Facebook

June 27th, 2014 § Leave a Comment

Facebook is like the combination of a 20 year high school reunion, bumper stickers and “What I did last summer” slide show, rolled together, streaming, non-stop in all its “Hey, look at me!” glory.

I don’t know … maybe it’s just me. I am going to be forty-five this year. Anyway, you can follow me on Twitter @theRealCookedGoose … just kidding.

Dude Looks Like a Lady

March 6th, 2014 § Leave a Comment

Jared Leto as Rayon

I confess that I have a condescending attitude toward the Oscars, like the whole thing’s beneath me or something. I dismiss it as a beauty pageant of sorts – a popularity contest. The red carpet, posing for the cameras in their Versaces, all the “who’s who” hoopla. Entertainment reporters who are – let’s face it – not real reporters going on a gluttonous butt sniffing frenzy.  What does any of this have to do with art?

Like I know something about art. That’s why it’s a confession; I’m aware that my disdain for the glittery Hollywood ball is wrong. I of all people have no right to look down on anything. “What have you done that’s so great that artists being recognized for reaching the heights of their craft is beneath you?” A good question to which I have no good answer.

Over the years, my misguided attitude has kept me from tuning in. This year, my teenage daughter wanted to watch the Academy Awards. My wife and I have always felt that in parenting “blocking access” needs to be used sparingly. “You want to watch? Sure, let’s watch it together.”

Other than Ellen DeGeneres being surprisingly good, the show pretty much went as I expected. Ho hum. Then it happened. In the Best Supporting Actor category, a ten second sample of Jared Leto’s offering flashed on the screen. The transvestite Rayon’s sorrowful, tortured, solitary moment in front of a mirror was stunning. Wow. Give the man his Oscar.

Hillis Liquor

January 24th, 2014 § 1 Comment

Through the glass door adorned with various beer ads and other non-descript stickers to a slight incline onto the main floor. On the left were the two top sliding glass door freezers packed with bags of ice and ice cream; on the right was the back of a small, waist level news stand … no, really a magazine rack. All I remember of it were the Hustler and Playboys tucked away in the corner … forbidden fruit blinking neon on the drab tree. Beyond it was the wall of liquor. Literally, a wall – front to back , top to bottom, a distilled menagerie of the establishment’s namesake. To a ten year old boy, it might as well have been decorative … the sweet tooth there long before a taste for spirits.

Sometime around 1980, my Mom and Dad bought their first business. Being Korean immigrants, naturally they bought a liquor store. The thought of that store still fills me with that warm, bountiful feeling of anticipation … you know that feeling you get as you step into your favorite “all you can shove down” buffet. Yeah, that feeling. I still see the afternoon lighting coming through the store front windows, the lighting of my after school foraging. Oh, and the happy dilemma: “Do I go Mars bar or Snickers? And do I couple that with RC Cola or Pepsi? or do I just go crazy today and grab that Big Stick that always seems to call my name.”

My first time in Hillis Liquor, as it dawned on me that by extension all this was mine, I remember feeling that in some small way I’d arrived in life. Candy, soda, Big Stick, Funyuns, and porn: I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

Golda Meir

January 6th, 2014 § Leave a Comment

In my last post, I wrote a favorite, recent quote. I failed to cite the person from whom the quote originates. To add insult to injury, I misquoted Golda Meir, the fourth Prime Minister of Israel. The correct quote reads:

Don’t be so humble – you are not that great. 

 

Superior Court

September 26th, 2013 § Leave a Comment

Jury Duty. Two words none of us want to hear. Yet feeling the paternal eye of civic duty, I made my way to the County’s Superior Court Building. Through the metal detector and onto the Jury Pool. Looking around, I thought to myself, “With all these people, what’re the chances I get on a jury?” Not likely, I happily surmised. “The day is shot, but with a little bit of good fortune, I’ll be back to my own grind by 3 PM.” Not so fast. Once called into the courtroom, before I could warm the seat I’d taken, I was called up to the row of alternates. As the Judge proceeded to give us a primer on what was expected of us as potential jurors, I did the math. I was third alternate. Not in the box, but not looking good.

The attorneys excused three, and that was that. Juror number 12. It took me all of a minute to accept my fate. If this was the seat for which I’d been chosen, I was going to do my part. These people: the plaintiffs and the defendant, the attorneys, the judge, they were all counting on me and the other eleven members of the jury to do our very best in rendering a just judgement. So, I determined that I wasn’t going to fail them because I was too busy whining about inconveniences.

The case was a relatively minor one over a traffic accident. After all the evidence was presented, we went in to deliberate. The consensus was that without actually being there we really had no way of arriving at any certainty. The evidence as best we understood it seemed to point to the defendant not being negligent. After we cast our vote, I told my fellow jurors, “I’m glad this wasn’t a 25 to life case. If rendering a decision on a couple thousand dollars is this agonizing, can’t imagine what a felony case is like.”

During a lunch recess, I sat out in a courtyard adjacent to the Court building and thought to myself, “This immense institution with all it’s countless mechanisms, this multi-million dollar fixture of our society exists because people cannot get along.”

Not For Long

April 10th, 2013 § Leave a Comment

We’re sitting in the line up this morning, “line up” is surf lingo for the area just off shore where the wave breaks. And my brother turns to me and says, “We invested in a buff juicer.” Now, there’s nothing delicate about my brother. From his overall appearance to the way he drives, he is the very antithesis of refined. Growing up, he was the brawler. The dude shovels his food and throws back his beer.
“You bought a what?”
“One of those industrial strength juicers. Hey man, it’s nice. You should get one.”
After trying to take in this picture of my bro getting all vegetable, I ask, “What that set you back?”
He tells me what he and his wife ponied up for this juicer. As I get to taking a mental inventory of all the things I’d rather buy with that kind of coin, like a Scotty Cam Putter for instance, our buddy sitting next to him, whose only slightly more refined – to give you an idea, lately some of our friends have taken to calling this guy “the Gorilla” – turns to me and says, “Hey, you should get the ____. It’s rated higher than mine or the one your bro got.”
I’m thinking, “You got a juicer too.”
And then they go on and on about all the stuff they put in their juicers.

Back on land, changing in the parking lot to get off to work, and we’re still talking juicers. It occurs to me, “This has nothing to do with refinement; nothing to do with lifestyle.” Aha! It’s middle-aged man talk. The frivolities of youth give way to the ambitions of life. The ambitions of life, released with a sigh give way to talk of kids, colonoscopies, and yeah, juicers. “Damn, you guys know how to party. Listen to us, ‘Hey, man, come over. 6 AM. You bring the oranges, and you bring the carrots, and I’ll have all the green stuff. And don’t ring the bell when you get here; do not wake up my wife.”

You better believe I’m gonna take a look at some juicers. Hell yeah!

In life think it’s important to closely carry with us the reality that none of us is here for long.

Nosce te ipsum

March 26th, 2013 § Leave a Comment

Know thyself. It’s the ancient Greek aphorism. Oh, man. Only if I could. For most of us, the self is the most important thing in the universe. And most of us, dare I say, all of us have been hard at work making ourselves who we think we ought to be. We will employ every device at our disposal to achieve our creation. Our masterpiece. The whole business is toxic – rising out of the sludge of fear and dread. Even the mildest of unbalanced attention to self, even when manifested in good is in the end, unbalanced. But one of the most dangerous device is illusion: The formation of a genuine belief that you are somebody other than your true self.

I don’t think anyone lays perfectly over their self-perception without creating some distortion. But you can get a little 3D affect or you can get “Not even in the  same ballpark”. I’d like to get to only a little blurring, minor deviation. To know myself. And I’m learning the only way to do that is to care less about who I think I ought to be and more about who I really am. Ironically, to become true to who I really am, I need to care most of all about others. It’s what makes it tough.

“Oh, man. You ready? You sure you wanna see this.”
“Yeah, pull back the covers. Damn the illusion. Wake me up! Even if it kills me. Better to die than use people for my absurd creation.”

 

 

Control

October 13th, 2012 § 2 Comments

What is it about the human condition that makes us crave control with such voracity? Workaholism to obsessive/compulsive behaviors, addictions to rabid consumerism. What are we after? Some placid, comfortable numbness? Some summit – some untouchable transcendence? Me? Right now? I just want some guarantees.

That craving unchecked will take your legs out. The past few months, I’m afraid I’ve run about with my cravings unchecked. Soon enough, that appetite gets its “hands on the wheel and its foot on the pedal – stomped to the floor.” And you’re a wide eyed, white knuckled passenger in your own life. Couple weeks ago, I hit the wall. Thankfully. Hell, I’m tired. When I’m tired, I got nothing to say.

It’s ironic that we crave it so – control. What we grasp of it is at best an illusion. And yet, even as an illusion, it destroys.

Peeing with Hugh

August 6th, 2012 § Leave a Comment

I peed next to Hugh Hefner. It was a few years ago. I walked up to the only open urinal at an LAX men’s room, and assumed the awkward lean. Whilst keeping the appropriate eye-level visual field, I caught in my periphery the diminutive figure to my right. A feeble old man slouched over some focused work. “That sure looks like Hugh Hefner,” I told myself. Double take. “That’s definitely Hugh Hefner.”

The Playboy himself. He was gray and disheveled. The brash purveyor of men’s fantasies in his clichéd silk robe, the pipe and slippers? Well, he was nowhere to be found. The dark, slicked hair was gone. Gone too was the “Can you believe how good I have it?” smirk. The old man was ashen, grim. And since he was there when I pulled up, and still there when I backed out, it appeared the plumbing had gone the way of everything else. The man who had not denied himself a thing his eyes desired, peered down at his limp spigot thinking, “What I’d give to take a good leak?”

Have you ever stood next to greatness? I have. But it wasn’t that day in that LAX men’s room peeing with Hugh.

My Superhero

June 6th, 2012 § 2 Comments

Spiderman the Movie is coming out. Oh, wait a minute, no, it’s The Amazing Spiderman that’s coming out. Spiderman, the Movie came out ten years ago? The Amazing one is going to be drafting off the nice box office pace set by The Avengers. The Avengers of course came on the heels of Ironman, Captain America, and Thor. Before all that, there was Batman, the two Hulks and all the X-Men. And hey, don’t forget those cinematic golden nuggets, Daredevil and Elektra brought to you by that cute couple who frequent those Fenway Park infield, box seats. Superheroes are the rage.

I have a little theory on why the Superhero so captures our imagination – especially the imagination of a boy. I wrote in my last post how the soul, the ego knows what lies beneath. It is brutally honest with what it sees. A boy looks inward and sees weakness (more than physical). The world in all its untamed glory looms over him like a giant villain. Fear. Powerlessness. Fear feels bad – powerlessness, loathsome. Just the kind of crap necessary to fertilize the sprouting fantasy: Oh, that I were able to command my universe or at least kick some ass.  Into this fantasy the Superhero swoops in. Powerful. Unafraid. The mythology only strengthened by the Superhero’s vulnerability/weakness or some sort of internal struggle. Huh? What d’you think?

Yeah, I never got the Superhero thing. Wasn’t into comics. Aside from a brief fascination with Lou Ferrigno as the Incredible Hulk, Superheroes just never have had much appeal. Comics? Guys running around in tights, masks, capes? C’mon. Kinda dorkie, right? Nerds. Thinking about all this though, it dawned on me: Bruce Lee! My superhero was Bruce! Buff: Check. Super powers – flies around and kicks ass, all while “OoWahing” and cawing: Check. Style: Check. Tight jumpsuit: Yep, check that one too. Damn. Count me in – A Superhero dork.

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