Captain Inertia
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
 
I DON'T EVEN HAVE A JOKE HERE:

The BPD were, according to one story, telling each other over walkie-talkies "do not, DO NOT, let this thing get out onto the street." Sigh.
 
COMMENTS DOWN AGAIN

In other news, majority opinion seems to be running against CI in the "logs-or-rods?" debate. While I concede that the vast majority of pretzel companies may label their products "rods," I would like to point out that the one's I've been purchasing here in Brooklyn do say "pretzel logs." I dunno why. That ought to at least shield me from some charges of wrongness.


Monday, September 29, 2003
 
CUBS CLINCH DIVISION; CAPTAIN INERTIA SOILS SELF

True story: I was in the Taqueria on Court Street in Brooklyn when my friend Matt called to tell me the Cubs had clinched the division. I was so excited I got up, went outside, and literally hopped up and down, yelling and screaming, for about 30 seconds. It was awesome.

In other news, click on this link to see some truly freaky-looking Cubs fans.
Friday, September 26, 2003
 
GET READY FOR THE INVASION/SELF-SATISFIED SMUG-ROCK NATION

FYI: my friend Dave Slade's band, the American Princes, blew the doors off at their show last night, and they'll be playing again in NYC this Sunday, at Luxx, in Williamsburg. (Apparently--this is true--Luxx is closing and gonna become a gay disco a few days after the Princes will play there. What this means is up to you.) If you're interested in hearing some loud, raucous, aggressive, funny, savagely melodic rock 'n' roll, I encourage you to drop by Luxx on Sunday. (When? I dunno. Email me or check their website.)
Thursday, September 25, 2003
 
I WILL NOT ARGUE ABOUT THIS

How can ANYONE not see that pretzel logs are the best kind of pretzel? They're so much better than anything else, there's not even a comparison.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
 
OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD

Awesome post by the Old Oligarch about the conversations he gets into when he tells people he's a theologian. (Archive = no workie-workie, scroll down to the post entitled "the Insightful Hazards of Being a Lay Theologian," from 9/15.) I have found his experiences to ring true even in my own experience--I was a religion major in college, and find that when I tell people this, some of them just assume I'm a priest- (or whatever-) in-training and start giving me their take on religion. (My favorite was one guy who, assuming that "religion major" = "future Roman Catholic priest," asked me "Is that the one where you don't get to do the do?" while accompaning his question with appropriately timed pelvic thrusts. But I digress.) Worth looking at.
Monday, September 22, 2003
 
LOCAL IDIOT SCREWS THINGS UP AGAIN

Got in a car accident Saturday night. In my friend Christine's parents' car. (sound of hitting head on desk repeatedly.) Shit.

It was only a little accident. It was in the parking lot of a video store; I was going about 10 mph. It could have been worse. The other car was only scratched. Christine's family was very nice--much, much nicer than I had a right to expect them to be. I recently came into some money which might (hopefully) cover some or most of the costs involved.

But nevertheless, I feel like an absolute turd. If any of you have humorous stories involving car accidents, now's the time to share them. Thank you.


 
THANK YOU, JOY KIM, PT. II

Last Sunday night, in truly a foul mood, I vented a little by posting some of my rantings and sorrows here. Then, Monday morning, I actually read what I posted. Good God. Aside from sounding like the diary of a 9th-grade girl (and NOT the cute 9th-grade girl everybody liked), there was absolutely nothing there to be ashamed of. Certainly nothing for a manly 24-year old to be the least bit embarassed by. Nevertheless, I took it down.

But some of the issues raised by that whole experience are worth hashing out.

I am, I guess, of a melancholic tint. I spend a lot of time feeling bad—not a majority of my time, thank God, but some. When I feel crummy, one of the things that has been helpful in recent years has been the practice of not trying to fix the situation. When it comes to my emotions, I’m definitely a fixer. If I feel angry, sad, melancholy, bored, lonely, etc., I want to DO something about it. This, overall, is a good thing. In my case, however, maybe I do it too much—and more’s the point, I start to feel even worse if my feeble efforts to improve the situation don’t bear fruit right away. (What, you hate your job? Whistle a happy tune. What, that doesn’t make you feel better? What’s wrong with you?!)

So lately I’ve been trying to practice more acceptance—acceptance that life is painful, difficult, annoying, frustrating, packed (at times) with anxiety and fear. I think there was some of that going on last Sunday. Maybe, in some way, my tears Sunday night were part of my growth as a person, part of me coming to terms with the (painful, difficult, annoying) couple of weeks I’ve been having. I am awfully sensetive. Things bug me. And I did feel better when I was done--more focused, more at peace.

But, as Robert DeNiro would say, there’s a flip side to that coin, mister. (Extra cool points to anyone who can identify the origin of that movie quote.) I am of a melancholic tint. Sometimes I like feeling melancholy—like, a lot.

(Classic (digressive) example: when I was in 11th grade, my girlfriend dumped me. And for months, even though the relationship hadn’t been that intense, I stewed about it. I have vivid memories of sitting in my room, in my tan easy chair, listening to Blues Traveler (“The Mountains Win Again” is a beautiful song, except for the (shudder) harmonica solo) and ruminating about how UNFAIR life was. If I had a time machine, I would charge people $5 to go back in time and view teenage Dave feeling teenage angst while rocking out to John Popper. ha!)

Point is, the last thing I need is an excuse to feel bad. Life is, indeed, difficult, painful, at times sorrowful and lonely. And I believe that I need to accept those realities, not run from them, in order to lead a full life. But I don’t want to dwell on them a second more than I have to. And I definitely don’t want to get bogged down in feeling crappy thinking that I’m ‘accepting’ life’s difficult nature.

Sometimes sadness stays, and need to be focussed and addressed. Other times, the sadness will go away if you rock out to a song, or goof off with a friend, or bake some banana bread. The hard part for me is distinguishing the sadness that needs to, must, be felt and wrestled with, from the sadness that doesn't. Sometimes what feels like sadness is actually tiredness, or hunger, or stress. Or--and this increasingly seems common for me--maybe the sadness comes from boredom, not from being challenged too much but from being challenged not enough. Sometimes I can tell, but sometimes I can't.

Excuse me, my banana bread is calling.

 
ADVENTURES IN BAKING WITH CAPTAIN INERTIA

Came home from work Friday to a mysterious smell. Bananas rotting in the cabinet. (Irony: this cabinet is the same cabinet that, I had complainedly noted, still reeked of previous inhabitant’s dog chow. It now reeks of current inhabitant’s mismanaged bananas.) If the bananas had had a sell-by date, it would read: “SELL BY JAN 02.”

These were bad, bad things. They were black, and, when handled, produced an ooze.

So, what foodstuff is the refuge of every rotten-banana-laden single person? Yeah, banana bread. Courtesy of a recipe from my sister, I slapped together some sugar, flour, eggs, and of course three truly gross bananas (peeling the black skins off, holding the turd-like half-naked banana, waiting to dump it in the bowl so I could wash its residue off). The result? Who cares. It replaced the disgusting bananas and is therefore better.

Does spending a Friday night alone, baking banana bread, make me a nerd? I’m sorry to fish for complements, but I need the affirmation.

Thursday, September 18, 2003
 
GLANVILLE HITS A HOME RUN?

His explanation: "Got it up in the jetstream."

Meanwhile, the Cubs keep winning. I'm holding my breath.
Monday, September 15, 2003
 
THANK YOU, JOY KIM.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
 
LIBERIAN ARCHBISHOP = VERY BRAVE

Inspiring...and from the NY Times! whoa!
Friday, September 12, 2003
 
JOHNNY CASH, R.I.P.

"I'm like a soldier getting over the war
I'm like a young man getting over his crazy days
like a bandit getting over his lawless ways.
I don't have to do that anymore.

I'm like a soldier getting over the war."

Proof to nerdy kids like me that you could be a Christian and still be a badass. Read about him here.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
 
NINE-ELEVEN

Here's a (true) story the Trusty Greek told me about 9/11.

A man who works in one of the two towers is going down the stairs on 9/11. He's moving at a leisurely pace, taking his time getting out, not knowing the tower is about to collapse. On his way down, he literally bumps into a New York firefighter, who's going up. The firefighter looks at him, and says (in a Vinnie from Brooklyn voice): "Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of here!!" And then he continues running up the stairs, presumably to his death.

Gallows humor and extreme bravery, all in one. God bless the NYFD.




Wednesday, September 10, 2003
 
DO YOU LIKE ME?

Any thoughts on the new template? I decided to check it out after realizing that good ol' Quarterwit, after having a blog for exactly two days, had a more beautiful blog than me. Sigh.

If anyone knows how to do the Google thing where you see how many people visit your site, or how searches brought people do your site, let me know.
 
THE DAILY COMPLAINT:

The old inhabitant of my apartment had a dog. Which she fed. With dog food, natch. So the cabinet in which I keep human bagels smells like Purina.
 
SETTLEMENT IN BOSTON ABUSE CASE

This new guy, Abp. O'Malley, seems to know his ass from his elbow. Here's hoping that instead of representing high tide in reaching out to victims, this represents (per George Weigel) "the end of the beginning" of a new way of dealing with things in Boston.
 
ONLY IN NEW YORK:

Sunday night, 9 PM, 5th Avenue, Brooklyn, New York:

Man standing on the sidewalk. Heavily tattooed, heavily muscled, not wearing a shirt. Standing there with a pair of scissors, clipping the hairs on his chest.
Monday, September 08, 2003
 
COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS:

My life in the past week: going to Coney Island to visit the aquarium, cleaning my apartment, trying to find a new job, worrying about div school.

This guy's life in the past week: leaving his spacious apartment in Manhattan to go with his film company to the Toronto Film Festival to frolic with actors and other famous people. Oh, and did I mention he's a dot-com millionaire? Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing with my life. And sometimes I just wish I was drinking with Christina Ricci in Toronto.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
 
IT IS OUR POLICY THAT "CAPTAIN INERTIA" SHALL BE STRICTLY A ONE-WAY CONDUIT OF INFORMATION

Comments are gone, for now. They were fun to try out, but I guess I felt like the likelihood of my turning into a really comments-oriented blog was too slim to warrant keeping them on. Getting into a serious discussion with commenters always feels too much like being back in high school debate for my tastes. If you miss them, let me know, but otherwise, you're stuck with emailing me, or, for those of you who know me in the flesh, crank-calling me or sending me threatening mail.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
 
FRUMSTER

Sebastian Solomon, your table is ready.


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