James Maguire's Thought Circus

Annual Income: / 2005 spending:

Less than $19,179: $2,742

$19,179 to $35,999: $5,330

$36,000 to $57,659: $7,437

$57,660 to $91,704: $10,504

More than $91,704: $15,691

All households: $8,344

The shocker is that five grand spent by people in the 19-35k income range. Given that you can buy a 2-year-old Toyota with low miles for 12-15k, and it runs for 10 years, there are ways to get by on less.

As for the folks in the 91k+ income bracket who spend more than 15 large a year…damn. In excess of $1,000 a month for four wheels and a cup holder. I hope they’re enjoying the cool luxury of their mobile money pit…

Posted by James Maguire at 06:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I saw Hillary Clinton on C-SPAN speak in an Iowa town hall meeting. It was her first day in the state, with polls saying she has at least a small hill to climb there.

Wow, the new Hillary has emerged. She wasn’t speechifying – which she’s not great at – she was talking with the crowd. I’ve never seen her so at ease and natural. As hard as it is to believe, she’s actually – I know this can’t be right, but I saw it with my own eyes – a better speaker than Bill.

The thing about Bill was, he was the definition of charisma, but you always knew he was a virtuoso used car dealer, feelin’ our pain and cutting welfare benefits at the same time.

But Hillary, out on the stump, is real. She speaks extemporaneously and conversationally about any topic. And she speaks in human terms about what people really care about. You could feel the connection.

It was great seeing the capacity audience in the big hall, with all kinds of people stepping forward to ask questions. It’s tempting to think the whole thing was scripted, that only “approved” people and questions got the microphone, but it didn’t look that way. The people seemed authentic, and the crowd was too large and mixed to be fully controlled.

I’m telling you, the smart money hasn’t realized it yet, but this woman is going to steamroll straight to the White House. And not a moment too soon.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:34 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Okay, call me what you will – a wanton pleasure seeker, pampered effete – I am guilty as charged. Because I admit it: I had a foot mask. (I’m not actually sure it was called a “foot mask.” Is there a real term for having your foot dipped in paraffin?)

My dear wife gave me a gift certificate to a local spa, so there I was. A dim room, candles, soft New Age music. A young woman was rubbing my feet with cocoa butter – tingly, tingly – and explaining the routine. I would dip my feet in warm paraffin, she would wrap them in plastic, then tuck them away in little feet mittens. She had the same thing planned for my hands.

“This is really good for your hands and your feet,” she explained. “We abuse them so.” I felt a moment of sympathy for all those people out there with abused hands and feet, without the benefit of paraffin.

So she dipped me, three times per foot. The paraffin was thick and swirly, and hot. It instantly formed a waxy mask on my feet. Then she did my hands. Along the way I also got a facial and a massage. I was feeling no pain.

I was, I realized, in severe danger of being drummed out of the society of Red-Blooded American Males. Does a real man have a foot mask? Does a real man allow himself to be sprayed with organic plum mist, as I did? (although with my hands and feet wrapped in plastic, I can claim to be defenseless).

To regain my hard shell of masculinity, I plan a full-length viewing of Spartacus while gnawing on an old piece of beef jerky. If that doesn’t work, I’ll put up a poster of Dick Cheney and bang my head against the wall a few times.

But I don’t regret my spa experience. One major advantage: my toenails look fabulous. Really just wonderful.

Posted by James Maguire at 12:41 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (1)

Reuters reports that Bush’s father is complaining that the news media is “hostile” toward his son:

“President George W. Bush’s father accused the news media of “personal animosity” toward his son and said he found the criticism so unrelenting he sometimes talked back to his television set.”

Note to Bush, Sr.: When you plunge a nation into a senseless, tragic war (while running up a deficit that will plague us for decades) you’re going to get a few uncharitable remarks. When 3,000 soldiers die for no reason, people do get upset. The truth is: your son is getting off easy for what he’s done to this country.

So put another piece of pie in your pie hole, Mr. Bush. We don’t want to hear it.

Posted by James Maguire at 07:03 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

And it was delicious. But think about it – is it right? Some little lamb gave up its life – baaaahhhh – for my dinner. And it was a great chop, medium rare, lightly seasoned. With some pesto mashed potatoes. God that was good.

But I’ll probably die of some horrible cardio disease because I ate that fatty (and young, and delicious) cut of meat. In my next life I’ll come back as a dandelion out in some sunny field, and a lamb will come along and chomp off my head. He’ll just be jogging along happily, as lambs do, and he’ll bite my dandelion top right off. Serves me right, eating some innocent lamb for my dinner.

I’d probably be better off eating bean curds and roots and small mushrooms, sipping warm green tea. I should probably be gently petting lambs, not eating them.

But really, it was tasty.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:11 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

I’m always amazed when I hear Chubby Checker’s 1960 hit, “The Twist.” The thing is only two minutes and forty seconds long, but that brief period is one of the mostly completely and fabulously joyous ever committed to vinyl.

Listen to that rhythm section as it chugs along in triple-time. Damn. It’s flawless. I’m tempted to think that the song is the product of aliens who came to earth planning to drive us crazy with an over-injection of pure exuberance.

Listen to Chubby when he gets soaring. It’s like some kind of happiness candy. As if the spirit of the song is so complete, so unbound, that for those two minutes sadness or anything remotely resembling it is banished from the earth.

Here’s a clip:

Download “The Twist” from iTunes

Posted by James Maguire at 06:58 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Polysemy is a wonderful word, a real 25-center. It means “diversity of meanings,” and “having or characterized by many meanings.”

A lot of words and symbols are highly polysemous. They mean different things to different people. The word “love,” for example, is defined so many different ways by so many different people that its meaning is just a vague cloud – but it’s very clear to the various people who have their own definition of it.

The American flag, though apparently a clear-cut symbol, is just as polysemous. To the Mayflower descendent it means one thing, a recent immigrant sees it differently, and a Native American Indian likely brings yet another set of eyes to it.

We humans are abstract creatures. In our view, virtually everything is polysemous.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:17 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

You’ve probably noticed the trend, it’s gained steam in the last few years, in which store clerks ask for your phone number when you’re checking out. I don’t hold it against the clerks – they’ve been instructed by management (who is guided by marketing firms) to gather personal information.

A few days back I saw a group of ladies dutifully giving up their e-mail addressees at a store in the mall. They can be expecting a mini blizzard of spam.

But my attitude is: just say no. I wouldn’t think of offering up my number. Even at those many stores where they ask for just my zip code, I decline. I figure they’re already making a profit off of me, I don’t need to help them build their marketing database.

But there’s that funny social moment that plenty of people must get caught in. The clerk is ringing things up, and asks – without offering a choice – “zip code?” Almost as if they can’t complete the transaction without that critical piece of data. For a lot of people that’s very hard to say no to – it might seem rude (when in fact it’s the request for personal information that’s rude).

I just say “I prefer not to give it.” And that ends everything.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:18 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

I saw the 1969 classic Midnight Cowboy the other night and was impressed by how well it’s held up. The movie won the Oscar for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay. Both co-stars, Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight, were nominated for Best Actor.

The story chronicles naive Texas boy Joe Buck (Jon Voight) as he travels to New York City in hopes of making a living as a gigolo. There he meets fellow down-on-his-luck hustler Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman), and the two eke out an existence on the mean streets of late ’60s Manhattan. The film is tragic but lyric, and its self-conciously literary quality adds to the charm – this was definitely Filmmaking with a capital F.

Here’s the trailer:

Posted by James Maguire at 06:37 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

According to this report, “Living with a male seemed to put pressure on females to consume more of the ‘unhealthy’ choices,”’ in food…”while females had a positive influence on the diets of the males.”

A researcher in Britain’s Newcastle University – admittedly, a female researcher – collected data from numerous studies across Britain, the U.S. and Australia. Her report postulates, in short, that men are nacho-eating slobs. To whit:

“Both partners tend to change their dietary habits to accommodate each other at the beginning of a relationship (what the researchers call the honeymoon period), with men eating better than usual and women eating worse. Over time, both partners drift back toward their starting points — but not completely. Because women tend to take over control of the couple’s food shopping and cooking, they often retain a positive impact on their partner’s food consumption. Meanwhile, women tend to stay in the honeymoon period longer, and inasmuch as they are open to influence by their partners’ lifestyles in the long run, they will tend to eat fattier, less healthful foods.”

I must say I am shocked at her conclusions. I mean, to suggest that men are–

Oh wait, I’m feeling a little hungry. Need to check the kitchen. Geez…where did that salami go? And where’s my blue cheese dip? (love those deep-fried mini salami things dipped in blue cheese). Darnit, I can’t find anything to eat with all these #%&! vegetables in the fridge. And what are these carrots doing in here…

Posted by James Maguire at 09:31 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

1) There’s no more dirt to dish about her. Over a dozen years in public life, every nasty rumor has been amplified and exhausted. So Hillary can’t be swift-boated a la John Kerry.

2) She’ll have the best campaign strategist in the business behind her (her husband). Bob Shrum, with his awe-inspiring 0-8 win/loss record, will be banished to Talking Head status.

3) By 2008, the country will be SO tired of the Bush madness. If America doesn’t go bankrupt before then – a distinct possibility – the dispirited electorate will drag its war-weary self to the ballot box and say “Enough – please, please make it stop.”

4) Her likely opponent, John McCain, is not a favorite of the Christian right. And without the Christian right it’s difficult if not impossible for a Republican to win the presidency. McCain will court the Evangelicals, but deep down they understand he’s not one of them.

5) She’s a pragmatist – not an idealist. Hillary can dance to the center when need be (heck, she lives there). As Howard Dean proved, idealists get to be on magazine covers, then they’re told to go home. Idealists get “important” jobs like head of the DNC. Pragmatists get power.

6) Hillary Clinton is the country’s biggest political rock star. In a culture that worships celebrity, she’s reached that rarefied status: her first name alone identifies her. Who doesn’t know who Hillary is?

7) The youth vote grew in 2004, and it trended Democratic. This trend line will continue in ‘08, and the youth vote certainly won’t choose oldster John McCain – a senator who supports the tragic troop surge – over exciting possible-first-woman-president Hillary Clinton.

8) The “girl rule.” The girl rule says that, in a man’s world, for a woman to achieve success in a “man’s job” – like the US Senate – she has to be so much more talented than a man. True to the dictum, Hillary Clinton is tougher and cannier than any opponent she’ll face.

9) Hillary’s lopsided victory in her ‘06 Senate race displays her ability to romance a demographically diverse audience. (Or at least diverse enough to win a narrow ‘08 victory.)

10) It’s time. Of all the ‘-isms’ of the 20th century – communism, commercialism, atheism – the most powerful was – is – feminism. There are now more female than male college undergraduates. Note the trend line. The era of Boys in Charge is ending. But not everyone has caught on. Have you noticed that most of the pundits who posit that “she can’t win” are male?

11) (A bonus reason!) (What – there’s another reason? Yes, they just keep coming!) Hillary will make a brilliant and strategic vice presidential pick. Unlike Kerry’s choice of John Edwards – hey, he’s cute but he couldn’t even win his home state – Clinton will choose someone who helps the ticket, like Evan Bayh, who will tip Indiana into the blue state column.

12) (No, not another reason! Please! I have to save time to read all the “Hillary Is a Devil” articles put out by frothing-at-the-mouth conservatives, and all the “Hillary Is a Sell Out” articles by impotent, power-fearing liberals. Plus, Chris Matthews on Hard Ball is running another “John McCain is My Hero” segment, and I need to set my Tivo. Can’t we stop with the reasons already? Okay, this is the last I’ll list, but there are many more…) As a popular Senator, Clinton has sponsored many initiatives like the Gold Star Parent Annuity Act, which grants a $125 monthly annuity to parents who’ve lost a son or daughter in battle. And the Grandrally, dedicated to “grandparents and other family caregivers who are raising children.” When her massively-funded publicity machine informs the country of these emotionally touching, populist measures, John McCain’s poll numbers will sink like an Arizona sunset.

Posted by James Maguire at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (47)

Sigmund Freud postulated that the human personality is comprised of the ego, the superego and the id. The id…that primordial, reptilian part of ourselves. The part of us that, no matter how often we tell ourselves to avoid double-chunk chocolate ice cream, to not reach for yet another handful of nachos, the id advises us otherwise. We are (almost) powerless in its grasp. Or, looked at more positively, we engage in a great Civil War, self against self, as we attempt to call forth the better angels of our nature, even as a certain rain cloud of indulgence is visible over our left shoulder.

Yes, it’s because of the id that one thing will never go away: French Fries. They’ll be with us until the end of time. Blessed, blessed French Fries. Please, give me some more French Fries.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Composed in 1924, George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue is one of the spectacular highlights of American music. A rambling 16 minutes long, it’s a crazed mishmash of a jazz symphony, with the orchestra and piano trading propulsive, then gorgeous, themes. It’s the sound of a New York city street, a speeding freight train, a white ‘n’ Negro tribal call, and, at about the 10-minute point, a transcendent love song.

I agree with what Leonard Bernstein wrote about it in 1955:

“The Rhapsody is not a composition at all. It’s a string of separate paragraphs stuck together. The themes are terrific – inspired, God-given. I don’t think there has been such an inspired melodist on this earth since Tchaikovsky. [But] Your Rhapsody in Blue is not a real composition in the sense that whatever happens in it must seem inevitable. You can cut parts of it without affecting the whole. You can remove any of these stuck-together sections and the piece still foes on as bravely as before.”

It’s true that the piece seems to lose its way at times - after the open there’s a section that’s as much dream sequence as coherent piece – but I keep coming back to that incredible passage at 10 minutes in, the “love song” section. What a moment. Woody Allen famously used this section in conjunction with a night-time shot of the New York skyline, and the affect is straight romance.

Here’s a clip from that high-point:

Amazing thing about Rhapsody on iTunes: you can buy it for .99 cents, just like the No. 1 song from 1981, Kim Carnes’s “Bette Davis Eyes,” which is now totally forgotten, or Usher’s 2004 mega-hit, “Yeah!,” which is fast on its way to being forgotten. Great art or ephemera – it’s all the same price on iTunes.

Down “Rhapsody in Blue” from iTunes

Posted by James Maguire at 06:49 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

According to this article about a U.S. census report, 51% of women are living without a spouse. It’s an historical tipping point: this is the first time that a majority of women are living without a husband.

Between 1950 and 2000, the percentage of women 15-to-24 who were married slide from 42 percent all way down to 16 percent. In the 25-to-34 age group, the percentage fell from 82 percent to 58 percent.

I find the numbers to be good news. Although there are certainly plenty of women who’d like to be married but aren’t – and for them, I hope they catch a good one – it’s a positive development that marriage is less of an automatic choice.

The falling percentages are distinctly good news for the many young women who in the past rushed into ill-considered marriages just because matrimony was the default choice. Think of all those creepy, incredibly immature men they got married to because peer pressure proclaimed “it was time.” (And think of all those good men who got stuck with incredibly immature women due to a headlong rush to the alter.)

In the article about the statistics, the women interviewed talked about the joys of the single life. Like this women:

“The benefits were completely unforeseen for me,” she said, “the free time, the amount of time I get to spend with friends, the time I have alone, which I value tremendously, the flexibility in terms of work, travel and cultural events.”

So women run a little freer. Amen.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:10 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

C’mon, you know you’re special. Just look at you – you’re reading a Web site. That means 1) you’re probably from the First World (as opposed to the Third World, where there’s limited Internet access), and 2) You can read. So of all the people who have ever lived, you are clearly in the upper, oh, five percent in terms of education, wealth and privilege.

To complete the picture: you probably have a busy schedule (don’t worry, I won’t keep you long), you’re probably the kind of person who can pick up a cellphone and call anywhere – at any moment – and you most likely have a warm credit card in your wallet or purse.

Damn, you’re lucky. You probably get invited to parties. You probably know who Britney Spears is (okay, so that’ s not fortunate). You are inarguably one of the Lucky People.

So go on now, with your bad self, just go on. But come on back, would you? Just having your type around is pretty thrilling. You are highly desirable…

Posted by James Maguire at 08:33 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

I picked up this novel because I so enjoyed Sittenfeld’s debut, Prep. But I was disappointed – so much so that it took effort to get through it. Her first book, set in a cloistered upper-crust prep school, explored class, clique and identity, as well as a young woman’s coming of age. A wonderful read. Her new novel, The Man of My Dreams, is again about a girl’s journey into womanhood, but it’s an overly precious rendering, and it feels like it lacks resonance beyond this particular girl; it’s not a story that seems to refer to much beyond its own pages.

Sittenfeld created a challenge for herself by making the main character lean toward shyness. That’s a valid choice but it’s hard to make such a character interesting. Difficult, too, is the fact that the narrative jumps from era to era, leaving out chunks of years; again, that’s often a good technique, but in this case when the story picks back up we see that the protagonist has changed, but we didn’t see it happen, so we never get involved.

I give Sittenfeld credit for a prose style that’s simple and natural. She’s not trying to be “writerly,” instead she uses ordinary language to tell the stories of real people. But unfortunately, when the story and characters don’t support her effort, the affect is pretty flat.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:46 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Had Dr. King lived, he would have been 78 years old today. He was, and remains even after his life, the moral prophet of our time. We’re still waiting for someone with his stature to emerge.

On this day of remembrance, some thoughts by King:

“A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual doom.”

“Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better.”

“We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.”

— Here’s a clip of King speaking:

Posted by James Maguire at 06:53 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

It’s probably not going to happen but you never know. You could be tooling along in your mini-van, toting the kids to soccer practice, and suddenly your vehicle is surrounded by snarky-looking guys with little goatees and pierced tongues. Cyerpunks. Guys who play D&D (that’s Dungeon and Dragons for you normal types). Guys with nicknames like BladeBoy and SquealerUnit.

So there you are, held captive in the hideout of the nefarious cyber dudes. What to do?

Here’s the trick. Make a casual, off-hand reference to The Grey Album, the 2004 mash-up of the Beatles’ White Album with Jay-Z’s Black Album. A producer named Danger Mouse (real name: Brian Burton) combined samples of both albums to create a completely new CD. Since it wasn’t legal – EMI sent him a cease and desist letter faster than you say “Abbey Road” – it was never officially released. It’s very underground, a true cult favorite. Just the kind of thing that cyberpunks hold in the highest regard.

Once you drop the name Grey Album, the cyber dudes will look up in wonder. They thought you were a soccer mom but now realize you’re a Pretty Cool Female. It’s then that you finish it off. “But,” you’ll say, “that CD is just so old school.” Since Grey Album was only released three years ago, calling it “old school” will make you painfully, bleedingly, cutting edge.

At that point the Boys will undoubtedly release you immediately. And also, probably, instruct you (for free) how to turn a nipple ring into a radio transistor. Just say thank you and hurry out quickly.

******

There’s no way to legally download The Grey Album. The closest you’ll come are strange-looking Web sites that offer to sell copies for $17, but they’ll probably take your money and your credit card number and vanish into the ether.

You can, however, download Danger Mouse tracks from iTunes. But when you hear how pedestrian his music is, you’ll wonder: This guy had the nerve to re-do The White Album? That’s like Barney Fief giving boxing lessons to Muhammad Ali.

Download Danger Mouse from iTunes

Posted by James Maguire at 06:37 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Whether men and women write differently can be hotly debated, but there’s a Web page called Gender Genie that claims to settle the matter. The site allows you to test writing samples to determine which gender wrote it. Simply cut and paste a chunk of text into the box on the page, wait a few moments, and the site tells you whether it was penned by a male or a female.

Gender Genie is based on an algorithm developed by two computer scientists. They dumped hundreds of texts into a computer, recording the gender of each author. They then crunched a bunch of numbers, and after doing that voodoo that computer scientists do, proclaimed their machine finished. They claimed they had developed a program that could predict the gender of any text’s author with 80% accuracy.

So I tried it out. I put in some of my own text, and when the score came back, I felt all proud. I’m a male! (Heck, if it’s so obvious to the computer, maybe I’m even macho! Damn, I wanna gnaw on some red meat and go fightin’.)

However, then I put in some text from Wall Street Journal columnist Peggy Noonan, and her score was also strongly male. Seeking a more overtly feminine writer, I put in a chunk of text from left-leaning political commentator (and the screenwriter of “Sleepless in Seattle”) Nora Ephron. It was a piece in which she criticizes Nancy Pelosi for having too short a haircut – if that’s not girly enough – yet it also scored as leaning male.

So I searched for a clearly and inarguably feminine piece of writing. On Google I found a piece called “A Mom’s Feelings of Guilt.” (First line: “I wasn’t really sure where to put this or how to address it. It’s something that isn’t easy to talk about…”) This time the prediction was accurate. The piece’s score was overwhelmingly female.

So, okay, the machine’s not a total flop, but determining whether an author is male or female isn’t something it’s qualified to do. And, in fact, whether even a human can do that (without reading the byline) is questionable.

But I’m still happy that the computer thinks that I’m a man. I’m a man! Yippee!

Posted by James Maguire at 09:29 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

In its article on “50 Ways to Improve Your Life in 2007,” U.S. News and World Report suggests joining a book club. Good idea.

Of the two sites the article recommends for help, these two look the most promising:

Reading Group Guides and Good Books Lately

The piece also points to Book Reporter, which includes a broad survey of what’s new on the shelves.

A thought for your nourishment:

“To read is to empower
To empower is to write
To write is to influence
To Influence is to change
To change is to live.”

~ Jane Evershed

Posted by James Maguire at 06:46 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

There’s a clear madness to Bush’s plan to boost troop levels in Iraq. He wants to maintain the fiction that his Iraq misadventure is something other than a tragedy, but all the troop surge will do is dig us deeper into the hole.

He’s going off all on his own on this one. Support for his move is so low – a Jan. 5-7 Gallup poll put it at 12% – that it will probably push his approval ratings down under the 30% level. That’s a trivial concern when compared to what the war will cost us in human life, spiritually, morally, and financially. But it does raise a worrying question: Is Bush losing it?

He’s always been so adroit at manipulating public opinion (well, he used to be). So adept at appearing to be a folksy, regular guy when in reality his policies have benefited the few at the expense of the many. But with the escalation he’s making it clear that he he’s willing to leave public opinion behind, willing to indulge his vanity above all. His plan suggests that the surge just might win George’s War, when even his generals (that is, the last round of them before the current crew) indicated it was a poor idea. There’s something more than a little delusional about that.

Ah, what a dark vision this man is. In a nation of 300 million people, how did we end up with him as president?

Posted by James Maguire at 06:51 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Let’s face it: most of current pop music has all the allure of dried bird manure. It’s overproduced, formulaic noise, with the rhythm tracks played by machines, and the inspiration provided by corporate market trend watchers.

A label puts it out, promotes it with an elephant budget, then after 72 hours of hype the song is shipped off to the Gap’s programming department, their to enhance the shopping experience of youthful credit card holders.

I wish I didn’t feel that way – it makes me feel old and crotchety. I worry that maybe I’m just like those old fogies who heard the Beatles for the first time and thought, “Oh, what noise these young people listen to!” But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. I mean, The Pussycat Dolls have about 1.5 billion times less talent than Lennon and McCartney. And that’s not a matter of opinion.

(Minor tangent: can you imagine hearing the Beatles for the first time and going “Oh, what a racket!” I mean, what was wrong with that generation?)

Given my antipathy for curent pop, I’m always relieved when I hear something that isn’t foul dredge. And Gnarls Barkley passes the test. He was the biggest breakout act of 2006, and his tune “Crazy” – stuck in heavy rotation for weeks – was one of the year’s top ten biggest hits.

It’s got a hypnotic little groove and the vocals are pretty cool, aided by a topping of light whipped cream soul singers. The tune isn’t particularly significant – like much of current pop, if you’ve heard the first 30 seconds, you’ve heard the whole song. No surprises, no real build. But in a weak field it stands out clearly. In a nod to ultimate retro hipness, there’s a very light record scratch over the whole thing, as if we’re listening to an old-fashioned vinyl record.

Here’s a clip:

Download “Crazy” from iTunes

Posted by James Maguire at 09:31 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

In a recent issue of The New Yorker there’s a reprint of the lecture given by author Orhan Pamuk as he accepted the 2006 Nobel Prize for Literature. He makes some interesting points about life and literature, but there’s one sentence in the middle that stopped me. He wrote:

“I know from experience that the great majority of people on this earth live with the same feeling of inauthenticity and Chekhovian provinciality, and that many suffer from an even deeper sense of insufficiency, insecurity, and degradation as I do.”

I can accept the part about insecurity and degradation (although I hope Pamuk doesn’t feel too insecure and degraded – after all, he just won the Nobel Prize. I mean, think of the groupies.)

But the phrase about the majority of people on the earth feeling Chekhovian provinciality had me spilling my soup. I think I understand Chekhovian provinciality. The Russian playwright Chekov’s stage works, like “Three Sisters,” featured characters who lived out in the hinterland but pined for Moscow, dreaming that living in a great metropolis would satisfy their inner longing.

But does the majority of the earth’s population share this feeling? Does the Malaysian rice farmer, or the Spanish school teacher living in a small town, feel a deep sense of emptiness because they don’t live in a major population center? Do all those Americans who are camped in the suburbs wonder how full their life would be if they felt the heat of the metropole? Do the Brazilian tribesman long for the beat of Rio? I think not.

I’m probably being too literal. Perhaps Pamuk meant that the majority of people long for something they don’t have, something that seems far away. That’s certainly true. But I don’t think that longing translates into a feeling that can be called “Chekhovian provinciality.” I’m guessing that one only feels something so high-flown if one is reasonably privileged. If you’re struggling to keep fed – which the majority of the earth is – you’re not worrying about provinciality, Chekhovian or otherwise.

Posted by James Maguire at 09:36 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Just look at the date, will you? The sound of it seems so extremely late. I mean, January 8…2007.

Geez. How the hell did we get this far? Where did all the time go?

Remember the ’90s? At this point they were a long time ago. For those of you who think of Doogie Howser as a major cultural icon, the ’90s was a time of Kool-Aid and skateboards, but for some of us, the ’90s was a time of mortgage and credit card adulthood. Some of us were adults as far back as – yikes – the 1980s. Some of us even remember life in the ’70s and ’60s. Hard to believe, I know, but the human life-span is typically longer than 23 years.

Anyway, I don’t know what to think of it all. The late date, I mean. The year 2007 seems like something out of a science fiction novel I read as a boy. I think by now we were all supposed to have jet packs, and to be communicating telepathically with our clone units on the Moon.

The Romans had an expression, Tempus fugit, or “Time flees.” They were, no doubt about it, correct.

Posted by James Maguire at 09:37 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Etta James recorded her classic “At Last” in 1961, and the performance shows no signs of wear. The R&B ballad sounds as pure and moody today as it must have some 45 years ago. Music like this doesn’t really “age,” it just gets further from its orginal release date.

When first issued, the tune hit No. 2 on the blues chart and also entered the top 30 on the pop chart. The folks at Chess Records must have been delighted.

Take a listen to the audio clip, and notice how she slides into that second, languorous note. She scoops up into it and takes flight, her voice smoky and clear at the same time. As she sings it sounds like she’s revealing something true, something highly personal about love finally attained after a long struggle. I also like the subtle triplet figure on the piano; it’s characteristic of the time period but somehow adds to the timelessness of the recording.


Download Etta James’s “At Last” from iTunes

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No, no, no, I didn’t go to the new Rocky movie. I had seen the original and felt no need to revisit it. But I was at the theater with my wife to see History Boys, which I couldn’t sit through (though she loved it). So I went and watched the last half of Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, an odd and wonderful movie starring Nicole Kidman as the visionary photographer. That ended and I walked out, only to see it was 25 minutes before my wife would be done with History Boys.

I had a choice: sit in the lobby for 25 minutes, or slip in to watch Rocky Balboa for 25 minutes. So that’s my excuse for finding myself watching the climactic last segment of Stallone’s nostalgia-fest.

In this installment, he’s back in the ring for one last hurrah, but this time he’s – gasp – 60 years old. Even stranger, we’re supposed to believe this aged Philadelphia beefcake can hold his own against a young professional fighter in top form.

There was a horrible fascination in watching the two of them pound each other in this very choreographed celebration of the vanity of the aging male. I couldn’t help wondering what went on in Stallone’s mind as he considered making one last Rocky movie. Somehow convincing himself that, yeah, audiences wouldn’t laugh at this senior citizen getting all tough with a 25-year-old.

The final boxing scene could have been played for laughs, yet it was all too serious. The blood, the gore, Stallone’s craggy face; his obvious cosmetic surgery combined with the fake boxing bruises was a nightmare image. It was like some kind of car crash I couldn’t turn away from. I’ve always thought that male vanity is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Now I realize that older male vanity might be the worst form of it.

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Yes, I adore humorist Andy Borowitz. Everyday he posts a new mock news item. He’s usually spot-on, but yesterday’s was particularly good.

In his piece about Bush’s exit strategy, he wrote:

“President George W. Bush has been working around the clock to put the finishing touches on a speech to the American people in which he will announce a comprehensive exit strategy from reality, White House aides confirmed today.

“When reports emerged that the president was considering deploying an additional “surge” of troops in Iraq against the advice of military experts and overwhelming public sentiment, many in Washington suspected that the move was part of a larger plan to withdraw from reality entirely.

“The White House spokesperson said that the president refused to set a formal timetable for his withdrawal from reality, but added that it was realistic assume that Mr. Bush’s exit from the real world would be complete by year’s end: “It helps that he’s ninety percent of the way there already.”

—-Priceless. Thank you, Andy.

Posted by James Maguire at 06:17 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Today is the day to say “hurray for Nancy” because this afternoon Nancy Pelosi is being sworn in as Speaker of the House. That makes her 1) the first female Speaker, and 2) the highest ranking female elected official in U.S. history.

But her ascendancy is not just a victory for women. In her first days in office, she has vowed to raise the minimum wage (which hasn’t been boosted in a decade), meaning that tens of millions of working people - the ones whose backs make this country run – will come closer to a livable salary. That will be tremendously significant for families all across the U.S.

Nancy Pelosi trivia:

She is an Italian Catholic grandmother who never misses Mass.

She raised five children, and did not start life as a politician until age 47.

She will not drink coffee, but she adores chocolate.

Her family’s net worth is estimated at over $25 million.

Posted by James Maguire at 09:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

In an essay in Vanity Fair, Christopher Hitchens posits that men are funnier – in fact, far funnier – than women.

Not that women don’t make great wits and comedians. Hitchens points to Ellen DeGeneres and Sandra Bernhard as examples of talented female wags. But the fairer sex, in his view, is burdened by cultural imperatives: for women it’s all about being pretty, not funny. And by biological responsibilities: it’s hard to be hilarious when you’re eight months pregnant. Hence their funny bone lacks the robust strength of we males, or so claims Hitchens.

Remarkably, he gets some support in his view from two acclaimed female comic voices, Fran Lebowitz and Nora Ephron. (Well, he called Ephron and she didn’t disagree with the notion.) Lebowitz apparently agreed, saying “humor is largely aggressive and pre-emptive, and what’s more male than that?”

What’s interesting about the piece is not his theory, but that he does a fairly decent job of proving it (though of course it can’t be proven, and humor is so subjective and contextual that his thesis can’t be absolutely true).

Writes Hitchens:

“If I am correct about this, which I am, then the explanation for the superior funniness of men is much the same as for the inferior funniness of women. Men have to pretend, to themselves as well as to women, that they are not the servants and supplicants. Women, cunning minxes that they are, have to affect not to be the potentates.”

Posted by James Maguire at 09:40 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

I was in an airport bookstore, desperately looking for something to read, when a woman walked up beside me and starting looking at the magazines. She was twentyish, with tight jeans, and it only took her a moment to find her favorite title.

“Dang it,” she said, “I already read it – when I was getting my nails done.”

She flitted over to a neighboring rack, scanning it. Her face had an anxious look. She glanced back toward her boyfriend, who walked over. “Whatever you want to do,” he said, glumly.

She walked out quickly without buying anything. Apparently if she can’t find her favorite – the one she reads while her nails are done – she’ll read nothing else. Some readers are more discriminating than others.

Posted by James Maguire at 07:13 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Ah, New Year’s Day. A new year dawns, bringing its enormous potential, some serious risks, and plenty of chances to break those resolutions. (Yum, coffee ice cream, and what about a bacon sandwich on white bread – with butter?)

We peer out into the new year, looking at the tea leaves, attempting to divine some curve in the road. But all portents are essentially blind, so we go forth as sightless runners.

Just before the starting gun sounds, we have a moment for spirtual inventory. The famous poem “Desiderata” offers some guidance. It’s rumored to have been found in a church in 1629, though in fact it was written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s.

Here’s an excerpt:

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

Posted by James Maguire at 08:39 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)