— M i a b i . F i l m s

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Tag "ramblings"

Two ladies and a ridiculous sign.On my way home from work tonight I saw a sign on the subway that read, “Surf The Train and you could get wiped out… forever”. With it is a picture of a dude hanging on to a train with the doors closed.

Is this a big enough problem where we need signs to remind us to not surf fucking trains? That’s not a rhetorical question. I’m quite curious. Are kids and drunks really surfing trains? Our future? What the hell is going on?

I blame the internet. Generations of kids knew not to surf trains. Even when trains were slow, people knew it was at least a bad idea. Now, from the day they are born, they have this monstrous web of all the world’s information at their fingertips, and they decide that surfing the train is a good idea. It’s gotta be connected somehow.

Really? We need a reminder?Surfing the train utterly reinforces my belief that there should be an age limit on the internet. Kids really have no business being on this thing. Have you ever looked at the comments on YouTube? It’s pointless because there are absolutely no good comments. It’s all just stupid kids bickering about bullshit or being as racist and jingoistic as humanly possible. Go ahead. Look at the comments for ANY video on YouTube. There’s billions. I’ll wait…

See what I mean. I blame the kids.

Surfing the train. Who ever heard of such a thing?

What ever happened to peacefully taking bong hits in your parent’s basement? Ride the snake.

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I’m guilty. I just read this article on Slate. In it, they come down… hard… on people who put two spaces after a period. I’m a major offender of this. This is how I was taught to type. Even now, knowing it’s wrong, I’m still double tapping that spacebar after a sentence. I can’t help myself. It’s burned into my mind. I have no idea how I’m going to correct this.

I blame Mr. Egan. He is the man responsible for teaching me how to type in 6th grade. Blame must fall to him. He should have known that these new things called “computers” were different than typewriters. How was I to know? All I knew is that Emily wouldn’t look at me because I had a mouth full of braces. (I even fought Lee for you, Emily.) I had no time back then to research typography, proportional typesettings, and the like. Look, I know teachers are shaping young minds and they do a thankless job. But come on man, you fucked me up good Mr. E. Think of all the unnecessary movements of the thumb I’ve made throughout my life. It must measure in the hundreds of thousands. Can you get Carpal Tunnel Syndrom in just your thumb?

It’s even worse now. When you’re typing on the iPhone, a double tap of the spacebar creates a period and a single space in whatever you’re writing. So I find myself TRIPLE tapping the spacebar just to get that extra space in there. When I’m doing a quick edit of my writing, one of the things I’ll do is MAKE SURE there are two spaces between sentences. I am beyond reproach. A glass of whiskey can mask the pain, but it can’t make it heal. That’s going to take a deep look inside.

Kids, save yourself from the embarrassment of putting two spaces between sentences. And for god’s sake, save your thumb.

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A couple things I’ve observed recently while riding mass transit:

Hey! MTA, put the public address speakers INSIDE your subway cars. So your passengers can hear them? You can do both guys- inside and outside. When we’re stopped at First Ave and 90% of the passengers have their white ear buds in, listening to Grizzly Bear, it becomes a necessity. I’m usually the one squinting like a maniac to hear the announcement. As if squinting is going to make me hear better. 90% of the time I can’t make out what they’re announcing. I could squint better…

Asking another passenger “what is going on” is not an option. If you miss that announcement, you’re winging it the rest of the way.

Standing in the yellow line as the train is coming is exhilirating. What a treat. That bubble of wind hits you in the face. A face, mere inches from a locomotive. Breathtaking. Equally exciting is when you are on the platform, trying to pass someone on the outside of the yellow line. And their back is turned to you. You have no idea if they’ll abruptly shift and knock you onto the tracks. Frenzy!

Not sure if this applies to others- I’ve noticed it particularly on the L train… Anyone else detect a distinct smell that precedes an oncoming train? It’s the smell of air freshener. It smells like flowers. Its as if giant, pink urinal cakes are strapped to the front of the trains.

Commuters who are rocking a Kindle or other ebook reader are still looked at as “weird early-adopters”.

Lastly, people who wrap themselves around the pole in the middle of the car, while others are clamoring for a little piece of pole real estate, should be tarred and feather. They need to be made examples of. Put them on a Judas Cradle in the middle of Union Square. Their indifference to the needs of fellow commuters should not go unpunished.

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Bon Jovi makes me gag. They are essentially jingle writers at this point. They’ll sell their music to whoever will pay them. Not that they had any credibility to begin with. But there truly is nothing redeeming left for this band. Disgusting. Even being born in Jersey, I always thought they were a bunch of pansies. Even that! I always knew they were Springsteen-lite. Sure, I thought they had a few catchy songs. I sing Prayer with the rest of you at every wedding I go to. But I always kept my distance. They are salt-water taffy. Candy. No edge. None. The Boss had more edge in his back pocket on the cover of Born in the U.S.A. than this band. Shit. Poison had triple the edge of Bon Jovi. I know, because I was into Poison.

Bon Jovi is a carefully constructed business. Not a band. A dinosaur of 80′s hair rock (nothing metal about it) that has somehow lasted by following that formula. The fact that Bon Jovi are still around writing jingles for MLB or selling out to television networks makes my stomach twirl. This is a band that is not interested in rediscovering it’s glory days in the slightest. They like their watered-down schlock-rock just the way it is now.

I suspect members of the band would agree with me on most points. They’ll tell you straight up that its a business.

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You had many friends. Many fans. Like Mrs. Rogers, a 2nd grade teacher at Riker Hill Elementary in Livingston, NJ, who once said, “Follow this rule, and you’ll be the next Shel Silverstein.”* We gather here today to pay tribute and respect to the “I before E, except after C” rule. Grammar police in the UK have decreed that you are “no longer worth teaching” because not enough words actually follow your lead.

Excuse me? Not enough words my arse. I recite this rule in my head a couple times a week and it never seems to fail me. Not enough words… Bupkis I say. I’m crying fowl. Foul I say! Fowel. Next you’re gonna say there’s an “I” in “Team”.

I was always under the impression that English was a funky language because it has all of these exceptions to the rules. The trick is learning those exceptions. Or, alternatively, letting your spell checker correct your spelling errors for you. The “I before E, except after C” rule is one of the best for the sole reason that many words DO follow it. Let’s not give up on it yet.

*I don’t believe she ever said that.

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I’ve always loved the idea of Jack Kerouac. The beatnik traveler. Chronicler of stuff. “Hey, Jack Kerouac” is my favorite 10,000 Maniacs song. Beat that! When I moved to Colorado after college, you know, to sow my wild oats, I decided to read On The Road. Seemed like a perfect fit. Neal Cassady, Greg Granito. I wanted to be a writer and this seemed like a good start. There was one problem. I didn’t find it all that interesting. I tried several times to get on the On The Road road, but it never worked. I just didn’t like the book.

Nevertheless, this didn’t change my opinion of Jack Kerouac, the man. I still found him interesting. But I’d forgotten about him. A couple of weeks ago I ran into a guy at a BBQ joint who was Allen Ginsburg’s assistant. Jack’s old pal. It got me thinking about On The Road and finally finishing it. Maybe I didn’t understand it at the time. Maybe I just wanted to read books about sentient robots and wormholes.

And then I read this article in the New York Times. Turns out Jack Kerouac was into baseball. Fantasy baseball. He used to have an entire league of his own design rifling through his brain. This solidified something I already knew. Jack Kerouac would have loved being in my Yahoo! Sports Fantasy Baseball League. And that I dig.

Lets finish On The Road together.

Jack's game.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/16/books/16kero.html

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Why do melons taste better when they are balled? I know I’m eating the same cantaloupe whether it’s chopped, sliced, chunked, or balled. But for some reason I prefer cantaloupe in a perfectly round form. This goes for all melons. Honey Dew, Cantaloupe, Watermelon. It makes no difference. Shit, I even like Kiwi like this.

It does beg the question, what else will taste better when it’s balled? I was at the MoMA the other day. In the “Design Store” (aka gift shop) they were selling ice cube trays that created ice balls. Can you image how good ice would be if it were in a ball? Good enough to be in a museum gift shop, I can promise you that. Think of the surface area. Think of how cold your ice tea could get. Would olives taste that delicious if they weren’t that shape? And they’re not even balls! More oblong.

The point is… chicken, hot dogs, even string beans… Most foods could benefit from being sphered.

How to carve a smile on a watermelon.

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I’ll be the first person to admit that I don’t understand the government bailout. Sure General Motors is a huge American corporation and there’s no telling what would happen to this economy (what else could happen?) if a company of that magnitude folded.

But the first thing I said to myself after reading this headline was… “Fuck You.”

How ’bout you guys?

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Ok, the baseball season is officially over for the New York Yankees. They’ve missed the playoffs for the first time in 13 years, blah blah blah. But this doesn’t tell the whole story. The Bronx Bombers haven’t been the same since October 2004. We all know what happened then.

I submit that we need to bring back The Bronx Zoo. The Joe Torre era is over. It’s time to put some fire into these overpaid ding-dongs. Joe Girardi tried to do that this year with little success. His demeanor with the Marlins two years ago was staunchly different than it was with the Yankees this year. He’s managing for a storied franchise. Replacing the phlegmatic Torre. He’s trying to manage people who in some cases are older than him. In other cases are ex-teammates. Where in Florida he had the young players’ ears… Here he’s got a bunch of gigantic egos to coordinate.

I don’t know how Jeter acts in the clubhouse. His personality in interviews however doesn’t lead me to believe he’s stirring anything up in there. He was brought up by Joe Torre. That’s not how he acts. I’m sure they all believe that they’re all highly paid professionals and that they should be able to self-motivate at will. But it just hasn’t happened in the past 4 years. Do you ever watch A-Rod in post-game interviews? It’s like he’s channeling Torre. Same exact mannerisms and all. A-Rod was at his best last year when he stopped caring what people said or thought about him and started playing baseball again.

Hank, you want to stay older? Bring back Sheffield. He’ll help create a zoo atmosphere. Re-sign Giambi. He and Captain Caveman are the only two people on the team that seem to make the clubhouse fun. I know Giambino likes to play the field, but he’s proven to be a liability. He’d make a terrific DH when you sign Teixeira this winter. I’m sure you’re gonna go after CC this offseason as well. It looks like he’s got some fire in him. And he wears his hat just like Joba! Go for it. Here’s another idea… Sign Milton Bradley. He’s coming off of a terrific season, and no one creates tension like Mr. Bradley. As much as I truly love Matsui, he’s getting old. Trade him and put Bradley in right.

Hank, you need to let Girardi know it’s time to get pissed. Get in the players’ faces. Your father was a master at doing this through the sports media. You have failed miserably this year. You need to study baseball this offseason my man. Maybe hire a writer for your personal staff. Your comments to the media have only made YOU look bad. Really bad. The Yankees are all about drama and the only drama we had this year was Giambi’s leopard underwear and your dumb comments.

This team needs to get angry.

Yawwwwwwwn.
Roooooarrrr!

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Consumption is netflixing the entire first season of Battlestar Galactica and converting it to ipod format for your morning commute. Regardless of what David Lynch says.

Consumption is buying a Slingbox so you can place-shift your favorite shows and watch them under your desk at work. When time-shifting isn’t enough.

Consumption is tivoing Mad Men, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Heroes, but having no time to watch any of them because you just rented Manhattan.


Consumption is knowing what the term broadcatching is.

Consumption is watching the Yankees this year while drinking whiskey.

Consumption is knowing exactly what 1 through 20 are on your Netflix queue.

Consumption is never watching a commercial.

Consumption is using PiP. For the 80′s crowd.

Consumption is having your podcasts stop updating because you are way behind on listening to them. Even the ones you like.

Consumption is going to White Castle.

Consumption is hyper-linking this entire post for your audience’s reading pleasure.

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