scott d. feldstein

Daniel: Hey – you ever get into fights when you were a kid?
Miyagi: Huh – plenty.
Daniel: Yeah, but it wasn’t like the problem I have, right?
Miyagi: Why? Fighting fighting. Same same.
Daniel: Yeah, but you knew karate.
Miyagi: Someone always know more.
Daniel: You mean there were times when you were scared to fight?
Miyagi: Always scare. Miyagi hate fighting.
Daniel: Yeah, but you like karate.
Miyagi: So?
Daniel: So, karate’s fighting. You train to fight.
Miyagi: That what you think?
Daniel: [pondering] No.
Miyagi: Then why train?
Daniel: [thinks] So I won’t have to fight.
Miyagi: [laughs] Miyagi have hope for you.

There’s some controversy regarding the upcoming remake of The Karate Kid. According to Jess Helmerly at Boing Boing, this film should not even have been made. I beg to differ.

I get that remakes often fail to live up to the glory of their originals. And that’s sad. I’m thinking here of recent insults to memory such as Willy Wonka. But Wonka is not Karate Kid. The original Wonka still works–the original KK does not.

Yes! It pains me to say it, but The Karate Kid we all saw so many years ago is hopelessly, painfully and irredeemably dated. The scenes with Pat Morita and Ralph Macchio still work beautifully. But the other scenes, the ones of high school life and it’s bullies and babes? Shudder. Unwatchable.

A few years back I watched it again and noted this fact. I said at the time that I hoped someone would remake it.

Now that someone has, I’m of mixed feelings about it. I expect it to be bad to mediocre. But what if? What if they really get something right? What if they are able to capture that coming of age spirit, that mentor/mentee magic? What if they’re able to do it with a minimum of Hollywood bullshit, bad scripting and predictable action scenes?

I’m doubtful. But there’s a spark of hope in there, too. It’s got one thing going for it already: the incredibly talented Jackie Chan.

One other thing. The actual martial arts in the original Karate Kid were terrible. I’m not asking for typical Hollywood super-power fight scenes. But it would be swell if some of these folks actually knew some kind of traditional Asian fighting art. At least in Chan’s case we can be sure he does.

What about you? Fan of the original? Looking forward to the remake? Or are you horrified by the whole thing?

I’m sorry for the outrage-filled posts lately, but goddamn it, some stuff just pisses me off. And who do I have to confide in but you, dear reader? So check it out.

I moved into this place a few months ago. There are storage bins in the basement. One of them was ostensibly mine. Problem was, when I went down there to figure out which one it was I discovered a dog’s breakfast of signage: Some painted, others written in marker, still others consisted of paper that had been stapled onto the wood. Many of them were crossed off. Two or three of them had my apartment number on them, but these seemed already to be occupied.

Not having a lot of clutter, I put off solving the conundrum for another day. Figured I’d go ask the manager or something when I got ready to move some crap down into it.

I’m a great procrastinator, people. Those boxes still lurked in my front closet until this morning when I decided to do something about it. You see, there was a notice on my door that the owner was coming into the apartment today to do an “inspection” and to put in a carbon monoxide alarm. I figured it was as good an excuse as any, so I set about straightening up the clutter this morning.

Here’s where it gets good. I told my son–what you thought I was going to haul boxes of books into the basement two flights down?–I told my son to find the nearest empty locker, put our stuff in it and lock it with the combination lock I’d purchased weeks ago for just this purpose. It seemed that’s what everyone else had done.

The owner came and went.

Later this afternoon I discovered a couple more things I wanted to put down in the bin (now that I had one) so I carried them down myself, looking for the bright red combination lock I’d given my son.

But I could not find it. I walked the length of the storage area twice, double checking. Nope, no red lock. I brought my son down to show me which one it was. He came down and stopped in front of an empty storage bin with its door wide open, no lock to be seen. “This was it!” he said.

They’d cut my lock off. And done who knows what with my stuff!

I called the manager. He seemed to know exactly what was going on, but was being coy about it. When I demanded to know where my stuff was, he said he wanted to know where I’d put it. I explained the hodgepodge of signage and how I figured it was squatters rights down here, that I’d told my son to find the first empty one and put our stuff in it. I showed him which one it had been.

Then he drew my attention to the newly painted and uniform numbers high up on the locker doors. Apparently they’d just done that. Who knew? Nobody told me.

He said my stuff was in a purgatory bin where they keep items for 30 days and then throw them away if unclaimed. Apparently this locker was just newly built and nobody was supposed to be in it. The owner had noticed stuff in it when he was on premises. Then the manager he walked over to the bin marked with my apartment number, apparently to show me where I was to have put my things in the first place.

Only it was full. Of someone else’s stuff. And locked. He said he’d straighten it out.

By this time I was pretty exasperated. Did he realize I’d only had these boxes down here for a few hours? And bang, lock cut off, stuff in purgatory. No note, no explanation. And the bin he thinks I should have used instead was already occupied!

Who’s going to buy a new lock? Who’s going to move those heavy boxes? I suspect, dear reader, that the answer is me. Nice, huh?

It’s a thing. I admit it. I’m very particular about wallets.

Mostly what I want from a wallet is that it be small. Is there anything uglier than a big bulgy wallet clearly visible in your pocket every day? There is not. Besides, less is more. Your stuff expands to fill the space allotted for it; the bigger your wallet, the more crap you’ll carry around in it. No thanks.

So, it’s small. Which means I’m going to use it to carry credit cards, an ID and maybe a business card. Not cash. Cash can ride in your pocket. (What, you want to risk losing or leaving behind your driver’s license every time you buy a latte? Not me.)

What’s in my wallet?

• driver’s license
• bank card
• health and dental insurance cards
• social security card
• grocery store discount card

That’s pretty much it. And come to think of it, I probably don’t need to have that social security card in there. I should stash it in my jewelry box with all the other wallety stuff I don’t want to carry around every day. I could see where one might keep a library card or a couple of business cards, though. I could do so easily, even with my super minimalist wallet. But do you really need a brick-sized, tri-folding monstrosity packed with every credit card you’ve ever been issued, store cards for places you hardly visit, receipts for every gift you bought last December and $50 in assorted bills? Puh-lease. And don’t get me started on photographs. Put your kids pictures on your phone already. It’s the twenty-first century, people.

Other than that, I’d like it to be made of soft leather and contain no money clips or old-womanish snaps and zippers.

Small, leather, one fold, no hardware. Simple. You’d think you could find them everywhere wallets are sold. But it’s not so. Try it. I’d say less than one in ten purveyors of men’s wallets will have an item like the one I’m describing. Probably less than one in twenty.

So now you know. Be a man of refinement and good taste. Dump that pile of crap and go minimalist in the wallet department.

You can all relax now: I think I’ve more or less completed my cookware replacement plan. Having just received my new 10″ Calphalon nonstick griddle/crepe pan ($25!), I think it’s all over but the shouting.

Overcrowded kitchen cabinets are one of my biggest pet peeves, which is why I’m especially pleased at having narrowed everything down to just eight items: Four stainless steel, two cast iron and two nonstick. I also made sure to find the sweetest spot on the bang/buck curve for each choice.

I did get some other new kitchen items, too. Those Mario Batali prep bowls, for example. Love ‘em. The Hamilton Beach immersion blender is working out good. Likewise with those amazingly cheap and startlingly sharp Thai knives I mentioned before.

So now what? As I’ve mentioned previously, I think I’ll pony up for a small set of Pyrex bakeware. Then I’ll take stock of my small hodgepodge of utensils. My inclination will be to just get a few cheap and sensible items to fill any gaps.

Hey, one neat thing I have coming via UPS: A very Alton Brown-esque salt server.

The downer about all this? I have to go home and do dishes. I was too lazy to do them last night after making homemade lentil soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for me and my son.

I haven’t seen one moment of her performance, but I’m so moved by her story that I want to cheer.

You know what I read on the far-rightosphere recently? That president Obama’s health care proposal released on the web the other day shows that he has “absolutely no humility.” It’s his “arrogance and hubris on display.”

No, seriously. This from people who voted for George W. Bush. Think about that. Just think about it.

While the reality-based community has been sitting around wondering why the president doesn’t, you know, do more to get health care reform passed instead of leaving it all to a rather dysfunctional congress, the meme on the other side is that Obama is displaying a marked lack of humility by now speaking up and offering what is essentially the bill already passed by the US senate. Hardly anything new, certainly nothing radical. But it’s hubris. Man has no humility. For staying out of the entire process for months and months and months and then when it’s about to fall apart chiming up with “hey, how about this compromise consisting of ideas y’all have already kicked around some?”

What I don’t get is…well, actually I don’t get any of it. How do you even get there from here? Walk me through that. I mean, putting aside for the moment any and all policy disagreements, what is the man actually doing to make you judge his character so harshly?

It’s like some of us live on different planets with different facts. Even very smart and very principled people can quite evidently eat so much of their own political dog food that they actually start believing even the craziest things their side has to offer.

People who know me well know that I am enamored of the idea that one should strive to be the hero of one’s own story. This can be a rewarding way to look at your life, but sometimes it’s a painful one–as when the hero fails or otherwise proves all to human.

All this went through my mind as I read this little piece on Salon. And it made me ask its questions of myself: Does the hero want something? What does he want? Does the hero do something? What will he do?

And is there humor in this story? What’s so goddamned funny I’d like to know?

I know you haven’t seen much of me lately. The blog has been getting a little dusty, I’ve all but disappeared from Twitter and AIM. But listen, it’s not you–it’s me.

Not only has the past week been incredibly (and unexpectedly) busy at work, not only was my home internet service cut off for days, but also: I’m sick. I napped a lot this weekend and when I get home from work I feel like going straight to bed.

Wish me well and don’t think I’ve forgotten you!

XOXO

I’d like to tell you that I put my foot down and refused to take bad customer service. I’d like to tell you that I stood by my guns, stuck it to The Man, died with my boots on, saved nine by stitching in time, and took my business elsewhere. But the truth is not so simple or so satisfying.

Let’s recap. I got a call on Monday while at work. It’s my ISP telling me that they are going to disconnect me if I don’t pay my bill. I say I don’t know what they’re talking about as my “bill” is paid for directly out of my paycheck every month. They say they’re going to “look into it” and get back to me. (I proceeded to have a big hairy mess of a day at work and didn’t even get home until around 8pm, by which time I’d completely forgotten all about that strange, strange phone call.)

Fast forward to Tuesday night. I get home from work only to find that the internet is missing. Then I remember the call. So I get on the phone to customer support. Probably get this straightened out in ten minutes, I figure. They’ll gasp in horror, apologize and get the bits a flowin’ again within minutes.

Yeah, right. What actually transpired during that 30 minute phone call was this. When they finally understood the I-don’t-GET-a-bill message I was sending them, they told me that I had been cut off for nonpayment of a $10 installation fee.

I reflected on my mail over the last couple of months. Yeah, I’d probably seen stuff that said Time Warner on it–and it went right into the garbage with the ol’ coupon clipper. Why wouldn’t it? I don’t get a bill from them. Never have.

So mea culpa. But hey, what about the guy who was going to “check into it”? You’re not blameless here, guys. And that $10 late fee? And that $10 “reconnect” fee? Not paying it. I might pay the original installation fee, though–if you turn my service back on right the Christ now.

But no. It would take the rest of the week, it seemed. They weren’t really sure.

At that point I refused to pay anything and canceled my service. I fumed about the nerve of a company who accepts hundreds and hundreds of dollars from me for probably 15 years but who’d let me walk out the door over a $10 misunderstanding.

Then I found out that in addition to not getting a bill, I’m not supposed to be charged an installation fee either!

My resolve turned to steel. They’d never see me again. Competitors, here I come.

But there didn’t seem to be any. AT&T, who’d come to my door monthly to peddle internet when I lived two miles from here, were sorry but they didn’t service my current address.

I began to suspect that I’d have to go back to Time Warner and take whatever “deal” they were willing to offer. I have to have broadband internet service where I live. I earn my living on the internet, for god’s sake. I’d have to do whatever they said. I had no choice.

But! I remembered that I could call someone at work. Someone whose job it was to negotiate the deal with Time Warner for the discounted service I’d been enjoying.

“Please,” I said. “Just get me something. Something so I don’t have to feel like I’m completely getting screwed by these people.” They said they’d do their best.

Next day they called me back and said Time Warner would be out the next day to hook me up–no charge. Nice!

So here I am. Did I suck it up and take the abuse? Or did I hold my ground and refuse to take any shit? Well, both kind of. I didn’t have to pay anything and I got reconnected post haste. But I am still their customer, paying them each month in spite of the lousy treatment I received. Mixed bag.

At least the internet is back on. That counts for a lot.

1. Terrorism suspects in US custody were waterboarded.

2. Waterboarding is torture.

3. Torture is illegal, and people found guilty of it can go to prison for life–or even be executed.

4. Former vice president Dick Cheney recently admitted on television that he supported the waterboarding of detainees when he was in office.

Am I getting any of the above wrong? I really want to know because if the above facts are correct then Dick Cheney should be facing charges of being a war criminal. Yet he clearly is not.

So what am I missing?