Advices For Your First Day

Dear Mr. President-Elect (for one more day),

I have some humble advice for you as you enter your term as President of the United States of America.

First off, don't start any wars. That's a big one. It's like when you throw the first punch in a fight. Even if the guy is literally begging for it, you'll most often be remembered as a jerk. Probably because you are.

Second, tomorrow you will be inaugurated and you might make a mistake. Whatever it is, a slip down the stairs, forgetting where you parked your car, or referring to the PM of Germany as him instead of her, please, when you apologize, look directly at someone and say, "Sorry, it's my first day."

Third, please have more fancy balls. You know, the kind where you have lots of heads of state over for dinner, drinks and dancing. Nothing says, "I like the United States again," like a classy party. And if for some reason you do this because a staffer read this and thought it was a good idea, please invite me. I would totally come and be hilarious.

Fourth, use your power to change the BCS, like you promised. The bowl games are very anti-climactic. Teams play in their divisional championships, and then it's like we forget about college football until after Christmas when, oh yeah, it doesn't matter anymore. Actually, if you don't feel like spending your political capital on this one, I'd understand. What has college football done for you?

Fifth, learn a martial art. But don't tell anyone. People won't think you're an agressive action-junkie looking for a fight, but if someone tries to hijack your plane (à la Air Force One), then you'll be ready to kick some ass. That would be super cool to read about in the paper.

Sixth, make regular (surprise) appearances on Saturday Night Live. They are still pretty funny, but I think that would boost ratings. You could give Alec Baldwin and Christopher Walken a run for their money.

Seventh, be responsible for starting a cool ghost story/prank in the White House. Again, don't tell anyone, so that in forty years, when you're a lot older, you can go back and hear people still talk about it on the tour.

I can't think of any more advice. Obviously, you are smart guy who can take care of himself. I'm sure you don't need my tips on how to have a good time. But I'm willing to bet these won't hurt.

Good Luck, Sir!

Happy New Year!

Here are my New Year's resolutions. They are not necessarily all going to be accomplished, but I hope at the end of the year to be able to prove somehow that I did many of them.

1. Write a post on New Year's Day.
2. Procrastinate less.
3. Eat more by adding a third meal (somewhere between dinner and lunch perhaps?).
4. Run 1,500 miles.
5. Write more emails.
6. Watch as many movies from 1939 as possible.
7. Learn to play "My Favorite Things" on the piano.
8. Make bookcases for my books.
9. Save enough money to fly to Europe at a moment's notice.
10. Buy more classic film scores.
11. Do 50,000 push-ups.
12. Drink more cocktails.
13. Learn more Spanish; enough to understand what people are saying about me on the bus.
14. Unpack the remaining boxes from my move a year and a half ago.

Here's to all of our goals! And the sea!

Highs and Lows

There are lots of different varieties of librarian in the wild. Mostly, they are suited to their surroundings, like most creatures in the animal kingdom. Ones who work in corporate oil company libraries most likely field questions about oil and companies. Ones who work in old South American country archives most likely field questions about politics and militaries and spanish (or something). I work in a university library, where any question is valid. This is because people study or research any kind of topic, and legitimize them by attaching them to very vague aspects of culture or language or society or some other kind of ridiculous means that enables a grown person to spend countless hours looking up information on the colors in children's books. I'm not laying a judgement here, at all. I think that's great.

So, one of the perks of my job is entertaining these people in their efforts to find obscure and random information. We could spend hours on something, unless is gets boring, and then the patron is screwed. The problem is, when do you say when? It's really a personal choice. I suppose the professional stance is after a reasonable amount of sources have been checked and you leave them with at least one follow-up lead. But c'mon.

Today I helped another librarian, because the place was dead, search for an obscure Muppet character. The lady insisted she had seen an early 1960's character on a Late Night-type talk show named "Fundinella Grindersnatch." Well, after a few mintues of solid searching, nothing came up. We found some history of Jim Henson and his first short program called "Sam and Friends" which aired before one of those late night shows. We also found a character named "Taminella Grinderfall." That sounds like the reasonable answer. Right?

Nope. Our patron was sure that she had the name right. Hmmm. Well, let's keep going, I guess. It turns out the character was a witch. So was Taminella. She had a "political pot" which she stirred. So did Taminella. When to say when? The lady had to leave to catch a ride, so I was spared. We tried to find a good biography or history of the muppets for this lady, but it turns out she was just curious, and it didn't really matter. That might have upset a lesser librarian. But I got paid to spend a lot of time researching the Muppets, so what kind of jerk would I be to complain?

You can never prove a negative. We couldn't prove that Fundinella didn't exist. But we had reasonable evidence that this other character was what she wanted. Sometimes our persuasive powers aren't too great. But that's not our job.

If that was a perk, here is a downer. Sometimes, during a lull in desk action, we librarians get to talk to one another. And sometimes I lay down the funny like no one's business. I get a good phrase in my head and I'm racing to deliver it in just the right way. Oh man, I'm a freakin' genius and my colleagues are going to keel over when the find out. They are rapt with attention. Hanging on each delicate word. [Sound of needle scratching a record.] Suddenly a patron comes out of nowhere looking suspiciously like he has a question. Sigh.

By the time we are done professionally servicing this dude, the moment is passed and we are all onto other things. My almost-genius is exactly that. Almost. But do I harbor any ill will towards that random, innocent person?

You bet I do.

If I Were Rich

In these lean times, when the economy isn't feeling so good, I tend to dream a little more often of good times with money that I'll never have. Why now? You'll have to ask a therapist, because I can't break into that vault upstairs and ask around; I'm not allowed anymore.

So, what would I do with tons of money, literally? Suppose I had enough to go a restaurant without prices on the menus? Or maybe enough to spit in people's faces? I wouldn't do that, even if I could. Some strange man did that to me in Spain once, and I didn't care for it. I took a little solace knowing he was crazy and did it to as many people he could.

OK, for starters, I would buy a country mansion, Count of Monte Cristo-style. Just walk right up with a wagon load of gold and force someone to move. But I would need to make it my own. Since I'm rich, I wouldn't care what anyone thought, so I would put in an ornate and extensive library. That would satisfy my need to have many useless and fancy things along with an endless supply of reading material just in case I have to board myself up after the zombie apocalypse.

But this house would need other stuff, too. Lots of underground tunnels. If you ever wonder if you have enough, just remember - you can never have enough. I'm sure there's a formula that civil engineers use to determine the maximum area before the surface starts to cave in. But I'm not an engineer, so that doesn't apply to me. These tunnels will need to go to all kinds of out buildings and caves.

So I would need some out buildings and caves. These could be used for storage of dangerous things, like dynamite. I would need that for all of the old barns I would move onto my property and blow-up. Why do this? Isn't that unnecessary and dangerous and destructive and juvenile? Well, yes. But I'm rich, remember? And if I don't do it, then who will?

A few other things I would add are some ponds with row-boats and pavilions, groves with an array of tree houses, and a gymnasium. The gym is just to have safe place to practice all of the dangerous and ill-advised parkour I would perform over the grounds. I'm sure there are many other things that a well-appointed country estate should have and any real gentleman would not be caught dead without. And of course I would have those too, naturally. I'm not an ogre.

Well, now I'm back to reality. Back to my dingy apartment with that leak in the shower and only condiments in the fridge. I suppose I could make a goal of earning lots of money over many years and making these day dreams come true. I could, but I would probably just spend it on plane tickets and film scores, which is fine by me.

The Thin Man

Several years ago I stumbled across an old movie, The Thin Man, during an extended bout of thirties film watching. The fantastic thing about that decade is the abundance of wit. Dialogue cracks like a dried forest floor under foot. Characters are sharp and it's fun to try and keep up. Many of the screwball comedies of that day are still funnier than anything you are likely to see today. The Thin Man is a comedy, but of the more urbane kind. It is also a classy murder mystery.

But it has something else going for it - chemistry. The two leads, William Powell and Myrna Loy, were born into this earth to play those characters together. I haven't seen any other incarnations of Nick and Nora, but I can be almost positive that comparatively they are like oil and water. Powell and Loy, as Nick and Nora, are one of cinema's dearest treasures. Not like a baby your grandma coos after, but more like a big bucket full of diamonds and bars of gold.

This brings me to my other discovery, which is that a lot of people don't know about this movie, or the many that followed. They produced five sequels, in rapid succession, over a period of eleven years, all almost as good as the one before. I haven't done the research, but I wager they were pretty popular at the time. But now they are largely forgotten.

I say largely, because I'm comparing this stuff to It's a Wonderful Life, Gone With The Wind, or Casablanca. Sure, these are all different kinds of movies, but I believe they all belong in the same category of "well worth your time, anytime." But I'm not concerned with why they fell out of the limelight.

What impresses me is the few who have heard about them and love them to pieces. I find more and more people all the time. Like any unpopular but totally awesome thing, it's like you belong to a secret society. Sure, mostly it is older people, but sometimes it's people my age. Usually we are all surprised about the discovery. Like we all went to the same out of the way bar that only sells Orange Whips three at a time.

Anyway, if you haven't seen this movie, do your self a favor and check it out.

And wear formal attire when you do.


Nora Charles: You know, that sounds like an interesting case. Why don't you take it?
Nick Charles: I haven't the time. I'm much too busy seeing that you don't lose any of the money I married you for.

Quantum of Awesome

How to make money: sell something that people desperately want, but have no idea how to do or make themselves.

I would like to have an adventure. But I have no idea how to do that. Let's define what an adventure is. I think of it as a progression of time in which an individual or individuals are put to a stressful test of which they do not know the outcome or steps, but know they must move forward.

Perhaps there are people out there who know how to do this for me. Perhaps they are called spies. This is such a profession, at least perpetuated in movies and books, where the spy has to know all kinds of things I wish I knew in order to have adventures. Like speaking many languages, practicing dangerous martial arts, getting girls in the sack, ordering the right drink at the right time, knowing who to punch in the face, flying planes, riding motorcycles, driving British and European cars, parachuting, looking good without your shirt, wearing nice suits, communicating with absolute security, and last but not least - doing it all without getting any kind of sick.

What's the price to pay for this kind of awesome post-graduate fellowship? Moral ambiguity. Loneliness. Accepting death at any time. Not being as cool as everyone thinks you are. No one you can care about. Contempt for almost everyone.

That sounds like quite a bargain, to me.

Two thoughts on the new James Bond movie:
1. Casino Royale was better.
2. So what, it was still cool as hell.

I Was Not Prepared

Yesterday I ran in a half-marathon race, like I have many times before. Unlike previous visits to this runners' moderate consolation of the great marathon prize, I was ill-prepared to run. And now I sit here paying the price with doses of pain to which I am unaccustomed. On many accounts I did not think of the consequences of my inactions.

I did not apply sunblock, and was seriously sunburned while wandering around post-race for a couple of hours in the blinding, yellow sunshine. It was only sixty degrees outside, so I guess I felt safe from those rays.

Also, I hadn't run in almost four weeks prior to this massive contest. It is pretty obvious to anyone, let alone someone who has exerted himself thus previously, that you might want to simulate, through gradual increases, the type of punishment striding over thirteen miles will deliver to your muslces, joints and bones. But not me. I thought, what the hell, I'm young and can do anything I want. I was wrong. I won't get into the chafing problem, but let's just say that it was the first and last time I wore those shorts. That, in some respects, is the most painful lesson of all, even if I couldn't have predicted it.

Preparation for events in life, although very unexciting and unglamorous, is pretty essential. This isn't news to anyone, but it doesn't stop a lot of us from being unprepared many times. Ask a musician or a student, they will tell you that they have a much better time in life when they have practiced or studied.

But when I need to practice or study or whathaveyuou, I'd rather do something that is passively entertaining - where I don't have to do anything to enjoy myself. This is my lazy man's burden. Procrastination is my rationale. I fully intended to prepare for that race, but things just kept coming up, by which I mean opportunities to goof off and watch a movie.

The easiest course of action would have been to not run at all. I would have saved myself the pain and frustration and embarassment of running a bad time, suffering days long soreness and tenderness of muscles and skin, and knowing that it was pretty much my fault for not preparing properly. But I didn't, and I'm glad. I experienced a small wake-up call that says you are procrastinating too much.

Would I like to keep running races? Yes, I think I would. So, if that is important to me, then I should learn from my mistakes and sally boldly forth with a plan to avoid them in the future. I feel like I've stumbled upon an important life lesson, but any eight year old could have wisely predicted my fate. Stupid little kids.

This is approximately what I felt like.