So it ends in Unitarian heaven?
I totally didn't see THAT coming.
__________
Update: This refers to the series finale of "Lost".
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Marry Him by Lori Gottlieb
I don't recall the article that spurred me to put Marry Him on reserve at the library, and thus was a bit puzzled when it arrived. Took it home anyway, trusting my former self's selection of reading material.
I'm glad I did because Marry Him is a joyous waltz with Schadenfreude (for a guy, at least).
The primary topic is how a certain amount of women end up alone and/or dateless because they're just too freakin' picky and/or have too many criteria that allow for easy disqualification of a potential mate (much like any given Seinfeld conversation on relationships or dating; "man hands" comes to mind). A corollary is how many of these women have such an elevated view of themselves - how hot they are, how wonderful, such a catch, etc. - that no one is really worthy of them.
The author offers herself as the poster child of these issues and delusions, bless her heart. It's a very brave book in that sense. I don't know if I could hoist myself on my own javelin like that, then grasp the shaft and keep pulling earthward.
Ms. Gottlieb made matters even worse for herself; when she approached 40 still single, she decided to go ahead and have a baby to get past the biological clock thing, fully expecting she would be "away for a year" and then could resume the hunt for Mr. Right right afterward. Again, she does a good job of scoffing at her own stupidity, but how can someone get to a place where it doesn't immediately occur to them how stupid something like that is? Is it too much fiction? Is it too many things going right in their lives, giving a false sense of imperviousness? Believing too much in "you can have it all"?
Ok, so once we get past the author's real-life voyage through the needle machine that scralls your sins on your flesh ala Kafka's "In the Penal Colony", and embrace sniggling Schadenfreude, the book is fun. A lot of fun.
Reading about all these fussy lonely-hearts who've ended up hugging their couch pillows rather than Prince Charming is akin to watching stuff blow up real good in an action movie. Especially that trope where we are shown the same explosion three times in a row for emphasis. And a bit of vindication, if you will.
Most guys I know have been dismissed or dumped for reasons we suspect were pretty trivial or overly harsh. Sometimes we merely suspect that, sometimes we get pretty good evidence that that was the case. (I was dumped once because I had chapped lips when I kissed her goodnight after a long, mid-winder outdoor group date (how many guys do you know that carry chapstick?); she told me this herself about a year later.)
When various mentors, gurus, and yentas figuratively slap Ms. Gottlieb upside the head and tell her she's not getting the point, you shake your head in wonder as you see someone live out that definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. (It's also a testament to her honesty, and her ability to convey a story. As stated, I don't recall reading anything non-fiction where the author was so able to viciously critique themselves and yet still evoke empathy and sympathy.)
Btw, guys do this too. Heck, I did it apparently. One of the things my grandma told my brother and myself on her deathbed was that we should be less picky about the women we dated. We both were a bit picky at the time because we both hadn't been picky enough and had wasted too much time on someone we shouldn't have. Still, we both took her advice, and, in spite of it, I landed someone awesome - though not without dating a few frogs along the way.
Let me state that in a fair world there would be a book like this directed at men but that women enjoy for all the same ugly reasons. Alas, the women tend to get things like He's Just Not That Into You. The few that exist are more "get over yourself and take a shower and get a haircut" rather than "get over yourself, princess, you ain't all that", which aren't nearly as fun a read for women as Marry Him is for men.
So, gentlemen, pick this baby up. You're in for a blast.
Ladies, I'd avoid it unless you discover this book is about you. However, if it is, a dose of the tonic my grandma gave me might be your love potion number 9.
For your enjoyment, here's the original "Atlantic" article: Marry Him!: and some related articles: un, dos, tres.
I don't recall the article that spurred me to put Marry Him on reserve at the library, and thus was a bit puzzled when it arrived. Took it home anyway, trusting my former self's selection of reading material.
I'm glad I did because Marry Him is a joyous waltz with Schadenfreude (for a guy, at least).
The primary topic is how a certain amount of women end up alone and/or dateless because they're just too freakin' picky and/or have too many criteria that allow for easy disqualification of a potential mate (much like any given Seinfeld conversation on relationships or dating; "man hands" comes to mind). A corollary is how many of these women have such an elevated view of themselves - how hot they are, how wonderful, such a catch, etc. - that no one is really worthy of them.
The author offers herself as the poster child of these issues and delusions, bless her heart. It's a very brave book in that sense. I don't know if I could hoist myself on my own javelin like that, then grasp the shaft and keep pulling earthward.
Ms. Gottlieb made matters even worse for herself; when she approached 40 still single, she decided to go ahead and have a baby to get past the biological clock thing, fully expecting she would be "away for a year" and then could resume the hunt for Mr. Right right afterward. Again, she does a good job of scoffing at her own stupidity, but how can someone get to a place where it doesn't immediately occur to them how stupid something like that is? Is it too much fiction? Is it too many things going right in their lives, giving a false sense of imperviousness? Believing too much in "you can have it all"?
Ok, so once we get past the author's real-life voyage through the needle machine that scralls your sins on your flesh ala Kafka's "In the Penal Colony", and embrace sniggling Schadenfreude, the book is fun. A lot of fun.
Reading about all these fussy lonely-hearts who've ended up hugging their couch pillows rather than Prince Charming is akin to watching stuff blow up real good in an action movie. Especially that trope where we are shown the same explosion three times in a row for emphasis. And a bit of vindication, if you will.
Most guys I know have been dismissed or dumped for reasons we suspect were pretty trivial or overly harsh. Sometimes we merely suspect that, sometimes we get pretty good evidence that that was the case. (I was dumped once because I had chapped lips when I kissed her goodnight after a long, mid-winder outdoor group date (how many guys do you know that carry chapstick?); she told me this herself about a year later.)
When various mentors, gurus, and yentas figuratively slap Ms. Gottlieb upside the head and tell her she's not getting the point, you shake your head in wonder as you see someone live out that definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. (It's also a testament to her honesty, and her ability to convey a story. As stated, I don't recall reading anything non-fiction where the author was so able to viciously critique themselves and yet still evoke empathy and sympathy.)
Btw, guys do this too. Heck, I did it apparently. One of the things my grandma told my brother and myself on her deathbed was that we should be less picky about the women we dated. We both were a bit picky at the time because we both hadn't been picky enough and had wasted too much time on someone we shouldn't have. Still, we both took her advice, and, in spite of it, I landed someone awesome - though not without dating a few frogs along the way.
Let me state that in a fair world there would be a book like this directed at men but that women enjoy for all the same ugly reasons. Alas, the women tend to get things like He's Just Not That Into You. The few that exist are more "get over yourself and take a shower and get a haircut" rather than "get over yourself, princess, you ain't all that", which aren't nearly as fun a read for women as Marry Him is for men.
So, gentlemen, pick this baby up. You're in for a blast.
Ladies, I'd avoid it unless you discover this book is about you. However, if it is, a dose of the tonic my grandma gave me might be your love potion number 9.
For your enjoyment, here's the original "Atlantic" article: Marry Him!: and some related articles: un, dos, tres.
Naked Lunch Does Suck
Most of my friends are avid readers, and to my puzzlement, many of them have loved the odious Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. Especially back in the mid-80s when we were immersed in the Minneapolis music scene, where quite a few artists and musicians were adherents to the turgid tome.
I was never able to get beyond a few chapters (or pages, don't recall which), and at the time just wrote it off as one of those books that were beyond ME - meaning I was the problem, not the book. I have since reversed that opinion, particularly after seeing the movie with my wife (her review: "I never want to see anything like that again. Ever.").
So, I read this article in Salon with relish. (My but some of the comments are nasty. You'd think this was a discussion on religion - which I guess for some it is.)
Here's my favorite quote:
Oh snap!
Most of my friends are avid readers, and to my puzzlement, many of them have loved the odious Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. Especially back in the mid-80s when we were immersed in the Minneapolis music scene, where quite a few artists and musicians were adherents to the turgid tome.
I was never able to get beyond a few chapters (or pages, don't recall which), and at the time just wrote it off as one of those books that were beyond ME - meaning I was the problem, not the book. I have since reversed that opinion, particularly after seeing the movie with my wife (her review: "I never want to see anything like that again. Ever.").
So, I read this article in Salon with relish. (My but some of the comments are nasty. You'd think this was a discussion on religion - which I guess for some it is.)
Here's my favorite quote:
Still, "Naked Lunch" serves a very valuable and reliable purpose. Get to it early enough, somewhere between the Hardy Boys and Holden Caulfield, and the fatigue and tedium will inoculate you against all sorts of intellectual malfeasance. You'll never swallow the line that obscenity is a hallmark of genius, or that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom (usually it leads to the palace of excess, except when it leads to the hovel of incomprehensibility). Dismiss Burroughs as a pull-my-finger bore and you're ready to dismiss Matthew Barney, Damien Hirst, the Chapman Brothers, Jonathan Littell and a host of others too dull to mention.
Oh snap!
Taking Notes
I usually avoid writing about work because I think it can be dangerous (Dooced anyone), and it can just be deadly dull (not that we've shied away from that around here). Ask the wife about having to listen rants about work.
Anyway, I was in the bizarre, nay surreal, position lately where it was suggested to me that I take notes in a different fashion. (For the second time - read on.)
Yes, there I was, and something that I think we all unconsciously view as somewhat of a personal thing was brought up as a "I've noticed this, and here's how I think you can improve" topic - unbidden, btw. Among all the things that are wrong with that, the reality that someone was actually watching how I take notes and was mentally criticizing gives me the creeps.
If I were eight, or maybe even thirteen, and a teacher was giving me tips on note-taking, that'd be OK. Or, if I was taking notes for someone else's consumption, I'd produce what they wanted. But when it's notes for myself, who gives a flying fuck whether they're in Swahili or just a bunch of doodles of animals?
My current form of note-taking when I don't have a laptop (or it's one of those meetings where computers are verboten) is employing notebook-like post-it notes. I came across this idea using Microsoft's wonderful OneNote application and fell in love with the paradigm of being able to rearrange notes taken on the fly into a more cogent form later. With a pad of notebook-like post-its, you can do the almost the same thing. And if a page is meaningless, you can discard it.
Well, that was apparently the offense I gave with my note-taking style: I was observed (again, creepy creepy creepy) throwing away some of the pages from amongst my notes right after a meeting. This (as reported) gave the impression that my notes were "too ephemeral", "too disposable".
The suggestion then made was that I get a sturdy notebook or bound volume and take "better notes" (actual words used) in sequential order, and then just store them when I'm done, in case I ever need to refer to them. I do eventually throw my paper notes away after I capture them on computer, so yes, I do not have the original hardcopy sitting around. But, I implore you yet again, why should anyone but me care?
Oh, and one of the reasons I use paper notes at all is I used to use my blackberry, because I'm a decent miniature keyboard typist (though most teens type circles around me), and I'd use the note feature to take my notes. However, this prompted the first unsolicited commentary on my note-taking, which was: it gave the impression (and that phrase was used both times: "gave the impression") that I was texting and not listening, so bring a pencil and paper next time. Which means I have to spend cycles transcribing paper notes into electronic form.
I could tell as this (second note-taking suggestions for a better future) encounter went on that I wasn't doing a very good job of disguising my incredulous facial expressions. I don't really know, but I had the strong impression that the person telling me these things was not the person who conceived them. So, while I was miffed at actually having to have a conversation like this, and not having the option to burst out laughing and suggest this indivdual find better things to do with their time (in the most obscene way I could think to phrase it), I did have pity for them as they were probably instructed to pass on this information, and thus had to face the absurdity of delivering the same.
Can you believe this shite?
I usually avoid writing about work because I think it can be dangerous (Dooced anyone), and it can just be deadly dull (not that we've shied away from that around here). Ask the wife about having to listen rants about work.
Anyway, I was in the bizarre, nay surreal, position lately where it was suggested to me that I take notes in a different fashion. (For the second time - read on.)
Yes, there I was, and something that I think we all unconsciously view as somewhat of a personal thing was brought up as a "I've noticed this, and here's how I think you can improve" topic - unbidden, btw. Among all the things that are wrong with that, the reality that someone was actually watching how I take notes and was mentally criticizing gives me the creeps.
If I were eight, or maybe even thirteen, and a teacher was giving me tips on note-taking, that'd be OK. Or, if I was taking notes for someone else's consumption, I'd produce what they wanted. But when it's notes for myself, who gives a flying fuck whether they're in Swahili or just a bunch of doodles of animals?
TLD: Way back in high school, one teacher warned us that we better take good notes during the guest lecture about to be given, because he was going to compare his notes to ours. He sat next to me in the back (my favorite place as I am genetically incapable of sitting still), and he drew some pretty decent renderings of pheasants - which were not the topic of the lecture - and nothing else. Back then I was a little more willing take a chance and jab at an absurdity, even if it could have consequences for me, so I drew a pheasant on my notes too (which did have actual content about the lecture), and handed that in. I got a "B", I believe.
For a class in college, we were supposed to keep a journal with the end goal of using it for the fiction we were eventually supposed to produce. The prof. informed us from the start he would also be reviewing these journals, so we were to keep that in mind when recording them and don't include things like "Jill in Econ 201 has a nice butt." The comment he made upon giving mine back was something like: you don't take notes so much as to record reminders of what the original thought was. Which is true - save for some phrases I want to preserve whole.
So maybe my mystery note-taking spy has also gone so far as to read over my shoulder and see that my notes are very concise and not exact reproductions of the information. But again, who should give a damn other than me?
My current form of note-taking when I don't have a laptop (or it's one of those meetings where computers are verboten) is employing notebook-like post-it notes. I came across this idea using Microsoft's wonderful OneNote application and fell in love with the paradigm of being able to rearrange notes taken on the fly into a more cogent form later. With a pad of notebook-like post-its, you can do the almost the same thing. And if a page is meaningless, you can discard it.
Well, that was apparently the offense I gave with my note-taking style: I was observed (again, creepy creepy creepy) throwing away some of the pages from amongst my notes right after a meeting. This (as reported) gave the impression that my notes were "too ephemeral", "too disposable".
The suggestion then made was that I get a sturdy notebook or bound volume and take "better notes" (actual words used) in sequential order, and then just store them when I'm done, in case I ever need to refer to them. I do eventually throw my paper notes away after I capture them on computer, so yes, I do not have the original hardcopy sitting around. But, I implore you yet again, why should anyone but me care?
Oh, and one of the reasons I use paper notes at all is I used to use my blackberry, because I'm a decent miniature keyboard typist (though most teens type circles around me), and I'd use the note feature to take my notes. However, this prompted the first unsolicited commentary on my note-taking, which was: it gave the impression (and that phrase was used both times: "gave the impression") that I was texting and not listening, so bring a pencil and paper next time. Which means I have to spend cycles transcribing paper notes into electronic form.
I could tell as this (second note-taking suggestions for a better future) encounter went on that I wasn't doing a very good job of disguising my incredulous facial expressions. I don't really know, but I had the strong impression that the person telling me these things was not the person who conceived them. So, while I was miffed at actually having to have a conversation like this, and not having the option to burst out laughing and suggest this indivdual find better things to do with their time (in the most obscene way I could think to phrase it), I did have pity for them as they were probably instructed to pass on this information, and thus had to face the absurdity of delivering the same.
Can you believe this shite?
Saturday, May 01, 2010
More Trivia from the Special Features
As noted below, I'm going through the special features on DVDs from the library, since they're all later or deluxe editions.
Here's a great one from Lilo and Stitch. In the actual film, they use a spaceship that the aliens used to come to earth to rescue Lilo. This is the original sequence, which as you can see was finished for the most part, but then 9/11 happened, and they felt using a jet this way would just be wrong. It would be interesting to have a list and a cost of all the films and other media that were changed due to that evil event.
As noted below, I'm going through the special features on DVDs from the library, since they're all later or deluxe editions.
Here's a great one from Lilo and Stitch. In the actual film, they use a spaceship that the aliens used to come to earth to rescue Lilo. This is the original sequence, which as you can see was finished for the most part, but then 9/11 happened, and they felt using a jet this way would just be wrong. It would be interesting to have a list and a cost of all the films and other media that were changed due to that evil event.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Shock the Monkey
Yes, I'm still here. Have several posts I'm pecking on.
In the meantime I wanted to alert you to some trivia I picked up recently, and it's about something I wondered about for a long time.
One of my favorite movies from childhood - I still love it and watch it about every 2 years - is the original version of The Andromeda Strain. It's such a wonderful geeky sci-fi flick that's held up over time. Douglas Trumbull did the special effects, and his SFX almost universally have proven to be timeless.
Recently it dawned on me that the library is getting the latest versions of a lot of older movies that I have and have new "Special Features", including "the making of" documentaries. The one for The Andromeda Strain was full of great stuff.
One of the things they cover is how they make the animals look like they're dying.
Here's the scene I refer to. Go to the 1:27 mark for the rat, and 2:35 for the monkey (the monkey is especially dramatic):
Direct Link
What they did was burn candles in the room, which was airtight, until the candles went out, assuring that all the oxygen was gone. Then they'd bring them into the room as you observe on the video and lift the hatch, releasing the little bit of air from their container.
What you are watching is animals suffocate. When they'd succumb, they'd stop the cameras and a vet would run out and give the animal oxygen. All the animals were fine - other than now knowing what it's like to suffocate, of course.
The ASPCA approved this, on the basis the animals weren't hurt. Of course, they wouldn't today.
So there you have it: they made the animals look like they were dying of an airborne bug by allowing them to suffocate.
Yes, I'm still here. Have several posts I'm pecking on.
In the meantime I wanted to alert you to some trivia I picked up recently, and it's about something I wondered about for a long time.
One of my favorite movies from childhood - I still love it and watch it about every 2 years - is the original version of The Andromeda Strain. It's such a wonderful geeky sci-fi flick that's held up over time. Douglas Trumbull did the special effects, and his SFX almost universally have proven to be timeless.
Recently it dawned on me that the library is getting the latest versions of a lot of older movies that I have and have new "Special Features", including "the making of" documentaries. The one for The Andromeda Strain was full of great stuff.
One of the things they cover is how they make the animals look like they're dying.
Here's the scene I refer to. Go to the 1:27 mark for the rat, and 2:35 for the monkey (the monkey is especially dramatic):
Direct Link
What they did was burn candles in the room, which was airtight, until the candles went out, assuring that all the oxygen was gone. Then they'd bring them into the room as you observe on the video and lift the hatch, releasing the little bit of air from their container.
What you are watching is animals suffocate. When they'd succumb, they'd stop the cameras and a vet would run out and give the animal oxygen. All the animals were fine - other than now knowing what it's like to suffocate, of course.
The ASPCA approved this, on the basis the animals weren't hurt. Of course, they wouldn't today.
So there you have it: they made the animals look like they were dying of an airborne bug by allowing them to suffocate.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Powerful
Read Howie Mandel's bio this week. Great fun. Great read.
Wouldn't want to know the guy in person though - his pranks are waaaaaay too extreme.
This part about Richard Pryor and a bit he did is pretty cool, wanted to share it with ya:
- From Here's the Deal: Don't Touch Me ~ Howie Mandel and Josh Young, pp. 87-88
Read Howie Mandel's bio this week. Great fun. Great read.
Wouldn't want to know the guy in person though - his pranks are waaaaaay too extreme.
This part about Richard Pryor and a bit he did is pretty cool, wanted to share it with ya:
- From Here's the Deal: Don't Touch Me ~ Howie Mandel and Josh Young, pp. 87-88
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Big Dude in the Sky jokes
I got one of those chain emails with a bunch of jokes in them (though mercifully lacking those Godd... those accursed cutesy wiggling GIFs), and I thought they were funny enough to post. Yeah, some bloggers have strict rules about what they'll post, and would consider this a lazy post. Well, screw'em. My only quasi-rules are I will not delete posts unless I deem it so egregious (meaning I was so wrong that it's offensive) that it just doesn't represent what I meant to say, and I will nuke any and all spam in the comments. I also deleted a post that said "that's it, I quit" because I changed my mind the next day. I was wondering if it was worth going on, thinking maybe it's just egotistical to keep posting stuff if you have no idea that anyone's reading it. But then realized that blogging really is for yourself anyway. I use it to keep my writing skills honed as well. So, even if I have 5 readers, I value you all, and thanks for coming.
This first joke wasn't in the email, but I included it. The lead-in is true:
One of my life-long buddies' dad is a Pastor. I told my buddy the joke you're about to read. He insisted I tell his dad. Directly after a service. While most of the rest of the congregation was still standing around. I'll never forget the look he gave me.
An airline pilot goes in for his annual checkup. Most everything is fine, but the doctor says to the pilot, "Sir, you're nearly blind. I can't pass you on that account."
The pilot says, "But I've only got one more year to go until I retire! Can't you just let me go this one last year?"
The doctor asks, "How in the world do you land the plane?"
The pilot says, "It's simple. I use the Jesus Christ method."
"What's that?" asks the doctor.
"Well, when it comes time to land, I just point the nose of the aircraft down until the co-pilot screams 'Jesus Christ!' and then I drop the wheels and level off."
These, too, made me larf:
=======
A father was approached by his small son who told him proudly, "I know what the Bible means!"
His father smiled and replied, "What do you mean, you 'know' what the Bible means?
The son replied, "I do know!"
"Okay," said his father. "What does the Bible mean?"
"That's easy, Daddy..." the young boy replied excitedly," It stands for 'Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.'
=======
There was a very gracious lady who was mailing an old family Bible to her brother in another part of the country.
"Is there anything breakable in here?" asked the postal clerk.
"Only the Ten Commandments." answered the lady.
========
"Somebody has said there are only two kinds of people in the world. There are those who wake up in the morning and say, "Good morning, Lord," and there are those who wake up in the morning and say, "Good Lord, it's morning."
========
A minister parked his car in a no-parking zone in a large city because he was short of time and couldn't find a space with a meter.
Then he put a note under the windshield wiper that read: "I have circled the block 10 times. If I don't park here, I'll miss my appointment. Forgive us our trespasses."
When he returned, he found a citation from a police officer along with this note "I've circled this block for 10 years. If I don't give you a ticket I'll lose my job. Lead us not into temptation."
========
There is the story of a pastor who got up one Sunday and announced to his congregation: "I have good news and bad news. The good news is, we have enough money to pay for our new building program. The bad news is, it's still out there in your pockets."
========
While driving in Pennsylvania, a family caught up to an Amish carriage. The owner of the carriage obviously had a sense of humor, because attached to the back of the carriage was a hand printed sign... "Energy efficient vehicle: Runs on oats and grass. Caution: Do not step in exhaust."
========
A Sunday School teacher began her lesson with a question, "Boys and girls, what do we know about God?"
A hand shot up in the air. "He is an artist!" said the kindergarten boy.
"Really? How do you know?" the teacher asked.
"You know - Our Father, who does art in Heaven... "
========
A minister waited in line to have his car filled with gas just before a long holiday weekend. The attendant worked quickly, but there were many cars ahead of him. Finally, the attendant motioned him toward a vacant pump.
"Reverend," said the young man, "I'm so sorry about the delay. It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip."
The minister chuckled, "I know what you mean. It's the same in my business."
========
Sunday after church, a Mom asked her very young daughter what the lesson was about.
The daughter answered, "Don't be scared, you'll get your quilt."
Needless to say, the Mom was perplexed. Later in the day, the pastor stopped by for tea and the Mom asked him what that morning's Sunday school lesson was about.
He said "Be not afraid, thy comforter is coming."
========
The minister was preoccupied with thoughts of how he was going to ask the congregation to come up with more money than they were expecting for repairs to the church building. Therefore, he was annoyed to find that the regular organist was sick and a substitute had been brought in at the last minute. The substitute wanted to know what to play.
"Here's a copy of the service," he said impatiently. "But, you'll have to think of something to play after I make the announcement about the finances."
During the service, the minister paused and said, "Brothers and Sisters, we are in great difficulty; the roof repairs cost twice as much as we expected and we need $4,000 more. Any of you who can pledge $100 or more, please stand up."
At that moment, the substitute organist played "The Star Spangled Banner."
And that is how the substitute became the regular organist!
========
Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!"
Miraculously, a parking place appeared.
Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, I found one."
========
An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut . The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He says, "Sir, have you been drinking?"
"Just water," says the priest.
The trooper says, "Then why do I smell wine?"
The priest looks at the bottle and says, "Good Lord! He's done it again!"
I got one of those chain emails with a bunch of jokes in them (though mercifully lacking those Godd... those accursed cutesy wiggling GIFs), and I thought they were funny enough to post. Yeah, some bloggers have strict rules about what they'll post, and would consider this a lazy post. Well, screw'em. My only quasi-rules are I will not delete posts unless I deem it so egregious (meaning I was so wrong that it's offensive) that it just doesn't represent what I meant to say, and I will nuke any and all spam in the comments. I also deleted a post that said "that's it, I quit" because I changed my mind the next day. I was wondering if it was worth going on, thinking maybe it's just egotistical to keep posting stuff if you have no idea that anyone's reading it. But then realized that blogging really is for yourself anyway. I use it to keep my writing skills honed as well. So, even if I have 5 readers, I value you all, and thanks for coming.
This first joke wasn't in the email, but I included it. The lead-in is true:
One of my life-long buddies' dad is a Pastor. I told my buddy the joke you're about to read. He insisted I tell his dad. Directly after a service. While most of the rest of the congregation was still standing around. I'll never forget the look he gave me.
An airline pilot goes in for his annual checkup. Most everything is fine, but the doctor says to the pilot, "Sir, you're nearly blind. I can't pass you on that account."
The pilot says, "But I've only got one more year to go until I retire! Can't you just let me go this one last year?"
The doctor asks, "How in the world do you land the plane?"
The pilot says, "It's simple. I use the Jesus Christ method."
"What's that?" asks the doctor.
"Well, when it comes time to land, I just point the nose of the aircraft down until the co-pilot screams 'Jesus Christ!' and then I drop the wheels and level off."
These, too, made me larf:
=======
A father was approached by his small son who told him proudly, "I know what the Bible means!"
His father smiled and replied, "What do you mean, you 'know' what the Bible means?
The son replied, "I do know!"
"Okay," said his father. "What does the Bible mean?"
"That's easy, Daddy..." the young boy replied excitedly," It stands for 'Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.'
=======
There was a very gracious lady who was mailing an old family Bible to her brother in another part of the country.
"Is there anything breakable in here?" asked the postal clerk.
"Only the Ten Commandments." answered the lady.
========
"Somebody has said there are only two kinds of people in the world. There are those who wake up in the morning and say, "Good morning, Lord," and there are those who wake up in the morning and say, "Good Lord, it's morning."
========
A minister parked his car in a no-parking zone in a large city because he was short of time and couldn't find a space with a meter.
Then he put a note under the windshield wiper that read: "I have circled the block 10 times. If I don't park here, I'll miss my appointment. Forgive us our trespasses."
When he returned, he found a citation from a police officer along with this note "I've circled this block for 10 years. If I don't give you a ticket I'll lose my job. Lead us not into temptation."
========
There is the story of a pastor who got up one Sunday and announced to his congregation: "I have good news and bad news. The good news is, we have enough money to pay for our new building program. The bad news is, it's still out there in your pockets."
========
While driving in Pennsylvania, a family caught up to an Amish carriage. The owner of the carriage obviously had a sense of humor, because attached to the back of the carriage was a hand printed sign... "Energy efficient vehicle: Runs on oats and grass. Caution: Do not step in exhaust."
========
A Sunday School teacher began her lesson with a question, "Boys and girls, what do we know about God?"
A hand shot up in the air. "He is an artist!" said the kindergarten boy.
"Really? How do you know?" the teacher asked.
"You know - Our Father, who does art in Heaven... "
========
A minister waited in line to have his car filled with gas just before a long holiday weekend. The attendant worked quickly, but there were many cars ahead of him. Finally, the attendant motioned him toward a vacant pump.
"Reverend," said the young man, "I'm so sorry about the delay. It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip."
The minister chuckled, "I know what you mean. It's the same in my business."
========
Sunday after church, a Mom asked her very young daughter what the lesson was about.
The daughter answered, "Don't be scared, you'll get your quilt."
Needless to say, the Mom was perplexed. Later in the day, the pastor stopped by for tea and the Mom asked him what that morning's Sunday school lesson was about.
He said "Be not afraid, thy comforter is coming."
========
The minister was preoccupied with thoughts of how he was going to ask the congregation to come up with more money than they were expecting for repairs to the church building. Therefore, he was annoyed to find that the regular organist was sick and a substitute had been brought in at the last minute. The substitute wanted to know what to play.
"Here's a copy of the service," he said impatiently. "But, you'll have to think of something to play after I make the announcement about the finances."
During the service, the minister paused and said, "Brothers and Sisters, we are in great difficulty; the roof repairs cost twice as much as we expected and we need $4,000 more. Any of you who can pledge $100 or more, please stand up."
At that moment, the substitute organist played "The Star Spangled Banner."
And that is how the substitute became the regular organist!
========
Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!"
Miraculously, a parking place appeared.
Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, I found one."
========
An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut . The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He says, "Sir, have you been drinking?"
"Just water," says the priest.
The trooper says, "Then why do I smell wine?"
The priest looks at the bottle and says, "Good Lord! He's done it again!"
The Opposite of Complaining
Constant readers might recall how I wailed and gnashed my teeth during the Bush II monarchy. Or maybe they don't; they were the most skippable posts. I am not an articulate political commentator.
Recusal out of the way, I gotta say these two things:
I am thrilled the Health Care Bill passed. I was one who hoped for a public option, but I hold out hope that it will be added in the future.
Watched the NBC news that night with Brian Williams, who has proven beyond a doubt he should really be working for Fox. The whole report was about those who opposed the bill, with the largest segment devoted to some ftard "small business owner" whose reaction can be summed up as: "I don't know what's in the bill, but I don't like it." Pretty much every survey taken that has asked the question "do you like the bill" but then asks "do you like the ______ option" (where they explain how the actual option works), the vast majority said, "Oh, I do like that!"
I thought "it's about time" when it was reported that various wingnuts that the Repubs have wound up so tight they cracked and phoned in death threats and destroyed property and the CONSEQUENCES were FBI involvement and apologies from the Repubs who in essence caused these problems with their horseshit.
Finally, initially I was kinda bugged about the tea bagger party that has sprung up, but upon further consideration am pleased with the development, because it'll just dilute the Republican party more - and I think they're in trouble anyway. Granted, they'll still mostly vote Republican, which is why the 'Pubs condone the whole thing, but at least they're acknowledged by everyone as a nutty fringe group, so the more moderate 'Pubs can actually attempt to help govern - rather than their current "if I'm not making the rules, I'm taking my ball and going home" stance.
Constant readers might recall how I wailed and gnashed my teeth during the Bush II monarchy. Or maybe they don't; they were the most skippable posts. I am not an articulate political commentator.
Recusal out of the way, I gotta say these two things:
I am thrilled the Health Care Bill passed. I was one who hoped for a public option, but I hold out hope that it will be added in the future.
Watched the NBC news that night with Brian Williams, who has proven beyond a doubt he should really be working for Fox. The whole report was about those who opposed the bill, with the largest segment devoted to some ftard "small business owner" whose reaction can be summed up as: "I don't know what's in the bill, but I don't like it." Pretty much every survey taken that has asked the question "do you like the bill" but then asks "do you like the ______ option" (where they explain how the actual option works), the vast majority said, "Oh, I do like that!"
I thought "it's about time" when it was reported that various wingnuts that the Repubs have wound up so tight they cracked and phoned in death threats and destroyed property and the CONSEQUENCES were FBI involvement and apologies from the Repubs who in essence caused these problems with their horseshit.
Finally, initially I was kinda bugged about the tea bagger party that has sprung up, but upon further consideration am pleased with the development, because it'll just dilute the Republican party more - and I think they're in trouble anyway. Granted, they'll still mostly vote Republican, which is why the 'Pubs condone the whole thing, but at least they're acknowledged by everyone as a nutty fringe group, so the more moderate 'Pubs can actually attempt to help govern - rather than their current "if I'm not making the rules, I'm taking my ball and going home" stance.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Vicki
I was in a class the other day and one of the women there caught my attention for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on for at least half the day. Then it dawned on me: she looked and sounded just like this girl who was a senior when the boys and I were sophomores. All of us had a grinding crush on her.
It didn't help that we were all cast in a play where she played a cat. Her costume was just a criminally tight leotard with tail, cat ears, painted whiskers, and long nails painted black. Oh, and she crawled around on all fours the whole time. I recall us all literally vibrating with erotic tension as we stood in glare of stage lights, trying to fight obvious boners as she slunk around our legs. Thank God this was the late 70s and tight, tiny briefs were the fashion of the day; they usually held the bad boy at bay wonderfully.
When I put together that this woman in the class was the doppelganger for the primary object of our collective lust back in the day, I was slapped by cognitive dissonance of realizing I actually found her somewhat unattractive, and certainly someone I would never date were I single now.
It brought to mind a rolling conversation my wife and I have been having lately, about how beautiful young people are - even the ugly ones - and they just have no idea. This is not meant in the prurient sense, but in the sense of admiring true beauty. The glow that surrounds the kids from about 15 to 25 is perhaps something only people my age truly see, but it is amazing. The infamous and glorious article by Mary Schmich (attributed to Kurt Vonnegut on the web originally) "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" is largely about this phenomenon, particularly the line "Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth."
And, it probably had a lot to do with why we found that girl way back then so damn sexy.
And why I probably wouldn't now (regardless of what age she was when I encountered her).
I was in a class the other day and one of the women there caught my attention for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on for at least half the day. Then it dawned on me: she looked and sounded just like this girl who was a senior when the boys and I were sophomores. All of us had a grinding crush on her.
It didn't help that we were all cast in a play where she played a cat. Her costume was just a criminally tight leotard with tail, cat ears, painted whiskers, and long nails painted black. Oh, and she crawled around on all fours the whole time. I recall us all literally vibrating with erotic tension as we stood in glare of stage lights, trying to fight obvious boners as she slunk around our legs. Thank God this was the late 70s and tight, tiny briefs were the fashion of the day; they usually held the bad boy at bay wonderfully.
TLD:My clique did all the plays in high school. We thought it was too good to be true that we got to hang with the girls and even got to kiss some of them on stage - particularly the ones who'd never kiss us on purpose in real life. I tried to continue giving my spare time to the theatre in college, but I got really really tired of being one of the only two or three straight guys in a sea of gay guys. Besides, there were pseudo-intellectual discussions to be had in dark smoky bars, mostly about girls. I've always thought my dismay at the difference between high school productions and those thereafter must be something akin to high school wrestlers realizing the only path into adulthood with that activity will lead you to dramatically jumping off the turnbuckle and hitting follow steroid abusers with metal folding chairs.
When I put together that this woman in the class was the doppelganger for the primary object of our collective lust back in the day, I was slapped by cognitive dissonance of realizing I actually found her somewhat unattractive, and certainly someone I would never date were I single now.
It brought to mind a rolling conversation my wife and I have been having lately, about how beautiful young people are - even the ugly ones - and they just have no idea. This is not meant in the prurient sense, but in the sense of admiring true beauty. The glow that surrounds the kids from about 15 to 25 is perhaps something only people my age truly see, but it is amazing. The infamous and glorious article by Mary Schmich (attributed to Kurt Vonnegut on the web originally) "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" is largely about this phenomenon, particularly the line "Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth."
And, it probably had a lot to do with why we found that girl way back then so damn sexy.
And why I probably wouldn't now (regardless of what age she was when I encountered her).
Movies - Reviewed, Dissed, Petted and Called 'George'
The Invention of Lying
Saw this trifle of a movie. The premise is fun, and it starts off promisingly, but dammit it lapses into a riff on religion (and Judeo-Christian religion as usual) that's yer basic atheist 101 stuff. If you enjoy that sort of thing, you will dig this movie. If you don't, you may or may not dislike it.
I did get a chuckle or two out of the "ten commandments" scenes - the commandments themselves written on the tops of two pizza boxes - because the crowd starts asking questions about what exactly do some of the commandments mean - like is the thing about killing only about people, or does it include animals, too? That part alone is worth a watch, so when this is broadcast on TV, sit through at least that section.
Here are some of the commandments (borrowed from this site, which is a Mormon blog, btw, so if you want the fun of bullshit religion compared to horseshit religion, there's your page):
* Number 1: There is a man in the sky who controls everything
* Number 2: When you die, you don’t disappear into an eternity of nothingness. Instead, you go to a really great place.
* Number 3: In that place, everyone will get a mansion.
* Number 4: When you die, all the people you love will be there.
* Number 5: When you die, there will be free ice cream for everyone, all day and all night, whatever flavors you can think of.
* Number 6: If you do bad things, you won’t get to go to this great place when you die.
* Number 9: The man in the sky who controls everything decides if you go to the good place or the bad place. He also decides who lives and who dies.
* Number 10: Even if the man in the sky does bad things to you, he makes up for it was an eternity of good things after you die
So, if you are a person of faith and don't mind wading through a half hour or so of newbie atheism (and I say this because I think there are more sophisticated expressions of atheism than the mocking stance "you and your pretend god" assumed by many of the fresh converts), you might find this movie entertaining.
This is it
I'm sorry, but the pedophile I don't really miss looked like a tired 50-something-year-old trying to do the things a young man could do. The only rocker I know who can pull that off thus far is Mick Jagger.
Yes, like everyone else, I played the hell out of Off the Wall and Thriller. And just like Gary Glitter's pedophilism stained the one hit wonder "Rock 'n Roll Part 2" for me (and Arthur C. Clarke's writing - he moved to a country that allows the diddling of young girls so he could continue without getting arrested), I will never hear "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" without thinking of the spotted one rubbing one off with a minor next to him in bed. Sorry if that was vivid, but as a parent, it really cramps my nougat.
The guitarist, Orianthi, is hot, tho; both babewise and axewise. We got the CD from the library and all the ladies of the house deemed it silly on the basis there's this screaming articulate guitar matched with pedestrian female vocals and less than mediocre songs. I concur, but I think she has promise; she just needs the right producer.
Sorcerer
This chestnut of a movie kept popping up on lists, so I finally had the library yank it from the ether for me. It's the movie William Friedkin made after getting directorial clout in the wake of The Exorcist, so he hired Roy Scheider from his The French Connection days to remake the French flick about a bunch of guys who were hiding out from the law hired to drive old dynamite that had degraded into very unstable nitroglycerin over the mountains in very old trucks.
Yes, things go boom, but when they go boom is the fun.
Today's movies have reset my patience for exposition, because the whole first hour of the film is seeing where all the guys started out - all pretty high - and how far they fall to end up in the situation they're in. I could barely keep my finger off of fast forward, but was afraid I'd miss something important. I didn't. You could skip to the part where the oil well fire starts and not really see a different film.
I had fun watching it, though, so if you're looking for one more thing to put on your Netflix queue, it's worth the 2 hours. (Or 1, if you skip.)
The Amateurs aka The Moguls
Wherein Jeff Bridges as a Ralph Cramden kind of guy, who always has a scheme for getting-rich-quick, comes up with the idea of making a porno. He recruits folks of his tiny hometown (where not only does everyone know everyone else, but they know their family history back a few generations) to aid in the effort - even the "having sex while others film it" part - and hilarity ensues.
Apparently Kevin Smith (Zack and Miri Make a Porno) and Michael Traeger (writer/director) were dipping into the same synchronicity story well - which I believe exists, more on that at the bottom of this post - though Traeger beat Smith by 3 years.
Had you asked me how plausible a plot like this was when I was a younger, much more naive man, I would've said it's preposterous that people who know each other that well and know they will have to continue knowing them for the rest of their lives would make a fuck film together. However, experience has taught me that you never really know the depths of the freak next door - until you know. And, my wife once befriended a young woman at work whose peer group/circle of friends screwed around with anyone and each other as casually the rest of us would purchase a drink from a coke machine. Since those folks exist, this movie is plausible. (Think about it, though; would YOU do a porno? Assume someone you know would see it at some point.)
I still think that the emotional fallout would eventually make some people move out of town, if it were a small town like I grew up in.
Law Abiding Citizen
This movie was the water-cooler buzz movie around work last week, to my amazement. It wasn't on my radar at all until one of the guys brought it up in a meeting at the thing to see. Serendipity place it on the new releases shelf of my library that very day, so there I was, watching one of the unplausable flicks I've seen in a while.
I have a gift for suspension of disbelief that could raise the Titanic. My wife is the one who mere seconds after something unrealistic happens in a movie (that's trying to be 'realistic') mutters "oh come on" (or, if no progeny is around, "bullshit"). But unless you really float a plot hole so large a star could waft through it and not melt the celluloid, I tend to not notice until the movie's over, when my mental review starts. A few times during Law Abiding Citizen I rolled my eyes. How can they spend so much money and not have any left for a decent wordsmith to go: hey, there's no way someone could build a prairie dog village under a prison.
Up in the Air
Maybe it's only me, but I keep wondering what it is about George Clooney movies. They often have a great premise, great production value, and seem to always be going somewhere interesting, but when the credits roll, I've not yet been overwhelmed by "wow, what a flick."
I should say that I think he's a great actor. I mean that: great. He does all the things a star should do: rivet your attention; when they're in a scene, they're the one you look at the most; and I never catch him acting. I believe he's who he's playing - which is not necessarily typical for a pretty boy.
The only flick of his that I walked away from without that feeling of having bought an entire CD at full price only to discover the one hit was good and the rest was filler was Three Kings.
Full disclosure, this movie has the kind of ending I don't typically like. So, most fellow movie aficionados might actually like it. (Keep in mind I was apparently the one person who liked Daredevil.)
Therefore, I leave it up to you to be the judge. I recuse myself.
Oh, I loved the trailer, btw. It's now officially my favorite thing about the movie.
The Fourth Kind
I didn't read one good review of this flick, but the trailers (hmmm, a theme here) were so wonderfully creepy, I hoped against hope.
Sorry to say this movie fits that sad category where it's so bad, it's just bad.
They use a device where Milla Jovovich tells you she's an actress playing a real person, and that we'll be seeing and hearing the "real" woman she's playing throughout. Well, it's obvious that the "real" parts are acted too (similar to the primary flaw of Will Smith's Ali), and the fake/real device careens from annoying to laughable and back again.
Oh, and all the scariest stuff in the trailer.
This is one of those where if you are home ill and it comes on the TV, and you'd have to get up to get the remote to change the channel, it's worth getting up. You can refresh your beverage while you're at it, if you need further reason to save yourself.
Where the Wild Things Are
I enjoyed this mildly while watching it; though my teenage daughter hated, hated, hated it. Never before as a movie was playing did she continually say, "I hate this movie," and "Are you as bored as I am?"
The five-year-old LOVED it. And I can see why. It's one of those films that just nails its storytelling for the intended audience. It tells the story on their level in a way I would've have believed had I not witnessed her watching it. Every single leap of logic and what follows next fits their little view of the world.
I was concerned that the monsters would creep her out, as they creeped me out just a bit. Having seen the whole thing, though, the movie walks the line perfectly between their being just menacing enough to be monsters, but muppet-like enough to keep it "safe." Even during a scene where Max hides from one of the monsters who's mad by being swallowed by another.
The reason my teenager didn't like it is valid: it's largely a sad tale about a lonely boy who is neglected by his mother and more or less ignored by his teenage sister.
However, the way he copes - imaging himself the owner of the world and the king of monsters - totally speaks to my youngest. She would leap and cheer in the right parts, rapt the whole time with a smile on her face.
So that's my recommendation. If you've got a four- to eight-year-old, give this a spin, and decide which parent (if you have that luxury) gets to ride shotgun. However, if you are above that age, you might wanna devote your time to something else.
Thus far Spike Jones has proven himself a pitch-perfect movie (and video) maker. I can't wait for what he does next.
________________________________________________
TLD: The Synchronicity Story Well.
I came up with this concept as a kid, even before I knew what synchronicity was. Several times I'd had a great idea for a story, only to see it show up as a movie or comic book within a couple years. Throughout my life I've seen time and time again where either I, or someone I know who tries to concoct fiction, comes up with an idea, only to see it come to be somewhere in the fiction universe - and, again, usually close enough to the time I'd first heard or thought of it, that it seems too coincidental.
Now, you might be thinking that somehow myself or these other idea people somehow placed their story idea somewhere, or talked about it somewhere, where someone else got ahold of it and ran with it. I immediately discount anything that's "gotten out in the wild."
No, I specifically mean ideas I didn't tell anyone, or it only exists on my scratchy notepads hidden in a drawer of my house. Or ideas I heard in the privacy of someone's house or car, that I never uttered a word about again - hoping the person who told me would one day happily announce publication or a script sale.
I believe there's this "well" of story ideas out there that if you're listening for it, casting about for a story to bring to life, you will "hear" it and tap into it. But everyone else who's trying can hear it, too. The moral of the story is that the first one who gets it down in paper - or the one who first gets it sold - wins. So, if you've got that great American (or British, or Armenian, or Japanese) Novel rolling around inside of you, get it out!
The Invention of Lying
Saw this trifle of a movie. The premise is fun, and it starts off promisingly, but dammit it lapses into a riff on religion (and Judeo-Christian religion as usual) that's yer basic atheist 101 stuff. If you enjoy that sort of thing, you will dig this movie. If you don't, you may or may not dislike it.
I did get a chuckle or two out of the "ten commandments" scenes - the commandments themselves written on the tops of two pizza boxes - because the crowd starts asking questions about what exactly do some of the commandments mean - like is the thing about killing only about people, or does it include animals, too? That part alone is worth a watch, so when this is broadcast on TV, sit through at least that section.
Here are some of the commandments (borrowed from this site, which is a Mormon blog, btw, so if you want the fun of bullshit religion compared to horseshit religion, there's your page):
* Number 1: There is a man in the sky who controls everything
* Number 2: When you die, you don’t disappear into an eternity of nothingness. Instead, you go to a really great place.
* Number 3: In that place, everyone will get a mansion.
* Number 4: When you die, all the people you love will be there.
* Number 5: When you die, there will be free ice cream for everyone, all day and all night, whatever flavors you can think of.
* Number 6: If you do bad things, you won’t get to go to this great place when you die.
* Number 9: The man in the sky who controls everything decides if you go to the good place or the bad place. He also decides who lives and who dies.
* Number 10: Even if the man in the sky does bad things to you, he makes up for it was an eternity of good things after you die
So, if you are a person of faith and don't mind wading through a half hour or so of newbie atheism (and I say this because I think there are more sophisticated expressions of atheism than the mocking stance "you and your pretend god" assumed by many of the fresh converts), you might find this movie entertaining.
This is it
I'm sorry, but the pedophile I don't really miss looked like a tired 50-something-year-old trying to do the things a young man could do. The only rocker I know who can pull that off thus far is Mick Jagger.
Yes, like everyone else, I played the hell out of Off the Wall and Thriller. And just like Gary Glitter's pedophilism stained the one hit wonder "Rock 'n Roll Part 2" for me (and Arthur C. Clarke's writing - he moved to a country that allows the diddling of young girls so he could continue without getting arrested), I will never hear "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" without thinking of the spotted one rubbing one off with a minor next to him in bed. Sorry if that was vivid, but as a parent, it really cramps my nougat.
The guitarist, Orianthi, is hot, tho; both babewise and axewise. We got the CD from the library and all the ladies of the house deemed it silly on the basis there's this screaming articulate guitar matched with pedestrian female vocals and less than mediocre songs. I concur, but I think she has promise; she just needs the right producer.
Sorcerer
This chestnut of a movie kept popping up on lists, so I finally had the library yank it from the ether for me. It's the movie William Friedkin made after getting directorial clout in the wake of The Exorcist, so he hired Roy Scheider from his The French Connection days to remake the French flick about a bunch of guys who were hiding out from the law hired to drive old dynamite that had degraded into very unstable nitroglycerin over the mountains in very old trucks.
Yes, things go boom, but when they go boom is the fun.
Today's movies have reset my patience for exposition, because the whole first hour of the film is seeing where all the guys started out - all pretty high - and how far they fall to end up in the situation they're in. I could barely keep my finger off of fast forward, but was afraid I'd miss something important. I didn't. You could skip to the part where the oil well fire starts and not really see a different film.
I had fun watching it, though, so if you're looking for one more thing to put on your Netflix queue, it's worth the 2 hours. (Or 1, if you skip.)
The Amateurs aka The Moguls
Wherein Jeff Bridges as a Ralph Cramden kind of guy, who always has a scheme for getting-rich-quick, comes up with the idea of making a porno. He recruits folks of his tiny hometown (where not only does everyone know everyone else, but they know their family history back a few generations) to aid in the effort - even the "having sex while others film it" part - and hilarity ensues.
Apparently Kevin Smith (Zack and Miri Make a Porno) and Michael Traeger (writer/director) were dipping into the same synchronicity story well - which I believe exists, more on that at the bottom of this post - though Traeger beat Smith by 3 years.
Had you asked me how plausible a plot like this was when I was a younger, much more naive man, I would've said it's preposterous that people who know each other that well and know they will have to continue knowing them for the rest of their lives would make a fuck film together. However, experience has taught me that you never really know the depths of the freak next door - until you know. And, my wife once befriended a young woman at work whose peer group/circle of friends screwed around with anyone and each other as casually the rest of us would purchase a drink from a coke machine. Since those folks exist, this movie is plausible. (Think about it, though; would YOU do a porno? Assume someone you know would see it at some point.)
I still think that the emotional fallout would eventually make some people move out of town, if it were a small town like I grew up in.
Law Abiding Citizen
This movie was the water-cooler buzz movie around work last week, to my amazement. It wasn't on my radar at all until one of the guys brought it up in a meeting at the thing to see. Serendipity place it on the new releases shelf of my library that very day, so there I was, watching one of the unplausable flicks I've seen in a while.
I have a gift for suspension of disbelief that could raise the Titanic. My wife is the one who mere seconds after something unrealistic happens in a movie (that's trying to be 'realistic') mutters "oh come on" (or, if no progeny is around, "bullshit"). But unless you really float a plot hole so large a star could waft through it and not melt the celluloid, I tend to not notice until the movie's over, when my mental review starts. A few times during Law Abiding Citizen I rolled my eyes. How can they spend so much money and not have any left for a decent wordsmith to go: hey, there's no way someone could build a prairie dog village under a prison.
Up in the Air
Maybe it's only me, but I keep wondering what it is about George Clooney movies. They often have a great premise, great production value, and seem to always be going somewhere interesting, but when the credits roll, I've not yet been overwhelmed by "wow, what a flick."
I should say that I think he's a great actor. I mean that: great. He does all the things a star should do: rivet your attention; when they're in a scene, they're the one you look at the most; and I never catch him acting. I believe he's who he's playing - which is not necessarily typical for a pretty boy.
The only flick of his that I walked away from without that feeling of having bought an entire CD at full price only to discover the one hit was good and the rest was filler was Three Kings.
Full disclosure, this movie has the kind of ending I don't typically like. So, most fellow movie aficionados might actually like it. (Keep in mind I was apparently the one person who liked Daredevil.)
Therefore, I leave it up to you to be the judge. I recuse myself.
Oh, I loved the trailer, btw. It's now officially my favorite thing about the movie.
The Fourth Kind
I didn't read one good review of this flick, but the trailers (hmmm, a theme here) were so wonderfully creepy, I hoped against hope.
Sorry to say this movie fits that sad category where it's so bad, it's just bad.
They use a device where Milla Jovovich tells you she's an actress playing a real person, and that we'll be seeing and hearing the "real" woman she's playing throughout. Well, it's obvious that the "real" parts are acted too (similar to the primary flaw of Will Smith's Ali), and the fake/real device careens from annoying to laughable and back again.
Oh, and all the scariest stuff in the trailer.
This is one of those where if you are home ill and it comes on the TV, and you'd have to get up to get the remote to change the channel, it's worth getting up. You can refresh your beverage while you're at it, if you need further reason to save yourself.
Where the Wild Things Are
I enjoyed this mildly while watching it; though my teenage daughter hated, hated, hated it. Never before as a movie was playing did she continually say, "I hate this movie," and "Are you as bored as I am?"
The five-year-old LOVED it. And I can see why. It's one of those films that just nails its storytelling for the intended audience. It tells the story on their level in a way I would've have believed had I not witnessed her watching it. Every single leap of logic and what follows next fits their little view of the world.
I was concerned that the monsters would creep her out, as they creeped me out just a bit. Having seen the whole thing, though, the movie walks the line perfectly between their being just menacing enough to be monsters, but muppet-like enough to keep it "safe." Even during a scene where Max hides from one of the monsters who's mad by being swallowed by another.
The reason my teenager didn't like it is valid: it's largely a sad tale about a lonely boy who is neglected by his mother and more or less ignored by his teenage sister.
However, the way he copes - imaging himself the owner of the world and the king of monsters - totally speaks to my youngest. She would leap and cheer in the right parts, rapt the whole time with a smile on her face.
So that's my recommendation. If you've got a four- to eight-year-old, give this a spin, and decide which parent (if you have that luxury) gets to ride shotgun. However, if you are above that age, you might wanna devote your time to something else.
Thus far Spike Jones has proven himself a pitch-perfect movie (and video) maker. I can't wait for what he does next.
________________________________________________
TLD: The Synchronicity Story Well.
I came up with this concept as a kid, even before I knew what synchronicity was. Several times I'd had a great idea for a story, only to see it show up as a movie or comic book within a couple years. Throughout my life I've seen time and time again where either I, or someone I know who tries to concoct fiction, comes up with an idea, only to see it come to be somewhere in the fiction universe - and, again, usually close enough to the time I'd first heard or thought of it, that it seems too coincidental.
Now, you might be thinking that somehow myself or these other idea people somehow placed their story idea somewhere, or talked about it somewhere, where someone else got ahold of it and ran with it. I immediately discount anything that's "gotten out in the wild."
No, I specifically mean ideas I didn't tell anyone, or it only exists on my scratchy notepads hidden in a drawer of my house. Or ideas I heard in the privacy of someone's house or car, that I never uttered a word about again - hoping the person who told me would one day happily announce publication or a script sale.
I believe there's this "well" of story ideas out there that if you're listening for it, casting about for a story to bring to life, you will "hear" it and tap into it. But everyone else who's trying can hear it, too. The moral of the story is that the first one who gets it down in paper - or the one who first gets it sold - wins. So, if you've got that great American (or British, or Armenian, or Japanese) Novel rolling around inside of you, get it out!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sucker-punched and bitch-slapped all at once
So I sit down with MPC1 to watch Testament - a made-for-TV movie from 1983 that actually got theatrical release because the studio heads liked it so much - and was devastated. (She was moved, but OK. Certainly not as messed up as I was.)
Here's the deal: I thought it was an apocalyptic movie with a HAPPY ending, based on my misreading of this little exchange on Roger Ebert's Answer Man:
Note the finer point made by Mr. Sobcynski is that the people in the film "behave fairly decently towards each other" in response to the query if there was ever a "positive movie about post-Apocalyptic America." I missed this distinction entirely.
Well, SPOILER ALERT, nearly everyone dies. In particular, the main character loses her husband in the initial attack - he never comes home - and she goes through two of her three children dying from radiation poisoning, one of them being a kindergartener. And we get to go through it with her. END SPOILER.
This is a solid crimson bummer of a movie. Dear God on a Ritz cracker.
As I have often mentioned here, I assiduously avoid any "entertainment" where children are in harm's way or die. Especially little children. "Entertainments" EXACTLY LIKE this movie. Dammit anyway.
Is it a good movie, you ask? Well, yes it is. And, for once, the dated-ness of a movie actually works in favor of it. The ending monologue is especially affecting. The last thing the mom says to the remaining children (they pick up a boy with Down's Syndrome after his father dies), is that they should remember this time and, assuming there are better times, "to deserve the children." Beautiful.
Too bad most people will be sobbing so hard, or actively chambering a bullet to put through their skull, that they won't be able to HEAR the line. Did I mention this movie is a downer?
I remember in the 80s living with the very real fear that the bombs could drop at any moment. (Remember that lyric from Donald Fagan song New Frontier: "In case the Reds decide to push the button down"?) There were a few times when I half expected to turn on the news and hear that it was happening. Most of my buddies and I had "Hiroshima" nightmares where the bombs dropped, we saw the mushroom clouds, and we could see the shadow images of people burned against the wall from the blast; that's how detailed the nightmares were. We've found out since then that we came really close to that reality at least once. (In a weird case of synchronicity, this close call happened the same year Testament came out.)
So, back in the day, this was very much on everyone's mind. Had I seen Testament then (and who knows, I may have), I would've thought it was an awesome movie. But after having kids, most of us can't brook tykes getting snuffed in entertainment, even if it is pretend.
I sometimes wonder if in addition to adult content warning stickers and ratings we should have some sort of indication of children in peril. I certainly would appreciate it.
So I sit down with MPC1 to watch Testament - a made-for-TV movie from 1983 that actually got theatrical release because the studio heads liked it so much - and was devastated. (She was moved, but OK. Certainly not as messed up as I was.)
Here's the deal: I thought it was an apocalyptic movie with a HAPPY ending, based on my misreading of this little exchange on Roger Ebert's Answer Man:
Q. Re the reader who asked if there was ever a positive movie about post-Apocalyptic America: the people seemed to behave fairly decently towards each other in "Testament." I am pretty certain that there are others along these lines but none are coming to mind. I'd have said "The Bed-Sitting Room" but that was England.
Peter Sobcynski, Chicago
A. "Testament" remains one of the best American independent films. It blew me away at Telluride. America after the Bomb.
Note the finer point made by Mr. Sobcynski is that the people in the film "behave fairly decently towards each other" in response to the query if there was ever a "positive movie about post-Apocalyptic America." I missed this distinction entirely.
Well, SPOILER ALERT, nearly everyone dies. In particular, the main character loses her husband in the initial attack - he never comes home - and she goes through two of her three children dying from radiation poisoning, one of them being a kindergartener. And we get to go through it with her. END SPOILER.
This is a solid crimson bummer of a movie. Dear God on a Ritz cracker.
As I have often mentioned here, I assiduously avoid any "entertainment" where children are in harm's way or die. Especially little children. "Entertainments" EXACTLY LIKE this movie. Dammit anyway.
Is it a good movie, you ask? Well, yes it is. And, for once, the dated-ness of a movie actually works in favor of it. The ending monologue is especially affecting. The last thing the mom says to the remaining children (they pick up a boy with Down's Syndrome after his father dies), is that they should remember this time and, assuming there are better times, "to deserve the children." Beautiful.
Too bad most people will be sobbing so hard, or actively chambering a bullet to put through their skull, that they won't be able to HEAR the line. Did I mention this movie is a downer?
I remember in the 80s living with the very real fear that the bombs could drop at any moment. (Remember that lyric from Donald Fagan song New Frontier: "In case the Reds decide to push the button down"?) There were a few times when I half expected to turn on the news and hear that it was happening. Most of my buddies and I had "Hiroshima" nightmares where the bombs dropped, we saw the mushroom clouds, and we could see the shadow images of people burned against the wall from the blast; that's how detailed the nightmares were. We've found out since then that we came really close to that reality at least once. (In a weird case of synchronicity, this close call happened the same year Testament came out.)
So, back in the day, this was very much on everyone's mind. Had I seen Testament then (and who knows, I may have), I would've thought it was an awesome movie. But after having kids, most of us can't brook tykes getting snuffed in entertainment, even if it is pretend.
I sometimes wonder if in addition to adult content warning stickers and ratings we should have some sort of indication of children in peril. I certainly would appreciate it.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Standing Close to Andy Summers
As promised, here's my report on One Train Later by Andy Summers.
Copeland's book is still the best of the lot, but this really was a fun read, too.
For instance, I love this part about having money.
The title refers to the couple days they were discussing dropping their current guitarist and going with Andy. (Andy said he would not join the band if the other guitarist stayed, which was what Sting and Stewart wanted, but Andy knew he couldn't blend with the other guy's style.) Stewart and Andy happened to disembark from the same London train, laughed at the coincidence, then went for coffee where the deal was sealed. So, had either been on one train later, there would've been no Police.
One surprising bit of trivia was two-fold: Summers was Neil Sedaka's guitarist for a while. Yes, Mr. Every Breath You Take made his daily bread for a while by playing "Calendar Girl" and "Laughter in the Rain." The second surprise is that Sedaka is one of the American artists who's more popular in Britain than he is here.
My favorite section of the book is excerpted below. It's about how Summers did the guitar part to "Every Breath You Take" in one take and other ephemera about the recording of the album.
As promised, here's my report on One Train Later by Andy Summers.
Copeland's book is still the best of the lot, but this really was a fun read, too.
For instance, I love this part about having money.
Having money, one realizes after a while, is very nice, but you need to develop a razor-edged awareness if you want to hang onto it. There is a large number of thieves disguised as angels out there who can't wait to relieve you of your burden. They slip under your door, confront you in dark hallways, slighter through the letter box, whisper in tones of silk, infiltrate your life with the stealth of a cell quietly dividing. The water has fangs, and the only way to make it to land is by keeping your head up and thinking about the next song.
- One Train Later by Andy Summers, pp. 313.
The title refers to the couple days they were discussing dropping their current guitarist and going with Andy. (Andy said he would not join the band if the other guitarist stayed, which was what Sting and Stewart wanted, but Andy knew he couldn't blend with the other guy's style.) Stewart and Andy happened to disembark from the same London train, laughed at the coincidence, then went for coffee where the deal was sealed. So, had either been on one train later, there would've been no Police.
One surprising bit of trivia was two-fold: Summers was Neil Sedaka's guitarist for a while. Yes, Mr. Every Breath You Take made his daily bread for a while by playing "Calendar Girl" and "Laughter in the Rain." The second surprise is that Sedaka is one of the American artists who's more popular in Britain than he is here.
My favorite section of the book is excerpted below. It's about how Summers did the guitar part to "Every Breath You Take" in one take and other ephemera about the recording of the album.
The linchpin of Synchronicity is a song called "Every Breath You Take." When Sting first plays us his demo, it sounds not unlike the group Yes with a huge rolling synthesizer part. It needs work, needs the stripped-down guitar and drums treatment, bur it has something. More obvious than some of Sting's material, it has a classic pop song chord sequence with a dramatic C section bur it needs clarity. This song is the one that gets the most argument. Sting and Stewart go on endlessly about the drums and bass -- how they should underpin the vocal -- but after a couple of weeks we get a track down with just bass and drums and a token vocal to give us some perspective.
Feeling slightly numb, we sit on the couch at a creative standstill. Sting leans over and says, "Go on, go in there, make it your own." This is either a beautiful example of trust between partners or is tantamount to being told to jump off a cliff, prove you're a man , or walk the gang plank. But there she is, a nice naked track, waiting to be ruined or trimmed with gold by yours truly. "Right," I say, "right," and heave my bum up off the deep plush and toward the direction of the big room. In the engulfing loneliness of the empty studio I am hyperaware that everyone is watching and listening. This will be the naked truth.
I pick up my Strat and stare out across the gloom. It's a simple chord sequence and shouldn't prove a problem, depending on one's imagination, inspiration, and context. What are the criteria? It should sound like the Police -- big, brutal barre chords won't do, too vulgar; it has to be something that says Police but doesn't get in the way of the vocals; it should exist as music in its own right, universal but with just a hint of irony, be recognized the world over, possibly be picked up by a rapper as the guitar lick to hang a thirty-million-copy song on in eleven years or so. "Yeah, okay," "roll it, " I say. The track rolls and I play a sequence of intervals that outline the chords and add a nifty little extension to each one that makes it sound like the Police, root, fifth, second, third, up and down through each chord. It is clean, succinct, immediately identifiable; it has just enough of the signature sound of el Policia. I play it straight through in one take. There is a brief silence, and then everyone in the control room stands up and cheers. It is an emotional and triumphant moment, and it will take us to number one in America.
With this lick I realize a dream that maybe I have cherished since first picking up the guitar as a teenager -- to at least once in my life make something that would go around the world, create a lick that guitarists everywhere would play, be number one in America, be heard at weddings, bar mitzvahs, births, funerals, be adapted into the repertoire of brass bands in the north of England, and make my mum and dad proud. Do you ever really get beyond them? Maybe not and maybe this is where the story should fade out, with me standing there, grinning like an idiot, feeling like a hero and just happy to have pleased.
[snip]
Laying down the guitar part for "Every Breath You Take" clears the air and increases the chances that we have a hit album. Whether it will reach number one is not a certainty, but we all hope for it. From Montserrat we return once again to Le Studio in Canada to mix the album. Generally we let Hugh Padgham prepare the mixes to a point, and then we come into the control room to fine-tune the mix ourselves. But I receive a nasty shock when sitting down to hear the mix of "Every Breath." The thick creamy Strat sound I had in Montserrat has been reduced to a thin over-reverbed whine. I become extremely upset and tell Hugh to go back immediately to the rough mix from Montserrat, check the sound, and get it back. Luckily, we still have the rough mixes. It takes a couple of days, but we get the guitar sounding almost as good as the rough mix. But to my mind, it is not quite the same. The track is almost stillborn, but it has a future to fulfill.
[snip]
We struggle on through the mixing and end the sessions with a ridiculous scene in which we toss a coin to see which tracks will go onto the album. Will Stewart and I get our songs on? Is it fair to let the whole album be only Sting's songs? Miles valiantly tries to hold some sort of democracy together so some of us don't go away feeling pissed off and alienated. What will the final sequence be? I finally solve that one by suggesting that maybe we put all the softer songs on one side and the up-tempo stuff on the other. Sting likes this idea, and thus it is ordained.
- One Train Later by Andy Summers, pp. 323-325.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Thanks, but, ah, no....
So most of the "best of" lists for the last decade have Synecdoche, New York in there somewhere. And, hey!, it was written and directed by Charlie Kaufman, whose movies I have loved so far, and it stars Phillip Seymour Hoffman, an actor I really dig (perhaps the only one besides DeNiro and Pacino who can play an icky character as well as an awesome one and have you believe both).
Well, it started off with a lot of promise. It was note-perfect for the start of a busy day with kids and the kind of conversations you have. I love being a parent, and would still choose to be one (though I'd've started earlier so I could have more), but if I'd known how many conversations I've have about poop, it might've given me the briefest pause.
Anyway, then things started getting darker and darker, and I just don't have the time or patience to sit through an utter bummer anymore. Just don't care to. At this age, there is enough to worry about and feel bad about where I don't need to invite more in through entertainment. Leave the (realistic) tragedy for the young, the worry-free, the perpetually buoyant.
Though it was one of my favorite movies, I simply couldn't tolerate Sophie's Choice at this age. Yes, I would miss a great story had I not seen it when I had the stomach for it, but in the grand scheme of things, it would've been a small loss.
And I say "(realistic)" because I still dig myself some adventure / sci-fi tragedy stuff. (Thinking of a couple of events in Avatar and my fave movie of all time John Carpenter's The Thing.) The once-removed reality renders the bitter pill nothing but a placebo.
Anyway anyway, when the Phillip Seymour Hoffman starts digging in his own poop and announces he has blood in his stool, I hit fast-forward. This is a trick I use with novels that have just put me off and made me wonder if I should bail. I skip forward in the story and see if anything intrigues; if it does, I back up and pick it up. I could pretty much glean the plot of the movie by watching it at 16x normal speed, and I'm SOOOOO glad I bailed. I could tell it was pretty much a work of genius, like all of Kaufman's works are, but it truly did continue in a death spiral. Literally.
Glad I missed it.
In other "not for me" entertainment news, I finally got ahold of Bob Dylan's Christmas album - Christmas in the Heart - and by the third song I was overtaken by the giggles.
Dear Lord it's a horror.
Now constant readers will know I love Bob Dylan. I was one of those who in my younger years could NOT understand how the guy had any sort of career at all, let alone the fame and adulation he has. Well, a fateful listen of Blood on the Tracks after a recent and rending breakup ripped the scales from my eyes, and since I've been a diehard.
That does not mean, though, that I'm not unaware of Mr. Dylan's challenges as a vocalist. Sometimes he's the perfect voice for the song (believe it or not), other times - like a Christmas album for instance - it's just painful.
If you're looking for a new comedy album or something that'll clear the party at 2:00 AM, this is your disc. Otherwise, get a copy of Blood on the Tracks, if you've never had the pleasure.
So most of the "best of" lists for the last decade have Synecdoche, New York in there somewhere. And, hey!, it was written and directed by Charlie Kaufman, whose movies I have loved so far, and it stars Phillip Seymour Hoffman, an actor I really dig (perhaps the only one besides DeNiro and Pacino who can play an icky character as well as an awesome one and have you believe both).
Well, it started off with a lot of promise. It was note-perfect for the start of a busy day with kids and the kind of conversations you have. I love being a parent, and would still choose to be one (though I'd've started earlier so I could have more), but if I'd known how many conversations I've have about poop, it might've given me the briefest pause.
Anyway, then things started getting darker and darker, and I just don't have the time or patience to sit through an utter bummer anymore. Just don't care to. At this age, there is enough to worry about and feel bad about where I don't need to invite more in through entertainment. Leave the (realistic) tragedy for the young, the worry-free, the perpetually buoyant.
Though it was one of my favorite movies, I simply couldn't tolerate Sophie's Choice at this age. Yes, I would miss a great story had I not seen it when I had the stomach for it, but in the grand scheme of things, it would've been a small loss.
And I say "(realistic)" because I still dig myself some adventure / sci-fi tragedy stuff. (Thinking of a couple of events in Avatar and my fave movie of all time John Carpenter's The Thing.) The once-removed reality renders the bitter pill nothing but a placebo.
Anyway anyway, when the Phillip Seymour Hoffman starts digging in his own poop and announces he has blood in his stool, I hit fast-forward. This is a trick I use with novels that have just put me off and made me wonder if I should bail. I skip forward in the story and see if anything intrigues; if it does, I back up and pick it up. I could pretty much glean the plot of the movie by watching it at 16x normal speed, and I'm SOOOOO glad I bailed. I could tell it was pretty much a work of genius, like all of Kaufman's works are, but it truly did continue in a death spiral. Literally.
Glad I missed it.
In other "not for me" entertainment news, I finally got ahold of Bob Dylan's Christmas album - Christmas in the Heart - and by the third song I was overtaken by the giggles.
Dear Lord it's a horror.
Now constant readers will know I love Bob Dylan. I was one of those who in my younger years could NOT understand how the guy had any sort of career at all, let alone the fame and adulation he has. Well, a fateful listen of Blood on the Tracks after a recent and rending breakup ripped the scales from my eyes, and since I've been a diehard.
That does not mean, though, that I'm not unaware of Mr. Dylan's challenges as a vocalist. Sometimes he's the perfect voice for the song (believe it or not), other times - like a Christmas album for instance - it's just painful.
If you're looking for a new comedy album or something that'll clear the party at 2:00 AM, this is your disc. Otherwise, get a copy of Blood on the Tracks, if you've never had the pleasure.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Blush
So, I made a new mix CD recently that I've been passing around to buddies and kin. I do try to avoid including anything risqué assuming that there will be kids in the car at some point, but boy did I FAIL.
One of the songs I put on there was Britney Spears' latest song "3", and a couple mornings ago while I was waiting in a drive-thru, I tuned into the lyrics. Slowly it dawned on me that the song could be about nothing other than a threesome. My initial shallow/surface listen made me think it was a sorta cute electronic drone song about counting or computers or something.
But, no, it's pretty clear what's going on. Here is an abbreviated version of the lyrics:
When I told a buddy of my gaff, he said that whole album of hers was kinda blue, pointing out that another song was entitled "If You Seek Amy" that, when you sound it out, is "F. U. C. K. me."
And that's kinda how I feel after this: Well. fuck. me.
TLD:
One of the songs I included on the CD was this short piece of fun filler from a Stampede Beer commercial; the tune itself is G-rated, but the commercial itself isn't. Enjoy it here.
So, I made a new mix CD recently that I've been passing around to buddies and kin. I do try to avoid including anything risqué assuming that there will be kids in the car at some point, but boy did I FAIL.
One of the songs I put on there was Britney Spears' latest song "3", and a couple mornings ago while I was waiting in a drive-thru, I tuned into the lyrics. Slowly it dawned on me that the song could be about nothing other than a threesome. My initial shallow/surface listen made me think it was a sorta cute electronic drone song about counting or computers or something.
But, no, it's pretty clear what's going on. Here is an abbreviated version of the lyrics:
1, 2, 3
Not only you and me
Got one eighty degrees
And I’m caught in between
Countin’
1, 2, 3
Peter, Paul & Mary
Gettin’ down with 3P
Everybody loves [orgasmic "oh!"]
Countin’
Babe, pick a night
To come out and play
If it’s alright
What do you say?
Merrier the more
Triple fun that way
Twister on the floor
What do you say?
Are - you in
Livin’ in sin is the new thing (yeah)
Are - you in
I am countin’!
[Chorus]
Three is a charm
Two is not the same
I don’t see the harm
So are you game?
Lets’ make a team
Make ‘em say my name
Lovin’ the extreme
Now are you game?
[Chorus and repeat of lyrics]
What we do is innocent
Just for fun and nothin’ meant
If you don’t like the company
Let’s just do it you and me
You and me…
Or three….
Or four….
- On the floor!
[Chorus, lyrics repeat, play out]
When I told a buddy of my gaff, he said that whole album of hers was kinda blue, pointing out that another song was entitled "If You Seek Amy" that, when you sound it out, is "F. U. C. K. me."
And that's kinda how I feel after this: Well. fuck. me.
TLD:
One of the songs I included on the CD was this short piece of fun filler from a Stampede Beer commercial; the tune itself is G-rated, but the commercial itself isn't. Enjoy it here.
Go To Hell
I don't remember where I encountered this link anymore, I just had this info stored in my "future blogs" bucket. But anyway if you want to take an internet quiz that cheerfully and arrogantly inform you that you are going straight to hell, here ya go.
It's put together by Kirk Cameron of the 80s sitcom "Family Ties" and his fundie buddies.
As it states on the site:
It's crap like this that made me write my old Christianity FAQ which used to be the #1 hit on Google before Yahoo turned of Geocities.
Btw, my old Geocities vanity site, and the Christianity FAQ (including my answer to "A 'Christian' told me I'm going to hell. Am I?"), were rescued by a group who call themselves ReoCities. They thought it was wrong of Yahoo to pull the plug on so much historical web content, so they've made a point of restoring it and making it available again. How cool is that?
If you had a Geocities page, just replace the "g" in the link with "r" to see if they've brought it back. If they haven't, you can ask them to!
I can think of a few folks who aren't going to hell for sure. I'm not so sure about Kirk and his buds, though.
I don't remember where I encountered this link anymore, I just had this info stored in my "future blogs" bucket. But anyway if you want to take an internet quiz that cheerfully and arrogantly inform you that you are going straight to hell, here ya go.
It's put together by Kirk Cameron of the 80s sitcom "Family Ties" and his fundie buddies.
As it states on the site:
This test is designed to answer 2 questions:
Are you a good person according to God's standards?
And if so, are you good enough to go to heaven?
It's crap like this that made me write my old Christianity FAQ which used to be the #1 hit on Google before Yahoo turned of Geocities.
Btw, my old Geocities vanity site, and the Christianity FAQ (including my answer to "A 'Christian' told me I'm going to hell. Am I?"), were rescued by a group who call themselves ReoCities. They thought it was wrong of Yahoo to pull the plug on so much historical web content, so they've made a point of restoring it and making it available again. How cool is that?
If you had a Geocities page, just replace the "g" in the link with "r" to see if they've brought it back. If they haven't, you can ask them to!
I can think of a few folks who aren't going to hell for sure. I'm not so sure about Kirk and his buds, though.
No Country For Old Men
Finally watched this recently and my reaction when the credits rolled was: WTF?
I went out to The Movie Spoiler to see if what I'd actually seen what I thought I saw.
And, yes, it turns out
*** SPOILER ALERT ***
that the movie really does end with everyone the bad guy was hunting being slaughtered and Tommy Lee Jones telling a weird story about someone carrying a fire in a horn
*** END SPOILER ALERT ***
then the credits roll.
To borrow from Ebert: I hated hated hated that movie.
And, I've now had it with Cormac McCarthy.
I didn't really like the Kafka I had to read in college when I got past the morbid interest, and I see no point in anyone trying to out-Kafka Kafka.
I see less point in reading it.
Finally watched this recently and my reaction when the credits rolled was: WTF?
I went out to The Movie Spoiler to see if what I'd actually seen what I thought I saw.
And, yes, it turns out
*** SPOILER ALERT ***
that the movie really does end with everyone the bad guy was hunting being slaughtered and Tommy Lee Jones telling a weird story about someone carrying a fire in a horn
*** END SPOILER ALERT ***
then the credits roll.
To borrow from Ebert: I hated hated hated that movie.
And, I've now had it with Cormac McCarthy.
I didn't really like the Kafka I had to read in college when I got past the morbid interest, and I see no point in anyone trying to out-Kafka Kafka.
I see less point in reading it.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Don't Stand So Close to Me
(I must point out that this title is ironic, because The Police have to be the best self-documented band that I'm aware of.)
Had the happy accident of happing across Stewart Copeland's Strange Things Happen: A Life with The Police, Polo and Pygmies, which is a sheer joy. It's even a great companion piece to his must-see insider's documentary: The Police - Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out, still my favorite rock-doc to date. (Oh, and the little doc on the DVD on the Certifiable set is a nice third component, if you have the money or interest; however, their older Police: Live is a better example of what they there were like in concert when they were kings.)
Between the two (or three), you get a real good sense of what it was like to be a huge rock star, and just how funny, charming, and decent Stewart Copeland really is.
You also get a feel for Sting and Andy Summers. Apparently, Sting is truly a gifted musical genius - almost savant - so maybe his seemingly arrogant public pronouncements are actually humble. Exactly what Andy Summers does on the guitar is wonderfully articulated as well.
For music nuts like me, this is nirvana. (Which reminds me Mr. Grohl, sit down at your computer someday and tell us the story, k?)
If you want a taste of what the book is like, this interview comes close:
Since Copeland mentions both Sting's and Summer's books, I leaped to my library site and procured Andy Summer's book. I'll report on that when I'm done. Don't intend to read the Sting book though, based on the comments on Amazon and the fact it stops before the Police get started.
Besides, thus far I've noticed that people as gifted as (Copeland says) Sting is aren't very good at conveying themselves, and thus far any attempts I've come across from Sting of that nature appear to support my theory. (I read a bit of his book online.)
Copeland, however, is as gifted at articulating his life and times - and being entertaining about it - as he is at drumming and film scoring.
One thing that puzzled me was no mention of his post-Police band: Animal Logic. He mentions Stanley Clarke once, but other that that, nada. Wonder why...
________
Update:
I forgot to include one of my favorite things from the book - Copeland's dislike of jazz, as he puts it: "jazz, a music that elevates dexterity over spirit."
How true! I do like myself some classic jazz, and sometimes am even in the mood for modern "smooth" jazz, which is muzak's pretty sister, but for the most part Copeland coins what I've thought about it for a while.
And, I wanted to continue and refine my thought about The Police being the best self-documented band by stating the obvious that the Beatles are the most documented band. However, even though Lennon and McCartney have both explained who really wrote which song, and who did which parts of songs they wrote together, they didn't necessarily self-document like The Police have.
To that end, there's some interesting stuff going on in that space, known as "Charting the Beatles." Here's a blog, and here's a flickr group devoted to it. I discovered this via both Kottke.org and ffffound.com.
(I must point out that this title is ironic, because The Police have to be the best self-documented band that I'm aware of.)
Had the happy accident of happing across Stewart Copeland's Strange Things Happen: A Life with The Police, Polo and Pygmies, which is a sheer joy. It's even a great companion piece to his must-see insider's documentary: The Police - Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out, still my favorite rock-doc to date. (Oh, and the little doc on the DVD on the Certifiable set is a nice third component, if you have the money or interest; however, their older Police: Live is a better example of what they there were like in concert when they were kings.)
Between the two (or three), you get a real good sense of what it was like to be a huge rock star, and just how funny, charming, and decent Stewart Copeland really is.
You also get a feel for Sting and Andy Summers. Apparently, Sting is truly a gifted musical genius - almost savant - so maybe his seemingly arrogant public pronouncements are actually humble. Exactly what Andy Summers does on the guitar is wonderfully articulated as well.
For music nuts like me, this is nirvana. (Which reminds me Mr. Grohl, sit down at your computer someday and tell us the story, k?)
If you want a taste of what the book is like, this interview comes close:
Since Copeland mentions both Sting's and Summer's books, I leaped to my library site and procured Andy Summer's book. I'll report on that when I'm done. Don't intend to read the Sting book though, based on the comments on Amazon and the fact it stops before the Police get started.
Besides, thus far I've noticed that people as gifted as (Copeland says) Sting is aren't very good at conveying themselves, and thus far any attempts I've come across from Sting of that nature appear to support my theory. (I read a bit of his book online.)
Copeland, however, is as gifted at articulating his life and times - and being entertaining about it - as he is at drumming and film scoring.
One thing that puzzled me was no mention of his post-Police band: Animal Logic. He mentions Stanley Clarke once, but other that that, nada. Wonder why...
________
Update:
I forgot to include one of my favorite things from the book - Copeland's dislike of jazz, as he puts it: "jazz, a music that elevates dexterity over spirit."
How true! I do like myself some classic jazz, and sometimes am even in the mood for modern "smooth" jazz, which is muzak's pretty sister, but for the most part Copeland coins what I've thought about it for a while.
And, I wanted to continue and refine my thought about The Police being the best self-documented band by stating the obvious that the Beatles are the most documented band. However, even though Lennon and McCartney have both explained who really wrote which song, and who did which parts of songs they wrote together, they didn't necessarily self-document like The Police have.
To that end, there's some interesting stuff going on in that space, known as "Charting the Beatles." Here's a blog, and here's a flickr group devoted to it. I discovered this via both Kottke.org and ffffound.com.
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