Happy Holidays & Merry Christmas

Happy Holidays - Merry Christmas - Happy Hanukkah - Happy Kwanzaa - Best Wishes For This Season and Always!

C's New Apps, Cooking, Sound Machines & More

Back in July I'd written that C had created and debuted his first app, the fashion-forward, informative MBF TrendTalk, for the MBF consulting company and its site.  (The next New York Fashion Week is coming up in a little over a month, so it's an app to have if you want to be on top of things.) Since then he's been working steadily on new apps, and his company, CAC-IT has since introduced several new free or very affordable apps that are either available or will soon be via the iTunes store.

The second was C's Holiday Kitchen, a holiday cookbook for the iPad, featuring some of his delicious, failsafe holiday recipes, ranging from the staples like roast turkey, apple and sausage stuffing, collard greens, and homemade cranberry sauce, to desserts like coconut cake and sweet potato pie, to dinner rolls you cannot mess up nor stop adding to your plate.  He has since updated this app and introduced an iPhone version, C's Holiday iKitchen, which is now also available on iTunes.  I recommend trying out the cranberry sauce if you've never made it before; it's so simple it will shock you and you'll never want to go back to canned cranberry sauce again.

Two of his newer apps are in the Apple pipeline: the first is my favorite of all, the Soundbox Celebrator, which is a virtual iPhone sound machine for the holidays, sporting events, and anytime you want to punctuate your thoughts and comments with loud audio accompaniment.  It includes a variety of sounds, including an air horn, church bells, and my favorite, the vuvuzela, as well as a stately version of "For Auld Lang Syne," with the lyrics in case you're too blitzed to remember them.  I hate to admit it but had this been available when I was in high school, I very well might have been expelled as a result of it! (As it was, we had to make do with Bic pens, spitballs, and a laughing machine, which nearly sent my elderly German language teacher into apoplexy, but that's another story....)

The second is a lifestyle and travel app for Monaga, covering the the full range of LGBTQ life and activities in the Dominican Republic and more. The app will feature links to Monaga's main page; the legendary Monaga blog; and a Monaga-designed map showing gay and tourist highlights for Santo Domingo-area travelers.  As Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest might say, it will ensure travelers know where to find "the booze, beaches, and boys!" As I said, it's in the Apple pipeline as well, and should debut quite soon.

Since I don't have the skills to program more than simple html these days, I'm very impressed by all of this, and I urge you to check these out if you're interested, and check with iTunes or CAC-IT's site to see what apps C is devising down the road, or to inquire about getting your own.

Happy Holidays

Grafitti-poster in SoHo, NYC

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, as well as Happy Hanukkah and Happy Kwanzaa, and to those who do not, Happy Holidays and Seasons' Greetings!

For a little holiday music infusion, here's a favoricious playlist by the one and only Mr. EJ Flavors, starting with none other than Donny Hathaway singing "This Christmas" (you can't go wrong with that!).

For a little holiday art, here's a rare New York Times treat: original fiction, by one of the finer practitioners of the short-short/microfiction/prose poetic forms: Lydia Davis. She begins: "I Know we’re supposed to be happy on this day. How odd that is. Usually I’m just nervous — probably because I’m supposed to be happy. I think about other years." Read the rest at the link!

Merry Christmas 2009!

I'm sure I could come up with something ludicrous to put here today. But I think I'll pass. It's Christmas. It just wouldn't seem....right. You know, kinda like one of those inflatable, lit up, manger scenes in someone's front yard? You know that the people mean well, but it just doesn't translate into the "feeling of Christmas" all that great.


I don't know if this is going to translate into the "feeling of Christmas" all that great either. So to make sure that nothing gets lost in translation, I'm keepin' it short. (But just in case it does get lost in translation, I really am shootin' for the whole "feeling of Christmas" thing here. Just so you know.)

I'm grateful for this day because it's kinda where it all started or where it all starts. Without the historical events which took place on this day, I wouldn't have a chance to be forgiven for all of the times and all of the things that I screw up. And there's a lot of 'em. Trust me. And it's not just me that has that opportunity. It's everyone. Including all of the morons that I mock incessantly. They too can (surprisingly) be forgiven for all of their evil-doings and their oh-so moronic ways.

The whole Christmas thing just makes me happy. And I try to share that happiness with others when given the opportunity. (And in forms other than this blog. Hey. Why are you laughing?) And this year I had an excellent opportunity to spread my own little version of happiness and I totally took fully advantage of said opportunity (seemingly to the delight of others, which was the point). I also try to enjoy those around me and those in my life and give them just one day where their obvious shortcomings don't annoy me. That's my way of spreadin' the joy. That alone makes others grateful as well. Give it a try is all I'm sayin'.

And you know, I really do have more heartfelt feelings about people in my life than I either care to admit or am capable of expressing without either scaring the other person or becoming inadvertently engaged to four different individuals when I'm done. And at the risk of doing either or both of those things, I'd like to let those of you that I know personally know that I think you're all just great. Some a little greater than others, which means there are a few of you who really need to start pulling your weight a bit more, but I still love ya. Usually. And for those of you whom I don't know personally but who read this blog (and don't leave jackass comments), well, I think you guys are just swell also and I appreciate all of the reading. I know it's not always easy and that's why I really appreciate the effort.

So Merry Christmas. Now go spread some cheer. Or some love. Or both. You've got the whole rest of the year for complaing and mocking all of the other crap. Today? Love, cheer, and thanks. Spread a little of that around, will ya? It's Christmas, for cryin' out loud!

St. Pat's Day + Dhani Travels + A-Rod-ics

Like a sizable number of Americans, including millions of African-Americans, including our president, and black people across the Caribbean, I have some Irish ancestry (those Keen[e] brothers who settled in Illinois back in the mid-19th century are the ones I know about, the others in the line I can't be sure), so to all, Happy St. Patrick's Day.

I won't be celebrating, though. I think the last time I was anywhere close to a St. Patrick's Day celebration was when I ran for my life from Andrew Station in South Boston as a few rowdies decided that I was to be part of their celebration. Wasn't. Going. To. Happen. The good old days. My late grandfather Cecil used to wear a bright green boutonniere on St. Patrick's Day, which, I was told all through childhood, merited stares and occasional comments, which received his consequent "And a Happy St. Patrick's Day to you too." With a twinkle and smile. And why not?

I won't be wearing any holidayish clothes today, since the only bright green articles of clothing I have these days primarily feature the colors of Brazil, which is not a country St. Patrick ever made his way to....

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On a completely different note, I have had little time to watch much TV beyond the weeknightly Newshour With Jim Lehrer, this past season of Top Chef (a very disappointing outcome), and the occasional Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow shows on MSNBC. I did watch the opening rounds of the World Baseball Classic, but classes made sure that I forgot about it almost as soon as I'd started enjoying the outcomes. Almost everything I know about what's current on TV comes from things I read on the internet, usually HuffingtonPost, RawStory, the New York Times's art pages, or something along these lines. Things are a little different during periodic visits home to New Jersey, when I do catch weekend marathons of various shows.

This is fine; I'd rather watch little or no TV, unless there's something really compelling on (like catching Tomas Gutiérrez Alea's remarkable film, one of my all-time favorites, Memories of Underdevelopment, on WNYC years ago) or I want to zone out (so I sat through the entire Oscars broadcast, despite having seen almost none of the films this year), but I will be following every episode of this show: former University of Michigan star and linebacker for the Cincinnati Bengals (and formerly of the New York Giants and Philadelphia Eagles), Dhani Jones's new traveling sports show, Dhani Jones Tackles the Globe. In the first episode, the whipsmart and multiply talented--yes, truly; he's a poet, bowtie designer, orchestral conductor; etc.--dreamboat Jones went to Thailand and participated in a Muay Thai bout, on one week's training. He won. (His hefty opponent appeared to be on his last leg, but that's not the point.)


Picture: Thom Stukas/Travel Channel, L.L.C.

Between the actual training and fight scenes, gorgeous Jones offered a travelogue filled with charm-rich commentary and humor. Eating insects. Check. Visiting the red-light district (and showing utter terror). Check. Strolling through a sacred field and viewing important ruins and temples. Check. Playing soccer with elephants. Check. Getting his fortune told. Check. And frequently wearing tight or no clothes. Check. What's not to like? In case you are still on the fence, view the clip below, and see what you think. Until the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, starring Jill Scott, Annika Noni Rose and Idris Elba drops on HBO, it's Jones's world tour is one of the best things TV has to offer.

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Lastly, and this has nothing to do with St. Patrick's Day, since he never made to the Dominican Republic (or New York, for that matter), but I must give it to the Mariah Carey of the baseball world, Alex Rodriguez. He knows how to create drama, spectacles, excitement. He seems a bit off his rocker, but in an appealing way. And he keeps people buying papers, Yankees' tickets, turning to online forums to blast his behind far out of the ballpark. Before the revelations about his steroid use it struck me that he probably would be unmasked as one of the many who juiced up to improve his already abundant gifts, but I also thought after his roller-coaster seasons, or rather post-seasons, with the Yankees, that such an unmasking would probably work to his favor, as it would bring his almost unreal talent--if not his beauty and his ego, a prisoner of his anguished sense of himself--down to earth, and it has. He is like the rest of them, the Cansecos and Caminitis and McGwires and Giambis and Clemenses, and all the other less famous roiders who couldn't break out of the bullpen of their limited talents, only prettier and more likely to send Yankees haters into rabid fits with his whines and preening. If the Steinbrenner family debated whether they ought to pay this man the loot they've been forking over, I hope they realize he's definitely worth it. Between tabloid-friendly marital dramas, starring no less than Madonna and Lenny Kravitz, and complete pre- and post-season physical and emotional breakdowns, to spreads like the one below, in Details, which I can only imagine have sent his fans and detractors spinning, he knows how to build momentum, positive or negative--Stray-Rod, A-Roid, Mr. Regular Season, etc.--until he can get onto the next new thing, which of course will center on, you guessed it, him. What will he come up with next? Some of my favorite shots (all photos by Steven Klein) from the photoset:

A-Rod As Narcissus (or as someone put it on the Huffingtonpost, as the "Narcissexual")


A-Rod As the Thinker (a/k/a Ms. Understood)


A-Rod As The Music Lover (And Somebody Who Has Much More Muscular, Bowed Legs Than I'd Imagined--Damn!)

And none other than the not-very-funny but really on it here Jimmy Kimmel had to get in on the fun:

Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays!

Happy Hanukkah
Merry Christmas
Happy Kwanzaa
Fun Festivus!

Happy Thanksgiving

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

(Photo courtesy of AP/AFP/Getty)

Happy Father's Day + Wessen Gepäck Ist Dieses?

To all the readers who are fathers, grandfathers or daddies of any sort, or mentors and guides who serve in a fatherly role, Happy Fathers Day!

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One of the things I periodically heard growing up was not to assume that everything was okay because it appeared on the surface to follow your usual routine. If things were going too smoothly, perhaps check them out. This bit of advice would have come in handy yesterday when I flew back home to New Jersey from Chicago had I thought about it. But I didn't, and so I had one of those adventures that are, from what I can tell online and friends' anecdotes, not so uncommon. Though the outcome was fine, it could have turned out very badly. But I'll get to that in a minute.

Here's how it went down: on Saturday morning I headed to O'Hare, and go there without a problem. I had already printed out my boarding pass, but since I realized I had too many bags to carry on the plane, decided I would check one. It turned out I had to check two. The second, I learned from the Continental check-in rep assisting me, would cost an addition $25. Perhaps Continental had announced this new fee somewhere, but I'd missed any mention of it on their site, which I'd visited the night before, or in my correspondence with them, or in the news, so I pressed the check-in agent, who proceeded to tell me, somewhat defensively, about the other airlines' new, exorbitant fees, all of which I was aware of. Soon, I thought, we'll be charged to use the bathroom or get a drink of tepid water. He added that Continental had only just initiated this change for everyone who wasn't a gold or silver elite member (or, I assume, flying first or business class), which was real consolation, since I am neither. As we were having this conversation, I gave him the boarding pass I'd printed at home and my passport, and he rechecked me in, processing the additional fees and confirming my seat. He tagged both my bags and handed me back my new boarding pass, and I carried my two bags over to the x-ray machine, where I saw the first of them sent through the scanner. After I passed through the TSA screening area, I found my gate, eventually boarded the plane, and in a little under a two hours, arrived at Newark Liberty Airport. C called me and I told him I'd be picking up my bags in just a few minutes and would be outside in no time. So far so good.

As soon as I deplaned, I hurried through the circus of Terminal C, where Continental has moved their flights to and from Chicago, to the baggage carousel to collect my bags. My flight's luggage trove appeared fairly quickly, but my two bags weren't among them, so I waited and waited. Then the carousel stopped. I waited a few minutes for it to restart, but it remained still. A feeling of dread rose in my throat. There was a Continental employee standing nearby, so I asked him if all the bags had been sent forward, and if the carousel was finished for the flight, and he told me they had and it was. For a second I looked at the carousel as if I expected my bags to appear by magic, then I showed him my two baggage claim stickers, which were on my boarding pass envelope. He replied, "Well, you'll get your bags at your final destination. In Zurich." In Zurich? ZURICH? "But I'm not going to Zurich!" So I focused on the claim stickers, and sure enough, my two bags were tagged for a final destination of Z(U)R(IC)H, under the name of...someone else! This other person's and my last name are similar, same length, even phonetically close, though still distinct enough that it would have been hard to mistake them. Did I read the tags when the check-in agent put them on my bags? Did I look at the stickers on my boarding pass envelope? Have I regularly done so in years? The answer to all three questions is no.

Once the vision of my bags circling a carousel in Zurich faded, I rushed over to the baggage claim area, where I found a claims agent to whom I unloaded my problem. Although I could already hear "Wessen Gepäck ist dieses?" and "À qui ce bagage appartient-il?" and a vague outline of the Italian version of this question being barked out before the bags were consigned to a holding area before they were opened, emptied, and tossed into a trash bin, I remained calm. The agent, who keyed in my name and told me that I had no bags checked whatsoever, then listened to me repeat my story. This time he grasped what I was talking about, telling me that since the flight to Zurich didn't leave until the evening, they could pull the bags off the new plane (or from a holding area) and deliver them to me at the last, distant carousel, which was usually reserved for golf clubs, skis and other large cargo. He cautioned that he couldn't take care of my case right away, however, so he suggested I get back in line and he'd handle it when he was done. Almost as soon as I got back in line, another claims agent beside him called me to her desk, and she said she'd assist me.

We soon ran into a problem when I explained the issue to her. I described what happened, and told her that my bags had been tagged under this other person's name, and were being sent to Zurich. She looked at my boarding pass and the claims stickers, typed something into her computer, and replied that no bags turned up under my name, so she wasn't sure what we could do. I repeated that my bags were under this other person's name, and pointed to the two baggage claim stickers. She still appeared confused, looking again at my boarding pass and her screen, until the first claims agent explained to her, almost verbatim what I'd just uttered, about what had transpired, and then she got what was going on. She punched in the request to have my bags, tagged under this other person's name, sent to the distant carousel. At this point, I tried to call C, whom I figured was circling the airport and burning gas, but I couldn't get a signal, so I headed outside, finally reached him, and told him what was going on. He decided to park the car and then met me outside. We headed back over to the claims area, and I told him not to get upset, and he remained calm, as I had, while the first claims agent conversed with him about what was going on.

Then we walked over to the distant carousel. We waited. It didn't take long, but two bags appeared. The first was one of my bags, tagged "XBAG" under this other person's name. The second was...another bag, a black, rolling suitcase, also tagged under this other person's name. But it wasn't my suitcase! So C and I waited a bit more, until nothing appeared at the distant carousel except large plastic baskets. Curious to find out if perhaps more bags might be arriving, C and I asked the baggage attendant about the carousel and tried to explain what was going on, but we very well could have speaking German, or Arabic, or gibberish to him; he had no clue what we were talking about. At this point, C went to check the original carousel, and I decided to look at the luggage tags on my one bag and the other person's bag again closely. My one piece of luggage which had appeared had the same claim number as the sticker on my boarding pass sleeve, but the other person's bag had a different number. So now, I realized, was that all Continental had to do was deliver the right bag. I told C this when he got back, and then I headed back to the claims area. The first baggage claim agent was again busy, as was the second one, so I spoke with a third person. Her first response was that we could put in a claim, and since I lived in New Jersey (and Chicago), I could easily be contacted whenever my bag was found. Aware from friends who'd had luggage "misplaced" and spent entire trips washing out underwear and then returned home with the hope of finding their bags waiting for them only to learn they were irrevocably "lost" and that a battle with the airlines would ensue--that is to say, aware of how that narrative usually turned out, I gently dissuaded her from this route. I noted in the kindest and most helpful voice I could muster that since the Zurich flight didn't leave until the evening, my bag could still be pulled from wherever it was. At that point, the first claims agent noticed me, and I explained to him what was going on, so he said to the new person I was speaking with, "Mis-tag," which seemed to contextualize everything I'd just been saying in such a way that it was utterly clear. I pointed to the claim numbers and added that instead of pulling bags by this other person's name (because who knew how many bags he had going to Zurich), perhaps she might try the claim number itself. So she carefully typed it in, and said that if this worked, it would take about 20 minutes. She tried to call the baggage handlers to alert them, but no one picked up. No problem, though; if after a half my bag did not arrive, I could then return to the claims desk, and ask the first agent or someone else to call the baggage handlers again to see if they could make another effort. I was praying that things wouldn't come to this, but the phone non-pick up didn't augur well.

I headed back to the distant carousel, where C was sitting with all the bags, and I told him what had happened. We waited. Then, after about 20 minutes, the carousel began humming, turning, and there appeared, tumbling down the carousel's chute, my other bag. Tagged to this other person, of course, and formerly on its way to Zurich. I pulled it off the rolling track and almost wanted to hug it. As we headed out, I made a point of thanking the Continental baggage claim people for salvaging what had been a fairly routine trip until my discovery that my luggage (which included several irreplaceable times, including a few of the university's books) almost had an unexpected Swiss holiday.

As for the other person with the phonetically similar last name, I sincerely hope his bags did arrive where they were supposed to, especially that first bag that appeared on the distant carousel and then mysteriously disappeared during one of my trips to the baggage claim desk. ("Wessen Gepäck ist dieses?")

I now know that I will always look carefully at the checked baggage tags, both the ones the agents place on my bags and the claim stickers on my boarding pass sleeves. I also know that if I have to, I'll cram as much stuff into one bag to avoid the extra $25 fee, which I'm sure will be $50 or even $100 if oil prices keep rising. And I know that despite my firm, experiential and empirical knowledge that flying has become an ordeal since 9/11, and is never routine, I will not ever assume, especially if things are going really smoothly, that it is.