We Laugh at Catastrophe.

Top Ten Albums of 2009

2009-12-11T11:55:00.012-05:00

I've been thinking about doing a top ten since mid-November, and I keep going back and forth as to whether to include EPs or not. In any event, here's the current top 10, with some extras afterwards:

01. The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love
Out of every album I've gotten/heard this year, this is the one I've listened to the most, and have come back to again and again. Where there's so many places it could've gone off-course, Colin Meloy and company always keep the ship steered straight (with nary a whale in sight), and still manage to have some great pop songs in the mix.

02. Brand New - Daisy Continuing their evolution from emo-punk to atmospheric dramatics, Brand New really push the envelope of their sound on this album. The Modest Mouse influence is immediately obvious, and the more Glassjaw-ish tendencies (especially on the first track) are a welcome addition. If this is their last album, it's a great note to go out on.

03. We Were Promised Jetpacks - These Four Walls
This scottish band overcomes the tweeness of their name and deliver an 11 song salvo of power and emotion. Though I could see how some might find the songs slightly repetitive, I feel the dynamics make all the difference. "Ships With Holes Will Sink" is my song of the year, and "Keeping Warm" never fails to move me.

04. Regina Spektor - Far
Not as much a triumph as Begin to Hope, Regina's follow-up to that amazing record is still full of her trademark peculiarities and strong songwriting, while upping the orchestration a bit.

05. The Lawrence Arms - Buttsweat and Tears
I will buy anything this band puts out, and this 5 song EP is no exception. It continues in the same vein as their last full-length, Oh Calcutta!, and quite frankly, I'd be happy if they just made that over and over again. Hopefully, they have another album coming in '10.

06. Cursive - Mama, I'm Swollen
After the vignette heavy Happy Hallow, Tim Kasher could be forgiven if he'd just relaxed and put out a couple Good Life albums. Thankfully (after the Good Life's excellent Help Wanted Nights of last year), he reconvened Cursive and made this album, which keeps the horn orchestrations of the last one, while adding some of the more folky arrangements of the Good Life's work. The final track, "What Have I Done", could slot into the older discs of theirs, like Domestica, perfectly.

07. Thrice - Beggars
Written and recorded fairly quickly, in contrast to their "Alchemy Index" of last year, this sounds like Thrice decided to just make a "rock" album. It seems almost rootsy at times, like the "Earth" Alchemy Index section but electrified. I can't wait to see where this band goes next.

08. Cancel the Astronauts - I Am The President Of Your Fanclub (And Last Night I Followed You Home)
Another Scottish band with a science themed name, these guys put out a solid 5 song EP of 80's new wave-style pop songs, and the title track especially gets stuck in my head constantly.

09. Slow Club -Yeah So
This duo is so amazingly fun and vibrant. I could listen to "It Doesn't Have to Be Beautiful" all day (and have!). Their harmonies are what drew me in, but the energy inherent in every track is what kept me around.

10. Muse - The Resistance
While the album does drag a little in the middle, the undeniable one-two punch of "The Uprising" and "The Resistance" manage to carry the momentum through to the amazing suite of the last few tracks. I wish more bands would embrace their inner ridiculous epicness.

HONORABLE MENTIONS TO:

Patton Oswalt My Weakness Is Strong and Paul F. Tompkins Freak Wharf for being two comedy albums that I've listened to multiple times, and still find insanely hilarious.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart for having the most ridiculously overwrought band name, yet still having a great record.

The Beatles remasters, because they're what I've listened to most since September 9th.

Jay-Z "Death of AutoTune", because it's my favorite "listening while driving" track this year.

This Is An Adventure

2009-09-29T20:21:00.005-04:00

SO: I'm writing a comic.

Well, to be honest, I'm writing TWO comics. And drawing one. Along with writing a concept album with my band, Robots and Racecars. And writing for my other music project, How I Became Invisible. And trying to finish a couple short stories for submission to various areas. And ostensibly contributing to About 12 Minutes (I AM on many of the podcasts over the last few months.)

All this is by way of apology for not putting anything up here over the past few months (outside of the last post, which I would rather not discuss at length, but anyway). Along with all that stuff above, I also moved to south Philadelphia with my awesome girlfriend, and our awesome dog, and some rabbits, too. On top of that, my laptop has shit the bed TWICE (I am currently using my awesome girlfriend's), so you can see why my online writing has slowed a bit. You can, of course, keep up with my ramblings on the twitter, which I update often. And ridiculously.

In any event, hopefully a few of these things will be finished soon, so I can return to you, my adoring public who obviously could not care less if I were here writing or not. But I CARE NOT, as I am confident in my greatness.

Essentially, hold tight, sailors, the voyage continues.

11/88 - 7/09

2009-07-07T15:24:00.001-04:00

We're in an empty parking lot, just me and him. The sun is out, it's warm, and he's dressed in purple, as normal. There's no one else around, no noises, nothing but the world and us. And I grab him by the shoulders, face to face, and I tell him "I don't know where you are, or what you're doing, but I hope you go and do everything you want to do. You are greatness and wonderfulness and everything there is in the world to be. You're my little brother and I love you. Never forget that, wherever you go and whatever you do: I love you."

And he smiles, like he does, a shy unassuming one, and turns away, and walks a couple steps, and suddenly he's a bunch of purple balloons, and he's rising into the air, higher and higher, into the bright blue sky, until he's so high that I can't see him anymore, the sun is too bright and the sky is too big and the world is too everything. But I still see him and hear him and know he's there. And I won't ever forget. Never.

I love you, Jared. And I always will.

The Chemicals Between Them: the early summer genre films

2009-06-16T22:23:00.007-04:00

Chemistry is a funny thing. In one respect, it is supremely predictable; mix this chemical with that one, and you will get this result/reaction. But in others, it is amazingly unpredictable. Take for example, three films released over the past month: X-Men: Origins: Wolverine, Star Trek, and Terminator: Salvation. Each are special effects filled genre films, essentially sequels, attempting to cash-in on the built-in fanbase and name recognition, released in the prime summer blockbuster season. Each, in its own way, is a mix of certain chemicals. Yet the results have been far far different for each. Let us look closer, shall we?

X-Men: Origins: Wolverine

This is what could be considered the 4th film in the X-Men franchise. As such, it has the weight of expectation behind it that it will fit in with the rest of the films. It is a prequel, in fact, so it should, by all means, set-up the preceding three films. It stars Hugh Jackman, a popular actor, as Wolverine, the (arguably) most popular X-Man, in what was his breakout role. Yet it fails, on some level, to really capture what made the first 2 films (the third is mediocre at best) so great. It is flat, placid, almost rote in its movements. The special effects are laughably bad at times, and while the actors (especially Jackman and Liev Shreiber as Sabreto- excuse me, "Creed") do their college try best, the script is far from good. In all fact, it is full of plot holes and continuity errors, not just with the other films, but with ITSELF. It seems, from all appearances, to be the quick cash-grab sequel that many pegged it to be when it was announced (and that Fox as a studio has been known for in recent years, especially with genre franchises). All the elements are there: good actors, up and coming director (Gavin Hood), a lauded screenwriter (David Benioff), and a beloved central character, but they add up to much less than the sum of its parts. The chemicals never mix, and it sits there, inert.

Terminator: Salvation

Also a "fourth" movie, this film bears the burden of not only its predecessors' successes, but of that of its ostensible star, Christian Bale, the erstwhile Batman of the recent Christopher Nolan films. His very presence is both a boon to the film (in terms of the "star power" he brings) and a detriment (in that he carries a certain expectation with him). The problem, as this article/editorial from Chud.com shows, is that his part was not meant to be what it ultimately ended up as. One can argue back and forth as to whether this compromised the film or not, but as the final film shows, it certainly did not make it great. It has a multitude of action sequences, yes, all varied and exciting, a spectacle to the utmost. And that is what is likely the best part of the film, as the rest of its parts never quite come together to make a satisfying whole. It is, to quote, "sound and fury signifying nothing." The script seems glued together from disparate pieces, and its cracks show at times. The actors are nothing really to sneeze at either, as they're all either just rote action cyphers, or "tormented character X." Bale, especially, seems to basically be in Batman mode still. (He desperately needs to play a role where he can have FUN again. Like Patrick Bateman. Something crazy to get him out of "dour, driven tortured man of action" mode.) The various pieces of the movie are there for it to be something interesting and different, a continuation of what made T-2 great (we're ignoring the third one), but it fails to bring them together. Its chemicals fail to react with each other, and it fizzles.

Star Trek

This film bears the greatest burden of the three, as it has had the most predecessors, and the most riding on it. It's not just a continuation of a franchise (which it is), nor is it just a reboot (which it is as well); it had to simultaneously please a very loud and skeptical fandom and attract a new audience which looked at the "brand" as something old and stale, and maybe past its prime. Add to that the glamour and mystery that its director, super-producer and writer JJ Abrams, brings to every project he's involved with. The fact that it succeeds is almost beside the point now. The uphill climb it faced before even a single foot of film had been shot was insane. Of the three films discussed, this one definitely had the closest scrutiny. Its success, both monetarily (which, no mistake, all three of these films made money; how much will be discussed shortly) and dramatically/critically, is the most impressive story of the early summer movie season. And much of that, if not all of it, can be attributed to two things: JJ Abrams, and the cast. Because, make no mistake, the script is not great. There are many plot-holes, and many areas which bear the mark of being maybe one draft away from being fixed. The writers strike affected this film, probably more than the other two, in a very palpable way. But, and this is a large "but", the casting saves it. Every person in every major role has such a sense of fun and life to them, that any plot holes and inconsistencies are easily overlooked. WITHOUT recalling or deriding the actors who played their various roles before. The unique nature of the film (not quite a reboot, but not a direct prequel) made it possible for the actors (with special notice to Chris Pine as Kirk and Zachary Quinto as Spock) to take what elements they wanted from their predecessors and then add their own unique spark. Much like Abrams, in both his directorial duties and in a design sense, ventured away from the past films, but still added touches which acknowledged them. The chemicals mixed, and they reacted, and they made something newer and better.

Like I said, these are all unpredictable things. And make no mistake, all three were monetarily successful films. This time of year, it's very hard for a big franchise film to NOT make money. But only Star`Trek surpassed expectations. Wolverine and Terminator both had large opening weekends, then crashed hard, losing (in the case of Wolverine) up to almost 70% off its box office total in its second week. Star Trek made more than 30% more than expected in its first weekend, then stayed near the top for the next 2 weeks, ending up (as of this writing) with $232 million in domestic box office. (Wolverine has made $176 million, and Terminator has made $115 million.) It, along with UP and The Hangover, is the big winner of the summer so far in terms of money made.

Film is literally made of chemicals: a piece of film consists of a light-sensitive emulsion applied to a tough, transparent base, sometimes attached to anti-halation backing or "rem-jet" layer. The emulsion is comprised of silver halide grains suspended in a gelatin colloid; in the case of color film, there are three layers of silver halide, which are mixed with color couplers and interlayers that filter specific light spectra. These end up creating yellow, cyan, and magenta layers in the negative after development. Movies themselves, though, are a chemistry crapshoot. No one can predict why any one film will catch on with audiences and another won't. Remember: the expectation before release was that Titanic was going to be a huge flop; billions of billions of dollars later. . . It all comes down to luck and timing and the chemistry of filmmaker and audience meeting in a felicitous circumstance. All one can do is make your choices, step forward, and boldly go.

MEANWHILE:

2009-04-23T21:26:00.004-04:00

Back at the Mall of Justice...!

AQUAMAN BUYS SOME 9 VOLT BATTERIES!

BATMAN SHOPS AROUND FOR THE BEST PRICE FOR A NEW VCR!

WONDER WOMAN WAITS IN LINE AT ARTHUR TREACHER'S FISH 'N CHIPS!

THE FLASH BUYS NEW SHOES!

SUPERMAN HANGS OUT IN THE GAP RIGHT NEXT TO THE DRESSING ROOM!

BLACK LIGHTNING CONSIDERS SWITCHING TO A NEW CELLPHONE PLAN!

APACHE CHIEF IS DRUNK IN THE PARKING LOT!

THE WONDER TWINS GO TO VICTORIA'S SECRET. TOGETHER. THAT'S...ACTUALLY PRETTY CREEPY!

ROBIN IS SMOKING BY THE ENTRANCEWAY WITH SOME UNSAVORY FOLKS!

HAWKMAN SEARCHES FRANTICALLY FOR THE PAC SUN!

GREEN LANTERN PLAYS MARVEL VS CAPCOM IN THE ARCADE FOR 3 HOURS!

BRAINIAC SIGNS UP FOR A CHANCE TO WIN A NEW CAR!

WENDY AND MARVIN CONTINUE TO BE USELESS!

VIXEN RUNS UP THE DOWN ESCALATOR!

LEX LUTHOR AND SOLOMON GRUNDY GET NICKED FOR SHOPLIFTING CDS FROM SAM GOODYS!

BOOSTER GOLD BUYS SOME DIPPIN' DOTS!

GREEN ARROW EATS A SANDWICH AND FLIRTS WITH HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS!

ORACLE IS BEING STARED AT BY SMALL CHILDREN!

PLASTIC MAN BUYS A CUSTOM AIRBRUSHED TSHIRT OF BART SIMPSON WITH DREADLOCKS!

HAWKGIRL BEATS UP THE WOMAN WHO SPRAYS HER WITH A PERFUME SAMPLE!

BLACK CANARY DEMANDS A REFUND ON HER FULLSCREEN DVD!

NIGHTWING ATTEMPTS TO RETURN A SWEATER WITHOUT A RECEIPT!

THE QUESTION AND THE HUNTRESS MAKEOUT IN THE BACK HALLWAY!

ZATANNA BUYS A NEW HAT AT H&M!

GORILLA GRODD PLAYS WITH THE KITTIES AT THE PET STORE!

DONNA TROY STILL DOESN'T GET THE APPEAL OF JUICY COUTURE!

BLUE BEETLE KEEPS LOOKING IN WALDENBOOKS BUT DOESN'T BUY ANYTHING!
alternate: BLUE BEETLE APPLIES FOR A JOB AT HOT TOPIC!

MAXWELL LORD BECOMES VERY CROSS WITH AN UNHELPFUL EMPLOYEE AT AMERICAN EAGLE!

GUY GARDNER SHOPS AT THE LEATHER STORE FOR A NICE BELT!

ORION GETS IN A FIGHT OUT FRONT OF RADIOSHACK AND IS KICKED OUT OF THE MALL!

DARKSEID ENJOYS A CINNAMON SUGAR PRETZEL!

GLEEK GETS DETAINED BY ANIMAL CONTROL FOR EBOLA CONTAMINATION!

JASON TODD SPENDS OVER $12 TRYING TO WIN A STUFFED RABBIT FROM A CRANE MACHINE!

MARTIAN MANHUNTER THOUGHT THERE WAS A CINNABON HERE, BUT IT MUST HAVE CLOSED OR SOMETHING!

LADY SHIVA CAN'T FIND THAT TOP IN HER SIZE!

IMPULSE SPENDS TWO HOURS MAKING A MIXED BAG OF JELLYBELLYS IN MISTER BULKYS!

JOHN STEWART JUST HAD HIS CREDIT CARD DECLINED!

MISTER MIRACLE PLAYS GUITAR IN THE PARKING LOT FOR QUARTERS!

R'AS AL GHUL BUYS A FABULOUS COUCH AT POTTERY BARN!

SUPERGIRL LOOKS THROUGH THE CLEARANCE RACK IN MACYS!

POWER GIRL FINDS A USED SEGA DREAMCAST AT GAMESTOP!

CAPTAIN ATOM CAN'T GET IN TO SEE WATCHMEN BECAUSE HE LEFT HIS ID AT HOME!

SPEEDY DOES HEROIN IN THE MENS ROOM!

THE JOKER BUYS A NICE FRAMED PRINT OF THE KRAMER PORTRAIT AT THE FRAME STORE!

WALLY WEST CAN'T DECIDE BETWEEN SARKU JAPAN AND CHINESE WOK!

ETRIGAN IS ANGRY THAT F.Y.E. IS SOLD OUT OF PEARL JAM'S "TEN"!

and then they all went home and had chocolate milkshakes.

contributions from nicholasreed, newageamazon, thebeak
Yes, sometimes twitter leads to ridiculousness.

MAN IN SQUID! MAN IN SQUID! MAN IN SQUID!

2009-03-24T19:44:00.003-04:00

This is offered entirely without context. Deal with it, America.

The first rule of Giant Squid Club is: you do not talk about Giant Squid Club.

Dude, "chinamen" is not the preferred nomenclature. Giant squids, please.

I don't want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of giant squid.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself. Maybe giant squid.

In space, no one can hear you scream at a giant squid.

Why So Serious? (Oh right, giant squid.)

All our yesterdays will light fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life is but a giant squid, a poor player who struts & frets...

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched giant squids glitter in the dark, like tears in rain.

Quisnam vigilo giant squid. (Who watches the giant squid)

There's a lot of fine looking women in the world. They won't all make you giant squids.

Death, as it does to all men, comes to Charles Foster Kane. With giant squids.

Even the smallest of us can change the course of the giant squid.

"I'm pregnant." "With... emotion?" "With a giant squid."

Luke, search your feelings, you know this to be true. Join with me, and we can rule the universe as father and giant squid!

Show me the giant squids! SHOW ME THE GIANT SQUIDS!

And you will KNOW my name is the LORD, when I lay my vengeance and giant squids upon thee!

We have to go... BACK TO THE FUTURE! (Also, there are giant squids.)

We've all been raised by television to believe we'll be millionaires & movie gods & rock stars & giant squids... but we won't.

Nothing ever ends, Adrian. Until giant squids come along.

Bill, it's your giant squ*BANG*

A boy's best friend is his giant squid.

You never go full giant squid.

And so the lion fell in love with the giant squid.

I DRINK YOUR GIANT SQUID! I DRINK IT UP!

I came here to kick ass and chew bubblegum. And I'm all out of bubble gum. And giant squids.

His name was Robert Paulson. Also, he was a giant squid.

I know kung fu. And a giant squid.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name and I'll no longer be a giant squid!

Your giant squids will blot out the sun? Then we will fight in the shade!

I just love it when a plan comes together. With giant squids.

You have my sword. And you have my bow. And MY giant squid!

But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a giant squid.

Mr. Brown, Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Giant Squid.

Well, nobody's perfect. Especially giant squids!

This is my blessing. This is my curse. This is my giant squid.

I hate the way you look at me, I hate the way you stare, I hate your giant squid, and the way you brush your hair.

Say "hello" to my little friend...A GIANT SQUID!

She realized that when he said "As you wish," he was really saying "I love giant squids."

Never underestimate the power of the giant squid

Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn...about giant squids.

I have always depended on the kindness of giant squids.

My name is Squid. Giant Squid.

Nobody puts Giant Squid in a corner!

There's no giant squids in baseball!

A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some farva beans and a nice giant squid.

I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her giant squid.

You had me at giant squids.

We're going to need a bigger giant squid.

Gondor has not giant squids. Gondor needs no giant squids.

Ray, when someone asks you if you are a giant squid, you say YES.

Fear not, sweet lady! I will not molest you. I am but a humble giant squid, and you? You are to far above me!

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his giant squid. (Or a giant squid gets its wings?)

Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's giant squid grew three sizes that day

Someday we'll find it. The lovers, the giant squid, and me.

Some cultures are defined by their relationship to giant squid.

I'm a very important man, you know. I have a giant squid.

Well, fuck me gently with a giant squid, Veronica. (My life is one. big. dark. giant. squid?)

I admit i should feel some sense of obligation from the honor of your proposal, but giant squid.

When you think about it giant squid is actually all around...

Wow J.P., that is a great outfit. How much do giant squids cost in The Matrix?

Klaatu... Barata... Giant squid.

Obi-Wan never told you about giant squid.

contributors: nicholasreed, newageamazon, qbist, ohnickels, falsestart, snowth, GwenArtax, jayv,

The Passover Otter

2009-02-16T23:38:00.006-05:00

Here then, children, is the story of Sheckie, the Passover Otter. *

Sheckie the otter was a happy fellow, but he had no need for his Jewish heritage. He spent all his time swimming, eating fish, and doing elaborate cross-stitch patterns for art supply stores. His parents, especially his mother Ethel, implored him to give all this time to the Torah and remember Elijah, but Sheckie was like "Screw that noise, I totally want some oysters."

So one day, he was out searching for some sweet, sweet otter wine (the finest of the fine, that sweet otter wine), when he stumbled into a fur trap. Crying, he was brought into the furriers' van, wherein he was forced to inhale much cigar smoke and listen to a lot of Fog Hat. The one furrier's name, it would happen, was Elijah! For he was the self-same prophet who has a place set for him at every seder. Him and Moses had reincarnated to get some of that fat fur trade cash. Elijah spoke otter-ese, so he understood Sheckie's pleas for freedom. And he felt pity, as he knew most otters were Hindu, so he knew how hard it already was for the young one's family.

Thusly, he set Sheckie free. But first, he made him promise to respect and honor his Jewish heritage. Sheckie agreed, but his paws were crossed behind his back, and Elijah saw this with his x-ray vision, and smote Sheckie right quick. "Disobedient otter," the prophet said, his voice louder than seven thunders, "because of your insolence, you shall be in servitude to the Lord your God for many millenia!" And he cursed Sheckie to deliver presents to all the Jewish children all throughout the world every year on Passover. Though, to be honest, the presents are sort of crap, as he is still a lazy and shiftless otter.

Though, every so often, when the moon is right, and the Fog Hat is heard on the high wind, Sheckie will deliver some sweet, sweet otter wine. And there is much rejoicing and honoring of Elijah.

Hooray for God!

* This may or may not be entirely made up. Also, any facts or names therein may or may not be entirely inaccurate and based on my 5th grade knowledge of Passover.

In Which I Expound On If I Ruled The World

2009-01-21T21:42:00.004-05:00

The other day, I, in my usual way, was being completely AWESOME, and I started pondering what it would be like if I ruled the world. I'd be a benevolent dictator, of course. The planet would flourish under my rule. And there would be hardly any torture camps or death squads. I mean like, one or two per city. TOPS. Is that too much to ask, for a little order amidst the chaos? OF COURSE NOT.

But it wouldn't be all cake and death traps, of course. I'd have PLANS. I'd set some rules to live by, commandments, if you will. Not any set number, though. You put limits on things, and then you find yourself caught in loop-holes that you can't close, etc etc. So yes, here are some of the myriad and sundry proclamations I would no doubt enjoin on my citizens of the Planet Fabulous. (Catchy name, right?)

IF I RULED THE WORLD:

Dogs would be compulsory, but cats would require special permits, granted only to those I randomly decide deserve them. As such, there would be an overwhelming mouse problem, but I would be less allergic to everything. Hail, Fabulous!
"Philosopher-king" would be a viable career path. The only qualifications would be "well-read" and "kind of a dick." Also: you'd have to make it through the Hyper Colossal Death Maze. Hail, Fabulous!
The Wayanses would be shot out of a cannon into the sun. All of them. The entire family.
Every day would be Rex Manning Day. Every day would also be David Tennant Day. Then they would fight for my amusement. Hail, Fabulous!
It would be nap time whenever I say it is. Because a well-rested ruler is a happy one.
Batman would be the world's mascot, and all would be required to wear a piece of clothing with the Bat symbol on it once a week. Hail, Fabulous!
Ayn Rand and all her works would be retroactively erased from history. Hail, Fabulous!
Every day would be like Sunday. Morrissey fans worldwide would rejoice. Hail, Fabulous!
Personal jet packs for all. Mark it down. Hail, Fabulous!
All currency would be replaced by high-fives. Sales transactions would come to resemble elaborate celebration rituals. Hail, Fabulous!
There'd be robot gangsters, and maybe robot orphans. BUT THOSE WOULD BE THE ONLY ROBOTS. Hail, Fabulous!

And that's only a few of my MANY MANY ideas for how to make our planet more awesome, more spectacular, more, dare I say it... FABULOUS.

The Look of THE WRESTLER

2009-01-13T22:46:00.011-05:00

This is not a film review.

I want to state that again: this is not a film review.

I love this movie, and in fact the totality of Darren Aronofsky's film work, so much that there is no way I can be objective enough to "review" this. Thus, my aborted (and long overdue) attempt to write about his last film, The Fountain. (Maybe I'll be able to sort through my thoughts and feelings enough in the future to produce something of worth on that, but for now, it shall lie, fallow and unfinished.)

But THIS is not ABOUT The Fountain. THIS is about The Wrestler, Aronofsky's newest film, starring Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, and Evan Rachel Wood. It is undoubtedly the best film of 2008. And while theme-wise, it is not as drastic a departure from Aronofsky's previous work (especially Requiem For A Dream), VISUALLY, it is as different from them as almost anything can be.

His first two films, Pi and Requiem For A Dream, had a lot of stylistic touches, very overt and showy, almost. Not to the "oh look at me, I'm fancy and can do these fancy things" point, but in ways that service the story being told. The editing of Requiem was rhythmic, sticking to a beat and pattern that repeated throughout the film (Aronofsky refers to it as "hip-hop editing), as the point was to inure the audience to the acts of drug abuse, and make it a very big deal later when the pattern lengthens, or is interrupted, or changes. It exemplifies the point that addiction is all about habit and repetition, and that it is a cycle that only degrades.

The Fountain, his third film, while as stylistic as the earlier films in its own way, did less with rhythm, but was all about visual patterns, the same images and actions used at different points in the film to (both overtly and subtley) connect different scenes and time periods. The theme of "recurrence" was an important point to be made and stressed, and thus the similarity of such disparate time periods as 1500's Spain, Modern day America, and the deep space of the far future was brought to bear, and made to relate to the movie's theme of death, rebirth, and acceptance. Death is nothing to fear, the film says, and while it maybe should not be celebrated, it should be embraced as a necessity.

The Wrestler uses very little of these tricks, and in fact goes as far opposite from those films as possible in terms of style, to point of being very documentary-like in feel. The grain in the image implies harsh reality, and the washed out colors of everything in Randy "The Ram"'s life, accentuate the vividness the film adopts during the scenes of action in the ring. The blood and lights "pop" that much more when contrasted with the mutedness of Randy's trailer, really of his entire life outside of the ring. Like all of Aronofsky's films thus far, this relies, at its center, on the interpersonal relationships between its characters; in this case, between Randy and the people in his world: his estranged daughter Stephanie, his only real "friend" Cassidy/Pam, and the various acquaintances of his wrestling career. Aronofsky has always focused on how people relate to their world and each other, and Randy's disconnect from both is at the heart of the film, and the reasons for why it looks the way it does.

Repetition still plays a small part in the film, as it is, in its own way, about addiction. Contrast the scene of Randy's walk-out to the ring in the beginning of the film with his walk out to the floor on his first day at the deli counter: the crowd noise piped in over the latter seals it, as does the exact same type of plastic curtain in front of each place's respective entrance. Randy is addicted to the crowd, the noise, the reaction he gets from people who know him as a character. He gives them his sweat, his blood, his very life, and they applaud, they cheer, they chant. He needs that, he craves that, and his life is a complete shambles because of it. His health, his family, his ability to deal with every day life: all sacrificed within the altar of the "squared circle."

There's more to say about the film, and its themes and ideas, like the similarity between Randy and Pam's stories, and his own self-destructive streak, and the (deceptively) unambiguous ending, but I wanted to stick to discussing the look of it. It is a fascinating film, and one I hope everyone gets to see. Aronofsky and Rourke, especially, deserve all the credit in the world for a wonderful piece of filmmaking and acting. Go out and see The Wrestler whereever and whenever you can. It is on a limited release now, but I believe it goes wide shortly.

We're all looking for the crowd's roar. Very few of us ever find it. The ones who do, sometimes have trouble letting it go.

My Year In Lists

2009-01-12T22:15:00.010-05:00

As promised previously, here is my mythical and always highly anticipated Best of the Year lists!!!!

(The extra exclamation points are there to emphasize my complete awesomeness.)

Now, normally, I would expound at length on each entry of each list, or at the very least on the choice for number one. As it stands, though, I am loathe to do so at this time, because I can't quite verbally quantify my feelings for some of the entrants on these here ladders of excellence. And so, I expound not at all. (Except here, because that is how I roll. Deal with it, America!)

In any event, these are my favorites of this past Year of Someone's Lord, Two-Thousand and Eight. Notice I do not say "Greatest" or "Best", because one's mileage may vary. (Though why anyone would think to disagree with me, I'll never know. I am right and good in all things. Like Ghandi.)

So yes, so anyway, here's a list of things. Links where appropriate. Maybe a picture. Enjoy it. Add comments at the end, let's see what some of yours are.

FILMS

The Wrestler
The Dark Knight
Wall-E
Cloverfield (I wrote about this here. You should read it.)
Iron Man

ALBUMS

Los Campesinos! - Hold On Now, Youngster... / We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed (They put out two full albums this year. I'm counting both, as both are amazing, though each has a slightly different feel.)
Thrice - The Alchemy Index, vol 3 & 4: Air & Earth
the Killers - Day and Age
Death Cab for Cutie - Narrow Stairs
Stars - Sad Robots EP
Okkervil River - The Stand-Ins
Atmosphere -When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold
Paddy's Well - First Friday (this is my dad's band!)
Alkaline Trio - Agony & Irony
Amanda Palmer - Who Killed Amanda Palmer?

SONGS (links lead to downloadable versions of the songs. I cannot guarantee the links will last forever.)

Baskervilles - "A Little More Time"
the Decemberists - "Valerie Plame"
Los Campesinos! - "We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed"
Okkervil River - "Calling and Not Calling My Ex"
Chairlift - "Bruises"
the Killers - "Spaceman"
Ben Folds - "You Don't Know Me (feat. Regina Spektor)"
Alkaline Trio - "Help Me"
Amanda Palmer - "Astronaut (A Short History Of Nearly Nothing)"
Los Campesinos! - "Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats"

COMICS (specific issues highlighted): creative team

Casanova Vol 2. (issue #14): Matt Fraction, Fabio Moon
All-Star Superman (issue #10): Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely
Pax Romana (4 issue miniseries): Jonathan Hickman
Final Crisis (issue #5): Grant Morrison, JG Jones, Carlos Pacheco
Aetheric Mechanics (a graphic novella): Warren Ellis, Gianluca Pagliarani

TELEVISION

The Venture Brothers season 3
Doctor Who season 4
The Venture Brothers season 3
ok, so I don't watch a whole lot of television...

So there you go. Comment with your opinions. Otherwise, I'm just going to assume that all my lists are comprehensive and completely correct.

Excelsior! And never forget:

In Which I Mock and Roundly Disparage Double Oh Seven

2009-01-06T21:01:00.003-05:00

At my job (at which I am naturally the greatest and most beloved employee*), I get rather bored occasionally. It is, as most jobs outside of creative fields are, very repetitive. Thus, I tend to read a lot, or write a lot, or text/twitter a lot. And it was while doing the latter that the following list was conceived, in a fit of ~~intense retardation~~ creative genius. You may thank me later, all of you, in various forms of currency.

In any event, this is a list of alternate titles of James Bond movies. Because you demanded it.**

JAMES BOND IN:

The Minuteness Of Sadosity.
The Smallest Of Helpings.
The Physics Of Spangly Objects.
The Tiniest Of Comforts.
The Small Things That Accumulate In The Back Of Your Junk Drawer And You Don't Know How To Make Use Of Them So You Leave Them There.
Beware All Foreigners.
The Fabulous Fabulous.
Lie Back And Think Of England Or You Will Get A Smack In The Mouth.
Noun Action Verb Conjunction Sexual Entendre.
This Is Not The Newest Bond Film Or Is It.
Dalek Invasion 2021!
Fairy Bum Bum Boys pt. 7: Wot's All This Then?
How I Learned To Stop Worrying Because Britain Is Great.
Enjoy Your Clams, Cocksuckers.

As you can see, they got increasingly ridiculous as I went along. And I hope to have at least two of them in production within the next 3 years, funding permitting. Would you care to invest? I am looking for investors. Email me, and we can discuss terms. I wouldn't hesitate to throw around the words "Box Office Bonanza." But that's just me.

* This might be hyperbole, or it might not. Who can really say?
** You did not demand it.

In Which I Share Some Music, and Make Blanket Statements About Various Things

2008-12-18T22:03:00.006-05:00

PART THE FIRST::

SO, every year I make a "Best of" mix. Most of the time, this mix ends up just staying on my hard-drive/Motherboxxx, occasionally to be burnt onto disc and given to someone. BUT THIS YEAR, I have decided to share with the world the SPECTACULARNESS of my music tastes. Sit/stand/lounge in awe of my ability to find good music and combine it into new forms and lists!

http://www.sendspace.com/file/28jkjq

But yeah, this is it. It's less a "These are the best songs" list, as it is a "These are songs I love the shit out of" list. I didn't duplicate any bands (because then it would've ended up being 75% Los Campesinos! tracks), but yes. It is awesome. Go ahead. Taste the freshness.

PART THE SECOND::

All your opinions are wrong.

This is a statement which will cause some ire, I understand. But make no mistake: here, I am the arbiter of all things that are fine and good, and as such, I am forced to play both liberator and captor of the opinions of those who visit. Thus, I am stating, unequivocally, that all your opinions are wrong. Unless they happen to agree with mine, or you have proof that yours are correct and mine are not. (Which begs why they'd be labeled "opinions", but stick around, there's a point here...)

Actually, no, there's no point. I just felt like putting that out there. Whether you realize or not, you are wrong and I am right.

By the way, there is no possible way that this is all tongue in cheek, so... put that right out of your head.

(cough)

Bests.

2008-12-09T00:33:00.002-05:00

I am going to do, much like in previous years on both this blog and on my myspace one, a top list of various media. More than likely, at this time, Films, Albums, Songs, and Comics. (I can't in all honesty do books this year, as most of the books I've read are not "new" per se. Though they were new to ME. Also, I don't watch much television.)

AS IT STANDS, mine should be up in a week or so, but until then, I want to see some of your favorites in the comments. Doesn't matter how you categorize, or number, or even judge them. I just want to see what everyone else is watching/listening to/reading.

So yes. OPINIONS. Give them to me. And maybe I will stop the meteor.

In Which The Beginnings Of Things Are Discussed

2008-12-02T01:15:00.004-05:00

The first line in a novel is what grabs you. A good one will immediately say to you "HEY, pay attention, fucker!" Or something. Maybe without the expletive. As a writer myself, I find the first line is often the hardest part to come up with (right up there with the last line.) So I can naturally appreciate a good opening line as well as anyone.

I've been re-reading Hunter S. Thompson's books recently (as I am wont to do often), and the opening line of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas strikes me as one of the best and most concise opening lines in recent memory. Right up there with Moby Dick's "Call me 'Ishmael'" and A Christmas Carol's "Marley was dead to begin with." Here, I will show you:

"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold."

That one line tells you everything you need to know about the story's set-up. It is, of course, elaborated upon in short order, but from that one sentence you get:

The character(s) are traveling, as they are unsure of their exact location.
Near Las Vegas, as Barstow is a town in the surrounding area.
Obviously some sort of miscreants or vagabond-esque characters.

Now, this is borne out by what follows, but immediately, you are hooked into the story.

Hunter Thompson looked on writing as a form of music, often referring to his words as "lyrics" and making reference to the rhythm he needs to put his words to. He would often have visitors to his house read passages from his books, both published and unfinished, out loud, in order to hear the cadence and rhythm inherent in the sentences. It starts with the first line. Everything needs a beginning.

What are some of your favorite opening lines? I might add a couple more of mine later, but for now, leave yours in a comment.

Yes We Can

2008-11-05T13:30:00.002-05:00

Good job, America. Way to not fuck up for once.

Now let's get to work fixing this mess from the past 8 years!

Hell yes.

In Which, Found Guilty, I Declare That I Am Unfit For Office, And Resign, Only To Be Pardoned Of My Crimes By My Successor

2008-10-25T16:27:00.005-04:00

Man, I fail as a blog writer. . .

I sit here on these here "internets" (because there is MULTIPLES, kids!) for hours on end, with no particular agenda, reading many things, downloading many things, seeing and hearing many things, yet I don't actually bother to fulfill the simplest of promises I have ostensibly made to my "readers" (of which I am sure there are multitudes). No pithy words, no witty aphorisms, no anecdotes of such profound intelligence and grace that they make the very ground you stand on seem to tremble in ecstasy. NOTHING. Epic fail on me, yes yes.

I can't really do anything but apologize. I mean, I have been writing, it's just not been here. It's been (to a certain extent) on my livejournal, which would not fit with the verbal aesthetic or stated goals of this blog, and to a greater extent into twitter, which is possibly the worst/best thing to happen to me on the internet since I signed up for Myspace (oh, god, how I loathe and love you). And, yes, I really have no excuse for not writing here other than "But it's haaaaaaaaaard...!" I've been working on the Venture Brothers/failure/Sixties post for a while now, and every time I make some progress, I lose my thread and erase 4 paragraphs because they're Not. Good. Enough. And to be honest, I am not one to skimp on the excellence I know that people expect of me.

Also, there's been some good television on, so... you know.

But yes, as I seem to have so often done in the life of this weblog, I promise to write more in here. As long as it takes, I will FINISH THE GODDAMN POST. No one will read it, but it will be done. And the Fountain piece will eventually be done too, and maybe something on the election, depending on if the country devolves into civil war or not. If it does, I suggest investing in canned food and shotguns. Also: baby wipes.

So yeah: writing, more of it, going to do it, it will be spectacular.*

Listening: Los Campesinos!: We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
Reading: A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, by David Foster Wallace
Watching: Futurama. A lot.

* so long as nothing good is one television.

A Brief Return [part the second]

2008-09-07T17:25:00.002-04:00

And now. . . some more of the same:

Camel of Famine
Cougar of Lasciviousness
Bear of Economic Stability
Dung Beetle of Awareness
Walrus of Drug Abuse
Duogong of Molestation
Tiger of Apathy
Trout of Amnesty
Barracuda of Blasphemy
Giraffe of Timidity
Lion of Loneliness
Hyena of Tears
Llama of Cleanliness
Tyrannosaurus Rex of Masturbation
Antelope of Narcissism
Mute Swan of Karaoke
Raccoon of Sanitary Practices
Moose of Long-term Relationships
Titmouse of Christianity
Mosquito of Alcoholism
Dragonfly of Guilt
Muskrat of Spite
Mammoth of Massive Disappointment
Centipede of Paralysis
Mongoose of Space Travel
Cobra of Self-worth
Flying Squirrel of Depravity
Cicada of Silence
Groundhog of Infertility
Face of Boe
Kangaroo of Cautiousness
Otter of Super AIDS
Hedgehog of Influence
Venus Flytrap of Creativity
Mole of Voraciousness
Seagull of Charity
Hamster of Godliness
Cockatiel of Musicality
Porcupine of Personal Grooming
Crane of Archery
Ocelot of Oscillation
Meerkat of Suerty
Rhinoceros of Poor Fashion Sense

yes.

A Brief Return [part the first]

2008-09-06T11:45:00.004-04:00

Soon I will return, in glory and with witticisms and insights galore. But for now, this is offered without explanation.

Panda of Sadness
Robot of Insecurity
Dragon of Jealousy
Koala of Anger
Wasp of Generosity
Kitten of Wrath
Armadillo of Intimacy
Sasquatch of Male-Pattern Baldness
Wolf of Brevity
Possum of Vivacity
Shark of Shyness
Sloth of Effervescence
Wolverine of Tranquility
Spider monkey of Staidness
Diplodocus of Insanity (the Cliffs of)
Gnu of Narcolepsy
Octopus of Denial
Falcon of Acceptance
Nautilus of Nincompoopery
Sugar Glider of Solidarity
Bat of Diurnalism
David Tennant of Supremeness
Owl of Racism
Bunny of Bad Behaviour
Vole of Sexual Harrassment
Puppy of Depression
Penguin of Agility
Ninja of Contrition
Platypus of Equality
Echidna of ~~Bootyliciousness~~ Sodomy
Badger of Premonition
Flamingo of Toxicity
Albatross of Pestilence
Clam of Calamity
Tuna of Turning/Dexterity
Slug of Tumescence
Turtle of Moistness

more tomorrow!

Rocket Boy, come home

2008-07-24T01:20:00.002-04:00

Jets to Brazil's Perfecting Loneliness is the only album I can label as "personally transcendent."

This is not to say that other albums don't mean anything to me in various ways (nostalgia: In Utero, influence: Something to Write Home About, excellence: The Greatest Story Ever Told, etc.), but they do not approach JTB's final album in my mind. Whenever I listen to Perfecting Loneliness, I can remember every feeling that I've had when previously listening. Moments, memories, situations, an infinite amount of threads that lead back to those 12 tracks.

I'm not doing a great job of translating this into something you can understand, I think, but I feel like having heard/experienced Perfecting Loneliness has affected me and my personality in the years since it's release, and somehow, I feel like I'm a better person for having experienced it. And having heard the majority of it performed live on JTB's final tour is integral as well. I know that, no matter the time or place or whatever my headspace, I can listen to "The Frequency" or "Lucky Charm" or "Rocket Boy", and all will be well. And for that, I am grateful.

In that, I am transcendent.

Monoculture

2008-05-08T02:01:00.001-04:00

I've been reading lots of books! And movies have been seen! I will write on them soon! Enjoy this! It's from Transmetropolitan (after a sort).

Three reasons the world isn't as bad as I sometimes think it is.

2008-04-25T14:16:00.004-04:00

1. I am Alive.

Twenty-eight years ago, the scientific and medical estimate for life-span of people with cystic fibrosis was age 12. A couple years later it was upped to 16. Then a few years after that, age 21. I spent the majority of my time growing up under the assumption that I was going to depart this mortal coil not long after I was legally allowed to drink. Needless to say, this impacted my psyche and life outlook a bit.

BUT, also obvious, that has not come to pass. I am seven years pass the deadline established then, as medical science has progressed to the point that a large portion of people with CF live full lives (some are in their 50's now). There is no longer a hard cap on lifespan. Every day and month and year is amazing to me, as I honestly never expected to be here experiencing them. The fact that I even HAVE a future to look forward to is spectacular. Which leads to:

2. We Live in The Future.

When I was growing up, the most amazing piece of technology to me was the Commodore 64. MY PHONE IS NOW MORE POWERFUL THAN THAT. Where I can say (all the time, in fact), "We didn't get the future we were promised," (no jet packs, flying cars, laser pistols, etc.), we in fact got a completely different one. Slightly more mundane and low-key, yes, but if you said to your parents in the past, "When I am your age, everyone in the world will be able to instantaneously communicate with each other on devices about the size of a baseball card," they would have scoffed at you in disbelief as a lunatic. Music, film, art, communications; all these areas are so far advanced in this time, and so quickly and subtly, that I suppose it's easy for us to overlook the amazing things we have at our command. The internet, iPods, hybrid/electric cars, cell phone, nanotechnology. Awesome. Which leads to:

3. Tomorrow is Unknown.

There is a definite undercurrent of cynicality in much of what I write here, I know. And it's hard to not be sometimes. The political climate is muddled at best, the dearth of truly INSPIRING media is disheartening, and while we make the best with what we have, the economy is, to put it plainly, shit. But it's easy to forget that it's not always going to be so. We don't know what's coming. The future is not yet written, and while, yes, it could most definitely be worse, there's just as good a chance that it will be BETTER.

And that's something we can't, we shouldn't, we MUSTN'T forget. Because to forget that is to descend into pessimism and cynicism and despair, and maybe I'm in the slowly shrinking minority here, but I can't be that way. I can't not believe in the future. I can't not see the best of what we could be, the best of what could be coming. I can't believe that this is all there is to us. Not in a strict religious way, because I am openly faithless, but definitely in a spiritual way. I have to believe that humanity is more than what we are now, that we are more than the sum of the past whatever-thousand years, that there is better things coming. And I guess that makes me more of an anachronism every day. But I have to believe in something.

And the future is what I choose to believe in.

The Cost of Boredom (or, How I learned to stop worrying and love the Bomb)

2008-04-11T23:58:00.005-04:00

I am having a very boring evening. (I KNOW, I know. A very exciting topic for a blog post, but trust me, I'm going somewhere with this.) My plans all fell through, no new ones presented themselves, and my various friends were busy or indisposed. "So what?" I thought. "I have plenty here to keep me occupied. I have books, I have movies, I have television. I am set. I am mighty in my entertainment options."

And, oddly enough, I was wrong.

I am an entertainment junkie. I freely admit this, in fact, I proclaim it as a boon, most times. A culture's entertainment says a lot about the culture itself, and I revel in analyzing the hell out of everything I take in. As I've grown older (and maybe [but probably not] wiser), my intake has grown more and more refined. I see less movies than I used to, and watch much less television. Much of this is due to the aforementioned refining, some due to lowering standards in entertainment presentation (but that's another entry I think. . .) The point is, I have a lot of experience in media. I have cable, I have dvds of both films and television series, I have a couple video game systems (all older ones though, nothing newer than the N64), I have music, I have books and comics and magazines, hell, I have my guitar. And yet, tonight, when I had time aplenty to use/abuse any of these things, nothing was satisfying my ennui. And this bothers me.

This bothers me not because of what it implies about my habits or my psyche, but because it struck home to me how much I actually have spent on these various entertainment strategies. I have dropped sums of cash on dvds, books, instruments, etc., and yet none of these could fill my void (so to speak.) The current American culture of leisure demands that we be pacified at all times by the opiates we choose, and MY DRUGS WERE EXPENSIVE BUT DIDN'T WORK. The money spent on these things could have been used on more utilitarian things (with the exception of the guitar, since that is used in my "line of work"), but I decided to put it towards pacifying my inner nerd. And what do I have to show for it? An overdeveloped analytical streak, a large education in pop culture, and really, very little else. So, that's a little sobering.

The main thing that occurs to me is how much I depend on inter-personal relationships now. In years past, I was very much a solitary person. I had friends, lovers, all sorts of acquaintances, but I was perfectly happy being alone and doing things by myself. And I do still on occasion enjoy it, as I use that time to write. (I apparently never actually FINISH anything I start writing, but I do start them!) But I spend much more time with my friends and significant other, just. . . being, I suppose. And to tell you the truth, I think I'm happier that way. An interesting self-discovery, I think.

Anyway, thanks for the indulgence. Hopefully, I'll have something involving cartoons or film up here soon.

And now for something completely different. . .

Number one: the Larch. The. Larch.

expletives and exclamations

2008-04-10T02:03:00.002-04:00

This is my first post in April. I really have no excuse for why I haven't been posting, so I apologize to all my regular readers.

And by "all", I mean JayV and Beth. Maybe.

Ok, actually, no one is reading. But that's never stopped me before, dammit!

In any event, things are coming, writings and links and videos and comics and such. SERIOUS BUSINESS and what-have-you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life...

To tide you over, here is an awesome picture, followed by the funniest comedy sketch ever.

New Comics 3/26/08

2008-03-28T15:40:00.003-04:00

And so it goes...

Release list 3/26/08

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT ELSE COMES OUT TODAY.

Because All Star Superman #10 was released, and any day that comes out is an automatic DAY OF AWESOME.

If you want to know why, click here.

Oh, I also bought the first issue of Jonathan Hickman's miniseries about genetic manipulation and cybernetics, Transhuman. It is quite good, as everything he's done so far seems to be.

So, what did you get...?

Video Friday 3/21/08

2008-03-21T15:57:00.000-04:00

This is the latest (and final) trailer for the Pixar/Disney movie coming out this summer, Wall*E. I can't wait to see this movie. Pixar has a damn fine track record, and the fact that the first 20 minutes or so are apparently dialogue-free makes it interesting to me on an artistic level.

Also, cute robots and spaceships always win. Like Batman.

spring break woo

2008-03-19T00:00:00.004-04:00

I've resisted thus far. I've fought against the urge. I've won my personal battles of will. I was not going to write on politics. And there was a reason: this country broke my heart.

I know this is a stupid thing to say. But it's true. Four years ago, I was very into the political process. More so than I'd been even four years earlier, in the first presidential election I'd ever voted in. I read books. I followed the news. I detected, I sleuthed, I studied. And I, unsurprisingly, came to the conclusion that George W. Bush was the worst candidate for president I'd ever seen. But I also came to the conclusion that I did not like any of the Democratic candidates all that much either. They all seemed too. . . I don't want to say "wussy", but that's the best word that comes to mind. And I'd be fucked if I was going to vote for Nader again. But still. . . Bush had to go.

So, Democrat-bound I was, to whomever ultimately won the ticket (Kerry, duh). I polled, I pushed, I wrote, I proselytized, I even prayed (not very hard or well, but still, the effort was there). I thought, yeah, this could work, the American people will see what a crooked bunch has been running the country the last four years, and they will vote against him and his wicked ways. And I truly believed that. I had faith in the intelligence and forthrightness of my own view point, and faith in the intelligence and forthrightness of America.

And we all know the results.

So I dropped out of politics, a ruined broken shell of a man. I just stopped. Stopped reading the blogs and the websites, stopped watching the news, stopped buying the books. Only enough news to keep abreast of what's going on. I stayed away. I voted in every minor election, and was cheered a little when the Dems retook Congress 2 years ago, but somewhere in the back of my mind was a small voice saying, "It doesn't matter; it's too little and too late."

And now, here we are on the cusp of another tight presidential race, the first of my life without an incumbent president or vice president running, with the Democratic nominee not decided yet, not by a long-shot. I hadn't decided who I wanted to win. I knew who I did NOT want to win. But that would just bring me back to where I was four years ago: voting against someone rather than voting FOR someone. And I didn't want to do that again. I didn't want the choice to be between the lesser of two evils. I'm tired of the negativity that surrounds everything I love, and choosing between two candidates I don't like smacks to me of a zero sum loss.

But today, I have found a reason to believe again, I think.

I realize this is not saying much in the way of reason or logic or personal issues. I won't be going into my reasons for this, for they are long and complicated, and I don't even understand much of my own brain chemistry myself. I have no evidence to back this up, short of one amazing speech, and a sense of hope that maybe, this time, we can get it right. "It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams."

Barack Obama '08.

Thank you for reading. We'll be back to yr regularly scheduled sarcasm and pop culture shortly.

Video Friday 3/07/08

2008-03-07T17:01:00.000-05:00

This is the video for the title track off Aesop Rock's album from late last year, None Shall Pass. I am obsessed with this song. It is a fucking amazing example of lyrical ability on the part of Aesop Rock, and I feel like I must share it with the world. The video's style is nouveau Terry Gilliamesque animation, and I like it quite a bit. Enjoy!

New Comics 3/05/08

2008-03-05T13:50:00.000-05:00

I bought stuff!

Release list 3/5/08

After a few weeks of NOTHING coming out, there was finally some love given to me by the demiurges at the comic publishing companies. (This includes one that came out last week that I didn't get 'til now. Sorry I skipped a week, but there were. . . complications.)

Batman #674

Grant Morrison's run on Batman has been. . . interesting, to say the least. He's doing something similar to his All-Star Superman series here, in that he's bringing a lot of Silver Age concepts back and putting them into current continuity. The execution hasn't been up to his best, I will admit, but the story he's been trying to tell (which keeps getting interrupted by stupid corporate mandated crossovers and artist delays) is starting to come together, in a way that reminds me of his New X-men run from a few years ago: seemingly disparate stories that have a slowly revealed connective tissue. It'll be fun to read it all at once when they story is finished.

Casanova #12

Matt Fraction has been on a roll, and I want to give him a hug. Every issue of Casanova is just better and better than the last. And the most amazing thing? The main character (Casanova Quinn, super-spy, love, fighter, dimension-hopping bon vivant, and general vagabond) has been absent from the series since the second "album" started in issue #8. The subtitle of the storyline has been "When is Casanova Quinn?", and while that provides the through-line, the surface story has been focused more on the current actions of his (thought dead, but really not) sister Zephyr, who is as much of a bad-ass as he is. This issue is titled "Fuck Shit Up", and believe me, she does.

Pax Romana #2 (of 4)

Jonathan Hickman's miniseries The Nightly News was my favorite comic/graphic art project of last year, so when I heard his next project coming was a 4 issue mini involving time travel, Catholic Church history, and Constantine in Rome, I shouted out "SOLD!" and plunked my money down right then. (Of course, I was in the middle of a library, and looked rather foolish doing so. There were stern glares issued all around.) Thus far, the series has been fairly interesting, less full of sidebars and statistics as The Nightly News, but still very wordy, and still featuring Hickman's distinctive art style. If you like historical/speculative fiction, I would very highly recommend this.

So what are you reading?

Video Friday 2/29/08

2008-03-01T23:19:00.000-05:00

It's Leap Day! Today is a phantom day! It means you can do whatever you want!

But it's still Friday. So, I'm posting a video!

This is a montage/clip video someone made of some scenes from the two seasons of the Venture Brothers (which, coincidentally, is my favorite television show. I plan on writing about it eventually! [I plan on writing a lot of things eventually!]) Anyway, it's awesome, funny, and awesomely funny.

Composite.

2008-02-25T15:33:00.006-05:00

Text pours over the screen, capitals and lowercases and ones and zeroes and other alphanumerics. I relax my arms and sit back in my chair. I'd been writing for hours, sitting in the dark of this room alone, lit only by the glow of my computer's monitor. But it's done now, finally. The opus. What will put me on the great virtual map of the world's stage, literary-wise at least. I rub my shoulders and stare at the ceiling. There is a crack there. It's new, or newer, anyway. I haven't looked up there in quite some time, so for all I know it could be months old at this point. It looks new though.

"So now what?" I thought. "The book is done. It is finished. El finito. Done. A complete work. And no one cares yet. But OH they will. Oh, how they will. They will gaze in awe at my vast intellect and carve statues in my honor and give me awards and money and the women, OH the women. Screw Karen, I don't need her now, this is my ticket out of this cell she put me in and when I get out. . ." I had to stop myself there, I was getting carried away. "All in due time," I tell myself, "you need a publisher still." Which was true. I didn't have a publisher. But I will! And it will be glorious.

I get up out of the chair, which seems a little rusty in the wheel area. It doesn't roll quite as smoothly as it should have. Whatever. I'll fix it in the morning. A little oil and I'll be fine. It'll be fine. OH, I almost forgot to back my work up. That could be a disaster, right? A power outage, a hard drive crash, and all my hard work would be eliminated in a swoop of electrical surges and broken glass. Because I would probably throw the monitor out the window. Anyway. . .

There's a crack in the ceiling.

I've been staring at it for hours. It stands out against the white of the paint, a thin black fissure in the otherwise featureless area. It's about 3 inches long, and winding and crooked, as a crack looks in cartoons and art renderings. I stare at it. I keep thinking if I let my eyes wander away, it will get bigger. I imagine it growing larger and larger, becoming gaping, a yawning mouth in the ceiling, reaching forth to swallow me off the bed and take me to. . . elsewhere, I guess. No place in particular. Limbo, perhaps. I imagine myself being lifted, like in a bad alien abduction movie, like Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters, and pulled into the abyss. The crack grows larger, swallows the room, the entire building, the rest of New Brunswick, the whole of New Jersey, and still it grows. Impatient, it takes it all, and feeds its ever growing area of effect. Like a black hole, once the event horizon is crossed there is no return. Still it grows. Insatiable, unsettled, implacable distance inside it, pitch black, no measure of time or space or reason available. In pitch black, there is no benchmarks, so whether it's been 5 feet or 5 thousand years, I can't tell. Solitude is absolute in the void, and still it grows. The United States is now a chasm. The oceans are spilling over like in old maps, the world is turning flat. I close my eyes.

There's still a crack in the ceiling. It's still only 3 inches long.

. . .I have to blink a lot, readjust my vision for some reason. I think my mind wandered away from me for a while. I'm still sitting in my chair in my office. My legs are sore, and it's still dark. I still haven't saved my work. I roll towards the screen, but the wheels aren't moving at all now. Hmm. Odd.

Something is wrong, but I can't place it. Every time I try to move my chair, or just get out of it now, I can't seem to move. There's a force holding me down, whether it's an outer or inner one I can't quite figure yet. But in any event, it's moved beyond irritating and into worrying. I mean, yeah, it's only been a minute that I've been like this, but a minute is an hour in a lifetime is a second. Time is relative, and right now I'm relating to nothing. I need to save my book. I need my book saved. I need. . .

As I cross the bridge into the next state, a fissure glares out into the dark waters of the river below, a dividing line between blue sky and black hole. No sense of gravity exists, and as such it is not a true singularity, but I feel drawn to it anyway, if only in eye line. There's a restless atavism within it, a relentless march towards devolutionary oblivion, inexorable and irresistible. I can see it stalking along the edge, hunger and greed nakedly visible in it's many eyes, full of malice and future-tense violence and dead piling up on the base tarmac and promises of an end to all the terror and marches in lockstep to the beat of 30 years gone by. Incoming traffic passes, headlights blinding and pulling me away from the unceasing pull of the beast.

I am bound to this path by chords, tied tight and structured as to bring out the inherent pressure in living and breathing through the corralling of sunken eyes and broken treaties. Everything is illuminated, the light shining on the ugly as well as the beautiful, and the returning shadows swallow all as well, boring into the bored and bound alike. The creeping authority of silence grows, and the subsequent miles pass in a blank state of emotional withdrawal, every signpost and marker declaring an intention of invasion. "We are coming," they seem to shout in unison, "and we will not submit."

Strange neuronic flashes in my cortex establish themes and memes and lend context to every detail in the environment. Here: an unlit match, struck and immediately extinguished. Here: a duck crossing. Here: a 4 way stop sign intersection. Here: a dead end. How does it all add up? What is the pattern? It's crying out to be heard, practically screaming, a high pitched keening banshee that declares internal distress to all who care to put ear to ground and LISTEN. Spiraling in a golden shape, and sparking back to divert my gaze from the sky's separation and back to where I'm going and what I'm coming from and what the relation of one to the other is.

The sky has an edge. And it is sharp.

. . .and the door is locked. I can tell. I can't see anything coming out from under it no light no air I am trapped here the air is closing in on me I am being worn out I am being worn out I am being worn down I am being worn UP I'M UP. Oh thank god. It was just me. I'm more tired than I thought. I blink sleepily and walk to the keyboard, which is darkened by the fact that the monitor has entered sleep mode. I hit the space bar to wake the screen, and nothing happens. I move the mouse, and again, nothing. I'm awake now, my eyes wide and hairs on end. I hit the power button on the monitor, and again nothing happens.WHAT IS HAPPENING. I can't think this happens, I can't. No. It's just a monitor error. It has to be. I hit CTRL and S on the keyboard, and cross mental fingers that this works, that I am not fucked, that everything is savvy and everyone is safe and everything is sane and nothing, there's nothing to look forward to, it's all gone all gone my work is gone she's gone why did this happen now why did she have to turn off and erase it all when did this happen why can't I finish things easily why can't I can't I can't I. . .

We'd gone through three radio station area changes, and somehow, the same noise kept showing up. All mindless beats, and computer noises, and false promises of sex and professions of love. I can't think about any of that right now. It's still too close, too up front. It hung in the atmosphere between us, like the smoke from her cigarette, which still sat, smoldering, in her left hand. She smokes like a soldier, holding the filter between her thumb and index finger, bringing it up to her lips every few seconds for a quick drag, then leaving it hovering in the air, her palm up and pointing the lit end towards her chest, as if it's a knife poised at her chest.

I don't smoke.

At the first rest stop across the border, I'd asked her where we were going. "South," was the only answer she gave. I pressed her for more, but only got slight grins and silence. I'd thought about pushing the issue, about being a real hardass, but before action could be taken, I'd found her arms locked behind me and her lips had pressed against mine in a furious rush that staggers me still, now, sitting in the car, who knows how much later. God, she'd moved fast. It was as if she was afraid that if she didn't, the world would spin on its axis and pull us both away from each other to opposite corners of the globe. I found my center of gravity in her kiss.

It was the kind that you remember, and compare all others to for the rest of your life. If I knew a suitable descriptive for it, I would use it, but for once words are failing me. It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of my lungs, and she was working to revive me singlehandedly. Her lips were the event horizon, and I was irresistably drawn in. Worlds began and ended, entire civilizations evolved and became extinct, and Ragnarok was brought to bear on all the old gods in creation. What followed, in the darkened spaces we went to, really was almost an after-thought, after that kiss. There was a sense of urgency there, which I can't really account for. It wasn't love, it wasn't even lust, it was beyond that. It was beyond us. . .

Beyond Karen.

Afterward, in the returning rush of sense and reason and balance, there was a moment when she looked into my eyes and I could see myself reflected back at me. The first time I had seen anything clearly in those deep orbs. I couldn't look, it was too disturbing, to see myself so naked and open in front of another. It was only a brief moment, but when I looked again, there was something else in her eyes. I can't be sure what, was it . . . fear? No. Loathing? No. It was . . . a sadness of sorts. Indistinct, but there nonetheless.

. . .am I? Am I here? I'm where? Questions are echoing in my head, but none have reached the stage of audibility yet. I cannot speak, my mouth is filled with mud and spit and bile and dust and dust and dust and oh god where am I. I'm in my office. Yes. Of course. I sit up from the floor and shake my head, the dust falling in slow flakes like snowflakes and I'm cold. It's cold out, and the breeze isn't helping. I should shut the window, yeah. I should protect myself from whatever is coming in, the air and wind and moisture and everything. I turn towards the window, but I don't see it, it's gone. The window is gone. It's been boarded up, I've been boarded. I'm trapped here oh god oh god oh jesus oh shit I'm cold it's cold where is this wind coming from I grab my arms tight to my sides to stay warm but it's not helping. I am trapped. Except the. . . door. YES. The door, it should still be open and leaveable. That means I can be leaveable, I can leave I can go go let's go get out oh god where is the light it's so dark and cold and I'm alone and yes the door, find the door, find the. . .

I can see the headlights in the reflection of the rainsoaked window. It's 3am again, as you would expect, time moving on its tragic march and all, and you could say that I'm unexpectedly thinking of another place and time, but really, its not unexpected at all. The mind does wander, mine especially, and while it wonders and wanders, I tend to lose focus on where I am and what I should be/am doing.

Where was I?

The fog rolled in yesterday, further obscuring the view through the streaked glass. I have no heat, so the defroster does little to nothing to help sight improve. The car is not old, but it's seen better days, no question. Its the best I can do at the moment, as I am without employment or a source of income steady enough to afford a newer one. I grip the wheel tight, but with gloves on a firm purchase is impossible. I always forget, is it turn into the spin or away?

Anyway.

Last night, I made a call to someone I shouldn't have, and said things I knew better than to say. On one hand, a good thing, because I didn't have to say them, but I needed to, which is the point here. I think. I'm not sure. I'm a little woozy from blood loss. I admit, I've been drinking a little. A lot. Whatever. My phone rang a few minutes ago, and the cracked LCD folds up like the jackknifed truck that I passed on the highway in the summer. It was warmer then, and it didn't matter that my car doesn't have heat. I almost crashed then, almost lost it.

Last call, this is last call.

Sorry, I lost my head again. The rain and the lights have made me dizzy, and I lost control, flipped the curb, and hit the wall. Simulcast in technicolor wishes and harmonic dreams, I tune my instrument and go off on a tangent. Ever wonder what would happen if you imagined your own death, while having an epiphany to prevent it?

No. This is insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Engine failing, and the power is slowly stopping to the brake lights. My seatbelt holds still, glass shards stuck to my hair and blood dripping into my eyesight. I see the boots of the patrolman in the rearview, and he's walking on the sky.

Are these words from the future? Or am I just upside down?

. . .and then I can get out of here and everything will be fine and the light is on? Why did the light come on? It's. . . Karen! "Karen, thank god!" She just stands there, silhouetted in the now open door frame, the light from the window (the window?) behind me casting criss-crossed shapes onto her form. She's been crying. I can tell. But she's not coming in the room. "Karen, I'm sorry, I was wrong, everything has been my fault and-" She's ignoring me. She's not reacting, no movement, not even a timid step. Her eyes are red, and I don't know whether it's because of what I did, or what I just said. There's a voice somewhere downstairs and behind her, and she turns slightly to answer, "No, I'll- I'll be fine. I just wanted to see it for myself. I just- I just keep expecting him to walk in and- and- " And she gets cut off by a flood of tears. I want to hold her, I want to tell her I'm all right, that everything will be fine, that everything is fine. But I can't. I can't even move. She can't see me. I'm not even there. And she's already gone.

Oscars 2008

2008-02-24T18:57:00.008-05:00

I will be watching the Academy Awards tonight, as I try to do every year. The major difference is that this is one of the few years (recently, anyway) that I've seen the majority of the major nominees. As such, I feel more confident than usual in my predictions as to the winners. (For example: last year I saw a few of the nominees, but not most, and I was 11/15 in my picking of the winners.)

So, anyway, I usually watch the Oscars, and make fun of the host, ridiculously overdone montages, very overdressed actors, and faux earnestness that the winners put in their acceptance speeches. It's all very amusing to me. Usually, the films I really love in any given year do not get nominated for one reason or another (company politics usually being the culprit), but this year, I liked a lot of the main nominees. So, here we go, the nominees and my picks for 15 categories (my picks are the ones bolded):

Best Picture
Atonement
Juno
Michael Clayton
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Best Director
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Juno
Michael Clayton
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Best Actor
George Clooney, Michael Clayton
Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd
Tommy Lee Jones, In the Valley of Elah
Viggo Mortensen, Eastern Promises

Best Actress
Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth: the Golden Age
Julie Christie, Away From Her
Marion Cotillard, La Vie en Rose
Laura Linney, The Savages
Ellen Page, Juno

Best Supporting Actor
Casey Affleck, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men
Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Charlie Wilson's War
Hal Holbrook, Into the Wild
Tom Wilkinson, Michael Clayton

Best Supporting Actress
Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There
Ruby Dee, American Gangster
Saoirse Ronan, Atonement
Amy Ryan, Gone Baby Gone
Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton

Best Adapted Screenplay
Atonement
Away From Her
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Best Original Screenplay
Juno
Lars and the Real Girl
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
The Savages

Best Original Song
"Falling Slowly" from Once
"Happy Working Song" from Enchanted
"Raise It Up" from August Rush
"So Close" from Enchanted
"That's How You Know" from Enchanted

Original Score
Atonement
The Kite Runner
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
3:10 to Yuma

Animated Feature Film
Persepolis
Ratatouille
Surf's Up

Art Direction
American Gangster
Atonement
The Golden Compass
Sweeney Todd
There Will Be Blood

Film Editing
The Bourne Ultimatum
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Into the Wild
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Cinematography
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Atonement
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Costume Design
Across the Universe
Atonement
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
La Vie en Rose
Sweeney Todd

So there we have it. Who will win? No one knows. (Except maybe the Shadow. . .)

Video Friday 2/22/08

2008-02-22T01:37:00.003-05:00

I've been making a mix of 90's music for the Bandit Queen over the past few days. It's 4 discs long at this point, and that's with a load of limitations I've placed on myself for it (examples: no rap, metal, or ska; only songs that received significant radio airplay; one song per album; etc.) As such, I've been in a 90's music frame of mind. I was already halfway there before I ever began though, as I'd recently purchased and read the 33 1/3 book series volumes on the Pixies' Doolittle, Nirvana's In Utero and Radiohead's OK Computer. (All excellent books by the way.)

I personally love OK Computer, in a way that might be slightly unhealthy. The song "Lucky" makes me feel like I'm having a heart attack. But in a good way! Anyway, this is the video for "No Surprises", a track from that album. It's weird and arty, and for the most part is just Thom Yorke and his creepy eye staring at you, reading your thoughts, and singing along.

Then he drowns.

Buy the Ticket; Take the Ride

2008-02-21T23:10:00.005-05:00

I've been in a bit of a Hunter S. Thompson mood lately. Re-reading a couple of his books, watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on dvd. I was given The Kitchen Diaries, a sort-of memoir/series of stories about Hunter told by two of his close friends, and that's most likely what kicked this off. He's one of my favorite writers, and was one of my few living heroes (until he offed himself, of course. Then he wasn't living. [for completion's sake, the others are Grant Morrison, Eddie Izzard, and David Foster Wallace.])

Anyway, I've been writing, though nothing's finished. As such, I have little to post, though I feel I should say SOMEthing. Thusly, here is an excerpt from HST's book Kingdom of Fear, published in 2003. It was his last completed book (other than a collection of his essays from espn.com called Hey Rube), and this brief selection from it encompasses a lot of what I love about his writing: his wonderful sense of rhythm, the beauty of his word usage, the elegance of his phrasing, his eye for a musical phrase. RIP HST.

"

Whoops! How about a break, people? How about some Music? Yes. Music is where it's at, so consider this:

I am a confused Musician who got sidetracked into this goddamn Word business for so long that I never got back into music --except maybe when I find myself oddly alone in a quiet room with only a typewriter to strum on and a yen to write a song. Who knows why? Maybe I just feel like singing --so I type.

These quick electric keys are my Instrument, my harp, my RCA glass-tube microphone, and my fine soprano saxophone all at once. That is my music, for good or ill, and on some night it will make me feel like a god. Veni, Vidi, Vici. . . . That is when the fun starts. . . . Yes, Kenneth, this is the frequency. This is where the snow leopards live; "Genius, all over the world, stands hand in hand, and one shock of recognition runs the whole circle round. . . ."

Herman Melville said that, and I have found it to be true, but I didn't really know what it felt like until I started feeling those shocks myself, which always gave me a rush. . . .

So perhaps we can look at some of my work (or all of it, on some days) as genetically governed by my frustrated musical failures, which led to an overweening sublimation of my essentially musical instincts that surely haunt me just as clearly as they dominate my lyrics.

-- November 19th, 2000

"

New Comics 2/20/08

2008-02-20T20:56:00.003-05:00

AGAIN with the not buying anything!

Release List 2/20/08

This is now two weeks in a row where there was nothing I wanted to purchase. Not entirely unprecedented, but still odd.

What this means, of course, is that some time in the next few weeks there will be a release day when SEVEN BOOKS come out that I want, plus three trades, and maybe a puppy. The comic gods like to punish me that way. There is something I've been keeping an eye on though. . .

The Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite #6 (of 6)

The final issue of the Dark Horse miniseries, written by Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance, with art by Gabriel Ba (who did the first Casanova arc), is released today. I've heard nothing but good things about this series, and will very likely be picking it up in trade form. From what I understand, it falls firmly in the Grant Morrison/Matt Fraction area of BIG IDEAS! and FUN WEIRD THINGS! that I enjoy quite a bit. Monkeys and jet packs and whatnot. Dizzle likes it, and that's enough for me to be interested.

What did you get?

Video Friday 2/15/08

2008-02-15T01:52:00.002-05:00

My friend JayV has a tendency to record video whenever a bunch of us are hanging out. He does a vidcast semi-regularly, actually. And apparently the random shit I say is funny to him. So this installment of "Video Friday" is the latest in the "Danger Phrase" series he randomly does. So yes, watch as I act random.

I was referring to Casanova: Luxuria, in case anyone was wondering.

New Comics 2/13/08

2008-02-13T23:03:00.004-05:00

NOTHING I WANTED CAME OUT THIS WEEK.

release list 2/13/08

I am disappointed. I mean, I don't buy a whole lot of books anyway, but usually I'm good for at least one per week. SO yeah, whatever.

I bought a bunch of trades and graphic novels this past weekend, so I'll probably do a post on all of them in the next couple days.

So what did you buy?

House of Leaves.

2008-02-13T01:26:00.000-05:00

I'm not entirely sure how to go about writing about the last book I read, House of Leaves, by Mark Danielewski. It defies easy description, and any sort of conventional review or analysis is right out. So I won't be attempting to do so in any concrete or normal fashion. In lieu of such, I am putting here bits and pieces of conversation, some observations, a few photographs taken while reading, and other flotsam and jetsam.

A conversation:

Nicholas: the book is the house is johnny is zampano is the film is the book
The Bandit Queen: Care to elaborate?
Nicholas: not yet, need to formalize thoughts a bit more
Nicholas: but the book is obviously the house, that much is easy
The Bandit Queen: yes. And Johnny's story is the same. The house is just one name they put on this intense madness that they all confront.
Nicholas: mmhm
The Bandit Queen: It's like the Boogeyman in that very real sense: just that basic, primal childish fear that comes with being alive.
Nicholas: the house = the other outside which is also within
The Bandit Queen: It's no one thing in the world, it's just...yeah, yeah exactly
Nicholas: also, god as an equals sign and an echo
The Bandit Queen: It's any inner place you're unwilling to go.
The Bandit Queen: oh god.

Nicholas: It's also about how art critique is irrelevant, as any art's meaning can only be entirely unpacked by the artist, and even then its an unreliable sort of unpacking
Nicholas: It's also about relation of cinema to print and vice versa
Nicholas: labyrinths and spirals and echoes and codes and oh god I'm never getting out of this am I
The Bandit Queen: Don't worry. At least you're in good company.
The Bandit Queen: Also: moo hoo ha ha.
The Bandit Queen: At different times, Truant says: "Known Some Call Is Air Am". Although it appears to be a random string of words, it is actually phonetically equivalent to "Non sum qualis eram", Latin for "I am not as I was".

Nicholas: ALSO, theory: the Navidson Record is entirely fictional, even in the world of the book
The Bandit Queen: Oh, yeah! That's totally a possibility. Which...what was Zampano's deal?
Nicholas: three pieces of evidence of such: Johnny can find no trace of anything to do with the house or film, there's a card in the front collage (more visible in the appendices) saying something about "killing the children", and how the house might do so
Nicholas: also, the occasional pronoun switch in zampano's writings like, in while writing about Tom Navidson: "He might have spent all night drinking had exhaustion not caught up with me"
Nicholas: also, the "deletion" of all the minotaur sections, as they implicitly mention that the minotaur was a hoax and not real, though the labyrinth was
Nicholas: so the labyrinth/book is quite real, and you can become lost in it, but the secret it contains/story it tells is not
Nicholas: I am way too into this

Words are swallowing me, surrounding my head with suffocating syllables and breathless boundaries, all ensconced about my person, my throat closing from declension and circling the systematic series of statements started and stopped in my stead. I am lost in the leaves, pages turning over like a record and repeating around themselves again, footnoted and obliviated into a perfect spiral of senseless apprenticeship. They are eating me alive. I see them, in the corners, lurking, waiting, to tear into me with claws of consonants and teeth of tangents, low murmurs and growls emanating from the walls of willful mispronunciations. I hear them, I see them, I know them, they are mean and meant and meaningful and meaningless and every verbal trick in the vast vocabulary I can voice does not dissuade. I am drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning drowningdrowning drowningdrowningdrowning drowningdrowningdrowningdrowning. Breathing in brings broken phrases, basked in battled bafflement, breaking down the days and numbers into equational phrases and fractured fractions of format. I am sorry to suffer for sensory perception, still somehow syllable and sentence stick together to set me aside and send me swooning. Air air air. I need some air.

Additional thoughts:

:: A blind man "writing" a book about a film is too much of an irony to not be a comment on the writing process, and how one is always feeling in the dark towards a goal you cannot see and will not witness entirely.

:: The journey into the house as an exploration of the human brain, as one cannot map out or define what one does not understand and is constantly changing.

:: The center of the story really being about the damage one's own history causes on the present and the future. Navidson's past intruding and effecting his relationship with Karen; Johnny's past disconnecting him in his relationships with everyone he encounters, especially all the various hook-ups and one night stands he mentions.

:: the underplayed story of Zampano as a world war vet whom life has passed by, leaving him blind and unloved. Also, the connection between him and Johnny's mother: "My dear Zampano, Who did you Lose?"

It is very easy to get lost in this House.

Desert Planet 2.

2008-02-12T19:24:00.000-05:00

Jed tapped the view screen twice, and sighed. "Damn hydrogauges," he muttered, "they always lock up when I'm about to go home."

He opened the door of the crawler and stepped out into the fading second-sunset, his boot sinking into the loose sand close to the treads. He blinked against the wind, realizing he'd forgotten his goggles in the cabin. Smacking the side of the bed, the coils leading to the tank shifted slightly and began to emit a faint hum, barely audible over the wind in his ears. Satisfied, he turned to go. Off in the distance, a sanctuary dome sank below the horizon line, and he saw a lone star flash briefly then fade. He absentmindedly scratched the scar on his neck that stretched from below his left ear and disappeared down into the darkness of his collar attachments.

"Still," he whispered quietly, "I suppose there's worse things to worry about." Climbing into the cab, he sat and waited for third-sunrise.

Video Friday 2/8/08

2008-02-08T10:56:00.001-05:00

Today is the inaugural Video Friday! From now on until the end of time (or I get bored and change formats again), I will be posting a video from somewhere online every Friday. Occasionally it will be something I'm directly involved with, or it might be related to something I'm writing, or it might be completely unrelated and random (I know, SHOCK).

In any event, to kick things off, here is the trailer to the film I DO INTEND to finish writing about before the Apocalypse (but not the Metalocalypse) The Fountain. This trailer is AWESOME. That is all. Enjoy!

New Comics 2/6/08

2008-02-06T15:00:00.000-05:00

This is the inaugural "NEW COMICS WEDNESDAY" post. As such, I will lay the rules out here, and then either completely forget about them, or remember them but completely ignore them. Fun for the whole family!

1. These are comics released this week. I will provide a link to a full list.
2. These are only the ones I either A) plan on purchasing, or B) find interesting in a "staring at a train wreck" way.
3. If there is nothing in a given week, I will say so, and more than likely badmouth Joe Quesada and Dan Didio.
4. I like what I like, and you should offer suggestions to me, but remember one dictum when perusing what I read: I like things that are fun. No moping or crying in my books, thanks.
5. WARREN ELLIS OWNS YOUR SOUL.

And now, without further ado:

Coming 2/6/08

Annihilation: Conquest #4 (of 6)
I enjoyed the first Annihilation miniseries from Marvel quite a bit, and while this one hasn't quite reached the heights of Galactus getting his ass whupped or Drax the Destroyer ripping out Thanos' heart yet, it's still been a very enjoyable space opera story with a few surprises. Abnett and Lanning's writing isn't Keith Giffen, but it's still damn fun.

Doktor Sleepless #5
In Warren Ellis' continuing quest (along with Grant Morrison and Matt Fraction) to get MORE of my money, there's this ongoing series about mad science and crazy technology. It's been a slow burn, at least compared to Ellis' last long-form creator owned series (Transmetropolitan: ONE OF THE BEST THINGS EVER), but things are beginning to move a bit in terms of plot, and the character of the Doktor himself is quite entertaining. SCIENCE! {lighting bolts}

Metal Men #6 (of 8)
Speaking of mad science and crazy technology, there's the Metal Men. This miniseries has been nothing but non-stop awesome since it started. Duncan Rouleau has really knocked it out of the park here on both art AND story, with the mad ideas and science wackiness combining with the sense of foreboding as to where it's all going leaving me with interesting thoughts and a case of the giggles. Also: where else would you have a group of evil robots called the Death Metal Men? NOWHERE.

So... what are you reading?

burst and bloom

2008-02-06T01:17:00.000-05:00

I rarely write in here anymore without a specific agenda to it, be it movie review/analysis, short fiction, and what-have-you. But I have nothing on my mind (in a grand operatic sense, anyway), and the piece I'm working on about The Fountain is as yet unfinished. And I feel like, since I've reopened this avenue for my written discoursing (SIDEBAR: FUCK Writerscafe.org. TWO YEARS of my fiction and poetic writing GONE bc of a database fuck-up, a lot of the poems which I hadn't saved elsewhere, and I'm just supposed to shrug, say "Oh well," and gloss over it? FUCK YOU. SIDEBAR OVER), I should write something in here, if not on a regular schedule, at least somewhat regularly. (more on this in a bit) Hence, this random scattershot of whatever crosses my transom. Also, there will be random pictures. And pie.*

Not to say, with all that, that I have NO idea what I'm doing. I have some things I'd like to talk about, but most are either very vague statements, or things I'm saving for the future when I can write more in-depth and look like I'm using some segment of intellect about it. Which is what causes the long breaks in-between posts of consequence. The former name of the blog was "Hooray for the Madness! We are better by Design!"**, but that was not entirely true, as the "design", if it could be said to have any, was pointed more towards sparsity of information and occasional thoughts of "Huh, I haven't written anything in a while. Oh well." The current name of "We Laugh at Catastrophe. (we're random but we like it that way)" is much more appropriate, I feel, for both the frequency and the varying subjects of the posts. If there were other writers, I would probably feel better about this, but y'know, it's hard enough motivating myself to do anything other than read long books about piracy and currency or graphic novels about superspies and tits.

So yeah, here's a post about nothing. Well, not literally nothing, not in the nihilistic sense. Or in the Seinfeldian sense of purposefully without purpose. But whatever. I'm sitting here, at 1 or so in the morning on a Wednesday. The television is on behind me, prattling on and on about the current elections (or primaries, as it were), about which I am currently caring less and less each day, as I find most of the people running reprehensible, annoying, or just plain insane. Ok, I like one candidate, but being the eternal cynic, feel there's no chance in hell he'll win in the long run. BUT WAIT, that is a sentence (or two) about something. Have I already defeated my self-described purpose in writing this? No, because THIS IS ~~Sparta~~ MY BLOG AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.

UGH, I think of things I want to put in here all day, and now when the moment comes my mind is gazing wanfully out of its tower waiting for a prince to ride up on a horse and rescue it. I think I've fulfilled my purpose in doing this anyway. AND NOW, to BUSINESS: I plan on enacting a very loose sort of schedule here. Wednesday will now henceforth be COMICS I AM BUYING THIS WEEK DAY, wherein I will mention the paltry few titles I will be picking up at my local comic/graphic novel conveyor. Friday will be VIDEO DAY, wherein I will post a video, either one I was personally involved with, or not, and maybe with a bit of commentary about it. We'll see how this works out, if I can keep my own schedule or if I will be damned to flounder at even this small task. Tune in tomorrow, Rocketeers!

* There is no pie.

** Actually, the ORIGINAL name was "Bigger Than Jesus", but the less said of that, the better.

Nevahs forgets.

2008-01-31T16:25:00.000-05:00

Behind the Lens: Cloverfield

2008-01-29T15:07:00.000-05:00

I was going to write a simple review of the film Cloverfield (which I saw a week ago, but have been wrestling with in my head since), but I could not quite pin down what I wanted to say. I liked the film, no doubts there. I could dare say I come close to loving the hell out of it. But I could not say exactly WHY. Then it hit me. I kept coming back to one line: "People will want to know. . . how it all went down." This one line says so much about the filmmakers' aims and goals, and simultaneously comments on the current direction of popular and media culture, and it echoes through much of the film both thematically and in specific scenes. So, here we are. Cloverfield as cultural lens.

The plot can be summarized thusly: Giant Monster Wrecks House in New York. Most else is superfluous, in the general "this is what happens" scheme of things. But, for sake of expansion of purpose, I'll elaborate a bit more. The movie purports to be "found footage", a "Digital SD card" (which is a bit of a misnomer, as the D in SD stands for digital) recovered by the US Department of Defense from the "site formerly known as 'Central Park'", referring to an incident known as "Cloverfield". So, from the start, there is a sense that something big has happened in New York, big enough to warrant the renaming of Central Park. (Also, Lost fans, there is a blip flash of the Dharma logo during the DoD watermark intro. Clue, or JJ Abrams fucking with people? U-DECIDE!) The "tape" proceeds to document the going-away party thrown for Rob, a young yuppie type who is going to Japan to take a high-profile marketing job, and is attended by a well-maintained balance of hipster stereotypes and ciphers, including Rob's brother Jason, Jason's girlfriend Lily, his friend "Hud" (who is the man behind the camera for the film, and serves as a sort of narrator [and is named for a first person video game term H.U.D., or "heads up display"]), Marlena, whom Hud has a thing for, and a whole host of nameless pretty people. Also attending is Beth, a girl whom Rob has been good friends with for a while, and, we find out through blips in the video which show the footage that was taped over for the party (and aftermath), whom he has recently slept with and then not called since. In the midst of all this dramadramadrama, a giant monster shows up and wrecks house in the city. There is panic, evacuations, deaths and deaths and deaths, 9/11 evocations, miniature parasitic creatures that are very reminiscent of the Xenomorphs from the Alien films and Bugs from Starship Troopers, bodily explosions, more deaths, and one VERY pissed off monster of unknown origin, species, and motives. Much destruction follows. And the camera is running intermittently through out. (One of the complaints from some is that the movie takes place over a 7 hour period, and there's no way the camera's battery lasts that long. Thing is, the camera is not running the whole time. The actual footage is only the 70+ minutes that makes up the film proper. So, the battery only really ran for a little over an hour. Myth: BUSTED.)

The thing I want to talk about though, revolves around a very specific scene right after the proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan. (This is what the first trailer for the film was, shown before Transformers without a title.) During the party, there is what seems to be an earthquake, and many of the kids gather on the roof of the building. A massive explosion happens in the distance and they all flee in a panic for the street, only to see the Statue of Liberty's head flying through the air and come to a rest in the street in front of the building. What happens is very interesting, and very of the moment: the minute it stops moving, onlookers come forward with camera phones and digital cameras (including the camera that provides the audience's POV) and begin to film the head.

That scene, plus the line mentioned above, combine to make a statement about modern society and how people in our culture deal with reality. Shakespeare said "All the world's a stage," and this attitude has been taken to the extreme now, as people need the lens of a camera to make things "real". Any given situation can be said to "be something like a movie" or "like something from TV," to the extent that people LIVE like they are characters in a film. People will not believe something that has not been filmed, analyzed, poked, prodded, and dissected ad nauseum. (And yes, I realize the irony of that statement in an essay analyzing a film. Fuck off, grasshopper.) Reality TV is only a small symptom of this, but it's the most obvious one. See also: celebrity gossip shows.

This plays into one of the major complaints people who dislike the movie have: the unlikability of the characters. The problem here is that I don't see the characters as being all that unlikable. We don't know them enough to like or dislike them. They are the barest of sketches, just enough so that we can feel bad about them getting killed or maimed, or to provide them with motivation for their actions later in the film. The problem here is that they are TOO real. Like mentioned before, there is an astonishing amount of people who act like they are the main character in a constantly filming movie of their life. While there is nothing wrong with this approach to life, it leads to somewhat of a disconnect with how they actually appear to be. I posit that if five random people were placed into the situation of Cloverfield, that they would not act significantly different than the actual characters of the film. People believe they are more interesting and significant in the grand scheme of life than they actually are, and can't see the irony of not finding other ordinary people uninteresting. A pair of ducks, yes.

I don't think this is where the interesting things about the film end. There is much to be said about the 9/11 parallels (and much has been said elsewhere, believe me), and the viral marketing behind the film was a thing of genius. As it stands, I also think there is a strange commentary on the film making process inherent in the film, whether intended by the filmmakers or not. All filmmakers have to, by definition, have the attitude that "People will want to know. . . how it all went down." Otherwise, what is the point of making a movie? The lens of the camera both records and reflects, and the focus isn't always what you think it is.

Victorian 1.

2008-01-25T16:27:00.000-05:00

"M'lud," said the gentleman, "it is not often that one finds himself in the presence of such a fine and honorable personage as yourself."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," replied the judge, "I find myself in such a presence every time I look in the mirror." And the court laughed at his wit and gaiety. Oh my, how they laughed.

Then they all perished of cholera.

Quoting the Cube*

2008-01-21T18:50:00.000-05:00

I am currently in the process of writing 2 blog entries of film review and analysis (on Cloverfield and The Fountain, respectively), and a short story about ghosts and writing, and 2 different songs, and still attempting to piece together a story in my head about dealing with the death of a loved one and robots (I AM AMBITIOUS AND FULL OF BEES!), thus you, my wonderful reader[s], are receiving the following list of quotes that I A) like quite a bit, and B) tend to apply to my own personal world-view. And you know very well that all that I say and do is right.**

So anyway, more substantial content coming in the near future, but for now... courage! And interesting epigraph-worthy material...

"What is Grand is necessarily obscure to Weak men. That which can be made Explicit to the Idiot is not worth my care."
:: William Blake

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."
:: Philip K. Dick

"Non est ad astra mollis e terris via.
(There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.)"
:: Seneca

"The real secret of magic is that the world is made of words, and that if you know the words that the world is made of you can make of it whatever you wish."
:: Terence McKenna

"See, now! Our sentence is up "
:: Grant Morrison

"When you start worrying about whether someone likes you, or whether you're going to get what you want, or whether you'll ever become the person you want to be, just remember: we're all doomed."
:: Warren Ellis

"I know I can write my way out of this."
:: Blake Schwarzenbach

"A tradition is a past that distorts the present."
:: Albert Camus

""In the beginning the universe was created. This made a lot of people angry and has widely been considered as a bad move."
:: Douglas Adams

"Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content.
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy."
:: William Shakespeare

"Knowing and being are mutually exclusive."
:: Nietzsche

"Appearance blinds, whereas words reveal."
:: Oscar Wilde

"To perpetuate one's name, one must carve it on a heavy stone and sink to the bottom of the sea; depths last longer than heights."
:: Herman Melville

"The world's a fucking brilliant place to live in."
:: Douglas Coupland

"It is not certain that our time has lacked gods; many have been proposed, usually stupid or cowardly ones."
:: Albert Camus

"To define is to limit."
:: Oscar Wilde

"Buy the ticket; Take the ride."
:: Hunter S. Thompson

Plan on seeing more like these at some point in the future. I like collecting interesting quotes.

* Kind of like Gleaming the Cube, but less skateboarding and more literature. Still involves lots of yelling of the word "RADICAL!"

** This statement might be insanely untrue.

In Which I Make a Triumphant Return and Declare Myself Lord and Master of All I Survey

2008-01-06T19:55:00.000-05:00

Maybe I should write something in here. I feel neglectful and ashamed at my lack of productivity towards my worshipful masses. (Hi, Mom!) The pop culture landscape has been rife, RIFE I SAY!, with subjects worthy of venom, bile, and excoriation, and yet I have remained silent, content in my place of "Fuck that, I would rather keep (re)reading Douglas Coupland and David Foster Wallace, while the world falls apart around me." Which, admittedly, is a rather ostrich-esque way of dealing with things. But screw you, I am the master of this particular domain (not in the internet "domain name" sense, but that's just splitting rabbits), and I will say WHAT I want, WHEN I want, and NOBODY, you hear me meatball?, is going to tell me otherwise!
.....
Sorry, I went all Master Shake for a second, I needed a space to breathe.

BUT ANYWAY, like I said, there's been a lot that has pissed me off, and I would go into exactly what, but then this would become a fount of negativity, and if there's anything that there is too much of on the internet, it's porn. Followed by cat pictures. Then negativity. And I'd like to think that, today, in this rather expansive and (some might say rarely) jolly mood that I am in, I'd like to balance that equation with some positivity. So, without further ado (ok, maybe SOME ado), I will write on what my favorite things of the past Year of Their Lord Two Thousand and Seven are. Bear in mind, this is just one lone (handsome intelligent and awesome) man's opinion, and that it might not necessarily agree with yours. In that case, leave a comment, telling me I'm wrong and why, and then fuck off and start your own blog.* But yes, favorite things, here we go:

Favorite Movie of 2007:
HOT FUZZ
Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg are awesome. That could be the only sentence in this section, and it would still be a perfect encapsulation of why I love this film. They have made two almost perfect films now, Shaun of the Dead and this one, and also produced previously the great BBC series Spaced, and I am now willing to follow them everywhere they go. I mean, jeez, even their contribution to Grindhouse, the fake trailer for a British horror movie Don't!, was genius.

Hot Fuzz was a note-perfect parody of the distinctly American genre of "Buddy Cop" action movies, but set in a distinctly non-American setting: a rural village in England. Skewering every cliche and trope that the genre is known for in its first two-thirds, while also playing as a wonderful mystery with elements of the giallo, the movie then takes an abrupt, Adaptation-esque turn, and BECOMES what it was parodying: a thrill-ride action movie. Except this time, the audience is in on the joke, and what would have seemed ridiculous earlier now makes complete sense in the world that Pegg and Wright have established. As full of laughs as Shaun of the Dead (which I maintain is, along with the first Back to the Future, one of the few perfect screenplays**), it's not only the funniest movie of the year, it's one of the best, period.

honorable mentions: Grindhouse, American Gangster, Knocked Up

Favorite Album of 2007:
Motion City Soundtrack - Even If It Kills Me
I wholly reserve the right to change this at some future date, as I am nothing if not capricious about music. But, as of right now, Motion City Soundtrack's latest entry in their catalog of goodness is the number one on my own personal Billboard chart. While not as rough as their earlier work, and without the apologetic air of "I fucked up" of their last album, the pop sheen production on this album, along with the much more... well, not overtly positive, but less mopey lyrics, I suppose?... makes Justin Pierre and company's latest effort the one I keep coming back to out of the albums that have come out this year.

The themes hit the usual for Pierre: love, loss, love lost, but this time, it ends on a good note. His struggles with his chemical dependencies and mental instability have been well-chronicled, both on the previous records and elsewhere, but his new-found sobriety seems to have coincided with a brighter outlook in his love-life, as the songs "It Had to Be You", "Antonia" and the title track evidence. The stand out track to me, though, is number 4, "Last Night", if only for the bridge section, which contains the lines "My body aches, it heaves it shakes / all somersaults for so-called art. And I still don't know exactly who I am / I never will, amen." No one knows exactly who they are, and it takes a very strong person to admit that. This album is a great accomplishment for the band, and a stand-out for the year in general.

Honorable mentions: Radiohead - In Rainbows, Sundowner - Four One Five Two, Say Anything - In Defense of the Genre

Favorite Book of 2007:
The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland
Douglas Coupland is a writer I have been following since high school. To give a better picture of that statement: the only other writers who also fall in that category are William Gibson and JRR Tolkien. My reading taste has changed... not drastically, but has... I suppose the phrase would be "been refined" since then. And yet, Coupland remains. He endures. And this year, he put out one of his best novels since Girlfriend in a Coma (which is in my top 5 all-time).***

Honorable mentions: Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis, Rant by Chuck Palahniuk, I am America (And So Can You) by Stephen Colbert

Favorite Comic/Graphic work of 2007:
The Nightly News by Jonathan Hickman

This one was the hardest for me to decide, because there was quite a few great things to choose from this year. And it was made even harder by how much OLDER things I read this year, which confused in my head what came out when, and so forth. As it stand, Jonathan Hickman's mini-series from Image, The Nightly News, keeps popping out in my head as the one. The very distinct art style, and very "controversial" subject matter, kept me interested and involved through it's running time.****

Honorable mentions: LoEG: the Black Dossier by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill, Casanova by Matt Fraction and Gabriel Ba/Fabio Moon, Fell by Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith

___________________________________________

SO. Yes. I will be writing in here more. So, check back... I dunno, a lot. There'll eventually be more posts. And they will be fun. And full of awesome. Much like me!

* Make sure to link to me, and tell me, and then we'll have a circle of disagreement. It'll be AWESOME.

** I'll probably do an entire post on my views on this in the future.

*** More info coming.

**** More info coming.

Dazzle.

2007-11-05T18:45:00.000-05:00

"Sparkle for me, darling," she says, as we step out of the car.

We arrive, as usual, overdressed and very aware of it, the glow off her jewelry and my shoes bright enough to be visible in space. The heads turn, eyes wide and mouths gaped in disbelief. "Who are they?" the looks say, "and how dare they upstage us?"

This is a benefit dinner, of some sort, no doubt to pay for research into trendy-charity-of-the-month. I didn't bother to check the ticket before we entered. Appearances, you see, must be maintained at all times. It would be uncouth to be caught looking at the invite. And besides, I paid top dollar for them. . . who cares where the money is going? As long as they know it was a lot of it.

Her long, dark hair flows down her naked back, stopping just short of where the dress begins. She's already met, flirted, fucked, and left every person in the room just by entering the door; now, they all just get to bask in the afterglow. We shine, we sparkle, we dazzle. We are supernovae.

Circulation is a must, along with appearance. Walk, talk with the coterie. Discuss appropriations, mergers, business dealings in Siam. "But isn't that an outdated name?" A conspiratorial wink and grin, and a "Keeping ahead of the game, sir. There's rumbling underground, if you keep your ear there to hear," are all it takes to win over another investment jockey with too much money and not enough conscience or common sense. Morons.

I see her across the room, laughing and fondling the tie of an ex-ex-yuppie. Radiant, gorgeous. . . how can I not look? She catches me staring, and her eyes flit briefly up to the ceiling and back, then excuses herself from the grasp of the sweating and obviously infatuated conversant. I walk a circle around the room. Being seen, being noticed, making sure all the old and new money know they've been out-done, and that they know that we know.

We slowly make our way to each other, meeting in the center of the floor. I breathe into her ear, "You are brighter than the North Star, tonight and every night." She blushes slightly, the red slowly creeping up her almost bare chest and into her radiant face, "How many times have you said that, and it still gets to me?" She touches my cheek, smooth and soft, slowly outlining my jaw and chin, and whispers, "Shall we be supernovae?"

She depresses the small device in her purse and the bomb blows out the coat room, the front door area, and half the lobby. Pandemonium, fire, smoke, alarms, sirens. The sprinklers come on, and we're still standing in the center of the floor, oblivious to the noise and terror and running bodies. We're sparkling. We glow.

Three hours later, as the highway miles pass, as she discards her wig and I remove my facial prostheses, as we laugh and plan for the next day, the stars are bright in the sky. We outshine them all.

Movies A-Z, sucka.

2007-08-22T20:04:00.000-04:00

I am returned! Again! Or rather, I have something to do here. Because Sleep Is Overrated, or some other such slogan-type phrase that I'm sure is more appropriate.

Anyway, this here is an A-Z list of movies I enjoy and love (leaving out the 4 major trilogies [SW, LotR, BttF, and Indy]), because I am in need of some sort of positivity, and lord knows I can't count on the day-to-day world to provide it on a fairly regular basis. So, without further ado:

Almost Famous

Brazil

Children of Men

Dogma

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Groundhog Day

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Incredibles, the

Jurassic Park

Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy

Life Aquatic, the

Monty Python's Life of Brian

Nightmare Before Christmas, the

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Pi

Quick and the Dead, the

Royal Tenenbaums, the

Shaun of the Dead

This is Spinal Tap

United 93

V for Vendetta

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

X-men

Yellow Submarine

Zoolander

__________________________________________

So what are some of yours? I challenge thee!

Desert Planet 1.

2007-06-28T18:47:00.000-04:00

"The stars are out tonight."

She looked at his face as she said it, searching for a flicker of recognition or acknowledgment, but, getting none, returned her gaze heavenward. The slight phosphorescent pinpricks fascinated her, something very rare these days, since last year anyway.

Her hair blew slightly in the dry breeze, and she closed her hand over his, hoping for an answering squeeze, but again, there was no response. "Oh, Michael," she whispered, "what are you doing in there?"

A brief kiss on his scarred left temple, and she retreated back down into the sanctuary.

Da Vinci's Robot.

2007-06-09T16:19:00.000-04:00

Around 1495, Leonardo da Vinci designed a humanoid automaton. The design notes for the robot appear in sketchbooks that were rediscovered in the 1950s. It is not known whether or not an attempt was made to build the device.

The robot is a knight, clad in German-Italian medieval armor, that is apparently able to make several human-like motions. These motions included sitting up, moving its arms, neck, and an anatomically correct jaw. It is partially the fruit of Leonardo's anatomical research in the Canon of Proportions as described in the Vitruvian Man.

Truth is, there is None. (a short essay)

2007-05-31T21:06:00.000-04:00

The only real truth is that there are none. Or rather, that there are many, and none of them are true. It's all in the perception, and no matter the protestations and complaints of the coterie, truth is entirely subjective and not something to be bandied about extravagantly without regard for the hypocrisy its use implies. Placing the phrase "This is truth" before or after a statement does not automatically validate the preceding or following, and wanfully crying "I only speak the truth" is almost a guarantee that one does not.

Actually, one's views on "truth" wholly depend on one's views of "real", as it were. Since the question of what exactly is real vesus unreal is one that is as yet unanswered (and likely to remain so for quite some time), this path is best left untrod for now. Though, perhaps a quick jaunt is in order: "Reality" depends on perception, and perception varies from one mind to another, often from day to day, hour to hour, within the same mind. Example: the idea of what is a "sad" event (an abstract feeling, at best) to one may, in fact, be considered the opposite to another. If two minds cannot agree on the reality of a statement/action, then how can it be determined to be real? And if its reality is questioned, would not its truth be then brought under suspicion? Thusly, (if this logic is sound), reality and truth are wholly dependent on the subject, and there can be no one reality/truth. And so it goes on, every statement can be proven both real and unreal, both true and false, occasionally both states existing concurrently. Often, abstract concepts are ascribed as real or true, but their very abstraction defies the labels; describe the color "blue", the feeling "happy", in a way that someone who has never experienced it would be able to understand. There lies the wall between abstraction and truth.

This leads, naturally, to the concept of "self-truth", or what one considers to be true to one's self, one's own nature. As this is an even more personal and singular version of the "real" fallacy, one can see where the breakdown of truth begins. If one cannot hold up his own thoughts/feelings as true/real, then the whole of existence is laid bare as suspect. This leads down the path to Nihilism and the statement of Aleister Crowley's "Nothing is true, everything is permitted." If such a belief were to become widespread, the consequences on human society would be to have, in Yeats' words, "mere anarchy . . . loosed upon the world." Society, and human culture as a whole, survives based on what can be termed a "mututally agreed upon delusion", a universal lie, if you will, that there are some truths held as unassailable. This does not mean they are exempt from the preceding argument, the argument is just ignored or not acknowledged. This is reflected in a line from (of all things) the television series Seinfeld. A show from the 1990's, Seinfeld purported to be "about Nothing", both in the literal and the philosophical sense, and it was as close to a nihilistic portrayal of modern life as was widely available at the time. The line, spoken by the character of George Costanza, is "It's not a lie if you believe it." A more concise way of saying that the truth depends on one's belief, and that once one ceases to believe in something, it ceases to be true. As before, perception equals reality equals truth.

The nature of truth is fickle, and the surface can scarce be scratched as to the definition and delineation of it as both abstract concept and concrete formation of logic/belief. The perpetuation of the mutually agreed upon delusion will keep it as such for the forseeable future, though one can certainly hope that someday people will realize the essential meaninglessness of declaring things true or false based on the whims and vagaries of society, mass culture, and their own peculiar brain chemistrys and predjudices. The continual reliance of politicians and their brethren on statements such as "I'm a straight shooter", "I do not lie", "I only deal in truths", or "Everything I say is true" only point out the shallowness of the speaker and the inherent fallacy of their arguments, not to mention the implied falseness of their statements. The only truth one can trust, it seems, is one's own. And even that can be a lie, truthfully.

Constellations.

2007-05-21T19:03:00.000-04:00

Jack says the planets are misaligned, and thats why people die. I don't believe him, but he says it so convincingly.

"Death is inevitable," I counter, "and the position of Jupiter relative to Pluto holds no bearing on this." But I am unable to change his beliefs.

"We are all at the whims of a cosmic ballet that went awry the moment the sun solidified and the proto-planets began to swirl in aharmonic swirls around it." He likes using the big words, he thinks it will confuse me and cause me to drift into logical fallacies, or even worse, into his line of thinking. But I am not one to drag myself down into these meaningless conjectures on the nature of the universe.

"There are more pressing matters," I say, full of hot air and the TRUTH, "And we have much to do, in the time allotted us on earth." He does not debate me on this point, only nods and continues driving.

We are going to a funeral, for the late Christine Doran. I never knew her that well, which makes the fact that she is dead slightly at odds with what I normally associate with the event. Whereas in most cases a death of an acquaintance brings tears, and fond memories, and reminisces on what the person was like, in the case of the recently departed Ms. Doran, it is like the disappearance of a background character in a movie. She was an extra, in so many words. Not to be missed to any great extent, but her absence is noticeable, if you saw her there in the first place.

Jack rolls down the window. (Well he doesn't roll it, per se. He powers it down. We need new verbs, to keep up with the technological advances in car design.) He tosses out his half-finished Camel unfiltered. "It is bad form to smoke amongst the dead, and a funeral as well." He makes pseudo-profound statements like this often. On first listen they sound clever, but they don't stand up to repeated inspection. The gem of the bunch has always been "We are in love with who we pretend to be."

I glance behind us, but there's no one else on the road right now. Its 6 am, on a Sunday, but we're still an hour away from the place we need to be.

I have never liked funerals anyway. I don't know why anyone would. Other than pseudo-goth teenagers, elitist art types, and people who are in love with the idea of death. I'd prefer to be spending this morning asleep, and then doing something. And it would most definitely not be something involving a dead background character and a manic-depressive astronomer. Meaning Christine, and Jack, respectively.

"We are the living impaired," he begins intoning again, "we go from routine to routine and lay the tracks for our demises slowly through each day, never giving thought to the cosmical joke that has been played on us."

"I'm fairly sure that Neptune had nothing to do with the car that ran Christine off the road, Jack." I am glaring now. I don't glare often, it is uncomfortable. But I'm doing it now.

"Ah, but, you see, dear sir Matthew, he DID have something to do." Oh he was really on a roll now. "If not for the exact position of the aforementioned blue-green planet in the sky of that fateful evening, perchance young Ms. Doran would never have been in the path of the oncoming vehicle which struck her so violently."

"Your hypothesis is unprovable, 'Sir Jackson', so I'd appreciate it kindly if you would just drop it." I think I put too much anger in the statement, it sounded much harsher than I meant to.
Jack stares at me for a brief moment. "Very well." Yes, I definitely hit some nerve, because he keeps quiet for the next 45 minutes.

We arrive at the cemetery at 7:23 am, and I can see the small group of mourners already gathered near the site. Jack parks, and as I reach to open the door, he stops me by grabbing my arm quickly and gently.

"Matt," he says quietly, "I didn't mean to offend or upset you in any way. If I have, I'm sorry. I am afraid of death, and all it says about the human condition and our accomplishments. We are a species who works all our entire short lives to build something or discover something or create something with which to outlive ourselves, but we all end up in the same position in the end. Confronting this head-on is a hard prospect for me, as I am concerned with distances and measurements and physics, and there is no place in them for conjectures on an afterlife or the persistance of memory. I am frightened of the thought of leaving nothing behind but a small gathering of people who view me as a sideline in the cinematic of their lives."

He lets go, and I nod, because I am unsure how to respond to his confession. We both get out of our respective sides of the car, and adjust our jackets and ties. Before we head up the hill, we take a second to collect ourselves. I grasp his shoulder briefly, and he says without looking at me, "We are the living impaired, Matt."

I reply, "Yes we are, but there is hope. We're not dead yet."

OK Computer.

2007-05-08T23:33:00.001-04:00

Radiohead's OK Computer is often thought to depict a dystopia, and its artwork contains references to George Orwell's novels, especially Nineteen Eighty-Four. The band have cited Orwell several times throughout their career. However, singer Thom Yorke said, "Loads of the music on OK Computer is extremely uplifting. It's only when you read the words that you'd think otherwise." A notable aspect of the album is an apparently circular narrative. In the opening song "Airbag", someone survives a horrific car crash, while the final song "The Tourist" contains the line "they ask me where the hell I'm going / at a thousand feet per second" and ends with a chorus of "hey man, slow down". However, the band said this had not been intentional, but they had noticed it after finalising the track listing.

core-collapse supernova

2007-05-07T18:14:00.000-04:00

The core collapse of sufficiently massive stars may not be halted. Degeneracy pressure and repulsive neutron-neutron interactions can only support a neutron star whose mass does not exceed the Tolman-Oppenheimer-Volkoff limit of very roughly 4 solar masses. Above this limit, the core collapses to directly form a black hole, perhaps producing a (still theoretical) hypernova explosion. In the proposed hypernova mechanism (known as a collapsar) two extremely energetic jets of plasma are emitted from the star's rotational poles at nearly light speed. These jets emit intense gamma rays, and are one of many candidate explanations for gamma ray bursts.

newspeak

2007-05-06T13:20:00.000-04:00

It was only after a decade of national wars, civil wars, revolutions, and counter-revolutions in all parts of the world that Ingsoc and its rivals emerged as fully worked-out political theories. But they had been foreshadowed by the various systems, generally called totalitarian, which had appeared earlier in the century, and the main outlines of the world which would emerge from the prevailing chaos had long been obvious. What kind of people would control this world had been equally obvious. The new aristocracy was made up for the most part of bureaucrats, scientists, technicians, trade-union organizers, publicity experts, sociologists, teachers, journalists, and professional politicians. These people, whose origins lay in the salaried middle class and the upper grades of the working class, had been shaped and brought together by the barren world of monopoly industry and centralized government. As compared with their opposite numbers in past ages, they were less avaricious, less tempted by luxury, hungrier for pure power, and, above all, more conscious of what they were doing and more intent on crushing opposition.

"The Piano Lesson"

2007-05-05T16:42:00.000-04:00

Discovering manifold artistic movements that coexisted or succeeded one another on the dynamic Parisian artistic scene, such as Neo-Classicism, Realism, Impressionism, and Neo-Impressionism, Matisse began to experiment with a diversity of styles, employing new kinds of brushwork, light, and composition to create his own pictorial language.

Gatling gun.

2007-05-02T21:04:00.000-04:00

The Gatling gun may have been the first "machine gun", depending on how machine gun is defined, as it was capable of firing continuous bursts of fire. Unlike designs like the Maxim gun, which operate the mechanism using a fraction of the power of the fired cartridge, the Gatling gun relies on external power, such as a hand crank, or motor. Some later Gatling-type weapons diverted gas from the barrels to spin the rotating barrels.

Crab Nebula

2007-05-01T23:50:00.000-04:00

A significant problem in studies of the Crab Nebula is that the combined mass of the nebula and the pulsar add up to considerably less than the predicted mass of the progenitor star, and the question of where the 'missing mass' is remains unresolved.

knoxville.

2007-04-30T02:26:00.000-04:00

"On the plus side, I knocked over the Sunsphere."

the Gunpowder Treason.

2007-04-29T14:36:00.000-04:00

The aims of the Gunpowder conspirators are frequently compared to modern terrorists; however, this is an anachronistic application of a modern concept. The plotters aims were nothing short of a total revolution in the government of England, which would have killed the King along with leading noblemen and led to the installation of a Catholic monarch. As such the plot was regarded as a treasonous act of attempted regicide.

Mister Miracle.

2007-04-28T12:07:00.000-04:00

As the God of Escaping, Mister Miracle (alias Scott Free) is the master of Escapology bar none, aided by vastly superior technology, including the sentient computer Motherbox. He is the keeper of the Anti-Life Equation, and possesses the will power not to use it.

Clay Shaw.

2007-04-27T17:47:00.001-04:00

Clay Laverne Shaw (March 17, 1913 – August 14, 1974) was a successful businessman in the U.S. city of New Orleans, Louisiana. He is notable as the only person ever to be tried for conspiracy in relation to the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison prosecuted Shaw on the claim that he used the alias "Clay Bertrand" among New Orleans' gay society and conspired with anti-Castro Cubans to assassinate Kennedy. Shaw was acquitted on all charges.

Soyuz.

2007-04-27T01:26:00.000-04:00

About five percent of the people that have been launched have died doing so (because astronauts often launch more than once). As of November 2004, 439 individuals have flown on spaceflights: Russia/Soviet Union (96), USA (277), others (66). Twenty-two have died while in a spacecraft: three on Apollo 1, one on Soyuz 1, one on X-15-3, three on Soyuz 11, seven on Challenger, and seven on Columbia. By space program, 18 NASA astronauts (4.1%) and four Russian cosmonauts (0.9% of all the people launched) died while in a spacecraft.

schematics.

2007-04-25T00:01:00.000-04:00

This is Nikola Tesla's generation system using AC circuits to transport energy across great distances.

repurposeing.

2007-04-20T01:30:00.000-04:00

ATTENTION:

Since I apparently cannot be counted on to write (what I consider) "somewhat conherent entries" about pop culture and things I consider worthwhile and intelligent on a regular basis, I will now be switching gears a bit, and repurposing the blog into more of a "random fact of the day" type deal.

Basically, I'm lazy and can't be buggered to write essays about whatever movie/album/book I'm obsessing over at any given moment.

I mean, yes, if the mood strikes I still might whip one out (heh) every so often, but from now on the majority of entries will consist of a single random image, and probably a sentence or two related to it. And they will indeed be very random. Probably taken from wikipedia or found through a google search, maybe from my copious archives of completely bizarre things, who knows?

So yes, thanks for reading, and keep watching the skis.

(Yes, "skis".)

Marvelous Mess.

2007-03-20T19:14:00.000-04:00

It's hard to speak your mind when your mouth is full of blood. It tastes terrible, which puts the existence of real vampires in serious doubt. It keeps dribbling out of the corners of your lips, and even if you do attempt to say something, words only come out sounding like "Bfollah glphx glblbbupss." Or something to that effect.

The circumstances of my condition of arterial material leakage and bad taste were caused by a singular person. Well, to be fair, a punch in the mouth from this person was the cause, but it's not like her fist gained a sentience all its own and randomly decided to cold-cock me in the craw. She had a part in the decision, no doubt. But I suppose these things happen.

There's blood spots on the floor by my feet, and a few on my shoes. They're black (my shoes), so I'm not too worried about stains, but I'm trying to be careful and not spread the spots by stepping on them. This is becoming increasingly difficult, as it just keeps leaking out. You can apparently swallow quite a bit of your own blood without getting sick. Ask me how I know. No, seriously, ask me.

She's staring me full in the face, I guess expecting some sort of reply. Maybe an apologetic whimper, maybe even a gasp of shamefaced pain? Who knows. If I even open my mouth, she'll be bombarded by a gout of my lifesblood and will more than likely pop me another one. She didn't take her ring off, I just noticed. Some sort of cosmic symbolism, or proof that God's a prick with an ironic sense of humor? Whatever, it's done. We're done.

There's a sense of finality to that statement, one which only infidelity, a cracked molar, and a mouthful of blood can support. Don't worry about who did what. Things were done, things were said, and jaws were clocked. Well, "jaw", anyway. There's blood on my shirt, and it's staining an interesting pattern into the white cotton. I wonder if it will come out in the wash? Oh man, I'm starting to get a little dizzy. Shake it off, man, you'll be good, you'll be fine.

Still no move or response on either party's behalf, by the way. I'm afraid if I move she's going to slug me again, and I'm sure she's still waiting for a replay of some sort. Maybe I should. Say something, I mean. But what? "I'm sorry everything I just told you was true and you didn't like it"? Yeah, not gonna cut it. Maybe if I just step back a bit and ok that was a bad idea. I'm more dizzy then I thought.

There's a small pool forming by my feet, where is all this coming from? I don't think this is good, maybe I should say something quick before she leaves or I die of asphyxiation from holding my breath or something. Wait . . . That's it, I've got it, I know the perfect thing to say! I've got the answer, the best answer a man has ever given a woman in the history of oh god here comes the pavement.

First Draft.

2007-01-21T19:06:00.000-05:00

I.
"It's all right, David," Jesse said. "You can touch me, if you want."

My hand trembled as I reached out. I was afraid of being burnt, my hand was shaking so much, but as I softly grazed her cheek, it didn't feel hot... but cool, like she was already dead.

She wasn't, of course. She wasn't even sick, or near death. But my mind comes up with morbid turns of phrase of its own accord sometimes, and I can't help but to just ride the wave and hope I don't crash on the breakers.

Jesse smiled, that smile that says she knows something that I don't, and touched my hand. I flinched, and recoiled slightly. It'd been awhile since the last time I'd been handled with such care and grace (1 year, 4 months, 18 days), and just the very act spoke volumes to me of what could be.

"I'm afraid," I said, my voice breaking in spite of myself.

"Of what?"

"Everything."

She smiled again, and said, "So am I. But not right now"

II.
I first saw her in the city.

Never one to stand out or draw attention to myself, I didn't say anything for a few weeks. Every day, though, I'd see her: walking, sitting on a bench in the park, laughing, smiling. I saw her everywhere. In my paranoia of the time, I thought she was following me, to set me up, and mocking me in an especially cruel way. I became used to her presence, though. It was almost an afterthought when I brought myself to actually talk to her.

Turns out, she noticed me too. Still unsure why, as I am (and make an effort to be) nondescript in almost every way possible. Nonetheless, we spoke. And while I'd like to say that angels sang and the sky opened up and light shined down and all was right with the world... no. Instead, I got the distinct feeling she thought me a bit weird.

We continued to run into each other everywhere; me as I wandered to and fro in search of employment and music opportunities; her, as she advanced from temp job to temp job. Eventually, this segued into spending time WITH each other, rather than just AROUND each other.

We went to movies, concerts, nowhere in particular. We fell in love, as happens sometimes. My phobias of abandonment began to emerge, but she would put them to rest with simple words, and a kiss.

And it was good.

III.
"Can you even hear me?" she yelled. "David! Are you even listening?"

We were fighting again. This had become an almost daily occurance, and very unpredictable. I don't even remember what this one was about.

"Acknowledge me, dammit!"

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I AM listening."

"No, you're not, you're writing, aren't you?" She seemed almost incredulous. "You're transcribing this so you can show everyone the progression of our non-existent relationship. I bet you're even using some odd time jumps, and reverse chronology, and other clever literary devices."

I was taken aback. "Why would you say this?"

"Because I know you. In a way, I AM you. Because you don't think you're a strong enough writer to get by without them. Because, as you've probably already written somewhere, you're afraid of everything, especially change and progress. Do you think your 'audience' won't realize I'm a cipher? That there is no real 'Jesse'? That I'm just a cardboard cut-out you're using as a nod to your abandonment issues, and a counter-balance to your egotistical fascination with your own pseudo-phobias? You're transparent, they will see through you."

"No, that's not it at all, I'm just--"

"'You're just writing what you know,'" she sounded resigned now. "'You're just telling the truth', right? Except it's not, its not true. Its fiction, it says so right in the title. There are no 'perfect meetings' or 'encapsulated moments' in reality. There is no one truth. Its all subjective, and the moments have to be taken together, good bad and indifferent. You don't need to make me up, or make anything up. Just tell them YOUR truth, Nick, and the rest will take care of itself."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this. "But Jesse, I don't know--"

"STOP. Stop calling me that. And no, you don't know. No one knows anything. They can only guess, and speculate, and decide on their own. You say that you're afraid? So is everyone else, and they get by just fine."

I blinked. And then I stopped imagining things as I would like them to be. "I'm sorry."

But there was no one there to say it to.

IV.
I sat down, and I began to write

Hail to the king, baby.

2006-12-05T00:30:00.000-05:00

The ladder climb was always the hardest part. Hand over hand, not necessarily straight up, as the rope ladder would bend and sway under my weight, but the direction was most assuredly upward. Sure, it was difficult, but that was half the fun. Getting to the top was the challenge, and once I got there I could survey the entire scope of the playground. My playground.

Looking back, it wasn't what I would consider an inordinately large area. In fact, it was quite small in comparison to others I've since seen. But to me, it was enormous. I was only nine years old though. To me, the little three-street development I lived in was a large suburb unto itself. So of course the tiny neighborhood playground looked immense. I looked upon it as my castle, from which I could survey my (self-proclaimed) kingdom, and from where I would rule with an iron-clad, 3rd Grade fist.

Entering the gate of the fence that surrounded it, I could see the entirety of the playground area, for the most part. Far to the left is the tennis court, where some friends and I would occasionally hold home-run derbies, and where, later in my youth, we'd play roller hockey almost every day. Next to that, but mostly obscured by trees from the stated vantage point, is the basketball court, where during the summers of late grade school I'd spend hours practicing my jump-shot. These days, I'm not exactly the most physically active person around, so any skill or musculature I gained has long since faded away into memory.

The first thing I would always go for when I entered the playground proper was the tire swing. It was like my own personal merry-go-round. It was a big tire too; not a dinky car tire, one of those huge tires they use for monster trucks. I'd sit down and spin it so fast the rest of the world would become a blur, everything in my vision running together like a piece of spin art. When it eventually stopped spinning, as inertia took hold, I'd be so dizzy I couldn't even walk straight. I'd have to sit down next to the big tire and lean against one of the vertical support posts until the kaliedoscopic spinning of the world returned to normal.

There were two slides, each on different from the other in any number of ways. The first was traditional slide. You've seen the type: steel, a straight slope, with a horizontal bar extending across two vertical ones at the top. It wasn't a long slide, maybe six or seven feet. It was good for doing flips though, whereby I'd sort-of throw myself over the horizontal bar, flip over it, plant my feet on the slide itself, and run down the rest of the length. Sure, it was dangerous. In fact, I probably could've been seriously injured, maybe even broken my neck. But when you're that young, you feel as invincible as Superman. Like nothing can hurt you.

The other slide was the centerpiece of the playground. The rope ladder I mentioned earlier? It led up to the top of the slide. After I'd climbed it, there was a small landing, where I'd usually rest a bit. Attached to the end of the landing was a circular, metal, almost turret-like room. This is where I'd stand and survey my "kingdom." After a while, I'd get bored standing there, so I'd slide down the twisting yellow tube which was attached to the turret. There were portholes in the tube, so I could see flashes of the world outside while I was sliding down. Once I'd reached the bottom, there would be two obvious choices open to me: climb the ladder again, or go home. In one of my earliest displays of lateral thinking, I'd normally climb back up the slide. What can I say, I was a youthful iconoclast.

The playground was one of the most stable parts of my childhood. It seemed like any of the kids I was friends with would move away shortly after arriving. The playground, though, was a constant, unchanging. It was always there for me, no matter the season or the weather. As I grew older, I went there less and less, as my growing interest in feminine companionship and my burgeoning music talent held my attention more easily. But I've never forgotten the fun I had at the playground. My kingdom.

V for Vendetta: anarchy vs. democracy

2006-11-05T13:49:00.000-05:00

Dystopian futures in fiction often spring from conflict in society. Whether consciously or not, the writer taps into some vein of discontent and dissatisfaction that runs through the culture of the time and translates it into a skewed vision of the future. Often, this results in a vision of a totalitarian or authoritarian government, and the conflict that ensues from the struggle between concepts such as "personal freedom" and "security." V for Vendetta, written by Alan Moore with art by David Lloyd, is no exception to this. First published in the early 1980's, it was originally released in serialized "chapters" in Warrior, a UK magazine, and later picked up for re-release by the American publisher DC Comics. DC has since collected the entirety of the story in a trade paperback that is released under its "Vertigo" imprint, which is used for such non-superhero (and mature reader oreinted) works such as Neil Gaiman's Sandman and Preacher. In 2005, an adaptation was filmed for Warner Brothers studios (who own DC Comics) co-written and produced by Larry and Andy Wachowski, creators of the Matrix trilogy, and directed by James McTeigue. Released to theaters in March 2006 in the US, the adaptation was number one at the box office for its first weekend, and is generally considered to be a successful release financially.

The problems of adaptation arise when one attempts to translate a work from one format into another; in this case, from serialized sequential graphic art (or "comic book" form, as it is widely known) into a film format. The nature of the comic form brings with it unique problems from that of straight prose novels. The art of the piece lends itself to a very visual syle, which can benefit a filmmaker attempting to adapt it, as the "heavy lifting" of designing a visual look is done. But a large part of some comics (V for Vendetta included) is the juxtapostion of images on the page and the placement of the images within the individual panels. This is something that is less easily translated to film. Another of Alan Moore's works, Watchmen, which is considered by many critics and fans to be the Citizen Kane of comics, makes use of symbolic imagery and symmetry within the panel grid which would be impossible to translate onto film in any way. This is in addition to the normal problems of adaptation: anachronisms related to the time written versus the time filmed, plot points which work in a long form novel but which must be excised or compressed in a two-plus hour film, and themes which relate to the work as originally written but may not relate to the adaptor's view of what the work means. All these are in evidence in V for Vendetta the film, and all work to slightly change the meaning behind the story from that which Alan Moore originally intended.

One of the immediate changes made is that the film opens with a recreation and explanation of the Gunpowder Plot perpetrated by Guy Fawkes. The character of V's look, in both book and film, is supposed to be reminiscent of Fawkes, down to the mask he wears be a Guy Fawkes mask, so the sequence is not entirely out of place. The movie was made for American audiences, most of whom are not familiar with the legend of Guy Fawkes, and thus the connection between his actions (a plot to blow up Parliament) and V's planned actions is explicitly stated. The problem with this is that V's character in the book is NOT Fawkes-like, other than in his explosion of Parliament. In the book, V is an anarchist. He states as much, declaring his love of anarchy in a scene not in the movie, where he has a "conversation" with a statue of the lady Justice. He has a full back and forth dialogue with himself, representing both his own person and Justice, his former love, which culminates in his revelation that "there's someone else now . . . Her name is Anarchy and she has taught me more as a mistress than you ever did!" (Moore 40-41) He then leaves a small package, looking like the traditional heart-shaped box of chocolates, at the foot of the statue, which subsequently explodes. The last panel of the page is a close-up of V turning to the "camera", and saying "The flames of freedom. How lovely. How just.
Ahh, my precious Anarchy . . . 'O beauty, 'til now I never knew thee.'" (Moore 41) The end quote comes from Shakespeare's Henry VIII, act i, sc. iv. In his series of essays on the adaptation of V for Vendetta to film, Peter Sanderson refers to an interview with Moore where he stated "'I was just using Guy Fawkes as a symbol, without really any references to the historical Guy Fawkes. It was the bonfire night Guy Fawkes I was referencing, with the at the time easily available Guy Fawkes masks.'" Sanderson than goes on to state that "In Moore's series Fawkes thus becomes a symbol. If the fascists have taken over England, and the government has become the enemy, then Fawkes, the enemy of the government, becomes a freedom fighter. V impersonates a villain of British history, thus taking on the role of the devil, to fight for a noble cause." The film's connecting Fawkes so blatantly to V is thus not something intended by the text. In addition, the deletion of the Lady Justice scene from the story, and thus eliminating V's declared love of anarchy, takes out of the story one of the reasons V gives for blowing up Parliament, which is, as stated by Peter Sanderson, that "V seems to be arguing that this version of Justice has forfeited his allegiance by becoming linked with totalitarian rule; that is how he justifies blowing up the statue and the Old Bailey." The symbols of the old system (Parliament, the Old Bailey, Downing Street) must be torn down and destroyed, as does the system itself.

Another change, seemingly small, made to the text by the filmmakers is the age of Evey Hammond, the main protagonist, other than V, who is played by Natalie Portman in the movie. In the beginning of the book, Evey is 16, and attempting to solicit herself as a prostitute, as her income as a ward of the state is too meager to live on and she sees no other way to make money. Her naievety is apparent, as the first person she approaches turns out to be a "Fingerman," or policeman. The man, with his associates (also Fingermen), attempts to assault Evey, until she is rescued by V, who dispatches the men, including killing one with an explosive device, all while quoting Shakespeare's Macbeth. This begins V's arc of teaching, torturing, and training Evey, to the point that by the end of the book, she has taken his place willingly, in dress if not in method, and thus completes the book's statement of V as a symbol, undying and perpetually moving through history. She rejects V's passion for violence and death, but embraces his cause of anarchy and self-guidance. The movie, though, moves Evey's age up a few years, making her in her early twenties. She works at a television station, and is, while not well off, living well enough to have her own apartment. She leaves her apartment to meet Gordon, a television personality, for a date, in defiance of the curfew that covers London. She is stopped by Fingermen, and the scene unfolds much like the scene from the book. The change of Evey's age means that, in the words of Marc Singer from his essay "V and Virtuality," "Evey is a more adult character now . . . more mature, less vulnerable, and not especially looking for a father figure anymore; she never quite helps V in any premeditated way (until the very end), even working against him at one point in a vain attempt to pry herself out of his clutches." Whereas Evey in the book is vulnerable, and a mess psychologically (not helped by V's tactics and treatment of her through the story), looking for guidance, Evey in the movie is going along just to get along. As Singer says, "that greater confidence means Evey can reject V in no uncertain terms after his worst crimes are revealed. This is more morally palatable for us and better for Evey, but it's worse for the plot as it means she never sticks around to learn the tricks of V's trade, or to denounce his methods once she does." The implication throughout the film (and in one scene, stated plainly) is that Evey loves V in a romantic way, one which is less muddled with abandonement and father issues. Whether this was a natural extension of the story that the filmmakers saw as necessary, or a concession to the American audiences apparent need for a love story in every film, one may never be sure.

As just stated, Evey in the movie is not shown to be carrying on V's legacy as an individual symbol. This spot is taken by the crowd scene towards the end of the film, where the people of the city are shown marching to Parliament wearing the Guy Fawkes masks, wigs, hats, and capes which are identical to V's. This scene is not in the book, and in fact the book has the people of the city taking part in a violent anarchic riot orchestrated by V as a crucible to turn London into the true anarchic society he sees as ideal. This change is enormous, and is fact shifts the focus of V's vendetta, plot and victory from that of a society based in anarchy to a reformed democracy. Towards the end of the book, when all of V's machinations near their climax, he leads Evey on one final tour through his home, the Shadow Gallery, all while discussing anarchy and its aims. "Anarchy wears two faces, both Creator and Destroyer," he says, "Thus Destroyers topple empires; make a canvas of clean rubble where Creators can then build a better world. Rubble, once achieved, makes further ruins' means irrelevant." This speech underscores V's view of anarchy as a creating element. V, in his pirate broadcast on the television station earlier in the book, castigates the people of England for bowing to the government for so long, and thus makes the anarchic riot justified, as in his view, it is the people taking back what was taken from them. The Chancellor, Adam Susan, is assassinated by a common person, a woman whose husband was actually killed by V. Thus is born a society based in anarchic principles, one in which elements are torn down, only to be rebuilt as better from within, which is carried through the end, where the people of London riot and overthrow the
fascist government which has oppressed them. We are never shown the end results, or the after-effects, as the book ends with the riot still in progress. The implication (or hope of V, rather) is that a self-governing society results, with every man representing himself. The film, though, has a different message. The Chancellor, Adam Sutler (played by John Hurt, in what must be a conscious parallel to his role in 1984), is killed by one of his own men, in a situation set up and witnessed by V. As said in an essay on V for Vendetta on the Howling Curmudgeons blog, "That's a reasonably significant difference, because it tends to say that an evil government's undoing is itself, with the result that you don't need to act, you can just wait." The masks and costumes worn by the crowd at the end of the film were sent out by V to the people, reinforcing this view that the change comes from elsewhere, not from within the self. The people can choose to act or not, yes, but the idea to do so came from elsewhere, and was orchestrated and takes place whether those people who received the costumes marched or not. The fact that they chose to en masse is irrelevant; V's pirate broadcast (fairly intact in the film) still applies, as the people have just supplanted one leader symbol (the fascist Norse Fire government) with another (V). The film ends on a note of hope, with the destruction of Parliament and the hopeful looks on the faces of Evey and Finch (a policeman who's arc in the book mimics V's, but in the movie is just V's opposite number of sorts), but it is a false hope, as the same uncertainty which is within the book's ending is prevalent in the film as well, just without the real change of the riot and power struggle taking place in London in the book.

These small changes effect the story in large ways, and there are many changes which have gone unstated as well. The target audiences of the book and film are slightly different, and the time in which each were written are of definite influence. The original serialized form of the book was written in 1981, and, as Moore states in his introduction to the graphic novel collection, "the historical background of the story proceeds from a predicted Conservative defeat in the 1982 General Election . . . It's 1988 now. Margaret Thatcher is entering her third term of office and talking confidently of an unbroken Conservative leadership . . . It's cold and it's mean spirited and I don't like it here anymore." The book was written in an environment of oppressive government and near fascism, which lends itself to the setting and feeling the story evokes. On the other hand, the film was made by American filmmakers in 2005, with the Republican government in charge of the US constantly redefining the powers of the presidency and getting the country engulfed in wars over abstract ideas and false promises. As film reviewer Devin Faraci of Chud.com says in his essay on the film, "It's shocking that a film like V for Vendetta, in which the hero can be described in no other terms but terrorist, has been made by a major movie studio, which is itself a part of a major, world-dominating corporation." The labeling of V as a terrorist in the film is a very deliberate usage, meant to evoke images of 9/11 and Al Quaeda in the minds of viewers, and the fact that V is, in most ways, justifiable in his actions can challenge people to perhaps rethink their views of those we automatically label as "enemies." This is where the film succeeds in its depiction. The book is about the triumph of anarchy over oppressive order. The film is about the power of the people's voice over the voice of the few in power, as exemplified by what is seen by many as the film's tagline: "People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."

kill the big pig, kill the big pig.

2006-10-30T15:03:00.000-05:00

William Golding's Lord of the Flies is a literary classic, no questions there. It has been countlessly ripped off and parodied in movies and television, but there has actually not been a whole lot of direct adaptations. The only two I am aware of are the 1963 British production directed by Peter Brook, and the 1990 American production directed by Harry Hook. And, in my estimation, Peter Brook's interpretation is superior to Harry Hook's version.

Though both have merits and flaws, and are both products of the enviornment and culture in which they were made, Brook's adaptation is the greater, due to its use of symbolism, its closer following of the text, and of the choice to film in black and white. The cinematography evidenced in the Hook version was competent, but did not display the same use of framing and juxtaposition that Brook did, and its use of color, while more suitable for the time in which it was filmed, allowed the film to take shortcuts in representation that Brook did not have access to. For example, in the scene where the boys first start a fire, Hook's film used the bright red fire as a signifier on the screen, its color automatically announcing itself as an important element. The color red stands out when presented as a single element, and the contrast between the boys, the sky, and the fire was clear. Brook's film had no such advantage, being in black and white (or grey-scale). The contrast had to be shown through varying the brightness of the image, and Brook (or his cinematographer) made the interesting choice to up the contrast of the fire against the other elements on-screen, so that it appeared as a large amount of negative space. Symbolically, and taken within the context of the novel, this is more interesting, as the fire, while important for their continuing life, can also be destructive and be a force for taking away life.

The main difference, though, and the one from which a lot of minor differences can be extrapolated, is the choice of Hook (or, more likely, the producers who hired him) to make the boys on the island from an American military camp. The language and attitudes of the boys in the novel, especially towards the beginning, are steeped in the British school system of the time, and changing that element fundamentally changes the prior relationships of the boys. Ralph is no longer made leader due to his more "take charge" attitude (as in Brook's film), he's made leader because he already was one in the cadet corps. Jack, who is shown as more of a totalitarian leader-in-training in Brook, becomes the "bad kid" in Hook's, sent to military school for some unknown offense. This predilection to anarchy and violence in Hook's film makes his descent into tribalism and savagery less effective, as he was already that way before they ever came to the island.

As said previous, there is good and bad in both films, but Brook's vision seems truer to Golding's original novel. Its such a product of its time and setting, that moving the story to a different era and millieu fundamentally damages the plot, and sends it off on tangents that do not benefit the story. Brook's film is the superior. What do you think, Stephen?

Art is hard.

2006-10-23T01:51:00.000-04:00

Album art is very important.

The first thing you see in a record/cd store is the art on the cover. It can be eye-catching, or it can blend in. I feel like the slow transition to on-line music stores is actually sounding the deathknell of well-constructed album art. I've always felt a good cover can do many things: contrast the music within, add to it, comment on it, comment on the themes of the work, anything. So, with that said: these are my top 10 favorite album covers ever.

1. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
I wrote a paper for an art class about the symbolism and composition of this cover. I lost it though, so you're lucky to not be subjected to it. In any event, this is my favorite album cover ever.

2. the Beatles - Abbey Road
Paul's barefoot, because Paul is dead.

3. Radiohead - OK Computer
Moreso than just the front cover art, the entire package is amazing on an aesthetic level. Little written messages in the spine, and a visual representation of the alienation contained therein. Good stuff.

4. weezer - weezer (blue album)
Simple band shot against a blue background. Like the music, not too complicated, but memorable.

5. Spinal Tap - Smell the Glove
Its like, how much more black could this be? And the answer is: None. None... more black.

6. Pink Floyd - The Division Bell
Anyone who talks to me about movies and art knows I'm a sucker for extreme symmetry, and this is a perfect example of such. Its also a visual representation of the album's themes of the breakdown in communication between individuals. Notice: 2 figures, 2 open mouths, and line between them... but no ears

7. Midtown - Forget What You Know
This is the newest cover on my list, a visual portrait of the loneliness and alienation in American society. "So long as we keep our bodies numb we're safe."

8. Elliott Smith - XO
I like the transparent reflection. And its Elliott. Simple as that.

9. The Streets - A Grand Don't Come for Free
I don't know what it is about this one, but the colors, combined with the slightly asymmetrical design, just catch my eye and make for a striking image.

10. Jets to Brazil - Perfecting Loneliness
You think I'd make a music-related list and leave out my favorite album of all time? What a wonderful painting, perfectly capturing the mood of the entire album contained therein.

Ok. and here's one for the hell of it. I have a poster of it, and its such a wonderful concept put into practice.

It'd be pretty cool to see what all of yours are. Why not post your own list?

The Ministry is watching.

2006-10-07T01:27:00.001-04:00

The dystopian society seen within George Orwell's novel 1984 is close enough to our own that the similarities can be frightening. It has influenced countless novels and films, perhaps more than any other speculative science fiction work (with the possible of exception of Blade Runner, though that is more in the visual realm than thematic.) Some of these films include THX-1138, Equilibrium, Dark City, The Matrix, V for Vendetta, and Terry Gilliam's film Brazil. Brazil, while painting a picture of a slightly different society than Orwell's novel, hits many of the same themes, and parallels the novel's portrait of a society that has sacrificed freedom and privacy in the name of security. The differences are small, but profound, and are, with some analysis, indicators of where Gilliam's personal view differed from Orwell's.

1984 is set in a dystopian future, where British and American society as a whole have been subsumed under the rule of the Party, the figurehead of which is the omnipresent Big Brother, whose stern gaze glares out from posters and signs everywhere one can look. There are constant reminders of the Party's Ingsoc (or English Socialism) philosophies in the also prolific signs proclaiming the slogans "WAR IS PEACE", "FREEDOM IS SLAVERY", and "IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH." Constantly at war with one of the two rival countries, Eastasia and Eurasia, while conversely allied with the other, the Outer Party members are kept subservient to the will of Big Brother and the Inner Party through the use of the techniques of "doublethink", and the application of "newspeak", the official language of Ingsoc. The Party itself is split into four main Ministries, which each govern a different are of society: Peace (war), Plenty (rationing), Truth (propaganda) , and Love (surveillance and interrogation).The members of the Party are constantly under surveillance, sex is forbidden except strictly for procreation, and with the proper application of newspeak, no Party member will ever have a thought that the Party would not approve of. In addition, the people are constantly reminded of an enemy in their midst, Goldstein and his Underground, who seek to undermine the Party, and cause terrorist incidents. The main character, Winston Smith, is a cog in the machinery of the Party, mindlessly doing his job, though he often thinks of rebelling. Eventually, he meets up with a girl, Julia, another Outer Party member who rebels in her own way, through sex. They maintain a secret room in an antique shop in the Prole section of the city. A series of events leads to Winston and Julia both being arrested by the Thought Police (the Party's instruments of order and intimidation), and taken in for interrogation and torture. During his torture (an attempt to "cure" him of his traitorous thoughts), Winston's superior, O'Brien, explains to him the true nature of the Party and the reasons for the endless war, as well as the philosophy of power for power's sake. Eventually, Winston's will and mind are broken down until he is practically destroyed, and the novel ends with Winston's realization of his impending death and that he now loves Big Brother.

Brazil is set in a similar society to 1984, though the time is less distinct and slightly more anachronous. The title card states that it is set "somewhere in the 20th century at 8:49PM", and it takes place in an uncertain locale, as there are no landmarks or identifying characteristics that one can latch on to. The characters speak in many dialects, both British and American, and the technology is a combination of retro and futuristic. For example, there are computers, but instead of having large or fancy looking monitors, the prevailing tech is a small screen with a magnifying glass placed in front of it. The society seems to be more permissive than that of 1984, though the government is similarly split into Ministries, the Ministry of Information being the predominant one in the film, and where the main character, Sam Lowry, works. There are many terrorist bombings throughout the film, though they seem to be regular occurance, as people in a restaraunt continue eating though a bomb goes off on the other side of the dining room. Sam is a low-level worker who often daydreams of escapes and a mysterious "dream woman". These dreams form the most stunning visual aspect of the film, as they often intersect and play off what Sam has experienced or is experiencing in his life at the time. Sam's attempt to correct a mistake on the records leads to a convoluted series of events, including him meeting a woman, Jill, who is his "dream woman", becoming mixed up with the "plumber terrorist" Harry Tuttle, who works outside of government channels, and ends up with Sam being arrested and about to be tortured by his childhood best friend. He enacts a miraculous escape, with the help of Tuttle, and ends up battling through a nightmarish series of obstacles to be reunited with his love, Jill. At the moment when the audience believes Sam has escaped and everything is going to end happily, the rug is pulled out, as it is revealed that everything from the escape attempt on have occurred in Sam's head, and that he has escaped into insanity rather than be tortured and interrogated. He prefers the fantasy to reality.

One can see in the plot synopses that there are many surface similarities between the two works. Both take place in dystopian future societies, feature main characters who are small-time bureaucratic workers in their respective areas, both find "love", and both are captured and interrogated. The possibility is stated within 1984 that the terrorist activities, and even the missile strikes by Eastasia/Eurasia, are in fact perpetrated by the Party as a way to keep the population afraid and obedient; the same sentiment is in Brazil, though not stated outright, that the bombings throughout the film are set by the government as a form of control. Here is where the movies diverge, though. Gilliam, in interviews about the film, has called Brazil "1984 1/2" and "a 1984 for 1984", so the influence of the book on the film cannot be denied. What makes the difference here is Gilliam's sense of escapism. In Orwell, the only rebellion against the Party is actually a ruse perpetuated by the Party itself. In Brazil, there is real rebellion and escape possible. The character of Harry Tuttle proves it, as he operates outside of the government's system, and is actually in a small way, the cause of Sam's capture. The ending of both novel and movie carry through on this thread. Whereas Orwell's novel ends with Winston Smith subsumed within the Party, awaiting death and aware of the love in his heart for that which he previously hated (Big Brother), Gilliam's film ends with Sam Lowry's figurative "escape" from torture and the reality that he despises into his own fantasies. This ending, which was one of the causes of Gilliam's well-documented problems with Universal Studios, is meant to be seen as a happy ending; Sam has won, he has beat the "bad guys" by not cooperating and not doing what they want. This essential optimism is what separates 1984 from Brazil; where Orwell sees no escape from Big Brother, Gilliam says that one's mind is always a viable escape.

The difference in endings aside, both novel and film tell a similar story, and provide a similar warning to future generations on the dangers of sacrificing freedom for security, and putting too much power into the hands of those who claim to know what's best for society. One could say, "That will never happen here in the US, we are the free-est nation on Earth," but the seeds of it can be seen in the PATRIOT Act, and in the ease with which citizens have given up their personal freedoms and liberties in the name of "security" from terrorists. One hopes that people would be a little more careful. 1984 says that hope is pointless because Big Brother is always watching. Brazil says that hope is in escape, and that is always possible.

All-Star Superman #1-5

2006-09-02T21:45:00.000-04:00

All Star Superman! The best book around! Written by the god of all comic writing Grant Morrison, and art from the wonderful Frank Quitely, with beautiful coloring by Jamie Grant, this series is practically everything I want in a comic. The supercompressed pace, the sense of wonder and fun bursting out of every page, the wonderful character moments... this, to me, is the perfect comic. And, to my surprise, it's a Superman story.

As a character, Superman interests me, but never has it been enough to get me to regularly buy a title. Morrison and Quitely have succeeded in getting me onboard, and letting me see WHY Superman is the number one superhero. But the most amazing thing to me is, in issue #4, they made Jimmy Olsen COOL, without it being artificial or goofy. His characterization made complete sense to me; after all, if your pal was the most powerful being on earth, wouldn't that by proxy make you pretty cool? The device of his column being him trying out different lives/personae was also a wonderful nod to the Silver Age Jimmy Olsen stories, where he would get into some outlandish mess in every issue.

Another thing I think this series has nailed is the VISIBLE difference between Clark Kent and Superman. John Byrne, in his Man of Steel revamp, wrote that there is a visible difference between the two in terms of posture and mannerisms, but did not show it in his artwork for the series. Here, Quitely draws Clark as hunched over constantly, and always stumbling and tripping over things (more on this in a bit). When Clark then reveals his identity in the first issue to Lois, there is a very blatant visible transformation from Clark to Superman: he stands up straighter, doesn't fumble his words... it's almost as if you can hear his voice getting deeper and more resonant on the page. Its also visible in issue #2 in the mirror shot, when he slumps down like Clark, but the reflection shows his true "inner Superman". Another facet of this is how Quitely shows Clark's clumsiness as not just a piece of character role-playing on his part, but actually uses it to help people in small ways, like in the first issue he trips and bumps into the old man, thereby saving him from the piece of falling debris. It's touches like this that make the issues immensely rereadable.

Issue #5? AMAZING. This was full of wonderful touches: Lex Luthor as both the anti-Batman (pinnacle of human intellect and strength) and the anti-Superman. Quitely's use of the panel borders in both the stair sequence and when the Parasite crashes through the floor. The eyebrow pencil (set up very early; watch Clark after he saves Lex from electrocution). BiblioBot "boring" through rock. Wow. Just absolutely amazing.

As you can see, I am in love with this title, and wait patiently and excitedly for every issue to be released. I am especially anxious to see more of Morrison's portrayal of Lex Luthor, as I feel Grant has a great handle on him (based on his previous work from JLA: Rock of Ages, and issue #5 of this series). So there you have it. The highest recommendation I could ever give a book. This, in an era of civil wars and infinite crises, Morrison and Quitely have produced a book which is just, plain and simple, fun superhero storytelling. And I love it.

.valis.

2006-08-13T18:40:00.000-04:00

When did everything become so detail-oriented? I find myself asking this more and more these days, rhetorically, of course. It would be daft to expect an answer to the question. Still, it hangs in the air, like a word balloon from a comic book, visible to only me but somehow sensed by everyone else. Like the thundercloud that follows cartoon characters. Its a curse of my introspective nature, I suppose. Some people question the details, and what they are, and what they represent; I question the need for them in the first place.

I've been biding my time, waiting for the right moment to... I don't know yet. My mind has started to feel as if its preparing for some momentous flash of insight, when I will suddenly understand everything; I'll know what's wrong with me, why the world is that way it is, why the planets are misaligned, what the hidden secret of pi is, the name of the gnostic god, how many licks does it take, the actuality of the universal constant... It will all be revealed. But... my practical side realizes this is a blind rationalization, and that more than likely I will spend my entire life waiting for a moment that will never come. Though I suppose that's life, such as it is. We swim in the spaces between content and context.

I don't pretend to understand the whims and whiles of my brain chemistry. Philip K. Dick said, "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." As a generally faithless person, this brings me some small comfort.

Infinite Jest.

2006-08-03T22:35:00.000-04:00

Infinite Jest, a novel by David Foster Wallace released in 1996, is quite possibly the most dense and literate book I've read (of my own choice) thus far in my life (and keep in mind, I've read The Silmarillion.) But don't let that fool you: I loved it.

Obstenibly a "sci-fi" story (though not in any way I would say), Infinite Jest is about (alternately) a tennis academy, a drug/alcohol treatment house, avant-garde cinema, game theory, addiction, nationalism, love, abuse, damaged childhoods, the connections between people, ghosts, commercialism, and the burdens of intellect. And endnotes, lots of endnotes. And just in writing that list, I have left out about 18 things. As you can see, it's a well-stocked book. The most amazing thing, though, is that it is a wonderfully written and coherent narrative, with viewpoint shifts mid-"chapter" (in quotes because there obstenibly ARE no chapters, just time-stamps), brilliantly drawn characters, and much left unsaid that can be drawn from context clues. If you know me and my reading habits at all, then you know this book is probably one of the purest examples of what I like to read ever produced.

The best part, according to me (and I'm my favorite person), is the plethora of endnotes, many of which contain vital pieces of plot, narrative, and character detail that are almost indispensible in understanding the narrative. Woe to those that ignore them.

Anyway, it's very hard to write a review of this in any impartial way, since I enjoyed the book so much. All I want to do is fill ten paragraphs with "OMG", like I was some 14 year old girl talking about Bobby Sherman, or whoever it is the kids love these days. Suffice to say I heartily recommend this to any- and everyone who likes to read. At all. Ever.

Do it. Now.

desolation is no destination.

2006-07-30T02:05:00.000-04:00

I've had this idea percolating in my head, inspired by much self-rumination and an essay by David Foster Wallace, about how my life has thus far been defined by curved spaces and lines. I'm hoping I actually get off my ass and finish the thought rather than following through with my as-of-late tendency to start an interesting idea and then drop it when I see something shiney.

Music as a whole lately has come to mean less to me as an outlet and more as an obligation. I don't know if this is because my songwriting is being dismissed more than before, or if its being subjugated, or whatever, but I'm not sure if I like the way it is moving forward. One project finding its feet again (and also losing its way a bit, but that's a personal opinion), one project on "hiatus" for some reason I'm not sure of, and another thats begun to circle in my head as a bigger possibility than before... not really what I'm looking for or what satisfies my sense of musical aesthetics.

Everything in pop culture, with the exception of the Colbert Report and Grant Morrison comics, has become boring to me. Hence lack of entries. Everything is cliche and uninteresting to me. I think I'm just being overwhelmed by the sameness of every day. But then again, I guess that's just how it goes at this point of my life. I'm too old to appreciate everything as new, but too young to really feel a genuine sense of nostalgia. Again, probably something for another post. Anyway, my thoughts on various things I've read/seen/heard should be forthcoming soon, probably after I spend my annual week at the shore. That'll recharge my batteries, I hope.

All glory.

2006-06-22T16:05:00.000-04:00

I've been watching a lot of Simpsons and Futurama on DVD the past month or so, and I have established that the greatest character on either show is

The Hypnotoad.

He is a toad who hypnotizes people to do its bidding. And all it seems to do in its appearances on Futurama is: A) win a dog/assorted pet show, and B) star in a tv show called "Everyone Loves the Hypnotoad."

This, my friends, is GENIUS.

Anyway, in other news, I have (since my last entry) seen X-men 3 and Nacho Libre. The less said of X3 the better, since I don't think there's enough bandwidth on the Blogger servers to cover the length of the rant I would unleash about that pile of shite if I wanted to. But quite frankly, I don't have the energy and there's not enough time in the day to waste on it. Nacho Libre, on the other hand, is a concise piece of entertainment. While not quite the greatest motion picture ever conceived that I claimed when I first heard of it, the movie is sweet, and definitely in the same vein as Napoleon Dynamite, the director's previous film. (Though I still believe Jack Black as a Mexican wrestling friar is a genius concept.) It left me with a slight smile and warm feelings, and really, isn't that enough? Not every movie needs to change the world, nor be a huge blowout of epic proportions.

SO yes. I am currently: listening to the Decemberists, watching Futurama and Arrested Development, and reading The Baroque Cycle and Watchmen. As should all of you. And if you disagree, just remember

Grant Morrison is watching you.

The Da Vinci Code

2006-05-19T15:25:00.000-04:00

And now, a quick review:

A perfectly mediocre piece of entertainment, The Da Vinci Code manages to make the book (which I despised for its leaden prose, artificial cliffhangers, and appallingly bad language usage) somewhat more coherent, but at the same time it is so dreadfully dull that the only way I got through the movie without tearing out my hair was to make jokes to my significant other about the name "Bezu Fache" and how Robert Langdon is Batman. Tom Hanks spends the majority of the movie standing around looking befuddled or getting knocked around, until required for exposition delivery. Audrey Tatou looks radiant, as usual, but isn't required to do a whole lot either. Paul Bettany is scary and religious, OOOOHHH!!! (makes scary hand motions) The only person who seems to have any life or verve in the movie is Sir Ian McKellan, and thats because he's Gandalf and fought the MOTHERFUCKING BALROG. The plot, such as it is, moves insanely fast in the first half hour, then slows down to about the speed of glass moving, and actually climaxes about 45 minutes before the movie ends. Actually, I think the movie is still running, and in fact HASN'T ended and will never end, and in some bizarre application of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, will continue as long as it is not directly observed not running.

If you shut your brain off, I'm sure the film can be enjoyed immensely, and I'm pretty confident that the movie will make huge amounts of cash for all involved, but its inspired me to write a huge treatise/rant on the dumbing down of pop-culture and the concept of mediocrity as acceptable in all forms of society. I was jokingly told that I am full of so much anger about something so trivial, but the fact is, its not trivial. Pop culture is a reflection of society's mores and values, and an acceptance of mediocrity and inanity leads to the general decay in intellectual discussion and an adherence to a policy of apathy in all affairs. Hence, Bush Administration.

Or maybe thats just how I see it.

In any event, the movie was, in cinematic metaphors, not "White Chicks" bad, but it was nowhere near "Lord of the Rings" levels of bliss. See it, don't see it, I don't care. Its not the worst movie coming out this summer. (That's Little Man.)

5.4.3.2. What are you waiting for?

2006-05-04T22:25:00.000-04:00

This is old news (at this point) I know, but I laugh my ass off every time I see anything to do with it. At the annual White House Correspondent's Dinner, Stephen Colbert, America's bastion of Truthiness, delivered the closing address. In a room full of political movers and shakers. Including the President of the United States of America, George W. (Bastard) Bush (Editiorializing is good.) who was sitting RIGHT NEXT TO HIM. And proceeded to deliver a speech which left the audience almost COMPLETELY SILENT IN SHOCK because of how amazing and special he is. Some highlights:

Mr. President, my name is Stephen Colbert and tonight it's my privilege to celebrate this president. We're not so different, he and I. We get it. We're not brainiacs on the nerd patrol. We're not members of the factinista. We go straight from the gut, right sir? That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut. Do you know you have more nerve endings in your gut than you have in your head? You can look it up. I know some of you are going to say "I did look it up, and that's not true." That's 'cause you looked it up in a book.

Oh, it gets better.

Now, I know there are some polls out there saying this man has a 32% approval rating. But guys like us, we don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a well-known liberal bias. So, Mr. President, please, pay no attention to the people that say the glass is half full. 32% means the glass -- it's important to set up your jokes properly, sir. Sir, pay no attention to the people who say the glass is half empty, because 32% means it's 2/3 empty. There's still some liquid in that glass is my point, but I wouldn't drink it. The last third is usually backwash.
[...]
The greatest thing about this man is he's steady. You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday. Events can change; this man's beliefs never will. As excited as I am to be here with the president, I am appalled to be surrounded by the liberal media that is destroying America, with the exception of Fox News. Fox News gives you both sides of every story: the president's side, and the vice president's side. But the rest of you, what are you thinking, reporting on NSA wiretapping or secret prisons in eastern Europe? Those things are secret for a very important reason: they're super-depressing. And if that's your goal, well, misery accomplished. Over the last five years you people were so good -- over tax cuts, WMD intelligence, the effect of global warming. We Americans didn't want to know, and you had the courtesy not to try to find out. Those were good times, as far as we knew.

Stephen Colbert, I love you.
full transcript of the speech, plus a short "audition" film of him as Press Secretary

Seriously, the man has balls the size of Cinnabons to have given that speech at all in front of a bunch of Republicans, let alone next to the H.N.i.C. Thusly, Stephen, I salute you with what I know you want to see:

Permanent number one spot on my list, man.

IN OTHER NEWS:

This image says a lot about why I love comics

Neil Gaiman + John Romita Jr. + Jack Kirby = love.

The only better equation is Morrison + Quitely = splendor.

(click on the pictures to see them in their full-on amazing glory)

cats in the cradle and the silver spoon

2006-04-20T00:22:00.000-04:00

This is going to seem odd, but I wrote this for my one psych class, and I thought it was too funny to just put aside and not share with you all. Witness my love for you, is it not abundant and joyous? AM I NOT MERCIFUL?
...
Anyway, this is supposed to be a letter to my 10 year old son explaining puberty, since I will be going away for 10 years and not be able to have any contact with him. Let it be known that when I'm a dad (which is a definite maybe for the future), I will be TEH @W3S0M3!!11!!1!one!!1!!

Dear Tyler,

I am sorry that I am not around to give you all this in person, but when you get the chance to study spidermonkeys in the jungles of the Amazon for 10 years, its not something you pass up. Anyway, you're 10 years old, so you're coming up on a time I'm sure you've heard whispered in the dark halls of your school: puberty. Its a chaotic time for a young man, full of questions and confusion and pimples, but don't worry! You'll get through it, because you're my son, so of course you are awesome.

You'll start to grow hair on your face, and you'll probably need to shave once a day just to keep it in line and show it who's boss. Also, you're voice will get deeper, but first you'll go through a period of voice cracking and bizarre vocal tics which will make you think you perhaps have been possessed by the devil. Don't worry, everyone has gone through this, even Jesus. You'll probably have a sudden growth spurt, and hopefully not be short like the majority of my side of the family your whole life. Eventually, you'll grow hair in places other than your face, but again, don't worry, its all good.

Most importantly, you'll notice that all the girls around you will suddenly grow breasts and become crazy. This is normal, and believe me, you'll get used to it. In fact, you'll love it. Mostly the breasts, not the crazy. Another part of this is two things which you should definitely be aware of beforehand: the two words "spontaneous" and "erection". They're embarassing, I know, but normal, and will not last forever, so just relax and ride the wave until you get adjusted. Finally, you'll want to get involved with the crazy women. Sexually.
Don't.
It leads to problems and more craziness and babies. But, if you do make with the sex, for God's sake, use a condom. I am not yet old enough to be (or have any desire to be) a grandfather.

So, my son, don't fret about anything. You're just growing up and becoming a man. A proud man, and, when I return, I'll look at you and say, "My son, you are indeed a man."

Love,
your father.

P.S. This is what part of the alphabet would look like without the letters "Q" and "R".

I rule, and you know it.

Is there any hope for us, or are the rumors true?

2006-04-07T16:26:00.000-04:00

This post at Dave's Long Box pretty much covers why I like the Mighty Thor as a character.

"Yea verily, I swear by all that mine father Odin hath wrought upon this goodly earth, I, Thor, shall claim vengeance on thee! Mjolnir, to me!"

(SMASH, BITCHES)

"By Soggoth's horns, this deed is done!"

Yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, thats the good stuff.

So yeah, I've not been writing in here for a good bit, have I? It's not for lack of writing, you can be sure. I've just not been writing anything worthwhile enough to unleash upon you, my blog-reading enthusiasts. See, I have only YOUR best interests at heart.

I do have a quick CD review for you, though, as I know you've been starved for my attention and crave the fix that only my unique brand of self-deprecation and overblown ego provide. Sic Semper Bea Arthur.

The Lawrence Arms - Oh! Calcutta!

If you know anything about this amazing Chicago punk band, you don't need me to explain how good they are. But seeing as how the only Chicago punk bands most seem to know about are the Alkaline Trio (good) and Fall Out Boy (astoundingly bad), maybe a primer is in order: The last official release from the band was The Greatest Story Ever Told, a concept album based around a circus theme, which also revolved around the comparison between music/entertainment and the conformity of the masses, using massive amounts of both low and high culture references (for instance, in one short chorus, Nabakov, Simon & Garfunkel, Paradise Lost, and the Simpsons are all referenced). Themes both lyrical and musical were repeated and cross-referenced throughout the album, until the final song actually has pieces of every other song contained in it in some way. (Sidenote: interesting comparisons can be made to the "fractal" nature of Grant Morrison's magnum opus The Invisibles here. But that's way too much work for me.)

So, how do they follow that up?

By making what is most definitely one the most aggresively old-school sounding record they've ever done, which, while not as overtly theme-based as the last, is nontheless held together by a thread of discontent and dissatisfaction with the current state of culture in this country. Songs like "The Devil's Takin' Names" and "Are You There, Margaret? It's me, God" do the usual random references the Larry Arms boys regularly make, but there is a palpable anger behind every song, almost tactile in its fierceness. Nowhere is this more evident than on the track "Recovering the Opposable Thumb" (lyrics), which is a scathing indictment of the Intelligent Design theory, and indeed, the concept of using religion as a weapon against thoughtful intelligent discussion in general. All in all, this is an amazing record, and my early vote for album of the year.

Two tracks, and a video for "The Devil's Takin' Names" are on the band's Myspace page.

order the CD from Amazon.

SO yeah.
Great album.

ps. I promise I'll write more in here. As long as someone's reading, I'll be writing.

V for Vendetta

2006-03-17T10:41:00.000-05:00

a brief movie review:
(***spoilers, duh***)

"Remember, remember the 5th of November, the Gun-Powder Treason and Plot.
I know of no reason, the Gun-Powder Treason, should ever be forgot."

The film is good, but not great, and quite frankly, not V for Vendetta the book at all. It takes some of the main moments from the books and gets there differently, almost like a cliffs notes/cover version. FATE is not existent, the back story of why people were in Larkhill and what they were doing is elaborated upon, most of the subplots have been excised, and the end, while similar in spirit and sentiment, is in some ways VERY different.

What was good: Hugo Weaving, Hugo Weaving, Hugo Weaving. Wow, the man just IS V. The torture scenes with Evey were note-perfect. John Hurt as the Chancellor was suitably full of fire and brimstone and fascism. The movie had its heart in the right place.

What wasn't so good: Natalie Portman's accent. Sorry, baby, I still love you, though. The pacing was slightly... "disjointed", I think is the right word. Some of the changes made seemed arbitrary and clumsy in comparison to the book. Switching the blowing up of Parliament from the beginning to the end might provide a nice climax image, but still seems odd to me. Can't quite figure why. AND the major complaint I have and maybe this is in the book and I just haven't been able to pick up on it, but I recall the "love" between V and Evey being strictly PLATONIC. I don't remember any romantic sentiments from the book, I always have taken it more as a familial type love. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seemed so odd in the movie.

Anyway, overall, a good popcorn picture, with some ideas behind it, which these days is unusual in and of itself. I'd say 3.5 out of 5 stars.

"A revolution without dancing is one hardly worth having at all."

Dear Grant Morrison:

2006-03-09T02:52:00.000-05:00

I love you and all, and find your work both intelligent and thought provoking. I've kept up with the storylines and ideas in everything I've read of yours up to this point, including The Invisibles, the Filth, Doom Patrol, and even Seaguy. And thus far Seven Soldiers is amazing...

but what the FUCK is going on in Mister Miracle #4?

signed,
Nicholas Danger.

EDITED at 1:26 AM 3/10

Its ok, I think I get it now, after pondering it a long while and thinking about some of your other works (and reading some other interpretations of it by other comic bloggers). Still, this is the first book of yours which I finished and said"...the fuck was that?"

Three quick hits.

2006-03-07T00:09:00.000-05:00

Three short opinions:

Crash was boring and undeserving of Best Picture. That is all I have to say about the Oscars.
PIERRE, S.D. - Gov. Mike Rounds signed legislation Monday that would ban most abortions in South Dakota, a law he acknowledged would be tied up in court for years while the state challenges the 1973 U.S. Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion. The bill would make it a crime for doctors to perform an abortion unless the procedure was necessary to save the woman's life. It would make no exception for cases of rape or incest. Planned Parenthood, which operates the state's only abortion clinic, in Sioux Falls, immediately pledged to challenge the measure. The challenge could either be in court or by petition signatures to refer the measure to a statewide ballot in which voters would be asked to repeal the abortion ban. "We fully intend to challenge this law," said Kate Looby, state director of Planned Parenthood. "It's just a question of how."
Good luck with that. Roe v Wade is getting chipped away bit by bit, starting now. I'm moving to Canada at my earliest convenience, because once one freedom goes down, the rest fall that much easier...
Writer's Block does not exist. The only thing that blocks you from writing is yourself. I might expound upon this in the future (jeez, how many times have I said THAT in this blog?). But as it stands, if you feel like you don't have anything to write about, or can't think of anything to write, WRITE ANYWAY. Because it's when you stop writing, that you truly ARE blocked. Writing can only be accomplished by actually doing it. I've been writing constantly the past week; not all of it has been blog-(or even public-) worthy, but I've been doing it, so as not to let my hands become "cold", so to speak. JUST WRITE. The rest will take care of itself.

you are a constellation.

2006-03-04T00:48:00.000-05:00

I realized tonight that I am horrible at keeping friends.

I make friends easily, as I'm an affable fellow who enjoys the company of intelligent people with worthwhile opinions, as well as those whom play music instruments, since I am rather proficient in three myself (guitar, bass, and my voice). But I have the damnedest time in keeping these relationships together, as I have the tendency to retreat into my own world, or get distracted by problems, or get torn between two different groups, and find that I am inadvertantly ignoring some and flat out pissing off others.

This is not intentional.

So, if anyone is reading this, and wonder why I didn't call, or didn't IM, or have had a hard time getting me to do something, its not because I don't want to. It's mostly because I don't want to upset anyone, so rather than shun one to the benefit of the other, I retreat from all.

I'm hoping my soon-to-be-purchased (in the next day or so) automobile helps alleviate this.

More on this eventually.
But probably not, because I'll be distracted by a shiny object and forget.

Don't let anyone tell you no.

2006-03-01T18:32:00.000-05:00

I hate March.

Nothing good has ever happened to me in March. Additionally, an inordinately large amount of BAD things have happened to me in March. (One positive thing: one of my sisters was born in March; though on the same day, Reagan was shot and DIDN'T DIE.)

So forgive me for a smidge of pessimism, but nothing good comes of this month or anything associated with it. In fact, I wish St Patrick's Day wasn't in March, because then I wouldn't have to leave the house for any reason...

ANYWAY.

NextWave #2 came out today. It makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Yes, Warren Ellis is your new personal lord and savior; bring him cigarettes, booze, and whores.

My mind is too frazzled with the thoughts of impending doom from the coming month to concentrate on much of anything, so I'll write something more when I'm not feeling so apocalyptic.

I leave you with a random picture of Scarlett Johansson's breasts:

You're welcome.

to hell with X3

2006-02-24T01:55:00.000-05:00

Holy.
Shit.

That is all I have to say about that.

HNIC

2006-02-23T13:21:00.000-05:00

JayV made and posted this. Click the pic to get the context, or just read his blog. You know you want to.

Oh, and I am totally pro-good stuff and anti-bad things. Jesus is cool, and um.... shit what else did Bush say to get reelected... Oh yeah, and if you don't vote for me, WOLVES WILL EAT YOUR FAMILY.

tempus fugit.

2006-02-22T01:28:00.000-05:00

It's been a year since he died, and I often wonder what he would've made of the past year's developments; political, cultural, and sports related. I don't know. But it would've made great reading.

Here's what I wrote about one year ago:

"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and to rare to die."

He was one of my literary idols, a great writer, and a man who lived his life fully and without equal.
This upsets me so much... I don't know what else to say...

RIP HST

edit @ 6pm: I'm having trouble reconciling my opinions of the man himself with the circumstances of his death. In any event, the backlash has begun, as is inevitable when any celebrity of any sort dies.

I spent today writing. It is as fitting a tribute as I can give to him, and the only one I will be giving. Eventually. But not now.

To paraphrase Tomas:
It makes me sick when I think of it, all my heroes could not live with this,
and I hope you rest in peace because because with us you never did.
HST, you were much too young and you changed my life,
but I draw the line at suicide, so here's to life!

All still true. I loved the man, hated the way he went out. Ah, well, such is life. Buy the ticket, take the ride. Mahalo.

sic transit gloria mundi

2006-02-19T15:04:00.000-05:00

A short entry, since I'm really not in the mood to write for some reason.

I "acquired" a new Guns N Roses song titled "IRS". You might've heard it, apparently it leaked and a few radio stations played snippets of it. It's.... interesting. Axl truly HAS gone off the deep end if he thinks this is in any way better than when Slash was in the band. Very mid-90's sounding, with techno beats and (oddly enough) Pink Floyd-ish guitar leads.... Yeah, I know. Maybe the album will actually come out soon, but somehow I doubt it.

I also "acquired" the demos to the new Brand New album Fight Off Your Demons. And I am impressed. They're mostly acoustic, in the vein of "Play Crack the Sky" (last track on Deja Entendu), but there's a few full band songs too, and I have been listening to them quite a bit. The Smiths/Morrissey influence is VERY apparent on a couple of them, as well as the Cure. I am eagerly anticipating this album now, even more than I was.

The next movie I want to see is V for Vendetta. Everything else can go to hell.

I spend entirely too much time on Myspace.

Jawbreaker's song "Million" is one of the most honestly romantic songs I've ever heard. Discuss and prepare a viewpoint, as I will at some point be writing a defense of it.

Tempus fugit, man.

Special.

2006-02-14T18:28:00.000-05:00

This movie looks really good.

I get a kind of PI plus Eternal Sunshine plus A Beautiful Mind feel from it.
And by that, I mean the good parts of all of them.

Check out the trailer here.

Trust me.

"You're all a bunch of bastards!" said the ambassador.

2006-02-14T14:02:00.000-05:00

The true origin of Valentine's Day originally found on WarrenEllis.com

The early Church fathers were well aware of the popularity of a vast number of heathen gods and goddesses, as well as the dates of observation of pagan festivals, so they set about replacing as many of the entities and the holidays as possible with ecclesiastical saints and feast days. Mid-February had an ancient history of being devoted to acts of love of a far more passionate and lusty nature than the Church wished to bless, and the bishops moved as speedily as possible to claim the days of February 14 through 17 as belonging to Saint Valentine, the courageous martyr to the ties that bound couples in Christian love. [...] Actually, there is no proof that the good priest Valentine even existed.
Among the ancient Greeks and Romans, the Wolf Charmer was called the Lupicinus. Perhaps hearkening back to prehistoric times, the Lupicinus may well have been an individual tribesman who had a particular affinity for communicating with wolves. As the tribes developed agriculture and small villages, it was necessary to have a person skilled in singing with the wolves and convincing them not to attack their domesticated animals. The Lupicinus had the ability to howl with the wolves and lead them away from the livestock pens. In some views, because he also wore the pelt of a wolf, the Lupicinus also had the power to transform himself into a wolf if he so desired.

The annual Lupercali festival of the Romans on February 15 was a perpetuation of the ancient blooding rites of the hunter in which the novice is smeared with the blood of his first kill. The sacrificial slaying of a goat—representing the flocks that nourished early humans in their efforts to establish permanent dwelling places—was followed by the sacrifice of a dog, the watchful protector of a flock that would be the first to be killed by attacking wolves.

So, I hope you all enjoy your hearts and flowers, and you better pray that the whole "wolves and whips" tradition doesn't come back into fashion.

Unless that's your idea of a good time, of course.

You sick bastard.

little round mirrors.

2006-02-13T23:49:00.000-05:00

JayV tagged me. And I must obey.

Four jobs I’ve had:
1. assistant in a fabricators
2. bus boy
3. assistant manager at a video store
4. projectionist

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Fight Club
2. Sin City
3. The Life Aquatic
4. This is Spinal Tap

Four places I’ve lived:
1. Norristown, PA
2. Burlington, NJ
3. West Long Branch NJ
4.

Four TV shows I love:
1. Arrested Development
2. Aqua Teen Hunger Force
3. The Colbert Report
4. Clone High

Four places I’ve vacationed:
1. IRELAND
2. Beach Haven, NJ
3. Cape May, NJ
4. Boston, MA

Four sites I visit daily:
1. Myspace
2. Livejournal
3. CHUD.com
4. BARBELiTH

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Ireland
2. London
3. New Zealand
4. my own apartment

Four bloggers I am tagging:
1. I think Jay's the only one who reads this regularly anyway.
2. So if anyone has a blog and wants to do it,
3. go ahead.
4. You have my blessing.

The hits just keep on coming.

2006-02-13T14:25:00.000-05:00

This needs no commentary on it.

Indicted Rep. Tom DeLay, forced to step down as the No. 2 Republican in the House, scored a soft landing Wednesday as GOP leaders rewarded him with a coveted seat on the Appropriations Committee.
DeLay, R-Texas, also claimed a seat on the subcommittee overseeing the Justice Department, which is currently investigating an influence-peddling scandal involving disgraced lobbyist Jack Abramoff and his dealings with lawmakers. The subcommittee also has responsibility over NASA -- a top priority for DeLay, since the Johnson Space Center is located in his Houston-area district.
"Allowing Tom DeLay to sit on a committee in charge of giving out money is like putting Michael Brown back in charge of FEMA -- Republicans in Congress just can't seem to resist standing by their man," said Bill Burton, spokesman for the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee.

I might be mistaken, but I seem to remember DeLay being involved in a few of Abramoff's dealings. So, one would think it'd be a bad idea to put him on a sub-committee overseeing the oh I get what they're doing here. Nevermind.

The horror... the horror...

Development Arrested.

2006-02-11T15:49:00.000-05:00

Rest in Peace, Arrested Development. You were the best show on television, and apparently not enough people realized it while you were still here. FOX didn't exactly help that too much, either. In any event, I am sorry to see you go, and with your abscense, my television watching just decreased even more than it already has.

Buy Arrested Development Season 1 and Season 2 on DVD. I guarantee, you will laugh. A lot.

give me a reason to end this discussion

2006-02-11T02:39:00.000-05:00

I am the deaf and dumb and blind boy, sitting alone in front of a flickering screen, digitalia and half-tones bringing nothing but regrets and responsibilities unfulfilled. But then again, who knows more than me about promise undone and worn down by neglect and self-abuse? No one, that's who. Lets throw out the bathwater and keep the baby this time, and burn the bush and the bird contained therein. I am waiting for something to go right this time, and extending my thoughts in your direction, hoping you will hear me as you sleep. I am restless and wanton, full of indifference and disarmaments, tired of waiting to be tired. Blending into the background noise, looking for patterns in the white sounds and distortion patterns, this echo is repeating (repeating repeating), "TRUST ME, I know what I'm doing." I miss the ability to rhyme and reason my way out of everything and the situation bears repeating (repeating repeating). Call me stranger, call me lover, call me friend, call me any time, call me whatever you want. Just call. Down and out in south jersey and willing myself to wake up when there's really nothing to keep me anchored here, I float above the horizon and drift towards the sunset that has disappeared in the grey overcast afternoon and iced over tree limbs. The road tonight is cold with ice, so good night, sweetheart, good night.

I want there to be an answer, even though I haven't asked the question. I've left it as an ellipse, and with apologies to Zach Braff, an ellipse is no way to leave things. I am tired of metaphors and synonyms and similes and rhyme schemes and pipe dreams and flailing in the dark for the right thing to say and writing in code and pregnant pauses and silence that says more than any words and broken phone connections and not saying what I mean and not meaning what I say and not meaning anything and not saying anything and. endings. Endings are hard. "I'm waiting for something to go wrong" but I'm afraid I was never right and I'm not going to say anything because I'm just barely breathing as it is and I'm afraid of everything. Everything being different. Everything being the same. "Goodbye", "Hello", its all the same anymore to me. Kiss me goodnite, then erase me from your memory. If you want. If you want me.

Ohwellwhatevernevermind. What was I saying? I'm lost in a quarterlifecrisis. Lost in the mail. Lost in the mall. I could be lost in you, but "you" is a concept that I am not sure exists anymore, if it ever did. Besides, "you" could be nothing but an imagination that ran away with itself over the hills and into westampton. "Are you out there, do you hear me?" Do I still hate me? No. I've become accustomed to myself and all my inequities, and I am comfortable with who I am. I'm just not sure that I can last long in this forward moving time frame of existence. "What is the 4th dimension?" is my query and allegory and metaphorical statement of consciousness. I said forever. It got shorter. Goddamn you Zach Braff and Charlie Kaufman for defining my existence. "Fuck you, and your shortness of breath." That one's dedicated to a dud bomb. I'd call you. But I don't think you would answer. And I'm not sure what I'd ask. Held my breath, just then. Call me on it. Please. Won't "you"?
Oh well.
Whatever.
Nevermind.

Really, everything is fine.
Back to pop culture ranting normality in 3 and 2 and...

DEAR GOD YES!!!!

2006-02-07T17:01:00.000-05:00

BASK in the majesty of what is possibly the GREATEST MOTION PICTURE EVER CONCEIVED!

Nacho fucking Libre.

Jack Black as a mexican wrestler? Sweet jesus. Why didn't I think of this?

Watch the Trailer here, then tell me that doesn't look like genius.

And you won't.
Because you'd be wrong if you did, and I would dropkick you. In the face. While setting you on fire.
Nacho says, "Thumbs up."