Leaky Faucets

 I’m just too fucking curious.  That’s my problem sometimes.  That, combined with my obsessive compulsive need to know, leads me to a lot of procrastination, or research as I prefer to call it (even when it’s something obscure and totally irrelevant to my life like the Mike Douglas Show, which went off the air almost two decades ago).  One thing tends to lead to another and before I know it a whole hour goes by.  When I have a shitload to do at work, this becomes a handicap.  I end up scrambling at the end to get things done on time like I had to do this week.  But when I’m bored with what I’m doing here, I just can’t help myself.  Damn Internet!

 

Yesterday in Manila, a group of Filipino mothers protested in favor of breastfeeding outside of the Supreme Court building.  Formula manufacturers reacted with hostility to the Philippine government’s decision to restrict the marketing of formula to children over one year of age in reaction to the declining rate of breastfeeding in the country and the WHO’s insistence that breastfeeding is better than formula. (Read the article here.)

This is especially true in a developing country, where, for the poor, opportunities for optimal nutrition are not common.  Formula is also very expensive–even for American mothers–so women in poor countries like the Philippines should be strongly encouraged to nurse.  Of course, this logic doesn’t sit well with formula makers, who like any other corporate entity, solely exist to serve their own bottom line, with only secondary regard for the well-being of the consumer.

The United States, for its part, should be trying to help out countries like the Philippines .  Instead, in a modern-day version of 19^th century colonialism, it issues thinly veiled threats in order to protect its corporate benefactors.  This sort of behavior is nothing new.  Consider the lengths the American administration went to please its corporate allies in Iraq .

It’s become apparent that as much as the U.S. presents an image of itself as savior to the world, the only ones finding salvation from Uncle Sam are listed on the NYSE or NASDAQ.

I’ve read “Goodnight Moon” to Ana so many times that I’ve pretty much memorized it. I put my memory to the test the other night, when at a dinner party at our friends’ house, I needed to put her to bed. This is our routine every night. I read the book to her and she goes to sleep. Well, I didn’t have “Goodnight Moon” with me that night so I pretended to read it to her. I grabbed Robert’s copy of Men’s Health and turned the pages as I spoke the words, some of which I think I forgot or jumbled the order. It didn’t work, but I’m not sure if it was because she wasn’t faked out or if she just didn’t want to sleep in the strange environment. Later on, when she was crying incessantly, Aya called me into the room and asked me to try again. This time, I “read” “Goodnight Moon” without turning any pages. I just calmly spoke the words to her. And this time it worked. She fell asleep, and stayed asleep until it was time to go home.

An interesting little side note I came across.  When “Goodnight Moon” was rereleased recently, the picture of the illustrator Clement Hurd was digitally altered to remove the cigarette from his hand.

 

For me, the goal of any expo is to get as much swag as possible without engaging in conversation with any exhibitors, and certainly without supplying my name and mailing address to anyone regardless of what you can win by doing so.  Other people who go to expositions–such as Fundraising Day in New York which I attended the other day-actually want to speak to those in the exhibit hall hawking everything from software to employment services.   But not me-especially since I’m on my way out of this line of work.  I don’t make purchasing decisions anyway so all any discussion could lead to is getting wads of junk mail at the office.  Better than at home, I guess.  But still, I don’t need it.  The pens I can use-I can always use more pens since they all eventually run out no matter how nice they look on the outside; there all Bic or Paper Mate on the inside.  Sometimes, I find more interesting things like a foam ball that is supposed to act as a stress reliever.

In a piece about “The Sopranos” finale, David Remnick, editor-in-chief of The New Yorker, muses about just how long the show was on HBO: “It has been with us a long time-longer than the Bush Administration (and nothing seems more interminable than that.)  Indeed.  The show started when I was still employed at the ad agency, Bozell Worldwide.  My co-worker, Peter, was a big fan from the beginning.  As was Adam, who always had to be home on Sunday to watch it. 

As for me, I’ve never had HBO (except for those few weeks in February where it mysteriously and without cost appeared on my TV and then vanished) and I’ve seen the show only a few times.  When I saw it, I liked it, so I borrowed the DVD sets from my dad, who has the first several seasons.  Now that Ana is sleeping earlier, we can start watching it from the beginning.  As soon as we finish “24.”  I don’t really care if I’m more than eight years late for season one and if I start it just as it has ended.  It’s not like I’ve missed talking about the show at the watercolor at work.  Besides, I much prefer to watch a series on DVD rather than wait for a specific day and time for it to be on and then be lost if you miss an episode.  When I want to watch, I can, and I can run through a few seasons quickly if I like it instead of having to wait months for a new season.

It’s been a while since I was the beneficiary of the buyback policy at a bar. That’s why I expected my free drink-the buyback–after my second beer last night. But, I didn’t get it until after my third (two Killian’s and an Amstel light-all drafts), by which time I didn’t want another but I had to take it because it was free. Right? I was only at the bar-Legends sports bar around the corner from my apartment-too watch the basketball game: Cleveland vs. Detroit Game 6 with a chance for my long-suffering Cavs to finally make the NBA finals for the first time in team history. Since I don’t have cable and didn’t want to listen to this pivotal game on the radio or follow on the Internet like I did the previous five, I had to go to Legends to catch this game which was on TNT. It wasn’t worth it for the other games, but this I had to see. As I posted a few days ago-and as most sports fan knows-Cleveland teams have a history of choking in crucial postseason games. This time the Cavs came through, although they didn’t really win anything yet so it’s far too early to celebrate. That said, I didn’t expect them to get past Detroit so it seems like a huge deal. According to Paul, people in Cleveland were going crazy last night. I guess it’s been a while since the city had a reason to celebrate. And I’m not just talking about sports.

Despite being at Legends by myself, I had a pretty good time. I was mostly just focused on the large TV in front of me. The two guys next to me on my left-obviously good friends with one badly slurring his words the whole time-were fixated on the Stanley Cup Finals, which was on most of the other screens. I don’t miss hanging out in bars with people like this, and I rarely go to bars these days unless there’s a game to see that I can’t see at home. I certainly don’t go to bars by myself just to drink like I used to when I first moved to New York and didn’t know anyone and just happened to live across the street from McGrath’s, the world’s best dive bar, which unfortunately closed a few years back, falling victim to the expansion of the world’s worst grocery store, Food World.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. There were only a few other people in the bar, and most, I think were regulars. There were two black guys on my right rooting for the Pistons and talking about basketball in general. We didn’t talk at all. Another guy came in and watched most of the second half. He was pulling for the Cavs, but by his accent I knew he was not from Cleveland, and assumed he was the new type of Cavs fan-you know the type that was born the day the drafted LeBron, and not the type that was going to games at the Richfield Coliseum to watch John Bagley, Phil Hubbard and World-Be-Free in the early 80s. That team sucked but I still loved them. The bartender, Jerry was pretty friendly and didn’t bother me too much. At the end of the night, someone came in with a bag of White Castle burgers and starting passing them out to the few of us left at the bar. I wasn’t going to have won, but in the end I did. Why? I never eat fast food anymore and White Castle is the bottom of the fast food barrel. I guess it was just in the spirit of the night.