"gear"

All Photos by Katy Krassner

The Zip Sausage Readings ("Bike")

"Bike" by Syd Barrett (found on Pink Floyd's The Piper at the Gates of Dawn) Dramatically read by Peter Rinaldi

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Weakly Installed

"Weakly Installed" is a weekly written installment from Mary, the newest contributor to The Boutros Boutros Follies.

My parents introduced me to a boy.
I held my leg behind my back in shyness.

Since it was his house,
He gave me a tour of his things.
I showed him what I had brought in my bag
We played and played and cursed our parents for their disruption.

Then we wrestled together.
Corduroys and jumpers intertwined.
Shaggy haircuts swished.
A faint moisture collected about our napes.
We collapsed upon ourselves and whispered truly nothings.
I had been smelling his peanut butter breath for hours
And the dog became our friend again.

He acted really strange when it was time to go.
I didn’t like him then at all.
I didn’t know why he was so violent and rude to his parents.
The house was suddenly cold and foreign.
We left when he was still on time out.

Bedbugs III

Bedbugs III


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



Tell me about hatching and hating earthen jewels
wrapped in amber as well as understanding
where my mind might doggedly go. There are
few times in my mind's opera where mattering only
to those who heard it. Clocks don't work here.
Sound is light here. Air between dust that fragments
into pools the old man knew wouldn't take him any
rotting Fall leaves in corridors to bring home
to an earthen homestead. Winter's end doesn't
mean anything to me. Make be believe there's
a reason for the palette I was left with.
35,000 years is what the moods feel like sometime.

Looking away in photographs or webbed reflections she
wants nothing to do with...Getting darker, saner
now, just as expected. Don't talk when confronting
your disbelief.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-tin rattle
-adipocere
-first names are sewn together
-planning to die, or write, in ten year's time
-rust-proof, until you get it home
-first kiss last week
-intention of where to go

-Adam

click here for next week's Bedbugs.

The Story Slice: "The Fiber One Revelation"

by Brian Hughes

Breakfast Nook – Friday

Jim and Kelly were enjoying Fiber 1 cereal with 2% milk along with a fruit plate of berries, cantelope and melon. Kelly was perusing a gossip magazine, while Jim stared off in deep contemplation.

JIM
I think this cereal has really been helping me.
KELLY
Helping you?
Kelly was only half paying attention to Jim.
JIM
Yeah, you know … down there?
KELLY
Where?
JIM
You know … my ass.
This captures Kelly’s attention as she takes a swig of coffee.
KELLY
You mean, you’ve been able to go to the
bathroom better?
JIM
Yes. I must say, it’s been a real pleasure.
KELLY
I think that is what fiber is supposed to do.
JIM
I know, that’s why I bought it. I bought it
and now we are both addicted. Admit it. I rocked
your world with this stuff
KELLY
Okay … I give you full credit for brightening our
mornings with a healthy fiber alternative.
JIM
(smiling)
Nice to get credit for once around here.
KELLY
Hold on, let me get my violin.
JIM
Hahahaha … very funny.
Jim had forgotten the tranquility of a quiet house. He leaned back in his
Chair and looked up at the ceiling.
JIM
I’ve been getting goose bumps lately when I take
a crap. Did I tell you this?
KELLY
Not that I can recall.
JIM
Yeah. I get this wonderful feeling. It use
to happen every once in a while, but now it
happens all the time.
KELLY
That’s happening because you turd is passing
your prostate.
JIM
Is that so?
KELLY
Of course you idiot!
Kelly laughs as Jim drains his coffee with a smile.
JIM
And it’s such a good feeling!
KELLY
I’m happy for you darling.
Jim readies another bowl of cereal.
JIM
Then I got to wondering.
KELLY
Yeah?
JIM
Is that the same feeling gay men have when
They have sex?
KELLY
I don’t know. I imagine it is. Why are
You asking?
Jim straightens up in his chair. He looks a bit embarrassed.
JIM
It’s not what you think. I’m not gay. I hate
the sight of naked men.
KELLY
You don’t have to prove anything to me honey.
JIM
I understand that … it’s just that I wondered
what type of stimulation someone gets from that
“area”. Obviously I understand what a woman feels
when a man enters her, I just never understood what …
let me say … the receiver … got from sex in that place.
KELLY
The ass?
JIM
Yes. All I’m saying is that I think I understand
what a gay man feels from the chills I receive
from going to the bathroom.
KELLY
We can always experiment if you want? I’m game.
JIM
NO WAY. NO HOW.
KELLY
There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s a good feeling.
It doesn’t mean you’re gay.
JIM
My ass is for exiting, not entering.
KELLY
Okay … whatever … forget I mentioned it. We just
never do anything interesting sexually.
Jim picked up the daily paper and Kelly got back into her tabloids. It was quiet for a few moments.
JIM
Do you know Calum Barfield?
KELLY
Sure. He’s the guy who was the all state football
player or whatever. You two use to play pool
together.
JIM
Exactly. Well … he told me once in confidence that
he and his wife did that together. He said he loved it!
KELLY
I’m sure it’s a wonderful feeling. It’s just a feeling, Jim,
Just a feeling. Nothing else.
JIM
I guess.
KELLY
Just say it. You want anal sex.
TIMMY
What’s “anal sex” mommy?
Timmy, their six year old stood in the kitchen doorway – rubbing his eyes.
JIM
Go brush your teeth, Timmy.
Timmy sauntered out of the kitchen. Jim shook his head. Kelly cracked a smile.
KELLY
I promise you, there is nothing gay about it.
JIM
It’s such a fine feeling.
KELLY
Come on – lets try it quickly. I’m going to have to take
Timmy to school shortly.
JIM
Really? You mean it?
KELLY
Come on. Let’s be quick.
JIM
It won’t be any trouble?
KELLY
Of course not.
JIM
Thank you honey.
Kelly grabbed Jim’s hand and they sped off to their bedroom. Their new sexual life was underway.

The "My Review Is Final" Review: The Darjeeling Limited

by Brian Hughes

(If you don’t want to know what the hell happens – don’t read!)

Okay … so I haven’t seen The Royal Tenenbaums, nor have I seen The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, so if you are looking for some type of pretentious Film Comment clap trap comparison of Wes Anderson’s work, you’ll have to take a powder. I have however seen Bottle Rocket and Rushmore, if anyone cares at this point. Both of those films were fantastic, with the exception of Rushmore’s ending (a nudge to PR).

So as far as Wes Anderson maturing as a filmmaker, I can’t really tell you. I will say that this was a hell of an entertaining picture, with a strong cast, great cinematography, and a script that kept me guessing all the way through.

Three brothers, “Francis” (Owen Wilson), “Peter” (Adrien Brody), and “Jack” (Jason Schwartzman) haven’t seen each other in a long time - deep rooted family issues have kept them apart. Francis, the older brother, decides to round them up for a spiritual journey across India in hopes of mending their relationship. What Francis hasn’t told his brothers is that their journey (on the train “The Darjeeling Limited) is leading them straight to their mom, “Patricia”, played wonderfully by Anjelica Houston. Patricia has left her sons and former life to become a Christian nun in The Himalayas. What transpires on their journey is both hilarious and heartbreaking.

Wilson plays the controlling and suicidal older brother with a subtleness that tells you he’s really in control of nothing. His insecurity, especially in the scenes concerning the rightful ownership of their deceased father’s belongings, who may or may not be “The Businessman” (Bill Murray), is particularly funny and touching. Adrien Brody, as Peter, is kind of like the straight man to Wilson – confused and often holding in a lot of anger and resentment. Jason Schwartzman plays the younger and more sensible brother caught in between the jealousies of his two older siblings. All three actors have a wonderful camaraderie together that is fun to watch: though it is still a wonderment why anyone finds Jason Schwartzman’s bland acting and non emotional face interesting. Though Schwartzman’s greater talent might me in screenwriting, having penned this script with Roman Coppola and Wes Anderson. I’m still amazed that, without giving anything away, they were able to go from the funnies moment in the film to the most tragic in less than five minutes and still have you captured by it all.

The Darjeeling Limited could easily pass as just a weird fractured black comedy by a less discerning eye – but when looked at deeply, it is a wonderful meditation on letting go of the emotions or material things in life that we clutch on to for far longer than we need to.

Robert Yeoman, Wes Anderson’s Director of Photography, captures the luminous beauty of India with his lens and does a great job, not only with the properly used slow motion shots, but with the always grueling shooting about the train. One of the finest moments in the film is when the camera tracks along the compartments of the train to reveal both the metaphors and characters embedded in Jack’s brain as he sleeps.

Mention should be made of Anjelica Huston’s creepy portrayal of their mother Patricia. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she is nominated in the supporting actress category at this year’s Oscars. Irfan Khan, star of the recent film The Namesake, turns in a small but affecting performance as “The Father.” Amara Karan’s performance of the self imposed but yearning train worker “Rita” is admirable amongst a stellar cast.

An entertaining film by and by, but certainly not for everyone.

The opinions expressed in this review are those of Brian Hughes. They do not express the opinions of The Boutros Boutros Follies, nor the rest of its contributors.

The Zip Sausage Readings ("Love You")

The Lyrics of Syd Barrett dramatically read by Peter Rinaldi. First up - Love You, from 1970's The Madcap Laughs.

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The Joyful Work of Schwartzer

It came upon me slowly, like a lame virus-- the realization that “Oh! Be Joyful!” (the song) was perhaps better than the show it was made for.

In Mid-July 2005, I invited Matt Schwartzer over to my temporary apartment where the editing of the independently produced TV pilot “Oh! Be Joyful!” was nearing completion. I had told him weeks earlier that I was serious in my request to record the song “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose my edge”(which he wrote with the amazing lyricist Matt Kaplan) and that I planned to use it in the pilot. The truth was that “Edge”, despite never being recorded, had become the song in the “soundtrack” of my life. The tune had literally been used, in my head, to underscore real-time moments in my life. The opening three notes, which continue pretty much throughout the song, became a battle march for me; a sound that backed me up when life was trying to get me to calmly hand over my edge.

It was regularly performed by Schwartzer and Kaplan’s band Jonas Grumby (with wonderboy drummer Derek Landel rounding out the trio). As they became sick of playing it, it became and obsession for me to hear it. I would often demand that it be played.

When Kaplan left the band and Schwartzer changed the name and the sound of the band, “Edge” completely fell off the set list. It was only because of my loyalty to the band that they would, on occasion, perform it as alms to me.

I was in the middle of developing “Oh! Be Joyful!” when the band bestowed upon me an electrifying performance of “Edge”. It was then that I knew it absolutely needed to be in the show in some way. I realized that I was writing a show about people who were afraid they were going to lose their edge.

When Schwartzer showed up to watch the cut of “Oh! Be Joyful!” in July 2005, he didn’t know anything about the show. He only knew that I wanted to record “Edge” and maybe a rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” to act as a theme song over the opening credits. There was little or no talk of the possibility of actually recording an original theme song.

I walked him to the subway as we discussed booking studio time, an engineer, etc. Two hours later, roughly midnight, the phone rings, its Matt. “I just wrote the theme song. Do you want to hear it?” That was it. It was done.

The five-hour recording session, two days later, will remain special for me because it saw the reunion of Schwartzer (guitar, vocals), Kaplan (bass) and Landel (drums) in the studio. It was wonderful to just be there and to have ears.

They made quick work of “Edge”, but the others hadn’t even heard Schwartzer’s “Joyful” theme. They tossed it around while I ran out to get everyone some sandwiches. I returned to the sounds of beautiful musical harmony. It’s a miracle to me that humans can play an instrument at all, so you can imagine my amazement at what had happened in my short absence. Such a simple song would somehow be considered a miracle to me. (I couldn’t even get the sandwich order right.)

Matt Schwartzer has a natural way with music that I simply don’t have with the medium I work in. I am tempted to say that I envy him but I am too big a fan to really mean that. I gain too much happiness from his music to know envy. A frustratingly delightful awe is more like it.

Something to envy is his openness to suggestions in the studio. They came from the music producer Jason Spittle and the show’s producer Jonathan Roumie. And they were met with open arms. It is the sign of a secure artist when input is welcomed. The song grew and ripened in such a short time and we can reap the rewards in the one minute and fifteen second recording. Forgive me for thinking I could have learned this lesson in my production. I might then have been able to say that the show lives up to the song. It took me two years to cut the show in half. And so, as it stands, we have a 22-minute show that inspired a 1-minute miracle.

Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs II

Bedbugs II


click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

click here for last week's Bedbugs.


I can't believe you found a frostbitten owl in
the area you claimed to be safe. And angels
know why they shouldn't tread spectacular ground.
You remind me weekly to try a new endeavor
that more no need to fight over it.
August tricks me as well as any child who
crosses it. Ringing down the hallway
is all that's left of the last one to play
a game that fools decried long ago!
Stomachaches are laughing that only I can hear.
Impossible for any of you, blocked memory.


Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-earthen jewels wrapped in amber
-doggedly
-mattering only to those who heard it
-rotting Fall leaves in corridors
-Winter's end
-make me believe
-confronting your disbelief


Adam
click here for next week's Bedbugs.

Learning How To Practice 2: "Judging"

by Brian Hughes


One of the toughest challenges I find in a spiritual practice is judging others. Why do I feel the need to judge others when I have so many things about myself that need straightening out? Why? When I look deeply inside myself, I realize that there are a multitude of reasons why I judge others and none of them are real. I guess the number one reason I judge others is out of a feeling of self importance or superiority - which, of course is just insecurity. I need to look at a celebrity's shortcomings and say "I would never do that." And you know, when I looked at a Yahoo page yesterday that had all of these unfortunate mug shots of celebrities, I couldn't help to think that I am just one step away, one foolish act or indiscretion away from ending up with such an unsightly photo. Why should I judge how a celebrity looks in a mug shot when they have been arrested at four in the morning, and are probably not looking their best. How do I look at four in the morning? The more you choose to investigate your thoughts, your mind running at the speed of light, the more you take notice of these silly things and observations your mind gets caught up in. First of all, should I really care about their mug shots? What baring has this on my life? Actually, the way they entertain me, the way they are as artists, probably does more for me than their mug shots. Perhaps I should dwell on what they provide for me as entertainers, what joy they bring to my life, than their indiscretions.

Another reason I judge others is just to get along with some people - almost out of camaraderie. If a co-worker says something awful about someone, for instance: "Can you believe what an idiot he is?" I may not want to get into a disagreement with her, and what I'll do is just agree with her just to be over with it. This, for me, is really a no-no. It is just plain indifference. Plain laziness. If I don't want to get into a spiritual or moral discussion with her, about how we can all idiots at times, then the best thing to do in that scenario, would be to not say anything and excuse myself politely. Sometimes we get caught in other people's insecurity lairs. They feel so strongly about an opinion that they want us to side with them - even if they know they may not have all the facts. They need to feel that they are not the only ones who think a particular way, and out of laziness, I'll end up siding with them. This is not acting out of compassion, but acting out of selfishness and greed. I don't care if someone or something was perhaps incorrectly judged, I just want my life to move on to its next thing.

Judging others is so subtle. It happens all day long. The funny thing is that if we concentrated more on our own shortcomings, than on others, we'd get a lot farther in our spiritual practice. If I take into account all the minutes in a day I say something malicious, or untrue, or I say something I think is true but have no sufficient evidence - and if I could roll those minutes into looking deeply at myself, or at what is really going on - think of the energy I could use toward doing something good. Instead of judging someone's action, or mistakes, I should look into why they perhaps did it in the first place. Their could be a multitude of reasons why a particular person acted unskillfully. Perhaps they are suffering? Or maybe I could just put myself in their shoes and see the world through their eyes. In Buddhist practice, this line of thinking holds true for Britney Spears, our parents, or for a child killer on death row. To have learn to cultivate deep understanding for everyone who is suffering in a particular case is very important to a Buddhist. When a murderer kills someone, it is not just the person who they killed that is dead or that suffered, but the killer is suffering as well. And what of the families involved? Maybe the killer comes from a wonderful and kind family. They too will suffer. In those instances - nobody wins. Everyone suffers. Now, will I be able to think that way if someone killed someone in my family? I can't answer that. I don't know if my practice will be sufficient enough. But deep down I know in my heart what is right: that you cannot answer killing by killing. Love and compassion is much more mightier than killing. It does not mean that the killer wasn't wrong in what he did, but it is I believe our duty to be bigger than that. To be love and not be murder. To see all aspects of what is happening and see the suffering involved in all of that, and being an instrument of peace and not retribution. This has to be one of the most difficult parts of practice. The human itch is always to retaliate and judge someone who has wronged you. But I believe there is strong enough proof, than in most instances, killing begets more killing and the cycle continues and continues.

Another way to look at judgment from a Buddhist perspective is Karma. Good or bad Karma is dependent on everything we say, everything we think, and everything we do. If you have faith in Karma, and I believe it definitely involves some type of faith, then we have no need to think about or judge other people's actions, because they are creating their Karma by those actions. Buddhism calls for the person to answer for his or her own actions. There is no divine lawgiver. There is no one to partition for help. You create your own outcome. So, if we look at it that way, then people committing crime in this lifetime, or acting out of hatred and greed, might have to answer for it at some given point. It may be this lifetime, it might be another lifetime. Buddhists can't be concerned with that. All they are concerned with is that that particular person is suffering now. How can we ease that person's pain right now.

There is a line in an old cowboy song called "Streets of Laredo" in which the fallen gunfighter says:

"Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,
"An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
"But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
"Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."

This is a line from a gunfighter who has been mortally wounded. Yet what does he say? He wants the violence to stop right now. Don't mention his killer's name, for if you mention his name, someone might take retribution and kill him in his honor. The stricken gunfighter is not clinging to violence or retribution. He just wants the violence to end with his death. I like that message.

Judging is a big deal. It's the root cause why there is so much death and violence in the world. We can't seem to put a tourniquet on all our opinions and false judgments. It would seem like a pretty hard job to stop everyone from judging and murdering one another. The only thing I can do to stop judgment in the world, is to practice not judging people in my life. I cannot change the world, but I can live by example. And how do I do that? By noticing every time I make a silly statement; mark it my head as wrong, don't cling to it and move on. The more we label our thoughts, the more we find that what we think most of the time is just plain silly. It's just an excuse for our mind to do something and to feel important. I think we need to face the fact that most of the judgments we make about others are not real, or factual. That to spread malicious lies and gossip about people, even those we think might deserve it, does little else but to assert our small mind rather than expanding our magnificent mind. And that we really have no right, nor the time, to judge other people, when we have a voluminous amount of work to do in our own life.

The Story Slice: "Legs at Lunch"

by Brian Hughes

Ray Vicki had just swallowed down a bacon and turkey club. It wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. His gray slacks were getting tighter and tighter around his waist. In the restaurant bathroom mirror, the red marks around his middle, caused by the tightness of his belt, were a tell tale sign that he had better get back to the gym, or else begin buying size forty pants.

The weather was pleasant enough with a cool breeze giving him just enough chill to keep from sweating. He had about fifteen minutes till he had to get back to the office. He could go to the newsstand and rifle through some magazines, or take a walk around the corner, or better yet, he could take the initiative and get back to work on time. Afterall, there were plenty things to do to prep for his one-thirty meeting.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, thought Ray as he exited the Stamford Town Center Mall, walking east across Veterans Park toward his Nissan Sentra parked just across the street. That was his plan until he noticed a rotund blonde sitting on a park bench just across from the Abraham Lincoln statue. She was thick in all the right places and her dress was hiked high up her thigh. Ray immediately put on the brakes and sat down at the base of the statue.

I think I’ll just sit here for a little while. That’s right baby, you know what you got. Show me what you have between those legs, Ray thought as he stared unapologetically at the woman, who was finishing up a salad, eating carefully so as not to get any dressing on her clothing. She’d take a bite and chew slowly, staring up at the sun through her big sun glasses.

It was at about this time I caught a glimpse of Ray staring at the woman. I knew for sure that he had deliberately chose to sit across from her to stare at those big, exposed thighs – hoping, praying for a glimpse of panties as she switched legs. I myself was enjoying my usual cigar. As I stared at the two of them for a few minutes I began to wonder why the woman didn’t move. It was painfully obvious that he was interested only in her, and not the beautiful weather.

You want me to fuck your pussy, don’t ya? Yeah, I know you do … move those legs for ol’ Ray. I’m getting a hardon baby. Yeah, baby, I’m getting a hardon. Show me something, show me something, I ain’t gonna be late to work for nothing. Show something honey, thought Ray to himself as he took out his cell phone and pretended to be checking his messages.

I was cetain Ray had begun taking cell phone pictures of her. He had the cell camera at about stomach level and he just kept staring into that thing.

Yeah … I’m taking pictures of you baby … yeah … yeah … yeah … spread those legs apart so I can snap a picture … yeah … yeah … spread those legs so I can jerk off later at work … yeah, you know what your doing you minx. You know what you’re doing to me.

I wondered if perhaps the girl knew Ray was looking at her and enjoyed the attention, though in truth, she wasn’t really trying to be sexy or anything. She was just eating. She didn’t seem to be egging Ray on at all.

In looking at Ray, I couldn’t help but to think at how awful men were sometimes; How far they would go for a cheap thrill. And as I sat there damning Ray to pervert hell, I thought of my own depravity. How many times I had done something similar. All the times I stared too long at the apartment across the way, in hopes I would catch something I wasn’t suppose to. How often I’d sit in front of the computer, sometimes for hours on end looking at porn.

Yeah … yeah … I’m snapping photos of you baby. I wish I could lick those titties – squeeze those gigantic breasts together. Show me what you got. How I want to take you right here in this park. Do it baby, show me. Show me now!

Actually, if I was really honest with myself, I could say that I wasn’t a whole lot different than Ray. At first this observation depressed me, but then I tried to look at the bright side: That at the very least, I was acknowledging my short comings – my mistakes; that in perhaps noticing them, I could change them. After all, what real value does that behavior add to your life – these moments of sexual debauchery? Not much. I saw myself sitting in Ray’s place and I looked pretty stupid – pretty sad, actually.

Anyway, this little bit of business had carried on for about ten to twelve minutes and I knew for sure that as soon as the girl got up to leave, so Ray would.

The woman wiped her mouth and neatly gathered her lunch refuse. She checked her makeup in a small mirror for a few moments and then rose from the park bench.

You fucking tease … you fucking whore … you’re not going to show me anything … fuck you cunt. Leave! Shit, man … I wanted to see your pussy and you’re leaving.

As I expected, Ray got up and walked toward his car – going in the opposite direction of the zaftig blonde.

I hope Jim finished our proposal for this meeting, or I’ll kick his ass, Ray thought as he hurried to his car.

Peter Rinaldi's Modern Critical Thinking Series: "Woman is the Nigger of the World"

I was halfway over the Williamsburg Bridge on my bicycle when I realized that the two “prettiest” characters from the traveling pants movie had “boy adventures” and the two less conventionally pretty ones had adventures of some other kind. Up until then for some reason (maybe because one of the lead actresses was shaped like most of the girls that might watch the movie) I had thought this film was helping young girls feel better about themselves. So this was a sad revelation. Ten minutes before, when I was on Center Street, I was listening to “Woman is the nigger of the world” and started to feel guilty for being a member of my gender. Perhaps it was the song that caused the ‘pants realization’.

Lennon says that woman is the nigger of the world and the slave of the slaves and tells us men a series of things that we do to women - when she’s young we kill her will to be free, while telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb, we make her paint her face and dance, and so on. On The Dick Cavett Show, Lennon talked about writing the song after being inspired by Yoko Ono’s views on the topic. I always found very interesting the way he described being made aware by this; that Ono changed his thinking. It brought me to the song again, and I was once again very affected by it.

It affected me even more in recent days knowing two women who are being controlled by men in strangely straightforward ways. Actual lines from the song can be used to describe what is going on. Lennon tells us three things to do - think about it, do something about it, and look at the one you are with if you don’t believe “me” (Lennon). I had the idea that I would play the song for these women. I was sure they hadn’t even heard of it. This would be my way of “doing something about it”. But then I had another realization.

Isn’t it also damaging for me to think of these women as helpless creatures that I will be “saving” with some enlightenment, be it from a song or from whatever? Was Lennon also implying that these were helpless creatures that were being continually abused in blatant and hidden ways by a “ruling” other? And by implying this was he not calling for the end of the oppression of this helpless gender thereby insinuating that we, men, were the only ones who could stop this oppression? I guess what I am asking is this – by addressing the song to men, calling for the end of the oppression, is he not continuing the oppression by implying that men have the “keys” to actually open the “chains” of women?

Shouldn’t he have addressed the song to women, telling them that the chains are, and always were, illusions created by men? In other words, instead of urging men to NOT kill her will to be free when she is young, shouldn’t he have urged women to laugh at man’s attempt to kill their will to be free for they are and always were free? I guess I just pictured myself in a “Lennon/Ono Approved relationship” in which I followed his order to “look at the one you are with” and then made changes for the better by NOT making her paint her face and dance, and NOT killing her will to be free, and NOT putting her down when she is dumb. And I just pictured myself as a good slave-owner, one who doesn’t abuse his slave.

And the only way to remove myself as slave-owner is to remove myself as someone or something that could ever even have the ability to “kill her will to be free”. Ah, but….you know what? Maybe that’s what Lennon was talking about all along. Ah…Nevermind.

Learning How To Practice 1: "Mindful Walking"

by Brian Hughes

It’s been a struggle, but I have been trying to stay disciplined with my meditation practice for the last seven to eight months. I’ll go through stretches where I will meditate every day for two or three weeks, then stop suddenly for a week long stretch. But that’s okay, for it’s a “practice.” Buddhism is pretty cool when it comes to that. They understand that you cannot cut out all at once our greed, lust, anger and delusions. All one can do is smile and get back on the horse, and for the most part, I have been doing that with my meditation practice.

As in sitting meditation and with all Buddhist practice in general, it is very important not to criticize oneself for not staying concentrated when sitting, or for not being respectful of others, or any other indiscretion one encounters on the journey. What one must do is acknowledge it and move on. Perhaps if you judged someone in a malicious way, you would say to yourself very simply and with little emotion, “okay, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what that person is going through.” And that would be it; you would not cling to your anger about the situation, or your involvement in it. A solid, consistent mediation practice helps us get to a place where we don’t feel the need to react so suddenly, and we don’t feel the need to have situations be any different than they already are.

What I have been recently trying to incorporate into my life has been a walking meditation. I have about a ten to twelve minute walk every morning from the train station to my work office, and what I have been trying to do is walk in such a way as to realize the simple beauty of the activity. Recently I have had the great fortune of listening to a dharma talk on a Zencast podcast given by Zoketsu Norm Fischer. He talked of the importance of walking mindfully and how we tend to carelessly take advantage of this simple and miraculous activity. He tells us that the earth loves us and supports every step we take, and the fact that we are not clinging on for dear life is a miracle. I think we would all be surprised if we just slowed down and witnessed the basic joy and wonderment in the most basic of activities: brushing our teeth, going to the bathroom, eating, and walking. Fischer, as a monk, talks about how it is part of his daily routine to acknowledge all of these basic routines. He’ll say the equivalent of a Buddhist prayer before engaging in them. Even walking into rooms can be considered a sacred event, for we don’t really know what’s going to happen from moment to moment. Each room has its own aura and mystery and wonderment. Shouldn’t each room we enter into be acknowledged in some small way? Fisher mentions the “mezzuzot” in the Jewish tradition, and how this parchment is attached to the doorway of a room, or to the front of the main door of a Jewish home as a reminder of a Jew’s covenant to God. Turns out this activity is very similar to Fisher’s own practice, and it once again points out the similarities we all share.

So how can one stay disciplined in acknowledging these events, for even Fischer mentions his failure at times of staying present. Well, one of the old Buddhist standbys in the ringing of a telephone. This sound can call us back to the moment, back to a place where we begin again to recognize the joyousness of the present. He goes on to explain how often lives are changed forever by a simple telephone call, either in receiving good or bad news. So why not use the ring of a telephone, or a police siren, or any number of sounds to call us back to what is truly important - the present.

It’s a hard practice and I’m failing all day long. But, as with any bad habit, I try to acknowledge it and move on. And by doing that, we also stay present – by acknowledging how we are not present.

In getting back to walking mindfully, it is quite wonderful to feel the earth under our shoes, the weight shifting with each step. Is this type of slow, mindful walking practical when you are at the grocery store, or in trying to catch a plane? Probably not. But maybe we shouldn’t have put ourselves in the position of being late in the first place. But we find that when we take just a few minutes out of the day to walk, or to even sit in meditation, it can do wonder in calming us and making us more peaceful. Let’s face it, our minds are moving faster than we can speak, our new technologies are giving us the opportunity to become highly functional multi-taskers while increasing our levels of stress; sometimes our minds are filled up with so much craziness, that it can even get us into a whole heap of trouble. Why? Because the mind simply needs something to do. It needs to be the center of attention. Our minds control us when, in fact – we should control it. One way of controlling it is through concentrated and meditative walking. And don’t think walking mindfully is easy – it is not. Why even this morning when I was trying to walk mindfully to work, my mind was slyly interrupting me by filling me with ideas for this very essay on walking mindfully. Our minds are amazing! And when I get to work I try to stay mindful, in dealing with my co-workers, in eating breakfast and in sorting through my e-mails – but it never lasts. I get caught up in the everyday and my mind shifts to its defensive mechanism: calling people names, making excuses for not getting something done, thinking of sex, and genuinely being a pain in the ass.

But Buddhism tells us that this is not truly us. That underneath this soiled crust, there is a jewel. That underneath the lies, the self centeredness, the greed, the lust, is compassion, love and selflessness; that we are already perfect as long as we work on letting go of our greed, lust, anger and delusions. And the way to get there is to remove what we conceive as “us” from the picture for a little while each week. If we decide to take control of our minds for just a little bit of time a week, we start to see that we don’t need to be the center of attention all the time, we don’t need to have that new CD on the day it comes out, and we don’t need to be first on line at the bank. We begin to see the much larger picture. When you can concentrate on each step, breathing in and out, you realize the magnificence of controlling your mind, and the power it gives you. That so much of what our minds are trying to tell us, as it moves at the speed of light, is so much garbage. It simply just needs something to do. It cannot bare the thought of silence.

I was at the grocery recently, and as I always mistakenly do – I switched lines for one that I thought might move quicker. It didn’t – naturally. So what happened next? My mind starts creating reasons why this event has befallen me. “This is the type of luck I have. Every time I come to Dagastino’s, I have to get behind idiots!” My mind was going into its defensive mechanism – creating fiction that had nothing to do with reality. Just because I went to the other line does not mean that my life is full of poor luck and bad choices. All it means is that I switched lines and one is slower than the rest. Even if the salesgirl is slow, perhaps I’m not taking into account she’s had a real bad day, or shitty week, or her son is dying of cancer in the hospital. Our first instinct is to lash out – at ourselves, or those in our path. The world, or the salesgirl, or the people in front of us in line, are not out to get us. It just is – that’s all. And we can decide to deal with it or not. It is our choice. We are unable to deal with the reality of what is truly happening, so we make up all this stuff to make sense of the situation. It is ridiculous and selfish. When we walk mindfully, or meditate often enough, we find out two things: One, that to be on a line such as that is a blessing, for it offers us an opportunity to practice, and two, we realize that we don’t need the line, or the people to be anything different than they are; that the moment and all the craziness inside it, is perfect. And when we realize this, we are truly free.

BEDBUGS I

Bedbugs I

click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.


On a cold day in March I step in puddles
and don't worry about whether ten red
roses watch me, or lightning strikes
and I jump when they jump as she
throws sticks and stones and bricks
and FLASH! The wooden room is
the language of spies, she says, and
in a month like March, I'm inclined to believe
her. Puddles laugh at me, black ice
too deep under bridges; brackets and
bowls of clues I penetrate. The mystery
trees clatter and sance in March wind, red
balloon circles and green ribbons
approach me and my kind as we dance in
arcs and circles. Brown hat is
where I left it, and that's where I shall
return, in the Winter. It's a long way off,
I said, as I realized and drive my pronoun
car to the station. Nobody's around to pass
the hat and make me realize she wanted to
be in the mountains of madness and modernization
towards peaks and valleys and trees and
into the shape of a monster which reveals
its form as it goes along. After my nap
I gather my grammar and
coherence. I step towards the stage
and announce to the doctors, "What I
forgot to say was..."


next week's seven phrases/groups of words:

-frostbitten
-angels know why
-spectacular
-no need to fight over it
-ringing down the hallway
-laughing that only I can hear
-blocked memory

Adam
click here for next week's Bedbugs.

BEDBUGS- AN EXPLANATION OF THE PROCESS

Bedbugs is an experiment in inspiration and occasionally directed stream-of-consciousness.

Seven groups of words or phrases are compiled and spoken into a recorder, with random lengths of time placed between them.

For the new Bedbugs entry each week, I begin automatic writing the moment the playback is switched on, in whatever direction I'm moved to go in.

When the first and subsequent phrases are mentioned, I must write them; and then branch off from there. The experiment concludes with the seventh and final phrase.

Then seven new word groups/phrases are recorded at the piece's end, to be used the following week. For new readers of entries, look for the seven to be in italics, or different colors.

Bedbugs will appear every Thursday night/Friday with links to this explanation and previous installments.

Come join me and see what bubbles up.

Adam

The Story Slice: "Klinger"

by Brian Hughes

The day Walter Klinger met YouTube, his life changed forever. Geoffrey Salamander, System’s Analyst and co-worker of Walter’s at L.P. Richardi Communication’s Company, brought up the topic of classic television one fine afternoon as they waited on line for sushi in the company food court.

“I’m telling you, ya can’t buy Same Time Next Year on DVD yet – it’s unavailable. Yet some genius in Finland posted his video taped version of it on this site. And what’s great is that he posted the original pilot – not the one that officially aired. I’m telling ya, I was psyched!”
“So this site runs the gamut, huh?”
“Yeah – they have video of just about anything on there: the latest news headlines, music videos, old Ed Sullivan programs – the works.”

Walter and Geoffrey walked the sushi over to their regular table – by the water fountain, where all the pretty girls sat and showed off their legs. Walter liked Geoffrey fine enough, but he always wore short sleeve plaid shirts with tan khakis and spitted when he talked.

“So what you’re saying is they would have The Love Boat on there and Magnum, P.I. and Soap and everything?”
“Yeah, sure – but I think Magnum, P.I. and Soap are on DVD already.”
“I don’t buy DVDs – I buy memorabilia – memories.”
“The Love Boat isn’t out on DVD; at least I don’t think so.”
“You know what one of my favorite TV shows was?”
“What?”
“I’m almost ashamed to say it…”
“Go ahead…”
“The Facts of Life.”
“That’s so gay!”
“Come on … don’t judge. Are you telling me that Blair
in her uniform didn’t do anything for you?”
“No, I watched Charlie’s Angels, or Victoria Principal on Dallas, or Suzanne Sommers on Three’s Company to get off.”
“Whatever – this sushi sucks!”
“Check out the site, let me know what you think, I know how much you’re stuck in the past all the time – you should love it.”

Walter didn’t need anything else in his life to distract him, with the bowling team, taking care of mom, the auto show coming to town the following week, and he still had to catalog the rest of his sports memorabilia; the last thing he needed was something else – another passion to overtake him and render the rest of his free time useless. Oh, well, he’d have to see for himself what this site was all about. He tried to put it out of his mind for the rest of the day, but the thought that they just might have episodes of Fridays on the site, with cast member Melanie Chartoff, was enough to make his heart jump eight stories. Boy! What a crush I had on her – and how damn funny she was, Walter thought, as he laughed to himself, remembering how he told all his friends that he would marry her someday. What a mope.

Jimbo, the doorman, always asked Walter how his day was when he promptly entered his building at five after six, and was usually told the same thing day after day:

“Fine. Nothing special.”
“Have a good evening, Sir.”
“You as well, Jimbo.”

And so … the evening would begin as most nights: Walter would throw into the oven his customary Thursday evening meal – a Stouffer’s Mac and Cheese, making sure to cook it until it was nice and crispy. Sometimes Walter would leave it in there smoldering for an hour or more – making sure it was just right. Walter thought it was a sin to cook a Stouffer’s Mac and Cheese in a microwave. It had to be cooked to crispiness, or else what was the point in having it? He got himself all comfortable in his Notre Dame sweats, and instead of beginning his evening with the usual amateur porn wack-off session, he’d place himself in front of the computer to see what all this YouTube was about.

Into the search engine he typed “Fridays TV show.” And sure enough the little video images popped up and Walter became intrigued. Wow! This is amazing! He thought. Fridays was an SNL-like sketch comedy rip off that aired on ABC for two seasons. The first sketch he watched was Michael Richards, of Seinfeld fame, portraying his “Dick” character. “Dick” was a character who thought he was a supreme ladies man, with shirt open and chest hair exposed; yet time and again he’d fumble and embarrass himself at every turn. The character was actually an early incarnation of “Kramer”. It was a character that made Walter, his older brother and their Mom, roll all over their shag rug blue carpet in stitches.

Next ol’ Walt clicked on “The Family Fight Sketch” and the “George Bargate” sketch, and finally the “marijuana/ dinner” sketch where Andy Kaufman and Michael Richards got into a fight. Well, it wasn’t a real fight, but at the time everyone thought it was. Classic television! And the night was just beginning.

The Mac and Cheese was done to an ultimate crisp as Walter lovingly scraped the hardened cheese from the sides of the black, plastic container, all the while typing in those television keywords into the YouTube search engine.

Next up: The Love Boat. What he found were several “show intro’s” displaying all the co-stars on that particular broadcast. What a trip down memory lane! As soon as The Love Boat theme kicked in, tears began welling in Walter’s eyes. It was as if a gust of happy wind blew into his face. Once familiar faces he hadn’t seen in years and had totally forgotten about: Skip Stephenson from Real People, Jenilee Harrison, Gordon Jump, Katherine Helmond, Morgan Brittany (who he had a crush on back in the day), Dick Shawn, and how bout their final season theme song, awfully reprised by Dionne Warwick! Walter had never thought of it, but perhaps by pairing up John Ritter, Sherman Hemsley and Jacklyn Smith on The Love Boat, it was the network’s way of seeing how their big television stars acted together.

After watching episodes of Hart to Hart, Hotel and BJ and the Bear, Walter took a beer break.
Damn! I forgot – I have to pay my bills tonight, he thought. Walt’s home was a sociological study in memorabilia and packratting. One whole wall had a Daily News version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa – with newspapers stacked to the ceiling. Dozens of framed and signed pictures of athletes encased in bubble wrap were stacked on the floor or against the walls, waiting to be shipped out to buyers. His most prized collection were the classic Wheaties cereal boxes that he had bought for a total of six thousand dollars. Above the couch, fastened to the wall, was a framed picture someone had made of Walter running with a football on his own Wheaties box. He just loved that thing. Everything was pretty much sports themed, with New York Giants ashtrays, a Giants gumball machine, Yankees bathroom towels – even his clothes hangers were red and blue – the colors of the Giants. Two stacks of videotapes, on either side of his flat screen television, acted as makeshift coffee tables. Photos of his deceased Mom, Dorothy, were placed sporadically around the house – even in his bathroom.

Having dropped the bills off in the mail chute in his lobby, he plopped himself in front of the computer screen and masturbated to an amateur video before delving into The Facts of Life portion of the night’s proceedings. A genius from Cleveland had cut together all nine season intros of the show together, so he could watch the girls grow up in about seven minutes and forty-six seconds. How he had forgotten how the producers ditched the characters of “Nancy”, “Sue-Ann”, “Cindy” and “Molly” – “Molly” of course being the soon to be superstar Molly Ringwald; And how the backdrop of the series changed from the “Eastland School” to “Edna’s Edibles” to the “Over Our Head” store with Cloris Leachman. Such memories of watching the shows with his Nana and Mom were coursing through his veins – producing tears again. If Walter hadn’t been the king of nostalgia yet, with his mementoes, memorabilia and his saving every important headline of The Daily News for the past 23 years, then YouTube was sure to push him way over the brink.

Walter would in fact “jump the shark.”

After a marathon run of Magnum, P.I. – Walter found himself asleep at the computer when a police siren awoke him at 3:30 in the morning. Holy Shit, he shouted, as he tore off his clothes and stammered into bed.

“Well, what do you think of YouTube?” asked Geoffrey, as he and Walter prepped their espresso heavy coffee.
“It’s a revelation! I’m compiling a list of things I want to look at tonight. Everything from old New Year’s Eve programs, to David Suskind and Joe Franklin shows to a bunch of rare concert stuff from MTV’s heyday.”
“I knew you’d love it.”
“I fell asleep at the damn computer last night.”

Walter and Geoffrey had a good hearty laugh at that one.

“Are you going to Jason’s Sopranos party on Sunday?”
“Nah,”
“It’s the last season – it’s getting exciting.”
“Yeah … I know … it’s historic and stuff, but I haven’t watched it at all.”
“Come up to the times Walt!”
“I think you created a monster.”
“Hah!”
“I was thinking about throwing a Magnum, P.I. party myself.”

Geoffrey almost choked on his coffee.

“Dude that would be hysterical. It could even be a theme party! You could have a luau, and buy leis and coconuts and everything!”
“That’s a good idea … I mean, I really like the show Magnum, P.I. I think it was a well crafted and smartly written show.”
“Yeah, whatever … be a fun night.”

Walter went to town and rented all the seasons of Magnum, P.I. available on DVD from the local library. Having watched most of them in their original airing, the plot lines and nuances started to come back to him. He remembered why he loved the show. Thomas Magnum was a former Naval Intelligence officer who served three tours of duty in Vietnam. It was the first television show of its kind to deal with characters who were veterans of the Vietnam War.

In fact, many of the best episodes, Walt was finding out, had to deal with incidents that triggered Magnum’s memories of the war. There was also that cool rapport he had with T.C., the owner of a helicopter charter company, and Rick, nightclub owner and Magnum’s link to the criminal underworld. Thomas Magnum was just plain cool to Walt – that’s all, and he took the next several weeks to watch every episode, either on DVD or on the Sleuth channel.

But what episode or episodes would Walter choose for his party? Magnum, P.I. had plenty of two-parters, and several cliffhangers. It was a big choice, and one he didn’t want to take lightly. So, he decided to cast a vote and e-mailed all the Magnum, P.I. aficionados to see what their opinion of the best episode was. Out of twenty one responses, fourteen fans choose episode number 157 – “Unfinished Business” - in which Magnum seeks revenge on his nemesis Quang Ki – a man who nearly killed Magnum and his family. Walter was excited that he hadn’t chosen the episode, for there were so many fine ones to choose from. He just knew that if he had chosen it, he would feel guilty if it didn’t go over well with the guests. This way, if it bombed, he could blame the nutty fans.

“Whatcha doing?” asked Geoffrey, as he sprung on Walter’s cubicle, making him jump. Walter hated when Geoffrey did that.
“I’m sending out invitations to the Magnum, P.I. party.”
“You’re literally sending out invitations?”
“Yeah – isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you have a party – send an invitation.”
“Well, yeah … but you could just create an E-Invite page and you’d be able to send an e-mail out to everybody all at once.”
“I knew that … I knew that …”
“Oh, okay…”
“I wanted to stick to the retro theme of the event: see the invitations? They have a coconut tree on them.”
“Nice. Did you remind them to dress up Hawaiian and all that?”
“Yes I did.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I told Lucy about the party. I think she’s a hot little number, not really my type, but yours, and I found out that she’s a classic TV nut.”
“Okay.”
“Who knows … maybe you and Lucy can get together and create some coconut milk.”
“Very funny.”

Walt’s YouTube obsession continued through his Magnum phase, staying up most nights till 2:30 am. His trip down television memory lane provoked Walter to buy a CD called The All-Time Top 100 Television Themes. He snatched it off of Amazon.com and played it continuously on his CD Walkman to and from work on the Metro North train. The Fantasy Island and Dynasty themes made him cry, as did Jack Jones’ The Love Boat theme. He couldn’t help but think of his Nana, who had always had a school girl crush on John Forsythe.

Walter was careful not to be seen weeping over all this sappy television music he was listening to. What made him so sad? He tried to figure it out. Why was all of this nostalgia a source of sadness to him, instead of joy? Why did he like to be sad? Why was it necessary for him to live in the past all the time? He loved his Mom and Nana, that was true, but he knew it was not normal for a man in his late thirties to be obsessing over Magnum, P.I., YouTube, and television themes. Even if he were trying to get closer to his deceased family, why did he have that need to? It was all so terribly confusing, and a heck of a horrible way to start a work day.

“Walter, you’ve outdone yourself man …” said Geoffrey, as he entered Walt’s pad with a hot Mexican girl around his arm.

Walt had his entire apartment cleaned and decorated, having dumped all his memorabilia and filth in his bedroom. On the front door, as guests entered, Walter had placed a poster length picture of Tom Selleck as Magnum, and a velvet “Aloha” door sign. Inflatable palm trees decorated each side of the front door when you entered and beer was at the ready as soon as you stepped into the foyer – sitting delightfully cold in a tiki tub cooler. Tissue decorations of tropical fish, parrots, sunbursts and seashells were dotted in between color photocopied pictures of the cast of Magnum, P.I. Coconut cups, luau plastic plates, colorful leis and snacks sat on a tiki fringed table skirt. He was even cool enough to have some Poi, Lomilomi Salmon and both pork and beef laulaus catered to everyone’s delight.

But there was one thing Walter didn’t count on as he greeted his co-workers and guests with leis: that they had no real intention of watching the brilliance that was Magnum, P.I. They were there for the food, beer and to make fun of the show. Two guests did, however, dress up at both Thomas Magnum, with moustache, Detroit Tigers cap and Hawaiian shirt, and John Hillerman, not so much as his character “Jonathan Quayle Higgins III”, but as the white suited Hillerman from the macadamia nuts adds.

It all seemed to go in Walt’s favor, as he turned off the Don Ho music and politely asked for silence as he delved into a minor speech about the episode and the implications involved. There were giggles throughout, and mostly everyone couldn’t wait for Walter to sit back down so that they could continue to talk and flirt with one another.

Walter killed the lights and began playing the episode on his DVD player. When the charismatic Mike Post theme kicked in, the guests hooted and hollered and clapped. Walter liked that. He knew that as soon as they saw the intro, they would be hooked. But it was not to be. About twenty minutes in, Walter shot a snide look at one of his coworkers - Josh Weiner - who was acting up and making fart sounds. Further into the episode, at a key pivotal moment, when Thomas Magnum receives a video tape containing the awful fate of his ex-wife and daughter, John made a loud and obvious yawn. Walter stood up and pointed to Josh – damning him to hell:
“You! Stop acting like such an ass! Can’t you see there are some people here who are watching this episode and enjoying it?”
“Shut you mouth Walt, or I will shut it for you.”

Walter grabbed a glass hula doll and smashed it against his living room wall. “Do you think I’m kidding Josh? Huh! I have a lot of pent up anger! Don’t fuck with me or my Magnum, or so help me God, I will slice you from ear to ear with a broken beer bottle.”

Everyone is the crowd grew silent, as Lucy paused the episode.

“Who needs this shit? I’m getting out of here.” Josh said as he gave the party guests the finger and sauntered out of the apartment.

A few people congratulated Walter for taking a stand as Lucy resumed play. But Walter was now very uncomfortable. He had never made such an outburst in public and it scared him a bit. What was the point of getting so angry at a silly television show? Lucy rubbed him on the back and whispered in his ear: “I think you are brave. Maybe we can go to Carlo’s Sopranos party this Sunday. It’s the season finale.”

Walter looked at Lucy and smiled, then turned to the television screen to Thomas Magnum, who was looking right at Walter:

“Why don’t you go to The Sopranos party? I hear it’s a good show. I’d love to watch it, but I’m trapped in 80’s Hawaii. I think Lucy likes you,” Thomas Magnum said with a wink.

Walter nodded toward the screen.

“You’re a good man. Don’t be trapped by the past – let it go. It will always be here. The present, however, is passing you by. Magnum, P.I. and all of this Nostalgia makes for good memories now and then, but you can’t cling to it Walt. You have to move on – trust me.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“Go to the party – follow a show in your own era, and come up to date – you’ll feel better.”
“Okay Magnum.”

Walter smiled just then and turned to blonde haired Lucy. “You’re going to have to fill me in on the last five seasons of The Sopranos.”

“That’s no problem, why don’t you come over to my apartment one night and we’ll catch up.”
“That sounds nice. I’d like that.”

And on that night, Walter Klinger began the slow and arduous journey back toward the present.

Welcome/Mission Statement

Here at The Boutros Boutros Follies you will find what you need, even if you don't know what that is.

The contributors we select will be as varied as the mediums they use to bring their work to you.

Entertaining, informative, humorous? Sometimes.

Interesting? Always.

Now, it is our pleasure to introduce you to the team. The three of us haven't worked together in 14 years.