A Quote From Edgar Allan Poe

"I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom."

Uncool Addiction

          I always had a healthy relationship with video games growing up. Like most kids, I enjoyed them, and spent a fair amount of time in the arcade at Straw Hat Pizza playing my favorites Gauntlet and Spy Hunter in the 1980’s. In the 1990’s, my girlfriend and I had an obsession with Galaga – which was by then an old game – and would play every time her mom took us to Ted’s restaurant in San Anselmo, which was often. In the 2000’s, while living in the Ingleside neighborhood of San Francisco, the homies and I would stay up until 4:00 am on a nightly basis getting high and playing NBA Jams, NHL 97 and Sled Storm on the Play Station, our eyes glazed over with weed and strain from looking at the television too long.  It was tough to wake up on time many mornings after these marathon sessions.

            After my tenure at the Ingleside house however, I gave up on video games. They seemed to be a thing of my youth and a wasteful pastime. They also seemed singularly uncool and certainly not a hobby I would find in people I admire. I’m pretty sure Charles Bukowski. Pete Dexter and Cormac McCarthy weren’t big video game players.

            And then, about four years ago I discovered Sim City for my Iphone. Sim City is what it sounds like: a city building game that continues the tradition of the old “Sims” series, which I never actually played. To keep it short: essentially, the player has a bunch of tasks they have to complete so that they can earn money and other game currencies and build up their city, thereby increasing the population which creates more taxes and makes it possible to build more buildings, sporting arenas, casinos, beach boardwalks and so on. The goal of the game? Basically it is to build a cool, well functioning city with a lot of people in it.

            Here’s the rub. The game moves at a painfully slow pace, especially when you make more progress. Tasks get exponentially harder as the game goes on and your city becomes bigger. Why, you ask? Simple: so that the game creators can get you to pay actual, real-world money in exchange for Sim Cash, the most difficult currency to acquire in the game, and the key to shortcutting all the painstaking work of building.

            So I’m ethically opposed to paying my hard earned money for game currency. That just seems ridiculous. In addition, it feels like the minute you do that you have ruined the challenge. I mean, anybody can buy their way to success, right? So I set out years ago to play the game the right way, without paying a dime. My goal: to build a city with one million inhabitants.

            I’ve probably put on average an hour a day into this motherfucker. And it’s been almost four years now. So lets call it 1200-1400 hours just to be reasonable. I think about that and it makes my heart sink. I could have written two novels in that amount of time. I could have put those hours into my work, and who knows what kind of payoff I might have seen. But no, instead I put my life’s effort into this meaningless game. Why? It doesn’t get me high; it offers nothing but frustration and, ultimately, existential dread in miniature.

            As it stands today I have 985,855 Sims living in my city. What will I do when I hit a million? I’d like to believe I’ll just put it down.

Addict Recommends: (Film) Uncut Gems (2019)

Yesterday I viewed for the second time this offering by the Safdie brothers. (Also known for their 2017 film Good Time.) In keeping with their style, the Safdie’s pacing is frenetic, fast moving and even stress-inducing. The viewer gets literally sucked in at the beginning and spit out at the end, having never left the edge of their seat during the entire experience. As proof of this, I offer my wife as an example. She usually chit chats throughout films, asks numerous questions, makes sarcastic remarks and other such vocal activities which really distract and annoy me. But throughout the entirety of Uncut Gems – which we first saw in the theater – she sat silent and riveted: as good a tribute to the filmmakers as I can come up with.

Adam Sandler is a revelation in his portrayal of Howard Ratner, a charismatic but unscrupulous New York jewelry dealer and compulsive gambler who has staked his business, his family and even his life on a series of ill-conceived bets culminating in his investment in a rare uncut black opal which he hopes will set his world right, even when he is doing everything in his power to destroy it. In his way are his angry wife Dinah, his disappointed kids and a host of family, business and gambling associates who have in some way been manipulated or taken advantage of by him. Seemingly the only person in the world who believes in him is his girlfriend Julia, a smoke-show of epic proportions. She loves Howard and assists him in his folly in any way she possibly can. When Kevin Garnet (who did a wonderful job portraying himself) enters his shop and falls in love with the opal, a series of events unfolds which Howard is powerless – because of his own character flaws – to prevent.

A primary theme running throughout the film is that of Jewishness, especially in how it intersects with African American culture. Howard’s obsession with basketball is highlighted when he informs his cohort Demany that a Jew (Ossie Schectman) scored the first two points in NBA history. The black opal which is the source and instigation for much of the plot (so similar to the scholar’s stone in Parasite) is secreted from a mine by what Howard calls “African Jews.” Scenes depicting the hectic work life of the diamond district are juxtaposed with others in largely black nightclubs, where artist The Weeknd performs.

The soundtrack by electronic musician Daniel Lopatin is innovative, unique and works to heighten the sense of anxiety which persists throughout the film. The music is hard to describe. The best I can do is say that it reminds me of those 70’s progressive rock songs which prominently featured a high-pitched synthesizer instrument known as the mini-moog. The soundtrack is also obliquely reminiscent of the iconic score from Stanley Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange, composed by musician Wendy Carlos. In both cases, the compositions reflect a sense of a world distorted, of morals twisted, of reality bent and manipulated in ways which are wondrous and colorful, awful and repugnant.

And like Kubrick’s protagonist Alex, we almost perversely root for Howard to win in the end. Despite all his flaws – the lies, con jobs, cheating and most of all his indifference to how his selfish actions are hurting others – we like him. We want him to find a way out of the hole he dug for himself. We see in Howard all the failings, ineptitude and iniquity of the man of this world. But we also see something else: his potential. Like an unpolished stone, there is hidden under his rocky surface a jewel of inestimable value. And that potential is always there to be revealed, until that last day comes when it sparkles no longer.

Nothing to do with Bathing

             The phone rang at about three-thirty at night a few months ago. Normally I turn it off when I go to sleep, or the many news notifications which come in the early morning with their numerous chirps and beeps wake me up before I’m ready. But I will say that on the few occasions I actually hear a call in the late to early hours, it’s something important. I rolled over and answered..

            “Hello,” I said groggily.

            “Hey, it’s Jimmy,” I heard whispered into the phone. I hadn’t heard from him in an age, probably six months or more.

            “Jimmy, how you doing man? Everything okay?”

            “Why you asking me if I’m all right or not?” he queried nervously.

            “Because it’s the middle of the night man. You out partying?”

            “I knew it!” he said, now very upset.

            I sighed. “What do you know?”

            “I knew you were in on it from the beginning. You son of a bitch, you were behind them all along. You set me up man. And now they’re all around me.”

            “Jimmy I have no idea what you’re talking about. Calm down and I’ll try to help you.”

            “Don’t you tell me to calm down you son of a bitch! We both know what you did so let’s stop pretending.”

            “Do me this one favor. Just tell me what it is I’m supposed to have done. And please be as specific as you can regarding times and dates, so I can completely understand.”

            I could hear his broken wheels turning in the silence which emanated from the other end.. The oscillations were uneven and creaky, the works ground wearily and sounded infested with sand.

            “You know I can’t do that, man. That’s just the thing. You know I can’t. But I know that everybody is against me, and all these forces that are coming down on my house right now, you’re definitely a part of it. That’s all I know.”

            “Jimmy, you’re high and this is way out there, even for you. I’m hanging up now.”

            The last thing I heard before I hung up was him screaming, “You’ll pay for this you motherfucker!” I immediately blocked the number he called from and tried to go back to sleep. It was no good though, and I got out of bed about an hour later and started my day, knowing I was up for a while, at least until I could nap. By noon I had forgotten the whole incident.

            Last week I got another call from a blocked number. It was Jimmy again, this time sounding as lucid as a college science professor. When I heard his voice I remembered for the first time our last discussion. I couldn’t help laughing out loud when I realized who it was.

            “We need to talk man,” he said soberly.

            “It’s your dime,” I replied.

            “Well, I’ve been in rehab for almost sixty days now and I’m working through my steps. I’m on step nine, which means I have to…”

            “I’m familiar with step nine,” I interrupted.

            “Yeah. Okay. Well then, you know that I have to apologize to those I hurt along the road of addiction. And I’m not even sure if I’m right or not, but I vaguely remember calling you and accusing you of all kinds of things that weren’t true. I might have even threatened you, I don’t know. I was going through a very stressful time.”

            “Well Jimmy,” I said, a little smugly. “I do remember that call. But it’s okay, old friend. You need say nothing more. There are no hard feelings.”

            Jimmy let out a hefty breath. “That’s good to hear. Thank you.”

            “If I may, would you mind my inquiring as to what drug you were on that night? I mean: I’ve gotta know. It was meth, right?”

            “Meth? Shit, I’ve stayed up two weeks on meth and never felt that way,” he replied. “No: I was on bath salts. Don’t ever do that shit. It makes you see demons everywhere you look.”

            “Isn’t that the shit the guy in Florida was on, when he was eating that homeless dude’s face?” I asked.

            “YES!” Jimmy replied. “And believe me, I thought about killing all kinds of people when I was fucked up on that stuff”

            “So you wouldn’t recommend trying it?” I asked.

            “Fuck no motherfucker! What have I been trying to tell you all this time?”

            I consider myself warned.

Unsung Victims of the Coronavirus

           We’ve all become inundated with stories of the myriad victims of the COVID-19 global pandemic. And without a doubt, there is nothing amusing about the millions of people who have contracted the Coronavirus, the hundreds of thousands who have died and the innumerable others who have lost their jobs and any semblance of financial security or stability.

            Now enter another sad player to the stage: drug cartels and their minions. It should come as no surprise to hear the news that the massive shutdowns in worldwide economic systems have made life much tougher for our friends in the drug trade.

            In the US particularly, lockdown orders have severely cut into the ability of illicit operators to ship and distribute their wares, launder their money and get their product across the southern border.

            According to Bill Bodner, special agent in charge of the Los Angeles DEA field office, Cartel “activities are a lot more apparent than they were three months ago.” He pointed out that California’s shelter in place order has made the movements and clandestine activities of the drug professionals more obvious and forced them to take greater risks to get their product on the street.

            Of course, this makes perfect sense. If there are less people driving and even walking around, those whose job it is to courier drugs and money from one place to another are going to become more exposed. In the words of Mr. Bodner, “When there’s less hay in the haystack, it’s easier to find the needle.”

            Due to breakdowns in distribution systems that include manufacturing centers and legitimate “front” businesses, drug peddlers nationwide have been forced to stockpile larger amounts of drugs and money, whereas during normal times they limit the amount of product or cash in any one location at any given time. This has led to larger seizures coast to coast.

            Not surprisingly, this “new normal” has led to a sharp uptick in prices from the top to the bottom of the trade. Bodner reports that the price for a pound of methamphetamine has risen in California from $1,000 to $2,000 a pound. Prices for cocaine, marijuana and heroin have also increased across the nation.

            I guess its true what I keep hearing on CNN. We really are all in this thing together. And nobody is immune from the ravages of COVID-19.

Addict Recommends: (Film) Pale Flower (1964)

                I came across this film recently in the incomparable Turner Classic Movies on-demand library. I was familiar with the director Masahiro Shinoda through his film Silence, based on the novel by Shusako Endo. (Martin Scorsese also made a movie under the same title in 2016.) But I was completely unfamiliar with this film until I watched it. And man, was I glad that I did.

                Widely considered an outstanding example of the genre of international noir, Pale Flower is the story of Muraki, a Yakuza operative who has just been released from prison after a few years for the murder of a rival gang member. Returning to his roots, Muraki begins inhabiting his old world: the clandestine gambling halls, race tracks, pool halls, bowling alleys and bars of Tokyo. As a counterpoint to these seedy environs is Muraki’s young girlfriend Shinko, who has waited for him while he did his prison term.  She is pressuring him for a greater commitment and threatening to marry another pressing suitor. But Muraki’s interest has become greatly distracted by Saeko, a solitary, beautiful woman he met gambling. 

                Saeko convinces Muraki to bring her to a gambling den where she can play for higher stakes. Her compulsion urges her to wager larger and larger amounts to attain the high she desires. Muraki tries to watch over her and protect her from this world he understands all too well. But her true desire is to go further into addiction, to forget, to dig the hole ever deeper. When needle addict Yoh enters the scene, Saeko’s curiosity slowly attaches to him, with predictable results.

                Although the plot of Pale Flower is more than satisfactory to hold the viewer’s attention, what makes this film so compelling is its atmosphere: the sights, sounds and rituals of the illegal gambling dens, the dark, narrow alleys of the city which seem to press down on Muraki, the striking Saeko racing through the night with Muraki in her convertible and the brilliant musical score created by Toro Takemitsu. These are as much characters in the film as are the actors, and taken individually and as a whole they convey a feeling, an attitude of life on the edge.

                Although this is a space where one cannot long live, it is hard not to yearn to exist there if only for enough time to drink it all in.

Nothing to Brag About

            This one had me in stitches when I first heard about it in November of 2019. And since we’re playing catch up a little bit, I figured I ought to share it here.

The State of South Dakota paid a whopping $449,000 to a Minneapolis advertising firm for an anti-methamphetamine campaign which some buffoon decided should be titled, “Meth: I’m on It.” It features a number of solid-looking rural South Dakotans in film and photo shoots declaring that they are “on” meth. Obviously, it was meant to indicate that they are hip to the problem and are vigilant about solving the scourge of methamphetamine in their community. Just as obviously, they failed completely in their mission, but did succeed in making a joke out of an entire state. 

The question is not just: what idiot came up with this campaign, and how did they get hired by an advertising firm in the first place? But it’s also: 2) how did their coworkers and boss see this and think it was a good idea? AND 3) get the good people in state government in South Dakota to agree that, indeed, this was a thoughtful and intelligent message to get out to the people, instead of a prank on par with the average intelligence of a high school freshman?

Hey: we’ve all experimented. And yeah, I’ve used meth, speed, Adderall, mini thins, No-Doz and yellow biker crank in my day. But as the title of the article suggests: I certainly wouldn’t be bragging about it. (Or would I?) Well, I definitely would not be dropping half a million to do so. That's for sure.