Jonah’s Blog

I generally try not to get too political with this blog, but I really think our presidential race is turning into a horse race: a bunch of lightweights compelled by merits and resources other than their own going around and around in circles. To add to the metaphor, there is too much money involved, and the whole thing has been fixed from the start. For instance, did anyone actually think Kucinich had a chance? At least in a real horse race the long shot wins often enough to generate a couple bets.

You may say that politicians should not be compared to jockeys, in the disparaging way I have done it here, but the truth is that they only get by on other people’s money and most - if not all - the candidates have government employment as the chief entry on their resumes. Say what he (or she) will about opposing “handouts” for the poor, our next president will have taken more government handouts - in the form of free health care, retirement, housing, security details and travel; and virtual do-nothing jobs in Congress - than any poor, chronically unemployed public housing resident ever will.

And just watching them, reading what they have to say, hearing them speak really makes me wonder whether they think I’m any better than a horse’s ass.

Well, it’s sure been a while. Though I have had numerous things to say over the past few months, I have had scant time to jot them down. It’s been hard enough just to say them all. I’m sure quite a few did not even get uttered.

I hope you’re all doing well.

I’m planning a trip to Austin, Texas. It will be my first time in the Lone Star State. I hope to buy a new pair of cowboy boots or a Stetson hat. I may even get a belt buckle. I’ll be hanging out with my sister, Abby down there. We’ll do all sorts of fun stuff, including, but not limited to, playing bluegrass music and seeing country.

That’s all. I just wanted to say hello.

My goodness, it’s fucking hot right now. I’m in my apartment sweating like mad. But I realize it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. I just had to take a few minutes and write out a couple thoughts.

First, file this under “You heard it here first.” Chris Rock once said the way to end gun violence was to make bullets so expensive that people would have to take a second job and save up for weeks before buying them. That way they would think real hard about who they spent that much time and money shooting.

Chris Rock was on to something. I say we ban bullets. There is nothing in the Constitution about having bullets. Only guns. Ban bullets and people can’t shoot each other. Maybe allow some exemption for bullets that can only be fired from hunting rifles (a nod to my redneck friends and relatives), but ban anything that can be fired from a handgun. Eventually bullets will be so expensive, Chris Rock’s dream will be realized.

Join the crusade. Ban bullets.

Here’s something else. I recently paid $30 for a Brooklyn Cyclones hat while at their Coney Island stadium for a game. The hat was made in China, presumably to save money. I don’t see why that had to be done. Anyone who can’t make a profit on a line of $30 baseball hats, while paying American workers union wages and paying US taxes, does not deserve to be in business. I mean, who needs to cut costs when you can sell a fucking baseball cap for $30?

In the past I have led the charge against Alex Rodriguez. I’ve called him “Gay Wad” in conversations with friends. I’ve also called him a wuss, a baby, a pansy, and questioned whether he actually even liked playing baseball.

But this season A-Rod is off to great start and answering the naysayers with his golden bat. He leads not just the Yankees but the entire Major League in homeruns and probably several other statistics that I don’t pay much attention to. That is why I’m writing this. I feel I need to warn him that he has set expectations way too high. Doesn’t poor Alex realize that he has set himself up for certain failure?

Eventually A-Rod will go two, maybe even three games without a homerun or - perish the thought - so much as a base hit. When this inevitable day, or days, comes he will be buried in the press. Yankee fans will boo him again, and he will talk once more about the fact that his contract is almost up and he is not sure whether he will seek a trade or just retire. He really takes the public drubbing very hard.

This blog is his one chance to spare himself that humiliation and depression. Alex Rodriguez, for all his millions of dollars, legions of fans and admirers, good looks and talent, is a very insecure guy. Possibly insecure enough to Google himself late at night and read all the blogs that mention his name. I hope, for his sake, he is that insecure and that he heeds my warning.

So if you are reading this, Mr. Rod, please strike out a couple times this week, maybe even go 0 for 4 in a game, so that, if the Yankees make the playoffs and you only hit one homerun per game, nobody tries to strip your pinstripes and ram that golden bat up your ass.

Now your former detractors are on your side, but to keep us there you must remind us that you are, in fact, human. Either that or continue to show that you may not be human after all, and break every single-season record you can. I suppose it’s possible.

To everyone who did not attend last night’s performance by the South Slope String Band: you really missed out on a great time. The band was on top of its game, and the groove was tight. To those who made it to Sunset Park for some St. Patrick’s Day bluegrass: sweet.

Bluegrass ruled last night at the Bar BQ bar, and I don’t think any of the people yelling and screaming were begging us to stop. In fact, one nut actually asked us to make it louder.

There was even a surprise appearance by my good friends, the Lonesome Trio, fresh off one of their periodic lapses. But their harmonies were smooth as the Scotch I spent most of the night drinking, and they were kind enough to invite me to sit in.

South Slope String Band members Jordan, Jake, and John ripped, rocked, and kicked ass, respectively.

I sincerely hope to see all of you there next time.

Now, I try not to get too political on this blog, and I realize that poking fun at George W. Bush is easier than hitting the ground with a rock, but I recently noticed a problem in the one idea of his that I actually liked.

Sunday we all pushed our clocks up an hour to advance daylight savings time by a couple weeks. It really is great. We have more daylight earlier in the season, and the weather in New York has been beautiful lately. So it’s really paid off.

But the idea wasn’t to pull us out of the winter doldrums and into sunny springtime earlier. It was to conserve energy, by giving us more wakeful daylight hours and reducing our dependence on the thermostat to heat our homes.

Here’s the rub: If we have longer days now, won’t the days be even longer than usual in June and July, thus requiring us to run our air conditioners more? I’m not a climate scientist - or any scientist, or at all good at math - but wouldn’t it make sense that lengthening the days now would also lengthen them later?

I mean, can this guy get anything right? The only positive thing to come out of this Bush administration, and it’s fucked up.

On a different topic, I’m looking forward to baseball season. As long as Alex Rodriguez is in pinstripes, I think I’ll have plenty to bitch about this summer.

I would just like to take this opportunity to publicly, and for the record, state that I am not the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby. I never met her, and I have never been to the Hard Rock Cafe.

I feel I should also clear the air about another matter. I am not considering a run for president nor putting together an exploratory committee.

And I am not trying to decide which NFL team to coach next season, though if any offers come my way, I will make sure to disclose them here.

I’m no fan of Stephon Marbury. His inconsistent play and me-first approach to team sports has helped bury the Knicks in their current rut and nearly made me a Nets fan. And now I add to my grievances the fact that his strategy for social justice comes right out of the pages of Sam Walton’s play book.

Marbury (or Starbury, as he - alone - likes to call himself) decided to make his own line of sneakers, using the same Chinese sweatshops that Nike uses to make their $175 Michael Jordan basketball shoes. He also claimed to be using all the same materials, but his shoes retail for a fraction of Nike’s prices, $9.98 to $14.98. It’s a nice idea, but seems more like a slap in the face at Nike than an actual solution to the problem he was trying to address, that poor kids can’t afford decent basketball shoes.

But I was curious. So I went to every shoe store I knew of, including Modell’s in the Fulton Street Mall, until I was finally directed to the only story in New York City that sells the Starbury Ones, an ultra-cheap sports clothing store called Steve and Barry’s. It’s on 34th and 6th in Manhattan, a far cry from Marbury’s hometown neighborhood of Coney Island.

It was clear that the shoes were made for tall basketball players. At the store there were tons of sizes 11, 12, 13; I even saw a 15. But there were only about three 9s and only in one style. Fortunately it was the style I wanted: the pseudo running shoe. There are several colors and styles of high-top, but using my hands, I could feel that they were all basically the same on the inside.

Trying them on, I immediately noticed that they felt nothing like the Nike running shoes I used to own. The arch support was minimal, the fit was strangely wide, the laces were way too long. But I paid my $9.98 and carried them out, prepared to be wowed by the comfort and support.

The next day I put them on and walked the 20 or so blocks to my yoga class (we’ll discuss that another day). As soon as I left my apartment I noticed that my heels felt like they were being coaxed off the shoe to the inside. It was like there was a gentle inward slope to the insole. It felt weird, but I kept walking, secretly hoping someone would stop and say, “Hey, aren’t those the new $10 Stephon Marbury sneakers?” To which I could answer, “Why yes. They are,” and lift my feet to show them off.

But no one noticed.

I’ve now had the shoes for a week, and I can safely say the fit like $10 sneakers. My feet hurt when I wear them. I thought I was getting a bargain, but these shoes will actually end up costing me whatever it costs to replace them, plus $9.98.

Marbury tries to play himself off as some champion of the working class, selling his shoes for social justice. He’s selling inner-city kids inexpensive basketball shoes that he claims are as good as the pricey ones.

But if he had even had the common sense of a basketball, he’d know that what poor kids all across America need is not more cheap clothing. What kids in Coney Island and places like it need is hope. They need jobs to look forward to getting when they graduate from their crappy neighborhood public high schools. (They also need better schools, but that debate is some murky water to wade into.)

If “Starbury” really wanted to help the community at large, he would sell his sneakers for $50 to $60 and make them at a factory in Brooklyn. He’d hire union workers and pay them union wages. He’d set up a pension system and honor it. He’d lobby for universal health care and provide free on-site daycare centers where his employees can safely leave their children when they work.

So, put more simply, “Hey Marbury, we don’t need another fucking Wal-Mart and more cheap crap. We need well-paying jobs, and quality shoes.”

Take that to the hoop.

As it turns out, somebody is reading this stuff. Sorry I left you hanging for so long, dude, but sometimes New Year’s resolutions get lost in the shuffle.

I have managed to keep one resolution. I am picking banjo again. The doctor and physical therapists I saw encouraged me to take a couple months off, and it didn’t work. I half suspect they just wanted to rid the world of a banjo player, even if it would only be temporary. They’re probably high-fiving over beers right now. I barely picked at all for six months and not at all from September till January.

It’s been more than four months since my last gig. I’ll be playing Sunday February 4, at Nolita House on Houston Street with everybody’s favorite brunch band, Fresh Baked. We’ll start around 12:30 and play until around 3:30. Come out and have a little pre-Super Bowl breakfast. Get a good base.

So you all know that I went up to Albany to take my master’s comps last month, but do any of you know I passed? That’s right. However, I don’t have a master’s degree yet, because I need to get the college proof of my inoculations (which I know I gave them once before). I also have to get a TB test.

During my course of study at SUNY Albany, they added a requirement that all students get tested for exposure to tuberculosis. When I started it was only necessary for those living on campus, so I never had it done. In my final semester (Spring 2003) I promised that if they let me register one more time I’d get the test before the next semester.

But as it turns out, that was not my last semester. In order to get my degree, and for the comps to count, I have to be registered for classes this spring. Earlier this month I went onto their computer system to officially register for the Spring 2007 semester, only to find a hold on my account up there.

As it turns out they still want me to get the TB test. Now I could have been coughing and spitting consumption around their sprawling campus for two years; I could have personally let the Mask of the Red Death into the cafeteria; but now that I’m never going back there again, I have to be tested.

So that’s a late New Year’s resolution, which I really should get around to fulfilling by March. Until then, don’t get too close.

It is the first of the year, and I just wanted to start off right, blogging. I resolve to blog more this year than last. That shouldn’t be too difficult, since I did not have the blog at the start of last year. I also resolve to improve my spoken grammar and my diction.

This year I will quit mistakenly interchanging the words “further” and “farther.” I know how they are supposed to be used, and I still fuck them up all the time. I also resolve to at least try to finally figure out the differences between all the usages and forms of the words “lay” and “lie.” I’d like to learn just exactly when to use “which” and when to use “that” in writing and speech. I’ll try to minimize my use of the word “gonna.”

I promise that in 2007, I will do my best not to cringe when people use variations on the tragic “between you and I.” It’s not that I care about being polite, but it just happens so damn much that if I let it get to me every single time I hear it, I’ll probably develop an ulcer. I have the horrible habit of watching Days of Our Lives (notice, there is no resolution to quit) and those assholes say it all the time. “Then she barged in on Sammy and I.”

Sports announces, politicians, and even TV news commentators and talking heads - who are supposed to be writers - all say things like “When you asked Bill and I who we’d vote for, I wanted to beg the question a step farther ask ‘Who aren’t we gonna’ vote for?’”

While I’m at it, I should try to be a little more accepting of the misuse of the “carrot and stick” cliché. People always say things like, “You should try using a little less carrot and a little more stick,” or “It’s much more in my nature to use the carrot, but occasionally I have to pull out the stick too.” Both adaptations imply that you are somehow offering someone a carrot while simultaneously, or intermittently, beating them with a stick. It completely ignores the root of the expression, which refers to the old picture of a mule walking eternally toward a carrot suspended just out of its reach at the end of a stick tied to it’s head.

So I guess I’ll have to spend this year not only trying to improve my own speech, but ignoring the speech – words, meanings and all – of everyone else.

And as I do every year, I resolve to tune my banjo and keep it there. I also vow to be nicer to bass players. It’s really not their fault.