Is it just me, or does Wade Boggs in his dotage look a hell of a lot like our old friend Cole?
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Hall of Fame
Is it just me, or does Wade Boggs in his dotage look a hell of a lot like our old friend Cole?
Benny Hinn
When I worked at Angelo's with Hudson we had a waitress for a brief period who was a nut for religious con-man Benny Hinn.
Hudson being Hudson, she inevitably showed up at our door one night with a stack of literature and a Benny Hinn video we "had to see"- this was akin to the time I came home and found the retarded Kennedy conspiracy theorist who wore fatigues and a camo duck hunter's vest 24/7 splitting a pizza with Hudson in our living room.
I strained something deep inside by restraining my laughter during his performance, which involved yelling about healing then smacking people in the forehead so they fell over backward into the arms of his large, be-suited pack of sycophants.
Most of the faithful were happy to play along with the charade, howling, rolling their eyes and juddering as if struck by holy lighting. The recalcitrant were dealt with by the suits- anyone failing to show the proper enthusasm after being struck with Benny's divine forehead slap was swiftly wrestled to the ground and dragged offstage.
A long setup for a fairly short punchline, but I got a kick out of this clip of his wife putting the anal fear into disbelievers.
Apparently Benny is suing to have them take it down, so get it while it's hot.
Hudson being Hudson, she inevitably showed up at our door one night with a stack of literature and a Benny Hinn video we "had to see"- this was akin to the time I came home and found the retarded Kennedy conspiracy theorist who wore fatigues and a camo duck hunter's vest 24/7 splitting a pizza with Hudson in our living room.
I strained something deep inside by restraining my laughter during his performance, which involved yelling about healing then smacking people in the forehead so they fell over backward into the arms of his large, be-suited pack of sycophants.
Most of the faithful were happy to play along with the charade, howling, rolling their eyes and juddering as if struck by holy lighting. The recalcitrant were dealt with by the suits- anyone failing to show the proper enthusasm after being struck with Benny's divine forehead slap was swiftly wrestled to the ground and dragged offstage.
A long setup for a fairly short punchline, but I got a kick out of this clip of his wife putting the anal fear into disbelievers.
Apparently Benny is suing to have them take it down, so get it while it's hot.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Movie: Devil's Rejects
I demanded, and have now recieved, the e-pinions of messers Pelf and Bobo on the new Rob Zombie flick. To wit:
Pelf:
Bobo:
*******SPOILER**********
from Bobo:
and a PS from the Zim:
There you have it, the entire cinematic ouvre of Rob Zombie in three emails.
*curtain*
Pelf:
THE DEVIL'S REJECTS sucks balls. Lame. And, I hasten
to add, I liked HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES, his last flick.
Bobo:
Reject is the key word - it was fun to see pelf squirm more than I did at a movie
for once.
Imagine a spatter film made by a self indulgent hipster who cant act and wants to
cast himself and his wife as members of the manson family and then give it a
threadbare plot, no characters you give a shit about and finally the worlds
stupidest resolution - then you might have an inkling of the CINEMATIC HORROR
that is DEVIL'S REJECTS.
fucking long hair cunts.
*******SPOILER**********
from Bobo:
spoiler alert
the good part is that they all die at the end so hopefully that is it from mr.
zombie.
and a PS from the Zim:
House of 1000 Corpses made me not want to see anything else by Mssr. Zombie. The opening sequence up to the titles wasn't bad, the title song wasn't bad, after that everything pretty much sucked except for one good shot I remember. Bad chainsaw ripoff. I didn't care who would survive and who would get turned to sausage, and an attempt to out-disturb Tobe Hooper with no film skills is just embarrassing.
There you have it, the entire cinematic ouvre of Rob Zombie in three emails.
*curtain*
Cover of the Week
Happy coincidence, the previous owner bookmarked all the good parts.
"You little wench!" he flung; "what are you up to? You're not going to get me into trouble. I know what you are. There's dozens like you on every streetcorner- you're pretty enough to make me want you, but I don't dare! You're too filthy!"
Knight to Queen's Kitty 4
A Nifty Hello Kitty chess set from those crazy Japanese.And proving once again they're the only country on earth that can top America for pop cultural and marketing strangeness, I give you an assortment of Japanese Condom Packages.
This one is my favorite.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Grand Theft Amish
Oh, dear.
Hiscox said that the sheriff's office received telephoned complaints after midnight Sunday morning about an Amish buggy with loud music driving along Princeton Road in Huntsburg Township. The driver was stealing house numbers and flower pots as he drove along, complainants told deputies.
"When our officer caught up with him in the middle of the road, there were flower pots and house numbers in the buggy," Hiscox said.
There were seven other complaints of noisy Amish parties and other vandalism incidents in Huntsburg and Parkman townships during the weekend.
"There seemed to be a lot of Amish youth activities going on in the area," Hiscox said.
Payola Redux
Sony got slapped on the wrist for bribing media outlets to play the music of their crappy artists.
I think I've seen this movie before.
Interestingly, when the crime involved an individual (Alan Freed the first time around) it was a big scandal and shook the industry. Now, when the culprit is a huge corporation they're let off with a slap on the wrist (really, what's 10 million dollars to a congolomorate like Sony? It's like me getting a $25 jaywalking ticket) and are allowed to go their merry way with a casual promise to sin no more.
Just one of the problems with corporations.
Unless penalties mean something in their business context, they have no motivation to "do right".
How long have they been buying airtime, I wonder.
How much exposure did Sony music drones recieve from it?
How much revenue did this policy generate for Sony?
My off the cuff guess is a fuck of a lot more than ten million dollars.
So they write off the 10 million as an advertising loss and go on their merry way, shoving bullshit down the open gullet of the vox populi.
Yay team!
I think I've seen this movie before.
Interestingly, when the crime involved an individual (Alan Freed the first time around) it was a big scandal and shook the industry. Now, when the culprit is a huge corporation they're let off with a slap on the wrist (really, what's 10 million dollars to a congolomorate like Sony? It's like me getting a $25 jaywalking ticket) and are allowed to go their merry way with a casual promise to sin no more.
Just one of the problems with corporations.
Unless penalties mean something in their business context, they have no motivation to "do right".
How long have they been buying airtime, I wonder.
How much exposure did Sony music drones recieve from it?
How much revenue did this policy generate for Sony?
My off the cuff guess is a fuck of a lot more than ten million dollars.
So they write off the 10 million as an advertising loss and go on their merry way, shoving bullshit down the open gullet of the vox populi.
Yay team!
Monday, July 25, 2005
Movies: Responsible Opposing Viewpoint
In a rebuttal to my positive take on Wedding Crashers, Bobo had this to say via email:
Fair and balanced, that's my motto!
wedding crashers sucked balls.
binsk squirm in seat factor of 7
Fair and balanced, that's my motto!
Customers
Middle aged woman buying a pile of knitting and SF books:
"You're much to polite to be an antiquarian bookseller!"
"You're much to polite to be an antiquarian bookseller!"
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Music: TV on the Radio
I've been making a concerted effort the last few years to avoid being one of those graying sages that drift to life's distant finish line on fumes from the music they came of age with, writing off everything composed after age 20 or so as "crap".
Objectively, most music of any era sucks and separating the gold from the dross takes time and energy. This is easier when you're young, since opinions are not yet set in stone and you're surrounded by others investigating their own preferences, musical and otherwise. In military parlance, it's a "target rich environment".
Later in life, most people seem to view expending resources so precious on something so ephemeral as frivolity. My feeling is that music can stay as vital to a fogey like me as it was to my footloose younger self, and I see the cost of its unearthing as a worthy investment in spiritual wellbeing.
Without further ado, here is my favorite discovery of the past month or so;
TV on the Radio
Their songs are dramatic constructs, the best of them building slowly to a cathartic release that makes the hair on your neck stand at attention. Also important (to me anyway), their vocalist can sing the hell out of a tune. Nothing shatters my enthusiasm more completely than some ersatz Bob Dylan screeching off key, regardless of how passionate and searing the lyrics are. A singer who can't sing is the equivalent of a writer who can't spell...they may well have something to say, but I'm not going to hang around puzzling it out.
These cats combine loops and other conventions of modern electronic music with distorted guitar, fabulous lyrics and as mentioned a well developed sense of pace and drama that is unique on the modern scene. The overall impression is of traversing an alley in a seedy part of town, descending a partially hidden stairway behind an empty dumpster and ending up in a subterranean opera house with an orchestra that's grown up feral.
You absolutely can't lose with their EP, Young Liars. It's transcendental, flat out. Their a capella cover of the pixies Mr. Grieves is worth the price of admission, and it's probably the third best song on a 4 song release. The title cut is my favorite single tune so far this year, it's in heavy heavy rotation.
Their recent full length release Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes is a bit uneven, as if they surprised themselves with such a strong burst out of the gate and needed to find their footing on the straightaway.
But it boasts several excellent tracks, and if it's not as perfectly formed as the EP it's still monumental. The 7 minute plus closing opus Wear You Out spackles over and sands flat any earlier reservations and leaves you feeling happily complete.
so, check them out, however you do it these days.
The EP can be had for under ten bucks, your excuses are limited.
Objectively, most music of any era sucks and separating the gold from the dross takes time and energy. This is easier when you're young, since opinions are not yet set in stone and you're surrounded by others investigating their own preferences, musical and otherwise. In military parlance, it's a "target rich environment".
Later in life, most people seem to view expending resources so precious on something so ephemeral as frivolity. My feeling is that music can stay as vital to a fogey like me as it was to my footloose younger self, and I see the cost of its unearthing as a worthy investment in spiritual wellbeing.
Without further ado, here is my favorite discovery of the past month or so;
TV on the Radio
Their songs are dramatic constructs, the best of them building slowly to a cathartic release that makes the hair on your neck stand at attention. Also important (to me anyway), their vocalist can sing the hell out of a tune. Nothing shatters my enthusiasm more completely than some ersatz Bob Dylan screeching off key, regardless of how passionate and searing the lyrics are. A singer who can't sing is the equivalent of a writer who can't spell...they may well have something to say, but I'm not going to hang around puzzling it out.
These cats combine loops and other conventions of modern electronic music with distorted guitar, fabulous lyrics and as mentioned a well developed sense of pace and drama that is unique on the modern scene. The overall impression is of traversing an alley in a seedy part of town, descending a partially hidden stairway behind an empty dumpster and ending up in a subterranean opera house with an orchestra that's grown up feral.
You absolutely can't lose with their EP, Young Liars. It's transcendental, flat out. Their a capella cover of the pixies Mr. Grieves is worth the price of admission, and it's probably the third best song on a 4 song release. The title cut is my favorite single tune so far this year, it's in heavy heavy rotation.
Their recent full length release Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes is a bit uneven, as if they surprised themselves with such a strong burst out of the gate and needed to find their footing on the straightaway.
But it boasts several excellent tracks, and if it's not as perfectly formed as the EP it's still monumental. The 7 minute plus closing opus Wear You Out spackles over and sands flat any earlier reservations and leaves you feeling happily complete.
so, check them out, however you do it these days.
The EP can be had for under ten bucks, your excuses are limited.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Weather Report
Hey, my town has its own weather webpage.
Who knew...or cared?
We have one 12 month long season- summer-ish.
The weather is always sunny and mild, minus a wave of scattered showers every four years or so.
We have morning clouds which have always burned off by the time I rise and shine.
When the daytime temperature drops below 60, it's front page news.
Anyone who's lived here longer than a week can tell you this.
The enuii of reporting early morning clouds burning off to reveal an even 70 degrees stretching to the horizon in every direction has generated dizzying weatherperson turnover at our local station
Our local TV station KSBY is something of an Island of Misfit Toys anyway, stocked with castoffs, returns and damaged goods. The on-camera 'talent' display a gamut of afflictions; corrugated skin, crooked teeth, uneven features, unique speech patterns.
I eagerly await the day they trot a leper out to read the police blotter.
It wasn't always that way, at least on the weather front.
Once we had a long serving, well respected weather lady named Sharon Graves, who didn't seem to mind the repetition and low pay and who would likely still be making Delphic predictions about the Marine Layer and El Nino weekday evenings at 7 and 9 except for that spot of bother involing her husband, his wang and a high school basketball game that was eventually defined by a judge as "Lewd Behavior".
You'd expect a bit more for a guy who was wanking off in a gym full of kids, including his own brood and their friends, but I suppose even minor local celebrity has its benefits(that's him on the left), and of course his wife was a beloved major local celebrity.
And it was swept under the rug, for a while.
Eventually our local "independent" rag The New Times ran a story, then later waxed rhapsodic over their own amazing bravery and journalistic dedication to the truth. They undermined their glorious heroism somewhat by publishing the offending story sans byline in their gossip column.
But hey, we're a small town and we'll take our bold defenders of the 1st Amendment as we find them.
Chaos ensued, of course, creating very large tempest in my small, idyllic teapot.
Such a tempest that Sharon Graves ran away to Missouri and reverted to her maiden name, Sharon Ray.
Her station bio notes
I bet!
Well, I see a silver lining in this depraved tale of small-town America.
If those salt of the earth values voters in the Red State Heartland (tm) can see their way to giving convicted pedo-wanker Kevin Graves a second chance, the sky seems the limit on their acceptence of alternative lifestyles and philosophies.
I wonder if Kevin Graves, Fishmaster and Pedo-Wanker, is now Kevin Ray, househusband and values voter?
Who knew...or cared?
We have one 12 month long season- summer-ish.
The weather is always sunny and mild, minus a wave of scattered showers every four years or so.
We have morning clouds which have always burned off by the time I rise and shine.
When the daytime temperature drops below 60, it's front page news.
Anyone who's lived here longer than a week can tell you this.
The enuii of reporting early morning clouds burning off to reveal an even 70 degrees stretching to the horizon in every direction has generated dizzying weatherperson turnover at our local station
Our local TV station KSBY is something of an Island of Misfit Toys anyway, stocked with castoffs, returns and damaged goods. The on-camera 'talent' display a gamut of afflictions; corrugated skin, crooked teeth, uneven features, unique speech patterns.
I eagerly await the day they trot a leper out to read the police blotter.
It wasn't always that way, at least on the weather front.
Once we had a long serving, well respected weather lady named Sharon Graves, who didn't seem to mind the repetition and low pay and who would likely still be making Delphic predictions about the Marine Layer and El Nino weekday evenings at 7 and 9 except for that spot of bother involing her husband, his wang and a high school basketball game that was eventually defined by a judge as "Lewd Behavior".
You'd expect a bit more for a guy who was wanking off in a gym full of kids, including his own brood and their friends, but I suppose even minor local celebrity has its benefits(that's him on the left), and of course his wife was a beloved major local celebrity.
And it was swept under the rug, for a while.
Eventually our local "independent" rag The New Times ran a story, then later waxed rhapsodic over their own amazing bravery and journalistic dedication to the truth. They undermined their glorious heroism somewhat by publishing the offending story sans byline in their gossip column.
But hey, we're a small town and we'll take our bold defenders of the 1st Amendment as we find them.
Chaos ensued, of course, creating very large tempest in my small, idyllic teapot.
Such a tempest that Sharon Graves ran away to Missouri and reverted to her maiden name, Sharon Ray.
Her station bio notes
She and her husband have three children and are very happy to be back in the Midwest.
I bet!
Well, I see a silver lining in this depraved tale of small-town America.
If those salt of the earth values voters in the Red State Heartland (tm) can see their way to giving convicted pedo-wanker Kevin Graves a second chance, the sky seems the limit on their acceptence of alternative lifestyles and philosophies.
I wonder if Kevin Graves, Fishmaster and Pedo-Wanker, is now Kevin Ray, househusband and values voter?
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Overheard
A lovely website.
Check once a week or so for numerous gems of observation.
man, every time I look I find a better quote to steal.
Check once a week or so for numerous gems of observation.
Brit husband: I can't believe this isn't air conditioned.
Brit wife: Well, this isn't London...just pretend it is a sauna.
Brit husband: I can't. It smells like piss and sweat, not cedar.
--1 train
man, every time I look I find a better quote to steal.
Teenage girl #1: Yo I heard they have, like, a...circle, and they think it's art.
Teenage girl #2: Shit's retarded.
--in front of MoMA, W. 53rd Street
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Tivo Antics
Attention Bobo!
Just what Tivo subscribers want- EXCITING ADS!
"With our partners' feedback, we have worked continuously to develop a leading ad platform that is relevant and exciting for TiVo subscribers and, at the same time, makes it valuable for advertisers," David Courtney, TiVo chief financial officer, said in a statement on Monday.
Just what Tivo subscribers want- EXCITING ADS!
Movie: Wedding Crashers
You might well ask why I would expend my precious reservoir of social energy on a film that screamed RENTAL! in a high-pitched, feminine voice.
Your curiosity is legitimate, dear friend!
One, Owen Wilson is a devilishly likable fellow who is in plenty of bad movies, but never mails in a bad performance.
Two, Vince Vaughn still has some money left in the bank from my favorite comedy of the past few years, Dodgeball.
Three, I was feeling mellow after a fine meal of seared Ahi, and the dinner guests were insistent.
So off we went!
With my 'mainstream Hollywood release' cap firmly in place, I can give it a conditional thumb's up. The first 3/4ths of the film were ribald good fun, although the long multi-wedding montage's reach exceeded it's grasp by a good bit.
But I got everything out of it I expected- Owen and Vince have great chemistry, Vince can sell a scene with a glance, or by stumbling over a word in his delivery, and Owen is hard to beat for offbeat charm and charisma when he's got a full head of steam. There is some good supporting work too, and if the characters are underdeveloped and their motivations somewhat opaque, well, I've already mentioned my mainstream Hollywood release cap, right?
The problem (and it is a Hollywood epidemic, crossing all genres) was the third act. The souffle collapsed the minute they pinned Owen to his mark on a beach and had him deliver a heartfelt speech to the woman he's fallen for.
Minus his goofy physical charm and wiseass delivery, he's just a guy with a really weird nose.
Framing and lighting him like Robert Redford circa The Way We Were isn't doing him or the audience any favors.
There were few moments of genuine levity from that point on (one involved a brilliant uncredited cameo by one of my favorite comedians, who shall remain nameless on the off chance someone actually sees this in the theater) as the filmmakers strained to keep the car on the road. And once the audience can sense the huge effort involved in being funny, the game's over.
It had the usual problem of a Hollywood comedy- the overriding need to have the characters end up seeming respectable, upstanding, and above all sympathetic to Joe and Jane Sixpack drains the life right out of the film. It's become so endemic that I routinely discount the ends of comedies when I rate them- the courage to end a comedy on an offbeat but perfect note like the one in Some Like it Hot seems to be extinct.
But overall, well worth watching. It has some really, REALLY funny bits, and the leading men keep all the plates spinning merrily in the air for the majority of the runtime.
My one gripe is this: since when do two pairs of bare tits and some marginally raunchy visual jokes make a film a cause celebre? You can't watch a goddamn entertainment news show without hearing how "brave" they were for accepting the R rating and not cutting it for PG-13. If that's bravery, what accolades do the producers of a movie like Beach Girls (which had more tits in its TRAILER than Wedding Crashers had in its entirety) deserve?
Has the culture war in this country reached the point where a four second cameo by a senator in the scandalously R-rated Wedding Crashers needs an explanatory appearance on The Tonight Show?
Judging by John McCain's appearance with Leno last night, the answer is "yes".
Your curiosity is legitimate, dear friend!
One, Owen Wilson is a devilishly likable fellow who is in plenty of bad movies, but never mails in a bad performance.
Two, Vince Vaughn still has some money left in the bank from my favorite comedy of the past few years, Dodgeball.
Three, I was feeling mellow after a fine meal of seared Ahi, and the dinner guests were insistent.
So off we went!
With my 'mainstream Hollywood release' cap firmly in place, I can give it a conditional thumb's up. The first 3/4ths of the film were ribald good fun, although the long multi-wedding montage's reach exceeded it's grasp by a good bit.
But I got everything out of it I expected- Owen and Vince have great chemistry, Vince can sell a scene with a glance, or by stumbling over a word in his delivery, and Owen is hard to beat for offbeat charm and charisma when he's got a full head of steam. There is some good supporting work too, and if the characters are underdeveloped and their motivations somewhat opaque, well, I've already mentioned my mainstream Hollywood release cap, right?
The problem (and it is a Hollywood epidemic, crossing all genres) was the third act. The souffle collapsed the minute they pinned Owen to his mark on a beach and had him deliver a heartfelt speech to the woman he's fallen for.
Minus his goofy physical charm and wiseass delivery, he's just a guy with a really weird nose.
Framing and lighting him like Robert Redford circa The Way We Were isn't doing him or the audience any favors.
There were few moments of genuine levity from that point on (one involved a brilliant uncredited cameo by one of my favorite comedians, who shall remain nameless on the off chance someone actually sees this in the theater) as the filmmakers strained to keep the car on the road. And once the audience can sense the huge effort involved in being funny, the game's over.
It had the usual problem of a Hollywood comedy- the overriding need to have the characters end up seeming respectable, upstanding, and above all sympathetic to Joe and Jane Sixpack drains the life right out of the film. It's become so endemic that I routinely discount the ends of comedies when I rate them- the courage to end a comedy on an offbeat but perfect note like the one in Some Like it Hot seems to be extinct.
But overall, well worth watching. It has some really, REALLY funny bits, and the leading men keep all the plates spinning merrily in the air for the majority of the runtime.
My one gripe is this: since when do two pairs of bare tits and some marginally raunchy visual jokes make a film a cause celebre? You can't watch a goddamn entertainment news show without hearing how "brave" they were for accepting the R rating and not cutting it for PG-13. If that's bravery, what accolades do the producers of a movie like Beach Girls (which had more tits in its TRAILER than Wedding Crashers had in its entirety) deserve?
Has the culture war in this country reached the point where a four second cameo by a senator in the scandalously R-rated Wedding Crashers needs an explanatory appearance on The Tonight Show?
Judging by John McCain's appearance with Leno last night, the answer is "yes".
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Free German Expressionism
Man I love the internet.
Where else can you download Cabinet of Dr. Caligari for free?
Legally, that is....
Where else can you download Cabinet of Dr. Caligari for free?
Legally, that is....
Entrenched Media vs. Digital Revolution : books
Funny that Dango should bring up Harry Potter in the commments, as I ran across an interesting Potter story today.
Fear of piracy motivated author JK Rowling to forbid any electronic editions of Half Blood Prince.
So what happened?
Less than 24 hours after the title was released into the wild with a neutron blast of cross-corporate promotion,industrious fans had scanned, OCR'ed, proofread and released a pirate e-book.
Where there's demand, people will find a way.
Another way that the media conglomorates miss the boat on the digital frontier is releasing gimped versions of their product. DRM, copy protection, etc etc. Arrogance.
"you can listen/watch this thing you bought, but we still dictate what you do with it beyond passive enjoyment of the original object" doesn't fly in this day and age.
I have a good little animated .gif I'm working on that summs up the futility of this approach in a couple of frames, but like many of my projects it's lazing on the hard drive half done. So I'll just explain the background (and we'll see how many words an animated .gif is worth).
A friend of mine on the boxing forums posted a thread because he was pissed.
He'd just paid full price for the latest Foo Fighters CD, got it home, and discovered that he couldn't copy it to his computer. So he went to The Pirate Bay and grabbed a copy he could do whatever he wanted with, for free.
How does a corporation not see the folly of this?
Here is a fan, a guy who wants to support one of his favorite bands, who spent 17 bucks on a CD.....who was forced to pirate it so he could listen to it in the way he wanted.
The "gimped product" is a popular meme just now.
We got a new printer for the store a while back, one of those all-in-one deals with a scanner. Very nice, prints cleanly, scans well.
But.
Printer manufacturers make their money on ink cartriges, this is well known.
There is a sub-industry of cartrige refillers and no-name manufacturers who take some of the sting off prices. Epson has manipulated this situation by having their printer SHUT DOWN if you run out of any one of the four color ink cartriges, and by making their cartriges refill-proof.
So say you run out of Cyan ink, but have a full cartrige of Black, which is all you need since you're printing text. According to Epson, you're S.O.L. until you blow $20 for a new Cyan, because their printer refuses to work without it.
Short term, I'm sure it's a policy that is serving them well, since people who buy their products are forced to buy ink they don't need.
Long term, they're fucking themselves in the ass, because I can't see ANYONE going along with this kind of policy after dealing with it once. For my part, the next time I need a printer I'm making damn sure it'll keep printing as long as it's got ink, not crap out on me because a reservoir that gets tapped once a month runs dry.
In both these cases, in the long run the consumer is going to win out.
But why can't the corp see past the end of their nose and anticpiate it, instead of making it such a protracted, drawn out fight?
Probably the same answer as everything else in corporate America, $$$$$$$$.
Fear of piracy motivated author JK Rowling to forbid any electronic editions of Half Blood Prince.
So what happened?
Less than 24 hours after the title was released into the wild with a neutron blast of cross-corporate promotion,industrious fans had scanned, OCR'ed, proofread and released a pirate e-book.
Where there's demand, people will find a way.
Another way that the media conglomorates miss the boat on the digital frontier is releasing gimped versions of their product. DRM, copy protection, etc etc. Arrogance.
"you can listen/watch this thing you bought, but we still dictate what you do with it beyond passive enjoyment of the original object" doesn't fly in this day and age.
I have a good little animated .gif I'm working on that summs up the futility of this approach in a couple of frames, but like many of my projects it's lazing on the hard drive half done. So I'll just explain the background (and we'll see how many words an animated .gif is worth).
A friend of mine on the boxing forums posted a thread because he was pissed.
He'd just paid full price for the latest Foo Fighters CD, got it home, and discovered that he couldn't copy it to his computer. So he went to The Pirate Bay and grabbed a copy he could do whatever he wanted with, for free.
How does a corporation not see the folly of this?
Here is a fan, a guy who wants to support one of his favorite bands, who spent 17 bucks on a CD.....who was forced to pirate it so he could listen to it in the way he wanted.
The "gimped product" is a popular meme just now.
We got a new printer for the store a while back, one of those all-in-one deals with a scanner. Very nice, prints cleanly, scans well.
But.
Printer manufacturers make their money on ink cartriges, this is well known.
There is a sub-industry of cartrige refillers and no-name manufacturers who take some of the sting off prices. Epson has manipulated this situation by having their printer SHUT DOWN if you run out of any one of the four color ink cartriges, and by making their cartriges refill-proof.
So say you run out of Cyan ink, but have a full cartrige of Black, which is all you need since you're printing text. According to Epson, you're S.O.L. until you blow $20 for a new Cyan, because their printer refuses to work without it.
Short term, I'm sure it's a policy that is serving them well, since people who buy their products are forced to buy ink they don't need.
Long term, they're fucking themselves in the ass, because I can't see ANYONE going along with this kind of policy after dealing with it once. For my part, the next time I need a printer I'm making damn sure it'll keep printing as long as it's got ink, not crap out on me because a reservoir that gets tapped once a month runs dry.
In both these cases, in the long run the consumer is going to win out.
But why can't the corp see past the end of their nose and anticpiate it, instead of making it such a protracted, drawn out fight?
Probably the same answer as everything else in corporate America, $$$$$$$$.
Baby Names
My fellow boxing enthusiast Dreaderick sent along this link to a snazzy graphic baby name popularity index.
Fun to play around with!
I discover that my oddly spelled moniker 'Stephan' ranked 384th in the decade of my birth, the pesky 60's (my mother was aiming for 'stephen' but got it wrong....I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to everyone I chewed out for "mispronouncing" my name over the years).
The normal spelling 'Steven' ranks #11, which explains why my high school spanish class was stocked with five different Steves.
The choking predominance of Steves in my immediate social circle led directly to all my friends calling me "Bax", a stopgap that remains in place to this day.
Fun to play around with!
I discover that my oddly spelled moniker 'Stephan' ranked 384th in the decade of my birth, the pesky 60's (my mother was aiming for 'stephen' but got it wrong....I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to everyone I chewed out for "mispronouncing" my name over the years).
The normal spelling 'Steven' ranks #11, which explains why my high school spanish class was stocked with five different Steves.
The choking predominance of Steves in my immediate social circle led directly to all my friends calling me "Bax", a stopgap that remains in place to this day.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Cover of the Week
Chapter 8
The healthy heart pumps, and the diaphragm rises and falls, and the lungs fill the chest cavity and contract and fill it again, and the deep red, oxygen-rich blood flows through the body and the limbs, and that part of the brain which lies dormant and mysterious during your waking hours is unfettered to prowl in an alien place during sleep or unconsciousness....
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Swedish Sunday: Lax i majonnas
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the kitchen, the calander turns and suddenly it's SWEDISH SUNDAY. Hide the women and children and brace for deep cholesterol impact! Today's treat comes to us from the ocean via Best Foods.
Salmon in Mayonnaise Lax i majonnas
1 pound fresh salmon
court bouillon
1 1/2 cups mayonnaise thinned with 1/3 cup white wine
Garnish:
sliced mushrooms
lettuce
Clean salmon, place in kettle and cover with cold court bouillon. Let simmer ten minutes. Take up fish, remove bones and skin and put fish back into stock to cool. Arrange fish on serving dish, cover with mayonnaise and garnish with sliced mushrooms and lettuce.
(chef's aside: I had to hit google to find out what the hell Court Boullion was, as Swedish Smorgasbord provides no internal hints. I guess REAL Swedes don't need to ask.)
bon appatite!
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Night of the Living Candy
In spite of generally positive notices, I'll be passing on the updated Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
The wife is excited by this offering, but I've taken an unfashionable moral stand by refusing to patronize remakes of well-made films.
For example:
My zombie-loving friends rave about the Dawn of the Dead remake, but what's in it for me?
The original worked not only on the splatterrific grand guiginol MORE BRAINS level, but also as a weathervane highlighting the sociopolitical drift of America.
When a film is a milestone, what value is there in remaking it?
What has changed about America, or about cinema, that calls for such a reexamination?
"I can sell it to the suits" is not a battle cry calculated to stir the blood of moviegoers, regardless of its galvanic effect on those working in the industry.
Don't get me wrong, I like Johnny Depp.
He's one of the few "movie stars" around who has a knack for balancing solid commercial entertainment like Pirates of the Caribbean with interesting smaller films. He likes working with Burton and they've made some good movies in the past.
I can see what drew Burton to the project- it's a perfect fit for the disassociative design-obsessed aesthetic he wears like a trenchcoat on a hot summer day. When he's engaged in a project his relentless creativity and eye for detail can be very effective, as I'm sure they are here (when he's not the result is a vile collapsed souffle like Planet of the Apes)
Still, I'm left with the eternal "why?"
Remaking a classic film is like rebuilding the Empire State Building to scale using popsicle sticks instead of concrete.
Cute idea..........but so what?
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
The Myth of Liberal Hollywood (Pelf take note!)
There's been a distruption in the blogosphere the past few days as wingers flip out at the thought of Oliver Stone tackling 9/11. The best all-in-one wrapup arrives courtesy of Kung Fu Monkey, an actual Hollywood screenwriter.
He sinks his fangs into grosses and topics dating back to the turn of the millenium, but here is the reader's digest version for my friends with ADD:
If you are afflicted with ADD and have skipped down here because you were intimidated by the blockquote, scroll back up and follow the link.
From there you can check out James Wolcott absofuckinglutely EVISCERATING several winger blogs on the subject, as well as other entertaining links.
My take is this:
Creative people are always overwhelmingly liberal, the same way educated people are overwhelmingly liberal. But Hollywood is not primarily a creative landscape, it is a corporate one.
And the Corp has no god but money.
Every studio project is fine tuned to appeal to the widest possible demographic, which means there's something for everyone...which is IMHO the problem with the current system and why it is doomed undergo sort of revolution that shook the town at the end of the 60's, but that's another story entirely.
In the short term:
Money has no race, ideology or political affiliation.
Until that changes, neither will mainstream studio motion pictures.
It's interesting to me that the right wing "market forces" advocates are quite often the worst sorts of "conservative", the racist, homophobic type that think weatlh or the lack thereof is some sort of moral judgement on the individual. Sort of a perverted hybrid of the Protestant work ethic and mutant Calvinism.
But it is those very "market forces" that are leading corporate America to (finally) embrace racial and sexual diversity, since racial minorities spend money, and so do gay people....ESPECIALLY gay people.
The Corp is a bull with a ring through its nose, and it will go wherever the money leads it. It'll be interesting to see what type of financial ideology replaces 'market forces' on the far right as the elements of society they hate are showered with ever more attention from money-driven corporations.
He sinks his fangs into grosses and topics dating back to the turn of the millenium, but here is the reader's digest version for my friends with ADD:
"Hollywood" isn't pushing a liberal agenda. "Hollywood" isn't pushing any agenda. "Hollywood", or rather the disparate, ferociously competing scrum of soundstage-owning mega-corporations based in Los Angeles, are pushing nice, neutral entertainment.
If you are afflicted with ADD and have skipped down here because you were intimidated by the blockquote, scroll back up and follow the link.
From there you can check out James Wolcott absofuckinglutely EVISCERATING several winger blogs on the subject, as well as other entertaining links.
My take is this:
Creative people are always overwhelmingly liberal, the same way educated people are overwhelmingly liberal. But Hollywood is not primarily a creative landscape, it is a corporate one.
And the Corp has no god but money.
Every studio project is fine tuned to appeal to the widest possible demographic, which means there's something for everyone...which is IMHO the problem with the current system and why it is doomed undergo sort of revolution that shook the town at the end of the 60's, but that's another story entirely.
In the short term:
Money has no race, ideology or political affiliation.
Until that changes, neither will mainstream studio motion pictures.
It's interesting to me that the right wing "market forces" advocates are quite often the worst sorts of "conservative", the racist, homophobic type that think weatlh or the lack thereof is some sort of moral judgement on the individual. Sort of a perverted hybrid of the Protestant work ethic and mutant Calvinism.
But it is those very "market forces" that are leading corporate America to (finally) embrace racial and sexual diversity, since racial minorities spend money, and so do gay people....ESPECIALLY gay people.
The Corp is a bull with a ring through its nose, and it will go wherever the money leads it. It'll be interesting to see what type of financial ideology replaces 'market forces' on the far right as the elements of society they hate are showered with ever more attention from money-driven corporations.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Comic Strip
I've found enjoyment in taking single panels out of context lately, so I'm going to make it a semi-regular feature.
from Marvel Super Action starring the Avengers #37
from Marvel Super Action starring the Avengers #37
Sunday, July 10, 2005
UK Slang Gone Horribly Awry
ok, I admit it- I laughed hard at this link.
Some would say it makes me a hopeless juvenile.
I prefer to say I'm "young at heart".
Judge for yourself
Ah...it's killing me!
Some would say it makes me a hopeless juvenile.
I prefer to say I'm "young at heart".
Judge for yourself
Ah...it's killing me!
Swedish Sunday: Grisfotter
It's that time again, time for more stomache churning treats from Sweden. The country that gave us the Volvo and Ikea is back in black, taking it strong to the (bung)hole with Smorgasbord dishes circa 1957.
Pigs' feet Grisfotter
2 pigs feet
water
1 Tb. salt
6 white peppercorns
2 bay leaves
-----------------
Wash, scrape and rinse pigs' feet. Cut into halves, cover with cold water and bring to boiling point. Skim, season and simmer for 3 hours or until tender. Take up feet, remove large bones and place meat in bowl. Pour over a little strained stock and chill. When set, unmold and serve with pickled beets and vinegar.
Bon appetite!
Link of the Month
Sure, a little premature since the month is only 10 days old.
But I am confident in my pick.
I give you....
JUMPING CATS.
But I am confident in my pick.
I give you....
JUMPING CATS.
Saturday, July 9, 2005
Easy Riders, Raging Bulls and Steven Spielberg
Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind is a casual, perceptive and wonderfully pungent history of the cadre of filmmakers that flourished in that brief interval between the flaming collapse of the tattered remnants of 'old' Hollywood and the sheer gray monolith of today's Corporate Hollywood.
The book is fantastic, and highly recommended if you have anything more than a passing interest in the eclectic, electric cinema of the early to late 70's. It's ground zero history at its finest, scouring the backlot for firsthand sources and pulling no punches on any of its various subjects.
I was chatting with my friend Bob Whiteford (proprietor of Insomniac Video {check the Employee Picks and you'll see an old shot of the little lady, an Insomniac alumnus} and host of Take Two, the movie show on our local public radio station) and we got onto the subject of the splashy blockbuster 'War of the Worlds'.
There's a passage from Easy Riders that summed up the gist of our discussion. I thought I'd share it with you...and I'm actually typing it, so you know my love is true.
Spielberg is a man, wealthy beyond the dreams of Midas, part owner of his own film studio, with the entire galaxy of cinema open to his exploration...and what he chooses is to re-make a 1953 potboiler with prettier special effects.
But he's just being true to himself.
Peter Benchley mapped out his career for him in 1974.
And really, who's to say he's wrong?
All the really great directors covered by the book are burned out their talent or ended their lives with the many vices available to the young, wealthy and connected. The best run any of them had was Scorcese, and you only have to check his last few films to see what the director of Taxi Driver, Goodfellas and the eponymous Raging Bull has been reduced to
But Spielberg and Lucas, two outsiders, two guys who never wanted to be artists, who just wanted to play the game and get their movies made and get rich, are still hale, hearty and on top of the world.
Oh well.
Who said life is fair?
The book is fantastic, and highly recommended if you have anything more than a passing interest in the eclectic, electric cinema of the early to late 70's. It's ground zero history at its finest, scouring the backlot for firsthand sources and pulling no punches on any of its various subjects.
I was chatting with my friend Bob Whiteford (proprietor of Insomniac Video {check the Employee Picks and you'll see an old shot of the little lady, an Insomniac alumnus} and host of Take Two, the movie show on our local public radio station) and we got onto the subject of the splashy blockbuster 'War of the Worlds'.
There's a passage from Easy Riders that summed up the gist of our discussion. I thought I'd share it with you...and I'm actually typing it, so you know my love is true.
Spielberg...got into a contretemps with the novel's author, Peter Benchley, who took a swipe at him in the Los Angeles Times, saying, Spielberg "has no knowledge of reality but the movies. He is B-movie literate...[He] will one day be known as the greatest second-unit director in America." In one obvious way, Benchley was completely wrong, Spielberg having become the most celebrated director in America. But in another way, he was right; Spielberg is the greatest second unit director in America. What he could not have foreseen, however, was that such was Spielberg (and Lucas's) influence, that every studio movie became a B movie, and at least for the big action blockbusters that dominate the studios' slates, second unit has replaced first unit
Spielberg is a man, wealthy beyond the dreams of Midas, part owner of his own film studio, with the entire galaxy of cinema open to his exploration...and what he chooses is to re-make a 1953 potboiler with prettier special effects.
But he's just being true to himself.
Peter Benchley mapped out his career for him in 1974.
And really, who's to say he's wrong?
All the really great directors covered by the book are burned out their talent or ended their lives with the many vices available to the young, wealthy and connected. The best run any of them had was Scorcese, and you only have to check his last few films to see what the director of Taxi Driver, Goodfellas and the eponymous Raging Bull has been reduced to
But Spielberg and Lucas, two outsiders, two guys who never wanted to be artists, who just wanted to play the game and get their movies made and get rich, are still hale, hearty and on top of the world.
Oh well.
Who said life is fair?
Mother Russia: Old Radio Archive
The recent deluge of Soviet-era goodness continues with the Red Star Radiosite, an archive of attractive, bizarre and perverse old radios.
Customers: phone call
Just opened, got my coffee and my bagel and am settling in for the day.
The phone rings.
me: Hello, Phoenix Books.
young guy: Uh....this is Phoenix Books in San Luis?
me: Mmmm hmmm.
young guy: Uh....ah....is this a bookstore?
me: Mmmm hmmm.
young guy: Oh....ok, thank you.
me: Mmmm hmmm.
click
The phone rings.
me: Hello, Phoenix Books.
young guy: Uh....this is Phoenix Books in San Luis?
me: Mmmm hmmm.
young guy: Uh....ah....is this a bookstore?
me: Mmmm hmmm.
young guy: Oh....ok, thank you.
me: Mmmm hmmm.
click
Friday, July 8, 2005
London
I can't shake the feeling that if we'd kept our eye on the ball in America and finished the job on Bin Laden and Al Qaeda instead of haring off to Iraq following some Neocon Will-o-the-wisp there wouldn't have been an attack on the British.
So much for the the latest of the Bush administration's ever-changing rationales for the war, "we're fighting them over there so we don't have to fight them in our cities".
Note to Administration strategists:
we're not fighting the Cold War any longer.
This enemy can't be pinned down by tanks and battalions.
It's a different kind of war, please stop fighting it with tactics from 1968.
So much for the the latest of the Bush administration's ever-changing rationales for the war, "we're fighting them over there so we don't have to fight them in our cities".
Note to Administration strategists:
we're not fighting the Cold War any longer.
This enemy can't be pinned down by tanks and battalions.
It's a different kind of war, please stop fighting it with tactics from 1968.
Monday, July 4, 2005
Independence Day
We're open today, so I'm celebrating the 4th with the sweat of my brow.
The only customer thus far was a deranged bum with an armload of tattered newspaper wondering what time it was. The weather is spotless, our traditional early morning cloud cover having given up its occupation and retreated to wherever marine layers go in the off season.
Unpatriotic America-hating liberal that I am, I forgot it was a holiday. Which means going without coffee, since Christie seizes every opportunity to close up shop next door. I'm sacrificing as well as working hard. I feel a budding kinship with George Washington's freedom fighters at Valley Forge.
Except it's summer in California instead of winter in Pennsylvania and I'm working retail instead of going to war against the snappily dressed army of a global military power.
I like the 4th.
Any summer holiday involving liquor and BBQ is alright with me, and later tonight we'll be rowing upriver using those most admirable paddles.
The bigger picture this year is problematic, as the things I find admirable and worth celebrating about my country (tolerance, openness, optimism) are currently out of fashion.
I keep waiting for some bold Dorothy to upend a bucket of water at a press conference and rescue my country in a pillar of steam, but the flying monkeys and poison trees are far more adept at protecting the castle nowadays.
Lacking such a deus ex machina, comfort is left to the poets.
Here are some appropriate lines from the doomed Elliot Smith for America's bar mitzvah:
The only customer thus far was a deranged bum with an armload of tattered newspaper wondering what time it was. The weather is spotless, our traditional early morning cloud cover having given up its occupation and retreated to wherever marine layers go in the off season.
Unpatriotic America-hating liberal that I am, I forgot it was a holiday. Which means going without coffee, since Christie seizes every opportunity to close up shop next door. I'm sacrificing as well as working hard. I feel a budding kinship with George Washington's freedom fighters at Valley Forge.
Except it's summer in California instead of winter in Pennsylvania and I'm working retail instead of going to war against the snappily dressed army of a global military power.
I like the 4th.
Any summer holiday involving liquor and BBQ is alright with me, and later tonight we'll be rowing upriver using those most admirable paddles.
The bigger picture this year is problematic, as the things I find admirable and worth celebrating about my country (tolerance, openness, optimism) are currently out of fashion.
I keep waiting for some bold Dorothy to upend a bucket of water at a press conference and rescue my country in a pillar of steam, but the flying monkeys and poison trees are far more adept at protecting the castle nowadays.
Lacking such a deus ex machina, comfort is left to the poets.
Here are some appropriate lines from the doomed Elliot Smith for America's bar mitzvah:
i saw you in a perfect place
it's gonna happen soon but not today
so go to sleep and make the change
i'll meet you here tomorrow
independence day
independence day
independence day
Sunday, July 3, 2005
Swedish Sunday
In a stab at creating a family tradition here at the Baxblog, on Sundays I'll be sharing the culinary wisdom of Agnete Lampe with you, my friends. In her own words:
The Swedish smorgasbord with its many colorful and tasteful dishes has grown more and more popular abroad. Practically every foreigner, facing for the first time a Swedish smorgasbord, whether in Sweden or in some Swedish restaurant abroad, is thrilled by the mere sight. The thrill does not wane under the eating; rather it increases until one is filled with the desire to repeat the experience and, yet more than that, to share it with one's best friends.
See?
My desire is perfectly natural.
I'll break you in easy with some light fingerfood.
Here we go!
Fried Herring Stekt Stromming
1 1/2 pounds herring
salt
coating
bread crumbs, rye or whole wheat flour
to fry
2 tb butter
--------------
Clean herring, removing heads. Rinse well in cold water and drain. Rub with salt and leave 10 minutes. Dip in bread crumbs or flour and fry in butter until golden brown.
Bon appetite!
Saturday, July 2, 2005
Soviet graphic arts keep a-comin'
It's weird, I keep running into cool Soviet-era Russian links the past week.
Today's find is a trove of propagantastic children's books.
Good stuff.
Today's find is a trove of propagantastic children's books.
Good stuff.
Movie: Land of the Dead
An email review from my friend Pelf, fellow traveller through the stygian horror/splatter film underworld of the early-to-mid 80's along with being a published plawright and IMBD approved screenwriter.
His opinions on the genre can be safely graven in stone for a Charlton Heston coffeehouse reading.
Let's all thank Pelf for saving us the cost of a first run theater ticket.
His opinions on the genre can be safely graven in stone for a Charlton Heston coffeehouse reading.
Land of the SHIT.....er, Dead
An hour and a half of George Romaro TAKING A SHIT
would be better than this lame movie.
FUCK "Land of the Dead" is the first movie I can
remember ever WALKING OUT ON.
It makes ESCAPE FROM LA look like GENIUS.
Did Universal give Romaro five bucks to make this shitlog?
There are like, five zombies stumbling around at any one time (and a few
cgi shots of more...but hey) I think they could only pay for one day with Hopper and all his scenes look like there were shot in rapid fire in five hours.
John Leguzomo plays a guy named "Cholo" I think (I'm not joking)...they should've been men and just called him Nacho.
A truly embarrassing end to a great franchise.
It's sad that the REMAKE of Dawn of the
Dead was INFINITELY better.
Let's all thank Pelf for saving us the cost of a first run theater ticket.
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