Richard Kriheli

Being sworn onto the witness stand, the publishing industry lumbers aboard and plops down. Outside the court, cries were heard, the loudest of which sounded something like “publishing is dead!” The trial has been raging on for the past few years now, but little has been reconciled since. The popular sentiment remains : the end is nigh. Sentences are about to be sentenced.

As we await for the proverbial gavel to strike, let us muse on the cause of this ruckus. Allow me to adjourn the sentencing proceedings, if you will. See, I think this is all bogus and preventable. A whole lot of fingers are pointing at Amazon, digital media and the internet for hurting the industry. Excuse my naivety, but isn’t having another place and means to sell and promote your books a good thing? Perhaps if you are doing it wisely. Am I foolish to believe that technology could be an aid rather than a scourge to the process. Granted, there are other factors at hand, but nothing seems to outweigh the obvious suspects.

Blaming the internet is for the meek. The problem, I believe, is that the publishing folks haven’t thought things through with sincere insight and scrutiny. Lets face it, the old-school folks running the publishing conglomerates are stunted in their evolution. The ancient business model no longer applies to current times, and waving a white flag now is just pathetic. Resistance to change is going to get you slaughtered in the field. Here’s the deal in three sentences (digest at will): You guys are trapped in a very flat, linear narrative – the bound book. However, this same stack of pages is no longer the optimal way of disseminating content. So what you’ve become is a group of grumpy, whiny nostalgics bound to print.

I’m not suggesting the book is over. Nor do I want to sound like I am taunting sans rejoinder. I actually have gobs of ideas on how to work towards solutions. Things that may work, things that may not. But the bottom line is, I’ve got potential propositions that may save you from the chair. But no freebies here for vultures. If anyone wants to talk shop, look me up and I’d be happy to get some discussion rolling. I’m looking your way, Random, Harper, S&S, Penguin & Hatchette. This trial will come out of recess quicker than you can spell recession (pun intended).

Book it.

Spring has sprung, though the thermometer begs to differ. This usually points to the start of yet another potentially heartbreaking season of New York Mets baseball. I’ve followed this team faithfully since the rise of Darryl in ‘83, which means a quarter of a century has elapsed since. I sit here thinking about all the time and energy I have invested in my life as fan. I can’t help but lament at the time lost. When doing some simple arithmetic, I am looking back at roughly 530 aggregate days of my life spent on watching games, engaging in discussions, and other trite, related endeavors. That’s a lot of time, folks. I can’t hop back in time and give my younger-self some pointers, but it is worth doting on what a sans-Mets life would have looked like. Thus, I conjured up my latest list of nine, dedicated to ways my life would have been different had I not been a Mets fan (in no particular order):

I’d be nicer to neighbors.
Let’s face it, I live in a Yankee city. Everywhere I turn, I see Yankees paraphernalia despite most folks being bandwagon wannabe’s. I respect people who love baseball, and can have a legitimate argument about the sport. Somehow “Mike Piazza is gay” is not even worth a breath. So my love for baseball and the Mets, has turned me against my simple-minded neighbors, as I walk the streets with my bitter scowl. I believe taking the Mets out of the equation would have made me oblivious to their ineptitude.

I’d dress better.
My wardrobe is overrun with a bunch of jerseys and caps that would have Allen Iverson vouching for me. It certainly doesn’t help that my favorite all-time athlete was a serious drug-offender (thanks, Doc). I am certain that this fairly casual, nonchalant approach to fashion has singled me out, particularly in my younger years, when it wasn’t so commonplace to sport these type of clothes outside of the stadium. And this stuff isn’t cheap either. Definitely less green in my pocket as a result.

I’d have beaten Natalie Rodriguez’ boyfriend down.
Yes, I was blindsided in the junior-high schoolyard by some jackass thinking I was sweatin’ his girl. Truth is, I did look at her, and I had a nice beating to show for it. I get the feeling that less hours of sweatin’ the ‘86 world champions could have translated into sweating more for the good of my physical prowess. This would effectively turn the table on that mess of a fight. I would whoop that guy’s ass now, but what if I did it in ‘86?… cue the domino-effect taking full steam.

My adolescent social life would’ve rocked. (Less Mookie, More Hookie/Nookie)
Cutting Mets baseball would have meant going out more during my teens. I consciously chose to watch games in lieu of partying away my summers. I would have played more hookie in the fall with Maria Llompart, than watch Mookie steal bases. I could have at the very least scammed a bunch of amateurs at poker in those days. These kinds of shenanigans translate into a much richer teen social life.

I’d be a math genius.
I was already pretty stellar at math. But I never took it to the next level as my path had summoned. Partly because I was more concerned with the calculations of WHIP and OPS rather than any signifcant metric that would have really propelled “higher education.” Harvard or Yale could have been my bitches, folks. Instead, the pride of Flushing consumed me so much that even my later academic ventures were flushed by orange and blue.

I’d already have a child.
Last year, my wife and I spent time watching almost every inning that was available to us on SNY and ESPN. Close to five hundred hours that could have been better used towards procreating. Instead of watching the Mets piss away their season on the last day of September against the Marlins, I could have already been pissed on by our own giggling, crying little one. Me thinks that is far more rewarding piss.

I’d have less drama.
Every year, without fail I sit at the edge of my couch, biting my nails with my heart going bonkers as I watch the inevitable balloon burst (aside from 1986, of course). I wade through the news, rumors and quite frankly the drama that envelops this franchise. This same drama trickled down to every facet of my existence to the point that I became a magnet for it. Drama with my personal and professional life particularly. White hairs sprout from my chin with a ferocity. I’d be an ascended master with peace in my life, without the Mets.

I’d be rich, and not just by name.
Almost 2 years of my life has ticked away via swings and misses. There should be no misses when the fat pitches are right at my knees, begging me to take a big hack. I don’t think there would be as many whiffs had I focused my attention, energy and time on business. With my passion and devotion, I’d have invented Google, Facebook or at least the Snuggie and I’d be laughing my way to the bank right now. Instead, I’m still paying Mo Vaughn’s salary while hoping that Jose Reyes and David Wright bank in September.

I’d write better.
I’d certainly have a book or three done by now. With all the nuances that go into fiction writing including planning, architecting, editing, etc it is no wonder that I have still yet to complete a novel in my career. Yes, I have a modest backlog of short fiction and poetry, but I know I am capable of more than writing blogs about how the Mets jacked me. Here I am, throwing another valuable hour away from writing my debut masterpiece, waiting for CitiField to open its inaugural gates to yet another hair pulling, nail biting season. Wait, my hair is gone.

---

Regardless, I live my life minus regrets. I simply have no room for them. Rather, with all the time traveling going on these days on LOST, my mind tends to wander. Great, that’s exactly what I need – another diversion!

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.

So once again, Filthy Rich kicks off an inaugural blog post (otherwise known as “Hello World: Version Deux”). Only this time, it is with fervency, and with potentially no audience. Well, no audience – yet.

Kriheli.com was around for a while, long before everyone and their mothers had blogs. Long before social networking, and web 2.0. I blogged often, and was somewhat consistent about it. ‘Somewhat’ never really cut it – especially if one claimed to be a scribe. But there were still readers, once upon a time. And there were comments and all kinds of positive feedback. There was a time back in the day, where I actually tried to woo Ananda Lewis through this very blog (circa 1998). I even remember blogging the night before 9/11 – packing my bags on en route to London for a friend’s graduation. The words I posted the following morning still haunt me to this day:

“Tuesday September, 11, 2001. 9:31am – Um, scratch the London trip. War is imminent.”

Gone are those days. As the posts got more and more infrequent, inconsistent and scattered, so did my writing. I’m not sure what exactly happened – or if there exists a root cause for becoming unproductive. Judging by the slew of -ly adverbs in this post, I can already see I have a lot of work to do. Nonetheless, I am here blogging again. And doing it to prove to myself that I still have it in me. Actually, I kinda know I still have something because I ran an anonymous blog last year on a very personal subject matter and was blown away with the response to it. The proverbial fire was reignited, so-to-speak.

That said, here I am with my blog version of a “do-over.” Though, because of past inconsistencies, I will not boast about being a capable, seasoned veteran in this game. I will not assume my readers will be back. But what I will do is honor the written word, this time ’round – and win you guys back.