What May 15-16th Mean To Me: Popcorn

I've been sitting at the computer for a half hour trying to think of something to write, and can think of nothing other than the popcorn I'm shoving in my maw.  I eat a lot of popcorn, and why shouldn't I?  It's a healthy light snack that isn't all that expensive.  It's not the tastiest thing in the world, but it's light, fun (!), and it occupies time while I watch TV.  Plus, I enjoy watching the kernels explode in the air popper. It's a bit of a thrill. Plus, it's rather efficient.  No wasted kernels!  Anyone who eats microwave popcorn is a sucker.  Yeah, I said it, all you kernel wasters. 

Sue me

Anyway, it got me thinking about how many popped popcorn kernels I eat in a year.  The suggested serving size for my airpopper is a half cup full of kernels, which, according to the Google, is about 800 kernels per serving.  That sounds about right.  Some weeks I eat it everyday, some just once or twice or not at all, but I think it's safe to split the difference and say I eat popcorn 3.5 times a week. 

800x3.5= 2,800 popcorn kernels a week. 

2,800x52=145,600 popcorn kernels a year.   I assume I did that math right?  I can never tell because I'm that bad at it.

I guess that seems like a lot, but I wonder what kind of receptacle would that fill?  A trash can?  Half a trash can?  A quarter of a ball pit at Chuck E Cheese?  I often wonder if it's bad to eat this much popcorn, like it'll lead to some sort of popcorn cancer.  What a thing to die from. 

Regardless, I'm sorry that you'll never get the 2 minutes it took you to read this back. 

What May 14th Means To Me: Follow Up Thoughts On Brussels

After spending just a few days in Brussels, you have to wonder if it's a city full of Magellans.

Now, I'm admittedly a disgrace to my gender when it comes to sense of direction, but my God is it easy to get lost in this city.  With or without a sense of direction. Or even a map.  With its constant criss-crossing streets that have names so long they don't fit on said maps, they often cut off without warning, or worse yet, turn into other streets six blocks before you realize you're headed in the wrong direction.  My favorite?  When streets split into two within even the smallest roundabout, even though only one continues through the other side.  Does that make sense?  Not really?  Good.  Now you know what it's like to walk through Brussels. And though I'm sure the locals can navigate the area with their eyes closed, they sure are shitty at giving directions.  I had to ask for help numerous times from numerous strangers, and each time their descriptions were explained with a high degree of uncertainty and an apology.  

Anyway, enough of that, how about some Brussels highlights?  Though there are many fun things about Belgium (like a healthy nightlife...during my stay, it was "gay week," which culminated in an enormous street party for all kinds that was energetic, chaotic, and really fun), here are three notables that have nothing to do with fat, gay men running around in thongs:

Grand Place:

Many European cities have some sort of "great square," preserved town centerpieces that probably served greater purpose than beauty back in the old days, and even though I've only seen a small fraction of them, I can't imagine any are as nice as Brussels' Grand Place.  I don't know jack about architecture, but even a moron could tell these were some beautiful buildings with a ton of detail.  I revisited this square often, as this cobblestone area surrounded by old buildings was something that just doesn't exist in America.   Nothing even close. (More photos below in the dump).  The entire area is surrounded by fun shops/bars/cafes, winding corridors, and a weird statue of a boy pissing. For some reason, that urinating boy has become a symbol of Brussels. Its image exists on much of the tourist crap.  Your guess is as good as mine, and even locals aren't quite certain why it has become so famous. 

Brussels is a city that has lots of random beautiful buildings, on unassuming streets, that make you think "hmmm, I bet that's something!" while you reach for the camera . And, sometimes, you're actually correct, and there's even a sign noting the building's history.  There's probably a guide to all these, but it was fun happening upon them, which occurs more often than you might think.
 


The Atomium: 

The Atomium was one of the premiere exhibits when Belgium hosted the world's fair in the 1950's, and they kept this gigantic model of the atom due to popularity.  They've since turned it into one of those museums where you pretend to care about the uninteresting exhibit inside simply because you paid money to enter it.  But really, the exhibit about the world's water shortage is just a time waster until you're ready to take the elevator to the top electron, which provides a panoramic view of Brussels and, apparently, you can see as far as Antwerp on a clear day (which would have been cool to see if I knew what the hell I was looking for.)  There's also an overpriced restaurant on the very top floor that serves mediocre food that you forgive because of the great scenery.

Below the Atomium is a tourist trap otherwise known as "Mini Europe."  It's essentially a bullshit biscuit filled with miniature landmarks from around the EU; the obvious brainchild of someone who was given about twenty minutes to think of a way to capitalize on local foot traffic.  "Mom, look, a mini Eiffel Tower and Roman Coliseum!...and it's Little Ben! Get it?" "Yes, son. We can go home now. We've seen it all!" Mini Europe feels like it should be off I-80 somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, you know with signs advertising it from a thousand miles away, not in a major city. Actually, come to think of it, if it was in my suggested place, I'd totally pull off and visit. 

The Fucking Waffles:

The rumors are true.  Whether sold on the street, or in restaurants like the one above, the Belgians sure nail the waffle, and serve it under pretty much anything.  I'm not a huge sugar eater, but I couldn't keep my hands off these inexpensive treats.  In addition to the waffle, the street french fries (frites) are also top notch, as is the world famous chocolate (and the chocolate shops are plentiful).  I know Belgium is known for the three (and other haute cuisine actually), and a quick visit to Brussels will prove why.  

Normally my vacations end with me satisfied and ready to come home.  But as I packed my bag tonight, and reviewed my flight information tomorrow, I felt a bit of melancholy as I'm really not ready to come back.  But, alas, money is the drug we all need.  No matter how much or little of it we might earn.  


Belgique Photo Dump:

Grand Place Photo Bomb

Grand Place

Grand Place

Something Cool.  Like any Euro capital, Brussels is filled with stuff like this.

Yeah, deal with the finger

You wouldn't know it by this pic, but I swear that dog was a bear. Huge.  And a show stopper.  So much so that numerous Japanese tourists stopped to take its pic.  True story.

One of the aforementioned random buildings with history.  Apparently this one won a facade contest in the late 1800's.  Close up, it's pretty.  And down the street from a few sex shops. 

Inside the Atomium.  An escalator that takes you from ball to ball.  huhuhuh I said ball.  Twice. 

 See you back in the States. 



 

What May 11-14 Means To Me: Paris!

Upon seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time, I had only one, singular thought:

“Wow, it’s the Eiffel Tower.” 

Hey look, there it is.

During my thirty-three years of living, I think I’ve seen France’s most famous landmark depicted in just about every single way something could be.  Whether it be film, television, art or this...

or this...

Or umm this...

...it's probably the landmark I've seen most often.  

Because of this, simply being in its vicinity was unexpectedly sobering.  Tourist attraction or not, the Eiffel Tower is probably the world’s most ubiquitous/iconic image, and actually standing in front of it was more powerful than I ever thought.  I immediately catalogued all the wasted bullshit of my thirty-three years; things I was doing that were not visiting the Eiffel Tower, and couldn’t come up with an excuse as to why I somehow never got around to it before. It made me think of all the other things I might be missing out on.  It might be silly to consider viewing a tall, metal structure as some sort of benchmark moment in my life, but I can now at least say it’s something I’ve visited.  I feel like I've earned the right to be a part of a club or something.   

Who here has seen ze Eiffel Tower?

Us!

Magnifique!

I can't wait to participate in the next meeting.

Ah, Paris.   Home to Monet, Manet, Proust and, of course, America’s favorite punching bag, Glass Joe. Ella, a childhood friend and now expat, was kind enough to provide an extensive walking tour of the city that included the famous monuments, buildings, and Jim Morrison’s grave (I don’t even really like The Doors, but it felt like something I should do.  I actually think it’s a site that’s just become famous for being famous). We continued on to multiple café stops, beautiful churches, and a strange protest that involved a horde of streetblockers, an angry truck driver, and a police bicycle that became the subject of many photographers. All of which resulted in both cultural nourishment and sore feet. I’d say we were like Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy in Before Sunset (A movie Ella and I both love), except I don’t recall Julie using the “privacy” of a sidestreet doorway to slip on a thong she bought minutes before at an H&M.  (Neither of us were prepared for an unexpected hot day.  While I decided to sweat it out, she beat the heat with the purchase of a new summer dress and the aforementioned undergarment.)  The tour ended when we reached her boyfriend’s apartment, and were greeted by six French thirty-somethings singing a layered acapella version of Green Day’s “Basket Case.”  You know, typical.

 

It’s funny when your preconceived notions of a place actually turn out to be somewhat accurate.  And this one-hundred year old apartment, complete with its old hardwood floors and bookshelves lined with classic lit, fit my stereotype of how native, artsy Parisians my age might live.  The bar we visited later in the evening; with its guitarist and violinist, homemade rum, and customers who immediately engaged me in debates about the merits of communism (“Am I an equal to Mozart?), and the existence of God (What could create this world if not God?  I think you haven’t found yours yet”), was, more or less, everything I expected. In fact, I was invited to go to an Absinthe bar by one of the patrons the next evening at 2am. Sounds like something straight out of Midnight in Paris, right?  Too bad the guy who offered was some strange Greek dude, and not the ghost of Ernest Hemingway.  Anyway, the evening extended into the wee hours of the morning as the aforementioned glee club gave me a crash course in the history of French pop music, which included some odd dancing to tunes by Serge Gainsbourg, Brigitte Bardot, and some guy who beat his wife to death while on a drug binge.  All in all, a pretty perfect introduction to the city of light. 

Paris is easily the largest European city I’ve visited, but I was surprised to find it quaint.  Streets are littered with random cafes, sometimes four to a block.  If most of these were opened in Los Angeles, we’d snicker at their extreme simplicity and count the days till they went out of business.  But in Paris, these cafes exist harmoniously and feel awfully cozy.  It’s not uncommon to order a simple dish like an omelette, only to watch the waiter run across the street to buy the eggs and a baguette from the corner market. (For the record, I love that a fresh baguette comes with virtually every meal.  There are wine enthusiasts and food connoisseurs, but me? I just love bread.  When I was young, my mother always told me not to fill up on bread before the meal, but I did anyway, because, well, I fucking love bread. Duh.)

I completely understand why artists exhaust themselves over love letters to Paris, and also why commercials like this ever existed. Unlike what I mentioned about Brussels (more on this in another post), Paris smacks you in the face with its healthy blend of art, modernity, and history as soon as you get off the train. And it can be overwhelming while trying to take it in with just one gulp.  I’ll have to come back and make an entire trip of the city, but it was nice to get a small taste. 

Paris Photo Dump: 

Tree beside Jim Morrison's Grave.  That's all old gum.  Gross. Did Jim have a thing for gum?

I think that's the bridge Owen walked on at the end of Midnight In Paris.

 

What May 8th -9th Mean To Me: Brussels and Bruges

The girl at the front desk of my hotel's comment was more telling than I'm sure she imagined. 

I arrived three hours before check-in, and was informed I'd need to kill said hours doing anything other than being there.  Fortunately, she asked if I wanted some advice on where to go, which I happily accepted, but when she opened the map to guide me, she crinkled her brow and bit her cheek as if she was looking at it for the first time.  Not knowing exactly what the tell me, she forewent (is that the correct term?) drawing me a specific path and, instead, just circled the entire area that comprised Central Brussels while saying, "I think the best thing to do is just walk around and experience the city."  I should have figured I wouldn't receive inside advice from a girl wearing a name tag claiming she was "Spice Girl," but regardless, she didn't tell me what I want, what I really really want.

But though I've only had a brief taste of Brussels, I can actually see why she couldn't come up with anything.  While I'm sure the city has a lot of character and idiosyncrasy, it doesn't reveal itself like other European cities.  It lacks an Eiffel Tower to dominate its skyline, it's without an artfulness like Florence, and it doesn't exude a state of mind like the Scandinavian cities do. The architecture is a mixed bag, there doesn't seem to be a national language: most speak french (does anyone speak Flemish anymore?), and after spending two days here, I'm still not sure what the Belgian flag looks like because I've seen an assortment of different ones.  Sure, there's a large atom structure on the outskirts of the city (that I'm eager to see, especially because you can go inside), but if a World's Fair relic automatically makes for an interesting city, then I guess Queens, New York qualifies (and trust me, it's not). That said, the street food (frites, waffles, among other things) is fantastic and probably the main thing that allows Brussels to shine. Though waitresses and street vendors may give you a funny look if you decline the "frite sauce," because, after all, who doesn't love mayonnaise on french fries. But, regardless, Brussels is the capital of the EU after all; I know there is more to it.  And I look forward to seeing more of Brussels since I've barely gotten to know it, and I'm sure it'll prove itself unique.

(** By the way, I've never stayed at a hotel that provided shampoo that smelled exactly like the lobby.  Another thing to cross off the bucket list).

However, what Spice Girl should have done was drawn a line to the nebulous left and told me to hop the train to Bruges.  Coming into this trip, all I knew about Bruges was what I saw from the appropriately named Colin Farrell movie In Bruges.  But after experiencing the city in person, the only question I can ask is why aren't all movies set in Bruges.  Seriously. They could have shot Titanic in one of their pretty canals.  Rocky could have fought Apollo in the middle of the Markt.  And I'm not sure it's possible for LOL (starring Miley Cyrus) to be better, but their lol's would be more dignified if set against a Bruges background.  Bruges has kept most of its medieval appeal intact.  From the old buildings to the windy, cobble stoned streets that just beg for some horseshoe click-clock (and you bet its there), it feels as though Disney set this place up as "Medieval EuropeLand," except, ya know, they didn't and people actually live there.  Also, artsy chocolate shops melt with antique stores, as well as many modern clothing stores and restaurants (I think they even have a a 3-Michelin star one), to give it a hip and unique feel.  Plus, you know what the first thing I saw once I entered the city?  A pelican nosediving into a canal.  What? Yeah.  You're instantly transported.  There's not a lot to "do" there, but I easily could spend a week just wandering and taking it all in. 

I'm probably the world's worst photographer (Seriously, not only do I have no eye, but my pics are especially shit since I use my crappy camera phone). Anyway, here are some pics of Bruges:

I took this...

From the top of this...

...Which I believe is called The Best Ass Work Out In Bruges.  It's 300+ of these ...

...and somehow I didn't break my neck even though people were constantly walking in the opposite direction. 

I'm not sure what this is.

Creepy painting.

I swear I don't think these pics will be bad when I take them.

That's not a Godiva I'm shooting.  It's the Subway.  See?

Multi Pass

Off to Paris tomorrow...looking forward to my first time being there. 

What May 5th-7th Means To Me: The Beastie Boys and Adam Yauch

I was honestly surprised by the overwhelming outpouring of support for the late musician.  All throughout the weekend, I heard their music blaring from car stereos and out house windows.  I saw people of all ages either whistling or singing their songs in the street.  And, on Friday, my Facebook feed was littered with praise and condolences.  His talent made him worthy of this; I just couldn't remember another person who recently garnered that kind of praise and attention postmortem.

Everyone I've spoken to about his death has a personal Beastie Boys story.  Whether it be a concert they went to, or a song they loved, there was an unmistakable attachment to the group.  I was hardly the biggest fan of their music, but I enjoyed the hits, and even had a few personal memories myself.  When I was seven years old, my father brought me to Sam Goody in the Nanuet Mall to buy me my first walkman.  It was bright yellow and huge.  A graphic equalizer on the side that I still don't understand the purpose for.  He let me buy two tapes, the first ever tapes I would get to select on my own. I chose License To Ill (and Cinderella's Night Songs).  I wore that tape out, and clearly remember, one late night, fiercely both fast forwarding and rewinding "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" the evening before we were to visit my grandparents at their apartment in Brooklyn. I wanted to memorize it just because.  About 14 years later, I went out on a date with a girl 9 or 10 years my senior.  While having a nice conversation, we both heard a Beastie Boys song play in the background.  I quickly told the story of being seven and choosing the album as my first, and she glumly said, "I bought it then too.  It was the day I got my drivers license."  It ended there.  I'll never forget those two memories.

But I now realize that the Beastie Boys are a generational common ground.  With their punk/hip hop fusion that never took itself too seriously, their music bridged gaps and, as Rick Rubin said in the New York Times,  "As crazy as they were, they seemed safe to Middle America."  Their hit "Fight For Your Right" was the de facto anthem for anyone who grew up in the 1980's, and is a song that still inspires you to sing along any time it's on today.  It's hard to find someone who "hates" the Beastie Boys.  Most, at least, find them fun.  As time went on, the Beastie Boys continued to create catchy, inspired tunes, and expanded their horizons beyond music.  Adam Yauch was more than partially responsible for our generation's awareness of the Tibetan conflict.  These were guys that cared.  And it showed.  For all the above, they became legendary. 

I had the pleasure of getting to know Adam in my early 20's; we both played in the same basketball game for a few years.  I didn't know him well, I was an outsider in a game amongst lifelong friends.  In fact, I doubt many of them even knew my real name, as early on someone dubbed me with the moniker "Kerr," after Chicago Bulls player Steve Kerr, due to my, at the time, bleached blond hair, decent jumpshot, and the lack of ability to do much else.  But I was there long enough to experience his kind soul, sneaky sense of humor, and annoyingly scrappy, (yet easily beatable) defense. I'm sure he had many troubles like the rest of us, but he seemed like the kind of guy who didn't let much bother him.  He smiled a lot and was always quick with a joke. He treated me with respect, was encouraging, and, as he did with anyone else, freely teased me when the situation called for it.  Back then, I think I only had two pairs of basketball shorts, one of which was severely tattered from time and use.  He once asked me why I kept wearing them, to which I sarcastically replied that they were "my lucky shorts."  He gave me an unconvinced look and said, "why are they lucky?  You clearly never got laid in them."  Unfortunately I lost touch with all those guys when I moved to LA nearly a decade ago, but will always remember that game fondly. 

I was incredibly sad to learn of his illness, and, like the rest of my peers, was both shocked and heartbroken to discover that he passed away.  The night of his death, my buddy Rian said via Facebook, "When a cool person dies, his/her spirit should be able to linger around for a day or two to see/hear all the touching things people say/write about them."  And while his spirit may or may not have had the chance to hear all the kind messages and stories in his honor, both his influence and memory are immortal.

RIP, Adam.  

What May 4th Means To Me: Avengers

I don't know how much money The Avengers will make this weekend, but let's assume the number is somewhere around eleventy billion.

I hate comic book movies.  Wait, no, I really fucking hate comic book movies.  I find them all to be variations of the same bullshit, hackneyed storyline, and there's some strange disconnect within my brain once I see a superhero suit. It's my kryptonite, so to speak.  I cannot pinpoint exactly why this happens, but mostly I feel the rules of superhero movies are silly and arbitrary.  Yeah, I know it's "fun," and I need to "suspend disbelief," but I often do for zombie movies or alien attack movies.  Those movies are generally grounded in some kind of reality based on our own fears of apocalypse and our insecurity due to our delicate nature.  But superheros in spandex fighting overly human, evil warlords from galaxies far away? Humans developing superpowers from spider bites?  I'll pass. 

So, you'd think that Avengers, a movie featuring an all-star team of suited-up superheroes I couldn't care less about, would be the ultimate movie in Brett fail, right?

Well, it SHOCKS me that I'm actually going to say this but...I liked it. I know, right?  All two hours and thirty minutes of it (well, mostly).

The movie breaks no new ground.  At all.  I think it actually has the same plotline as 85 percent of the comic book movies out there.  Shitbag from Planet "We Must Destroy Everything" comes to Earth to steal an energy source because, for some reason, even though humans are much less technologically advanced than our other-worldly adversaries, we seem to possess something they always want and need. In this case, it's a radioactive cube of something that looks like a glowing piece of Ice Breaker gum.  And it's powerful enough to open a wormhole for alien armies to invade.  Why do they want to attack Earth? A grudge? Because humans are so super awesome? Just because? Well, anyway.  It all transpires much how you would assume, they have some big battle in New York City (duh), they win, world's saved, everyone's happy, we all go home. Then, of course, (stay for the credits) some nefarious force alludes to sequel when he claims he will attempt to conquer Earth at a later date. (it's really just a lot of code words for "we want to make more money!")

This movie is basically for the fanboys.  Ever wonder who'd win in a fight between The Hulk and Thor?  You'll find out.  How about Iron Man and Thor?  How about Captain America against Iron Man?  How would it look if they all actually worked together?  You get the point.   Lots of cool fights, action, all that shit I normally don't care about, but suddenly found interesting.  But the thing that carries this movies is its stars.  Whether its Downey Jr's quips, Mark Ruffalo's understated nature, Jeremy Renner's steely gaze, or Chris Evans's noble nature, director Joss Whedon actually achieves what I thought would be impossible: a harmonious mixture of strong personalities that could have very well turned into film gridlock.  Each characters gets a chance to flex their muscle, while not taking away from a crisp storyline that is affective in moving the film along, even if it's not original. 

I don't think this movie would necessarily compel me to watch another version (though I wouldn't be against it), and it definitely wouldn't convince me to watch more flicks about each individual character (though I'm sure we'll see many), but if it's two hours of loud action and a few laughs you're looking for, I will safely assume you will not be disappointed.  It won't change your life, won't hit an emotional chord, and you might not remember it by Monday, but it's a lot of fun.

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Have a good weekend!  I'm off to Belgium on Monday for a week to do God knows what.  I should have planned something, but I didn't, though hopefully I'll have some interesting to blog about.  And let's hope it doesn't rain near as much as the forecast predicts. 

What May 3rd Means To Me: Concussions, the NFL, and my birthday

Wanted to touch on the Junior Seau tragedy, and how it affects football's possible future, because this is becoming an increasingly dicey situation.  Player safety has been at the forefront of football conversation as, with each passing day, we're learning more and more about how concussions/brain trauma hinder a football player's post-career life, and it ain't pretty.  And though we don't know the exact reason's behind Seau's suicide, many will connect his depression to the injuries he suffered during his career, which is a growing trend among ex-players.

Guys like Malcolm Gladwell and Tyler Cowen wrote very eloquent articles which suggest these injuries will ultimately be football's demise, and though I personally cannot imagine an American landscape without football, I can no longer disagree with them fully.  Here are some thoughts circling in my head:

1) In regards to suicide possibly related to football injuries, we're still only talking about a handful of people
2) Knowing the risks of football, people will still play. (people still box, after all).
3) There's no way to make football "safe"
4) The NFL is a money giant, though I'm not sure how future lawsuits will affect the health of the league.
5) Will parents let their kids play football?

Football is, by far, America's most popular sport, and probably America's most popular form of entertainment, so I cannot imagine it'll be obsolete in ten years like Cowen suggests.  Gladwell mentions a possible correlation with boxing, but I'm not sure boxing's demise has as much to do with brain injuries as it does corruption, lack of engaging personality within the sport, and the gradual and powerful rise of the NFL and NBA. However, will the NFL be marginalized in 20-25 years time?  Maybe. This rests on the future generation's desire to play football and whether or not parents will forbid it.  With this in mind, I'd love to see statistics on how injuries affect kids who ended their career at the high school level, and another study about athletes who only played through college.  Is this a football wide problem or just an NFL problem? 

Another fact that must be remembered is that people generally ignore warnings when it comes to possible health risks in the distant future (except when it comes to nuclear energy...we're deathly afraid of that!)  Look no further than smoking and drinking for proof.  There's a cognitive dissonance (I think I've used this term in two straight blog posts!) that accompanies risks like this, mostly because, in this case, there's also plenty of ex-football players who are perfectly healthy.  I assume many will think, "it won't happen to me!"   Not to mention, football is still an embedded culture in many parts of the country and also provides a "way out" for some.  I can't imagine this being undone for a while, especially when there's such a strong support system for the sport. 

Having said all that, I will concede that the future of football now has a flicker of doubt, and it'll be interesting to see the first few dominoes to fall.  My best guess is the end of Pop Warner leagues, which will be replaced with some sort of flag football program.  Kids probably don't need to tackle before the high school level and probably aren't being taught how to properly tackle anyway.  Perhaps in 2050, the American soccer program will see the true benefits of this, as many kids who once would have played football will now gravitate towards other sports. 


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Oh, and it's my birthday. Hooray!