I am 14 years old and I just got asked out to a movie! He is the shy boy who sits behind me. He rarely talks, but whenever I need a pencil he is always the first person to offer me one. He seems nice and a bit cute. I am sort of nervous. Do you have any advice for me on how I should handle my first date?
--Sophie from Denver
Dear Sophie,
I have a few suggestions for you. Follow them all or consider your life to be forfeit.
Are you trained in the use of firearms? If so, bring a .22-caliber handgun in a lightly packed purse. If he tries to pin you down in the backseat of his father's car, for example, as the "shy ones" tend to do, you would not want to reach for your purse and accidentally mistake a perfume bottle for your life saver. Its only effect will be to transform a teenage rapist into a perfume-doused murderer. Then when the Denver Post headline reads "Teen Spirit Murderer on the Loose" the blame for the moniker will rest on your corpse.
If you are not trained in handguns, shame on your parents. Instead, bring mace. In all cases, and this is very important--use the mace. In every case mace acts as a deterrent, even if the boy only wants to give you roses. That bouquet could be harboring an airborne knockout drug.
Finally, do not let the boy take you above the ground floor of any building. Problem is, the boy will want to take you to an upper story of the nearest skyscraper. Skyscrapers are irresistible to criminal masterminds. His reason will be to show you the view. Whenever a man says those words, replace the word "view" with "penis." Inevitably you will resist, he will become angry, and you will be flung head-first from the building. Now, if we were stuck in the 1970s, when Superman was popular and loved by the masses, the son of Kal-El would simply swoop in at the last second to catch you and deposit you gently on the city streets below--in some cases next to a hot dog vendor who would say something witty and enduring like, "Whoa! I didn't know cocaine could do that." However, we're in a cynical world these days. The last few Superman movies have bombed. The world has no place for Superman. For this reason, Superman will be playing video blackjack in Atlantic City as your body becomes instant fruit salad on the sidewalk.
If you ignore all of my other advice, bring a parachute.
I fell victim to food poisoning on Saturday night. At the time, my stomach felt as if it had tightened into a fist-sized stone. That was all that happened that night. I figured I would be fine by morning.
Ever had food poisoning? No? Well, let me introduce you. Because it realizes that it is being attacked from within by a host (my mouth) that chose to eat poisoned food (crab hors d'oeuvres), my body shut down almost all unimportant operations, like being awake, and aimed at killing the baddies crawling with determination into my intestines.
I felt pain, occasionally great pain. I felt like I was doing crunches all the time in anticipation of another burst of pain. And I groaned a lot, involuntarily. And then there were the chills. All in a country that perpetually hovers around 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
Anyhoo, that's how I felt when I awoke on Sunday morning. Chills, abdominal pain. It is Monday afternoon now, and I am feeling much better, thanks for asking. I have graduated to "sick." On Sunday, my status was "agony."
Yes, Sunday was the tough day. I was awake for about 4 or 5 hours on Sunday. I just kept wanting to go to sleep. Still, right now, I can go to sleep if I want--even though I have slept perhaps 24 hours in the last day and a half.
Now for the embarrassing part. One consequence of my body shutting down its "ancillary" operations is that . . . well, my body started to ignore some things. Like the shit coming out of my ass. When I was awake, I could notice what was going on down there and remedy the situation fairly quickly. But it was a different story when I was asleep.
And so on Sunday night I frequently awoke to realize that I had shit the bed. I shit four pairs of underwear, two sweatpants, one pajama bottom, two bedsheets, the mattress itself, and some other things that I can't remember at the moment. I found that I was not thinking very much about anything. I was only shitting myself and cleaning myself up.
The only good news, I suppose, is that I don't have to teach this week! I'm way too weak.
I hope your weekend went better than mine. I'm sure it did.
Pitchfork review and Allmusic review
Frank Ocean's album is one of the few R&B albums that I considered for this round of band wars because, frankly, a lot of R&B albums are shit these days. But Channel Orange is absolutely fantastic. The lyrics of so many of these songs tell a series of stories, and almost all of them are interesting. From drug addiction ("Crack Rock") to the lives of rich kids ("Rich Kids," "Sweet Life") to his story of first love ("Thinkin Bout You"), you feel like a listener as if you are diving into something that is both person and important at the same time. And as I said, I'm not much of a fan of R&B. So you know that this has to be good. Pitchfork agrees with a 9.5/10 rating, perhaps the highest the website has given in a year for a new issue. Allmusic gives the album 4 1/2 stars (out of 5).
Here's "Sweet Life"
The Sea and Cake have long been one of my favorite bands. Top 20 at least. Lead singer Sam Prekop has a relaxed, lazy delivery that fits well with such a mellow band. At its best, it's just really good chill music. At its worst, the album finishes and you can't even remember what you just heard. If you want to get into this band, Runner is not the place to start. Instead, try any of their first four albums: The Sea and Cake, Nassau, The Biz, and The Faun. They're a solid indie band, but Frank Ocean by almost any review has released one of the best albums of the year.
As with the first matchup, we have two very different types of albums competing against one another. We start with Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti's Mature Themes, a title which as tongue-in-cheek as the songs themselves. The album has the zaniness of Captain Beefheart or Frank Zappa, in that it experiments with a half-dozen musical genres. And the lyrics are wacky and jokey, such as the following from "Is This the Best Spot":
Is this the best spot, is this the spot? Is this the best spot, is this the spot? Go! The best spot, is this the spot? Is this the best spot, is this the spot? G-spot, (is this the best spot?), H-bomb G-spot, H-bomb, let's go!
In another song, the dude takes a break from his singing to order fast food. So mature? Not exactly. But wacky and imaginative enough to be fun. For some. In all honesty, this album comes down to your tolerance for weirdness. If you can handle it, then you'll enjoy playing this album every once in a while. But you'll probably want to play it with no one around, because inevitably someone is going to want to turn that silliness off. Here is "Only in My Dreams"
Then you have Ariel Pink's opponent, the band Mount Eerie. Which is quiet, soothing music, so humbly played that the lead singer rarely rises above a whisper. Clear Moon is great late-night mood music, and the album is good. My only issue with it is that, as with The Sea and Cake's Runner, it seems kind of boring. I guess the challenge with such mellow music is that it's hard to pull off without the boredom problem. Yo La Tengo can do it with their mellowest songs, and they do it album after album. Maybe Clear Moon just takes some getting used to. Here's the best track on Clear Moon, "Lone Bell."
Pitchfork and Allmusic would have the contest appear closer than it seemed to me. Pitchfork prefers Ariel Pink (8.5/10) over Mount Eerie (8.3/10) by a nose. Allmusic gives both albums four stars out of five. For me, Ariel Pink's Mature Themes is takes the greater risks, has more fun, and seems more interesting. Especially because the last song on the album is a straight-up R&B remake named "Baby," which is sung with such earnest emotion that the listener realizes that Ariel Pink may be joking around, but he knows he's joking around. In other words, the dude ain't crazy.
So, here are the updated brackets:
A few first-round matchups that I am especially looking forward to: Hot Chip vs. Matthew Dear (one of my new favorite artists), Four Tet vs. Grizzly Bear (two powerhouse bands), Animal Collective vs. Tame Impala, and TNGHT vs. the Walkmen (who have been one of my favorite bands since they released their first album).
Obama and Romney were both at the Al Smith dinner recently, organized by New York Catholics, which essentially boils down to a jokefest. I just watched it, and both Obama and Romney did well. Here are Romney's best jokes. (Obama's jokes don't really separate well from speech, so I am not including them here.)
Romney
Wearing a tux, Romney said that it was nice that he was able to "relax and wear what Ann and I wear around the house."
About being invited to the dinner party: "Usually when I get invited to gatherings like this it's just to be the designated driver."
He said he was thankful to have "someone who's a comforting presence without whom we wouldn't be able to go another day. I have my beautiful wife Ann and [Obama] has Bill Clinton."
About how the media headlines that would follow the dinner: "Obama embraced by Catholics. Romney dines with rich people."
Been sort of a busy week, during which I fell behind in my pace to complete 50 hours of fiction writing for the month. I wasn't too worried with the three-day (Thurs-Sat) weekend coming up, and I felt justified about that feeling today after writing for four hours this afternoon, my new all-time high!!! Anyhoo, all excitement aside, I just finished chapter two and am sitting on 12,000 words of something that looks like it is going to turn into a real monster. I don't feel in my bones that I can finish it in a single novel. So that would necessitate a drastic life change that would require me playing fewer games--games that don't involve fiction writing, which more and more seems like an elaborate game--and generally fucking around less.
Problem is, I really like playing games and fucking around. So I'll see how long I can keep the fiction thing going.
At my job at the university, I have--had--two roles: teaching econ to kids who don't want to learn it (i.e., required course) and showing kids how to start a business who don't want to start one (i.e., they just want a certificate that says that they finished the program).
This is a bit of a tangent, but Emirati students absolutely love certificates. Certificates are like a roomful of babies to a zombie. You can tell the student to do their homework, but they won't do it. Learning is not a motivator. But if suddenly you say, If you finish your homework, you will be awarded with a certificate that reads
Mahmoud Mohammed Ahbabi
Congratulations
on your
Great Achievement
in
Completing Your Homework
(which was mandatory anyway)
they would do it. 100% completion rate.
So my attitude is, give these lazy kids a shit-ton of certificates and call it a day.
Tangent aside, I had two jobs at the university. Truth to tell, the teaching is more fun. I am not monitored by anyone, which essentially means that when I roll into class, if I feel like calling Story Time, then it's Story Time. Sometimes for the entire period. And that's pretty fun.
But the job that I had, which I recently lost, was the entrepreneurship position. It paid maybe $1,500 a month, not an insignificant addition to my regular salary. I was doing some work to prepare for an upcoming workshop when I noticed that I hadn't been getting paid for the entrepreneurship work. So I sent a letter to my boss that basically reads, "Hey Dude, How are you? Where's my money? Holla. Yours Truly, Me."
At a meeting on Tuesday, I heard that the university brass--the big dudes, the Emirati guys--had decided that we didn't deserve the money. So even though we were doing the work, they decided not to pay us. And they didn't think it was important to pass that tidbit of information along.
An important point to note here. Before I rolled into the job, the budget was upwards of $24,000 per month--a budget that I and my friend--we were co-directors--in standard American fashion sliced down to $3,000 per month.
They looked past the savings and basically said, "Screw you, yankees." Who happen to be down 3-0 in the Detroit series, by the way. Sigh.
Still getting my regular salary, so it isn't life-ending. But still--it's annoying, isn't it?
So our boss basically says, "You can keep doing the job or not. But the higher-ups won't let me pay you."
And my natural instantaneous reply: "No thanks."
So there things stood until yesterday, the day after my meeting with my boss. An Emirati underling of my boss comes to me and says with a confused look on his face, "Are you sure you don't want to work for free?"
Sounds like a joke, right? I feel silly for not laughing at it. Lucky I didn't laugh, I guess. Because the guy had been dead serious.
I leave this place in June 2013. It'll be a very happy flight out of Dubai.
Getting the Child to Listen
Hey, kid. Kid. Hey. C'mere. Closer. Don't run away. Don't do that. That's disgusting. Get your finger away from that. Christ, kid. Get over here. Closer. Closer. Good. Now sit down. Sit down. Siddown. That's one. Good. You did good. You did number one. You're a success. Now here comes number two. You ready? Number two is stop picking your nose. Kid. Kid. Y'know, rubbing the back of your hand against your nose is the same thing. What's that on the back of your hand? No, not there. There. See? It's snot. You backhanded nosepicker. Stop that. Sit on your hands. It's a new game. It's called "Sit on your hands." If you can do it, I'll give you a dollar . . . Good. That's wonderful. You're a model citizen.
Beer vs. Candy
Okay, kid, you listening? Are you listening? Okay, what did I just say? . . . Good. All right, you've eaten candy, right? You like candy? Candy's good, right? What kind of candy do you like? . . . What the hell are poprocks? Never heard of it. You ever try Necco wafers? They're good, right? . . . What do you mean they're crap? You ever eat the brown ones? The brown ones are fantastic. Kid, you're missing out. When I give you this dollar, run off to Walgreens and buy yourself a pack. Eat it right there in the store. Those wafers are delicious.
Anyway, close your eyes. Imagine you're in the candy store. You have 15 minutes to eat all you want. And you know what? That's exactly what you do. You're stuffing your face with chocolate and gummy bears and all kinds of crap. Now, you're done. Feels good, right? You feel electric, don't you? You wanna run around and break something, right? You have all kinds of energy. You're full of life. You're happy as--who? Happy as Barney the Dinosaur . . . What? Barney's purple. He dances and he's purple. You love Barney . . . You never heard of Barney? What kind of parents you got? Sorry, kid. That's your parents' fault, not yours. Your problem is the nosepicking, not Barney. Stay with me. You stuff your face with candy, and suddenly you want to climb a tree and cut it down at the same time. Remember that feeling? Well, beer's nothing like that. That's cocaine. You'll find out about cocaine in college.
Forget that part, kid. Kid. Kid, over here. What are you looking at? Those are just pigeons.
Explaining Stress
So anyway, I'm losing track. I want to talk about beer, and suddenly I'm talking about--never mind. Anyway, listen here. Here. I'm trying to explain something to you. We're talking about beer. But first--one, I need to explain stress. You feel stress? You feel nervous all the time? Of course you don't. You're a kid. Kids don't feel stress. But lemme explain stress. Uhhh . . . okay, listen. You got testicles, right? They hang down from your--ah . . . try this. Grab yourself like this. You could grab yourself hard enough to cause pain, right? Don't do that. I'm just saying you could. Instead, grab yourself just hard enough where if you do it a little bit more then it's gonna hurt. Okay, go ahead . . . You there yet? You're not feeling pain, right? Good. That's good. But you feel nervous, right? You want it to end, don't you? Doesn't feel good, does it? Well that's how adults feel all the time. Except the hand squeezing us down there is invisible. Okay, you can let yourself go. That's right, take your hand away from there. You feel okay? You sure? Good. Anyway, that's how I'm feeling right now. I've got an invisible hand squeezing my sack. And one way to make it go away is beer.
So that's why adults drink beer. To make the invisible hand go away that is squeezing our sacks. That's adulthood. That's what you're headed for. Okay, kid. Here's your dollar. Go play.
Sat down today to write trying to be strict with myself. Whenever I stood for any reason or did anything other than writing, I refused to count the time toward my 50-hour goal. After I finished, I had 3 1/2 hours under my belt for the day, my best day this month.
As I see it now, I failed to notice that I was actually making two goals. The obvious one was to write 50 hours of fiction. So far, I am almost at the halfway point with 23 hours and 45 minutes completed.
To be on pace to hit 50, I should be at 21 hours and 40 minutes. So I'm doing all right on that front.
The other goal was the match beer consumption with my writing. The so-called "beer-hour." That goal was going jusssst fiiiiiine . . . until I went to the pool party at the Hilton on Thursday night.
So now I really have to focus on finishing 50 hours this morning or the whole thing will be a big bucket of failure.
On the bright side, while writing chapter 2 I started working on a character that I really like. The best part is I'm not sure whether this guy is good or evil or neutral. I like not knowing.
Oh, and I saw a movie called "Arbitrage" starring Richard Gere. Quite a good flick! Without a doubt, it was the best movie that has been in the UAE since early September. Then again, that's not saying much.
