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Showing posts with label HOLIDAYS 2007. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HOLIDAYS 2007. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

HAPPY KWANZAA?

Okay, I have to ask: am I the only black guy who thinks Kwanzaa is a load of bullshit? Today's the first day of that annual celebration, and I just ain't feelin' it. Never did.

By way of explanation as to exactly what Kwanzaa's supposed to be, here's an excerpt from the good old Wikipedia:

Kwanzaa (or Kwaanza) is a week-long Pan-African festival celebrated primarily in the United States, honoring African American heritage. It is observed from December 26 to January 1 each year. Kwanzaa consists of seven days of celebration, featuring activities such as candle-lighting and pouring of libations, and culminating in a feast and gift giving. It was created by Ron Karenga, and first celebrated from December 26, 1966, to January 1, 1967, timed to coincide with Christmas so that it would be remembered. Karenga calls Kwanzaa the African American branch of "first fruits" celebrations of classical African cultures.

Karenga created Kwanzaa in 1966. Karenga said his goal was to "...give a Black alternative to the existing holiday and give Blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and history, rather than simply imitate the practice of the dominant society." The name Kwanzaa derives from the Swahili phrase "matunda ya kwanza", meaning "first fruits". The choice of Swahili, an East African language, reflects its status as a symbol of Pan-Africanism, especially in the 1960s, though most African-Americans have West African ancestry.

The official stance on the spelling of the holiday is that an additional "a" was added to "Kwanza" so that the word would have seven letters. The name was meant to have a letter for each of what Karenga called "The Seven Principles". Another explanation is that Karenga added the extra "a" to distinguish the African-American meaning from the African one. Kwanzaa is also sometimes incorrectly spelled "kwaanza".

Kwanzaa is a celebration that has its roots in the black nationalist movement of the 1960s, and was established as a means to help African Americans reconnect with their African cultural and historical heritage by uniting in meditation and study of "African traditions" and "common humanist principles."

In 1967, a year after Karenga proposed this new holiday, he publicly espoused the view that "Jesus was psychotic" and that Christianity was a white religion that blacks should shun. However, as Kwanzaa gained mainstream adherents, Karenga altered his position so as not to alienate practicing Christians, then stating in the 1997 Kwanzaa: A Celebration of Family, Community, and Culture, "Kwanzaa was not created to give people an alternative to their own religion or religious holiday."

So now you get the idea. (And you've got to give that Karenga dude points for the unintentionally hilarious "Jesus was psychotic" statement; makes John Lennon's "We're more popular than Jesus" pale in comparison, no?)

I dunno, the whole thing strikes me as an attempt to manufacture a connection to aspects of African culture that we, as American-born blacks, have no bond with save for our genetics (and even our genetics have been considerably mongrelized since we the day our ancestors first got here, making for too-sexy critters like meself) so why not instead come up with a celebration of our own thing, an American thing that recognizes the contributions that black American influences have made not only in this fair land's melting pot culture, but to that of the entire globe? (And don't hand me that "African-American" horseshit either; I am not African, I am an American. I was born here, I believe in the concept of a pan-ethnic society, and even though it doesn't always work I staunchly support the intent.)

And as for the "Seven Principles," they're all well and good in and of themselves and are an admirable list around which to found a philosophy:

1. Umoja (Unity) To strive for and to maintain unity in the family, community, nation and race.
2. Kujichagulia (Self-Determination) To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.
3. Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility) To build and maintain our community together and make our brothers' and sisters' problems our problems and to solve them together.
4. Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics) To build and maintain our own stores, shops and other businesses and to profit from them together.
5. Nia (Purpose) To make our collective vocation the building and developing of our community in order to restore our people to their traditional greatness.
6. Kuumba (Creativity) To do always as much as we can, in the way we can, in order to leave our community more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited it.
7. Imani (Faith) To believe with all our heart in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders and the righteousness and victory of our struggle.

Having read and absorbed all of that I have to say that this list has very little to do with what I see happening in some realms of black American society. All seven principles fall by the wayside for me when I see blacks being our own worst enemy (don't forget who really allowed the slave trade to flourish on the African end of things), what with the staggering lack of focus on the family as a unit, the appalling dissemination of thug culture and behavior that was once known as "coonish," a focus on personal material gain and bling-bling rather than a concerted push for education and the arts... My list goes on and on, while the list of the Seven Principles is quite clear and concise in what it puts out there. If Kwanzaa is to have any real meaning for anyone, keep those precepts in mind year-round, and not just for a week.

Oh well, at least it's not technically a "religious" thing. And while I'm not down with much of the whole Kwanzaa thing, I do love me some Kwanzaabot.


Kwanzaabot (voiced by Coolio) and Bender Rodriguez, from FUTURAMA.

CHRISTMAS '07-EPILOGUE

So I made it through Christmas without the crushing dysfunction I expected and even managed to get a fun photo with my my mom.


As long as I've known her she's kvetched about how she "doesn't take good pictures," at times going out of her way to ruin any photo op by looking horribly uncomfortable and grimacing. This year, I have no idea how, I was able to not only get her to have fun, but I was also able to get her to let her guard down, look ridiculous, and let her seldom-seen sense of humor shine through. It was indeed a Christmas miracle.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

A REMINDER OF JUST HOW GOOD I'VE GOT IT

I swung by the barbecue joint on Saturday night so I could say "hey" to my former co-workers and wish them all a happy holiday, as well as visit with Tracey the waitress goddess and be brought up to date on the place's goings-on...that and I wanted to get my drink on before having to endure two-and-a-half potentially dysfunctional days in Westport.

During the course of the evening there was a point when Tracey's wolf-like alertness focused upon someone who strolled by the front door and she ran outside to corral him indoors. The person turned out to be a guy named Francis, a fifty-something poet that Tracey knew from the neighborhood. When he first sat down and began to make conversation he came off like a bit of a religious nut, going on at length about his Catholic school upbringing and pulling well-learned quotes out of the Bible that he applied to just about anything that anyone else said, all while wearing a very visible and very large crucifix. Long used to the loons who hang out at the barbecue joint's bar, Scott (the Texan former-bartender who's been frequently mentioned in posts about the place) and I exchanged glances that silently communicated, "Oh, fuck, here's another one," but as Francis became more comfortable he proved to be quite an interesting and fun guy. But there was something about him that I just couldn't put my finger on, something that just screamed "other."

As the evening passed Francis and I bonded over music, pop culture, and all the other shit you've come to expect if you read this blog regularly, having a grand old time, and after a while Tracey bought him a brisket sandwich and a beer. Following suit I bought him another round, and that was when Francis began to loosen up and let flow with the details of his life.

Francis.

Francis was once a husband and a father but he apparently bottomed out on booze and is now homeless, residing in warmer seasons in Prospect Park and becoming a well-known and beloved neighborhood "character." He carries his few earthly possessions in a canvas shopping bag, panhandles for money on the street and the subway, and fills scraps of paper with his poetry. What money he manages to scrounge up he sends to his wife (the self-admitted love of his life) and kids, and any cash that remains is spent on whatever is needed to keep him alive. Francis recently attempted sobriety, but fell slightly off the wagon and was now living on the subway to stay warm. He even mentioned how he wished he were down in New Orleans, which prompted Joy the bartender to interject, "New Orleans? I went to Tulane!" Francis smiled and commented "I used to sleep on the roof at Tulane." Not missing a beat and with utmost seriousness Joy replied, "So did I!"

Tracey and I laughed our asses off at that one, knowing Joy as we do.

I greatly enjoyed the time I spent with Francis, but all too soon the hour grew very late and I had to be together enough the next day to handle going home to Connecticut. Moved by Francis' situation, I left the barbecue joint, hit one of the bodegas on Fifth Avenue and bought him two notebooks and a couple of pens, anything to let his thoughts and poetry be recorded on something other than scraps that could blow away if he dropped one of his piles of scribblings. I wished him luck and told him I'd like to hang out again. But who knows when that'll happen again?

When I got home I could barely sleep, slumber giving way to contemplation of such a personable and brilliant mind going to waste thanks to drink and homelessness. Just makes one think.

THE CARDS KEEP ROLLING IN!

This one's from guitar virtuoso and all-around madman John Gibson, a dear friend since my freshman year of college. This guy is the person who opened my eyes to quality heavy metal, and for that I owe him an unrepayable debt. And as for this card, nothing to enjoy here, right?


Good thing I hate titties.

And this one's from another friend I met during college, Matt Maley. We worked together in the Marvel Bullpen and then he settled down with one of the coolest women in the world, after which they had a beautiful little girl. Matt is also unfairly talented in the drawing skills department and this card, while great, barely hints at his excellence.

A CANDY CANE FROM SANTA


My favorite thing about this one is the appalled mother shielding her child's eyes.

IT'S A SOPRANOS CHRISTMAS!


So this Christmas I got my mom a new DVD player and as I write this she's totally immersed in the final season of THE SOPRANOS, a show she absolutely loves despite her old ladyish abhorrence of sex, violence, and non-stop profanity in her entertainment. She's fascinated by her own sympathy for Tony Soprano, a guy whose volatile criminality is underscored by his own deep-rooted flaws and insecurities, and she spends much of her viewing time analyzing how Tony is "a victim of his upbringing and environment" (she's a family therapist). So she's happy as a clam, appreciative of her other gifts, but elated that she can at last see the finale of her favorite soap (or olive oil) opera. So thank you, David Chase, James Gandolfini, Edie Falco, Lorraine Bracco, the much-missed Drea De Matteo, and all the rest of you who made THE SOPRANOS happen. You lot saved Christmas in my dysfunctional place of growing up.

As for me, I got a bunch of cool stuff but any time spent at home that doesn't involve tension, sniping, and emotional vitriol is more precious to me than any material gift could possibly be (okay, so I wouldn't scoff at some serious cash). I still have another eight hours before I step onto the south-bound Metro North train and make my way back to the security of the Vault, but I honestly think that time will pass without any of the usual bullshit. Wish me luck.

IN MEMORY OF THE GODFATHER


While you enjoy your Christmas don't forget to take the time to remember James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, who passed on exactly one year ago (Merry Christmas...NOT!). Crank up your copy of "Hot (I Need To Be Loved, Loved, Loved, Loved, Loved)" and boogie down next to the Christmas tree.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

THE SEASONAL GREETINGS CONTINUE

The latest holiday cards have arrived! First up is the work of indy comics gadabout and fellow Brooklyn resident Dean Haspiel , a guy I've known forever and who turned in some memorable work a few years back in the first (and excellent) volume of DC's BIZARRO COMICS. I met Dean when I was an R.A. in college at SUNY at Purchase back in the fall of 1986, and he had the comics fever even back then. Also Dean was famed on campus for an amusing incident involving drunkenness, the roof of the library and two broken legs, but seeing as that's his story I'll leave it for him to translate into a graphic novel.


This one's from Jason Brown, a crazed loon with his finger in several artistic pies and one of several creative types I really need to get off my ass and make more time for in the coming year. He's a very cool guy and I've unintentionally and unfairly neglected him for far too long. And is it just me, or does he bear a strong resemblance to Popeye in this pic?

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

MORE SEASONAL GREETINGS

The holiday greetings are rolling in, and here are the latest three. First up is this Chanukkah card from my buddy Josh Crystal of Crystal J Design . He's the nephew of my pals Ruth and Dvorah — two nice Irish lasses...not! — and I first met him a few years back during one of Ruth's celebrated summer cookouts. Like many of my non-blood family he's a comics and sci-fi goon, traits that instantly endeared him to my crew, so we took him under our collected wing and corrupted the living shit out of him (not that it was all that hard to do). He's an alright guy and I wish I saw him more often, his card making me smile and remember just how much I like him.


This one's from Gregg Schiegel, mastermind of Hatter Entertainment and a comrade from my Marvel Bullpen days whose comics work back then didn't even display a hint of the virtuosity he'd later develop. I've seen examples of his work since that bygone time, and with each passing year he only improves. And this card gets extra credit for depicting Middle East folk who look like Middle East folk rather than Ted Nugent with five o'clock shadow.


And finally one from my friend of over three decades, Tom Petrone, seen here essaying the role of Dr. Watson in a production of "Sherlock's Last Case."


Along with being a terrific actor — both in "bear" porno and onstage — he's a master of the absurd, silly, and just plain idiotic, and this gag definitely falls into all three of those categories. He came to me last year with the idea for this and asked if I'd help him out with the Photoshop chores on it, and I happily said yes. As you can see, it's one of my patented awful digital collages that tries (and fails) to emulate the DIY charm of Terry Gilliam's cutout visions of madness, and I'm glad to see my buddy has put it out there this season.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

JUST HAD TO SHARE

I just had to share this Christmas card with you. I received it over the weekend and it's from Renee Witterstaeter, president of Eva Ink Publishing , and uber-talented cartoonist Michael Golden, and I love Mike's depiction of the Golden Age Wonder Woman with a thick build and boobs that look like they could knock you out if she smacked you in the head with them (in other words, my kinda gal!).


It's just plain beautiful and makes me feel good in a bondagey, kick-ass-on-Nazis kind of way. Merry Big-Tittied Amazon Christmas to all!!!

Friday, December 14, 2007

CHRISTMAS SONG OF THE YEAR

For years I've jokingly wished people a "Merry Fistmas" around this time of year, and finally there's a seasonal tune that addresses this neglected gift-giving option. Mark G. just alerted me to "Fist Me This Christmas" by the Wet Spots, a cheery ditty about spreading yuletide cheer (among other things), and it's an a capella hoot.


Play it for grandma and watch the old gal smile!

THE MOST LUDICROUS CHRISTMAS SONG EVER

I hate Christmas music. No, let me rephrase that; I fucking HATE Christmas music. It's at the top of my list of things that drive me batshit crazy about the holiday season, what with it being inescapably heard everywhere from TV commercials to every store you may enter after Thanksgiving (and often before), and its ubiquity and repetition has driven me to a state of apoplexy since my early teens. I've heard all of the yuletide standards eleventy-jillion times and am utterly sick to death of them, and I'm even starting to tire of some of the better novely ones (although "Christmas When You're Dead," the brilliant holiday tune sung from the point of view of Frank Sinatra's corpse, is one of the funniest songs I've ever heard in any genre and the mere thought of it makes me grin). That said, while I was picking up breakfast before going to work, the oldies station heard over the restaurant's PA system played a novelty Christmas song that's been around for nearly five decades that I swear I'd never heard before, and after hearing it I have to emphatically say fuck Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer right in one of his crimson nostrils. It's time to make way for fuckin' Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey!

Unleashed upon an unsuspecting world in 1960 by Goombah novelty songster Lou Monte — who would later record "Pepino, the Italian Mouse" and "Pasquale, the Italian Pussycat", the sequel to "Pepino" — "Dominick, the Italian Christmas Donkey" features a traditional-style Italian melody and rhythm, and once heard sticks to your brain like napalm.

Lou Monte, a true Si-silly-an genius.

But, as with most things Italian and especially Italian-American, I have no problem with that since Lou obviously recorded "Dominick" to be intentionally ludicrous; I can make the connections in my head that allow the horrendous "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" plausible — people get their asses kicked by wild animals all the time — but Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey? How the fuck do come up with that one? Sheer mad genius, and even the DJ noted at the song's end that "no matter where you go or what you do today, you're gonna have that song stuck in your head. Sorry."

And for your edification, here are the lyrics:

Dominick The Donkey (The Italian Christmas Donkey)
Lyrics by Allen, Merrell & Saltzberg (something tells me these guys aren't Italians)

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

Santa's got a little friend,
His name is Dominick.
The cutest little donkey,
You never see him kick.
When Santa visits his paisons,
With Dominick he'll be.
Because the reindeer cannot,
Climb the hills of Italy.

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

Jingle bells around his feet,
And presents on the sled.
Hey! Look at the mayor's derby,
On top of Dominick's head.
A pair of shoes for Louie,
And a dress for Josephine.
The labels on the inside says,
They're made in Brooklyn. (NOTE: pronounced "Brook-a-leen")

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

Children sing, and clap their hands,
And Dominick starts to dance.
They talk Italian to him,
And he even understands.

Cumpare sing,
Cumpare su,
And dance 'sta tarantel.
When sannanicola comes to town,
And brings du ciuccianello.

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

Hey! Dominick! Buon Natale!
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
(hee-haw, hee-haw)

And as if that wasn't insane enough, there are several homemade videos for this on YouTube, my favorite of which is the one credited to Joe the Pizza Guy and looks like it was shot in my neighborhood, specifically in and around the handball court near the corner of 3rd Street and 4th Avenue.

Joe the Pizza Guy with the worst donkey puppet of all time. Fuckin' A!

So I'd like to thank Lou Monte for foisting Dominick upon the world, and allowing me an unexpected laugh during the time of year that most gets me down.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

BY WAY OF EXPLANATION

Remember yesterday's photo of the Chanukah spiral ham? Well, here's an explanation of exactly what was up with that from today's New York Daily News:

BALDUCCI'S OFFERS HAM FOR CHANUKAH
By Bill Hutchinson
Daily News staff writer
Thursday, December 6th 2007, 4:00 AM


Balducci's in Greenwich Village advertises tasty boneless spiral ham as 'Delicious for Chanukah.' Store blamed a clerk for the gaffe.

Oy vey! Pork for Chanukah?

The Greenwich Village gourmet grocery store, Balducci's, has become the butt of the Jewish holiday by advertising its boneless hams as "Delicious for Chanukah."

Manhattan novelist Nancy Kay Shapiro, 46, spotted the kosher faux pas while browsing the meat section Saturday at the chain's outpost at Eighth Ave. and W. 14th St. When Shapiro went back Sunday, she took photos of the unorthodox display promoting boneless spiral-cut hams for $8.99 a pound, petite smoked hams for $6.99 a pound and boneless smoked hams for $6.29 a pound. Instead of pointing out the mistake to management, she posted the snapshots on her blog to "amuse others." "I just thought it was funny," Shapiro, a self-described "unobservant Jew," said. "I wasn't offended in any way. I just thought, here's somebody who knows nothing about what Jews eat." Shapiro said that when she went back to the store Tuesday, the first night of Chanukah, the signs had vanished.

A Balducci's official was so verklempt about the error he didn't want to speak on the record. He fessed up that "it was a mistake," blaming it on a stock clerk who normally doesn't work the meat department. He referred all other questions to the company's marketing department in Connecticut.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

HAVE A BITCHIN' חנוכה

To all of my Chosen friends, loved ones and readers-

Happy חנוכה!!! I'm not going to spell it in English because I've seen at least three different spellings and no one seems to be able to settle on just one, so why not just spell it old school, as in seriously old school? So חנוכה it is.

And in the spirit of the season, as well as continuing one of this blogs many threads, namely comic books/superheroes, here's a great moment with my favorite of Marvel Comics' big guns, Ben Grimm — aka the Thing of the Fantastic Four — reacting to a supervillain's surprise at learning that his rocky orange ass is Jewish:


And then there's this item, something I must track down on eBay:


And don't forget to check out DISGUISED AS CLARK KENT, Danny Fingeroth's informative and engrossing book on Jews, comics, and the creation of the superhero, definitely a worthwhile addition to your comics history bookshelf.


Anyway, may your eight crazy nights rock most awesomely!

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM THE VAULT OF BUNCHENESS!!!

Some words of holiday advice:

1. You can survive your fucking annoying family. And if they piss you off too much, just remember that one day they will be dead.

2. Don't drink and drive, 'cause that shit's for amateurs and assholes. Stay at home to tie one on; why do you think Thanksgiving's an all-day festival of football, parades, movies, dog shows and marathons of classic TV reruns? It's a dazzling cathode ray cornucopia of stuff to keep the wasted off the streets and at home, puking, fucking and fighting right where they belong.

3. When seeing your old high school pals for what's probably the one time you'll see them all year, do not comment on how fat and/or old they look. That shit goes two ways, bunky...

4. If you must go to church during the holiday, make sure to go as hungover and reeking of booze as possible, that way next year they'll think twice before forcing you out of bed and into a place choked with incense and festooned with pictures of Jesus looking at your ass.

5. If your family gathering has a kiddie table, make sure to sit there and serve as a bad example to the next generation. Tell age-acceptable off-color jokes and stories. Teach the kids the lyrics to "The Diarrhea Song" and have them sing it loudly halfway through the meal. Introduce them to "pull my finger." In short, do your part to ensure your status as the fave older relative from the start; that way the kids won't feel so awkward in later years when they need somebody to take them to get an abortion or bail them out of jail without their parents being any the wiser. And believe me, they will pay back your "cool relative" kindness somewhere down the line.

6. Always, ALWAYS eat the turkey's tail. It's the perfect amount of dark meat, fat, and skin in one concentrated morsel and if slathered with the right amount of gravy it's a thing of joy forever (well, at least until it's digested and re-manifests itself as the next morning's enormous post-Turkey Day turd).

7. The true bombardment of Christmas-themed TV commercials commences right around Thanksgiving, so feel free to let loose with the Ribald Songbird action and desecrate the classic Yuletide tunes that have already been corrupted for TV adverts, only make them super dirty with usages of words like "cocksucker," "shit," and "pussy fart." Since you're gonna hear them a million times between now and the new year anyway, you may as well have some fun with them.

8. If you have to suffer through the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade — the Thanksgiving moment I dread most — don't try to be an asshole and bring to your aging parents' attention the fact that it's nothing more than a saccharine, three-hour commercial. They like it for the marching bands, big-assed balloons, and celebs lip-synching, and do not give a fuck about it's true purpose, so let them have their fun. And you can always have something to look forward to, namely the hope that the guy playing Santa at the end of the show will either be drunk or have a visible hard-on.

9. If you're staying at your parents' house with a significant other, try to remain as silent as possible if having sex under your folks' roof. I don't know why, but the idea of their kids having sex, even us grownup kids, seriously fucks with the heads of our progenitors. Then again, maybe you should fuck like monkeys on crack while at home...Aah, what the hell? Make 'em remember how it's done! And if they bitch about it, remind them of all the times they nagged you for grandkids and ask them if they forgot where said grandkids come from. That'll shut the geezers up in no time.

10. If the friends and loved ones you miss most can't be there this year, think of them fondly and rest assured that they're probably every bit as miserable as you are.

And with that, Happy Thanksgiving, and may the pecans in grandma's cookies actually be pecans and not roaches. (She doesn't see that well anymore, you know.)