Richard Kriheli

While poking around the new Facebook layout, I notice an apparent backlash from the community regarding recent improvements. The common sentiment is that these improvements are anything but. Why is this? What is troubling is that the same people who are whining now, were pretty much the first to bash the last modification as well. The outcry is reactionary at best, and it clearly fails to exhibit a rational understanding of why Facebook did what it did. One simple truth dawned on me : people aren’t truly ready for change.

You must be thinking, how is Kriheli using Facebook to make such general accusations? Look folks, this is widespread. Yes, America took a step forward by electing Obama last November, but something deep down tells me that the utter failure of the previous administration catapulted this purported “change.” That’s not to say he didn’t deserve it, and rise under his own legs. Hell, I was sold as soon as he took the podium for the keynote at the DNC in ‘04 when Kerry was making his lackluster run. But, here we stand – less than three months into the presidency, and people are still uneasy despite this historic, remarkable shift in confidence (or so it seemed).

This shift is an illusion. I wholeheartedly believe that most folks are not set to lead, but rather follow. They are sheep. Baaa. Yea, I’m looking right in your direction, America. You’re the folks that shamelessly beg for change because it’s the catchphrase of our time. Fads aside, I want to see you embrace transformations and refinements, rather than pretend to want it. We are supposedly on the brink of an era that will give way to a metamorphosis of consciousness. Despite this, I have reason to believe that people are ill-prepared to adapt and adjust. Facebook, like most things in your life should, and will evolve. It will synch with rapidly growing technology and align itself with the hard truth that change is not only necessary, but also unavoidable.

That said, I think all the haters need to come up with legitimate, adult arguments and concerns to facilitate critical discussion. This will undoubtedly make things better. Whining, and petitions are for lightweights, and sheep. So stop begging for change if you aren’t willing to make sense out of it, when it comes. Your pockets aren’t that deep.

I’ve got white hairs. Forget gray or silver. Effin’ white! Granted, I’m no spring chicken, but come on!

See, I’ve got this awful and nervous habit of pulling hairs from my beard/goatee while working, reading, watching tv, etc. Last year, in the midst of one of my pluck-athons, I pulled one that quite simply stunned me — stark white. Upon closer inspection via restroom-mirror, the anomaly was confirmed as anything but. White hairs have invaded my turf, err… face. And, it was only the beginning.

When I turned thirty, my knees started getting cranky and my head hair began thinning. I am going to the bathroom more frequently and I can’t leg out an infield single without a hammy pulling up lame. Fast forward four years later, and I am staring at salt and pepper on my face when I wasn’t exactly expecting seasoning.

Aw, who am I kidding? How could I not expect it? My race towards middle-age is blind if I don’t embrace this quick. They say it’s a mark of distinction and character. It makes a man look distinguished. Bah! What if he still wears a Mets jersey, jeans and needs to drop about twenty? I am not exactly Sean Connery here, folks. And I am not about to sport a phony accent and cuff-links either.

I’m also not the type that will be shaving my face entirely or scurrying to Duane Reade for a box of “Just for Men.” Screw that. Twenty-Zero-Nine is here as I prepare for yet another trip around the sun. Everytime I see the sun rise is another day where my body takes a hit. White hairs or not, I am ready for you, middle-age. Ready for you to serve me my proverbial crisis on your plate. Hey, I’ve got the seasoning all set.

Dear MTA,

Yesterday, I was in between tracks on my iPhone when not-so-ironically, my train too, was in between tracks. The announcement that followed instructed that the R-train was going over the V-line because of construction at 59th/Lex. It got me thinking. Let’s see: I’ve lived in New York for over 33 years now and every weekend for as long as I can remember – there has been “construction” announcements and train re-routings. Even during the maddening holiday-shopping weekends!

My question to you is: what exactly are you constructing? Something profound and immense, I hope. I mean, Citi Field and the new Yankee Stadium were built in a little over 2 years. I have seen a complete transformation of Columbus Circle in the blink of an eye as well. I am positive you have something far more grand with all those years logged. A whole new speed-of-sound bullet train system? A massive underground monument to celebrate the return of the Sumerian Gods? What is it? I see all the rats scurrying in an excited frenzy and we are experiencing more and more sick passenger delays. Goodie, goodie.

Humor me and tell me you are not lying to your loyal and overly tolerant city. Yes, I say tolerant. What other word would you use for a city that does not question the “work” that is being done without any demand for a status update. Please don’t tell me that “construction” is just a code word for “we don’t work weekends.” I mean I’ve seen my one-way fare hike up from 75 cents to the two dollar mark it is today. Surely, that should cover paying some extra folks working the weekends (especially since there are plenty of unemployed folks willing to chip in). And gee, the Metrocard afforded you the luxury of cutting the jobs of all the token-booth folks, so salaries shouldn’t be an obstacle, should they?

So . . . when should we expect this “construction” to conclude? Do we have an end-date? Can I get an invite to the press-release or unveiling-party? I am greatly interested, as are my fellow brethren. Show us the greatness that is being laid between the tracks. Unless of course, it is one fat goose egg.

Regards,

Strap-hanger # 10,021,974

Postscript: due to ongoing construction (of this blog), this is the last stop on the K-train. for service to the next post, please get off and take the free shuttle bus uptown.

I vant to suck your… um, soul.

I’d like to formally declare that we can call the classic incarnation of the vampire as dead (for now). The body of the myth is completely flaccid. Rigor Mortis. Finis!

What brought upon this death? Was it an extra order of garlic-knots? A WalMart pistol with a silver bullet? An enormous cross searing into the soul of the legend? No it was not. The proverbial wooden stake through the heart is actually contemporary media and overly sympathetic, romantic artists. There, I said it. You guys killed off the vampire. Give yourselves a hand. (clap clap).

I can see it was a long battle that did not start overnight. It began in the late 70s when Anne Rice decided she wanted to romanticize the lore altogether. Suddenly, the formerly grotesque figure is sporting ruffles and satin shirts. Hollywood didn’t help matters – Frank Langella wasn’t exactly scaring the ladies off – with Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise taking the reins shortly after. More recently, the success and hype behind the Angel, Buffy, True Blood and Twilight narratives are responsible for opening the shades and reducing the legend to dust. Stoker would be ashamed (though some would argue – myself included – that he partially contributed to this mess).

I’m disgusted by this loss because for a long time, I was a vampire-junkie. While I wasn’t exactly goth-crazy or anything, I really was fond of the rich history and folklore carried by the legend of vampires. My love of the horror film began with Nosferatu and the subsequent appreciation for old folk tales coming from Eastern Europe. I was a student of the mythos, as I was attempting to write a vampire story way back when, but then Charlie Huston beat me to a similar idea and I made some adjustments and changed gears (props to Mr. Huston, btw). You can say that I feel somewhat invested when I speak about the topic.

So, the bastardization of the bloodsucker is the blood on your hands. I call out to the audiences that give these monstrosities life and urge them to repel it. How much more of this nonsense can you take? You guys have literally sapped the tragedy out of the myth and turned it into 90210. Please stop. If I hear another story about “the most perfect man…” and he sports fangs, I will vomit.

But I digress. Instead of reading my eulogy, I want to offer this: I know folklore prevents the vampire from truly being destroyed. So it is my wish that contemporary writers do their homework and give me something fresh, new and … gruesome, for a change. And please, don’t suck (har har).

It never ceases to amaze me that private universities in this country have the balls to ask for contributions on top of their already abhorrent, inflated tuition costs. Specifically targeting people who took loans out to eek out their educations – well, that’s just filthy. I understand that alumni contributions shape the future of some schools, but please call those jerks whose tuitions were paid-in-full by their parents while they pissed away their future doing keg stands. Don’t call me. Here is a delightful exchange I had yesterday with my Alma Mater’s semi-annual attempt to pull some more green from yours truly:

Cuse Student: We have all these exciting new developments at Syracuse University. (Student launches into speech about new facilities/buildings and organizations on campus).

Rich: Thats so cool, I have had some exciting new developments too! I am halfway done on my mortgage payments! 15 years to go. Go me!

Cuse Student: Anyway, Mr. Kriheli, would you like to donate some money to (incoherent babble about some new development)?

Rich: Donations are a fantastic idea.

Cuse Student: That sounds great.

Rich: Actually, I was wondering if you guys would like to donate some money to me. I have a ton of upcoming expenses, and I have been eyeing a sweet new receiver for my home theater system that is close to a decade old now. Your contribution would be greatly appreciated. Despite your university almost driving me and my family to financial ruin, I still wear my “real men wear orange” tee shirt proudly. Go Orange!

Cuse Student: (nervous) A-actually, Mr. Kriheli. We were asking you for a donation. A minimal donation is also great.

Rich: I agree, I will take what I can get. Should I send you my paypal address? I can’t wait to watch “The Express” in hi-def glory!

Cuse Student: Um, Mr. Kriheli, we need your donation. We don’t give donations.

Rich: You need me? That’s laughable. Let me ask you a question.

Cuse Student: Yes?

Rich: Are you at your part-time job right now on campus?

Cuse Student: Yes I am.

Rich: Can you give me your information, name, phone, email? I’d like to look you up 10-15 years from now and ask you for some spare loot. I’m sure you’d relate.

Cuse Student: (after a pause) Sorry for taking your time, Mr. Kriheli. (hangs up)

No shame. Yeah, I felt bad for the kid because he, too, will see my point of view in his future. Academia in this country is flawed. All dollars, no sense.