The Art of Jaywalking, Part 5

Multitasking: a word that did not exist until about 1995. For the jaywalker, the most dangerous distractions are not honking cars, speeding bicyclists, motorcyclists, buses or taxis. The worst distractions are those of our own doing -- mobile phones, cigarettes, coffee, PDAs and of course, the ubiquitous headphones. It is extremely important to keep your head about you when crossing the street. Put the phone down. Turn off the IPod. That email can wait. Look both ways. And keep your ears open. Yes, listening is just as important as looking. Never underestimate the power of the aural sense. (And I'm probably overstating this point. See The Art of Jaywalking, Part 3). Indeed, you may do well to shut down all but the most critical two senses -- eyes and ears open. So, at the risk of offending some of my reader(s), you may want to wait till you get to the other side of the street before even popping that stick of gum into your mouth.

Al Gore's Secret Diary Entry

Bagged an elk today. A real beauty. Must have been half a ton, if he was a pound. Stalked him from the far off hills and scoped him from what must have been a mile and a half. That high-powered rifle Tipper got me last Christmas is a keeper. Got that same rush from the time Dad and I shot our first condor. Cheney and I got the coolies to help us load the animal onto the Hummer and we sped off into town looking for hookers and whiskey. That Cheney's a good guy. Promised me shares in Halliburton for my next birthday. May even make me a board member. I am psyched! Tomorrow is the opening of Quail season. Scalia and I are going down to Texas for that. Looking forward to catching up with him.

Why Some Cliches Aren't Always True

A watched pot does boil.
No news is not necessarily good news.
A bird in the hand is probably worth three or four in the bush, given inflation.
How dead is a doornail?
While we're at it, how well do you know the back of your hand?
Not every tunnel has light at the end of it.

Ernest Hemingway's Shopping List

One large ham
Swiss Cheese
Head of iceberg lettuce
Head of Alfredo Garcia
Key Limes
Shotgun shells (not those crappy ones I got at the Ketchum General Store last time)
9 mm cartridges

Rum (quart)
Bourbon (gallon)
Scotch Whiskey (Case)
Gin (Two cases)
Dog food
Cat food
Irish Whiskey (for dog)
Wine (for cat)

A Note to My Readers

For all of my fans (all two of you), I pose a question. I require your input. If you've read at least two of the postings dealing with jaywalking, you may have picked up on the idea that this site has less to do with jaywalking per se and more to do with risk taking. (That, and just goofy-ass ramblings). Therefore, I'm weighing whether to change the subtitle from "Random chaos in a neat little package" to something like "A Guide to Taking Risks." My other option is to have rotating subheads and change them at will or whatever whim I'm having that particular day. Let me know what you think. Post a comment. Thanks.

memo too all emploees

It has come to my attention that sum of you have been using company materiels for personnel use. This is a situation whcih cannot cuntinue. I have been informed that soem of you have been taking items from the office supply room such as but not limited to: paper clips, pens, pencils, erasers, staplers, staples, paper and even clocks and otehr electronic devices! And this is not for company use I'm hearing. If this does not cease soon I will have no otehr choice but to LOCK the supply cabinet and if you need any supplies you will have to see Margie or one of the other office driectors to get office supplies. Secondly, there have been reports of use of the INternet and E-Male accounts for personal use too. I cannot allow this to cuntinue. Personal letters and notes are for your time not office time. If you want too look at porn too you can do that at home not here. This will NOT be tolerated. (And sports scores and such -- I know who you are. And also games too.) Thirdly and finally. Going forward all official company emales and memos MUST be spell checked. You can not! send out a emale or letter to ANYONE unless you use the spellchecker. It is just common scents and also it's just much mroe professional. Thanks to all. -- Ed.

Lola's Profile

Ohmygod! It has been like ... way too long since I have been on this site! So all you fellas who have been emailing me? thank you so much. But ya know I can't return every single email! Let's just say I have been busy! LOL. So I'm into yoga now. Makes me flexible. LOL. And also just got back from New Mexico where I learned all this like New Age Tantric stuff that will totally blow you away. And ...... what else? Ohmygod! I almost forgot! I got this new roomate? Jeff? He is totally awsome. He showed me this really cool workout technique to totally make my abs more defined. But the first time I tried it I got like a hernia or something. Ouch! So anyway keep those emails coming guys! Always love to hear from ya! And check out my new pics here! LOL. Kisses. -------- Lola

The Art of Jaywalking, Part 4

Well, I never. On a website called DCist (which to me sounds like either "diseased" or "deceased"), there's a post arguing against the merits of jaywalking (see "Thoughts on Jaywalking"). The author of the article, one Alex Lundry (Dirty Laundry?) posits that jaywalkers in his quadrant of the city have increased the "number of vehicular homicides I've flirted with." Wow. Maybe he should not drive -- what with all his buried rage and barely veiled anger toward pedestrians. However, without reprinting the entire article here and attacking it point-by-point, I will say that Mr. Laundry Hamper does raise at least one cogent issue: Jaywalkers should not be arrogant. Yes, generally we have the right of way. But don't take advantage of that. Use the crosswalk when you can. If you absolutely must jaywalk, minimize the risks. Make sure there's a safe distance between you and any oncoming traffic. And ensure that you time it correctly. Timing is really everything. Give yourself plenty of time to get to the other side of the street. And, please, for the love of Mike, do not raise your hand up to an oncoming car in an effort to stop it. Don't taunt the enemy. Elude him.

Postcard From Aunt Tootie

Oh gosh, where to start? We have just been having the best time crossing the whole darn country it seems in the Winnebago. It is so wonderful that your uncle Ed thought to get the one with the toilet. I can't tell you what a time saver that is. So your cousins Floyd and Ernie declined to join us. AGAIN! But we did stop in Topeka and peek in on your Aunt Susie who is doing much better since the stomach staple. (She's down to 350 pounds and looks GREAT!) And she also sends her love. (Her poodle is doing better too with the mange problem. Poor thing looked like a deranged sheep, though!) We stopped in an antique shop outside of Duluth and I just found the dearest little porcelain figures for my collection. I hope your Uncle Ed doesn't "break" them by "accident" again. Speaking of Ed, he has cut down some. He's only smoking a pack and a half a day. That's more than half what he used to smoke! He says he'll get the patch soon as they make one strong enough. Sigh. What else? Oh, he promised to stop smoking while driving. You know how that affects my asthma. Though now the doctor is saying it isn't "asthma" as such. Maybe just anxiety. Oh well, have to run! Tootles!

Tootie

The Art of Jaywalking, Part 3 (Look both ways before you breathe)

Looking both ways is absolutely critical. Not only should you take the time to look before you cross, but while you cross as well. Why? Simply because a car or truck (or bus, motorcycle or bicycle, for that matter) may come out of nowhere. [Author's note: I almost got sideswiped by a psychotic bike courier once because I failed to look twice.] Almost as important as looking is listening. It's absolutely crucial that you listen for traffic as you cross the street. That means no IPods, cell phones or any other audible distractions. If you have a companion, refrain from speaking while you attempt your maneuver. Risk-taking should involve risk, not blind stupidity.

On The Existence of God (And Others)

"I'm wondering about the existence of God," she said.
"Why?" he said.
"Because I want to know."
"Oh," he said. "Well, you'll never know."
"I may," she said.
"You may when you're dead," he said.
"I may know before that."
"I doubt it," he said and took a sip of whiskey.
"You're afraid," she said.
"Of what?"
"Of most things. Like most people," she said.
"I used to be afraid," he said. "I'm not anymore."
"You're not afraid of anything?"
He shrugged.
She looked at him. He had one brown eye and one blue eye. It used to disturb her. Now she was used to it.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Fear is weakness," he said finally.
"Don't you want to know?" she asked.
"About what?"
"About God."
He shrugged.
"Not really," he said. "I don't really care."
She looked at him. His blue eye sparkled. His brown eye looked dull.
"We'll find out soon enough," he said.
"Soon enough," she said. "Soon enough."

A Lesson in Patience (and Humility)

I was shopping for some wine while my wife and two sons waited in the car. I found two bottles that would service nicely but wasn't sure which one I should get. So I looked for the clerk, who was ostensibly an expert in these matters. A woman in front of me was buying a bottle of champagne. She had what seemed like an endless stream of questions. And she was, in my opinion, monopolizing the clerk's time. And therefore, she was intruding on my time. After a while it seemed as if her questions just simply turned to chit-chat. Well dressed, she was obviously affluent and, it would seem, in love with the sound of her own voice. My patience began to drain. I stood there with two bottles of $7 wine while she purred and blathered about her $100 bottle of champagne. Then, just as I thought it would end, she asked to have it gift wrapped. I felt a good, loud scream coming on. As the clerk wrapped the bottle, she said to him, "It's for my sister. We're celebrating her very last chemotherapy treatment."

I felt every fiber in my skin go lax. Then I took a deep breath and sighed.

The Art of Jaywalking, Part 2

I just did a Google search and turned up about 45 results for "The Art of Jaywalking." I don't know whether I'm disheartened or encouraged. Apparently, the term "Jay Walk" dates back to 1884. According to idiomsite.com, it means "an annoying or stupid person. Later evolved to mean crossing in the middle of the street because anyone who walked into traffic was not considered too smart." That gave me some pause as well. I'm not sure everyone who jaywalks is an idiot. Impatient, perhaps. Yes, there are all kinds of stupid. And yes, crossing the street at the risk of being smacked by a one ton vehicle traveling in excess of 35 miles per hour may certainly be considered stupid. But so is having unprotected sex with a stranger. And apparently there are lots of folks doing that too. But I'm doing that thing again. You know -- where I compare apples to oranges? (See "Elvis is King"). So I'll stop there. But before I do, I want to make one more point about the idiomsite.com definition. The unabridged Oxford English dictionary makes no reference to the term "jay walk." Just makes me wonder exactly where they got their information. (Yes, I know there are all sorts of dictionaries. Still.)

Elvis is King

“In addition to being an extremely talented songwriter, Costello [is] a hell of a rocker.” —Stephen Thomas Erlewine, allmusic.com

If you look very carefully at the checkerboard squares on Elvis Costello’s first album—My Aim is True—you see the words “Elvis is King” spelled out on every other square. Although this was probably meant to be tongue in cheek (interestingly, Elvis Presley died the same year the record was released), I look back now and think, by God, the man is King.

This is a man who has released an album of classical music, country-western, experiments with a string quartet, jazz and countless rock and roll albums. To say he’s an enormous talent slightly more than overlooked by the mainstream and underrated by many measures is an understatement. At the risk of invoking rock and roll blaspheme, I would put Elvis on par with no lesser talents than Buddy Holly, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, the Grateful Dead and any other so-called “classic rock” artists that have—at least in some cases—become overplayed on corporate rock stations across the country.

I first discovered Elvis as a Junior High School student. My brother went to college in 1978, the year This Year’s Model—Elvis’s second album—came out. During his first semester break, my brother brought home an armload of new records from artists including Blondie, Bruce Springsteen, Marshall Crenshaw and, of course, Elvis. I remember listening to My Aim is True and wondering what to make of it. It sounded at once familiar and very new. It was only after repeated listenings that I realized Elvis had perfectly synthesized the sound of the 60s (mostly soul) with a New Wave and Punk sensibility. He’d combined the sublime soulfulness of Sam and Dave with the anger and edge of the Sex Pistols. All of this at the age of 21.

As I matured (for lack of a better word), so did Elvis and his music. I remember listening to Armed Forces and being just stunned at how the man could turn a phrase (“She’s my soft touch typewriter/And I’m the great dictator,” from “Two Little Hitlers”). And the audacious and bold strokes of chords, effortlessly blending pop, reggae and soul. What 16-year-old flowering (yet ultimately unsuccessful) musician/poet wouldn’t be impressed?

But it wasn’t until 1982’s Imperial Bedroom that Elvis had sealed his place alongside George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, Bob Dylan and Lennon and McCartney—in no small part thanks to the New York Times declaring him one of the greatest songwriters of the 20^th Century. And why not? The critics eviscerated the album but I found such a fondness for it. What’s more, it opened up Elvis’s repertoire to include such crooners as “The Long Honeymoon” and rockers such as the Dylan-tinged “Man Out of Time.” What’s more, Elvis had made a giant leap from pop songwriter to classic songwriter (not to mention crooner).

Interestingly, Elvis’s influence on the next generation of rockers seems to be limited. In a gushing piece for Rolling Stone, Liz Phair praised Elvis as a unique and single songwriter, with a noticeable paucity of imitators. Perhaps this is because other songwriters—no matter their skill or level of talent—just can’t live up to the Elvis oeuvre. Or maybe he’s simply inimitable.

Whatever the reasons, Elvis is singular and unique. And prolific. He did what few of his contemporaries could accomplish by putting out nearly an album per year between 1977 and 1986. And some of his albums boasted 20 songs or more. I tend to think he simply can’t stop writing music. He’s probably a music-writing junkie who couldn’t stop if he tried—or it might kill him.

Watching him perform is akin to watching a three-act play. Settle in at an Elvis Costello show and you may be in for a long (albeit enjoyable) evening. At a show I saw supporting his recent album with Allen Toussaint, Elvis said, “I’ve written about 170 thousand million songs. Allen has written about three trillion. We could play till dawn.” And they very well might have if management had allowed them. He’s as energetic as Springsteen and dry as Oscar Wilde.

So where are the other Elvis-heads? I see them at his shows—aging hipsters and punkers from the day sporting their graying goatees and fading tattoos—but we are far from united. Back when I was following the Dead, I felt a sense of community with the deadheads. I don’t feel that an Elvis show. And I should. There are enough of us out there, Lord knows.

But every time I scan a crowd at an Elvis show, I am encouraged by the numbers. In addition to us paunchy aging dudes I see plenty of young folks who’ve either just discovered him or are finally old enough to go to a show without their parents. Elvis transcends generations. Just like his predecessors, be they Beatles, Stones or Dylan.

And yes, I realize Elvis is not as underrated an artist as I may make him out to be. He gets plenty of airplay (though not enough in my mind) and was recently inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Still, he seems niche—an acquired taste. It’s as if he’s only reaching a very small segment of otherwise intelligent, sensitive listeners. And that’s a pity. I’m convinced if more people heard Elvis, we’d have more converts.

But, as I said, he is a bit of an acquired taste. Some people cannot stomach the idea of an endless stream of double entendres coupled with complex arrangements. (“I might make it California’s fault/Be locked in Geneva’s deepest vault/Just like the canals on Mars and the Great Barrier Reef/I come to you beyond belief.”) So maybe those folks should just stick to Dave Matthews.

At the same time, Elvis is completely accessible. Even though I like my music to be challenging sometimes, I’ve never felt intimidated by an Elvis song. On the contrary, his work makes me want to explore more. Upon finding out that “Less Than Zero” was about John Kennedy’s assassination, I dug deeper and found an early version now known as the “Dallas Version,” complete with alternate—and much more obvious—lyrics. (You can find the Dallas version—long a staple on Elvis bootlegs—on the second disc of the Rhino version of My Aim is True).

Just as there are no truly bad Cohen brothers movies, there has yet to be a truly bad Elvis album (though Goodbye Cruel World is in the running). Indeed, the worst of his work matches up to the best of what many bands can offer. But I’m doing that thing again where I compare apples to oranges. And I’ve been asked to stop doing that. After all, what’s the point of dissecting an album like Trust or The Delivery Man along side the likes of Hotel California or 52^nd Street. Then again, I believe the Eagles and Billy Joel dare to take themselves seriously enough to merit comparison to a true (and truly superior) artist like Elvis. So I’ll put it bluntly. The Eagles and Billy Joel suck. Elvis doesn’t.

And Elvis will keep thriving. Unlike the Eagles and Joel, who are stuck in a sad rut and time, Elvis continues to grow as an artist and a songwriter. Unafraid to take chances, he’ll be rocking, crooning, swinging, rhyming and timing for a long time to come.

The King is dead. Long live the King!

The Art of Jaywalking, Part 1

It occurs to me that crossing a street, as fraught with peril and danger as it is, may be considered an art form. I live in a busy city. I've seen many people dodge six lanes of rapid traffic. I've seen pedestrians flub the easiest of jaywalks (one car 30 feet away and they somehow manage to wrangle with the driver over the right-of-way). This is an area where I believe people could use some instruction. Especially those who may live in small towns and come to New York, Chicago or any other major city for the first time. There are simple sets of rules to follow. The first is, be confident. Stride with full confidence across the street. Secondly, be careful. Jaywalking takes precise timing as well as caution. Third (and this may seem to contradict number two) you are not a deer. Don't freeze or hesitate. Be assertive. You have a right to cross the street. Even illegally.