Travels with Father

Over the weekend, while staying at my mother's house, I came across a little burgundy pocket notepad in my old bedroom. I immediately remembered what was written in there. It's a list of irritating quotes from my father from two separate vacations we took together back while I was in high school. The first trip we went to Italy (I was 17) and the second a year later to a golf school near Orlando, Florida.

First the Italy quotes:

• "PJ, don't touch that."
• "PJ, are you alright?"
• "You don't need more film. I have film; you can just use my damn camera."
• "PJ, don't buy that."
• "PJ just put the goddamn things on the table and come back - I can't carry all this shit and you're gonna drop it."
• "PJ, you gotta start learning how to do things."
• "Don't buy things from there. What are you gonna do with that?"
• "PJ, you better get to the gym this week, right when you get home!"
• "And don't get into the habit of drinking wine every night."
• "PJ, would you have been able to figure out how to get here by yourself?"
• "PJ, you gotta push the thing back when you flush the goddamn toilet!"
• "I bet you've never seen a bidet before - pretty neat, heh?"
• "You don't need to bother with postcards - it's too much of a hassle, ya know with stamps and mailing it."
• "PJ, you better get your things neat - you're making a mess."
• "What are you gonna do with 40 bucks worth of lira? You better take that to the bank and have it changed."
• "PJ, you gotta be more careful when crossing the street."
• "Don't wear dungarees, we're going to the Vatican."
• "PJ, I already told you - you are NOT BUYING ANOTHER CAMERA! It's 25 bucks, 25 lira and I have 40 pictures left on mine!"
• "And did your mother give you any spending money?"
• "You mean to tell me you don't have any small lira?!"
• "PJ, take this 10 dollar bill to the bank and change it into lira. I don't know why you need to buy anything, but okay."
• "PJ, here's your passport. You show them your passport and then GIVE IT BACK TO ME."
• "PJ, why don't you wear jacket; it might get a little chilly later."
• "PJ, don't leave the key in the room. PJ, did you hear me? DON'T LEAVE THE KEY IN THE ROOM!"
• "PJ, face the other way, you're snoring."
• "PJ, be down by 7:15 - I'll be down there. Do you need me to come up and get you or will you be okay? 7:15, okay?"
• "What does your mother do all day?"
• "You better get some hitting in this week. You can't go two weeks without it, you understand? Two weeks is a long time."
• "PJ, you better get the oil changed on that car. Have your mother set up an appointment - she knows what to do."
• "PJ, ya know you don't have to stay up till 11 or 12 tonight - get a good night's sleep."
• "PJ, do you want me to take your passport now? Where are you gonna put it? Do you have a bag or something? Don't lose it."
• "Don't sleep all day tomorrow when you get home - get up and go to the gym or something. I don't want you sleeping the whole day."
• "PJ, I hope your mother knows she's paying for this call. It's expensive ya know. I hope she knows she paying. Don't talk to long, you understand?"
• "And what do you plan on doing with that scarf thing you bought?"
• "PJ, you can bargain with these people ya know."
• "Don't get Heineken here; it'll cost 18,000 lira!"
• "PJ, where the hell have been? What time did you plan on getting to the gate? You had me a little worried. What the hell were you doing? Did you have some trouble? I should have told you to get here a half hour before we board, not 10 minutes! Jesus Christ."
• "PJ, what do you mean the seat goes back without you pushing the button? Let me see what you mean - PJ, you're leaning on it!"
• "Don't go to the bathroom now. This is not a good time to go. Wait, just wait."
• "You can rest but DON'T FALL ASLEEP, you understand?
• "PJ, don't get a beer NOW! I don't necessarily feel like paying for a beer right now."

Fast forward a year later to our father-son golf school trip.

• "Stay here and watch these bags. I'll be back - watch them, okay?"
• "PJ, you're gaining weight. Can you feel that? You better watch that."
• "I've never seen so many hotels and restaurants in my life!"*
• "I don't mind you smoking, as long as it doesn't become a habit."
• "PJ, take a break! You're hitting too many. Sit down, walk around - you're gonna wear yourself out."
• "What's the problem here? Did you try to put the key in the other way? Jesus Christ!"
• "This navigation system is amazing! How do they do that? How do they know where you are? This is NEAT!"**
• "I'd really like to have a beer, but I DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE. That's my policy ya know."***
• "I don't drink light beers, only Amstel occasionally. In fact, I don't drink cheap domestic beers like Coors Light. Ahh, it's terrible!"
• "What do you need to get gifts for?"
• "You really have to learn how to putt."
• "PJ, are you up? You're not up!"
• "PJ, are you okay?"
• "If you didn't hit so many balls, you wouldn't need bandaids."
• "Do you think you could drive down here? I don't think so."
• "PJ, do you have everything?"
• "PJ, you can't be leaving clubs on the green."
• "So this Chase person isn't going to school next year?"****
• "And does that Leo character still bother you?"
• "Maybe in the spring you can have a couple beers - a COUPLE!"
• "If I had a cigarette right now, I would get dizzy. I remember one time in college a few of us were screwing around with that tobacco stuff that you put in your cheek...I was on the ground."
• "This Sopranos is some funny stuff!"
• "This is a real redneck place down here - lots of rednecks."
• "How could a guy walk into a restaurant dressed like that? I don't understand these people."
• "You don't have to swing so hard. Just SLOW DOWN!"
• "What did you learn from this week? I spent a few bucks, so I hope you learned something."
• "I want you practicing EVERYDAY when you get home. If it's a little cold, practice putting in the house. But you need carpet to do that, okay? Ya can't do it on the wood."
• "PJ, make sure the shower curtain is on the INSIDE. I found goddamn puddles all over the bathroom. What the hell are you thinking about in there?"
• "I like this Epcot; it's really neat! I like it because it's so well organized. I don't know how they do that."
• "Maybe I'll get a little place in Florida next year, but on the west coast, not Boca...too many Jews."
• "Are you taking your pills?"*****
• "You just called 911! You're supposed to dial 91 plus the area code. Now the police are coming to the room! Leave the fucking door open. Next time, use the cell phone - I don't need this aggravation!"
• "I haven't seen one European car yet - that's because there are a lot of rednecks. Once you leave the New York metropolitan area, you don't see too many decent cars."
• "PJ, stay right here. Don't move!"
• "I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE THE CLUBS UNATTENDED! JESUS CHRIST!"
• "There's gotta be some upscale restaurants somewhere around here."
• "Put your shit in the drawers. Let's get a little organized here."
• "Aren't you gonna get hot with pants on today? Don't you want to put on shorts?"
• "Get up a little early tomorrow. Pack your stuff in the morning. You're gonna be tired at night, you understand?"
• "You should be watching your video before AND after you practice."
• "Get this station off - I can't concentrate."
• "And it wouldn't kill you to learn a little about the catering industry this summer."
• "Well, I'm not retired yet, but I'm winding down. We'll see. I have a few ideas."
• "What is this Medieval Times business? I don't get it."
• "Norway sounds like an interesting country - dominated by the fishing industry. They must eat a lot of fish there."
• "O'Doul's is terrible. I can't drink that shit and neither should you."
• "That monorail must go from one Disney park to the other, right?"
• "This is different from Italy."
• "We wouldn't have gotten lost if you had a better sense of direction, PJ. That's something you have to work on."
• "Where is Morocco? It's in Africa, but it's sophisticated, right?"
• "I don't see how that would help you, but okay."
• "What is Friends? Like a TV show or something?"
• "Those race fans must be upset because that Dale Earnhardt guy died. That would be like if Tiger Woods got hit by a golf ball and died...we'd be pretty upset too."
• "This guy was a state senator! Pretty NEAT, heh?! We're playing golf with a senator!"
• "This guy seems pretty low key for a politician. I like him even though he's a Democrat."
• "If I sucked that bad, I would take up a new hobby."
• "Laptops are pretty neat, heh? I can go online even in Florida!"
• "A lot of things changed while I was in college. When I was a freshman, you'd get expelled for having a beer in the room, but later my buddies started smoking pot and I was like appalled, but I joined in after a while."
• "Maybe when you get out of college, you could live in my place and I'll go somewhere else. We'll get new cabinets and change the floor. You'd keep the place neat, right?"
• "I like this tape. Who is it? Van Morrison - he's black, right?"
• "PJ, I don't necessarily want you beating me when we play, okay? I didn't intend for this when i planned this trip."
• "How are your hands? Give them a day to heal."
• "You don't need sunscreen."
• "What's better, SPF 15 or 30?"
• "PJ, that's too much club. Hit the 7."
• "PJ, you don't have to hit the driver every time. Use the 3-wood. I spent $300 on that thing."
• "I think you ought to iron those pants - they've been in the suitcase all day. I brought an iron with me."
• "You're mother isn't gonna be able to drive to any of these schools you're looking at ya know."
• "How are you getting along with Mr. Stewart? Does he ever say anything to you about quitting baseball?"
• "I don't care what you're doing - I want you to practice!"
• "PJ, did you happen to comb your hair?"
• "And Rich Salamone allows this drinking every weekend? I'm surprised."
• "That Joel - he was born with a bottle in his hand."
• "And what does your sister plan on doing next year?"
• "I don't know why these teachers are making such a big deal out of this contract shit. Teachers make a lot of money for doing very little - and they get a HEFTY PENSION!"
• "Next year, we'll take a big trip to Italy - a trip like that requires planning ya know. You can't just hop on a plane."
• "Pittsburgh is a NEAT city."
• "Put that tray up! You can't have that down now, ya understand?"
• "PJ, are you writing down everything I say?"

Wow, just typing that all out exhausted me and made me relive those two weeks with him. This is why I don't travel with him anymore. I love my father, but looking back at this in retrospect has left me with some mixed feelings. I did laugh aloud in some parts, but others left me feeling a little angry. His voice is now embedded into my brain and I will have nightmares. I sacrifice a lot for the sake of this blog.

*This was said at least 14 times during the trip.

**Said about 20 times. (Bear in mind, this was 1999.)

***This is following a recent DUI - his 2nd in a few years.

****Referring to a hipster friend of mine.

*****Asked 8 times a day.

Question of the Day

Do you think that Rod Stewart has a constant sore throat or is just he naturally raspy?

(Please don't) Pimp my ride.

Every time I see a vehicle that has a lot of chrome and blacked out windows and other accouterments that indicate that it has been "pimped," I cringe. I feel as though there should be an immediate arrest for anyone who possesses that type of car. The cars should be seized and either destroyed or restored back to the manufacturer's specifications.

What motivates people to take an ordinary nondescript automobile such as a Honda Accord and lower it three inches, take the muffler out to make it extra irritating to other drivers and pedestrians and install a sound system that costs more than than their annual income?

It really bothers me when people take luxury sedans* - sedans once reserved for the wealthy - and put 22" spinners on it and get those really obnoxious tail lights (and of course black out the windows because the driver and his idiot passengers are obviously important people). Mercedes-Benzes no longer have cache anymore because too many classless buyers (lessees) take possession of these cars and absolutely destroy them. Do you think the engineers in Stuttgart, Germany envision a bunch of drug dealers and welfare cheats buying their meticulously engineered cars and ruining any grace and elegance it had? That's enough to make an entire company sick.

And are the dedicated folks at Bentley (which is owned by Volkswagen) and Rolls Royce (a BMW brand) painstakingly picking out the finest leathers and woods in the world and handcrafting each and every vehicle that rolls out of the assembly plant for the likes of...50 Cent?? Come on. Forty years ago, the idea of someone that uncouth owning (or even seeing) a Bentley or a Rolls was a blasphemy.

How do we stop this? The only way is with laws. Let's make this a top priority and rid America's highways and byways of these heinous rolling pieces of steel and aluminum. It must stop.

Cars you generally don't see all pimped out are Volkswagens (except for those idiot boy racer types with customized GTIs), Audis, Volvos and Saabs. All others are vulnerable.

So next time you plunk down sixty thousand of your hard-earned dollars on that BMW 550i, remember that there's a 19-year old high school dropout that has the same one, except his has bigger rims and a state-of-the-art sound system that will frighten elderly people and small children when the bass is turned up.


*Cadillacs are a lost cause at this point. The entire concept of the Escalade revolves around ghetto-tastic wannabe pimps.

Another blogger goes to jail.

Someone sent me a link of a blog that tells a similar tale of my previous posting about being detained at 120 Schermerhorn St., Brooklyn, NY 11201 - Brooklyn Central Booking. This guy also has a blog, albeit a little different from mine. His is called "Diaper Bandit" and it's about child rearing. Apparently this yuppie/hipster dad from Williamsburg had his dog off the leash and had an outstanding arrest for another canine-related incident.* Here is his story.

http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/diaperbandit/archive/tags/brooklyn+central+booking/default.aspx

Apparently this guy is not nearly as much of an asshole as I am. The guy was detained for 42 hours (more than twice as long as my 20 or so hours) and he barely had a negative or sarcastic comment about his fellow inmates. He also had his wife and friends ready to take the case to the Supreme Court for his release, while I just waited it out and observed and snickered at those around me.

He even went as far as contemplating whether he should "keep in touch" with the miscreants he called roommates for three nights. I, on the other hand, made quips about Rikers Island probably being pretty pleasant due to its waterfront location in front of dudes who were going up there. His wife gave a heroin addict a quarter while I told a junkie that I couldn't wait to go sit in my centrally air conditioned apartment.

This guy is supposed to be a writer and 42 hours in the hands of Brooklyn's finest should make for a pretty provocative story, but his was, well, bland and predictable. (It was an interesting choice for him to include pictures of his gifted child and special dog between paragraphs to show a stark contrast between his cushy gentrified reality and the hell he was in at the time.)

Hell, the guy didn't even ask for soap.

What did you think? Read his story and then read my entry from Tuesday, September 4th.

http://gentryornot.blogspot.com/2007/09/people-of-state-of-new-york-versus-me.html

Which blog was more interesting? The comment board is open.


*Maybe this guy should considering getting a cat.

Degentrification

As much of an advocate for gentrification I am, I can't help but think that it must have been mighty interesting to live in New York City (and other cities across America) during the Sixties and Seventies just to watch the decline. Frankly, I get tired of hearing about places that are "up and coming" and improving. I'm tired of cutesy little shops (shoppes) and coffee places with fair trade coffee and organic muffins taking over our sleazy bodegas and fried chicken joints.

Will all of New York City look like 68th and Lex in 20 years? That's the direction we are headed in this city. I think blight (in moderation) adds character and urban character to a city. If it's all too quaint, what do we have? A large version of New Hope, PA or Woodstock, NY (both only a two hour drive away from Manhattan).

It is nice not to look at graffiti on every subway car and to not have to step over urinating crackheads in every station, but sometimes our subway stations look just a little too sterile and family friendly. Everything is family (and Midwestern tourist) friendly in New York City these days. Times Square, formerly a haven for drugs, prostitution and X-rated book stores, now resembles a suburban strip mall complete with a McDonald's, a Chevy's, an Applebee's, a Foot Locker and a Disney Store. This can all be found on route 46 in Parsippany, New Jersey and on route 591 in Addison, Wisconsin. (At least there's parking there.) Perhaps they can tear it all down and put a Wal-Mart in its place.

Three decades ago, people were scared of this city. It must have been pretty fucking scary here. Neighborhoods were burning, the city was bankrupt, crime was at an all-time high and crack was hitting the streets. Everything was dirty and dingy. Here are a few ways things have changed.

• Neighborhoods such as the South Bronx and Bushwick were not thought of as the next haven for artists and hipsters; they were war zones.
• Fifth Avenue in Park Slope and Smith Street in Carroll Gardens were not lined with expensive boutiques and restaurants.
• DUMBO was not invented yet.
• No one was trying to turn Coney Island into Vegas-by-the-Sea.
• Whites were moving to Long Island and Jersey en masse.
• There wasn't nothin' cool about Red Hook, Brooklyn or Long Island City, Queens.
• Times Square was a vibrant, interesting and often dangerous place.
• No one had ever heard of Bernie Goetz.
• Some neighborhoods didn't have wine shops yet.
• Cops had more important things to do than write me tickets for not wearing a seat belt as I move my car from one side of the street to the other (to avoid a parking ticket).

So, can't we leave a few neighborhoods alone and make the gentry stop? Let everyone out of Rikers at once and drop them off in Park Slope, shut down the force in the 72nd Precinct and let 'em run wild. See what happens. I would pay to see that. It would be like the Fifties through the Eighties all at once. One big degentrification project starting in November. We'll see what happens. It would be neat if the current residents of the Slope were not warned ahead of time. I am giddy just thinking about it. Maybe I'll write a letter...

The Golden Child

Every family has a child who is favored by his or her parents, whether they admit it or not. This theory almost never ceases to be true. Think of any family that you know and pick out who the "golden child" is. It should take no longer than .0006 seconds for you to figure this out.

About the golden child: It's usually a boy, but there are exceptions to this rule. The child is either the smart, attractive, athletic one who is the CEO of a hedgefund or the one with the tattoos who smokes a lot of pot who does those weird clay sculptures. For whatever reason, the parents just love that child more.

No parent ever would admit this (and they may never realize it), but the children always know who it is and outsiders can always tell. Who can do no wrong? Who gets away with the most? Who is talked about with praise incessantly? Who needs the most attention and support? That is often the golden child.

The the best example of a golden child in American literature has to be Willy Loman's oldest son in Death of a Salesman, Biff. Biff Loman had it all growing up. He was handsome, athletic, charming and most importantly, well-liked. Willy was constantly encouraging Biff and defending Biff for his wrongdoings. When Biff stole a football from his school, Willy thought it was fine because his son was the quarterback who needed to practice his passing. When Biff flunked math, Willy was the first to blame the teacher.

Meanwhile Biff's younger brother Happy was constantly trying to get his father's attention. During flashback scenes in the play, Willy was talking and laughing with Biff as Happy tried to gain the attention of his father."I'm losing weight, Pop, you notice?" he asked more than once. His father did not. He was too consumed with Biff's athletic endeavors and his popularity at school.

As you know, Biff turned out to be a drifter who would never figure out what he wanted to do with his life. He failed math and never graduated high school because Willy let him down. He then went out west and came home intermittently. Happy, despite his philandering ways, had a decent career and somewhat of a future. Who was still the favorite? Yep. Biff. Once the golden child, always the golden child. He can do no wrong.

I often wonder who was the golden child in the Menendez family. I no little about the case besides what I heard on the CBS evening news 15 years ago. Was it Lyle or Erik?* Maybe they were the exception. Maybe both children were hated equally. They did, after all, kill their parents. But I wonder if one of them was more hesitant about it than the other?

I am sure O.J. Simpson was the golden child of his family and despite what he has done, he still is. Again, once the golden child, always the golden child. I'm sure his mother wouldn't believe that he committed those two murders even if she saw it happen in front of her eyes.

In my family, I am clearly the golden child and I certainly enjoy it. My mother speaks of me often and fondly, even though I have not really accomplished anything that impressive. My poor sister has to live with this for the rest of her life. (I think our father is equally disappointed in both of us, but at the end of the day, I think I win.)

I believe that it is decided the day that child is born whether or not he or she will be the favorite. I think parents just know.

It feels good to be golden. I hope I turn out a little better than Biff Loman.

*Probably Erik because no parents would name a child they are supposed to love "Lyle," except for maybe Lyle Lovett who would be the golden child no matter what.

Another promising sign of gentrification.

http://www.brownstoner.com/brownstoner/archives/2007/09/streetlevel_oli.php

Here is a liquor store in Bed-Stuy where you don't have to pick your selections through bulletproof glass! Another one for our side!

Who needs a townhouse out in Park Slope? Is that all you get for your money?

Every Sunday there are thousands of open houses. I would go to all of them if I could. I am the first to admit that I am a real estate junkie. I love going into the homes of strangers and pretending that I'm interested. I often will put a fake name and address on the sign-in sheet so the broker doesn't bother me again.

I used to sell this overpriced crap so I feel as though it's okay for me to waste the time of others because that's precisely what everyone did to me when I was a realtor. So I go in, dressed in my Sunday smart-casual househunting attire. I pretend I have more than two dimes to rub together (which is easily achieved by putting on a decent pair of slacks and a Polo shirt) and go through these apartments and houses asking questions like, "What's the square footage?" "Is the plumbing updated?" "How long has it been on the market?" All bullshit questions that could be answered by punching in the address on propertyshark.com.

Yesterday I found myself strolling around in Park Slope. I saw an open house sign and I was pulled into that direction by the real estate gods. I have no control. I must go. It doesn't matter what the place is and how much it costs. I must attend.*

So here I was on a decent block, not quite in prime Park Slope in a $1.9M townhouse that has recently been renovated. Sounds impressive, huh? For nearly two million big ones, you can get a 16 foot wide two bedroom one bath with a small rental on the garden floor.

Now there was nothing wrong with this house really. It was in move-in condition and the renovation was not objectionable. But the living room was so small, a sofa and a coffee table could not both exist comfortably and the kitchen had tiny appliances usually reserved for tiny rentals and European apartments. (The granite countertop did not make up for this.) A small deck is located off the kitchen.

Upstairs one will find two bedrooms - really one decent sized room that could maybe fit a queen bed and a dresser and one that could barely be a nursery or office. And one bathroom that is nothing special. I didn't bother looking at the closets.

The garden level rental had a bedroom so small, a full bed would fit and not much else. The finishes were nice though for a rental. The broker tried to tell me that this unit would fetch "$2,500 easy." I smell bullshit, but if that helps him get through the day, fine.

So let's say you put down 10% ($190K) and that taxes are $300 a month. This leaves you paying more than $11K (based on a 30 year fixed at 6.5%) a month for a two bedroom house a half block from industrial 4th Avenue with small appliances with no special features whatsoever.** Even if you get $2,000 a month for the rental, you're still at $9,000 for your mortgage payment and taxes, not to mention the headaches of homeownership and the utilities and dealing with an asshole yuppie tenant.

The numbers just don't add up. For that kind of money I want that "wow" factor, not just "Okay, I can live with this if I get smaller furniture and vow never to entertain more than two guests at a time."

Maybe next weekend I'll check out Bed-Stuy.



*My girlfriend used to love this.
**Everyone has granite countertops and hardwood floors these days.

Question of the Day

Why are overweight black women so curmudgeonly?

Have the terrorists won?

Six years ago this week, New York City was in the immediate aftermath of what might have been the biggest tragedy of all time. Buildings were destroyed, lives were ruined, etc.

This year, another tragedy has occurred, albeit on a slightly smaller scale. The famed Peter Luger's Steakhouse lost a star in the New York Times.* Is this a sign that the terrorists have won? Is New York City going to be doomed every sixth September?

The thing is, if you read reviews about Luger's on blogs such as Chowhound, Curbed (which has nothing to do with food really, but people have opinions on everything) and Zagat, the ratings are less than stellar. All of a sudden everyone is a food critic. The internet has given all of us an open forum to become as discriminating as Frasier and Niles Crane. People complain that the steak is too charred, not charred enough, overcooked, undercooked, not tender enough, too fatty,the tomatoes aren't what they used to be, the shrimp cocktail is flavorless, the ice cream is too cold and the waitstaff is surly (which everyone knows). Oh yeah - and the damn place is in Brooklyn.

If you read what the public has to say about Luger's, it shouldn't deserve any stars at all. Everybody knows where they can get a better steak with better service with better prices (that takes credit cards). But why is there still a six week wait to get into Luger's? It can't be all tourists and people that think Sizzler makes an excellent Porterhouse. I have yet to try Luger's, but I'm sure if I did, I would quite enjoy my steak and find a few little things to gripe about. And maybe I've had better steak. (Sammy's in Mendham, NJ is pretty goddamn good.)

Luger's isn't the only famed restaurant people love to criticize. People criticize everything from Per Se to Craft to Le Cirque to the River Cafe. I often wonder if these people have even visited these restaurants or perhaps they're just resentful that they can't get a reservation so they bash it. The average diner at Per Se is not necessarily going home after dinner to log into some internet forum to complain about the wine list. I think most of these people are full of shit and don't know the first thing about food or wine or restaurants.

Peter Luger's may have lost a star, but here is an excerpt from the review (from a critic with a little more credibility than DaisyDuke121) that might make you want to hit the ATM and get into a taxi to the bowels of Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

"What a steak it was. Even before I saw it I could smell it — the acrid top note of its char, the funky bottom note of properly aged beef. I could even hear it, still sizzling from its time in one of the high-temperature broilers.

It was already sliced, and the waiter buckled down to the familiar Luger ritual, putting some filet and some sirloin on each plate, then spooning the pooled juices over it. The beef had a subtle tang, an intense mineral quality, a crazy richness and a spectrum of textures: crunchy at the edges, tender at the bone. I had to keep reminding myself to take it easy, to slow down."

Maybe the terrorists haven't won after all.

*I think Nostradamus predicted this one too.

Question of the Day

Would Amy Winehouse be as popular if her name were Amy Weinstock or Amy Weinstein?

Spanglish

I happened to catch Spanglish on HBO last night, which wasn't an altogether lousy movie, just another two hours and 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back.

I felt like something was lacking in it. Maybe it's hard to take Adam Sandler seriously as a father other than in roles such as Big Daddy. Or perhaps the character of his wife is an insufferable cunt without any redeeming qualities besides the fact that she looks OK in a sports bra.

I think my biggest issue with the movie is that the movie and its premise would cease to exist if the housekeeper didn't look like a cross between Selma Hayek and Penelope Cruz and if her daughter were ugly and stupid. I doubt Adam Sandler would be so insistent on teaching the housekeeper how to speak English if she were a 275 pound woman from Honduras with warts who had no desire to learn English and try to make a better life for her daughter. And the daughter is very cute and annoyingly precocious. Would the family try to get the kid into that fancy private school and buy her things if she were ugly and of average intelligence? Doubtfully. They wouldn't even acknowledge the poor kid.

The lady who cleaned my house growing was not very attractive and neither were her children. They were nice enough people and did a competent enough job and my mom gave them old clothes and housewares on occasion but we pretty much left them alone. I would have rather seen Adam Sandler and his wife and mother-in-law and kids do that than get so involved. But I guess that wouldn't make for a very interesting movie, would it?

Neighbors, neighbors, neighbors. Have I got neighbors?

As soon as I got off the plane yesterday, I was greeted by no less than four voice messages from this woman that lives in an adjacent building regarding the parking lot in my building. Apparently she is getting a new tenant who will be needing the space that she has been allowing me to use. Fine, I'll put it on the fucking street just not to have to listen to her.

This woman is a lunatic. She calls me every few weeks to discuss the parking lot situation. And after every few sentences, she reminds me that she is a "homeowner." So she tells me how everyone is breaking the rules of the parking lot and not parking correctly and that according to the zoning, she has the rights to three of the parking spaces to do what chooses with. And if anyone has a problem with that, she will report them for turning their three-family dwelling into a four-family. (She is a homeowner after all.)

This is the type of person who has no regard for anyone else's time. I have wasted approximately five hours of my life on the phone listening to her complain and sitting in the driver's seat of my car while she jabbers from her third floor balcony like Mussolini. I will never get that time back. Today, she called me to remind me to move my car, which I dutifully did immediately, to find her outside in the parking lot when I arrived. I was still talking to her when I heard the dreadful, "oh there you are, I'll just talk to you in person." I was trapped between her and my keyless entry. I told her I was in a big hurry and jumped in my car and moved it without saying goodbye.

Apparently I'm the only person who listens to her rants. Even the other homeowners dismiss her as a pain in the ass tattle tale. But for some reason, I stand there and empathize with her about how the developer was irresponsible and how that guy shouldn't be parking his motorcycle in the lot and how she got trucks banned from her street... Why do I put up with this? I must be the nicest goddamn person in the world. But, I must listen because, after all, she's a homeowner.

And then there's Samurai Sam next door who on the first night of his residence he got inebriated and was waving a samurai sword around and screaming that he was going to go around "hunting niggers." He then passed out near his stoop and someone confiscated his sword. A few months went by without hearing much from him until one night I was walking home to see him throwing glass bottles into the street. He told me that this was because his dog was going to die the next day. I asked him if he was okay and he said that he was afraid he would get arrested again. (Last time, he was arrested for running around the street with a hatchet and a crock pot.) He's a normal looking individual who should not be permitted to purchase alcohol in the United States.

Samurai Sam replaced a lovely young woman who went by D. D was an African-American lesbian who had no feminine traits whatsoever. She used to fuck so loud, she could be heard in the Bronx. She also used to abuse her girlfriends. When she finally moved out, I asked her where she was moving. "I can't tell you," she replied. (Very normal answer.)

Everyone else seems okay, but I am pretty sure that Red Hook is the land of the misfit toys.

Europe is different.

From now on, please don't expect any souvenirs from my little vacations. Buying this shit takes an entire day and then the rest of the evening to figure out who gets what and how to pack breakable little trinkets that will sit in a drawer and little bottles of olive oil and regional liquors that will never be consumed.

And while I'm on the subject, don't expect to see any pictures. I am tired of spending my entire vacation taking pictures. I want to experience and enjoy what I'm looking at instead of worrying about capturing a picture so that my mom can say "oh that's gorgeous" or my dad can say "wow, neat!" It's bad enough worrying about camera batteries and carrying the camera itself around with me all day. I don't need the added pressure of having to take pictures of every monument, park, church, castle, interesting street scene, vista and body of water I encounter. (The ocean really doesn't look much different on the Portuguese coast than it does in Sea Bright, New Jersey.)

So, I am going to hire someone for my next vacation to a.) pack for me, b.) take photographs, c.) purchase crap for people. It would be sort of a vacation caddie. You must pay your own way, but you can take as much mineral water out of the mini bar as you please. Anyone in?

Now back to the reality of the United States where we consume way too much of everything. I love going to Europe for a variety of reasons: cultural, gastronomic, etc. But I really enjoy looking at all the interesting cars that we can't get here in the states. For instance, I saw a BMW 5-series without a sunroof and with *gasp* cloth upholstery. That's right. Cloth. Not leather. The horror, the horror! And contrary to popular belief, Fiats and Peugots are actually nice looking automobiles and people with hatchbacks don't seem any less happy in life than those with traditional sedans. Americans should take a look at their hideous gas guzzlers with wasteful gizmos and gadgets and lobby for more European cars to make it to the U.S. I would drive an Alfa Romeo or an Opel if it were available to me.

For those of us Americans that love European cars and are on a tight budget, we are pretty much limited to Volkswagens, which is not necessarily a bad thing. But why can't my Passat be available in diesel form here?* And why doesn't Audi offer Americans the right to choose a manual transmission in its A-6? And some people love the engineering of Mercedes-Benz, but could live without leather, wood and a navigation system. Why should they have to pay for those features just because that's all American dealers will order. We deserve more choices in America when it comes to automobiles.

Let's face it. Gas is still dirt cheap here compared to Europe. The only way Americans are going to start changing their driving and car buying habits is if gas, all of a sudden, went up to $10 a gallon, which isn't going to happen in the near future, but I kind of wish it did. Who needs a pickup truck if they're not hauling plywood around all day? And who needs an SUV when a wagon will do the trick? I'm not preaching about global warming or any of that shit; I just think the Europeans know what they're doing.

Time to practice my Fado (traditional Portuguese folk music).


*I probably wouldn't buy one, but it would be nice to have the option to do so.

Realtor Names

Since I am leaving to Portugal this afternoon, I thought I would leave with a list of names that make for good realtors. I don't know why I thought of this now.

Females:

• Julie
• Barbara
• Joyce
• Gayle
• Carol
• Geri
• Toni
• Cindy
• Terry
• Linda
• Roz
• Judy
• Patricia

Males:*

• Jerry
• Anthony
• Frank
• Terry
• Pat

For some reason, people with these names are destined to be realtors at some point in their lives.

Ok, off to Portugal for bachaula, fado, cobblestone streets and vinho verde. Hopefully my lovely girlfriend will guest blog for me. She has my password.

See you all next week. If there's a terrorist attack on TAP Air flight 103, thanks for spending time on Gentry or Not.

*This is a female dominated industry.

Oh Craig, what would we do without thee?

In this age of computers, we have created a large sector of people that cannot compete in normal society. That's where Craigslist comes in. I ask you this: Where would you be without Craigslist at this very moment?

I know I probably would not be where I am today without the aid of the eponymous dot org. (That being an apartment with hardwood floors and central air in Red Hook, Brooklyn.) I also wouldn't have either of the two jobs I currently hold. Oh, and I wouldn't have roommates to share my space with either. In fact, I would be standing up right now as I type this because the chair I am sitting on was purchased on Craigslist.

While many people shape their lives with the aid of Craigslist for jobs and apartments, others take it to the next level. Now, you can really buy, sell, lease or give away virtually anything on Craigslist from an opulent seaside retreat in Amagansett to a ratty old paper towel holder. You can find a lover or a hooker or get legal advice. My favorite section of Craigslist has to be Activity Partners. In a city of 8 million people, we are now resorting to an anonymous free website to find people to do things with. Here a few interesting posts up there today. These are just titles and the first few sentences.

• Ladies-Free Sailing Day Trips! Want a Hamptons experience while never leaving Manhattan? Come take a free day trip on a 50-foot luxury yacht! -We’re looking for well-educated women who want to learn to sail or just enjoy a party on the high seas. (I can't help but wonder if this guy has some ulterior motives; otherwise maybe I would get an invite too.)
• Looking for communication partner or ayone know the best book to read - I am asian. Or anyone known the best book to read. Thanks (This is a bit vague. The New York Times Book Review is a pretty good resource. Or perhaps Amazon.com. I also don't see what being Asian has to do with this. Are you looking for Asian materials? You did not make this clear. Please advise.)
• I Go To The Hudson Valley (gorgeous country/forest) Every Weekend. Hi there, I'm a cool/successful and entirely non-threatening guy who lives in BK, works in SoHo for a Green Architecture/Engineering firm, and recently bought 31 acres in the gorgeous Hudson Valley - My land is along the Hudson River and between the Berkshires and Catskill Mountains. (I wouldn't be inclined to trust someone who wants to whisk me away into the wilderness, as non-threatening as he claims to be.)
• Guitar Lessons for Bodywork - Experienced guitar player and songwriter will teach you to play guitar in exchange for bodywork (massage only, no sex). (Just go get a massage from a professional. This is just awkward.)
• Meet Other Pet Owners.....Safely (I didn't bother reading the rest of this one. It just seems that the pet owning population is a safe enough bunch as it is and I can go outside and meet lots of pet owners walking their dogs or talking about how cute their cats are.)
• Looking for female kissing partner - I am looking for female partner who loves long passionate kissing, long long kissing. I am male, 33, east asian/indian, live in queens, clean, d/d free. You must be over 23, clean, female. Race is not important, but being hygenic is. Maybe we can be friends and meet sometimes and kiss a lot. (Ladies, I would stay away. Far away.)
• GROUND ZERO MEMORIAL TOMORROW MORNING. WOULD LOVE COMPANY. female plus - I am a medic living here post 9/11 for various reasons would love to have your company tomorrow morning for the memorial. if you were affected, I have broad shoulders maybe a coffee afterwards? (Using a tragedy to try to get laid? That's just wrong. Very very wrong.)

There a lot more of these unusual, freakish posts all over Craigslist. I haven't even gotten to the M4W, M4M, T4m sections. I feel like getting tested for syphilis just by reading the Casual Encounters section. What did all these people do back in B.C. (Before Craigslist)? Did they just wait around the house hoping and wishing there was a way to find a group of strangers to play badminton in Flushing, Queens with or did they actually leave the house and try to meet people the traditional way?

By the way, does anyone want to go to some open houses in Park Slope with me next Sunday? Preferably an Asian female who will call me "Big Daddy" all day? Let me know. (No sex necessary but a massage would be nice.)

Forgive me Mayor for I have sinned.

Every parking ticket I receive takes a little bit more out of me. It makes me just a little more bitter, a little more jaded and a worse person than I already am in general. It's not just the money that bothers me, it's the whole thing. From the moment I walk up to my vehicle and see the garish orange and white notice tucked in my windshield wiper to the time I actually get around to paying it (I usually wait until I accumulate three or four before I pay.), it just reminds me of how much of a failure I am.

For about two weeks after I receive a ticket, I feel a sense of doom. I wish that the NYPD parking officials knew how they made me feel and would take pity on me once in a while. Some of the tickets I absolutely deserve, but others I'm not so sure about. Here is a letter I wrote to contest a bullshit ticket.

To Whom It May Concern:

I wish to plead not guilty for this parking violation issued on July 15, 2007, 2:15 p.m. Eastern time for my vehicle, a Graphite Blue 2006 Volkswagen Passat 2.0T in the amount of $115 at 375 Hudson St., New York, NY 10013.

The summons states “no standing all days/all times,” however there was a parking meter at the space I parked at which I had submitted the appropriate amount of United States currency in the form of quarters into.

There was no sign in sight suggesting that it would be illegal to park at this space. This ticket was clearly issued in error.

I have not included payment because I feel as though the ticket was not just.

Thank you in advance for investigating this matter.

Sincerely,

(my name)

As you can guess, I was found guilty on this matter. It just doesn't make sense to me that in the United States of America, the greatest country in the world, the land of the free, that I can get a parking ticket when I put the appropriate amount of money into the meter in which was closest to my car. Somehow, they decided that they do not like me or my Passat and that a ticket would need to written to make me feel badly.

Most of all, I feel like I am letting Mayor Bloomberg down with every infraction. I desperately seek his approval for some reason and I don't want him to think that I go around blatantly disobeying the rules in his city. I do think that if we were to meet, he would be utterly charmed by me and possibly invite me to lunch to talk about the new 2nd Avenue Subway line or the proposed commuter tax or something.

In the meantime, I am going to make a collage of all the parking tickets and other such summonses to hang up on my wall of failure along with my failed math tests from high school.

The People of the State of New York versus Me...

"Will there be coffee for me when I get there?" I inquire politely from the back of a late model Chevrolet Impala with my hands cuffed behind my back.
"It's not the Holiday Inn," the officer responded wryly.

It was just a few moments prior that I was informed that we would be transported to central booking. The real deal. Where all the criminals in Kings County have to go. Even, me a smart casual dressed man who did nothing more than walk in a park past 10 p.m. (and maybe told the arresting officer to "go write some parking tickets or something").

After a few long hours in a holding cell in the 76th precinct, I figured that I would be sent home with a notice of a court appearance and a small fine. When they came to unlock the cell door, I figured that I did my time and I'll pay a small fine. No big deal. I did not know what I had in store.

Sitting in the back of a police car going from Union Street in Carroll Gardens to central booking in Downtown Brooklyn, I informed the officers of some of the newer condo buildings being built along the way and what amenities they had and the price per square foot and maintenance fees. Then I had told them that I was planning on playing some golf that day, to which the response was, "There's not gonna be any golf for you today. And shut up back there."

So we arrive at central booking on Schermerhorn Street and are escorted into a dank basement that smelled like a mix of body odor, excrement and that crap that brothas put in their hair. I sit in another holding cell and wait. I figure at this point that I would get myself booked and be on my way home so I can shower, have a leisurely brunch and get to the golf course early to hit some irons and putt around a bit. This was not to be apparently.

We are finally brought to a different area of about six cells where we would be the remainder of the day. Each cell consists of a cement floor, a bench and a toilet and sink (no partition between bath area and sitting area). Basically, it's like sitting on the floor of a men's room with a bunch of derelicts. Just what a person with OCD needs. I reach in my pocket and discover a Xanax. This one will need to last me for as long as I'm in this shit hole. I swallow it with no water and taste the bitter deliciousness of my favorite pill and hope the tension will melt away, but it doesn't.

A few hours go by, we are moved into different cells and offered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and generic corn flakes. I refuse to eat as I am nauseous and want to die. I yearn for some Poland Spring or Vintage Seltzer. I look around the cell and it is crowded with no where to sit but this tiny corner near the toilet where I have been carefully putting the laces back into my New Balances for the past 25 minutes. I am the only white person there, perhaps the only one who has never before been in this horrid place before.

Men keep crying out, "Yo OFFICA, OFFICA, OFFICA." The offica doesn't respond. I see a sign that states "SOAP AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST" so I inquire about its availability. "Excuse me officer, may I please have some soap," I say articulately, enunciating as to separate myself from the rest of these vagabonds.

"Soap, you want soap? Haha. Hey Joe, this guy wants soap. What are you gonna do, take a shower? Yeah we'll get you some soap - as soon as we bring out the strawberries and champagne for the other guys. Six years doing this and you're the first one to ask for soap."*

"But the sign indicated that soap would be available if requested."

No response. The officer disappears. No soap for me. I have never felt so dirty in my life. It's still only 11 a.m. Surely I would be seeing the judge soon. We move again into different cells. I try to sleep but the brothas are loud. They're laughing, talking, telling tales of what happened when they were here last month. Crack addicts spread out on the floor taking up an unreasonable amount of space.

I remember at this point that I may have left my sunroof tilted and that it might rain, so I get another officer's attention and tell him my dilemma to see if there's anything he can do. He laughs. Then I tell him that I have OCD and am going through Xanax and Zoloft withdrawal (both of which are true). He tells me I can go to the hospital and then come right back here or stay and shut up. I do the latter. (Maybe he could at least check if it's raining so I know if my upholstery is getting wet.)

So here I am on Memorial Day, surrounded by criminals, feeling dirtier than I ever have, sick to my stomach, worried about my leather seats, inhaling the most deadly odors imaginable, not knowing when I can get out of here. This is the worst moment of my life. It was at this point when someone (who apparently sneaked a cigarette in) in my cell said something that actually made me crack a smile. "Shit son, a room full a criminals and ain't nobody got a match?"

I realize that some of these guys are having fun, chatting and shooting the shit with the guys that I have absolutely nothing in common with any of them. I'm charming and entertaining, why can't I have fun too? "Does anyone want to hear my Neil Young impression," I think of asking but decide not to. They're talking about living in the projects and falling asleep outside and their welfare checks. I'm sitting there thinking about my swing plane and that new Thai place on Smith Street.

The clock is moving slower than it did in Theology 120 on a Thursday afternoon. Finally they call names to go see the judge! It's my chance. I've been here all day...but I do not get called. I just get moved to another cell. The officer tells us to make ourselves comfortable. So I fall in and out of sleep for the next few hours wanting nothing more than a nice bottle of Poland Spring and a shower. (Not even a cigarette. I am a voracious smoker, but I didn't even think of cigarettes all day, just water.)

Finally around 6:30, a good 12 hours since I've been in these cells, I am called to see the judge. Unfortunately, 50 others convicts are too. So I am cuffed again and taken upstairs to, you guessed it, another holding cell. (It wouldn't kill them to put out some magazines or something for us to read.) And so I wait to see my court appointed public defender and rumors are starting that the judge is probably not going to see everyone tonight being that it is a holiday and we may be stuck downstairs for another day. This thought makes me feel even worse than I did a few hours ago. I start thinking irrationally as some of the guys try to scare me into thinking that there is a chance that the judge will be in a bad mood and send me to Rikers. (Anything is possible.)

After the longest hour of my life, my name is called by a young public defender. She is very kind to me and feels terrible about what happened. She assures me that I will be sent home tonight and that the judge will be ready to see me in 15 minutes. This was the best news I have heard in a while. (I wrote this kind young woman a very nice thank you letter the next day because she probably never gets thanked for what she does.)

I feel like jumping for joy as I go back into the waiting area and start joking around. I tell one of the guys that is heading for Rikers that it seems like a nice place. It is an island after all, there are probably some nice views and such. Maybe a fishing pier. I feel like my old wiseass prick self again. It felt particularly good knowing that I was most likely the only individual in that place that would be going home to a comfortable centrally air conditioned apartment with hardwood floors and 400 thread count sheets that night.

The judge sentences me to two days of community service with the MTA. "That sounds like fun," I whisper to my attorney who chuckles in response. And with that, I am a free man. I exit the building and walk down to the nearest bodega, get some cash out and buy a big beautiful bottle of Poland Spring (the sparkling kind - Mandarin Orange flavor) and a pack of Camel Lights. I hail a cab to the precinct to retrieve my phone and keys and go home to take the longest, most delightful shower of my life.

The very next evening, I treated myself to a nice alfresco dinner at one of my favorite eateries on Smith Street. As I sipped my Chianti and took a bite out of the rustic bread dipped in extra virgin olive oil, I thought to myself, "life is good."

More details on my community service duties at a later date.


*These guys apparently watch a little too much Law & Order and think they are Lieutenant Briscoe.

Give us this day our daily Venti Mocha Frapuccino.

Religious freaks are everywhere. There are people walking around with pamphlets, handing out books, setting up tables on Court Street, knocking on your door and generally being invasive. In fact, every time I exit the Brooklyn Bridge (which is often), I am greeted by the same individual standing in the middle of two lanes on Adams Street/Boerum Place. He sports a snazzy bow tie and carries some papers and what appears to be some pies. So I suppose that if you listen to his spiel and sign up to be a Muslim, you get a free pie. That would have to be some pretty tasty pie. I suppose this guy is trying to create positive associations with the Islamic religion. Pie = good, Muslim = pie, Muslim = good. That's some pretty crafty marketing strategy on his part. Is the pie worth it? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say no on this one.

Why are people so obsessed with trying to get others to join their religion? With Christian Fundamentalists, I'm convinced that the reasoning is purely monetary. Benny Hinn* and Joel Osteen seem to be in this televangelist business because it is lucrative. These two men are charismatic and make great leaders. (They also have great hair which seems to be a prerequisite for successful televangelists.) Jerry Falwell was a dangerous extremist and so is Pat Robertson. And that lovable guy from Growing Pains is following in their footsteps. Falwell certainly had to have psychological problems. Anyone that could blame homosexuals for 9/11 has some loose screws and no sensible person can deny that.

And all this literal interpretation of the Bible is unhealthy and bad for America.

Here a just a few reasons as to why this whole thing is a crock of shit.

• Lack of accountability: Many televangelists exist outside of established churches. They have little or no oversight from denominational structures and many are accountable to no-one. In cases where their ministry is run by a board of directors, this is frequently made up of family members and other people who will not challenge the televangelist. Many are not members of the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability, an independent organisation which promotes high financial standards amongst Christian ministries.
• Supernatural theology: Most televangelists hold Pentecostal viewpoints, believing in spiritual gifts, divine healing, and other miracles. These subjects remain controversial within Christian thinking. In some instances, claims of miracles have been shown to be fraudulent.
• Opulent lifestyles: Many televangelists have accumulated significant personal wealth from their ministries and own McMansions in treeless subdivisions, Lexuses and even private jets. There is also frequently confusion between personal and ministry assets. What happened to a vow of poverty?
• Financial emphasis: Televangelism requires substantial amounts of money to produce programs and purchase airtime on cable and satellite networks. Televangelists devote much time to fundraising activities. Products such as books, CDs, DVDs, and trinkets with supposedly miraculous powers, are aggressively promoted to viewers. Opponents regard such an emphasis as inappropriate and also question whether the money would be better used relieving poverty or employing traditional missionaries.
• Personality cult: Traditional Christian teaching emphasises the following of Jesus and not a particular preacher, however televangelism tends to build a personality cult around the televangelist.
• Health and wealth teaching: Many televangelists preach a prosperity gospel that promises material success to believers, subject to their generous donations to the “work of God”, which inevitably means the televangelist..
• False prophecies: Numerous televangelists have issued false prophecies, for example Benny Hinn's claim that Fidel Castro would die in the 1990s**, or Pat Robertson's claim that the War in Iraq would end in 2006. Many other televangelists have made false prophecies of the Second Coming that haven't seem to come true yet.
• False teaching: Televangelists frequently depart from or add to traditional Christian doctrines.
• Entertainment focus: The style of televangelism seems to mirror that of the secular entertainment industry, with emphasis on celebrity, slick production, and aggressive marketing.
• Exploitation: Followers of televangelists frequently are poor and uneducated, lacking the ability to critically analyze the message they are presented with, which frequently links a blessing from God to making sacrificial donations to the televangelist. This has led to claims of exploitation of the vulnerable.
• Crowd manipulation: Allegations have been made that many televangelists use psychological techniques, including mass hypnosis, to produce the desired response from people in what is a charged emotional atmosphere. I believe these allegations.
• Disputed success: Televangelists claim to be reaching millions of people worldwide with the gospel and producing numerous converts to Christianity. However, such claims are difficult to verify independently. It has also been questioned whether non-believers actually watch Christian television.***
• Mega churches: They take credit cards and have Starbucks on the premises. I think that just about says it all.

Televangelists often strongly dispute these criticisms and claim they are doing God's work. Sick fucks.

However, if money isn't the primary motivation, why do people care what your religion is? For example, I enjoy Blue Point Oysters on the half shell and believe that they are good. I do not force others to eat them and I do not go around with literature that states why they are good. I do not knock on people's doors or accost them in the street to tell them to eat these delicious morsels from the sea. I simply eat them when the mood strikes and move on. I do not care whether you like them or not. Perhaps you like West Coast oysters better. That's fine. They are good too, but I prefer Blue Points. Let's say you like your oysters fried instead of raw. I am fine with that. Let's say you don't like oysters or any shellfish or anything from the sea. Cool. I'm not going to force you to eat oysters or try oysters or even look at oysters. I could care less. Why can't religious freaks be the same way? I do not want to declare a war on those who would rather eat oysters Rockefeller than on the half shell. I do not hate thy neighbor for eating clams casino when oysters on the half shell can be had instead. If we all had the same attitude about religion, there would be world peace. It's as simple as that.

Amen.



*Not to be confused with the Japanese hibachi chain Benihana
**I think that's when he quit smoking cigars, so Hinn wasn't completely wrong.
***Ok, I've been known to watch a little bit of the 700 Club.