// Beautiful Carl

By Charles Hodges .
11.26.09 // Prodigy

The three men hung out at the bar, sipping their drinks, talking about their sons.

“I don’t know where Toby got it from to be honest.  I mean we knew he liked math, but the piano?  Fuck.  He sure can play.  And he’s only three.  His teacher said he’s playing showpan or some shit like that, except it’s spelled like choppin’.  I don’t know.  I just hope he gets a scholarship from tickling those ivories.  I could spend those savings on a boat.  What about you Dave?  How’s little David’s tennis game coming along?”
“He beat me last week – a four year old with a top spin serve.  It’s like he learned it in his sleep.”
“I mean, Dave, you do push the boy,” Ronnie said.
“Well sure.  I mean I want him to be the best for him.  Scholarship or not, I’ll love him.”

Steve sat there in silence, and all the men took sips of their beer.

“Hey, Steve, what about your boy, Carl?” Ronnie asked.
“Yeah, Steve how’s little Carl doing?” Dave followed up.
“Fine,” Steve said, “just fine.”
“Any talents risen to the surface?” Ronnie asked.
“Nothing of consequence yet. Although, the teachers do say he is a good listener.”
“Well that’s nice.”
“Yeah, that’s nice.”

The men sat there staring at the mirror on the other side of the bar.  Steve stared at himself in the eyes.  He thought to himself, how did Ronnie and Dave end up with two genius sons?  Ronnie and Dave weren’t special, yet they were given these two lottery ticket children.  They weren’t different, but their sons sure were.  Anomalies of nature, he thought.  Was anomaly the right word in that context?  He didn’t know.

He left the bar and went home.  Brenda had left some meatloaf out.  He made a sandwich, ate it and chugged down two Advil with a glass of whole milk.  Then he went up to Carl’s room.  He opened the door and the light from the hallway spilled into the room, falling on his son’s face.  That’s my boy, he thought to himself.

He was about to close the door when a waft of something awful rose up into his nose.  He followed the smell to Carl’s bed.  He lifted up his son’s comforter.  It smelled like hot death.  Carl had shit his bed.

He went into his bedroom to wake Brenda up.

“Hey, B, wake up.  Carl shit his bed.”
“What?” she said rubbing her eyes.
“I said Carl shit his bed.”
“Are you drunk?  Did you see the meatloaf?”
“I’m not drunk.  I saw the meatloaf, but that’s now what I’m talking about.  Carl shit his bed.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“Put him in the shower.  I’ll start the wash and set up a sleeping bag.”

- Thirty years later -

Ronnie, Dave and Steve sat at the bar, sipping their drinks.

“How’s Toby doing, Ronnie?  Has he performed any concerts lately?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, he had a recital last week.  It was nice.  It was in our basement.  Only good family friends, mainly.  Toby doesn’t like playing for strangers anymore.”
“Oh, that nice,” Dave said.
“I mean, it’s kinda nice.  I still think he should move out and try to find a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a doll or whatever.  All he does is play that fucking piano.”
“I know what you mean.  It’s like they don’t have anything else.  It’s been fifteen years since David’s collapse at the junior national tournament. I just wish he’d get over it and go do something else.  I know we home schooled him, but hell, get out there, go meet some people.  Tennis was your life. Was.  You’re not good at it anymore.  Move on,” Dave said.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Steve said.
“Oh, sure, Steve. Sorry our sons didn’t turn out to be beautiful Carls, with a nice house and a nice family and a normal, well-paying job.” Ronnie said.
“That’s not what I was saying.”
“Well then, what are you saying?”
“I’m just saying they’ll be fine.  If you wait long enough, things change.”

Comments / Nov 26.09 / Prodigy / by Charles Hodges

// Top 5 Reasons Being A Prodigy Would Suck… Hard

By Joey Camire .
11.24.09 // Prodigy

Everyone wants to be the best at something. Anything.  “I’m the fastest orange peeler.” You’d proudly tell your friends.  “I can unload the dishwasher in under thirty seconds.” You’d tout to your friends, likely impressed at your inane abilities.

The truth of the matter is, none of us are all that GREAT.  In the truest sense of the word anyway.  Of course we all have our own skill set of things were pretty good at.  Some might even say proficient (those people are assholes, stick with pretty good.) What we don’t realize is that being pretty good at something is good enough.  The limit to our abilities is actually a gift.  In truth being a prodigy actually sucks… Kinda hard, honestly.  It comes with more baggage than a first date with Kate Gosselin.  Now you’re probably all like “You’re A Big Fuckin’ Idiot! I want to be a prodigy.”  Because I knew you were going to be all bitchy like that, you’re so predictable, I’ve compiled the top 5 reasons why being a prodigy SUCKS HARD.  Enjoy.

ONE/// You’re Defined By What You’re Great At

Congratulations, you’re a prodigy.  Maybe you’re great at bowling.  I mean really great, not like Wii Bowling great.  But now you’re that guy, the bowling guy.  Sweet.  People ask you questions like “You must love The Big Lebowski.”  Well of course you love The Big Lebowski, it’s an incredible film, it has nothing to do with the fact that you love bowling.  Bowling was a tertiary character in that movie at best.  But you are that guy.  People will look confused when you aren’t wearing bowling shoes.  Ask why your name isn’t embroidered into your shirt?  You’ve been Pegged.

TWO/// You Can’t Fuck Up

You’ve set the bar pretty high.  You are legit.  The real deal.  People expect you to act as such.  You can’t have an off day.  So what if you’re wife left you because you were “just a bowler!” You can’t be distracted.  You need to be bringing the pain to those lanes.  Smokin’ those pins.  An 8?  What?  Not even.  They came to see strikes.  And that’s what you have to give them.

THREE/// You Suck At Everything Else

At least as compared to bowling.  You’re an OK dancer.  A fair to mediocre lover, as expressed by that cheating bitch of a wife.  You’ve tasted greatness, and it tasted like stale popcorn and deodorant spray.  The rest of your life feels that much more mediocre.  Of course you could always entertain delusions that your one truly great skill raises you above the rest of the world, but you know the truth.  You are “just a bowler!”

FOUR/// No One Likes You

No really… NO ONE.  No one likes losing, and you beat everyone.  You’ve heard the saying misery loves company?  Well all the losers you beat are going out for drinks later and you’re not invited!  What do you have to say about that?  Greatness breeds jealousy, and jealousy makes people do absolutely terrible things to each other.  Congrats you have just earned the malice of everyone.  Nice.  Still want to be great?

FIVE/// You Might Have Asperger’s Syndrome

This one’s not even funny, it’s true.  There is a very high correlation between Prodigies/Savants with Asperger’s Syndrome.  Congratulations, you are great, but you also now have difficulty understanding social interactions with others.  But you’re great right?

You get the point.  Being a prodigy sounds wonderful in our passing daydreams, but in actuality it probably blows.  Maybe this is just the perspective of one fair to mediocre person to another… or maybe it’s the truth.  Unfortunately most of my pieces end with some sort of moral that I don’t anticipate in beginning. Makes it feel a little like I’m pontificating.  And since I’m not great, I won’t end with a moral.  I’m no Aesop, people don’t ask me for parables on the street.  I’d just offer up some story about a bowler and we all know how that one ends.  I’ll just be happy this Thanksgiving for my mediocrity.

Comments / Nov 24.09 / Prodigy / by Joey Camire

// I Want My MMPP

By Alex Aloise .
11.24.09 // Prodigy

Comments / Nov 24.09 / Prodigy / by Alex Aloise

// Prodigy: A Manifesto

By Jake Dubs .
11.23.09 // Prodigy

Being

average

generic

normal

typical

standard

traditional

regular

prevalent

ordinary

adequate

common

usual

conventional

or

routine

sucks.

Don’t.

Comments / Nov 23.09 / Prodigy / by Jake Dubs

// Strawberry Milk Instead

By Tristan Smith .
11.22.09 // Coffee

I think the most (French) pressing (sorry) question concerning coffee is neither our responsibility to Ivory Coast farmers nor the corporate creep that hopes to make every Main Street the same.  Rather, it is the dilemma of when children should be allowed to partake in what is essentially a drug that’s acceptable to consume in public.  And while I’m not a good father or even a good philanderer, I think I have the answer, as I am much closer to being a child than those with children (I hope).

The answer is: when they get a job.

Before then, there’s no reason to urge your intellect to action.  It is better to laze away the days, strumming a guitar.  Sleeping in class.  Sleeping all you can.

Adulthood is a constant battle against time, trying to retain as much of it as possible while a considerable portion of our lives are traded for food, shelter, etc.  Thus,  at 330 PM when our bodies tell us to go home, lie down, hang out, we drink a cup.  Kids don’t need that until they’ve joined the workforce.

We need drugs to make toil less terrible.

Childhood should be unadulterated.

Comments / Nov 22.09 / Coffee / by Tristan Smith

// Our dependence on foreign substance

By Jordan Childs .
11.22.09 // Coffee

Comments / Nov 22.09 / Coffee / by Jordan Childs

// Coffee is King

By Elektrovideo .
11.20.09 // Coffee

The King Be Witnessed from elektrovideo on Vimeo.

Comments / Nov 20.09 / Coffee / by Elektrovideo

// Coffee: a visual interpretation of my innards

By Charles Hodges .
11.20.09 // Coffee

Comments / Nov 20.09 / Coffee / by Charles Hodges

// Brooklyn To Manhattan… Before Your Coffee

By Joey Camire .
11.19.09 // Coffee

This is a video collage made of the 5 mile walk from My apt in Bed Stuy, to my office in Mid-town/chelsea.

Song: LCD Soundsytem – “Someone Great”

Brookly To Manhattan… Before Your Coffee from Blommit on Vimeo.

Comments / Nov 19.09 / Coffee / by Joey Camire

// You Arrogant Sonsabitches

By Alex Aloise .
11.18.09 // Coffee

For years I was told that when I got older the best part of waking up would be Folgers in my cup.  I’m afraid I’ll have to call bullshit on that one.  Those Folgers folks have some serious gall to make such a strong claim.  Who are they to assume that the average consumer has an existence so miserable that their only morning solace can come in a steaming cup of their powdered swill?  To top it off, their coffee isn’t any good. I’ll take McCafe over Folgers any day of the week. And I don’t even like clowns.

But back to my original point, there are countless other precious gems in life, in the mornings specifically, than Folgers coffee.  I doubt the company even took any of these variables into consideration when coming up with their tagline.  What if the person in question is happily married?  Wouldn’t the best part of waking up for them be that first glimpse of their still-sleeping spouse?  (Of course, to give Folgers the benefit of the doubt, if they’re talking primarily to singles who go out, get blitzed, then wake up next to a he/she beast who appears to be wearing some sort of Edgar suit then perhaps their coffee would be the best part of that morning, though I suspect Vodka and an 8ball would do the trick a bit better).

What if the unfortunate Folgers drinker has kids? Surely the best part of waking up for those folks would be the dream-rattling jump on the bed from little Petey and/or Patty.  Same thing goes for pets.  Except cats.  No amount of coffee poured from the teet of the Virgin Mary herself could make those damned things worth getting up for.

You’ve also got to think about location. I just got back from my honeymoon. Know what the best part of my mornings were?  The gorgeous GD European sunrises!  It sure as hell wasn’t that black tar Folgers confuses for coffee.  I had coffee over there, my friends.  It’s short, dark, and stronger than a Burmese man with Penis weights.  And it’s definitely not Folgers.

Here’s something else that’s probably a better part of waking up than Folgers – WAKING UP! Just be happy you didn’t kick the bucket while you were asleep.  With all of the different Flus, Cancers and Heps in the world these days, the last thing I think about when I wake up is that canned ash they call coffee.  I’m usually too concerned trying to decide what and who I’m not going to touch that day.

So in closing, I issue Folgers a challenge: Stop being such pompous douchebags and change your tagline to something a little more accurate.  May I suggest, “The best part of waking up is everything that actually makes your life worth living, and if you can stomach a cup of Folgers while you’re awake then hey high 5!”

Comments / Nov 18.09 / Coffee / by Alex Aloise