46 year-old, Light-Heavyweight Champion of the World: Bernard Hopkins (52 wins; 5 losses; 2 draws. 34 knockouts). 
Chauncey Billups:
Worlds Fastest Man: Usain Bolt
Shaq and Jason Kidd a million years ago: "You hate a guy season after season; but after awhile they're the familiar villain from all those games you watched with your buds..." 
Sean Penn/Scarlett Johannsen:
As I approach 45 years on this planet, its a safe bet that I’m slightly past the mid-point of my life. Course that assumes I’m not gonna have a heart attack or get cancer--two pretty big ifs based on my lifestyle and temperament. But absent any serious speed bumps, I passed my life’s intermission a few years ago.
I wish I were more excited about the 2nd half of my physical existence; but as I prepare to leave (or lose) yet another job and note the modern state of my country and species, its a little difficult for me to wave the pennant of humanity and yell rah rah rah. Its more like blah blah blah. I was more than prepared for the world to end last week.
But I guess its up to me to find happiness. I didn’t start my blog to be a downer. I’m 40+ years old. White. American, in good health. What exactly are my complaints again?
I suppose I could name a few if I wanted to nitpick.
One of my biggest complaints is that I wasn’t born Lebron James. Or Dirk Nowitzki. That’s gonna be the first thing I mention to my creator if and when we meet. How come you didn’t make me one of those guys? ‘Cause whatever you had in mind with me, people are not getting it!
Along with boxing, NBA basketball’s my favorite sport; and this year the quality of the NBA really improved. Chauncey Billups is my favorite player--even if he is getting old; so now that the Knick’s have got him I have something to look forward to the next 2-3 years of my life. Not much else about my future excites me. But Chauncey and I can age together here in New York.
When I watch NBA Playoffs, I sometimes get jealous of the players. Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant, Rajon Rondo, Chris Paul, Derrick Rose. So much talent and money. So many hot babes. Plus the joy of competition on an international stage. Going for greatness and eventually reaching it.
That is, if you’re Lebron James, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. They’re the only ones who are really gonna reach it, by which I mean the championship. Those guys might be 3 of the Top 10 athletes in the world. Lebron is for sure. I suppose a few soccer players are probably up there. And Usain Bolt of course.
I assume Lebron and Dwyane Wade are gonna win it all, but I guess I wouldn’t mind if Jason Kidd and Dirk Nowitzki became champions. I’ve watched those guys for a lot of years; and even though I never rooted for either of ‘em, I have a soft-spot for the older guys. Even guys I hated, which is a phenomenon in sports and pop culture. You hate a guy season after season; but after awhile they’re the familiar villain from all those games you watched with your buds. You have a shared history. You know their story.
So when that old nemesis is matched-up against the new kid on the block you might suddenly find yourself rooting for Shaq or Iverson or even (to my amazement earlier this season) Kobe.
At this point in my life, the closest I’m probably going to get to greatness is to watch others pursue it. My day has come and gone along with the Walkman, the VHS player, Sugar Shane Mosely, and scripted TV. I had my chance to go for it.
But there’s still a few guys out there who give me hope. Jeff Beck’s close to 70 but he’s better than ever. And I love the way he always has a chick in his band now--Jennifer Batten; Tal Wilkenfeld; Imogen Heap; Imelda May; Rhonda Smith. Couple hot one’s in there for sure. Just how I’d do it.
41 year old Jay-Z is still going strong; 38 year old Eminem’s last record went # 1 right away; and 52 year old Sean Penn’s allegedly banging young and fine Scarlett Johannsen. So maybe I have a few good lays/days in front of me after all.
And of course we can’t forget my man Bernard Hopkins, who not only beat 28 year-old Jean Pascal to become champion of the world last Saturday, but had the audacity to do push-ups between rounds. When I saw that, I jumped out my chair and fist pumped--bad back and all. 46 years old and the guy’s still going for greatness. Still winning championships. Still reaching higher.
Maybe there’s a reason to tune in for Part 2 after all.
A couple posts back I referenced Don Dellillo’s Mao II. That book was well ahead of its time, which is somewhat ironic since one of it’s major themes is that writers are irrelevant now that their social roles have been usurped by photojournalists and television news (blogs didn’t exist when the book was first published). The instantaneous, emotional responses that TV news footage can produce trump the kind of delayed idea-absorption involved in the written word.
But with minds like Delillo’s, maybe writers still have a chance.
Mao II has a lot of deep themes; and while its certainly not for me to define them for you, another major idea presented is that the terrorist has assumed the role of modern social commentator and agitator once held by the artist. Delillo’s argument seems to be that society has become somewhat suspect of the artists commitment to their cause. That the days of a Van Gogh, who’d cut-off an ear in the throws of passion; or a Lenny Bruce who’d go to jail for free-speech has given way to Jefferson Starship’s We Built This City and Steven Tyler’s present stint on American Idol. Meet the new boss. Same as the...
Conversely, the terrorist is no sell-out. When you’re prepared to die for your beliefs people can question your cause and methods, but not your commitment. That’s undeniable and a certain...acknowledgment has to be made, if not grudging respect. A respect that used to be reserved for the great artists and social progressives.
But artists have lost a lot--if not most, of their cultural influence. Musicians have pretty-much fleshed-out all the melodies offered by the 12 tone scale, and the ability to download 3,000 songs into a palm-sized Ipod reduces music to a mere .99 cent product. When Mick Jagger accepts knighthood from the Queen of England and Snoop Dogg shills for T-Mobile, I think its fair to say that rock as rebellion is now a dead institution best suited for museums.
The same can be said for movies. Hollywood’s produced so many horror flicks, date movies, and sequels that any 16 year old knows the formula. Like the ancient Greeks who churned out the same mythological figures over and over again under different names and guises, we now get Pirates of the Caribbean 4; a half-dozen Batman’s; three Spiderman movies (with another in the works); a bunch of X-Men. Silly stuff for an escapist nation that just wants to go back to September 10, 2001 and pretend we’re still # 1.
And when was the last conceptual advancement in the visual arts or painting? When Andy Warhol turns a can of Campbell’s Soup into high art, there’s nowhere else to go artistically. We’ve obviously gone full-circle.
Perhaps a bigger problem for art (and politics) in this country is that secular America’s splintered into so many niches or sub-groups. Back in the day we used to get 5 channels on the television set and could only dream of more.
But now that there’s internet, cable, and satellite DISH, America’s on a hundred different pages. Or channels. Did you see Monday Night Football last night? Or Roots? Or All in the Family? Of course you did--30 years ago! What else was on?
But nowadays you ask the same question at the water cooler and you’re likely to hear Naw, I was watching History Channel. Or Animal Planet. Or I was on internet last night. The days where an artist or writer could produce that big, blockbuster work that really captured the realities of modern life are over. African-Americans have their own TV channels and radio stations (13% of US population). Hispanic’s have their own media channels (16% of US population). Women have their own cable channels. You want to write about life in America? Who’s life? Who’s reality? You can’t produce that one big work anymore. Just ask Jonathan Franzen.
The ancient Romans knew how to resolve this problem of cultural fragmentation. Sports. Athletics transcends ethnicity or gender. Once you know the rules of a given game you can appreciate anyone who plays it well. There’s no language barrier. No confusion in regards to motives. Just win. You may hate kikes or ni**ers or spicks; but if your hometown team signed Sandy Koufax or Jackie Robinson or Roberto Clemente your mind-set might change. You know what? We might win the pennant with this guy!
Yeah, I guess he’s alright.
More and more society’s been leaning on the athletes to provide cultural cohesion; but now they face the same problems as the artists. Not only is there an overload of product (Monday Night Football has given way to Sunday Night Football; and now Thursday Night football); but the advent of free-agency and the multi-million dollar contract has fostered the perception that modern athletes are just in it for the money. Fans have no choice but to question the commitment of the athletes to their teams (Brett Favre) and hometowns (e.g. Lebron James).
I suppose you could throw-in baseball’s steroid scandal and the allegations of performance enhancing drugs in...well, pretty-much all professional sports as things that could prevent the average fan from becoming emotionally invested.
You could; but if you did, that’s where you and I would go our separate ways. In fact, for me, the use of steroids and performance enhancers is not only a non-starter in the disappointment department; but to a certain extent it elicits the same grudging respect I have to give the a-hole who kills himself in a suicide attack. Not to say I condone terrorism. But in this 9 to 5; sit-in-front-of-a-computer; cubicle-space; sell-out world, I have no choice but to respect the athlete who lays their life and health on the line to achieve a personal goal. They may be tainted. Even a little corrupt. But at least it was in the pursuit of greatness.
NY Daily News (both articles published today):
* NOTE: All pics used herein were stolen off Google, except for the NY Daily News articles that I took. I'm sure copyrights exist on all photos.
This post was originally supposed to be an epilogue to my Japanese Story; but so many events have happened since the tsunami that my mind’s been sidetracked and this post’s digressed into something else. Something I’ll admit is more than a bit scattered thematically as my ideas and opinions are still in formulation. So I’ll apologize right now if this thing never really comes together.
That said reader, my folks might tell you I began my intermission from the human race back on 9/11. That early AM ten years ago when I exited the train station at 8: 45--just in time to watch the Muslims blow up our Trade Center here in New York.
My family’s wrong of course, I quit on mankind long before that; but I think the lie soothes them in a twisted way. They don’t want to feel responsible for my aloof detachment from society; and they certainly don’t want to consider my drug habits or sex life.
So when their southwestern friends and neighbors ask my folks why Lodo isn’t married. Or doesn’t own a house. Or have any kids. Or drive a car. Or never holds the same job for more than 3 years, its easier to just say It was those damn Muslims; a phrase thats morphed into somewhat of a blanket statement for all American disappointments this past decade. Shorthand for life sucks. Say that and people just nod their head and move on.
You do know it was the Muslims that blew up the Trade Center don’t you reader? All 20 of ‘em. Actually there’s 1.2 billion Muslims in the world, but I’m sure they were all in lock-step agreement to murder 3,000 + people. I mean, 20 of ‘em were willing to do it, so I don’t even need to talk to the other 1 billion 199 million 999 thousand 980 Muslims of the world.
I already know.
Something else I know, and you probably do too is that China’s gonna take over the world. Not that they’re gonna take over America--no one could do that. And China wouldn’t want to expose its people to our freedoms anyway. But the world’s gonna be Chinese. Asians account for close to 60% of the world’s 7 billion people; and (according to Wikipedia) China and India alone account for 40% of the human population.
As populations grow and resources become more scarce, I’m sure we’ll see the best in mankind--don’t you agree reader? I mean, if history’s any guide then I’m sure that...uhh...I mean,..people are really...well,...hmm
...well, you know. I’m sure we’ll all be fine!
Personally, I find it hard to feel too bad for for the human race and what’s probably in store for us. There are human beings (singular) and they can be pretty cool; but the human animal in large groups or societies is a very different thing; and as far as I’m concerned, can go fuck itself big time.
They say we humans first organized by necessity. To kill big-game animals and to protect ourselves against predators. As we became farmers, we organized ‘round religious concepts that justified resource distribution; until eventually we were successful enough to create concepts such as free-time, leisure, and made-up occupations such as lawyers and professional politicians.
Man’s first religions were allegedly polytheistic. Nature worshippers. Until the Jews--in an odd twist of irony, murdered all the Canaanites and forced the concept of a singular God on to the Western world. And we’ve never recovered since.
As societies became more successful and began to absorb large populations of foreigners, the hot-button issue of religion was relegated to a position behind business, law, and politics as the binding principle of nations. At least amongst the most successful societies. Those became nation-states and all the big ones seem to have had their moment in the sun before flaming out.
For the most part the nation-state has endured. Its how modern societies organize themselves. But its an open question as to whether mankind’s biology and temperament requires it to organize this way; or whether large groups of people can organize under other systems.
My guess is that mankind’s endemic psychology pretty-much locks us into the nation-state mentality. Individual men or smaller groups of people can organize a variety of different ways; but once populations reach a certain level, consistent resources are required. And land. And most of all--purpose, lest we begin to turn on each other. For Americans we had our manifest destiny. For the Germans it was lebensraum. Either way, the message was clear: We need living space!
So we rally around the flag and team colors and a bunch of high-minded principles that we all know are a bunch of BS, yet provide comfort to us that we’re not just a mob out to take what’s not ours.
But what happens when there’s no place else to go? The days of an Alexander or Napoleon, or Hitler--where an army gradually takes over a nation; and then another; and then another are long gone. As William Shirer noted, Hitler was the last. Nowadays the Allies would have simply A-bombed him if he’d taken Moscow. So the days of the expanding nation-state appear to be over.
Like a NYC strap-hanger on a rush-hour subway, the world’s nations now stand shoulder to shoulder. Their boundaries pretty-much set. Heavily armed, yet nowhere to move. Locked within their borders, yet still growing from within. At a rate of 450,000 babies a day worldwide. And those kids are gonna want opportunity.
But if the nation-state can no longer grow, and if the world’s economy isn’t going to create opportunities, how are the young people going to channel their ambitions? What’s going to replace these things?
For answers you have to ask the artists. They’re the ones who contemplate and define who we are and point the way towards the future.
All the best political leaders have been artists--or at least, had artistic aspirations. Politics is an art, and when practiced by someone who’s great at both they can change the world if the timing’s right. Unfortunately these guys tend to be supreme assholes like Napoleon or Hitler; but its a sad fact that those two guys were probably the most influential people of the last 300 years.
And we can add Osama Bin Laden to the short list. Who else has had more influence on the world in the last 10 years? Like the Joker from Batman the guy was a homicidal artist: the way the two “1’s” of 911 emulated the towers of the Trade Center; the fact that 911 is America’s emergency phone number. The way the guy always struck twice for maximum terror. Yep, America’s shit economy; our commitment to two wars; our overwhelming debt. Bin Laden called the tune and America still pays for it.
I’m happy for President Obama that Bin Laden was assassinated on his watch. My guess is that it assures his re-election; though America’s still a fairly racist, Republican country so we’ll just have to wait and see. That tribalism’s a lot to get over. Much will depend on the job market and economic recovery, so you know this next year of political ads (heavy sigh) is gonna be jobs, jobs, jobs.
And what if the jobs aren’t there? How can there be for over 7 billion people? Thanks to technology and out-sourcing, there’s not gonna be enough work for future generations. Young people are gonna have a lot of idle time on their hands. Disengaged, yet more interconnected than ever by Facebook and social media. The nation-state no longer able to provide them with opportunity. Well,...maybe we should topple the nation-state. That’s what they did in Egypt. And maybe now in Syria.
And replace it with what?
These may seem like fresh questions, but artists and politicians have considered them for decades if not centuries. John Lennon wrote about these issues back in 1971 when he wrote Imagine. A rather plain tune I never could listen to more than one time, but which I note here because of its lyrics. Imagine no countries. Nothing to kill or die for.
And no religion too.
Of course Lennon lived in his own world. A world of mind. Imagine. Back in 1971 only a few artists--most of whom were probably other Beatles, could afford publicity stunts like the War is Over, sleep-in campaign with Yoko Ono. Bypass governments and network news in a kind of primitive, pre-Facebook social networking to get their message of love out.
That was a pretty political moment for the hippie movement, but with Imagine Lennon took it even a step further. In his world the human race was to live in a kind of spiritual state of the mind as opposed to the nation-state. Where we’d live together in a vague brotherhood of man.
Well reader, that’s religion. In fact the Latin root of religion--religio, means to bind together. So the song creates a bit of a conundrum doesn’t it. Lennon tries to have it both ways. The agnostic-priest. The artist-politician.
And to a degree I guess he succeeded. He died premature like most great artists and was assassinated like all visionary politicians. Sort of like Bin Laden if you wanted to stretch your logic a bit.
Or more than a bit.
But Bin laden was the more pragmatic visionary. More real world. In his mind the nation-state would be usurped by going backward, not forward. Mankind would revert to small groups--cells or villages as opposed to actual sovereign bodies. The organizing principle would be tribal kinship and religious affiliation as opposed to loyalty to a flag or land mass. Like that radiated tuna off the coast of Japan, the new nation would be oblivious to artificial boundaries. It’d be a nation binded by spiritual concerns. Of matters of the mind.
So Bin Laden easily admitted what Lennon (perhaps to his credit) would not. If you’re going to overthrow capitalism. And materialism. And the nation-state. You’re gonna have to go back to the beginning.
Back to that old-time religion.
One can only imagine the future. 
(*Take note of crowd at the 4:15 mark):
* NOTE: All pics copyrighted by their rightful owners. Including my pic, which is at the very top.
Very much like Aiko:
Like Nyoko:
I recognize that readers have stuck with me for a long time. This post in its entirety probably needs a good edit; and I don’t write particularly good smut. But I have to give a few details of that hotel encounter for you to fully understand why I love my Japanese story.
So I’ll tell you that as Nyoko closed the door behind us I collapsed Aiko into the wall with a hard kiss. I was extremely horny by this time and Aiko paid attention to my hard-on pressed against her belly.
But as soon as the door clicked shut and Nyoko returned, Aiko’s eyes and attention drifted in her direction.
Hmmm. The dynamics of a three-way. Things are supposed to be about me reader. Lodo Grdzak. The self-centered blogger. But in this case it turned out to be Nyoko and me on Aiko.
Course I’m a slow learner, so it took me awhile to realize my purpose. As I was grinding hips with Aiko, Nyoko blew in my ear and made butterfly kisses across the back of my neck. I tried to divide my attention between the two girls--a kiss for Aiko, a kiss for Nyoko; but eventually Nyoko retreated and stiff-armed my face toward Aiko’s with a dismissive hand-gesture that said just kiss her.
Well,..alright. I liked to kiss Aiko. She had a real softness. Femininity. Unlike Nyoko, Aiko returned my energy without trying to match it. Accepted it. Let me squeeze her ass at will and feel-up her dress with an almost detached curiosity. As though she were my canvass, eager to help me create my vision.
As our urgency began to build the room was suddenly illuminated with a burst of light. A flash. Instinctually I turned toward its source, which was Nyoko and her camera. I can’t say what my reaction was; but whatever my expression it caused Aiko to burst into laughter. She pet the top of my bald head, dropped her dress to the floor; put my hands back on her rather full tits as she kissed me with even greater intensity.
And all the while that flash popped-off.
Eventually the three of us were in the bed. I was naked; Aiko was down to her panties. Nyoko was still dressed with her camera, but Aiko insisted that she strip and join us.
Together we scrolled thru the pictures that Nyoko had taken. I couldn’t understand the girls comments; though interpretation wasn’t really needed.
Oooh, that’s dirty.
Oh, that one’s very dirty.
As we scrolled thru the pics Aiko put her hand on my dick and proceeded to jerk me to ultimate rigidity. She eyed it like she had plans. I attempted to push Nyoko’s head down on me but she responded with a slap at my hand. Not angrily; more like you’d swat at a bothersome gnat. You’ve gotta know I’m not doing that. She shared a laugh with Aiko, then went back to her camera. Click. Click. click.
Fortunately, Aiko was more accommodating. She asked Nyoko for what turned out to be a condom and it was Nyoko herself who rolled it down on me methodically. Once Aiko got the okay, she hopped on.
Oh man! That summer’s day (which had passed hours ago) must have easily been 85 degrees. Hot, sticky New York humidity. Plus all that dancing at Pacha. And the grinding and finger-fucking here in the room. Condom or not, Aiko had one wet Japanese pussy.
Once Aiko was on top of me, Nyoko stopped with the pictures. Not that I cared one way or the other, but she wanted to be there for Aiko. Or with her. They were together. Giggling. Moaning. Touching. It was nice of them to include me.
Aiko came very quickly, but I held out as long as I could. Normally a one night-stand such as this would involve at least a half-dozen deviant positions; but I just lay there on my back and stared into Aiko’s soft eyes until I swelled-up full and lost consciousness in empty release.
After that, I could have slept for 18 hours. Easily. Dave Holland and Birdland felt like (3) days ago. My feet ached from the night at Pacha and my spent, middle-aged nuts hung like dumbells between my legs.
I began to spoon-up against Nyoko, who now lay between Aiko and me; but she looked at me incredulously.
“Hey,” she said as she grabbed the digital clock off the night-stand. She pointed to the time, which read 6:40; then inverted her two forefingers into little legs like she’d done at Pacha and pantomimed them walking out.
“..Oh,” I said with disappointment, “I get it.”
Before I tied my last shoe to leave, Aiko was already asleep. (That fast after sex, like a man!). It was Nyoko who gestured apologetically towards all the open suitcases. Their flight left that afternoon. They only had a few hours to sleep.
“Domo arigato,” she said with a genuine smile as I began to make my way towards the door. “Oh!--wait!”
Nyoko handed me her camera and gestured for me to take her picture. She spooned Aiko in bed who radiated with the afterglow of sex. Then another as Nyoko flashed the peace sign. Then another with Nyoko’s eyes closed next to Aiko, ready for bed on their last night. I take really good pictures.
After three pics I handed the camera back to Nyoko and turned to leave. “Arigato Lodo,” she said like a co-conspirator, “New York City thumbs-up!”
New York City. Those last words bounced round in my empty head as I rode the elevator down to the lobby. 'Til I got to the revolving exit doors and stumbled out to 6th Avenue. Blinded by the rising eastern sun, in what seemed an exotic place.
* NOTE: All pics and photos were simply taken off Google Images. Female images and portraits seen herein were used only to enhance the narrative of the story. Many--if not all, of the pics are copyrighted by their rightful owners.
