Noodle Dishes

I promised Noodle I would not post about her anymore. Apparently, she's grown a bit self-conscious about me writing stuff about her. Yet, she's got the Facebook thing covered like nobody's business. I don't get it. But then again, I'm her Dad. I'm not supposed to.

Still, I could not help but write about a recent, but brief, political exchange we had, while she was driving herself to work last Sunday.

Me: So, if you could vote for President, who would you vote for?

Noodle: I would vote for Obama-Biden.

Me: Good choice. I'm be voting for him, too.

Noodle: I knew that Dad. But I can't vote yet. I did work on a project on the election at school, where we had to make a placard for the candidate of our choice.

Me: That's great!

(Pause for an awkward 3-second silence)

Me: Sooooooo...who would Rachael vote for? (Rachael is Noodle's BFF)

Noodle: She likes McCain and so does her Dad.

Me: Really? Why would her Dad vote against his best interests like that? I don't get it.

Noodle: There's really nothing to get Dad. It's a democracy. People vote for who they like.

Me: You're right. But don't your differing viewpoints cause friction between you and Rachael?

Noodle: Well, we disagree on this, but we agree on alot of other stuff Daddy. We don't always have to agree on everything. That's just stupid.

Ouch! It was a humbling experience for me because for the last month as I watched the election coverage on the dreaded MSM, and I could feel my level of vitriol rise with each "you betcha" from Sarah Palin and each "my friends" from McCain. In fact, in reading your blogs, I conclude that many of you feel as I do.

But Noodle set me straight. Dissent and disagreement are the foundation of our republic and if we brow beat people into voting one way or another, we are no better than those fascist regimes where people still die for a chance to vote.

So in the spirit of friendship, I leave you with this....

Zeb and The Boys

He's a high-schooler now.

Last Thursday, Zeb and his running buddies graduated from Lindenhurst Middle School where they were the BMOCs. Next year, they'll be the little shits terrorized by the Class of 2009. My how their worlds will change.

Zeb and his friends are game. After all, the kids have been friends since kindergarten. They'll stick together. They'll stick up for each other. Oh sure, they'll make new friends along the way. These handsome devils may even find themselves a girlfriend, or two..or three. But I get the sense that they'll never be so occupied that they can't get together for a pick up baseball game or for placing a prank call to a science teacher. (Yes, Zeb really did do this recently.)

There are about 10 or 12 kids in this posse. They call each other by their last names, even though none of them shares a first name. You figure that with names like Van Floerke, Sanchez, Zuppel, and DeRosa, they would stick with their given names. Not so.

"Zeb, why do you guys call each other by your last names?" I ask him one day in passing.

" I dunno." And he skulked off back to whatever it was he was doing.

I'm jealous of Zeb for the friends he has. I had friends like that, too, when I was his age. But I had to leave behind my running buddies in Jacob Riis Houses, when my parents moved us to Richmond Hill, Queens. I hated it. I got into six fights in one weekend because the new kids I met weren't like my old pals. I was homesick, and once you move out of an old neighborhood, you're dead to your old friends. That's just how it is.

But my jealousy lives and dies in those memories from 30 years ago. I look my son now and marvel at how much of a young man he's become and how loyal he is to his pals. I'm fascinated, too, at how unglued they are from their X-Boxes and PlayStations, instead opting to be outdoors riding bikes, skateboarding, or playing baseball. Several of them have developed an interest in a musical instrument, and want to form a band. I can't wait to drive Skippy crazy when I let them jam in our basement.

Congratulations Zeb. Welcome to high school.

The Fix Is In

The other night my neighbor, Fireman Joe, stopped by my house asking me to fix his computer. It's a PC running Windows XP, and the problem he was having was that the icons kept disappearing and re-appearing.

Okay, I know that Macs and Linux systems don't have these problems. I get it.

*Deliberately long pause for the Mac and Linux users to get the snickering out of their systems*

Now on with the story.

Apparently, Fireman Joe, never got the memo that I don't fix computers anymore, I audit them.

Fireman Joe: Hey. So ya think you can come down and fix my computer?

Me: You know I don't do that anymore. Right?

Fireman Joe: Whadda ya mean? I thought you worked with computers.

Me: Well yeah, but I don't fix them. I audit them.

Fireman Joe: So? What's the difference?

As I went into my standard audit-speak explanation about how I evaluate system risks and render informed opinions, I could see the Homer Simpson-esque expression on his face take hold. You know that look. The disinterested, glazed-over look in his eyes, and the drool slithering from his mouth told me it was time to can the excuses and help the guy out.

"All right, Joe," I said. "I'll stop by later and take a look."

So there I was last Tuesday night, watching his desktop screen flicker and wondering "what the fuck is this?", which is step 1 in my process for fixing systems. The process goes like this:

1. Stare at the screen and ask, "what the fuck is this?"
2. Politely ask the system user/owner what they were doing right before the problem started without it sounding like an interrogation.
3. Stare at the screen again and check to see if the system has a running firewall, anti-virus and malware utilities, and bitch if it doesn't.
   
4. Bitch about the fact that people still use Internet Explorer.
5. Take another deep breath and remember that these types of problems are not always of the ID-1o-T system user/owner type.
6. Fix the problem, or give options if the problem can't be fixed (e.g.: Sorry, but you're going to need a new hard drive).
   

I spent a total of 6 hours over two separate nights figuring out what was wrong. Eventually, I fixed it using the Spybot Search and Destroy program, but that wasn't my first choice to solve the problem. In fact, it was my last choice and desperate one at that.

I ran MSCONFIG to disable some unusual programs from starting up. I scanned for unusual services in the Microsoft Management Console and found nothing, and checked the system registry for signs of malware. Nothing.

By 10PM Tuesday night, I had made very little progress. That's when EQ started dropping hints that it was time to go home.

EQ: What time do you get up for work in the morning?

Me: 5AM.

EQ: Shouldn't you be in bed already?

Me: Nah, I don't need a whole lot of sleep.

EQ: But aren't you tired from such a long day?

I got the hint. As I was walking out of their house, I told them I need to do some research and that I would come back with an answer. I was not giving up.

What I learned the next day was that the culprit behind the case of the blinking icons was a nasty virus called virtumonde. Google's search engine was a big help here because my initial search of "explorer.exe problems" led me to a bunch of different links advocating the use of Vundofix.exe. I downloaded it and copied it to a memory stick and called Fireman Joe the next night with the good news.

"Stop by tomorrow," he said.

"Sure thing," I replied "and it won't take as long as Tuesday."

Promises. Promises.

Not only did the Vundofix.exe program not work, but neither did HiJackThis!, Ad-Aware, AVG Anti-spyware nor the free version of Norton Internet Security 2008. Two hours into night number two, I was back at Step 1. Shit! I was ready to call it quits when I noticed (in between icon blinks) that the Spybot Search and Destroy installer was on their machine. I decided to give it a try. It was now 9:45PM and EQ was getting antsy again.

EQ: Should I call Geek Squad?

Me: No. Let me try the Spybot.

EQ: But don't you have to get up early for work?

She agreed to let me continue and became even more antsy when Spybot didn't catch the problem. But then a screen popped up asking if we wanted to update to a newer version of SpyBot. "What can it hurt?" I asked EQ. "I'll install it and you can monitor it to see if a problem comes up."

That did the trick. Not only did the updated version find the virtumonde.dll file that was causing the problem, but it also found several malicious registry settings that disabled the Windows Update component that keeps Windows systems patched.

EQ was elated. I was relieved. After the system restarted with no blinking icons, I downloaded and reinstalled AVG Antivirus and the ZoneAlarm personal firewall, and was out their door by 10:30PM. Before I left, I asked EQ again how come the system had no firewall and antivirus program installed.

EQ: Oh. My sister's boyfriend said that taking it off would speed up the computer.

I wanted to call her sister's boyfriend an idiot, but I realized that I had already run Step 3 twice and that it served no purpose to validate Step 6.

What I also realized is that the excitement and satisfaction I get from auditing systems is nowhere near as exciting as fixing them. Anyone else having a problem with their PC?

Spartacus Dishes

A fellow blogger and new friend, Franny, from over at FranIam has decided to interview me. By way of full disclosure, I have to say I asked for this. Really I did. I was reading the interview that Dr. Monkey von Monkerstein of Monkey Muck gave my dear Franny and felt a bit left out. So here I am, a fresh set of questions before me, just because I could not shut the fuck up......

What inspired you to begin blogging and to choose the name Spartacus?
I could lie and say that I was inspired by the disgraced Roman Legionnaire who led a slave revolt against Julius Caesar that was unsparingly crushed. After all, every one loves the underdog, right? But that would be wrong. There's no special significance to the name. I took it from the movie because it's an all-time fave of mine, Kirk Douglas is one of my favorite actors, and I needed something memorable with which to comment online.

However, here are some names that were also given brief consideration: Mick-lovin-spic; McBoriqua; Patatas-hervidos (boiled potatoes). However, none of these do well to describe what happens to a Puerto Rican who fell hook, line and sinker in love with a beautiful Irish lass back in 1988. So, I dropped the whole idea and went with Spartacus. (No...I'm Spartacus! No...I'm Spartacus!!!!!) The tattoo on my avatar is the symbol of my love for E.

Tito Puente - yes or no. In either case, explain why.
Yes and no.

Yes, because the man was, without a doubt, one of the greatest latino jazz musicians to walk this earth. The depth and the sheer size of the musical legacy he left behind makes me proud to be a fellow 'Rican. His influence can still be heard in many of today's salseros.

But no, and sadly no, because while I could hear his music blare from my bedroom window in the projects, and was very excited the day he came to my neighborhood to perform live at a block party, I was too smitten with my oldest brother's interest in sex, drugs and rock and roll. I was a front row witness when Gus first played Lou Reed, the Rolling Stones and David Bowie on my dad's combo TV-Stereo set and I simply caught that bug. By the time I got to my senior year at Aviation High School in 1981, and got past my very brief fascination with disco, I was living in Queens, and too far into The Ramones, The Police, The Sex Pistols, The Clash to have any time for my father's music. I know it's a sad comparison to make with the King of timbales, but at 17, I wasn't really thinking in terms of the cultural significance of my choice.

I regret it now and I've been getting back into it lately, ever since I got the XM satellite radio hooked up to my ride. But I've got a long way to go before I can ever consider myself an aficionado. No time better than the present.


You meet George Bush in an elevator and you have 45 seconds to say whatever you want. What happens?
First, I would push the emergency stop button on the car we are riding in and deliver the biggest ass-whooping that faux-Texan, AWOL, SOB has ever experienced. While I was going thug life on his ass, I'd ask him "Where my money, bruh? I heard you been passin' mad cheddar out in crates over in Iraq and you ain't got shit for us back home? Whas wrong witchu? Whatta about NOLA mu fukka? Whatta about them kidz in uniform with bad equipment?" Then I'd bitch slap him a bit more before pulling out the emergency stop button to let the car come to a landing. I'd then surrender myself to the waiting platoon of SS agents, who would drag me to an isolated, windowless room and beat the living shit out of me. Can you tell I've imagined this scenario? The ass-kicking trade off would be well worth it.


What is the Spartacus top 10 list of important books to read?
The problem I have with this question is that for me, it's much too broad a question. Top10 list of important books? Hmm. On what topic? Religion? History. Literature? Science? Well, I'm going to take liberties with this one because you said I should feel free to change or add a question. So here goes Spartacus's list of the top 10 list of important books I've read since 9/11, in no particular order:

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies – Jared Diamond

Grand Illusion: The Untold Story of Rudy Giuliani and 9/11 – Wayne Barrett, Marty Collins

The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague In History – John M. Barry

Paris 1919: Six Months That Changed the World – Margaret MacMillan

Downtown: My Manhattan – Pete Hammil

I'm a Stranger Here Myself – Bill Bryson

Truman – David McCullough

Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln – Doris Kearn Goodwin

The Journey of Man: A Genetic Odyssey – Spencer Wells

The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and The Future of Reason – Sam Harris

Please note that this is an ever-evolving list, as I am always reading something. Ask me tomorrow and the list could change significantly.


What is the most important thing you will leave your kids, and money doesn't count. (not that I thought it would!)
Besides 23 of my best chromosomes? I think what I want to leave my kids is a sense of respect for themselves, their family, and for the world in which they live. I also want them to have a healthy sense of skepticism and to maintain their critical thinking skills. Sure, I'd like them to have fabulous careers at high-paying salaries so that they can support me and E. when we are old, decrepit septuagenarians, but I don't feel any of that is possible without showing them how to stand up and think for themselves. In the end, only they know the path to their happiness. All E. and I can give them now are the tools to get them there and a safe laboratory to help them work out their theories.

Phew! Man that was work. Great questions. Thanks for the opportunity. Peace. (Blows two-fingered kiss to the blogsphere.)

UPDATE: I changed the title of the post. I like the way this one sounds better.

One for us old guys....

He's 41 and he's now a member of the 300-win club in major league baseball. He's a dad, a husband, and a friend to everyone who knows him. He takes the ball every five days the way you and I jump on a train and in a car to go to work. I know this is really schmaltzy, but I tip my cap to Tom Glavine, pitcher for the New York Mets on this outstanding achievement.

Deep In The Heart of Texas

Kenny is an old friend of mine from my days in Richmond Hill, Queens. We played in a band together, hit on each other's girlfriends (literally), had several fallings out and reconciliations, and through it all we remained friends. Anyone whose played in a band will know how hard it is to "remain" friends with your bandmates. Yet, there we were palling around doing what we will with our 20-something lives.

But before this post begins to resemble the sequel to "Brokeback Mountain", I'll say that Kenny is one of the few friends I've had in this life whom I regard as a brother. Even though we didn't spend much time together after I got married in 1990, we still regarded each other as being close friends.

Well, a few months ago he called me to tell me several things:

• after putting 25 years in, he's retiring from the commodities trading business;
  
• he's opening a steak and pasta house;
• he's moving to Boerne, Texas.
  

What the fuck!!!

After we got off the phone that day, I Googled Boerne, Texas to get a sense of just how deep in the heart of Texas this town really was. All I knew was that it was north of San Antonio.
Here's the map:




Don't get me wrong -- I don't regard this as a sad occasion. I see it as another one of life's mile markers where you drop off a passenger whose been riding with you for days. You see, for both of us, a visit is no longer a matter of driving 75 miles for a day-long visit. I can't pack a cooler full of beer and a few steaks and take the family out on a road trip. The man who founded the "bachelor" school was now picking up roots and moving lock, stock, and barrel to some place that up until a few months ago, I had never heard of. Talk about what to say as a goodbye!

Kenny and I stayed on the phone for over an hour, during which time he gave me all the details of the place he planned to open and why he's featuring steak and pasta in his new house. Apparently, a good Italian sauce is so hard to find deep in the heart of Texas that Renee's (that's Kenny's wife) relatives begged him to add it to the menu.

One score and a few years more (1983), I was the front man in Queens (NY)-based band called Erewhon after (I think) a 19th Century novel written by Samuel Butler. My stint in the band didn't last very long. The sad fact of the matter was they needed a singer with the range of John Anderson (of Yes) and mine was somewhere between George Harrison and Glenn Tilbrook. But the keyboard player and I remained very good friends after my departure from the band; we even worked together on writing a few songs in 1984 for which I have fond memories. There were all those Saturday nights at Spirit's Pub, and the times we would cop weed from the Jamaicans on 126th & Jamaica Ave. (no kidding) and drive out to Rockaway Beach or to Dennis's attic apartment to get really stoned. Good times.

I got an e-mail from him the other day to tell me that he's settled into his new life. I am really jealous because there's a huge difference between working for a living and living for one's work. He's now doing the later. Now, I don't mean to disparage the nobility of being a working stiff. I can't help but envy that person who has the nerve and the means to act on very natural desire to give up a safe thing, for a possibly good thing.

Here's the new task for me on life's scavenger hunt list - take a road trip to Boerne, Texas in a bus. Before I leave NY, I'll pick up some of our old friends like Freddy, Mike, both Jimmys (B and K), Irene, Dave, and guitar George. Drive down to Georgia to pick up Dennis and drive I-10 all the way to Boerne where we'll show up at the Tin Roof Steak House and close the place down. I want to ankle up to his bar and puke in his toliet. I want to show Texas how NYers party. But more than anything else, I want to personally wish Kenny and Renee all the best.