The Between

New Blog - Of The Hands

2011-12-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

I'm now writing at a new blog, Of The Hands. It's a decidedly different affair than this long-outdated site. There I write about homesteading, farming, living off-the-grid, peak oil, environmentalism, hiking, nature, connection to the land, doing good work and learning to live well. Check it out if you're so inclined.

- Joel Caris

The Shins Live At The Crystal Ballroom

2005-05-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

The Shins played the final date of their recent tour Monday, May 16th at the Crystal Ballroom in their hometown of Portland, Oregon. I gained access to the show at the last minute and attended with a friend, happy to be able to catch them at the end of their tour. I first became acquainted with The Shins through the movie Garden State and had since picked up their two albums, Chutes Too Narrow and Oh, Inverted World. I loved the music and wanted to see how they stacked up live.

The Shins' popularity has grown quickly of late, with a definite push from their presence in Garden State. They create upbeat, fun pop songs that burrow into the brain, taking up residence and emerging at the strangest times. There's a lightness to the sound that's not always reflected in the lyrics, but that is immensely appealing and very catchy. Chutes Too Narrow, their most recent album, has a particularly light-hearted and playful feel to it at times, though the songs are not fluff pieces, either.

However, there's a certain lowkey sense to the music that might leave one to wonder what they would be like live—to be curious about just how much energy they might be able to bring to a show. I wondered this myself, having never seen them perform in concert, but I was in no way disappointed with the show Monday night. Perhaps they were particularly pumped up by the fact that this was the final show and that they were back performing in Portland, but The Shins showed up with an abundance of energy and enthusiasm, tackling their set without the slightest bit of hesitation.

It started, though, with The Brunettes—a New Zealand band accompanying The Shins on their tour. They proved to be a great fit for The Shins, offering poppy and upbeat music—almost childlike in certain songs. There were times that their music became almost too ideal, bordering on silly, but overall they put on a wonderful performance that was welcomed and cheered by the crowd. Their final, intricate song brought the set to an exhilirating close, setting the stage perfectly, so to speak, for the main course.

And then came The Shins and the crowd went wild, thrilled to have the hometown band on stage. They launched into their set and James Mercer blanketed the eager crowd with his clear and melodic voice, stretching throughout the venue. The audience cheered, clapped, sang along and swayed and pressed themselves against significant others, enraptured by The Shins. No one could mistake this band as anything less than well-loved and surely no one could be surprised that they were a Portland favorite.

The band played a nice mix of songs from both Chutes Too Narrow and Oh, Inverted World, hitting on their most popular tracks. They ranged from full on, upbeat and raging, energetic songs to a few more subdued, acoustic performances that left the crowd engrossed and entranced, swaying and often touching those nearby. They even found time to sneak in a new song that may end up on the new album they're going to begin working on now that the current tour has finished. The band joked in between songs and expressed their love for Portland on numerous occasions, claiming that their tours would always start and stop in the city, as this one had. "Portland is the beginning and the end," they told the crowd, to many enthusiastic and prideful cheers.

The performance never let up and this band, who can come across so gentle and serene on their albums, never once allowed the mood to sink too low. Slow songs were followed up by faster paced, energetic performances that had the crowd clapping and stamping their feet, jumping up and down and singing along. Their chatter in between songs enlivened the audience and they never were anything but gracious and funny and entertaining. It was clear, as well, that they were having fun with the performance, perhaps most obvious when the band broke into a brief and tantalizing cover of Michael Jackson's Billie Jean before moving back into a song of their own.

By the time the band was bringing The Brunettes on stage to offer them gifts as thanks for their presence on the tour (a blanket, smoked salmon, a sausage and rubber balls—draw your own conclusions) the entire place had an air of intimacy to it, despite the hundreds of people in attendance. There was nothing particularly formal about this show; it was as much a friendly gathering as it was a paid performance. By the end of the night, after the show closed out with a rousing rendition of "Caring Is Creepy," any questions about just what kind of show The Shins would put on had been answered. They put on a damn good energetic one, and closed out their tour on a high note.

Now for that new record.

(Cross posted at Blogcritics.org)

A Good Day

2005-05-10T01:59:00.000-07:00

Considering that the last few days have kind of sucked in many different ways, I'm quite happy to report that Monday was a great day. First of all, I had a wonderful weekend up in Seattle, which involved a very enjoyable concert, much drinking and good conversation, as well as no less than four bookstore visits and the purchasing of something like fifteen books, which is always good times. It doesn't get much better than buying book with near-wild abandon. I think I've mentioned before that I enjoy the written word.

What else is going on? Well, I must report that the new Hot Hot Heat album, which I finally picked up on Friday, is a fantastic CD. It's just fun as all hell, particularly the first couple songs and then a few more toward the middle, and I am greatly enjoying listening to it. Add in the fact that I've been having much love for Flogging Molly—a band I had been meaning to listen to for awhile now and finally got around to doing the last couple weeks—and, well, the music scene has been treating me just fine.

Finally, I topped off my stellar weekend with a great day that saw me picking up a ticket to a Hot Hot Heat show the first week in June for about $12.50, which is a very nice price, and then—oh, this is the topper—snagging myself tickets for an advance preview showing of Serenity on May 26th. Which is beyond fantastic, I'll tell you what.

What a great damn day.

Now if I could just get my computer working, all would be good. And perhaps I could get back into more consistent blogging.

Down In Flames

2005-05-02T23:15:00.000-07:00

It seems that my desktop is currently self-destructing. I have a suspicion that I'm the victim of a corrupted hard drive. Hopefully I'll be able to find my Windows XP disk and start getting things fixed, but I'm also starting my work week tomorrow, I have some fairly major personal issues going on, and I have a trip coming up this weekend. So I don't expect there will be any posting for awhile. I know it's been thin lately anyway, and I apologize. I hope to get back into the swing of things in the near future, but we'll see what happens.

On an offhand note, I've been all about The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy the last week or so. I'm in the middle of the 800 page Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide and I saw the movie today. The movie was good, solid fun. I wish it were a bit more entertaining, but overall I thought it did a fine job of capturing the book's spirit. As for the books themselves, they've been wonderful so far. I've read The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and Life, the Universe and Everything. I just started So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish. All of it so far has been quite magnificent.

Movies To Damn Well See: Serenity

2005-04-26T15:26:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of movies I'm anticipating this year. I'm thinking The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy should be pretty good (I'm reading the books now) and Star Wars Episode III might actually be decent. I definitely am pumped up for War of the Worlds and Batman Begins, and I am quite certain that Peter Jackson's King Kong later this year is going to kick ass. No doubt there are plenty of other movies, as well, that I'm not even thinking of right now and, as is usual, I will surely find many smaller movies to get excited about over the course of the year.

However, the movie that I most want to see this year, without question, is Serenity. This is a science fiction flick that is coming out September 30th. Now, this is a movie that you've either probably heard of and are excited about or you have never heard mentioned before. Serenity is a movie written and directed by Joss Whedon which also happens to be a feature film spun off from the television show Firefly, which aired for eleven episodes on Fox before the evil, evil network just up and canceled it after screwing around with the show's scheduling, airing and promotion. Basically, they killed it and it never was given enough of a chance to find an audience.

The show was awesome, period. It was absolutely brilliant. It was a science-fiction-slash-western that had people flying through space with six shooters. They wore western type get ups and flew around in a beat up, run down ship that half the time barely stayed in the air. There was nothing clean and sparse about the sets like you saw with Star Trek but instead was dirty and gritty and none of the characters—save for Inara, the prostitute—were particularly couth or refined. Within the show's future universe, you have the Alliance as the overarching universal government (which is all clean and sparse and sterile) and then you have the cobbled together crew of Serenity (the ship in Firefly) who are rebels and outlaws and shifty characters who are looking to keep away from the Alliance for a variety of reasons, often keeping to the outskirts of the universe. But these people are not villains or evil, they're more scruffy heroes that maybe have had some clashes with the law, but who are ultimately good people simply trying to avoid an oppressive regime.

If the show had been allowed to live, it no doubt would have gone in some incredible directions. As it was, the full fourteen episode run as found on the DVD set was amazing, but it left many storylines unresolved.

Then, somehow, this failed and canceled series was given a greenlight by Universal to be turned into a full fledged motion picture, which is the sort of miracle that makes this world sufferable at times. It was given a fairly big budget (though a bit small by major sci fi movie standards) and Joss seemed to be given quite a bit of artistic freedom to make an awesome movie based in the Firefly world with the Firefly characters.

So what's the point of all this? It's to tell you that the trailer for Serenity has been released today and is available on Apple's movie trailer site. I've watched the trailer four times so far and it is magnificent. All the characters I know and love are back and the wit seems to be there, as most evidenced in the "Oh God, oh God, we're all gonna die" line, which is pure Joss Whedon funny. The action scenes are clearly bigger and better than anything ever seen on the television show and the special effects look to be very impressive. The show was incredibly entertaining, with humor and action and great character development, fun dialogue, excellent acting, a fascinating future world and intriguing plot developments, a great bad guy in the Alliance and horror movie type monsters by way of the Reavers, not to mention all kinds of convoluted relationships and personal secrets and so on. I expect the movie to be the same, but on a much larger and more impressive scale. Which means you should keep your eye on this, because this is a movie to see. It's the movie to see this year.

Go watch the trailer. Do it!

(Cross posted to Blogcritics)

Coheed and Cambria - Live at the Starland Ballroom

2005-04-26T02:33:00.000-07:00

Perhaps a year ago, I went to a concert co-headlined by Thrice and Thursday. I went to see Thursday primarily, but Coheed and Cambria were also the openers and I wanted to see them, as well. I had stumbled upon the band through a recommendation on a website and came to really enjoy their music. As it turned out, though, the entire band had basically become ill before the show and the only person who was even able to make it onto the stage was Claudio Sanchez, the lead singer. I have to give him credit for even giving the show an attempt, as he could easily just have canceled their set. But instead, he showed up, guitar in hand, and proceeded to put on a short, acoustic set, despite the fact that he was sick as well. It wasn't brilliant, but it was a damn good effort all considering and it was clear the audience really appreciated and enjoyed it.

Well, now Coheed and Cambria has a DVD out of their live performance at the Starland Ballroom and I have to say that the performance is awesome, offering up the kind of full and complete performance that, unfortunately, the band was unable to put on that night I went to see them. The band clearly is healthy and enthused for this show and its filled with energy and effort, a real showcase for the band's talent.

First, though, let's talk a bit about Coheed and Cambria's music for those who aren't familiar with the band. They are a mix of punk and hardcore, of emo and a bit of metal, all twirled together in a strange and offbeat, yet impressive and entertaining package. The lead singer's voice is quite distinct, very high pitched at times, although that aspect of his voice is somewhat muted in this recording. There's plenty of the typical heavy guitar and drumwork that is so prevalent in this type of music, but it's all done very well and the band clearly packs a lot of talent.

The best part of the music is the unique vocal talents of Sanchez and the solid lyrical work, while the instrumental part of the music serves as a very solid and workable backdrop—nothing overly unique but very competent and appealing, nonetheless.

Now, for this DVD in particular, the main concert alone—which is a ten song set and runs just under an hour—is probably enough to justify the price of the DVD for fans of the band, but there's plenty more to be found on the discs. The DVD also has three Coheed and Cambria music videos, a making of featurette on the "Blood Red Summer" video, a second live performance from the 2004 Skate and Surf Festival that has four songs and runs about twenty minutes, an interview with two band members—Claudio Sanchez and Travis Stever—and “Mike and Josh in Blizzard '05,” which is basically another (somewhat silly) interview with two of the band members. Best of all, it also comes with a separate audio CD of the Starland performance, for when you just want to listen to the music and not watch it at all. This is a very nice bonus as it is essentially a full-length live CD that could easily be packaged and sold separately but is instead included here.

The DVD is a full-featured package, well worth the price for those who enjoy the band.

Now, let's take a closer look at the disc. First of all, the main concert at the Starland is very impressive. It comes in both stereo and Dolby Digital 5.1 surround sound. The difference between the two is considerable and you'll definitely want to partake in the Dolby 5.1 track if you have a surround sound system. The sound is much richer and encompassing, the bass resounding, and the overall mix much more satisfying. In surround sound, this concert sounds absolutely amazing. In stereo, it sounds decent, but you lose much of the richness of the sound. Playing the Dolby track gives it much more of a sense of being at an actual concert.

The camera work during the concert is decent, but nothing amazing. There are no fancy features here like multi-angle or anything like that, but the video is serviceable. It's presented in widescreen and the picture is solid. You can see the energy of the band during the show and that's the main thing. Indeed, they come to this show ready to put on one hell of a show, with raging instrumental work and emotive, at times screaming, lyrics. The band goes all out during the concert, never letting up.

Now for the rest of the extras. The music videos are solid, if far from perfect. First of all, they're presented only in stereo sound, which is a disappointment. While the sound isn't bad, it's far from the quality of the main concert's Dolby track. The videos themselves, as well, are a mixed bag. The "Favor House Atlantic" video is meant to be humorous and playful, but the tone didn't work very well with me. For the most part, I just found it silly. "Devil in Jersey City" was a much more traditional video, with quick cuts and the vague outlines of a story in what appears to be a science fiction, outer space setting. It was decent and enjoyable, but very similar in its construction to a thousand other music videos out there. Finally, perhaps the best video is for "Blood Red Summer." It's low budget and a bit cheesy, but the story is somewhat interesting, with strains of 28 Days Later and the book I Am Legend. The lead singer, Sanchez, is seen holed up in a house in the woods, attempting to fortify the building so as to keep out his fellow bandmates, who we soon see have been turned into some kind of zombies or vampires. It's a fun video and a bit more original than the other two.

The making of featurette on the “Blood Red Summer” video is short but interesting. It gives some insight into the band's obsession with science fiction stories and shows some of the tricks used to film the video. Altogether, the music videos and the making of featurette run about seventeen minutes.

The other stubstantial extra is the live performance from the 2004 Skate and Surf Festival. The video is okay and, like the main concert, it includes a Dolby Digital 5.1 surround sound track. This isn't as rich or enveloping an audio presentation as with the main concert, but it still sounds good with deep and heavy bass. The concert is short and sweet, cutting out after twenty minutes, but it's still a great extra.

Finally, there are two short interviews: one with Claudio Sanchez and Travis Stever done in a studio and another, less formal, one with Michael Todd and Joshua Eppard, who appear to have been caught in a blizzard and unable to make the other interview, so they did a quick, makeshift taping of an interview that turned out to be pretty silly. Both run about five minutes.

Of course, the best extra in the package is the included audio CD. It's the same main concert that is on the DVD and the sound is great. This band really shines live and this is a fun CD to listen to, combining tracks off both their album and presenting them in a fast and energetic live format. Altogether, considering the DVD you get with all the extras and the bonus CD—which could easily be sold as a separate, full concert CD—this is a great, valuable package that is well worth the reasonable price for any Coheed and Cambria fan. I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Starland Ballroom Set List:
In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth: 3
Delirium Trigger
A Favor House Atlantic
The Crowing
Devil In Jersey City
Blood Red Summer
Time Consumer
Three Evils (Embodied In Love And Shadow)
Everything Evil
The Light & The Glass

2004 Skate & Surf Festival Set List:
In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth: 3
Devil In Jersey City
A Favor House Atlantic
Blood Red Summer

Coheed and Cambria Media:
MP3s
Devil In Jersey City
Delirium Trigger
The Crowing
A Favor House Atlantic
Videos
A Favor House Atlantic (WMV)
Devil In Jersey City (Quicktime)

(Cross posted at Blogcritics)

Crooked Fingers - Live At Berbati's Pan

2005-04-25T14:06:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday, April 19th, I attended a Crooked Fingers concert at Berbati's Pan in Portland, Oregon. The band has been touring in support of their latest album, Dignity and Shame, and I caught them on the final few shows of their tour. Having really enjoyed their newest album, though not finding it perfect, I was eager to see them live and they proved to be no disappointment.

The opening bands, Reclinerland and Dolorean, both put on good shows. They served as great warmups for the main act, with their sound complimenting Crooked Fingers very well. Being unfamiliar with both bands prior to the evening, I was pleased to find their music enjoyable and appealing. However, once Crooked Fingers came on, it was clear they were the main show.

Eric Bachmann, the lead singer, and the band as a whole is well-suited to performing live. They arrived with energy and enthusiasm, launching into their set with an admirable abandon. Crooked Fingers generally has a great sound, with a mixture of subdued and contemplative songs and more upbeat, gravel-voiced tracks that indulge in a greater amount of energy. Both kinds of music translated very well into their live performance, with them becoming animated and energenic during the more upbeat songs and settling into a wonderfully atmospheric and moody tone during the slower songs.

The guitar work was magnificent throughout the show, as were the drums. The interspersed trumpet was also very nice and effective, lending a great mood to many of the songs from Dignity and Shame, an album that used horns to great effect. Meanwhile, Barbara Trentalange did a magnificent job providing back up vocals and taking the lead during a few Dignity and Shame tracks, as well as kicking in with some work on the flute during certain songs.

Trentalange was one of the evening's pleasant surprises. In my review of the Dignity and Shame, I took some issue with the lyrical work of Lara Meyerattken, who shows up throughout the album. While there is certainly nothing technically deficient about her work on the album, her voice seemed ill-suited at times to the overall Crooked Fingers sound. For the live shows, it seems, the band is touring with Trentalange, whose voice came across as much more complimentary for the songs and for Bachmann in particularly. She has a slightly lower-pitched, more smoky and sultry voice that wove in and out throughout the songs, proving to be a very compatible and complimentary presence that added nice depth to the music. She also added her vocal talents to a few older Crooked Fingers songs and that worked out nicely, as well.

The songs from Dignity and Shame sounded better live than they do on the album. This was not just because of Trentalange's presence, either. Rather, the songs seemed deeper and more charged and energetic during the show, really playing to the strengths. For instance, "Destroyer" was a song that I only thought to be okay on the album but that sounded amazing live, particularly when the heavy guitars and drumming kicked in. The band performed with complete abandon, breaking the crowd into a frenzy.

Crooked Fingers performed about an hour long set, ending initially with the closing, title track from Dignity and Shame. It sounded beautiful and showed off Bachmann's skill on the piano. However, once the song was done, the night was not over. After exiting the stage for a moment, the band came back, plucked instruments from the stage, unhooked them, came onto the floor and proceeded to perform three songs without benefit of any sound equipment as the crowd gathered close around them in a circle. While hard to hear the vocals at times—even while standing right next to the band—it proved to still be an intimate and appealing moment. After the three songs, they then returned to the stage and finished off the night with a flourish, performing three more tracks before bringing the show to a close.

Altogether, the concert lasted about four hours with the opening acts, not finishing until about 1:30 in the morning. It was an amazing and energetic show from a very talented band and it showed off their music quite well. The show proved to be one of the best live shows I've attended and any Crooked Fingers fan would do well to catch them live if ever given the chance. Unfortunately, their current tour just drew to a close, but they'll no doubt be back on the road eventually. In the meantime, their current album is a great effort, flexing their musical abilities and broadening the scope of the band while still providing amazing and familiar music that any fan should enjoy.

__________
Crooked Fingers MP3s:
Dignity And Shame
Crowned In Chrome
Doctors Of Deliverance
You Can Never Leave
Sunday Morning, Coming Down

(Cross posted at Blogcritics)

The Burger King Will Murder You In Your Sleep

2005-04-19T14:33:00.000-07:00

I live here in the modern world that involves this lovely innovation called Tivo. What this Tivo thing allows me to do is watch lots of TV whenever I want and to, just as wonderfully, skip easily right on past those damnable commercials. Because, in this day and age, commercials are just not something that a person should have to endure even if they are what, basically, is financing the whole damn operation.

And yet, despite the fact that I can move on past these commercials, I still often find myself stopping and going back and checking out what the hell that was that I just watched on super fast forward, flashing by. It looked interesting for whatever reason—maybe entertaining or perhaps surprising or maybe just really damn weird—and so I go back and check it out. This I have done with those Burger King commercials they've been showing recently, that actually have the Burger King in them. Now, I'm not talking about that damn Hootie commercial, because that thing is just stupid and ridiculous. I don't know what the hell is going on there, except that Hootie might well have just gone out back to the shed and had himself a good raping is what looks like went down. I guess he needed some change for blow or hookers or whatever because there's no other good reason to explain that travesty, even if his career isn't going anywhere.

But I digress. The point is that these damn commercials with the actual Burger King in them are fucking creepy. In particular, I point you to this little gem. Perhaps you've already seen it—the commercial involves a dog frantically digging at the back door, the owner opening it to see the Burger King standing far off in the back yard and then, cut and cut and back, and HOLY SHIT he's standing right there with that creepy as all fuck wooden face just staring at the poor, confused son of a bitch who had the damn nerve to open his own door in his own house.

And then there's this one which is fucking wrong. Oh, I'm just going to wake up this fine morning here with the chirping birds and the streaming sun and hot damn am I rested and oh holy shit there's a man with a wooden face lying in bed with me! If that wouldn't make you up and defecate in your pants, then I don't likely know what would. Me, personally? I wouldn't be eating a breakfast sandwich with that evil King, I'd be taking a shotgun to his face so he would stop fucking stalking me. But that's just me, I suppose.

It could be that I'm a bit crazy—lord knows, the possibility has been raised—and these commercials aren't nearly as disturbing as I make them out to be. But then, my brother emphatically agreed with me when I brought this up at lunch on Sunday, so perhaps I'm not so crazy after all. At least, in this instance. I'll tell you what, though, if I ever open my window to see the Burger King standing there, I'm sure as all hell not going to start enjoying a hearty laugh with him so much as I'm going to take a hatchet to that face of his and see if I can't make me some kindling. I just think that's a safer course of action, is all.

Two Children Cross A Highway

2005-04-18T01:02:00.000-07:00

(Ed. Note: This is a true story—recounted to the best of my memory's ability—written as if it were a fictional story. If that makes sense.)

The two children—one boy, perhaps eight years old, and one girl, perhaps ten years old—wait at the edge of the busy highway, in the summer, in Arizona. Four lanes, with cars frantically passing at fifty miles an hour, sometimes faster. They push and push to maximize their vacation, to run their errands, to spend their money. Four door sedans and pick up trucks and SUVs, American and Japanese, Kia and Mercedes and Subaru, Ford and Honda and Toyota. Their tires buzz. Hot day and pressing sun, the rubber warm and pliable and the two children wait, side by side.

Lakeside, Arizona, a small town in the mountains of the state. A ski resort lays within forty-five minutes, a casino within fifteen minutes, and trees and lakes and all the activities that those who live in the valley travel Northeast to enjoy. Every summer, the four lane highway through town—the only road that goes all the way through Lakeside and its sister town Pinetop—becomes clogged with heavy and unending traffic, the danger rising and rising. Accidents occur and people wait by the side of the road for minutes and minutes, peering both ways for a break in the traffic that rarely comes. The lights are few and far between. Pedestrians make breaks for it.

Across the street from the two children a small coffee house stands near empty. Inside, one worker and one customer, a regular, talk. The heavy hum of traffic from outside has long ago faded into the background of both their minds. The day is hot and oppressive and the inside of the coffee house—not air conditioned, not well ventilated—reflects that pressing discomfort. The worker, Joel, is sixteen years old, nearly a child himself. The customer, Hal, is in his sixties, tall and white haired, grizzled and wrinkled and experienced in life, sarcastic and short-tempered and kind and angry. A camera hangs around his neck and he speaks with his hands, emphatically, and occasionally winks and smiles. He is cynical with an underlying but cautious hope. He likes the worker. The worker likes him, as well, as hornery as the customer can be. They talk randomly, passing the time while outside the world continues and two children wait at the side of the road directly across from them, wanting to leave behind the trinket shops for what lies on the other side. Perhaps the coffee house or perhaps the bakery next door or maybe even the nearby Mexican restaurant.

They are alone, for whatever reason, unaccompanied by parents.

A car halts in the lane closest to them, recognizing their desire to cross the road. There is another lane of Westbound traffic next to this halted car, then a middle lane for turning both ways, then two lanes of Eastbound traffic before the other side of the road and its gravel parking lot that serves the coffee house and the bakery and the Mexican restaurant and a gift shop. The car in the lane closest to the children brakes and stops and the children, together, begin to run across the road toward the middle lane, where they can stop and wait for the Eastbound lanes to clear and give them free reign to explore the other side of the highway.

A gardening truck—short and white and squat, so heavy and thick, carrying equipment in a hurried manner, perhaps, but not necessarily speeding or being reckless, but not paying attention to the side of the road, either, or the car that has stopped—barrels down the road and the two children—for some reason, they do not see the danger (perhaps because they are reckless as well, mere children, unequipped for all the life and death decisions they might face)—run out from in front of the stopped car and directly into the path of the gardening truck, which slams into both of them, hits them, hits them (did it even have time to brake, to swerve, or was it perfect timing?) plows into them, strikes them down in a nightmarish manner, in perpetual horror (it surely must have had time to brake somewhat; it couldn't have hit them unslowed, at fifty miles per hour, without simply destroying them) and the two children are mutilated in a flurry of incomprehensibility.

There are brakes then, screeching, and this sound registers in the minds of the worker, Joel, and the customer, Hal, within the coffee house no more than the other sounds of traffic have been registering. The sound that is made when the truck hits the children is surely small and slight, a crunch of bones and the tearing of flesh, certainly, but not so much to carry through the coffee house's open window and register in the minds of the two people inside, and to make them understand what has happened. There are brakes, yes, but no screeching metal, no echoing crunch of vehicle on vehicle that brings people running to view the proceedings, to gawk and stare and point and determine who is at fault, to make instant judgments and express their consternation.

But then there is screaming.

The screaming does not come from the children, for they are far beyond screaming at this point. They are not conscious (are they even alive?). It is the parents that scream, or one of the parents, but who can say which parent? There is no way to comprehend the gender of the person who screams—it is thick and guttural and there is terror and fear and horror and anger and the pain, the hurt, the agony that eats at a person just to hear, to hear the misery that tears at the soul, the emotions, at whatever it is (spirit or chemical reactions) that make us something beyond flesh and organs and pumping blood.

Hal rises from his chair and peers out one of the coffee house's windows, into the street beyond. Only for a moment, and then he gestures at Joel and says, "Look at this." As he opens the door to the outside world, his hands are already reaching for the camera strapped around his neck and he steps out onto the coffee house's porch, Joel just behind him. Together they stare out into the road, at the terrible scene.

The gardening truck has stopped in the middle of the road. Traffic all around has halted. The father is in the middle of the road, screaming—he has literally fallen to his knees—and there are people peering under the truck, talking excitedly, making serious gestures. There is a crumpled figure to the side of the truck—a boy—and the mother is coming out into the road, screaming as well.

Joel and Hal watch, and Hal begins to point out details of the scene. "Look at that," he says, "knocked the kid right out of her shoe." He points and sure enough, there is a shoe lying in the middle of the road, behind the truck. It sits alone, upright, innocent in the midst of asphalt. The truck hit the girl and took her right out of her shoe. It sits there. Joel stares at it. And he wonders, for a moment, how such a thing is possible. The physics do not seem right and surely they are not—a dragged body, a lost shoe, a happenstance upright positioning—yet the internal vision of the thick and heavy and deadly truck striking a child and pulling her, magically, directly out of her shoes—a blink of an eye and the horror is missed—and this stays so very stark and strong and visceral with him.

Hal leaves the porch, hefting the camera that hangs around his neck, and begins to snap pictures of the carnage. He clicks and clicks the aftermath, fascinated and focused but with a detachment that the boy tries to understand. But Hal, this man, he has seen war and atrocities and this must be one more small event in a lifetime of terrible occurrences, and he has taken pictures of pain before. How liberating that must be, to be able to frame and focus the scene, to encase it in boundaries and block out all the endless vistas of the world around, to not have to look too far skyward or to peer off into an endless horizon or try to imagine the vastness of space and realize that there are no confines to pain like this—that, in fact, it simply drifts off into the ether and goes on and on forever, like radio waves, information that will never be truly captured and reined in and understood—that, as a very disturbing matter of fact, there is no good explanation for a gardening truck hitting (killing?) two small children and that these broadcasts of pain weave through the fabric of existence; these broadcasts bind together our reality. They are not accidents or mistakes, but make up the very world we live in as crucial and critical moments. Indeed, could we even exist without such happenings?

The boy, Joel, though, has no camera and instead he watches Hal, and he watches the parents scream, and he leans against one of the porch railings. The driver of the gardening truck has stepped outside of the cab, takes tentative steps on the road's hot asphalt, and surveys the scene around him, of which he is the principle focus. Does he think to himself, I have murdered children? Or is he more forgiving of his own unintentional actions? Or perhaps his mind is blank, because he appears uncomprehending, his face taut with the inability to handle the stimulus around him. He stares at the father, who looks at him as well. The father rises and someone holds him back as he screams, "You killed them! You killed them!" And then the driver, whose face simply does not change but, Joel can see now, is in incalculable pain—it can be seen in the eyes—puts an arm against the back of his truck, against the metal (is it hot or cool on this summer day?) and leans his head against his arm while the father is restrained, while the driver tries to comprehend, while the world spins and spins and Hal takes pictures and the boy sits on the porch steps of the coffee house and slips into time-devouring shock and tries to understand how the world continues on with such abundant pain.

Why Writing Is The Ultimate Art Form

2005-04-12T01:06:00.000-07:00

I love movies. I love music. I love television shows--the good ones, anyway. I think all of these are very worthy art forms. However, they don't compare to books for me--though they all come close in certain ways. Writing and storytelling in general is, I suppose, the oldest art form and it is, as far as I'm concerned, the truest art form.

There are reasons for this and I was thinking about that recently. It came as I was listening to music. Music is something that I would have one hell of a hard time living without. I wouldn't give up books for music, but it's the closest that any form of art comes to overtaking books for me. But the other day I was listening to some music and calculating out how many songs I could listen to on the way to work and I figured about four, based on a three to four minute run time for each song. And when I'm thinking of songs, that's what I figure: three to four minutes. That's how long most songs are. It's not universal, obviously, and there's plenty of variance. But within the genres I typically listen to, a song is most often three to four minutes long.

Which is strange, when you get right down to it. Why are songs so often of similar length? Why is it that when you listen to the radio, most of the songs played will run about three to four minutes? Isn't that strange? Music, after all, is a form of art and so there should be a greater variety to the length of songs, because stories vary so much. Songs often tell a story in some form. Sometimes through the music, sometimes through the lyrics and most often through a combination of the two. They are aiming for emotion and response and all that good stuff, much like any art form. So it would make sense that you would see a wider variety of song length because stories come in all shapes and sizes. Even from the same artist, on the same album, you would think that there would be greater variance.

Except that the commercial aspect of music, to a large degree, dictates the length of a song. Three to four minutes is a good length for radio play. It just fits well for the format. Ten minute songs don't, and neither do thirty second songs. That's a pain in the ass for radio stations. And how long is an album? Well, it's ten to fifteen songs. And albums are now on CD and a CD holds, at most, eighty minutes of music. Most often, though, albums run around forty to fifty minutes. Ten four minute songs is forty minutes. Fifteen three minute songs? Forty five minutes. Twelve four minute songs is forty eight minutes. The math just works, doesn't it?

Television? Let's not even talk about television. Twenty two or forty four minutes. If it's twenty two minutes, it damn well better be a comedy and if it's forty four, then it better be a drama, though you can throw in comedic elements if you'd like.

How long are movies? They're around two hours long. Unless it's a comedy, in which case it's an hour and a half. Or an animated movie, which is usually an hour and a half, as well, or even a little shorter. Eighty minutes is common for an animated movie. Why is that? Because children have short attention spans and unless you're Pixar, you don't keep them occupied very well for more than eighty or ninety minutes.

Movies aren't four hours unless they're miniseries shown on television and split over multiple nights. It's because people don't want to sit in a movie theater for four hours. Just as important, it's because theater owners can't screen enough showings in a day to make enough money. The studios can't make their record opening weekends on four hour movies because they don't screen often enough to get enough people into the theaters. So movies aren't four hours long.

But here's the deal: movies aren't four hours because of economics, not because of artistic visions. Why did Peter Jackson make three Lord of the Rings movies rather than one damn long one? Because of the economics and logistics. In reality, he did make one long movie, he just had to break it up into three parts. Quentin Tarantino was making one movie with Kill Bill, but it eventually was split into two movies because of economics and logistics, not because of artistic vision (though he did, ultimately, end up making two distinct and separate films out of one story.)

Music and movies are wonderful, but they're incredibly restricted. Artists make three minute songs because that's what's expected, so it's in their minds while they make the music. They create forty five minute albums because that's the standard for the market and labels are loath to mess with expectations, lest it lead to lower sales.

Even when the economics change, they stay the same. The rise of iTunes and other digital music services promised to cut loose the reliance on the album format and let artists focus more on the artistic side of music rather than the commercial side. Except that iTunes sells albums for $9.99 and push that aspect of their business, rather than pushing the single track experience. And what if you're Green Day and you want to make a new album that's a bit more experimental, that has a couple tracks stuck in there that are nine or ten minutes long? No problem--so long as you break that track up into four different songs that simply lead into each other, rather than making one ten minute long song. That way, the label sells it as four different songs on iTunes but make it one track on the CD and you get to pretend you're being original rather than just bridging four different songs and giving them an overarching theme.

But books are different--sometimes. In the world of literature particularly, books are different. You get one thousand page behemoths like Infinite Jest sitting next to a quick, two hundred page read. You have Checkpoint, which barely makes it past one hundred pages, taking up space with the five hundred page Cloud Atlas. Writing allows much greater freedom because the commercial restraints are smaller. Even in genre writing, you have more leeway. Sure, you're expected to pump out at least three hundred pages if you want to write a horror novel so people feel they're getting their money's worth--because, at that level, the stories are looked at much more universally as entertainment rather than art, the way music and movies are--but you can go for a mammoth, multi-character eight hundred page novel, as well. Most people aren't going to complain, so long as it's good and entertaining. But there's no real option to make a five hour movie, even if it's the best movie of the year. No major studio is going to finance and release it.

Hell, with books, there are even tricks to massage the requirements. Say you're writing a horror novel and it's a short one--something that would normally come in at around two hundred pages. The publisher might be nervous about putting out such a slim volume and charging the regular price, so all they have to do is bump up the type point, widen the margins and fill up three hundred pages. Simple as that. Sure, anyone paying attention knows what is going on, but that mental barrier of how thick a horror novel needs to be is just that--it's a mental barrier that is unconcerned with the realities of what you're getting. And, again, if it's a good story, people aren't going to complain.

Want to write a series of thirty second songs? Good luck finding a label that wants to deal with that, but you might be able to throw them in during a live show, so long as they're surrounded by more conventional songs. But if you want to write a bunch of five and ten and twenty page stories, then that's no problem. Just write enough to fill a collection and you have your published work--a series of stories told the way you want to tell them. And you're free to mix it up--have a five page story followed by a thirty five page tale, followed by a ten page story and then a hundred and twenty page novella thrown in for good measure, if you so desire it.

And perhaps you have strange and offbeat ideas that you want to explore, something that the mass market will never embrace. Well, you have a hell of a better chance succeeding in the world of publishing than you do in the world of music and movies. Yes, it's still going to be considerably harder to find a company willing to take a chance on you, but they do exist and are out there. The publishing world has it's major players, but it's not dominated to the tune of 90-95% by a few major corporations the way that both music and movies are. There are small and independent publishers. There's a huge world of literary magazines. There is independent publishing online and there's even the opportunity for self-publishing without spending too great of sums of money. Hell, you can start a blog and write whatever you damn well please, for free, and if enough people like you, you could even make some money off it. And again, this comes back to the economics because it's a hell of a lot cheaper to produce a book than it is to produce a movie or a CD (though computers are beginning to change that.)

There's flexibility in writing that doesn't exist in other art forms. A book can be seven hundred pages because you don't have to sit and read it all at once. You can take as much time as you want and you can make yourself as comfortable as you want. You can read it in a couple days of marathon reading sessions or take a leisurely couple weeks--hell, a month if you want. The artists get to tell their story the way they want to, taking as much time and space as they want, and the reader gets to digest the story at their own pace rather than having to go at the pace of the artist.

It's amazing how the simple negation of time constraints makes an art form so much more flexible. It's also amazing how the proper economic model can make an art form all the more freeing. There's no radio play constraints in writing. You don't have to hit a certain time length and you don't have to avoid profanity. The limitations on what you can write aren't there nearly so much, because there's no sanitation necessary for the mass market and there are no government agencies overseeing everything to make sure no one is offended. Sure, there are no doubt commercial restraints within the publishing world--particularly if you work within the genre market--but the amount of freedom when compared to music and movies must be damn near dizzying. It still, ultimately, boils down to telling a good story and not how you tell that story. That's why I love books and that's why no other art form can replace writing.

Sin City Will Kick Your Ass--Then, Perhaps, Take Your Name

2005-04-11T01:09:00.000-07:00

Because, yes, I wanted to post it again.

I've been hyped about Sin City, as might have been evident by my two different "Movies To See" posts on it. Then I started to read the reviews and they generally were good. Everything I heard seemed to suggest that I was going to quite enjoy the movie. So last Monday, I took off to the theater in the afternoon to check the film out.

Damn, damn, Sin City is one hell of a great movie. It starts out a bit rough, with an opening story starring Bruce Willis's character. This opening struck me as weak when compared with what came afterward. Also, in the beginning, it's hard to get used to the dialogue. I knew going in that the writing would be that way--I wasn't going in blind, completely surprised by the tone and style of story--but it still was hard not to groan at the lines.

However, then the Bruce Willis story ended and Marv's began. At that point, I was pretty much gone. The movie kicked into high gear, the characters became much more interesting and the dialogue suddenly seemed just fine--perfect, in fact.

The visual style of this movie is incredible. Frank Miller is listed as a co-director because, basically, his graphic novels were used as storyboards by Robert Rodriguez. And there is no question here that this is an incredibly faithful adaptation. In fact, this may be the best comic book movie--if you want to call it a comic book--in terms of capturing the look and feel of the source material. Spiderman has been done very well, without question, but Sin City goes above and beyond in staying true to the original material.

If you haven't seen the movie yet, the visual style is black and white for the most part, with occasional splashes of color to enhance certain effects, characters, or items. Digital effects are used widely and effectively to create a world that is the equivalent of what is seen in the graphic novels. The city is brought to life wonderfully, beautifully, and the visuals do exactly what they should do: better pull the viewer into the story and capture not only their attention, but their imagination. When color shows up on the screen, it really stands out but it never acts as a distraction, either. It works wonderfully with the way the movie is laid out.

The movie is not one long story but rather a series of interconnected tales weaving together a wide cast of characters. The stories interrelate and overlap, but they stand on their own, as well. They don't fall quite in chronological order, either. Of the stories, Marv's is easily the most entertaining and fascinating, but the other ones hold their own, as well. While the story of Hartigan (Bruce Willis's character) starts out somewhat slow, it becomes much more interesting when it reemerges later in the film.

The cast is great, particularly Mickey Rourke as Marv and Clive Owen as Dwight. (In general, I'm becoming more and more impressed with Clive Owen. His turn in Closer was flat out amazing.) Everyone seems to delve into the movie whole heartedly, without a bit of hesitation or uncertainty. They commit themselves to bringing this very peculiar and distinct world to life and allowing it to grow and breathe over the course of the movie. Robert Rodriguez, the director, does an amazing job, committing himself just as much to bringing to life Miller's graphic novels. It's pretty clear that he has a real love for these stories and that he was determined to represent them properly on the screen.

This movie is sick and twisted and dark and completely unapologetic. It thrives on violence and vice, the characters often sympathetic but always on a dark and dangerous path. The world is oppressive and dark and yet it somehow manages not to be too overwhelming or depressing. The film stays entertaining and enjoyable even as terrible events are constantly occurring and characters that we are rooting for are meeting terrible fates. It's an interesting and impressive balancing act.

There has been talk about the similarities between Sin City and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow in the sense of the extensive use of digital imagery in both movies to create the worlds in which they're set. While I did quite enjoy Sky Captain, there's no doubt that Sin City is a more impressive movie and a better story. Sky Captain used it's digital wizardry, in large part, as an impressive effect meant to dazzle the audience. Meanwhile, while Sin City is, without a doubt, very impressive, every bit of digital imagery is focused on the goal of creating this world that is necessary for the story to thrive in. It all comes back to the characters, to the writing, to the story and is never exclusively about wowing the audience, which is sometimes how Sky Captain seemed to be. In that sense, Sin City is a more mature and accomplished film and it better shows the way in which pervasive digital imagery can benefit and advance the art of movie-making.

So I loved Sin City. All those great-looking trailers proved to be in service of a complete pay off. The movie was everything I hoped it would be and I'm left with the great desire to see more of this dark and disturbing world, to spend more time with the characters--particularly Marv. Hopefully we'll see a sequel before long and hopefully many of the original actors will be back along for another ride. Because I want to visit again.

Suffer

2005-04-05T00:58:00.000-07:00

I struck on a thought while emailing Ralph--a reader who I originally met through Iron Blog--that I wanted to expand on here.

I've written before about how I like my art to be sad. That's not to say that I deplore happiness or satisfaction, that I hate a good happy ending or anything like that. It's just that I have no problem with the sad endings, the tragic ones, with the stories that dwell on misery and suffering and all the pain inherent in living on this planet. It seems to me that existence is brutal, to varying degrees for various people, but universally painful on certain levels.

Now, life is worth it, I believe. For the pain and misery and suffering that seems always around the next corner, there is also joy and happiness and great elation. Life is pretty damn cool, when you get right down to it. That's my thought. Therefore, I don't want this to be taken as some sort of downcast condemnation of existence, as a hopeless screed.

But the suffering is there and I don't believe it will ever go away. I do think the human race is capable of great gains and achievements, of righting wrongs and carrying out justice. I believe that we can make lives better and that we can improve the world. I do believe in progress. But I also believe that pain is a constant, that it will always exist and that the only difference is in how it manifests. Pain changes and morphs and puts on new faces, but it never disappears. It simply takes a different form, the way energy does.

So I like my art to deal with that. I like my art to dwell on it, to tackle it head on, to exhibit and try to make sense of all the pain in the world. However, I don't want my art to try to provide me answers for the pain. I don't want to be told the details about why we suffer and I don't want people to tell me how to make it end. I don't want a lecture or a grave explanation of just how the human race has gone wrong and how it can correct itself. Give me a break--we don't have the answers. No one has the answers. If they existed, we would be a hell of a lot better off. We've tried, oh how we've tried to make the world right and perfect. We try governments and economies and religion, we proclaim the Golden Rule and talk to our neighbors, we put ourselves into therapy and make friends and find lovers and it never goes away. The pain doesn't disappear. The best we get is a retreat--temporary--and then the return of pain in a different form. Or, hell, half the time it comes back in the same damn form. We thought we beat it; we didn't.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't defeatism or misery, this isn't even a dark night of heavy thoughts. I've been in a good mood today. I just like to face up to the reality of pain in this world and I always have. I think it's one of the key reasons I consider Buffy the Vampire Slayer to be one of the greatest shows of all time. It dealt with pain forthright, head on, without ever hesitating or pulling back to give the viewer a breather. The show--specifically, Joss Whedon--had no trouble piling tragedy upon tragedy on the viewer, inundating them with pain and misery and heartbreak, great loss. Whedon said multiple times that his goal was to pile on the pain until the audience felt they couldn't take any more--and then hit them with something else. He always wanted to see how far he could take it because he wanted to be honest about life, about what happens in this world. Because the pain is always there, it's ever-present. You don't get a breather, no one decides that your life needs to be made happier so as not to alienate the audience. If there's any audience to this existence, then it's an audience with endless tolerance.

Give me the misery. Give me the horror, the tragedies, the injustices. I want all of it, because that's what this life is. Give me the pain, let me feel it. Rip my fucking heart out; this is what I want. I can take it. I'll have to take it, because how can I manage real life pain if I can't take the pain that artists feed me? How do you survive your own very real life if you can't even handle the imagined lives?

Yes, I know, for many people art is about entertainment. They want the movies that make them feel good, that distract them from the pain of their lives. But I've never been that way. I'll take the entertainment, mind you, and I'll enjoy it and won't have a problem with letting my mind wander for a couple hours or however long it takes. When you get right down to it, though, I could live without the mindless entertainment, but I would have a much harder time getting by without the vicarious pain and misery. It's that kind of art that leaves me thoughtful and contemplative, that leaves me feeling just a bit closer to making sense of the world. I don't think I can ever have a true understanding of the scope of this life, of its purpose or meaning or why people suffer the way they do, but I do believe I can gain a better grasp of it. I think that I can come to terms with it and I believe that examining pain and suffering through art is a crucial component of coming to accept life, to dealing with the intricacies of our existence. I think art can make the pain more bearable, but only if you're willing to experience the painful art. It just makes it easier when the real pain comes around and you realize that, yes, this all happens to you, too. It's not just something you read or watch--it's how the world is. And it's how the world will always be. So if art can confront it and help you to handle it when it raises its head for real, then all the better. Then suddenly art is not just entertainment and escape, it's a crucial element of life. It becomes an integral part of existence, which makes it richer and fuller, much more visceral and emotional. It enhances life, and that is something special.

Using Casey Kasem To Hate America

2005-04-02T12:21:00.000-08:00

Norwegian rap group Gatas Parlament created a music video recently for their song, "Kill Him Now." Early on in the video, it talks about killing President Bush and, under pressure from the United States government, the Norwegian government banned the video. However, because of this little thing called the internet--which has a way of spreading around various types of speech that people find distasteful--the video can be viewed in full with English subtitles on iFilm.

The existence of the video brings up some interesting questions about freedom of speech, particularly when that speech is being used to possibly advocate murder. The other question, of course, is whether or not the damn video is any good.

The most controversial part of the video is the beginning and the end. At the beginning, you have a news announcer reporting that the (real) site killhim.nu has raised enough money to hire an assassin to kill President Bush. At the end of the video, we see the actual killing of Bush--or, the implied killing of him, through some juxtaposing of images of the president with images of an assassin carrying what appears to be a missile-launcher.

But this video isn't just about hating Bush, it's about hating America as a whole. The group has a litany of complaints about U.S. foreign policy dating back before Bush's presidency. These complaints run by quickly, accompanied by graphs that appear to be very informative, though I can't say for sure since they're not in English. Mixed in with these graphs and the lyrics and various other images, though, is what perhaps is the real source of the group's hatred toward America: clips from Saved by the Bell. Particularly, clips from the episode of Saved by the Bell that involves a dance competition.

Now, the group might have some fair criticisms about U.S. foreign policy. Perhaps they have some legitimate beefs with President Bush--I know, personally, I haven't been the biggest fan of his. However, I really would expect Saved by the Bell is the true source of their ire. Because, in case you've never seen the show, it's bad. I mean, it's really bad. And if I were watching that show and took it as any sort of indication of America--especially if I were watching an episode guest-starring Casey Kasem, for god's sake--well, I would probably hate America too. I'd be wondering just how we might bomb it right off the face of the earth.

So is the video any good? Well, actually, it kind of is. I mean, it seems like a decent rap song, despite the fact that I can't understand the lyrics. Something a bit along the lines of a Norwegian version of Sage Francis, perhaps, who I quite like. I mean, they seem to have some talent for this rapping thing, whatever you may think of the substance of the song. Again, I say this with the caveat that I'm kind of guessing, since the actual sound of the lyrics is gibberish to me. (Though fun gibberish, I must say. It's an interesting language.)

The other question is whether or not the video goes too far and whether it should be allowed to be seen. This is a trickier question. Personally, I'm loathe to infringe on free speech rights, but there are always certain limits, and those limits generally come into play when the free speech puts someone else at risk of harm. I remember the trial awhile back of some anti-abortion activists for making up wanted posters of abortion doctors and basically calling for their killing on websites. They were found guilty of making illegal threats that went beyond free speech and the ruling was upheld--just barely--by an appeals court. Much like the appeals court, I was very divided on the decision, but ultimately leaned more toward finding them guilty. They were basically advocating the killings of private citizens, and that went too far in my mind.

Yet, I feel a bit more lenient toward this video. Now, I realize that my political beliefs may influence that view, but I would argue it's more the fact that I think politicians and other people who have made a conscious decision to put themselves on a public stage are a bit more fair game, as well as the way the threat is carried out in the video. Basically, I find the video to be more a skit than an actual call for Bush's assassination. Basically, I don't see it as a true threat, but rather as fiction. That's how it's played in my mind, which is the real dividing line. They talk about an assassin being hired, but they don't explicitly call for someone to go out and kill Bush.

It's a fine line, without a question, and I think the band purposefully walked that line in a very careful manner. So I say let the video play, if for no other reason than for the fun of hurting your head by watching a rap video that attempts serious critiques of U.S. foreign policy while interspersing it with clips of a Saved by the Bell episode guest-starring Casey Kasem. If it's an attempt at subversion, then . . . hats off to you, Gatas Parlament.

(Cross posted to Blogcritics.org)

Love In The Fascist Brothel

2005-03-30T11:38:00.000-08:00

The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower's newest album, Love in the Fascist Brothel, is a CD that's hard to summarize. It's punk and hardcore, screaming vocals and furious sound. It has a touch of jazz, it has screamo, it has post-punk-hardcore--or whatever you want to call it. There are guitars and drums and saxophone--oh yes--and vocals that, unfortunately, are not as easily understood as they should be. The album has Nazi and fascist imagery, terrible (albeit purposefully terrible, it seems) artwork and it runs about twenty four minutes, so it's hardly a long and arduous trip. It's more short and loud, which works well enough but certainly leaves room for a longer run time.

I enjoyed seeing The Plot in concert recently (make no mistake, they are damn good live) and much of what I wrote in that review stands in regards to the CD itself. The layering in of the occasional bit of saxophone is a very nice touch that sets this music apart from some of The Plot's contemporaries. The record is overflowing with energy and enthusiasm as the band rips through the album's ten songs. The music is full of fury and invigoration and it's a performance that can certainly be admired.

However, the album has its problems, as well. The vocals too often become lost in the music. This might be a matter of poor mastering on the record or it could be a problem with the band itself--I suspect it's a combination of the two, based on their live show. Many of the lyrics are solid and interesting, creating intriguing imagery, but they are typically obscured by the music to the point that they cannot be understood. Too often the lead singer, Brandon Welchez, seems to be mumbling in the background when he should be grabbing the listener and dragging him through these songs, demanding attention. He has a great and unique voice that mostly feels wasted on this album, shunted into the background.

There is still a lot to love about Love in the Fascist Brothel, though. It's bursting with creativity, for starters. The music is fascinating, constantly changing and shifting and morphing. These guys are never satisfied with the sound they have, constantly moving it forward, adjusting the level, changing tempo and switching up the pace. The tempo, though, typically remains a fast one as The Plot push ever furiously forward. The music is crazed and chaotic and it works wonderfully. There is a strange mix of control and chaos, of a tight sense of random noise that adds up to something greater. The Plot does a magnificent job of straddling a fine line between noise and music. They constantly assault the listener but typically do it in a compelling way.

The constant change, however, intrudes upon the ability of the songs to distinguish themselves. The album begins to blend together, with little in particular truly standing out and impressing itself upon the listener. There are moments here and there, from a variety of the songs, that do become recognizable--the frayed opening of "Exile on Vain Street" and the epileptic cowbell on the same track; Welchez's clouded voice repeating, "I'm choking on the sweet taste of honey" in "Drake the Fake"--but even with these moments, they're just snippets of songs and the complete tracks themselves mesh together with their counterparts, failing to find consistently distinguishing traits.

There's plenty to be impressed with on Love in the Fascist Brothel, but the album has its share of faults. For those who enjoy hardcore music, they may find themselves really appreciating The Plot's approach. There's no doubt that this is fascinating and original--the work of a great talent. Yet, the album burns out early, the vocals are too often obscured and unintelligible and the songs could stand to separate themselves more. I would recommend the album for fans of this type of music, but still hope for better from The Plot in the future. They have a ton of promise, without question, and it will be interesting to see how well they live up to that promise.

__________
"Exile on Vain Street" - MP3

A Worthy Remake

2005-03-29T12:23:00.000-08:00

The Office--the original British version--was hilarious. It was dry and witty and very low key at times--though it could get silly, too--and is one of the funniest shows I've ever had the pleasure of watching. It ran two short seasons and had a two hour special to round things out. The special was awesome. The seasons were great. The show just sparkled, from the beginning to end.

The cast was brilliant, with Ricky Gervais--one of the creators of the show--as the boss, David Brent, being particularly impressive. He played Brent as a complete jackass, a sleazeball, an egotistical idiot who was so full of himself that he could not recognize the reality that constantly stared him in the face. And yet, he was always just shy of being overbearing as a character. You could watch the show and squirm in your seats at his antics, but you never actually would turn off the television and stop watching. It never became too much. It bordered on it at times, but it never crossed that line.

The balancing act within the show was impressive. The humor came straight from uncomfortable situations, from long and awkward pauses, from just the right comic beats. Time and again, it could have devolved into a disaster, but it never did. It was consistently hilarious.

So an American remake airing on NBC seemed like a complete disaster in the making. I read the news with great trepidation and even when Steve Carell was cast as the boss--now named Michael Scott--I still did not even dare to hope that the show would be any good. Yes, Steve Carell is genius, hilarious, a master at comic timing. Just watching him perform on The Daily Show over the years makes that clear. But it did not matter that he was hilarious--there seemed no way that even his talents could manage to move The Office away from its place as a disaster-in-the-making.

And yet, somehow, the show is funny. Now, I've only seen one episode so far, but it showed considerable promise. It certainly was not as good as the original British version, but it still played very well. There were laughs, the cast was largely likable, and Steve Carell did a pretty good job of playing a role that had already been perfected. I don't attribute the show's success simply to Carell's work, though he does do a great job. Instead, it seems that Ricky Gervais is not only talented at creating a hilarious British comedy, but is also pretty damn talented at then translating that comedy to American sensibilities. From what I read, he played a large role in adapting the show for NBC and it seems to have worked out beautifully.

The cast is solid enough, though the first episode would suggest that it is not nearly as talented--as a whole--as the cast from the original series. Still, these people seem funny and competent, able to take this show forward into future episodes. Carell, as I already said, does a great job of taking on the main role. He plays the character in an even harsher manner than Gervais did in the original, and it is yet to be seen if this can be maintained. Brent is brutal under Carell's stewardship and he could easily slip too far into unlikable territory--a troublesome development that Gervais managed to avoid. But the character was rough in the first few episodes of the original, as well, so we'll see if he becomes a bit more likable over time--or at least sufferable, to be more specific.

The other standout in the cast is Jenna Fischer as Pam, the secretary. She is instantly enjoyable and alluring, even more so than the character was originally. She brings a sly sarcasm to the role that benefits the character greatly. And she is someone that the audience can easily empathize with and root for, setting her up early as the show's emotional center.

We'll see how the future episodes go, but so far things are looking very good. I had little hope that this remake could succeed, especially with the track record NBC has had of late with sitcoms. However, against all the odds, they managed to succeed. Color me shocked, but happy. I'd love to reexperience these characters and--if the show is successful--see their storylines evolve beyond the limits of the original series.

The Blood Brothers - Crimes

2005-03-28T11:11:00.000-08:00

The Blood Brothers, on their latest album, Crimes, are a mess of sound and fury, macabre lyrics, screaming and throaty singing and fast, fast songs that, nevertheless, are often times not nearly as fast as on past albums. The Blood Brothers have evolved with their latest album, injecting at least a partial sense of pop into their hardcore past. It's still an incredibly unique sound, though, and terribly entertaining.

The level of intensity that the two singers, Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blilie, maintain throughout the album is impressive. They scream their way through the songs, track after track, laying themselves out with such energy and enthusiasm that it becomes certain that they'll have to collapse at some point. But they keep going, never losing the overall intensity and manic energy that constantly propels the record forward.

There are moments, though, when they slow down to some degree--though "slow down" is relative to this band, not to the music scene as a whole. The screaming will abate from time to time to create a dark mood, a black atmosphere in which the twisted and imaginative lyrics shine and take hold, tunneling into the listener's mind. You can hear this at the beginning of the third track, "Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck," as the song opens with the whispered lyrics, "Those tire tracks / zigzag your torso like the Devil's self portrait." This is one of the quieter songs on the album. It sacrifices some of the energy of other tracks for a focus on moodiness and macabre story-telling. Ultimately, though, to say it is quieter is to speak in relative terms, as it is not actually quiet, which becomes apparent when the screaming kicks in, laden with dark emotion and disappointment, pain and loss.

With this album, listeners will find longer and more layered songs than they did early on in The Blood Brothers' career, a change that works very well. While this is no pop album, by any stretch of the imagination, there's far more melody on Crimes than on The Blood Brothers' early albums. They have moved beyond the hardcore scene without completely abandoning it, creating a fascinating mixture of musical genres that still manages to assault the listener, just in a more melodic way. There are still short and crazed tracks, but they are mixed in with more complicated songs that serve to give a slight breather.

Their two singers create a strange but enjoyable mixture of high- and low-pitched vocals that can quickly grow on the listener. The juxtaposition can perhaps best be heard on "Live at the Apocalypse Cabaret" as the two singers trade off lines, alternating and at times overlaying each other to create a wonderful mixture of high and screaming and low and grumbling, gravel-voiced lyrics pressing up against a screech that threatens to disintegrate under its intensity.

Some of the change ups on the album are near-breathtaking. In "Rats and Rats and Rats For Candy," The Blood Brothers throw nearly everything at the listener, switching maniacally between high and low vocals, throwing out constant tempo changes, moving from slower and more pronounced lyrics to intense screaming. The song is pandemonium, yet it never becomes frustrating or annoying. It enfolds the listener in energy and insanity, driving forever forward.

Then the album shifts gears again and moves into contemplative and dwelling lyrics with the title track. This happens again and again, the switch between different musical styles, a variety of tempos and intensity, never long being content with one pace. It offers a great variety and ever-changing musical landscape. It's hard to lose interest in this album as it barrels along, always morphing and evolving.

Try to understand the lyrics as Johnny Whitney screams, "The carnival's glossy ghosts, / zebra-painted horses parade, / the cotton candy prostitutes, / caramel apple corpses singing, / 'Just this way to the neon orange gallows! / Tonight we tie the noose around the killer's collar! / Watch him play his wind pipe organ!'" Listen as Jordan Blilie growls, "If the brick / you throw / puts a bullet in your skull / and a police boot lands atop your gaping jaw?" on the song "Peacock Skeleton With Crooked Feathers." Then revel in the pure and dark macabre as the two of them together sing, "If tuxedos slither off corpses / and copulate wild on wedding cake, / and the priest starts snapping photos?" These songs are in no way tame and seem specifically designed to evoke emotion and drag up dark and imaginative imagery, to slither and snake their way into the listener's mind. The album evokes a black world, complete with dysfunction and pain and descriptive horror. Yet, this does not come across as a depressing album, either, with the malevolent lyrics consistently expressed in a playful and at times taunting manner.

Crimes is an impressive balancing of moods and sounds. It's an amazing mixture of hardcore and melody, with a touch of pop thrown in to keep everything off-balance. The Blood Brothers are not producing the same music they once were, but this is not a bad development. Instead, they have evolved and created a style of music that stands apart from the crowd and that deserves wide recognition. I'm excited to see what they'll come up with next.

Withheld Touch

2005-03-24T22:23:00.000-08:00

by Joel Caris

He sat in the coffee house, across the room from the two girls. One of them stared at him and pointed, surreptitiously but still visibly, lightly touching her friend on the shoulder to gain her attention. “Look at him,” she said. “His eyes are so dark; they're ringed. He looks like death and madness, restricted freedom. Do you see?”

Her friend nodded and smiled. The coffee house vibrated, the screech of milk being steamed and the angry buzz of brewing espresso. Customers walked in and out the front door. They were a steady stream of need and desire, fulfilled satisfaction and expectation. The girl loved the smell of sweat on the hot day and the pheromones the customers exuded, lust for flesh replaced by lust for substance. They shook and tapped their fingers on the counter, eagerly counted out their money and handed over their pieces of plastic, desperate for milk and caffeine and chocolate, syrups and brownies and pecans, peanuts, almonds, walnuts, tea and small, pre-packaged sandwiches, cookies and peppermint and foam, fix upon fix upon fix.

The friend left and the girl walked over to the boy, admiring the way his eyes wandered and he cocked his head slightly to the side, appearing thoughtful and considerate and deeply hungry. She sat down and he looked at her, stared at her, drinking slowly from his coffee and he smiled just hesitantly and slightly, with only his top row of teeth visible and only this for a moment. “Hello,” she said, and she placed her elbows on the table and squeezed her breasts together slightly, angling so he could see down her shirt. She smiled. She could not laugh until he said something.

“Hi,” he said, but she still could not laugh.

His life roiled behind his eyes--she could see years and months and days, hours and minutes boiled down to simplistically complicated emotions and conflicting thoughts, anger and desire and pleasure. Death, she thought, and it did seem as if he exuded this essence, this thought of drifting non-existence, as if life had tried to be something for him but had managed only to disappoint and fail extravagantly.

After peering down her shirt a moment--but not overt and he did not leer, did not even seem particularly motivated to look--he put his own elbows on the table and leaned in toward her, flashed again his smile and he asked her her name, which she told him, then he made a small joke about the customers--in and out--slightly sexual to gauge her reaction. She laughed at the joke and he touched her on the arm, lightly dragging his fingers down across her skin. She tingled. For a moment, she did not know what to do. He had taken her move and confused the situation. So she touched her dark, long hair and smiled enthusiastically and asked him why his eyes were so dark and abandoned.

All the way back to his house--"So big!" she exclaimed--she imagined him fucking her, again and again and a variety of ways and wondered if the death behind his eyes would rub off on her, if it would enter her and fester and where exactly it would stake its residence. But when they arrived, he took her into the living room and sat her down on his couch, offering food and drink. She told him that whiskey or vodka would be perfect--a request he accepted without hesitation. He returned with both and with two shot glasses. One for each drink.

They alternated and each had three shots--her two of vodka and him two of whiskey, then one of the others for both. The room grew hot and charged, electric, while she touched him tirelessly, again and again, and he touched her but neither become bold or forward and their clothes did not rustle or fall. Arms and legs, a shoulder, he stroked her hair and she touched him lightly on the neck, just beneath his jawline. They stared at each other and saw familiar hatreds and desires. They could understand each other and each touch brought everything closer and caused the night to become more stark and honest. It began to disturb her.

She tried to kiss him once, but he pushed her away. It somehow seemed appropriate. She drank another shot of whiskey at this point--which made three shots of vodka and two of whiskey--and they were both drunk and lost, with black eyes and constant touches--the way he stroked her hair--and at one point they simply sat with entwined fingers, palms touching and both of them staring intermittently at the ceiling and then at one another. She chafed at the intimacy of the moment but refused to listen to the part of her mind that screamed for her to leave or fuck, to take something or go. Calm calm calm, she repeated to herself, dared herself, and continued to let him touch her in brief and intimate and non-sexual ways.

Three hours after arriving at his house, she asked him, “Would you drive me back to my car if I asked, so I could go home?”

“Of course,” he answered.

But she did not ask.

Later--as they both struggled with consciousness and alcohol--he led her upstairs to his bedroom, where they took off their clothes. They stared at each other a moment and she felt both ashamed and exhilarated, wanting to grab hold of him and make him touch every part of her, to force him to see every thought that had ever entered her mind. Instead, though, they climbed into bed and pushed themselves close to each other. He touched her stomach, her legs, her breasts, her shoulders and face and hair and once he massaged her feet, only for a few moments, and another time he traced up her inner thigh and then over her hips. She ran her fingers along his chest and stomach, traced circles on the backs of his knees, put both hands on his face, dragged the back of her hand across his stubble, squeezed his shoulder and ran her hands up and down his back.

Then they fell asleep, innocent, and throughout the night she woke up again and again. She cried in her sleep and trembled and every time she awoke he would be staring at her. He would wrap his arms around her, sometimes placing his palm flat against her stomach and other times his arm across her breasts. Heat poured off him. Yet he kept his death to himself, offering only his quiet touch and eventually she stopped crying. She slept deep into the next day before she woke up confused and uneasy, searching the boy next to her for his darkness, for all the promised touches he had withheld.

Fade Out

2005-03-24T02:04:00.000-08:00

I did a bit of shopping today. I picked up James Joyce's short story collection, Dubliners. I'm feeling the need to read the story, "The Dead." According to Sheila, it has the best ending ever and it does sound quite enjoyable. Plus, I'm not sure if I've ever read James Joyce before and I feel I should.

I also went looking for some new Tobias Wolff books, since I enjoy him much. I didn't have any luck at the smaller used bookstore here in Vancouver, so I hit Powell's in Portland--which is, uh, kind of big--and I picked up four books, including another short story collection from Wolff. I'll probably be reading that soon.

I also bought a new CD--Never Take Friendship Personal by Anberlin. They're a rock/punk/emo band--whatever you want to call that brand of music that includes Thursday and Taking Back Sunday and The Used and so on. It's nothing amazing or original, to be sure, but I'm enjoying it. It's overly produced, very slick and certain of itself, lots of raging guitars and heavy drums and intense, emotional, loud vocals--all of it overlayed with a heavy sense of melody. It's good stuff, even if I've heard it all before and heard it done better. Still, I'm enjoying it.

Except for this one song, "Audrey, Start the Revolution!" The song is fine, for the most part, until it comes to the end. Then it does something horrible, awful, something that I simply cannot abide. It fades out. I fucking hate fading out. It is utterly inexcusable. There is no reason for it at all. It's lazy and pointless, a total cliche, so horribly unthoughtful that I want to gouge out my eyes. Why would anyone ever fade out a song? What, you just couldn't come up with a real ending so you found a line to repeat over and over for thirty seconds while you make it quieter? What kind of crap is that?

I don't want to be lulled out of a song, I want to be punched out of it. I want to gasp, not drift away. There should be a final line and it should kick my ass. Hell, it doesn't even have to be impressive, just give it a proper ending. Fading out is a complete cop out. It's pathetic. It's boring. It's evil. I thought I had largely heard the end of the fade out, but every once in awhile it pops back up to annoy the hell out of me.

Just end your songs, people. Don't back slowly out of the room and hope I don't notice.

Aqualung - Strange and Beautiful

2005-03-21T13:12:00.000-08:00

Strange and Beautiful, releasing on March 22nd, is lovely and melodic, overfilled with quiet piano work and brooding vocals, moody stories that seem perfect for a quiet and rainy day or a thoughtful night. There are songs on the album that are catchy, as well, but Aqualung never ventures into upbeat pop territory with this album. Instead, the listener is treated to contemplative melodies and the inner peerings of a talented musician.

Aqualung is, essentially, Matt Hales. He hails from the U.K. and has made a name for himself there with two albums: a self-titled debut and his follow up, Still Life. For his U.S. debut, songs from both of his U.K. albums have been pulled together to form Strange and Beautiful. The album starts off with the title track, which introduced the U.K. to Aqualung when it was used in a Volkswagen commercial. Hales sings the simple refrain, "I'll put a spell on you / and when I wake you / I'll be the first thing you see / and you'll realize that you love me." It is instantly appealing and one of the most pop-oriented tracks on the album, yet manages to not be forgettable, either. It's a sorrow-tinged love song that introduces the listener to Hales' voice, which comes across throughout the album as contemplative and searching, sad and thoughtful without succumbing to outright depression.

The album is mostly coherent, yet also varied. Being a mix of tracks from two different records, one would worry that the music would not always flow as a whole. However, some of the songs have been remixed to address this potential problem and the album does indeed flow very well, moving from track to track without ever jarring the listener, though it flows better in the second half than the first. While the album as a whole is strong, there is certainly a differing level of quality amongst the songs. The title track is great but the next two are merely decent songs, never reaching the sort of heights as the first. But the fourth track, "Brighter Than Sunshine," then comes in and picks the record back up. This is a much more positive, upbeat track that, pardon the pun, really shines. The album then moves into a mixture of strong and simply good songs before flowing into an amazing second half.

Interestingly, as "Brighter Than Sunshine" makes clear, even an upbeat song from Aqualung feels mere steps away from tumbling into dark corners of the mind. This is a strength of the album--the ability to always be within reach of the more melancholic states of mind. Combine that with the fact that this tactic never seems indulgent or tiresome and you have the perfect album for when you're in a quiet mood. Hales' voice is smooth and soothing, confident over his piano work and always imparting a sense of weariness that, nevertheless, does not overwhelm or depress the music. It's a fine line he straddles, being able to perform an upbeat track while keeping the listener aware that sorrow often comes hand in hand with happiness and joy, feeling it lurking there under his words, ready to come forward at any moment.

Pain, meanwhile, is readily apparent throughout Strange and Beautiful. Loss and disappointment is a constant refrain. Yet, the album seems full of hope, as well. This is not the work of someone who has given up on life or become defeated by disappointment, but rather by someone who recognizes setbacks, appreciates challenges, and uses failure to push himself forward.

Aqualung is original, yet familiar. You'll hear definite strands of Coldplay throughout the album and there are moments that sound like less-eccentric Radiohead as Hales' voice takes on qualities of Thom Yorke. Thankfully, though, the songs never come across as derivative. Aqualung's music is clearly its own, building on the artistry of others rather than attempting to mimic it.

The first half of the album is solid but a bit uneven, moving through a series of songs that vary in their sound. The greatest strength comes toward the end of the album, starting with "You Turn Me Round." This is where the record's atmosphere fully kicks in. The songs become darker and more melancholic, laced with pain and too much experience. The vocals are gorgeous and the piano work encompassing. "If I Fall" is soft and subdued, plaintively asking for safety and comfort. The following song, "Easier To Lie," is a strong and subversively up-tempo track.

Strange and Beautiful's final two songs are magnificent, offering a wonderful cap to the album. "Extra Ordinary Thing" is a haunting lullaby, with Hales' voice sounding consistently on the verge of being overwhelmed with emotion. The piano is perfect, building on and accentuating the lyrics to create a pervading sense of beauty and unease. The final track, "Another Little Hole," perfectly sums up the album, continuing the quiet and haunting tone of "Extra Ordinary Thing." Hales bookends the opening song's tale of putting a spell on his love by singing, "The day is breaking / and time is taking / the love we're making away. / The gods have spoken / the spell is broken / and love will tear us apart." It's a sorrowful song and not particularly hopeful, but it is beautiful. And that, perhaps, is how best this album--and Hales' expressive lyrics--can be described: beautiful. Sorrowful and lilting, yes, and haunting and thoughtful, without a doubt, but first and foremost beautiful. How appropriate the album's title turns out to be.

Of Limitations

2005-03-21T01:14:00.000-08:00

I think what I find hardest about being a writer--aside from, you know, actually getting my ass in gear and writing--is knowing my limitations. For instance, I am not someone who is particularly talented at writing comedy. This annoys me because, in actual life, I think I'm a relatively funny person. Either that or a lot of people humor me, because I seem to be fairly adept at making people laugh. If I try to do that on the page, though, I typically fail miserably. There are some exceptions, sure, but for the most part I'm good at sticking with being serious, or conversational at best.

Something else that I don't seem to be particularly good at is writing the strange and bizarre. I don't mean this simply in the sense of plot--I can come up with some weird shit, if you want to talk about that. What I mean is actually adopting a strange and unique writing voice. I can't write like David Foster Wallace, for instance, or Dave Eggers or David Mitchell, even. (What the hell is it with guys named David?) I'm not a guy whose writing will make you wonder what the hell is going on even while you quite enjoy whatever it is that is going on. I'm a traditionalist, I suppose. I'm a melodramatist, I suspect.

I do think I'm a decent writer, though whether or not I'm good enough to ever enjoy success as a professional author is yet to be seen. I like to think I am, but I don't know for sure. There are always doubts. However, I think I can do a pretty damn good job of writing people, of writing dialogue, of writing relationships and drama and melancholy, sorrow and contemplation and soft thoughts, haunting occurences, the sort of story that makes you feel like it's a rainy day or perhaps just a devastating one. I think I have a talent there and I'm happy about that. However, I sometimes wish I could do more. I sometimes wish I could be more strikingly original or funnier, more outright entertaining or outrageous. I envy, to a certain degree, those authors who seem to so effortlessly pull off such writing.

I realized all this tonight, in something of a stroke of insight, while I was reading a Tobias Wolff story from his collection, The Night In Question. It's a great collection and Wolff is a hell of an author, someone I would recommend you read if you never have before. I think a lot of what I see in him--enjoy in his writing--is the sense that it is similar to my own. He's not particularly funny, but he can be very insightful. He has this knack of throwing out these small insights or thoughts that strike me. He does it with certain imagery, as well, such as in the story "Lady's Dream," in which he writes, "She's in the kitchen running water into a glass, letting it overflow and pour down her fingers until it's good and cold." That image struck me hard, crisp and clear in my mind and completely fascinating to me. I don't even know why I found it so fascinating, but it's been knocking around inside my head all day, continually rising up and making me pause.

I've found the same sort of small observations and descriptions in works by both Charles Baxter and Richard Russo. It's one of the main reasons I enjoy the authors so much, because they have these small moments that fascinate me, that cause me to think and suddenly to feel like I have a slightly better grasp on life--a bit more of an understanding of this existence, even if in a form I cannot elucidate.

I suppose one of the greatest challenges of being a writer is understanding what your strengths are and where you shine. Then you have to be willing to focus on those strengths, though I would also suspect you don't want to be afraid to experiment and stretch, to try new avenues and techniques. The key is to understand when they are not working and to focus in on what is working, so that what you write stands out and captures the attention of the reader. I would suspect that successful, published authors have come to understand this concept.

Therefore, I will content myself with understated melodrama, if there is such a thing--there is in my mind, at least--and with the workings of characters and life, with pain and misery and--at times, certainly--with redemption and maybe even satisfaction. Perhaps if I recognize that those are the things I am most comfortable with writing about, that will lead to a greater success for myself and more attentive readers--when I have readers, that is.

Toiling In Obscurity

2005-03-18T12:26:00.000-08:00

Is there anything better than obscure art? Perhaps I'm merely pretentious, but I love obscure art. Which is not to say that I love obscurity itself, that I'm one of those snobs who likes an artist so long as they never become too popular. I don't like obscure art simply because it's unknown, but rather because it's usually so strange and offbeat. Most of my favorite music artists are obscure, relatively unknown, small indie artists that haven't hit it big, or that have achieved moderate success at best. I love strange movies, cult movies, offbeat little gems that most people thing I'm crazy for loving but that I can't get enough of. Even with books, I often am drawn to authors that aren't huge sellers. I read a lot of straight up literature and fiction written by authors that may make a decent living but aren't in any way topping the New York Times chart.

But I like mainstream and genre work, as well. I'm a fan of Stephen King and I love Dean Koontz. But I'm also big on Charles Baxter, think Jeanette Winterson and David Mitchell are great--and I don't suppose they're obscure, but they're not tearing up the charts, either. Music-wise, I'm happy to listen to Incubus, enjoy me some Norah Jones--in measured doses--and love to indulge at times in mainstream punk bands. But I'll also take Bright Eyes or most anything from Saddle Creek, will listen to Blood Brothers--amazing band--and have recently been given some wonderful, obscure music by a friend. I'm listening to Q and Not U right now and loving it. The new Mars Volta--which actually is selling pretty well, I notice--is incredible. And there's plenty more obscure artists I can listen to all day long.

Give me anything by Wes Anderson. Everything ever written and directed by P.T. Anderson. I can watch the Evil Dead series, the Rocky Horror Picture Show, May--a fucking insane sort of horror flick--Donnie Darko is a cult favorite. I love these weird movies that not many people have seen. Things that are quirky and driven forward by a director or writer who knows exactly what he wants to say, even if it's a bizarre way to say it--that's something I appreciate immensely. Bless me with everything written by Charlie Kaufman ever and I'll be a happy man.

Most of my friends fall into the same camp, with various difference and exceptions. So it's always weird when I find people who mostly just want mainstream, easy and entertaining fare, like my dad and stepmother. Which is not to say mainstream, lighthearted fare is horrible stuff--not always, anyway--but it's weird to me when that's all you want. If you can't appreciate the occasional crazy shit like a Darren Aronofsky film or a David Foster Wallace book or an At The Drive-In CD, then what fun is that? Why would you water down your life with so much bland stuff and never indulge in the weird and crazy?

And again, I don't want to sound like a snob here or anything like that. I love me some mainstream fare. Face/Off, Spiderman, The Ring, Jurassic Park--shit, I've even been known to enjoy the hell out of crap like Con Air and Armageddon and Bad Boys (but not Bad Boys 2). I think Mean Girls is genius, even with that fucking falling into the garbage can scene (and, actually, Mean Girls is hilarious and not your typical mainstream movie, even though it was marketed that way.) And if an obscure band, for instance, suddenly gains popularity, I celebrate that rather than grumbling some bullshit about selling out and getting pissed off that there are people out there who dare to like the same things I do.

It's just that some of the best art out there is made on the fringes, is strange and bizarre and unexpected, the sort of art that screws with your head and, thus, makes quite a lot of people uncomfortable. How many times have I recommended some obscure movie and had that recommendation bite me in the ass? Too many times to count, and it's the reason I don't recommend movies anymore to people who I know don't have a love of obscure work the way I do.

I'll always take it, though. For every big-budget summer action movie I watch, I'm probably going to match it was five strange and obscure movies. It's just the balance I enjoy. Sometimes I want fluff and easy entertainment, but more often than not I want something that's going to screw with my head. It just makes life more interesting and a hell of a lot more fun.

The Films of Wes Anderson: The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou

2005-03-17T15:40:00.000-08:00

Editor's Note: Very minor spoilers.

The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou manages to be both dry and silly at the same time, which is an impressive, if confusing, achievement. While everything about it will seem familiar to any Wes Anderson film, it also is quite a bit different than his past three films. There's more of a punchiness to the film that accentuates the dry humor. There also is less drama, or at least less affecting drama. It borders on ridiculous--okay, hell, it pushes right over the border at times--and yet never loses that Wes Anderson flair that most people either love or hate.

The movie deals with Steve Zissou, played wonderfully by Bill Murray, heading out on a final voyage at sea to track down and kill the jaguar shark that ate his partner. Joining him on the trip is Owen Wilson's character Ned Plimpton--who may be Zissou's son, we learn early on--Cate Blanchett's character Jane Winslett-Richardson, who is a reporter writing a cover story to give the crew some badly-needed press, and Zissou's regular crew, headed up brilliantly by Willem Dafoe. Oh, and there are some well-abused interns. Dealing with sea life in a few different sequences, the film takes the opportunity to use some awesome stop-motion animation by Henry Selick, which really adds to the film and gives it a unique presence. It's very cool to look at and makes the underwater sequences quite memorable.

This movie is funny, without a doubt. I found it even more amusing the second time I watched it, though that was probably influenced by the two dark beers I had in me. Still, there is a constant sense of shenanigans overhanging the proceedings, which works beautifully. As I said, there is also a heavy amount of dry wit, which is common in any Anderson film. It all meshes together very well to create something that is very entertaining and familiar for Anderson fans. Yet it stands apart from his other films.

The movie has taken some critical hits. It generally received favorable reviews, but there were many critics who claimed it to show that Anderson's shtick is getting a bit old and others that said it simply could not measure up to his other works. I'm somewhat mixed myself on where I stand on this. First of all, the movie is definitely less affecting than his others, particularly The Royal Tenenbaums. This isn't necessarily for lack of trying, either, though the film does give the distinct impression that it was going for a more light-hearted feel than the very heavy Royal Tenenabaums. But there certainly are attempts at emotional story-telling here. There is a scene toward the end of Life Aquatic that I won't reveal, lest you have not yet seen the movie, but that feels as though it should have hit me harder than it did. The characters in the movie are wonderful, but they didn't get to me the same way as in Anderson's other movies. This can be a little disorienting if you go into the movie expecting something more along the lines of Tenenbaums, which just kicked my ass emotionally. Bottle Rocket was largely the same and even Rushmore--hilarious as it was--had some very affecting moments to it.

This movie, however, is in no way a failure. It's silly and ridiculous, very funny, outrageous at times in its absurdity and incredibly creative. I can't fault any of that. In fact, I can do nothing but celebrate it. No, nothing slams me emotionally like in The Royal Tenenbaums, but that doesn't make this a bad movie. It makes it a different and more understated movie and I certainly appreciate Anderson taking more risks.

The main relationship in the movie--between Zissou and Ned--is a tough one to deal with. There are some nice moments there and Anderson does a great job of writing Zissou as a reticent father figure, as someone who easily proclaims to his (supposed) son that he never wanted to be a father, that he in fact hates fathers. Zissou makes some real mistakes as a parent, both in the course of this film and in the character's history, as recounted during the movie. However, the audience isn't led to hate him or feel that he is a terrible person. He's just someone who probably should never be a father. He acts poorly at times but does not do it meanspiritedly, which allows us to still care about him and wish the best for him even while recognizing his deficiencies.

The relationship between the two is mixed up nicely with the presence of Jane, who ends up creating tension between Ned and Steve. It's tough to judge how well Blanchett does in this movie. She's a great actress, without a doubt, and does a wonderful job. However, she isn't an Anderson regular and she seems less prone to the quirkiness that is featured in abundance in most of Anderson's characters. However, it seems that it is probably purposeful, as her character acts largely as a straight man for the other characters to play against.

Wes Anderson is famous for his details and they are well represented in Life Aquatic. They're seen in off-hand comments by the characters, in the opulence of the ship they travel on, despite how it looks on the outside, in the way that Zissou deals with relationships--particularly with people who disappoint him in some way or who pose an emotional threat to him. It's seen in the only female crew member being topless throughout the first half of the movie, without any explanation whatsoever. There are silly moments, like when the crew runs through a puddle and suddenly Zissou is covered with leeches--and is the only one, much to his chagrin. It makes no sense and will leave most viewers wondering what the hell Anderson was on when he wrote the movie, but if that sort of humor hits you the way it does me, you'll be laughing like mad. I live for these offbeat moments. They're one of the main reasons I so love Anderson's movies.

If you like Anderson's movies, you're going to enjoy this. If you haven't gone for his movies in the past, this one might be a little more accessible, but it's still very much a Wes Anderson movie. If you don't get him, you probably never will. But if you go for his humor, you're going to love this. Maybe not as much of his other movies, but you'll like it. You'll laugh. You'll scratch your head. And you'll immediately start looking forward to his next work.

__________
The Films of Wes Anderson: Bottle Rocket
The Films of Wes Anderson: Rushmore
The Films of Wes Anderson: The Royal Tenenbaums

Television One-Offs

2005-03-17T01:54:00.000-08:00

One-Off One

I am now officially sold on Robot Chicken. I figured it was going to be worth my viewing time, but I wasn't quite convinced after the first episode. However, I've watched a few more now and there is no doubt left in my mind that this is worth my time. The bit that officially pushed me over the edge was "Lettuce Head Kids." It combined many different things I enjoy. First, you had Chucky. I love Chucky. I don't care what anyone says--you have to love Child's Play. Of course, I haven't actually seen the two recent movies, but I did so love the first three. I watched them when I was young and they totally freaked me out. Now, when people look at my movie collection, they usually give a little pause when they come to Child's Play. It looks out of place, yes, but it belongs there.

That was a tangent, though. The real beauty of the "Lettuce Head Kids" skit was two different parts. First of all, evil, soulless, faux-Cabbage Patch Kids dolls is fucking brilliant. You have to love that. And then having them attacking children--even more brilliant. Finishing it all off with a Buffy reference, having this be the premise for season eight--I was sold. The show is brilliant.

The entire episode was great, really. Other key moments:

Animal attacking Ed McMahon
"He gave me Hepatitis C. I only have five years to live."
"Oh, holy shit! You make me want to pee myself."
The clowns getting out of the car and attacking the motorist.
"Zoom-zoom-zoom!"
"Listen, I'm 62 years old and I'm just an actor. You people are all insane."
"I just shot smack into both my eyeballs. Yeaghhhh!!"
"Dear Assfaces."
"Souullllls"
"And that's how season eight would have started."
"Give me the boobies!"
Mr. Muggs crossing the finish line.
The mob breaking Kermit's leg.

Seriously, if you're not watching Robot Chicken, start now. It's hilarious.

One-Off Two

Lost, which is brilliant and is my favorite show currently airing, is coming back early from its hiatus. It was originally supposed to be in reruns until April 13th but, for whatever reason, ABC is pushing up new episodes to next Wednesday, March 30th. Now, I don't know if you're watching Lost, but if you're not then you are missing out. The show is fucking brilliant, a wonderful mixture of deep character development and intriguing plot developments. I don't think I've ever been this into a show that wasn't headed up by Joss Whedon, and that's saying quite a hell of a lot coming from me. Joss Whedon, understand, is god as far as I'm concerned, so if Lost is even coming close to measuring up to one of his shows, then that is something to celebrate indeed.

Anyway, the show is coming back early and I am quite excited about it. If you haven't been watching Lost this year, then might I direct you to the listing at Amazon for the DVD of the first season. It's coming out September 6th and it will be well worth your attention. The extras sound quite solid and I'm looking forward to picking this up and reliving the first season in preparation for the second. Which is saying quite a lot, since I don't own a ton of TV series on DVD--especially ones that weren't a Joss Whedon creation. But this one I will most certainly be picking up. Do yourself a favor and do the same, or at least rent it and check out the show if you've missed the television run.

One-Off Three

The Shield is back! God, I love this show. When The Shield first started, I watched the first episode and could hardly stomach it. It dealt, if I remember correctly, with a case that involved a junkie father selling his very young daughter to some scumbag for sex. I remember watching that episode and just not having the stomach to watch any more. That storyline really disturbed me and I couldn't continue on knowing that more of the same would be eventually coming at me.

Yet I continued to hear good things about the show and a friend of mine raved about it, so I eventually ended up Netflixing the first season when it came out on DVD. And the thing was, I was better able to handle the storylines at that point--which I'm not sure exactly what that says about me. That just seems to be a reality of getting older--you can handle more and more distasteful things. I also saw just how damn good the show is. Yes, it's dirty and gritty and depressing and it often times presents a bleak and cynical view of the world, but there's a hell of a lot to like, as well. Michael Chiklis is just amazing as Vic and he is written as an incredibly compelling anti-hero. The supporting characters are fascinating as well--particularly Detective Wagenbach. The show has some great writing, exciting story lines and some wonderful acting. Everything about it is entertaining and terribly compelling--the best kind of television.

So season four started Tuesday and the first episode was great. I'm already loving Glenn Close as the new head of The Barn. Her character is great and I'm guessing her relationship with Vic is going to go in some very interesting directions this season. I also love how the writers shook things up. The strike team is no more, split apart, and it seems to offer great opportunities. It looks like there's going to be some great stuff between Vic and Shane this year--Shane is looking to be set up as something of a villain, though we'll have to wait and see.

I am so excited about this show being back on the air. It should run three months or so with new episodes, so that'll take me into the summer, which will give me something other than The Daily Show to watch after Lost, Alias and Arrested Development wrap up their seasons in May. I will certainly welcome it.

And on a related note, how great is FX lately? The Shield is incredible, as I just wrote. I also really enjoyed Nip/Tuck--even more than I exected to when I Netflixed the first season. I hope they get the second season out on DVD soon so I can catch up and maybe even catch the third season as it airs. And I've heard great things about Rescue Me. I'm looking forward to the first season hitting DVD as well, since I missed that when it first aired. Denis Leary is awesome, so I'm figuring on good things from it.

God bless FX. And Comedy Central. And television in general.

Gotta See The Picture Show

2005-03-16T16:22:00.000-08:00

There are multiple movies that I have been meaning to see--old classics or cult favorites that I just never got around to viewing. The Evil Dead series was one of these, which I have now seen, much to my delight. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was another one of those movies which I had never seen but figured I really should at some point.

So, as is often the case, Netflix came to my rescue. I queued up the 25th Anniversary Edition of the movie, it arrived, and then I watched it with a couple friends on Monday night, while drinking some Captain Morgan and Pepsi. (I swear, I'm not an alcoholic. Yet.) Therefore, I've now seen the movie and . . .

Holy shit. I knew the movie was going to be bizarre, even though I had never seen any of it. I mean, I can't imagine there being much of anyone who hasn't heard of the movie and its audience participation, at least to some degree. So it wasn't as if I was entirely in the dark. But I still didn't know completely what I was getting into. The two people I watched it with were familiar with the movie--and one knew some of the audience participation lines and would throw them out while we watched.

I am going to just say that I shamelessly enjoyed the movie. It's damn fun. Tim Curry is absolutely ridiculous, completely filled with energy, not a shread of hesitation within him. Talk about throwing yourself into the role. Loved Susan Sarandon, as well, and I was quite surprised to find out that she was gorgeous in the movie. I didn't realize she once looked that amazing. Saying that, it kind of screwed with my head to see the cast in this old movie. Susan Sarandon going crazy for Rocky Horror, ready to fuck his brains out? Barry Bostwick in his underwear? That alone was scary. The first time I ever laid eyes on Barry Bostwick was in Spin City. And Tim Curry dressed up in about the most ridiculous way possible, completely vamping it up? That was insane, especially compared to how he looks now.

Oh, but I loved it. It may have screwed with my head, but I loved it.

The scenes with Frank going into the bedrooms to seduce both Brad and Janet were hilarious--particularly the follow up with Brad. You just have to love that. The songs are ridiculous, outrageous. In fact, that's the movie as a whole. It's just completely ridiculous and over the top, enjoying itself way more than should be possible, going at everything with utter abandon and not afraid to pull out all the stops. I love that; I appreciate that. I like movies that don't hold back and that aren't concerned with coming across as too much. It's the same reason I enjoyed Moulin Rouge so much. It never bothered to tame itself in the interest of keeping the audience. Like Rocky Horror, it was unafraid to be silly and inventive.

Now, this doesn't mean I'm going to rush out and start attending midnight screenings. I'm not yet that brave. I doubt I'll ever know the audience participation lines, either, with the exception of the easy-to-remember "Slut, asshole, slut, asshole." It's entirely possible, though, that I'll pick up the DVD at some point because I'm pretty sure this is a movie that I wouldn't mind occasionally popping in and enjoying.

As I watch more of these old cult movies, I'm becoming convinced that these are just the sort of things I like. I mean, I enjoy mainstream stuff, as well. But these strange, offbeat, weird movies just hit me in the right spot. I love the creativity and the manic energy, the sense of silliness and ridiculousness. I appreciate all of that. I like an artist who just seems to be going off the deep end, completely indulging himself and throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks, hoping that someone might eventually understand what he is trying to do. I dig that. You have to be confident to be willing to do that. Well, if not confident, then stupid or completely unconcerned with what other people think. Either way, I like it. I want more.

So anyone have any suggestions for other good, ridiculous cult movies I may like?

The Final Verdict

2005-03-16T16:09:00.000-08:00

The final verdict has come in from Iron Blog and I have won my very first battle as Iron Blogger Culture--Battle Objective Journalism. Those of you who followed along, thanks for giving a damn and I hope you found it at least somewhat interesting. For those of you who ignored it, I apologize for the lack of regular blogging last week and hope it wasn't too terrible for you.

I would like to thank Lindsay Beyerstein of Majikthise for putting up such a fine battle. It was a pleasure to blog with her. I also would like to thank the fine judges--Todd Pritsky, Jay Dean and Danielle Sylvie Taylor--for their hard work. I've judged before and it can be a hard job with minimal rewards, so I really do appreciate their work. And, of course, big thanks to Larime Taylor--The Chairman--for overseeing the whole thing.

Again, apologies for the light blogging and I'm looking to get back into the swing of things. I haven't been around the last couple days, either, due to some personal stuff going on. But I'm ready to go now. Coming up, we have my thoughts on The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Probably a post on Robot Chicken. I'm still working on the Life Aquatic review and I need to get some CD reviews written up, as well. It's all coming, I promise.

Battle Objective Journalism - Fourth and Final Dish

2005-03-14T03:33:00.000-08:00

My fourth dish is up at Iron Blog and I am done. By noon Pacific time, The Challenger will have either posted a fourth dish or not and the judges will commence with their tasting comments, in which they give us an idea of what's up with our posts. Finally, a verdict of who won should be up by 9PM Pacific on Tuesday.

I've had fun with this, that's for sure. It's been a great topic and I'm fairly happy with how I did, though it was by no means perfect. The Challenger has put up some good stuff so far, as well, so it'll be interesting to see who wins this.

Here's an excerpt from my final dish:

Journalists need to stop thinking about objectivity as competing quotes. Transcribing the claims of two differing sides is not objectivity. Reporters must start giving not just opposing spin, but also uncovering the facts. It must be a journalist’s priority to parse statements, point out false arguments, and to do their best to provide readers with the greatest sense of truth they are able to uncover. Journalists need to set aside the ease of acting as stenographers and instead act as researchers and investigators, subjecting claims to thorough scrutiny.
Furthermore, journalists need to be willing to make judgement calls. No matter what kind of article they are writing, they should not feel as though they have to treat every claim as legitimate. This is a tricky request, as it is crucial that legitimate dissent and viewpoints not be ignored. However, to put it bluntly, journalists must be willing to call bullshit when they see it. If someone makes a ridiculous claim, they need to point out why that claim is ridiculous. If a false claim is made, they need to point out the falsehood rather than reprinting it without comment in some misguided attempt at objectivity.

Presumably, I'll now be returning to regular, full-fledged arts and culture blogging. I believe a review of The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou is in order to close out my "The Films of Wes Anderson" series, so hopefully that will be up later today.

True Story, Just Happened

2005-03-13T18:08:00.000-08:00

It's six o'clock on Sunday evening and I recently returned home from about five miles of hiking and a viewing of Falls Creek Falls. There is a loud knock on the door. I'm always annoyed when someone knocks on the door. There's no need for anyone to come to my house.

Confused, I stand up and start to go downstairs as the doorbell is rang just a few seconds after the knock. Now I'm very annoyed. I answer the door and a kid--perhaps twelve years old--stands on the porch.

"Can we mow your lawn?" he asks.

I stare at him a moment. "What?"

"Can we mow your lawn?"

Perhaps this is a trick. "Why?"

"I don't know."

I pause. "No."

"Okay." And he walks away.

Battle Objective Journalism - Third Dish

2005-03-13T02:14:00.000-08:00

My third dish--in which I indulge in much bitching about the evil media--is now up for your reading pleasure. Touch it, caress it, love it. Here's an excerpt:

Your local evening news is likely a half hour of death, celebrities, weather and sound bites, with the occasional blithe consumer report or pet story. In their quest for ratings, the cable news channels have become obsessed with sensational stories about celebrities--Martha Stewart, Michael Jackson--high profile court cases--Scott Peterson--and the latest tragedies and disasters. Meanwhile, the political reporting on these stations is little more than a succession of talking heads repeating talking points, often times head to head in an effort to manufacture conflict. Pundits have become the new reporters, except that they don’t have anything of substance to say and never hold any actual expertise on the topics they are addressing. They are put forward as authoritative voices even though, much of the time, they have no greater a grasp on the events at hand than the vast majority of the viewers. They offer opinion masked as knowledge and it does nothing to further discourse or to give the public a better understanding of events.

One more dish to go and then I'm done with this battle. Next up, I'll actually write about what the media should do with itself, now that it's whored itself half into oblivion. Some major house cleaning is needed and I'm just the guy to give suggestions on how to do it.

Have I mentioned that this is turning out to be pretty fun? I kind of like writing about something a bit more substantial.

The Corrupting Influence of Breasts

2005-03-11T12:49:00.000-08:00

Note: I wrote this entry last August and posted it in my old blog. I bring it back now, for your reading pleasure and to help pad out the blog while I work on my Iron Blog Battle. And eat. And work at my regular job. All that good stuff.

--
It has been established before, but I'll reiterate for those who may be new here that I work in retail. I am currently employed in the electronics department at a general retailer here in the Northwest. As anyone who works retail knows, interactions with customers can become interesting.

Recently, I had a woman in the department with her young son. He was probably around nine or ten years old, although I'm a terrible judge of age. He was young, though. They were looking through the PlayStation 2 games and the boy wanted Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. The mother had me come over and unlock the glass case that all the videogames are kept in and I pulled out the game for them. She looked at me and asked, "What's it rated Mature for?"

I almost laughed. Perhaps you know about GTA--it's received quite a bit of press. Hell, if you like videogames, you've almost surely played it. Basically, the game involves you acting as a criminal, interacting with the mob, and going on missions. There's also the free roaming you can do. A sampling of activities you can carry out in the game: mass murder, beatings, sex with prostitutes, destruction of property, theft, did I mentioned murder? You can kill anyone--innocent bystanders, police officers, grandmas. You can use handguns, machine guns, baseball bats, swords, grenade launchers, flame throwers, chain saws and more. You can murder people by beating them to death--either with your own extremities or with blunt objects--shooting them to death, beheading them, running them down with a vehicle, and a variety of other ways. You can nail people from close range or act as a sniper, picking them off one by one from a rooftop or other secluded area.

In other words, the game is a tad bit violent.

"Well, pretty much everything," I said. "It's really violent, there's profanity, there's sex in it."

"Do you have the censored version?"

"There isn't one."

The mother went on to explain that her son had already rented and played the game, but that the rented version had the sexual content stripped out of it. I found this suspect, as I had never read of such a situation. But I did have a vague recollection of Rockstar--the company that makes the game--making a modified, somewhat censored version for another country to comply with local laws. Perhaps they had sent that version on to rental stores. Either way--so far as I knew--it was not available for purchase and I told the woman as much.

Now she looked vaguely concerned. "Is the sex obvious in it?" she asked me.

I considered. The sex actually is a minor feature in the game. It's a side note to the expanse of gruesome, bloody, explicit violence that forms the core of the gameplay. However, you can get some good sexual situations. For instance, if you're driving in a car, pull up next to a hooker and wait, she will come up to the window, talk with you for a moment, then get in the car. If you then go find a place to park and just sit there for a minute, the car will start rocking up and down. But I didn't exactly want to get into a detailed explanation with the woman. So I said, "There are prostitutes in the game."

"Oh, he won't understand that. Is there very sexual language?"

I thought a moment. "Nothing real explicit I can think of, though I'm not guaranteeing anything."

"Is there any nudity?"

"I don't think so."

She nodded. "Okay." And she bought the game for her son.

I don't understand my fellow human beings. This woman's internal reasoning told her that her son simply could not be allowed to be subjected to any sexual content, but that the violent content was fine. He could behead grandmas, beat police officers to death with a baseball bat and toss grenades into traffic jams, so long as he didn't hear any sexual language. He could litter the streets of a virtual city with broken bodies and pools of blood, just as long as he didn't encounter an animated breast. Perhaps he wanted to shoot a young man point blank between the eyes, then grab a sword and behead the woman next to him, then steal a van and use it to brutally run down hundreds of innocent bystanders. All of that was no problem for this woman. She just wanted to make sure a prostitute wasn't going to flash him.

At what point, I wonder, did we decide as a society that a vagina was scarier than the brutal murder of a fellow human? When did we deem the sight of a penis a bigger threat than the sight of an elderly woman being kicked to death for the change in her pocket?

Now, I don't worry much about that ten year old playing Grand Theft Auto. If he was raised in a decent manner, than he can distinguish between fantasy and reality. I'm not saying it's ideal for him to be playing the game, but I don't foresee it leaving any lasting scars, either. I just don't understand the priorities of so many parents in America. Sex is considered a hundred times worse than violence. If I wanted to watch Bad Boys 2, Desperado, Reservoir Dogs, Kill Bill or other seriously violent movies, I wouldn't have any problem getting my hands on them or finding a theater to watch them in when they were first released. But if I want to watch The Dreamers, Young Adam, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Sex and Lucia or The Pillow Book, I better have access to an independent video store or live in or near a city with some theaters focusing on non-mainstream movies, because those films have penises and vaginas and sex in them. And we all know, here in America, that those are terrible, terrible things.

I really don't understand it. Why would we be worried about children seeing sex or nudity, but not care about explicit violence? Maybe these parents should take a moment to read studies on exposure to these different elements. Violent video games and violent movies create higher levels of aggression in people--though it is typically found to be temporary, rather than permanent. Sex scenes, on the other hand, don't do much of anything, other than cause some arousal. Pornography is basically harmless, except when it crosses over into the realm of violence. That's when it begins to have an effect on people--and the effect is typically equivalent to watching a violent, non-sexual movie.

So while this mother is worrying herself over the possibility that her son might see a breast or two (by the way, ma'am, your son had a fine time with your own for the first couple months of his life, no doubt, and he seems to be no worse for wear from it) she is ignoring the very real, aggression-raising effects of the extreme violence she is happily allowing him to partake in.

In other words, the mother has no problem letting her son engage in activity that might make him more violent and aggressive. But she does have a problem with letting him see something that--at worst--might lead to some covert masturbation.

The priorities of the American society baffles me.

Battle Objective Journalism - Second Dish

2005-03-11T10:43:00.000-08:00

Battle Objective Journalism continues unabated over at Iron Blog. I have just posted my second dish with a fury unlike any you have seen before. Or some shit like that. I don't know. Here's a quote:

Investigation, confrontation and the challenging of authority are all crucial aspects of journalism that goes beyond and yet compliments objectivity. The public needs journalists that have a certain level of hostility and skepticism in them to help keep politicians and other policy-makers honest and to keep the public educated and aware. A scientist’s work is considered useless if it is not published in a peer-review journal because it is crucial that scientific discovery and research be able to hold up under intense scrutiny and examination. The same principles should be applied to any sort of social and political policy and its the press that must act in the manner of peer-reviewers. They are the one that the public needs to scrutinize the actions of politicians and tell us where the strengths and flaws lie.

While it greatly pains me to say it, I think Nathan has some points in his comments about my first dish and I wish I had a chance to redo it, but it is not an option. Hopefully I am a bit more clear in this second dish.

Coming up next, I'm going to start really railing on the media, pointing out its many offenses. Then I'm going to post a video of me sacrificing hack journalists while they scream, "You're nothing but a hack blogger who's so full of self-importance that you think Blogger and a junior high journalism class makes you some journalist vigilante." And every time he makes a valid point, I'll scream, "Dan Rather, bitch!" and cut him 'til he bleeds.

I think it's gonna put me over the top.

You Got Any Crack?

2005-03-10T13:29:00.000-08:00

So once upon a time, Warner Brothers came up with the idea to remake Looney Tunes. See, the crazy kids today, they don't have as good of an attention span. They need extreme action and angular drawings and drab, tasteless, boring bunnies that will shove a carrot up your ass if you don't run right out and purchase their merchandise. That's what cartoons are about these days. Screw Elmer Fudd trying to blow Bugs Bunny's head off with a shotgun, we need superheros saving the world. If Bugs Bunny isn't kicking some villain in the balls, it ain't Saturday morning.

Thus, they have done their reimagining of Looney Tunes and, well, it strikes me as incredibly stupid. Apparently, it struck some other people as incredibly stupid, too. So much so that they decided to make a flash video to better illustrate that stupidity. Oh, and how fucking extreme the new Buzz Bunny is.

Check out the video, but don't do it at work or any other sensitive area. And don't do it if you can't deal with incredibly foul language. (Though it's bleeped out, you can still tell what's being said.) This is one of the funniest things I've ever seen, so I really do recommend viewing it.

Battle Objective Journalism - First Dish

2005-03-10T12:49:00.000-08:00

My first dish is up over at Iron Blog. It's Battle Objective Journalism and I'm starting out with a basic summary of why objective journalism is crucial to our society. From the post:

There are often two ways that people receive information–from the source of the information and from the press. This is particularly true in politics, where politicians talk about their plans and the press reports on them. However, politicians on both sides of the aisle cannot be trusted to be entirely honest and forthright with their information. There certainly are times that they are, but too often they couch their activities–or the activities of their opponents–in broad strokes of rhetoric that aim for emotional responses and, often times, obscure the facts of what they are proposing. Therefore, it is crucial that the public can turn to the second source of information–the press–to obtain a full and honest account of the situation.

Objective journalism is crucial to a functioning society and democracy. Unfortunately, the public simply cannot make personal contact with those who make the news and who shape our society and government. The vast majority of the public does not have time to do their own in-depth research on various issues so that they are properly informed. Instead, they depend on the press to do it for them. We, the public, sit down in the morning or evening with the local paper, we turn on the local evening news, we watch the network news shows or CNN, Fox or MSNBC, or we read Time and Newsweek. Perhaps we check out alternative weeklies or read our news online. Either way, the majority of the public partakes in journalism in some form and depends on it to provide them with an honest, objective look at the world. We depend on the press to educate us so that we can make informed decisions.

There's more, including a fun example involving Senator Chuck Hagel and the Los Angeles Times. Next up, for the second dish, I'll be writing about why the press has to do more than just be objective.

Hit the front page to check out my full entry, if you're so obliged, as well as The Challenger's first dish. Good stuff there.

Movies (Still) To See: Sin City

2005-03-09T13:10:00.000-08:00

There's a new trailer out for Sin City. This movie is quickly making its way to the top of my to-see list, along with Serenity, King Kong and others that aren't immediately springing to mind. The movie seems to be visually fascinating, the story looks intriguing and very fun, and the cast is ridiculously filled-out. This is one noir tale that I am desperate to see.

Thankfully, it's coming out soon. As in, April 1 soon. The new trailer is certainly worth checking out. I'm not sure if this trailer is really better than the first one--it's probably not--but it does give a more encompassing look at what the film will be like. I think what most excites me is the seeming confirmation with this trailer that the movie will indeed be in black and white with the occasional touch of color--an effect that looks awesome and really fits the tone of the movie, judging by the trailer.

I suppose this could still go bad, but I have very high hopes. I'm planning on this film to kick my ass. If it doesn't, I'll be horribly disappointed. Less than a month until I find out one way or the other.

I Have Been Challenged

2005-03-09T01:43:00.000-08:00

A couple of my readers, at the very least, will remember the old incarnation of Iron Blog. It was a site run by Larime Taylor, who has recently launched the online political magazine Blue and Red, which I've mentioned here a few times before. Iron Blog was a great forum that allowed a wide variety of discussion, mostly of political issues, that many people from different ideological backgrounds participated in. I acted as a judge and a commenter there, made some good online friends and was sad to see the site eventually shut down.

However, Iron Blog has now returned in a modified format. The rules are different, the Iron Bloggers--with the exception of Jay--are different, and the battles should be quite a bit different, as well. I think I prefer the new set up, though I'm about to find out for sure this week.

I'm Iron Blogger Culture and the first battle of the newly-launched Iron Blog has begun. I've been challenged by Lindsay Beyerstein of Majikthise. The topic is Objective Journalism and I think I actually have a few things to say about it. From the opening post on Iron Blog:

And what shall I have them blog about? If memory serves, the idea first sparked with the death of Hunter S. Thompson. His light leaving the world only cast a longer shadow on the face of a media that preaches objectivity with their lips, from Dan Rather to Fox News, yet serves only the ideals of ratings and money. Thinking long and hard, I have found the perfect Ingredient for this Battle: Objective Journalism

It should be a fun battle and hopefully I won't get my ass kicked by Lindsay, who happens to have a Masters in Philosophy. She'll be a formidable opponent, but I have a junior college education on my side, so I think I'll be just fine.

The blogging here will probably be light as I work on my Iron Blog posts, which will take some research and care. Combine that with the fact that my Wednesday-Saturday work week is beginning and I may be quite short on time. I plan on putting up at least one old post from Nightmares For Sale and possibly more. I'll also post here each time I put up a new entry over on Iron Blog during the battle. Hopefully that'll keep things from getting too boring around here over the next few days.

Ooh, There's Dirt In The Sky

2005-03-08T18:02:00.000-08:00

Apparently, Mount Saint Helens was getting bored with itself so it decided to get in on that erupting action again. Probably, it was just tired of no one paying attention to it so it thought it should show off a bit. Amazingly, I was not at school or work during this one, so I snagged a couple pictures from outside my house. Nothing great—I don't have the clearest view—but it's something to check out. The mountain is on the far left, just to the right of the small tree while the plume is drifting east, to the right. Click on the picture for a full size image, which will be easier to see.

Mount Saint Helens goes boom

I was just thinking this weekend that it would be cool to go hiking up at Lava Canyon, if they had yet reopened it for hiking. I guess I should hold off on those plans. The cliffs are dangerous enough without getting buried in ash and rock.

Panther Creek Falls - Part Three

2005-03-08T01:48:00.000-08:00

(First read Part One and Part Two)

The worst part was over. We continued along the trail, flush with pathetic success, and soon found ourselves at the base of the first section of the waterfall. At that point, all dramatic trail traversings became very much worth it as we marveled at the view. Here, the wall of rocks that the spring water cascaded down appeared as huge as it actually was and the other two waterfalls were much more clear and dramatic. The view was overwhelmingly impressive, immense and mind-quieting. We stood and stared, tried to take it in but could not fully grasp everything that we saw. The waterfall is not just huge, but it's so varied and unique--there are so many parts and pieces and sections--you simply can't take it all in with a glance, with a single look, no matter how long that look is. You have to move from section to section, break it down and examine the pieces before trying to put them back together as a whole and really take in the complete beauty.

(Click for larger image)

We stood and stared, took some pictures, wandered down toward the pool at the bottom and stood on the moss-blanketed ground--so incredibly green, everywhere--and reveled in the magnificence. It was cool and misty, of course, and the waterfall roared and everything seemed peaceful and filling, awing, inspiring. It was so incredibly lovely that it cannot be easily explained.

After some time, we decided to eat lunch there but to first go down to the base of the next section of the waterfall. The path down to that section proved somewhat treacherous, as well, but we made it down without any great incidents. It was nice down there, as well, again with the ground completely covered in moss. The best part of the area was the intense green that was all around us. Mist and a cool breeze permeated the air and everything around us was permanently wet, leading to a ever-present mixture of dark and bright green moss. The green was lovely, so very deep and all-encompassing that it took the breath away at times.

(Click for larger image)

Photo courtesy of Cheri Cross
(Click for larger image)

This second section of the waterfall was not nearly as interesting as the upper section, but it was still nice, mainly because of that ever-present green. We stood for a bit and watched the water drop, took a few pictures and wandered around on the mossy rocks, then we headed back up to the mid-section of the waterfall, to the place that had the best view. We would eat lunch there and really sit and appreciate the beauty in front of us.

How to explain how incredibly lovely that section of the waterfall is? There are pictures, of course, and they are crucial to gaining some kind of understanding of just how amazing the waterfall is, but they cannot give a complete sense of just what we saw. First of all, the waterfall was huge, which cannot necessarily be gleaned from the picture. I can, however, post this picture of the waterfall with my roommate standing in front of it, taking a picture. Of course, the perspectives are not an exact representation, but it will hopefully impart some sort of sense of just how large the waterfall was.

(Click for larger image)

The beauty, though, is in the complete scene in front of us. For that, I suggest you check out this short, unfortunately silent movie that I took with my digital camera. It will hopefully give a better sense of the scope of the waterfall, the various parts of it and how it flows into the river and blends with the surrounding landscape. You really must take special notice of the dominating green of the landscape. As on the very bottom section of the waterfall, moss covered almost everything here. The ground, rocks, trees, and fallen logs were all coated in deep green, completely encased in it. When I stood at the base of the waterfall taking pictures, I tried to walk carefully so as not to create tears in the moss. The oppressive green was simply breathtaking and I hated the thought of marring that landscape, of taking away from the natural beauty of it.

We ate and took more pictures, which proved to be difficult due to the strange lighting. So much of the waterfall resides in a mixture of bright sunshine and dark shadows that it was a bitch to get representative pictures that showed the various sections in decent lighting. As you can see from my photographs, I generally was not able to do it, but I think I did a decent job of capturing much of the waterfall's beauty.

(Click for larger image)

After eating, there came at least twenty minutes of just standing and staring at the waterfall. The beauty and originality of Panther Creek Falls lies in the sheer variety of its features. It is not just a waterfall, it really is a small landscape. Looking at a picture of the rock wall that the various streams of water run down and imagine that water in motion (or just check out the movie.) A person can stare at that for hours with the proper patience and constantly be finding new things to examine. I would watch one falling stream of water for a minute or two, then move on to another one and then another one. I would watch the gentle pulse of the water, the push and pull, the way it throbbed as if alive. I would watch the water that cascaded over the front of the rocks and then look at a small stream that slipped its way through the crevices. Then I would stare at the green moss, on the rocks and then around us, and then back to another section of the waterfall. It was endlessly fascinating and meditative, calming, a scene you could look at and let your mind simply drift away. It was literally akin to meditating watching all the different streams of water come down.

Eventually we left, with some hesitation. Visiting the waterfall was wonderful and invigorating. It certainly proved to be, at the very least, a temporary cure to my sense of boredom and stagnation. There's nothing quite like subjecting yourself to an amazing creation of nature to put life back into perspective. There's no question that I'll be returning there later this summer. Before long, I'll once again need the sense of calm the place brings.

(Updated 3/9/05 - I'm an idiot and forgot to upload and link to the movie. Corrected.)

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Panther Creek Falls - Part One
Panther Creek Falls - Part Two

Panther Creek Falls - Part Two

2005-03-08T01:41:00.000-08:00

(First read Part One)

About nine months later, on Sunday, my roommate and I went again to the waterfall. She came up with the idea earlier in the week when I mentioned that I felt the need to get out of the house and do some hiking, now that we were starting to have some sunshine. It's been a lazy winter, I'm out of shape and, frankly, I've become quite bored with my life. Sitting around reading, writing and watching DVDs isn't a horrible existence, but it isn't the height of excitement, either. So I wanted to get back out into nature, which always leaves me feeling inspired and refreshed, pleased with life. Thus, this Sunday we decided to go see the falls again and, this time, to find our way to the base of the falls for new picture-taking opportunities and sightseeing. According to the website we had orginally discovered the Panther Creek Falls on, there was a bushwack that would take us down to the lower part of the falls.

(Click for larger image)

When we arrived around 12:30 on Sunday, we first found that the trail going to the upper view of the falls was considerably different. The Forest Service had decided to make this into more of an attraction, apparently, so there was a new trail and a viewing platform had been built where previously we had stood facing the waterfall and a steep, hundred foot drop to our death should we feel the need to go on an even grander adventure. The trail started in a new place and no longer simply fell off the side of the road, instead taking us on a much more gradual and less-steep descent. I didn't care for the new trail as it felt confining and, well, not nearly so adventurous as the previous set up. The viewing platform was kind of nice, but the feeling just isn't the same when you're not facing the possibility of plummeting to your death. I mean, that's part of the thrill of finding these out-of-the-way places, the notion that a wrong move could lead to catastrophic injury.

Furthermore, the trail keeps you away from the river, as well as the small island that you can jump onto over the river, should you want to place yourself into even greater peril, such as Nathan did the first time we went to the falls. You could still go off the trail and wander down to the river, but now it felt wrong, as if I was ruining the fine landscape and, you know, really pissing off the Forest Service. Of course, we went off the trail anyway, Forest Service be damned, and went down by the river to take a couple pictures. Then we looked around and felt disappointment. The trail wasn't horrible, the viewing point was okay, but what they did was make it all look manufactured. We were no longer standing in the midst of relatively-untouched scenery. Now there was a graded access point and a wooden deck that we could stand on, that looked large and conspicous and out of place in the surrounding forest.

(Click for larger image)

With that in mind, we decided it was time to find the bushwack and make our way down to the bottom. The instructions on the website for finding the trail were vague, saying to walk downstream and then poke around until you found it. So we looked around within the area and began to follow what seemed like it might be a trail but that quickly terminated in a cliff and a nasty-looking, thirty-foot drop. I went up close to the edge and followed the cliff back toward the viewing deck and realized that there was simply no access down to the next section, which would be the first step in getting to the base of the falls. Feeling certain that bushwacks did not generally entail thirty foot jumps off cliffs, I suggested we head up to the road and walk downstream along there. While the website had not specified it, I decided the "walk downstream" instructions must have referred to the road.

We took to the road and quickly found that looking for the beginning of a bushwack was somewhat problematic. Finding the trail to the upper part of the falls had been hard enough--a bushwack (basically, an overgrown trail)--was very possibly going to be murder. We stopped a few times to inspect small breaks in the brush and figure out if they actually led anywhere, deciding reluctantly each time that they did not once we realized that traipsing into the woods from that point would likely get us injured or killed or at least scratched to all hell.

Then we came to a large dirt mound. It looked vaguely promising, particularly on the side. We plunged into the forest and quickly found ourselves on a moss-covered hill that led only to another cliff. Grumbling, annoyed, we headed back toward the dirt mound and up to the top of it, where we looked around for any other possible trail. Nothing looked very clear and we had a second false start before I wandered a little into the trees and saw something that looked vaguely promising. I continued on further and soon saw a trail--albeit it a scraggly one--leading downward. And when I say it led downward, I mean that it lead to a nice vertical stretch of dirt that would best be navigated on my ass, and probably with rock hooks for good measure. I didn't have any of those, though, so my ass would have to do.

The descent was treacherous, but from a neutral viewing point our travels along the first part of the trail probably looked comical rather than dangerous. I started out tentatively, on my ass, grabbing at tree branches and rock outcroppings as I scooted my way down the bushwack. Pretty soon I was sliding, moving fast, stabbing my feet at any semblance of rock and grabbing hold of small trees in an effort not to start a quick and bruising tumble down the ridiculously steep hill. I managed to stop myself off to the side of the trail and turn around just in time to see Cheri sliding past me, as she headed for the drop off at the bottom of the incline. She had a large stick with her she had picked up--and named Jergen--and managed to jab it into the ground, as well as the palm of her hand, and stop herself before she went off the edge. I breathed a bit of relief, she did as well, and I managed my way down to her without losing my balance again. So far, so good. Now we just had to get to the actual falls.

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Panther Creek Falls - Part One
Panther Creek Falls - Part Three

Panther Creek Falls - Part One

2005-03-07T18:41:00.000-08:00

(Click for larger image)

My roommate and I first discovered the existence of Panther Creek Falls through a listing at the Waterfalls of the Pacific Northwest website. Cheri discovered it and showed it to me, much to my surprise. The waterfall is supposed to be very close to the Panther Creek campground, which I had been camping at for years. I had never known this waterfall existed, had never seen a sign indicating its presence and certainly had never seen it myself. I thought that strange, considering I had spent considerable time in the area over the last decade.

Curious about this mysterious waterfall, we went searching for it last summer during a camping trip with some friends. According to the website, we had only to drive up the road from the campgrounds a couple miles and there would be an access trail on the left side of the road. So we dutifully took a drive and parked at the gravel pit the website mentioned, then went back down the road a bit to find the trail down to the waterfall.

Now, the reason, it turned out, that I had never before discovered this waterfall is because it has been hidden throughout the years. The waterfall itself is completely obscured by the forest and the access trail looked like little more than a small parting in the brush and a drop off the side of the road. There was no sign--nothing at all to indicate that a quick, but steep, hike would lead you to a gorgeous, very unique waterfall completely hidden by the trees. Even while looking for the trail, we could hardly tell that the parting by the side of the road was the way down to the waterfall. Going down that trail was literally akin to simply jumping off the side of the road and stumbling down a steep incline, hoping it would not lead to a sprained or broken ankle and massive knee pain.

However, despite the obscurity of the waterfall and the briefly treacherous path down to it, the short trip was well worth it. The waterfall is breathtaking and not your typical waterfall. There are actually two main waterfalls and then a wall of moss-covered rock that is privy to a mass flow of spring water that cascades from the top of the cliff. Once all of that water drops to the pool below, it then creates a second, much smaller waterfall and then continues on as Panther Creek, which later travels through the campground of the same name.

(Click for larger image)

The trail off the side of the road we had taken led through the trees and down to multiple viewing points along the river and one specific viewing point on the edge of a very steep cliff that overlooked the first--main--section of the waterfall. There were no guardrails, no viewing platforms, no informational displays, no signs, nothing. The trail to the falls had clearly been created by someone, but it was a small trail at best. This was obviously a place meant for those who were willing to explore rather than to the general populace. It made the waterfall all the more lovely, knowing that it was such a well-kept secret, along with having the place to ourselves to enjoy the view.

We took pictures and ventured onto rock outcroppings and small islands that we shouldn't have. None of us went over the falls and died, although Nathan (a frequent commenter here) tried with all his might. He ventured a bit too far out onto the island, a thin stretch of mossy rock between the rushing river just before it became a waterfall and a cliff leading down to the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Once there, he decided it would be fun to take a quick, waist-deep bath in the very fast-moving river, about fifteen feet from where it plummeted over the side. We all held our breath when he slipped in, but unfortunately he managed to get himself out and avert injecting any real excitement into the day.

Then we all finished up with our enjoyment of the Panther Creek Falls and headed back to the campground. I came away very pleased at having found such a beautiful waterfall and a new place to visit when I came camping. And I would return, without a doubt.

(Updated with mocking of Nathan - 3/8/05 - 12:47AM)

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Panther Creek Falls - Part Two
Panther Creek Falls - Part Three

Zombie Shenanigans

2005-03-07T16:10:00.000-08:00

Note: There are some Shaun of the Dead spoilers below. Nothing major, but if you haven't seen the movie and plan to, you may want to skip this review.

I watched Shaun of the Dead Sunday night.

Now here's the deal when it comes to me and zombie movies. I have this thing about stories that involve the end of the world and zombie movies often involve just that. My problem with these stories is that they make me terribly depressed. The thought of the human race being wiped out is something that always gets to me, that sits heavily in my head and writhes under my skin. Whenever I see a solid presentation of the end of the human race, it always greatly disturbs me. The zombie movie that best did this to me (and there are, by the way, many zombie movies I haven't seen) is 28 Days Later. I love the movie, I own the DVD, I thought it magnificent, but it also greatly depressed me. It left me bleak and hollow, horribly sad.

I always hate the thought of humanity being wiped out. I suppose this would seem obvious, but the human race being eliminated or having the vast majority of humans being killed is a scenario that disturbs me to no end. It tends to leave me quiet and contemplative, thinking about our downfall. It always causes me to consider the possibility that at some point in the future, we may very well succumb to just such an extinction. It would almost surely be after I was dead and gone, but I find it unnerving, nonetheless.

Shaun of the Dead, however, treats this subject with quite a bit of humor and irreverence and the specter of the end of the human race is never very pronounced in the movie, despite the fact that it is a real threat. There's no doubt that this is a comedy, first and foremost, even though the zombies are not defanged, so to speak. In fact, the movie works wonderfully because it is willing to act as a comedy without completely giving up drama and horror. While it starts out--and largely remains--a very funny film, it does not shy away from blood and guts, from death and scenes that hold real emotional resonance, and from some fairly creepy zombies. They shuffle and they moan and can be comical at times, but they also walk around with bloody mouths and eyes, gruesomely eat humans and are in no way unwilling to randomly kill people in terrible ways.

It's a great mixture that grabs your attention. The movie also establishes a couple of relationships early on that it makes you willing to care about and invest yourself in even as the story quickly shifts gears and brings in the zombies, without any real explanation. In a way, this is a very manic movie, but it works beautifully.

There are moments that are funny and ridiculous, like the scene with the records or Shaun's first encounter with the zombies in which he doesn't even realize they exist. That was both funny and wonderfully choreographed. Also fun is the scene in Shaun's backyard in which he and his friend Ed first take notice of a zombie. Finally, the ultimate fate for some of the zombies is quite a brilliant touch, eliciting some emphatic laughs from me.

Yet, the movie does not shy away from being serious, even if there is always comedy lurking just under the surface. Once the principle characters are hiding out in the Winchester, the movie takes some dark turns that really add to the story, as far as I'm concerned. There are strong emotions in the scene that work very well, even though I still felt as though I was watching a comedy. But suddenly, with such horrible circumstances, I was really caring about the characters, wishing they weren't in such a terrible predicament. The scene then becomes particularly effective in a flurry of death, but then reasserts the comedy when a particularly gruesome death is immediately followed by a ridiculous and hilarious visual gag. The movie doesn't walk a genre tightrope; it just flips it off and continues on its way.

It works perfectly. Comedy, horror, treatise on the unmotivated--Shaun of the Dead works on many different levels but never forgets to be, first and foremost, an entertaining movie. It's well worth seeing.

Panther Creek Falls - The Preview

2005-03-06T21:05:00.000-08:00

Panther Creek Falls

(Click for larger image)
I'm sorry for the complete lack of posting over the weekend. Between work, activites and a general lack of blogging enthusiasm, I just didn't get any entries up. But something is coming soon, rest assured.

Today I went on a hike with Cheri to Panther Creek Falls, as seen above. We've been there a couple times before and it is a lovely, incredibly unique waterfall. This time, however, we planned to hike our way down to the bottom, which we suspected would be quite a bit more treacherous than the viewpoint at the top of the falls. We were right.

I'll be doing a full recounting of the trip soon. For now, feast on the picture above. More to come.

Bits and Pieces

2005-03-04T11:12:00.000-08:00

A Bit
I've got a couple new links in the ol' sidebar there. First up is Dumpster Bust, run by a fine writer named Eric Berlin. He does an interesting mix of entertainment, culture and politics. It's a good site and I recommend you check it out.

Next up is a hilarious site called "Overheard In New York." I found this one through Sheila's place as she occasionally links to something particularly funny through it. The site simply has snippets of supposedly real dialogue overheard in New York. It's ridiculous. A current favorite of mine:

Businessman: ...and once word gets out that you like to fuck girls with no legs, everybody thinks you're a freak!
Crony: Yeah, I bet.
Businessman: I'll send you the pictures.

--Maiden Lane & Water St.

This is daily read material, folks.

A Piece
I watched Robot Chicken last night on Cartoon Network. It's a new show in their Adult Swim lineup that I had heard some pretty good things about. It's entirely bizarre and I really don't know what to think about it. Some of it was just weird and not that funny and other parts were quite entertaining. Any show, however, that has Harry Potter with a broom stuck up his ass and Walt Disney eating Cuban children is something that's worth a second viewing, so I'll check it out again and see what kind of rhythm it settles in to.

One More Bit
I'm mostly happy with TV at the moment and let me tell you why. First of all, The Shield comes back on March 15th for its fourth season. That's definitely a good thing and I'm looking forward to it. Second, South Park returns on March 9th, which is another good thing. South Park may have had its heyday of popularity about six or seven years ago, but it's only become better with time. There have been some amazing episodes the last couple seasons, so I'm looking forward to its return and hoping for high quality comedy.

On the sad side, though, Lost just went to reruns until April 13th, which makes me terribly sad. I don't think I've ever seen a show that has caused me to be this interested in characters that wasn't created by Joss Whedon. Even Alias, a show that I've truly loved in the past, never grabbed me quite like this. I'm going to be depressed when the first season is over, but I'll be happy when the DVD set is released next September. Looking forward to that.

The Sea's Cadence

2005-03-03T02:02:00.000-08:00

What is it about the sea?

This picture was taken during sunset at Lincoln City on the Oregon Coast. I played with the white balance of my Olympus digital camera, which is why it is so blue. Trust me, sunsets don't actually look like that. But I loved the way the picture came out and have printed this shot and framed it.

I stood on the balcony of my motel room when I took the picture. The room was lovely, cozy with a single bed, a small television and--best of all, aside from the balcony overlooking the ocean--a fireplace. I was staying at the beach for the night of June 30, 2003, by myself, and not paying nearly as much for the room as I felt I should have been, given its quality and the time of the year. I wasn't complaining, though, and instead was loving the hell out of it.

I have a great affinity for the sea. It makes me calm and happy, serene. I have no interest in swimming in the ocean, understand. I do not go to the beach in pursuit of various water activities or with the desire to build sand castles. No, what I want is to stand on the sand, not far from the water line, and just watch the waves, completely mesmerized and fascinated. I want to watch the water go in and out and in and out and to slowly, over the course of hours, change where exactly it is going in and out. I want to sit on rocks and dig my hands into the sand, to watch seagulls and other silly birds play in the water and to listen to the never-ending roar of the sea. I want to walk the coastline, to look up at the cliffs and the houses on those cliffs, to watch kites in the sky and sit on driftwood. All of those things I want to do when I go to the coast.

There is something overwhelmingly lovely about the ocean. The waves move rhythmically and powerfully, in and out in a hypnotizing fashion, with the sense that this is time everlasting. The ocean reminds me of just how ancient and sturdy this planet is and it's always awe-inspiring to look out over the expanse of slate-gray-blue and try to understand the sheer size and depth--the incomprehensible immensity of the Pacific Ocean. That is a lovely experience that leaves my mind floating, buoyed, detached and yet alive. How to explain what it is to stand and watch the waves as they come in, as they go out, to watch wave after wave with never a real break in sight? How to explain how wonderful it is to feel the spray of the ocean on my face or to watch the water break violently against rock outcroppings, to shoot into the air and churn and whirpool and fill every crack and cranny it can find? I love the flexibility--the liquidity--of the sea. I love the way that it can never be stopped but merely diverted to another path. It is tireless and insurmountable. You can feel the universe in the ocean.

There have been so many times I've stood for hours on the beach, staring off into the water and lost in thought. There is something beyond inspiring about the sea. I feel so alive and creative, invigorated and grounded. At the risk of sounding silly and metaphysical, the sea connects me to the earth, which in turns relaxes my mind and my body, leaves me feeling better able to face life.

It's the sound. It's the cadence. I can watch and listen to the simple rhythm of the waves for hours and hours, particularly if the waves are cascading over rocks. I can't explain why it is so fascinating and consuming for me, but it is. The sea is life. It is inspiration. It is more than I can ever say and while it can never be captured in a photograph, looking at the above picture gives me the vaguest sense of the sea, which is a pretty damn nice feeling in and of itself.

Ridiculous

2005-03-03T01:27:00.000-08:00

I saw this sign in Lincoln City, Oregon about two years ago, if I remember correctly. I had to stop and take a picture of it simply because it was so ridiculous. I don't know if it was a joke or not--I hope it was.

I'll be back later with another picture from Lincoln City, but with a real entry to go with it.

Update: I just figured it out! They must actually sell irony.

Dreamcasting: An Introduction

2005-03-02T20:38:00.000-08:00

And thus starts a new series on The Between, in which I hark back to my joyous days of the Sega Dreamcast game console, which was easily the gaming high-point of my life. To begin, let me give some of my gaming history, so you have a better idea of where I'm coming from.

It started with the Atari, which I can only vaguely remember. From there, we moved on to the Commodore 64. Again, my memories are fuzzy, but not nearly so much as with the Atari. The Commodore 64 was something that I cherished. I remember playing some train game, Reader Rabbit titles, printing out banners on the dot matrix printer and playing an RPG that had green up arrows as trees, white up arrows as mountains and blue squiggly lines as water. That one was one of my favorites. I played it by myself and watched my brother play I and was always--always--enthralled.

Eventually, the huge five and a quarter floppy disk drive broke. (That floppy drive, incidentally, actually did take floppy disks, unlike today's three and a half drives that take disks that are very much so not floppy. The discs of old could literally be shaken about like a polaroid picture, though it was never recommended. Good times.) It was a terribly sad day when that disk drive broke because there was no way in hell my parents were going to spring for a new Commodore.

But we moved on. I have fond memories of the original Nintendo Entertainment System, the Sega Genesis, the Super Nintendo and then the Sega Saturn and Playstation. Yes, we owned a Saturn. Or, more specifically, my brother owned a Saturn and I'll tell you what--I loved the hell out of that machine. I always had loved Sega. Give me Sonic, give me Virtua Cop, give me House of the Dead (no, not the atrocious movie), give me Virtua Fighter--oh, I can't even begin to count how many hours I spent playing Virtua Fighter on the Saturn. And World Series Baseball! I literally played hundreds and hundreds of baseball games on the Saturn, spent well over a hundred hours playing that game in the living room while my brother watched and we both listened to Loveline. Damn, that was fun.

He moved on to the Playstation, but I never much got into it. I'm still not sure why. I remember watching him play Resident Evil games, and those were immensely cool. I played them some myself, but I more just watched him do it. Other than that, though, I wasn't real big on the Playstation, for whatever reason. It wasn't a misguided brand loyalty thing, but I think I missed Sega. Specifically, I missed their franchises that I loved so much.

Then came the Dreamcast. I played a demo of Sonic Adventure on a Japanese unit in an EB Games something like six or nine months before the American launch in September of 1999. I was instantly in love and I put down a five dollar deposit right then, suddenly determined to spring for this console when it hit. It was amazing at that time, so far beyond what the Playstation could do. I wanted it. I needed it.

When launch day came, I picked up the console along with Sonic Adventure and Soul Calibur. I loved Sonic, don't get me wrong, and I played it quite a bit but Soul Calibur was the game that ultimately ended up seizing my attention. I could not get enough of that game and played for hours and hours, mostly against the computer and in the quest mode, gathering every type of extra and unlockable there was. It was like my happiest Virtua Fighter days come back to glorious life with graphics the likes of which seemed unimaginable.

Oh, how I loved that console. I defended it religiously, even as it launched to people proclaiming its doom, particularly with the impending launch of the hugely hyped Playstation 2. But fuck Sony, I thought. I was all about Sega and I was all about the Dreamcast. It had its problems, yes, such as a severe shortage of third party support, but it didn't matter to me. At that point, Sega was on some kind of hardcore quest--a driving force so singularly focused on the Dreamcast that nothing could divert them. The number of quality games their various studios pumped out for that console was simply astounding, the very epitome of first party support. I could have survived on Sega-made games alone and I would have been happy beyond belief.

I spent as much time online reading about the Dreamcast and tracking the latest game news as I did actually playing the thing. I was obsessed, which was a common occurrence and is a whole other issue that I might write about one of these days. I was particularly obsessed with the fight for the console's survival against the upcoming Playstation 2 juggernaut. I tracked the games, the sales figures, the third party support, the future plans and the news about the PS2. I made passionate arguments on message boards. I loved the hell out of this little console.

And it treated me well--so well. My first online gaming experience was on the Dreamcast, with a dial-up connection, using Quake III Arena and an add-on mouse and keyboard. It was absolutely wonderful, amazing, genius. It was so much fun to be blowing the shit out of real people, even if I couldn't see them. I suddenly understood why online gaming was so big on the PC then, even with the majority of people still stuck on dial up accounts.

Best of all, the Dreamcast helped get me through the very hard, very draining experience of helping my mother recover from a serious accident in California. I moved down there for six months to see her through rehabilitation, living in a trailer on my grandparents' property. If not for the computer I had there and the Dreamcast, I may very well have gone insane. I actually did go a bit insane. But the Dreamcast and the mind-blowing lineup of games that they came out with during the fall of 2000 was a huge factor in getting me through that trying time.

Eventually, of course, the Dreamcast died, with Sega simply not having the cash and clout to compete with Sony. But I never stopped loving the console and I never, for a single second, regretted the money I spent on it. Even if it died too early a death, it was worth every penny I spent, twice over. Furthermore, some of the memories I have because of that console are simply too good not to share with other people. So this is the introduction of the new series, Dreamcasting, that will impart some of those memories. And for those of you who never owned a Dreamcast (probably most) I will hopefully make you realize what a mistake it was, even if it faded away early. Because, damn it, sometimes quality really does trump quantity, and that was certainly the case when it came to the Dreamcast.

Movies To (Maybe) See: House Of D

2005-03-02T18:22:00.000-08:00

Recently, during a night of drinking with two friends, the subject of David Duchovny somehow came up. I'm still not sure how it happened--I think it had something to do with Keanu Reeves--but I remember talking about how he hadn't been in any movies recently--or, at least, nothing I had seen. Personally, I thought it kind of a shame. He's not the greatest actor in the world, but I always found him interesting and generally fun to watch. If nothing else, he was great in Zoolander and he certainly played his role well in The X-Files.

But he also is an interesting guy. Plus, he's quite smart. That quickly becomes clear if you read any interviews with him. He comes across as a droll, sarcastic and very intelligent man, which are all things I can get behind. After reading some interviews with the guy years ago, I always rooted for him. I hoped he would find success beyond The X-Files and discover a nice niche for himself in film.

However, after Evolution--which I thought was a bit more entertaining than it was given credit for being--he pretty much disappeared. Yes, there was the small, and very funny, Zoolander role, but he hasn't been in much else and nothing that was widely seen. He has a new movie coming out, though, and this one he actually wrote and directed.

It's called House of D. It stars Robin Williams, Tea Leoni, Erykah Badhu, some young actor I don't recognize named Anton Yelchin and David Duchovny in what appears to be a relatively small role. However, as I said, he both wrote and directed the movie. It looks . . . well, the trailer makes it look like a mixed bag. I certainly would claim it to have potential, but I wouldn't claim it to be a slam dunk by any stretch. If for no other reason than Robin Williams plays a mentally retarded character, it has the distinct potential to devolve into cliched melodrama.

Yet, David Duchovny is a smart man and I would hope he is smart enough to avoid writing such schmaltz. Certainly, the personality that shows through in his interviews would suggest that he wouldn't make the typical, overly-emotional tale of growing up, with hearttugging plot lines involving the mentally-retarded friend and, perhaps, a single mother just struggling to make a go of it. So here's hoping for the best, and for a little more screen time for David Duchovny. Or, at the very least, some more entertaining interviews with the man.

__________
Other Movies To See:
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Kingdom of Heaven
Sin City

Getting Razzed

2005-03-02T02:57:00.000-08:00

Halle Berry is a fine actress. I saw Monster's Ball some time ago, thought the film to be quite a fine piece of work and was thoroughly impressed with both Berry's performance and Thornton's turn in the movie. The movie was depressing as all hell and Halle Berry's character was pretty much heartbreaking, so of course I loved it. After all, I'm all about the mental and emotional self-flaggelation.

Anyway, Berry won an Oscar for that role, as you likely remember. She gave that very emotional, very over-the-top speech, which I thought was quite lovely. Armed with the cachet of an Oscar win, she then went on to make Catwoman.

Now, I didn't see Catwoman, due to the fact that I heard from a series of reliable sources that it was a huge, heaping pile of shit. One of those trusted sources, as a matter of fact, was the trailer for the movie. Perhaps someone forgot to inform the trailer-making people over there at Warner Brothers, but trailers are supposed to leave you wanting to see the film, rather than leave you wanting to, in the immortal words of Lewis Black, shove a spoon directly up your own ass.

But hey, you have to give them credit for being upfront and honest. Or, more likely, for being confronted with the reality that the movie was such a gigantic waste of money that no amount of cherry-picking of scenes and brilliant editing could make the movie look appealing. Perhaps they should have just been sneaky about it and pieced together some shots of Berry's breasts from Monster's Ball and Swordfish. I'm sure it would have done a better job of filling the seats.

For her work in Catwoman, Halle Berry had the fine distinction of being nominated for--and winning--a worst actress award at the Razzies. Most interesting about that is that she actually showed up to accept the award. From a Reuters article:

Berry was named worst actress of 2004 by the Golden Raspberry Award Foundation for her performance in "Catwoman" and she showed up to accept her "Razzie" carrying the Oscar she won in 2002 for "Monster's Ball."

"They can't take this away from me, it's got my name on it!" she quipped. A raucous crowd cheered her on as she gave a stirring recreation of her Academy Award acceptance speech, including tears.

She thanked everyone involved in "Catwoman," a film she said took her from the top of her profession to the bottom.

"I want to thank Warner Brothers for casting me in this piece of shit," she said as she dragged her agent on stage and warned him "next time read the script first."

It is rare for a Razzie winner to show up at the spoof awards held on the night before Oscars -- but Berry did, saying her mother taught her that to be "a good winner you had to be a good loser first." She received a standing ovation.

That's all around class, right there. You can see a bit of video here.

(Via The Movie Blog)

A Lively Discussion

2005-03-01T20:32:00.000-08:00

"she being Brand"

she being Brand

-new; and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and (having

throroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly; bare,ly nudg. ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

(it
was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on
the

internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and
brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a: dead.

stand-
;Still)

- e.e. cummings, 1926

Cummings is one hell of a great poet, wonderfully creative and subversive. I don't actually have much to say about this poem, aside from the fact that it is a delicious use of language. It's a brilliant example of how a great writer can work on two different levels at once.

I first read this poem in a college english class--I can't remember which class it was, exactly. One of the students did his presentation on this poem and I'll just say that it was one of the more interesting class discussions we had throughout the course.

The Films of Wes Anderson: The Royal Tenenbaums

2005-03-01T03:27:00.000-08:00

Ed. Note: Spoilers below, if you haven't seen the movie.

This movie, perhaps more than any other, is what made me realize that trying to recommend movies to strangers is consistently a terrible, horrible, disasterous mistake. I tend to like very peculiar, odd, off-beat movies that other people are not always so inclined to like. I can certainly find people who share my taste in movies, but when a stranger comes into the store, let's say, and asks me what a good movie is, any recommendation I make will almost certainly be impressively inappropriate for that person. It would be as if a mother of three small children came in asking me what I would suggest she pick up to keep her kids busy for the night and I, thoughtfully stroking my chin, told her with complete confidence that Jenna Jameson's newest movie would be just right. Therefore, whenever a customer comes in asking for advice on what DVD to buy for a night of entertainment, I generally glare at them and stalk away, grumbling about Paul Thomas Anderson and Mark Wahlberg's prosthetic penis, or some other such nonsense.

There was a time, though, that I still attempted to make these suggestions. Once a fellow employee--though from a different department--came in with his girlfriend and asked for a suggestion on what movie to pick up. I thought a moment and said, with unshakeable confidence, "The Royal Tenenbaums." I handed him a copy of it. He looked at the box dubiously, looked at me dubiously, and said--some might say a bit dubiously--"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "It's a great movie."

"Is it funny?"

"Hilarious," I assured him. "Trust me, you'll love it."

"Okay," he said, but he still looked less than certain. He purchased the DVD and went on his way, with me feeling satisfied that I had made a fine suggestion. After all, how could you not love The Royal Tenenbaums? The movie is wonderful, delicious, ridiculous and quirky, funny and heartbeaking and thoughtful, terribly insightful.

He came back the next evening, looked at me with the sort of expression that causes me to cover sensitive areas of my body and look for weapons with which to defend myself and said, "What the hell was that?"

"What? You didn't like it?" I asked with genuine confusion.

"No! You said it was funny."

"It is."

"What are you talking about? It wasn't funny at all!"

I stopped and thought for a moment, running the movie through my head the best I could remember. I didn't agree with him that it wasn't funny, but suddenly I began to realize my mistake. Sure, it was funny to me, but it was a very peculiar and dry sort of funny--the kind of humor that you either love or hate. Also, it's quite melancholic and depressing, as well, and the characters are by no means bundles of joy. The film is filled with amusing quirkiness, absolutely, but the wrong person could easily find it unfunny, depressing, frustrating and very possibly pretentious. I thought, shit. Then I thought, and said, "Well, I guess there is that attempted suicide" and the look that he gave me suggested that there might soon be an attempted homicide.

I apologized. And I stopped recommending movies to people I didn't know. In fact, I've stopped recommending movies to many people I do know. Unless they've expressed love for some of the stranger and more weird films that I love, then I generally avoid trying to steer people toward the type of movies I like because, frankly, they probably won't appreciate them in the same way I do. The movies I truly love are usually not mainstream flicks that do big business--they're oddities that many people cherish, but that the vast, vast majority of the country would sigh dramatically about just before launching into a rant about the different ways in which they would kill the filmmaker if only they could get their hands on him.

I suspect The Royal Tenenbaums--and pretty much all of Wes Anderson's films--fall into this category. But damn if I don't love this movie. It is so wonderfully eccentric, filled with character and life, pain and misery and joy and bits of wonder mixed in it all for good measure. It's silly and funny, ridiculous at times, meandering and heartfelt and cruel and painful, but then heartening at the same time. I love that every one of these characters is hurting and yet still goes on to live their lives, to struggle through and try to make sense of their existence. I love the relationship between Luke Wilson's Ritchie and Gwyneth Paltrow's Margot, no matter how strange, inappropriate and lacking in boundaries it may be. I love the tent in the living room and the headband and sunglasses, the stealthy smoking, the utter ridiculousness that is on display every time Owen Wilson's character, Eli, comes on screen. I love--God, how I love--the attempted suicide. It is so shocking and sudden, so harsh and brutal, coming out of nowhere and just crawling under my skin, digging right into my gut and seizing me, refusing to let go. I love how it is preceded with the shaving and the look of pure desperation in his eyes as he rids himself of hair. It is one of the most haunting scenes I have ever seen in film and it affects me, greatly, every time I see it.

The movie is inspired by Salinger's writing, without a doubt, and specifically by the Glass family. I love that. This surely must be the closest Salinger's writing has ever come to being captured on screen. Hell, I'm not sure if there are even other attempts, but I can't imagine that any that do exist would do as good a job as The Royal Tenenbaums does. Like in a Salinger story, these characters are too smart for their own good, over-thinking everything, often to the point of inaction. I do that all the damn time, so I love seeing it up on screen. I love the complete dysfunction and the bizarre family dynamics. I love how all of these people are essentially good people who can't help but screw up their lives and the lives of those around them.

The performances are wonderful, every one of them. Owen Wilson is ridiculous, Luke Wilson is fascinating and heartbreaking. Gwyneth Paltrow is beautiful and overwhelmingly depressing. Gene Hackman is silly and his character can be absolutely terrible, yet you can't help but care for him and wish him the best. Bill Murray makes great use of his small role, as does Danny Glover, and Anjelica Huston floats gracefully through the movie, a calming force.

The writing is beautiful. Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson are one of the best writing teams working and The Royal Tenenbaums is their most accomplished work (though Rushmore is funnier.)

This is easily one of my all-time favorite movies. Every frame of it is pure quality. It's dark and incredibly haunting, yet has so many moments of great, dry humor and plenty of other silly and ridiculous scenes. Pagoda sticking a shiv in Royal's belly, Eli being chased down by Chas after crashing into the house, Eli slipping out the window during his intervention, the stacks of porn and the ridiculous television interview with Eli, Dudley pointing out the flaws of a Gypsy Cab--all of these are wonderful, funny moments. I adore them.

Yet, it's the movie's sorrow that most gets to me. It's the attempted suicide, the way Ritchie shaves off his beard and most of his hair, his eyes showing him to be lost and desolate. It's the entire relationship between Ritchie and Margot. It's Margot saying, "I think we're just gonna to have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that, Ritchie." All of these moments wear me down, leave me scraped and raw.

I was wrong, I was. The Royal Tenenbaums is a funny movie, but it's not a comedy. It is a heartbreak that ends on bittersweet hope and it's a film that I absolutely love.

__________
The Films of Wes Anderson: Bottle Rocket
The Films of Wes Anderson: Rushmore

Bruce Campbell Chainsaws The Dead

2005-02-28T02:12:00.000-08:00

(First read the preamble!)

Holy shit. What the motherfuck was that?

Okay, yes, I had heard that Evil Dead II was a much different movie than Evil Dead, with a big emphasize on the funny, as more of a satire of horror movies than a horror movie itself. Still, I don't even know what to say. Damn, that was a crazy movie.

I liked it, first of all. Let's just get that out of the way. I mean, I liked it a lot. Great movie, absolutely. I was so confused during the beginning of the movie. First of all, I didn't realize this was a remake more than a sequel, though I wasn't absolutely certain it was a standard sequel, either. I just didn't expect it to be so similar to the first movie at the beginning, but with no mention of what happened in the first movie. I wasn't anticipating that and it threw me off balance, left wondering what the hell was going on.

Then, it was almost as if half of the first movie was done in the first ten minutes of this one. That completely screwed with my head, as well. And frankly, none of it was anywhere near as creepy as the first movie, yet it wasn't overly funny up to that point, either. I wasn't sure what to think.

But then something happened. A little ways in, Ash's girlfriend's head drops into his lap and starts gnawing on his hand and suddenly I was laughing like a maniac. That scene was awesome. It was completely, utterly ridiculous, totally over the top and magnificent. Then there was the putting of the head into the vice, the headless corpse attacking Ash with the chainsaw, then the reverse of the chainsaw into the corpse's neck. Oh sweet lord, that was entertaining. I was half-laughing and half just sitting there with my mouth open, trying to figure out what the hell I was seeing.

The movie just got crazier and crazier from that point on. It was so over the top, I loved it. Bruce Campbell was fucking great, making excellent use of his terribly flexible face and just overacting to perfection. You had to love the entire performance. The special effects were a world apart from the first movie, much much better. The gore was actually toned down to a degree it seems, although there were certainly some obligatory huge gushings of blood.

Some key scenes I thoroughly enjoyed, aside from the head biting Ash's hand: Ash's hand breaking plates over his head; "Groovy"; the scene in the basement toward the end of the movie; when the hillbilly is pulled into the basement and the ridiculous gush of blood comes out from under the trap door; the creepiness of that damn deer head when it starts laughing; and pretty much every facial expression Ash makes.

It's really hard to compare Evil Dead II to the first one, simply because they're such different movies. At this point, I prefer the first movie a bit, but I really did love Evil Dead II. I'm going to have to see them both a few more times before I can make any judgement of which is my favorite. And, of course, I need to view Army of Darkness now. I've seen it before, but it was years ago and I don't remember it all that well. I should get around to seeing that at some point during this week.

After Army of Darkness, I fully intend to liveblog all three of the movies. Hopefully it won't take me too long to get to it.

Evil Preamble

2005-02-28T01:24:00.000-08:00

Last Monday I watched The Evil Dead, for the first time ever. Now it's Sunday night, much the same circumstances within my house as last Monday, and I'm about to watch Evil Dead II. I'm tempted to do a live blogging of it--even though it wouldn't be live because this is all going to be posted later tonight--but I don't want to be distracted the first time I watch the movie. However, I'm already considering the idea of doing a live blogging of the entire trilogy sometime in the near future, after I've watched all these movies through once.

But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight, I'm going to watch Evil Dead II--right after having watched I [Heart] Huckabees--and then write up my thoughts on it as soon as I'm done.

I just watched the trailer and things look pretty good. Bruce Campbell looks more like Bruce Campbell and it appears that they've increased the budget. It's kind of hard to tell, though, as it seems some of those shots were from Evil Dead. I do worry that this isn't going to be as out and out creepy as the first movie, but we'll see. According to my friend Nathan, this is the best of the series. Time to find out!

The next entry will be post-movie. You'll get my thoughts then.

I [Heart] Deep Thoughts On Existence

2005-02-28T01:14:00.000-08:00

Now what should I say about I [Heart] Huckabees? I just watched it, a movie that I had been wanting to see for awhile now. The writer and director, David O. Russell, impressed me greatly with his last film, Three Kings. Thus, I was eager to see his follow up and became more so upon seeing the trailer over and over at work on the promo DVD we loop in the department. I loved the trailer's closing montage with music from the movie, throwing out random shots and scenes to screw with the viewer's head and leave you wondering just what the hell the movie is about.

If you've seen it, you know. If you've read a review of it, you probably know. The movie is about existence, about existentialism. It's about what the hell the point of life is. It's a strange and bizarre and uneven movie, one that seems to have so many ideas bouncing around that you hardly know where to begin. It opens strangely, in a confusing manner, and quickly shows itself to be one very odd movie, as Jason Schwartzman's character, Albert, goes to see a pair of existentialist detectives--played by Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman. As that scene progressed, I was left wondering what the hell I had gotten myself in to. The movie was strange, clearly, and I suspected it was not going to get any less strange as it progressed.

And oh, it doesn't. There are bizarre daydreams and weird visual effects and the conflicting base ideas of whether everything is connected or if everything is nothing, pointless, utterly unconnected. It's a great conflict of ideas for a movie, but I'm not sure if I [Heart] Huckabees is nearly as great a movie as it aspires to be.

I hardly know what to think of this film. There are some great momemnts in it, without a doubt. There are some funny as all fuck scenes, to boot. When Mark Whalberg's character, Tommy, and Albert have dinner with a Christian family and their adopted Sudanese son, well . . . it gets out of hand quickly. Once you have Whalberg's character yelling at the father about petroleum and the father yelling at Schwartzman's character about Socialism, the scene becomes utterly bizarre, but disarming and entertaining at the same time.

Oh, but what to think about this? Existentialism is right up my alley, just the kind of deep shit that any self-respecting mid-twenties person such as myself likes to pretend to seriously think about. And, despite the flippancy of that sentence, I do sometimes think about all of that. What is the point of being here? What is the point of existence? I don't know, I'll say without hesitation, but I have certain thoughts on the subject. And as I've written before, I have certain thoughts on the idea of whether or not everything is connected. I tend to fall into the connected camp, and yet there are times when I think that it's all bullshit, that this life is little more than floating through existence and trying, hoping, that there is something greater and deeper behind what seems to be endless and random inflictions of pain.

Naomi Watts is wonderful as Dawn. She's enthusiastic and kind of nuts, heartwarming and a little heartbreaking, completely disarming and open. She nails her character and brings a spark whenever she's on screen. Hoffman and Tomlin are silly as the detectives, Bernard and Vivian, fairly entertaining and making a real go of their characters. Whalberg is magnificent--he just throws himself into the role with complete abandon, being ridiculous and depressed and quirky without the slightest bit of hesitation. And Jude Law, playing Brad, is very good, starting out with a thick sense of charm and inauthenticity before eventually devolving into chaos and uncertainty.

But I just don't know what to say about this movie. I don't think it works, not entirely. Yet I would encourage anyone to see it, to at least give it a shot. It's very entertaining at times and confusing at other times. There were parts when I felt frustrated and too often the movie felt lost and even listless. To say this film is a mixed bag would be an impressive understatement. I have complete admiration for Russell for tackling the subject, though, and for trying to do it in a way that is light-hearted and entertaining but that does not give the subject short-thrift, either. Dwelling on matters of existentialism can easily lead to heavy-handedness, moralizing and dark and bleak tones, but Russell does not fall into that trap here. He keeps things moving along, pieces together his story very carefully, and makes his points without ever lecturing the audience.

It feels like there is a much better movie lurking under this one, though. It feels as if there was the potential for something transcendant and insightful, a movie that would punch you right in the gut and not even bother apologizing for it. Instead, this is like an evening of curious, possibly drunken chatting with friends. It's fun and enjoyable and can even lead you to some good thoughts, maybe make you stop every now and then and start to realize something that maybe you hadn't before, but it's not enlightenment. It's not anything that will leave you gasping for breath or evaluating your life. It's nothing that will have you thinking that perhaps you've had life all wrong, or at the very least that you've had an incomplete understanding of it.

For me, I [Heart] Huckabees simply left me feeling pleased but unfulfilled, entertained and yet wanting more. I say watch it, enjoy it, but don't expect too much from it. It's not what it could have been, which is a shame, but it's well worth your time anyway.

A Model Death

2005-02-26T13:19:00.000-08:00

(First read my thoughts below on Thompson's suicide.)

There's another aspect of Hunter Thompson's suicide that I want to touch on. There are some who say that his suicide--and some of the responses to it--is bad in the sense that it is a glorification of suicide. People might see the way he died practically being celebrated and decide that it is indeed a fine way to go, that it is a brave and impressive act.

This is such bullshit.

I realize there is nothing original about what I am going to write, but here goes. I never buy into these glorification worries. It happens all the time, whether it be Natural Born Killers or emo music or Grand Theft Auto. I don't buy into it when it's people who are being mimicked, like Christina Ricci or an athlete who is busted doing drugs or beating on his wife. There's always this great concern and handwringing about the children and how they might follow in the footsteps. After all, children are such stupid little shits that they don't have a brain capacity any larger than that of your standard lemming.

Seriously, bullshit.

I don't buy any of this. People don't kill themselves because Hunter Thompson did it. They don't shoot up cars because they were playing Grand Theft Auto. They don't cut on themselves because they listen to Taking Back Sunday or read an interview with Christina Ricci. This is such a stupid cop-out, such a complete disregard and disrespect for children and teenagers.

Yes, children are impressionable. No, they're not complete idiots. Anyone who commits suicide had issues to begin with. Sure, people get ideas from various forms of media and from other people, but they don't carry out those ideas simply because they were exposed to them. There has to be something deeper behind it. All the attempts to pretend otherwise is nothing more than a desire to boil down a major problem into an easily-graspable idea that can be railed against and denounced. It stinks of opportunism and laziness.

I played violent video games and saw violent movies as a kid. I started reading Christopher Pike when I was in fifth grade, and that guy wrote some fucked up shit in his day. I started reading Stephen King in seventh grade and I think most people know that he also wrote some fucked up shit. You know what? I never mimicked anything in those books. I never attempted to act out various forms of violence that I saw or played or read about.

The reason I never did is simple. While my upbringing was in no way perfect and my parents were flawed, they still raised me to be intelligent and thoughtful, to be considerate of other people, to respect people and their property, to be empathetic and caring and as good of a person as I can be.

Yet some people think all it takes is a movie or a video game or a media figure. That thinking is so annoying and lazy. Honestly, you think an otherwise healthy and normal person is going to commit suicide because some people are gushing about how Hunter Thompson went out on his own terms? No, they're going to commit suicide because they're screwed up. Maybe there will be a few people who are pushed past that final reluctance due to Hunter Thompson, but that's just how things work. It's not ultimately Thompson's fault or the fault of people who speak well of his suicide. It's because that person has some serious problems.

You cannot eliminate death and violence and terrible acts from the world. We are human and we engage in all of that. It is how we live and it is how we will always live. Trying to get rid of those acts, to not impress thoughts of these things upon those who are receptive, is a fool's errand. It is pointless. It is an attempt to make everyone okay through censorship and that's doomed to spectacular failure.

If you raise your kids right, they'll never be susceptible to violent messages. Why? Because they will have learned common decency, common sense, respect for themselves and other people, kindness and humility. Anybody who is awash in those traits--as anyone with a solid upbringing should be--will never play Grand Theft Auto and decide that going out and shooting up some cars sounds like a great idea. They will understand, you see, that there are real people in those cars who will be hurt and they won't want to do that, out of kindness and compassion and respect.

People who are already wrought with problems are indeed susceptible to messages in the media and the words of other people and the viewing of violent acts. But that will always be the case and there will always be something out there for them to get ideas from. It is impossible to eliminate pain and suffering from this world, so screwed up people will always have something that might influence them. The idea isn't to get outraged over those things or to try to eliminate them, the idea is simply to nurture people so they won't be influenced by them. It is the only thing we can do and it's far more effective than bitching about that which we dislike.

The Way He Went

2005-02-25T19:41:00.000-08:00

I'm not a fan of Hunter S. Thompson, if only because I haven't read his writing. I suspect I would like it, but he's one of those authors I've been meaning to delve into but haven't gotten around to reading him yet. Hell, I haven't even seen Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, though it's been sitting in my Netflix queue for months now. Thus, I am completely unfamiliar with Thompson, aside from a few articles I've read since his death.

I want to write about suicide, though, and about how people are reacting to Thompson's suicide. Many people have been talking about it being so appropriate, Thompson taking his life by his own hands and determining on his own when he would go out. It's been almost celebrated, in a way--considered an affirmation of his life and the way he lived.

Suicide is a funny thing, sort of the ultimate in self-expression. People talk about taking your life into your own hands and suicide is the most literal way you can do this. But suicide is messy business. It's harsh and brutal and, frankly, it can be incredibly selfish. It can be downright cruel.

Over in this Blogcritics thread, Temple Stark, in the comments, relates a personal story about a friend who suffered because of someone she knew committing suicide, and he makes the argument that suicide is not a good thing, not brave or commendable or an act to be lauded by Thompson's fans. He received some real shit for his comments in that thread, but I think he makes a perfectly valid point. Suicide is selfish and it's a nasty bit of business, no matter how much you might try to romanticize it.

Someone close to me attempted suicide when I was young. He swallowed pills--a lot of them--and then told someone that he had done it. To this day, I don't believe it was a true attempt at suicide, but more of a grab for attention, for some sort of recognition. If he truly wanted to die, he would have kept his mouth shut about what he did. Luckily, though, he did not, and he ended up in a hospital as a result. He had to have his stomach pumped--a fact he bitterly complained about later--and turned out to be okay. Without the medical attention, it's possible he would have died. Instead he was fine.

And I was relieved. And I was pissed. I was so incredibly angry, hot with fury and indignation and absolute outrage. I remember sitting in the hospital waiting room, relieved he would be okay but having that relief drowned out by my absolute anger at what he had done, at this stupid, outrageous, ridiculous, thoughtless, so horribly selfish act that he had undertaken. How dare he, I thought at the time. He had no right to do something so stupid, so meanspirited and cruel. How dare he.

That's the thing about suicide--it's destructive. I'm not talking about it destroying the life of the person committing suicide, I'm talking about the destruction it can wreak on those who loved the person who is now dead. Suicide is not good, it is not something worthy of praise and admiration. At best, it is sad and disheartening. At worst, it is selfish and unbearably cruel to those who the suicidal person should love the most. Don't tell me that it's admirable that someone should choose to go out on his own terms--not if he is healthy and capable of continuing on. In general, I don't believe suicide is admiral or in any way an act to be applauded. Suicide can be understandable, it can be empathized with, but that does not make it a good act. That does not somehow make it fair.

There are exceptions, though, which I will happily admit. I support physician-assisted suicide and I think a person who is facing certain death, by terrible circumstances, should have the right, the free will, to decide to commit suicide. I think at that point it is perfectly fair to want to go out on your own terms, before illness and disease destroys your body and strips away your mental faculties. It is a decision that should absolutely be discussed with family and friends--those who love you and will miss you--but it's important that it is available. I fully support that.

It's when a person is not facing imminent death that suicide becomes a selfish act. But even then, you must understand, I find it understandable. Suicide is a horrible act, but I don't believe people who commit suicide are horrible people. I don't think they are evil. I don't think they will go to hell or face some kind of eternal punishment. They are in pain, lost, facing an existence that they see as unbearably bleak, and I can completely understand the desire to stop having to face that, to just drift off into nothingness or the spiritual ether or whatever you may think comes after this life.

I have been suicidal in my life, to a degree. I've never been to the point that I truly would attempt suicide, such as my friend above. I've never put a gun to my head, never opened a bottle of pills and stared weightily at the heap of chemicals, never slowly fingered a razor blade and pressed it against my skin, hard but not quite hard enough to cut. I've never done any of that, but I've thought about how nice it would be to cast off my problems. I've thought about how relieving it would be to move on, to stop having to deal with the emotions I dealt with at the time, to be able to fade away and gain some peace.

But I never would. I never, ever would kill myself, barring a fatal disease or some other extreme circumstance. The reason for that is simply that there are people--family and friends--who love me. They love me. They care about me. If I killed myself, if I died and was gone, then they would suffer because of that. They would be in pain, terrible pain in some cases, and I could not inflict that on these people whom I love in return. How could I? What kind of a person would I be if I did? Selfish would be the least of the words you could use.

There is a passage in Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger, that relates to this. In the book, Franny and Zooey are two of the seven Glass children. The eldest of the Glass children is Seymour (referred to as "S." in the following passage), who killed himself seven years prior to when the story took place. In this letter to Zooey, Buddy writes:

There are times when I think you've forgiven S. more completely than any of us have. Waker once said something very interesting to me on that subject--in fact, I'm merely parroting what he said to me. He said you were the only one who was bitter about S.'s suicide and the only one who really forgave him for it. The rest of us, he said, were outwardly unbitter and inwardly unforgiving. That may be truer than true.

Suicide is harsh and cruel, brutal and haunting, nothing that you can easily forget and something that must be terribly hard to forgive. When my friend attempted suicide, I was so incredibly angry at him. I didn't hate him, but I was furious at him, at what he had almost done to me. And yes, it was about me. I was concerned for him, too, for why he did what he did, but my fury was about my own terror at how close I had come to losing him forever. And it took me some time to forgive him, to forgive him simply for attempting to exit this world. How long would it have taken me to forgive him if he had succeeded? Even now, would I truly be at peace with what had happened?

But I yelled at him. I yelled at him in that hospital, while he laid in bed and complained about the thick black liquid they had made him drink before they pumped his stomach. I did not scream or go crazy--I don't do that--but I told him that what he had done was wrong. It was wrong. Maybe someone who has just tried to commit suicide shouldn't be yelled at, but I did it anyway. And I suspect that, at the very least, it made it clear that whatever he may have thought, there were people in the world who gave a shit if he continued to exist. There were people who would suffer his loss and I hoped that he would remember that then, and the next day, and the rest of his life and any time he might stare at a bottle of pills or finger any sort of destructive weapon.

In this discussion over at Blogcritics, there are people in the comments who have made the valid point that suicide indicates suffering and that perhaps those who don't want a person to kill himself are just as selfish as the person who kills himself, for wanting him to stay in this world and continue to suffer so that they don't have to let go. It is a valid argument, absolutely, but I don't really buy into it. Life sucks, okay? It can be horribly painful, without question. But you suffer and you deal and you carry on, striving for those better times and hoping to make yourself into a better person. I haven't had a horrible life, but I've experienced some horrible things. Even when I thought that suicide sounded tempting, it was never a true option. I can't give up like that--I can't. I can't make my family suffer--I can't. I can't devastate my friends--I just cant. These are not real options, they're inflictions. They're cruel lashings, the bestowing of pain. Why would I take the people who love me most and harm them in the cruelest, harshest way I possibly could? What would posess me?

You continue on. You struggle through. You lean on family and friends, you find help, you live for the next day and the next day until the next day is a pretty damn decent day. If you haven't been consigned to death by disease, by illness, then you keep on trying because to do otherwise is only to give up. And to give up is . . . it's just wrong. It can be understandable, it can be forgiveable, but that doesn't mean it isn't wrong.

You don't give up on life. You flip it the goddamn finger, tell it to fuck off, and continue on your merry way. Sure, this world can suck ass. But are you going to let it defeat you? Not me. Not a chance.

Randomosity - Part Three

2005-02-25T03:14:00.000-08:00

The First
I need you to go to this website here and watch the clip if you've never seen this before. The claim is that this is a real children's show that aired in the past and that this is an actual aired clip from the show, but I'm beyond skeptical. I would love for this to have actually gotten onto TV, simply due to the fact that it is so wonderfully subversive and completely outrageous, but it has to be a joke. There's no way this could have managed to get on the air. I mean, no adult of any sort of working mental faculty would be able to view this without immediately realizing what was going on.

But do check it out. It's very much worth it for a good laugh.

The Second
You should go poke around this website called Mondo Irlando. It is terribly entertaining. The website is basically the personal journal of The Duke De Mondo. He talks quite a bit about various cultural type things, like music and movies and such. Why do I love this guy? First of all, he's fucking Irish--if I'm not a complete jackass who doesn't know what he's talking about--which means that he's got a great accent. Which wouldn't seem to be a big deal when talking about a website, except that the website has various mp3s involving him and his voice, so you get to hear the accent. Second, he has a picture of Ash in his website's logo. You got to love that. Third, he's obsessed with Kirsten Dunst. That must be appreciated. Fourth, he makes some pretty damn cool music. Fifth, he's terribly funny and entertaining.

Now let's grab some various things from the site to show you how excellent it is.

From "Movie Face-Offs I Wanna See":

Ju-On VS Ringu

Sam Raimi was just an average kid, is all. Sure, he hung out with Kirsten Dunst, he made films about Bruce Campbell's hand runs around the place, but he was just like you or me, or those folks over there.

When a friend lends him this great Japanese horror flick, he can't wait to check it out, and runs home that he might put it in the old VCR.

Imagine his shock when he finds out that if he doesn't remake the flick in seven days, Sadako's gonna crawl out a well and chase him down on horseback or some shit.

Hilarity ensues.

And from his review of The Grudge:

The Grudge is a fucking cop-out bullshit travesty, is what The Duke believes, with regards the status of The Grudge.

I mean The Fly was a remake, man. Did David Cronenberg have Jeff Goldblum running around with a big fly head? He did not, is what he did. Did he end it with Jeff Goldblum's tiny little head stuck to a bluebottle, and he's on a spider's web and screaming "Help me!"? No, because we already saw that shit. What he wants to do is blow Jeff Goldblum's head off his damn shoulders with a shotgun.

What about The Thing? I don't know if you folks are versed in The Motherfucking Cinema Of Howard Hawks, but if you thought he had a scene were the fat doctor is trying to revive a corpse with those pump things, and then the corpse's chest opens and bites the doctors damn arms off, and then the corpse's neck stretches to the floor so as the head can run about on spider legs, if you thought that shit right there was in the original, then it's time you booked yourself an evening with The Thing . . . From Another World.

Take a notebook with you. Make a note every time somebody's head crawls about the floor, or a dog's face splits like a motherfucking banana. I think you'll be surprised. I think not once did that shit happen, is what you'll conclude.

The reason is that these remakes add something to the core text, is what. What the hell use would The Fly be if it just did all the shit you saw before on a bigger budget? Sure, the fly head would be more realistic. Maybe they'd cover it up with some slightly more expensive sheets, but you'd say it was pointless and worthless and should have had a scene where Jeff Goldblum pukes over some doughnuts.

Remember that Gus Van Sant remake of Psycho? Of course you do, and what you remember is a bit with a cow standing in the middle of a road for no reason, and another bit were the fella from Old School wanks himself. You remember these things because they made it all worthwhile. You said things about, "Well, I was a bit sceptical when I heard about the whole shot-for-shot remake idea. Pretty fucking pointless, I was thinking. But there he goes, putting a shot of a cow in the middle of the road in there. That made it worthwhile."

See? You want to go check out this website, right now. There's good, entertaining writing and a weekly mp3 digest of various music and this guy's own music, free for all, and now he's podcasting as well, which is very entertaining. It's good stuff. Check it out.

The Third
How is this in any way a good idea? Here's the deal: I've never taken a knife and attempted to hack off my own legs. Why? Because I need them to fucking walk.

The Fourth
I swear I'm going to have some real entries up soon. There will probably be some talk of suicide, an e.e. cummings poem and other things, hopefully.

Randomosity - Part Two

2005-02-24T02:26:00.000-08:00

The First
I'm reading Notes From a Small Island by Bill Bryson at the moment. Bryson just happens to be one of my favorite authors. First of all, he is terribly entertaining. He writes very well. He also is incredibly funny. Oh, and he gives great descriptions of places that you have probably never been, imparting his interest to you and leaving you wanting to visit those places. That's a good thing for a travel writer to be able to do.

I love to travel. I seriously, really, big time love to travel. The two and a half week road trip I took last summer was one of the best times of my life. Reading Bryson's work always leaves me wanting to go on a trip--both to wherever he wrote about and just to travel in general. I also always want to travel the way he does--aimlessly, going town to town without any truly set plan, no hotel reservations, and with a good amount of time spent in pubs and bars, having some beers. That just sounds like fun.

Unfortunately, I'm almost finished with Bryson's works. I do still have his recent, non-travel book, A Short History of Nearly Everything. That should keep me busy for a little while when I get around to reading it.

The Second
I love Penny Arcade. If you're not reading Penny Arcade, then I am sad for you. Where else can you get incredibly funny comments and news posts that go along with them that say things like this: "I can't tell you why I think its okay to say in a comic that a man has to kill a dog to have an orgasm, but I won't run an ad for a site with vaginas." Nowhere else, I tell you.

The Third
I have officially been made Iron Blogger Culture over at the Iron Blog section of the fairly new online political magazine Blue and Red. God only knows what possessed the fine site runner, Larime Taylor, to entrust any portion of his site in my hands. I suspect large quantities of alcohol, but I have no true evidence.

At some point I'll be blogging over there about some sort of cultural issue, as per the gig. When that should come up, I'll let you all know, in case you might be interested in following along.

The Fourth
Recent DVD Purchases:
Angel - Season Five
Donnie Darko - Director's Cut
Curb Your Enthusiasm - Season Three
Mean Girls
Evil Dead
Evil Dead II
Army of Darkness: Boomstick Edition

Just thought I would throw those out there. Feel free to use that comments link to impart your thoughts about my fine purchases. You may compliment or denigrate as you see fit.

Randomosity - Part One

2005-02-24T00:36:00.000-08:00

The First
I want you to get over to Michele's place as quick as you can--before she kills the link--and download "The Widow" by The Mars Volta. The song is, using a term that I greatly love, shit hot. I've listened to the song about five times now and I'm completely hooked. It sucks beyond all belief that At The Drive In no longer exists, but if I'm going to get music like this as a result, then I can't complain too much. I am so looking forward to their new CD now. I'm going to have to pick it up as soon as it hits.

The Second
I bought the Evil Dead movies tonight on DVD. I was at work and realized the four dollars off coupon for DVDs was still going. So I calculated it up and that meant that, with the coupon and my employee discount, I could pick up the most recent special editions of Evil Dead and Evil Dead II, plus the recent Boomstick Edition of Army of Darkness all for a bit under $37. I figured I couldn't pass that up--even though I totally could and should, financially, considering I just dropped $765 on a damn laptop. But I couldn't resist, simply because Evil Dead was so incredible. I did not realize the movie was as good as it was. Plus, Michele welcomed me to the Cult of Evil Dead so, you know, I had to pay my dues.

The Third
I'm sure you've heard this before, but let me just give you a hint when you enter a retail establishment. As soon as you head up to the counter to purchase your goods and/or services, get off your fucking cell phone. I don't care if you want to chat on your phone while you're walking around the store browsing. That's a little annoying, but it's fine. Hell, I do that every once in a while. Plus, it gives me a good excuse not to have to ask you if there's anything I can help you with. But if you're actually interacting with a clerk, get off your phone. You don't have to hang up, just take it away from your face for the duration of the transaction. It's fucking annoying when you don't and I'm left wanting to punch you in the face, especially when I can't get you to give me your money because you're too busy talking about stupid shit. Understand, I'm growing sicker and more tired of my job by the day and one of these days--one of these days soon--I'm just going to completely fuck you out of your proper change and pocket the difference, and you're not going to have a clue because you're too busy talking about worthless crap on your cell. Okay? Get off the phone, seriously.

The Fourth
A conversation I had the other night:

CUSTOMER: Hey, do you happen to have the second season of Chapelle's Show in the back somewhere?

ME: No, that doesn't actually come out until May. I'm not sure what day exactly, but I know it's May. [I've since learned May 24 is the specific date.]

CUSTOMER (Looking at me strangely): Oh, really?

ME: Yeah. It was originally scheduled for February, but they pushed the date back.

CUSTOMER (In a kind of haughty, "You're a jackass" tone): Well, that's strange, because I've seen it everywhere else. Everybody else has it, Best Buy, Target . . .

ME: Huh. Really? Weird, because I'm pretty sure it doesn't come out until May. [I know it doesn't come out until May, but for some reason I'm not yet actively trying to get myself fired.]

CUSTOMER: Yeah.

ME: You should probably go buy it there then, because we don't have it.

CUSTOMER (Looks at me strangely, again, and hesitates): Okay.

Here's what I should have added, but didn't:

ME: I'll tell you what. You go buy it at one of those other stores, then bring it back here and show it to me, along with the receipt proving you purchased it. If you do that, I'll give you ten bucks, right there, free for any pleasurable activity you should choose.

CUSTOMER: Really?

ME: Sure thing. Because you know what? It's not at those other stores. You're an idiot. The show doesn't come out until May and there is no other store anywhere that currently has it available for purchase. So you go ahead and do that and I'll throw you ten bucks, no questions asked. But the offer only stands for tonight and if you don't show up--and, I assure you, you won't--then I'm going to go ahead and assume you're a jackass and a moron. Oh, and a liar. Okay? Great. Get the fuck out of my store.

Natalie Portman: Closer

2005-02-23T00:53:00.000-08:00

There are a few reasons why I need to write about Natalie Portman. First of all--and I think I've mentioned this before--I'm kind of in love with her. Well, I'm kind of in love with certain characters she has played, most notably Sam from Garden State. She is so cute and compelling and fascinating and quirky in that movie, I simply can't resist her. In interviews, as well, she also comes across as someone I could easily be in love with. But interviews are not necessarily who a person really is, so that's a dangerous game to play. Besides, the world is going to have to change in a myriad of fantastic and magical ways for me to have the opportunity to come to know Natalie Portman well enough to actually fall in love with her.

Thus, I'm kind of in love with her.

The other reason I need to write about her is because she had a fucking amazing 2004. She did both Garden State and Closer, which were two of my very favorite movies from last year. In both films, she was incredible and basically stole the show, dominating every scene she was in. Thinking back on just how fascinating and wonderful she was in both of those movies, I find myself dreading the new Star Wars movie. It is, unfortunately, the next movie that I will see her in and I know that she will be nowhere near as good as she has been and can be. Somehow, George Lucas has this amazing talent for making her boring and mundane, plagued with flat delivery and a complete lack of the sense of wonder that makes her so compelling in other movies. It would be a laudable talent on Lucas's part of it weren't so fucking horrible.

Anyway, let's talk about Closer in this entry, before I get to Garden State in a later entry. I went to see Closer Sunday night at the Kennedy School, which is an old school in Portland that was bought by McMenamins and turned into a hotel/bar/restaurant/movie theater. It's a lovely place and there isn't anything much better than going into a theater, sitting in a big, comfortable old chair and drinking a beer while you watch a great movie on a big screen with a quiet, respectful audience completely free of any children to annoy the hell out of you. I mean, that's the way movies are meant to be seen and I salute McMenamins for providing me with the opportunity to watch a movie (for three bucks, no less!) in such an atmosphere.

The movie was great. I knew it would be, as I had seen it before in one of those crappy, regular theaters back when it was first released. But it was just as good the second time around. The movie is all about character and dialogue, though, so be warned and know what you're getting into if you see it. It's adapted from a play and it very much is . . . a play. It's a movie, yes, but it's completely like a play in the heavy focus on dialogue.

The movie also doesn't pull any punches when it comes to sex. It talks about sex, frequently and explicitly, and it is a joy to behold. It's so nice to go to an American movie and see sex with dealt in such a frank and unflinching manner. And I don't mean with actual sex, as there are basically no sex scenes. Well, there are no visual sex scenes. I mean talking about sex and dealing with the realities of sex in an upfront manner, delving into the emotional consequences and complexities. You don't see much of that in American cinema, so it's a nice change of pace.

But hang on--let's talk about Natalie Portman. She is radiant in this movie. She is the only character, first and foremost, that might be described as likeable. Even in that regard, there are times when you don't know what the hell she is thinking and there are other times when it's hard to feel too sorry for her, but she is generally a sympathetic character and, as a result, is really the main character. The other three characters--played very well by Julia Roberts, Clive Owen and Jude Law--simply don't inspire much sympathy. They make such horrible decisions and act in such a heartless manner, we're left without much of a concern about their well-being. But Natalie Portman's character, Alice, is worth our time. She doesn't always make the smartest decisions and there is no doubt that she cuts herself off from people, but we still feel for her. We want her to be happy, or at the very least to not be shit on by the other characters.

Portman is simply amazing in this role. She is childlike and devious at the same time, alluring and innocent and overtly sexual. The way she smiles--tentatively, hesitantly--is endearing and, at times, almost heartbreaking. She hides herself, and for good reason, yet all we want is for her to be happy. Perhaps she trusts too greatly at certain times and is not trusting enough at other times, but we don't care. When she plaintively cries, "I'm the one who leaves. I'm supposed to leave you. I'm the one who leaves," it is a painful moment. Surely she shouldn't have to endure what she does.

Through it all, Portman is fearless in her acting. She bares herself emotionally and almost completely bares herself physically, as well, in a harsh and brutal scene in a strip club. And yet, even then when she is being devious and manipulative, we care for her character and want the best for Alice. And, indeed, we find out later that she is not being as devious as we might think. Even in her lowest moments in the movie, Portman manages to infuse Alice with a decency that always allows us to root for her.

It's just an incredible performance, one of two in 2004 by Portman that she should be receiving more recognition for. This performance, in particular, is an announcement that she is fully an adult and can take on mature roles with the best of them. Once I get past the inevitable let down that will be Star Wars, I can't wait to see what she does next, to see if she fulfills the promise she shows in Closer. In the meantime, I'm going to think of her as she's seen in the last shot of the movie, which is uplifting, yet tinged with sorrow, incredibly compelling and beautiful.

A Collar Appropriate For Its Maker

2005-02-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

What the hell is going on in the world? I don't consider this blog classy or anything of the sort, but I do have certain standards for it, and one of those standards would be to not sully it too greatly with talk of Paris Hilton. I mean, if I had some sort of divine inspiration for insulting the godawfully talentless woman, then I might go for it. But honestly, she gets insulted enough. At this point, there's hardly anything I could add to the conversation.

This, however, has to be addressed. What in God's name inspired anyone, anywhere, from any sort of mental position to decree that Paris Hilton really needs to start a line of dog collars because, golly gee, that's just an idea that can't miss? Dog collars. Can anyone explain this to me? I seriously want to know what has happened to my world. It's spinning out of control.

And I don't even know where to begin with the jokes. Yes, absolutely, this is entirely appropriate. I guess she just didn't have anything to wear one night and decided to make a collar for herself. Maybe she just thought one day, "You know, people don't associate the term 'bitch' with me nearly enough." Perhaps she's surrounded by blood-sucking insects but didn't want to commit the fashion faux paux of wearing a red, plastic flea collar. Or perhaps, perhaps, she just really despises dogs.

I'll tell you what, the only way I would ever spend $25 on a dog collar made by Paris Hilton is if I was looking for a creative way to hang myself.

Look at the product description. It's described as "flirty." Because it's not enough that Paris Hilton is a whore; your dog has to be one, too.

Dignity and Shame

2005-02-22T10:12:00.000-08:00

I first discovered Crooked Fingers over a year ago when they were touring with Azure Ray, a band I had just started listening to. Curious about what kind of sound they had that would compliment Azure Ray, I checked out some of their songs on their website and was immediately hooked by their low-key, gravel-voiced sound. "New Drink For The Old Drunk" and "Sweet Marie" had me captivated, wanting to hear more from the band. Soon I had a couple of their albums and considered myself a full-fledged fan of their quiet, at times sorrowful, rock music. The lead singer, Eric Bachmann, has a wonderful, time-worn and weary voice that perfectly captures the pain of life and an honest and realistic angst that comes from repeated emotional hardships.

Now, on their fourth full length album, Dignity and Shame, Crooked Fingers are embarking in a new direction while bringing along familiar sounds. The first track, "Islero," makes clear that this will not be a simple retread of any of their previous albums. It starts out with slow and quiet guitar pickings, then brings in hand drums and finally kicks into a higher flourish with some beautiful trumpet work. The song has a very Southwestern feel to it, taking some of those sounds from their past album, Red Devil Dawn, to new heights. It's a great track, purely instrumental work that sets a melancholic mood for the rest of the album.

Interestingly, the next two songs pick up the pace more. In fact, they clash--ever so slightly--with "Islero," presenting a more upbeat and optimistic tone. However, they're good, enjoyable songs. The fourth track, "Twilight Creeps," takes the incongruity to a new level, though, ultimately clashing with the previous songs. So much about the song is high-pitched, from the opening piano chords to the eventual lyrical work of Lara Meyerratken, who shows up on a few of the album's songs. The track isn't completely out of place and is actually a solid song when Bachmann is singing. However, once Meyerratken comes in, everything feels wrong and out of place, too high and breathy. With the grit of Bachmann's voice gone, the song succumbs to a light and breezy sound, a complete affront against the tone established at the outset by "Islero."

It doesn't break the album, though. Once the track has passed--which is not a terrible song, but merely feels as if it belongs on a different CD--Bachmann's guttural voice begins to reestablish control. The next track, "Destroyer," is a complete departure from "Twilight Creeps," taking a slow and monotonous route. Unfortunately, it's a weak song, treading a bit too monotonous.

The next three songs, however, cement Dignity and Shame as a great entry into the Crooked Fingers catalog. "You Must Build A Fire" is a quiet and thoughtful offering, very reminiscent of past works, evoking the gorgeously haunting melodies of "She Spread Her Legs and Flew Away," from Crooked Fingers' self-titled album. The next track, "Valerie," is a foot-stomping, upbeat love song that kicks the album into a higher gear, much in the vein of Red Devil Dawn's "Sweet Marie." The Southwestern feel from "Islero" resurfaces in this song and is used to great effect. "Andalucia" keeps that tone going, another track with a faster pace than much of the rest of the album.

In "Sleep All Summer," Meyerratken is used in a much more organic way, showing how best to utilize her singing voice. She pairs up with Bachmann better than on "Twilight Creeps" and keeps her voice keyed lower, softer and more soothing, in a way that fits the album's overall tone.

After the fast beat and loud, tumbling sounds of "Coldways," the album slows down with the final two songs. The title track, which is the final song, is perhaps the finest work of the album. Cautious and contemplative, Bachmann dwells with his lyrics, backed only by a piano for much of the song. "Dignity and Shame" is the perfect closer to the album, beautifully encapsulating the entire work and living up to the promise of the opening track. In the end, I wish that the entire album could have matched the brilliance of the opening and closing songs. If it had, it would truly have been a masterpiece. As it is, though, there are problems in the first half of the album. A couple of weak songs and some incongrous sounds detract from the overall feel of the CD. However, the second half of the album is wonderful, and there are tracks on here that match some of Crooked Fingers' best work. This isn't a perfect album, certainly, but it is a very good one that Crooked Fingers fans would be remiss to ignore and that those unfamiliar with the band's work are encouraged to hear.

Loonatics

2005-02-22T01:57:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's one in the morning, I'm on my second Captain Morgan and Pepsi and I recently finished watching a kick ass, totally insane low budget horror movie. And I'm still in the mood for some blogging, so I need to write about something. The only question is what I should write about.

I know. First of all, what the fuck is up with that Loonatics shit? Forgive my profanity--I'm a big fan of it, and there's going to be a lot in this post--but it's absolutely ridiculous. I bet most of you have already heard of it, but did you see this teaser trailer for the show that was posted over at Aint It Cool News? If not, you should watch it now and then come back here, filled with disgust and hate and vitriol and possibly a bit of bile. It can be real or emotional, I'll leave it up to you, but try to keep it contained either way.

Here's the deal. I'm not inherently against these sort of reimaginings and such like that. And I do think it's a bit unfair to harshly judge something before even seeing, you know, what it is. I mean, we have the pictures and we have the teaser trailer and all that good stuff, but we don't have a written and completed episode by which to judge and to see exactly what they're trying to do. But I'm still going to call bullshit and let me explain why.

These characters are boring, first of all. God, they're mundane and typical. We haven't seen this design before? Oh yes, we most certainly have. There's nothing original about this at all. However, that does not immediately make it terrible. We have to leave that to the writing, which is where a greater concern of mine lives. Based on the teaser, this looks like an incredibly lame attempt to be hip and happening, all up in your beeatch foshizzle and so on and such and shit. I know that doesn't make any sense, but stick with me here. We all remember the Poochie episode of The Simpsons, right? That's what this reminds me of. Any minute now, this new Daffy Duck is going to whip out a baseball cap and put it on backward, then slap on some sunglasses. Then, in the background, new Bugs (What's his name? Babs? Buzz? Balls?) is going to put a needle into his vein while the girl Bugs (Binnie? Biff? Bitch?) is going to start turning tricks on the corner, decked out in a pink vinyl miniskirt and six inch heels. See, it's hip. All the kids are doing it! Katie Couric says so!

Why does this look like a steaming pile of shit? It's not because they're desecrating the original Looney Tunes, it's that they're grasping at straws in a desparate attempt for ratings. Do I really need to see angular cartoons speaking monosyllabic words in deadpan voices while they save the world in spaceships and shit? No. Do kids half my age need to? God, I hope not. If that's entertainment, then shoot me right now because I don't want to live in that future.

You want to reimagine the Looney Tunes? Fine, what we're going to need is stark, brutal violence and crippling emotional dysfunctions. Here's what I want: Sam Raimi is going to find a hot new director and commission a remake of Evil Dead. That's actually true. So what we need to do is have Sam Raimi do it with this angle: it's animated and it stars the Looney Tunes gang. Okay? Stay with me here, because this is sheer brilliance. Bugs is Ash, of course. Daffy Duck, Wile E. Coyote, the girl rabbit, Taz, Road Runner--they're all going to be there, in their traditionally drawn way. The girl rabbit, right off the bat, gets raped by a tree. Ever heard a rabbit scream? I've experienced it--it's not pretty. It'll fuck you up, so this will be good.

The Road Runner dismembers Wile E. Coyote with it's fucking beak, okay? Taz, meanwhile, grows razor blades on his hands and starts doing that whirling thing all over the house, cutting the motherfuck out of everyone in attendance. Daffy Duck spends most of the time sputtering until he finally just rips his tongue out and starts shoving it down Bugs' throat. The girl rabbit, meanwhile, is giggling like a creepy fucker, looking as crazy as you can imagine and trying to stab Taz in the ankle with a pencil but instead getting sliced all to hell. Bugs, all the while, is making lame jokes and eventually just starts shoving carrots into any orifice avialable, whether it's his own or someone else's. Then, after about an hour and a half, Elmer Fudd shows up and blows the shit out of everyone with his shotgun, all the while mumbling, "Crazy fucking rabbits. I knew they were trouble."

Now there's your goddamn reimagining.

Sam Raimi Is Fucked In The Head

2005-02-22T01:44:00.000-08:00

Wow, The Evil Dead is fucked up.

I just watched it for the first time. It finished about fifteen minutes ago and I'm not sure exactly what to say about it, so what I'm going to do is type and see what happens. I want to simply ramble about this movie for a few minutes, to try to get my strange thoughts down before they fade away. As an aid, I'm going to be drinking Captain Morgan and Pepsi while I type. Consider yourself warned.

First of all, I did not expect it to be as creepy as it was. I knew that the first Evil Dead was meant to be a serious horror film, but I still did not expect it to be quite so damn creepy as it turned out to be. Now, granted, there were plenty of cheesy and overwrought moments to go along with the more serious horror, including more than a few that made me laugh out loud. The gore was overdone at times, though it seems to have been entirely intentional. However, the utter creepiness of the movie was surprising. Ash's goddamn girlfriend was unnerving as all hell when she went crazy faced and started giggling. When they kept flashing to her sitting in the doorway and laughing like a batshit insane, evil little girl, that was very disturbing. Similarly, it was very creepy later when Ash was dragging her out into the woods and she kept giggling crazily. That's the kind of shit that can give you nightmares.

The gore was registering complete overkill (ha!) at times, but was very effective at other times. That scene when Ash's sister stabs Ash's girlfriend in the ankle with the pencil (no, I can't remember anyone's name but Ash) was very bite-your-lip-squirm-in-your-seat- good-lord-that-looks-like-it-fucking-hurts. Sometimes the blood and guts were used very well, helping to add to the overall freaky air of the movie, while at other times it was just silly and ridiculous, like when the blood coated the camera during the dismemberment or down in the basement when the pipe burst open and spewed blood all over Ash's face. You have to give Sam Raimi credit for going all out, though.

But man, even with this first movie, Sam Raimi is an awesome director. I mean, from the very beginning, I was unnerved. The atmosphere was spot on perfect, the music was great and the camera angles were genius every time. This plot is nothing new and I've seen this sort of thing plenty of times before, even though I'm not a huge horror movie buff. (I like them, yeah, and have grown to really appreciate them over the last few years, but my knowledge and viewing of them is in no way even close to comprehensive.) Yet, despite the familiarity of the set up and the setting, it was still scary even before anything started to happen. That's not something I can say for other horror movies that have dealt in such clichés. Raimi knows exactly how to stage a scene, how to frame a shot, what kind of music to play, how to milk every last bit of tension out of the proceedings. It was very impressive.

But again, I go back to just how incredibly fucked up this movie is. The beginning, with the girl being raped by the woods--that's fucked up. Everything that happens in those first couple scenes after the aforementioned girl suddenly becomes possessed is completely crazed. Sam Raimi went balls-to-the-wall with this movie and it absolutely shines as a result. It's low budget, it's overly gory and it's cheesy as all hell at times, but damn if this is not a great, creepy, classic horror movie. Consider me very, very impressed. I had heard plenty of good things about the Evil Dead movies--and I have seen and really liked Army of Darkness--but I still did not expect the movie to be as solid as it was. I guess this is another one I'm going to have to buy.

The Evil Dead II is up next, as soon as I get it from Netflix. Then I'll rewatch Army of Darkness, as I haven't seen that in years and don't remember it very well at all. I suspect I'll be writing about those as I watch them, as well.

I bow to Sam Raimi. And I'm all the more looking forward to Evil Dead 4 now. Hot damn.

The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower

2005-02-21T10:49:00.001-08:00

Saturday night, I went to the Meow Meow here in Portland, Oregon and I saw The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower in concert. They were playing with Upsilon Acrux, The Ex Models and The Locust. They weren't the headliner, but they were the band I most wanted to see play. I only have a passing knowledge of their music, to be honest, and am currently awaiting the arrival of their newest album, Love in the Fascist Brothel, to become more acquainted with their sound. But what I can tell you is that they're an indie mix of hardcore, screamo and punk whose sound is often referred to as jazz-punk, and for good reason. Let me set the mood here.

I arrived shortly before Upsilon Acrux started off the night's music. I've been to the Meow Meow once before, when I came by to check out a friend's band, Rhythm of 84. The crowd that night was almost identical to the crowd from the other show I had been to at the Meow Meow--a sort of teenage emo type gathering, with a lot of tight T shirt and hoodies, swooping hair and slim bodies. After Upsilon Acrux came on and did their set--and they were quite good--The Plot was up next. They set up quickly and then threw themselves into the first number, all raging guitars and pounding drums and screaming vocals. But here's the thing if you're new to The Plot: just when you think you might have them figured out, the lead singer breaks out a saxophone. In that venue, with that crowd, it is an immensely odd and compelling sight and sound.

Even on the songs that don't utilize the saxophone, The Plot is a great band, but the saxophone takes it to an entirely different level. It's a real departure from what you typically see in this music scene and it lends a great originality to the music. Plus, it just sounds great. They work it in beautifully, layering it over the drum and guitar work and then pulling it back to jump into the vocals. It gives the music an almost classy edge, as well as a unique sort of energy that works great in the setting of a concert.

As a live band, The Plot put on an excellent show. They came out in similar uniforms, each of them sporting a Nazi-style armband with their own logo on it rather than the Nazi symbol. It kept, of course, with the name of their new album. As they jumped into their approximately twenty minute set, it was clear that they had come with a great deal of energy and enthusiasm. The lead singer screamed into the microphone, manhandled the stand and jumped around the stage. He veritably molested the microphone at times, throwing himself into the performance completely. The rest of the band members were more stationary, focusing on playing their instruments and occasionally singing backup, while doing a great job of keeping the music moving right along.

The songs never slowed down and the band not only stayed energized, but grew more enthusiastic as the set went on. The last two songs were the highlight of the performance, featuring a good deal of saxophone, heavy guitar work and layered vocals. They sounded great, loud and chaotic yet always in control of just how they wanted to present themselves. In fact, chaotic and hectic is a good way to describe The Plot's music. On stage, they seemed crazed and completely taken over by the music. Yet, at the same time, I had the distinct feeling that it was all very deliberate and they performed in a very confident manner. They knew what they were doing and exactly how they wanted to act, and part of that was an all-out assault on the audience, both in terms of the music and the theatrics. Throughout the set, the lead singer was swinging around the microphone stand, licking the microphone, wrapping the cord around his neck, flinging himself back and forth on the stage and spitting water into the air. It was a show, to be sure, and it was entertaining both as a theatrical performance and as some great hardcore punk music with--let's not forget--some jazz thrown in for good measure.

My feelings were mixed on The Ex Models and The Locust. I thought The Ex Models were okay at best, largely pretentious and tedious. The Locust was solid, though, both in terms of the music and their strange and energetic performance. The highlight for me, though, was easily The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower. Even divorced of the other bands, they were worth the price of admission. I can't wait to get my hands on their new album so I can immerse myself more in their chaotic, energetic, compelling mixture of punk, hardcore and jazz.

Living Room Shrine - Part Two

2005-02-21T01:04:00.000-08:00

Oh, I'm not done with the TV yet. I have a few more thoughts for you to endear, so without any further delay, let's get on with it.

Most Interesting Television Character: Spike (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel)
Spike started out as an endlessly entertaining villain, became a fascinating villain, became a sympathetic villain, slowly morphed into a sort of good guy, with considerable snark and insult, and then became a villain again, but only kind of and then became a tragic figure. But in reality, Spike was always a tragic figure. And while Buffy the Vampire Slayer had all kinds of fascinating characters, none of them ever were quite as fascinating as Spike. He went through so many changes that there was always something interesting going on with him. Furthermore, he was always likable, even when he was a villain. I mean, Spike was just funny and the sarcasm that left his mouth was always a treat. Even when Spike was at his least interesting in season seven of Buffy, his character was still a good watch. Spike draping himself over a huge crucifix early in the season or the scenes between him and Buffy in the show's last few episodes. Or, hell, the conversation with Andrew about onion blossoms. Over time, Spike was the best character on Buffy and was the most fascinating character I've ever had the pleasure of following on television.

Bonus Poor Quality Audio Clips:
First Bonus: Spike mocks Angel from afar!
Second Bonus: Spike's out for a walk!
Third Bonus: Spike wants to save puppies!
Fourth Bonus: Spike waxes poetic about love!

Weirdest Current Television Show: Carnivale
Maybe there's a weirder show out there, but I'm skeptical. I actually have only seen the first two episodes of Carnivale, thanks to Netflix, but I'll soon be watching the rest of season one. Even having watched a mere two episodes, I can say with confidence that it is probably the strangest, most bizarre, most surreal show on TV. I mean, it starts out with that fucking dwarf from Twin Peaks. That screwed with my head bad enough, and then I actually watched the two episodes! Jesus, that's some strange, fucked up shit. But I like it--I definitely do. And it's an absolutely gorgeous show. I'll probably have more to say about Carnivale once I've watched the entire first season.

Television Show That I Loved Far More Than It Deserved To Be Loved: Growing Pains
I don't know why I loved this show so much, but I was obsessed with it. I watched it during a time when I watched TV all the time, when I used it as an escape from my own life and became fat and listless. During that time, I was able to watch all kinds of terrible programming without trouble and Growing Pains was one of those shows. Looking back, it probably was not nearly as bad as some of the shows I watched, but I'm still pretty sure it wasn't that great of a program. And yet, I completely loved it and had huge emotional investments into the family. When the show's final episode aired, I was stuck over at a friend's house. I couldn't get out of it. I told my mom she had to copy the show for me. She tried, but she screwed it up somehow. When I found that out, I was horribly depressed and pissed off. I think I was close to tears. I look back at that now and feel like a total idiot.

Favorite Soap Opera: Nip/Tuck
I don't watch daytime soap operas. I have never watched daytime soap operas. In fact, they always annoyed the hell out of me. But I do have a fine tradition of watching nighttime soap operas. I loved Melrose Place and Bevery Hills 90210 back in the day. However, more recently my taste has evolved and I don't much bother with the soap operas anymore. For instance, I haven't watched a single episode of Desparate Housewives, though I won't claim that I wouldn't like it if I did. One nighttime soap I will watch, though, is Nip/Tuck. I've seen the first season on DVD and that is one hell of a great series. And it totally is a soap opera. I mean, there's all kinds of melodrama going on here. But damn if it isn't incredibly entertaining. It's indulgent, but I refuse to feel guilty about loving the hell out of it for a single moment. I can't wait for season two to hit DVD.

Terrible Show I Most Shamelessly Love: Married . . . With Children
This sitcom was sexist, obnoxious, low brow, unsophisticated and completely trashy. To this day, I still love it. Every Sunday evening when I was younger, it was an absolute must on Sunday nights to sit in front of the television with my brother and watch The Simpsons, Married . . . With Children and whatever other crap Fox had currently thrown on the air on Sundays. We watched the shows every Sunday night religiously and I loved every minute of it. I loved The Simpsons and I loved the complete trashiness of Married . . . With Children. To this day, I can still watch the show without any real sense of guilt. It's just good entertainment, of the lowest variety. Everyone on that show knew exactly what they were making, and they threw themselves wholeheartedly into doing it as good as possible. I commend them for that.

Honorable Mention: Scrubs
I love Scrubs. It is a truly great comedy--probably my favorite comedy currently airing. The cast is awesome and the writing is excellent. Zach Braff is perfect in the lead and John C. McGinley is simply hilarious as the abusive Dr. Cox. The show tends to be ridiculous, silly and absurd--which are three things that I'm all about. The show is consistently funny and often times has a nice little lesson worked in. In fact, each episode generally has some sort of point to it, rather than just being a collection of jokes. It's nothing too terribly deep or profound, but it's done in a way that isn't overt or annoying, but rather sweet and affirming. A great show that doesn't get nearly the attention it deserves.

And that's all I have to say about television for the time being. Just remember: the next time someone tries to tell you that there's nothing worth watching on television, tell them to shove it up thier ass. Or something like that. Feel free to rephrase and give it that personal touch.

________________________
Living Room Shrine: Part One

Blowing Its Top

2005-02-20T21:21:00.000-08:00

Earlier this evening, right at sunset, I was driving north on I-205, from Portland back into Vancouver. I had been visiting with my grandfather at Portland Adventist Medical Center and was heading home. The setting sun cast a golden light upon everything, enhancing the world the way that late afternoon sunlight tends to do. In front of me, a little to my left, stood Mount Saint Helens. It raised majestically above the tree line, covered in snow and bathed in that golden light, looking beautiful and powerful. There's something about clear views of mountains that is simply impressive. Obviously, it has to do with the sheer size of them, but it seems to be something beyond that, as well. In this instance, Mount Saint Helens is a volcano and it represents power as well as size. It literally is a gateway into the center of the earth--it holds a special kind of significance here on this world. It's a crucial piece of the planet and that, to be very frank, is damn impressive.

You may remember Mount Saint Helens from the frenzy it induced this past fall when it decided to start becoming a bit active. You might further remember it from when it decided to literally blow its top right the hell off back in May of 1980 (three months before I was born), creating a spectacular display for the world, killing a few people, spewing ash across the globe and giving a fair amount of people some very beautiful sunsets. So when it decided to start acting up again a few months ago, people paid attention. They especially paid attention when it started indulging in small eruptions.

Frankly, it was kind of cool living so near to the volcano that everyone was obsessing over. I mean, I see this thing every clear day of the year. I typically go hiking up there a couple times every summer. It was neat having a personal knowledge of this suddenly infamous volcano that people across the country were reading about and watching on webcams.

In case you haven't heard, it's been acting up again lately. Nothing like what was happening this past fall, but it's been giving off some steam and ash the last couple days. As I was driving home tonight, with that clear view of the mountain, I saw a relatively small plume of steam and ash drifting out of the crater. It was cool to see, especially since I had managed to miss almost all of the previous eruptions over the last few months, both large and small. It's an impressive sight, seeing that plume coming out of the volcano. It's a reminder of how much power is behind it and just what an important piece of the landscape the volcano is. A window into the world. It doesn't get much cooler than that and I get to see that, firsthand, any clear day of the year. That's awesome. It makes me happy to live where I do.

Sporadicity

2005-02-18T01:38:00.000-08:00

No, that's not an actual word. But it should be.

My grandpa fell the other day and broke his hip. Thus, he is in the hospital. Between going and visiting him Friday; working; a drunken celebration Friday night after work for my roommate's 24th birthday; a very possible Saturday morning hangover; and a probable concert-attending Saturday evening, posting will likely be sporadic the next couple days.

Read about TV below.

Living Room Shrine - Part One

2005-02-18T01:30:00.000-08:00

I love television. I've loved television for years, since I was a child. I remember when I was in the fourth and fifth grade sitting in front of the television every day, for hours on end. That wasn't a good thing, mind you. I became fat and I cared more about the people on TV than I did about my own life. I was escaping at that point and it wasn't a good thing. But boy, did I love television.

I still do today. Whenever I hear someone say that television is worthless, that it can only rot your brain, I want to take a swing at those people. Give me a break. I don't care if someone doesn't want to watch television, but don't tell me there's nothing good on TV. That's a complete lie. Sure, there's plenty of crap that can be viewed--a vast, vast landscape of complete and utter shit--but there are worthwhile shows out there. In fact, there's some brilliant writing on television if you know where to look. There's writing that can rival some of the best movies that come out in any one year.

So, now, here are some of my current thoughts on television.

Favorite Current Show: Lost
This show is just awesome. I'm still kind of amazed that I love a show that so many other people do, too. Usually, my favorite shows--well, my favorite new shows--are great programs that no one watches and that quickly are canned. Think Wonderfalls and Firefly. There's hope that I may get a chance to have that happen again later this year, with the upcoming Fox show The Inside. It just so happens to be run by Tim Minear, who also ran Wonderfalls and Firefly. So I'm looking forward to loving it and then having it ripped away from me, left only to hope feverishly for months that the Fox gods will bless me with a boxed set of all the episodes they didn't air.

Anyway, Lost is a magnificent show. It has a great premise, an awesome cast, a ton of characters to work with and intriguing plot lines. Juxtaposing the current happenings on the island with the past lives of the characters works great and manages to keep the show interesting while giving the audience strong character development. And, frankly, these are the best characters on TV. They are endlessly fascinating, particularly Locke, Charlie, Kate and Sawyer. There's so much going on with the island, it's absolutely fascinating. The decision to work with such a large cast of characters--and with the ability to bring in new ones at any time--was a smart move that has kept the show very interesting and entertaining. Thank god this isn't going to get canceled.

Most Disappointing Current Show: Alias
Okay, the episode I just watched from last night was actually pretty good. And the earlier episode "Liberty Village" was awesome. But overall, I'm pretty unimpressed with this season. It's not that it's terrible, it's just that it's nowhere near the quality that the show usually is at. Alias has been one of my favorite shows, but this year it is not living up to its reputation. I miss the overarching storylines, particularly the Rambaldi stuff. I miss the cliffhangers. I have a hard time understanding Sydney and Dixon's willingness to work with Sloane, though last night's episode did make it a little more realistic. The show just isn't anywhere near as good this season as it has been its last three.

Funniest Current Show (Quantity): The Daily Show
How is this show so consistently funny night in and night out? I mean, they easily make over 100 shows a year--probably somewhere in the vicinity of 150--and it is consistently hilarious. I realize they have a lot to work with, but it's still amazing to me. Clearly the writing staff is top notch and the cast is flat out brilliant.

Funniest Current Show (Ratio): Arrested Development
This show is ridiculously funny. It's absurd and silly and all around a great, high quality comedy. I don't think there is any show out there that currently beats it in the laughs-to-minutes ratio. There have been rumors that Fox may kill the show because they cut down its order this season to make room for American Dad in May. The rumors have been denied and those denials better stick, or else I'm coming after whoever's responsible.

Favorite Animated Show: Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law
Is this what it's like to be on acid? I think this must be what it's like to be on acid. The show is fucking insane and I love every minute of it. I can't wait for this to hit DVD in April.

All-Time Favorite Show: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Television does not get better than this, period. This is one of those shows that transcends television and becomes art. There are episodes of this program that trump great movies. The character development that went on throughout the show's run is astounding, beyond impressing. The way Joss Whedon and the other writers consistently used metaphor to deal with life through vampires and demons and other assorted monsters was astounding. Furthermore, this was one of the funniest shows on television, ever, and it was a fucking drama. Watch the episode Hush and tell me that isn't some of the finest, purest entertainment ever to grace television.

Saddest Episode Of Television Ever: Buffy the Vampire Slayer - The Body
Buffy's mother is dead at the beginning of this episode and the entire show is about the reactions to her death from the various characters. It is easily the saddest, harshest, most heart-breaking thing I've ever seen on television. It is probably the most realistic portrayal of death I have ever seen, anywhere, including film. It is absolutely brutal and devastating. I cry every time I see it. The ending is haunting.

The fact that my own mother had nearly been killed just a few months before I watched this episode and that I was living in California helping her to recover from the accident at the time I first saw it only increased its resonance with me.

Show From Last Season I Most Miss This Season: Wonderfalls and Angel
This is a tie, which I can do because it's my blog. Wonderfalls came on the air as a mid-season replacement for Fox in March of last year. It lasted four episodes before they canceled it. I'm still incredibly pissed off at Fox about this. Thankfully, the full thirteen episodes that were made were released on DVD just a few weeks ago. I just finished watching the set a couple days ago and its brilliance as a series is cemented in my mind. Luckily, the thirteen episodes were a self-contained story, so I'm not left with a bunch of unanswered questions. But I really wish the show was still on the air. It was only going to get better, I have no doubt. You can read more of my thoughts on Wonderfalls in this past entry.

Angel ended last year after five seasons. It was a spin-off of Buffy and was a great show. I never liked it more than Buffy--even during Buffy's sixth season, when the show was floundering and Angel was having a magnificent third season--but it was entirely entertaining and had its share of great moments. Cruelest of all, season five was probably Angel's best season and it's a shame that the show was killed by WB rather than allowed to continue on to a sixth season. Still, it went out on a high note, with a great ending. I can't complain, but I sure wish I was watching new Angel episodes this season.

More TV talk coming up later.

Thursday

2005-02-17T02:27:00.000-08:00

Easily one of my favorite bands going today is Thursday. I discovered them a couple years ago when my uncle mentioned to them, having heard about them from a friend of his. We have similar tastes in music, so I checked to see if we hard their album, Full Collapse, the next time I was at work. Sure enough, there it was for about ten bucks, so I picked it up. I am so glad I did. Full Collapse has turned out to be one of the very few albums that I can listen to over and over again, then pull it out a few months later and again listen to it over and over and never grow tired of it. I've literally listened to the album hundreds of times.

I have a hard time explaining their sound properly. They would fall into the emo category, I guess--a lot of music does--but they trend a bit more toward the hardcore, just with a great deal of melody mixed in. There's plenty of screaming, but it's not in the annoying way. Not for me, anyway. They work with layered vocals and have some damn good guitar work. The lead singer has a bit of a Robert Smith sound to him, though not all that much. The emotion and energy found in the songs is amazing. If you happen to be horribly depressed, I can say from experience, they're a great band to scream along with in the car.

I present for you, then, two songs from them. The first is "Paris In Flames," from the magnificent album Full Collapse. The aforementioned screaming along with in the car works very well with this song.

Thursday - Paris In Flames (link expires on 2/21/2005)

The second download I offer is "Jet Black New Year," which is from their five song EP Five Stories Falling. "Jet Black New Year" was the only new song on that CD and it is very bleak and depressing. Apparently, the band was going through some nasty times when the song was written, which shouldn't be a surprise once you've listened to it. It's a great song, though. Very impressive.

Thursday - Jet Black New Year (link expires on 2/21/2005)

If the relevant record labels should have any problem with the MP3s, give me an email and I'll remove them immediately.

Here are the lyrics for both:

"Paris In Flames"

Now its time to wrap our fears in the night
And on the first day we'll dress this city in flames
After all the things you say
You hate me for being this way

Still you won't let go of old ideals
There is no headline to read at night
When the record skips and you're not holding the needle

We all sing the songs of separation
And we watch our lives bleed out through our hands
Thats how it was on the first day
We saw Paris in Flames

I think it's going to rain, rain down

Here in this collapsed lung of a borough
There is no sunlight
The sunlight is manufactured in a windowless room
Distant and incoherent
Businessmen hang themselves

The lower east side is a jukebox playing the deadman's crescendo
The needle is a vector
An intersection that we all must cross
A dimly lit hallway where shadows of moths decorate the walls
Discard this message
Burn this city down

Discard this message
Throw this bottle back in the ocean
Rip this page from the history book
Smash all the street signs
Erase all the maps
Forget my name
Forget my face
Because it's going to rain
And it never ends

"Jet Black New Year"

Don't even take a breath.
The air is cut with cyanide,
In honor of the New Year.

The press gives us cause to celebrate:
These air raid sirens
Flood barbed-wired skylines,
By artifical night.
As we sleep to burn the red
From our bloodless lives.
Tonight we're all time bombs
on fault lines.

Have we lost everything now?
We're walking like each others ghosts
Around these silent streets (the sedatives tell you everything is alright)
Like calendars dying at New Year's Eve parties,
As we kiss hard on the lips
And swear this year will be better than the last.

Jet black - the ink that spells your name.
Jet black - the blood that's in your veins.
Jet black - We say, "How long can we take this chance not to celebrate?"

There's music playing
But we dance to the beat
Of our own black hearts
And draw diagrams
Of suicide on each others wrists,
Then trace them with razorblades.

Fire to flames
"Strike Match."

Burn these words from our lips
As 'The Dagger' screams,
"Love is dead,"
and it's a "newspaper tragedy."

Have we lost what we love?
Have we said everything?
Does it change everything?
Stare at the clock.
Avoid at all costs,
This emptiness.

Ten seconds left
until midnight.
nine chances to drown ourselves
in black hair dye.
eight faces turned away
from the shock:
seven windows and six of them
were locked.
five stories falling
for ever and ever.
three cheers to the mirror,
now there are two of us.
Can we have one last dance?
How long can we take this chance not to celebrate life?

God In The Machine

2005-02-17T00:49:00.000-08:00

Let me take a moment to summarize what I believe spiritually. Normally, I'm not going to be talking about my spiritual beliefs, but they're relevant for this entry. To start with, I don't believe in God as a conscious entity. I don't liken God to some kind of guy who lives in the sky and looks down upon us, surveying things to see how we're doing. To me, God isn't a single conscious entity. What I do believe in is some kind of underlying force within the universe. The force might best be described as Love, as overromanticized as that may sound. I think that sense we get when we love someone is directly tied to this force, maybe is the force. So Love might be the best label to put on it, though I suspect it would be a simplification. Further, you might call that force God.

Let's say this force is the fabric of existence. I would say that our souls, as they have been labeled, are also tied to this force. In fact, they make up this force. But they are inextricably tied together, with all other souls. The best analogy I can come up with would be a lamp. Say you had a desktop lamp and you took a piece of black cardboard and covered the lamp head with it, so that no light shone through. Now poke a hole in the cardboard. The light that shines through that one hole is an individual's soul. It is distinct, a single soul, and yet it actually is part of a much greater light. The black cardboard is the material structures of the universe and our bodies, which are built up around the soul but are not, ultimately, a part of it. You poke more holes, you have multiple souls. Each one seems like an individual, but in reality they are simply a single portion of a larger, overarching force--one great universal soul, if you want to think of it like that.

Essentially, that is what I believe spiritually. I believe, as well, in reincarnation and multiple lives. I think we evolve on a spiritual level, moving closer and closer to a recognition of that overall force. This makes sense to me. My belief, though, is not absolute. I feel this is true, but I also think it may not be. I mean, I can certainly conceive of being wrong. More specifically, I have no doubt that it is a gross simplification at the very best. Matters of the spirit--if they do indeed exist--would surely be more complicated and ethereal than I could ever grasp while on this planet. I am too encased in the physical realities of world; I don't believe I could ever fully wrap my mind around the spiritual realities of the universe.

Okay, with that out of the way, let me tell you about something fascinating. There is a machine in Edinburgh--a small black box--that randomly generates numbers. The funny thing about it is that it seems to be influenced by people's thoughts and it may just be able to predict the future. Here's a long excerpt from an article at Red Nova:

One of these new technologies was a humble-looking black box known was a Random Event Generator (REG). This used computer technology to generate two numbers - a one and a zero - in a totally random sequence, rather like an electronic coin-flipper.

The pattern of ones and noughts - 'heads' and 'tails' as it were - could then be printed out as a graph. The laws of chance dictate that the generators should churn out equal numbers of ones and zeros - which would be represented by a nearly flat line on the graph. Any deviation from this equal number shows up as a gently rising curve.

During the late 1970s, Prof Jahn decided to investigate whether the power of human thought alone could interfere in some way with the machine's usual readings. He hauled strangers off the street and asked them to concentrate their minds on his number generator. In effect, he was asking them to try to make it flip more heads than tails.

It was a preposterous idea at the time. The results, however, were stunning and have never been satisfactorily explained.

Again and again, entirely ordinary people proved that their minds could influence the machine and produce significant fluctuations on the graph, 'forcing it' to produce unequal numbers of 'heads' or 'tails'.

According to all of the known laws of science, this should not have happened - but it did. And it kept on happening.

Dr Nelson, also working at Princeton University, then extended Prof Jahn's work by taking random number machines to group meditations, which were very popular in America at the time. Again, the results were eyepopping. The groups were collectively able to cause dramatic shifts in the patterns of numbers.

From then on, Dr Nelson was hooked.

Using the internet, he connected up 40 random event generators from all over the world to his laboratory computer in Princeton. These ran constantly, day in day out, generating millions of different pieces of data. Most of the time, the resulting graph on his computer looked more or less like a flat line.

But then on September 6, 1997, something quite extraordinary happened: the graph shot upwards, recording a sudden and massive shift in the number sequence as his machines around the world started reporting huge deviations from the norm. The day was of historic importance for another reason, too.

For it was the same day that an estimated one billion people around the world watched the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales at Westminster Abbey.

Dr Nelson was convinced that the two events must be related in some way.

Could he have detected a totally new phenomena? Could the concentrated emotional outpouring of millions of people be able to influence the output of his REGs. If so, how?

Dr Nelson was at a loss to explain it.

So, in 1998, he gathered together scientists from all over the world to analyse his findings. They, too, were stumped and resolved to extend and deepen the work of Prof Jahn and Dr Nelson. The Global Consciousness Project was born.

Since then, the project has expanded massively. A total of 65 Eggs (as the generators have been named) in 41 countries have now been recruited to act as the 'eyes' of the project.

And the results have been startling and inexplicable in equal measure.

For during the course of the experiment, the Eggs have 'sensed' a whole series of major world events as they were happening, from the Nato bombing of Yugoslavia to the Kursk submarine tragedy to America's hung election of 2000.

The Eggs also regularly detect huge global celebrations, such as New Year's Eve.

But the project threw up its greatest enigma on September 11, 2001.

As the world stood still and watched the horror of the terrorist attacks unfold across New York, something strange was happening to the Eggs.

Not only had they registered the attacks as they actually happened, but the characteristic shift in the pattern of numbers had begun four hours before the two planes even hit the Twin Towers.

They had, it appeared, detected that an event of historic importance was about to take place before the terrorists had even boarded their fateful flights. The implications, not least for the West's security services who constantly monitor electronic 'chatter', are clearly enormous.

'I knew then that we had a great deal of work ahead of us,' says Dr Nelson.

What could be happening? Was it a freak occurrence, perhaps?

Apparently not. For in the closing weeks of December last year, the machines went wild once more.

Twenty-four hours later, an earthquake deep beneath the Indian Ocean triggered the tsunami which devastated South-East Asia, and claimed the lives of an estimated quarter of a million people.

So could the Global Consciousness Project really be forecasting the future?

Cynics will quite rightly point out that there is always some global event that could be used to 'explain' the times when the Egg machines behaved erratically. After all, our world is full of wars, disasters and terrorist outrages, as well as the occasional global celebration. Are the scientists simply trying too hard to detect patterns in their raw data?

The team behind the project insist not. They claim that by using rigorous scientific techniques and powerful mathematics it is possible to exclude any such random connections.

'We're perfectly willing to discover that we've made mistakes,' says Dr Nelson. 'But we haven't been able to find any, and neither has anyone else.

Our data shows clearly that the chances of getting these results by fluke are one million to one against.

That's hugely significant.' But many remain sceptical.

[. . . ]

But for Dr Nelson, talk of such psychic machines - with the potential to detect global catastrophes or terrorist outrages - is of far less importance than the implications of his work in terms of the human race.

For what his experiments appear to demonstrate is that while we may all operate as individuals, we also appear to share something far, far greater - a global consciousness. Some might call it the mind of God.

'We're taught to be individualistic monsters,' he says. 'We're driven by society to separate ourselves from each other. That's not right.'

The article is fascinating and there's plenty more in it to read, including talk about the nature of time and the possibility that it does not just carry on in a forward, linear manner. The possibilities that it raises are very intriguing. It's entirely possible that this will all be debunked, but so far there seems to be some very concrete outcomes that are not easily dismissed or explained.

This is kind of cool, as well, in that it would support what I believe spiritually. Granted, that's not all that important to me. I mean, I have these general beliefs, but they're not actually that important a part of my life. It's just these thoughts in the background, where the main thrust of my living is based on being a decent person and trying to treat people with respect. But it's kind of cool to have something concrete that you can point at and say, "See? I could just be right."

Furthermoer, I've always believed in psychic phenomenon. The question for me has never been whether it exists, but to what degree it exists. I have no doubt that a large percentage of psychic claims--very possibly the majority--are fradualent or delusional. But I also have no doubt that there are legitimate claims. Hell, I've had moments of intuition myself--times when I predicted or suspected something in a manner that is not easily explained. I do think that people at least have some vague psychic abilities and intuitions.

It makes sense, then, that there is some kind of global consciousness. That is logical to me. And now we have a machine that is creating physical evidence of just such a consciousness. Understand, I know this isn't hard proof by any stretch of the imagination. These experiments aren't even close to scientific certainty. However, the mere fact that there is an avenue to study this--to potentially discover actual supporting evidence--is both fascinating and exciting. Who knows what will come of it, but perhaps we will eventually come to some sort of scientific terms with psychic phenomenon. There's no telling what the future might hold.

There are some other potential effects of a global consciousness, should it actually exist. Certainly, it would have great influence on art, culture and media. There would be huge impacts on society and on the way we think, on our moods and emotions and in how we interact with each other. It's a lot to think about and you're probably going to see me writing more on the subject as I sort through my thoughts on it.

(Update 2/27/2005: Perhaps a little skepticism is in order.)

Movies To See: The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy

2005-02-16T01:11:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I got a bug up my ass. But it sure is a good bug.

I haven't read The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy yet, but I do have the big hardcover version that has all the different volumes in it. I've heard great things about it from a multitude of people. For what I've heard and read about it, it sounds like a great story--something that's right up my alley.

A movie is being made from the book and the full trailer just hit online a few hours ago. You can head right on over to Amazon's front page if you want to check it out. This is what I have to say about it: Damn. That looks like a fun movie. I really need to get to reading the book. The trailer looks funny and absurd and ridiculous--three things that I'm all about. Furthermore, it has Martin Freeman--aka Tim--from The Office. Tim was awesome. Better yet, the movie has Zooey Deschanel. She's one of those actresses that I'm kind of in love with, ever since I saw Elf.

Go watch the trailer. Go!

-----
Other Movies To See:
Kingdom Of Heaven
Sin City

Abortions and Platforms

2005-02-15T23:55:00.000-08:00

Today I traveled up to Olympia, Washington with a group of activists from the Washington chapter of NARAL and Planned Parenthood. We were heading up for a Lobby Day that ended up having at least three hundred people taking part. The main goal was to lobby for an act that would require any school district in the state that taught sexual education to teach comprehensive, medically accurate information based on a set of guidelines that were recently released by the Washington Department of Health and the Office of the Superintendent of Public Instruction. It's a great bill that I would like to see pass, which has a good chance this year since the state House and Senate are now both controlled by Democrats.

The day went well. I had to awaken early to head out, dragging myself out of bed about six thirty. Mornings are hard for me, understand, and particularly so since I haven't been going to school and have been able to sleep until nine or ten most days. So hauling my ass out of bed at six thirty after four hours of sleep was a chore. I felt hot and uncomfortable and nauseous the ride up, which I typically feel after I get up very early without much sleep, as well as when I ride long distances in other people's cars. So the day did not start out good.

Once we got up to Olympia, everything improved. I started to feel better, we did some initial training and then a rally, and then it was off to meet with our representatives. Along with a few other people, I visited my two Representatives and one Senator. Here's the short of it:

The first Representative was a Democrat that I worked for this last November. She's wonderful and is a sponsor of the bill, so she was right there with us on it. That was an easy visit, and a fun one.

Next, we saw the Senator, a Republican. Frankly, he's an ass. He flat out told us that NARAL and Planned Parenthood want only to increase abortions so that they can make more money, thus he would never vote for a bill that they sponsored. I guess that means I want an increase in abortions. I never knew.

Last, we saw the second Representative, also a Republican. He was nice, but kind of crazy. He spent much of the time talking about blanket beatings in the military and building a platform for a bull to better be able to have sex with a cow. And no, I am in no way making a joke. He claimed to support the bill, but his record suggests he's likely snowballing us. We shall see.

I have to say, the entire experience was very interesting. It was the first time I ever did any lobbying and it was actually kind of exciting, as well as a bit nerve-wracking. And it was fascinating to find out what my representatives were like on a more personal level.

I'm exhausted, so there won't be any more entries until tomorrow unless I get some kind of bug up my ass. But I'm pretty sure I won't. Tomorrow, I'll probably be talking about predicting the future. I might talk about hiking, as well, and post a picture. Who knows what else! You'll just have to come back and see.

Oh, and I'll mention that I had my first article go up on the new political magazine, Blue and Red. I again urge you to check it out if you haven't already, and if you're interested in politics. My particular article will be familiar to most of you--it's my PETA rant from below. I'll likely have another article up before long about Lobby Day. The site is off to a good start so far, with some interesting articles. Furthermore, Larime--the siterunner--is always looking for new writers and, in particular, needs more right-leaning authors. If you're interested in doing some political writing for Blue and Red, check out the site, get a feel for it, then give Larime an email for more information.

A Healthy Distrust

2005-02-15T12:08:00.000-08:00

Radio first introduced me to Sage Francis, which is surprising. He's a white rap artist who has mostly existed under the radar so far, never touching on the mainstream. However, I happen to have a decent alternative radio station in Portland, Oregon where the DJs are given some leeway to play music that they like, but that isn't on the official playlist. The first song I heard from Sage Francis was "Hey Bobby," which actually is from his band Non-Prophets, a collaboration between Sage and Joe Beats. I immediately loved the song, which combined hip hop with some very explicit social and political commentary. From that song, I found "Makeshift Patriot," which Sage wrote, recorded and released shortly after 9/11. It acted as a commentary on the media post-9/11 and Sage did not hold back in what he thought were the media's failings.

Strangely, I have yet to pick up either the Non-Prophets album, Hope, or the more recent solo CD from Sage titled Personal Journals. I keep meaning to grab them, but haven't done it yet. Therefore, when I had the chance to snag a review copy of Sage's new album, A Healthy Distrust, from Epitaph, I jumped at the chance. I wanted to finally have a full length album to see if he held up as well throughout an entire CD as he did in those two songs I had heard.

I'm happy to say that he is just as impressive in full length form as he is in single tracks. In fact, A Healthy Distrust is one hell of an album, ripping through fifteen songs of surprising diversity. Sage Francis is Epitaph's first hip hop artist and it's easy to see why they signed him. He is an incredible musical talent and a truly great writer. The lyrics on display in this album are very impressive, ranging from personal reflection to social and political commentary. Furthermore, none of these songs sound alike. There's a great diversity and range on the album, leaving it feeling fresh throughout.

Sage has been compared favorably to Eminem in many reviews and I'm just going to go ahead and do the same here. My experience with rap is limited. I like some of Eminem's work and I'm a fan of a lot of what 2Pac put out, but I don't own many other rap albums. Much of the hate, homophobia and misogyny that is on display in many mainstream rap artists turns me off and I haven't yet gathered enough motivation to really delve into the underground and less mainstream realms of rap, in which there seems to be some amazing talent lurking. Now, when Eminem turns away from his own immaturity and becomes intent on writing personal and emotional songs, I think he turns out some true art. In a way, Sage Francis is like Eminem on his best day, but much better. Best of all, he's always in that mode and doesn't bother with the immature filler. He just wants to make great, personal rap music.

Boy, does he succeed with A Healthy Distrust. The writing on this album is very impressive and becomes more and more compelling with each listen. When you first hear the album, the music and lyrics feel like an all out assault, but an invigorating one. You may pick out a line here and there, but you don't truly get into and hear the lyrics--you don't really come to comprehend and understand them--until you've listened to the album multiple times. For this reason alone, it grows better and better with each successive experience.

Sage doesn't mess around here. His politics are made clear throughout and he's pissed off about hate and discrimination, about the political state of the country since 9/11, about the media and fear and paranoia and he's angry at both of America's political parties. I suppose you could say that he is liberal, but I'd be cautious to paint him with any broad term. More specifically, he seems pissed off and disappointed and not afraid to say so. In "Slow Down Gandhi," for instance, Sage clearly rails against the economic realities of today, singing, "They demonized welfare. Middle class eliminated. / The rich get richer til the poor get educated." He takes swipes at the Iraq war, as well: "You need to cut the noose, but you don't believe in scissors. / You support the troops by wearing yellow ribbons? / Just bring home my motherfucking brothers and sisters." And yet, the song is not just a polemic against those who are in power. It's clear that Sage is taking just as many shots at liberals who talk a big game, but are reluctant to go out and fight. He sings, "Because when push turns to shove you jump into your forefather's arms. / He's a banker. You're part of the system. / Off go the dreadlocks, in comes the income." Later in the song, he adds, "Who's the one to blame for the strain of the vocal cords? / Who can pen hateful threats but can't hold a sword? / It's the same ones who complain about the global war / But can't overthrow the local joker that they voted for." Sage may not like the political direction of the country, but he seems just as angry about those who complain about it, then do nothing to actually change our social and political situation.

The album isn't all politics, though. There's plenty of social and personal commentary, as well. In "Gunz Yo," Sage takes to task the male notion that guns equal power and sexual prowess. He mocks the obsession with firearms in rap and hip hop. "This dick is a detachable penis. / An extension of my manhood, positioned like a fetus. / An intravenous hook up feeds bullets to my magazine. / Nevermind the Bullocks, my pistol is a sex machine!" Best of all, the track sounds much like a typical rap song filled with serious gun-worshipping and if you're not paying attention, you could start to believe it is exactly that. Listen to the lyrics, though, and you'll realize that this is Sage ruthlessly ridiculing the very thought that guns can make a man.

In terms of his more personal writing, I particularly like the song "Agony In Her Body." It is dark and melancholic, dwelling on violence and misogyny. It deals with the ties, too often found, between sex and violence and how it can come to consume a relationship. As is often the case, the music fits the lyrics and the mood, leaving the listener disturbed and uneasy. The song begins with, "Day one, I played with her blood. / Day two left her face bruised and we called it making love. / Day three her blood played with me. / Dirty talk caught me off guard. She had the nerve to ask if I thought she was crazy." Sage veritably whispers these opening lines, suggesting pain and danger. We know from the start, from the words and the tone, that this will not be a happy story but the tale of a relationship drenched in misery and dysfunction. Every word, then, is compelling and haunting.

There are better, more quotable lyrics throughout the album. While Sage dwells on a variety of subjects, he often works in metaphors and partakes in quite a bit of word play. His meanings aren't always clear, at least not on initial listenings. At times, you're left more intuiting what he means--by tone and context--rather than determining. It's just one more of the album's strengths that lends it a depth and will leave you playing it over and over to better grasp the songs. It also gives the album a longevity, distancing it from too many cultural references that grow stale over time.

I could go on. There is so much happening in this album that I could listen to it a hundred times and still be gaining new thoughts and insights, new possible meanings from the complicated and extensive lyrics. There is some talk that Sage is overly indulgent and self-obsessed and there may be some truth to that. But it doesn't matter, because this is art. This is great music. If this is indulgence, then indulge me, because I'm impressed and fascinated. It often takes smart, screwed up, pissed off and obsessed people to create truly great art. That's what we have in A Healthy Distrust.

Good Impersonating Bad

2005-02-14T19:32:00.000-08:00

There are a few comedies on television right now that I consider truly funny. Arrested Development is one, toiling away over on Fox. Amazingly, it hasn't been canceled yet. There have been rumors that it is going to be canceled, but those rumors, for the moment, seem not to be true. Another show I find very funny--probably the best comedy on right now--is Curb Your Enthusiasm. Larry David is insane and absurd and incredibly funny. I don't have HBO, so I've been catching this show on DVD. I just recently watched season three and it was the funniest season yet. I can't wait for the fourth season to hit DVD.

If you were to classify The Daily Show as a comedy, then that would most assuredly fall into the category of favorite current comedies of mine. It's impressive how consistently funny the show is. It has one hell of a great cast, wonderful writers and endless material to work with from the media and politics.

Finally, Scrubs is a truly great comedy. This may be my favorite comedy on the air today, though I wouldn't label it as the best written or even the funniest. It's a great show, though, that is consistently amusing--in a silly, laugh out loud way--and that has well-written characters that you come to care about. There's even a hint of drama to the show, though it is never overdone. Zach Braff shines in the lead role of J.D. and John C. McGinley, as Dr. Cox, is spot on in every scene he does. His constant abuse and berating of J.D. is endlessly amusing, yet they also manage to consistently confirm and explore the more emotional and caring relationship between the two.

Scrubs isn't a typical sitcom by any means, but for one episode--airing this Tuesday on NBC at 9:00 PM--it's going to take on all the mannerisms of a standard sitcom, except that it's actually going to be funny, as well. From a Zap2it article:

It's 6 p.m. on a Friday in January. On a smallish, stuffy soundstage in suburban L.A., the cast and crew of "Scrubs" film part of Tuesday's (Feb. 15) episode.

The show's creator, Bill Lawrence, is making jokes about how he's jealous of star Zach Braff's talent and hopes he "does horrible" during the evening's shoot. Somewhere backstage, guest star Clay Aiken is being made to look like a sad-sack hospital employee.

None of this would be all that out of the ordinary for the show, were it not for the 300 or so people sitting to one side of the stage, taking it all in. "Scrubs," which in every one of its previous 84 episodes has strived to look and feel nothing like a traditional sitcom, will this night become the sitcommiest sitcom around.

"All the patients in the beds will be models and very handsome, very attractive," Lawrence says a few days prior to the shoot, which harkens back to his time working on shows like "Spin City" and "Friends." "All the female doctors will, for some reason, be wearing low-cut scrubs. Everything that a sitcom might do."

The sitcom premise is an extended fantasy sequence by J.D. (Braff), who's treating a man who once wrote for "Cheers" (Ken Lerner, himself a sitcom vet). Lawrence also wants the episode to be a thank-you to the show's audience by inviting some of them to watch the show being made -- something that doesn't happen during a normal week, when "Scrubs" is shooting at an abandoned hospital in North Hollywood.

"What we're trying to do in the middle of it, even though we're doing sitcommy stories and sitcommy things, is ultimately have a great experience for the fans," he says. "Which means we're still writing funny jokes. So I hope people will like it on two levels -- hopefully they'll watch it and laugh because we took time to write really funny stuff, and on some level be enjoying the fact that we're tweaking the format a little bit."

Lawrence will enlist those of us in the studio audience in that format-tweaking. He asks us for raucous applause when Aiken first appears, and for Kramer-like huzzahs when the Janitor (Neil Flynn) makes his entrance.

Yep, sounds like a typical sitcom to me. Now, I recognize all these conventions because I grew up watching bad sitcoms. I watched TV constantly--to the point that I became pretty fat during fourth and fifth grade, before I lost most of the weight once I started playing basketball. I would watch TV every night and usually that involved sitcoms. I watched Growing Pains, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Blossom, the entire TGIF lineup throughout its many incarnations, Saved by the Bell, Cheers, Roseanne, Married With Children, and a multitude of others that I can't even think of at the moment. A couple of those were actually pretty good shows, but most of them were mediocre at best and all of them were very much sitcoms that generally followed sitcom conventions.

The conventions are ripe for mocking. I suspect Scrubs--which clearly has great writers--will be very successful in making fun of the conventions and I welcome that. This reminds me, though, of that Comedy Central show from Matt Parker and Trey Stone that I mentioned once before, That's My Bush. It was a sitcom about George Bush, started right after he was elected president. The entire point of the show was to act as a satire of shitty sitcoms, but it never found its legs. Parker and Stone greatly succeeded with this concept when they applied it to bad action movies and made Team America, but That's My Bush was a failure. They attempted to mock shitty sitcoms by literally making a shitty sitcom. They did every convention, from pratfalls to bad catch phrases to a live audience that laughed uproariously at the stupidest jokes--and were then accentuated by a laugh track. The only problem is, they mimicked bad sitcoms exactly and, thus, had nothing but a bad sitcom. Sure, they were aware of it, and the audience was aware of it, but that didn't make it funny.

The show was canceled before long. There were a couple episodes that became so absurd and ridiculous, that it showed promise. They weren't all that funny, I thought, but they suggested that the show could become a very funny parody by taking standard sitcom situations and magnifying them in twisted and ridiculous ways. If the show had been allowed to stay on, Parker and Stone may very well have found their legs and managed to create a truly great show, but they didn't seem to pull their shit together in time. Ultimately, it never got beyond being an unfunny sitcom, though it did manage to be pretty outrageous a few times.

I do wonder, in particular, what would have happened if the show had found its tone, garnered solid ratings and been on the air when 9/11 happened. I think it could have made for some brilliant television and may have been a welcome outlet for the heavy emotions of the time. It might also have been an utter disaster. Hard to say, but I wish I could have seen it happen either way.

But back to Scrubs. It sounds as if they are doing the sitcom parody right, by simply flat out mocking the conventions and then throwing in jokes that are actually funny, rather than perfectly imitating shitty sitcoms just to come up with . . . a shitty sitcom. Sounds like a win to me. I'll be watching on Tuesday.

Fuck PETA

2005-02-14T13:20:00.000-08:00

You know what? Fuck PETA.

You may have heard of their recent campaign against the mistreatment of chickens by Kentucky Fried Chicken. According to a huge flood of articles, the Beastie Boys sent an open letter to the company in conjunction with PETA to protest the abuse. The only problem is, it's a bunch of bullshit. The Beastie Boys did not draft the letter and they did not sign it. I saw over at Blogcritics an open letter that they posted on their website today:

"Wow, Shit gets hectic quick. Sign a petition in an airport and next thing you know you’re a poster-boy. This shit needs some straightening out.

For the record, we did not draft this letter. Basically it went down like this; a lady was walking around an airport in Australia asking people to sign something. When she approached me I thought (and I assume that Adam and Mike did as well) that it was a petition that she was getting as many signatures on as she could. So I signed it thinking that I might be able to help out with stopping some unnecessary suffering of some birds. But I thought that my name would appear in conjunction with thousands of others.

By the look of the letter that PETA sent out, they must have scanned our signatures, photo shopped them neatly in order and then added our names typed in, so that it would look like we drafted and sent the letter ourselves.

And from all the news hits they got on this, they must have sent it out to every news outlet they could get a hold of.

The strangest part of it is that the press just printed it without checking in to see if we really wrote or sent the letter.

I’m sure PETA is well intentioned, but seriously, what the fuck? Pull your shit together. If we want to draft an open letter to someone and send it out to the media we’ll do it ourselves.

-Yauch"

So these jackasses took that petition-signing in an airport to be the equivalent of official, exclusive support from the band. They then felt they had the right to draft a letter and photoshop the signatures of the three bandmembers to it and send it out to about every media outlet in the world. You know what? That's so completely wrong, it's ridiculous. Fuck PETA.

I'm a vegetarian. I think there is worth to trying to get KFC to change the way the chickens they use are abused while they are alive. I don't like the fact that chickens have their beaks cut off, are boiled alive, are stuffed into tiny cages that barely allow them to move. I've owned chickens before and while they come off as very stupid, they actually have a decent amount of intelligence, relatively speaking. Just as important, though, is that they are alive. They are living beings, they have nerves and feel pain. I don't think it's right to torture them. So in that regard, I agree with this campaign that PETA is waging and I think it's a worthy cause. I would like to see the abuse that chickens suffer cut down and eliminated.

But fuck PETA. The organization is ridiculous. They look for attention at all costs and all it does is overshadow their message. I think they're more interested in getting in the news and getting attention than in actually creating any sort of change. Their methods are reprehensible. They lie, as clearly demonstrated with the Beastie Boys. They abuse and take advantage of people who support them. That's not cool, not in the least. They do stupid shit like comparing the treatment of animals to the Holocaust. Now, I'm a big supporter of animal rights, without question. But don't compate it to the Holocaust. All that's going to do is piss people off. It's a cheap grab for attention, nothing more.

And that's the problem with PETA. The organization is one big cheap grab for attention, whether it's lying about their supporters, evoking the Holocaust, running ads of naked celebrities or accosting people they disagree with. Fuck PETA. They give people who really do care about animal rights and about reducing the suffering of animals a bad name.

I hate to take issue with any organization that does the country the fine service of showing Dominique Swain naked, but I have to in this case. They probably harm the animal rights movement more than they help it. At the very least, they are far, far less effective than they could be if they simply conducted themselves with some sort of decorum. The facts that they have are compelling--if they would attempt to educate with them and impart them in less inflammatory ways, then they could go much farther with their message. But instead, they have to act like spoiled, indulgent thirteen year olds. And the killer of all of it is how much support they get, particularly from the celebrity community. PETA is a joke, seriously. If these celebrities want to throw their weight behind an organization that is actually effective in reducing cruelty to animals, then they need to look no further than the Humane Society of the United States. I give ten bucks a month to the organization because I know that they are consistent and effective. They work to get animal cruelty laws on the books, to save the lives of countless numbers of animals and to reduce some of the worst abuses of animals. They assist in the prosecution of people who torture and abuse animals. Best of all, they do all of it in a quiet and unassuming way that gets results. PETA gets headlines, they don't get results. HSUS does.

So fuck PETA. They're a waste of time, money and energy and I wish people who genuinely want to reduce animal cruelty would stop casting their lot with them. All they do is make a joke out of the movement.

Blue and Red

2005-02-14T12:36:00.000-08:00

There was a time when one of the best places online for political debate was Iron Blog. There would be a judged battle every week between two people of differing ideological viewpoints, going at it over one particular subject. I followed the site both as a reader and commenter, as well as a judge. Larime Taylor, the man who started the blog, did a great job at bringing people together and sparking some really good, deep discussions about a variety of political topics.

Unfortunately, the site could not last. It was a great idea and it worked out fantastically for awhile, but there were some problems that arose and it was not able to go on. Luckily, Larime has started a new, more complete site, that is dedicated to bringing together multiple different viewpoints and fostering inclusive political debate. The site is called Blue and Red.

I'm just going to go ahead and urge you to check it out. The site just launched and there's a couple columns up at the moment, with many more to come. There will be at least one new column every day. The concept of Iron Blog is going to continue, though it won't be a weekly affair anymore. It more likely will occur once or twice a month. There are forums, as well, for discussion of the columns, Iron Blog and politics in general. I'm going to be one of the guest columnists and hopefully will have my first article up relatively soon.

Iron Blog fostered some wonderful political debate between people who had vastly different views and it created some good friends, as well. It was a very worthwhile site and I have little doubt that Blue and Red will be an even better place for political discussion. If that's your cup of tea at all, I recommend giving the site a chance and seeing what you think.

The Films of Wes Anderson: Rushmore

2005-02-14T03:43:00.000-08:00

Rushmore was the first Wes Anderson movie I ever saw. I had heard much about it and when I finally saw the film, I ended up loving it. I found it to be wonderfully entertaining, funny and dry and witty but also, at times, melancholic and poignant. That's about the perfect movie for me--one that makes me laugh time and time again, then turns and punches me in the gut with emotional resonance. I can get behind a movie like that every time.

Rushmore is easily Anderson's funniest and most purely entertaining movie. I might place The Royal Tenenbaums above Rushmore in terms of which one is the best film Wes Anderson has made, but Rushmore is an easier viewing. It's funnier, plain and simple, and that comedy is a success due to both Jason Schwartzman and Bill Murray. As the main character, Max Fischer, Schwartzman is hilarious playing an eager, overly ambitious but failing student at Rushmore Academy. He participates in just about every extracurricular activity there is, writes, directs and produces plays and founds many clubs of his own, but he can't seem to actually pass his classes. He loves Rushmore--it's his life.

Schwartzman is pitch perfect in the movie. His delivery is magnificent, particularly in his scenes with Olivia Williams, who plays the teacher Rosemary Cross, whom Max quickly falls in love with. It's in this complicated relationship between the two that the movie really finds its heart. The relationship ends up being played for laughs, heartbreak and discomfort, and is used for a very incisive look into inappropriate infatuations between inept males and unreachable (for them) females. Anderson writes the relationship perfectly, showing both the honest caring that Max has for Ms. Cross and the misogynistic sense of ownership he claims at other times.

This is all complicated by Bill Murray's character, Herman Blume. Now, first of all, Bill Murray is brilliant in this movie. He is both serious and funny and this role, more than any other, is surely the precursor to his magnificent turn in Lost In Translation. In fact, this role is what first moved Bill Murray into more serious acting roles. Rushmore is responsible for Murray being seen as a serious actor as well as a comic actor, and that alone cements the importance of the film. Aside from the more serious tones of the character, though, Murray is also consistently funny in Rushmore. There's a scene in a hospital elevator that is riotous, but in an understated manner. When the scene climaxes with a disheveled and thoroughly dejected Murray lighting a cigarette and placing it in his mouth next to another, already lit cigarette, I could hardly stop laughing. It doesn't seem like it would be as funny as it is, but the context is perfect and Murray nails the mannerisms.

Aside from Murry and Schwartzman, Olivia Williams puts in a great turn as Ms. Cross. She has an easy grace about her that fits the character perfectly and that comes across as authentic and genuine. She is kind with Max at first, as they initially become friends and he shows an obvious affection toward her. However, she becomes increasingly frustrated with him as he becomes more and more forward and unreasonable. When she finally faces him down and tears into him late in the movie, after he has caused endless trouble--demanding, in harsh terms, to know just what kind of relationship he thinks they will end up having--she is brutal and completely realistic. We are as frustrated and annoyed with Max by that point as she is and we can't help but nod in agreement as she dismantles his silly fantasies one by one. We can see, as well, how hard the situation is--how difficult it is for her to be so brutally honest and cruel to him but how it is entirely necessary and appropriate, the only way to make him realize how ridiculous and inappropriate his actions are. We feel for both of them in that moment, but our sympathies are most firmly cast with Ms. Cross, even as she excoriates a child.

That is why Rushmore is great. There are scenes like that which are brutal and all too real, and soon after that we are again laughing at the riduclous antics of Max Fischer and Herman Blume. Our hearts are breaking at one point and then we are amazed at the absurdity of these characters in the next moment. The movie is endlessly entertaining while also confronting, without hesitation, the realities of love and incompetence, of childhood and death and even misogyny. It does it all, seemlessly and honestly, without the slightest sense of uncertainty. That's rare, and it makes Rushmore well worth your time.

Previously:
The Films of Wes Anderson: Bottle Rocket