A Korean woman's dog crapped on the subway and she refused to pick it up.
Someone took a picture.
And then....
Behold the Power of the Mighty Blog!
There are some good comments below the main story.
I tend toward the more punative opinions, which shouldn't shock anyone who knows me...but what the hell are they doing allowing dogs on the subway, anyway?
And give me some credit for eschewing the obvious joke.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Monday, June 27, 2005
Television: Supersize She
Every few weeks the wife and myself spend an evening cavorting in the swamp of cable television courtesy of our pop culturally savvy friends James e Courney. Of course the next day is occupied by burning off the leeches with cigarettes, which explains why we have to travel to get more than three channels.
They tried to make me watch something called 'Intervention', where people who hit rock bottom are subjected to a few minutes of COPS-esque cinema verite backgrounding then rounded up and harangued by their families while the cameras roll and tears of self pity pool up on the indoor/outoor carpeting.
Which I'm not philosophically opposed too...after all, I do set out intending to bathe in the latter day Romanesque decadence of our popular culture.
No, the dealbreaker was several jolting close ups of people injecting assorted drugs.
I'm not a fan of needles, and I don't take well to the exploitative use of untelegraphed injections in any medium. I throw things at the TV when otherwise innocuous heath segments on the local news are spiked with shots of shots, and even though I was a youth capable of making fine distinctions between the cinematic decapitations of Tom Savini and Rob Bottin and comparing both with the work of gore effects godfather Dick Smith, I would hurl my popcorn at the screen of any movie delivering gratiutious needle shots.
I know I'm getting old now because I have what they call "historical perspective" on these kinds of things.
I can (dimly) remember when Larry Clark's still photos of addicts shooting up was an underground sensation and a cause for lawsuits and mainstream hysteria.
Now it goes unremarked on primetime basic cable.
So, after about the 3rd unnanounced injection scene I made them change the channel.
We settled on flipping between two shows: Fight for Fame, in which blandly attractive and talentless young people jump through hoops for a chance to be signed by a talent agency, and the infinitely more involving 'Supersize She', on the can't miss topic of high level women's bodybuilding.
The leech containing the details of 'Fight for Fame' is already well burned, since I can't remember a single embarassing moment of a show composed of nothing but.
Supersize She however is made of sterner stuff.
It's the tale of a seemingly normal young woman who became a "professional" bodybuilder, although "professional" takes a beating in a context wehre the winner of its premier event earns a measly 10k. I'm not up on the going rate for a year's supply of black market testosterone, but I'll bet 10k is just a down payment to keep them from breaking your massively muscled & tragically vascular legs.
It was of that genus of subcultural documentaries that make me shout SPEND THE MONEY ON THERAPY YOU FOOLS at the participants. The self-transformation and destruction involved is so transparently an externalization of unresolved inner distress that it can be hard for me to watch.
Even the most desultory armchair psychologist should be able to decode the tale of a normal young girl that dedicates her life to the transformation of her body into a grotesquely inflated man.
Or as James summed it up,
"This is the tragic story of homosexual men trapped in the bodies of heterosexual men."
I horrified my fellow viewers by noting that female bodybuilders have enourmously elongated clitorises thanks to the massive amounts of testosterone and human growth hormone they ingest, holding aloft and waggling my pinkie finger as a visual aid.
This earned me a left hook from the wife, and gagging sounds from both of our hosts.
I think their horror was mostly an act, because the three of them engaged in a heated game of 'spot the penis' during the climactic pose-off at the Miss Olympia contest in Vegas....
They tried to make me watch something called 'Intervention', where people who hit rock bottom are subjected to a few minutes of COPS-esque cinema verite backgrounding then rounded up and harangued by their families while the cameras roll and tears of self pity pool up on the indoor/outoor carpeting.
Which I'm not philosophically opposed too...after all, I do set out intending to bathe in the latter day Romanesque decadence of our popular culture.
No, the dealbreaker was several jolting close ups of people injecting assorted drugs.
I'm not a fan of needles, and I don't take well to the exploitative use of untelegraphed injections in any medium. I throw things at the TV when otherwise innocuous heath segments on the local news are spiked with shots of shots, and even though I was a youth capable of making fine distinctions between the cinematic decapitations of Tom Savini and Rob Bottin and comparing both with the work of gore effects godfather Dick Smith, I would hurl my popcorn at the screen of any movie delivering gratiutious needle shots.
I know I'm getting old now because I have what they call "historical perspective" on these kinds of things.
I can (dimly) remember when Larry Clark's still photos of addicts shooting up was an underground sensation and a cause for lawsuits and mainstream hysteria.
Now it goes unremarked on primetime basic cable.
So, after about the 3rd unnanounced injection scene I made them change the channel.
We settled on flipping between two shows: Fight for Fame, in which blandly attractive and talentless young people jump through hoops for a chance to be signed by a talent agency, and the infinitely more involving 'Supersize She', on the can't miss topic of high level women's bodybuilding.
The leech containing the details of 'Fight for Fame' is already well burned, since I can't remember a single embarassing moment of a show composed of nothing but.
Supersize She however is made of sterner stuff.
It's the tale of a seemingly normal young woman who became a "professional" bodybuilder, although "professional" takes a beating in a context wehre the winner of its premier event earns a measly 10k. I'm not up on the going rate for a year's supply of black market testosterone, but I'll bet 10k is just a down payment to keep them from breaking your massively muscled & tragically vascular legs.
It was of that genus of subcultural documentaries that make me shout SPEND THE MONEY ON THERAPY YOU FOOLS at the participants. The self-transformation and destruction involved is so transparently an externalization of unresolved inner distress that it can be hard for me to watch.
Even the most desultory armchair psychologist should be able to decode the tale of a normal young girl that dedicates her life to the transformation of her body into a grotesquely inflated man.
Or as James summed it up,
"This is the tragic story of homosexual men trapped in the bodies of heterosexual men."
I horrified my fellow viewers by noting that female bodybuilders have enourmously elongated clitorises thanks to the massive amounts of testosterone and human growth hormone they ingest, holding aloft and waggling my pinkie finger as a visual aid.
This earned me a left hook from the wife, and gagging sounds from both of our hosts.
I think their horror was mostly an act, because the three of them engaged in a heated game of 'spot the penis' during the climactic pose-off at the Miss Olympia contest in Vegas....
Da, Comrade!
A fine archive of soviet propaganda images from magazines.
I'm a sucker for such things....and you should be too!
I'm a sucker for such things....and you should be too!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
We Won't Negotiate with................nevermind.
Fabulous post by Billmon at the Whiskey Bar regarding the current administration's first attempts to negotiate with the foe in Iraq.
On Chickenhawks
There's a new blog on the block, dedicated to providing a venue for liberal veterans and those currently serving in the armed forces to fire back at Cowardly Karl Rove, who made recent intemperate remarks conflating liberals and Democrats with terrorist-abeting traitors.
You can check it out right here.
Here's a sample:
We can expect more attempts to mine 9/11 for political gain as Bush's approval ratings continue to seek groundwater. Shoring up the religious fringe base can only go so far and the administration's standing with independent voters has been hammered flat in the past month or so. Only continued near-unanimous support from self-described Republicans is keeping his nose above the 40% mark.
And as an aside, have you ever seen a more blatant self-loathing closeted homosexual than Karl Rove? I wish we still carried The Advocate, they always had good dish on high profile closet cases.
It's pretty clear how gay prostitute Jeff Gannon, aka Jeff Guckert, got endless day passes to the White House press room to lob softball questions to the administration.
The only question is if he did the pitching in Rove's hotel room as well.
And yet more funny from those young Republican warmongers, all in a froth over the necessity of sending other people, poor people, to grapple and die in the sand.
clicky, clicky
My favorite tidbit:
They've learnt well from the idols in the current administraion, haven't they?
Future Chickenhawks of the GOP Unite!
You can check it out right here.
Here's a sample:
I'm an honorably discharged, Vietnam-era veteran of the U. S. Army. Rove was and is a chickenhawk, as are all of today's young republican cowards who want other people to fight the war they demanded.
Rove and any other fascist asshole who wants to call me a traitor, or accuse me of anything else they made up, is welcome to come and say it to my face.
We can expect more attempts to mine 9/11 for political gain as Bush's approval ratings continue to seek groundwater. Shoring up the religious fringe base can only go so far and the administration's standing with independent voters has been hammered flat in the past month or so. Only continued near-unanimous support from self-described Republicans is keeping his nose above the 40% mark.
And as an aside, have you ever seen a more blatant self-loathing closeted homosexual than Karl Rove? I wish we still carried The Advocate, they always had good dish on high profile closet cases.
It's pretty clear how gay prostitute Jeff Gannon, aka Jeff Guckert, got endless day passes to the White House press room to lob softball questions to the administration.
The only question is if he did the pitching in Rove's hotel room as well.
And yet more funny from those young Republican warmongers, all in a froth over the necessity of sending other people, poor people, to grapple and die in the sand.
clicky, clicky
My favorite tidbit:
"I physically probably couldn't do a whole lot" in Iraq, said Tiffanee Hokel, 18, of Webster City, Iowa, who called the war a moral imperative...
"We don't have to be there physically to fight it," she said.
They've learnt well from the idols in the current administraion, haven't they?
Future Chickenhawks of the GOP Unite!
Customers: Ceiling Fans
Couple with a young boy enter the store.
man:
Do you mind if we put the ceiling fans in this room and the next on our camcorder? Our little boy is crazy about them.
me:
Sure, be my guest.
boy:
"That's a really high ceiling!"
They're not all dangerous lunatics.
man:
Do you mind if we put the ceiling fans in this room and the next on our camcorder? Our little boy is crazy about them.
me:
Sure, be my guest.
boy:
"That's a really high ceiling!"
They're not all dangerous lunatics.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Product Design Winners
BusinessWeek magazine has announced their annual winners in product design.
There are some really cool things in the pile, go dig around and see for yourself.
There are some really cool things in the pile, go dig around and see for yourself.
More on Morris
My pal Creelea asked me to expand the little promo blurb I did on the upcoming Errol Morris boxed set for an expat magazine she's working for in Moscow. Not being one to waste content, here's it is, all growed up and spellchecked and everything.
special futuristic internet bonus features:
The Box Set
The Filmmaker's Web Site
and to make sure nobody misses it, here's a link to a lecture he gave that talks about the three films in the context of Fog of War, and includes some clips from Vernon, Florida and The Thin Blue Line.
Fabulous stuff.
Erroll Morris Box Set
One of the grave injustices of the digital era is being redressed by the impending release of documentarian Erroll Morris's early works on DVD, available at a bargain price from MGM. The films are available individually, but the box set of three beckons with sinuously gesturing black velvet gloves.
Gates of Heaven, his first film, is a surprisingly touching investigation of a pet cemetery and its fellow travelers, human and animal. The balance for Morris's later films is created here, with the serious subtext (death) set off by an unconventional array of characters.
The near-religious fervor that fuels the creation of the highway-side pet cemetery proves no match for the financial realities of tumorous Suburbia, and the eventual fate of the mortal remains makes for an engrossing second act, introducing an entirely new and fascinating family of characters.
Side note: crazed genius Werner Hertzog goaded him into making this movie, making a losing bet that he would eat his shoe if it was ever released.
The winning of the bet generated another short documentary feature by Les Blank, a friend of both men, with the appropriate title 'Werner Hertzog Eats his Shoe'
Vernon, Florida, the most winning and lighthearted of all Morris's works, captures a moment before reality television and media saturation turned even the most obscure backwater Main Street into a cattle call audition. The population of this Southern hamlet are deeply and genuinely eccentric, they share their obsessions and manias with a confessional openness far removed from the pornographic exhibitionism of Survivor.
The meaning here is in the people, not an external storyline, and it's so fantastically successful because the subjects exert the unconscious fascination of children, acting out their inner life with no regard for what or who might be watching. The best of the many indelible characters is the turkey hunter, the beating philosophical heart of the movie, pursuing zen perfection into the swamps with his mute sidekick.
The third (and best known to the public at large) is The Thin Blue Line, which singlehandedly freed an innocent man from death row and rather less laudably set loose the hounds of 'dramatic reenactment' on the public consciousness. But as the French New Wave can hardly be blamed for the legion of advertisers whoring their techniques to sell toilet paper and suppositories, neither can Erroll be blamed for the Necro-criminalism of 'America's Most Wanted'.
In any case the film is more sinned against than sinning as the Academy disqualified it from Oscar contention for recreating events, even though they were so stylized only someone deaf and blind to cinematic conventions could fail to notice their artificiality. The clarity of the presentation and the muted outrage of each frame makes it an unforgettable viewing experience.
The three films taken together plot the arc of the director's future career (excluding Fast, Cheap and Out of Control, obvious loser of Sesame Street's 'which of these things is not like the other' game).
The trademark combination of serious intent with observational humor that informs his best work can be seen blossoming here like a time lapse flower in a Disney nature film. None of these films are objectively his best work- that distinction belongs to the profoundly assured and balanced Mister Death, a movie that deftly combines the structure of Gates of Heaven with the humor and humanity of Vernon, Florida and steeps the result in the seriousness of Thin Blue Line.
But all are brilliant on their own terms, and Vernon, Florida, with its subterranean meanings and obvious pleasures is the most purely enjoyable of all Morris's works, and one of the most enjoyable documentaries of all time.
So get yourself over to Amazon and pre-order, Philistine!
special futuristic internet bonus features:
The Box Set
The Filmmaker's Web Site
and to make sure nobody misses it, here's a link to a lecture he gave that talks about the three films in the context of Fog of War, and includes some clips from Vernon, Florida and The Thin Blue Line.
Fabulous stuff.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Pure Delusion
Crazed advertiser rambles incoherently on the record.
Key quote:
Yes, I'm sure paying customers would storm the ramparts of any publisher with the audacity to cut advertising. Just as any television network would be burnt to the ground for daring to do the same.
Also, on what planet to newspapers still cost 25 cents?
Oh, it must be the planet with inhabitants who grow enraged when they don't get enough advertising in their diet and crave more.
Key quote:
"You'd go to your local corner shop and buy the daily paper, and you'd have these large holes where the ads were.
"You'd somehow feel like your 25 cents had not gotten full value," he said.
Yes, I'm sure paying customers would storm the ramparts of any publisher with the audacity to cut advertising. Just as any television network would be burnt to the ground for daring to do the same.
Also, on what planet to newspapers still cost 25 cents?
Oh, it must be the planet with inhabitants who grow enraged when they don't get enough advertising in their diet and crave more.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
The Key to the American Psyche
is in this article.
in a word:
in a word:
"We fully expected to target SUV drivers with SUV guilt,"
he said.
"It just doesn't exist"
Hey, Bo Morrissey
It just struck me.
The only Smith's song I like is basically a Bo Diddley record.
The Johnny Marr guitar backdrop that makes How Soon Is Now work is just a tarted up version of the classic Diddley Beat.
The only Smith's song I like is basically a Bo Diddley record.
The Johnny Marr guitar backdrop that makes How Soon Is Now work is just a tarted up version of the classic Diddley Beat.
Customers: Another One
You're in trouble when the first thing a stranger says to you is
"are you the worm?"
I hate it when strangers speak to me in non sequiters.
Especially when they don't look crazy.
He was after a book by a Native American shaman and I thought I was in the clear once I guided him to the proper section.
Almost, but he turned back at the doorway and said
"Have you ever been in a custody battle?"
Sometimes you see the landmine in the road but there's just no room to swerve.
"Nope." as curtly as humanly possible.
"Well, let me tell ya,"
.....
"I'm a Bering Sea fisherman, and I've been working as a mason in this town for five years now. Anyway, my wife got herself a boyfriend, and would you believe he's over in court drunk right now. And he's her character witness. She's in charge of a hosptial. I haven't seen my daughter since April 20th....when my wife comes back from recess, the baliff is going to lock her up. What do you think of that?"
"Hmmmmm. Sounds messy."
"So tonight you know what I'm gonna be doing? Making dinner for my four year old!"
"Well. Congratulations."
"You bet! Hey, take care!"
"You too. Good luck."
At least he wasn't a mime.
"are you the worm?"
I hate it when strangers speak to me in non sequiters.
Especially when they don't look crazy.
He was after a book by a Native American shaman and I thought I was in the clear once I guided him to the proper section.
Almost, but he turned back at the doorway and said
"Have you ever been in a custody battle?"
Sometimes you see the landmine in the road but there's just no room to swerve.
"Nope." as curtly as humanly possible.
"Well, let me tell ya,"
.....
"I'm a Bering Sea fisherman, and I've been working as a mason in this town for five years now. Anyway, my wife got herself a boyfriend, and would you believe he's over in court drunk right now. And he's her character witness. She's in charge of a hosptial. I haven't seen my daughter since April 20th....when my wife comes back from recess, the baliff is going to lock her up. What do you think of that?"
"Hmmmmm. Sounds messy."
"So tonight you know what I'm gonna be doing? Making dinner for my four year old!"
"Well. Congratulations."
"You bet! Hey, take care!"
"You too. Good luck."
At least he wasn't a mime.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Customers: Up to the Minute
So I'm working, and I'm irritated by one of the innumerable things that can irritate one when working retail, a customer with a loud MIDI ringtone. 'Rule Brittania' in this case.
The guys stands in the doorway shouting into his phone, as cell phoners are wont to do, allowing me more insight into his life than I strictly need.
What kind of man answers his phone "A-1 Talent Agency, how may I help you?"
A mime, of course.
I'm so naive...the white suspenders should have tipped me off.
Then he rubbed it in my face.
Asked me if we had any clown books.
I shouldn't be so judgemental, he's probably a laid off steel worker or Gulf War vet.
But still.
A Mime with 'Rule Brittania' for a ringtone going under 'A-1 Talent Agency'.
Let ye who are without sin cast the first stone.
The guys stands in the doorway shouting into his phone, as cell phoners are wont to do, allowing me more insight into his life than I strictly need.
What kind of man answers his phone "A-1 Talent Agency, how may I help you?"
A mime, of course.
I'm so naive...the white suspenders should have tipped me off.
Then he rubbed it in my face.
Asked me if we had any clown books.
I shouldn't be so judgemental, he's probably a laid off steel worker or Gulf War vet.
But still.
A Mime with 'Rule Brittania' for a ringtone going under 'A-1 Talent Agency'.
Let ye who are without sin cast the first stone.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Father's Day?
What are we celebrating, exactly?
The percentage of worthy fathers deserving a fete is vanishingly small. In an unscientific poll of my extended social circle, the family narrative is of an absent or tyrannical father.
And when do even the best fathers enjoy the spotlight?
A grunt, a reluctant hug and a return to the newspaper seems the most likely result of anyone making a fuss.
The sparce list of traditional gifts- tie, leaf blower, cordless drill (mirroring dad's receeding hairline?) makes it the runt of the capitalist consumer holiday litter, cash being the hidden hand that drives such things in our society.
You know Arizona would have embraced Martin Luther King Jr. Day with open arms if the sponsors had found a way to marry it to an orgy of spending.
Mother's Day proves at least a boon to resturants, as children nationwide gird their loins for a few hours of matrimonial CQB that doesn't involve bearding the dragon in its lair...or inviting it into theirs.
Dads, tyrannical or otherwise, would just as soon be left alone.
And most children would be content to leave it at that.
The percentage of worthy fathers deserving a fete is vanishingly small. In an unscientific poll of my extended social circle, the family narrative is of an absent or tyrannical father.
And when do even the best fathers enjoy the spotlight?
A grunt, a reluctant hug and a return to the newspaper seems the most likely result of anyone making a fuss.
The sparce list of traditional gifts- tie, leaf blower, cordless drill (mirroring dad's receeding hairline?) makes it the runt of the capitalist consumer holiday litter, cash being the hidden hand that drives such things in our society.
You know Arizona would have embraced Martin Luther King Jr. Day with open arms if the sponsors had found a way to marry it to an orgy of spending.
Mother's Day proves at least a boon to resturants, as children nationwide gird their loins for a few hours of matrimonial CQB that doesn't involve bearding the dragon in its lair...or inviting it into theirs.
Dads, tyrannical or otherwise, would just as soon be left alone.
And most children would be content to leave it at that.
Friday, June 17, 2005
USA as Old Republic
Fabulous editorial in the NYT by one of my favorite SF authors Neal Stephenson.
I happen to think he's right on the money.
And if you haven't read Snow Crash and Cryptonomicon, get with the program! He has a bit of a problem with endings (he always seems to wrap up with ten chapters of content crammed into two chapers of book), but overall they're splendid entertainment with a side of intelligent social commentary.
I happen to think he's right on the money.
And if you haven't read Snow Crash and Cryptonomicon, get with the program! He has a bit of a problem with endings (he always seems to wrap up with ten chapters of content crammed into two chapers of book), but overall they're splendid entertainment with a side of intelligent social commentary.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Big Ugly White Guys
I've always had a soft spot for that Great Auk of the NBA, the Big Ugly White Guy.
Most teams have one. A gangly unfortunate, too tall for anything but basketball but woefully underequipped for the sport on any scale except size.
Above is a photo of the greatest BUWG in the history of the NBA, Gheorghe Muresan. At 7'7", nobody was (or has been since) bigger, uglier or whiter. While he was active he was my favorite player in the league. He had a couple of good years for the Washington Bullets, prior to their apotheosis into the neutered Wizards.
I was put in mind of Big Gheorghe when a friend told me the San Diego Sports Arena had been recently and ignonimously re-named 'ipayOne Center', immediately making it heavyweight champion of lame sports venue names in all of the Golden State.
It does get some stiff local competition from 'Petco Park' and 'Qualcomm Stadium, (which bore in my youth the dulcet & dignified title Jack Murphy Stadium, after a reknowned local sportswriter), but you can't beat 'ipayOne' for a certain flavor of seedy desperation. It's a name that's visibly straining for hipness. I see a 50-something marketing exec who saw an iPod ad in a magazine one time making it up to appeal to "the kids".
An aside in a post consisting of little else:
Doesn't it seem quaint now to think of a stadium name as an honor for someone of local achievement rather than a commodity to be lent to the highest corporate bidder?
Jack Murphy, legendary local sportswriter rather than a maker of telecom software, or a corporate pet emporium...or ipayOne.
I bet old Jack knew a lot of whores, so I doubt he holds the renaming of his stadium against anyone.
And what does it say about the poor erstwhile Sports Arena that the best they could manage was 'ipayOne', whatever the hell that is?
It a bit like auctioning off your virginity and having it go for five bucks to a fat old man who was just looking to practice his Amway sales pitch on someone who couldn't slam the door in his face.
Which brings me to Swen Nater.
I don't have many memories of the Sports Arena...it was kind of a dump, dim and musty, a suitable home for the then-San Diego Clippers.
The only thing that stays with me about those hopeless Clipper teams was their center, Swen Nader, who in hindsight was the first Big Ugly White Guy of my acquaintance. I remember him getting more rebounds than he had any right to, skinny dude that he was, so I looked up his career stats (link above) and damned if he didn't lead the entire NBA in rebounding in 1980. That's a fairly unprescedented achievement for a BUWG, and I just thought I'd mention it here.
Swen Nater, I salute you.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
DVD Releases
There's a bunch of really top drawer stuff on the horizon, thought I'd share some linkage.
First up is the most exciting for me:
Errol Morris' first three movies are finally coming out on DVD.
They're getting seperate releases, but I'm opting for the three pack.
Vernon, Florida is possibly my favorite documentary of all time. Gates of Heaven is a close second, but more melancholy...not the sort of movie you can pop in anytime you feel like it. And Thin Blue Line is even more so....brilliant but harrowing (and fuck the Academy with a pineapple for witholding the Oscar it so richly deserved.)
You can chart the future trajectory of the director's career in these three films....except for the oddball Fast, Cheap and Out of Control (my choice in a hypothetical career game of "which of these things is not like the other") his work continued on a line, applying insight to ever more intractible injustices.
The unique Dr. Death remains his best film, objectively- it's the only time he's sucessfully combined the eye for the oddball story he showed in Vernon with his embrace of larger themes (in this case the Holocaust), but Vernon will always be my favorite, and I'm anticipating its release with childlike glee.
First up is the most exciting for me:
Errol Morris' first three movies are finally coming out on DVD.
They're getting seperate releases, but I'm opting for the three pack.
Vernon, Florida is possibly my favorite documentary of all time. Gates of Heaven is a close second, but more melancholy...not the sort of movie you can pop in anytime you feel like it. And Thin Blue Line is even more so....brilliant but harrowing (and fuck the Academy with a pineapple for witholding the Oscar it so richly deserved.)
You can chart the future trajectory of the director's career in these three films....except for the oddball Fast, Cheap and Out of Control (my choice in a hypothetical career game of "which of these things is not like the other") his work continued on a line, applying insight to ever more intractible injustices.
The unique Dr. Death remains his best film, objectively- it's the only time he's sucessfully combined the eye for the oddball story he showed in Vernon with his embrace of larger themes (in this case the Holocaust), but Vernon will always be my favorite, and I'm anticipating its release with childlike glee.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Stalin? Hah!
Just more proof that advertising is the new Evil Empire.
And what advertising pioneers politicians adopt.
And what advertising pioneers politicians adopt.
Car Lover's Paradise
In keeping with the Fascist spirit of Walt Disney, here's a link to another capitalist Titan who flirted with the dark side. A very large photoblog of the Henry Ford Automotive Museum. Lots of great shots.
Well, ok, so Henry's 'flirtation' with the darkside involved more ball-gags, rope, leather hoods and titanium dildos than longing glances and stolen kisses.
But still, the man did found the company responsible for several classic automobiles, so let's cut him some slack, ok?
Well, ok, so Henry's 'flirtation' with the darkside involved more ball-gags, rope, leather hoods and titanium dildos than longing glances and stolen kisses.
But still, the man did found the company responsible for several classic automobiles, so let's cut him some slack, ok?
Monday, June 13, 2005
Movie: more on Howl's
The NYT's A.O. Scott muses on Miyazaki. Pretty decent short overview.
And here's another article on how Disney animation lost its soul, and what it can learn from the Miyazaki films they're distributing.
Of course, Disney never had much of a soul to lose, unless you're willing to extend a line of metaphysical credit to fascist patriarch Walt.
The current Disney regime reversed Uncle Walt's founding policy of developing their own "product" in-house and went with a more corporate model of letting other people be creative and then buying them out. For example, they snapped up the Muppets before Jim Henson's body was cold.
Their distribution deal with Miyazaki is a similar effort to shore up the public perception of the company, one that's apparently working as a promotional bit on one of those 'news entertainment' shows made clear to me.
The talking head previewing Howl's kept referring to it as "a Disney film"...is our culture so debased that distributing now implies authorship? I suppose it's not much worse than movies promoted as being "from the producer of Big Pile of Shit with Lots of Explosions IV!"
Enough of rambling.
I'm looking forward to Howl's, regardless of whether Joe Sixpack thinks it sprang full-blown from the forehead of Uncle Walt, the ass of Mike Eisner, or was secreted from glands of some repellent cave-dwelling human/lizard hybrid.
And here's another article on how Disney animation lost its soul, and what it can learn from the Miyazaki films they're distributing.
Of course, Disney never had much of a soul to lose, unless you're willing to extend a line of metaphysical credit to fascist patriarch Walt.
The current Disney regime reversed Uncle Walt's founding policy of developing their own "product" in-house and went with a more corporate model of letting other people be creative and then buying them out. For example, they snapped up the Muppets before Jim Henson's body was cold.
Their distribution deal with Miyazaki is a similar effort to shore up the public perception of the company, one that's apparently working as a promotional bit on one of those 'news entertainment' shows made clear to me.
The talking head previewing Howl's kept referring to it as "a Disney film"...is our culture so debased that distributing now implies authorship? I suppose it's not much worse than movies promoted as being "from the producer of Big Pile of Shit with Lots of Explosions IV!"
Enough of rambling.
I'm looking forward to Howl's, regardless of whether Joe Sixpack thinks it sprang full-blown from the forehead of Uncle Walt, the ass of Mike Eisner, or was secreted from glands of some repellent cave-dwelling human/lizard hybrid.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Oh, My Misspent Youth
I stumbled across a repository of Fangoria Magazine covers today (and others as well- poke around, it's a pretty amazing resource).
One cover in particuar brought back the that glorious era when you could still watch a true B movie on the big screen:
It's a gatefold cover, and opened wide to reveal the Chainsaw Pig in all his gory.
The kicker was the caption.
I had it up on the wall of my room for years, and could field the inevitable "what is that THING? comments with an airy gesture to the text at the bottom which read with haiku simplicity The Chainsaw Pig from Motel Hell
More on this in the morning.
One cover in particuar brought back the that glorious era when you could still watch a true B movie on the big screen:
It's a gatefold cover, and opened wide to reveal the Chainsaw Pig in all his gory.
The kicker was the caption.
I had it up on the wall of my room for years, and could field the inevitable "what is that THING? comments with an airy gesture to the text at the bottom which read with haiku simplicity The Chainsaw Pig from Motel Hell
More on this in the morning.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
new Chris Hedges book
Hedges is a former war reporter and the author of the best book on the national psychology of war I've ever read, War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning.
I just discovered another of his books, What Every Person Should Know About War.
I haven't read it, but this stunning excerpt assures me it is worth seeking out.
I just discovered another of his books, What Every Person Should Know About War.
I haven't read it, but this stunning excerpt assures me it is worth seeking out.
When Blogs Attack
This blog really hates Mitch Ablom, serial plagerist and author of pop-crap bestseller Tuesdays with Morrie. Scroll down at least to the fake Ablom column...good times.
If you don't follow sports or hate Mitch Ablom it's still pretty good, witness this blockquote:
and here's another old favorite that transforms celebrity hatred into love.....of a sort.
*Caution*
the URL does not lie....very definitely NSFW.
If you don't follow sports or hate Mitch Ablom it's still pretty good, witness this blockquote:
So, Mitch, you're the voice in Ben Wallace's head? You mean to tell me that the voice inside the head of a 6'9", 240lb, African-American, fro-sporting, ass-kicking, shot-blocking mass of manliness, toughness, and basketball skill is a dumb little twerp named Mitch Albom?
I don't fucking think so. Believe me, Ben Wallace has NOT read Tuesdays With Morrie. Ben Wallace would step on Morrie's fat head while reaching into his chest cavity to pull out his black heart, jump through the air, and dunk it in for two points...and the foul (he would miss the free throw, but it's cool). He would then grab his nuts as all the rich white people in Auburn Hills go crazy.
And he certainly wouldn't read The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Ben Wallace does not believe Heaven exists--he is going to Valhalla to party with Vikings. That's right, motherfucking Vikings.
and here's another old favorite that transforms celebrity hatred into love.....of a sort.
*Caution*
the URL does not lie....very definitely NSFW.
Movie: Howl's Moving Castle
I'm a giant fan of Hayao Miyazaki and the book he's based his latest movie on, Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. In fact I'm such a gushing fan this project hasn't triggered any of my usual trepidation and concern when a book I like gets adapted to the big screen...I'm just excited. Can't remember the last time that happened.
If you're not familiar with Miyazaki, he's the king of Japanese animation (no mean feat since it's a major cultural force, not the botique operation we have here)and he won a much deserved Oscar in 2001 for Spirited Away, a multilayered and profoundly, movingly strange film. It's ironic that Disney is his distributor here in the states since their cookie-cutter corporate method of filmmaking is as far removed from his idiosyncratic, personal vision as you can get without a warp drive equipped starship.
Anyway, there's a good preview/article on the new one here at Slate, and you can check out the trailer and some other multimedia treats here.
Check it out, it's can't miss.
If you're not familiar with Miyazaki, he's the king of Japanese animation (no mean feat since it's a major cultural force, not the botique operation we have here)and he won a much deserved Oscar in 2001 for Spirited Away, a multilayered and profoundly, movingly strange film. It's ironic that Disney is his distributor here in the states since their cookie-cutter corporate method of filmmaking is as far removed from his idiosyncratic, personal vision as you can get without a warp drive equipped starship.
Anyway, there's a good preview/article on the new one here at Slate, and you can check out the trailer and some other multimedia treats here.
Check it out, it's can't miss.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Beer Review: Ekstra Castle Ale
I checked this one out on a whim. It was the only beer at Trader Joe's I wasn't familiar with, and at $5.99 for six pint bottles I couldn't lose unless I got hit by a car in the parking lot.
Pros:
1: From Lithuania.
Awesome!
2: Strong as hell.
I'm reeling in my chair after one with dinner.
3: Cost effective.
Not much more than a sixer of canned piss from the local chain convinience store.
4: Tasty!
Drinks a lot easier than I expect from an ale that packs a punch.
Cons:
None, really.
It's tasty and goes down smooth with that slightly sweet taste I associate with Czech beers. It doesn't taste much like an ale in fact, more like a pilsner.
I guess I should list "false advertising" as a con...
Pros:
1: From Lithuania.
Awesome!
2: Strong as hell.
I'm reeling in my chair after one with dinner.
3: Cost effective.
Not much more than a sixer of canned piss from the local chain convinience store.
4: Tasty!
Drinks a lot easier than I expect from an ale that packs a punch.
Cons:
None, really.
It's tasty and goes down smooth with that slightly sweet taste I associate with Czech beers. It doesn't taste much like an ale in fact, more like a pilsner.
I guess I should list "false advertising" as a con...
Apple Apocalypse
I've been enjoying the hysteria in the Mac community over the announcement that they're switching to Intel processors (a delight that highlights in pastel neon ink what a wretched, wretched geek I am).
In my defense, there are few things online as insufferable as Mac evangelists. They're the humorless fundies of on-line culture, perpetually peering down their long noses at those not wearing the identifying pince nez of inclusion, a pack of modern day Cecil Vyse's from Room with a View. They hail from the same acoustic tile-lined rooms as the Amiga fanatics of my youth, emotionally invested in the superiority of a sexy platform with a management team staffed by Enron rejects and steered by the captain of the Titanic. Maybe that's what makes them such pills.
Anyway.
More bad news for them if this little internet bird is right in his theorizing.
(Caution: for best results be sure your tinfoil hat is firmly secured before reading.)
/edit
solid editorial tying in the current Apple 'switch' to the disaster Jobs infliced on Next back in the day. Some people just never learn.
note to OP: it's "tome" not "tomb", and "eke" not "eek".
Spell checkers can't do all the work I guess.
In my defense, there are few things online as insufferable as Mac evangelists. They're the humorless fundies of on-line culture, perpetually peering down their long noses at those not wearing the identifying pince nez of inclusion, a pack of modern day Cecil Vyse's from Room with a View. They hail from the same acoustic tile-lined rooms as the Amiga fanatics of my youth, emotionally invested in the superiority of a sexy platform with a management team staffed by Enron rejects and steered by the captain of the Titanic. Maybe that's what makes them such pills.
Anyway.
More bad news for them if this little internet bird is right in his theorizing.
(Caution: for best results be sure your tinfoil hat is firmly secured before reading.)
/edit
solid editorial tying in the current Apple 'switch' to the disaster Jobs infliced on Next back in the day. Some people just never learn.
note to OP: it's "tome" not "tomb", and "eke" not "eek".
Spell checkers can't do all the work I guess.
Thursday, June 9, 2005
White Stripes: Get Behind Me, Satan
Gave this one a couple of spins and have some mixed feelings.
Pitchfork pretty much nails it, at least after a shallow perusal of the tracks.
It's their last album writ large. The highs are higher and more numerous, but the lows scrape bottom, carving alarming gouges in the landscape.
But on balance it's just better. Elephant had one standout track, the epic blues stomp Ball And Biscuit, several really good songs and a bunch of throwaways. This time around they deliver no less than three really excellent tunes.
I'd like the quality to be a little more even, but in the end how many releases deliver even one really great, liberating tune? In book terms, one Fine copy of a great book is worth an infinite number of Very Good ones. And this album has three Fines nested among the book club releases and remaindered titles.
A pretty good average.
Pitchfork pretty much nails it, at least after a shallow perusal of the tracks.
It's their last album writ large. The highs are higher and more numerous, but the lows scrape bottom, carving alarming gouges in the landscape.
But on balance it's just better. Elephant had one standout track, the epic blues stomp Ball And Biscuit, several really good songs and a bunch of throwaways. This time around they deliver no less than three really excellent tunes.
I'd like the quality to be a little more even, but in the end how many releases deliver even one really great, liberating tune? In book terms, one Fine copy of a great book is worth an infinite number of Very Good ones. And this album has three Fines nested among the book club releases and remaindered titles.
A pretty good average.
Image of the Savior, or mold stain?
I report, you decide.
On the other hand, this house is quite definitely made of books. It looks like my house turned inside out...only much larger, and set in an idyllic foreign glen instead of Pismo St.
click around, the theme carries on to the interior.
On the other hand, this house is quite definitely made of books. It looks like my house turned inside out...only much larger, and set in an idyllic foreign glen instead of Pismo St.
click around, the theme carries on to the interior.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
Bug Me Not
As pointed out in the comments by my good pal Dango, I link to things behind compulsory registration from time to time.
Never fear, friends. Far be it from me to force my e-chums to fictionalize endless biographies to appease the insatiable net.
Over to the right you will see a set of links under the heading "sites of general utility". Bug Me Not is what you want in this situation. Enter the URL of just about any semi-popular web page and it will reward you with a working login and password.
If you're running Firefox (which you should be by now...) I have an even better prize: The Bug Me Not plugin (scroll down a bit, although his other plugins are also neat). Just right-click in the registration field and it'll fill in the relevant info.
Like magic!
Never fear, friends. Far be it from me to force my e-chums to fictionalize endless biographies to appease the insatiable net.
Over to the right you will see a set of links under the heading "sites of general utility". Bug Me Not is what you want in this situation. Enter the URL of just about any semi-popular web page and it will reward you with a working login and password.
If you're running Firefox (which you should be by now...) I have an even better prize: The Bug Me Not plugin (scroll down a bit, although his other plugins are also neat). Just right-click in the registration field and it'll fill in the relevant info.
Like magic!
Unpublished Kubrick Photos
From prior to his transmutation into a slightly more functional, vastly more talented Howard Hughes.
clicky clicky.
clicky clicky.
Be Your Own Annoying Coffeehouse Auteur
The monopoly power of the local bohemian cafe is nearing an end, washed away by the democratizing tide of the internet.
Now you can get your overwrought poetry on line, sans hygiene challenged beret-wearing malcontents!
Now you can get your overwrought poetry on line, sans hygiene challenged beret-wearing malcontents!
Whither Star Wars
I'm old, so my experience of Star Wars is watching the original in the (single screen) theater 40 times or so, going batshit over the indescribably excellent Empire Strikes Back and trying to ignore the 3/4ths of Return of the Jedi that looked like a baboon had dug it out of its ass and flung it at the screen (all the parts with midgets in faux fur jumpers).
I skipped the whole 'rerelease' phemonena, mercilessly mocked the retrofitting of the original trilogy with stupid Roman numerals, and laughed at my friends who vainly tried to defend the quality of the modern sequels.
I did watch the first ten minutes of 'Phantom Menace' but managed to turn it off before I was overcome by the fumes.
Now comes Revenge of the Sith, which is supposed to be real great because the torrential downpour of special effects drowns the wooden acting and tone-deaf dialog more thorougly than any previous film.
The critical embrace of this one puts me in mind of a book buying phenomenon I've noticed.
While sorting through a big bunch of crappy ones, anything that sucks a little bit less than the rest starts to look pretty good.
They're not good, of course- they're just less odiferous than the other turds in the bowl.
I'm thinking of calling it "The Star Wars Phenomenon" in honor of Lucas's case of cinematic bulemia, the 'second trilogy'.
The bar has been set so low for Sith that simply approaching watchability is hailed as a breakthrough.
As proof the internet can make a silk purse out of even the most scabarous sow's ear, fan Rod Hilton gives us the Cliff's Notes Screenplay for Episode XXXX.
Funny to me and I haven't even seen it, I'm sure it will be a bracing tonic for those who have actually endured the thing.
I skipped the whole 'rerelease' phemonena, mercilessly mocked the retrofitting of the original trilogy with stupid Roman numerals, and laughed at my friends who vainly tried to defend the quality of the modern sequels.
I did watch the first ten minutes of 'Phantom Menace' but managed to turn it off before I was overcome by the fumes.
Now comes Revenge of the Sith, which is supposed to be real great because the torrential downpour of special effects drowns the wooden acting and tone-deaf dialog more thorougly than any previous film.
The critical embrace of this one puts me in mind of a book buying phenomenon I've noticed.
While sorting through a big bunch of crappy ones, anything that sucks a little bit less than the rest starts to look pretty good.
They're not good, of course- they're just less odiferous than the other turds in the bowl.
I'm thinking of calling it "The Star Wars Phenomenon" in honor of Lucas's case of cinematic bulemia, the 'second trilogy'.
The bar has been set so low for Sith that simply approaching watchability is hailed as a breakthrough.
As proof the internet can make a silk purse out of even the most scabarous sow's ear, fan Rod Hilton gives us the Cliff's Notes Screenplay for Episode XXXX.
Funny to me and I haven't even seen it, I'm sure it will be a bracing tonic for those who have actually endured the thing.
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
RIP Anne Bancroft
the nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
She was of course a grand dame of 36 advanced years when she played the lascivious Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate, taking advantage of 30 year old gamin Dustin Hoffman.
The way Hollywood is going look for a remake with predatory older women the Olsen Twins tag-teaming a hapless Lil Romeo.
She was of course a grand dame of 36 advanced years when she played the lascivious Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate, taking advantage of 30 year old gamin Dustin Hoffman.
The way Hollywood is going look for a remake with predatory older women the Olsen Twins tag-teaming a hapless Lil Romeo.
first things first
I like sharing neat stuff with my friends.
I cast my (inter)net wide and usually come up with at least a couple of edible things per day. I have a roster of blogs bookmarked, who knows why it took me so long to come up with the idea of doing my own.
Instead of mailing the same links and speculations to 30 different people, I can make them do the work. =P
So that's "why a blog".
Now here's some neat stuff.
Gem Sweater Anthem.
This clip restored my faith in music. RIAA and lawsuits and crap-rock and multimillion dollar video shoots signifying nothing and lip synching demi-teens selling pre-sex...I piss on the lot.
GEM SWEATERS, biotech!
I love that one obsessed person can still do their musical thing without getting a nightstick up the chute from Homeland Security.
And she nails the whole dead-eyed posing frenzy of most commercial music so well it brought a tear of joy to my gimlet eye. Also dig the keytair player in the background....rarely will you see a look of such amused enjoyment loose in the wild.
After you enjoy the musical ode, you can view her portrait gallery.
thumbs up!
I cast my (inter)net wide and usually come up with at least a couple of edible things per day. I have a roster of blogs bookmarked, who knows why it took me so long to come up with the idea of doing my own.
Instead of mailing the same links and speculations to 30 different people, I can make them do the work. =P
So that's "why a blog".
Now here's some neat stuff.
Gem Sweater Anthem.
This clip restored my faith in music. RIAA and lawsuits and crap-rock and multimillion dollar video shoots signifying nothing and lip synching demi-teens selling pre-sex...I piss on the lot.
GEM SWEATERS, biotech!
I love that one obsessed person can still do their musical thing without getting a nightstick up the chute from Homeland Security.
And she nails the whole dead-eyed posing frenzy of most commercial music so well it brought a tear of joy to my gimlet eye. Also dig the keytair player in the background....rarely will you see a look of such amused enjoyment loose in the wild.
After you enjoy the musical ode, you can view her portrait gallery.
thumbs up!
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