China Loves Japhy! As many of you already know, China has recently upped it's net censoring measures, blocking Chinese citizens from thousands of sites across the net. Not only is it the dissident website critical of China's regime that's being blocked, major sites like Google and AltaVista are persona non grata if you try to access them from inside the Red giant. None of this matters, however- since it appears that Japhyjunket is in the clear. Perhaps the censors love my hard-hitting theatre reviews or have laughed at one of my charming roman-a-clef's about my family, perhaps it's because they know the Chinese people have come to depend on me to provide them their daily (mostly) dose of Japhyness. Whatever it is, it's definitely not because only like, three people read this blog, and I am honored that the Chinese government has found my blog worthy. To celebrate this glorious turn of events, I've composed some brief words: Jiang Zemin when will your people be free? What Dynasty are you waiting for to teach you that shooting your people arresting the Falun Gong is no way to Enlightenment? If you'd like to see if your site is being blocked by China, click here.

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posted by Japhy at 9/30/2002 01:12:00 PM || #

Haruki's Wild New York Adventure This past Saturday it happened. Haruki Murikami, author of The Wind up Bird Chronicle and Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World was due to arrive at the Union Square Barnes & Noble, to sign copies of his new book, After the Quake. It was there we met. Betsy and I were both NYU Dramatic Writing ex-pats. We bonded over blogging and web design and of course, Haruki. Say his name. Haaaaaruuuki. So very pretty. Like Betsy's ears. We were joined by Sammy, The-Girl-Who's-Name-I-Forget-But-Reminds-Me-of-An-Old-Friend-Named-Celena, and Daniel, who had taken a bus from Harvard just for this occasion. Haruki signed and signed so fast that the security gaurds, who had kept telling us we would not get our books signed looked upset. Haruki's female companions kept things moving, stamping each book with an original stamp of some design. But we were not to be satisfied. We grabbed Haruki (he's quite small) and told him that he was coming with us for tea. He protested! We told him we would take him drinking afterwards and he relented. We stole the Trendy German-Made Cutesy Promo Car parked out front and made our way to a tea house where we stole all the teapots and the cute punky Japanese waitress who tried to serve us. They're in the closet now: Haruki, looking sad, the waitress and the the tea. Haruki occasionally asks for spaghetti or he'll turn to the waitress and compliment her ears. Soon we will have tea. Soon we will. btw- I'd just like to point out, that it's been almost 9 months since Japhyjunket came into this world and this is the FIRST time a picture of Yours Truly has appeared. I am so not vain. But I do look cute, no? :-)

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posted by Japhy at 9/30/2002 10:42:00 AM || #

Some Thoughts on “Howl” *note: I usually avoid posting class assignments on japhyjunket as part of my 100% FRESH (TM) commitment to blogging material. However, this weekend was just crazy busy, and the piece I intended to post just didn't happen. Please accept this sacrifice, oh most powerful blog readers! Howl, btw,is a fantastic poem by Alan Ginsberg. Read it here. It was December of last year that I decided it was time to leave Albuquerque and come back to New York. I had woken up two weeks before with this distinct image of my friend Ray and I walking up the spiraling incline of the Guggenheim, talking about Frank Ghery’s plans for a new museum downtown, a massive skyscraper-thing rising up out of billowing clouds of aluminum. I woke up with this image and it made my flesh crawl and my stomach clench. I knew I had to go home. Looking back on it now, everything was collapsing. I really loved the New Mexican desert, which, by fluke was far colder than the Manhatto I had left just three months ago. I loved the way the impossible Sandia’s demanded attention no matter where you stood. I loved the way scientists from nearby government labs would come into Applebee’s and over beers, get their waiter (yours truly) to figure out bizarre physics questions. I loved the bitchy Latino lesbian that kept outing my boyfriend and I to the rest of the wait staff. I loved it all, but it was the needy possessive love that comes when you’re poisoned and sweating and parched you need an antidote fast. It didn’t work out, is what I’m trying to say, so I bought a ticket for the daily train to Chicago and got on. The Southwest Chief, as Amtrak calls it, is the last holdout of what America was; a traveling diesel homestead being chased back and forth over the West. Onboard, a peroxide blonde whose hair had been heat damaged, whose heart had been broken by her cheatin’ newlywed husband of two weeks, whose leg had been fractured when a car had run over it, ordered around a sweet girl from Kansas, making her carry her pocketbook and get her food. They had only met at the last stop, but as the blonde had said, “If I have to be sober for even one minute, nobody’s gonna be happy!” Over tiny cans of cold margaritas, the blonde, her servant, a Rastafarian and I played games of euchre as the Denver Highlands swept over us. Later, I went to the smoker’s car and shared the communal bottle of Jack as two kids from L.A. told us all how they planned on smoking up in every bathroom on the train. The guy had on a sweatshirt that read ‘Property of Paramount’. Housewives and hooligans bonding over nicotine and booze eventually made my eyes weary enough to go back to my seat. In the dark, the trains’ rocking did not lull. No, it was a nervous twitter, the panting and squeeching of metal and rail, taking me home to what? A city that invited me in and then hated me for doing so. A city that would send me to the hospital in the middle of the night with certain conviction I would O.D. A city that I had finally pegged and won; till the sky fell. I need to get off this train. If I go back I will die. I know it, I know I will. Call Matthew. I’m scared and there was a bomb threat on the train (there was, before I got on) and I want to come back. Is it okay if I come back? Cell phone cuts out. Somewhere in Kansas, it’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m walking through the tilting funhouse corridors of the train looking for a conductor. I need to get off this train or I’ll die. Finding the conductor, I explain, “I was just on the phone with my girlfriend and she was in a car accident back in Albuquerque and I need to get back there right away. She’s going to be fine, but I need to go back there.” He loans me his cell and I babble to Matthew like he’s been hurt and he’s a she and the conductor, listening in, says he’ll let me off in Kansas City, where I’ll wait ten hours for the next westbound train. At the station I try to sleep in the hard plastic chairs and Missouri is cold and corporate grey and cold again. Giving up, I stray a little from the station and find a large phallus built to honor the dead of The Great War and a Crayola store and the Hallmark Greeting Card Center. I want to get ribs, because this is where you get ribs, but I don’t have the money. I go back to the station and freeze my ass some more in my jean jacket and I think about Dean Cassady and Jack and Alan and all those other great heroes who just couldn’t keep put and who saw the great godly oversoul of America in everything and and and. I think I get it, but it terrifies me, out here in the middle of things, waiting, like a shuffleboard puck to be slid across the continent again. I don’t have a fucking clue. I laugh and choke down a cigarette. I don’t have a fucking clue! My breath is smoke. I don’t have a fucking clue! I grin! I’m terrified and I’m grinning! That night, as the train barreled back to New Mexico, I slept.

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posted by Japhy at 9/30/2002 10:17:00 AM || #

Happy Birthday MO! Today is MO-Day. No, not Monday, and no, we are not celebrating that perky and lovable WB heroine, Moesha, either; today we celebrate MO! MO, for all you lurkers out there in Cyberland is my brother. Today, MO is 21. Of course, for MO, this day is just the high point of what is a three month global celebration of MO. The Queen's Royal Jubilee has nothing on my brother's penchant for self-celebration and I say, "Amen!" to that. Why shouldn't we make a big deal about birthdays? America, it is high time to be a little more like MO! Do not meekly mention that you're a year older to your co-workers as you pack up for the day. Screw 'quiet, intimate dinners'. Be like MO, America. MO says that on your birthday, the world is your slave. Order your boss to bring you your coffee! Tell the policeman to give himself a ticket! Set off fireworks in the afternoon! Why? Because it's your birthday. If you still don't feel comfortable about celebrating your birthday, I reccomend an even better alternative: Celebrate MO's. That's right. Turn to the person next to you and wish them a happy MO-day. Hit them when they ask you what MO-Day is. Why? I dunno, but it's all very MO. By the way, MO hates being called MO, but that's his name and even though it's his birthday, I'm going to call him MO. Happy 21st MO! Now you can go drink in classy bars that I.D., gamble away your money and pay to see hot naked chicks in action. Who could ask for anything MO?

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posted by Japhy at 9/25/2002 10:46:00 AM || #

Theatre Review: No Friend of Mine: “Befriending Beau” It seems that Tash (Adam S. Barta), the hero of the recently revised, self-professed “cult classic” ‘Befriending Beau’, now playing at Café Chashama, can’t seem to get a break. His best friend, whom he desperately wants, is a sexually confused heroin addict prone to didactic monologues about the nature of humanity. His mother is unloading him on his estranged father, so that she can move to Vegas with her rich new “boyfriend of the week.” His ‘zine about “being fucked up” called ‘Splain has only sold fourteen copies. When he picks up the phone to call Beau, the phone doesn’t ring for a good minute or two. Yes, even the sound operator seems to be working against poor Tash. That this play has survived three productions; first at HERE, then at the NY Fringe Festival, and now its current incarnation as part of The Chip Deffaa Invitational Festival, implies that someone, somewhere, believes in this play…or likes to see naked boys blather on about drug use for two hours; perhaps N.A.M.B.L.A is an investor. At one point, we learn that Tash has done some gay porn, videotaped by an old leach named Mark. When Mark calls on the phone (this being L.A., everyone always talks to each other by phone, never really meeting. Oh, how isolated we all are! Oh, how the director/writer, David Gaard, feels the need to belabor this point!) his voice is so oddly distorted that you are left wondering when it was Darth Vader got into the porn industry. It’s far too easy to take pot-shots at such an ill conceived work, and also, a little unfair. The two men that comprise the heart of “Beau” are actually quite good. Mr.Barta’s ‘Tash’ is so sweetly naïve and unaffected, despite his attempts to be otherwise, that you can’t help feeling for him. Even when the playwright’s dialogue turns him into a pathetic, needy vampire, Barta is able to wring out a little bit of sympathy for his completely unsympathetic character. Joshua Decker plays the eponymous ‘Beau’ like a drug-addled Cary Grant, desperate, but oh-so-charming. Playing a drug addict is a perilous task for any actor, and Mr. Decker demonstrates wisdom beyond his years in playing Beau without pathos. His drug addiction is not the root of his problem; it is the expression of his problem. This all brings us to Ashley Sansone. Sansone plays 'Chili', the young drug dealer who completes this trifecta of teenage troubles. Alternately a confidante to Tash, a lover to Beau and, utterly inexplicably, an administrator of drug/sex questionnaire’s to both, Ms. Sansone is breath of fresh air. Where Barta and Decker try to imbue the play with meaning and value, Ms. Sansone has clearly put no effort into her performance, repeatedly looking at hand-written notes for lines, using her Minnie-Mouse-on-dope voice to disguise her complete lack of commitment to this ridiculously unfocused play. Ms. Sansone’s dreck is what ‘Befriending Beau’ deserves, but my hat is off to Barta and Decker for trying to turn mud into pearls. Befriending Beau is playing at Café Chashama (111 42nd St.) through October 14th. Tickets are $15 and may be purchased by phoning Smart-Tix at 212.206.1515

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posted by Japhy at 9/25/2002 10:07:00 AM || #

Tuesday on the Tube TV is weird, man. Really fuckin' weird. Is it possible that the entire television industry can suffer a nervous breakdown at once? After warily reaching for the remote this Tuesday, I think we've got a resounding 'Amen!' going on here. Did Regis really say, "Watch me save the network for the second time!" while plugging his 'Live! Primetime' Special? Did the network really cut him off mid-sentence, or was that preplanned? Has David Lynch hired Alan Dershowitz yet to handle the copyright and style infrigment suit that is 'Push, Nevada'? Was the most innovative and heart-warming thing to appear on cable this year an Aeropostale commercial...that aired during the season premiere of 'The Real World'? Is it possible that a single cast member of the new 'Real World: Las Vegas' is straight? They ALL are! Then why is it they are doing the most bitchy, 'I wanna be on Melrose Place' antics EVER? What happened to this being the season of a return to 'traditional values'? What next? Is one of John Ritter's '8 Simple Rules..' for dating his teenage daughter, 'You must pose as a gay man to live with her and her plucky and vapid roomate.' Surely, this is the end of the world as we know it.

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posted by Japhy at 9/17/2002 08:43:00 PM || #

Stay Tuned TV Sucks. Some TV sucks less. Weird things are brewing in Push, Nevada this eveining at 9p.m. on ABC. Everyone is talking about how this show has tons of Lynchian creepiness, which of course, is just a teensy bit ironic, considering that ABC rejected the REAL McCoy two years ago, when they pulled the plug on David Lynch's "Mullholland Drive". Fortunately, the series became a terrific movie and a huge feather in the cap of Mr.Lynch, while the alphabet web continued to put out shows that were only terrifying in that they were so incredibly bland. Here's hoping Affleck-produced 'Push' gives ABC a shove in the right direction.

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posted by Japhy at 9/17/2002 12:58:00 PM || #

Iraqi Roulette This would be far more fun to watch if there weren't thousands of lives at stake. Politics, between states, at least, is a game, oftentimes bloody, but mostly strategic. I ask you this: If you were a small and not generally liked country that was facing certain anihalation by the world's only superpower and the only hope you had of any survival at all was to gain international support, what would you do? Why, allow the U.N. inspectors back in, unconditionally, of course. If you have to, scrap your weapons of mass destruction program too. After all, what good will they do you if you have no country to fight for? Obvious, no? Then why didn't the Whte House anticipate this? What will happen now is that Iraq will come away with a clean bill of health,and even if Saddam constructs a Ptokemkin village, with no real change behind it, it will be good enough for the U.N. Then, the U.S. will have no choice but to act alone. By alone, of course, I mean with Britain at our side. I really am begining to wonder what Dubya promised Blair; his bust added to Mt. Rushmore? All the bangers and mash he wants till he pukes? Who knows why the British do anything, really? So the U.S will act alone, after the U.N. says that there are no weapons of mass destruction inside Iraq, and of course we'll be successful (...eventually) in routing out Saddam, but what next? As far as Iraq goes, we'll be morally obligated to put the country back together again and that will take a long time. An article in the Atlantic called 'The 51st State' covers this topic thoroughly. The far greater danger lies in our increasingly imperialistic swagger. To Americans, it seems like we're doing the right thing, going in and protecting lives. To Russia, China and especially Europe, we look like kingmakers. It's basic politics that kings do not kill kings. It's bad busines and we even had a law against it in the U.S., until the USA Patriot Act came along. Why is this such a bad idea? Because if one government says it can dictate what kind of government another soveriegn state may have through the use of force it sets a precedent that may bite us, or our allies badly down the road.. It justifies Yasser Arafat and Palestinian bombings, it justifies the IRA, it justifies the Basque Sepratists, and the list keeps going. The White House should not stoop to using the tools of terrorism to prevent terrorism. The White House has an obligation to capture the leaders of Al Qaeda, including Osama Bin Laden. The White House has an obligation to spur the investigation and prosecution of America's corporate criminals. The White has an obligation to implement a strategy to revive our ailing economy, to restore the mult-billion dollar budget surplus it inherited from the previous administration, or at least wipe out the multi-billion dollar deficit this administration has brought upon the American democratic apparatus. In short, The White House has an obligation to the people of America. It had better start living up to it. Note: Blogger.com is not posting my blogs for some unknown reason. Hopefully, when you read this, it will still be timely, but I'm open to hearing about any other blogging alternatives.

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posted by Japhy at 9/16/2002 10:07:00 PM || #

Recipe-O-Rama! From Japhy's Kitchen to your own, scrumtious home-made treats that swat Martha Stewart on her big fat matriarchial bottom. Green Deviled Eggs with Ham Sure to delight little children and nostalgic Gen-X hipsters alike, this Seussian concotion will be a bigger hit than your neighbors' Thai duck confit at the next potluck, winning you friends and admirers, while Mr. Gourmet Fancy Pants stands in the corner like a sour Grinch. A true classic, reinvented. Items Needed: (for 12 Green Deviled Eggs) 6 hard boiled Eggs (large) 3 tablespoons mayonnaise or salad dressing 1/2 avocado, mashed 1 tablespoon sugar 1 teaspoon finely chopped cilantro 1/4 teaspoon hot sauce (or to taste) 1 teaspoon lime juice salt & pepper to taste finely diced ham (optional) Preparations: If you want to make it seem That your deviled eggs are green First take the eggs and put them in a pot. Then cover them with water and boil till they're hot hot hot. Then lower the heat down down down till the second hand on yr clock's gone 12 times around! Now, hurry hurry my rascally fellow and chill those egss so that their yolks stay shiny and yellow! This next step's so easy It should cause you no strife Take the egg out of its eggshell and halve it lengthwise with a knife! Now I know what you're thinking 'All this work's taking its toll!' But take a spoon and sink it in Put those yolks in a bowl. This is the time, when you can be rash Throw the remaining ingredients in and mash mash mash mash Might I distract you with my manly calves? See, while you were looking I took the yolk mixture and spooned in the egg halves! This may seem the end for any Dick, Harry, and Pam, but to make this dish perfect sprinkle our eggies with ham! Somehow we survived all this rhyming and jive all so we can eat a baby chicken before it's even alive but at least we know now that our author is through and we can all munch chat, chat more and chew.

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posted by Japhy at 9/15/2002 03:59:00 PM || #

9.11.2002 I wish you all a safe and peaceful September 11th. I have had trouble writing about this day. What follows was just written. I'm not sure what it is and I apologize for thrusting it on to you like this. May we all have the courage to find peace. I. When I walked into work a year ago, today, I was angry. The guys in the shop were having fun at my expense. The new guy. So I ignored them as they stood in my bosses office, surrounding the TV. Who the hell cares why. Sat down and started work. "Holy Shit", these Brooklyn family men shouted from the glass office. Holy fucking Shit. A river of sirens flew past the street. Cruisers speeding by that had destinies with crushing mangled fallen steel waiting for them downtown. The second plane comes out of nowhere. The second plane comes out of nowhere. The second plane comes out of nowhere. Suddenly, I'm very calm. Phone calls, nobody can get through C'mon, C'mon. Are you alright On my screen: "THEY JUST HIT THE PENTAGON!!!" "Holy fuck, what's happening dude!" I race back to the office and there's more smoke, more smoke than you can ever imagine. I wonder how long those holes will be in the towers. They're going to look so weird, all blackened up by the smoke. Will they leave the second tower standing, ya think, without its twin? After the second tower falls, I call the studio to confirm they won't be shooting today. "No, I don't think so." "Kevin, are we still on for lunch?" It had been two years since we last saw each other and today we had planned a reunion. "Sure, I'll be right over." The 65th Street Pier is thronged with people. Kevin and I sit and talk over cigarettes, as we watch the towers burn. I don't remember the rest of the day too well. I left work and my boss told me he'd dock my pay. I ate at some point. Lots of voicemails. Yes, I 'm still alive. I honestly needed reminding. II. Wednesday I'm the only one at work. The tunnels and bridges are down New York with no traffic. I don't know how to convey the terror of absence No jet arcs trace the sky We all used to talk about what we'd do if ever we had to escape the city in the event a summer blockbuster comes true; The answer is you don't. You wait and you suddenly fall in love with Rudolph Gulliani Thursday I get into a big fight with my boss about going home for the weekend. He says he's going to have a talk with his boss and runs off. I pack up most of my desk before I leave. I get home and see on the news that they are taking volunteers at the Javitts Center. As I wait in line, I'm offered sandwiches. At first, I refuse. 'No really, please, there are more than enough.' They need welders. Friday I go home. Saturday I play miniature golf. Sunday I go back and there's smoke rising as the train swerves in through Queens. Monday I come in to work. I've been fired. Ok. Tuesdsay I sublet my apartment out to a friend Wednesday I go downtown My NYU ID gets me to Houston St. and the West Side Highway My eyes sting from the fumes, the smoke boiling over in reds and pinks across the jaundiced sky and they come they come from the site in trucks with city seals and trucks with camo painted on they come on foot and the girls hand them Dansani and Snickers they come in scrubs and orange vests they come out of hell No Orphean urge to look back and we look into their eyes and we begin applaud a rhythmic clapping Thank you thank you They look away or they smile or they burst into tears and furiously I scribble into my notebook: "I'm on Christopher Street now- A huge plume of smoke just went up- A crowd makeshift signs applaud those inside the disaster zone. The vehicles that pass have tires rimmed in soot. Two men in hard hats- their faces black from soot march through us- a gauntlet of applause. There's a plane- the first one I've seen- slicing the sky w/ a fine thread of white smoke There is no World Trade Center. A few spectators are now a throng of New York. The SALVATION Army rolls by, the red cross rolls by. This is a parade like no other. These men, these women are heroes. There is no question- there is no moral ambiguity. There is evil- and they are conquering it. Here. Here there is hope. Thursday I hang out with Kevin His friend came up to him covered in ash and blood The friend was downtown when it happened. He was young and able so they put him to work for thirty-six hours. He needed someplace to shower after walking the twenty blocks uptown. Do you know that the pulverized cement had reformed into pinkish black sludge as it soaked up blood? Did you hear the story about the firefighter coming out of the building, carrying a woman to safety and how they were both struck dead by a falling body? Somebody said, "Well, if it bothers you so much, shut off the TV." Kevin, chugging a cig, replied over the long distance connection "Yeah, I'd do that, but then I'd have to focus my attention on the smell of burning bodies and smoke that fills up my room." We both agree, that for the moment we hate anyone who doesn't live in New York. Later I will recognize it not as hate, but jealousy. III. The days dissolved into a slide show of Missing Posters. And Blood drive posters. And flags on every car. I was riding the subway at one point, and oh the smell really got in there, I'll tell you and everyone was silent, New York should never be silent and a woman, pink skirt on, starts to cry and one by one each person in the subway begins to cry but me. I don't cry till September 24th. While watching NY1 A girl comes on showin’ her Daddy's picture. I've seen this before. The girl about 11 or so is very composed as she repeats, for the millionth time I'm sure that her father's name is David, that he has a big tatoo of a snake all across his shoulders and if anyone's seen my dad please tell me anyone please if you've seen him please bring him back to me please that's all I want just anyone anywhere please please find him for me I miss him so very very much bring my daddy back. The television reporter holds her tight and her mother scoops up the sobbing child and I go to the bathroom and cry for two hours. III. You're going to have beautiful sunsets every night and be completely miserable. Kevin's parting advice to me as I left for New Mexico was, if nothing else, definitive. I saw a little bit of the country. I had a few panic attacks. I got angry at my parents and threatened to join the National Guard. I worked at Applebee's and found the honest simplicity of bartenders marrying their sweethearts of the lesbian waitress hitting on the papi manager and of giving guys directions to the nearest titty bar. I also went to casinos a lot. And then, two train rides later, like a lemming I was home. IV. There's more. V. Healing and rebirth are like plastic flamingoes to me. Yeah, I'm going to live and dance and cry and get drunk and love and verb my way into old age when I'll look back on this whatever-it-is with nostalgic embarrassment. But I am not a fool anymore. I will not ignore the twin holes in my heart cauterized by the searing blue September sky. I yell out to those who say this moment will fade. My screams have no end. You, you who call this 'any other day' Time to move on. I am your enemy. History will not muffle this pain. We who live Must now live For those who can not.

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posted by Japhy at 9/10/2002 03:40:00 PM || #

btw- In lieu of September 11th coverage, today I bring you something fun and frivolous- The Wild and Wacky World of the Victorians! So, I'm taking this fantastic Victorian Poetry class here at sunny old Brooklyn College. Frequent watchers of Japhy know I have a love of all things Victorian: Dignity, consumption and the like. A classmate has already observed, 'You're kind of a Victorian geek, aren't you?' I tragically coughed up a little blood in reply. In any event, I love this class. Love love love. Expect an ode to it soon. I also think I may have a favorite poet already. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, live from the mainstage at Japhyjunket, heeeeeeeeere's Mister Thomas Hardy! (insert loud applause and muppetish screaming) Neutral Tones We stood by a pond that winter day And the sun was white, as though chidden of God And a few leaves lay on the starving sod -- They had fallen from an ash, and were grey. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird-a-wing... Since then, keen lessons that love deceives And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree And a pond edged with greyish leaves. ---- The moral of this blog is that Jill is alive and well in Japan.

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posted by Japhy at 9/09/2002 01:39:00 PM || #

A Way to Remember September 11th is going to be a day of memorials, tributes and speeches. While most people in America watched that day, a year ago, unfold on their televisions, for New Yorkers, it unfolded on their doorsteps, galvanizing NYC into a community like it has never been before. It seems to me that the best way to honor that day is, at least for those who lived through that day up close, may not be to spend it at home on the television, but out with your fellow New Yorkers. At the very least, it's better to share sadness than to keep it in. I was at Union Square, days after, when the park was still covered in pillows of candle wax and a group at formed a large circle around three guys from California, who had packed up and come to New York, with their guitars, "just so that we could show you that the rest of America cares about you too." These guys had slightly new-aged Christian tone to them, but nobody seemed to mind as we sat around singing America the Beautiful softly, like a lullabye. Being there, sharing the grief together, made it more bearable, it gave hope. This Wednesday, if you don't know what to do, may I suggest turning to one of the concerts being put on throughout the city? Music speaks where words fail. I'll be going to the my favorite NYC church, The Cathedral of St. John the Divine, for their Concert of Remembrance and Hope which starts at 7pm. Musical gueests include Joan Osborne, Jason Robert Brown,Bang on a Can Allstairs, Joanie Madden, DJ Spooky and Susan Deyhim. Best of all, it's free. If anyone would like to join my little group that's going, send me an email to japhy@hotmail.com Directions to St. John's: The Cathedral is located at 112th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, one block east of Broadway. By subway, take the 1 or 9 train to the 110th Street / Cathedral Parkway station. By bus take the 4 or 104 to Broadway and 112th Street or the 11 to Amsterdam Avenue and 112th Street. Here are a few other free alternatives around the city: Verdi's Requiem at Liberty State Park- 7pm. Zdenek Macal conducts the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra. While free, a ticket is required. Call 800/255.3476 Faure's Requiem at St. Francis of Assisi Church- 7:30pm The home church of Rev. Mychal Judge, the fire department chaplain who was killed on Sept.11th presents a choral and orchestral performance of Faure's Requiem. An Evening of Memorial and Renewal @92nd St Y- 8pm Readings by John Guare, Paul Auster, Art Spiegelman, Vivian Gornick and a dance performance, Bound. While free, a ticket is required. Call 212/415.5500

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posted by Japhy at 9/08/2002 02:19:00 PM || #

If you're really in on a Saturday, here's a few words from America's poet-laureate.

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posted by Japhy at 9/07/2002 11:19:00 AM || #

This Film Has Not Yet Been Rated: September's Movie Picks What to watch and why to care. September marks the end of the big summer blockbusters and the beginning of 'prestige time', that golden glow when studios release the kind of pictures you want to go see while wearing a burberry sweater. Please note, this is not a comprehensive film list, as there are plenty of those out there already, but a selection of movies that look personally appealing to me and/or may get overlooked in the Swimfan, Stealing Harvard ( Can we all agree that seeing Tom Green in a preview garauntees will we never, never see the film?) and Sweet Home Alabama crunch. City by the Sea The Players: Robert DeNiro, James Franco, Frances McDormand,Patti Lupone The Pitch: Based on a September 1997 Esquire article by the late Mike McAlary, 'City by the Sea' tells the true story of Vincent Lamarca, an NYPD cop (DeNiro) who's son (Franco) is the prime suspect in the murder case he's investigating. Why you should shell out 10 bux: DeNiro and Franco. While DeNiro is a hit and miss actor (like his doppleganger, Al Pacino, he has the bad habit of phoning in performances), he usually puts his all when working with hot young actors (see Ben Stiller) and Franco is the real deal. Critically aclaimed for his performance as James Dean in the TNT miniseries as well as the most likely candidate for next Spiderman villain, Franco is one of those actors just waiting to break out into super-stardom. Will "City..." canonball him? Script reviews are mixed and the film may be eclipsed by the controversy surrounding how little the film is based on the facts, but throw Frances McDormand in the mix and you've got a compelling family crime drama worth checking out. Dropping: September 6th The Four Feathers The Players: Heath Ledger, Shekhar Kapur (Director, "Elizabeth"), Kate Hudson, Wes Bentley The Pitch: Based on the novel by A.E.W. Mason, this is the fifth version of the movie, the most famous being a 1939 adaptation by Zoltan Korda. The year is 1898. The place: Sudan. When British officer Harry Faversham (Ledger) resigns his post right before a battle between the British and the rebels, his fiance (Hudson) and three friends each give him a white feather to symbolize his cowardice. Of course, our boy is no coward, he's just going undercover, but his actions weave vast consequences for them all. Worth 10 bux?: One word: 'Elizabeth'. Kapur is a master at combining visual excitement with subtle interior intrigue. Paramount is marketing 'Four Feathers' as a big budget action flick, but expect the drama to eclipse the sweeping spectacle. Dropping: September 20th 8 Women The Players:Catherine Deneuve, Fanny Ardant, Emmanuelle Beart, Isabelle Huppert The Pitch: A rich family gathers for Christmas in the late 1950's. Soon, Dad is dead and a farcical whodunit ensues with each of the eight women in his life a suspect with a motive...for murder. Farcical wacky murder! Worth 10 bux?: Look at the primary players again. If you know who they are, your question is answered. If you don't, what better way to get to know France's leading ladies than through this film, already released in France and winner of the Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival? Possibly this years "One Foriegn Film Americans Will See" (see Life is Beautiful, Amelie, ad naseum...) Dropping: September 20th Top Pick: The Trials of Henry Kissinger The Players: Eugene Jarecki, Christopher Hitchens, Alexander Haig, Brent Scowcroft, William Safire, Seymour Hersh, William Shawcross..and of course, Kissenger himself. The Pitch: In many ways a response to Hitchens book, 'The Trial of Henry Kissinger', the movie explores the allegations made in the book, namely that Kissengir was involved, orchestrated and is ultimately responsible for the toppeling of Allende in Chile, the massacres by the Suharto in East Timor and the lengthening of the War in Vietnam. Kissinger's supporters (there are many, including our current President) and his detractors get equal share of the time. Five seperate nations seek to depose Kissenger and the ultimate question of the movie is, 'Are war criminals only tried when it suits our own interests?' Worth 10 bux?: Yes. This is my first 'must see' movie of the Fall. It will be running at the Film Forum for two weeks starting September 5th, but will probably get picked up nationwide soon enough. Topical and timely, this movie may shed light on the question many Americans are asking themselves, 'Why do they hate us so much?' Go see it. Dropping: NYC: September 25th Elsewhere: TBA

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posted by Japhy at 9/05/2002 10:09:00 AM || #

btw- no sign of Jill left. She's just vanished. Like smoke. I think I'll go read Murakami's latest book (or latest translation, rather), 'After the Quake' at B&N tommorow. I doubt it will help me find Jill, but it's almost like finding her. Jill, where did you go? Have you turned into a sparrow or a karaoke song? What would being a karaoke song be like; everyone always singing your lines for you? I can imagine some poor Japanese girl trapped, riding on a speedboat rocketing across Tokyo Bay, surrounded by soft haze, staring out at the terrible production values all around her and when she opens her mouth to sing 'I Will Always Love You', a song she hates, it's not her voice, but the haggard man-boy bagpipe belch of some drunken wall street tycoon out trying to impress his Montclair rich-bitch with his ability to show his sensitive side through song. Jill, please don't become a karoake song. Where are you?

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posted by Japhy at 9/04/2002 10:41:00 PM || #

Japhynaut of the Week..Month..Whatever...I'm not getting paid for this ya know! While this is not a blog about Andy Hicks, who when the gauntlet was thrown down for an all out Blog Smackdown beween him and yours truly, this summer, turned tail and ran to the mythical 'High Road', it is tangential to good ole Angsty Andy. See, Andy's blog is... well, it is what it is. But like Soleri to my Mozart, Andy knows goofd things when he reads them. For instance, take Beth: Beth has a blog. It's actually an outstanding blog. Okay, I admit it, it made me laugh and was well, just so damned Massachusettes, a state that's a wicked good time! Beth works at the Boston Globe, in some capacity, I'm not sure, but they should definitley hire her and put her on some wacky 'Never Been Kissed' kind of assignment, if they haven't already. I don't really know Beth. I've met Beth, but I didn't really like her and I don't think she really liked me. This is not unusual, since as most people know, I am a complete misanthrope in person. Having once suckled the milk of human kindness, Beth naturally could only recoil in horror at the dark dark thing that is Japhy. Fortunately for me, Andy Hicks is a good friend to all, and has brought me into the wonderful world of Beth's blog. Yes Beth, even though an icy chill would come over the room were we to meet, you are The Japhynaut of the Week.

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posted by Japhy at 9/04/2002 09:29:00 PM || #

Happy Birthday Dad! Long-time Japhy readers know that my Dad is quite a character. No, she's not quite Margaret Cho's mother, but he's up there. See, his hobby is genealogy. My family used to be Polish. Good ole, dumb Polacks. We even owned a solar-powered flashlight (remember when those were actually a joke...and not a real honest to goodness camping accesory?) Then my Dad started digging around a little bit. You see, the records say we're from Belarus. And that we're Jewish. Geneology fever even struck me, and I found our coat-of-arms was a Russian Imperial Eagle...with a Star of David where the eagle's head used to be! So, I'm really a Russian Jew. But then, my Dad remembered my grandfather liked herring. So, now- we're Finnish. Because Finns eat herring, see? The one thing that he has been consistent enough about is his Native American heritage. No armchair Indian, Dad's been to pow-wows (His native name translates as 'Crazy White Guy who Buys Our Crap') and has danced in the ceremonial vetrans dance and laughed with the other natives as they shun my mother for being so white. In any event, today is his birthday and I managed to find an e-card site for the discerning Native American. I should make it clear that my Dad's card is about the evil white oppressers that have held down our people for generations...and not about my Dad, lest you get the wrong impression. I love my Dad, no matter how much he's obliterated my cultural identity. Happy Birthday Dad!

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posted by Japhy at 9/04/2002 09:02:00 PM || #

Those Dogs of War! Alright, I just got my latest issue of the urbanhound.com newsletter, a site dedicated to canine living in the big city and 'lo and behold, my pride and joy, my baby, Natalia, the Min Pin with a heart of gold was just recently the "Hound of the Moment"! Of course, this makes perfect sense, because she happens to be the best. dog. ever. Which brings me to this rant. See, as some of you may know, my puppy is at boarding school in Albuquerque right now, that is- I had to temporarily give her away. Why? My stupid roomates. Everyone who knows me, knows that my roomate situation is something like Murphy Brown's 'seceretary situation', that is, I go through them like hotcakes and most of them have been complete pinheads. Even I have been shocked by this recent turn of events, though. See, I've had roomates who have bedded people I was seeing, I've had roomates with emotional disorders, roomates who felt the unnatutral urge to Fosse! at 3 a.m., roomates who paint large phallic sculptures, but I've never had before roomates who are so utterly boring and banal. I'm not afraid to write this on my blog, because they are so completely clueless that I had to point out to them that the apartment we lived in was, in fact, rent-stabalized. God, I hate these wretched wastes of space. This is why God invented New Jersey! Why didn't they get the memo? The most distinctive feature about one roomate is that she adores Madonna, which of course is the most generic obsession imaginable, though she really does give it the good old community college try. Our hallway is a gauntlet of Madonna magazine pull-outs. They call to me, 'You Must Love Me!', 'Express Yourself!', 'I'm a Candy Perfume Girl!' Arrrgh! Run on through! Look away! The other roomate's distinguishing feauture is that he is like Pig Pen, were Pig Pen's ball of dust surrounding him actually, say- pot smoke. And who, can I ask you, spells their name legally as 'Kris'..with a K! It's not like I haven't tried. I say 'hello', I invited them to gallery openings, I even made lasagna. What do I get in return? Well, they shout 'Oh, No!' and start giggling when I enter the living room during one of their 'smoke up times', ie: Thursday-Tuesday. But these are not laid back, cool stoners....no- instead, I live with 1/3 of the reject cast for the Real World, Seattle. They're moody AND stupid. The other day, one of them described themselves as having a really 'subtle sarcastic wit'. Of course, they didn't say that, because that was far too concise and verbose for the likes of them, but that's what they meant. Of course, the only way that could have been possibly true was if they were using 'subtle sarcastic wit' in saying that comment! That would be brilliant. Alas, it was not to be? Did I mention that my roomate glues his face over pictures of people standing near Chris Beekman (of RW:Chicago fame) so that HE can stand near Chris Beekman? I also think that they think they are cooler than me. AND they made me get rid of my dog. Then had the audacity to STILL ask me to move out. These are the people I moved to New York to get away from. Won't anyone take in a cool, mature, but fun boy and his dog? Bueller? Bueller? God, I feel like I'm in high school. Thank you for letting me vent. Where's Jill when I need her? Jill, if you're out there: I lost yr cell #. Jill, what's a street wolf to do?

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posted by Japhy at 9/03/2002 02:59:00 PM || #

Photos: Japhy Grant

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posted by Japhy at 9/02/2002 10:56:00 PM || #

A Year Later... I used to have the most vivid dreams. I was this hero who lived in a great city. Highways were built on top of highways that some mad city planner had designed with twists and bends like a rollercoaster. Great tan brick building loomed up from an endless maze of rubble filled city streets, glossy black from summer rain. This was a city after its fall. I was picked up by the mob in one dream. Riding in their limo, they shot me in the leg. I remember looking down at the oozing bloodshot, thinking, lucidly, ‘Wow, it doesn’t even hurt.’ I was that cool. They were stupid teenage boy fantasies. The Iceman in the Mad Mad World and his exploits. It’s been a year now. A year of trying to move on. A year of conversations that begin, ‘I don’t want say it’s because of the World Trade Center, but…’ When it first happened, we didn’t know what to call it: ‘The Tragedy’, ‘The Recent Event’, ‘The End of the World’, totally at a loss to define what had transpired. Now, it’s just 9/11, a description mercifully devoid of any real meaning, just a marker. Before and After. My god, what a horrible thing has happened. I’m defenseless to it, even now. How empty everything seems. This isn’t pain or sorrow or loss. Those things can be overcome. This is something else; entirely new emotions on tap, or just the same old ones in new focus. Degrees of subtlety previously unknown illuminate from within. The differences between all the shades of ‘Perfect September Morning Sky Blue’ stand in sharp relief now, as if they were an entire spectrum to themselves. I often sit at home now, not afraid of the world outside, but unsure of its relation to me and I, to it. There seems to be a precarious balance at work and any subtle shift will topple the whole thing over. This may be how it always was and only now am I aware of it. One of the problems with being young is you can never be sure whether what you feel and learn and see are in fact new things or just part of the maturity process at work. Is this thing I feel unique or did I pick it up on Fox? I’m tied to these times, a child of the Zeitgeist, nostalgic for things I never knew. Nobody is built for tragedy, standing up to it is pointless and a good way to get yourself killed The worst thing about all this maudlin speculation is that what did I really lose? A job? A vague sense of stability? I’m pretty petty and weak when you come right down to it. My mother, in her dark moments, used to say she wish she could come back as a large rock. I asked her why. ‘So nobody would bother me.’ ‘But someone would come along and use you to picnic on or something, eventually’, I said. ‘Then I will be a rock in the desert, surrounded by giant shards of glass, nobody will come near.’ Missing the point, I sneered, ‘A challenge like that would probably just draw people to it from around the world to try to scale you. You’d be regular tourist attraction.’ She went back to her cooking. I was just antagonizing her now. I think if I were to come back as a rock, I’d be a rock in a stream. Slowly eroding away, carved by the rushing water, little bits of me silting up downstream. This is how I have to talk. When the towers fell they toppled with far more than concrete and steel and human bodies within. Our whole damned civilization fell with them and say what you want, but we don’t know how to fix it. It’s terrifying and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Welcome to the Middle Ages, brutes and damsels. Settle in, because it’s going to be a long spell. I suppose I should cheer you up now, otherwise you’ll be angry with me or worried I’ll do something to myself. Don’t worry though, this is just my elegy for The Dream. It wasn’t long ago; I wanted to experience everything, to know life in its mad passionate beauty, or rather, to have my own mad passionate beauty be returned. The thing to learn is that the water’s reflection is just that, a surface thing. Dive in deep enough and your lungs cave in, filling with water, and unfortunately, we are not fish. There is much to live for in this new world, but we must mourn what has been lost. We will no longer build soaring towers of steel that define the sky. We do not aim for the heavens anymore, held down by the weight of centuries. The giants of history stand on our shoulders now; we have become Atlas. Our environment is in shambles. Water is the new gold, tans mean cancer and seawalls define our coasts, a last stand against the ever encroaching sea. We are still building that bridge to the future, but there is no far shore in sight, just the endless expanse of a raging sea. Fortunately, there are many worthwhile things left to do. Show love to friends and family. Learn the finer points of cooking. It’s not really a bad world, this thing we inherit now. It’s a place of things and moments and time passing, that above all. Sand and water rushing past us, bit by bit smoothing us down into, perhaps, a different kind of beauty than the one we knew. What do I dream of now? I’m not sure, really. The dreams, they leave me as I wake.

-Japhy Grant September 1st 2002 New York, NY

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posted by Japhy at 9/02/2002 10:28:00 PM || #