The Decline and Relocation of this Blog

Are you familiar with entropy? How about plate tectonics? Gentrification? No? Yes? Maybe? Well, after years of decline and shifting tastes, I've moved this blog to here: https://missingthepoint.substack.com/

What should’ve been

 

(The Town Crier by Charles Green, 1867)

This meeting should’ve been an email…

Fair enough. But this email should’ve been written on a piece of yellowed parchment, or better yet, crinkled papyrus. And delivered to the recipients not by Pony express or boomerang, but from atop an upturned milk crate in a public square. It should’ve been read aloud to all who’d listen. CCs, BCCs. Regular people are interested in your Q1 goals and premature Q4 reports. 

I still remember when email still had a hyphen, when people knew what the “e” stood for. When many folks, still learning the ropes of new technology, devised a plan to print out their letters and stick them into open outlets, hoping the information would transfer through the walls and into the computer in the next room. 

This is an announcement not a meeting. Somewhere a town crier just stopped crying.

Wake up

 

(Willem Defoe in Light Sleeper, dir. Paul Schrader, 1992)

They say successful people sleep about four hours a night. I want to be successful. So I’ve stopped sleeping entirely since that’s the only real obstacle I can think of on the road to high achievement. Many among the dozing class are waiting to hear my technique. How I’ve transcended the cruel servitude of slumber. Wait no more.

 

The first half of my day is business as usual. I field calls from captains and corporals of industry. Haberdashers and software engineers. I breathe new life into their projects, answering their questions, parrying their problems. When the sun starts to wane, I do the same. But that’s not the end of it. I brew a pot of coffee and guzzle that between dinner and midnight. I eat sparingly since a heavy meal can add an unforeseen amendment to even those with a strong constitution. This is when I begin a curiously meditative state. I repeat the phrase, “I will not sleep tonight. Tonight, I will not sleep” between midnight and the sunrise. Is it annoying? Am I loud? Does this wake the neighbors? Routinely. But the way I see it, I’m doing the community a favor. I take a long, luxurious shower at sunup. 

Then I just do it again and again and again and again? You can't think of it like that. Not sleeping. You just commit to not sleeping today. Tomorrow is a tomorrow problem. I don't get jet lag when I travel. That's a plus.

 

The problem with sleep is that you dream. I don’t want my dreams relegated to late night hours. I need my dreams working as hard as me, clocking in, clocking out. I need my dreams awake. Otherwise, they’re wasted.

 

You want to be awake to injustice? Then you can’t sleep a wink. There’s no in between. I’m only a few days in but I’m starting to see the appeal of the zombie lifestyle. Sans the flesh eating part, but you never know where I'll be in a few weeks. I’m starting to see things. Visions, really. Is it a hallucination if you believe it? If you can reach out and touch it? 

 

Some people lose themselves without sleep. Me? I’ve found myself. Something you can’t quite get a grip on. Is it manic? Am I a maniac? I don’t know. But what I do know is that no one ever invaded a neighboring country due to lack of sleep. The night before an armed conflict you’re up, you’re excited, pacing, grabbing your supplicants by the lapels in mass anticipation. Hysteria is nice too. It’s like Christmas morning. Only the tinsel are RPGs, the carols are IEDs and the presents are well, everything else. Don’t you get it? Don’t you get it? 

 

I’m tired. I’m so tired. I want to sleep. But I also want a chocolate bar. Self-denial is part of life. Ask your favorite monk what he’s up to in that department. If he's still making spirits for the Holy Spirit. It’s part of ofoofo fofoofofo oooooo oofof oof apjoijdskal;abjsidav-[poidjk;a lsjsj;laajioapwenjva k;lmsjewoi fhpvhf saobd;dsd;kfldsahl pisdngh abpoawrrwmgbh opaioh wgpo habo [hiwapo ibjkwafop idsagupwoeiqthnp9284u0g9jo;bl w afisu[09dvejow ;gMLEFAJ VBSHIUDOPJN WOVDIPHAS V[‘KMASDVAOIWAVJ0[SW DJDI)H 09AQE[WJOSHGF0ae9pawsvjovs u-as9dv h p[svhaojwe 98waoi;awsoidj[pOVHdi jsa9pw8hsoajywhar[wvPK AW’JZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

Sorry, what was I saying? Ah yes. Success. Successful people. Successful persons. This is it. You’re welcome and good luck.   

The Last Straw

 

(Tropicana TV commercial ca. 1989)

Sometimes you see an ad in a busy transit hub and your eyes well up with a certain liquid. Now, it could be from the overwhelming aroma of bleach, used to mask a spill from a certain other liquid. Take your pick which one. Then again, you may just feel a connection to the words or better yet, the image on the billboard. 

 

Ads have always been there to guide me, to teach me, to show me the way. I don’t have time to read Kelly’s blue book to choose a car or spend hours in the cereal aisle determining which rectangle box has just what I want inside. Car ads are why I hope to one day drive across a salt flat and cereal ads are why I have a sneaking sympathy for the vampiric among us. How can Dracula be such a villain when Chocula is such a hero? 

 

These are uncomfortable questions few people dare to ask. But one ad has always stayed with me. In it, I witnessed a revolution, a window in the future. Peeking at a technology no one in the present could possibly fathom. 

 

All these years later and orange juice remains the same. What the hell happened? Betrayal is a strong word, but it’s completely justified here. I have been betrayed by teams of citric innovators who have innovated nothing. Do they keep adding other fruit? Yes. But that wasn’t the promise. The promise was that you could stick a straw into the orange itself and start drinking. I want that. I need that. I don’t need another streaming service or a new iPhone; I want to be able to drink orange juice straight from the fruit using nothing but a straw. 

 

It should be simple. They’ve had decades to get around to it. Instead, the focus has been on changing quantities of pulp. I dream that one day the pleasure of eating an orange is exactly the same as drinking one. Is that too much to ask?

 

Apparently, it is. The War on Straws has outlasted The War on Drugs and The War on Christmas, similarly opaque conflicts that have dominated news channel chyrons for years. But those battles appear over now. Because we no longer make straws that cut through in this country. They bend at the slightest pushback. Are their lonely artisans toiling away at their tool benches, blowing glass and melding metal as a sustainable straw alternative? Perhaps. But the question is this: are they doing it to change the way we drink orange juice? I think you know the answer. 

 

To tech billionaires focused on cryptocurrency, climate change and interstellar exploration, allow me to make a modest plea. Consider the orange and how its juiced. Not only would this make amends for Tropicana’s ancient mistake, but it would also eliminate a lot of cardboard. That's good, right? 

Man's original sin was clearly about fruit. That's never been disputed. Who knew it was really about juice?  

Tulsi Blabbard

 

(Win Mcnamee/Getty Images)

I’m dumb. I’m a dumb person. Now, I say that with immense pride and understanding. When I was in congress being dumb unfortunately did little to help me stand out. I had to do that on my own by shaking hands with world leaders. I’ve always felt that handshakes are important. You can prejudge someone by reading their press clippings. But good luck reading their palms accurately in a double-page spread. That’s something you must feel for yourself. 

So I like hands. I like hands a lot. I like my hands. I have two and most people I deal with have two, too. That’s not to say I’m opposed to a shoulder pat, or an elbow squeeze should circumstances require it. That’s what great about traveling overseas, you get to see how different cultures work. And it usually involves hands. I believe that once you shake someone’s hand you are indebted to them for life. Maybe not financially, but hopefully financially. It’s why I always bring a checkbook with me.

You gotta hand it to our former elites. They were so smart. Think of it, smart people got us into many wars. Wars we didn’t understand. Smart people have beliefs and often principles, underpinned by a guiding philosophy. Dumb people have so much thing. At least I don’t. It’s time the keys were handed over to the morons. As an idiot, I can’t wait to take the wheel. 

The Groan in the Loan Star

 

(Muhammad Ali, Zack Clayton, George Foreman in Kinshasa, Zaire 1974, AP Photo)

This is what we’ve all been waiting for. An extremely annoying semi-famous YouTuber facing off with an over-the-hill pigeon-loving psycho for what should be a match to reimburse the audience. It’s rare we get two fighters with punchable faces on the same bill, but he we are, Jim.

 

They’re coming out now. Here we go, ding ding ding.

 

The overly tattooed podcaster meanders around the ring while the cartilage chomper wobbles aimlessly. A few phantom jabs as beads of sweat douse the floor. Now Jim, this match is being simulcast deep into the outer solar system so any nosy aliens will not consider us intelligent life and move on to the next galaxy. This is the physical embodiment of the peace sign or sticking a flower in a soldier’s gun. Oooh, finally, a nice headshot, Though it’s more Annie Leibowitz than JFK.

 

The judges are talking it over. It should be just a few more moments. And there you have it. A technical farce by unanimous decision. Maybe the rematch will be more of a joke. 

Put that Zipper down

 

(Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross, dir. James Foley, written by David Mamet, 1992)

"

"Alec Baldwin mocked for leaving his fly down during ‘SNL’ closing scene..."

Moments later, Baldwin decides to formally address the cast.

 

Baldwin: Let me have your attention for a moment. So you're talking about what? You're talking about that commercial you shot, some director that doesn't want to cast you, some extra that doesn't know what you're saying. Let's talk about something important. 

 

One actor realizes his fly is down and begins to zip up.

 

Put that zipper down! Zippers are for clothers only. I'm here from uptown. I'm here from NBC. And I'm here on a mission of manners. You call yourself an actor, you son of a bitch? The good news is -- you're fired. The bad news is you've got, all you got, just one week to regain your jobs, starting tonight. Starting with tonight’s zip. 

 

Baldwin dramatically zips up

 

Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. 'Cause we're adding a little something to next week’s show. As you all know, first prize is a Tesla Truck. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize's a set of bit coin. Third prize is you're fired. You get the picture? You laughing now? You got pants. NBC paid good money. Get your legs into them! You can't wear the slacks you're given, you can’t wear them, then hit the bricks pal and beat it 'cause you are going out!

Someone mutters, “the pants are weak.”

The pants are weak? You're weak. You know why, Mister? 'Cause you wore Dockers to get here tonight, and I’m wearing ten-thousand-dollar Brunello Cucinellis. That's my name. And your name is "you're slacking." And you can't dress in a man's trousers. You can’t sport them. And you go home and tell your tailor your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life! Get pants that fit on the waistline which is belted! 

A-B-C. A-always, B-be, C-clothing. Always be clothing! Always be clothing! A-I-D-A. Attire, intact, dress, adjust. Attire – do you have nice attire? Intact -- are you fully intact? I know you are because there aren’t any button flies in here. Dress -- have you dressed in front of a full-length mirror?!! And adjust. A-I-D-A; get out there!! You got pants flyin’ off the rack; you think they came in to get out of the truck? Garb doesn't arrive on a mannequin lest it wants to pose. Hanging out there waiting to give you their clothing! Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it?  

 

He removes a diamond-encrusted gold belt from his waist.

You see this belt? That belt cost more than your car. I made $9.7 million last year. How much you make? You see, pal, that's who I am. And you're nothing. Nice hat? I don't give a tip. Good apron? Go home and grill some dogs. You wanna work here? Clothe! You think this is abuse? You can't take this -- how can you take the abuse you get on a shoot?! You don't like it -- leave. I can go out there tonight with the wardrobe you got, make myself fifteen thousand laughs! Tonight! In two hours! Can you? Can you? Go and do likewise! A-I-D-A!! Get mad! You sons of bitches! Get mad!! You know what it takes to get laughs?

 

He puts on a clown nose, hair and makes a few vulgar gestures to the crowd.

It takes funny clothing and juvenile humor to get laughs.

 

He takes off the clown outfit. 

Go and do likewise, gents. The roles are out there, you get ‘em, they’re yours. You don't--I have no sympathy for you. You wanna go wear those pants, then clothe, it's yours. If not you're going to be shining my enormous clown shoes. Bunch of losers sitting around a community theatre. "Oh yeah, I used to be an actor, it's a tough racket." 

 

He takes out large stack of silver zippers tied together with string from his briefcase 

 

These are the new zippers. These are the Alec Baldwin zippers. And to you, they're gold. Technically, silver. But you don't get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away. They're for clothers. I'd give you good pants but you wouldn't know what to do if you got ‘em. 

 

He puts back on his gold belt.

 

And to answer your question, Kenan: why am I here? I came here because Lorne asked me to, he asked me for a favor. I said, the real favor, follow my advice and fire your ass because a loser is a loser.