mayor proposes banning cars in NYC. Invests 5 mil in new campaign to "Make them walk to work!" 2.Jerry Springer Pros: Is already associated with scum. Has political ambitions. Prospect of Jerry being a guest on 'Jerry'. Cons: Unlikely to top his guests depravity. Gets 5 minutes at the end of every episode to justify himself. Old White Dude. Sample Headline: JERRY'S CHERRIES!: Springer caught in love nest menage-a-trois with 500 pound "diaper lady", Klu Klux Klan Grand Wizard and Steve, the Security Guy! 3.Macy Gray Pros: Says thing like, "I oppose abortion like a sexy halter top on a funky mushroom groove and I'd like to punch Mariah Carey!". Is Black (see Michael). Is a woman (see Winona). Will have new album out soon. Her hair. Cons: Macy Who? Sample Headline: MACY EATS CHILDREN ALIVE AND WEARS THEIR ENTRAILS AS LOVE BEADS! 4.Prince Michael Jackson II Pros: Only nine months old, still has lifetime of youthful indiscretion, scandal and the pain of living in his father's shadow to look forward to. Like all Jacksons, covers his face with a funny veil while in public. Interchangeable with older brother Prince Michael I. Public thirst for biracial eccentric multi-billionaires to make fun of will never be satiated. Cons: None in the conceivable universe. Sample Headline: WACKO! Part Deux!

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posted by Japhy at 11/20/2002 11:36:00 AM || #

Well- I got MOST everything fixed, but Blogspot is still doing some weird things. If we all pretend that the Archive button looks normal and works, everything should be 5 by 5 again in no time. The Powers That Be have yet to explain why this is happening, but hopefully there will be a soloution soon. Till then- access the Archives here.

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posted by Japhy at 11/19/2002 01:25:00 PM || #

Everything's Coming Up Iambic Pentameter! Why Poetry is The Next Big Thing (again) Walk past the Longacre Theatre on 48th Street these days and you're more likely to hear freestyle hip-hop poetry than you are chirpy ballads sung by smiling chorus boys and girls. With the Broadway arrival of Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam, based on the popular HBO television specials of the same name, the hip-hop inspired world of poetry slams has finally grown up. While slams, which have been a mainstay of institutions like the Nuyorican for years and is established enough a form to have its own national association, Russell Simmons' Broadway effort looks to expand that audience beyond the downtown scene. And he's not alone. Today, Ruth Lily, the last surving heir of the Eli Lily fortune, bequeathed $100 million to Poetry Magazine, turning an institution that's run its ofice out of a library that donates the space into the single largest poetry institution in the world. Amusingly, Ms. Lily has submitted many poems to the magazine,all of which were rejected. What this means for the poetry world-at-large is as of yet, unknown, but what is certain is that for the perennially poor form, this isn't winning the lottery; this is winning the stock market- four years ago, that is. Americans everywhere seem to be taking a renewed interest in all things poetic. Poet Laureate, Billy Collins seemed to strike a national chord when he presented his poem to the World Trade Center earlier this year and it seems increasingly that the country is turning to the poetic form to gain some solace and insight into the new world we've been presented with. In the words of poet Lucille Clifton, "Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language."

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posted by Japhy at 11/19/2002 12:34:00 PM || #

Japhyjunket is in diapers! I've been a-writin' and researching web stuff for the past couple hours. There are so many great blogs out there, from classics like derek m powazek's: 7 images, which fits with my desire to have my blog be a content-site available to a mass audience, to the bare bones, but highly focused satirical blog antics of The New York City Anti-Hipster Forum. Then there's the Bradlands (apparantley, Missouri), which combines some pretty decent freelance writing with lots of entertaining personal anecdotes. What's a blogger to do? I promise not to geek out on all of you and talk about the finer points of RSS, SOAP and java classes, but suffice it to say, big things are afoot. And here's what I've been listening to while planning the future of Japhjunket: Stevie Wonder - Love's In Need Of Love Today The Vines - miss jackson Duncan Sheik - Sad Stephen's Song Beck - Already Dead Peter Gabriel - The Barry Williams show (single edit) Beatles - Hey Jude Adam Pascal and Mandy Moore - Suddenly Seymour lang, k.d. - The consequences of falling Patsy Cline - Walkin' After Midnight Craig Armstrong - Wake Up In New York Maria Bethania e Gal Costa - Sonho Meu Bikini Kill - Feels Blind Elvis Presley - Don't Beatles - Something Sinéad O'Connor - I Am Stretched on Your Grave (brought to you by a crappy WinAmp plug-in that requires a real web host to work correctly)

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posted by Japhy at 11/18/2002 10:53:00 PM || #

Comment like it's 2001 kids! Yup, Japhyjunket is trying out the ye olde commenting feature. Comment away.

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posted by Japhy at 11/18/2002 03:39:00 PM || #

Good news: Following in the footsteps of many other bloggers, I will once again have my own domain name soon. This also means that my site will once again include photos, writing and other warm fuzzies.

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posted by Japhy at 11/17/2002 09:38:00 PM || #

The Talk of the Town: Fiammi *apologies to the New Yorker and Lillian Ross for cribbing their style. We stood in the kitchen parlor, at this point frosted with leftover snacks and empty wine bottles talking to our friends Betsy and Daryl, who were discussing the finer points of Pennsylvanian pickle-dropping rituals. Daryl, who has only been in the city for a few months after growing sick of reporting for Small Town U.S.A. Weekly showed genuine interest in the crowds overall view on Manhattan living. "You see, at first New York makes you feel more you then you've ever felt before and it draws out all the emotions and passions you've always you wanted to reveal. Then it stabs those passions and emotions into tiny tiny pieces." "And don't forget about how it makes you fall in love with unavailable people! Like professers! Or bald people!" Daryl, for his part, just sipped contentedly on his as-of-yet-unamed drink invention, a combination of gin and cherry 7-Up. We're suprised to see someone grabbing at our belt and pulling us away from the conversation. Turns out, it's Fiona, one half of the lovely duo that's hosting tonight's fête. "That's a great belt you've got there, but some of the rivets are missing!", she says. Too much in the spirit of things to be embarrased by our Bohemian squalor we explain that the belt is not in fact ours, but stolen from one of our old roomates. It's at this point we realize that we may not be really talking to Fiona at all, that we have no idea who we're talking to, but they're saying something nice about us and point out how some of the guests have stolen the cheesey rotating party lamp and brought it into the bedroom to manufacture a homemade dance party. The current playlist seems to involve lots of New Order and the dance style can only be described as "enthusiastic jumping in place". Jen pulled us aside, sporting a very fetching hat and we chatted for a while on a zebra striped bean bag chair. Earlier in the evening we are accosted by another friend of ours, Kevin, who bravely fought the monsoon-like rain outside to come to Fiammi, dressed in an upbeat pastel floral print to fight off the dreariness outside. He has brought with him a small object of curiosity for our entertainment; a copy of Teen People Magazine with an article about a gay blind-date involving a former mutual acquaintance of many of the guests named Will. "You see here, he describes himself not only as friendly and having a good sense of humour, but he calls himself charming as well!", one of us notes. Betsy turns to another guest and says, "Didn't you used to be in love with Will?" "God, no!", the guest exclaims, going on to say, "We played Nintendo 64 Games and then he sort of dissapeared. After he came out, he came up to me and tweaked my nipple once at a Mexican resteraunt, but that was it!" Later, the guest was heard admonishing Betsy, "I'm here with a friend who didn't know that I'm gay!" Kevin interuppted and said, gesturing expansively, "I don't know- your friend didn't look like he was deaf, dumb AND blind", before pouring another glass of wine for the only slightly perturbed guest. We were introduced to Laura briefly, whose blog is filled with interesting things. Someone asked what a blog was and most of us admirably stifled the laughter, though Daryl insists that his site is an 'online journal'. As the night drew towards a close, we found ourselves in the coat room bidding people good-bye with host Sammi, who was still in disbelief that her co-host had left her own party to go to another party. It was generally agreed that the party had been a success in that everyone left unsure of whether they would get home or not and that no EMT's were needed. Betsy came in and we made plans to visit Boston to see the sights in the near future and we all reveled in the minor celebrity we had achieved through our blogs.

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posted by Japhy at 11/17/2002 09:20:00 PM || #

TV with Something at Stake In praise of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" I will never forgive my friend Kevin for turning me on to stake-in-the-heart drama "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer". If you haven't already been introduced to the many pleasures of Buffy, it may be too late, as this season may very well be its last, and is almost certainly the final departure for lead actress, Sarah Michelle Gellar. I'm going to assume some familiarity with the show, since recapping the last six seasons would involve far too many vampires, coming-of-age parables (insecure nerd becomes witch becomes lesbian becomes self-righteous authority abuser becomes drug addict becomes unsteady rehab victim and in the wake of her girlfriend being shot, becomes all-powerful force of vengance that rips the skin off her girlfriend's murderer and then tries to end the world so nobody will ever have to feel pain again) to recount here. Suffice it to say that after a year of watching the show, I've finally come around to seeing that Buffy is the best show on television. Ever. The episode that finally pushed me over the edge was this week's "Conversations with Dead People". Buffy spent most of last season trying to find a reason to live again after having been pulled out of heaven by her well-meaning friends (affectionately reffered to by fans as 'The Scooby Gang'..'cuz ya know- they fight monsters and stuff). In fact, for Buffy, her friends and family have always been the thing to keep her grounded, for better or worse. Last year, around this time, a demon came to town that made everyone burst out into songs that revelead their secrets (The Emmy nominated "Once More, With Feeling). Buffy only defeated the demon with the help of her frends, but in the aftermath of so many secrets revealed, the seeds were sown for each of them to wind up alone. This week, we finally see that they are, literally. Each of our major characters spend the entire episode alone, conversing with the dead (Spike, a vampire and already dead, seems to be chatting with a still living woman at a bar- at least that's what we can guess, because we don't hear this conversation, and Spike has a soul now, and there's a good possibility that the Spike we see is not Spike at all. Do you see this much ambiguity on The West Wing? Alyson Janney eat your heart out. Or let Spike do it for you. Oops. I just gave out a spoiler!) In any event- each of the dead people the characters talk to reveals the source of the character's isolation: Oft-neglected lil' sis' Dawn appears to fight off a demon to speak with her deceased Mother (who died, not by demon or vamp, but brain cancer- in the jaw-on-the-floor powerful episode 'The Body'), Willow (the lesbian witch I mentioned earlier) speaks through a recently dead guest star to her now dead girlfriend (the reason we don't see the girlfriend herself is becuase the actress playing her wanted more money, however it is explained away as, "You can't see her. You killed. You don't get to see her. That's just the way things are.") and Buffy, well- she gets her head examined by one of her former classmates-turned psych student-turned member of the demonic vampire undead. While I know this may seem oh-so-very-post-modern to the casual viewer, it is in fact, the opposite. "Buffy" does what all great drama aspires to do, tell stories of universal importance in a highly specific and unique way. "Buffy's" original premise- that high school really is hell, has matured with its major characters, who are all now in their twenties. The moral universe of Buffy is a murky one at best, with characters constantly choosing the wrong path, inadvertantely hurting each other (Buffy's friends bring her back from the dead- thinking she was in hell, but in fact, they ripped her out of heaven) and above all, trying to find a reason to live life with joy when life is lived among the monsters and the dead. For more anaylsis and critique of all things Buffy, check out Slayage, the Online International Journal of Buffy Studies.

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posted by Japhy at 11/15/2002 02:04:00 AM || #

Run for Your Lives! Run, run- it's awful! I'm without a floppy disk and am using my blog to save poetry. Yes, poetry I've written. Best to run screaming from the house right now. I'm no longer going to apologize for being an iconsistent blogger. I've been busy writing the past few weeks and while I do hope to eventually post it for y'all, I'm not ready to just yet. But here- have some poetry. It'll probably taste like burning. In five nights of Broken-morning taxi rides I’ve found Six crackle-drum maraca Water bottles Seven denim-bound thighs Drunkenly heaving themselves Upon themselves in stupor’d Tectonic motions (one pair, my own, fallen half-asleep, I did not fully feel) When they uncover my body I hope they find every bunion, mark, freckle and zit Covered over in harlot-arched red wax marks. *phew*. All done. Don't have an eyewash fountain nearby? Wash the pain out by reading some poetry by a real poet, my dear professer Richard Loranger, who is entirely unaware just what a bad influence on me he is. (inciting me to write poetry, that is- naughty naughty reader). See him (along with Bob Homan and Christopher Grosso) next Thursday (Nov. 21) at St. Joseph's College Council for the Arts (245 Clinton Ave., Brooklyn, NY) as part of Poetry Unleashed: Bob Holman* Live. It's free and it's at 7pm. More info available at www.sjcny.edu or 718/783.0374

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posted by Japhy at 11/13/2002 10:43:00 AM || #

It seems that Far From Heaven is only out in New York right now, so all you readers outside the city will either have to schlep into the city to see it or wait till the national release next week. I would reccomend the schlepping to New York. This is by far the best film of the year and certainly one of the best films I've seen in a long time. The movie, as you may know, takes its cue from 50's melodramas, but transcends them in ways unimaginable. Gloriously shot and brilliantly acted all around, Todd Haynes has created a film that stirs both the heart and mind. Julianne Moore's picture perfect housewife, who is forced to find a way to keep her spirit and warm humanity alive when everything she has built her life on falls apart is one of the most fascinating, endearing and passionate performances seen on the silver screen. Dennis Quaid, who plays Moore's husband is a knockout as a man completely lost to himself-- and who's understandable need to discover his identity destroys those around him, despite his raging desire not to. This is a movie that slyly suggests that a world in which we supress our desires is a world more richly lived. There are so many wonderful moments in this film. It's soul beats like a heart trapped in a steel shell, bruising itself with every life-giving beat. Ironic self-awareness may have died in the past year or so, Far From Heaven nails the coffin shut and frees us all once again to feel, to love, to live.

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posted by Japhy at 11/09/2002 02:13:00 AM || #

Go see Far From Heaven today. Just do it. I love Todd Haynes. I love Douglas Sirk (and I'll beat you if you laugh at me for it) I also love Julianne Moore. I will love this film and you will too. I'm so excited!

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posted by Japhy at 11/08/2002 11:55:00 AM || #

When I blog, I get wet. Yee haw all, I's back! I know I dissapreared for far longer than I said I would, but there's good reasons! Honest! First, as I said- I moved. I will tell you all about my amazing neighborhood in the coming weeks. Moving is rough. Apparantley, next to dying, it's the most stressful thing you can do. So says The Mexican. Then, I got sick. Oh, I don't get sick often, but when I do- look out! I cry, I whimper and never do I just get sick in one way. No- every last part of my body wants in on it. As soon as the cough dissapears, I get laryngitis! When I can talk again it's because I now have a fever. So it goes. Also, as some of you may have observed, it was Halloween. Which, for New Yorkers, is what Christmas is to everyone else. I was a Victorian Ocultist this year. I was then a drunk, smoking heavily Victorian Ocultist. Then I was just plain sick again. And oh yeah- been looking for a job and going to school at The Most Beautiful Campus in America. Which all goes why to explain, I haven't written- and I don't have anything to put up right now. Soon, I promise- I will fill you with tales of hot wet nasty bunnyhops up by the Old Lake, but all things come to those who wait. As an alternative, I reccomend www.daryllang.com Daryl's site is one of the best designed personal sites I have ever seen. It's clear concise and puts this site to shame.* Daryl was part of my tiny elementery school gang back in Maryland. He now lives in Brooklyn and writes for Martha Stewart. He claims it's a good thing. Tommorow, we meet up for dinner. I'm looking forward to awkwardly catching up on the past decade or so! He writes really well and manages to avoid the pitfalls that blogging tempt lesser writers into. I won't name names, but you know who you are. I'll be blogging again soon- I have my cable modem up at the new pad! As an aside of sorts, a lot of you are artists of some irk or aspire to be (though I take issue with that, since nobody "hires" you to be an artist) and lately I've been getting to the place where I suddenly realize how I am just beginning. Up until now, I've been frustrated with a lack of instant fame or berating myself for not working enough, essentially caught up in the business of being an artist. Now, I'm twenty-three, and finally am at the point where I am no longer being someone else's artist, but being my own and I'm shocked by what an infant I am. For instance, in my Sexy Victorian Poetry-Superstars Class (yes, that's what shows up on the transcript) we're reading Tenneyson's "In Memoriam A.H.H.", which is this really long poem about the loss of Tenneyson's close friend. He writes about memory and anniversarry's and the sorrow of no longer being sorrowful about his friend's death. I, as faithful japhyjunket readers know, recently took a stab at the elegaic poem and I've just re-read it having read Tenneyson and am invigorated. How is it that Tenneyson is able to more powerfully speak to the nature of loss and mourning about a man who, to me has been dead for two-hundred years, then I was able to speak of the fresh-hewn memory of those who I saw fall from the World Trade Center little more than a year ago? Makes me want to be a better writer. Not sure whether I have a point or not- other than, do not judge yourself for today. Judge yourself by the ages. PS- Apologies for the totally misleading title. It's amazing, no? Unfortunately, I really don't get wet when I blog. I do, however, get wet, but I'll leave it to you to figure out when. *- As I've noted previously, japhyjunket is, and has always intended to be, an interim website. For those interested in such things- there will be a new website, it's being worked on now and yes, there will be dancing girls.

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posted by Japhy at 11/06/2002 10:43:00 AM || #