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Never mind that it’s Monday

May 5, 2003 /

I have just restumbled upon Friday Five, wherein random webloggers and online self-publishing folk such as this author answer five questions published by Friday Five Dot Org. Disregarding the fact that today is Monday, a dearth of content produced locally, and a music theme in the latest edition, compels yours truly to tackle the five questions herein.

1. Name one song you hate to admit you like.

I’m pretty open with my musical tastes, including most guilty pleasures. I am, after all, a lifelong Kiss fan. But I must confess to enjoying, quietly and consistently, all the big Richard Marx hits.

2. Name two songs that always make you cry.

Music doesn’t make me cry. It does, however, make me swoon. Songs that get me include “Moby Octopad,” by Yo La Tengo, and, once upon a time, “Black Velvet,” by Alannah Myles (at least, it did, before it got played and cliched).

3. Name three songs that turn you on.

In lieu of particular songs, I will give you, dear reader, the one fuck-while-listening-to-this CD you ever need to own, given that you already know to stock your shelves with good jazz and Marvin Gaye to set the mood beforehand:

No Protection, Massive Attack v. Mad Professor

You can thank me later. It’s also quite good on its own.

4. Name four songs that always make you feel good.

So so many. A few zingers off the top of my head:

~ “Sweetness and Love,” Odds

~ “Where’s Summer B,” Ben Folds Five

~ “Riding on the Back,” Francis Dunnery

~ “Cult of Personality,” Living Colour

5. Name five songs you couldn’t ever do without.

Once upon a time I compiled a list of 33 1/3 albums and 78 songs I considered essential to my collection. Here are five of those songs, best as I can remember (someday I’ll recompile and publish the big sheet). Some of the artists and songs listed aboveâno, not Richard Marxâare among my 78.

~ “Movin’,” Supergrass

~ “The Jam,” Larry Graham Band

~ “Parasite,” Kiss

~ “Time Capsule,” Matthew Sweet

~ “A Love Supreme,” John Coltrane

There are so many more that the shortlist pains me. But it’s a start.

Restaurant facts

April 30, 2003 /

Sanford Levine, owner of the Carnegie Deli in New York City, calls himself an M.B.D.—”Married the boss’s daughter.”

The Carnegie, the quintessential Jewish delicatessen, smokes its own meat at a 22,000-square-foot facility in Carlstadt, New Jersey. The work was once done in the restaurant’s basement.

Joe’s Stone Crab in Miami, Florida, is the third-highest-grossing restaurant in the United States. And it’s not even open in the summertime. The first? Tavern on the Green in Manhattan’s Central Park.

Perhaps the best deal in Manhattan, Gray’s Papaya on Sixth Avenue has a “Recession Special” of two hot dogs and a glass of papaya juice for $1.95. The cost of a single prix fixe meal at Alain Ducasse on Central Park South (the city’s most expensive restaurant) would buy 164 Recession Special hot dogs at Gray’s.

Dog story

April 28, 2003 /

Florida holiday trip two weekends ago. My two-and-a-half-year-old nephew-to-be, Noah, is on the patio wanting to go inside. My dog, Charley, is standing next to him, waiting for the door to open.

Noah is too small to open a sliding glass door by himself, so he appeals for help.

“Charley! Open!”

Charley looks up at Noah expectantly: open the door, human. Noah looks expectantly back at the dog, then repeats: “Open! Charley, open!”

Grandma let them both in the house after she stopped laughing.

In the elevator

April 28, 2003 /

I step into the elevator this morning. A boy, around 8 and playing with a ball on a stretchy string, is complaining to his father, in his business suit and carrying dry cleaning plus spare clothes for his son.

SON: Mom—ma—muh—m—mommy is mad at me.

FATHER: She’s not mad. We just get exasperated sometimes.

On the eleventh hole

April 21, 2003 /

Scene: Father and son, age 10, playing golf. The father is increasingly frustrated with his game; the son is running around and having fun.

Father hits another bad shot, rolling his ball 45 degrees to the left.

FATHER: Nice. Real nice.

SON: Dad, why do you keep complimenting yourself when you hit?

Later that same hole, after the father has given into the golf gods and picked up his ball, the son decides to try a Happy Gilmore-style running swing.

FATHER: Come on, play the hole like you know how.

SON (muttering): At least I finish the hole.

Me, I parred the hole.

Who knew?

April 9, 2003 /

Wertheimer Steak Knives.

Diplacusis update

April 3, 2003 /

I received this question in an email today:

Did you ever get your ears ‘fixed’ (as mentioned 11/01)? I am frustrated with a similar condition 3+ years and wonder if you found help or enlightenment. My ears don’t seem to fit any standard condition.

After replying in email, I thought I’d share the news.

Greetings David –

Nancy

Hi, Nancy-

I was fortunate enough to rid myself last year of my aural problems. I don’t get the how or the why, but I found a chiropractorâspecifically, a kinesiologistâwho specializes in emotional balancing within the body. He “adjusted my chi” and the hum dissipated.

The gist of it, according to the doctor, was that I needed an outlet for all the stress in my life, as I am not one to notice or even admit to stress until after it’s over. For a while, he said, I was letting it get to my hearing.

I’d think it was a bunch of hoo-hah if he didn’t fix my ears.

He did, though. The process took a few weeks, and since then I’ve had some relapses of the hum and the diplacusis but nothing permanent. Months have passed since I last avoided a stereo. The daily tinnitus remains, but comparatively speaking, I’m doing well.

I keep the “cure” to my condition fairly quiet, thanks to its somewhat dubious nature. I’m not sure what you are experiencing, or how much this applies, but my ears have run the gamut, so I know whatever you face cannot be pleasant.

If you’re the kind of person who deals with emotions or stress in an internal manner, though, you should find a chiropractor with a kinesiological focus. Who knows? It may help.

Good luck, and keep your spirits up. With mystery ailments like these, we are our own allies or enemies.

-David

Titular transitions

March 27, 2003 /

When I first got serious with my now-fiancee I spent a lot of time with her family. Her niece and nephews took a liking to me, and at one point started calling me “Uncle D,” which I found amusing and flattering.

To avoid offending or pressuring me, my fiancee’s sister told her brood not to call me “uncle,” because I wasn’t one yet, and it could make me uncomfortable. That changed the kids’ tune: to their mother’s chagrin, hey began asking me, “David, when are you going to propose to Amy so we can call you Uncle David again?”

As soon as I got engaged, the game changed. No longer were the children waiting for me to become Uncle David; now it was I who was told to wait. They finally had the upper hand and they knew it.

So now I get cards like this.

On turning thirty

March 25, 2003 /

My birthday is Saturday. I will be 30 years old. For the most part I’m ignoring it.

Contrary to the custom of the last few years, I am not having a party. I have not requested anything in the way of gifts. My nice family birthday dinner was instead a low-key brunch that included my future in-laws. My fiancee is taking me to Cafe Boulud Saturday night, but it’s her insistence that I do something special more than it is mine.

I don’t mind turning 30. I’m very much ready for it—between business school, engagement, and the progression of life in general, I am prepared for the roll of the odometer.

But when compared to the other big-ticket items in my life’s shopping basket, the milestone birthday just doesn’t rate. I don’t want to think about a party; I don’t want to coordinate two dozen people, or even have someone else do it for me, since I’ll be involved. I have too much else on the brain. See you at the wedding, folks.

I expected this little essay to reveal much more about my feelings as I approach 30. I suppose the lack of excitement says it all.

Past tense

March 17, 2003 /

Glasshaus Press closed up shop Friday.

During its brief existence, Glasshaus was a top-notch publisher, releasing books on Web site accessibility, usability and online development that were clear, useful, and enjoyable to read. Their passing is a typical dotcom bust insolvency issue, as far as I can tell, and a sad one.

Glasshaus turned me into an author last year (see right-hand column). I always knew my book would have a short shelf-life; after all, how sites are designed is continually evolving, and today’s epiphanies may be tomorrow’s gaffes. But I expected the book to dwindle on its own terms.

Still, while I’m being shuttled to the archives a little early, that doesn’t take away from the quality output Glasshaus produced in its day, and the joy I felt in participating.

Good luck to Bruce Lawson and his staff, and thank you for your good work.

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