[via i09]

This is a wonderful thing. It is quite the “happy” color that can add a bit of zest to just about anything. While I’ve seen this color in clothes everywhere, I haven’t actually seen many people wearing them. I wonder if it’s too bold and people think it might be inaccessible for them? But really, Tangerine Tango is a friend to every skin tone when worn the right way (Redheads-not too much of it close to your face).  It can be the statement in your statement jewelry, the color in your color blocking, and the prep in your Hamptons Preppy. It’s fun, it’s elegant, and it’s classic.

I’ve put together a few items for you all that are easy and stylish ways to add Tangerine Tango to your look.

For the brave-at-heart (or the guy who loves Revenge’s Nolan Ross costumes) try the bright orange suit pants from Target (recently seen in their “Alouette” campaign). Gals should boldly rock the H&M blazer (I’m talking to you, Ernessa). For those who would like to take a more subtle approach, I suggest the Sperry sneakers for guys or the Idiom Bangle by Kate Spade for gals. These are simple accessories that add the perfect splash of color.

Now Boldly Go!

At some point, the circle splintered into smaller groups.  I talked to an artist for a while; we gabbed about nonprofits, art, all sorts of stuff.  A few feet away, three guys and one girl talked about online dating.  They shared a few horror stories, whipped out their cell phones that had a mobile dating app installed.  Compared profiles, checked to see if anyone interesting was in the area.

As they talked, the three guys, in subtle and less subtle ways, vyed for the one girl’s attention.  Subtle shifts in body position, laughing a little too loudly, invitations to future cultural events.  She was attractive, can’t blame the guys.  Anyway, I watched all this happening and realized at some point that I was happier talking about a van that doubles as a pinhole camera (awesome!) than about dating.

A year ago, I might have participated in the dating story-share.  Hell, that was kind of my thing.  I’d go to parties and people would be all, like, “Hey, Kass, tell us about that time you did that thing with that girl that involved the sex!”  And I’d tell tales, sometimes a bit grotesque, about various misadventures, the lengths to which I may have gone to grab a few minutes of empty pleasure, moments of unexpected vulnerability in the midst of tawdry assignations.  I’d cloak myself in these stories, assuming the identity of the weathered, bitter veteran of the Dating Wars, holding myself up as an example of singlehood in LA.  Assuming that folks were looking for a shortish, bald example of said singlehood.

I even started writing a blog called Single White Nerd. You’re reading it right now.

If you’ve been reading this blogumn for any length of time, you may have realized that it’s been a while since I’ve written about being Single.  This isn’t because I’ve run off and secretly coupled up, but because. . .it simply isn’t that interesting to me.  There are only so many ways you can express hope, sadness, excitement, disappointment, seduction and so on before it all starts to feel a bit rote.  And I’ve been spending the bulk of my time recently not really dwelling on being single; after 8+ years of mostly-singleness it’s more a semi-permanent condition than anything else and hardly worth noting.

Add to that the fact that Change is Afoot in a not-unstereotypical mid-life crisis sort of way (I mean, I spent yesterday in a half day meditation retreat.  Jesus, Two-Years-Ago Me would laugh at Yesterday-Me and steal his wallet) and I’ve started to realize that this whole Single White Nerd moniker, while certainly accurate, doesn’t fit so well anymore.  So the question I pose to you, my faithful reader (hi), is this:  If we were to retitle this blog, what might we retitle it?

I’ve had some ideas.

Questing White Nerd:  appealing in an Arthurian legend kind of way.  Maybe I could do a photo shoot in chain mail!

Liminal White Nerd:  the adventures of a nerd in between Here and There.  It has an academic appeal, but also sounds maybe a bit dirtier than it should.  Liminal.  Say it out loud.  Sounds kinky, no?

Nerd on a Wire:  A precariously perched nerd, poised for flight, ever wary of the dangers inherent in having its feet on two adjacent wires at the same time(i.e. getting fried).  Also reminiscent of the Mel Gibson movie featuring Goldie Hawn.  Or the Goldie Hawn movie featuring Mel Gibson.

What do you think?  Assuming the Fierce and Nerdy editorial staff approves a re-branding initiative, what should we call this thing?

I’ll wait here by the computer meditating and not surfing online dating sites while you think it over.  Namaste, friendos.

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featured image credit: anirvan

I just wanted to say that, although apparently this documentary on the trend of male grooming is getting terrible reviews (18% Rotten Tomatoes) for its lazy and insider treatment of what should have been a fascinating subject. Do weigh in below if you’ve seen it.

The rantings of a non-driving theatre professional living in altogether the wrong city

One night, early last week, something very important happened. I woke up the next morning to find the world was a better place. The sun shone brighter, my smile came easier, I experienced a level of contentment which made the frustrations of everyday life seem small and inconsequential. I knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, but I had a renewed sense of purpose, of optimism, of hope. The night before, in an exceptional display of courage and grit, the Dallas Mavericks came back from 16 points down to beat the Lakers in Game 1 of the Western Conference Semi-Finals. Truly a happy day for all Americans.

Oh, and Osama Bin Laden was killed, which I thought was good news, except Martin Luther King Jr. was whining about it all over Facebook. Blah, blah, blah, rejoice at my enemy’s death, blah, blah, blah cycle of violence and hate. What a buzzkill. As Harry Truman once said “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, which is fine be me because blind people can’t hijack planes and fly them into buildings. And get your quotes right before you post online, people.”

In the days that followed, the news got better and better. The Mavericks demolished Evil Cartoon Rat King Kobe Bryant (code name: Geronimo) and his soulless band of starfucking jerkwads (plus Derek Fisher, who only joined the team because he was looking for a really tough Missionary assignment and somebody already had Pygmy Cannibals and truckers). Dallas truly played as a team — which is good news for superstar Dirk Nowitzki, five time winner of the NBA’s Nicest German Award, whose guilt over the Holocaust typically keeps him from being aggressive in the paint and winning in the playoffs. Nowitzki may be Dallas’ second most accurate shooter of all time, but unlike Lee Harvey Oswald, he doesn’t have to act alone. Because of the contributions of his teammates, the Mavericks swept the Lakers in four magnificent games. I haven’t liked Dallas this much since JR was shot.

All this delicious humiliation for the Lakers has been distracting me from the fact that my beloved Boston Celtics are locked in a desperate struggle for survival with the Miami Heat. The Heat, of course, are led by LeBron James who came to Miami after leaving his home-town Cleveland Cavaliers, an act which made him the ideal role model to thousands of young people in Cleveland, by showing them it’s possible to get the fuck out. I mean, I realize that it’s very important to be loyal to one’s hometown. I’ve discussed it quite seriously with New Yorkers and Bostonians all over Los Angeles. Still, the dude lived in Cleveland. Unless you’re a gay teen in Toledo, that’s nothing to aspire to. Like Chlamydia and The Mentalist, the best thing I can say about Cleveland is that it’s better than you expect it to be. It’s cold, grey and depressing — and somehow Global Warming is just making the snow worse. I know that the other Clevelanders are jealous of LeBron, but, guys, don’t shiv a brother in the yard just cause he’s due for parole. Make him a heart-shaped grilled cheese sandwich on the radiator and hug it out. After all, LeBron left Cleveland for the opportunity to play with two of the finest players of his generation and the chance to win multiple NBA titles. I left New York for the opportunity to have a washer and dryer in my condo and the chance to someday have a dishwasher.

Of course, the real reason to hate LeBron isn’t that he left Cleveland, but that he’s playing against the Celtics, and that means he should break his leg and fucking die.

I love the Celtics. I adore the Celtics. I love the Celtics so much I fucking hate the Celtics. It’s not a pretty kind of love. Not a sitting by the fireplace wearing turtleneck sweaters sipping hot mulled wine listening to Chicago on the Hi-Fi kind of love or a sneaking wine and chicken into the movie theatre, manic giggling at the thrift store, ordering one cup of coffee at the diner and talking all night until the sun comes up kind of love. This is… the other kind of love. This is fist through the drywall, screaming through the bathroom door, worried looks from the neighbors, break up and make up and fuck til we’re raw restraining order kind of love. Or, anyhow, that’s how it would be if they actually knew who I was. As it is now, I’m the guy stalking them around New York City,  underlining passages in Catcher in the Rye, and they are living quietly in the penthouse of The Dakota blissfully unaware that I’m even alive and ignoring me until it’s too late.

I first fell in love with the Celtics during the NBA finals in 1986, when Bird, McHale, Parish, Ainge and DJ beat the Houston Rockets led by the “Twin Towers” Olijuwan and Sampson (Remember being able to use “Twin Towers” – another reason to be glad that shitbird is dead. I hope they got him unarmed on the toilet jerking off to the T-Mobile girl on a second hand Sidekick.) I can’t honestly remember what it was about that gangly, flat-footed, pock-marked crew that got to me. Maybe it was the way they played the game felt approachable to me, like if I just took enough shots on the driveway I could be one of them. Maybe it was that my Dad was cheering for them and it was one more thing we could do together. The fact that they were winning sure didn’t hurt. Anyhow, all I knew was that I was enraptured. Right after the Finals, my class took a field trip to Boston (a coincidence, I think) and as we were standing in line to board Old Ironsides, a loud gaggle of green-clad fans blustered past, still noisily celebrating the victory. In my still-squeaky Bar-Mizvah boy voice I screamed along with them as they passed, feeling like I was part of some great, triumphant tribe. And the best part was, I knew this would keep happening over and over again. After all, the Celtics were the most successful franchise in NBA history, how long could it possibly be before they won another title?

The following year, my Dad and I watched every game of the playoffs. This wasn’t easy, because our home cable system didn’t carry TNT, so it meant a lot more trips to my grandmother’s house. When she got sick of having us sit around in total silence staring at the television and decimating her candy dishes, we went to the Notty Pine Tavern in Troy. (SIDE NOTE: Name spelling is correct. Big shout out to the Troy public schools!) to cheer with the local Boston-loving booze-hounds. There aren’t a lot of non-Alcoholic fathers who would take their 14-year-old son to a bar, but this was the same guy who took me and two friends to the West Bank shopping for glass, so a watering hole in downtown Troy hardly seemed out of bounds.

I loved my grandmother, but it was a hell of a lot more fun to perch on a barstool and scream my little guts out with a bunch of drunks than to writhe in silent ecstasy and agony on the needlepoint-backed chairs of my grandmother’s tastefully appointed sitting room (the pristine living room was off limits for any activities as frivolous as “watching TV” or “living”) while the Celtics struggled mightily with the Milwaukee Bucks and Detroit Pistons. Plus the pizza at Notty Pine was a major improvement over her Andes Mints and Jordan Almonds, which were actually invented to teach Depression era kids about disappointment. It was at the Notty Pine where I saw Bird steal the inbounds pass from vile thug, Bill Laimbeer, and pass it to DJ under the rim to win the game in the 87 Eastern Conference Finals — still one of the great moments of my life.

Magic Johnson grinned his Lakers to victory that year in the Finals, but I accepted that. I knew the Celtics would be back next year and that we would wipe the smile off his smug little face. I was wrong. Every year, it got harder and harder to get through the playoffs. The early euphoric days of our relationship were over and they were replaced by the shrieking, pleading and finger-pointing of a trailer park marriage gone south. I could no longer watch them play around other people – or rather, other people could not put up with the quivering ball of Rage-flavored Jello that I would become when the Celtics would play. Finally, in 92, Bird retired and as I took his poster down from my bedroom wall, I was pretty sure the relationship was over.

I tried loving other teams. While living in New York in the late 90’s I shacked up briefly with the Knicks, but Patrick Ewing would sweat all over the pillows and wake up screaming about Reggie Miller, and Van Gundy drank all my Diet Coke, so it didn’t really work out. Plus the Knicks have some of the worst management in all of professional sports. Watching owner Howard Dolan build that team is like watching Michael J. Fox try to play Jenga — every time he makes a move, the whole thing falls apart.

When I moved out to LA, my new favorite team became Anyone Playing the Lakers. With every Laker flag I saw on a Hummer or Prius (the Alpha and Omega of LA Vehicular Douchbaggery) the purple and gold bile in my throat grew until it spewed from my throat uncontrollably. I cheered for the Sacramento Kings, the Phoenix Suns, the Minnesota Timberwolves, even the once hated Detroit Pistons. I packed my loyalty in a carpet bag and drifted on the wind to any city chanting BEAT LA. As Crosby, Stills & Nash said: “If you can’t cheer for the team you love, baby, hate the team that wins” The Lakers were willing to oblige by making themselves as hateful as possible. Lamar Odom married second rate celebutante Khipmunk Kheeks Kardashian, a Sixth-Man-of-the-Year Trophy Wife. Pau Gasol is more concerned with his CSI: Miami residuals than with playing defense, and the nicest thing you can say about Kobe is that he wasn’t actually convicted of rape and only says “faggot” when he’s pissed at the ref. In 2004 to be extra special super hateful, the Lakers brought in Gary Payton and Karl Malone to glower and sulk on the bench.  It was alright for a while, but ultimately just hating the Lakers became unsatisfying.  I found that, without love, hate alone is not enough to fill the heart and nourish the soul. Also, those motherfuckers just kept on winning.

Finally, in 2008, love returned to my basketball life. Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett joined Paul Pierce on the Celtics and they battled their way to the first title in 22 years. A few things had happened in my life since they won last. I finished Middle School, High School and College. I fell in love, broke up, fell in love, broke up, fell in love for real and got married. I worked for a non-profit agency, and insurance company, two comedy clubs, two theatres (one that actually pays me!), five temp agencies, sold comedy club tickets in Bryant Park, telemarketed, did market research, gave out sandwiches and fruit on the subway, directed a couple dozen shows and produced another 30 more, rented 20 apartments, forfeited 18 security deposits and bought a condo, moved to New York City, loved New York City, hated New York City and left New York City  and finally spent eleven years in LA totally failing to get a dishwasher. Still, better late than never. When Kevin Garnett screamed “Top of the world!” and Paul Pierce cried with the trophy, I was a big, hairy, squealing 14-year-old boy all over again, screaming and squeaking and rejoicing in a victory that was a long time coming.

And, just like in ‘86, I thought I’d be getting this again, over and over again in the years to come, but alas, it was not to be. They didn’t even make the Finals in 09, and got creamed by the Lakers in 2010 in seven tough games. And, this year, well, who knows…Even if they get past the Heat (and, being the world’s most pessimistic sports fan, I think that’s a big “if”), they’ve got a long way to go against a whole lot of young athletic teams. Still, one game at a time. Rajon Rondo’s still got both his legs working even if he can only bend one arm, Shaq can actually make it from one end of the court to another once or twice before having to go to the bench for Oxygen, and there’s every possibility that the Heat will implode like an outdated casino. Even if the Celtics do lose, though, I can take solace in the fact that this year’s champions won’t be the Lakers, and “Not The Lakers” is my second favorite all-time team. I’ve even got the car flag to show for it:

As Obama wrote in the first draft of his Bin Laden speech:

Na na na na

Na na na na

Hey Hey Hey

GOODBYE!

To last week’s winners- go on, take a Victory Lap. You deserve it.

Blu-ray discs were officially released to the public in June 2006. The first films to be sold were: 50 First Dates, The Fifth Element, Hitch, House of Flying Daggers, Underworld: Revolution, XxX, and The Terminator. Now, most movies and TV shows are available in the format.

The discs, which contain greater storage than a standard DVD, allow movie companies to release films in high definition picture quality to the home consumer market. With the addition of a high definition television, Americans can now get a movie theater experience at home. Many older films and TV shows are being remastered for re-release in Blu-ray, adding more bonus features, interactive chat and online connections to enhance the film experience. A standard DVD can hold 4.7GB of data, while Blu-ray begins at 50GB and up. But, all of these additions come at a price.

When DVD’s hit the market in the late 90’s, they replaced VHS tapes as the preferred home video format. It’s hard to find VHS tapes still on sale in stores. Now, Blu-ray is doing the same damage to DVDs.

A special Blu-ray player is required for playback and most are backwards compatible, which means they will allow playback of standard DVDs. Most of the players on the market also allow connection to the internet. Many of the newer films offer the ability download interactive features such as games or even a chat with other moviegoers online, all without having to leave the movie.

The first Blu-ray players went on sale at around $699, but the price has dropped dramatically, just like HDTV’s when they were first sold. Amazon.com has currently has players selling as low as $59.

When the new technology became available for home use, a disc format war immediately broke out.  Blu-ray and rival HD-DVD fought to become the high definition disc for the masses.  Sales of Blu-ray discs outsold HD-DVD and studios began to quietly drop the format. HD-DVD was officially dead in February 2008, when the last manufacturer, Toshiba, stopped producing new players. I was eager to upgrade, but I waited to see which disc format would win before I made any investment. This same exact home video turf war took place in the 1980’s, with VHS knocking out Beta of most living rooms.

Unlike a DVD, Blu-ray players are basically little computers and use a different beam of light to read the disc data.   While all the information downloads, viewers get to stare at a bar or icon on the TV screen.  On older players, this can take up to a few minutes.

After finally getting the disc booted up, most viewers are nearly locked into watching several minutes of movie trailers and commercials.  On many discs, the chapter forward button is useless, leaving the viewer to fast forward through all of the trailers – just like in the old days of VHS.  The menu button is often worthless at this point.

After running through all the trailers – the disc has to boot up again.  That’s right, on most discs and players; you are waiting again, while staring at a bar for the main menu to boot up.  It’s like the old days of America Online – waiting forever for the constant downloading of artwork.

A Blu-ray disc rented from Netflix.

If you are renting a Blu-ray disc, you will find that costs extra as well.  Netflix charges a couple of extra dollars per month to add the Blu-ray option to your monthly plan, whether you rent any Blu-rays that month or not – you pay for the option. Blu-ray movies will also cost you a few dollars more in the store, although they are often bundled with a digital copy that you can download to a portable device like an iPad.

While the picture quality is a can’t miss – the ads at the beginning of many of the movies are beyond frustrating. I love movie trailers, but I should have the option to bypass them, when I just want to get to the film. If it were one or two, that would be one thing, but some movies pack more than a half dozen trailers that can top over 15 minutes of fast forwarding. By the time I get to the end, I usually don’t remember what the first couple of trailers were for, anyhow. Add in the boot up time and you can be in for quite a wait.

I’m also freighted for the day they replace these trailers with full blown commercials, like they currently do in the theatre. I’ve actually scaled back seeing first run movies theatres – there’s no reason to go, anymore. The ticket prices are high, the concessions are expensive, and people with their cell phones are just idiots. With the big screen TV’s, it’s just easier to wait a few months, and watch it at home.

THE 411

Name: Blu-ray discs

What: high definition movie discs for home consumers

First released: 2006

JERSEY JOE RECOMMENDS:  I like Blu-ray discs; I don’t like all the garbage it takes to load up a movie.

If you’re looking to save a few bucks and want to see the newest films, skip heading to the movies, and rent the newest releases when the come out on disc to watch at home on your big screen TV. You will have to wait a few months, it’s much cheaper and you can stop the movie if you need a bathroom break, or rewind to catch that hilarious scene all over again. It’s just frustrating to have to fast forward through all the crap at the beginning. Just let me hit the menu button and that’s it.

You definitely want to connect your Blu-ray player to the internet, if possible. Not only for the interactive disc options, but most manufacturers regularly send software upgrades that your player can download automatically. Blu-ray is still an evolving technology and many of the older players will not play the newest discs. But, by having your software and firmware up to date – you can eliminate most of those problems. If you’re dropping the cash for a player and a big screen TV, you’ll want your software up to date – so you don’t miss out on the full experience you’re paying for!

Recordable Blu-ray discs and players are slowly making it to stores, but they are a slow and expensive rollout, just like recordable DVDs were. It is nice to know that we will have this as an option for everyone, soon.

Just like VHS and DVD, Blu-ray will eventually became obsolete too. I’m sure it will stick around for at least a decade, until everything becomes completely downloadable over the web.

My current Blu-ray player makes this a reality with the Netflix Instant Streaming service. For a couple of bucks more per month, I can download an ever growing selection of movies and TV series directly to my player. Many studios have withheld their rights to permit their movies to be streamed or sent online, but the library of what’s available is growing. This is where technology is going and it will most likely make most discs obsolete in a decade.

Image credits - pltzyper!, downbeat, & nipotan

In any case go to the kawaiiideco Etsy shop to get a set of any of these press-on nails for $19.

Parents are people, too.

Since I recently wrote about my daddy issues, I find it only fair to write about my mommy issues as well. Now my issues surrounding her are not so definable – they’re much more convoluted and intrinsic to that weird and confusing bond between a mother and a daughter. I can tell you this, though: it makes me not want a daughter. Harsh? Well, it’s how I feel, at least for now.

After all the stages daughters go through – immense attachment (0-8), awkward friendship (9-13), intense hatred and rebellion (14-18), clarity of collaborative forces (19-25), then the slow and eventual reveal that your mother is actually a person too and does not exist solely in your head (26 on) – it’s a wonder we’re not all more messed up than we are.

This last stage, this is where I am at. I obviously cannot talk about what happens after, since I have not experienced it yet, but I’m hoping pretty hard that there are some more stages because the one I’m in sucks.

Now that I am fully an adult, (in some circles) and am making life decisions on my own that will affect my existence from here on out, it’s come to my attention that my mother at some point had to make these same decisions. Not the exact same ones, but similar in the fact that they would impact the rest of her life.

At 28, already my mom had three girls from her first husband (an abusive alcoholic) whom she was about to divorce in the next year or so. After that, she would join a commune in southern France, leaving her girls to essentially fend for themselves with the grandparents and not-all-there father for a few months. Then she would return, take her girls and move to Texas where she would meet her second husband, tall and bald with a huge beard (also an abusive drunk). They would have a baby boy and all live on a tanker for the next year, transporting whale blubber and lard back and forth around the Gulf of Mexico. She would then divorce him, and her eldest two would move back home to live with their still-drunk father to be crazy teenagers. She would meet my father while he was working in Austin and they would immediately fall in love. She would move to Los Angeles with my brother and sister to live with him and a few years later, I would be born – not on purpose – as most of my siblings were. My father would leave my mother and when I was two, she would begin a relationship with a much younger man. She would get pregnant by him and have my littlest sister, the last of our brood, and move back east.

That is the very barest of bare bones of the decisions my mother was making. And I wasn’t there, I don’t know what it was like, I don’t know what she was thinking, but I do know that I’m doing nothing of the sort with all those babies and men.

Of course I realize it was circumstantial when she first began having babies almost 50 years ago, but what about towards the end – me, my little sister. Why did she never want a career? Why did she not go back to school? (Although she attempted once, it didn’t stick) Why did she pick crappy men? What hole was she trying to fill? Why? What? I just keep asking myself…

…but my other self, the daughter, doesn’t want to ask any questions. She wants to continue to call her mom every other day, the dutiful daughter, working hard to someday buy her mom a house. She wants to believe that her mom was the best mom she could be, given her circumstances. But the other me wants to know what woman in their right mind would get themselves into those circumstances.

So you see my dilemma.

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featured image credit: hownowdesign