I get nervous a lot.  Sometimes riding the train to work is enough to make me vibrate for the rest of the day.  So when my friend suggested we go to Storm King Art Center, I readily agreed.

I drove.

For HeaveMedia.com, I recently had to answer the question: What is your favorite use of a song in a film?

My answer:

No one can forget the good times that were 1985.  Reagan reigned with a Hollywood-fist, we still believed those guys in Depeche Mode were straight, and Michael J. Fox not only taught us how to make-out with your mom, but he also tore a hole in the space-time continuum to make his own family more affluent while single-handedly stealing the rights to “rock-n-roll” from Chuck Berry and insulting African Americans everywhere.

That’s why “Johnny B. Goode” is my favorite use of a pop song in a movie.  First off, no one can deny the absolute hilarity of Fox’s absurdly terrible lip syncing to Mark Campbell’s vocals.  McFly is rocking what can only amount to the prime-time hipster attire, except he does it well (take note all you booty-shaking house-partiers and American Apparel addicts).  The icing on the cake, however, is not the way in which Marty McFly has set into motion his own good fortune, effectively going against the single rule for traveling in the past (“don’t interfere”) and it’s not when he goes into a convulsion and rips apart a solo that Slayer would be proud of.  No, it’s the brilliance of writer/director Robert Zemeckis and his idea to take “Marvin Berry” of the original band at the dance and have him call his cousin, “Chuck (Berry),” to exclaim, “You know that sound you’ve been looking for?  Well, listen to this!”  Nevermind the decades of rock and roll roots that African Americans had laid down.  Never mind Chuck Berry’s status as a legend.  Mr. Zemeckis, you and your Hollywood blockbuster can throw all that to the wind.  Indeed, it SHOULD be an affluent white teen from Southern California who invents one of the greatest cultural movements in history: Rock And Roll.

All sarcasm aside, it’s a great scene, one of the best pop songs of all time, and an amazingly fun and clever movie all-around.

http://www.heavemedia.com

BAD:

School started again.

I work full time in a cubicle.

GOOD:

I ran a 38 minute, 21 second, 10k race. 6.2 miles. Came in 33rd out of over 10,000 in New York City (if you know me, click that, click “see your run,” type in my name, specify New York City).

We’ve not been sucked into nothingness by the Hadron Collider.

The score: 2 to 2. A 50/50 season so far. Better than the Cubs.
Interference will be disrupted until a few “issues” get hammered out.

At the beginning of this summer, a roommate of mine, knowing that I had formerly been a runner in high school and sporadically during college, convinced me to register for the Nike+ HumanRace, taking place on Randall’s Island. Seeing as how I’d spent the past three weeks drinking wine, feeling sorry for myself, and acting like an imbecile along the Seine in Paris, I figured this was as good a reason as any for getting back into shape.

Training went as well as could be expected for someone in my condition. After purchasing a new pair of training shoes and reviving my gym shorts from their three-year hibernation amongst the mold and rot of the back of my dresser, I began running and lifting weights every other day. Admittedly, it took a while to convince the lifeforms growing along all my elastic waistbands and sleeveless t-shirts, but soon enough, I’d begun to quell both them and the screaming leg muscles I hadn’t used in over two years.

The hardest change was actually that of my diet.

It soon became apparent that, living in New York City, I was ingesting far too many meats and preservatives. Last summer, I (sort of) lived with a person who was a vegetarian. It occurred to me that, during those three months, I felt the healthiest I had ever felt: I was skating or biking every day, working at a country club (which meant carrying golf bags around), and eating almost no meat.

And so it began. The first in a series of diet changes. I started up with a bang, grilling onions, red peppers, and yellow squash, and served it to myself on a roll of French bread that had a mayo, lemon juice, and garlic mixture along with feta cheese melted to its insides. While delicious and providing for the next six meals (I’d failed to recognize the recipe was for a full commune of veggie-loving hippies), these sandwiches and their resultant eating habit didn’t rid my body of the daily fatigue in the backs of my calves, thighs, and especially my stomach.

I remembered what it was like as a runner in high school and I’d never hurt quite so much at the beginning of workouts. Sure, the pain always subsided by the end, but this was a disconcerting pain, as if my stomach was always trying to expel something that I’d put into it.

Since it wasn’t the meat and preserved, saturated fat-ridden foods, I moved on to my next bad habit: coffee. Continue Reading »

23 years spent busy dying.  Time to follow Red.

i need the eggs.

even though my arms get tired.

I’m twenty-three and live in New York City. I wake up at 7:30 a.m. By 7:45, I’ve had a cup of coffee and am showering. At 9:15, I’m on the train. At 10:00 a.m. I’m in the office or at a meeting. At 2:00 I take my 1-hour lunch break where I usually end up at 1 of 6 or 7 standard eateries. After work, I go to class. I drink an extra cup of coffee at 7:40, halfway through class. I’m home by 9:40, homework and other work until 1:00, then I sleep and do it again.
On the plus side, I’m being productive. All of those things that your parents told you to do: move out, get a higher education, get a job, be self-sufficient, I’m doing that. I haven’t even been charged with any sort of crime in a few years. No, I’m still not allowed in Canada for a few reasons, but the rest of the world is my oyster (I blame that whole debacle with the Canucks on G.W. anyway). I’m eating healthier and agreeing with my parents when they call and voice their opinions on what I should or shouldn’t be doing.
I’ve had food poisoning, 106 degree temperatures, broken bones, concussions and countless full-day hangovers in my life. I can say right now that nothing has made me feel more sick than looking at the average day I’ve just described.
I’m tearing my life apart lately. I’ve begun riding my bike into work again. Now, I hop on a track bike (fixed gear, no brakes) and ride my way through Brooklyn and Manhattan through rush hour traffic. I’m quickly getting known for pounding on cab windshields and crosstown hustles that rival bike messenger paces. I sit at work extremely sweaty (not to mention smelling worse than bathing in Subway water) all day long and allow myself a full hour of free time for cruising blogs and watching dumb cat videos on Youtube.
I’ve been staying up late again, casually drinking at night. Whether it’s coffee or alcohol, sitting on my stoop, giving hard looks to the drug dealers who walk past. Let them come, I’ve been looking for a reason to throw fists.
I ate fast food twice in a row. Hell, I made a specific trip to Washing Square Park in order to go to an especially disgusting fast food joint that can usually only be found on the west coast or in the fatter southern portion of the country. I don’t care that it’s chicken, the breading on whatever went into my mouth that day was more pig lard than anything.
Today I slept through my alarm completely. Continue Reading »