Pic Dump - July 19, 2010

 

Perplexingly written in the margin of the library's copy of the Good Will Hunting screenplay. There was no other notation found in this copy.

       ANIMALS

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
      
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
      
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
      
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

-Frank O'Hara, 1950

before I forget...

my favorite excerpt from the Moyers book I was talking about 10 minutes ago, and the reason I checked it out of the library:

Benjamin Franklin made a grand entrance to the convention today. He arrived swaying in a sedan chair carried on poles by four husky convicts from the Walnut Street Jail. It's a dramatic vehicle, the first one ever seen in America, and Dr. Franklin uses it to cushion his body. It keeps the cobbled streets from stirring up his gout. But the shrewd old politician knows the value of commanding some public attention as well.

- Bill Moyers, Report From Philadelphia

 What.The.Fuck?

I MUST verify that this is true. This is too good to be true, right? Is it possible that one of our founding fathers was hedonismbot?  I'm freaking out over this information.

My wikipedia history

As an apology for that last post, here's a worse one: My wikipedia history of the past 48 hours or so. I'd link them, but that'd take forever. But it's a nice little peep into how I spent my weekend:

Joshua Harto, The Dark Knight, Hello Mary Lou: Prim Night II, Psycho Cop, Friday the 13th (1980 film), Pumpkinhead (film), Basket Case (film), Mujeres Asesinas (Mexico), Mujeres Asesinas (Argentina), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Nubbins, Neurodegeneration, List of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Characters, Sombrero, Texas Ranger Division, L.M. Kit Carson, Powaqquatsi, Category: Golan-Globus films, Lou Gehrig Memorial Award, Paul Molitor, Silver Slugger Award, Category: Living People, Shimenawa, Moun Tsukuba, Emishi, Chi McBride, New Zealand National Rugby Team, Pushing Daisies, Shoe Tossing, Watcher in the Water, Dionte Christmas, Gregg Foreman, Tav Falco, Toni Basil, Rcky Ross (drug trafficker), Giant Hogweed, Hogweed, Noxious Weed, Stock Route, Sumac, Glechoma hederacea, St. John's Word, Weed, Gunga Din, Kenny (2006 film), Shrike (comics), Amygdala (comics)Wong Fei-Hung, Hei hu quan, Dragon Kung Fu, Five Animals, Leopard Blow, Lady Shiva,

Yeah, so there's actually a pretty good account of what I've been reading about, not counting the books I have out of the library at the moment (3 photography books about war journalists, modern Russian, Edwardian England, a book about Cold War politics, and a Bill Moyers book about the signing of the Constitution that I can't even find a review for).


I assume you're reading this because you're bored at work. And now the internet has managed to bore you as well. I apologize. Maybe one of those topics might interest you. If so, go check it out! I read some interesting wikis. Or, go look at some awesome MRI's of food. In fact, go for the latter.

This blog is like the mental equivalent of ipecac for me. What comes up might be interesting, but more than likely it's a jumbled, disgusting mess of what I've eaten over the past few days. 

I'll be back in a few days with some good stuff, I promise.

The Saw is Family. Horrible, disgusting family.

 At the moment, I'm watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. I have no good reason why, other than when Dennis Hopper died, I put it in my Netflix instant queue, and it's been sitting there ever since. Of course, nobody in their right mind wants to watch this movie with me. Hell, I don't want to watch it. But right now Carrie is in the throes of thesis hell in the other room and Jose is holed up in his room, so I can take this chance to watch a movie that nobody wants to watch.

Which leads to me sitting here, agog at the sheer insanity of this movie. As many of you know, I enjoy a horror movie. I don't go to conventions, and I haven't seen almost any of the remakes, but I do consistently own fake blood and probably would include 4 zombie movies in my top 20 of all time if you asked me right now*. But when I was a kid, I was terrified of horror movies. I remember my brothers making me watch Nightmare on Elm Street 2 when I was a kid and being aghast for WEEKS. My brothers, of course, thought it was hilarious, but the joke was on them when I began waking them up every night at 3 AM asking what they'd to if a murderer broke in the house**. I remember crying during the opening library scene of Ghostbusters when I saw it in the theater***. But every week my family would go and rent a movie from the Rite Aid down the street from my house**** and I would just sit in the horror section staring at the display boxes. It was the same unsettling curiosity I held for KISS posters, a band that my aforementioned brothers convinced me was comprised of serial killers. In retrospect, I was kind of a stupid kid if I thought a serial killer would dress up as a kitty cat.

Update: There have been 2(!) chainsaws to the groin in this movie, which is not over yet, despite my lengthy ramblings.

So yeah, by age 8 I was intimately familiar with the covers and stills of some of the worst horror movies ever made. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to conquer my fears. Maybe it was the seeds of a dumb interest that would manifest around 7th grade. I wish I could say I preferred the more high-brow movies, but it was the slasher flicks that delivered the most satisfying images on the box. Plus, there's something to be said for a good slasher movie poster*****

Which brings me to Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. The poster was one of those that I constantly looked at. For one thing, it was a mirror of The Breakast Club poster. Also, it's like a family who are 80% walking corpses. and Leatherface is wearing a suit! People freak out about how smooth Patrick Bateman was in American Psycho, but look at how damned cool Leatherface looks with a tie and carnation in his lapel!

But this movie... holy shit. It's not so much as bad, but a disgusting exercise in splatter humor. In Roger Ebert's review of the original, he said something to the effect of "this is a well-made and effective movie, but I can't imagine for the life of me why anyone would ever want to make it". I can, because it's one of the scariest movies ever made. Special effects or jerky camera cuts in the world have yet to create a scarier movie in my eyes.

But this sequel... holy shit. It's actually grueling. Remember how that first Matrix movie was interesting, like scratching an itch you didn't know you had? Then you saw the second one, and it was like someone taken a belt sander to that itch and even the remnants of those nerve endings were long gone? The TMC sequel was like that, but with gasoline and fire ants. There are funny parts, sure, though most of the attempts at humor are more unsettling than anything. And the "scary" parts are more disgusting than scary. But I think the most disturbing part about this movie is that it wasn't hijacked by the studio or whatever, this is the same director of the first one. How the fuck does that happen? Also, how does Tobe Hooper go from Poltergeist to this mess in 3 years? Yikes.

So now the movie is over, and I'm thinking about watching Carnival of Souls just to purge what I just saw from my mind. Also, that I basically wrote for over an hour about horror movies when I sat down with a much different topic in mind. Chalk it up to my short attention span, or that I wrote this while watching a movie featuring at least ten chainsaws throughout, and once again, I've subjected you to to rambling nonsense, which I apologize for. The fact is I sat to write about something very serious and a little personal, but felt so sick over thinking about it that I started watching this shit to take my mind off things and it snowballed from there. I'll write the real update in a day or two. and hey, look at it this way. I might have just wasted a couple of minutes of your time. Okay, I definitely did. But there's good odds that I just saved you a good 90 additional minutes wasted on that movie. Or not. A few minutes ago, Carrie asked me what sort of person does this movie appeal to, and my response was "the kind of person who was an alcoholic Cannibal Corpse fan in high school". and I stick by that.


*Predictably, Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, 28 Days Later, and Shaun of the Dead, in no particular order.

**My brother Rob's response one night: "Well, then I guess we're all gonna die in our sleep. Go back to bed". I do not like to dwell on the psychological ramifications this statement might have had on my impressionable young mind.

***Again, I don't like to consider how this might have affected recent educational and occupational decisions of mine.

****I swear this was a thing, a Rite Aid renting videos, but my adult brain cannot comprehend the concept of someone renting The Exterminator from the same place they buy makeup, even if Target does that now.

*****I still think the original Friday the 13th poster is one of the best ever, and Prom Night 2 is no slouch. These asterisks are getting tired, no? Google needs to get with the damned superscript already. Or I should move this thing like I vowed to do like a year ago.

After submitting 7 samples, it turns out I write like:
Dan Brown, Margeret Atwood, Stephen King, David Foster Wallace, William Gibson, William Gibson, and Raymond Chandler.

(Yes, I got William Gibson twice. I've only read one of his books, which bored me to sleep).

Of course, this was just using the posts from this site that I came up with in the past year or so and none of the fiction I almost never write anymore (new updates there, though!)

Still, I have no idea what this says about me, other than I probably shouldn't trust a web site to analyze my writing.

Zoe Strauss is shooting the Oil Spill.

...and it's pretty amazing.

Good for Philadelphia Weekly for helping her out.

Party Down just got canceled. I'm not sure how it would've fared with Adam Scott moving to Parks & Rec, but still sad to see it go. But, I guess at this point with me, cancellation is pretty much the true mark of a top-tier comedy show. I can't think of any that weren't canceled (Mr. Show, Arrested Development, Home Movies) or beset by tragedy or cast turnover enough to force cancellation (Newsradio), so I guess it's something of a validation. Still, what a great show. If you haven't seen it, I can't recommend it enough.

Also from Twitter

I had a very surreal dream last night that my dad was teaching me how to drive a motorcycle. Nevermind that I sort of already know how, or that he's been dead for over 3 years, it was nice. I don't have dreams like that very often, and I remember them even fewer and further between. Sometimes I think about how that folder in my brain is more or less closed. Aside from the occasional story from one of his friends or an older relative, there isn't anything else I'm going to experience with my dad to pad that up. A dream like the one I had is like some little appendix to that folder, it it's nice because it means I get to pull it out of my file cabinet of a brain, dust it off, and page through it fondly. I've had the luck to do that twice in a few hours last night; the dream came just a few hours after my sister told me a story from last summer that was downright chilling. Not in a malevolent sort of way, but in those "LIFE AFTER DEATH!(?)" ways that might cause you to look over your shoulder late at night without realizing it. It's not a story I feel comfortable publishing on the internet, because technically it's my neice's, but ask me nicely and maybe I'll tell it in person.

But back to the motorcycle. My dad never had a motorcycle. Aside from a picture on my grandmother's wall back home, I've never seen him on one. In that picture, he's on some little dirtbike, in St. John's or St. Bart's or one of those places that I've lumped into a liturgical micronesia in my geographically challenged brain. He looks happy and healthy, and it's always been a favorite of mine, and more than likely the inspiration of my dream.

Anyway, my dad never had a motorcycle. He did, however, prolong his life significantly when some anonymous motorcyclist* with an organ donor card crashed and died, giving him a liver to replace his diseased one. I've thanked that guy a thousand times, and once considered tracking down any family that may have survived him to show them that his death wasn't entirely in vain. (Donate your organs, people).

This morning, I remembered the dream suddenly and blurted it out to Carrie over breakfast before it could slip back into my subconscious, and she reminded me where his liver came from. Then, she remarked "maybe he wants you to ride a motorcycle because he's after your liver".

This is the kind of thing that probably anyone else would find unsettling, or even ghoulish, and understandably so. But it made me laugh and I bet it would've made my dad laugh if he heard it. It was also a pretty fucking great reminder of how lucky I am.

I wanted to post that picture of my dad on the bike, but to be honest I'm not even sure if it survived the move from my grandmother's house. Maybe I'll find it someday.

*weird, right? I feel like "biker" might not be appropriate, either. I mean, they can't all be Hell's Angels or Malcolm Forbes.

Are you kidding me?

I put this up on Twitter a few days ago, but it's dumb enough that I had to repeat it here.

What's the opposite of dry?

What's the opposite of dry?

I don't mean desert dry, or dry martini, or any of that. I mean that reserved, understated dry. The one that so many writers appear to have married their favorite characters to. It's a characteristic that has been trounced through decades of apemanship, and one that feels like it would be fun to write. Everyone wants to be aloof and cool.

But what's the opposite of that? Sensational? Dramatic? Clingy? Huggy? I feel like that's too strong, like the results of a grab bag search of words that one with a dry, caustic wit would lob as an insult to someone they don't like. They're also words some of which could be applied to almost anyone I know at some time or another, myself included. How can you have so much presence with one side of this coin, and a complete void on the other? Why does that bother me so much?

Maybe I'm not smart enough to be coy. Maybe it's more indicative of my reading habits than the fictional world at large. Maybe I don't drink enough to have the deadened feelings of these characters.

That's another thing. It's always described how people drink to dull the pain of something or to use as the emotional Neosporin to prevent infection of the emotional scarring of some trauma or another. Has that EVER worked? Maybe I'm not doing it right. I don't think I'd want to. There's probably pills for that.

Anyway, I'm hoping that this doesn't come off like some weird cry for help or frustration, because it really isn't, it's just me assessing my reading habits and wondering why I can't think of an antonymous description of the characters I encounter so often. Maybe you have an idea.

*weird footnote, if you start to google dry, the first recommendation it goes to is "dry socket". What the fuck is wrong with you, world?

**other potential topics for this post: my feelings on the reissue of Exile on Main Street, Me and Douglas Coupland: Are we cool again?, my feelings on long-abandoned military battery installments (not as geeky as it sounds), and SPIES: Me and my cold war obsession as of late. Hopefully one of these will be up by the end of the week.

Failure is too exhausting to bother repeating

Wikipedia fun: Tarantella

During ancient times in the area around the Greek colony of Taranta in southern Italy, a type of poisonous spider was so prevalent that it took the name Lycosa tarantula. Its venom caused a hysterical condition known as Tarantism, the symptoms of which were an irresistible need for a wild and rapid whirling motion bringing the victim to the point of exhaustion, also known as Tarantulism. For long time, the local population believed that the only way to suppress the symptoms and to cure the bite was by using a very rhythmic and fast music. The music played for the cure became known as Tarantella.

I love that the medieval cure for a tarantula bite was dancing. It's something, how completely and utterly stupid most antique medical practices were. Except leeches. That's the one thing we always give them credit for.
This all comes as a result of my semiannual researching of the dancing plagues and manias that cropped up all over Europe in the middle ages. I was also looking into whirling dervishes, which means I might have some sort of weird obsession with dancing going on. It's worth pointing out that I rarely dance, and when I do it probably looks a lot more like the dancing described above than the ballroom dancing I took in 6th grade.

haha, Donnie Darko:

What the heck are people talking about when they say this movie is boring. If you are into flashy plotless un thoughtfull [sic] movies that america loves to pump out, yeah I would say don't watch this movie. I like an array of movies and I felt that this movie was a nice mix of American Beauty style dialogue with a great twist. Deffinately much better than 1 star??? There are some great lines in this movie that had me laughing. The music soundtrack had some great songs in it that were even choreographed to segments of the movie. Well shot, especially for a budget of half a million dollars. Its about a kid who has a link between his future and his present. Discovers accidentally through his connection with a dark suited bunny who trys to save him. Patrick Swayze plays a great creepy role that all too well suits him. All in all I would say this is almost a five star but I gave it a 5 becuase it deserves more than a 4. This is original

 
(84 out of 95 members found this review helpful)
 (really?)
 

So, I've been kicking around the idea of starting a new blog, not one to replace this, because despite my utter lack of posting since finishing grad school (that's right, I'm DONE), I will always have something dumb to post and a need for a place to post it.

This potential new one would be a chronicle of the horrifically stupid restaurant reviews I've encountered on Yelp.  I'm sure we've all seen these, and I'm not sure if you might get as annoyed reading these as I do (patent pending). But I'm hoping to get that going sooner than later. My problem is mostly that it'll be mostly based on restaurants that I've been to, since those are the pages that I tend to visit and it's hard to figure out how stupid someone is being about a place until you've seen it.

huh.

Now I'm rethinking this whole idea.

While I retool this, though, I'm also thinking about doing the same thing for stupid movie reviews I've seen on Netflix. Tonight we were talking about Cocoon: The Return and I wanted to see if Steve "The Gute" Guttenberg was around for that. What I found was this:

This was like watching the first one; same script, same mood, same old people acting silly. I liked the first better, but maybe because I saw it when I was young. There was a LOT of language in this one, so dont be fooled by the age 9+ rating. I was tired of the cussing out of the mouths of senior citizens by half-way through. Ok, not the F-bomb, but still offensive to me.

 To summarize, this person was "young" when the first one came out, so probably not far from me in age. But they were offended by the language in the second one? I'm sure that if you get Wilford Brimley worked up, the guy will curse a blue streak. But Don Ameche reprising an Oscar-winning role? Interesting... I might have to make better use of this. Okay, get ready for the unveiling of dumb Netflix reviews. And Maybe Yelp ones.

Sometimes It Gets Easier

 Sometimes It Gets Easier

1.There might not be any grownups around...

2. "The Mighty Sparrow" - Ted Leo & the Pharmacists

3. "So So Alone" - The Reruns

4. "Speaking My Mind" - Ticonderoga

5. Take that, dinosaur!

6. "The Do Wop" - LL Cool J

7. "All For the Best" - Thom Yorke

8. "Kicked to the Curb" - Crusaders for Real Hip-Hop

9. Just how big is this thing?

10. "Hallelujah, I'm a Bum" - Daniel, Fred & Julie

11. "Stay Zombie Stay" - Elvis Perkins in Dearland

12."Peace In the Valley" - Rev. Lonnie Farris

13. "Go Home" - Mr. David Viner

14. Words fail me

15. "Hold On" - Chris Andrews

16. "Prowler 2" (feat. Jean Grae, Jay Electronica, Joell Ortiz & Mos Def) - Ski Beatz

17. "When Did You Leave Heaven?" - Johnny "Guitar" Watson

18. "The Road of Love" - Clarence Carter

19. "Strawberries and Cream" (Mathematics remix feat. Inspectah Deck & The RZA) - Ghostface Killah

20. "People, I Wish You Could See" - Lee Dorsey

21. Film at 11

22. "Walking in Los Angeles" - Kate Micucci

download here

So yeah, I'm sorry this isn't any sort of substantial update or anything, but it is almost certainly the first mix I've ever made that features both a gospel standard and sex rhymes. So there's that. As school winds down, I'm hoping to enact some big changes around here (including the previously threatened name change), so hopefully some big a-doins will transpire.

This mix is almost unrecognizable compared to the one I had in mind a few weeks ago. Originally, there were a bunch of really old songs that I may have already put on mixes, two separate They Might Be Giants songs, most of the Titus Andronicus album, and some cheeseball pop music. In the end, I had to whittle it down considerably, that stuff is what had to go. Anyway, I hope you like it. H

It's 3:25 AM, but I wanted to write something after yesterday (or the day before), in which the Flyers won, the Sixers drew the second pick in the 2010 NBA draft, and for the first time since I was 2 years old, Arlen Specter will no longer be a Senator from Pennsylvania. I was trying to write a paper while most of it happened, but they remain pretty great for me in more ways than one. But for this post, I'll focus on the last one.

I have been registered on the left since I was 18, the Democratic party for about half of that time. Since I come from a long line of Republicans, I've never been stupid about it, and I've always maintained that I agree more with the GOP on some issues than I do with the liberals. Well, up until a few years ago when the GOP went all batshit. Apparently Specter did to, but I digress.  He was the kind of guy who would stand his ground if he felt strongly about something, and that I admire above all. I've agreed with him a lot more than most of his former party, and I've never felt terrible about him representing me (unlike his old colleague Santorum).

One of the things that you can't deny about Sen. Arlen Specter is that he has worked his ass off for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He got us funding, he pushed initiatives, he twisted arms to get what he wanted. I don't know if I'd ever call him likable, but I can't think of a likable Senator, especially one that I'd want representing me. Truth is he was kind of a bastard, but that was his appeal.

Sure, he was kind of a bonehead sometimes. His famous magic bullet theory still boggles the mind, and I'll never understand what the hell he was thinking when he went after the NFL a couple of years ago. But he was sure as hell dependable, and that's what I'd like to think of his legacy: "dependable, tenacious, brought in $"

Of course, I can't complain about Sestak, either. I had the pleasure of meeting him when he first ran for congressman and he had my vote almost immediately. He's proven to be a standup guy and I've been proud to have voted for him in every possible election until this one. I wish him a long and storied career as a United States Senator, and I look forward to questioning his motives in the future. But for now, I have to get up in 4 hours and change and start working on a new project (just a few more weeks, people. Then I will hopefully be ALL OVER this thing). But for now, before dawn creeps in, I'd like to thank Arlen Specter for being our guy for almost my entire lifetime. I wish you Sestak coulda bumped Casey out and ou coulda stayed, but the timing was off. In lieu of that, just know that your work will never be forgotten.

11:11 PM, Wednesday night

This is my setup as I sat down to write a paper. Visible are laptop, notebook, texts, coffee, water, vodka...

... paper towels, cat treats, and... plants vs. zombies. 

I'm not much further into writing this paper than I was when I took this picture over 4 hours ago. But, I've got a lot more of the background in.

Also in the back of my mind, another mix on the way. Hopefully it'll be done in a week or two. Expect some sex rap and a 14 minute rock jam. No, seriously. 

Stay tuned, there's still life in this site yet!

It's 3:56 AM right now, and I'm wrapping up the tasks that I gave myself when I woke up: "you're not going to bed until this stuff is all done". and I did.Unfortunately, I will be doing the same thing (with even less sleep) tomorrow night.

Ah, but now. Right now, I am sitting here with an expensive-in-California Dogfish Head 60 Minute Ale, the serenity of the middle of the night. I've been listening to Ennio Morricone and Richard Hawley for the past couple of hours and it's put me in the sort of mood that is content but excited. The cat wakes up every hour or so, has a quick bite, and then stares at me for 5 minutes before yawning and going back to bed. Carrie is asleep on the couch in front of an episode of Blue Planet. One of those minutes where you look around and everything has stopped moving, and you are left with the feeling that take everything in and just maybe get everything all figured out for once.

Instead, I will eat a plum and go to bed. 

Cellphone photo dump: San Francisco

 Japanese Tea Garden in the Park

Some kind of church for Cylons, I think.

This mail lady keeps an A&W in the mailbox!

More Tea Garden

Albino alligator! If you're wondering, YES, I did call him Whitey.

Apparently the reason they're so rare is because they last like 2 seconds in the wild. Kinda takes the excitement out of the whole thing. They're rare because they're so poorly adapted. Stupid pigments.

The California Academy of Sciences

Francis Scott Key Memorial (seen in last photo)

Japantown

Bindi Irwin

One of the nicest things I've read all week

I love it when comedians do stuff like this.

I might've told this story before.

When I was in college, I took a political rhetoric class. Aside from the fact that I needed the credit, I took it upon a recommendation. I'd heard great things about this professor, so I signed up for it.
As it turned out, it was worth it. The professor a former speechwriter, the kind of guy who'd gotten several people that you've heard of elected, he always looked like he'd just stepped off a jet with a whiskey in his hand. Wearing dark sunglasses indoors, during the day like he belonged in them.
He'd gotten several people who we've all heard of elected. He was a grizzled vet of the old school political machine.  He taught me a lot of great things, and probably a cynicism that I'll carry for life.

But the lecture of his that I remember the most, of all the insanity and unusually forthcoming admittance of drug abuse, there was a recollection that I will die with.   It was during the Cuban missile crisis, and he was sure that he could count his final hours on both hands. Nuclear contamination was imminent, and he was certain he wasn't going to spend his last hours like a fool.

He moved his mattress and girlfriend to the basement of his apartment building at the time, along with "a lid and a case of whiskey".  He said that they spend two weeks down there, drinking tap water from the sink next to the washer (which surely would've been toxic) and otherwise getting loaded.

Not surprisingly, It always freaked me out. Even worse was that he made a point to mention that almost everyone in the class had grown up under a greater threat of nuclear annihilation than he was then. There's nothing worse than being reminded you never really caught on to from your childhood...

As with every great teacher I've had in my life, I eventually lost touch with him.  I remember going to a surprisingly popular bar with him the next semester and being a little alarmed at his behavior with a few of my former classmates.

Sometimes I think about getting in touch with these old teachers of mine that taught me so much. So much to observe, ignore, repeat... I'd like to see what they have for me now at 31. Would I even listen? It is folly to put former role models under the light of harsh scrutiny, and a terrible reward for those expecting results.

But it's strange. Because I have never been able to forget it. Even worse, I have had a song associated with that story since the day I heard it.  Not just a song, but a song I'd known for years. A song I'd previously cherished as a soundtrack of my formative years; "After the Gold Rush" by Neil Young.

This is a song I could point back to forever. I refer to exhibit A*. But for some reason, the thought of "lying in a burned out basement" conjured up -to my romantic eyes- the notion of lying in a filthy underground shithole trying to convince myself that it was the end of days. It just made sense.

and so now I sit here, thinking about the severity of the situation and how I'd react (like you'd do otherwise!?) and I'm disturbingly okay with the notion of burying myself for weeks and letting the world letting it figure it out for its own self.

But of course I could never do that. I mean shit, I should be used to it by now, right?



*This is a mixtape made by one of my brothers, sisters or friends (I haven't been able to figure out who), one that was worn ragged over several years of driving to Maryland and back. Sons that I remember from it include:
7 Cure songs
"Kiss Me Deadly" - Generation X
"Wild Child" - Iggy Pop
"Heat of the Moment" - Asia
"The Weight" - The Band
"Young Americans" - David Bowie
"Pulling Mussels (from the Shell)"
"Dancin' With Myself" - Billy Idol
"Make Me Smile" - Chicago
and others. I'm actually really trying to remember what else.

Ballroom, Hellingly Hospital

There's really nothing more awesome than an abandoned insane asylum, other than one that's called Hellingly.

Here's some more pics.

1.5 rainbows

Cellphone photo dump 5

Catula. I have no idea of this pic is upside down, which it appears to be:

 

From the Post-It show at GR2:

 

 

Obviously, the well is running a little bit dry now. Or not, the rest are museum placards, the bloody Santa exhibit at MOCA, and some pictures of the cat.

Cellphone photo dump 4

 

Yeah, because I have the mind of a child.

Seriously, though, can you imagine reading this to your child at bedtime and trying to disguise your laughter/horror?

Cellphone photo dump 3

Books that had a dramatic impact on me as a child that I just rediscovered:

 

 

Anansi was always one of my favorites as a kid. I remember talking with all the other kids about which one of his sons we wanted to be. Not surprisingly, I always wanted to be Stone Thrower.

Thinking back on it, so did everyone else.

Cellphone photo dump 2

 

Energy drinks. For your boner.

Cellphone photo dump 1

found something I thought I'd posted ages ago. This is from about a month ago, spotted in a little exhibit in the Getty Research Institute. It's about launching cats. No shit:

 

Oh, it gets better:

 

 

if you look at the bottom there:

 

Yes. That's a cat with something like a 16th century rocket strapped to its back. There's also a bird at the top.

I have a whole stack of fun images I need to post, but I also need to get this whole thing moved to a new address. I've more or less got everything figured out but the name, so if anyone's got any clever suggestions, I'm all ears. Everything I've tried is either taken or creepy and ominous-sounding, and I'm trying to avoid that. 

Anyway, more to come.

No Snow in Hollywood

Remember how I was gonna make all these big changes after post 1000? Well, I'm at 1,005 right now (though this program counts drafts, so I'm almost certainly still below that), and I still haven't changed anything. 

It isn't like I haven't thought about it. and I'm still planing on changing the title and location of this whole thing sooner than later, but I've just been busy as hell wrapping up grad school and trying to maintain a life and everything to really implement most of these changes. But I'm working on it. A dear friend just found a veritable tinmine in the form of old stories and writings of mine, and as I was reading through them last night, I realized that I really should be writing more. I though I would be cringing all through these, but they were better than I remembered. Well, a lot was still crap, but there were ideas there that I really should play around with some more. Perhaps I'll post some of that here. First, I should probably get through my school stuff, since I'm not taking loans out on the premise of finishing decade-old short stories of mine. 

HOWEVER. 

This morning, I finally put together that mix I've been talking about. I've had most of this thing settled for at least a month, but it really finally rounded out in the past week. We cover three languages here, with a lot of wailing soul and some lighter stuff spread throughout. 

The title comes from a Frank O'Hara poem, which is in the middle here. You can delete it if you want (the sound quality is terrible), but give it least a listen. Anyway, it's more of a lamentation than a boast about the lack of snow in California. The cover photo is something I found on riotclitshave some time back. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it:

No Snow in Hollywood

1. Intro

2. "Big Kids Don't Play" - Grand Puba

3. "Be Love, Be Wild" - We All Have Hooks For Hands

4. "Don't Haunt This Place" - The Rural Alberta Advantage

5. "New Religion" - Bad Weather California

6. "You're Wondering Now" - Andy & Joe

7. "Solaar in the Country" - DJ Zebra

8. I Don't Care

9. "Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again" - The Angels

10. "Hold You Back" - JC Brooks & the Uptown Sound

11. "Cry To Me" - Betty Harris

12. Lana Turner Has Collapsed - Frank O'Hara

13. "A Mother's Love" - Earl King

14. "Cancion Para Mi Padre" - Sally Timms

15. "Nobody" - Larry Williams & Johnny Watson

16. "Know What I Mean" - Freeway & Jake One

17. That's the Thing about Chinese Death Stars...

18. "I Don't Want to Party (Party) - Philadelphia Grand Jury

19. "Jackie Wood" - Box Elders

20. "Need Your Love" - Michael & the Mumbles

21. "Bow Down and Die" - The Almighty Defenders

22. "C'mon" - The Soft Pack

22. "There Goes a Girl" - Johnny Truitt

23. Give some back

Edit: somebody has now reported this page TWICE for violation of the DMCA, so I've taken down the link. I'd ask that the offended party contact me and I'll gladly remove the offending material instead of them complaining to Google.

Anyway, if you would like to check the mix out, just email me and I will sent you novelty replica files that may sound uncannily like the mix.

edit: I just realized that the last track was on my last mix. Whoops. I still really like it, for what it's worth.

Shackleton's Whiskey: FOUND

So, three crates of Whiskey (and two bottles of Brandy) have been discovered beneath the floorboards of Ernest Shackleton's hut in Antarctica. You might remember when I wrote about Shackleton's ship (from a different one of his three attempts at reaching the North Pole) being frozen in the ice.
Interestingly, one of the big pluses from this find is that the company that originally made the whiskey is hoping to be able to reverse-engineer the recipe they used 100 years ago, which was apparently lost. Huh.

Anyway, that'd be a sweet birthday present, right?

via English Russia

Howard Zinn is dead.

I just found this out, fittingly enough, as I was watching the State of the Union address.

It wasn't unexpected -the man was 87 and lost his wife 2 years ago- but still, it hits hard. The man served his country in WWII, he marched for civil rights and taught at Spelman, and he wrote some of the most important history texts ever written.

If you're unfamiliar with the man's work, go to his site and read an essay or two, go to youtube and watch a lecture. Or check out Democracy Now tomorrow, where I'm sure there will be a tribute in the morning.  There's also a movie version of A People's History that'll be out on DVD in February.

We've lost a heavyweight today, take a moment to remember him.

The Third Man

One of the more productive things I got to do over the trip home was get some reading done. A lot of it has been a massive book about basketball, augmented with magazines, comics (I re-read We3, and it still sucks the air out of my chest), and the annotated screenplay to The Third Man. It's a movie I'd seen a couple years ago, but had for the most part forgotten, so I was happy to read through it on the flights to and from California.

One of the more impressive of the story's many, many impressive qualities is the way that the story so fittingly describes an time and a place -namely postwar Vienna- so perfectly. The confusion and disconcordance of having one city ruled by four different allied powers, most of whom not sharing a language with each other, let alone the people they are set to govern/protect. The stoic optimism of a war-scarred populace, eager to move on from the conflict but living in  system that won't let them... it's a rare thing to me, to get that sort of sense from any type of work, let alone a book and a film. I honestly don't know how they do it. Part of me suspects that it's a talent that eludes even the best of storytellers. Part of me is certain that it's more a result of my place and time. Does living in America in 2009 (yeah, I know) have a flavor that could be expressed? I could write in a story about economic peril and the hopes of a black president, but in fifty years from now, would someone read that and think "that's exactly what it was like!" Or would I have to include some veiled Rihanna reference?


Obviously, it's more than pop culture. While we (meaning, I) love to think that popular culture goes a way towards defining the greater culture, it far more often than not means sweet fuck all. With the exception of post-9/11 media, I can't really think of anything that snapshots specific American culture after the Cold War*. Perhaps it's because we as Americans have such a diverse climate of economic and social stations that it's nearly impossible to connect them without the benefit of several decades of distance to provide hindsight. It might be that most Americans tend to project their experiences and backgrounds onto the country, effectively ignoring everyone else. Maybe it's the apathy of the suburban MTV generation that has shifted our attitude to that of a vapid shrug (it's a cliche, I know, but not an unfair one). I have no idea. But as I was thinking about this, I was convinced that the most common way to get a picture of our country at any given moment is to show it in or immediately following tragedy**. It sounds dramatic, but maybe that's the only time we'll be able to look around and agree about what's going on. Or at least that's the closest we get to it.

But I digress. I want to write about The Third Man. Because it's one of those movies that holds up so damned well. I'm not one of those classic film nerds that can't watch anything made in America after the mid-70s. I will talk loads of shit about Avatar, and yet I avoid most foreign films on the grounds that they're depressing for the sake of being depressing, and I will prefer color to black & white. I don't consider myself an erudite scholar of film, but I like to think I know what I like. and I love The Third Man. I could rail on about the framework or the advancements in cinematography, but it'd be 100% bullshit lifted from other places, ass opposed to the 50% bullshit that I'm just making up. In order for me to even notice things like that, it has to be so spectacularly good or bad that my attention is taken from the dialogue, acting, and overall theme. So I don't notice that when I'm watching The Third Man. I notice the more obvious things: the Karas soundtrack, which I put on a mix at some point in college and baffled even myself with, The zither fluttering along through the scenes, almost ditzy when juxtaposed against the story. There's the drunken petulance of protagonist Holly Martins, a European caricature of an American if there ever was one***, even if the character was supposed to be Canadian****. There's the opportunists, fops, and schemers that show up throughout the story, and the distance of the Austrians, who don't want anything to do with anything that isn't getting their lives back on track. This is classic noir, and still it stands as more than just a detective story. Oh, and there's Orson Welles. He was already the major filmmaker of the world, and he had just turned his back on Hollywood. He was just the actor here, but he improvised one of the best movie lines in history (he later said he stole it from somewhere else) like it was nothing.

I don't want to get into the story too much, because there are turns and revelations that still amaze me (even if one of the biggest ones is given away by the movie poster/DVD cover).  But I would recommend checking it out. You can watch it on Netflix ad the moment, and you can probably pick up a (non-Criterion) copy for pretty cheap since it's in the public domain. But I'd suggest checking out the book or screenplay first. It won't take up much of your time (I read most of it on the worst plane ride ever), and it really is worth it. Afterwards, check out the movie, and tell me I'm wrong about this. Tell me you don't get a feeling for postwar Vienna, despite the fact that it serves mostly as a backdrop for the story.

Anyway, that's just what I'm feeling on it.

* of course, this isn't entirely true. Wall Street probably did a great job of  defining the mid-late 80s for a lot of people, despite the fact that there's no mention of the decline of American industry, the dumbest fashion sense in history, and the historic rise/acceptance of rap music. Philadelphia might also carry a distinct resonance, while Forrest Gump will always serve to remind us how fucking dumb and self-servingly nostalgic we can be.
** the other might be comedy. Of course, this is not always the case, but it's a lot easier to gain insight towards the culture of a time and place by what jokes can and can't be made and the way that they are made. Of course, 85% of American comedy disproves this entirely.
*** I still laugh every time he intentionally gets Calloway's name wrong.
**** what non-hockey playing Canadian shows up in another country and takes a swing at a cop first thing off the plane? There are Canadians that don't play hockey, right?

I know I said I'd post a mix before the year's end, but I haven't. It's about half done, though. In the meantime, I've got loads of emails to get back to (including ones to every one of my friends, who I didn't get to hang out with while I was home), insane family bullshit to address, and classes that start tomorrow.

I'm not saying don't hold your breath, but seriously, don't hold your breath.

So, here's a story. Tonight, Carrie and I decided to go out to dinner. After spending New Year's Eve in and the next 2 days sick and in bed, we felt we were owed as much. So we did what we usually do. Spend an hour trying to decide where to go for dinner and then eventually settle on the cheapest place. Tonight, it was a Mexican place down the street we rarely frequent.

I should've known something was up as soon as we walked in there. The place is huge. In addition to the outdoor deck (it was warm enough to have diners this evening), there's a labyrinth of indoor rooms and bars at this place. All of them were empty. Eventually, we came across an out-of-the-way reception desk. As we were seated, I was horrified to realize that there was only one other table occupied in the entire restaurant.

This is an issue with me. While I can appreciate being the only people in a movie theater or a plane or something, I don't like the undue attention of being the only patrons of a store. Put in this position, I don't dare leave because of my innate need to support any non-chain business that isn't terrible. So I just sit there, nervously staring at the entrance in hopes that the place will fill up by the time the meal is over. But oh, it gets worse. There was a musician.

If being the only diners in a restaurant gives me a mild panic attack, then being the only diners in a restaurant with live musicians fucking terrifies me. Are we supposed to act like this is a personal concert? Should we clap? Stare at him? Ignore him? I'm profoundly uncomfortable in situations like these, and usually it's pretty obvious.

Still. I can be magnanimous. I can eating a meal without freaking out. After all, we brought some cash to tip him wit.... shit. The money we had left over from the farmer's market that morning was sitting at home on the table. Making matters infinitely worse was that this guy was amazing. and elderly. and playing solo. I don't know what it is. If this guy was playing on the street, or Dave Matthews songs, I wouldn't even think twice of walking past. But I was watching him play with more passion than just about every live show I've ever seen (and paid for). If this guy was from Brooklyn and singing in English, he'd be on the cover of magazines. But instead I was watching this old guy playing by himself in an empty restaurant and it was too much. I felt like we were taking advantage of this guy, and it was only fair to compensate him. I know you might be thinking "but he's paid by the restaurant". I don't know if this is true. and if it is, it wasn't enough. After all, we were tipping the waiter, and he wasn't even that good a waiter.

I tried to put it out of my mind. I thought if I could convince myself that he was singing some really lewd filth, I wouldn't feel obligated to tip him. I thought maybe he'd give up at the realization that he was only playing to two people, and poor-looking ones at that. But no. He kept playing, sounding better with each song. It was torture, beautiful torture. So we decided that we had to tip him. So I got up, nodded to the host as I walked towards the bathroom, and then bolted out the front door towards the nearest business that would give me cash back.

I don't know what the people at the Trader Joe's made of me, running in through their doors and scanning the aisles before grabbing a Toblerone. They probably thought I was a lunatic. When I went to pay for them, the clerk said "Looks like someone's new year's resolution is to eat more candy!" She smiled, and I probably should've just nodded and smiled back. Instead, with my heart pounding through my chest I huffed "no time to explain", got my cash back, and sprinted back to the restaurant. The guy was still playing the same song when I sat down*. I slipped Carrie the money and she tipped him at the next break. If I tried, the singer might have notice that I was a) out of breath, or b) suddenly had a giant Toblerone in my pocket.

The next song, he played a cover of "Sounds of Silence". I swear this was for our benefit, since before that his set consisted of traditional Mexican songs, but it might've just been that place in the rotation. I'm usually not big on this sort of thing, the zany cover**, but I swear this guy killed it. He was amazing, and I can't swear it wasn't the palpitations or the cold medicine, but I was almost moved to tears.

It was far from the cheapest meal we could've had (In n' Out), but that was still the best $5 I've spent in years.

*I know it's depressing that I was winded after some four minutes of running but, to be fair, I haven't been to the gym in almost a month and I had just downed a taco, an enchilada, and a plate of beans and rice. We're all lucky that my being winded was the worst of it.
**anyone who has visited this site for over a year or so can probably find hundreds of pieces of evidence contradicting this. Well keep yer trap shut.

Got in to Philly this morning off of the redeye, and it took me until the baggage claim before some girl scolded me for talking about her (I wasn't). The I went home and shovelled snow. That's right, you think the West Coast has softened this guy up? NO WAY! Lack of sleep, jet lag be damned. I'm in this!

(this is my way of saying posts will be sparse, what with lack of internet and time. I'm sure you're all there with me).

Sorry for the small blackout, I just wrapped up my finals and really just didn't want to spend any more time in front of a computer than I already had to for the past few days. Which really just means I've been outside a bunch, trying to take advantage of California weather before heading back East on Sunday. Spent a couple hours walking around a college campus and generally just catching up on existence when I found a giant papier-mache milk jug rotting on the side of the road. Without a holie big enough to crawl into it, had no other option left but to take some pictures of it.

In internet news, how effing cute (and a little disgusting) is this?

yeah...

Missing: granny in rocking chair.

I'm watching (well, listening to) this Iverson press conference in Philly right now, and I'm seeing a guy with tears in his eyes describing what the Philly fans mean to him. While I respect that, and probably even believe it, it's still an even that brings up some mixed feelings for me.

I should preface this by saying that Iverson means a lot to me as a Sixers fan. The man has arguably* sparked more interest in the team -my favorite team- more than any other player in history, and as a fan I owe him that. I can't think of a player that threw himself into the game as hard as he did for the better part of a decade, and he took us to the finals. So please don't mistake what I'm about to say as hatred of Iverson.

I was against him coming back. I think I still am. His leaving was tumultuous at best, and we're still getting over the ramifications of building a team around him before he left. We have a bunch of young players now that need to learn the game in their own way, and I think Iverson could damage that in a way that could never be fixed. There's also the off-court drama associated with Iverson. I've had four people send me the "practice!?" clip in the past week, and it's not like I needed reminding the first time. I think Iverson will sell a shitload of tickets, but in the long run bringing him back might be detrimental to the young talent.

But watching this press conference... watching him picking up that uniform -the uni that he should've been wearing in his first run here- and seeing his smile when he did it... I can't help but feel a little hopeful. It might be the desperation of a horrified fan who has seen his favorite team in shambles all season following the coaching style of a lunatic. I might be grasping at whatever optimism I can pull out of the situation.  But there's also something else, something that I forgot about a while back.

This is Allen Iverson.

This is a guy who in the past has thrived on defying odds and proving people wrong. This might be the last stop in the league after dropping lower and lower on the the ladder, but he might just be able to rejuvenate this team and smack some sense into them. And if we're really lucky, he might just get Eddie Jordan fired. It's a longshot, but it's still the best shot I, as a fan, can have at the moment.

Sure, there's a strong chance I'll be eating these words (not literally) in a few months, but for now I'm kind of excited. the way I see it, the team can't possibly get worse than they've been so far, so let's give him the shot.

*with apologies to Charles, Julius and Wilt

How did I miss this?

Sarah Palin attributed a quote to the infamous UCLA Basketball coach John Wooden in her book, which is strange enough. What is laughably insane is that the quote:

"Our land is everything to us...I will tell you one of the things we remember on our land. We remember our grandfathers paid for it -- with their lives."

Is not John Wooden's (you mean basketball coaches don't often talk about how their fathers died for their land?), it does however belong to one native American activist John Wooden Legs.

I'm sick of Palin, and I'm even more sick of everyone attacking her, if only because it makes her fans even crazier and more self-righteous. But this is without a doubt one of the dumbest things I've ever seen. I'm sure she had nothing to do with it (at all, including selecting the quote), you would think that anyone publishing a book that's set to be scrutinized as this one would be smart enough to hire a fact checker to see if this was on the level.

also, I have to admit I never knew that reindeer were this cute.

Oooooh fish shoes!

I want them.

(via Illusion360)

Hoagie dreams

I don't know who tipped the little bugger off, but my subconsciousness is now aware that I'm going to be back in PA pretty soon. I had a frighteningly intense dream last night about my favorite sandwich. I actually woke up with my mouth watering. This can only means that dreams about Sarcone's, pizza, and maybe a cheese steak are forthcoming.

I've been pretty wound up lately, with Carrie sporting some sort of H1N1 action lately, and my finals in full swing. I don't see this dying down before next friday, but I should have some more time to post here next week. Going to Conan on Tuesday, so that should be nice.

In the meantime, Paul F. Tompkins' new album came out today. It is hilarious, and you should buy it, here or over on iTunes.

Death by water + children

via Shorpy