Month: May 2022

  • What Solves All the Problems?

    The kid was mad as hell at me yesterday. The reason for her anger was that I wouldn’t allow her to take a toy to school. She had been told over the weekend that she couldn’t do it, but when Monday morning rolled around, she tried again, only to get the same result from her parents; no.

    And she was so angry. She wouldn’t hold my hand crossing the street and she wouldn’t talk to me as we walked to school. I know she wanted to say something to me, to make me feel bad, but I want to say that she knew if she said something mean, it would only make the situation worse.

    I could be wrong.

    When I picked her up from school, she was a little happy to see me. She smiled when she saw me walking up, and then, as if she reminded herself that she was mad at me, she dropped her smile and gave a very dramatic frown. I asked how her day was, and she said it was just okay, that nothing happened. I took her to the local playground so she could run around for a bit, and maybe being with her friends would put her in a better mood. Not so much.

    When we got home she disappeared in her room, and when she emerged for dinner, she seemed a still had the frown. She was clearly hungry as she cleaned her plate, and in our house, a clean plate means you get a little treat. We had bought ice cream over the weekend due to the heatwave, so it seem appropriate that she could have a little ice cream.

    And that was the magic that broke the spell. A little cookies and cream retuned our silly talkative kid to us. Yes, again, ice cream comes to the rescue and solves all the problems. It really does when it comes to kids. I am sure that there is something to be said that you shouldn’t teach kids to equate happiness with food, or something like that, but damn, ice cream always seems to work when you want to put someone in a better mood. I know it works for me. If life sucks, just eat some ice cream.

    There is no deep message here, or a revolutionary revelation. Just… eat more ice cream.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • Yes, Another Tottenham Blog

    Technically, the season is over, and I should stop talking about Tottenham until the season starts up again in August, right?

    Before I do that, I wanted to share the strange feeling I had when my optimistic wishes came true. I think it’s called confirmed happiness. Going into Sunday, all Tottenham had to do was win or tie against Norwich, and lowly Norwich was at the very bottom of the table, already destined to be relegated. So, the bar wasn’t very high. But still, at the end of the season, crazy shit can happen, and great teams can lose in spectacular fashion.

    And that’s not what happened. Spurs won 0-5, with two goals from Kulusevski, one from Kane, and two from Son Heung-min, and that second goal from Son tied him with Mo Salah for the Golden Boot, the top goal scored in the Premier League. Most importantly, Tottenham finished in fourth place, which qualified them for the Champions League next season.

    Now, we all go into the offseason happy and excited for next season.

    Except I won’t. Though their manager, Conte, has a contract through the end of next season, he has not committed to returning in the Fall unless Spurs owners can all agree on Conte’s vision for the team. I am sure that means signing Kane, spending the money to bring in experienced players, and I just read a rumor that they might attempt to get Erikson from Bretford. (Personally, Tottenham was playing their best when Erikson was on the pitch a couple of seasons ago.) This is the moment that the owners can show if they are serious about winning trophies.

    Yet, the most amazing aspect of all of this, for me, is the fact I have started giving a shit about what happens to a team in the off season. I have never been like this. When the season ends with a team; I’m done. And I really don’t think about them again until training camp, or spring training or whatever. I have been that way with the Cubs, and Cowboys, and even when I was really in on the Stars – didn’t care about the off season. Whoever showed up at the first game of the season was the team I supported, and I didn’t care how they got there.

    Now, I want to know how all of these moves will play out, so I can figure out if I’m going to have a good next season or not.

    I think I’m becoming a full-blown supporter now. I might need to find the local Tottenham bar for next season.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • ODDS and ENDS: Tottenham One Last Time, Sarah Sherman is Damn Funny, and Naps

    (things happen, and i talk about it)

    It’s the end of the Premiere League season, and yes, it does actually come down to the final matches. Lucky for me and the Tottenham loyal, with Arsenal’s loss to Newcastle, Spurs are sitting in the driver seat of their own destiny. All Tottenham has to do is win or tie against Norwich on Sunday. Lowly Norwich is at the very bottom of the table, doom to be relegated back to the Championship League. This would imply that Spurs should have this in the bag, and I for one, totally do not believe that. If sports have taught me anything, it’s that the last placed team can play like champions on the last game of the season. But if for some reason Tottenham does win or tie on Sunday, then I am quite positive that Harry Kane and Conte will both be receiving huge contracts in the off season. And I have never been wrong about this team.

    Sarah Sherman is my favorite new person on Saturday Night Live. I only found out about her last September when SNL announced its new cast, and as a lark, I looked her up. Sarah Sherman also goes by Sarah Squirm, which I started following on Instagram, and I have been enthralled with her. She’s weird and quirky, and funny, and has this whole sense of style that is unlike anyone. Her work on SNL this season has been a complete standout, and she carries herself like she’s been on the show for years. Go hunt her out, and pay attention.

    I’m going to take a nap.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • A Night of Theatre and Being Out

    Last night, I went to see my friends in a puppet show. It was titled SORRY ABOUT THE WEATHER and was performed at HERE, as part of their PUPPETOPIA puppet fest. I loved the show, but my view might be a little biased. Sure, it was a puppet show, I love puppet shows, and it was created and performed by my friends. The subject of the piece is about a woman with dementia, and is an “interpretation of what is in her weather mind.” It’s also about losing a loved one to a disease, which struck a deep chord with me. I found myself reliving the feelings I had during that week in hospice, slowly watching my mother slip away in a haze of painkillers, only to become a husk of a vital person that she was. It made me admit again that there are issues of her passing that I still need to uncover and unpack.

    After the show, I got to see my friends and talk to them briefly. The last time I saw them was back in September 2018 when we did a puppet show together, and I missed being in their presence. It was a nice chance to have a hug, and say it was nice to see you, and to have contact again with people. For such a bittersweet melancholy show, it was a nice that I got to visit with them, and have an honest fulfilling smile as I made my way out of the theatre.

    And this was an evening for me. The wife and the kid were having a mother/daughter night, so dad could go out, and have a break. So, I walked up Hudson Street with this crazy idea that I would go to The White Horse Tavern, as it was a writer’s hang out, and good ol’ Jack Kerouac got kicked out of the joint so often that it was a joke to tell him to go home. But what I thought would be a low-key Wednesday night turned out to be a very happening night in the West Village. All the restaurants were full, as were the bars, and there was no room at the tavern for me.

    But, it didn’t bother me, as I was happy to be out in the City again. Sure, I was in a rich, swanky part of the City, and not exactly my crowd, yet there were people out and walking and talking and it was good to see, or I guess, remind myself of what I liked about the City. It was a pleasant not too warm Spring evening, with conversations floating around and bumping into each other, not unlike the people standing and waiting to get a table or seat at the joint they were in front of.

    What I did was make my way back to the subway, and headed for Harlem. I knew that the chance of me getting seat at one of my local bars was better. And I was right. I was able to camp at a corner seat, so I could watch the Mav’s get crushed by Golden State, and I could also hear a guy complain about his job to the bartender. I had my beer and a bourbon neat, and the windows were open in the place, so the sounds of the City could come in. A nice reminder why I like living in this place.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • Short Story Review: “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai

    (The short story “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai appeared in the May 23rd, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, there are SPOILERS, so just go read the story!)

    I liked this story, and I liked this story a lot. And let me tell you why.

    “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai tells the story of a man’s life, starting at Logar Province Afghanistan in 1966, and ending in the present day in West Sacramento, California. The story takes the form of job descriptions for different periods of this man’s life; from being a Sheepherder, to Grade-School Student, to Mujahid Recruit, to Refugee, to Lawn Technician, and so on. It was a form that, at first, I felt was a little gimmicky, almost like it was making lite of the subject.

    But as the story progressed, and as the boy became a high school student, his “job” is to be loyal to the constantly changing national leadership, then to the Communists, and to hear about purges and coups, and the disappearances of leaders, thinkers, and imams. A dread begins to fill the story, and even with a very basic American knowledge of Afghanistan’s recent history, we know that the Soviets are coming, and years of civil war and strife. I mistakenly thought that the cold dryness of the job descriptions would take away from the drama. Jamil Jan Kochai is in control of this story, and the effect of the descriptions, keeping them detached from emotions, only heightens the horror and tragedy that this man experiences. The fact that so much befalls him, but he keeps fighting, pushing forward, and seemingly holds all of this in. We know what this man does, but we don’t know how he feels about it. What does it feel like to lose loved on after loved one, to fight for your survival, to be uprooted and move half the world away, and try to start over in a new country and culture? But then the final job description comes, and there is such a cathartic release for this man as his new job is as a witness; describing to his oldest son, who has asked him questions, about Logar, and Afghanistan, and the brother who had been murdered at the hands of the Communists. That all that this man had done to survive, and build a life, to ensure that his children were all educated, and had opportunities, and still, he never forgot about his younger brother that he couldn’t save. Just heartbreaking.

    I also loved how this story rejected the sentimentality and cliché of this immigrant story. I think a lesser writer would have played on our emotions, and thus created a very predictable story. What Jamil Jan Kochai gives us is a very full-throated argument why immigrants are a necessary and vital part of this nation, but it is never preachy, or romanticizes this man’s experience. It also reminded me that for some people, getting to the United States is monumentally difficult, and it does deserve respect from the rest of us.

    This is the type of story where I wish I could shake Jamil Jan Kochai’s hand, and say thank you for sharing this.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)