new writing in long forma proper archive for this site

dear brainfixer,
for the first time in over three decades, i have actually updated "DOES THAT MAKE ME GAY?" Introduce yourself to a whole new chapter in my own painful self-awareness: read A CAT'S TALE now.
- I FELL APART ON 30 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
todd levin + jigga-man... TLA! (if you are traveling around in the los angeles basin - well, not directly in it - you can pick up the New Times LA and read the record review in glorious print and let me rub off on your fingers. are you now disgusted? is this a breach of our doctor-patient relationship?)
- I FELL APART ON 28 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
sometimes being jewish is i'm hungry not the easiest thing in the world. sharing both religion and culture has often please feed me meant suffering at the hands of others, or being evicted from just about every developed i can't stop thinking about food country in world history cupcakes.

i am pleased with my religion. if nothing else, it gives me starving to death right now an excuse for looking the way i do: like a slightly hunched, always bearded semite. it's hard to get away with couldn't you just messenger me some ritz bits or something that look when you're a lutheran. nonetheless, judaism seems to make an i would even eat a pork chop dipped in nacho cheese sauce right now i swear to god art of suffering. yom kippur, for example, requires i would reject god if i could lick a piece of caramel a day of atoning for all of our yearly sins. i suppose that's better than wasn't the holocaust enough the catholic tradition of regular confession, or at least more efficient, but yom hot dog ice cream even a fucking ssips juicebox would be great kippur also requires a full day of fasting, to keep us more in touch i just bit a fingernail off and i hope that doesn't count with our suffering and pain.

happy holiday, jews. i'll meet you at the sundae bar at sundown.
- I FELL APART ON 27 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
i have an unusual complaint to voice. to clarify, the nature of this complaint is what is unusual; not the fact that i've actually got something to complain about. i always have something to complain about - just ask my critics! in fact, just this week i was complaining that i don't have any critics, to which my slick, pencil-moustached business associate replied, "that's because you haven't any readers, chum." this caused me to do a double-take, grab my panama hat with both hands to keep it from popping off my head in a brain-steaming fit of anger, and then collect myself for a moment before shooting back, "well, how do you like that? it looks like i've got my first critic!" oh, we were the darlings of vaudeville, until my teeth fell out of my head. now i work security on the RKO Pictures lot. it's honest work, but sometimes i miss the traveling show.

back to me! i have been watching HBO's new WWII dramedy Band of Brothers with steady devotion. (have you seen the first 20 minutes?!! you gotta see the first 20 minutes!!!! oh, never mind. i was thinking of something else.) it's a fine show, so far. despite its rogue's gallery of ethnic and regional american caricatures, the show manages some nice dramatic restraint, which is a neat trick from spielberg, who so lacks subtlety that he probably has the word "restraint" erected on his palatial lawn in 40 foot neon-lit characters.

i don't think we've talked about the show before and since i know you don't believe in premium cable, let me relate one important bit of trivia about its premise. it is based on a book of the same title and chronicles the WWII efforts of the EZ Company, a group of military-trained paratroopers. these guys were brave. it was an uncompromising kind of bravery. perhaps we were made of stronger stuff back then. in one episode, the characters make their first parachute drop through a sky filled with black smoke and enemy fire. i was so completely unsettled by the sequence that by the time the soldiers had landed safely, i was already in canada with an assumed identity.

the parachuting scenes are pretty breathtaking. in fact, they are one of the first things anyone associated with the show will mention during interviews or "making of" specials or whatever. and, while i appreciate the work that went into creating these sequences, sometimes Band of Brothers pushes it too far.

there are literally perhaps 40 parachute sequences per episode. i know this show is based on fact, and some members of EZ Company are still alive today to defend their amazing story, but i am certain there are parachute drops that simply never happened but nonetheless appear in the show. for instance, last week's episode had a scene in which, after a short battle, several members of EZ Company actually parachute from the battlefield in Eindhoven to a local pub down the road. then, after drinking and playing darts and razzing each other, they parachute from the bar to their jeeps and, finally, perform an elaborate parachute drop into their barracks. i wanted to stand up and cry, "this is just too much!" but i was too busy trying to saw off my trigger finger with a loop of piano wire.
- I FELL APART ON 26 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
a lot of books dealing with prognostication have been showing up on the best seller lists lately. however, not even nostradamus himself could have prepared the world for the worst possible scenario.
- I FELL APART ON 25 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
i am writing again, like a fiend. well, like an assistant fiend, at the very least. this means something fresh is available in "new words". it's a short piece with a long title: Brief Treatises on Three Separate Subjects about which I Know Very Little. looking is still free.
- I FELL APART ON 24 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
two sure signs that things are beginning to normalize in a city that never felt especially normal to begin with:

ITEM THE FIRST
the nasdaq marketsite tower has an enormous, five or six story LCD screen on its facade. it wraps around the corner and it is so bright one can see it from the moon, or from las vegas. the sign displays a running stock ticker, but it also shows news programs and television celebrities standing 100 feet high. beginning tuesday, september 11th, the sign's three vertical panels displayed a contiguous image of an american flag flapping in the breeze. it was about as stoic and tasteful as three million dollars in lcd display can get.

however, beginning earlier this week, the lcd display altered its patriotic programming slightly. the left and right display panels continued to broadcast either end of an eternally flapping american flag. however, the middle panel interrupted this flag with television commercials, including one for SWIFFER and another for HOT POCKETS.

ITEM THE SECOND
as i was pushing my way through the subway turnstile at park avenue south and 28th street with a friend of mine, we overheard a woman, standing at the turnstile threshold, shouting at a man who had just passed through the turnstile and was now attempting to enter a crowded bronx-bound 6 train. here is everything i can remember, though the speech lasted much longer and contained many more colorful names: "you no good, low life, scumbag, dickless, asshole, faggot, loser, idiot, pussy, fuckhead." it was a litany that seemed to have no beginning and no end, and was shouted for the benefit of one person but was heard by the ears of about a thousand others. after hearing all of this, and being genuinely surprised when it actually ended, my friend turned to me and said, "wow. she seemed to know him pretty well." i thought about that for a second and replied, "either that, or she didn't really know him at all and was just hoping that at least one of those remarks would apply."
(it's very possible that i'm mixing up attribution in this conversation, but i am not certain it makes a difference.)

in the words of J.J. Hunsecker, "i love this dirty town."
- I FELL APART ON 23 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
displayed in far too many storefront windows in the new york city area: pull-out old west style "WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE" posters (available in the New York Post) featuring the face of america's newest super-villain, osama bin laden. some merchants have even gone to the extra trouble of crossing out the word "alive" and circling the word "dead" - as if the crossed-out "alive" didn't make their intentions especially clear.

i think bush was being legitimately off-the-cuff when he made that comment to the members of the press, and i think that's probably the last time he'll be allowed to say anything off-the-cuff for the remainder of his tenure in office. the comment alone was sort of undignified by itself. but, to make matters worse, bush has sent out notice that in addition to acts of global terrorism, bin laden is also wanted for "cattle rustling", "claim jumping", "bootlegging", and "spitting and cussing in the presence of a lady".
- I FELL APART ON 21 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
trying to figure out which is worse - ATTACK OF THE CLONES or OPERATION INFINITE JUSTICE. as emotion becomes fact, i am quickly realizing we are all in big trouble.
- I FELL APART ON 19 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
i have been taking heavy doses of inane comedy for the last few days, using it as a sort of zombie dust for my comatose spirit. in particular, i have renewed a special relationship with hal roach's little rascals. i always favored the very oldest episodes of 'our gang', dating back to 1934 - 1936. these adventures all occurred before spanky had a moustache, and included a lot of trivia-buff characters, like stimey's younger sister (weird, but her name was buckwheat and she dressed exactly like the male buckwheat character) and a lot of unnamed tiny kids, including the occasional baby in a carriage. (which is simply the best - the very idea that a bunch of six and seven year olds would choose to also hang out with actual babies, and bring them on the golf course or to a soap box derby) the early episodes also had a strange, staggered pace to them, with a lot of white audio space - like a beckett play with dog acts.

it's amazing how distinctly i remember all of the little rascals shorts, even after being removed from them for so many years. but i didn't remember the monkey who inexplicably accompanied the little rascals in their golf adventure, "divot diggers". (all the shorts had great names like that. plays on words like "feed em and weep" and "between a rock and a hard dick". fun stuff.)

the monkey who, along with spanky and friends, serves as a caddy to a bunch of stiff-upper-lip country club crusties, spends most of his time breaking golf clubs over his knees and making crazy noises. (for no good reason and for every good reason, the producers post-dubbed in someone doing Donald Duck impressions as the monkey's voice)

there is a reason i find it necessary to tell this long story about television programming (a subject most people find terribly imaginative and inspiring). in "divot diggers" there is a great scene in which one of the upper-class country club golfers sees the monkey (who is dressed in full golf attire, naturally) and, aghast, announces, "Now don't tell me that's a caddy!" in response, spanky hushes the golfer and whispers, "shhh...not so loud. He thinks he is." and that's how i think i approach my own life, generally. i just keep hoping no one blows the whistle on me, and exposes me as the phony i must surely be.
- I FELL APART ON 19 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
here's a small, strange thing to place gently on top of all the other strange things in recent history. i received this email a couple of days ago, regarding a trip i'd planned (and canceled) to Los Angeles last week:

FROM: victoriamintz@AudiencesUnlimited
The Bob Patterson 9/14/01 has canceled taping due to the situation at hand. Great apologies.

yes. even bob patterson.
- I FELL APART ON 16 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
my web host decided to delete some files and rearrange backed up versions on the server, effectively removing all of my entries from the month of september and some of the entries from august. back-ups are helpful in times like these. everything is remedied - i even restored the entries from the months of june and july that i'd previously decided to hide from curious eyes. can't remember why i made that decision, and in three months i'm sure i won't be able to remember making this one. thanks to folks who emailed me about the tremble woes.
- I FELL APART ON 16 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
still pretty stunned here. have been reluctant to go into manhattan, except for the occasional supplies-donation run. traveled in on wednesday afternoon to drop off some stuff and see a friend, just as the winds were starting to shift north. the smell of cooked ash was starting to slip into every side street, everywhere. and new york is changed, in ways even more profound than the obvious, awful ones. the only noticeable sounds were the high rumble of military vehicles cruising the west side highway and the occasional wail of an emergency siren. hard to separate all the emergencies right now. these are not the sensory stimuli of a city as great as this. for some reason my mind keeps turning to the club kids, and to the "clubs" section of TimeOut NY magazine - just how silly it's always seemed and how much sillier it seems now and yet i still kind of can't wait until people slip into their rubber chaps and human-sized birdcages suspended above dance floors. just that. or the silver-painted mannequins in times square. or the man in the tin can suit, perched a unicycle. or any number of other ridiculous characters that make me feel at home.

port authority was barricaded on all four sides. police grouped in thick clusters. fire stations were (and remain) adorned with memorial flower arrangements. on wednesday, before people started to fake a feeling of normalcy (something i believe is highly necessary, actually, even though i seem to be having a hard time following this advice), the only activity was around the triage centers and hospitals and destruction site. it was pretty incredible, as most people have already noted, to see so many people begging to support and contribute in any way possible - anything to combat the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that near and distant survivors must be internalizing.

i'm still not sure how much i invest in symbols like the american flag, but i certainly believe in people. except, of course, the people who have been using this shit as a way to take advantage of others financially. the telemarketers preying on the elderly; the airport hotels jacking up room rates for the innocents stranded there for the week; the corporations who are not kicking in but, rather, relying on their customer base to carry the burden. but this is not the time to be angry, i guess - no matter what others would have you believe. cut a head off and a new one grows in its place, more rooted and more ugly.

on a lighter note, i just realized what "H to the IZZO, V to the IZZA" means in that Jay-Z single. (J-HOVA - see?) i realize this is of no great consequence but it's all i've got right now.
- I FELL APART ON 14 SETPEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
still pretty stunned here. have been reluctant to go into manhattan, except for the occasional supplies-donation run. traveled in on wednesday afternoon to drop off some stuff and see a friend, just as the winds were starting to shift north. the smell of cooked ash was starting to slip into every side street, everywhere. and new york is changed. the only noticeable sounds were the high rumble of military vehicles cruising the west side highway and the occasional wail of an emergency siren. hard to separate all the emergencies right now.

port authority was barricaded on all four sides. police grouped in thick clusters. fire stations were (and remain) adorned with memorial flower arrangements. on wednesday, before people started to fake a feeling of normalcy (something i believe is highly necessary, actually, even though i seem to be having a hard time following this advice), the only activity was around the triage centers and hospitals and destruction site. it was pretty incredible, as most people have already noted, to see so many people begging to support and contribute in any way possible - anything to combat the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that near and distant survivors must be internalizing.

i'm still not sure how much i invest in symbols like the american flag, but i certainly believe in people. except, of course, the people who have been using this shit as a way to take advantage of others financially. the telemarketers preying on the elderly; the airport hotels jacking up room rates for the innocents stranded there for the week; the corporations who are not kicking in but, rather, relying on their customer base to carry the burden. but this is not the time to be angry, i guess - no matter what others would have you believe. cut a head off and a new one grows in its place, more rooted and more ugly.

on a lighter note, i just realized what "H to the IZZO, V to the IZZA" means in that Jay-Z single. (J-HOVA - see?) i realize this is of no great consequence but it's all i've got right now.
- I FELL APART ON 14 SETPEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
it's weird talking to people now. it's weird reading people's online diaries as well. there is this strange need i've witnessed (and have been guilty of, perhaps) over and over again - a need to place yourself as close to the heart of disaster as possible. as i sat around with others in a friend's astoria, queens apartment yesterday morning, very gratefully removed (geographically) from the site of disaster by a weird and lucky series of coincidences, everyone began to comb their memories for ways to place themselves closer and closer. two people talked about working at the former (it's so insane to use that word to describe that monument) world trade center a few years ago, or taking trains to that area. people talked about the amazing bar that used to sit at the top of tower one - the bar that perched you proudly over the entire skyline of new york city. there were tales of planned airline travel or recent airline travel. other people seem to be just collecting links, building a ladder between themselves and all of this. something, anything, to keep connected.

most frightening - hearing another jet flying loud and low over queens around noon. everyone rushed outside, scared senseless. astoria queens is near the landing area for laguardia airport and this engine sound is ordinarily common and usually ignored by residents but it was fairly ominous yesterday, all things considered.

watching the towers burn on tv and on rooftops, hearing first-person accounts grow, receiving terrifying footage filmed by friends, and seeing the thick smoke hang in the otherwise perfectly blue sky this morning, it all still seems pretty impossible. that's the only word i can produce, it seems. impossible.

i keep reading people's accounts about what this does to "ME" about how it changes "MY WORLD" and it all seems so weird to me. i feel like, as soon as i watched the last moments of the second tower disappear into dust, the "me" that i usually think about sort of disappeared with it.

i hope you're well, and i hope you're with friends so you can put your mind where it belongs - on how lucky you are and what you can now do for THEM.
- I FELL APART ON 12 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
yes, i'm ok. well, not ok in a lot of ways but definitely ok in that way that made your voice tremble very much. i am mostly thinking about the others right now, though. i have not had a single funny thought today.

i tried to call you (i tried to call everyone) but i kept getting this message from the operator: THERE WAS A PROBLEM CONNECTING. i don't think that problem will go away very soon.
- I FELL APART ON 11 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
witness this: i am the 'token male' this month at girlcomic.net. it's a lovely site - a resource for and by working female comedians and comedy writers - and this month includes interviews with janeane garofalo (funny) and gloria steinem (not really so funny). it also includes a piece written by me, in support of the generally under-represented voice of the male comic. go read it, even if it means getting fired from your crummy job.
- I FELL APART ON 8 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
updates, in twos: first, i've finally gotten a chance to shake the desert dust from my shaggy mane and get in some stream-of-consciousness written impressions of my trip to Burning Man 2001. It's available in "New Words" now. It barely scratches the surface, but don't worry: I'm sure it will come up again and again, somehow, in much the same way I keep reminding everyone that my shoes are made of 100% hemp.

second, the New Times Los Angeles was kind enough to publish another record review authored by me - this one's for the new RZA (aka Bobby Digital) album, Digital Bullet. it's in print, and it's free (i think) if you live in LA, but it's also conveniently available online for out-of-towners.

i'm eagerly awaiting another piece i've written to go online, because i wrote it for some friends who are doing a project i'm especially proud of. it will be up soon, i've been told, but that is then and this is now, just like s.e. hinton predicted so long ago.
- I FELL APART ON 6 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
who knows where these things originate, (it's like trying to find out who coined the expression "psyche!" [it was me, by the way. in sixth grade.]) but in a desperate need for trivial information, i wound up following a trail to a heavily linked article about a man who has gone to great financial and physical pains to turn himself, at least cosmetically, into a tiger.

the headline for the article is "TIGER MAN WANTS FUR GRAFT." after reading the article, i think the headline should have been "TIGER MAN WANTS HUG." ladies?
- I FELL APART ON 5 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
i read an article at CNN.com this morning, about a teenage couple in india being hanged and killed by their own families because the kids were cross-caste dating. now that they're dead, do you think they're in the same caste? neither do i.

i've read that in the hindu religion, because the caste system is so steadfast in indian society, the only way to improve your caste is through reincarnation. i just hope only member of the dead teenage couple was really good in this lifetime because it would be a tragic irony if they both jumped a caste level for good behavior and had to go through all of this again. once is enough! am i right, ladies?

in the jewish religion, if you date outside of your religion it makes holidays very tense, but that's about it. also, you get to celebrate christmas AND hannukah. that certainly beats getting hanged, even if the gifts are all lousy.
- I FELL APART ON 5 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
continuing my renewed fascination with steven seagal, i decided to rent one of his old films last night. the movie is called Affirmative Action. it's the one that begins with a shot of the UN building in manhattan. we cut to a huge meeting room where delegates from over 75 nations are gathered to discuss a growing rash of global terrorism. a UN representative from Jordan shouts above the mult-lingual verbal noise and cries (in english, since this is a steven seagal film and subtitles would toxic), "ladies and gentlemen, i implore you, please! we must address this problem clearly and rationally if we can expect any hard, fast solutions."

right on cue, we hear a loud crash as seagal kicks open the door and busts in on the meeting. he cocks his head to the side and says, with the perfect calm of a living buddha, "hey. i've got a hard, fast solution...to your face." then he reaches behind his back, unsheathes a scimitar (with isolated, high-volume foley effects), and hurls it smoothly at the jordan representative, who then re-sheathes the sword...right in the middle of his face. seagal then throws a fistful of ninja stars into the room, and each one lands in the chest or face of representatives from Angola, Pakistan, Tunisia, Guyana and French Guiana. seagal, seeing his work is done, swivels on his heels 180 degrees and heads for the exit while the room breaks into wailing, thrashing panic. and just as seagal he crosses the threshhold, he stops. that's when the camera cuts strategically from a behind-the-shoulder angle to a close-up of seagal's face. seagal reflects, then says to no one and everyone, "looks like you forgot a country...Grenada." cut to: seagal's hand, in which a deadly grenade rests. seagal's fingers nimbly pop its pin and he releases it gently, letting it roll across the floor as he exits the room.

the room is chilled silent by the presence of the grenade and the only sound that can be heard is its long metallic chime as it creeps along the linoleum. finally, a UN representative from Uzbekistan lifts his head out of his "duck and cover" position and says, "technically, Grenada is not recognized as a sovereign nation." then the whole place explodes in a giant fireball and LA Guns' "bitch is back" rocks over the opening credits.

i never really understood what his particular grudge was in Affirmative Action, but the film is packed with enough classic hard-nosed seagal action to make you forget its complicated mysteries almost immediately.

my favorite scene from Affirmative Action involves a photo shoot for a brown university informational brochure. the photographer has recruited an asian-american student, an african-american student, and a mexican groundskeeper dressed as a student. (in seersucker pants, boat shoes, coonskin jacket and fraternity beanie) the photographer is arranging his subjects under a beautiful maple tree on campus. they are supposed to look like they get along, although it becomes instantly clear that they've never met before and it's very likely that they're each embroiled in their own separate crime syndicates - you can just tell. so, they're set up in a small circle, with the mexican groundskeeper standing over the asian-american student, pretending to read something interesting she's written in her notebook. just as the photographer shouts, "ok - hold it!", seagal drops from the tree in full-body camo (except his face and hair, which as his most disintinguishing features are, by contract, forbidden from being concealed.). he cocks his head to the side (a certain sign of something good on its way) and says, "how about a lesson in gross anatomy?" then proceeds to break every bone in the mexican groundskeeper's arm, naming each one as it breaks through the skin with a loud crunch. all the while, john parr's "naughty naughty" is blasting out of the remaining four dolby channels. it's transcendant.

i think there's a subplot with an orphan, and i vaguely remember a female journalist who gets pinned against a van and killed in the film's third act. but i could be confusing those characters with a nephew, a female police officer, and an out of control school bus hijacked by rastafarians. does it really matter?
- I FELL APART ON 4 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
i had the good fortune of viewing steven seagal's second-round-comeback film, Exit Wounds. and please stop looking so desperate to ask the question i know must be trembling on your lower lip, because i'll answer it for you right now: Yes, he shoots a malaysian guy in the face.

steven seagal films are like the old Star Trek television series, in a way. almost every possible ethnic minority is represented in a typical seagal film. (including his latest) however, unlike Star Trek, those ethnic minorities are not piloting a spaceship. instead, they are being punched in the head, shot in the testicles, or grabbed by the arm until a radius bone snaps through their skin.

p.s. this makes my second steven seagal-specific confession in less than six months. do you think this could be an unreported side effect of these pills?
- I FELL APART ON 3 SEPTEMBER, 2001

dear brainfixer,
you tell someone a true story, they listen, pause, reflect, eat some gum, and tell you how much your story resembles an episode of Seinfeld. then you kick them in the solar plexus and move on.

but today, in some sense, my life did resemble an episode of Seinfeld. well, maybe that's not perfectly true but it did dovetail nicely with the show. and this is only because my day began and concluded with someone screaming the same unusual phrase: "drop dead".

i woke up this morning and the first thing i heard was "drop dead". it was shouted in a brooklyn accent as thick as waffle batter, and it was coming from street level right beneath my window. just a steady refrain of drop dead. pause. drop dead. pause. drop dead. and so on, for about 12 iterations. i remember thinking how long it had been since i'd heard someone say "drop dead" and it struck me as a very nice brooklyn thing to say.

when this phrase exhausted its efficacy it was shouted about 3 more times and then replaced with the following: "you're sick and you're crazy." (also, to me, a great brooklyn epitaph) and that, coming from the same individual who had just finished his early morning "drop dead" affirmation. it got weirder afterwards, ending with this fellow running back and forth along my block, constantly looking over his shoulder, and shouting (at no one specific), "i'm being harassed by faggots!" i never did find out what the problem was but i decided right then, even if i were registered with a political party, i would not support this man's campaign for city council. i drew the line.

after a typical day - a child barking in front of his father's store; a blind woman bleating out "ain't too proud to beg" on the subway as she proudly begged while beating her cane in perfect rhythm with the song; a sweet, heavyset man walking with his sweet little mother, their fingers laced, beneath the smiley-faced sun; a chocolate doughnut that insisted i kill my landlord - i turned on my television in time to catch the beginning of Seinfeld. it was interesting, because the episode played out in retreating time. the end at the beginning and vice-versa like Memento. one of the subplots on the show was a character who kept wishing for Kramer (he's the tall one) to drop dead. over and over, this phrase was repeated. and it had extra import to me because the episode played out backwards, like it was making me start my day all over again. maybe my life is like an episode of Seinfeld. either way, you can still kick me in the chest. free kicks!
- I FELL APART ON 2 SEPTEMBER, 2001

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