TooMuchInformation

Why is it our Congress is taking great pains to socialize debt, but not healthcare?

For the last three weeks the country has been asking Who is Sarah Palin?

This Friday the questioning shifts to Where is John McCain?  His campaign announced today that they were suspending campaigning so he could participate in some Freddie Mac problem solving.  (I suspect he’s actually manning the paper shredder in his Senate office.)  Part of this suspension is to withdraw from Friday’s candidate debate.

So, on Friday, when Barack Obama walks alone onto the stage at Ole Miss will we be able to see through the smoke and mirrors at the Republican’s latest weapon of mass distraction? 

Why won’t McCain debate?  Why can’t he debate?  The American presidency has got to be the ultimate office in multi-tasking, and this guy has to run to Washington to meet with a committee he’s not even assigned to and participate in debating hearings he skipped.  American voters need to hear and compare our candidates views on the financial crisis, but also the healthcare crisis, the crisis in Iraq, the energy crisis, the environmental crisis, the housing crisis, and many others. 

But John McCain won’t be able to make it.  He’ll be in Washington.  Trying to look like an outsider.

LYRICS

This is my American Prayer
This is my American Prayer

This is the time to finish what you started
And this is no time to dream
This is the room
We can turn off the dark tonight
Maybe then we might see

American Prayer
American Prayer

And this is the ground
That keeps our feet from getting wet
And this is the sky over our head
And what you see depends on where you stand
And how you jump will tell you where you’re gonna land

American Prayer
American Prayer

My oh my
Couldn’t get much higher
Lets not kick out the darkness
Make the light brighter

And these are the hands
What are we gonna build with them?
This is the church you can’t see
Give me your tired, your poor and huddled masses
You know they’re yearning to breathe free
This is my American Prayer
American Prayer
American Prayer

When you get to the top of the mountain
Will you tell me what you see
If you get to the top of the mountain
Remember me

Heading home after work Monday, I was standing in a crowded train, staring vaguely out the window.  Shortly into the ride a raspy voice began singing the Carpenter’s “We’ve Only Just Begun”.  It was a sorrowful version of the song.  Sort of a Little Jimmy Scott/Amy Winehouse hybrid re-mix.  It was beautiful.

And then came the smell. 

Moving through the car was a homeless man - emaciated, blind, dirty, in need of a fix.  His voice much larger than himself.  He was collecting donations, and doing considerably well, for his song.  Halfway through the car he switched music and belted Rod Stewart’s “If You Think I’m Sexy”.

I think it’s fair to say no one did.

Maybe I’m in a goofy mood today, maybe it has something to do with Fox News sending a crew to stake out the entrance of the NYTimes building, maybe it’s the snow or the upcoming weekend or too much granola. 

But this site had me in stitches:  http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

I heartily recommend exploring it fully.

Great day for people watching.  Rush hour this morning I had three people keeping me occupied. 

Across from me, standing in the doorway, was a tall guy with 5 days of beard growth, tight jeans, salt and pepper hair gelled forward and up, with mirrored sunglasses.  He was something to behold.  Like a rock-god daring everyone to try not to notice him.  He didn’t move much, just basked in his own glory.

Seated next to me was a large woman in a faux-fur coat.  It was maybe supposed to be snow leopard, but it looked more like dalmatian.  As if Cruella DeVille sat down next to me after skinning and eating the 101.  The coat was floor length with a hood.  When she sat down she grew in size.  Her bosom lifted and her thighs spread.  I wanted to reach out a finger and stroke the coat.  I sat with my arms crossed, trying to get the courage to poke it just once.  To feel it.  To confirm it was fake and not a litter of unfortunate puppies.   But I refrained.

The most interesting passenger was a frog-faced man standing in front of me.  He was listening to music through his headphones but the volume was turned high enough that anyone could hear it.  The music was familiar.  It started with a disco beat and then a blast of synthesized trumpets.  In between noticing the rock-god and fighting the urge to pet the dalmatians, I pulled up the song in my memory.  It was the theme song to CHiPs!  This guy was psyching up his day with the music that serenaded Erik Estrada down the highways of Los Angeles. 

Which set my mind wandering.  What should my Friday theme song be?  If I was taking the Staten Island Ferry into Manhattan it would definitely be Carly Simon’s Let the River Run (theme from Working Girl).  Arriving on a train in a tunnel under the East River calls up something less spectacular, something moody.  Something.. …  I don’t know.

Eventually, we arrived at Union Square, where I transfered trains and began thinking about other things.

I found myself taking an unplanned trip into the office on a Sunday.  It’s interesting to see the train when it’s not crowded with rush hour commuters and late night drinkers.  More than a handful of Orthodox Jewish women, heads shaved  and wigged, in smart shoes and accompanied by their progeny.  Their blatino counterparts pushing SUV sized strollers.  A few women coming home from church in their crowns. 

At one stop I was able to maneuver into a seat situated next to a sharply dressed woman - houndstooth wool coat, black tights, low heels, conservative makeup.   She sat upright with a gymnast’s posture.  Two minutes into our neighborhood, she extended her left arm straight out, made a fist, pointed her index finger back at herself and brought it to her nose, then extended her arm again, then brought it back to her nose, and extended, nose, extended, nose.  She did this about 6 times. 

I’ve noticed over the last month that I stare.  Sometimes I point, but today I was travelling alone.  I turned my head and looked right at her face and arm.  Shoulder to shoulder, we were about 6 inches apart.  She ignored me. 

Arriving at my stop, I exited and walked to work.

Next Tuesday, US voters in more than 20 states (including New York and California, but not Ohio) will pick delegates to next summer’s Blue and Red Conventions.

With a rapidly dwindling pool of candidates to choose from (G’bye Johnny.  Denny we hardly knew ye.  Rudy you stayed at the party too long anyway.) I recommend Glassbooth to help choose your vote.

The site will ask you to rank important political issues, then ask you to rate your positions.

Finally, it will compare your responses to candidate profiles.

Good luck and good voting.

This website was just brought to my attention. 

I dig it.

http://musicovery.com/

It’s Halloween, and that means the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade.  I didn’t make it to the Village, but I did get an eyeful of what was heading that way on the train.

My favorite by far was the group of four young women dressed as a mariachi band.  They were hilarious, working the train with their guitar, accordian, tamborine, sombreros, and huge mustaches.  One of them solicited donations from the other passengers.  

The icing on the cake came as I was about to exit.  I witnessed an Orthodox Jewish man taking a picture of them with his cell phone.  Three of NY’s icons intersecting: subway performers, Halloween, and Judaism. 

Lord, I love this town.