Sold Out

I literally laughed out loud in my cubicle when I saw the video advertisement, drawing both curious and agitated stares from my co-workers. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Ralph Lauren stitched into the jeans of the "screen-test" ad. Then after a while I remembered skateboarding, photography before Photobucket and Flickr, Hip-Hop and every other form of counter-culture that succumbed. I should've known that it would only be a matter time before this artistic renaissance would sell out too.

Williamsburg has emerged as the new LES and Soho of the 1980's, where "true" artistic expression thrives and hipsters watch indie bands at dive bars into the wee hours. The problem is that in the globalized, digitized world, counter-culture is the new black. Expressing oneself without fear of reprisal was always held in high regard simply because it was ballsy and refreshing. Now it has become popular. And inevitably, pop culture and capitalism just couldn't let this lucrative trend escape their long-stretching grasp.

To be honest, the design for the fashion line is superb, and I might find myself donning some Denim & Supply. Even over the protestation of some of my friends over the bridge at the other Broadway.

Innovation Never Ends

Thank you Steve Jobs.

I never had the pleasure of meeting you. If I ever did, it would have been some chance encounter that occurs as much as a Halley's Comet sighting. I did not know you, and you certainly didn't even know of me. Nonetheless, you changed my life, and the lives of millions of others, simply with your intuition. You gave us all a piece of the future in the present. And we could never be able to fully express our gratitude.

Your legacy lives on through the products that you worked so hard to make so distinct and memorable. Now, every time we listen to our favorite song, watch the movie that always makes us cry, play the game that we never get bored of, you will be with us. I don't think there has been a person who has truly brought so much joy into the lives of people all over the earth without any regard for the classifications that set us apart.

Your innovation has defined an era. Your memory will live on.

Justice Served Cold

To be honest, I wasn't even aware of it until about a week ago. The case seemed like any other to appear in the daily blotter of any local newspaper. Though, I have noticed a spike in the deaths of children lately. Maybe the media has decided to prioritize it over the extra-marital foibles of male celebrities ; or maybe it's the result of the phenomenon that Malcolm Gladwell describes in The Tipping Point when one person does something so taboo and reprehensible that other people who have been thinking about doing the same act believe it to be acceptable and repeat it. Nevertheless, infanticide is rare. But when it does occur it incites shock, disgust, and amazement like no other crime.

My Facebook feed exploded and I began to wonder if I had missed an award show or an Obama announcement. I didn't; I just missed this generation's O.J. Simpson trial. But what shocked me the most was not the not-guilty verdict delivered by the jury; I was caught a little off-guard by the mass public outrage that ensued. Friends, co-workers, associates, everyone was clamoring about how the worst mother of all time, Casey Anthony, got off easy for deviously killing her 2 year-old baby girl.

I will not feign to play devil's advocate here. Based on the laws of human decency, I will tell you that I believe that she was guilty, just like every African-American will tell you that O.J. was back in 1995 (I've never seen a group of people so happy and proud that someone who they believed was a murderous criminal got off). But I will not lament that fact that, one day after the 235th Anniversary of our great nation's birth, we stood by our most important ideals and "justice" was served the way that it should be.

About a month ago, the media in NYC was fixated on a pending rape case involving two NYPD officers. When a drunk woman called for help, two officers came and escorted her to her apartment and then just happened to stay around for a while and return to her home repeatedly. She claimed later that one officer raped her while one stood guard; the officers contended that one simply comforted her until she went to sleep while his partner fell asleep in the living room. After the lengthy trial, the officers were acquitted of rape but found guilty of official misconduct. Soon to follow was the media and public backlash, calling for the heads of the officers and not just their badges (which were relinquished because of the official misconduct). Although found innocent these officers whose names have been made public will be forever marked as rapists.

Two seemingly different cases that have captured quite a bit of media attention actually have a lot in common. Both were heinous acts committed by people who were entrusted to a sacred form of care (in the case of Casey Anthony, it was motherhood; for the police officers, it was safety and security). But in both cases, the so called villains who were by all outside accounts guilty on face value, were found innocent by a jury of their peers. It is these same peers who did the right thing. I can only deduce based on the facts that I have received from various media accounts that both verdicts were issued due to the lack of physical evidence.

Casey Anthony may well have been guilty for not reporting her daughter missing after 31 days and for partying it up and living the good life during what should be a grieving period for any decent, right-minded person, especially a mother. But there were no traces of DNA or chloroform that the prosecutors alleged, and no other hard evidence to suggest that she did indeed take her daughter's life. The same was true with the officers: none of their DNA was found at the scene of the crime and the woman's account was patchy at best due to her inebriated state. If we were going to issue guilty verdicts solely on great story-telling and not hard based facts, then we should burn our Constitution and install the reincarnation of Hammurabi as our dictator.

I do hope that whoever took the short life of young Caylee will come forward or be found, whether it be her mother or anyone else. But after all of the real-life trials below the Mason Dixon pre-1964 that turned out like the plot of To Kill a Mockingbird, I am honestly glad to see that the rule of law is still is as potent as when it was first conceived. It is not perfect, but the day we hold contempt towards our sometimes flawed yet enduring system of justice is the day that we can no longer call ourselves patrons of the land of the free.

Center of Attention

Anyone with a video camera and a computer can have their 15 seconds of fame once they upload it to Youtube or Facebook. Technology has enabled the common layman to become a true celebrity, once reserved only for the highest echelon of human beings lauded for their unequivocal beauty, intelligence, business acumen or artistic aptitude. Digital media has made pauper's into short-lived princes and has fostered numerous rags-to-riches stories. While the new American idols enjoy their sought after limelight, digital media has also spawned a monster that is turning unwanted attention towards vulnerable and unwitting victims.

Former action star and California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has made headlines after separating from his wife of over a quarter-century, and then admitting to having an ongoing affair with his former housekeeper whom he sired a love child with. Sounds like the Governator's next Hollywood Blockbuster to me! While the Governor has become just another womanizing official (a new poltician mandate, it seems) this seductive house cleaner and her teenage son have now become the objects of the media's attention.

News vans and trailers are parked outside of their homes; their social network pages have been stalked, surveyed, analyzed and publicized to the furthest extent. Their identities are now out in the open, and they have been subject to critique, harsh assumptions and constant (and unfounded) rumors. While the former mistress is being berated as a a home-wrecker and someone who, based off of her appearance, is deemed unworthy to nurture the seed of the Governator, she is being vilified and her son will also most likely take a brunt of blame and ridicule as well (his peers are teenagers, and they are very mean individuals). Meanwhile, Arnold sits comfortably waiting for his next acting gig.

Our society, pre-occupied with celebrity gossip over meaningful social issues and our looming national deficit, has turned the cheek on Arnold's transgression and has focused instead on the lives of a woman at fault and her unassuming son. The more the media compares the boy's looks to that of the Governator and compares his mother's appearance to that of a wanna-be sex pot, the more we degrade our own morals and values of privacy and common decency towards an unwilling victim of circumstance. As a fellow bastard child I feel for this kid: his only crime was being born.

Relax, Stay Calm and 'Melo'

That's pretty much what the Knicks are trying to tell all of the rabid fans who lashed out over the blockbuster trade for Carmelo Anthony. Although trading for a top 10 NBA superstar seems like a no-brainer to any sane B-ball fanatic, you have to question the judgment of the Knickerbockers when they trade more than half of their future for a scoring phenom.

Carmelo Anthony is a perennial superstar, and the Knicks are sure to turn some heads in the league whenever someone faces off against him and the athletic juggernaut that is Amare Stoudemire, but this trade leaves them far short of being a contender in the Eastern conference which is arguably dominated by four teams (Celtics, Heat, Magic, and now the Bulls). While Melo gives them another option to outscore their opponents by even larger margins, the Knicks now lack sufficient depth, which is a cornerstone of any championship team (look at how deep Boston and San Antonio's line-ups are and how much time their bench players get). I'm glad that they kept the blossoming Landry Fields, but the loss of other role players could be crucial to any legitimate title run. Felton adapted to the D'Antoni system and was running Amare's signature pick-roll better than any PG not named Steve Nash or Deron Williams; Gallinari is touted as a poor man's Dirk and certainly could shoot like it; Chandler, though an enigma, can put up double digits every game and was still learning how to be consistent; even Mozgov was finally finding a groove. Mr. Big Shot came with the Melo package, but he is in the twilight of his career and will not be as happy having moved from his hometown that he had grown accustomed to living (and eventually retiring) in.

Though, reports are that the Knicks are vying to woo either CP3 or Deron Williams in the next two summers, which would complete the triangle needed to win a chip. But this is all speculation and left up to the results of the daunting collective bargaining agreement coming up. The Knicks' prospects could all be playing in Turkey with Allen Iverson if that doesn't pan out.

Now to move the conversation to something more nuanced: is anyone else just a bit alarmed at the NBA's star movement in the past few years? While Republicans on Capitol Hill try to move power away from the federal government, it seems that the ghost of George Steinbrenner has possesed GM's and players in the NBA and forced star power to become centralized. No longer do we see just one star player moving to a major franchise chasing money changing it's fortunes by getting them out of the first round of the playoffs. We are witnessing the real-life formation of the Justice League, as the best players join to conquer the forces of evil and steal all of the prime-time TV for their franchises!

Just look at the teams: The Big Three in Boston (now the Old Three), the New Big Three in Miami, Kobe and Pau, now Melo and STAT! Even old vets who still have some fight in them are aligning with star players (think the Mavericks, the Magic, even the Suns). We are seeing a shift from superstars running their own teams, with role-players to compliment them, to teams emptying their depth charts and coffers just to get a chance at a championship.

But what does this mean for sub-par franchises? Who is really going to care about that Kings-Bobcats match-up? When will America's preeminent cities stop clamoring for the lone superstars in smaller franchises? Blake Griffin may still be in LA in the future, but don't be surprised if he's clad in purple and gold. This is just a warning.

Cancer Cells

I hate talking on the phone. My good friends and family can attest to this (especially due to my lack of "keeping in touch") but when I do decide to talk on the phone, I opt to use my trusty ear-piece rather than walk with the phone attached to my ear. Not only was it uncomfortable, leaving my poor ear inflammed, but it was outright disgusting to see the sweaty film left on my touch screen phone.

But What started as blatant laziness has now been legitimized as an actual health concern. I never liked you in High School or College but thank you, Science! An article in the times has all but labeled cell phones being next to your ear as fatal. While rocking the bluetooth every now and then cannot hurt you, those miniutes add up and the volume of radioactivity from your cell phone may have disastrous affects on your healthy brain cells.

Thankfully I'm not some middle-aged, low-ballin player-type or a successful business man who only can do things hands-free, or I'd have a tumor. I've since stopped placing my converted-alarm clock under my pillow at night, and my ear-turnover rate will probably increase too. Here's to being brain cancer free.

Uno

The Social Professional

At an Indian Restaurant with some friends in the LES, a man at a nearby table begins to make comments directed towards us. Nothing offensive. As native urbanites, we were used to the casual interjection of another person into our conversations. In a city of over 8 million where people are piled on top of each other in apartment buildings and crushed together in Lexington Ave line train cars, it is not out of the ordinary to engage in convo with complete strangers, even across tables of curry and spice.

The bald, muscular man looked like a struggling actor, with his uninspired dress: Faded colored shirt, stone wash jeans, personality glasses and worn black boots. Please don't judge him on his attire, though, as he was actually quite amusing. He cracked jokes, made inappropriate remarks to both us and the Indian proprietors, and even got my friend a birthday song and ice cream (and you know we don't give a F*** , it's not her birthday!).

The best part happened as we left the restaurant, leaving our jester to his entourage of two women and a wing-man (I suppose). He offered a business card to keep in touch, which my friend and I graciously accepted, but it wasn't a regular one. In fact, it was the best business card that we had ever laid eyes upon, not because of its design (not at all), but because it simply said: "You have just met ____. For more of that great feeling, please contact me at _____." Are you effin kidding me?

We had realized that we just met a professional socialite, or a comedian with a gimmick. It seemed even more logical when recalled his lackluster clique. His "wing-man" was some uninteresting fellow who tried to make jokes that fell flat, and the women were simply there to laugh and entertain their hosts. My bet is that the unfunny guy hired the Pro to make the night more interesting. I for one, would LOVE that at as a career. Imagine getting paid just to hang out with people, entertain them, and make them feel important or funny. Kind of like HITCH, but instead of showing you how to get the girl you want, he teaches you how to be socially cool. And the job is RECESSION PROOF!

I hope I haven't ruined it for anyone who runs into this guy in the future. If you're in NYC right now, he might be sitting next to you, ready to make someone else's social life more interesting than it actually is.

Uno