Phillies vs. Mets, 6.28.05

Last night I ventured out to Flushing, Queens for a healthy dose of fresh air, luke-warm domestic beer in plastic bottles, and baseball. The Phillies (my hometown favorite team FOR LIFE) were in town to play the Mets. Now, I do enjoy going to Mets games regardless of who they play, because I legitimately enjoy the Shea Stadium experience. It's an ugly, utilitarian baseball stadium with little distraction from the game itself, a relic from a time long buried by glitzy new stadiums named after corporations.*

But my blood still bleeds Phillies Red (along with Eagles Green and Flyers Orange), and always will, so any enjoyment I derive from watching the Mets play vanishes when they face the Fightin's. Sadly, we got shelled, losing 8-3 in a poorly managed game nearly bereft of a Phillies offense.

I went with Steve, Ben, and Zack. Steve has lived most of his life in Pittsburgh, so he's always happy to see the Phillies lose. Ben and Zack, on the other hand, are both die-hard Phils supporters. Zack is unabashedly vocal about his hatred of the Mets, and after last night, I must echo his sentiment, the Nothing Terribly Grandiose way:



Regardless of the loss, I took the opportunity to get some snaps (and exercise my zoom... we were about 12 rows from the back of the stadium, so for a lot of these I was at 14x1, which accounts for the graininess). Again, this is a small sample of what I took. If for some reason you're stalking me and must see everything I photograph, let me know and I'll post them all to a snapfish album and you can look at every single damn one! Otherwise, shut your dirty little mouth!

And look at these:


Zack, looking contemplative, and the newly-clean-shaven Steve.


Ben. Not visible is his scorebook, which accompanies him to every single game he attends.


Bobby Abreu, who currently leads Phillies hitting at .319.


As of press time, we are unable to confirm whether this is Pat Burrell or Jason Michaels. Sorry. Either way he looks lonely.


Geography lessons at Shea.


Did they really expect anyone to just know that?


The Phillies dugout.


The Mets dugout.


The Mets bullpen. Racism sponsored by Konica Minolta.


One of my arch-nemeses (and yes, I have many). Look at a close-up of this shot:


Ummm... yeah... he really does look like he's... Alright, Mr. Met. I see.


A Phillies supporter in the crowd representin' Rico Brogna. Brogna is the subject of a legendary, but sadly lost-in-the-annals-of-time, commercial from the Phils '99 season. I'll see what I can do to actually track that down... maybe all hope is not lost. He's also name-dropped in a never-used rap lyric I wrote around the same time: "I shift into fifth and I make it look EZ-GO/Rolen like Scott and Brogna like Rico/I cause more crime than Fat Tony D'Amico."


There are few active Phillies with better all-around baseball names than Chase Utley. Come on, can you think of a better name on the Phils right now? [Keep scrolling for respect rightfully paid to the runner-up, Amaury Telemaco.]


Utley came to the plate in the 4th with bases loaded, two outs, Phils trailing 2-1. We were all praying for a slam, but Chase couldn't close the deal. That's alright dude... you're still Chase Motherfucking Utley. Victor Zambrano can't take THAT from you.


Jason Michaels, who was hit not once, but twice, by pitches last night. No mound-rush, no fight. He's a classy guy, that Jason Michaels. He picks his battles.


The t-shirt launch after the 6th inning.


This is probably my favorite "action pitch" shot from the night. I like the composition a lot.


Lieberthal hits! Woohoo!


The aforementioned Amaury Telemaco, who came in late in the game to provide relief. Say it a couple times out loud, slowly: A-m-a-u-r-y T-e-l-e-m-a-c-o. He and Chase Utley should play detectives in a 70's cop film and use their real names. BADGUYS: "Oh shit! It's Chase Utley and Amaury Telemaco! Get to the chopper!"


America! Fuck yeah!

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* Editor's note: Shea Stadium was named after New York attorney William A. Shea, who championed baseball as a cultural institution in New York City. For you history buffs out there, read more here. Also, I would be committing blasphemy as a Phillies fan to not include the history of the now-extinct Veterans Stadium, a place I hold very near and dear to my heart. I grew up seeing games at The Vet with my family and friends, and until its demolition in 2004 it represented, to me, what it was to see live baseball. In my heart it still does.



*****N*T*G*****

New Snaps 6.28.05: North Carolina Edition

Ahhhh, vacation...

I just got back from a long weekend kickin' it in North Carolina, the land of tobacco, pharmaceuticals, perpetual construction, and Little Brother. The reason for the visit was to celebrate my nephew Ryan's 3rd birthday, and to meet my new niece Lindsay.

Here's some of the brief highlights from the trip, including the obligatory "from the airplane window" snaps:







The night I got there, we took it easy and watched the Mets/Yankees game. It's always nice to be reminded that cable does exist, even if I don't have it myself. It's also nice to see Joe Torre pay direct homage to Al Bundy in front of millions of viewers:



I got to spend a good deal of time with Ryan while I was there. He's super-intelligent with a goofy sense of humor, and he's not afraid to tell it like it is. When I told him that on the Silly Scale of 1 to 10 (10 being the silliest), he was a 12, he matter-of-factly responded that he was, in fact, a 7, whereas I am an 8. He then informed me that I am a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Until he said that, I had no idea... but it does explain my ravenous appetite. He's a perceptive kid.

Here he is playing hide-and-seek:



It's become a recent trend that new additions to my family are the ONLY reason for me to be clean-shaven. Seriously, it happens maybe once a year. The last time was back in September when my sister's son Colin was born. So, loving readers, enjoy it in these pics, but don't get used to it.

At any rate, this is Lindsay:





Ryan is completely enamored with his new little sister, and he loves to hold her. The cute-ness meter on my Pentax damn near blew taking this one:



On Saturday we had Ryan's birthday party:


Kristin, Anthony, Lindsay, and Ryan.


The Godparents, Heidi and Joe.


Ryan blowing out his candles...


...and devouring his cupcake.

A brief word on this game:



Crocodile Dentist. The object of the game is to press down the crocodile's teeth without his mouth snapping shut, hopefully leaving just a single tooth. It's a simple enough formula, but there were times over the weekend when, even without Ryan's prodding, I found myself compulsively playing it. This thing is almost as addictive as my Electronic Handheld Yahtzee game. If at any time in the next few months, any of you happens to be in my apartment and see this sitting on my coffee table, call Social Services and get me some help!




*****N*T*G*****

Sidewalkology: When Life Becomes A Video Game

I've had many recent conversations about the art of, what my friend Abbie calls, Sidewalkology: the art of efficient walking in crowds. Sidewalkology expertise is a must here in New York, especially walking through a crowded Grand Central Terminal twice a day like I usually do.

This is the official Nothing Terribly Grandiose instruction manual for Sidewalkology. By exercising these principles, you can destroy everything in your path.

Figuratively.

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The fundamental principle by which I play the game of walking is: Learn to see the gaps before they open. It's like chess... you have to function two or three steps ahead of where you actually are. The right music can help focus your mind... but the core of it must come from inside. It must be developed, cultivated.

While seeing the gaps and moving through them, here are some other key things to practice:

1. Courtesy. Destruction is negated if it is achieved rudely. Specifically, you should avoid touching ANYONE you pass. It's like the game Operation - achieve the objective without touching the sides. This is above all else. But the thing to remember is that there are ways to be courteous without sacrificing speed. A good key to being courteous is:

2. Agility. If you can twist like a slinky to make it through a narrow gap, you'll avoid touching anything or anyone that's around you. That, and peppering the air with little "'scuse me... 'scuse me"s will gain you courtesy points.

Some of my preferred moves in the agility department:

- The shoulder dip - the best way to edge past someone at high speed is to lead with the shoulder. It allows quick direction change, plus it looks like a hip hop dance move. This is especially easy when hip hop is on the headphones.

- Protrusion - for short-range or long-range lateral motion, the protruding elbow is a good way to lead. It's excellent in hallways when you're turned sideways... it kind of functions like a snowplow. The protruding fist is much more aggressive than the elbow, but it is possible to execute it courteously. It should be practiced with utmost care. The angle of the fist should never be parallel to the ground; a downward angle of 45 degrees or less is recommended. A nice adaptation of the protruding fist is to use an umbrella if you happen to have one. It adds range and looks less rude than walking around with your fist out.

- The twirl - this move is taken directly from athletics (football, soccer, basketball, martial arts, etc...). It's very flashy, and should be used with absolute discretion. That said, it's a great evasion tactic. A variation for being on stairs is to vault over the railing. I find this works especially well at Grand Central Station, but again, use this sparingly.

- Noise - sound can definitely be used to your advantage. Rather than saying a hundred "'scuse me"s, I'll often carry my keys. A quick jingle behind a slow walker subconsciously lets them know someone is behind them, and if they're the least bit courteous they'll move out of the way. If they don't, throw in a "'scuse me." Other excellent noise devices are rustling plastic bags, loud steps, and clinking the edge of your MetroCard on railings. A word of caution with noise: part of being courteous is not being obnoxious. Never shake the keys loudly... make the jingle sound almost accidental. Often, the offending person will move without realizing it.

- Blocking - like the twirl, this technique is founded in athletics. You can and should use objects and other pedestrians as obstacles in your favor, but this must be done with foresight. For instance, if another walker is gaining momentum on one side, be aware of how an approaching wall, trash can, or person can force them to move or slow down. Often, such an object is followed by a gap through which you can move and gain momentum.

3. Adaptability. If you're moving along at a good speed, and an unforeseen obstacle renders your current course impossible, you must be able to abandon your plan for a new one in a blink, ideally without losing momentum. Children and the elderly get an immediate pass; I will absolutely not breeze past a kid or an old person if there's even the slightest chance of collision. Again, courtesy must prevail. Also, you must be aware of, and adapt to, your own personal conditions, such as carrying bags or other encumbrances.

4. Composure. Maintain as calm a face as possible, but be purposeful. Smile anytime you throw a "'scuse me" out there... again, courtesy. The goal is to achieve a oneness with the art of pedestrian destruction. The Zen of Walking. Should you find yourself in a situation where you come face to face with another walker, and you juke from side to side like football players, laugh about it. In spite of your calmness, the truth is, you probably look ridiculous to that person. Laugh with your fellow walker. It's a sign of respect.

5. Never run. In your average daily travels, running shouldn't be necessary. The one possible exception to this is when moving downstairs; should you find yourself with a wide open lane, let the momentum of gravity pull you into a run. When executed well, you can almost feel like you're sailing gracefully above the steps. This is borne of being Zen, not by being impatient.

You, too, can destroy any walking situation. The power is in you.

Be kind. Be fast. Be Zen.


*****N*T*G*****

New Snaps 6.23.05

Man, it seems like I've been taking a lot of pictures lately...

Between the Erron Olive show (170+ snaps that night), the Arbor Day show (see below), and just life in general, I've got enough snaps to make a pair of jeans for this guy:



But enough about Fat Joe. Here's this week's snaps. Enjoy them with some ginger snaps (the cookies, not the film).


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Neil, Neon, and Dawkins





I really like how the camera is reflected in the glass (in the first photo), and how that streak of light slices through the image. If I ever figure out how to use a photo-backsplash page on Blogger, this one could be a candidate.

I've had these fish for quite some time now, and the more time I spend watching them swim around their world, the more I realize that they've got personalities of their own. Maybe you think I'm crazy because of this, but I stand by it.

Neil (first photo, upper right) was one of the first fish I got when I bought the tank. She's named for Neil Young, and I didn't know she was female until she gave birth a couple days after I brought her (and her ill-fated friend Crazy Horse...they were Neil and Crazy for short) home. I noticed right away that she was very moody...sometimes she would just hide behind the fake plants, and sometimes she'd swim in fast vertical lines along the sides of the tank. Also, when another fish was obviously sick, I noticed her swimming around that fish more and more, almost protectively. She seems very maternal, despite having a dude's name.

Neon (first photo, lower left) is a spirited little guy. He's almost always zipping around the tank checking things out, but he always hangs still when I sprinkle food in the water. Then he'll grab it really quickly and swim away like he's afraid someone's going to take it from him. He's like a dog.

And Dawkins (second photo). That guy's just nuts, and as a result he's the best one to pay attention to for long periods of time. He'll lay on the bottom for hours, just chillin' eating some algae. Then all of a sudden he'll bug out and thrash all around the tank for a few seconds, then SPLAT himself up against another surface and stay there for hours. Sometimes he sways back and forth along the tank wall, methodically sweeping over the glass. The other day when I came home, we was clinging upside down to the bottom of a plant. I had never seen him do that before, and I was lucky to snap it when I did, because he seems to have a preternatural sense of when the camera is near, and flee from it. Incidentally, he's named for Brian Dawkins of the Philadelphia Eagles, who put a crushing hit on the Atlanta Falcons' Alge Crumpler during the 2005 NFC Championship game. Crumpler couldn't walk straight for a few seconds after it. It was gorgeous.

RIP: Crazy Horse, Other Neon, That Guppy I Never Named, all 15 of Neil's children who she miraculously did not eat but still eventually died anyway, and The Phantom.

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Puerto Rico Day Festival, E. 116th St



The annual Puerto Rico Day Festival took over Spanish Harlem last weekend, and damned if the weather was going to stop it. The day was warm, humid, sticky, and gray. It felt perpetually on the brink of rain, but tens of thousands of people still poured through the streets. This is taken off my fire escape, early in the day. Zack and I walked around in the midst of the crowds for awhile too, but I preferred observing it from the escape. It gave a much better scope of the magnitude of it all.

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Juxtaposition



It always astounds me to see the impenetrable skyline of the city jutting out from behind the palatial beauty of the Great Lawn in Central Park. Not much more to it than that...I just like the image.

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Apocalypse on 86th St



These clouds made me feel like impending doom was hanging over the city. A thunderstorm did come later, but nothing like the Lord-of-the-Rings-caliber deluge their ominous visage suggests.

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The Escape



I spent the wee hours of last Saturday night on my friend Jess' fire escape, drinking luke-warm Tecate and talking extemporaneously about life. I'm hard-pressed to recall a more fun Saturday night...



These are the mysterious windows of her anonymous neighbors next door. They are much more considerate than her upstairs neighbor, who insisted on yelling and throwing things at us from above.

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Arbor Day at Luna Lounge, 6.11.05

New York's own Arbor Day played the final show ever at Luna Lounge. I was still riding the high of Pomranz's show, so I again managed to snap an inordinate number of pictures (somewhere close to 100). I may or may not post a batch of them...we'll see...

I particularly like this one, because it shows the whole band, but more because it shows their dynamic:



This is obviously my take on it, but the vibe I get when I see them perform is that they embody various "high school nerd" stereotypes. I don't say this in a derrogatory way at all (so guys, if you're reading this, please know that I mean no offense), but the first time I saw them, my brain immediately categorized each member as a different "nerd":

The singer is the poli-sci nerd...he looks like he'd be the debate team member who summarily destroys all those he faces.

The guitarist is the literature nerd...he looks hyper-intelligent, like he's already written several nascently classic novels, and he's just sitting on them, waiting for the right time...

The drummer is the athletic nerd...he's the guy that was on every athletic team beside all the cool kids, but it's not until just before graduation that the rest of the school realizes he's cooler than everyone else.

The bassist is the science nerd...he's the dude who spent his spare time in the physics lab and is destined to be the next Niel's Bohr.

The trombone/Theremin player is the movie/music nerd...he knows everything there is to know about both, which makes him geeky in high school but immediately vaunts him to popularity in college.

So, given that my mind unwittingly jumped to that conclusion, how bizarre must it be for me to see them unleash their tight, calculated, pop tunes that rock when they're supposed to?

The answer: Moderately.

They are excellent, and they brought the house down rocking out to "Louie Louie" to close their set and Luna's doors. Many audience members piled onto the platform stage for some instrument-juggling noise-chaos that would have made the cast of Animal House proud.



This is Ben and Steve, pre-show outside Luna. Even though it was early in the night, this is a good representation of the end of it: blurry.

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Banks are offering some interesting rewards these days...



No explanation needed. I could include this one in my eventual "graffiti" series, too. I don't know who the people in the reflection are...just anonymous passers-by.

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*Editor's note: this turned up in my image search for Fat Joe. How's that for bringing things Full Cycle?



*****N*T*G*****

The Launch of Grandiose Video

Hey you, readers!

I finally paid some attention to the video area of Nothing Terribly Grandiose. It rapidly ballooned into its own page, henceforth known as Grandiose Video.

Behold!

http://grandiosevideo.blogspot.com/

Tell your friends!


*****N*T*G*****

Movie Review: Batman Begins

DUDE.

Dude...This movie is no joke.

Burton's 1989 incarnation was cartoonishly solid. His follow-up was decent, but not without its flaws. Once Joel Schumacher got ahold of it, everyone knew things were going downhill, but that didn't stop fans from being alienated by Batman Forever, and made them completely ambivalent to Batman and Robin. Many people, from fans, to non-fans, to bloated studio execs, saw the franchise as finished.

Then along comes Christopher Nolan, who breathes new life into the bat with Batman Begins, an origin story that succeeds where so many origin stories fail. Out of respect for those who haven't seen it, we here at Nothing Terribly Grandiose will refrain from spoiling ANY of the plot points of this film, but let us at least bask in some film-student-grade babble for a moment...

The main reason this film resonates so deeply is that every detail is grounded in reality. Think about it...what can the Batman formula be boiled down to? You have this rich dude, whose parents are murdered, so he dresses up like a giant bat to fight crime as a means for indirect vengeance and an outlet for his anger. He has absolutely no superhuman powers. This basically means that he's vulnerable and could likely be killed by the first gun-wielding bad guy that got the jump on him.

Batman Begins sweeps all blind acceptance of this guy as "Batman" aside and substantiates EVERY reason for his acting the way he does. If he's got no super powers, how does he survive these brutal fights? That's explained. How does he know how to fight so well and virtually disappear at will? That's explained. If he's human, how the hell does he fly? That's explained. How did Alfred come to be his knowing guardian and father figure? How did Bruce Wayne become such a master of technological gadgetry? Why is Gotham City in such shambles? Why the symbolism of a bat? How did Commissioner Gordon come to be Batman's unwitting ally? The questions stack up higher and higher, and this film makes all the answers cohere. After a short time engrossed in the world of this film, these questions cease being relevant because the logic and clarity with which Batman's story is told is airtight.

Even deeper than that, at the heart of this story is a layered exploration of the psychology of fear. Bruce Wayne's humanity is never more apparent than when he must face his own crippling terror. It is not until he masters his own feelings that he can strike fear into the hearts of the truly evil. This weapon of fear, however, can not be concentrated only against the evil...which eventually fosters widespread mistrust on the part of the very people Batman protects.

All the baggage from previous incarnations is put to rest, and Batman Begins recenters the story on a solid foundation of humanism. Nolan's Batman is a superhero in a world that truly needs one, a world that runs frighteningly parallel to our own. Nothing Terribly Grandiose grants this movie the coveted 4 Stars out of 4 ranking.

I will say four final words about this film, and anyone reading these four words has no recourse but to see the film. There is no disputing this. Those four words are:

THE LEAGUE OF SHADOWS.

That is all.


*****N*T*G*****

New Snaps 6.17.05: Erron Olive Edition

It's been a hectic week, all. We here at the regional offices of Nothing Terribly Grandiose have had quite a bit happening...One of those happenings was a trip to The City That Loves You Back (aka Philadelphia) to catch rock sensation Erron Olive at the Khyber in Olde City.

Sadly, this was the Olive's farewell show, as venerable drummer Grant Whittaker is relocating to New Orleans. He and frontman Mike Pomranz are dear friends of mine (although Pomranz confessed he wasn't a fan of NTG, which is excusable), so my attendance at this show was unquestionably mandatory. It was a long, sweaty, chaotic set, and thankfully my trusty Pentax was at my eye throughout most of it. Here's how the evening went down:

* There are a lot of pictures here, they may take awhile to load...in the meantime, feel free to watch THIS.

Pomranz and I hung out in the exclusive "band room" before the set. My good friend Shal (his full, official, given name is The One Known As Andrew James Neil Shal XIV...we call him either Shal or TOKA for short) has imparted many a tale of hanging in the band room at the Khyber, so I feel very glad to have finally seen this previously-fabled room with my own eyes. There was no light switch and Pomranz tried to steal my bag.



This is the wall of the band room. I added my own tag to the graffiti'd chaos, but it's much too small to see in this pic. See the blurry, square-ish shape to the right of the bong and just below the word "compels"? Yeah, that's mine.



As is par for the course, Pomranz played barefoot. Not pictured: his cowboy boots waiting in the wings.



I've seen Erron Olive play many times, but this was easily the most high-energy they've ever been. They obviously pulled out all the stops for this one, to send Grant off right.



Apparently part of sending Grant off right was Pomranz looking like a porn star. Seriously, he could rival Steve Drake for smarm in this picture. This could be a screen shot from a 1977 film called "Hard Rockin'" or something to that effect.



The funny thing about Grant is that all the previous times I had seen him play, he was so sedate while drumming. He could be doing a ridiculously powerful and complex drum solo, but to look at his face you'd think he was chewing gum and reading the sports page. It became apparent early on that this show would be different...



...especially when, after one song, he leapt in front of the set to fix his bass drum. Come to think of it, he specifically warned me that his bass pedal might not make it through the show.



I figured I could do some cool things, photographically speaking, with the lights near the stage. Here are some of my favorites:

The band, in spiral form:









Pomranz, travelling through time:



I love the tiny squiggles of light coming off the drumset in this picture...That's really it, I just think the light squiggles are cool. No other explanation necessary:



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This is Bubba.



This is Britney. Britney bought Bubba a beer.



This is the beer Britney bought Bubba.



This is Bubba and his beer.



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As the show continued, I made sure to snap some of the requisite black and whites:



These three lovely ladies served as my dates for the evening. From left-right: Cait, Cera, Abbie.



Pomranz surprised me by saying, shortly after I arrived at the venue before the show, that he wanted me to play bass for one of his songs, "Retrospective Nearsight Vision." This is a tune that we played at our Senior Class Show in 1997, the first time I ever played live with him and Grant. I was honored to be able to take the stage with them for their final performance.











* Much love and thanks to impromptu photograph-atrixes, Cera and Abbie.

The last thirty minutes of the show were the most chaotic...just a donnybrook of sweaty, string-breaking bedlam.



This is Pomranz at his most primal:



Grant took another solo toward the end, and he went on for so long that once Pomranz and Mark had come back from the bar, they started removing pieces of the set while Grant drummed. Eventually they got him down to the bass drum and a cymbal, and he kept drumming. Then they started putting things back in the wrong place, and he still wouldn't stop. After that they reconstructed the set properly (Grant's still playing, mind you), then they went into another song! Here's some snaps from that whole saga:













Eventually they busted into the final tune, the so-called "80's Jam." (Real hardcore Pomranz cultists will tell you the song is actually called "Elementary Opus." But those people have no lives and spend their late nights alone updating a blog no one reads but them.)





Grant kept solo-ing AGAIN at the end of this one, and it only ended when Pomranz tackled him.





Once the smoke had cleared, Pomranz bade us all a fond farewell...



...and then walked away. Erron Olive was done.



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Post-show, Pomranz and I were waiting at the bar to have a drink but were sadly reminded that Philly bars close at 2. Just as well...as you can see by the picture, we had had a fantastic time already.




* This is a small sampling of what I actually took that night...I took something close to 170 shots. Hooray for 128mb memory cards. If you're feeling masochicstic, you can view every single damn one! Just click HERE.


*****N*T*G*****