Sunday, February 28, 2010

Trivia at the Nameless Bar

For my Narrative Journalism class. 22 February 2010

“What’s it gonna be then, eh?”


There was me, that is Chris, and two women I’d never met before, that is Stephanie and Ann, and we sat in a booth of a warm nameless bar racking our brains on a Monday night, a flip dark chill winter flurry. The nameless bar is an indie sort of place, and you may, O my brothers, remember what this place was once called, Korova, though its name is no more, things being what they are…

- - -

Trivia night. Standing room only. A hundred people simultaneously strain to remember the name of Gargamel’s cat from The Smurfs. “It’s a light night,” remarks Stephanie, setting down her Flower Power IPA. “I think it’s because Cornell has midterms.” Most other nights finding a seat is no problem. Not Mondays, especially not after 9:30.

Teams of hip young locals and graduate students in groups of three to eight discuss answers around slips of paper and half-filled pint glasses. Guys wear tight pants, sweaters and fedoras, t-shirts and trucker hats, their hair and beards kept just-so. Girls wear pea coats and plaid shirts, tunics, simple dresses with leggings, thick-framed glasses. One boundary-bending individual rocks a t-shirt, skirt and Birkenstocks. He looks comfortable.

The most professionally-dressed woman is also the oldest. Straight from the office where she practices internal medicine, Ann is clad in a gray skirt, navy blouse and navy dress jacket. She has wavy ear-length gray hair and blue eyes shine out from behind her thin gold-rimmed glasses. She’s probably in her mid-fifties. Across the booth sits her daughter’s best friend, Stephanie, a 2009 Cornell graduate who tells me she doesn’t want to be a nanny the rest of her life. Usually the two play in a group of three to four, but everyone was busy tonight, so they invited me, a complete stranger, to join them.

We are seated in a cushy brown booth in the back of the bar, next to a series of abstract canvases in brown, blue and white that might represent barren hills in cool morning mist. The rest of the golden-orange walls are adorned with spot-lit “Dreamland” comics of local cartoonist Jim Garmhausen, featuring disembodied arms, grinning anthropomorphic ponies, and bestiality involving dolphins. In one a leprous-looking boy is confronted by his teacher: “Let me guess, Zombie Boy. The dog ate your hand, right?” Art shows rotate through every six weeks – though no one seems to be paying much attention to these surreal monochromatic musings.

Across the room is the coat check – a closet with a window cut out – occupied by a sarcastic wit drinking something dark from a pilsner glass. That’s Bob.

Between rounds of trivia Bob plays the latest indie rock on his iPod and tallies scores for teams like That’s not Mickey Mouse, that’s tit dirt; Temple Grandin can choke my chicken; and I thought the last team name was offensive. (pause) Me too. The last one gives him a chuckle. “I’ve never had someone write me stage directions before,” Bob muses.

Stephanie and Ann have a year and a half of trivia experience between the two of them, but have only won once.
“We won on December 28,” Ann says, stirring her gin and tonic.
“I wrote it down!” Stephanie chimes in.
“She framed the money she won.”
Stephanie nods sheepishly. “I did. But then I spent it.”

Into which ocean does the Zambezi River flow? That’s easy – the Indian. What part of France did the allied forces invade on D-Day? Normandy. “That was back when we fought one war at a time, dammit,” Bob says in a mocking paternal tone. A tough one: On which day of the year are hot cross buns traditionally eaten? “If you think about it, it should make sense,” Bob informs the bar.

The three of us decide it has to have something to do with Easter. “I did see hot cross buns at Wegmans this weekend,” Ann ponders aloud. Mardi Gras, then. That was Tuesday, and Catholics fast on Wednesday. We’re surprised when the answer is Good Friday. No team gets it right.

- - -

Some different trivia: The bar is nameless. Outside in the yellow light of The Commons, a sandwich board declares in subway graffiti scrawl, “BAR.” Beneath in chalk: “TRIVIA – OPEN @ 7 PM.” Another graffiti sign at the entrance invites passers-by to try one of “Seventeen Rotating Drafts.” Apartments on the left and above are clearly marked, as is the ever-popular Taste of Thai restaurant next door. But what to call this place?

Once upon a time patrons entered the tavern under a stylized black, white and yellow sign reading “Korova.” Russian for “cow,” the name might recall for some the “Korova Milk Bar” of Anthony Burgess’s novel “A Clockwork Orange” or Stanley Kubrick’s film adaptation. In any case, the name was too similar for the owners of “The Korova Milk Bar®” in White Plains, New York, which prides itself on an “interior right out of the movie.” Last year a legal dispute over the use of the name forced the Ithaca bar to remove the sign, leaving a white rectangular scar on the gray brick exterior. But come on – everyone knows this is still Korova.

It’s not “The Korova” or “The Korova Milkbar,” but “Korova,” the one where the pinball machine, dart boards, Megatouch video game and photo booth all remain unused as patrons chat or do homework or play Scrabble or Sorry! with friends over a craft beer and endless bowls of Chex Mix.

It is the craft beer that attracts the clientele, Tim the bartender explained to me earlier in the evening. The chalkboard graffiti draft list consists mostly of full-bodied craft and international brews: Smuttynose Robust Porter, Delirium Tremens, Southern Tier Crème Brûlée Stout.

“That’s our niche,” Tim says. And then what seems like a non sequitur: “We target ourselves at grad students and locals. We’re not trying to exclude undergrads, but with the kinds of beers we serve…” What he means is that at $4.50 a draft, there are more economical ways to drink. These are, in his words, “premium beers.” “We’re trying to create a lounge atmosphere without the food,” Tim says.

They have bottles, too, listed under more graffiti scrawl. Want a Budweiser? Sorry, but try a Red Stripe or Pabst Blue Ribbon (also available in cans!). Want a light beer? You have one choice: Labatt Blue Light. Want a Corona? Okay, they actually do serve that. For the most part, though, it’s an indie bar playing indie music and serving indie brews.

- - -

“Azrael.” That’s the name of Gargamel’s cat, the archangel of death. And to think I thought it was Lucifer.

After three rounds, That’s not Mickey Mouse, that’s tit dirt emerges victorious and the bar begins to empty out the door into the building snowstorm. Bartenders pick up empty glasses say goodbye to the departing crowd.

“Just so you know,” comes Bob’s voice over the chatter, “the winning group is donating their winnings to Doctors Without Borders.”

Amid the noise a girl’s voice cries, “Fuck this bullshit!”

Bob gets his last quip of the night: “That girl right there hates Haiti! And doctors! And she wants you to know about it!”

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Observational Writing

For my Narrative Journalism course, I had to go somewhere and sit there for an hour, just observing the things that went on. I could not place myself in the piece, could not analyze the action, could only write about the place and what was happening. I think I managed with perhaps one or two tiny exceptions.

I'll let you figure out the location and style by yourself. I hope you enjoy!

- - -

Cream sign, chocolate border, chocolate lettering:

15A
Cereal Peanut Butter
Oatmeal Syrup

Rainbow boxes lit by white gym lights hanging from clay-colored rafters. White red blue red white green yellow orange red red…Small print: ENLARGED TO SHOW TEXTURE. Giant flakes and puffs.

GOLEAN Stay Fuller Longer!*

Silent weaving brown cart, double basket, moves with authority – purpose. Propelled by man in a leather jacket and red baseball cap.

“Where’s Travis?”
“I don’t know. I thought he was with you.” Cart swoops back.

Clop clop clop high heels clop. Squish-squish squish-squish: white, wet, sticky-soled sneakers.

You found me, you found me

Red box: Kellogg’s Product 19. $3.99 12 oz. (340g) Unit Price $5.32 per pound.

grunnnNNN Forward facing wheels slide laterally gruuuunN on terrazzo composition vinyl tiles. Splotches of gray, shades of gray. Dirt gray on fake stone gray. Gray-brown splat near the Rice Krispies (carts went through as it dried, streaking it three feet outward).

Silent cart Silent feet

Sticky wheel and a cold: wadda wadda wadda *hem hem* wadda wadda

Woman in black: “I like blueberries.”
Man in blue: “I like blueberries.”

tah tah tah tah Silver cart, amber cardboard sixpack on bottom rack. War of 1812 Amber Ale. Chicken (pink on yellow), clementines (wooden box blue paper “Oh my darling!” orange net). Cart’s parked in front of granola bars, young man leaves in search of cereal.

Woman to child in cart: “We have Cheerios at home. We’re getting Cocoa Puffs.”

Track suit and Uggs, walking straight down the aisle. sh-dup sh-dup


007789016786
Unit Price $2.53
WEGMANS OATS & HONEY CEREAL
14.5 oz.
You Pay $2.29 (crossed out) consistent low prices You Pay $1.99.

“Do we need any cereals?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, we should get more granola bars.”
“Ha ha ha, you have gummies, mom.”
“We can’t have gummies.”

Nov 1010CNM WEGMANS CINNAMON SQUARES

Salt-and-pepper-haired man in a black North Face jacket, paper coffee cup held to shoulder, cell phone to ear: “I’m actually at Wegmans right now.”

HPC please call 200. HPC please call 200. Thank you.

Empty of all but bright colors and light music.

BOP! Ari please return to your register. Ari please return to your register.

Woman with dark short hair, slouched back, powder blue jacket, blue jeans. grunN – lateral cart wheels.
Blonde boy: “This should last for about a month.” Big blue box.
Powder blue jacket: “Okay, vat kind of bars do you vant?”
Brunet boy: “Can I have a Snickers bar?”
Powder blue jacket: “Luciano…”
Blonde boy: “Kool Aid?”
Powder blue jacket: “No Kool Aid”
Brunet boy: “Can we have Snickers bars?”

All we are we are

Man in shades of green and tan turns the corner, finds granola bars, places a box in his basket, turns on his heel and exits.

Brown Converse All-Stars with white laces. The man she’s with to his cell phone: “How long does it take you to get to New York City? Talk to Chester about that. I think Josie’s there right now – talk to Josie.”

Preserves: Cherry Pineapple Blackberry Strawberry Red Yellow Violet Red

Boy one is in a blue coat, mom’s in white, pushing boy two and the groceries. Boy one: “Oh mommy no wait. I want some can I have some.” “Okay put them in the cart.” Kacha

Pop Tarts: Blueberry Muffin, Apple Strudel, Cinnamon Roll, Vanilla Milkshake, S’Mores. Blue boxes: 8 Toaster Pastries.

“Oh that’s so cool oh that’s so cool.”
“That was really cool.”

Pancakes mixes, by shelf:
$2.49 $2.49 $2.49 $2.79
$1.99 $1.99
$2.29 $2.29 $3.29
$2.29 $2.29 $1.49 $2.39
$3.29 $3.29 $2.69 $2.69 $2.69
comparison shop? TOPS $2.99

Woman in orange sweatshirt, brown pants grabs Wegmans Butter-Flavored Syrup. “Gross.”

Say goodnight and go

Sunglasses in collar of a blue shirt, hands in jean pocket, red and white pumas, styled hair, scruff. Scrutinizes.
Why’d you have to be so cute? It’s impossible to ignore you
No cereal. “Let’s go”
Friend in navy yellow-piped jacket, white along the sides: “Find yourself some cereal.”
No answer.
“Maybe some Fruit Loops or some Fruity Pebbles. Get your colors.”

ayeeyeeyeeyeeyee iiiiiiiiIIIIeiaheiaheiaheiah loose wheel. Three whistled notes compete.
gruuuUN!

Foot-dragging boots tshi tshi tshi tshi.

SMART
START
Strong Heart
Whole-Grain Oats, Antioxidants & Low Sodium (& a heart-shaped bowl).

Whirra whirra Brown carts cross chrome carts.

psh psh Toe-first clog-walking, leaning on cart handle, brown winter parka swaying around knees.

Honey Nut Toasted Oats, shaken kish-a-kish-a-kish, replaced. New box a-kish placed in brown cart. Pause. Exit: green hat, brown suede jacket, jeans, sunglasses on hat.

I know where’ I’m goin’

Friday, February 19, 2010

Live blogging Tiger Woods' um, whatever it is.

***Updated below with postscript***

10:20 AM - 40 Minutes Till Go

It's the event that no respectable journalist should attend: Tiger Woods' scripted, no-questions-allowed statement to 30 of his closest friends and few media outlets.

You might think that's not a lot of people, except it's televised. And the fact that Woods isn't answering questions there is no reason for anyone to really attend at all. Woods could have apologized in person to those people. It's a "pseudo-event." But he is apologizing to me, so unlike the Golf Writers Association of America, I'm bringing the media circus straight to you.

Woods has no reason to apologize to the public. As Richard Sandomir writes in the New York Times, "Woods did not sin against golf." He sinned against his partner and American institutions perhaps, but not his sport. It's the institutions part that I am fascinated by. Woods was seen as a safe bet for advertisers, a positive role model. So he lost his sponsorships and was vilified when a single affair (and over the next few days a harem) is exposed.

I love it. Compare it to Alexander Ovechkin, who is one of the dirtier players in the NHL, nice neither on nor off the ice. But kids somehow look past his transgressions because he is an amazing player:


(1:10 gives the best detail)

"But wait," you say, "the situations are completely different!" You're absolutely right! Woods transgressed on his own time. If there is any crossover between Woods' personal life and his sport, it is because of the entertainment-media-advertising complex. Woods plays great golf no matter who he has sex with.

Roy Peter Clark brings to light five great stories that should be done on Woods. In my opinion, these creative methods should be the only pieces done on Woods:
  1. Woods as a prototype of Barack Obama, an African-American with light skin and a proper accent (cf. the oafish Harry Reid), deemed more acceptable to white America.
  2. A description of the gender differences revealed by the reaction to the scandal: how women focused on disloyalty, while men seemed more concerned with the stupidity and recklessness that resulted in his getting caught.
  3. A story on race and gender focused on the reaction of African American women to Tiger's apparent obsession with light-skinned, light-haired women.
  4. Whether or not a wealthy celebrity like Tiger Woods can find justice within the legal system. Does his status get him a pass? Or does it attract harsher penalties?
  5. The extent to which a double standard governs cases of spousal abuse. What if it were the Tiger swinging a club at his wife?
Those are good stories. This upcoming live blog...not so much.


*You might notice I refer to Tiger Woods as "Woods" throughout this post. That's because I don't know him on a first-name basis, as apparently a number of newscasters and writers do.


10:30 ESPN Pregame

The asshat is giving commentary on ESPN. He advocates taking six months off of golf ("we're only three months into it"). Says Woods is on step nine (of a ten-step program), but Woods is going back into rehab after this statement.

Reilly is very concerned with Woods' marriage and the people he surrounds himself with (in public). "We invested in his life," says Reilly: buying his products, believing in his school, etc. Yeah, but people invested in Enron as well. There is a risk to investing in anything.

Apparently women are the people that are the most disgusted by Woods's actions. And Nike? Woods should therefore go on Oprah and get interviewed by Diane Sawyer. Couch jumping, in fact, has been proven to endear strange-seeming men with astereotypical (yes, astereotypical) relationships.

Rick Reilly calls the man "Tiger." Josh Elliot calls him "Woods."


10:40

ABC News' John Berman interviewed. Go figure.

Sergio Garcia: "To tell you the truth, I'm really not that interested."

Golfers interviewed are more interested in Woods' professional life than personal life. Go figure.


10:50

SportsCenter Rundown: Tiger Woods Public Statement // Tiger Speaks Today // North and Reilly Live.
On now:
Tiger and Galleries


10:54

How many William Blake knock-offs do you think have been written since Thanksgiving?


11:00


According to Randy Shilts in Patient Zero, The Wall Street Journal did not report on GRID (as it was called before the more correct term "AIDS" came into use) until the disease had a heterosexual angle. That's shameful on the part of the paper, but the newspaper does offer an interesting glance into the financial world. The Wall Street Journal lets us know what's on the minds of America's business people, with some hard-hitting news built in (through the lens of business, of course).

Things that matter this morning (headlines courtesy WSJ):

Tax Protestor Crashes Plane Into IRS Office
U.S. Bets Best Ally in [Afghanistan] Surge is Old One
[Interest] Rate Rise Stirs Questions
Obama Unveils Debt Panel - and GOP Is Likely to Join It
Soldiers Oust President in Coup in Uranium-Rich Niger
Somali Troops Gird for Battle With Militants
Fight Over Health-Care Premiums Heats Up
IAEA Suspects Iran Seeks Nuclear Arms
U.A.E. Probes a U.S. Tie in Killing of Hamas Figure
IMF Suggest Capital Controls for Emerging Markets
Pakistan Arrests Two Taliban Leaders
Dutch Nearing Afghan Pullout
Wal-Mart Warns of Soft Sales Ahead
Toyota's Chief Will Testify in Congress
Google Defends Its Books Pact
Regulators Clear Microsoft-Yahoo Alliance
Greece's Next Test Is in Bond Sale
Lewis Knew of Legal Decision
Obama Meets Dalai Lama Despite China's Ire


11:10

It is 31 degrees outside.


11:15

The shindig is over. Rick Reilly is coming on so the TV is turning off.

Fin.


1:45 Post Script

Okay, it seems I can't not talk about Woods. I was just talking with my roommate Jon about Woods' claim that Elin Nordegren did not ever harm him. Where did that report ever come from? TMZ? Oh. Reblogged by the...wait. Huffington Post?! Oh my. Oh, oh my.

I am surprised no one has advanced a Tyler Durden theory yet regarding Woods' injuries. Spread the word. But not too much - no one likes a media circus.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Rick Reilly is a Pompous Asshat

[Can I say asshat on here? Is that okay?]

It's amazing. I write uncreative, self-serving drivel all the time and don't even get paid for it.

There was a time when Rick Reilly wrote about the little people in sports, the people you could learn lessons from. As a professor once told me, "Sports journalism is not about sports. It's a way of talking about everything else."

So I was disappointed when Rick Reilly sold out to ESPN for a five-year, $10 million contract. Ever since Reilly joined the Everything Sexist Pig Network, his writing has been uninspired (and at times, uh, repetitive), duller-than-bread-knife, more-arrogant-than-Kobe Bryant articles. This is not a dig at Kobe. When you're one of the best at what you do, you are allowed to be self-centered, especially when you're doing your job. The difference is Kobe, one of the best, getting 28 points a game. Rick Reilly, on the other hand, is getting paid $2 million a year to maybe make a foul shot when he's lucky.

Which brings me to my point: his foul shots against Canada.

His February 15 article, "Oh Canada" was depths below the standardized level of creativity and exceeded fivefold the amount of acceptable ass-hattery (I hope that phrase catches on). His writing does nothing but repeat Canadian stereotypes: They're nice. They are inferior to Americans. They live in the wild. They talk funny. They're great at curling. Where's the creativity? Check out the article. You'll see what I mean.

Reilly got some negative feedback for that article, so he wrote a second today in response, "Are We Having Fun Yet?" I read the whole thing with the Wicked Witch of the West's Voice in my head. The taunting, the sheer arrogance was that bad. Check it out. Seriously:
...Although I did like torchbearer Wayne Gretzky being taken to the lighting of the Official Olympic Giant Outdoor Reefers in the back of a pickup truck...That is what's known as a Canadian limo.
and
I would like to make up for it by awarding the following Canadian citizens gold in other disciplines: The Canadian Olympic women's hockey team, for beating Slovakia 18-0. Slovakia beat Bulgaria 82-0 almost two years ago in pre-Olympic qualifying. Eighty-two to nothing! Suck on that, Slovakia! How's it feel? Canuck women rule!
Wait, I actually don't understand what that one means. Who is he speaking to?
[Still giving out medals] The Canadian fans who wait more than four hours at Robson Square to ride a 30-second zip line. And they wait happily! And they say "sore-ee" when they bump elbows accidentally! Do they realize they could build their own 30-second zip-line ride in four hours?
I once waited 3 hours to ride a ride at Six Flags. Golly, I wish there was something else I could have done to simulate falling like that...Oh wait.

How does he get off with this stuff? It's drivel about a little drizzle. Like Canadians control the weather! If I wanted to read some boring, inconsequential piece about what an awful time someone is having, I would have checked out fmylife.com. And that site doesn't even have to pay its writers four digits a day.

Interested in more? Check out FireRickReilly.com. Their analysis of this issue is far better than mine.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Introducing Team USA

I thought wasps died in the winter.

Oh, those WASPS. Silly me. And that's not completely true. Only the drones do. The queens hibernate until spring.

According to Yahoo Sports, Team USA just revealed its outfits for the winter games opening ceremonies. And I quote: "Inspired by designs worn during the 1932 Lake Placid Winter Olympics, these outfits are so American they basically play Bruce Springsteen songs." That got me really excited. I imagined something rugged, like jeans and an undershirt. Maybe some flannel to keep out the cold. You know, Springsteen attire. Cool, I thought, Ralph Lauren is about to stand for the common man! Imagine my shock when I saw the designs.

Check this one out:



Is that logo big enough? Seriously. It looks like the First Horse of the Apocalypse, come to conquer us all.



If you have $385 to spend on a cardigan, you too can look like a U.S. athlete in the Winter Olympics. $325 for the opening ceremony jacket.

Of course, this is just continuing the tradition of dressing for prep school. And really, I'm not even sure why I am complaining about athletes and promotions. Apolo Ohno will be getting a good night's sleep thanks to NyQuil. Maybe he will eat McDonalds and drink Coca-Cola, or at least pretend to. He will be wearing Nike. So will curlers. Bobsledders will be wearing UnderArmour.

So be sure to catch all the action on NBC and buy GE appliances! Oh, and be sure to check out Universal's The Wolfman on opening day, February 12!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Hourly Comic Day 2010

Happy belated Hourly Comic Day! Yesterday, Monday February 1, people drew a comic every hour to chronicle their life. It combines all the self-absorption of Twitter with the fun of online comics!

I learned about this through John Campbell's comic, Pictures for Sad Children. It is one of my favorite web dailies. He did an hourly comic for every day of January, ending February 1. From his site:
i wanted to see what it would be like if journal comics were a little more detailed and also monotonous. it helps me see where my life has been ("nowhere") and where my life is going (probably also "nowhere")
On that note, here's my day.