Snow Excuses

AS ANYONE WHO MADE IT outside yesterday knows, getting anywhere was a messy adventure. But even with all the snow and rain and nasty sleet, I'm still an hour early to take the Census exam, and that's after spacing out on the 7 Train and going an extra stop into Manhattan -- past Vernon-Jackson station and into Grand Central, where I cross the platform and get the 7 coming back the other way to Queens. And even though I already had a bagel and tea before getting on the train, I felt I'd earned another set of breakfast, and so I was looking forward to the second almost as much as the first, and that's saying something for a teaholic like me. I spot the Irish Center right across Jackson Avenue from where I got off the train, so I take a little walk, past a dreaded Starbucks, when I stumble on a small coffee shop tucked into a sharp corner and duck in out of the wintry goop.

I ask for my trademark English Breakfast and the hipster type behind the counter in the black beret tells me all they have is organic, which is cool by me, but then I ask how much in case it's something like 4 bucks, in which case I'd have to shoot the whole thing down. But it's 2 bucks for what turns out to be a damn fine cup of hand-brewed tea, I think that's the term she used.

The little shop was like a smaller version of my friend Kathryn's place in Greenpoint, a little cafe called Ashbox when she owned it that is itself just off the ramp of the other, Brooklyn side of the Pulaski Bridge that I could just make out across the avenue through the driving snow, which seemed to be coming down in wet sheets. I helped myself to a few free samples of a chocolate croissant on the counter, right next to a plate of Spinach and feta croissants marked $3.75 that had my name on it -- but it was way too early for lunch at 9:15 or so. I made a note to come back here for lunch, because it looked like a cool place to hang out, what with first a Marvin Gaye record playing from a CD player and then Superfly by Curtis Mayfield -- the latter especially an album I've known and loved ever since my older brother bought it when it first came out in 1972. I told Black Beret how great a choice this was, and mentioned how even more than the great Freddie's Dead and the title track, the stirring Little Child Runnin' Wild was the song that made that soundtrack album an absolute masterpiece. Something to that effect. As luck would have it she agreed, and so I thought she might throw it on for me before I had to run and take the test and then I could take that as a sign. That's what music can do for you, get your hopes up. Well, she didn't, and in between her taking care of customers we talked some more about blaxploitation movies before I had to split.

On my way out I heard her tell the other guy behind the counter who was also wearing a black beret that she was working till 1:00 today, so I made a mental note to come back after the test and partake of that Spinach Pie and hold court on a wide range of pop culture arcana. But when we finally finished, it was like 12:30 already, and the weather was just so brutal I decided to head right for the trains. But it's a great destination point for my first bike ride this spring when this crapulous accumulation evaporates under the first rays of the new season.

The test itself took longer than I thought when you include filling out all the paperwork and waiting around for the room to fill up. The exam was more difficult than I expected. You've only got a half-hour for 28 questions, and when the woman giving the test announced 15 minutes to go, I was just filling in the answer for Question 10. So I had to find another gear, and then I had 5 minutes left to answer 5 questions, and so the last 2 answers I was not all comfortable with.

They graded the tests right after we finished, which I was surprised by. I heard the guy tell someone, You got a 97, Call for the Supervisor test. Another guy got a 90, some girl an 80, then he told some poor dude to call for another test, meaning he done failed. I was called last or close to it: You got a 90, Call for the Supervisor test. That shocked me, because I was really unsure on a few early ones, and as I said not at all sure about #27 and #28. But I must have got all the others right, and now at least I'm in the system and I'm waiting for a callback when they give another Supervisors test. That's right, I'm already executive material. We had 'em all the way.

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Back In Business

WELL, GOOD NEWS and BAD NEWS related to this morning's highly anticipated interview. As befitting a chronic early arriver, I got to the venue a half-hour early at 10:00, and the actual interview lasted 90 minutes. I'll spare you the suspense and give the good first: By the end of the interview I had the position. On the other hand, whereas I knew it was a short-term assignment, it turns out it's a little more short term than I first was led to believe -- your classic bad news for those scoring at home. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely grateful to be back on the good ship Employment, but now instead of what was described by my agency contact as a 6-8-week project, I learned from the guy who hired me that it's 4 weeks at the most and more likely 3. Worse, it's unlikely to turn into a regular or even permanent position, as the entire scope of the job entails editing an annual report for a major public corporation. So the S. S. Full Time ain't boarding passengers any time soon.

Nevertheless, I'm all about the positives. Things could ALWAYS be worse, especially on board this current ship America. I gotta tell you: it was not only the longest interview, but the best interview I've ever had by a magnitude of at least Pi, which we all know is 3.14 give or take a slice. First I met the human resources guy for a second, before he passed me off to the person in charge of the actual thing that I'll be doing. Then we sat in his office and had a wide-ranging, freewheeling conversation that covered the prospective job-to-be, certainly, but not exclusively, not by a long shot. In the hour and a half we spent maybe 20 minutes total on what it is I would be doing -- but that number may be a little high. Instead it was all about books we were reading, how computers have changed publishing since we started in the field about the same time ago in the 1980s, where our families were from in Italy and Greece, respectively, and on and on. I was really on my game today, the very archetype of the Good Listener: not interrupting him as he went on yet remaining visibly interested, all the while just waiting for an opening any opening to hit him with all the A material I've gathered from my years on the circuit. But my point if there is one is not that I have a new best friend here, but the fact that my boss for the next few weeks should be easy to get along with bodes well. As I said, the opposite can always be the case and usually is if my experience is any indication. There's a reason Murphy has that nasty Law named after him.

I've worked some through this agency before, but it was a while ago and sporadic at best: a day here, another there. So now if I absolutely slay this assignment, that puts me in good stead there. And I know at least for me good stead is the absolute best kind of stead. Trust me, I've tried all kinds...

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After All This Time

LADIES AND GENTS, saints and sinners, freemen and yeomen, Hold on to your respective armrests, because I'm here to report that I have what's known in the employment sector as a real live interview taking place tomorrow. Places and Names shall be withheld for now, of course -- I'm not superstitious, just a little stitious -- but rest assured I do have documentation to back this up and I'm not afraid to use it if I have to.

It is my first such scheduled encounter with a prospective employer in quite some time, and like fellow frustrated out-of-work blogger Nazz Nomad, it hasn't been from lack of applying over lo these many weeks, or months in my case; just a reflection of a very heated competition for what few opportunities present themselves every day. Meaning any relevant job posting on, say, craigslist or mediabistro is immediately inundated with a flood of qualified candidates within literally minutes.

In this instance, a publishing agency I'm registered with emailed it to me. I jumped on it forthwith and followed up with a phone call and another email. It sorta has my name on it, and I'm not quite sure whether this agency or another is sending other proofreaders out to be interviewed for the same job or if it's my chance alone. It does me no good to know either way, does it... I don't really tend to overthink things like that anyway; I save obsessively dwelling for your big metaphysical questions like, If the Shroud of Turin is a genuine 1st century artifact, as I'm beginning to think it is, and not as some nonbelievers among you would have it a Medieval forgery, then do I have to put my shekels where my mouth is and admit I'm starting to feel something stirring the more I read about the early Christians. Ah, you didn't see that one coming, did you. Neither did I, until I found myself literally in tears the other day when reading the stirring conclusion of Thomas Cahill's magnificent Desire of the Everlasting Hills. I won't spoil it for you, except to say it just might be one of the top 2, 3 books of history I've ever read.

Now I'm already well into James Tabor's extremely speculative and conjectural but nevertheless spellbinding The Jesus Dynasty, a work which doggedly depicts the historical Jeez (as his buddies called him), partly by stripping the gospels bare of their theological motivations and partly via recent archaeology, as well as elevates the role of his cuz John D. Baptizer to fellow messiah-ship, among other startling claims, postulations and possibilities. This book literally -- a word I don't take lightly -- couldn't be more fascinating, to me at least, and at the moment that's who we're dealing with here if you hadn't noticed.

Moving off religious history till further notice (and what other kind of notice is there?), I will relate that I'm also scheduled to take the census test Thursday at something called the New York Irish Center located at 10-40 Jackson Avenue, wherever that is. I mean, I know where it is, but to us proud Astorians that's out in the boonies pun intended.

Ironically, or perhaps characteristically, I was at the library printing out my resume and attending to other vital matters Monday when I found out that they were giving the census test upstairs that morning in that very building. But when I asked the census guy today about taking it there, he said tests given at the library fill up fast. So now I have to take a bus ride to Long Island City instead of walking 5 blocks to Ditmars Blvd. That's what I get for procrastinating.

"After all this time
To believe in Jesus
After all those drugs
I thought I was Him
After all my lying
And a-crying
And my suffering
I ain't good enough
I ain't clean enough
To be Him"

The Clash - Sound Of The Sinners

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Rockabilly Pioneer Dead

ROCK AND ROLL legend Dale Hawkins passed away over the weekend at age 73. He was best known for the raucous 1957 hit Suzy Q -- covered by more famous acts like the Rolling Stones in 1964 on 12 X 5 and later in the decade by Creedence Clearwater Revival, whose own impassioned rendition not only introduced Hawkins to a new generation but also managed to take the song to new heights (and lengths too, stretching it out to almost 9 minutes!), giving it the trademark CCR swamp-blues treatment on their landmark 1968 debut album.

Unfortunately, Youtube is sorely lacking when it comes to tracking down Dale Hawkins archival footage. The above grainy footage of Hawkins is the best the site has to offer. However, there is a cool clip of the very young Stones tearing into it on the American TV show Shindig! with Mick showing off some fine dance moves and Keith shredding lead six-string before the band slows things down with Heart of Stone.



Finally, here's an in-depth obituary from the Shreveport Times for the Louisiana native. According to the article, not only was he one of the few white musicians to record for Chicago's Chess Records back in the '50s -- releasing over 40 tracks for the mostly black blues label -- but Hawkins was the first white performer to play at Harlem's famed Apollo Theater. That's big-time crossover appeal and street cred rolled into one.

Hoops Night Out

IT'S BEEN A FAIRLY GOOD stretch for me lately as far as attending live sporting events. Thanks to generous invites from buddies like Jimi the Greek and Johnny Star, I went to two New York Yankees games at the new Stadium last season, checked out the Mets at their new Citifield in scenic Flushing, and this week caught the Knicks for the first time in a long while at good old Madison Square Garden.

Unfortunately for Knicks fans, of which luckily I'm not a member, the hometown crew managed to fritter away a 15-point 4th quarter lead to the lowly Sacramento Kings -- who, despite some up-and-coming players on the roster, have to be one of the more nondescript franchises in organized sports these days. Here was a 16-34 team riding an 11-game road losing streak into town and the Knicks, now a crappy 19-31 themselves on the year, couldn't seal the deal.

Tuesday happened to be Jewish Heritage Night at the Garden on Tuesday, and it also just happens that Sacramento has the the first and only Israeli player in the NBA on their team. Coincidence? You tell me. Omri Casspi, a 6-foot-9 rookie forward, certainly rewarded all the chants and waving of Israeli flags with a solid 18 points. And as the once-proud Knickerbockers squandered their big lead with their trademark matador defense, I'm sure more than a few fans were heard muttering "Ov vey" as a game seemingly in the bag headed to overtime.

I met John and his two fellow firemen season ticket holders outside the Garden at around 7, then we headed upstairs to the Play by Play bar for a few beers. The tickets actually called for us to sit pretty high up in the rafters, but in time-honored New York tradition we made our way down to four conveniently unoccupied seats in a much lower section, and we stayed there unmolested for the duration of the game -- not quite court side, but close enough to spot any celebs sitting front row. No Spike Lee this night, but there was a Steve Schirripa of Sopranos fame sighting, as well as long-time Hebrew Dustin Hoffman, a Garden regular for years. More importantly, from our improved vantage point we were able to appreciate the finer points and parts of the Knick City Dancers, of booty-shaking dance moves during timeouts fame.

The unquestioned wearer of the goat horns for the hometown squad was Chris Duhon, who shot just 2-10. Duhon is a very average player with a contract that pays him 6 million dollars, which tells you everything you need to know about the dismal state of the NBA. Hardly a fan favorite already, he single-handedly butchered numerous key Knicks possessions, including the end of regulation when he heaved up an exceedingly ugly airball from 3-point range with the shot clock winding down that had lower odds of going in than a random fan coming down from the stands and hitting a half-court bomb. Duhon's heave led to deafening boos from the crowd. Not that the Knicks' lack of execution down the stretch didn't deserve a round or two of harsh booing, but the volume would only grow when, as if coached by no one, the last shot in OT inexplicably went to non-shooter Jared Jeffries of all people, who wildly fired a 3-pointer in desperation with the clock running out. The 6-11 Jeffries makes almost $6.5 million a year and gives the Knicks 5.5 points and 4.4 rebounds a night in return. Nice bang for the buck there, GM Donnie Walsh. The Knicks did get 35 points from Wilson Chandler, but somehow he never saw the ball down the stretch.

The Kings on the other hand are not waiting around for the LeBron James sweepstakes to play itself out over the offseason and instead have assembled some good young talent: 20-year-old Tyreke Evans is a 6-foot-6 point guard with silky smooth moves who finished with 27 points and 10 boards; 6-11 forward Donte Green (21 years old) had 24 points, including the bucket that put his team up 4 in overtime with a minute left; and Jason Thompson, also a second-year 6-11 forward, averages 13 points and 9 rebounds a night and is all of 23. That's how you build a team, rather than a collection of expiring contracts.

Now I'm looking forward to seeing my beloved Philly Sixers at the Garden next month, even if the 76ers are underachieving this season at 20-32 after making the playoffs last year. The game on March 19 may very well be the rapidly fading Allen Iverson's final career appearance at the Garden also, and I bet the place will be packed if New York fans realize that.