Owlspotting

I don’t have the time I wish I had to read books. If I succesfully carve out some hours for reading I tend to read the magazines that pile up on my coffee table (Atlantic, New Yorker, Harper’s etc) — it’s something I don’t need too much of a “mood” for.

As with anything, there is the occasional exception — in my case it’s Philip Roth. A new Roth book automatically creates a reading mood, even though two and a half hours later that mood can be sullen, rotten and overly pensive.

Several books Roth’s has written over the past decade deal with death in one form or another. But it’s never been so in your face as it is in his last book, “Everyman,” a chronicle of an average man’s life — so average he doesn’t even need a name. It’s the story of the body, the human body, an instrument that will fail us all and one we cannot maintain in good shape for too long: “Old age isn’t a battle, old age is a massacre.”

Roth himself is getting old (he is 73, although that doesn’t make him less productive) and I can’t help wonder if the great novelist shares the omnious fear of death his character has had since he was nine.

I guess that sometimes as a reader you look to your favorite writer to help you defeat your own anxieties and fears. Not this time — this time Roth decided to have me wallow in mine. It was a tough and scary ride, but the book is, as the Atlantic dears to say, a “masterpiece.” And the Atlantic goes on: “Every sentence is urgent, essential, almost nonfictional. The sophistication and indirection forced on practically every writer are replaced by a straightforwardness of, yes, masterly authority.”

“Everyman” doesn’t have a suprise ending — after all, death is no suprise. But it’s furious while telling the story of this one life.

“He’d married three times, had mistresses and children and an interesting job where he’d been a success, but now eluding death seemed to have become the central business of his life and bodily decay his entire story.”

It seems I’ve been reading too many books about death and bodily decay, but it’s not my fault that the people I enjoy reading all picked up the topic (Joan Didion in “The Year of Magical Thinking”; Marquez in “Memories of my melancholy whores”). And it’s one subject that never gets old. Here is Roth’s character pondering his life in the retirement community he moved into after the attacks of 9/11 pushed him out of New York:

“How long could he watch the tides flood in and out without his remembering, as anyone might in a sea-gazing reverie, that life had been given to him, as to all, randomly, fotuitously, and but one, and for no known or knowable reason?”

I was complaining (to myself) a couple of days ago that I couldn’t find any online map services that provided walking directions. Well, I finally found one today. Maps.Ask.com has walking directions! My tests have been limited to my route to and from work, but the site got that one right without any problems.

Also — here’s a good and quick comparison of online map services.

Lume, lume! Mare anunt mare: Romania se arata New York-ului sambata 6 mai in cea de-a opta editie a festivalului “Ziua Romaniei NYC”. Si daca e sa te iei dupa formatiile anuntate, va fi o zi in care vei fi mandru ca te-a facut mama roman.

Nimic nu tipa “Romania!” ca formatia Akcent, un ansamblu de intelectuali avangardisti ce produc o muzica usturator de personala. Akcent vor lua cu asalt standurile de hot dog din New York-ul si se vor da cu taxiurile galbene si vor rade intepat de toti americanii care au hotarat sa nu-si expuna parul de pe burta.

Aceasi serata minunata le va aduce in fata fanilor romani disperati dupa “ceva de acasa” pe minunile chirurgicale din formatia Blondy, interprete a versiunii balcanica a genului post-punk. Blondy, care de fapt e Andreea Banica, e un ansamblu muzical de sani care canta despre importanta acestor sani in relatii de lunga sau scurta durata.

Pe aceeasi scena din New York va urca si matroana cartierelor periferice (mainile sus Otopeni!), doamna R&B (raget & balanganeala) Nico, care de cand nu mai poarta palarie a imbatranit cu 10 ani. Gurile rele spun ca a fost trimisa la New York pentru a se simti tanara pentru ultima data inainte sa treaca la batic, garsoniera in bloc de pensionari si regim strict de piata intre 7 si 9 dimineata.

Acest spectacol regesc e produs de multi sponsori care vor binele Romaniei, si dupa cum spune si site-ul oficial, evenimentul va fi o rupere:

“Peste 25,000 de persoane din zona New York-ului, turisti, diplomati oameni de afaceri, lideri ai comunitatii romano-americane, lideri ai bisericii romane ortodoxe si alti demnitari vor lua parte la acest eveniment. “

Site-ul uita sa mentioneze faptul ca liderii bisericii ordodoxe sunt asteptati “sa se rupa in figuri” pe versurile transcedentale ale rapsozilor romani, iar acei “diplomati oameni de afaceri” (nu eu am uitat virgula) sunt asteptati sa se taie in sabii incercand sa investeasca in viitorul formatiei Blondy si in in acelasi timp in viitorul chirugiei romanesti.

“Alti demnitari” vor ramane stupefiati, uimiti si trazniti, in timp ce liderii comunitatii romano-americane isi vor baga picioarele si vor incerca sa traga niste sfori pentru a organiza “Ziua Americii Bucuresti” unde vor presta reprezentativ Kelly Clarkson, Nelly si Iris. Intotdeauna Iris! Bine Cristi!

Pentru cei care au inteles ca treaba muzicala e de fapt decor pentru trebi mai importante in fundal, site-ul official al Zilei Romaniei in NYC ofera detalii despre cum poti baga bani in festival ca mai tarziu sa scoti pentru tine. De exemplu daca sponsorizezi cu $50,000 vei primi pe langa o masa si doua scaune: “asistenta logistica traducator si personal pentru reprezentare la New York” si “turul New York-ului si doua bilete la un spectacol pe Broadway.”

Hai Romania! Ne vedem la New York!

This morning, the Washington Post had an article by star reporter David Finkel that talked about the American political left beging “online and outraged.” It’s a rare occurence to see such a personal angle in a story about blogs — especially in a newspaper the size and scope of the Post.

As a journalist, I thought Finkel did a nice job, picked an engaging angle and told one story without peppering it too much with context graphs about what a blog is and what blogs on the political right are doing.

Here are two great things that journalism can learn from this episode.

The first one is transparency. Journalists would do a better job if they started telling people how they know what they know, what is it they don’t know and let readers in on how the story came out. Finkel doesn’t do that in his piece, but Maryscott O’Connor, his subject, talks about the reporting on her own blog. Below is an excerpt from her posting and it makes the story so much more complete:

A week later, he was here in my living room. He sat on my couch and explained that he didn’t yet know what he was going to write, didn’t have in mind any angle. He did have a phrase weaving in and out of his mind: “The Angry Left.” Apparently I am the Angry Left personified.

Nevertheless, he sat on the couch with a notebook and we conversed. He watched me work on the blog, he asked me a million questions, some quite provocative: for a while there, I got the feeling he thought my writing on My Left Wing and all my passionate, vitriolic rhetoric was so much pissing in the wind. What did I hope to accomplish? Why was I so… “mean?” That was the word he used, too, which didn’t bode well for my eventual representation in the article, I mused.

Finkel asked what time I woke up. 5am, I replied. That threw him a tad, but he was game: we agreed that the next day he would wait outside my house until I turned on the porchlight, to signal he could come in and be with me for an “ordinary day.” That plan kind of fell by the wayside, though — there is nothing ordinary about having a Washington Post reporter watching your every move and taking note of your every random exclamation and mutter…

The second one is that journalism still creates conversation and just as we are there for event, we should be there to observe the conversation. In the age of Internet communities, so much information gets passed along through blogs, message boards, chatrooms as opposed to the traditional venues journalists were used to cover (PTA meetings, public forums, campaign rallies etc). Twelve hours after the Post put Finkel’s story online Friday night (it ran in the paper Saturday) Daily Kos already had more than 400 comments to it and Maryscott’s own blog counted more than 100. Some of these comments didn’t add much to the conversation, but many did:

* This guy spent hours interviewing someone with such a powerful and stimulating personality and that’s what he comes up with?  I could have done better when I was feature editor of my high school newspaper.  Really, I wonder if there is any way to save journalism.  I’m sticking with the blogs where I get real, thoughtful analysis!

* I actually don’t think we came off as nutty at all.  Angry as hell, yes, but not off our rockers.  The feeling I had at the end of the article was hopefulness.   Hopefulness that people screwed by TWO shitty wars and by unfathomably shitty leaders really do have a voice, and have meaning, when they come together in democracy.

* WaPo is trying to claim equivolency. Mary should demand continued dialog. The papers want to paint you in a corner, reach a conclusion, black-white world painted with their ambiguous lead to a predetermined outcome. Well it’s time to extend the invitation. Make this your chance to get on the editorial page. Do yourself a favor, find true republican centrists who have misgivings about AWOL’s policies and highlight their contrast. Bush isn’t even a republican. He’s a radical. The best starting quotes would probably be a group of generals recently to have served post in command of the war on terrorâ„¢ being waged with eurasia.

* I took some time to read the whole article..I didn’t know about your father. I am so sorry. I was a constant demonstrator against the Viet Nam war from 1968(age 17) on, and I wish we had stopped it in time for you to know your father. Do know that a great many of us were as enraged about Viet Nam as you are about Bush. We didn’t have blogs, we took to the streets. I have a couple of small scars from those days. We tried, we tried hard. And I think we had a lot to do with this country finally pulling out. I just hope that some of the guys came home to pretty little girls born while they were gone, like your father should have. Keep yelling, honey, one day they will hear you.

* This is not the only story to be done on the Left blogosphere.  Stories can and should be done on TPM and on FDL for that matter.  But from a jopurnalistic perspective, MSOC and those like her absolutely are a big story — “man bites dog” in a sense in that people think that anger comes from the Right.  It’s newsworthy — and important, and not harmful — to show that it’s coming from the Left as well, and a fair reading of the piece is that we were driven to it.  (And wasn’t it nice that the piece that she ends up writing that day, getting good responses and all, is one on Darfur, which people know is important and yet tend to overlook?  Anger about Darfur — hell, that’s practically holy.)

* This article, in my opinion, frames Maryscott as a fucking psycho nutjob.  Now, I’m no fan of Maryscott, but this was a hatchet piece, plain and simple. I don’t give a fuck what the Republicans think about this article, I’m more concerned what “normal” people will think when they read this, and most likely they will think, “Wow, I guess I’ll just have to skip this whole blog thing, looks like they’re all a bunch of psycho nutjobs”.

* From the photo and the liberal references to [expletive] I was a bit concerned that this would be a ‘OH MY GOD!  LOCK UP YOUR CHILDREN!  THE LIBERALS MIGHT GET THEM!’ sort of piece, filled with shock and condescension. I think the interviewer’s very factual style manages to make it compelling without oversensationalizing the rage.  I don’t think she sounds unhinged at all — she sounds frustrated and angry, but there are reasons.  Issues and betrayals that have pushed MOSC and many others past the breaking point and beyond polite teatime discussions. He even lists some of them out — and they are real.  Wiretapping, Iraq, Darfur.

Today, in our quest for cultural enlighment, we shall compare a Romanian Zoo with an American Zoo. The Romanian Zoo was photographed on a gloomy December day in 2004 in Targu-Mures, a town so incredible I accepted to be born in it. The American Zoo was photographed on a gorgeous April day in 2006 in Washington, DC, a town so incredible it acts as residence to the American president.

The project is obviously biased in favor of the zoo benefiting from the better weather, more financial resources, international cache and cooler animals.

That being said, it’s time to compare and contrast (each point has a corresponding picture).

In an American zoos, you will notice that:

1. People wearing sunglasses tend to share cages with people wearing baseball caps.
2. Animals benefits from a strong pro-grass lobby.
3. Size matters.

In a Romanian zoo, you will notice that:

1. Free snacks, such as impaled margarine, are used to attract people.
2. The pro-grass lobby is vacationing in Sinaia during the winter,
3. Size is measured and recorded in stone.

You have zoo pictures of your own? Send them on.

Via Shrinkmamma: MC Hammer has a blog.

Please Hammer don’t hurt ’em.

I am not the biggest fan of the Post Magazine, but sometimes they nail it. Here’s a story about lunch in Washington and the boom of the “fast-casual” restaurant scene (think Panera, Cosi, Chipotle, Baja Fresh or Au Bon Pain). I always felt there was something city-specific about these joints, but I could never pin it down. This was certainly not the case in New York or the small town I lived in in Missouri.

Not to mention Romania!

Below is a choice graph from the story and further down — for those speaking Romanian — are some thoughts on the matter that I posted on the HotNews.ro blog.

So, what are you having for lunch? And even better — where are you having lunch?

(These places may be upscale), but its customers follow the same rules as at any burger joint: You stand in line, you get your own drink, you pay before you eat, you seat yourself, you bring your food to the table yourself and you clean up after yourself, all in prescribed patterns. Customers and employees are on an equal footing — eye to eye — instead of waiters hovering solicitously over comfortably seated patrons. And yet this Cosi, with its bright display of kalamata olives, pistachios, dried cranberries and gorgonzola cheese being tossed into salads and layered into sandwiches while customers watch, and its brushed-metal light fixtures and black-and-white photos on the walls, is offering a different product from the industrial environment of traditional fast food. Says Smith, “You’re buying class when you come in here.”

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Unde mancam de pranz?

De cand locuiesc in Washington am inceput sa fiu preocupat de ce voi manca la pranz. Chiar mai mult — am inceput sa ma preocup de UNDE voi manca de pranz. Azi am citit in Washington Post un articol fascinant despre explozia retelelor de restaurante “fast-casual” (sau quick-casual), care de fapt sunt fast-food-uri cu mot, si care au obisnuit consumatorul cu o omniprezenta incapatanata la doar cateva minute de mers pe jos de locul de munca. Fenomenul se intampla incet incet peste tot in lume (vezi Gregory’s in Bucuresti), dar in D.C. e o nebunie si e una din acele trasaturi care caracterizeaza perfect capitala americana.

Unde voi manca de pranz nu a fost niciodata o mare problema. In timpul scolii generale si apoi in liceu mergeam la bunica dupa ore si ma indopam regeste. “Iara mergi la perfuzii?” obisnuia sa ma intrebe un coleg de clasa.

In facultate la Bucuresti, desi eram de capul meu, pranzul nu a fost o prea mara bataie de cap. De multe ori eram acasa unde imi faceam un sandwich si la revedere. Alteori eram in campus la Politehnica la Leu si mancam fie la una din cantinele facultatii, fie la un barulet de langa gard care a primit atatea porecle de-a lungul anilor incat nu le tin socoteala.

Cand am venit in America pentru masterat am inceput sa mananc mai des in afara casei, dar avand in vedere ca eram student, masa de pranz a continuat sa fie o cursa de infulecare. De cand am terminat cu scoala si m-am mutat in Washington ma intreb mereu ce voi manca la pranz. Pot cobori in subsolul cladirii in care lucrez unde am o duzina de optiuni, de la mancare chinezeasca si burritos pana la lasagna. Pot iesi din cladire si la fiecare colt de strada sunt cinci sau sase restarurante fast-casual.

Ce e interesant — dupa cum arata si articolul din Washington Post — e ca din punct de vedere al calitatii, nu vorbim de nimic spectatculos. E totul in atmosfera, decor, stilul de preparare, interactiunea cu clientii — si poate cel mai important — faptul ca tu ca si consumator ai acceptat deja ideea ca ai posibilitatea (si dreptul!) sa ai atatea optiuni pentru pranz si ai dreptul sa le ai pe toata la “poarta fabricii”.

Daca nu iti pui frana te vei trezi dupa ca dupa o saptamana de munca ai aruncat intre $50 si $75 de dolari pe sandwich-uri, supe si salate pe care le puteai aduce de acasa si care in total te-ar fi costat un sfert din ce ai cheltuit. Cine spune ca nu am fost luati pe sus de dorinta noastra nestapanita de a avea, de a putea alege — totul piperat cu iluzia ca putem controla ce se intampla.

Apropo, cum e masa de pranz a unui angajat in Romania?

Ameroman.

That’s what I am. Romerican and I brainstormed my status and he came up with “Ameroman.” Perfect blend to describe a Romanian in America with a twist. The twist is the key to joining the two identities — it’s trying to be a little bit of both and at times — at least in my case — try to be a little more American than Romanian simply because it’s where I play the game these days.

I’m sure Romerican is dealing with the same dilemma, and I’m sure that when he enthusiastically tries Romanian chocolate and reviews horrible Brasov bars he feels less American and more Romanian.

I’ll dwell on this for a minute. It’s not just being there that does it. I have met many Romanians in America that know as little about their temporary (or sometimes permanent) home as they did when they got here. It happens to other nations too and it happens most often when you go abroad as a foreign student and you tend to hang with other outsiders because it’s easier and it requires less cultural weight-lifting.

I actively resisted spending time with the international crowd. I wanted to learn about America so I can speak its lingo, get involved in its issues and be proficient in its good and its bad. Maybe I did it simply because I am a journalist, but my hope is that there are other people who apply the same strategy. Why? Because if you are going to be in one country for a few years, it will home for that time. And if it’s home (albeit an improvised home) you need to protect it. And to protect it you need to understand what’s happening around you.

I love Romerican’s writing because I sense in him the same enthusiasm I had almost three years ago when I sent long dispatches about the US home. He doesn’t mock or accuse or stereotype. Sure, he has fun with discovery — we all do — but I believe he also enjoys being part of a different culture. There is something very appealing to straddling two political. social, economic and intellectual paradigms. It’s one heck of a brain exercise.

Which gets to a belated point. Here is another of my snarky observations I wrote for Josh soon after settling in the US (go here for my first one). It seems it was meant to be a guide to American things. It’s dated October 2003 and it’s the first time I notice that I had correctly predicted the results of the 2004 presidential elections.

Oh, it was signed Komrad Kris Kovach.

Disclaimer: Komrade Kovach uses an interpreter – himself of foreign origin – to get his thoughts across. This site supports the costs of paying the interpreter because it cares for its readers. Without Vladimir Mucusov the only think you would understand from Kovach’s writing would be “Perestroika!” and “Vodka!”

Komrade Kris Kovach’s guide to American things

Americans, like other species, live in houses, apartments, duplexes and so on. They wake up in a bed – theirs or someone else’s. Men, like most of us, whip it out every morning and go to the bathroom for the morning relief. That’s when then things start changing:

– the toilets are very aggressive and are filled with water so you don’t dirty the bowl. When you flush, you have to hold on to something or you might get flushed down as well.
– TV has so many channels that you forget what you wanted to watch when you start zapping. I decided for Black Entertainment TV because it is an obvious sign of discrimination against white people and mandarin Chinese who can’t rap.
– you eat cereals or toast bread. Everything tastes like rubber so you are better off chewing on your rubber slippers and dreaming of the perestroika days.
– all Americans have cars. The ones who don’t are younger than 16. Even people in prison have a car out there waiting for them. Those impaired, who cannot drive are either taken out in the woods and shot or locked in a room with a TV showing only Speed channel.
– most Americans hit the floor after one beer. I cannot drink vodka with them because in five minutes they’ll be sleeping on the table and I will end up talking to myself for the rest of the night.
– you cannot call women “madam” or “lady”. It seems that if you call them madam they become angry because you hinted at them being hookers — if you call them lady they become pissed because you are implying they would never charge for sex.
– American women are blonde by default. Those who aren’t are much more expensive.
– this country will vote for Bush Jr once again. But don’t worry comrades. I still know people who can get plutonium in exchange for seedless grapes.
– Americans are too polite. They always ask “how are you?” They don’t mean it. You could say “my fridge fell on my toe while I was on the phone with a terrorist network from the Middle East” and their reply would be “Oh cool… I am ok too.”
– they tend to use the word “like” a lot. “it’s like I went home, and like my kitchen door was like open and I was like so scared that someone like came in!”
– most of them are afraid to talk about sex. They masturbate with their eyes closed so they keep true to their purist origin.
– they talk a lot about politics because most of them can’t talk about anything else. The last book they read was a coloring book from the mid 80s.
– blacks, Asians and Indians do live in the U.S. They are just fictional characters in a movie.
– Americans use checks and credit cards instead of cash because they cannot count.

I connect to my past through music [1]. So when I came to America I started to miss my other life and I looked for (and found) songs that expressed my feelings. Every four months I used to burn a mix tape to a CD and label it 4 American Months, 8 American Months and so on. I got up to 20 American months — a mix CD I made in April 2005 — before I stopped. One reason was that I had replaced my CD player with an MP3 player so there was no need to limit my mix tapes to 80 minutes.

But unconsciously I probably told myself I needed to stop counting because my longing had plateud; I had found that balance between here and there and it began to show in the songs I was picking — they were less aggressive and more cohesive as in terms of musical genres.

Today I decided to revive the mix tape process. It’s been 32 months since I stepped off a plane in Detroit, so it’s time for 32 American Months. The playlist I uploaded to my IPod is below. Scroll further to see my previous American Months.

1. The Arcade Fire – Born on a train

I have an obsession with songs about leaving suddenly and this Arcade Fire cover of the Magnetic Fields speaks loudly to that obsession.

2. Neutral Milk Hotel – The king of carrot flowers part 1

NMH were early pioneers of indie rock and this song came out in the late 1990s. It remains irresistible and it has some great creepy lyrics: “And dad would dream of all the dreams to day/Each one a little more than he could dare to try.”

3. Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins – You are what you love

I love Jenny Lewis. See my related post.

4. Tegan & Sara – Take me anywhere

Perky, melodic and easy to dance to. “So Jealous” came out in September 2004 but it still rocks. I’d love to see the Quin sisters live.

5. Arctic Monkeys – I bet you look good on the dancefloor

The new British wonder band. I was skeptical, but damn some of their tunes are catchy.

6. Snow Patrol – Hands open

These Irish dudes have been around a while. Recent discovery for me though.

7. Death Cab For Cutie – Soul meets body

If Death Cab released a record that had this song on repeat twelve times, I’d consider buying it. It think it’s for this part: “And if the silence takes you then I hope it takes me, too.”

8. Feist – Mushaboom

“Mushaboom” is one of those songs you’d like to see covered a whole bunch of times. Bright Eyes already did it.

9. Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins – Melt your heart

Ahh, Jenny.

10. Neko Case – Hold on, hold on

Ahh, Neko.

11. Stellastarr* – Love and longing
12. The Cardigans – I need some fine wine and you need to be nicer

Sometimes it takes forever for a European release to make it across the ocean. Still the best Scandinavian export — right up there with the Raveonettes.

13. Franz Ferdinand – Walk away
14. The Arcade Fire – Intervention
15. The Decemberists – The engine driver

“And I am a writer, a writer of fictions, I am the heart that you call home. And I have written pages upon pages, trying to rid you from my bones.” Beat that. The Decemberists might be my favorite band of the past couple of years.

16. Tegan & Sara – You wouldn’t like me
17. The New Pornographers – Twin cinema
18. Belle & Sebastian – Another sunny day
19. Band of Horses – The funeral
20. Rilo Kiley – Frug

This is Jenny’s other band.

21. KT Tunstall – Black horse and the cherry tree (2:52)
22. The New Pornographers – Broken breads (3:00)
23. The Boy Least Likely To – Be gentle with me (3:50)
24. The Flaming Lips – Yeah Yeah Yeah Song (4:51)
25. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Way out (2:53)

The Yeahs latest record “Show your bones” is much better as a whole than the position of the closing track would indicate.

Here are the track lists for my other American Months.

20 American Months (April 2005):
Something Corporate – Watch the sky
Garbage – Why do you love me
Bright Eyes – Another travelin’ song
The Raveonettes – That great love sound
Bright Eyes – Landlocked blues
The Decemberists – We both go down together
Hot Hot Heat – Goodnight goodnight
The Used – All that I’ve got
Le Tigre – TKO
Sum 41 – We’re all to blame
Muse – Time is running out
The Bravery – An honest mistake
Beatallica – I want to choke your band
Unwritten Law – Save me
CoCo Rosie – Terrible angels
The Postal Service – Such great heights
Green Day – Whatsername
Bright Eyes – Arc of time
Be Your Own Pet – Damn damn leash
Kasabian – Processed beats
Hot Hot Heat – Dirty mouth
System of a Down – BYOB

16 American Months (December 2004):
Green Day – Holiday
The Arcade Fire – Rebellion (Lies)
The Shins – New slang
The Arcade Fire – Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
My Chemical Romance – Helena
Coheed and Cambria – Blood red summer
Metric – Combat baby
Straylight Run – Your name here (Sunrise highway)
Green Day – Boulevard of broken dreams
The Killers – Somebody told me
The Arcade Fire – Crown of love
William Shatner – Common people
The Pixies – Gigantic
Frou Frou – Let go
Death Cab for Cutie – The new year
Marilyn Manson – Personal Jesus
Interpol – Slow hands
The Shins – Caring is creepy
Me First and the Gimme Gimmies – O sole mio
The Used – Take it away

12 American Months (August 2004):
Something Corporate – I woke up in a car
Dashboard Confessional – Vindicated
Franz Ferdinand – Take me out
Modest Mouse – Float on
The Shins – Saint Simon
Taking Back Sunday – Cute without the “E”
Alkaline Trio – Warbrain
Strylight Run – The tension and the terror
Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah
Leningrad Cowboys – Delilah
Brand New – Good to know that if I ever
Ozma – Wake up
My Chemical Romance – I’m not okay (I promise)
The Pixies – Debaser
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Maps
Von Bondies – C’mon c’mon
The Shins – So says I
Death Cab for Cutie – The sound of settling
The Raveonettes – That great love sound
Courtney Love – Hold on to me
The Hives – Walk idiot walk

Eight American Months (April 2004):
The Pixies – Here comes your man
Brand New – Sic transit gloria
The Distillers – Beat your heart out
Story of the Year – Sidewalks
Guster – Medicine
Lostprophets – Last train
Guster – Demons
Staind – So far away
Story of the Year – Falling down
The Distillers – The young crazed peeling
Guster – Amsterdam
Lucky Boys Confusion – Broken
Something Corporate – Ruthless
Evanescence – My immortal
Sublime – Santeria
Guster – Careful
Straylight Run – It’s for the best
The Distillers – I am a revenant
Thursday – Asleep in the chapel
Taking Back Sunday – You’re so last summer
Guster – Two points for honesty
Matchbook Romance – Tiger lily

Four American Months (December 2003):
Lucky Boys Confusion – Hey driver
The Ataris – Boys of summer
Story of the Year – Anthem of our dying day
Dashboard Confessional – Hands down
Straylight Run – Existentialism on prom night
Something Corporate – Space
Fountains of Wayne – Stacy’s Mom
Sugarcult – Memory
Dashboard Confessional – Age six racer
Good Charlotte – Hold on
Story of the Year – Until the day I die
Muse – Thoughts of a dying atheist
The Strokes – Automatic stop
Less Than Jake – The science of selling yourself short
Dashboard Confessional – Again I go unnoticed
3 Doors Down – Kryptonite
Glasseater – Alone in the world
The Distillers – City of angels
The Raveonettes – Heartbreak stroll
No Doubt – It’s my life
Matt Nathanson – Laid
The Distillers – Drain the blood
Blink 182 – I miss you

[Here is the essay I mentioned a couple days ago. I have a couple of rejections and I don’t have the patience to wait for the rest. Enjoy!]

For more than two decades WrestleMania has lived hidden in plain sight behind the March Madness carnival and the start of the baseball season. Over 22 years pro wrestling’s greatest show (“the granddaddy of them all”) sold out the largest venues in the country – from the Silverdome to the Garden – and hosted its greatest bouts. World Wrestling Entertainment’s WrestleMania is what a political primary would be like if we weren’t watching every second of it on cable TV: blood, breasts and bodies being slammed through -tables, chairs or the ring mat.

On Sunday, close to 20,000 fans crowded the Allstate Arena outside Chicago for WrestleMania 22, a pay-per-view show the WWE said it sold out in two minutes last October.

There were druids, worms, a casket, lingerie, ladders, thrash cans, middle fingers and prayers. It was one of those Sunday nights when a man gets hammered with a bat wrapped in barbwire and then tackled off the ring apron onto – and of course through – a burning table.

That’s the uncompromising way the WWE writes its stories and America loves it. On Sunday a 165-pound heavy Rey Mysterio defeated two larger men to achieve his championship dream – an interesting narrative in the background of today’s immigration debate. The show closed with a match WWE wrote as prince vs. pauper contest – the Connecticut boy from riches Triple H taking on blue-collar-work ethic John Cena. And it was Cena that received the most boos.

Wrestling always had a lot to say about American culture, but judging from media coverage preceding the show, few out there are still listening. The Chicago papers printed unremarkable stories previewing the gala as did a few Southern papers, the only ones that cover wrestling as a beat. Today, the media is mostly ignorant when it comes to wrestling; ignorant to what the “fake sport” could say about the culture. The usual – if not natural – attitude towards pro-wrestling is disdain. On Sunday, The New York Times reviewed a book on pro-wrestling. The article was penned by a staffer who knows as much about wrestling as we know about the review assignment process. In a humble attempt to fill space Neil Genzlinger tried hard not to call fans idiots, rednecks and retards and showed restraint until the last graphs, where, desperate to show intellectual superiority, he envisioned a Times reader turning on WWE’s Friday Night SmackDown. He wrote:

“‘Gee,’ you may find yourself thinking. ‘there really is such a thing as unredeemable garbage after all. And this may be it.'”

The Times has once more enlightened readers by pointing out that SmackDown lacks the gravitas of, hmmm, a PBS documentary, or the cultural poignancy of the paper’s own Style section, which features much meatier trends and phenomena. I remember reading recently in the Times about what a woman’s rear-end should look like, about how dirty unkempt beards are still in and about a porn star bursting into the wine business.

The Times is certainly not alone in snubbing wrestling. After all there must be something wrong with people who like to watch grown men in Speedos fighting and rubbing against one another for minutes on end. There must be something wrong about cheering for a guy who eats worms, or lusting for breasts so big you wonder when they’ll pop and send the rest of the puppet flying through the crowd.

But if the idea is that beards can teach us something about America, than wrestling can too.

In the fall of 2004 I went to see a WWE house show in Columbia, MO (see pictures below). This wasn’t going to be on TV so the company went easy on the pyros. It was a subdued affair in the ring, with few risky moves and little to cheer for. At one point, Middle-Eastern music – more of a call to prayer – blared through the speakers and the crowd erupted on cue, heavily booing the two men walking down the aisle, even though they had never seen them before. The shorter man had a beard and was wearing a suit. The other man was bulkier, also had a beard and wore a white robe, complete with head covering. As they climbed into the ring, the bulkier man reached for the microphone. By then the “USA, USA” chants had caught on with almost everybody in the place.

In perfect English the man said his name was Muhammad Hassan. He was as Arab American who felt that after September 11 he had become an unfair victim of stereotypes and prejudice. The crowd could care less. Hassan stayed on message and said he wants Americans to respect Arabs and stop treating them like potential terrorists. It’s hard to tell if anyone was listening as “boos” kept pouring and they only intensified when the shorter man, Daivari, took the microphone and began speaking in what was to be understood as Arabic (it was Farsi).

I had never seen a WWE show live and was excited about the possibility of witnessing the company test a character before putting him on TV. The instant negative reaction of the crowd was stunning – I thought story lines and character traits took time to develop. But it appeared the WWE had long ago taught its fans that the villain will be easy to spot and, in a 9/11 world, all it took was the sound of a call to prayer.

Hassan made his television debut a couple months later and instantly became one of RAW’s most hated and controversial figures. The WWE had always walked a fine line in blending politics into its shows. During the Cold War it had a number of Russians wreaking havoc through the roster. Shortly after the Iran hostage crisis, it pushed the Iron Sheik. And now they had an Arab American and skits hinting at martyrdom and terrorism. Hassan continued drawing the ire of the crowds through July 2005, when, in the aftermath of the London bombings, his Arab gimmick became too sensitive for television.

Wrestling allows for a displacement of self – you can for or against any of the guys in the ring and you need no excuse for your actions and allegiances. You could hate or love everybody: the Arabs, the Canadians, the Mexicans, the hobo-looking brawlers and the perfect-body Adonises. Whatever you choose you’re guaranteed to go to bed happy because you watched a great show.

Sunday’s WrestleMania was the first one I ever watched in real-time. Pro-wrestling may have lost some of the glamour it had in the nineties but it can still put on a show and it can still ignite the crowds with contemporary and sometimes sensitive storylines.

If a sold-out arena in the Chicago area, hundreds of thousands of fans watching on PPV and a company that employs political master narratives isn’t a story about America and its culture, I must be in the wrong line of work and in need of being put through a burning table.