packandgetdressed

I need help

2007-11-07T10:09:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I stumbled across this list of the 10 worst sci-fi movies.

Number 1 was no big surprise--Battlefield Earth, as it's really really bad, probably top 10 of all-time worst movies regardless of genre. If you haven't seen it, you're either a lucky bastard or in need of an education, but I can't decide.

Anyhoo, I had this weird desire to watch the dvd commentary just to get some kind of insight. I have so far resisted this desire and am doing all I can to keep it from getting the best of me.

[Insert "Puttin' on the Ritz" joke here]

2007-11-05T14:06:00.000-06:00

The Mrs. and me went to the new Alamo Downtown Saturday afternoon and saw Wes Anderson's "The Darjeeling Limited." The movie was your pretty typical WA movie, with all his stylistic elements present and accounted for. Unfortunately, the characters were lacking something, and I'm not talking about Natalie Portman lacking pants, which was fine by me.

As to the theater itself...

Ok, I had to go back to the car for something, so I wasn't paying super-close attention as I walked in, but the first thing I noticed, or didn't notice, was anything identifying the place as an Alamo Drafthouse. There is of course the neon Ritz sign, which I'm glad was kept, but otherwise I don't remember seeing anything that said "Alamo." Maybe it's still to come. Just inside the doorway on the right was a Mondo Tees counter. There's not much on display here other than binders to flip thru to find your iron-on. A little further in on the left was the ticket counter. It was non-descript, just a counter with your standard service-industry touchscreen device. Nothing say what movie at what time in what theater. And at the back of the lobby were the restrooms. We didn't use these until after our movie, at which time a table selling copies of the book "Little Children" had been set up, almost blocking off access to the restrooms. And we just guessed that they were the restrooms, as again, there was no signage pointing out the way. There were signs denoting men's and women's but we didn't see them until we got right up to them. Something I really like that the Alamo seems to be doing (on S. Lamar and here, at least) is that they design the restrooms so there's no door, meaning you don't have to worry if the person exiting before you washed their hands or not. Nice.

Our flick was in the small theatre (100 or so seats), which is upstairs to the right. The big room is... upstairs to the left. (No signs) Pictures taken throughout the history of the Ritz line the stairwells. You enter the auditorium at the front, beside the screen. There's six or so long rows and then a few more in the back that have maybe five-six less seats. I was immediately hit by many odors of newness--new carpet, new carpet glue, new paint--and wondered if that was going to give me a headache. It didn't; hooray! This screen is not quite stadium seating, but I wasn't as bugged by that as at the Village. Unfortunately, there is only one way to exit the seating rows so make sure you empty your bladder before the movie (there's also no breaks in the tables like the Village and Old Downtown). Another improved feature is that the paper and menus no longer live on the table. Menus get slots under the table every couple of seats and the paper gets a holder on the back side of the tables.

The menu seemed to be pretty much the same. Our drinks and popcorn did what they needed to do, i.e. sate us. It was between meals for us so no cooked food. Picture and sound were fine. There was a little flicker when they started rolling the film, which made me wonder if the projector was stabilized but it went away before too long. And as it was a late afternoon show, 6th Street was not in full effect so there was no exterior noise to fight.

I'm curious to see the big theatre. I wonder if the rows in there have aisles at either end or not. I'm guessing they don't and that it's due to the narrow property. I also want to check out the VIP boxes they got up in there.

Overall, not a bad addition to the family. We liked stepping out onto 6th Street where we could turn left and walk down to the Jackalope for a beer while figuring out where to eat dinner (Moonshine's). I'd like to see something saying you're at the Alamo Downtown b/c it's an awesome place and it should be trying to tell everyone as such. Also, some information/directional signs inside. I think this is something that will happen and they maybe just ran out of time.

2006-07-15T12:01:00.000-05:00

I don't know if this is just me, as in my nature, or if it's a byproduct of my job:

I spend 12-13 hours a day doing a bunch of shit for other people (I know, you do too, but sorry, this is my blog). When I get home, it's dark, generally has been for an hour and a half or so already. Sometimes I've eaten before I get home, sometimes I haven't. But I'm so zapped from organizing other people's travel, and their specific needs, for which they'll make what should be an easy choice into one that's harder than it needs to be, that it's all I can do to wind down and spend a couple of hours with the Mrs. before hauling myself off to bed. And that's something that it pains me to do each and every night, because it means that when I wake up, I have to do it all over again.

Today, now, I need to be mowing the yard and fighting some weeds, before we go to a couple of birthday things tonight. But in spite of the coffee I've had, the idea of getting up and doing something like that is tortures. The idea of doing anything for myself, for the house, whatever, is so very, very taxing. I'm tired just thinking about it. I have a problem with a little thing called will power, I know, but this is ridiculous.

So, a byproduct of my job, or an internal flaw? And that's a rhetorical question, by the way, unless you can give me some answer that in no way contains a cliche. And good luck with that, b/c I know mine would all be cliched. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard for me to get up and go outside if it wasn't for the fact that my work phone rang as I was getting out of bed this morning. That I had to put a plan B on hold for somebody, before breakfast, when maybe this was something that could have been brought to my attention yesterday. So this person can maybe attend a meeting that a published schedule hasn't shown him attending for 2 days. Or that it's just plain disheartening to think that I actually thought they wouldn't call me this weekend, which is the first thing to happen on Saturday morning.

I think what may suck the most for me right now, is that b/c I'm on call, I don't feel comfortable going out and having fun, doing my own thing, b/c I don't know that it won't get interrupted by work bullshit. So I can't get any release from the stress and pressures of work, b/c it feels like I'm always working.

Guess I'll go mow until my pocket vibrates, telling me to enact plan B or not.

To the thief who broke into our house today...

2006-06-26T19:53:00.000-05:00

FUCK YOU!!!

I hope the cut you got on our window gets infected. I hope you dropped and broke our cameras before you got to the pawn shop. And I really hope some of the 10 calls you made from the Mrs.' phone were to some loser friends of yours, and that you just made it easier for the cops to find you.

From the World of Late Night Surfing

2006-06-06T10:45:00.000-05:00

I found an on-line graphic novel called Shooting War. Currently, 3 chapters are available and the 4th is supposed to drop today. It's set in 2011, where we're still in Iraq, John McCain is president, and live mobile video-blogging is de riguer. I'm a big fan of things set in a plausible future. I like it so far (the illustrations are great) and plan to see where it goes. Check it out if that's your thing.

Soaking In It

2006-06-06T10:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, on the way to the HEB, I was stopped at the light at 41st and Red River. Looking in my rearview mirror as a car came up behind me, I was able to see only one part of the driver--his/her hands. Hands covered by light blue dishwashing gloves. Were they out of yellow, Tyler?

Barbecue, Bar-b-que, BBQ

2006-06-01T08:50:00.000-05:00

A greater truth has not been spoken:

I believe that like sunshine and great sex, no day is bad that has barbecue in it.

Read, or listen, to the rest of the article here. It brought tears to my eyes and made my salivary glands tingle.

I loves me some barbecue. For me, it's like this great equalizer, eaten by everyone from ditch-diggers to presidents. Like the author says, you can eat it off of china (though you'd be pushin' it) or paper plates or no plates at all. There's something about setting that plate in front of you and smelling some good smoked meat, and whatever sides you may choose (potato salad and cole slaw are my usual choices), a couple of slices of white bread, and of course, the sauce....

I know, being in Texas, there are those out there who say sauce is unnecessary or forbidden and they're entitled to their incorrect opinion. Barbecue sauce is my #1 condiment. Ketchup & salsa can suck it. I like it with a little spice and not too watery. Kansas and the Carolinas can have their sweet stuff, but give this Texans a touch of heat, just enough to make my nose run.

So, where to for lunch?

Lebowski Fest

2006-05-22T08:55:00.000-05:00

The Austin edition of Lebowski Fest was held this past weekend. We went both nights and totally acheived.

Friday was kind of a bust. It was at Maggie Mae's, which should have been the first omen of doom. We got there about 9:15 and the Recliners were playing. I only recognized one member from when I used to see them back in the swingin' lounge days of the mid-to-late 90s, but they still did what they were meant to do. Knowing the movie was going to be shown on the rooftop deck at midnight, we headed up there and staked out a table. Later, the film's Nihilist band, Autobahn, performed a comedy/music bit. What I could hear made me laugh, but the sound getting piped up to the roof wasn't that hot (omen #2). Then the Yuppie Pricks came on and did what they do. I've never seen them, nor had any desire to, so pardon my indifference.

Finally, it was time to start the movie. It had been years since I'd seen it with a big crowd, so I was looking forward to it, imagining a Rocky Horror-style screening. And it might have been just that, which is what they had in Vegas last year, or so I would hear the next night. But there were technical difficulties that seemed to involve both the audio and video. And maybe because of that, maybe not, Maggie Mae's let their usual clientele of frat-boy goldbrickers and strumpets in. Apparently, Nihilism is a popular ethos for the collegiate crowd, because they sure as shit didn't give a rat's ass about the movie, standing everywhere (blocking our view of the screen), and too loud to hear the now-cranked audio of the movie.

So we said, "Fuck it, dude," and went home to watch the movie that should have won Jeff Bridges an Oscar.

Night 2 (Bowling, Costumes, Trivia, What Have You) went better. After a trip to the Quonset Hut for costume pieces and accessories, we made a mud pit in the back yard and did some belly flops. Uh, why? you might ask. Well, when you're dressing up as Walter's Buddies Who Died Face Down In The Muck, these things are necessary. Am I wrong?

The Highland Lanes were jam-packed and we hopped onto a lane with some total strangers, but not The Stranger. The bowling took forever, but I didn't care that much as I was having a great time, checking out some of the other costumes, getting the occasional knowing nod from other Acheivers. We had our picture taken with Big Lew Abernathy, one of the inspirations for Walter. He knew exactly who we were dressed as, said we were his favorite costume, and pulled out the original pair of Walter's yellow aviator sunglasses. Nice.

While we're bowling, there's also Big Lebowski trivia going on. Could I be in a better Geek Heaven? I think not. The first round consisted of 8 multiple choice and 2 fill-in-the-blanks. They then pulled 20 random names from the stack of those who got all the questions right. Not being 100% sure on a couple of the questions, I was bemusedly suprised (like the Dude when he finds out Jesus is a pedarast with a record and did time in Chino) when they called my name. For Round 2, they took us in a back room and gave us a page of 10 f.i.t.b. questions. Again, I felt that I got most of them, but there was a couple I wasn't too sure on, like the number of the Dude's apartment.

Shortly after Round 2, they held the finals for the costume contest, where they paraded everbody who dressed up on a stage. They did groups of Dudes, Walters, Maudes, and Jesus', though there was only one Jesus, and he wasn't in a purple jumper. Tragedy. Of the costumes that weren't those characters, there were some definite gems. A couple of Strangers, a couple of Jackie Treehorns, one red-bodysuited Nihilist with real oversized scissors, one vine-wrapped Dance Cycle, a Frame of Reference, an unintentional Little Larry Sellars, a Pissed-On Rug, and a Queen in Her Undies (definitely the most obscure costume). To be judged by audience approval, it sounded like we were top 5 at least. So it was a good thing that I put some muck in a tupperware and brought it with us for re-application.

Then came the announcement for the trivia finals. Son-of-a-bitch they called my name, along with 2 other worthy adversaries. First question: name as many symbols as you can that are on the Lebowski Fest Austin poster. Unfortunately, I had studied the movie and not the poster, so I floundered on this question. Next, were some verbal question; oh shit. If you couldn't answer, it went to the next person. #1: Name Autobahn's album. The guy they asked didn't know it, so it came to me: Nagelbett. Point for me. #2: Name Smokey's bowling team. Shit. None of us got it. (Answer: the Cavaliers) #3: Name the family diner where Walter and the Dude enjoyed a cup of coffee. All I could come up with was "Mel's." (Answer: Johnny's). The final question, or task, rather, was to name as many characters from the movie in 30 seconds. I saw my competitors' answer sheets and had several more than one and it looked like a few more than the other. Walking away, I felt pretty good, thinking I'd at least secured 2nd place. Any way it turned out, I'd be one of the top 3 Lebowski geeks in Austin. Good to know I could cross something off the Before I Die To-Do List.

Finally, it was time for the awards. They gave a few trophies out to the high bowling scorers (245 was the best). Then one for farthest traveled (Springfield, Massachusetts), and one for hardest traveled (car broke down 60 miles outside of Austin, with 2 dogs, 1 being a Pomeranian). Next up was the trivia. I got 2nd place and a golfer trophy (with removable club)! Very nice. On to the costumes--I can't remember the order, but the winners in the Other category (ours) were the Queen In Her Undies, the Nihilist, and the Dance Cycle. Then, it was on to Best Walter. No, wait, Best Group Costume... to Walter's Buddies. Woo-hoo! Competitors bested! Except we were the only group. Who cares, we won! Suck it, Lone Nihilist! Then it was on to the Jesus', Maudes, Dudes, and Walters. The guy who won Walter was awesome, really pulled it off, especially with the facial expressions. As he went up to accept his award, he pulled us up with him saying, "I couldn't have done this without my buddies!"

Then, it was good night to the Fest, and to Big Lew. At some point during the night, I overheard somebody asking one of the organizers if they thought they'd come back to Austin next year. He said yes, but only if there's more costumes. I've got some ideas, so consider yourself warned.

Pictures from the 2nd night are here.

Take 'er easy for all us sinners, Dude....

Thoughts In A Car On A Monday

2006-05-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, I was going to be someone else.
Once upon a time, I was going to be somewhere else.
Once upon a time, I thought I mattered.

I'm just a cog in somebody else's wheel.

His best moment...

2006-05-07T15:07:00.000-05:00

...as president of these here United States of America??

Removing the Taliban government in Afghanistan?
Capturing Saddam Hussein?
No Child Left Behind?
Medicare D?
Patriot Act?
Establishing the Dept. of Homeland Security?
Getting re-elected?

No. All those things pale in comparison to catching a 7.5 lb perch.

Look, in case you haven't guessed, I'm not a fan of this president. Unlike Republicans in the Clinton years who had their "He's not my president" bumper stickers, this guy is my president because I haven't stopped being an American, like him or not. And I would hope that his answer to said question would be one of those things I listed above, in spite of the fact that I think most of them are, in some way, detrimental to the betterment of this nation. (The only exception: taking out the Taliban was a good thing; if only we could have finished the job.) At least they're major accomplishments on a national scale that do affect the country. One would think his answer would reflect as much, but one would be wrong.

Y'know, I wouldn't mind having a president whom I'd like to have a beer with. But you know, while we're drinking our brews, I wouldn't want to talk about his 'ranch' or baseball or flying jets in the National Guard or what he's reading in the john or what he ate for dinner the night before. I'd be more interested in foreign policy, energy independence, how corporations came to take precedence over individuals in Congress, and I'd hope the president would be able to converse with me meaningfully on those subjects.

I sure wouldn't give a fuck about a fish.

UPDATE: perch? bass? Whatever. Though, as I was writing the initial post, I was remembering going fishing as a kid and all the little perch I used to catch. None of them were ever anywhere close to 7 lbs.

Again with the irony

2006-05-01T12:28:00.000-05:00

It fucking boggles the fucking mind.

Stephen Colbert is my hero

2006-05-01T09:55:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend, the aforementioned host of the Colbert Report was the host/featured speaker at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. In a word, "Wow." In two words, "Big balls."

As a self-proclaimed "neo-neocon," he stuck it to the Man like nobody else. He also stuck it to the media and the White House correspondents themselves, save their grand dame, Helen Thomas. (So of course, his speech isn't getting that much coverage.)

It is, to me, one of the greatest performances/readings/whatever-you-want-to-call-it of satire ever. And he didn't give it to the choir, he gave it directly to those who are responsible. W. and Pickles were sitting right there, probably confused and wondering why the so-called funny guy wasn't being more funny.

Somebody has set up a site to say, "Thanks." It's also got links to video of his speech and a transcript. Go there, check it all out, and give the man some love.

Shhh...

2006-04-21T13:52:00.000-05:00

Don't worry, nothing important going on. No country to run, no invaded country to oversee, no lies to leak. It's hard work being VP.

Somebody call Alanis Morissette...

2006-04-21T11:14:00.000-05:00

...because I've found some irony.

A Chinese lady (US permanent resident) interrupted a press conference yesterday held by Dear Leader and the Chinese president, Hu Jintao. She yelled at him, in English and Chinese, moments after Bush stated he hoped China would allow more free speech. Now, she risks being the first person charged under an obscure federal law for intimidating a foreign official while in the US.

Typical Bush: say one thing, do the opposite.

Details here. Be sure to read the last bit, about how this law doesn't apply if it goes against the 1st amendment.

Conspiracy-a-Go-Go

2006-04-20T10:42:00.000-05:00

I'm a sucker for a good conspiracy theory.

Talking to a friend earlier about the latest addition to the anti-Xenuites. When Mr. C first started exhibiting his strange behavior last year--jumping on couches, etc.--we were reading Time and Salon articles on the church of L. Ron and what all they believe. Today, she told me that she doesn't believe: a) he got her pregnant, b) she was even pregnant. She thinks the kiddo was adopted.

Then, I come across this.

Coo-Coo-Ka-Choo

2006-04-20T10:15:00.000-05:00

I am the Decider.

As the World Turdblossoms...

2006-04-19T16:27:00.000-05:00

Rove may be a subject, as in he's being actively investigated, in the Plame Leak scandal.

From the article:

For months, Rove's attorney, Robert Luskin, has assured the press that his client, who was believed to be vulnerable to indictment for perjury, is in the clear. But Libby insisted that he was entitled to "disclosure of such documents" in Rove's files "even if Mr. Rove remains a subject of a continuing grand jury investigation".

Karl Rove is a subject of Fitzgerald's investigation - this is the headline buried in Libby's filing.

In white-collar criminal investigations, individuals who fall under the gaze of a prosecutor fit into one of three categories: witness, subject or target. Rove's attorney has suggested that Rove is simply a witness. But that is untrue. He is a subject. A subject is someone the prosecutor believes may have committed a crime and is under investigation. If the prosecutor decides he has accumulated sufficient evidence to prove guilt, he will change the designation of that person from subject to target and then indict him or her.

("Turdblossom" may be GWB's nickname for Rove. Or it might just be wishful thinking from the left. Either way, it fits.)

I'm a Virgo

2006-04-18T14:08:00.000-05:00

More billionaires are Virgos than any other sign. What exactly this means for me, I don't know other than if I should ever become a billionaire, I'll be in the Cool Club and you won't.

Beer Spa

2006-03-28T07:58:00.000-06:00

Only in the Czech Republic. It's like a Homer Simpson dream come true. They must have a pretty big cellar to have a beer pool. ...Mmmm... beer pool....

Words Fail Me.

2006-03-24T08:24:00.000-06:00

I got nothin'.

Apocalypse Pooh

2006-03-22T11:42:00.000-06:00

Mashups, the early days. 9 minutes of synchronicity goodness from 1987.

South by Last Post

2006-03-22T10:37:00.000-06:00

One last thing, a complaint, that I hope some SX person sees. Or if they send out a comment card, I'm definitely writing this on it...

I was really disappointed that there was no locally-produced intro clip at the film screenings. When did these stop? I understand the corporate sponsors contributing something and wanting their brand out there as much as possible. This is what happens as an entity grows and change is inevitable. I guess I'd always thought that part of what made SX so great was how essential Austin was to it. Well, with Austin comes the people--musicians, filmmakers, etc.--who make the city, and its culture, what it is. And here was a great opportunity for some locals to get something up on the screens. As I recall, there was generally 3 different intros filmed, so there was always the chance the audience would see something new, while there was only one IFC intro. Ultimately, and selfishly, this was something that Rob and I looked forward to doing, or at least putting our names in the hat to be considered, and now I don't think that will happen.

South by Picturewest

2006-03-21T08:48:00.000-06:00

The good ones are on flickr. Enjoy.

South by Oh My God That's Some Funky Shit

2006-03-20T09:48:00.000-06:00

Well, it's Monday morning and it's all over except except for waving adios to the out-of-towners. Here, in not-necessarily chronological order, are the rest of the movies and all of the musical highlights/lowlights/whatever I happen to remember...

Peliculas

Apart From That sucked but they gave me a t-shirt. The write-up in the film directory made it sound interesting, set "in a sort of Bizarro-world contemporary heartland sans Wal-Mart." Another line in the review talks about taking the chain stores out of the landscape. This is what piqued my interest so it's too bad the movie had nothing to do with that. It was just about some people trying to deal with others in their lives and doing a bad job of it. A lot of it seemed improv'd, which made a too-long film only more tedious. Much of it was shot out of focus, though seemingly on purpose. Avoid at all costs.

The King was a movie shot here in Austin in 2004 that I worked on. I don't think it's got distribution yet but hopefully it will get some. I loved the dark script when I read it and it came out as a pretty dark film, not exactly how I expected it, but still unsettling. Gael Garcia Bernal gives a great performance as the titlular character. My one complaint is that the last scene is way too short and missing, in my opinion, a very crucial shot.

The Great Ecstacy of Robert Carmichael was a UK film about a teen loner who discovers Ecstacy, though not in a good way. He lives in a quiet seaside town and doesn't have much to do. He hangs out with the local drug dealer/hoodlum and plays the cello. This is a "slow burn" movie where eventually the protagonist loses it. I've seen it done better, though when he does finally explode, it's a pretty fucking disturbing scene. There's no sermonizing or moralizing of what happens here and I didn't have a problem with that like the guy in the audience who called out "What the fuck was that?" over the end credits.

Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly had a much-anticipated sneak preview. It's beautifully animated and I think any animation/PK Dick fan should definitely check it out. I don't know if it will be as big of a cult film as I initially thought, however. The story is a mindfucker and I know it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but then again, it's not supposed to be. Keanu Reeves did a good job and Robert Downey Jr. steals most of his scenes.

And that was it. There were plenty of other flicks on my list, but it was time to move on to the musica...

First up were a couple of acts at the Jackalope on Wednesday afternoon. Single Frame (not Single Prick like Jason and I first heard) were a good local four-piece, kinda heavy pop I guess. I'd see them again. Then, there was Astronautilis, a rapper from Jacksonville, Florida who shook with a pent-up energy. He reminded me of Sage Francis, b/c of his flow on things personal as opposed to things bling.

At Emo's Main Room, I caught a few minutes of the UK's Field Music. They were ok, but nothing I'm going to seek out. Then came Serena Maneesh. I was seeing this name at many of the non-SXSW day parties and initially thought it was an act from India. But no, it's a Norwegian act that lives in a Scandinavian world of art rock and noise descended from punk. No 2nds for me, but help yourself. I had come to Emo's that night for Of Montreal, who I'd seen written up in a few places. I really dug them and their glammed dance-rock. I was reminded of Scissor Sisters, but without the need to be Elton John or a full-time drummer.

I ended the night at Stubb's to hook up with my peeps at Mogwai. I'd heard them before and thought they were decent background music for surfing the interweb. After hearing them live, I still think that though they may have taken some of my hearing b/c that shit was LOUD.

We started Thursday at the Iheartcomix party where Pam had to lie her way in (nice). Cut Chemist worked the decks like the champ he is. I want more of his solo stuff and more J5, too. Then came Jean Grae. She had some great raps and was funny, too. More please. I'd also been hearing about Lady Sovereign, who was doing a DJ set inside, though she's apparently a rapper. Her DJ set mostly consisted of her striking poses for the photographers and handing records to a guy who played them. She did actually play some herself but it didn't seem like she wanted to. I'm interested to hear her album (called Vertically Challenged, which shows the diminutive lass has a sense of humor at least), but it will have to be most spectacular to change my current opinion of her as a poser/product/tool.

Then, it was to Stubb's for a barely-announced Beastie Boys show. Everybody has talked about how awesome it was, but I guess was a little under-whelmed. Ad Rock's mic was turned way down for the first 3 or so songs but it did get fixed. It just seemed like they were going thru the motions to me. MCA was rockin' the gray hair, but he looked kinda nonchalant about the whole thing to me. I guess my memories of last year's show at the Erwin Center are fonder.

Jason led us to Film School at Club de Ville. We only stuck around for a few songs but I liked them. They reminded me of Sigur Ros, but with English lyrics and not as much etherealness. I'm going to check them out more. And finally, I don't think I'll be going to CdV of my own volition anymore. It's probably been a good 6 months since I was last there, but I don't remember ever paying $5 for a well drink there, even though the bartender said they hadn't raised their prices. So, sorry Club de Fault but I'm going to get mine on the Side now.

Back to Emo's for Ireland's Flogging Molly and their raucous punk (complete with mosh pit and almost a fight) mixed with Irish folk tunes. My ears are still recovering. Upon healing, I shall listen to more Flogging Molly.

Later, we took a shuttle over to the Backroom where the majority of the hip-hop acts were performing. I'm not alone in saying that this sucks. The Backroom has sure been around a while and props to them for supporting the music, but it's too far away from the main SX scene. Hip-hop is getting a raw deal by not being given a nightly downtown venue (there were a few acts at Emo's and also La Zona Rosa). We got there in time to discover Blow Fly is apparently the oldest living rapper. And the dirtiest. I never knew until that night that Pussy Don't Need No Drugs. Also, a sequined Mexican wrestler outfit and a couple of inch-long fingernails make for a memorable costume. His backing band looked like some band geeks I used to know trying to keep the dream alive, and a couple of white-trash dancers tried to work it. The goal of our journey was to see Devin the Dude, who'd journeyed up the road from Houston. His entourage of 3 back-up wrappers, 2 dancers, 1 DJ, 5 video camera operators, and 15+ hangers-on filled up the stage while Devin kept the audience happy, and buzzed with a secondhand high. The bouncers had an altercation with somebody that went outside and there was a girl-fight that got quickly broken up; the one who seemed to lose had previously kissed me for letting her get closer to the front. And I very much would have liked to bloody the face of the cross-eyed garden-gnome-looking motherfucker who knocked his way into me, stood on my feet, and swung his hippy hair in everybody's faces. Oh well, at least I don't look like an idiot and my hair doesn't smell like strawberry lip gloss.

Friday afternoon got us at the Jane Magazine party, held at the soon-to-open Beauty Bar (like the Iheartcomix party). Again, they had music acts out back and DJs inside. Only this party was much more crowded than its predecessor. So much so that after you waited in line to get in, you had to wait in line to see the music out back. Lame. We saw Of Montreal and Mates of State, a keyboard/synth & drum duo. Some of our group hated them but I haven't heard enough to completely banish them from my ears yet, though I could see them getting annoying.

Dinner and margaritas at Jaime's. Then a little wandering on 6th St. which being as it was a Friday night and St. Patrick's Day was more crowded than the night before with some ridiculous lines. Along with my friends Rob and Seth, we went to Emo's to hear Minneapolis rapper P.O.S. We got there about 5 or so minutes after he was scheduled to start and settled in to listen. But his DJ's mobile mixing equipment (he wore it like you'd wear an accordion) lost power and that was that. Later, it was pointed out that this may have not been P.O.S. but that would mean they were way behind schedule.

Most everybody else was over at La Zona Rosa for the Arctic Monkeys midnight show. This was THE SHOW by this years IT band. I'd heard them but wasn't grabbed enough to spend my entire night at one venue waiting for one band. After numerous messages saying there was no line and you could walk right in, I decided I'd go hang out with my friends and see if their Arctic Monkey love would rub off on me. I guess I got there 10 minutes too late, b/c I had to wait 15-20 minutes to get in. My peeps were up near the front but I didn't feel like being a sardine so I hung out in the back. 15 minutes late, they came out with the lead singer announcing, "This is everything a gig should fucking not be." Most of a song was performed before coming to a full stop to make a comment about all the cameras in the crowd, after which the last verse was completed. More attitude about the press photographers in the pit ("vampires") and another song with a full stop. After exchanging a couple of text messages with the Mrs., I left. Sorry, but I'm not going to waste my time taking attitude from a 19 year-old kid who chose to perform at an industry-centered festival which he chooses to slam when he didn't have to agree to perform here. It's not like they didn't know what it's like b/c they were here last year.

I ended the night at Snow Patrol who were all over the place last year, everywhere except my stereo. They were ok, but I don't know that I'll spend any money on them. They struck me as a less-redundant Coldplay, with more of an edge. I'll check them out some more, but I'm not a fan yet.

Saturday I was all set to check out DJ Muggs, and surprised to find no line at the Flamingo Cantina 30 minutes before his show. There was no line b/c there was no show. Bummer. So back to Emo's for The Datsuns. Not bad. Everybody then went their separate ways. I wandered around 6th St., trying to find something random at a random venue. All I found were four dudes playing homemade drums (bar stools, trash can lids, a keg in a plastic trash can) wowing the passers-by on a street corner. I downed a strong rum and Coke at Casino and fell into Beerland to await the closing set by the Pink Swords. They gave a strong show as always and Dirty didn't electrocute himself so then we partied at their house until 5am. A great finish.

Photos to come to Flickr later...

South by Cap Metro

2006-03-14T08:55:00.000-06:00

The #1 bus took me down Lamar and Guadalupe to the Dobie for movie #1, High Score, a documentary about a guy trying to break the world record at a standup Missle Command arcade game. This requires him to pass 80 million points, which he estimates will take him over 2 days of non-stop playing on one quarter. This wasn't a bad little film, especially if you played arcade games in the early 80s. Our hero definitely has a case of the obsessives but it's a good case, where he's not weird and you feel for him when bad shit happens.

Then it was on the #1 to the Alamo Downtown for The Notorious Bettie Page, directed by Mary Harron and starring Gretchen Mol. I was all over this like syrup on pancakes and barely got in. My buddy, Josh, and I were #s 6 and 7 of the last 10 people allowed in. What's up front row! A little bit closer to the screen showing the makes-my-jaw-hit-the-floor Ms. Mol? Yes, please. Unfortunately, the film didn't reveal much more than her fully-bared skin. There just wasn't much to the script other than: here's Bettie thru the end of her pin-up career, which she quit due to her feelings about sin and what Jesus would think of her. The religious angle was handled well, but I could have used a bit more about it other than just a scene or two before she gives it all up. Bettie is portrayed as having no real qualms, or shame, about getting naked and tying up her fellow models. So I feel they could have done more with this internal conflict; it's there, but only skin deep.

A drink at the Jackalope and then a ride home on the #15 so I could get my car for the midnight movie at the Alamo South of District 13. This film was written (story for sure, maybe screenplay) and produced by Luc Besson (The Professional, La Femme Nikita) and is a physical-stunt oriented actioner set in the near-future. Some parts of Paris are being abandoned by city services, like the police, and the residents are on their own to defend themselves against the gangs that rule the streets. One local stud ain't having it. But after kicking some ass in the opening, he gets to spend some time in jail while his sister becomes the toy of the local heroin kingpin they tried to turn in to the cops. 6 months later, a super-cop busts him out and enlists his help in retrieving a stolen bomb. They then kick ass together. Great fight choreography and stuntwork, strongly featuring the always-moving parkour. When he goes feet first thru a window above a door, you know that it's on. As Besson's involved in this one, it'll be available on video here for sure. You should find it.

South by So Far

2006-03-13T14:00:00.000-06:00

What I've seen so far...
(go to sxsw or imdb for details. i've got a bus to catch in 20 minutes)

Champions, starred Kevin Corrigan and Xander Berkley, a couple of supporting/character actors I like in lead roles. It was alright, a quirky male-bonding comedy. I found myself wishing there was a bit more meat to it.

Don't Come Knocking, directed by Wim Wenders and written by and starring Sam Shepard. Beautiful cinematography, kinda Euro-feel to the characters and story. Guess I need to finally watch Paris, Texas.

Danny Roane: First Time Director, which is Andy Dick's feature directorial debut. It was funny, but the jokes start wearing thin about 20 minutes before it's over. Mo Collins from Mad TV was in it (though not enough) as was Michael Hitchcock (Parker Posey's husband in Best in Show). Dick may have given up the drugs, but not the drink. He was pretty insane during the Q& A, enough to make me wonder if anybody he works with ever wants to beat the shit out of him.

The Cassidy Kids, a locally made film that I had a chance to work on but didn't b/c I had another opportunity that would have paid better. Of course, that opportunity ended up going away. Oh well, this was ok but a little uneven for me---lighthearted comedy, coming-of-age mystery, and adult drama. Kadeem Hardison from A Different World goes non-funny and doesn't do too bad.

loudQuietloud: a film about the Pixies, follows the band on their 2004 reunion tour. It was fly-on-a-wall style with a few questions here and there from Kelly Deal. I liked it, could have watched more. Don't hate me, but I didn't want the performance footage in there, at least not as much as they had. More about the band members and how they can't relate/talk to each other.

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is a mockumentary following a supernatural serial killer, ala Jason, Michael & Freddy. Robert Englund (Freddy) is on board in the Donald Pleasance (Halloween) psychiatrist role. This was really quite funny. The guy playing Leslie did a good job.

Today, I'm catching: High Score, a doc about a guy who wants to set the all-time high score on Missile Command, which will take him 2 days of non-stop play on one quarter to reach. The Notorious Bettie Page, starring Gretchen Mol. I can look at Gretchen Mol all day long. After that, either Bickford Schmeckler's Cool Ideas with the kid from Almost Famous or Heavens Fall with Timothy Hutton about a racially-motivated rape trial in the South in the early 20th century (true story but why do I feel like I've seen this enough already). Then, at midnight, District 13, written by Luc Besson.

And it's time to go....

Live-Action Simpsons Intro

2006-03-04T22:08:00.000-06:00

From the UK. Pretty damn good.

Stay in Debt...

2006-03-03T10:56:00.000-06:00

...or be suspected of being a terrorist. What's that you say? That's the dumbest thing you've ever heard of and couldn't possibly be true. Think again.

Would somebody please tell me WHY making a larger than normal payment on a credit card gets your name sent to Homeland Security? If they want to hold it to make sure the money's in my bank, fine no problem. If your name isn't already on some HS watch list (and if they're spying on PETA and Quakers then a lot of us probably are on some list somewhere), why should paying off debt red-flag you? Is it un-American now to pay off your debt?

Oh yeah, 9/11 changed everything. Right. It changed our ability as a nation to think objectively and rationally. It made us fear everything, even fear itself. It hurt us so much it made us arrogant enough to think all the brown people are bad, as opposed to just the assholes who say they hate us. You know, the ones in the caves in Afghanistan that we were supposed to "smoke out." Saddam Hussein is being brought to justice. Great. And this expenditure of untold billions, 2000+ American lives, and uncounted Iraqi civillian lives was due to what specific threat that he posed to America? Did he arrange for 4 planes to be crashed into our buildings? No, it was this other guy with a bad foot on dialysis who is still at large almost 5 years later. Once upon a time, he was wanted dead or alive. What are we doing about that now?

His name is Mud

2006-02-08T11:13:00.000-06:00

For my first 2 years of college, I had the so-called joy of attending Texas A&M; I refer to it now as my Dark Ages. They make a huge deal about following all the traditions that have been around since the start of the university or whatever. If you don't follow them, you're a bad Ag. One of these traditions was Howdy Week. This took place the first week of each semester, during which, if you made eye contact with anybody you were supposed to say "howdy" or "hello" or whatever. This was to further the notion that it was the friendliest of campuses and we all liked each other ever so much! It was also suggested that you don't have to quit saying "howdy" at the end of the week, but everyone did, returning to their cliques and not deigning to speak to those who didn't meet up to their standards. Personally, I found the majority of people there to be very shallow and fake. By no means was this everyone, but it was sure the major vibe I picked up on. And the hallowed traditions are, to me, just another way to hold on to the past with a vise-like grip, eschewing change and modernity (I think it was the 70s before women and integration happened, but don't quote me). So no surprise it was a conservative campus that's now home to the Bush I presidential library and gave us one-time Senator Phil Gramm.

And now George Carlton Deutsch III, yet another unqualified hack given a position to make sure science is cozied up to Dear Leader's politics. Heckuva job, Deutschie!

In all fairness though, I've got to point out that he got outed by an Aggie, who passed on the info to a scientific Aggie with a blog. I don't know their politics, but it doesn't sound like they're drinking the Kool-Aid.

Only Spying on International Communications?

2006-02-06T12:37:00.000-06:00

Not in the Pentagaon, says Newsweek.

If you've got nothing to hide...

AG Gonzales not testifying under oath, even though he said he had no problem being sworn in. When he was getting confirmed, under oath, Senator Russ Feingold asked him about any secret surveillance programs. Gonzo said none existed.

Feingold is starting to get some netroots support for a presidential run in '08. If you want more info, go here.

Mangareality

2006-02-06T09:51:00.000-06:00

I thought these were pretty cool-looking, in a freakshow sort of way. Especially this one, which immediately brought back yesterday's laborious 40s: Island of Dr. Moreau, and Marlon Brando's lil' friend.

via boingboing.net

p.s. usesless trivia: the last actor named in the opening credits was a guy named William Hootkins who played Kiril, one of the manimals, and we all laughed at his name. Star Wars geeks might like to know he played Porkins in the original, Episode 4, and is recently deceased.

"Cover me, Porkins."

Curiosity

2006-02-03T11:32:00.000-06:00

If you see this post, please leave a comment. I'm wondering who comes by here on a regular/semi-regular/irregular basis. Thanks.

How I Spent the State of the Union Address

2006-02-02T11:37:00.000-06:00

(Edited for chronologicality in an attempt to make it readable for non-drunks. I put all the posts into one but left the timestamps so you could maybe get an idea of the real deal when it actually happened. And I scrubbed the other posts.)

state of the union + drinking game + blog =?

it's 8:20, at least 3 standing o's already

isolationism bad

i've already drunk about 1/2 a beer, on my 2nd of the evening
posted by slight @ 8:17 PM

i'm drinking for 'terrorsits' and 'iraqis' even though it just says 'terror' and 'iraqi'
posted by slight @ 8:19 PM

oh my god, i've missed about 15 drinks for 'freedom'
iraqi posted by slight @ 8:20 PM

troops 1 derimk

(not going to edit typos, speed is key)

standing o no drink

iraq 1 drink

fucker's slamming criticism while welcoming it. hypocrite...............

i got your duty to speak with candor

show kerry 1 drink
posted by slight @ 8:21 PM

giving it up for the troops

introducing family of a killed soldier, drink ofr each of htem

drink for the soldier just cuz
posted by slight @ 8:23 PM

pam called, drink form issing something

2 drinks for terror and terrorist

democracy 2 drinks

new beer
posted by slight @ 8:26 PM

2 for democracy

dick doesn't look that good. cheeks are rosy but he's slumping

iran 1 drink

nukular!!!!!!! 2x only 1 drink each. fuck!

talking to the iranians: we respect you and want to be friends of a free and democratic iran. (ok, i;'ve heard of worse things)

now he's talking about us spreading compasssion abroad? dude, he's in a bubble
posted by slight @ 8:27 PM

seguing from we need to show compassion abroad to fighting terrorism at home. awkward. then shout out to cops and firemen. whatup Brad!

1/2 standing o that's a drink cuz he wants the Patriot Act renewed

might be going into wiretapping

yeah

he's lying, yada yada yada

1/2 standing o, drink

terror drionk
posted by slight @ 8:31 PM

freedom x1

bipartisan =2 drinks

freedmo

hillary's standing. what is with the clintosn and bushes hanging so tight?

talking about the economy

there aint' no drinks for any ecdonomy bullshit? fuck this

i'm freestyling it:

taxes = drink

standing o b/c we need immigrants

talking about tax relief passed under him. drink for not being righ rich
posted by slight @ 8:35 PM

new beer

might have been 1/2 standing o dirnk!

he's gonna cut stuff and save us money

earmark reform, drink for ears 2x
standing o by the dems b/c his social security didn't pass awesome!!!!!!!!

(pam totally distracted me for a minute with the lovin')

biparitsan 1 drink 2x

i think he's sorta talking about healthcare cuz baby boomers are about to be old, like retiring posted by slight @ 8:39 PM

4 supreme coutr justices in this hizzouse including scalito

we need secure borders, close enought tequila? i'm dinrking tecate close enough1!!!

showing chertoff, you suck chretorr!

"we have a resposnbility to meet needs for our seniours in healthcare and we're doing it" gets boos, b/c grandma ain't getting her meds on the new medicare

lawsuits mean 1500 counties don't have ob/gyns? can i see the backup please?

we're addicted to oil. no shit sherlock.

and you suck some serious dick there.

taking a drink just cuz. and then he says nukular

change in power of autos?

ethanol!

everybody likes ethanol

except exxon mobil with $34 billiong in profits

enviro dirnk! 2 drinks

we gots to be comepetitvie in education like math and science. go nerds! geeks untie!
posted by slight @ 8:43 PM

we're gonna lead the world in opportunity and innovation

he's thumping no child left behind.

math and science...

i'm not drinking

drink for showing laoura

a new initiative is a drink: the american competitiveness initiative!! it's go time! suck it, rest of the world!

he's talking about abstinence, drink cuz we did it ealrier!
posted by slight @ 8:50 PM

time for new beer

shout out to justice roberts and alito, drink x2, so long roe v. wade for a while

props to sandra o'connor! she's cool!

he couldn't say 'egregious' that's a drink.

2 drinks for talking about the Creator and cloning is bad, m'kay!

talking about ethics in Congressm drink someone else's drink

new initiative is 1 drink
and showing laura, pickles!!!!

does he have hair in his ears?
posted by slight @ 8:53 PM

he's talking about Katrina, drink!
nola, drink!
heckuva job, brownie!

meds for aids, everybody likes it. he smiles 'i'm good'

drink for kerry!

pam's drinking my beer. give it back!

obamaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!
posted by slight @ 8:58 PM

yes, i have nothing better to do

oh, it's over. just like that.

51 minutes less than an hour. i've got to finish my drink and have another!

oh boy.

9:05

coold. i slammed about 4 1/2 beers in 40 min. that doesn't sound like theat much but i am drunk.

wtf? barack slapping w. on the back and hugging frist. fuck all that.

now he's signing atuographs, w is.
posted by slight @ 9:01 PM

And if anything confused you, it's W's fault.

It's like Orwell, but for reals

2006-02-02T09:41:00.000-06:00

Tuesday night GW talks about us needing to go to rehab to cure our oil addiction. Among the alternatives he offered up were wind and ethanol. Yesterday, the Sec. of Energy said GW was just joshin' about detaching from the Mid-East oil tit.

Today, the NYT shows that they apparently didn't mean it about the ethanol and wind energy either.

A taste:

"The Energy Department will begin laying off researchers at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory in the next week or two because of cuts to its budget.

A veteran researcher said the staff had been told that the cuts would be concentrated among researchers in wind and biomass, which includes ethanol. Those are two of the technologies that Mr. Bush cited on Tuesday night as holding the promise to replace part of the nation's oil imports."

It's not about speaking truthfully. It's about truthiness.

The End of Suburbia

2006-02-02T07:54:00.000-06:00

A documentary from Canadia about our dependence on oil to get us home, which since WWII, has primarily been the 'burbs. But where's the action gonna be when the oil runs out? Back in the city proper, yo.

Say It With Me...

2006-02-01T19:21:00.000-06:00

"Flip-flop."

Or really, a lie. It didn't take long for Georgie boy and his admissistration to do an about-face. Cut Mid-East oil imports by 75% by 2025? Not gonna do it.

These people do their religion, let alone the entire country, a great disservice with all their lying. But since the FISA law from 1978 isn't good enough to work anymore (or be rewritten to be more applicable today), then by extrapolation, one must then presume that the Constitution is too old also. And so on, back thru the Magna Carta, and on and on, all the way back to the 10 Commandments, which clearly forbade lying. Then again, what the hell does God know anyway?

3 minutes I'll never get back

2006-01-31T09:33:00.000-06:00

Mr. Britney drops it. And by "it" I mean a pile of steaming turds. I'm not sure I even heard the motherfucker rap during the course of the 3 minutes I'll never get back.

Oscar nominations are out

2006-01-31T09:30:00.000-06:00

Here's a list. Save the date: Sunday, March 5th.

Anybody feel lucky and want to up the stakes? Say $10 a ballot?

It's All Zenbetty's Fault

2006-01-28T11:39:00.000-06:00

Because she had to go and post this, I had to go and try to find out more. Then I looked around and read this, which ultimately led me to this.

I am now disturbed.

MONKEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-01-27T07:56:00.000-06:00

Because I love you, ice skating monkey gallery. Enjoy.

I know what a cinnamon roll is

2006-01-25T15:29:00.000-06:00

Begin rant:

Went to Flightpath this morning for a meeting. I walked in, said hello to my friend, dropped off my bag at his table, and stepped up to the counter to order. The chick behind the counter was talking to someone else about random shit. Not being in any kind of hurry, nor an asshole, I waited for them to finish. Finally they did, and the barista turned her attention to me. As it's a coffee shop, I got a coffee. And as I hadn't eaten anything, I asked for a cinnamon roll.

She said to me, "Well, we have cinnamon rolls, but it's probably not what you're thinking of. We don't have what you're thinking of."

Egg-squeeze me?

If you could jump into the wayback machine with me and journey back thru time to those thrilling days of yesteryear, to the days of Lee jeans and a lemon-yellow kitchen straight outta the 70s, you'd find me there, because that was our kitchen. There's a good chance you'd find me eating some cinnamon rolls, most likely by Pillsbury, the kind in the biscuit can with icing at one end. Though it could be the kind that came in a box with icing in a little squeeze package. Regardless, the rolls themselves were basically the same: dough with cinnamon and sugar on it rolled up with icing drizzled on it. In fact, as far as I know, that's pretty much how I'd describe any cinnamon roll in general. Ok, maybe they don't all come with icing, but for the most part they do. If I'm hungry for a pastry in a bakery or coffee shop and there's a cinnamon roll, I'm probably getting it. (Unless it's got raisins and then I tell it to fuck off.)

So, back to today...

"You don't have what I'm thinking of?" I ask, amazed that this mind reader hasn't done more with her psychic gift than pick up the morning shift at a coffee shop. I look over to the pastry cabinet where I see a cinnamon roll like the one I ordered there a couple weeks earlier.

"No," she says. "Most people mean coffee cake, which is more of a bread--"

"No, I want a cinnamon roll," I say, talking over her. (Newsflash: Though not a rocket scientist, I also know what coffee cake is.)

"--than what we have, which is just this," she pulls one out, "pastry thing with some cinnamon and a lot of sugar."

"Uh, that's what I call a cinnamon roll. That's exactly what I was thinking of, and that's what I'd like."

I mean, whatthefuck? She's telling me that I don't know what I mean, or want (see above def. of cinnamon roll), and what she thinks I want is something else entirely, and called by another name (coffee cake). And it's not like she was some wet-behind-the-ears freshman either. She was older than me, looked to be in her mid-to-late 40s, tattoo on her breast. Nor was it done in a manner like she was offering me a piece of The! Best! Most! Scrumptious! Coffee Cake Ever! b/c they didn't have any.

I won't deny that I have done what she did to me. Sometimes, I'm very sure of myself; too much for my own good on occasion. I would like to think, though, that I try to find out a little more information from whomever I'm talking to, before I correct them, or steer them in another direction. If not, I apologize and you are now authorized to bip me in the future. When I then give you a "wtf?" look, just say, "Remember the cinnamon roll, asshole."

End rant.

Go Hoyas!

2006-01-25T13:08:00.000-06:00

22 Georgetown law students turned their backs on Attorney General Gonzales, during a speech he gave yesterday about the domestic wiretapping scandal. No shouting, no disturbance, they just stood up as 4 students dressed in black, hooded robes (a la the Abu Ghraib photo) walked in with the banner seen above, and everyone turned around. I don't give a fuck about spying on terrorists who want to blow people up, even if the terrorists are in the US and American citizens. Nope, spy on American citizens all you want. I don't care because I've got nothing to hide.

I just want them to do me one favor.

Do it within the confines of the law of the land. It's called the Constitution, assholes, and it was probably the first thing your government or civics teacher mentioned in class. We are a nation of laws, not one of men and women. And if you can't do it within the law, and if you can't get the law changed to allow it? Then. You. Can't. Do. It.

Clergy Letter Project

2006-01-24T14:10:00.000-06:00

"Eh," you say. "Preachers write a letter. I should care why?"

Because it's a letter not disputing evolutuion, but accepting it. And saying that the idea of the universe being created by a creator, or I guess that should be Creator, and evolution aren't mutually exclusive. This is the belief I hold, until I learn more. Basically, I'm waiting to find out from science (is it Science? ooohh, caps!) where all the gases that were floating around the ether before the Big Bang or after it came from. I need an explanation of where and how those gases, and the atoms and molecules that comprise them, came into being. Maybe there is a theory, but I haven't come across it. Point it my way if there's one (or more) out there.

Hot, political statement girl-on-girl action!

2006-01-14T11:48:00.000-06:00

Some Chinese ladies bring it to Tianamen Square. The uniformed fellow (cop? soldier? party patrol?) doesn't seem too happy.

Truthiness

2006-01-13T12:24:00.000-06:00

According to a panel of linguists, "truthiness" is the word of the year for 2005. Stephen Colbert gave us this gem on "The Colbert Report" and defines it as "truth that wouldn't stand to be held back by facts." The AP article says it's "the quality of stating concepts one wishes or believes to be true, rather than the facts." The linguists made a damn good choice.

I've been following the story about James Frey's memoir "A Million Little Pieces" and the recent brouhaha bacause of evidence turned up by thesmokinggun.com that he invented and/or embellished much of the content of the book. I first heard about it over Christmas while in Houston. My father-in-law's girlfriend's son and wife told us about it, and it's story of a raging alcoholic/drug addict/criminal and his journey to straighten out his life. Oprah made it her book of the month and, big surprise, it sold millions. Now, Frey, and Oprah, have had to come out and defend the book, saying there is an "essential truth" and that it can help people.

That may very well be true. But it doesn't erase the Fact that he made stuff up. In my world, that takes it from being a memoir to a work of fiction. Oh well, with truthiness on his side, who's going to stop Mr. Frey? And Oprah's reputation and book club, what comes of them? Probably nothing, as the nation does what it's been doing these last couple of years--gives a collective shrug and goes back to shopping and watching a new VH1 special about the last 5 minutes.

Who's going to call him what he is: a liar? Should I expect tough questions from Larry King? Of course not, because they might cause his heart rate to rise ever so slightly, which would bring out his doctor to proclaim another heart attack. And you just know Oprah must have given Frey an earful as she has to defend him, and by association, herself.

This whole truthiness thing is bad. There are lots of people lying out there. The worst ones all seem to come from here. When it's resident publicly proclaims that he is breaking the law and will continue to do so, we're fucked. As the media and pundits opine upon the predicament, they skirt around the Fact that a special court exists to approve wiretaps and that they can even be approved up to 72 hours after the tap was initiated. They ignore the Fact that this court has rarely, in thousands of cases, denied approval of a tap. Meanwhile, apologists begin to promote the idea that in the War on Terror, breaking the law is "maybe... part of the job" of the president.

Please excuse me while I vomit myself to death and watch this country, which you and I may bitch about much more than we praise it but it is still better than probably 95% of the other countries on this rock, flush itself down the crapper.

In Deliverance of 2005

2006-01-10T19:08:00.000-06:00

comes 2006, we hope, though its early days have been filled with much that is for sucks. Anyway, I'll drink to the promise of better days to come in the '06 with my 32 ozs. of Tecate.

I got a haircut, and for me, it is to laugh. Heh-heh. Maybe not for you, but whatever. Currently in a prototypical stage, we'll see how long this goes and how long it gets. The Mrs. doesn't like it, but that's no surprise.

Q-Unit

2005-12-05T12:04:00.000-06:00

Found on boingboing.net, a 50 Cent/Queen mashup album. Should you be interested, it's here. (love the mustache)

And In the World of Country Music

2005-11-23T22:00:00.000-06:00

I produced these 2 videos which were directed by Peter Zavadil back in 2003.

Rick Trevino's "In My Dreams" here (click on the video link)

Chris Cagle's "Chicks Dig It" here (it wouldn't work for me but maybe it will for you)

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2005-11-23T21:47:00.000-06:00

I produced a music video for the band, Spoon. It was directed by Peter Simonite, who's a very cool guy that I work with sometimes. You may remember this picture, which was from the shoot. Well, the video's out now. You can check it out here (scroll down to the nun).

Ain't nothin' goin' on but the rent

2005-11-22T22:45:00.000-06:00

It's been a while. Thanks for wishing I'd say something, whomever that was that commented in the post below. Pastor Stephen, eh? That's a new one. But why don't you identify yourself, be you friend or stranger? Too lazy to type your nom de internet or what? You flatter me with your desire to read something and I just want to say thanks for caring but can't.

Yes, I'm on this job that takes up way too much of my time and will probably, in some way, ruin this Thanksgiving weekend. There is a faint light at the end of the tunnel though, as we've only got another month to go. I would love to blog more; I want to. But after sitting in front of a computer for 12 hours a day, with my brain in full "go" mode for that whole time too, that by the time I get home the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer some more. I hope you can understand. The next-to-last thing I want to do when I get home is think, or use my brain, if I can help it. Blogging, or writing (as they called it in the olden times), requires that particular organ.

Fuck it. I could make excuses all the live-long day and cast blame this way and that way, or I could just say something.

This past weekend we celebrated Rob's birthday by going out to eat at the Frisco Diner on Burnet, the last of the Nighthawk establishments. Our waitress was somebody's grandmother who'd been working there for 40+ years. She started out kind of surly, but got a lot nicer as time went on. After that, we blindfolded Rob and drove him to the Crazy Lady. Back in the '02, the four of us (McGroach ain't complete w/o Miss R. Roach) had almost gone in there the night before the Mrs. and me went on our Trip, but didn't. I can't remember exactly why but it probably had something to do with me not wanting to lay out the funds required by a strip club when I'm about to be on the road for four months.

Let's go off on a tangent, b/c this is the interweb and that frequently happens here.

Me probably being the one who said no that night made me want to address something. I don't know if this is all in my head or if you may think of me in this way, but I feel like I'm the one who's not fun, or less fun, or whatever amongst our group of friends, within my marriage. And that sucks. I like to fuck off and have fun as much as the next guy, I guess I just try to put it in the context of the rest of my life and how other parts will be affected. There's times when the Mrs. gets the phone calls or the messages about stuff going on and maybe it's b/c everybody knows I'm working, which is painfully true, but that's not necessarily how I percieve it. To me, it's that I'm the afterthought and somehow this relates to me, for whatever reason, not being the most outgoing of people, or shy, or quiet. I hate the word shy, it should fuck off. Yeah, once upon a time for my entire childhood, I was shy. It would take me a while to make friends and I never had many when I did make them. But I don't think of myself in that way any more. I may be quiet still, to a degree, but it's not b/c I'm too embarrassed to make conversation. It's just that I'm trying to gauge those involved and figure out what they're about. Or my brain's working in a non-conversational way, and this happens quite a bit. You wouldn't believe how many times the Mrs. asks me what I'm thinking b/c I'm making some face, which usually means I'm having a conversation in my head. I'm the first to admit that my brain is probably the best thing about me. It keeps me trucking, generally gets me out of trouble, and allows me to help friends in the pursuit of trivia. But it's like sometimes it's doing too much work that it limits the rest of me from doing anything.

I don't really know what the hell I'm trying to say (been at work 13 1/2 hours now), other than I hope you won't hold it against me, that whenever I'm like that, it's just me being me. It's all part of the package--if you don't like the outside, maybe you like the inside, or vice versa. If you don't like either, then you're s.o.l. And if this blog is quiet for a while, then I'm either working or can't figure out the right way to say the things in my head.

secrets

2005-10-04T20:48:00.000-05:00

Just saw a CNN report on that secrets blog (I'm too lazy to find it) where everybody sends in their secret on a postcard.

It made me think about what secrets I would send. And that feeling of... release, that must come with looking at the words that represent the actions/emotions/thoughts/fantasies/whatever that we keep from everyone else. That I/you/we could send something in and let others know without knowing. And the reverse of that being the voyeurism of seeing something that we're not supposed to.

So there are my secrets, those things that I do not tell you, that I will not tell you. (Though I wonder what you'd think if you did know.) And then there are yours. There's something strangely reassuring in not knowing everything about someone. Then again, I'm too fucking curious about... well, everything, not to want to know that which makes you tick.

This is a real picture...

2005-09-14T19:37:00.000-05:00

...of a real note written by our illustrious leader to his lover, uh I mean Sec. of State. I shit you not. My favorite part is the question mark. The, ahem, leader of the free world has to ask somebody who works for him if he can take a whiz? Though the question this leads me to is: if he has to ask, shouldn't somebody know to tell him to go before the big meeting/speechifying starts?

Fun with Conservative Idiots

2005-09-09T16:09:00.000-05:00

Earlier today, I stumbled across a blog espousing some very interesting commentary. It's called Conservatives for American Values. Take a read and see if you also find yourself wondering if these guys believe what they write. I think they do but I seriously had to think about it b/c I was sure it was total satire. And look at their pictures. If those aren't fake, they should be.

I left a comment under the name 'cindy' just to mess with them and got a bewildered response. Now I'm going to leave another comment, in which I'll question the size of their brain and penis. We'll see if they leave it up.

Dr. Ben Marble

2005-09-09T15:46:00.000-05:00

He was the guy who encouraged VP Dick Cheney to perform coitus upon himself. He lost his house and his wife gave birth to their daughter shortly after the storm hit. To make a little scratch he's selling some video footage he shot in the area before and after the storm hit, including the footage he and a friend shot when he dropped the F-bomb. As of 3:50pm on 9/10, it's up to $520.

Re: 2 pics internment camp

2005-09-09T14:00:00.000-05:00

In the post below, I mentioned a post on boingboing about a camp in Oklahoma that's going to be housing Katrina evacuees. I just found the writer's complete version and what it describes is wrong on so many levels. Read it.

"George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People"

2005-09-09T08:57:00.000-05:00

So says this song and so said Kanye West. I found it via this boingboing post. boingboing says it's a remix of Kanye West's song "Gold Digger" while FWMJ, the site that put up the mp3, says he produced it. Maybe both are true, I don't know, but the track does open with his now-infamous line from the Katrina telethon the other night.

Does G-Dub really not care about black people? Well, I'm about as white as they come so I can't say that I'm the best person to answer that. From the response to Katrina, one could make that argument, though the general incompetence exhibited by FEMA and Homeland Security throughout this catastrophe speaks volumes in and of itself. I do remember, during the '04 campaign, seeing a photo essay page entitled "Compassion" which consisted primarily of pictures of Bush with black people. There were maybe 2 that showed him with white people or another minority. This was either on the White House's page or the Bush/Cheney campaign page, but it's gone now.

I think he cares about them like he cares about the rest of us peons, as political fodder. He'll use each of us as much as he can to get what he wants. Concern for our well-being? Our rights as individuals, let alone Americans? Only so far as he can use them to accomplish his goals. I know, I know. I keep saying "his" like he's in charge. He couldn't be in charge of dropping quarters in a vending machine.

But back to the song. I like it. That it's a protest song against this carpetbagger only makes me like it more. Regardless of my belief in the song's theme/title, the words are true. A sampling:

Hurricane came thru fucked us up 'round here
Government actin' like it's bad luck down here
All I know is that you better bring some trucks 'round here
Wonder why I got my middle finger up right here

I got my middle finger up too.

2 pics

2005-09-08T15:07:00.000-05:00

One fake, one real. Both speak volumes.

fyi: boingboing.net has some interesting updates from the gulf and also houston. some guys from austin tried (still are i think) to set up a low-power fm station to give out info to all the people. they were made to jump thru many red-tape hoops (get 10k radios, get fcc approval) and did but someone w/the astrodome is denying them. man, i hate that town.

another post was about some people in oklahoma taking supplies to a currently unused shelter. the shelter is a bunch of cabins w/ kitchens owned by a church. fema said the evacuees would not be allowed to use the kitchens due to fire liability. the church is not going to be allowed to come in and cook for the people b/c different cabins could get different meals and might riot. fema will provide 2 meals/day. nor will the people be allowed to attend the church housing them. they will be confined to the shelter (semi-concentration camp?) for 5 months and not allowed to leave. can't look for work? can't look for a real home?

Drink one for Lil' Buddy

2005-09-06T15:26:00.000-05:00

The longest 3 hour tour ever has ended for Gilligan.

Katrina

2005-08-31T09:39:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, let's help. (The Red Cross' website might be overloaded at the moment, so use the telephonic 1-800-HELP-NOW).

This is bad. New Orleans isn't going to be New Orleans for a long time. Nor will other parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Last night, NOLA's mayor said the people in the Superdome may have to stay there a week more. This morning, they decided to start busing people to the Astrodome in Houston. Regardless, I would not want to be in charge of crowd control there. Those people are going to get a little bit cranky (hello understatement).

Second, they say, "While Rome burned, Nero fiddled."

They knew where Katrina was going on Sunday (if not before) and it's a category 5 by this time, it hits on Monday down to category 4 but with the storm surge of a 5, and things go from bad to worse on Tuesday.

On Sunday, he was at the estate in Crawford (it's not a ranch), handling things remotely. On Monday, he flew to Arizona, where he stepped off the plane to be met by John McCain, with a photo-op birthday cake for the Senator. Happy Birthday you tool! Then it was off to a speech on Medicare at the Pueblo El Mirage RV Resort & Country Club. Back on the plane for a hop to Rancho Cucamonga, CA for another chat about Medicare. On Tuesday, it's down to San Diego for a speech commemorating the victory over Japan. He mentions the hurricane for about a minute. Hey, I appreciate the vets and what they did for us and all, but that was 60 years ago. In New Orleans, levees are breaking and pumps are failing, spelling disaster for one of the country's oldest cities. The decision is made Tuesday morning to cut the month-long vacation short (by 2 whole days) go to back to DC... on Wednesday, after one more night in Crawford (there was this one tie with blue stripes that he really wanted to get). And when they leave for DC today, it's not until 10:40am. Let's not get going too early there, Nero... er, George.

Like it or not, we go thru these next 3 years with the president we've got, not the one we want (to paraphrase the Rumster). Fine, but could he at least appear to be leading and concerned about the people he purports to lead, the people who elected him? It takes him 3 days to get back to DC? Maddening, though what do we expect. It's not like there's a war on or anything, just a hurricane. And when will the big guy visit the area? Ohhh, Friday sounds good.

I'm goin' down to South Park...

2005-08-25T10:44:00.000-05:00

Animate yourself for South Park here.

Bullshit Deflectors/Protectors

2005-08-25T08:24:00.000-05:00

Make your own here.

Falling Thru Bubbles/Balloons

2005-08-23T12:31:00.000-05:00

This one doesn't have a girl that looks like Stephanie, so I don't wince when the character falls into back-breaking shapes.

American Taliban

2005-08-23T12:07:00.000-05:00

Pat Robertson calls for the assassination of Venezuelan president, Hugo Chavez.

Pat Robertson is a terrorist, no different from any extremist Islamic cleric. I wonder if he could tell us who Jesus would assassinate.

2005-08-09T22:11:00.000-05:00

I have some personal webspace from Grande but the instructions they give to upload are for PCs (more or less) and I'm not PC. You bitches should know this. Could use some help. Let me know if you're able. I'd like to figure out how to do it on my Mac so I can do it more in the future. But for now, there's a blister-popping video I'd like to share.

Flickr

2005-08-09T12:35:00.000-05:00

I've put some random photos up on Flickr if you're interested. I'll do more next month.

Before I die

2005-07-29T14:23:00.000-05:00

I want to make out in the ruins of the Marquis de Sade's castle in France. It just sounds like a cool thing to do.

In 4 days we'll be here...

2005-07-29T14:19:00.000-05:00

...laying on the beach, drinking beers and margaritas, eating seafood fresh out of the Pacific, and not much else.

Some days are better than others...

2005-07-23T17:45:00.000-05:00

I recently produced a music video for Spoon's song "Sister Jack." The 2nd day of filming was spent running around getting a bunch of different shots (called b-roll in the biz), mostly of this guy in a nun habit. But Hunter, the guy, had to leave for a couple of hours in the middle of the day, and as we had a tight schedule I doubled him for one shot, which consisted of yours truly being driven around in the back of this killer Cadillac, dubbed the "Official Car of Texas Music" by it's owner Doug Moreland, on the upper deck of IH-35. Watch for the video next month locally on AM15 and elsewhere nationally.

Rove & Khan

2005-07-15T09:53:00.000-05:00

Maybe you know about these things, maybe you don't. I want to make sure you know because this shit pisses me off.

First, Karl Rove leaked classified information, specifically, the identity of a CIA operative working on weapons of mass destruction (our original reason for invading Iraq), to reporters. The operative, Valerie Plame, is the wife of former ambassador Joseph Wilson. He was sent to Niger in 2002 to investigate reports about Iraq wanting to buy yellowcake from that African country. Yellowcake is uranium, that when enriched, can be used in the construction of nuclear weapons. Wilson determined these reports to be false, and reported such to the CIA, who had sent him. In January 2003, Bush nevertheless made the yellowcake claim in the State of the Union address, attributing it to British intelligence. Documents that formed the basis of the initial reports were later determined to be forgeries, and yet the Bush administration continued to make the Iraqi/Niger claims.

In July 2003, Wilson published an op-ed in the New York Times. A short time later, his wife's name was revealed in a column by conservative columnist Robert Novak (per Jon Stewart, a "douchebag of liberty"). Novak said he received this information from 2 senior administration officials. At the time, Bush said he would fire the leaker, should they be unmasked. WH press secretary Scott McClellan said Rove (and others) did not do it.

In December 2003, then-Attorney General John Ashcroft recused himself and a special prosecutor was appointed to investigate the case. To reach the bottom (or is it the top?) of the case, he felt the need to compel 2 journalists to reveal anonymous sources. (The freedom of the press is a difficult side story of this affair if you're interested.) One, Matt Cooper of Time Magazine, has done so. His source was Karl Rove. The other, Judith Miller of the NY Times, has not, and currently sits in jail. In grand jury testimony, Rove has apparently said that he confirmed Plame's identity to Novak. He was the 2nd source.

Now, McClellan is clamming up in the face of the WH press corps growing a pair, and Rove continues to pull the strings that make Bush dance.

I haven't provided any links b/c I don't know where to begin; there are so many out there. Google "Rove Plame leak" and you'll find plenty.

Finally, some words from Daddy Bush (who fired Karl Rove back in the day for being a trickster):

"Your mission is different now than it was back then. The Soviet Union is no more. Some people think, "what do we need intelligence for?" My answer to that is we have plenty of enemies. Plenty of enemies abound. Unpredictable leaders willing to export instability or to commit crimes against humanity. Proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, terrorism, narco-trafficking, people killing each other, fundamentalists killing each other in the name of God. These and more. Many more. As our analysts know, as our collectors of intelligence know - these are our enemies. To combat them we need more intelligence, not less. We need more human intelligence. That means we need more protection for the methods we use to gather intelligence and more protection for our sources, particularly our human sources, people that are risking their lives for their country. (Applause)

Even though I'm a tranquil guy now at this stage of my life, I have nothing but contempt and anger for those who betray the trust by exposing the name of our sources. They are, in my view, the most insidious, of traitors." --- link.

Second, and this goes hand-in-hand with the story above, that this administration puts political standing in front of the security of the country, is the naming of an al Qaeda mole, Mohammed Naeem Noor Khan, by the administration during the Democratic National Convention last year. Yet another anonymous source gave his name to a reporter who published it, despite the fact that he was still in communication with al Qaeda operatives, including a cell in Britain. British intelligence had to rush in and arrest the cell prematurely. What did Khan have to do with the British cell? On his computer were found clues pertaining to a bombing of the London Underground.

Check out this post at americablog.com for the full story.

Alright, that's it. Now go tell the sheeple. And when your Republican friends/family try to rebut it or shrug it off, get them to imagine that Clinton is the president while all of this is going on. Would they still shrug it off?

You find the funniest things...

2005-07-09T21:52:00.000-05:00

... in tinfoil-hat threads on political blogs. Such as this. Which I found here.

London

2005-07-07T10:33:00.000-05:00

The Mrs. and me were there with Mother slight almost 2 years ago. We all had a really great time, and fell in love with the city. Sorry to any New Yorkers checking in, but I think we'd move to London before the Apple. We had a flat in Bethnal Green in the East End that Mother slight got thru a an old work contact. Every day, we'd step out of our building that used to be a school in the Victorian days, and walk down the street past the multi-colored faces, the corner shops, and the Buddhist center to a little restaurant run by Greeks where we'd have our English breakfasts. Then it was on down the street to the Bethnal Green Underground Station where we'd catch the Central (red) line into central London.

The next stop was the Liverpool St. Station, where some of today's victims emerged from the tube.

We switched to other lines there and wandered around it's neighborhood some, too, as it was the haunt of Jack the Ripper and I kind of have an interest in that.

That bus. Shit.

Peace.

What He Said... Totally

2005-06-09T14:28:00.000-05:00

Click on the title for the link.

I will now read the Rude Pundit every day. He talks my language.

I gotta give Howard Dean some money.

Classmates.com

2005-06-06T18:07:00.000-05:00

You've seen their ads, right? They show some yearbook photos from different decades of people with decidedly different looks. 60s, 70s, 80s... various bad haircuts... I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

This entry is going to suck until I'm able to paste one of the ads here, but it's in my mind so I've got to get it out before I forget.

Well, if you're familiar, then maybe you remember the picture of the guy with blonde hair, parted on the side, slicked down with a decent amount of gel (Studio by Loreal was the product whose marketing worked on me), wearing what seems to be a white t-shirt under another t-shirt. I think I went to school with that guy. In fact, I think his homeroom followed mine alphabetically. I only know that though b/c my girlfriend was in that homeroom. In a box in the next room are my high school yearbooks. My mom brought them up about 6 months ago when she was cleaning out her storage space. (Yet another step on the road to adultification: having to be responsible for your childhood junk.) Somewhere, in one of those cheesy memoirs of the years with various parts I'd like erased from my brain, I could find a picture of Jack McClure that would prove or disprove my theory. It will have to be based on those books b/c there's no picture of Jack McClure on his page on classmates.com. (Hope that shows up for you. This interwebbin' is hard work.)

Latest and Greatest

2005-05-30T15:57:00.000-05:00

Somebody asked for an update. Sorry for the lack of posts, but I've been working.

We're all moved in to the new HQ and liking it more and more each day. Central air and heat are installed. Casey's doing the carpentry work and we installed a pocket door last weekend, just have to finish up the trim and the drywall. We're unpacking and trying to figure out "shelving solutions" (that's such a rediculous phrase but I can't help using it again and again) for closet storage. Yesterday we went to Lowe's and bought some bathroom fixtures to replace all the wood stuff currently in there. We haven't had time to install anything yet, but it's already an improvement.

I'm working on a Linklater project at the moment and have another movie waiting in the wings. So posting here may be light. I was kind of hoping for this thing not to be a "look at the funny/interesting/weird item I found" (not that there's anything wrong with those, but I can't copy My Tiny Bits, which does that so well) but somewhat more personal without necessarily being confessional. If it is going to be like that, my mind will need concentratin' time and I don't really get that when I'm working on a show. After 12-hour days, I just want to relax and not be in front of the computer where I've spent my whole day already.

What else, I saw Star Wars... better than Episodes 1 or 2, at least. We saw Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on Saturday... it was an okay movie, but I'd have rather given something else my hard-earned $cratch.

Ours

2005-04-29T12:28:00.000-05:00

Eight months later, we're done. I don't know, it's almost a little anticlimactic. Maybe it's because we're not moving in for another week. Maybe it just hasn't fully hit me yet. Either way it doesn't really matter because we're... homeowners (so long as we mail in the check every month).

Current Sign of the Apocalypse

2005-04-21T11:09:00.000-05:00

Ryan Seacrest is for sucks. (click on title for link)

"I'm Just Sittin' Here"

2005-04-14T18:15:00.000-05:00

Us and the Doolicks went to see Dizzee Rascal the other night. He's one of our favorite artists at the moment. In the UK, he's huge but he's still fighting to make it here. There were about 500 or so people at the show at the Parish Tuesday night. For the most part, it was a great show though it could have been louder (not enough bass pumpin' in my chest). The crowd was its usual Austin self at first until Dizzee and his backup man got everybody jumpin'. He was definitely psyched to be back, making a couple of references to his SXSW showcase last year. The set lasted about an hour and twenty minutes and included a few new songs too. He ended with the Billy Squier-sampling "Fix Up, Look Sharp" which is a truly kick-ass track. Unfortunately (and he did this on "Dream" as well), about halfway thru, they changed the beats to something totally different. As the kids say, WTF? He's got me jumping up and down like I'm half my age and then pulls the floor out from under me. Other than that, killer show (and Lil' Doolick got the live intro to UK grime; sweet).

Go get yourself some Dizzee.

31 on the outside, 6 on the inside

2005-04-13T09:16:00.000-05:00

This just might possibly be the best thing ever in the history of everything since before time began.

Reason #1 to visit Idaho

2005-04-12T10:56:00.000-05:00

The Mrs. and me are watching Napoleon Dynamite again. It makes us laugh. Apparently, the Idaho state government likes it, too. Check it.

You got your Hilarity in my Craptacularness

2005-04-12T10:44:00.000-05:00

Ok, first, because I like you, comes the Hilarity.

See, it is possible to have entertainment with a message.

Now, take a swig of something strong, and buckle up for Craptacularness.

But not all messages are necessarily entertaining.

For what it's worth, it doesn't appear that Mr. Dennis Madalone (record-setting New Jersey high school pole-vaulter turned Hollywood Star Trek stunt coordinator) is making any money off of his recording and video, as you get a copy of whichever in exchange for a donation to couple of charities. But somebody needs to let him know (and probably the rest of New Jersey) that 1987 ended 17 years ago.

(found via Atrios.)

The Education of Francis

2005-03-03T09:31:00.000-06:00

Copyright 2005 by s. light
This may not be reprinted without the author's permission.
_______________________________________________________________________

I had to go to Berlin. It couldn’t not happen. If we were going to Europe, then we definitely had to see Berlin. Maybe for some people, it’s nothing more than the place where the Wall came down, or for others, where the Wall went up. Then there’s my grandparents’ generation with meanings from before the Wall, of stormtroopers and swastikas. For me, all of those things were there, building blocks for this city that had been such a culture clash for so long, and now was totally open and redefining itself on a global scale. That was why I wanted to go there, and, as I would later realize, because this city had played a part in practically every event that defined our planet in the twentieth century. That, and the fact that I’m a bit of a U2 freak and they had recorded “Achtung Baby” there. Yes, I know; “Achtung Baby” would ultimately lead to the “Pop” album, where everyone just kind of went, “Huh?” But, damn it, “Achtung Baby” is a good album and damn it, I was going to Berlin.

Of course, we would end up cutting Berlin short. I have some family in Germany and we stayed with them an extra day or so because they kind of guilted us into it. And after Berlin, our last stop would be Amsterdam, where we were meeting some friends from home, and well, it was Amsterdam; there was weed to smoke. So, Berlin was cut to two full days and change.

It was on a Wednesday that we arrived, in the early evening. A couple of beers in the basement bar under our pensione and we called it a night. Okay, we called it a night after she made me use the “Helmut” voice. “Helmut vants you, fraulein. Oooh, dat is goot!” The next morning, having breakfast and checking out (they were full for the rest of our stay), we noticed a flyer for a guided walking tour of the city given by residents who spoke English as a first language. This was the kind of thing we hadn’t done, preferring to explore each city on our own, rather than be at the mercy of a tour guide. But, since we were cutting Berlin short and the flyer said the tour didn’t last longer than four hours, we figured it couldn’t be that terrible. Besides, they listed everything we knew we wanted to see: Brandenburg Gate, parts of the Wall still standing, even the Victory tower (where the angels sit on the head of the statue in Wings of Desire). The second tour of the day met at the lightpost in front of the McDonald’s across the street from Zoo Station at 2:30.

2:30. Lightpost. McDonald’s. Zoo Station. Chocolate shake.

There’s a few other pairs of non-European twentysomethings hanging around, until finally, this guy comes over and collects everyone for the tour. He’s about 5’5”, short brown hair, goatee, naturally tanned, wearing a pullover sweater with a shirt underneath, olive green pants, and carrying an over-the-shoulder satchel (not a man-purse, mind you, but what a guy would carry in college). His accent is English, sort of. No, it’s Australian. His name is Francis and he’s from Australia and he looks like a 7/8 scale model version of George Michael without the rock-n-roll fashion sense. Later, Pam would notice his protuding round buttocks and “Faith” would become our song of the day.

Francis begins by finding out where everyone is from. A pair of girls are the only other Americans, the rest of the group being Canadian, or so they claim. I don’t remember where the girls are from, but somehow it gets out that we’re from Texas (if he didn’t ask, we told him, because, throughout our trip, we hoped the iconic mythos of our home would make people like us more than just being from “the States”). Francis realizes he has his work cut out for him, since “the American education system doesn’t care at all about the rest of the world.” Hitler and the Wall are about all that our group has come to associate with Berlin. He actually rolls his eyes at us. We’re walking through Berlin’s version of Central Park, the Tiergarten, heading towards the Victory tower.

“They used it in a movie, I can’t remember which,” Francis says of the monument.

“Wings of Desire,” I chime in.

“Oh, right, and U2 used it in a video. They recorded one of their albums here, too.”

“Achtung Baby,” I don’t chime in. He’s beginning to get on my nerves and it’s only been ten minutes. This has the potential to be a very long four hours.

He starts to give us a history of the park, telling us it was first used as a hunting ground by the king. I think he said it was Frederick the Great, but it could have been a Wilhelm. (I’m an American and therefore lacking in the education department.)

“Andy Warhol did a painting of the King. Maybe you’ve seen it?” Francis asks.

Blank stares from the group.

“What? Are you all culturally destitute?” He is incredulous.

I told myself I was not going to be a brash, blowhard American. I told myself I was going to accept and respect different points of view; the U.S. is not the entire world (thank God). I told myself I would let my horizons be broadened. But, this is just getting to be too much.

“Is this how Australians treat paying customers? I didn’t shell out $40 to be insulted by a squirrely little twit. I have seen many Warhols. Famous ones. In person. I just haven’t seen one of a German king. I don’t think not having seen one specific painting qualifies me as culturally destitute!”

Unfortunately, due to Francis’ smaller stature, his jaws are closer together and don’t have to move very far in order to work and produce speech; he begins talking again about something else before I am able to give voice to my protests.

We continue on through the park and to the Victory tower, where we hop on a bus without paying for a short ride. We end up standing next to George Michael, er, I mean Francis. He begins to make conversation about American politics. We do not tell him of our general apathy towards the government of our own country, as we do not want to be called yet another kind of destitute. We are from Texas so he starts on Bush and son, who will shortly announce his candidacy for President.

“We don’t like him. Nobody in Austin likes him. He’s not our fault. He’s stupid. We hope to God he doesn’t get elected. He can’t run a business, let alone a country. He’ll just call Daddy or Daddy’s friends for help. Please, tell us more about DaimlerChrysler’s new headquarters. That big, spinning logo sure is neat.”

Anything to change the subject, but he chooses to start in on Clinton and Monica and Hillary and even Chelsea. “He really got caught with his pants down.” This generates a chuckle from within himself. “What do you think of Hillary? She’s a real bitch, huh? And that Monica’s a little power-loving slut, isn’t she. Do they not realize what they’re doing to their daughter? But then, she doesn’t really have the looks, does she?”

We were hoping to get away from all this stuff by going to Europe; at the least we didn’t want to be bombarded by it every hour. And now, the guy who sings “Careless Whisper” is grilling us on the whole damn mess. Okay, so it’s just a guy who looks like the guy who sings “Careless Whisper.” Nonetheless, it isn’t what we feel like talking about. So, getting off the bus, we start to drift to the back of the group, catching up only when he’s talking about this building, or that monument. This goes on…

“The Wall used to go right along here.”
“You can still see bullet marks on the front of those buildings.”
“This was Checkpoint Charlie.”
“The river was mined.”
“We’re now standing on top of Hitler’s bunker.”

…until we make it into what used to be East Berlin, where we’re standing in a plaza bordered by three old buildings that mostly survived the war and were then restored; one of the buildings is the opera house. In the middle of the plaza, in the ground, is a scratched piece of plexiglass, through which we can barely make out some empty bookshelves. As it turns out, this was where the Nazis held their keggers, except they called them book burnings and there probably wasn’t a keg. Also, as it turns out, this is where VH-1s “Behind the Music” helps us win a battle on the European front of the Late 20th Century Culture Wars.

It starts with an off-the-cuff ‘80s pop reference: “Girl, you know it’s true…” and then the other American girls do a little Milli Vanilli shoulder shake/running-in-place move.

“Really,” I say, “only one of you should be dancing, since only half of them is left.”

“Oh yeah, right,” one of the girls says with a little laugh.

“What do you mean only half’s left?” Francis asks, as we begin walking on to the next point of interest.

“What? You don’t know?” He shakes his head, so I continue. “One of them is dead. He committed suicide, like, last year.”

“Really. Which one?”

“I think it was Vanilli.” A Canadian decides to be funny.

“If,” I say, “you mean the lighter-skinned one, Fabrice Morvan, that’s right. I think he was from Germany even. It was his second attempt. The first one, he wanted to jump off a balcony at Cedars Sinai, which is L.A.’s favorite celebrity newsleak hospital. Or the balcony was somewhere else and they took him to Cedars Sinai. Whichever.” I realize, suddenly, that my spongebrain has turned on and I must now release all that I know on the subject. This may not be so bad.

“Wow,” Francis says.

“Yeah. Rob Pilatus, the other one, or Milli to his fans in the Great White North, is actually playing music, small-time, trying to be honest and everything.”

“Are you a fan?” he asks.

“No, there’s this show called ‘Behind the Music’ on VH-1.”

“Yeah, we saw the Milli Vanilli one right before we left,” says one of the American girls.

“VH-1?”

“It’s MTV for older people. At least it used to be,” I say. “Now, I watch it more than MTV. ‘Behind the Music’ is their biography show. It’s usually about a band or singer who’s kinda disappeared. They hit it big, had problems, usually drugs, and now they’re just happy to be alive, keeping it real and getting back to the music and all that.”

“And they did a whole show on Milli Vanilli?”

“Yeah, where they came from, everything. They interview the producer who put it all together. They even showed the performance where their cover got blown.”

“Yeah,” Pam says. “It was for MTV, and Downtown Julie Brown was there.”

“They’re out there singing,” I continue, “and all of a sudden, the tape skips and they freak out. The crowd doesn’t know what’s up, but Downtown Julie Brown makes them get back out there and finish the show.”

“Wow.”

“And then, of course, they have to give back their Best New Artist Grammy. Then, it’s all downhill, they put out an album called “Rob and Fab” or “Fab and Rob” and it tanks, leaving them with drugs and depression, and well, we already told you the rest.”

Silence from Francis and his until-now, easy-working fast-acting mouth.

I no longer care about looking out for his next slam on Americans. I no longer care about his lack of knowledge in music and film. I no longer care about Warhol paintings. I no longer care about the shortcomings of the American education system or the superior qualities of its Australian counterpart. I no longer care about the perfect score Francis would get in the appearance category for his version of “Last Christmas” on the special holiday episode of a syndicated lip-sync television show. At this moment, I only care about one thing: I am not culturally destitute.

Okay, so I’m not pop-culturally destitute. But isn’t that all that really matters? It’s not about the innovations or the social commentary anymore. It’s about what came before that’s getting referenced now. Don’t tell me pop culture isn’t culture. Sure it is. Some would just say it’s much lower, than… fine art, or ballet, or opera. For the love of God, Warhol is pop-culture. We’ve used up all of the original ideas. This guy in Sweden got the last one in 1961; I saw a filmstrip about it in 7th grade.

Culture is one of those words that has different meanings to different people. You could say it’s the parts of a society that define it. Hey, I like that. Culture, for me, is the parts of a society that define it. And, sure, you could break these things down even more, like high or low, cyber-culture, drug culture, etc. There’s probably balding professors and grad students in turtlenecks arguing about it all right now, while a cute, neo-hippie girl puts the froth on their cappucinos. Whatever. The point is, I know a little bit about at least one part of culture. We all do. Sure, I know plenty of stuff about plenty of other subjects, but right now, all that really matters is that the world has been saved from pointless mass hysteria, because Francis from Australia has learned that this American yahoo is not culturally destitute.

I Hate Venice

2005-03-01T16:00:00.000-06:00

Copyright 2005 by s. light
This may not be reprinted without the author's permission.
____________________________________________________________

I don’t remember what day it was, other than the day after the day before. This one just found us in Venice. Two weeks already we’d been crossing Europe—Paris, Barcelona, Florence, Rome—two weeks that had found us, for the first time ever, as the outsiders. Getting by on a semi-recognizable word here or the rudeness (because we were Americans) of strangers there. All the time knowing we didn’t speak any of the languages and there wasn’t any tour guide to help (which was the way we wanted it, but, still…).

It was a beautiful day, warm with blue skies and no hint of any putrid smell as we’d been warned to expect. Venice was grateful for the weather because it cannot exist without tourists, and that day we were in the thousands. The two of us took the train in from Padua, where we were staying, and then a waterbus, to the most popular piazza in town—San Marco. If, like me, you know your annoying tv commercials, and remember the IBM ad where the guy is in a pigeon-filled plaza doing some day-trading using a screen projected onto a small lens in front of his eye while giving verbal commands, and then takes a call with the same device, then you’ve seen where we were. And like almost every other tourist-worthy sight we’d visited, the church of San Marco was under construction, making it the distraction to the sight of thousands of pigeons fluttering about the square, trying to get some feed from the hands of anyone who’d buy it from the vendors, instead of the pigeons being the distraction to the church.

Now, besides the pigeons, tourists, and vendors of bird feed and postcards, there were tons of tour groups of Italian teenagers, milling around or buying things or laughing or talking on their cell phones or ignoring their chaperones. It must have been some kind of spring break, because they’d been around everywhere, especially in Rome, where they would get drunk and sing karaoke, because apparently, Cher’s own version of “I Believe” wasn’t bad enough. But I digress…The thing to know about Italian teenagers, specifically the boys, was that the hottest clothing trend of the moment were sweatsuits with breakaway pants. Any color was acceptable (red and green were understandably big) and there were usually stripes to help with the garishness. The Venetian vendors decided to help complete the ensemble by selling big, floppy jester hats, also in garish colors. I’ve always been able to spot Europeans vacationing here in the States by their fashion sense. It’s just a little bit off—a logo too big, an extra splash of color. Here in Venice, I was at ground zero, the nexus of Eurostyle.

We watched as a group of boys gathered in a circle, checking out the things that they thought they were cool for buying. Dressed in their sweatsuits, a couple of new jester hats (or a variation thereof), were put upon a head or two. It was too much; we looked at each other and rolled our eyes. As much credit as we tried to give, as open-minded as we tried to be, this sight was just too much so we observed it with typical American superiority, commenting on it like it was “The Real World: San Francisco”.

A few steps behind this group was another boy. He was still chubby with baby fat, not yet having hit puberty like the others. Coke-bottle glasses and a crew cut complemented the chipmunk cheeks to give us a real-life Piggy from Lord of the Flies. His sweatsuit was rainbow-colored, the pants maybe a half-size too big. From a plastic bag, he pulled out his own jester hat, with bells at the end, and put it on.

In trying to clear my conscience a thousand times since the incident, I’ve replayed the following scene over and over in my head, but I still don’t know which way is right. And it sucks even more, because my brain is sponge-like for facts and memories, but my attention in this instance was focused on composing a blasé, postcard-style picture, and not on what was happening around me.

I pointed out the boy to my Better Half as he walked near us, saying something to the effect of, “Check out this loser.” We laughed at him to ourselves and heard the other boys laughing, as they had been doing since we first saw them. I turned back to the church and tried to compose my blasé, postcard-style picture. The (non-)Mrs. got my attention and motioned in the direction of the boy. He was standing alone, ignored (still) by the other boys, his jester hat now in his hand, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. She would later tell me of watching him remove the hat, slowly, sadly, that it was like watching a poem take place in front of her.
“Do you think he heard us?” she asked me.
“No way, it’s too loud here, and I was practically whispering in your ear. Besides, you can tell those guys are all popular and shit. They probably made fun of him or something,” I answered quickly.
“Are you sure?” she asked, for she was not convinced.

The boy was standing maybe ten feet away from us with the other boys another ten feet away. He would shift our way, and then, theirs. It was like this for about five minutes. Near us, then them. The jester hat went back in the plastic bag. His eyes were big and sad, the image magnified by his thick glasses, but he never looked directly at us, just at the ground a few feet away.

And then, I remembered the one thing that shot right through the heart of my theory. English. We ran into more Europeans who could speak it than couldn’t; it was like a 5:1 ratio. Maybe he had understood me. But there was noise all around us and I wasn’t being loud. Or was I? There was noise all around us. Maybe I had raised my voice to be heard above the din and it was just a little too loud. No, it was the other boys. It had to be. Right?

I recognized the dynamic of the group. The clique vs. the non-clique. The many against the one. I recognized it, all right. I was there. Maybe not to such an extreme, but it was more or less the same. Picking teams for kickball or whatever, the dread burning my stomach like an ulcer, as it got down to just a few of us, and then, just me. The fads that I would pick up on too late. The embarrassment from having to go shopping with my mom (“Come out and show me”). No glasses when I was his age, but buckteeth made up for it, and the baby fat never really went away. Divorced parents meant every other weekend at my dad’s, who would take me to school on Monday, where I would often forget my bag, only to come in the next morning to find my underwear tacked onto the bulletin board and I had to laugh with the others to pretend it wasn’t mine and try and save face. I’d never been the outsider before? Tell me when I wasn’t.

I honestly don’t know if it was the other boys or us who crushed this kid into the ground. This kid who just wanted to be accepted, one of the gang. Cool like you. But it didn’t really matter anymore. As much as I tried to play it down, to lay the blame at the feet of the other boys, whether it was their fault or not, I had said something that somewhere had probably been said about me. And I couldn’t take it back.

We stayed in the piazza, sick with guilt, ashamed to leave, embarrassed to stay. Should we say something to him? (What?) Apologize. But what if it had been the other boys? Why crush him even more with the knowledge that total strangers from another country were making fun of him, too?

Mired in our own personal, petty, selfish turmoil, we didn’t notice our sad hero walk over to a vendor and buy a bag of feed. We did see him sit down on a bench and begin to feed the pigeons, scattering a handful onto the ground at his feet where the birds gobbled it up in near-record time. Again, at his feet. And then the birds were jumping onto the bench, and then him, greedy, jonesing for the feed like the addicts they were, coming ever closer, until finally, they were eating it right out of his hands. A little life crept back into his face. And then a family began to gather around him (maybe it was his, maybe not) and he lit up more. When the mother pulled out her camera to take a picture, he was at least smiling on the outside.

Relieved that he would leave the piazza that day with at least one good memory, that just maybe would erase the pain from a few minutes earlier, we made our exit into the maze that is Venice—jostling tourists, Maestre glass, overpriced gondola rides, postcards and trinkets, and pizza at a joint where “Italian sausage” translates to “hot dog.” We should have stayed in the hotel room and made love until lunch when we could have walked to the piazza in front of the church beside our hotel, where there was an equally bad pizza place. And though this piazza was smaller than San Marco, it, too, was filled with pigeons and feed-selling vendors. And though this church was also under construction, it did contain inside, a saint’s tongue, if nothing else. Then I could have written about all of that, and not the fact that this nerd insulted a fellow brother.

I know. Somebody took his picture. He was smiling. Great.

I’m still an asshole.

Feedback

2005-03-01T15:53:00.000-06:00

It's been a long-ass time since I've really written anything. Too long. I want/need to get back to doing it. One of my problems is I self-edit a lot, so much that often I don't complete something I've started because I'm never completely satisfied with my work. So I'm going to post some old stuff I've written, some have seen these and some have not. All criticism is welcomed but I'm especially interested in those for whom this stuff is new. Good, bad, whatever, let me know. And thanks in advance.

Dream(s)

2005-02-23T17:56:00.000-06:00

I rarely remember mine. I generally only remember bits and pieces of most dreams, but I will remember more if they're intense or freaky or nightmarish. Maybe I'd know more about myself if I could remember them, since they're supposed to be expressions of your subconcious some say, or bits of the future others say. There's one thing that happens a lot in my dreams, manifesting itself in a few different ways, but I'm not going to tell you about it. What I will tell you about is that the other night I dreamed of my son.

If you know me (and if you're reading this you most likely do), then you know I don't have a son, or daughter. And never have. I'd like to someday, but it's not today. He was very small, maybe a month or 2 old with a head of dark hair. He was laying on his back on some kind of plastic tray, starkly lit from above. He was making some noises and moving around a little bit. I got up real close to him, but slowly as I was worried about scaring him, which he wasn't. Other than that, all I really remember is sniffing his smell. Maybe I was a cat in my dream because that's what I was acting like.

And then I got this one...

2005-02-22T10:24:00.000-06:00

These folks don't seem to like husbands for some reason.

Sinalyomm'e' The only good husbands stay bachelors: They're too considerate to get married.
Rich folks always talk hard times.Never a lip is curved with pain That can't be kissed into smiles again.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. The search for someone to blame is always successful.

The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint. Children are living jewels dropped unsustained from heaven.
The noblest search is the search for excellence.
Man becomes a slave to his constantly repeated acts. What he at first chooses, at last compels. The drama of life begins with a wail and ends with a sigh.

The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.

The proverb warns ''Don't bite the hand that feeds you.'' But maybe you should, if it prevents you from feeding yourself.There is nothing which at once affects a man so much and so little as his own death.
It is the briefest yet wisest maxim which tells us to ''meddle not''.Enthusiasm... the sustaining power of all great action.

No man is a success in business unless he loves his work.
I'm never less at leisure than when at leisure, or less alone than when alone.

This one wanted me to see nekkid pictures of Britney Spears and was sent by Appositives Q. Errica. Thanks Appositives!

The most poetic spam of all time

2005-02-22T08:22:00.000-06:00

Somebody named Products S. Blouse (email: yodeler@srv0.civ.edinburgh.ac.uk) asks me 2 questions: "What's your pleasure, squire?" and "How to have the best sex humanly possible?" Then, below the image that hints at answers to that 2nd question, wraps it all up with some crazy, random lines....

********************

Qui' b'o'tic A good husband is healthy and absent.
There never was a truly great man that was not at the same time truly virtuous.
Friendship consists in forgetting what one gives, and remembering what one receives.
To myself, personally, it brings nothing but increasing drudgery and daily loss of friends.
When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.
I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it is.

Love, you are eternal like springtime.

If you look like your passport picture you're too ill to travel.
Old things are always in good repute, present things in disfavor.
I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
The difficult part in an argument is not to defend one's opinion, but rather to know it.
Plant a seed of friendship reap a bouquet of happiness.
We are all cells in the same body of humanity.

Communication is depositing a part of yourself in another person.
Evil is always possible. Goodness is a difficulty.

He who gives while he lives, get to know where it goes.
When you doubt, abstain.

Some have greatness thrust upon them, but not lately.

************************

Dig it, man. Dig it.

Gladys Delynne Light

2005-02-18T09:45:00.000-06:00

She would have been 84 today, but she died last April 29. This is what I said at her funeral:

Gladys Light was my grandmother, and a consistent ray of light throughout my 30 years on this Earth. In my opinion, she was nothing less than a saint. As such a positive influence, my thoughts and feelings for her are innumerable... so these are but a few of the things that occur to me when I think of her. They are by no means all of the things. And, yes, more than one of them is in some way about her cooking.

The soft, papery thinness of her skin.

Her many different laughs and her ability to laugh at herself.

Working crossword puzzles with her. She'd do as much as she could and then hand it to me with an exasperated sigh and say, "Oh finish it Steve." She was one of the few people allowed to call me Steve and not Stephen.

One piece of advice she gave me many, many times:"Take 2, they're small," she would say as she sometimes passed me the biscuits and sometimes just went ahead and put 2 on my plate.

Everything else she taught me by example, by the way she lived her life. Whether it was how to make a marriage last. And last and last and last for 60 amazing years. Or how to love your family without fail.

When I'd take my last bite of lunch and she'd go, "Your plate is empty. Why don't you let me put something on it?" and even though I was really full and I knew there was still dessert to come, I'd let her do it because 1) it was some of the best home cooking ever, and 2) because I thought somehow I'd let her down if I didn't. And this would be after she'd made sure everybody else had a full plate while she would have a few bites of this and that. "Grandma aren't you going to eat?" "Oh, I snacked while I was cooking."

Playing gin rummy and giving me some haughty but playful indignation after I'd gone out with a really good hand and she was still holding everything

The shape of her mouth and the voice that came out of it.

How as a young boy I used to hate to leave the Farm so much that I would cry all the way to Henderson.

I don't want to say my grandmother was a bad driver, but the rush of adrenaline I got riding in the car with her outdid many a rollercoaster.

How her scrambled eggs were thick with many layers.

That when it came to family history, her mind held more information than the Encyclopedia Brittanica.

Fishing in the vast green waters of Lake Overton, always dreaming and talking of pulling in the "big one" and then remembering you were at Lake Overton and a 4 inch perch was the big one.

Watching Saturday Night Live with her and the awkward embarrassment I always felt whenever a somewhat risqué skit would come on.

The way she smelled.

Making sure Papa had Cool Whip for his dessert.

The sound and rhythm of her footsteps in another room.

Four kids running around in superhero underwear without a care in the world.

Eating cereal in a juice cup at night.

Sitting on the front porch, rocking in those rocking chairs as the sun goes down and the colors in the sky change. Hearing a big truck come down the road and get louder and louder, following the sound behind the treeline with your eyes until it roars past the stop sign at the end of Red Level Loop. And you're talking with her about something or she's telling you a story about somebody and it doesn't matter what it is because you're with her and she's the one telling it.

That we don't get to choose the families into which we're born. And I was lucky enough to have hit the jackpot and been born into hers. That I may be an only child but I have 6 cousins whom I love as brothers and sisters.

And finally, when it would be my first night up for a visit and we'd be done watching David Letterman or Seinfeld or Conan or whatever. Papa and anybody else who was there would have gone to bed sometime earlier and she may have dozed off her in chair for a couple of minutes already. As I'd come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth, she would say, "I'm glad you're here," and I'd say, "Me too, Grandma." Then we'd kiss each other good night and she'd pat me on the cheek and say, "You're a fine boy." And I've yet to receive a greater compliment.

May God bless and keep Saint Gladys until we meet again.

Mmm... that's good time wasting

2005-02-17T12:33:00.000-06:00

Interesting items found at petitiononline.com. Please note I only made it thru the Symbol, #, and A entries, barely a dent. The things I do to avoid doing other things...

Ashlee Simpson,
$1,000,000 & a Pony,
Language of the Future,
Smurfs on DVD,
Prom,
28th Amendment,
Vacation,
50 Cent naked,
64 oz Malt Liquor, Matt860,
Gackt's b-day,
Ninjas to get Saddam,
Pop Princesses,
Sexy Estonians,
A Fanbolt Mod on the OC,
Olsen Twins Nekkid,
Mike Tyson,
Kid Needs Computer,
Free Internet,
A Petition to Allow Sheep... in Suburban Neighborhoods Petition,
Request for Babes,
Ann Coulter needs food,
Nat'l Food--Cup o' Noodles,
Down w/Volkswagen Golf,
I don't Like Mondays,
Abolish the Internet(s),
Afghani Wombat Abuse,
Adam & Steve,
Add "Queef" to the Dictionary,
Add 6 hours to every day,
Steve Zissou shoes,
One-Legged Weasels...,
Let the Silly Rabbit eat Trix,
Fake Mustaches in Alabama churches,
Left Shoe is King of the World,
Bubbies!,
Amanda=Sexy,
Yo God,
Harold & Kumar,
Andy's Scary Feet,
Anti-LOL

Weak Effort

2005-02-14T11:10:00.000-06:00

This is one feeble attempt to get me to give up the goods:

D‮rae‬ Ya‮oh‬o! Memb‮re‬,

Th‮si‬ email was s‮tne‬ by the Yah‮! ‬oo se‮vr‬er to ve ‬ y‮yfir ‮uo‬r b‮kna ‮dr‬ ca ‬ i‮noitamrofn ‮uo‬. Y ‬r bank ask Y‮oha‬o! t‮ o‬do so
b‮esuace‬ s‮emo‬ of th‮rie‬ me‮rebm‬s no l‮regno‬ h‮va‬e a‮ecc‬ss to email a‮sserdd‬es on Yah‮oo‬! and t‮eh‬y n‮ee‬d to v‮ire‬fy you.
You mu‮ts‬ co‮pm‬lete t‮sih‬ proc‮se‬s by c‮gnikcil‬ on the l‮ni‬k b‮le‬ow:

and en‮iret‬ng y‮ruo‬ b‮kna‬ ATM-De‮ib‬t Ca‮dr‬ nu‮rebm‬ and PIN t‮tah‬ you use on A‮MT‬.

Did they use some bad translation software or was this the best English writer they have? Oh wlle, at lstea I was adqutleyea ntreetainde.

misc.

2005-02-12T17:31:00.000-06:00

This fascinates me.

Our cat is orange. Orange seems like such a weird color for an animal. Tigers, monkeys, cats, snakes, and many other things, I'm sure, are orange. My hair was what one would call red, but was really orange, up until the 4th grade or so. But sometimes I just look at the cat and marvel at her orangeness. Then I wonder if aliens have creatures they keep as pets and what they may be (probably not a cat) and would they be orange.

2005-02-10T22:52:00.000-06:00

You’re sitting in the airport, an hour and a half before your flight takes off. The iTunes is cranked in your headphones in an attempt to block out the p.a. system, a cell phone ringing with the William Tell Overture, and a loud curly-headed kid who’s bouncing around and spinning luggage carts thru the seating area. As you finish typing that sentence, Bebel Gilberto comes on and soothes you instantly. Thank God.

It was just a few hours ago that you walked away from your 3rd funeral in as many days. This one was in Pasadena, the working-class, oil refinery suburb of Houston, in a cemetery where the ground was soft and some grave markers were submerged from the recent rains. Afterwards, you look for your uncle’s grave; he was cremated and his ashes buried there 12 years earlier. Before the service, an employee gave you a map marking his gravesite. She’s directed you to an empty plot. Idiot. Your mother calls her sister who directs her to the correct spot. It’s a not-so-bad spot in a not-so-great cemetery. You linger, wishing there was more to this moment, but there isn’t. So it’s back in the car where you wonder if you’ll come back to this place again, if this will be the last time that you lay your eyes upon the marker of this person with whom you share a name.

Later, you’re in the car again (fucking Houston) going to eat at what would be a crappy Chinese buffet (it rumbles in your stomach now). Your grandmother is telling you about her neighbor, a nurse who got laid off because she had to take time off for an operation. This woman has a daughter who’s spent time in a mental hospital or some such place. They were visiting your grandmother when you walked in the door. You could tell there was something about the girl because she was quiet in a shy way, though she was of an age that you’d think would be after that shy period. You remember the shy period because you had one yourself. The daughter is living at home now though your grandma says she shouldn’t be. Your mom interjects with what you hope is an exaggeration, that the girl tries to kill herself every weekend. As you’re just beginning to think about her mother’s hardship, your mother and her mother say she should tell the girl to go on and do it, to kill herself. You tell them you’re going to ignore that statement. They pass it off as a form of tough love and try to explain it. Another uncle used to hold his breath when he was a kid, apparently as some kind of protest or cry for attention. Finally, your grandmother told him if he wanted to hold his breath until he died, that would be fine with her. And that was the last time he did it.

Well, great for him.

But how does that have anything to do with this girl? How the fuck do they know exactly what’s going on in this girl’s mind? Nobody’s ever said anything to you about your uncle having mental problems that would cause him to hold his breath like he did. So you just don’t see the correlation. The lack of understanding that sometimes rears its ugly head in this world can be staggering. And sometimes because it’s your family and you know them better than others, you know it would be futile to go further in the conversation, so you drop it. You are, however, surprised at your mom’s lack of sensitivity, as she knows that the first funeral you attended this week was for someone who had some problems and took her own life, someone your age. Who’s to say that if things had gone differently, that it could have been you in a casket?

Grandma is a smoker so you sit in the smoking section of the restaurant. Smoking contributed to the death of the woman whose funeral you just left, and led to the deaths of your two deceased grandparents, including your grandma’s husband. It was just a few years ago that you were with them outside the VA hospital in Little Rock, watching him smoke thru the tube in his neck. Cancer had taken his vocal cords and his life would soon follow. She tried to quit a couple of years ago, taking some pills, but it didn’t work. So it’s kind of painful for you to see that three out of four of the other parties in the smoking section all have babies sitting in high chairs.

Then, the MSG in the crappy food causes your mom’s girlfriend’s heart to seize up. At first you think it’s a little indigestion and will pass, but it doesn’t. Her face gets flushed and her breathing is labored as she digs in her purse for her pills. She can’t find them and the situation is getting worse. Your mom gets up and begins to search the flotsam and jetsam inside the purse. Finally, as the moment reaches its crescendo, she finds the pills and puts a couple on her friend’s tongue. As her breathing returns to normal, you overhear the redneck smoking in his grandbaby’s face say that this place is a regular three-ring circus.

At the smoking table without a baby, an obese woman returns to the table with a plate that is not her first, piled high with food. A man at the table who might be her husband takes the opportunity to humiliate her with an exasperated, “Goddamn.” At another table, the twentysomething mom sits down with a plate consisting only of batter-fried foods. You ache to leave this hell, wondering if this is the majority of America, hoping it isn’t.

the sound of Inevitability

2005-02-08T10:25:00.000-06:00

In a span of less than 36 hours on Friday and Saturday, I was informed of 3 deaths. I kind of feel like I've been punched in the gut. I'm going to a service today in Austin, one tomorrow in Houston, and one Thursday also in Houston. This all follows another death in NYC of someone whom I didn't know but was with some people my sister-in-law knows when she was killed, murdered actually. Her name was Nicole DuFresne and the story made some national headlines. You can Google it if you want.

Two of these people were around my age and the other two were older, in their 70s. Murder. Unknown reason (at least for me as of now). Cancer. Failing health brought about by emphysema (I think). Mortality catches up with you in a variety of ways, all inescapable.

This life we live is nothing short of an adventure, not knowing what will happen from one day to the next. We wake up and anything is possible. Even our own deaths. I think about that sometimes. Driving someplace, I get the green light, and as I pull out into the intersection, a truck runs the light at 40 mph, spins me around like a top. Game over.

So I'm grateful that these... ends... of the adventure have a balance, a beginning somewhere else, in the body of a mother. Someone new to learn all that we have learned and are able to pass on. Props to the parents, those who have been, those who are, and those who will be for doing what they do.

It's easy to forget death, or to take it for granted, until it takes someone you know. Then, you get that reminder, the skeleton in the black robe with the scythe and the hourglass saying, "Remember me?" The timing of these events for me is, well, helpful on a personal level. (I've been schooled not to apologize here so I won't, but I hope anybody reading this doesn't take any disrespect as none is meant.) I passed up this job, a job of good money for a few different reasons, one of which was that I've got some personal projects bubbling up, and didn't want to put them on hold for 6 months. Also, money isn't everything and isn't the god at whose altar I wish to worship. I am, however, a procrastinator, a dreamer, a talker, and not as much of a doer as I'd like to be. So the choice is to continue down the path I'm on, or to go another way. Each one will come to an end at some unknown point. The difference is in what I've done while on the path. Nothing or something. Something or nothing. I've had this talk with myself before. Looking at the time between then and now, I didn't change to that other path. Maybe this time is different. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe...

Got this from a friend.

2005-02-03T22:58:00.000-06:00

"His mother had often said, 'When you choose an action, you choose the consequences of that action.' She had emphasized the corollary of this axiom even more vehemently: when you desired a consequence you had damned well better take the action that would create it."

-Lois McMaster Bujold, writer (1949- )

A Change in the Scenery

2005-02-02T19:20:00.000-06:00

I'm going to try and get away from this being review-centered. I don't like the way they're coming out. There will probably still be some here and there, but hopefully not every entry. That's not who I am, and not the kind of writer I want to be so why do that?

The cat wants attention (she's laying over my arms as I type) and the Mrs. will be home soon, also wanting attention, so I'm going to go.

I may have backed myself up against a wall with a decision I made yesterday not to take a job. But I think I needed to do it, to push myself. We shall see. That earlier post about Mr. Q certainly played a part, because I passed up some money but, well, fuck it. I would have been putting myself in a position that probably would have made me unhappy and that's not what we, or more specifically, I, need to be doing. Now, to quit talking the talk and start walking the proverbial walk.

Sideways

2005-02-01T22:27:00.000-06:00

The nominees are out, so in our efforts to see the Best Picture nominees we hit Sideways tonight. Oscar worthy? Mmm, maybe, though I'd have given one to The Life Aquatic before this. It's not bad, I laughed a lot, and totally recommend it. Paul Giamatti is a kick-ass actor; track down Safe Men if you haven't seen it. And I never thought I'd see Lowell from TV's Wings nominated for an Oscar but, well, life has its little surprises. If you asked me about Finding Neverland, I'd be saying similar things--Not bad, but Top 5? Too bad the vaunted members of the Academy forgot Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for the most part. Up next: Hotel Rwanda and The Aviator.

Smooth

2005-01-24T11:33:00.000-06:00

Why am I in such a crappy mood today? Damn I hate rhetorical questions. I sort of know why but then maybe I don't. There are these times when nothing is as it should be. And this is one of those times. I have an hour and twenty minutes before I have to go to work and I'm just going to write because that's the reason I started this thing--to get back to writing, to figure out what style, content, and all that bullshit works for me, regardless of what anybody thinks, which I seem to care about more than what I think--reviews are nothing but a pretense for mental stimulation.

So yes, part of the problem is that I have to go to work at 1:30pm and be there for the next 13 hours and then do it again tomorrow, only starting a couple of hours later. I'm thankful for the work as it's not like we couldn't use the money, but sometimes these people who come to town and hire us aren't exactly the most enjoyable people to work for. (I know, suck it up slight. Well, suck this, I say.) And it's the fact of the job's timing, with the Mrs.' birthday right in the middle of it, on a Friday no less, and we started shooting on Saturday. I got to go out with her on Friday, but we didn't get to spend any time together on Saturday or Sunday, at her birthday 40s. And then I forgot to tell her that the last 2 shoot days were splits (half-day half-night) until last night so she gets up this morning all pissed at me, and the cat, and that gets me up in a bad mood. That and the cat buggin' for food. Me coming home last night with work still to do, waiting for people to call me back. Part of my job is to make sure everybody has all the information they need. Sometimes I leave this information in a message and ask them to call me back to confirm that they received the info. Sounds pretty easy right? I generally end the message saying "Call me back so I know you got the message." Some people do, but plenty don't. I don't know what they're thinking, but how hard is it to call me back? There are those who say these are adults and if they don't have the info they know who to call and that's true, but there are still adults who are... well, stupid. I've had times where people have called me and it doesn't show up in my phone, or somebody leaves a message but I don't get it for several hours or until the next day. How am I supposed to know this didn't happen to whomever I left one of those messages and that's why they haven't called back?

rant, rant, rant. this seems pointless. i have to remind myself that it isn't, but i don't think i'm doing a good job.

I look around this house and see so much more that makes me angry. This house makes me angry. That's why I want to move, partly. Why do we have so much crap? Why do people have to keep giving us crap? Just because we're married and want to buy a house doesn't mean we want or need to have stuff. But if you tell people that, they don't get it. I look at the bills needing to be paid and wonder, no, worry where that money is coming from, if it will be here in time. I keep saying I'm tired of being poor, of struggling, of going for the most part paycheck to paycheck, tired of thinking what others must be thinking of me, us.

breathes deeply, tries to calm down. doesn't really. okay, sort of.

When we were on our trip (oh god, not another story about the Trip. yes, another. deal with it, because I will talk about it until the day I die.), I don't want to say I was looking for myself because that's so cliched, but it's true. I wasn't doing it actively or anything, like waking up in the morning, looking in the mirror and saying to myself, "Ok, what will I learn today?" There was one time I sorf of did that, in Hanoi, Vietnam. I was not having a good time there, lots of culture shock, figuring out how to deal with the people primarily, and being frustrated at all this... work... I was having to do. So at this temple to Confucius, I prayed to him, for the ability to understand the locals, myself, my environment be it Vietnam or anywhere else. I walked back out into the courtyard of the temple and met a Buddhist monk. I was wearing a Buddha pendant and he had noticed it. Meanwhile, a Buddhist nun approached and talked to the Mrs. Then we sit down and 2 local guys come up to us and start talking, wanting to practice their English. They were very nice and we talked about many different things for about an hour. For all the people there making me cuss and mutter like a freak, it was a relief to know that there were others like us, just wanting to meet people from other walks of life.

Later, within the course of a week, I would meet 3 people who all said pretty much the same thing: Don't live your life worrying or thinking about money, just do that which brings you happiness. I heard this from a drunk, old American ex-pat who loved the Libyan people and didn't have a problem being a letch in front of the Mrs., a Thai woman who ran a money-losing bar after having left her hometown which made money from sex tourists, and from Mr. Q. He was a Thai of Chinese descent and ran a guesthouse on the outskirts of a town called Pai. He used to own another guesthouse (which in Pai meant a group of bamboo huts) in town, but he had problems with some of the other locals, and then as the town got more popular, he didn't want to deal with so many tourists. So he moved out a little bit, up a hill, and built a new place, slowly, with his own hands. He told us he didn't care about making as much money as he could and didn't want just anybody staying with him. He would turn people away if he got a bad vibe from them, if he thought they were just into drinking and partying. And this isn't to say he didn't like to drink, because he did. He let us stay there, though maybe part of the reason was because we told him Joey sent us and they had really hit it off when Joey was there. We only had a few days there, and Joey and the people who were staying there when we arrived all talked about what a great man he was, (all Joey told me before we got there was that Mr. Q would take care of us), how they had seen something differently (marriage, life, whatever) and they attributed it to him. About halfway thru our time there, I began to lament the fact that I hadn't had this opportunity with him; he was kind of private and wouldn't necessarily hang out with his guests. But that night he did, we had some drinks with him and talked about all sorts of things. And then, I don't remember what we had been talking about, but he was suddenly talking to me, about me, about my future, though he wouldn't tell me my future.

He said (from my journal entry that night, 4/9/02), "I see you. Your face never changes. You are smooth. You are smart. You know what you want. You will take care of your family. You will be a big man, not like the president but you will be big, take care of your family. You will make money in computers. Help people. You will help people. Your face is smooth, will not change. You are smart."

I almost didn't realize he was talking directly to me, but when I did we were alone, me and him. My heart felt like it stopped beating and there were only these words he was saying to me, this nobody. I like that he said I was smooth. He didn't mean that I was slick and cool, but calm and together, that things didn't faze me, or wouldn't, because what's this entry if not me being fazed. Taking care of my family, helping people, I really couldn't ask for more. I've definitely realized that I do come from caregivers, not in the occupational sense like a nurse, but in how they live(d) their lives, specifically my mom and grandmother. That was soemthing else I discovered over there, that for the most part, all the anonymous faces want is to be happy and to take care of their families and those they love.

Now, it's almost 3 years later and I'm still struggling to make this so. To stop saying these things and talking about this or writing about it, and to live this way. I'm not sure what it's going to take for me to apply this but if I don't I may very well drive myself crazy and... worse... drive away those close to me.

exhales. looks at the clock. time to go to work. which is for sucks.

Houses we looked at yesterday

2005-01-13T02:51:00.000-06:00

We want to buy a house. We've been looking since September. We've come across a couple of good properties but their locations sucked. It's somewhat frustrating, and scary (as in the $$ aspect), but I want one. Our current residence, while great for the most part, is not ours. If we want to paint, the landlords say white. There's some foundation problems, and the back bathroom, which is basically a plywood add-on, started developing some mold. I told the landlord who brought in the Old-Timer's Handyman Gang and they found a leak. But they didn't really do anything about the mold. So, adios. Let's get our own place and paint it how we want it and do whatever the hell we want to it. I don't know, I just see a house being an extension of one's, or twos' in our case, characters and personalities, and not being able to do that to our fullest extense here is holding us back. Sort of. Whatever.

So yesterday we looked at 4 houses. The first one was 6706 Haney in the 23. The 23 (as in 78723) is where we think we've got the best opportunity to get something that meets all of our criteria. 6706 Haney is a 3-2 with 1257 sq. ft. It was in good condition on a pretty good street. If it wasn't for the few cons, we might make a move on it. The cons are as follows. 1) The bedrooms were all pretty small. 2) It had a 2nd living room which wasn't that big (it used to be a 4th bedroom), so what to do with it (maybe a reading room?). 3) The back yard was on the small side, which isn't too terrible. We do want to get a dog, probably a big 'un, and it wouldn't give him much room. 4) We are tired of washing dishes and would like to have a dishwasher. Again, kind of minor. I'm going to keep my eye on this one and just see what happens.

Then, it was down the street to 6715 Haney. This was the exact same house but with the 4th bedroom intact and the layout flip-flopped. It was a corner lot with a smaller back yard and no trees whatsoever. Also, the washing machine connections were in the kitchen, which I'm not having. Sayonara.

#3 was 1315 Westmoor. This was a 3-2 turned on its side, so the living room windows looked at the house next door and a tiny kitchen window looked out to the street. The back door opened right into the stove. Again the washer lived in the kitchen and the dryer in a storage room under the carport. The back yard made an L around the house. The 2 bathrooms needed updating big-time. And they were in the process of re-carpeting or something. There was some nice crown molding in the living room. The Mrs. liked it though. Call me crazy, she said. No, I said, I'll call you retarded. There was some kind of exposed pipe in the back yard? Moving on.

The last place was 2213 Rountree, in the 22. This was a 3-1. It had nice pecan floors and that was about it. It was on the corner with Manor and Airport Blvd. only a block away, so it backed up to a business and had the backside of a billboard hanging over the backyard. There was a hot tub also. One bedroom (and not the big one) had a walk-in closet with a 2nd door that led to a hallway. Huh?

The Best Pizza in the World

2005-01-12T19:32:00.000-06:00

This is Wednesday. There's a 50% chance we'll eat pizza tonight. The Mrs. has group and doesn't get home until 7:45 and she also wants to watch Lost which still has 15 minutes to go. So that tape gets started at 8. And as I was sick for most of the day (note to self: in the future refrain from having both juice- and dairy-based adult beverages together), we just jumped up to about an 80% chance on the Pizza Probability Predictor. The usual suspects for us are: Conan's, Mr. Gatti's, Austin's Pizza, and Double Dave's. We are all about supporting the locals but sometime's the pies from Conan's smell bad, like somebody's feet, or are all gooey and wet on the bottom. Gatti's, as it is meant to do, comes at you pretty much the same all the time and it was started in Austin. Sometimes half the toppings just fall off, but you can put them back on. DD is just kind of ehhh (shrugs shoulders) and Austin Pizza is the best but they charge for delivery and their prices are higher than the others to begin with. I have this thing about paying too much or too little for certain things. And a delivered, large surpreme pizza should not cost $18+ in Austin, Texas. It's for this reason that we also avoid the Parlor, too, which sucks b/c that joint makes a mean pizza.

A few weeks ago we ordered a Conan's. It was of the gooey and wet on the bottom variety and it did not improve, even after we kept it in the oven for another 45 minutes. Well, we said, this was fitting as we were going to the NYC the next day. The birthplace of the pizza pie. We had been told by a friend, G, to go a place called Lombardi's in Little Italy. And to get extra marinara sauce. When we got there, it turned out that another establishment, Una Pizza Napoletano, had come on the scene and was, as they say, da bomb. Da bomb as in White Heat has a friend who is the king geek of pizzas (and I say that as a geek myself), and he could not stop talking about the place for more than 4 minutes; we know it was 4 minutes because we timed him. He, and others, said this place had the best pizza. Period. End of Story. Lombardi's, once the king, was now number 2.

The Mrs. and me made it to Lombardi's at the end of a rainy day spent seeing KD, helping an old man who did a faceplant running down the wet sidewalk, and checking out the Met. It was almost exactly as I expected it to be. Corner establishment, little door, big main dining room with a bar, and a smaller one that was the business next door once upon a time. Filled with people. It was a good vibe. We got a booth in the back room and ordered a couple of glasses of wine, a salad to share, and a large pepperoni, onion, 1/2 calamatta olives, 1/2 roasted pepers, with extra marinara sauce and got the garlic that was free upon request. For our tastes, we could have done without the extra sauce; it might have been a little dry, but it was a watery sauce and so, ehh. Otherwise, that was a good fuckin' pizza, yo. And it came out fast for as many people were there, maybe 15 minutes. She took one piece home.

The day after Christmas, was Sunday and our last chance to hit Una Pizza Napoletano. It's only open Thu-Sat from 5 until they run out of dough, and Sunday from noon until they ran out of dough. (And I don't mean as in short on funds, if that's what you were thinking.) It was a small place, maybe 8 tables, but they could only cook 3 pies at a time in their wood-burning brick oven. The... what do you call a guy who makes pizzas?... he was a guy, probably in his 30s, with tattoos all up and down his arms. He offered 4 variations: one margherita, one w/o cheese, one w/o tomato sauce, and I can't remember what the other one was, maybe a margherita with garlic? or pesto? (How about a little help, White Heat?) If you wanted to drink, you brought your own. He had soft drinks, juices, and water. As we were with White Heat, we got one of each, except for the Margherita. There were 2 empty tables when we came in around 6. It took maybe 20-30 minutes for ours to come out. They were about the size of a plate and you got a fork and a knife. We each cut ours into 6ths and shared. The crust was pretty thin, but with ash on it, so you know it's good. The piemaster(!) also used a noticeable amount of salt which I didn't care for. I liked these pizzas, my favorite being the all cheese pie. But they weren't as off the chart as I had been led to believe. They were good and obviously hand-made, but they weren't the be-all end-all for me. The NYC pizza battle would have to go to Lombardi's.

But the best pizza I've ever had, and the Mrs. agrees with me, was in Barcelona. We were going to the Picasso Museum and found this place just down the narrow, brick-paved street. I don't have any idea what its name was. Maybe I could find it online, if it's even still open (this might be it). Like most of the pizzas in Europe their pies were personal-sized, and served on cutting boards with a fork and knife. This place just did it up right. The toppings were perfect. Good cheese with just enough sauce. The crust was crunchy without being thin. Thinking about it now makes my mouth water. If I have one complaint, it is this: they could have been bigger. Not much, just a little. We would go back one more time before we caught the train to Italy. And this was the best pizza in the world.

Million Dollar Baby

2005-01-10T13:26:00.000-06:00

I'm a Clint Eastwood fan, I admit it. Sure, he's made his pieces of crap. But then he turns around and hits you with an Unforgiven. I didn't know much about it going in other than it was about boxing, a father-daughter type relationship, and that it was getting nothing but praise from critics en masse. Eastwood plays a boxing gym owner who's a little too tentative in most aspects of his life and it's costing him. Hillary Swank is a white-trash waitress who wants him to teach her to box. He resists at first, but comes around when she just won't stay away. Then comes the teaching, the rise to the top, the bonding. Everything is done in a very understated manner. It's never about the film with Eastwood, it's about the people in the film and their story. There's nothing overly stylish that says, "Look at me! I'm a Clint Eastwood movie!" like you might find in say, a Quentin Tarantino movie. You're just watching these events happen, these two people who find in each other the familial bond they're missing with their own flesh and blood. And that's what this film is ultimately about, finding that person who understands you and by sharing your life, completes you. It's a love story, just not your typical one. What would you do for the person you love? How much do you let them live and how much do you protect them?

I wasn't blown away by this movie. Oh, I liked it a lot and yeah, it deserves the accolades it's getting. But there's nothing in it that grabbed me or stood out. It just...was. Does that make sense? It's like I said, it's just there to tell the story of these people. And when it's over, the story is finished but there's neither joy nor sadness. Because the story--your story, my story, our story--it never really stops does it? No, we go on.

The Beastles

2005-01-06T15:21:00.000-06:00

So, like I said, the Mrs. and me were in the NYC for Christmas staying with, ahem, WHITE HEAT, and seeing old friends who made the move, one being Rogelio. After drinking the worst margaritas in the world at a so-called Mexican restaurant, we finally hooked up with him at this place in Brooklyn called Royale. Lots of black and red, strong drinks, nice. And before I was able to fully revive my tastebuds with my 2nd drink, my head started moving to the beat. A beat that was 35+ years old, but with words much newer. It was the Beatles with the Beastie Boys on top. Holy shit.

Mashed up by one dj BC, it's the kind of thing that you wonder why it hadn't already been done. (Maybe it was, but it never crossed my radar.) As a latecomer to the world of mash-ups and getting music via the interweb, I've only heard The Grey Album and another compilation a friend gave to me consisting mostly of 80s stuff. The Grey Album is, for me, much more of a remix album, as the only Beatles tracks instantly recognizable are While My Guitar Gently Sleeps and Rocky Raccoon. The rest are cut down to the bare essentials that DJ Danger Mouse needed. With the Beastles, BC lets the original music speak mostly for itself. Sure, there's some drum tracks added and the music is cut up here and there, but it's the Beatles coming thru loud and clear. It opens with Whatcha Want, Lady (So Whatcha Want over Lady Madonna) and the piano trips along with the flow laid down by the Boys, but I dig the 2nd track more. Here we find Triple Trouble over Day Tripper, whose killer opening chords are looped under the verses. I've also got to give props for Mad World Forever, which finds the BB's protest song In A World Gone Mad vs. Strawberry Fields Forever. It totally works.

Sitting there in Royale that night, I'll admit that the second half didn't grab me nearly as much as the first half, but now, the whole damn thing grabs me and slaps me around a little bit. Luckily, I'm into that kind of thing.