09 May 2008
On The Merger of Sirius and XM Satellite Radio
According to AllAccess, one of the FCC Commissioners, Jonathan Adelstein, says he "didn't have any idea" when the agency will finally rule on the merger request, made about 15 months ago!
The article indicates there is no indication a decision will be rendered "anytime soon." It also states, "a key sticking point remained whether and how sufficient spectrum could be carved out to create a competitor." That is apparently the reason XM and Sirius offered to lease 8 channels to minority owned organisations.
Meanwhile, according to an article in Business Week (don't use the elevators at McGraw-Hill) XM and Sirius are in a sort of holding pattern, endlessly awaiting word from the FCC.
The uncertainty is making it difficult for them to plan and make important business decisions. This in turn is contributing to their serious financial problems, and negative perceptions on Wall Street.
Whether one is in favour of the merger or not, it seems only fair that a decision be rendered soon, so that the satellite radio interests can get on with their business! The F.C.C. is taking considerably longer with this decision than with most others.
Its become quite obvious that certain members of Congress are in the back pockets of terrestrial radio brass. The United States Department of Justice has rubber stamped merger after merger, and the fact that this one merger has taken so long is a travesty and an injustice.
More wild Poincaré conjecture on the merger can be found here
O, Tyskie / Winter in Wrocław (Reprise)
As usual I can't recall where we were exactly but something keeps telling me it was Wrocław. The photo above shakes a few things loose in my head. Wrocław was once described as “the holy blossom of Europe, a beautiful gem among cities”, and has always been a bone of contention, changing hands many times throughout its long history. In the past, Wrocław has belonged to Poles, Czechs, Austrians, Hungarians and Germans. Settlers here have included Walloons, Jews, Italians and Ruthenians. The mixture of many different religions and cultures, while troublesome at times, has also contributed a lot to the city. Wrocław lies in the middle of the Silesian Lowland, where the Odra River branches out to form twelve separate islands. The city is spanned by more than 100 bridges. From above, Wrocław looks like a city on the water. Wrocław comprises five boroughs (dzielnice): Fabryczna ("Industrial"), Krzyki ("Shouts"), Psie Pole ("Dog Field"), Stare Miasto ("Old Town") and Śródmieście ("City Center").
Winter in Wrocław is no joke. The cobblestone streets turn to glaciers of slick steel like the basketball court at MSG morphs into an ice rink with the push of a button. The door of our tour bus had frozen open. Powered by some sort of vacuum air hinge, the compressed gases inside the valves had frozen and the door had to be opened and closed manually, leaving room for the harsh winds of the Silesian Lowland to sneak in and stay awhile. There was no traction to be found. The ice rendered grip useless. Our mouths were steam engines. We were served sauerkraut soup and some sort of potato and pickle thing. Or maybe it was cabbage and beets. There were groats and leeks, black pepper, bay leaves, caraway seeds and dill. A meal fit for Guy Fawkes. Halfway through my meal I decided to start collecting teas. After dinner I walked to a small store on the corner and picked out a few that looked good and that I thought I'd never find in New York. Names like Vitax and Flosana weren't what I was expected, however. Suppose the sun rises and sets on the Tata / Tetley empire. I threw a few boxes into the pockets of my cold coat and made the Farley Mowat treck back to the venue as quickly and as carefully as I could. The vision of me slipping and cracking my head open on a thick piece of Grunwaldzki ice had me terrified. And did you know Alois Alzheimer was from Wrocław. Alois discovered Alzheimer's Disease. And speaking of which I'm going to forget why I opened a new entry if I
don't get to my point soon.
From the venue that night I liberated a true, tall Tyskie pint glass. Not like a glass you'd buy at a souvenir shop but an honest to goodness, used at the pub to serve thirsty Poles, Tyskie pint glass. It was enormous. Must have been 7 1/2 inches tall. And it held a drink like nobody's business. I'm a thirsty guy and without a tall glass I turn into Gunga Din constantly making trips to the kitchen for more aquatics. But with the genuine tall Tyskie pint pub glass I could enjoy a frosty beverage without worrying about running out.
Well one day I dropped my Tyskie glass. I was distracted. By a woman. And with my eyes on her I dropped my Tyskie glass and it shattered into a million pieces on my kitchen floor. Things ain't been the same since. With the woman or without my Tyskie stein.
Tyskie is Poland's beer. It is manufactured in Tychy by the Kompania Piwowarska company. The brewery was founded in 1629 and is said to have produced beer constantly ever since.
Gronie continuous a centuries’ long tradition of beer brewing at Tychy, dating back to 17th century. Gronie’s enthusiasts appreciate most of all its mild hop aroma, golden colour and the thick, white head. This beer’s exquisite taste and aroma excel among Polish beers of similar type. A lot of -wicz hockey players come from Tychy. They make beer and FIATS there. Tychy is about 20 km south of Katowice.
So if ever you're in Tychy, Katowice, Wroclaw or Warsaw and you happen upon a pub that beams its beacon light and calls you in for a tall pour of cold Tyskie, swipe one of them pint glasses, wrap it in yesterdays Nowy Dziennik and mail it home to me, will ya?
Poland Punx Love The Tyskie
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Meet The Duggars
Say hello to Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar.
They are conservative Baptists who endorse the Quiverfull movement and the teachings of that loon Bill Gothard.
The distinguishing viewpoint of the Quiverfull movement, or rather the Quiverfull method, is to "eagerly receive children as blessings from god", eschewing all forms of contraception, including natural family planning, sterilization and pulling out. Therefore Jim Bob Duggar and his wife Michelle have 17 children; 17 spotless, white, hyperreligious interchangeable robot children.
And if you're playing along at home this means Michelle Duggar cranks out about one kid a year and has done so since 1988 like an actual child factory. So basically every time The Duggars fuck they have a kid. They currently have ten sons and seven daughters, who have all been given names which begin with the letter J.
But wait, theres more!
This morning Michelle Duggar announced on the Today Show that she is pregnant with their 18th child! AGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Michelle, who's been pregnant for 126 months - or 1o 1/2 years of her life, said the couple would like to have more girls, since they love the ruffles and lace. But, of course!
God Does Not Want 16 Kids: Arkansas mom gives birth to a whole freakin' baseball team. How deeply should you cringe? {SF Gate}
Remembering Tippy the Turtle
I used to eat lunch and watch the Odd Couple before going to preschool. I'd see Richard Hughes on WPIX asking "What's your opinion? We'd like to know" and I'd see these classic commercials for the Art Instruction Institute.
"Have you ever wanted to draw? Do you like to doodle? Well take our simple at-home art test by drawing a pirate or a turtle and send it in and we'll evaluate it and turn you into a real living, breathing artist!"
I sent away for the little take-home test pamphlet thing and I drew "Tippy the Turtle" as best as I could. The wrote me back a few months later and said I had what it takes but unfortunately I was too young. True story.
Years later I was accepted to the High School of Art and Design and LaGuardia High School of Art but I didn't go. I pursued music instead and went to an all-boys Catholic High School. Go figure.
Years later I was accepted to the High School of Art and Design and LaGuardia High School of Art but I didn't go. I pursued music instead and went to an all-boys Catholic High School. Go figure.
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Brooklyn Blogfest '08
Heidi and I went to the Blogtron last night at the The Lyceum. We had vegan cupcakes and beer; an interesting combo. I ran into my Uncle there. We're a blogging family.
The main thing I got out of last night was that bloggers are bloggers for a reason. Bloggers are not public speakers - that much is certain. But it was cool and run well by Louise Crawford. So cheers to her and everyone involved. The Lyceum is a wonderful space.
Bob from The Gowanus Lounge said more neighbourhoods need to be represented in the blogosphere and I agree. Some girl behind us yelped "Bay Ridge!". Heidi turned around to give her a nod but before she could the squealing drunk twat said something like "What are you looking at?!". Heidi just smirked like "nigga please". Later we saw this same drunken mouse upstairs hovering over the last of the cupcakes and beer. A real class act. Some bloggers should be read and not seen I suppose.
Anyway...
Gersh “broadsheet” Kuntzman from The Brooklyn Paper made a good point (however unpopular it may have been) although not everyone is trying to change the world with their blog and though I wouldn't dare speak for anyone but myself I don't think we're looking for that sort of responsibility. I'd rather Plead the Fifth, act evasive like Dylan and hide behind “Dude, it's a blog. It's a glorified online diary. It's not the Dead Sea scrolls” when asked about my blog too deeply. It's not something I want to get too philosophical about. I write shit down, some people read it, the rent is due on the first. That's it.
Gersh spoke about how sardonic commenters can be and for better or for worse the anonymity of the Internet most definitely lends itself to witty sarcasm and acerbity. I think that's healthy and I find it entertaining and above all: REAL. I'd MUCH rather the crude cynicism and juvenile barbs than feigned compassion and simulated empathy.
Blog comments are like the transcripts of sitting down to watch the 11 o'clock local news with your wife after a long day. I know my living room, feet up on the coffee table commentary is usually quite similar to the anonymous comments I read here and there.
I don't blog for anything but myself and my need to purge these thoughts from my head. For that same reason I have a home studio. One day I'll wake up with an idea for a eurodance song and the next day I'll have an idea for a folk song. One day I'll write an "article" about a union labor dispute and the next day I'll write about how I happened to notice Fabian Basabe looks a lot like David Wright. I need these outlets to stay reasonably sane.
I'll aggregate the news, links, photos and stories I find interesting instead of just reading articles I find in the morning and keeping them to myself. I'll link you to these stories so if you care you can follow along. It's really that simple. Like one of those talking books when you were a kid and when the record went 'GONG' you'd have to turn the page.
My “blog” is more of a “monoblogue”. I'm writing to evacuate my mind not to market myself in any way. I started this blog because I had downtime at work, that and I have a manic need to write. I'm constantly writing – whether its verbose, exhaustively researched emails and texts to friends or just short notes to myself, ideas for things, lyrics, melodies, whatever.
I figured a blog was as good an outlet as any. Pop culture commentary was never my thing. I suck at storytelling but I'm pretty good at writing them down so I guess I hoped this blog would get my writing noticed by more people and it has, surely it has, but I'm not sure where I want to go with it now and after last night even less sure.
My output is manic. I've averaged about 200 entries a month and that's all me and my mind. No one else is contributing here. Just the tiny elves working overtime in my skull. Sounds like a Swans song, yea?
I know I want to write a book, if not a few books, but we'll start with one. I have enough ideas and stories to fill looms upon looms of paper. I've been all over the world with my mind as the film. I have stories to tell and I have the gift of gab. I'm confident I could write non-fiction and have it read like fiction. Most of my life has unraveled as such.
I take pride in the written word. I'm fascinated by etymology. Ever since I was a kid I've loved alliteration, mnemonic devices and, above all, word play. I remember when I first realised cereal and serial sounded exactly alike but meant two different things. I was floored by these things I know now as homophones. I thought I was so fucking clever saying I was a “cereal killer” when I was 8 or 9. I remember coming up with the phrase “You might make dollars, but I make sense” and thinking it couldn't get better than that nugget of youthful brilliance.
To this day whenever I see a word I instantly read it backwards. It's funny what you'll learn doing that. I've always thought the words used themselves should become part of the subject of the work. Puns, phonetic mix-ups, spoonerisms, obscure words and meanings, clever rhetorical excursions, oddly formed sentences, and so on. It just flows from me. I'm like an open faucet with this stuff with nowhere to pour it. Like the great Biggie once so eloquently said: “I got techniques drippin' out my buttcheeks / Sleep on my stomach so I don't fuck up my sheets”.
I will tirelessly research spellings, contexts and references for simple emails and text messages. Again, I'm manic; I know it and I love it. My mind works faster than a the central nervous system of a squirrel. My mind is always racing. The cursor forever blinking. Often my brain works faster than my fingers. I'll wanna search something on Google. I'll open up a new IE page and type in "Goog" before my finger instantly slams enter. I need to be there now. Already gone. Back again. Jumping out of my skin when an idea hits. Inconsolable. Searching for a pen or a tape recorder or someone to tell it to, hoping they can remember for me.
The other night I texted my girl that I was making dinner and to call me when she got home. She texted back and asked what I was making. Next thing I know I'm rummaging through a New York magazine on my coffee table and texting her back referencing all these random things from the restaurant review section. I told her I was making a blood orange and duck ravioli with a Robiola cheese brûlée and side of seared Turbot in a cream morrel mushroom sauce. In fact I was microwaving two veggie burgers and slicing off some Jarlsberg Swiss, switching between CNBC and Howard TV with my dog named after my favourite sweet smelling herb.
My mind automatically goes to these things. Just like my brain sends the message to my fingers to move, my mind relates stuff to this or that - always songs, lyrics and songs, characters in a movie, whatever. References. My life is all references and trying to make people be there; trying to paint a picture for people by referencing things I think they'd know.
I think what I'm trying to say is: we don't need to live longer, we need to live better. See the paper for the pulp. See the paint for the bristles of the brush in each stroke. Hear the words before they come out your mouth. The cadence. The inflection. Say the word like it should be said. Try to describe it simply with your pronunciation of it. Listen to the last of those tired and rusty November leaves crunch under your feet. Pick up on the rhythm of your leather soles as the scuff the porous sidewalk. Rewind the tape a hundred times if you must in order to hear what the bass player quietly says to the drummer before the song starts in that song. Surely the band left it in there for a reason and for people like you and I.
Have you ever been listening to a band and it almost frustrates you? It's almost too good? So good you wish you had created it yourself or at least been a part of it? That happens when I listen to Siouxsie's "Juju". I guess it happened this morning too when I was reading DeLillo's "Great Jones Street" for the fifth time. I mean how many times can you read or hear something and say "I can do that!" and really know it before it drives you insane? How many fucking books can I buy before I freak out knowing I should have my own pile in the new releases non-fiction at Barnes and Noble? I have a story to tell. I want to see my words settled into the pulp.
I'm a musician, a bouncer, a banker, a dealer, a stealer, a traffic reporter in a helicopter, a song writer, a lyricist, an only son who lost his father, a poet, a lover, a gambler, a control freak, a voice over artist, a traveler, a hopeless romantic and an agoraphobic friend always searching for a calm, a peace, a balance in my life. I've been true to my astrological sign, Libra, the only symbol of the zodiac that is inanimate, not represented by an animal or person.
I can be cooperative, diplomatic, open-minded, playful, urbane and fair. I'm an easy-going, even-tempered, strong, classy, refined, balanced, conflict avoider. I'm a graceful, artistic, flexible, sensual, idealistic, sociable leader. I'm a home-body and a hermit. I can be charming and debating. I can be very romantic, idealistic and equalitarian.
I can just as easily be deterred, indecisive and lazy. I'm oft changeable, vain, and easily influenced. I can be flirtatious, conceited and aloof in my pursuit of perfection. I can be vengeful and quarrelsome, over-serious and cold. I can be self-indulgent, jealous, and at times violent and cruel. And sometimes I just can't say 'no' .
I've written albums and albums of hardcore/punk/metal songs. I've written volumes of folk songs, tons of IDM/darkwave songs. I can't sit still. I don't know what to do with my hands. If I turn on my laptop when I get home to check my email, the few seconds it takes for the ol' PC to warm up I'll grab my acoustic and start playing. My mind simply cannot sit idle, theres restlessness and impulsivity, there is never nothing.
I spent over a decade of my life in a state of arrested development where I learned more than I ever I would have in a college class and became a man. I've slept on the hardest floors and stayed in 5 star hotels where the faucets poured Codorníu semi-seco Cava and French doors. I negotiated record contracts, merchandising deals, dealt with promoters, managers, booking agents, publicists. I've had to problem solve in just about every country in Europe, across the U.S., Canada, Puerto Rico, Brazil, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. We were on our own. We weren't just the band, we were the road managers and the roadies. It was a circus of 5, sometimes 6 with me at the epicenter in all my manic moodiness, despondency and surges of frenzied energy and pure joy. I think they call it hypomania.
As always Dylan has said it before and said it better:
“Well, I wake in the morning,Perhaps instead of going to The Lyceum last night I should've asked Heidi to drop me off at a the Manhattan Psychiatric Center? Read More
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane.”
08 May 2008
Hallelujah: NBC to Launch 24-Hour Local NYC News Channel
I've said it a thousand times: NY1 really drives me crazy.
Anytime something is breaking in the city the LAST place I'll go to is NY1 because 9 times out of 10 while a borough is on fire, NY1 is rolling some canned news cycle from 7 hours ago.
If you're gonna call yourself "New York One" then act like it! If a story is unfolding in NEW YORK CITY I wanna turn on NEW YORK 1 and see whats up - I wanna see people ON THE SCENE, reporting, otherwise don't call yourself NY1, bitch.
I don't wanna see CANNED FOOTAGE of Dominic Carter's neck eating his chin while he interviews Commissioner Sadik-Khan about some bullshit or the canned top story cycle by Kristen Shaughnessy taped once at 9 AM and replayed all day long. The whole damn station is CANNED.
NY1 COULD be so much more than it is and now someone else has realized it. In comes the motherfucking peacock. Move the fuck over, NY1. You snooze, you lose, you've lost.
NBC is launching a 24-hour local news channel this fall. Hallefuckingluja. I've also said 10,000,000 times that someone should just stick a goddamn camera in the 1010 WINS air studio and broadcast that and this sounds like its gonna be as close to that as you can get.
Finally a 24-hour exclusive NYC news channel. That "News 12" is worse than the McKinkley A/V club. No one can get it right. NBC better not fuck this up.
NBC to Start News Channel in New York {NYT}
Blogger is being a bitch right now and not allowing me to post hyperlinks. Bastards. fuck it, I did it the old fashioned way.
Can a Campaign Go Bankrupt? What happens to campaign debt when the primaries are over? Something I've always wondered.
07 May 2008
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