Deal Me In?

Once again I have a friend trying to talk me into playing poker. So far I have managed to side-step the trendy phase of its resurgence, despite several folks making every effort to let me know what I am missing out on. For some reason people think that I would enjoy taking up the game. They know that I have an interest in psychology, and emphasize the importance of that facet of poker. I expect that these would-be enablers have only the best intentions at heart. Certainly they aren't just trying to recruit fresh meat for the table, right? It's merely an opportunity for me to exercise a specific part of my personality, and a localized region of my brain. Somehow I would be ensured of fun and amusement.

For every compelling reason I am given for participating, I can almost instantly generate a handful of objections. The most generalized excuse I have for foregoing engagement is philosophically-based. When I was a boy, I learned quickly that gambling was a black hole. A couple of my buddies conspired with me to start a football betting pool in middle school. We decided that we could capitalize on our classmates' prurient tendencies, and make a buck or two for soda and comics. The first week we had a lot of participants. It seemed odd that one of our accomplices had so much foresight into what would happen on the gridiron. It was even stranger that one of us came out on top seven days later. What prognostication skills my small social circle had!

You see, we had figured out that the best role to play was the "house". Unfortunately we got greedy too quickly, because if we had more moderation we would have probably been taken care of for months. Anyway, I made a decision after the others started to suspect a fix- I wasn't going to be the sucker. This naturally jigsawed with another objection I had to another honored American past-time... playing cards. As the youngest member of my family I didn't have a chance of success when the deck came out. It was frustrating that the only way I could do well was when someone started patronizing me. I spent a lot of time sitting out, and rolling Yahtzee by myself. It's not like I didn't understand the odds.

As I got older it was easy to avoid gambling because neither my friends nor I ever had any money to throw around. It wasn't an option. Any discretionary income went to beer and cigarettes. The high stake gambles had more to do with whoever you were trying to get into bed. Still I occasionally felt the pull to go to the track. There was something about the horses that tempted me. Perhaps it was something sociological... I was captivated by the milieu. And I felt like I could come out even by simply betting the minimum to show. I could suck up the atmosphere without getting caught in the loop. And for years, there was no pressure to involve myself in any other games of chance.

Now we have high stakes poker on television. You have to make it a point to remain untouched by the craze. If you decide not to get in on it, you risk giving something up socially. I understand that. My grandfather always warned me that a day would come when I would regret not learning how to play cards. I thought he was daft, but he was really quite prescient. Maybe I'll succumb to the gentle urgings of my pals. But I'd be starting at a distinct advantage, and at the mercy of the early adopters. That's something I'd have a hard time dealing with for awhile. There's an ugly side of me that finds losing completely unacceptable under any conditions. Who wants to encourage that?

My Weekend Trip to the Conservative Blogosphere.

This has certainly been an interesting extended weekend. The McCain campaign's decision to roll out their pick for VP came at an intriguing time. Initially the GOP must have felt very self-satisfied about having eroded the "bump" that Obama received after last week's convention. But there were risks as well. People have had plenty of free time over the last few weeks to do their own independent research on Ms. Palin. As a result there is a landslide of information, rumor, innuendo, and disclosure about the current Governor of Alaska. Perhaps the Republican National Committee believed that it could firmly establish a public persona for the little-known politician. However that assumption appears a bit flawed only a few days after their "historic announcement".

I decided to participate in the drama of the event by engaging online communities that I'd ordinarily avoid. In the process I had countless exchanges with self-professed "conservatives" and Palin supporters. There is no denying that the Theo-con wing of the Right has been invigorated by the prospect of a "family values"-espousing politician as second-in-command of the nation. I learned very quickly that they take the defense of Sarah Palin personally. They relate to her story on such an intimate level that to impugn their hero is tantamount to assaulting them. With the knowledge that I was coming into their house uninvited (so-to-speak), I did everything I could to avoid invective, vitriol, and insult in my own responses.

Despite my best efforts I was met with a wave of animosity and a general refusal to engage in a reasoned adult discussion. If you are skeptical about this, simply follow this link for a sample of the experiences I had on just one forum. Here are (just a few of many) highlights for those who would rather not wade through the morass:


"Be careful out there, a snark will get you and crew your detestable body parts into metaphysical mince meat." (Ed. note: actually I found this one kind of witty)

"As Malcolm Reynolds might say, I would bet my rutting life that child has a better upbringing and home life than you did. And as you are evidently a sufferer of moral retardation, the cases seem muchlike. Perhaps Trim or Trig or Tick or Tuck or Tug or whatsisname won't grow up to be an Internet dirtbag like you."

"I call troll on Merge and will not engage him again. He is engaging in creeping Cyrus Pinkertonism. May whatever God or Demon he believes in have mercy on his soul."

"Merge - you stepped into a known big pile of moose shit and kept smearing it all over your body. Stop already."

"Now, please go away you irritating little man. You are not engaging in political discourse, you are engaging in the most boring form of dikhed verbosity."

"No questions here, it's just fun watching an elitist know-nothing try to defend the indefensible."

"merege: what part of "fuck you' do you not understand--no sanctimony here, just pure loathing."

"Your net value to the participants is either zero or negative. It is a nuisance value.
If I every take a blog seriously, I will ban or suspend right and left among those who bore me."

"Do you actually believe the shit you post?"


That's pretty impressive stuff from a group of folks that (presumably) identify with the "family values" plank of the Republicans. Of course there were also a smattering of folks that rose above the ordinary shit-flinging, and simply "agreed to disagree". There always are. And I have to be fair and point out that there are many so-called left-wing sites wherein conservative posters (even ones employing frank sincerity and rational argument) might be similarly attacked.

I want to make it clear that I wasn't hurt or personally offended by any of these comments (although I didn't especially enjoy being called a "baby-killer" on another site). I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I initiated contact with this bunch. Remember that I listen to conservative talk radio on a daily basis. The nasty tone flows downhill certainly. The truth is that I benefited greatly from these interactions. I got to see some interesting viewpoints that I wouldn't have otherwise encountered. The anonymity of the net allows folks to get beyond the niceties that apply in face-to-face encounters. One gets to see within their minds in a way that is much less adulterated by ordinary social decorum. It's just a shame that so many of us have become inured from ever entertaining an opposing position.


Addendum: It appears that Ann Althouse has some difficulty fielding dissenting opinion over on her blog (either that or she didn't appreciate the flow of traffic away from her site). I posted a comment tonight, and within a couple minutes she had deleted it. I understand that the shepherd has to protect her flock, but she appears to have an awful low regard for her regular posters' collective ability to defend their views. I guess eternal vigilance is required for her to stay on message. Maybe we should give her a break, and not rile her up too much- Hitler was a failed artist too.

Addendum #2: (9/2/08) Either someone from Althouse must have read this post and alerted Ann. Either that or she's read the e-mail I sent her. Now she's reinstated my comment and dropped it straight into another unrelated thread without any context. Very interesting... see it here.

Herschel Carrousel Factory Museum, North Tonawanda, NY.

When I was casting about for a place to stay during my time in Buffalo, I found a Microtel north of the city in a suburb called Tonawanda. It was relatively cheap and conveniently located, if very small. It did put me in close proximity to an attraction I wanted to see in North Tonawanda- the Herschel Carrousel Factory Museum. I definitely have a jones for old-time amusements. Whether it be traveling carnivals, fly-by-night circus companies, roadside attractions, or extinct amusement parks, I lament the passing of these traditional outlets for public play. Before the age of television and digital media, people pretty much had to engage the outside world to find their fun. Now these things are disappearing, seemingly forever.

There was a time when Western New York employed a lot of its denizens in the making of traditional carousels. Allan Herschel was a pioneer in the field. His firm originally made parts for steam engines, but on a trip to Coney Island he discovered and fell in love with a new adult diversion. He saw his very first merry-go-round. In 1873 he came back to the area north of Buffalo, and started an operation aimed at designing and manufacturing simple and elegant versions of the ride. Eventually he shipped his product throughout the United States, Canada and abroad. In 1915 he built the facility at 180 Thompson Street which currently houses a museum, as well as an original Herschel carousel from 1916.

I arrived at the place promptly at 10AM, only minutes ahead of a tour group of summer camp kids. This gave me enough time to get the lay of the land and organize my self-guided visit. I began with a quick look around the gift shop that stocks a good amount of classic memorabilia and trinkets centered (of course) around the carousel theme. I paid my $5 admission (that included a ride on the in-house classic carousel) and stepped into a room containing the Lockman collection. This exhibit documents the changes in style and manufacturing that occurred over the history of the carousel industry. It even includes an antique wooden bull, used as a strength-testing game at the now-defunct Erie Beach Amusement Park.

Then I walked around the partially-restored workshops abutting the gallery. There is a lot of information contrasting the labor-intensive production of wooden carousel horses to the modern day method that involves fiberglass. In addition, there's a section where contemporary hobbyists and craftsmen can come and use the old tools left from the factory. While I was browsing I met a retired minister from Ohio named Don Brewer. He's a former showman who once toured with the circus. We jawed for awhile about the sad decline of touring shows, and he showed me a bit of the wooden carving he was engaged in. It was great to talk to someone who was once actually part of the long-lost world that I am so enamored with.

I certainly felt like all the volunteers staffing the Museum appreciated my interest in the history of carousels and amusement parks. There will likely come a day when people forget the roots of the industry. I'm overwhelmingly grateful that there are enthusiasts willing to invest their time and energy in preserving this delightful part of our past. The opportunity to photograph an authentic operating carousel from the second decade of the 20th Century was amazing. In addition, displays describing other rides produced by Herschel and Co. were detailed and fascinating. This is another place I hope to eventually bring Baby E., once he is old enough to appreciate a ride on the carousel. I'll even cash in my wooden nickel when that time comes.

Bonus Trivia: The idea for the carousel is based upon the use of wooden horses that knights trained upon during medieval times. They even practiced with brass rings, attempting to spear them with a lance.

Mark Jacobson, "American Gangster" (2007).

I'll admit being a recent convert to the idea that one can be a bit more self-indulgent in one's reading habits during the summer months. The truth is that over the last several years I have tended to devour a lot fewer books during July and August. There's just too much to do, and I generally lack the patience to sit in the heat for long periods. Movies tend to suit my mood a lot more during the "dog days". But this year has been different. I've definitely slowed down, but I am maintaining reasonable progress toward my annual goal. Part of this transformation is due to my selection criteria. I have embraced a form of "light reading". There will be no post-modern epics until it gets colder outside. I won't strain myself with footnotes.

I feel that I've earned some latitude. I don't necessarily need to challenge myself. Yet I'm not tempted to pick up the stereotypical "beach reads" that many folks drool over. There will be no Wally Lamb or Dean Koontz for me. Instead I have chosen to read salacious true crime stories and gossipy essays by contemporary authors. Mark Jacobson's American Gangster certainly fits the bill. C'mon really... Ridley Scott made a film adaptation from one small part of this book. It's a collection of pieces that Jacobson wrote for a such venerable publications as New York magazine and The Village Voice. In totality they express the author's love affair with much of the seamier side of Gotham. In that way, Jacobson is a bit like a pulpy Luc Sante.

The title work is based upon Jacobson's interactions with Frank Lucas, who is perhaps the gamiest thug ever to haunt the pimpin' streets of 70's-era Harlem. This is a guy that actually smuggled kilos of pure heroin in secret compartments of the coffins transporting dead American soldiers home from Vietnam. While now an old man and languishing in the bosom of the Witness Protection Program, Lucas is still a menacing character according to Jacobson's accounts. In fact, the elderly gangster actually threatened to disenfranchise the writer that helped bring his story to Hollywood's attention. Still, in Lucas' own words- "People like the fuck out of me"- and Jacobson appears to be no exception.

It's fairly evident that Jacobson finds a place in his heart for all of his subjects, no matter how coarse or brutal. Peep his account of the rise and fall of Jason Itzler, one-time owner of NY Confidential- a fine purveyor of high-priced "escorts". This Jewish kid sprung from money, and clawed his way into the sex-for-hire-marketplace, eventually becoming a multimillionaire owner of a chic Manhattan penthouse/harem, before landing with a prominent thud in Riker's Island. Many journalists would feel obligated to write him off as an exploitive brat, yet Jacobson allows him to tell his own story. In this day and age, the lack of moralizing is not only notable, but nearly non-existent. Imagine a writer allowing his readership to form their own conclusions.

Perhaps it's because Jacobson is so familiar with his chosen milieu that he can get away with his overt stance of moral relativism. After all, there are enough armchair quarterbacks to pass holy judgment. The essays in American Gangster are concerned with providing vistas into airtight rooms and closed societies. How else is he going to get these ne'er-do-wells to reveal themselves without maintaining a value-neutral approach? I don't want my summer reading seasoned with salt-and-pepper ethical pronouncements, whether the subjects are heroes like Wynton Marsalis or comedy kingpin George Schultz... or shady characters like Chinatown gang-leader Nicky Louie. After all, I'm after escapism.

They Know You'll Like It.

I know I've written on the topic of humor before, but I believe that a lot of what I said in that earlier post bears repeating. The problem is that people tend not to believe me when I say I'm not going to appreciate their particular favorite. "Why don't you just give it a chance? How can you say you won't like it if you aren't willing to give it a try?" The answers to these questions are fairly basic because I provide them so often. The one thing in our existence that is absolutely finite is time. We've only got so many hours to spend, and many of them are used for sleeping and working. I value my leisure time as much as just about anything in my life. It's crucially important that I spend it with forethought and reflection.

So no... I'm not ever going to see Blades of Glory. You can keep your copy to yourself. I'm not going to see the new Seth Rogan or Judd Apatow flicks. Watching The 40 Year Old Virgin is not part of my plan. I know that you think it's funny, and that you are convinced that I'm "missing out". I'm willing to live with that. No matter how hard you try to persuade me that I'll find that wacky decapitation scene funny, I have to assure you that I won't. You can also keep your dick-caught-in-zipper, turd in the swimming pool, latent homosexual, masturbatory humor, etc. Please accept my assertion that I am not judging you or your tastes. I am no better or more discriminate a viewer... we simply have different preferences when it comes to comedy.

I don't appreciate being told that the reason I prefer not to see these movies is because I am an "elitist". My aesthetic has almost nothing to do with what groups of people feel about a specific item. There are lots of folks who found Borat hilarious, and I agree with them. But on the other hand there were a host of viewers who felt that Dumb and Dumber was a comic masterpiece. Not me... no thanks. Maybe if I smoked pot I would understand why that was such a popular movie. However, I am not going to start doing drugs just so I can groove on that vibe. Again- your life is your own, and you are welcome to it. There will be plenty of common ground for us to share, so don't get offended.

I've come to the conclusion that humor is one of the most arbitrary and personal amusements in existence. Try asking someone why they think one thing is funny, and yet another is not. You'll quickly come to discover that few people have a vocabulary to describe the process. If you don't feel the same way, they will simply repeat a quote or two and stare at you in befuddlement if you don't laugh. Still I've analyzed my own sense of humor at length. I don't like physical comedy. I've never enjoyed the Three Stooges and I find early Woody Allen flicks boring. I don't like frat boy jokes, or juvenile hijinks. I can't find any pleasure in watching pratfalls. And I can do without the bleary stoner stuff that so many embrace nowadays.

On the other hand, I do enjoy surreality in everyday life. I am tickled by caustic and sarcastic wit. Give me "dark humor" any day of the week... the more transgressive the better. I also like dense, thickly layered, multileveled, and subtle comedy. If I am in a light mood, I can get into watching awkward social situations play out. Along those lines, I've recently gotten into Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm and anything with Ricky Gervais. When I first saw The Office (the original British version) I was struck dumb. Since then I get more out of each repeated viewing. Now I'm loving Extras. Maybe you could characterize it as "sociological humor". But whatever it is, it just so happens to resonate with me.

A Day at the Pool.

My birthday celebration was a long one, but I managed to get through the whole day without flagging. I set a very deliberate pace, and was able to remain lucid and conversational. Before we went down to the Pub, we stopped off for a couple of bottled frappuccinos which provided the needed boost to keep us moving. The show could have been better attended, but I felt I did my part by bringing 17 people who would not have likely been there without my invitation. Anyway, we had plenty of room on the dance floor, and we used it. At some point it just didn't matter if we looked like fools, flailing about to another Slim jam. To this day there aren't many among the initiated that would dispute the assertion that Cessna is an unparalleled performer.

This morning I was surprisingly sprightly as I sprung out of bed and went out for breakfast. My energy flagged just a bit around noon, but I managed to stay out-and-about with the assistance of four shots of espresso. What's the best way to enjoy a hot afternoon after a full day of revelry? Well, it should be obvious... go to the pool. Admittedly I'm not much for lounging about poolside. I just don't have a whole lot of patience to be still unless I'm reading or watching a movie. And I like to read in silence, so it's inevitable that I'm going to get wet if I'm at the pool. I also get protective about my space, and don't like to be around strangers in my trunks- but that didn't stop me today.

In fact it was a bit uncharacteristic for me to be where I was. A nearby borough has a Yacht Club that allows folks to buy season memberships. You don't need to own a boat to gain entrance. M.'s family turned her on to the place last summer, and they signed up for a group plan. Although the area it's located in is quite swanky, this Yacht Club is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Initially I refused outright to go to any such thing. I figured it would be a lot of stuffy, pasty, rich white folks, sipping Chardonnay and looking down their noses. I certainly don't know anyone that owns a yacht. But I was told time and time again that it wasn't what I thought it was. One after another of my friends infiltrated the Club.

Finally I broke down and agreed to go on a day that some of the husbands I liked were going. Right away my assumptions proved incorrect. First of all, they allow smoking anywhere (except, presumably, the pool itself). There is a rec center with videogames and bubble hockey, alongside a snack bar that serves appropriately unwholesome foods. There is a bar that serves up alcohol at relatively affordable prices. And there are actually NASCAR posters on the walls. Right there that's a tip-off that the management is decidedly against pretension. It's not that I support the sport or anything, but I'm reasonably sure that its followers are not going to think that they are better than me because of the way I dress.

In fact there is a palpable lack of sophistication. There's a pavilion down along the waterfront with a long bar running down its middle. At one end there is a stage, where bands play poseur blues and reggae tunes. It's like being at Sandcastle Waterpark without the ridiculous lines and $30 admission fee. Guest admissions are $5 for the day. It's clean and fairly relaxing, with a mix of little kids and full blown adults. There aren't a whole lot of people between the ages of 12 and 30 there. The portion of the clientele that does own water-craft seems to consist of hard-working middle and upper middle class lovers of the outdoors, who scrape up the scratch to live out their retirement dreams on the river. Pittsburgh never ceases to surprise.