He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
- I can't believe you really shot me.
Not even a blink from her.
-I know I wasn't the perfect man. I know I treated you badly. I even deserved to die, but still... You look so pure and innocent right now. It's hard to see you like this. This new light you're in is too much for me. I guess I'll be seeing a lot of things in a new light.
She not only failed to respond, she scratched the inside of her thigh in a disconcertingly private fashion. Rudy knew she couldn't sense him. He was extant only to himself, which was unfortunate in so many ways.
Rudy saw the bicycle taxi a long time before Brenda did. With a great deal of effort he managed to get his spectral form up above the accident. The bird's eye view did him no favors. The way Brenda tore out of the windscreen was disturbing for everyone, but it was particularly awful from Rudy's perspective.
Brenda split into two parts, he bod and her other form. She was present for just long enough to blurt out - I killed you! How are you... OH!
And she was gone.
The bicycle taxi driver stuck around for a moment longer. He looked at his shattered cab and corpse.
- F#ck man! I just paid that shit off! I was finally going to make some money. Dammit! That sucks. I was totally not ready for another incarnation yet.
And then he started to shrink and grow younger looking. His features changed and in a child's voice: - I f#cking HATE the birth canal!
And he was gone.
Rudy's attention was absorbed by this display. He completely failed to notice the man dressed like an investment banker who was walking swiftly away, holding the bulging case of cash. He failed to notice for about 10 feet.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Part 2
Rudy hadn't lived much of a life, but he'd always thought that it would end with a whimper, rather than a bang. He'd known there were troubles between the, but when Brenda actually pulled a gun on him... well, it was a radical shift in perspective.
- Baby, what is this?
- Don't you f#cking 'baby' me, asshole! This is the way this f#cking story ends. Drop the f#cking case and move over there.
If only she'd been right. Later on Rudy had LOTS and LOTS of time to reflect on how wrong she'd been.
- I said, 'Drop The F#cking Case!' You impotent, dimebag, skinny-d!ck, piece of sh!t!
- Look, Ba..., Brenda, Brenda honey, it wasn't, it isn't like this isn't OUR money, OUR life. We're here together.
- F#ck that! I know you. You're not innocent, you're not f#cking sharing. You're looking at that money and you're f#cking making plans.
- Plans for us! Plans for US, ba.., Brenda.
- That's all I have to hear. You barely know my f#cking name! I'm just one of your damn 'Babys' Well f#ck that, and f#ck you! I'm not having that. I'm having it all.
The windmills turned over head. Oblivious to the quickly cut-off,
- Baby, NO!
and the four shots that followed.
Rudy, looking down at his corpse, reflected that she'd been too close. She was spattered, well spattered. Not like Carrie or anything, but it was a bloody mess. She stood so still that it was almost as if SHE'D died. But then her eyes moved to the case and it was like a current to a clock. Instant movement.
Rudy was a little startled. Not being a terribly metaphysical kind of guy he'd never really given much thought to what happens after death. Now it was happening. He'd been planning on checking into a hotel at around this time. Within two hours he'd planned to be showering the sex off and leaving a note. He'd given a lot of thought to whether or not he'd leave money. He'd decided not to, which had only made it more surprising to be shot. Ask anyone who has suffered a fatal gunshot wound, (consult your local medium) they'll tell you it's pretty surprising.
Rudy watched her level his body over the cliff and was impressed again at how different she was than he'd thought. She'd seemed, for the couple months he'd known her, to be one of those pretty, little bitches that one meets and discards. He'd never thought of her as something special. Clarity rarely comes to one in the full flush of rapid existence. But get to the other side and things start to clarify in a hurry.
Rudy saw that she was a little more than just a random bar slut. She was obviously better looking, but she'd also been planning this caper for a while. The ease with which she had pulled it together, the swift movements for disposal. Rudy wished he'd seen things this clearly before he'd died. With one of those goofy little smiles of his, the ones that defined his success with women when he was alive, he thought about using his new found deductive skills to, well, to what?
As Brenda started the car and drove off Rudy experienced yet another little shock. He stopped being by the windmills and found himself floating about 10 feet behind the car. With all the control he could muster over his new, apparently nomadic, dicorporeal form, he stopped in midair. But within seconds he was moving again, floating along behind the car. He considered his options. Apparently his would not be an existence of control. Something clearly compelled him.
Rudy was used to control. Not that he wasone of those control freaks or anything. He ran one of the most continually successful minor casinos on the strip for a very, very successful little syndicate, known under a variety of sobriquets and mostly feared by those in the know. The case Brenda had taken was only 1% his, and as a consequence some very, very angry men would be coming after Brenda before too long. Rudy expected to feel good about seeing harm come to her, but was surprised to find that he couldn't muster and malice whatsoever.
There was closer and there was in the car. Those were his options. By a little manipulation of the will he found that he could move in any direction, 10 feet from the car. He considered a destiny tied by a 10 foot leash to a rental car. It seemed bleak. Being in the car with Brenda, near all that blood, it was disconcerting. He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
- Baby, what is this?
- Don't you f#cking 'baby' me, asshole! This is the way this f#cking story ends. Drop the f#cking case and move over there.
If only she'd been right. Later on Rudy had LOTS and LOTS of time to reflect on how wrong she'd been.
- I said, 'Drop The F#cking Case!' You impotent, dimebag, skinny-d!ck, piece of sh!t!
- Look, Ba..., Brenda, Brenda honey, it wasn't, it isn't like this isn't OUR money, OUR life. We're here together.
- F#ck that! I know you. You're not innocent, you're not f#cking sharing. You're looking at that money and you're f#cking making plans.
- Plans for us! Plans for US, ba.., Brenda.
- That's all I have to hear. You barely know my f#cking name! I'm just one of your damn 'Babys' Well f#ck that, and f#ck you! I'm not having that. I'm having it all.
The windmills turned over head. Oblivious to the quickly cut-off,
- Baby, NO!
and the four shots that followed.
Rudy, looking down at his corpse, reflected that she'd been too close. She was spattered, well spattered. Not like Carrie or anything, but it was a bloody mess. She stood so still that it was almost as if SHE'D died. But then her eyes moved to the case and it was like a current to a clock. Instant movement.
Rudy was a little startled. Not being a terribly metaphysical kind of guy he'd never really given much thought to what happens after death. Now it was happening. He'd been planning on checking into a hotel at around this time. Within two hours he'd planned to be showering the sex off and leaving a note. He'd given a lot of thought to whether or not he'd leave money. He'd decided not to, which had only made it more surprising to be shot. Ask anyone who has suffered a fatal gunshot wound, (consult your local medium) they'll tell you it's pretty surprising.
Rudy watched her level his body over the cliff and was impressed again at how different she was than he'd thought. She'd seemed, for the couple months he'd known her, to be one of those pretty, little bitches that one meets and discards. He'd never thought of her as something special. Clarity rarely comes to one in the full flush of rapid existence. But get to the other side and things start to clarify in a hurry.
Rudy saw that she was a little more than just a random bar slut. She was obviously better looking, but she'd also been planning this caper for a while. The ease with which she had pulled it together, the swift movements for disposal. Rudy wished he'd seen things this clearly before he'd died. With one of those goofy little smiles of his, the ones that defined his success with women when he was alive, he thought about using his new found deductive skills to, well, to what?
As Brenda started the car and drove off Rudy experienced yet another little shock. He stopped being by the windmills and found himself floating about 10 feet behind the car. With all the control he could muster over his new, apparently nomadic, dicorporeal form, he stopped in midair. But within seconds he was moving again, floating along behind the car. He considered his options. Apparently his would not be an existence of control. Something clearly compelled him.
Rudy was used to control. Not that he wasone of those control freaks or anything. He ran one of the most continually successful minor casinos on the strip for a very, very successful little syndicate, known under a variety of sobriquets and mostly feared by those in the know. The case Brenda had taken was only 1% his, and as a consequence some very, very angry men would be coming after Brenda before too long. Rudy expected to feel good about seeing harm come to her, but was surprised to find that he couldn't muster and malice whatsoever.
There was closer and there was in the car. Those were his options. By a little manipulation of the will he found that he could move in any direction, 10 feet from the car. He considered a destiny tied by a 10 foot leash to a rental car. It seemed bleak. Being in the car with Brenda, near all that blood, it was disconcerting. He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
Friday, November 2, 2007
The New One
This is what I do while in class at Field Med.
The windmills churned round again.
On the ground the blood had almost entirely soaked into the dust. Standing by the door, like a blood-soaked gargoyle, she finally let the gun fall onto the driver's seat. As if the falling gun had restarted time she began to move. Using the tire iron from the jack she pushed the carcass off the cliff. The car started with the whisper of luxury and in the backseat the case with the 400,000 hundred dollars bills glowered accusation.
Pulling back onto The Strip an hour later she barely even glanced at the gaudy extravaganza. So focused was she on her mission, she never saw the two-seat bicycle taxi that killed her.
The collision was quick and the taxi driver barely even noticed the sleekness of her Rolls. He didn't have any customers, so it was only the loss of one resident Las Vegan. But she was through the windshield before she knew what happened and dead before the case in the backseat hit the floor.
James Lauer had given up years ago. He knew he hadn't ever accomplished anything. All his pleasures and perfections were vicarious. After High School there were a couple of years when he thought that something might happen for him, but nothing ever did and the slow movement West had finally landed him here. Vegas offered him a good disposable income. He sustained off the gullibility of tourists. The move towards a more family oriented Sin City had been a boon to him. All the brightly colored shirts and fear of looking stupid made perfect sense to a business model that covers all the angles. A suit, not a flashy one, a smile, thank God Dad was an orthodontist, and a guarantee of successful gambling skills taught in one hour increments and two hour "Intensive" courses. It all added up to money, if not in the bank, then at least under the carpet in the living room.
As he ran to the wreck though, all he could think about was the woman who's flown through the window. As the rolls had passed him, sitting on his bench, eating his late dinner ham and cheese, he'd been awed by her. She was, without question, a specimen of perfection.
It was a split second and she never saw him. His firing synapses had only just hit their receptors when her head hit the glass. Just as his heart leaped in his chest, the rolls leaped over the taxi and all the bits of perfection came crashing to earth.
So James ran.
He got to the wreck and took it in with a glance. The woman was obviously dead. She had obviously died and bled and torn all at once. The only thing left to take in was the case in the backseat. It was lying open, as if it had been placed that way, full to the top with tightly wrapped hundreds. A true child of the Media Age, the phrase, "unmarked, non-sequential hundreds" immediately tolled through his mind. He was later discouraged to find them to be both marked and sequential. Nonetheless, the case retained its emotional allure. Money does that.
Looking around him with a speed and intensity that he had rarely found before, he opened the rear passenger door and took the case. With another swift glance around, and a more tender on at the bloodied angel in the street, he closed the case against his leg and walked off.
The windmills churned round again.
On the ground the blood had almost entirely soaked into the dust. Standing by the door, like a blood-soaked gargoyle, she finally let the gun fall onto the driver's seat. As if the falling gun had restarted time she began to move. Using the tire iron from the jack she pushed the carcass off the cliff. The car started with the whisper of luxury and in the backseat the case with the 400,000 hundred dollars bills glowered accusation.
Pulling back onto The Strip an hour later she barely even glanced at the gaudy extravaganza. So focused was she on her mission, she never saw the two-seat bicycle taxi that killed her.
The collision was quick and the taxi driver barely even noticed the sleekness of her Rolls. He didn't have any customers, so it was only the loss of one resident Las Vegan. But she was through the windshield before she knew what happened and dead before the case in the backseat hit the floor.
James Lauer had given up years ago. He knew he hadn't ever accomplished anything. All his pleasures and perfections were vicarious. After High School there were a couple of years when he thought that something might happen for him, but nothing ever did and the slow movement West had finally landed him here. Vegas offered him a good disposable income. He sustained off the gullibility of tourists. The move towards a more family oriented Sin City had been a boon to him. All the brightly colored shirts and fear of looking stupid made perfect sense to a business model that covers all the angles. A suit, not a flashy one, a smile, thank God Dad was an orthodontist, and a guarantee of successful gambling skills taught in one hour increments and two hour "Intensive" courses. It all added up to money, if not in the bank, then at least under the carpet in the living room.
As he ran to the wreck though, all he could think about was the woman who's flown through the window. As the rolls had passed him, sitting on his bench, eating his late dinner ham and cheese, he'd been awed by her. She was, without question, a specimen of perfection.
It was a split second and she never saw him. His firing synapses had only just hit their receptors when her head hit the glass. Just as his heart leaped in his chest, the rolls leaped over the taxi and all the bits of perfection came crashing to earth.
So James ran.
He got to the wreck and took it in with a glance. The woman was obviously dead. She had obviously died and bled and torn all at once. The only thing left to take in was the case in the backseat. It was lying open, as if it had been placed that way, full to the top with tightly wrapped hundreds. A true child of the Media Age, the phrase, "unmarked, non-sequential hundreds" immediately tolled through his mind. He was later discouraged to find them to be both marked and sequential. Nonetheless, the case retained its emotional allure. Money does that.
Looking around him with a speed and intensity that he had rarely found before, he opened the rear passenger door and took the case. With another swift glance around, and a more tender on at the bloodied angel in the street, he closed the case against his leg and walked off.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I can't see it, but...
...supposedly this is Wes Anderson's short that will no longer be shown with The Darjeeling Limited get it while it's hot.
3:24 PM (37 comments):
Here's a link for Wes Anderson's Hotel Chevalier -- Jason Schwartzman, a yellow and biege hotel room with a great view, Peter Sarstedt's "Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?", the naked Natalie Portman (with bruises) and a great pair of lines -- Portman saying "if we f, I'm going to feel like s tomorrow" and Schwartzman saying "that's okay with me." The download is free. It's best to have iTunes open first. It lasts 13 minutes.
3:24 PM (37 comments):
Here's a link for Wes Anderson's Hotel Chevalier -- Jason Schwartzman, a yellow and biege hotel room with a great view, Peter Sarstedt's "Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?", the naked Natalie Portman (with bruises) and a great pair of lines -- Portman saying "if we f, I'm going to feel like s tomorrow" and Schwartzman saying "that's okay with me." The download is free. It's best to have iTunes open first. It lasts 13 minutes.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Two thoughts from my ride in to work
First, I was driving behind an SUV with the following two bumper stickers:
"Gore '08... for earth's sake.
"Still PISSED at Yoko"
And it made me wonder if the person driving the vehicle knew that he/she was now a living cliche'.
The second is that I REALLY hope that the Iranian president's speech at Columbia is like when the Martians visit the Congress.
"Ack Ack, AckAck ACK ACK!!" And then a deathray kills them all. That would make me laugh.
The other thing I was thinking though is, what if he is assasinated? I mean, during Yom Kippur, he says something stupid, some hot head in the crowd get rowdy, has a gun... When will or colleges learn about gun control, blah blah blah, talking head fever. But what are the ramifications? Interesting idea.
Thoughts?
"Gore '08... for earth's sake.
"Still PISSED at Yoko"
And it made me wonder if the person driving the vehicle knew that he/she was now a living cliche'.
The second is that I REALLY hope that the Iranian president's speech at Columbia is like when the Martians visit the Congress.
"Ack Ack, AckAck ACK ACK!!" And then a deathray kills them all. That would make me laugh.
The other thing I was thinking though is, what if he is assasinated? I mean, during Yom Kippur, he says something stupid, some hot head in the crowd get rowdy, has a gun... When will or colleges learn about gun control, blah blah blah, talking head fever. But what are the ramifications? Interesting idea.
Thoughts?
Friday, September 21, 2007
I Disagree and why.
So, read all of this:
CHEAP TOMATOES - A Reality Check!
This one tells it like it really is..............Hope you read it all...........
This English teacher has phrased it the best I've seen yet. CHEAP TOMATOES?This should make everyone think, be you Democrat, Republican or Independent. From a California school teacher - - - "As you listen to the news about the student protests over illegal immigration, there are some things that you should be aware of: I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title 1 school, meaning that its students average lower socioeconomic and income levels. Most of the schools you are hearing about, South Gate High, Bell Gardens, Huntington Park, etc., where these students are protesting, are also Title 1 schools.Title 1 schools are on the free breakfast and free lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking a glass of milk and roll -- but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make a Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)I estimate that well over 50% of these students are obese or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more DO have cell phones. The school also provides day care centers for the unwed teenage pregnant girls (some as young as 13) so they can attend class without the inconvenience of having to arrange for babysitters or having family watch their kids. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK) I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department or risk losing funding for the upcoming year even though there was little need for anything; my budget was already substantial.. I ended up buying new computers for the computer learning center, half of which, one month later, have been carved with graffiti by the appreciative students who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK) I have had to intervene several times for young and substitute teachers whose classes consist of many illegal immigrant students here in the country less then 3 months who raised so much hell with the female teachers, calling them "Putas" whores and throwing things that the teachers were in tears. Free medical, free education, free food, day care etc., etc, etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled to not only be in this country but to demand rights, privileges and entitlements? To those who want to point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society because they LIKE their gardener and housekeeper and they like to pay less for tomatoes: spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the TRUE costs. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases etc., etc, etc. For me, I'll pay more for tomatoes. We need to wake up. The guest worker program will be a disaster because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think they will voluntarily leave and return? There are many hardworking Hispanic/American citizens that contribute to our country and many that I consider my true friends We should encourage and accept those Hispanics who have done it the right and legal way. It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third- world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by 15 and that refuses to assimilate, and an American culture that has become so weak and worried about "politically correctness" that we don't have the will to do anything about it. If this makes your blood boil, as it did mine, forward this to everyone you know. CHEAP LABOR? Isn't that what the whole immigration issue is about? Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage. Consumers don't want expensive produce. Government will tell you Americans don't want the jobs. But the bottom line is cheap labor. The phrase "cheap labor" is a myth, a farce, and a lie. there is no such thing as "cheap labor." Take, for example, an illegal alien with a wife and five children. He takes a job for $5.00 or $6.00/hour. At that wage, with six dependents, he pays no income tax, yet at the end of the year, if he files an Income Tax Return, he gets an "earned income credit" of up to $3,200 free. He qualifies for Section 8 housing and subsidized rent. He qualifies for food stamps. He qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care. His children get free breakfasts and lunches at school. He requires bilingual teachers and books. He qualifies for relief from high energy bills. If they are or become, aged, blind or disabled, they qualify for SSI. Once qualified for SSI they can qualify for Medicare. All of this is at (our) taxpayer's expense. He doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance. Taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins and printed material. He and his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits. Working Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his. The American taxpayers also pay for increased crime, graffiti and trash clean-up. Cheap labor? YEAH RIGHT! Wake up people. THESE ARE THE QUESTIONS WE SHOULD BE ADDRESSING TO THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES FOR EITHER PARTY. 'AND WHEN THEY LIE TO US AND DON'T DO AS THEY SAY, WE SHOULD REPLACE THEM AT ONCE! THIS HAS GOT TO BE PASSED ALONG TO AS MANY AS POSSIBLE OR WE WILL ALL GO DOWN THE DRAIN BECAUSE A FEW DON'T CARE.
This is what bothers me about it, if you'd like to complain about the government programs, then I am with you. The drain on tax payer dollars is absurd and I tend to think that about 90% of the government programs anyone could name. Post-New Deal, we're swamped with useless expenditures that are nothing but a drain on our country, and an unwelcome one at that. But I don't see the problem with immigrants and I don't see the problem with the $5 or $6 and hour that he makes. If there is a complaint that is valid here it is in regards to the unearned benefits of a non-taxpayer getting tax-funded benefits. But shouldn't the issue be the tax-funded benefits themselves?
To complain that someone is not a citizen but is getting the rights of a citizen, but then to also say that the person should not be MADE a citizen, well that seems foolish. Make citizens of these people. Make them pay taxes as citizens. Let them decide, as voters, whether they want to have their income taxed and spent on food programs, or if they'd rather write irate e-mails about whomever we're not letting into the country next.
Honestly, this just strikes me as a racist argument, and one that is not at all new. It's been around since there have been immigrants, and I suppose it's not going away.
CHEAP TOMATOES - A Reality Check!
This one tells it like it really is..............Hope you read it all...........
This English teacher has phrased it the best I've seen yet. CHEAP TOMATOES?This should make everyone think, be you Democrat, Republican or Independent. From a California school teacher - - - "As you listen to the news about the student protests over illegal immigration, there are some things that you should be aware of: I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title 1 school, meaning that its students average lower socioeconomic and income levels. Most of the schools you are hearing about, South Gate High, Bell Gardens, Huntington Park, etc., where these students are protesting, are also Title 1 schools.Title 1 schools are on the free breakfast and free lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking a glass of milk and roll -- but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make a Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)I estimate that well over 50% of these students are obese or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more DO have cell phones. The school also provides day care centers for the unwed teenage pregnant girls (some as young as 13) so they can attend class without the inconvenience of having to arrange for babysitters or having family watch their kids. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK) I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department or risk losing funding for the upcoming year even though there was little need for anything; my budget was already substantial.. I ended up buying new computers for the computer learning center, half of which, one month later, have been carved with graffiti by the appreciative students who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK) I have had to intervene several times for young and substitute teachers whose classes consist of many illegal immigrant students here in the country less then 3 months who raised so much hell with the female teachers, calling them "Putas" whores and throwing things that the teachers were in tears. Free medical, free education, free food, day care etc., etc, etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled to not only be in this country but to demand rights, privileges and entitlements? To those who want to point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society because they LIKE their gardener and housekeeper and they like to pay less for tomatoes: spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the TRUE costs. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases etc., etc, etc. For me, I'll pay more for tomatoes. We need to wake up. The guest worker program will be a disaster because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think they will voluntarily leave and return? There are many hardworking Hispanic/American citizens that contribute to our country and many that I consider my true friends We should encourage and accept those Hispanics who have done it the right and legal way. It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third- world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by 15 and that refuses to assimilate, and an American culture that has become so weak and worried about "politically correctness" that we don't have the will to do anything about it. If this makes your blood boil, as it did mine, forward this to everyone you know. CHEAP LABOR? Isn't that what the whole immigration issue is about? Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage. Consumers don't want expensive produce. Government will tell you Americans don't want the jobs. But the bottom line is cheap labor. The phrase "cheap labor" is a myth, a farce, and a lie. there is no such thing as "cheap labor." Take, for example, an illegal alien with a wife and five children. He takes a job for $5.00 or $6.00/hour. At that wage, with six dependents, he pays no income tax, yet at the end of the year, if he files an Income Tax Return, he gets an "earned income credit" of up to $3,200 free. He qualifies for Section 8 housing and subsidized rent. He qualifies for food stamps. He qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care. His children get free breakfasts and lunches at school. He requires bilingual teachers and books. He qualifies for relief from high energy bills. If they are or become, aged, blind or disabled, they qualify for SSI. Once qualified for SSI they can qualify for Medicare. All of this is at (our) taxpayer's expense. He doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance. Taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins and printed material. He and his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits. Working Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his. The American taxpayers also pay for increased crime, graffiti and trash clean-up. Cheap labor? YEAH RIGHT! Wake up people. THESE ARE THE QUESTIONS WE SHOULD BE ADDRESSING TO THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES FOR EITHER PARTY. 'AND WHEN THEY LIE TO US AND DON'T DO AS THEY SAY, WE SHOULD REPLACE THEM AT ONCE! THIS HAS GOT TO BE PASSED ALONG TO AS MANY AS POSSIBLE OR WE WILL ALL GO DOWN THE DRAIN BECAUSE A FEW DON'T CARE.
This is what bothers me about it, if you'd like to complain about the government programs, then I am with you. The drain on tax payer dollars is absurd and I tend to think that about 90% of the government programs anyone could name. Post-New Deal, we're swamped with useless expenditures that are nothing but a drain on our country, and an unwelcome one at that. But I don't see the problem with immigrants and I don't see the problem with the $5 or $6 and hour that he makes. If there is a complaint that is valid here it is in regards to the unearned benefits of a non-taxpayer getting tax-funded benefits. But shouldn't the issue be the tax-funded benefits themselves?
To complain that someone is not a citizen but is getting the rights of a citizen, but then to also say that the person should not be MADE a citizen, well that seems foolish. Make citizens of these people. Make them pay taxes as citizens. Let them decide, as voters, whether they want to have their income taxed and spent on food programs, or if they'd rather write irate e-mails about whomever we're not letting into the country next.
Honestly, this just strikes me as a racist argument, and one that is not at all new. It's been around since there have been immigrants, and I suppose it's not going away.
Really A Clever Idea
From the mind of the quite talented and interesting Jesse Eisenberg come this quite clever site.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
An impassioned plea for stuff....
In case anyone wants to read it here, instead of their e-mail...
So, just to be a complete materialist and all, I'm gettting ready to leave for Japan and I have a bunch of stuff at Grandma Pitrone's. I'm going to come home on the 30th, really late, with the wife, stay for two days, get everything together to go with us, and then leave by Wednesday morning, early as we can. The point of all this is, if anyone has anything that could be considered mine, please bring it to Grandma's before then and I will pick out the things that the wife and I may need, and then everything remaining can be sold/given/thrown away. I know that many of you are actually utilizing the stuff, and if you are, then by all means keep it, but if not, then please bring it to Grandma's toss it in my room and I'll sort it when I am home and go from there. Thoughts? I'd really appreciate it, and I imagine that it will free up some important space at Grandma's, and it'd really help me out, Thanks, and I hope to see you over those couple days.
So, just to be a complete materialist and all, I'm gettting ready to leave for Japan and I have a bunch of stuff at Grandma Pitrone's. I'm going to come home on the 30th, really late, with the wife, stay for two days, get everything together to go with us, and then leave by Wednesday morning, early as we can. The point of all this is, if anyone has anything that could be considered mine, please bring it to Grandma's before then and I will pick out the things that the wife and I may need, and then everything remaining can be sold/given/thrown away. I know that many of you are actually utilizing the stuff, and if you are, then by all means keep it, but if not, then please bring it to Grandma's toss it in my room and I'll sort it when I am home and go from there. Thoughts? I'd really appreciate it, and I imagine that it will free up some important space at Grandma's, and it'd really help me out, Thanks, and I hope to see you over those couple days.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Rerun
Sorry, today was rotten, you only get a rerun:
So, do you realize how tall Bill O'Reilly is? He is MASSIVELY tall. He's 6'4" tall and he wears shoes that make him tower. Just an enormous guy. He's also got the blotchiest complexion you've ever seen. He looks like a gigantic "Before" ad for Pro-Activ solutions or something. Also, his nose just dwarfs the rest of his face. His eye look remarkably beady, given the size of the nose and the impression of blotchiness that is so overwhelming. I've got to say, though, he's a pretty nice guy. He's about as full of himself as you'd expect. He's about as much of a dick as you'd expect... in fact, other than that he is personable and tall there wasn't any real difference between watching his show and meeting him in person. I got to the galley 15 minutes early, but because of the usual planning and forward thinking displayed by the military I was 45 minutes early. So I walked over to a TV room and spent a dull 30 minutes watching Leslie Nielsen on The Golden Girls. I can't believe that Mitch Hurwitz, the genius behind Arrested Development, used to have anything to do with Golden Girls, it is a terrible show. But after I watched that for a while and began to seriously consider swearing off of TV for life, I got up and went back to the galley. I walked in and passed a bunch of other sailors who were waiting to have lunch with Infamous Bill. I walked into the dining room proper and there was no direction at all. There were a couple of tables with "Reserved" signs on them, but other than that it looked like I would just be standing till told otherwise. Finally I saw a Sgt. Major who told me what to do. I got my tray and tried to decide what to eat while talking to this pseudo-celebrity. I decided on pork roast, rice, some french fries and a salad. Nothing flash or messy. (The rice then became messy. I felt like an idiot, "Always stick to potatoes with an O'Reilly," my new motto.) I went and sat at one of the smaller tables, not wishing to push myself forward. At this point I was one of about 8 people in the dining room and I didn't want to appear to be a Factor sycophant. I ate about 2 bites when Admiral Harry Harris walked up behind me and patted me on the back. I stood up to greet him, because I am Captain Military Bearing when it comes to licking the boots of powerful officers. He told me to go and sit at the head table. He positioned me one to Bill O'Reilly's opposite right. Still no O'Reilly in the room, but we're getting to that part. The Admiral sat down and asked me where I work. I almost laughed because I see him about 3 times a week in meetings, but he doesn't know who the hell I am. (I suppose, why should he? It isn't as if he and I are at the meetings alone. He never actually talks to me, but still, I DO see him a few times a week... I ALWAYS notice him. He doesn't even know I exist. I feel like a 7th grade girl.) I told him that I work at the hospital and he got excited and jumped up to tell the press that there was a corpsman at the head table. (At least, that was my impression. He might equally have been asking how the hell they'd let a corpsman get at the head table, or asking intel why there was a no-nothing bozo like me sitting with O'Reilly. Who knows what he said? He's the freakin' Admiral, he can say whatever he wants.) So I had about 2 more bites and then my friend Eppley walked in at sat next to me, which bucked me up considerably. I always like to have a buddy close by when I am planning to skewer a popular pundit. Epp was all cheerful and said he was nervous. I told him that I had exhaustively researched Mr. O and I spewed a few useless facts about the man, including the interesting fact that O-Rizzle had once played semi-pro ball and tried out for the Mets. I wasn't sure it was true as the only place I'd seen it was Wikipedia, but I planned on checking it out with The Man, if I got the chance. At about this time Mr. O'Reilly himself wandered up to the table. He had chosen, probably much to the disgust of the galley staff, a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato and a packet of regular Lays potato chips. (Not even the ruffled, I thought this showed a spirit of plebeian honor and a distinct lack of celebrity pride. I also thought, "Who's this guy trying to fool, the food here sucks, but he doesn't have to rub our faces in it." I decided that if I am ever invited to eat at Fox News I'll get the most extremely exotic thing they have, just to show up Bill O'Reilly. Probably none of that will ever happen, but I like having contingencies planned for.) So we all stood up for Big Bill and he sat down with us. The Admiral had us go around the circle and introduce ourselves. We were all polite. They kept trying to fit more junior enlisted at the table. I turned my tray sideways so that it took up less space, but there was no elbow room. So we sat and felt stupid for a second and then I tossed a Jon Stewart to John Kerry softball and asked if the Mets story was true. Billy Boy lapped it up, this was the sort of question he was dying for. He answered it at length, going on and on about how he wasn't good enough and how he had played for an all-black semi-pro team. (Apparently they used to call him white boy, which I thought was kind, since I would have called him Spotty or something more direct. Ugly? Big-Nose? Something that indicated his more personal flaws.) Then there were a few other soft balls from my table-mates, primarily BIG, BIG fans. They asked how people could think he was wrong and whether it was tough doing his show. This was when the rice became a problem for me and I was busy focusing on the table manners issue. To eat rice with a fork you need elbow room. That's my theory. Also there was an Army Sgt. who works for the Public Affairs office who is so good looking as to be distracting. (Having spent 5 months on this desolate rock, I have to say that almost any woman has taken on mythic proportions for me. I drool when I see suggestively shaped rocks. All I'm saying is that, in real life this Sgt. might not be all that and a bag of chips, but here on Gitmo she's so good looking that people, not just me, routinely walk into objects, cliff-faces and things of that sort, just because their mind is so full of looking at her. All the guys, and one short haired girl who seemed to have... well, I don't ask or tell, but a lot of people were fascinated by the Sgt. All of this to say I spilled rice on myself and tried to look like I hadn't.) After that episode shook my confidence I was a little reluctant to ask the tough questions I had planned on, but then I thought, hell with it. I jumped in with a, "So, Sir, have you interrogated the interrogators like you planned?" He gave me this little look, like he knew he hadn't got the WHOLE table in his pocket and then said, "Yeas, I'm the first one who's been allowed this kind of access...." on and on about how cool he is. And this is where I figured out what it is that I don't like about most pundits. Every issue becomes about them. They can't talk about any issue without pointing to themselves. If you ask Bill O'Reilly about abortion it will become about him. (Which, perhaps it should have been, in a nasty way, if you see what I mean. But it wasn't it has nothing to do with him personally. There are big issues with abortion, tough issues and there is a lot to say about it, but Bill O'Reilly's personal history and perspective, reflecting nothing more than the fact that Bill O'Reilly is awfully cool, well that doesn't really add to the debate. He lost me, at that point.) He went on with his normal cant, he is not a conservative, he's a truth seeker, etc. One of the kids at the table asked him, "Why do so many people disagree with you?" I thought, "Why don't you just climb into his pants, kid?" Why do so many people disagree with you? Good thing we have a public figure here to talk to, I'd hate to see the opportunity wasted without important questions like that. But then Captain No Spin broke the bank, his response was, "Well, you know there are a lot of morons in America. The US Constitution gives you the right to be a moron and there are a lot of them." The kids at the table were lapping this up. Bill said, "And here you are, fighting for the morons, defending the morons..." I said, "Well Sir, I've been in the military a while now and I have to say that not all of those morons stay at home, some of the morons are defending the morons, if you see what I mean." He laughed out loud and said, "Fair enough, son." Then he stood up to go. He said, "This will be on my show on Monday, so be sure to tune in. I have to go and do my radio show now." Then he stood around and did photos and autographs for about 15 minutes and left. I was interviewed on my time with The Factor Master by the Armed Forces Network and then I went back to my room. I was kind of proud of having made him laugh, as any of Tom Pitrone's sons will attest, getting a laugh is a big moment in any man's life. But also felt pretty empty from the experience. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't asked any questions or made any probing/insightful observations. He sounded like a commercial for himself, for the most part. He just recited his own party line, over and over. I went back and re-read the Wikipedia entry on him and the other things that I had downloaded to prepare to meet him and saw that he had quoted a few of his own tag lines word-for-word. His not-conservative line had been cribbed from every other statement he's made on the subject. His contrasting himself with Anne Coulter was straight out of his column that day. He brought nothing new to that table and I was disappointed. I suppose I ought to have known that he wasn't there to debate a 28 year old barely enlisted kid, but I had hoped that he would take the opportunity to say something of value. To show WHY he has a television show that is top-rated, instead of just telling us that he had a show and that is was top-rated. All in all it was not the experience I had hoped for. If you watch on Monday night you'll probably see a guy with rice on his uniform sitting across from a tall, blotchy man. I think my expression is probably one of cheerful disgust, both with myself for having bathed in rice, and with Mr. Bill O'Reilly, for failing to bring anything but marketing to one of the most interesting places in the world.
So, do you realize how tall Bill O'Reilly is? He is MASSIVELY tall. He's 6'4" tall and he wears shoes that make him tower. Just an enormous guy. He's also got the blotchiest complexion you've ever seen. He looks like a gigantic "Before" ad for Pro-Activ solutions or something. Also, his nose just dwarfs the rest of his face. His eye look remarkably beady, given the size of the nose and the impression of blotchiness that is so overwhelming. I've got to say, though, he's a pretty nice guy. He's about as full of himself as you'd expect. He's about as much of a dick as you'd expect... in fact, other than that he is personable and tall there wasn't any real difference between watching his show and meeting him in person. I got to the galley 15 minutes early, but because of the usual planning and forward thinking displayed by the military I was 45 minutes early. So I walked over to a TV room and spent a dull 30 minutes watching Leslie Nielsen on The Golden Girls. I can't believe that Mitch Hurwitz, the genius behind Arrested Development, used to have anything to do with Golden Girls, it is a terrible show. But after I watched that for a while and began to seriously consider swearing off of TV for life, I got up and went back to the galley. I walked in and passed a bunch of other sailors who were waiting to have lunch with Infamous Bill. I walked into the dining room proper and there was no direction at all. There were a couple of tables with "Reserved" signs on them, but other than that it looked like I would just be standing till told otherwise. Finally I saw a Sgt. Major who told me what to do. I got my tray and tried to decide what to eat while talking to this pseudo-celebrity. I decided on pork roast, rice, some french fries and a salad. Nothing flash or messy. (The rice then became messy. I felt like an idiot, "Always stick to potatoes with an O'Reilly," my new motto.) I went and sat at one of the smaller tables, not wishing to push myself forward. At this point I was one of about 8 people in the dining room and I didn't want to appear to be a Factor sycophant. I ate about 2 bites when Admiral Harry Harris walked up behind me and patted me on the back. I stood up to greet him, because I am Captain Military Bearing when it comes to licking the boots of powerful officers. He told me to go and sit at the head table. He positioned me one to Bill O'Reilly's opposite right. Still no O'Reilly in the room, but we're getting to that part. The Admiral sat down and asked me where I work. I almost laughed because I see him about 3 times a week in meetings, but he doesn't know who the hell I am. (I suppose, why should he? It isn't as if he and I are at the meetings alone. He never actually talks to me, but still, I DO see him a few times a week... I ALWAYS notice him. He doesn't even know I exist. I feel like a 7th grade girl.) I told him that I work at the hospital and he got excited and jumped up to tell the press that there was a corpsman at the head table. (At least, that was my impression. He might equally have been asking how the hell they'd let a corpsman get at the head table, or asking intel why there was a no-nothing bozo like me sitting with O'Reilly. Who knows what he said? He's the freakin' Admiral, he can say whatever he wants.) So I had about 2 more bites and then my friend Eppley walked in at sat next to me, which bucked me up considerably. I always like to have a buddy close by when I am planning to skewer a popular pundit. Epp was all cheerful and said he was nervous. I told him that I had exhaustively researched Mr. O and I spewed a few useless facts about the man, including the interesting fact that O-Rizzle had once played semi-pro ball and tried out for the Mets. I wasn't sure it was true as the only place I'd seen it was Wikipedia, but I planned on checking it out with The Man, if I got the chance. At about this time Mr. O'Reilly himself wandered up to the table. He had chosen, probably much to the disgust of the galley staff, a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato and a packet of regular Lays potato chips. (Not even the ruffled, I thought this showed a spirit of plebeian honor and a distinct lack of celebrity pride. I also thought, "Who's this guy trying to fool, the food here sucks, but he doesn't have to rub our faces in it." I decided that if I am ever invited to eat at Fox News I'll get the most extremely exotic thing they have, just to show up Bill O'Reilly. Probably none of that will ever happen, but I like having contingencies planned for.) So we all stood up for Big Bill and he sat down with us. The Admiral had us go around the circle and introduce ourselves. We were all polite. They kept trying to fit more junior enlisted at the table. I turned my tray sideways so that it took up less space, but there was no elbow room. So we sat and felt stupid for a second and then I tossed a Jon Stewart to John Kerry softball and asked if the Mets story was true. Billy Boy lapped it up, this was the sort of question he was dying for. He answered it at length, going on and on about how he wasn't good enough and how he had played for an all-black semi-pro team. (Apparently they used to call him white boy, which I thought was kind, since I would have called him Spotty or something more direct. Ugly? Big-Nose? Something that indicated his more personal flaws.) Then there were a few other soft balls from my table-mates, primarily BIG, BIG fans. They asked how people could think he was wrong and whether it was tough doing his show. This was when the rice became a problem for me and I was busy focusing on the table manners issue. To eat rice with a fork you need elbow room. That's my theory. Also there was an Army Sgt. who works for the Public Affairs office who is so good looking as to be distracting. (Having spent 5 months on this desolate rock, I have to say that almost any woman has taken on mythic proportions for me. I drool when I see suggestively shaped rocks. All I'm saying is that, in real life this Sgt. might not be all that and a bag of chips, but here on Gitmo she's so good looking that people, not just me, routinely walk into objects, cliff-faces and things of that sort, just because their mind is so full of looking at her. All the guys, and one short haired girl who seemed to have... well, I don't ask or tell, but a lot of people were fascinated by the Sgt. All of this to say I spilled rice on myself and tried to look like I hadn't.) After that episode shook my confidence I was a little reluctant to ask the tough questions I had planned on, but then I thought, hell with it. I jumped in with a, "So, Sir, have you interrogated the interrogators like you planned?" He gave me this little look, like he knew he hadn't got the WHOLE table in his pocket and then said, "Yeas, I'm the first one who's been allowed this kind of access...." on and on about how cool he is. And this is where I figured out what it is that I don't like about most pundits. Every issue becomes about them. They can't talk about any issue without pointing to themselves. If you ask Bill O'Reilly about abortion it will become about him. (Which, perhaps it should have been, in a nasty way, if you see what I mean. But it wasn't it has nothing to do with him personally. There are big issues with abortion, tough issues and there is a lot to say about it, but Bill O'Reilly's personal history and perspective, reflecting nothing more than the fact that Bill O'Reilly is awfully cool, well that doesn't really add to the debate. He lost me, at that point.) He went on with his normal cant, he is not a conservative, he's a truth seeker, etc. One of the kids at the table asked him, "Why do so many people disagree with you?" I thought, "Why don't you just climb into his pants, kid?" Why do so many people disagree with you? Good thing we have a public figure here to talk to, I'd hate to see the opportunity wasted without important questions like that. But then Captain No Spin broke the bank, his response was, "Well, you know there are a lot of morons in America. The US Constitution gives you the right to be a moron and there are a lot of them." The kids at the table were lapping this up. Bill said, "And here you are, fighting for the morons, defending the morons..." I said, "Well Sir, I've been in the military a while now and I have to say that not all of those morons stay at home, some of the morons are defending the morons, if you see what I mean." He laughed out loud and said, "Fair enough, son." Then he stood up to go. He said, "This will be on my show on Monday, so be sure to tune in. I have to go and do my radio show now." Then he stood around and did photos and autographs for about 15 minutes and left. I was interviewed on my time with The Factor Master by the Armed Forces Network and then I went back to my room. I was kind of proud of having made him laugh, as any of Tom Pitrone's sons will attest, getting a laugh is a big moment in any man's life. But also felt pretty empty from the experience. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't asked any questions or made any probing/insightful observations. He sounded like a commercial for himself, for the most part. He just recited his own party line, over and over. I went back and re-read the Wikipedia entry on him and the other things that I had downloaded to prepare to meet him and saw that he had quoted a few of his own tag lines word-for-word. His not-conservative line had been cribbed from every other statement he's made on the subject. His contrasting himself with Anne Coulter was straight out of his column that day. He brought nothing new to that table and I was disappointed. I suppose I ought to have known that he wasn't there to debate a 28 year old barely enlisted kid, but I had hoped that he would take the opportunity to say something of value. To show WHY he has a television show that is top-rated, instead of just telling us that he had a show and that is was top-rated. All in all it was not the experience I had hoped for. If you watch on Monday night you'll probably see a guy with rice on his uniform sitting across from a tall, blotchy man. I think my expression is probably one of cheerful disgust, both with myself for having bathed in rice, and with Mr. Bill O'Reilly, for failing to bring anything but marketing to one of the most interesting places in the world.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Some Several Things (Or, Many, Many Brians)
Let's see, since Friday...
Friday night we worked at Houston's. I got there and found that they had kind of set me up. I was working as the Headwaiter, which means that I had a very, very good section, but that I had to stay at work till after 1:30, doing the financial paperwork for the whole restaurant. It gave me the opportunity to work with Bryan Zar, the new manager, who is apparently responsible for the new rankings of servers, and I tried to give him the heads up that he has bungled it, but he ignored me. Too bad for him, in the coming days, as people who have previously been really great supporters of the Houston's way of doing things quit and fall away, I hope he will not feel that no one warned him.
Saturday morning we got up reluctantly and went to pick up Tokka and Eli's puppy. It's a 12 week old American Bulldog named Luna. Seriously adorable and fumbling, a lot of fun. We also went to the Arundel Mills Mall, which is seriously massive. We picked up some shoes for both of us, ballet-slipper things for her and running shoes for Field Med School for me. Also a lamp for the bedside, the lovely old wooden one that Mom had picked up for me way back when finally gave up the ghost. It was a gorgeous day, just a little chilly, and we had lunch at the mall and walked around outside with Luna for a while before ordering some food from Victor's, in Bethesda. The food was excellent and we watched X-Men 2, which she had not seen before, and which was as entertaining as could be expected. It made me really regret the Brian Singer left the series for that bland Superman remake that he did instead. I'd have loved to have seen X3 be as good as the setup he had going. It might have been gang-busters.
Sunday mornig we got up, again reluctantly, and went to see Ali and Brian and the kids. It was nice time, and I think it might have been the most stress-free time there that I've ever had, which, Thanks Luna! I guess.
Sunday afternoon we napped and then had some eggs and bacon for dinner, to top off a great weekend we watched, wait for it.... THE FIRST 4 EPISODES OF THE NEW IT CROWD!!!! Yes, it is finally time, and they are very, very good. The episode with the 3 dinner dates is standout wonderful, but Moss, Roy, Richmond and Jen are all great. There is even a slightly topical stab at the whole German cannibal internet thing, which was wonderful. So good, run, don't walk to the closest T@rrent site you can find and get them. Super wonderful, great!
Friday night we worked at Houston's. I got there and found that they had kind of set me up. I was working as the Headwaiter, which means that I had a very, very good section, but that I had to stay at work till after 1:30, doing the financial paperwork for the whole restaurant. It gave me the opportunity to work with Bryan Zar, the new manager, who is apparently responsible for the new rankings of servers, and I tried to give him the heads up that he has bungled it, but he ignored me. Too bad for him, in the coming days, as people who have previously been really great supporters of the Houston's way of doing things quit and fall away, I hope he will not feel that no one warned him.
Saturday morning we got up reluctantly and went to pick up Tokka and Eli's puppy. It's a 12 week old American Bulldog named Luna. Seriously adorable and fumbling, a lot of fun. We also went to the Arundel Mills Mall, which is seriously massive. We picked up some shoes for both of us, ballet-slipper things for her and running shoes for Field Med School for me. Also a lamp for the bedside, the lovely old wooden one that Mom had picked up for me way back when finally gave up the ghost. It was a gorgeous day, just a little chilly, and we had lunch at the mall and walked around outside with Luna for a while before ordering some food from Victor's, in Bethesda. The food was excellent and we watched X-Men 2, which she had not seen before, and which was as entertaining as could be expected. It made me really regret the Brian Singer left the series for that bland Superman remake that he did instead. I'd have loved to have seen X3 be as good as the setup he had going. It might have been gang-busters.
Sunday mornig we got up, again reluctantly, and went to see Ali and Brian and the kids. It was nice time, and I think it might have been the most stress-free time there that I've ever had, which, Thanks Luna! I guess.
Sunday afternoon we napped and then had some eggs and bacon for dinner, to top off a great weekend we watched, wait for it.... THE FIRST 4 EPISODES OF THE NEW IT CROWD!!!! Yes, it is finally time, and they are very, very good. The episode with the 3 dinner dates is standout wonderful, but Moss, Roy, Richmond and Jen are all great. There is even a slightly topical stab at the whole German cannibal internet thing, which was wonderful. So good, run, don't walk to the closest T@rrent site you can find and get them. Super wonderful, great!
Friday, September 14, 2007
Christmas Exchange
Which sounds like something that we would have with countries that don't have the same holidays as we do. "And here, Ecuador, is where we offer you Christmas in return for Bull-Baiting Day."
But what I am really talking about is my family's New Deal. We've apparently decided that the old system, purchasing gifts for the whole family, is not cost effective. Now, I know that my sister-in-law Ami has been working up to this by degrees, and now that she has ANOTHER sister-in-law to climb on board, I think she's going to put it over. (In the Pitrone household you need a two-thirds majority to make an issue pass, unless it is vetoed by... well, here is where the system of government breaks down, unless it is vetoed by anyone at all.) And I don't WANT to veto this idea. I like it pretty well. It makes sense. Except for one thing, the idea behind it is frugality, which is a good idea. None of the Pitrone clan are particularly well off. And the wife and I are not least of this batch of not well-off-ness, nor am I personally least culpable in the matter of the family's penury, but I LOVED giving everyone presents. And I think that everyone else did, too. And it didn't much matter to me if the presents were dumpster diving rejects from Drew or Dollar Store stuff from Rob. And giving presents is the FUN part of Christmas, at least, after you're 11 it is. So, I am pretty ambivalent on the subject.
The way that the gift exchange from the extended family works is pretty suspect, too. I mean, there is the normal, everyone gets a gift from Grandma Pitrone, and everyone gets one gift-exchange gift. But it never actually works that way. There is always the wild card aspect of the Redhead/Malich faction, who lavish each other with gifts as if it was their private Christmas together. (Which I can't help but feel is a little bit rude. I mean, way to express how outsider everyone else is compared with your clique. But that's just me being snarky. It doesn't really bother me all that much, it more a sour grapes thing at never being the super popular one who gets all the great side presents.)
So my point it, won't there be a lot of this at the Tom Pitrone gathering as well? I mean, won't it mean that Nic and Drew will get lots of little things from everyone, etc? And then Nika will only get her one present and the whole thing will go thermonuclear in a matter of moments. Maybe not, and the names there are only hypothetical, maybe Nika will get lots of presents but Drew will only get one. At which point it won't go thermonuclear, but merely a little hurt. And that's pretty much just as bad. So, thoughts?
But what I am really talking about is my family's New Deal. We've apparently decided that the old system, purchasing gifts for the whole family, is not cost effective. Now, I know that my sister-in-law Ami has been working up to this by degrees, and now that she has ANOTHER sister-in-law to climb on board, I think she's going to put it over. (In the Pitrone household you need a two-thirds majority to make an issue pass, unless it is vetoed by... well, here is where the system of government breaks down, unless it is vetoed by anyone at all.) And I don't WANT to veto this idea. I like it pretty well. It makes sense. Except for one thing, the idea behind it is frugality, which is a good idea. None of the Pitrone clan are particularly well off. And the wife and I are not least of this batch of not well-off-ness, nor am I personally least culpable in the matter of the family's penury, but I LOVED giving everyone presents. And I think that everyone else did, too. And it didn't much matter to me if the presents were dumpster diving rejects from Drew or Dollar Store stuff from Rob. And giving presents is the FUN part of Christmas, at least, after you're 11 it is. So, I am pretty ambivalent on the subject.
The way that the gift exchange from the extended family works is pretty suspect, too. I mean, there is the normal, everyone gets a gift from Grandma Pitrone, and everyone gets one gift-exchange gift. But it never actually works that way. There is always the wild card aspect of the Redhead/Malich faction, who lavish each other with gifts as if it was their private Christmas together. (Which I can't help but feel is a little bit rude. I mean, way to express how outsider everyone else is compared with your clique. But that's just me being snarky. It doesn't really bother me all that much, it more a sour grapes thing at never being the super popular one who gets all the great side presents.)
So my point it, won't there be a lot of this at the Tom Pitrone gathering as well? I mean, won't it mean that Nic and Drew will get lots of little things from everyone, etc? And then Nika will only get her one present and the whole thing will go thermonuclear in a matter of moments. Maybe not, and the names there are only hypothetical, maybe Nika will get lots of presents but Drew will only get one. At which point it won't go thermonuclear, but merely a little hurt. And that's pretty much just as bad. So, thoughts?
Oh, to have a hobby!
I've decided that my new hobby will be to formally make up excuses for other people. And they have to be excuses that I would never use for myself. So, for instance, "Really in a hurry." doesn't count, as that could be a valid excuse. But, "Maybe he's just on his break..." is hobby-worthy, as I would never use it for myself.
Can you think of any good ones?
Can you think of any good ones?
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
How Racist Does This Make Me? Who's Keeping Score?
I have a thought that I am not sure is original, but is at least something I haven't heard discussed much. I was listening to NPR and there was an interview with a fellow who recently wrote a biography of Condoleeza Rice. He was saying that Rice's family was from Birmingham, AL and that she grew up during the Civil Rights movement, but that she was seperated from it. That her parents had a different structure and belief about how it ought to work. They were relatively well off, and had been successful, even under Jim Crow. They felt that working hard, being educated and achieving through normal, systemic, means was the way to go. They encouraged CR to work twice as hard, as she could work twice as hard and no one would be able to say she was not equal. They felt the MLK et. al. were using up time, effort and money that could have been better spent on things that were more necessary. The writer said that the NAACP felt the same way, the MLK was setting up straw men for them, when there were more important things to do in the meantime.
My point, and how this comes to be in this particular comments section, is that I was thinking that the archetype for black-male success is that of a rabble-rouser. It is an MLK-type, lots of splash, lots of noise kind of archetype. In the same way that Condoleeza seems to get very little credit for being who she is, both her race and her sex, that educated, well-to-do, hard-working archetype seems to be at best a niche less-explored.
This then leads to the POV that todays black-youth culture is a direct result of that more powerful archetype. Make a splash with a gang, with a video, with what-have-you. That seems to be the way to succeed. Any thoughts on this? Am I just another racist white-guy? I am genuinely moved by the plight of the community and am just trying to see it correctly.
My point, and how this comes to be in this particular comments section, is that I was thinking that the archetype for black-male success is that of a rabble-rouser. It is an MLK-type, lots of splash, lots of noise kind of archetype. In the same way that Condoleeza seems to get very little credit for being who she is, both her race and her sex, that educated, well-to-do, hard-working archetype seems to be at best a niche less-explored.
This then leads to the POV that todays black-youth culture is a direct result of that more powerful archetype. Make a splash with a gang, with a video, with what-have-you. That seems to be the way to succeed. Any thoughts on this? Am I just another racist white-guy? I am genuinely moved by the plight of the community and am just trying to see it correctly.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
This is absolutely filthy, but absolutely hysterical. Vern brings the funny, and the queasy, with his review of Zoo, the movie about people who really, really, love their horses.
Monday, September 10, 2007
A Weekend of Sleeping
What a great weekend! I think that Margaret and I slept for about 80-85% of it, and it was wonderful! Friday night we worked at the restaurant, which was a pleasant experience for a change. One of my tables asked advice as to whether they should just pack up, that minute, and go to Vegas, which I strongly encouraged them to do, and then I sent every single server I could find over to their table (22, for those who know the numbering system) to encourage them as well. Then they found out that tickets to go that night were $700 per person, so the y got a slice of key lime pie, instead. (Almost as good as Vegas!)
Saturday we slept all day, we watched a couple of movies, I think, but nothing is jumping out to my mind... Annie Hall? Something else? I can't remember, but it seems like we watched something else. OH, we watch Deathproof again. Wow, that's such a great movie and I forgot about it, I can't believe it.
So, Quentin Tarantino's Deathproof, the one that was the opposite bookend to the fantastically brilliant Grindhouse mess, is pure cinema. Man, that Tarantino can direct! Maybe I should give some background here. I am an old-school Tarantino apologist. I first saw Pulp Fiction on a double bill at a midnight movie with True Romance and I was hooked, completely, totally hooked. I ran right out and bought Reservoir Dogs, which also blew me away, and then when Jackie Brown came out I was in line at the theatre on Christmas night, just waiting to have my mind blown by a genius. And sure enough, he did it again. Kill Bill, same thing, both times. The crunching the eyeball scene in Pt II, it still gives me chills to think of it.
So I was pretty primed for Quentin to wow me, and he sure enough did. Editing, soundtrack, shot after shot of perfection! The way he re-creates Kurt Russell's bad-@ss personality, just awesome. The whole thing, fantastic.
Yesterday, on my way to work, I listened again to the soundtrack, and it was just as great as I remembered it being. There are some truly stand-out songs on there, but then I realized that they ALL are stand-out songs. Too good to be true! (And it has a great voice-over scene where it shows Eli Roth as the villainous, misogynist jerk that I always suspected he was.)
Saturday night we went to dinner at the always wonderful, and famous for being the location of our fateful first date, Bacchus of Lebanon. You can all ask Dominic about the chicken there, which is rocking, but we had some great appetizers, the notable one being the chicken Shawarma, and the tomato/feta salad, which I love.
While we were there we overheard these two couples of Indian descent talking about how much they like Osama bin Laden, which kind of coloured the rest of the evening. It's hard to feel totally comfortable with that. There was talk of how the girls found him attractive and how they all liked what he'd "done to the US." Really kind of creepy. But then Margaret suggested that maybe it was a DIFFERENT Osama bin Laden, and we felt better.
Saturday we slept all day, we watched a couple of movies, I think, but nothing is jumping out to my mind... Annie Hall? Something else? I can't remember, but it seems like we watched something else. OH, we watch Deathproof again. Wow, that's such a great movie and I forgot about it, I can't believe it.
So, Quentin Tarantino's Deathproof, the one that was the opposite bookend to the fantastically brilliant Grindhouse mess, is pure cinema. Man, that Tarantino can direct! Maybe I should give some background here. I am an old-school Tarantino apologist. I first saw Pulp Fiction on a double bill at a midnight movie with True Romance and I was hooked, completely, totally hooked. I ran right out and bought Reservoir Dogs, which also blew me away, and then when Jackie Brown came out I was in line at the theatre on Christmas night, just waiting to have my mind blown by a genius. And sure enough, he did it again. Kill Bill, same thing, both times. The crunching the eyeball scene in Pt II, it still gives me chills to think of it.
So I was pretty primed for Quentin to wow me, and he sure enough did. Editing, soundtrack, shot after shot of perfection! The way he re-creates Kurt Russell's bad-@ss personality, just awesome. The whole thing, fantastic.
Yesterday, on my way to work, I listened again to the soundtrack, and it was just as great as I remembered it being. There are some truly stand-out songs on there, but then I realized that they ALL are stand-out songs. Too good to be true! (And it has a great voice-over scene where it shows Eli Roth as the villainous, misogynist jerk that I always suspected he was.)
Saturday night we went to dinner at the always wonderful, and famous for being the location of our fateful first date, Bacchus of Lebanon. You can all ask Dominic about the chicken there, which is rocking, but we had some great appetizers, the notable one being the chicken Shawarma, and the tomato/feta salad, which I love.
While we were there we overheard these two couples of Indian descent talking about how much they like Osama bin Laden, which kind of coloured the rest of the evening. It's hard to feel totally comfortable with that. There was talk of how the girls found him attractive and how they all liked what he'd "done to the US." Really kind of creepy. But then Margaret suggested that maybe it was a DIFFERENT Osama bin Laden, and we felt better.
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Evil One
So, this news came out today. And the news story says that bin Laden is dying his beard, though I always call it tinting, I never say die. But what I was thinking was, what if Osama isn't tinting his beard, but he's actually a super-villain? I mean, Lex Luthor changes his appearance almost at will, and he's never getting any older. He has insane schemes that work really well and almost destroy civilization as we know it. The only problem is, we have no Superman. But that actually makes the story EVEN BETTER! I mean, Superman, iconic as he is, is kind of a namby-pamby hero. He's always whinging on about the American Way and whatnot... I mean, sure, inspiring and all, but not really edgy. But that's not really my point either. My point is: What if we have a for real, never aging, dyed in the wool, super-villain on our hands? Wouldn't that be cool?
Thursday, September 6, 2007
GooglePhone
Queenan Country
So, this last weekend, on one of the little jaunts the wife and I took with Frank and Ami, I found a great little book called Queenan Country by Joe Queenan. It's a little bit guide book and little bit memoir, but it's a heck of a lot comedy and a heck of a lot anglophile. It's a trip around Britain with one of America's leading wits and it's great. Highly recommended.
Last night, while still getting 10+ hours of sleep, the wife and I watched Take The Money and Run, which she'd never seen before. (Side note, I considered calling this blog, The Continuing Cinematic Education of Margaret Pitrone, but then I realized I was stealing the blog name and patronizing my wife, so I demurred.) The film is a good one, though. Woody is in fine form and looking YOUNG! The gag with the soap gun is always a winner and the running gag with the broken glasses is chuckle-worthy, but boy-o-boy has MTV ever altered the way one watches comedy. This has some good chuckles, and they happen with regularity, but not with frequency. It's maybe 90 minutes long, but there are only, say, 18 good gags. Not a terrible ratio, but not what one expects from a comedy these days.
I have a couple of more in depth reviews started but not finished, and I'm hoping to be able to get to them today or tomorrow. This weekend you might get a review of stand-up comedy AND of a comic book convention, so keep your fingers crossed!
Last night, while still getting 10+ hours of sleep, the wife and I watched Take The Money and Run, which she'd never seen before. (Side note, I considered calling this blog, The Continuing Cinematic Education of Margaret Pitrone, but then I realized I was stealing the blog name and patronizing my wife, so I demurred.) The film is a good one, though. Woody is in fine form and looking YOUNG! The gag with the soap gun is always a winner and the running gag with the broken glasses is chuckle-worthy, but boy-o-boy has MTV ever altered the way one watches comedy. This has some good chuckles, and they happen with regularity, but not with frequency. It's maybe 90 minutes long, but there are only, say, 18 good gags. Not a terrible ratio, but not what one expects from a comedy these days.
I have a couple of more in depth reviews started but not finished, and I'm hoping to be able to get to them today or tomorrow. This weekend you might get a review of stand-up comedy AND of a comic book convention, so keep your fingers crossed!
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Don't Touch Ma Eyes!
So, in spite of all my bragging and na-na-ing, I am NOT going to get eye surgery. It turns out that I have some strange and very rare condition where my actual vision is improving, but I am getting a worse astigmatism. It's really rare, but I guess it happens and since my prescription has changed one whole unit (?) in 6 months, they are reluctant to give me the surgery. Also, my corneas are too shallow.
I am pretty disappointed, of course, but what can one do? I am going to have to work now on 5 days that I REALLY wanted off. The Clinic here is becoming unsupportable. What I could once pass off as an irritation on the way to a goal is now... well, I mean, I'm leaving, whatever the goal is will have to be reached without me, so the irritations are now someone else's problem, and I wish they'd get them out of my way.
When I first moved back to Chardon I had to come to a new conclusion about the world. I found life there really irritating and rotten. It wasn't where I wanted to be, living with Grandma Pitrone, while wonderful in a lot of respects, really opens one up to a lot of flack from family. There were some definite downsides. So I struggled with it and came to this conclusion, "Inconvenient is not necessarily bad."
It's not an easy place to get to, but it's true and it's important to remember sometimes. Life can be pretty inconvenient and if you remember that that's not really a bad thing, then it can make the hard times better. I am re-learning that lesson, I guess. You'd think that being in the armed forces would teach that right away, but there are lulls in the difficulty of Navy life.
Tonight, the wife and I go to be EARLY. 10 hours of sleep in 72 is too little. Even if we DID sleep all day Monday.
I am pretty disappointed, of course, but what can one do? I am going to have to work now on 5 days that I REALLY wanted off. The Clinic here is becoming unsupportable. What I could once pass off as an irritation on the way to a goal is now... well, I mean, I'm leaving, whatever the goal is will have to be reached without me, so the irritations are now someone else's problem, and I wish they'd get them out of my way.
When I first moved back to Chardon I had to come to a new conclusion about the world. I found life there really irritating and rotten. It wasn't where I wanted to be, living with Grandma Pitrone, while wonderful in a lot of respects, really opens one up to a lot of flack from family. There were some definite downsides. So I struggled with it and came to this conclusion, "Inconvenient is not necessarily bad."
It's not an easy place to get to, but it's true and it's important to remember sometimes. Life can be pretty inconvenient and if you remember that that's not really a bad thing, then it can make the hard times better. I am re-learning that lesson, I guess. You'd think that being in the armed forces would teach that right away, but there are lulls in the difficulty of Navy life.
Tonight, the wife and I go to be EARLY. 10 hours of sleep in 72 is too little. Even if we DID sleep all day Monday.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Falling Behind
As so many of you have pointed out, I am falling behind on my committment to daily blogs. You're SO right. The reasons are many, but what I will site is the fact that I am trying to get all of my stuff together to leave the US as soon as possible. (Well, as soon as possible being the end of December, but I had my Japanese Encephalitis shot today, and that's only one of several things that sound scary when I tell you about them, only I won't. My MOM reads this, for crying out loud!)
We, the wife and I, had a wonderful time this weekend with my brother Frank and his wife Ami. They came out here on Thursday and we had a nice dinner at Houston's (the Ho, to those who work there.) Then Friday we went to the Pirate restaurant with Ivan and Eliana Vasquez, which I thought was a real treat. We drank grog and had a ball. Saturday was obligatory tourist day and we wandered all over the DC area. We found some really nice areas in Georgetown and Frank and I found the chiars we would like to own for the rest of our lives. Between the two they cost around 7 grand, so if anyone has that burning a hole in their pocket....
Sunday was a day of mostly rest. We went to the pool with Margaret's sister's family in the afternoon. It was a really, really good time, the whole weekend. If anyone has a home to invite Frank and Ami to, I suggest you go for it.
Monday Margaret and I slept all day long.
We, the wife and I, had a wonderful time this weekend with my brother Frank and his wife Ami. They came out here on Thursday and we had a nice dinner at Houston's (the Ho, to those who work there.) Then Friday we went to the Pirate restaurant with Ivan and Eliana Vasquez, which I thought was a real treat. We drank grog and had a ball. Saturday was obligatory tourist day and we wandered all over the DC area. We found some really nice areas in Georgetown and Frank and I found the chiars we would like to own for the rest of our lives. Between the two they cost around 7 grand, so if anyone has that burning a hole in their pocket....
Sunday was a day of mostly rest. We went to the pool with Margaret's sister's family in the afternoon. It was a really, really good time, the whole weekend. If anyone has a home to invite Frank and Ami to, I suggest you go for it.
Monday Margaret and I slept all day long.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
For those keeping score
I just realized that I'm a gusher. It's true, all of my reviews thus far are gushers. Sad, I will never be as critical of films as I am of strangers.
So, more on the Sun=Hell story. So here's how I see it. The main character is a scientist, a man of reason, who has never even thought about religion as a viable concept. So, it's a few years from now, everyone has gone green, there is no more reason for global warming, but it's gettting worse and worse. So they start to say, "Huh, maybe it's not the gasses, maybe it's the sun." They start doing all sorts of analyses of the sun and then they listen to it. (I have no idea about any of the science here, but then, neither do you, most likely. And Miss Teen South Carolina would eat it up, so I feel safe with this concept.) They listen to the sun and they hear millions of people's voices, screaming. (Which would be an incredibly scary moment in the movie I am imagining. Main scientist played by... Steve Coogan? Someone like that.)
So they start to do all sorts of tests on the sound. And we're saying the sound takes... a long time, a matter of months or a year or something, to get back to Earth, so there is all this speculation and fear and no one knows whats going on, but they start to get this picture of the sun as having bodies on it, and when the clearer, more pinpoint sound comes back, it's individual voices and they are screaming about being tortured. They are cursing the beings that are torturing them and they are saying that they would have lived better lives if they'd only known, things like that. It's intense and it's kind of hard to deny that something strangely like hell is going on.
But I have no idea how it ends. I like little things about the idea, like that it isn't the Industrial Revolution that kick-started the warming, it was Darwin's Theory of Evolution. That there are periods of cooling, and they coincide with times that there are revivals of spiritual belief on the Earth. Things like that, you could play with them, it'd be fun.
Thoughts?
So, more on the Sun=Hell story. So here's how I see it. The main character is a scientist, a man of reason, who has never even thought about religion as a viable concept. So, it's a few years from now, everyone has gone green, there is no more reason for global warming, but it's gettting worse and worse. So they start to say, "Huh, maybe it's not the gasses, maybe it's the sun." They start doing all sorts of analyses of the sun and then they listen to it. (I have no idea about any of the science here, but then, neither do you, most likely. And Miss Teen South Carolina would eat it up, so I feel safe with this concept.) They listen to the sun and they hear millions of people's voices, screaming. (Which would be an incredibly scary moment in the movie I am imagining. Main scientist played by... Steve Coogan? Someone like that.)
So they start to do all sorts of tests on the sound. And we're saying the sound takes... a long time, a matter of months or a year or something, to get back to Earth, so there is all this speculation and fear and no one knows whats going on, but they start to get this picture of the sun as having bodies on it, and when the clearer, more pinpoint sound comes back, it's individual voices and they are screaming about being tortured. They are cursing the beings that are torturing them and they are saying that they would have lived better lives if they'd only known, things like that. It's intense and it's kind of hard to deny that something strangely like hell is going on.
But I have no idea how it ends. I like little things about the idea, like that it isn't the Industrial Revolution that kick-started the warming, it was Darwin's Theory of Evolution. That there are periods of cooling, and they coincide with times that there are revivals of spiritual belief on the Earth. Things like that, you could play with them, it'd be fun.
Thoughts?
The Newest news
So, apparently I am being kicked out of Bethesda and am not allowed to go to my next command. At the end of September, last working day Friday the 28th, I will be expelled from the frosty bosom of NNMC Bethesda and left for a time on the rocky shores of real life. I am not supposed to be in Camp Lejeune until October 16th, and it has been strongly suggested that I not go early, so I am going to have to take ANOTHER several days of leave. I am not too happy about it, but I can deal. I have a lot of leave saved up, so I guess it's not that bad. But still, I was hoping to just go and do the FMSS training and then have a full month. Instead I will have 2 weeks before hand, which I will spend working at the restaurant and then going to visit the wife's side of the family in Long Island, and then 2 weeks after, a week and a bit in Cleveland and a little while in Florida. Both times should be fun, but I am really looking forward to Christmas with the family, and possibly, BOXING DAY!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunshine
I know, I'm one of the last ones in America to see/comment on this, but I really liked it. On the other hand, it should be noted, I liked Event Horizon, too. (Actually, the only person I know who liked Event Horizon more than I did was my friend Adam Peterson, who liked it to a frightening degree. We rented it on a Sunday night and he watched it 19 times before it had to go back on Tuesday. Needless to say, I heard a LOT about it that week. Which reminds me of a Steven Wright joke about taking a two month road-trip across the US with only one tape in the car. He couldn't remember what tape it was.)At any rate, Good movie. I thought that the choices made were good ones. I liked the pressure build-up. I thought that the subliminal things were cool, but I have a soft-spot for subliminals. They get me somewhere in my unconscious... Rimshot!
Anyways, I thought that the decision not to show Earth to the end was good. It is nowhere near as good as Alex Garland's book The Beach, which everyone on Earth should read before the sun DOES burn out. But the whole thing made me think that there'd be a good story idea in that the sun is actually Hell and that the reason it is burning so much hotter/global warming and whatnot, is that more people are going there now that there is no morality. Maybe Kirk Cameron and company could do it as a Left Behind spin-off kind of thing?
As alway, really like Danny Boyle's choices and his visuals are nothing less than stunning. The first shot of the spaceship should be taken as a primer for all future sci-fi directors, just like Lucas's was in the first shot of Star Wars. Same idea, fantastic execution.
And the cast was good as well, I love Jane Fonda's son, who's name is something like Garrity, Jay Garrity? I can't remember and I can't be bothered to look it up. Someone else look it up and tell me if I'm wrong. All around, really solid, really scary in a couple parts. I'd have preferred if the whacked out spiritual craziness had been more... well, more whacked out, but like I said, I liked Event Horizon.
(Though tell me that if the guy in the observation room had had wings, scary-@ss, demon wings, it wouldn't have made you sqeal with terrified delight.)
Check it out, if I am not the last American to have done so.
Monday, August 27, 2007
I couldn't get on all day...
... but I have to tell you, The Host. EXCELLENT. Seriously. Korean Monster movie, anti-American intervention sbu-text, whatever. The most amazing thing is the monster. This thing is a two-hour indictment of the entire prequel trilogy. If these Koreans could pull this off on an eighth of the budget Lucas had and make it so... wow, just wow. Well, George ought to just hand in his notice. He's out, ILM is out. They are just drooling old codgers. This thing is tits.
Margaret and I watched this last night on our little TV and STILL we couldn't take our eyes off it. Every moment when this thing is on-screen is it mesmerizing. Those things that Obi-Wan rode in the 3rd movie, garbage. Jar-jar, garbage. Name something from those lame movies, then watch this and see how it should be done. Seriously, a GREAT one.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Vacation and all...
As many, many of you were very kind to point out, I haven't written in a while. I was away and I'm having my laptop fixed so I've not had a whole lot of opportunity. But now, home again, I write.
Let's see, I worked last weekend and it was pretty much no great shakes. But the wife and I DID go to see her sister Katie and the ever-popular brother-in-law Pat. We always look forward to seeing them and it was a swell as ever. Katie and Pat, henceforth KP, made us a fantastic dinner of corn, shish kabob, marinated chicken, brochettes, all sorts of swell stuff. I ate till I was a little embarrassed with myself. I drank an awful lot, too. I've been on a, "Gimme a little bit of everything..." kick in my drinking, wine, margaritas and beer on the night in question. I got a little looped, but the wife got a bit more. By morning she was in pain and we had a slow start getting back. We played Trivial Pursuit, where KP's frightening knowledge, and the fact that I continually made guesses without consulting the wife, or indeed, thinking, led directly to a loss. But then we played Pictionary and it was a close thing, would the game end before KP's marriage? So we stopped playing that and went to sleep.
I got my orders that day, too. I'm leaving the whole lot of you, in October. I'll be gone for a couple of months, then swing round to grab up my long-suffering, ever-lovin' wife and be on our way to Japan. With any luck I'll get through the Marine training in the minimum 7 weeks and be able to take the month of leave that they say I can get. That way M and I will be able to pop in on a few of our faithful readers, to say goodbye before our long sojourn in the mysterious East.
Lots and lots of nothing much then over that weekend, like I said, work. Then on Sunday we packed up and left for Rehoboth Beach, DE. Now, I've never been to the Atlantic during the beach season, but it's something to be seen. We drove in a constant stream of traffic, despite a cold blatter of rain, the entire way. The traffic was like a queue at an amusement park, but for 2.5 hours. Once I realized that it would never clear up, I started to get apprehensive. It seemed that we would be spending the week of our vacation in the rain, with 2 million strangers that all wanted to be standing where we were standing. Not the most comfortable thought. But, since it DID manage to rain almost all weekend, it was kind of nice. There weren't a lot of people at the beach, though where they were is a bit mysterious. M and I had a fantastic time, though. Sunday evening we spent waiting for our hotel room to open up. Then we went down to the beach, got far more wet than we'd planned and ran back to the hotel. Dinner, sleep, a 100% successful day.
More later... I'm back, I promise.
Let's see, I worked last weekend and it was pretty much no great shakes. But the wife and I DID go to see her sister Katie and the ever-popular brother-in-law Pat. We always look forward to seeing them and it was a swell as ever. Katie and Pat, henceforth KP, made us a fantastic dinner of corn, shish kabob, marinated chicken, brochettes, all sorts of swell stuff. I ate till I was a little embarrassed with myself. I drank an awful lot, too. I've been on a, "Gimme a little bit of everything..." kick in my drinking, wine, margaritas and beer on the night in question. I got a little looped, but the wife got a bit more. By morning she was in pain and we had a slow start getting back. We played Trivial Pursuit, where KP's frightening knowledge, and the fact that I continually made guesses without consulting the wife, or indeed, thinking, led directly to a loss. But then we played Pictionary and it was a close thing, would the game end before KP's marriage? So we stopped playing that and went to sleep.
I got my orders that day, too. I'm leaving the whole lot of you, in October. I'll be gone for a couple of months, then swing round to grab up my long-suffering, ever-lovin' wife and be on our way to Japan. With any luck I'll get through the Marine training in the minimum 7 weeks and be able to take the month of leave that they say I can get. That way M and I will be able to pop in on a few of our faithful readers, to say goodbye before our long sojourn in the mysterious East.
Lots and lots of nothing much then over that weekend, like I said, work. Then on Sunday we packed up and left for Rehoboth Beach, DE. Now, I've never been to the Atlantic during the beach season, but it's something to be seen. We drove in a constant stream of traffic, despite a cold blatter of rain, the entire way. The traffic was like a queue at an amusement park, but for 2.5 hours. Once I realized that it would never clear up, I started to get apprehensive. It seemed that we would be spending the week of our vacation in the rain, with 2 million strangers that all wanted to be standing where we were standing. Not the most comfortable thought. But, since it DID manage to rain almost all weekend, it was kind of nice. There weren't a lot of people at the beach, though where they were is a bit mysterious. M and I had a fantastic time, though. Sunday evening we spent waiting for our hotel room to open up. Then we went down to the beach, got far more wet than we'd planned and ran back to the hotel. Dinner, sleep, a 100% successful day.
More later... I'm back, I promise.
Monday, August 13, 2007
All Thirteen
So, I enjoyed both iterations of Ocean Eleven. Not the greatest, but both Sinatra and Clooney had their moments. Sinatra's infrared footprints kicked ass, Clooney's trick with the van and the porno pamphlets made me laugh. But I thought they were only ok. Each one, good, not the greatest. Then came the brilliant, off the charts insanity of Steven Soderbergh's manic, interpretive dance climaxing Ocean's Twelve. It was intensely, perfectly, gorgeously wonderful. Absolutely genius.
But tonight I watched Ocean's Thirteen and I am hereby flummoxed, totally, unutterably flummoxed about the critical reception of this film. Super Dave was in it! Does anyone comprehend the joy of that?
I mean, ok, after 11 and 12, we know that these guy are basically super heroes, but set that aside and just love every second of this. (Though don't you wish that this was Ocean's 13 in the sense that there was an original film called Danny Ocean. It's the story of this small-timer who pulls a pretty good job, but maybe things don't work out. He makes some contacts and starts to learn his way around all these terms and phrases, pulling it all off at the last second by using something we heard about in the first 10 minutes. Then, in the sequel, Ocean's II, Rusty's Revenge, he meets Rusty and they are rivals at the beginning, but they come around as the caper starts to get tough. This would have been back a ways, so it could end with a really 70's high-note of them jumping in the air and high-fiving. And then through the whole gang, with some members who maybe don't make it, or we learn more about the relationship between Linus' Mom and Dad. I mean, obviously no one pulls a crime in this world unless there is a woman who needs to be picked up, so there MUST be a good story there.)
From the ridiculous, "After all the critical bitch-fits, we'll never get Julia Roberts back." one-liner, "It's not their fight." we're off and running into a plot as absurd and hilarious as anything we've ever seen. Honest to God, where do they get these scripts? Did they rape Frank Sinatra's dream closet or something? These scripts do NOT come out of Hollywood. They come out of some insane crime subcontinent where thieves have names for anything that they do. I mean, maybe I've just hung out with the wrong thieves, but the robbery I'M aware of is just called robbery. And for those of you who know me, you know that's true. But these guys, they have names for everything, clever names, names that reference funny things. They are like the drill-instructors of the criminal world.
And Oprah jokes? I mean, A.) Who does Oprah jokes besides me? And David Paymer was in it? I mean, I know I'm gushing, but it's just awesome. And I love that they show the slot machines at the airport, and 11 million, too great. The score is good, not Ocean's Twelve good, but I owe Vern for pointing that out first. (Damn, that guy gets EVERYWHERE first.)
It's not as straight-up wonderful as Ocean's Twelve, but I loved it. Soderbergh can basically do no wrong. (I even loved Full Frontal, and that took some doing. But he owned me after Schizopolis, I'll always love him for that one, and he never does me wrong these days. The Good German was a little rough though. I understood the plan, but it was NOT realized.)
And when Andy Garcia tells them they have to get the diamonds... Let me stop. Run, don't walk, to bi**orrent and d@wnl@ad this sucker. It is worth it, every step.
But tonight I watched Ocean's Thirteen and I am hereby flummoxed, totally, unutterably flummoxed about the critical reception of this film. Super Dave was in it! Does anyone comprehend the joy of that?
I mean, ok, after 11 and 12, we know that these guy are basically super heroes, but set that aside and just love every second of this. (Though don't you wish that this was Ocean's 13 in the sense that there was an original film called Danny Ocean. It's the story of this small-timer who pulls a pretty good job, but maybe things don't work out. He makes some contacts and starts to learn his way around all these terms and phrases, pulling it all off at the last second by using something we heard about in the first 10 minutes. Then, in the sequel, Ocean's II, Rusty's Revenge, he meets Rusty and they are rivals at the beginning, but they come around as the caper starts to get tough. This would have been back a ways, so it could end with a really 70's high-note of them jumping in the air and high-fiving. And then through the whole gang, with some members who maybe don't make it, or we learn more about the relationship between Linus' Mom and Dad. I mean, obviously no one pulls a crime in this world unless there is a woman who needs to be picked up, so there MUST be a good story there.)
From the ridiculous, "After all the critical bitch-fits, we'll never get Julia Roberts back." one-liner, "It's not their fight." we're off and running into a plot as absurd and hilarious as anything we've ever seen. Honest to God, where do they get these scripts? Did they rape Frank Sinatra's dream closet or something? These scripts do NOT come out of Hollywood. They come out of some insane crime subcontinent where thieves have names for anything that they do. I mean, maybe I've just hung out with the wrong thieves, but the robbery I'M aware of is just called robbery. And for those of you who know me, you know that's true. But these guys, they have names for everything, clever names, names that reference funny things. They are like the drill-instructors of the criminal world.
And Oprah jokes? I mean, A.) Who does Oprah jokes besides me? And David Paymer was in it? I mean, I know I'm gushing, but it's just awesome. And I love that they show the slot machines at the airport, and 11 million, too great. The score is good, not Ocean's Twelve good, but I owe Vern for pointing that out first. (Damn, that guy gets EVERYWHERE first.)
It's not as straight-up wonderful as Ocean's Twelve, but I loved it. Soderbergh can basically do no wrong. (I even loved Full Frontal, and that took some doing. But he owned me after Schizopolis, I'll always love him for that one, and he never does me wrong these days. The Good German was a little rough though. I understood the plan, but it was NOT realized.)
And when Andy Garcia tells them they have to get the diamonds... Let me stop. Run, don't walk, to bi**orrent and d@wnl@ad this sucker. It is worth it, every step.
This made me laugh
This rather brilliant condensation of the film says it all quite nicely.
Maggie Judy Smith Dench:Hello Austen! I am a cruel and haughty and one-dimensional snob, but I do lament that it is my misfortune to not be very funnym either. Miss Austen, there's a prettyish sort of wilderness over there.
Jane:Stop! I must take a moment to crib your writing in a cheap gesture towards my observational talent. [writes it down] Okay, done! Heave, bosom, heave.
Maggie Judy Smith Dench:Hello Austen! I am a cruel and haughty and one-dimensional snob, but I do lament that it is my misfortune to not be very funnym either. Miss Austen, there's a prettyish sort of wilderness over there.
Jane:Stop! I must take a moment to crib your writing in a cheap gesture towards my observational talent. [writes it down] Okay, done! Heave, bosom, heave.
Nothing much new this weekend
I worked almost all weekend. Friday night, Saturday morning and Sunday morning. Actually, Margaret and I both worked together. She finished her projects for school on Thursday, preseneted them that night, and she's in the clear for 3 weeks, so she works with me now. It's nice, to be running like mad around the restaurant and see her face. We make eyebrows at each other and point out the foibles of guests. (My two favorites from yesterday: The teenage girl crying into her salad while she explained to her parents that the car they were going to buy her was not adequate. The teenage girls who told each other, while I was standing there, in the most utterly scornful voice imaginable, "Well, I hear she's WAITRESSING now. Ewwwww." Awesome.)
Saturday my friend Sam had a table with three little girls who fell in love with me. The oldest was probably 9, but they were really sweet and drew pictures for me. Mano, Roman and Margot, there Mom was named Sabine. They were really sweet, really fun and they ran up to me and hugged me before they left. It kind of made my day. They also REALLY didn't like Margaret, nor the fact that I had married her. They were upset that I had given her a ring and they took it off her finger at one point. Margaret was bemused, until they dropped it under the table. But then Roman jumped under the table and retrieved it, so that was ok.
We went to a Pirate restaurant in Silver Spring on Saturday night, for date-night. It was pretty great. The service was awful, but the drinks were large enough that they could get away with that. There were a bunch of pirate re-enactors as the servers, which was funny and also seemed to open up a strange sub-species of Americana. There was fire-breathing and singing and general nonsense. Also some fake lesbians came before we left and sat right near us. We wished Ami was there to give them scornful looks. Definitely a place to bring Frank and Ami when they come.
After dinner we walked, or stumbled as the Pirates insisted on saying, over to the movie theatre to see The Simpsons Movie. It was good, a really well animated and fun 90 minute episode of The Simpsons, always worth-while. Lots of great little things, among the funnier and less mentioned in the film, the way the old lady is blowing into Homer's mouth when he wakes up. When the people from the bar and the church switch places when the apocalypse arrives, and every scene with Bart and Ned Flanders was just swell.
Also, everyone swing over to Vern's site and check it out, TWO new reviews from the weekend.
Saturday my friend Sam had a table with three little girls who fell in love with me. The oldest was probably 9, but they were really sweet and drew pictures for me. Mano, Roman and Margot, there Mom was named Sabine. They were really sweet, really fun and they ran up to me and hugged me before they left. It kind of made my day. They also REALLY didn't like Margaret, nor the fact that I had married her. They were upset that I had given her a ring and they took it off her finger at one point. Margaret was bemused, until they dropped it under the table. But then Roman jumped under the table and retrieved it, so that was ok.
We went to a Pirate restaurant in Silver Spring on Saturday night, for date-night. It was pretty great. The service was awful, but the drinks were large enough that they could get away with that. There were a bunch of pirate re-enactors as the servers, which was funny and also seemed to open up a strange sub-species of Americana. There was fire-breathing and singing and general nonsense. Also some fake lesbians came before we left and sat right near us. We wished Ami was there to give them scornful looks. Definitely a place to bring Frank and Ami when they come.
After dinner we walked, or stumbled as the Pirates insisted on saying, over to the movie theatre to see The Simpsons Movie. It was good, a really well animated and fun 90 minute episode of The Simpsons, always worth-while. Lots of great little things, among the funnier and less mentioned in the film, the way the old lady is blowing into Homer's mouth when he wakes up. When the people from the bar and the church switch places when the apocalypse arrives, and every scene with Bart and Ned Flanders was just swell.
Also, everyone swing over to Vern's site and check it out, TWO new reviews from the weekend.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Angry
I'm angry today, for no good or even sane reason. I am just full of anger, which is making my wife unhappy and not really doing anything positive for me. But I can't stop. I think that part of it is that I have managed to not be angry about so many things lately. I mean, it isn't as if the last couple wee... couple mont... couple yea... several years have been a picnic. They haven't, and I recognize that a lot of that is my own fault and all, but still sometimes I think that anger builds up. Sometimes it gets to be too much and like an over pressurized steam valve, it needs to be bled off or it will explode. So I guess I am glad that I haven't lost my temper, thrown anything or otherwise acted a fool. But at the same time, I wish I knew how to keep from being angry. Readers, thoughts?
Friday, August 10, 2007
A strange thought
You know, it's my little brother's birthday today, he's 18. Andrew Anthony Pitrone turns 18 today, and in his honor I was going to tell the story of my 18th birthday, but then it occurred to me, I can't remember it.
It hasn't been 18 years since or anything. I mean, that might have been a good excuse for not remembering my first birthday on my 18th, but to not remember my 18th when I'm not even 30.... Well, that just reeks of irresponsible memorizing.I'm pretty sure I still lived at home. I'm pretty sure I had long hair, shaved around the back and sides, long on top. (Hey, it was 1996, that was cool then. Or at least is was cool-ish. The Incredible Hulk did his hair like that. Though to be honest, I didn't even look that cool.)
I remember not having a graduation party. I remember being bitter about that. I remember being pretty bitter about almost everything. If I'd had any musical talent I would have started a rock band. (Though lack of talent doesn't seem to have stopped most of the bands I can think of from the time.) Other than that... did I drink? Was I high? I have no idea.
It hasn't been 18 years since or anything. I mean, that might have been a good excuse for not remembering my first birthday on my 18th, but to not remember my 18th when I'm not even 30.... Well, that just reeks of irresponsible memorizing.I'm pretty sure I still lived at home. I'm pretty sure I had long hair, shaved around the back and sides, long on top. (Hey, it was 1996, that was cool then. Or at least is was cool-ish. The Incredible Hulk did his hair like that. Though to be honest, I didn't even look that cool.)
I remember not having a graduation party. I remember being bitter about that. I remember being pretty bitter about almost everything. If I'd had any musical talent I would have started a rock band. (Though lack of talent doesn't seem to have stopped most of the bands I can think of from the time.) Other than that... did I drink? Was I high? I have no idea.
Parkerizing
So, when I was 18 or 19 I worked in a gun shop. We built machine guns for wealthy collectors and the guns we used were not the sort to figure into random handgun crime. The point is, I worked in what we called The Sandblaster Room. (Eventually it was just the blaster room, which was the sort of miserablist humor we had in that place. I think it became the blaster room after my friend blew his face off in an industrial accident, but that's another story.) I worked in the blaster room, sandblasting rifle receivers, and then dipping them for 10 minutes in a boiling acid called Parkerizing Solution. It was pretty foul stuff and seriously, it was boiling. I used to have to wear these gloves that went up to my elbows and I'd carefully lower the receiver into the acid and then leave it on blocks of plastic at the bottom, hoping that the acid was the right temperature, hoping that I had place the metal on the right bits of plastic, hoping, basically, that I hadn't screwed the whole thing up. Probably 1 out of every 4 guns had to be redone. It was back-breaking, irritating work.
All of this to say, I watched Point Blank last night.
It's a John Boorman adaptation of a book called The Hunter (1962), by a guy named Richard Stark, which is a pen name for Donald Westlake (and if you think that's confusing, you should see the movie.). In the book the main character is a fellow named Parker, which is the whole circuitous point of the above story, which I will now be drawing parallels to. In the book, the first of a long series, Parker has been double-crossed in an armed robbery, by his wife no less. She takes up with another crook, shoots him in the back, and leaves him for dead, taking his share of the loot. I can't remember what the amount is in the book, but it was reasonably piddly, even for the standards of the day. (A site I looked up said that it's $45,000. I could go for $45,000, don't get me wrong, but for the trouble he goes through, it's not that much.)
Parker is a GREAT character. He's really smart, really clever, he's always getting in trouble and always taking up with rotten characters who try to do him dirt. The greatest thing about him is that he is so single-mindedly focused on what he is doing that nothing really gets in his way at all. He just batters down anything in front of him and get what he wants. The story of The Hunter is how he comes back from the dead, get his wife, gets his money and gets the other crook. It's a tough as nails story of revenge and pain and Parker never, ever gives up and is never, ever without a plan. He looks at the situation and figures it out, figures out how he's going to handle it, figures out how he's going to achieve his goal. There's never a time when he's at a loss. There are times when he gets beaten up, times when he gets outsmarted, times when he loses what he was going for, but he never doesn't have a plan.
But then there's this movie Point Blank. I REALLY wanted to like this one. The great granddaddy of American Cinema Reviewers, my hero, Vern says that it's a good one. He said that it's better than either version of Payback (The Mel Gibson/Brian Helgeland take on the same story.) But honestly, I can't see it. It's ok. Lee Marvin has a great face. There is a scene during the opening credits, after he has been shot, where he is hanging on the razor-wire fencing at Alcatraz, trying to get out, and his face is so hauntingly scary that it's awesome. He seems tough. He has a quiet, well a REALLY quiet, demeanor and he just seems like he's ready for anything. But then he just kind of floats for the rest of the film. And while Parker is quiet a lot of the time, it is a lot less cinematic than you might think to see a guy sit around and not talk.
There is maybe one scene of him being tough, he beats up some guys in a nightclub. But the whole scene is silly. The nightclub is supposed to be a not-so-hot jazz club, but it mostly consists of this really over-the-top insane funk band and a singer who apparently only screams. I don't know who his lyricist is, but he should NOT be given more work. Maybe John Boorman just never heard songs before, I don't know. Anyways, Walker, (he's named Walker, not Parker in this one) beats up a couple of guys, but it's not really all that impressive. It lacks pizazz and I don't care what anyone has to say about the shaky-cam movement in today's action cinema, placing a fight with a steady-cam in the middle of some sort of psychedelic light show is not more effective story-telling. (And, again, what about this says jazz?)
(And why is the main character's name Walker? And in Payback, why is it... what ever it is, not Parker? Porter? In both movies it says that they got the story from The Hunter, so why not use the name? Parker is a really good name. They had the rights, why not just keep a good name? I can't figure it out. And I guess Porter and Walker are cool names, too. But there is no reason to change them. It's like Walt Disney with all his little changes to the great stories he was telling, why do that?)
The whole point I want to make here is NOT to tear apart a movie that people seem to love and is widely regarded as one of the classics of 70's pulp cinema, but to say that I don't understand what they're doing with the character/story. See, Parker thinks things through. He knows what he's gonna do because he's seen it and done it all before. He knows who is going to doublecross him because it's been done before, though as near as we can tell, the only time anyone ever puts one over on him it's his wife. But this Walker guy has Napoleon's Battle Plan, he shows up and sees what happens. Whatever it is is ok with him. He just lets it happen and hopes he ends up on top. He does sometimes, and in the movie it is left ambiguous as to whether or not he gets what he set out to. It's a real bummer of an ending. And I'm not one of these guys who likes everything spelled out for him. I get it, I don't need to be told why the caged bird sings. But some sort of an ending would be a lot better than an atmospheric shot of the San Francisco Bay.
I know a lot of you haven't seen this movie, but you probably ought to. It's by John Boorman, who made some really good, iconic films. It has a really brooding soundtrack, except for the jazz scene, and one of the funniest musical interludes in a sex-scene, ever. The sex-scene is very PG, by the way, no nudity or anything. But I just can't recommend it from an enjoyment standpoint. To use a phrase that I like, it's a broccoli movie. It's probably good for you, for your filmic education and all, but it's just not a great film to watch.
I really was going to tie it all together with Parkerizing, but then I just lost interest in that part. One time I burned the whole side of my arm doing it, though. I tipped my glove too far into the tank and got a huge blister. I guess that's how I felt when I watched this movie? I don't know. I had a point but I lost it. If I was better at self-editing I'd cut out the beginning, but I kind of like it. It's a good story, or at least it's atmosphere. Think of it as my shot of the Bay.
All of this to say, I watched Point Blank last night.
It's a John Boorman adaptation of a book called The Hunter (1962), by a guy named Richard Stark, which is a pen name for Donald Westlake (and if you think that's confusing, you should see the movie.). In the book the main character is a fellow named Parker, which is the whole circuitous point of the above story, which I will now be drawing parallels to. In the book, the first of a long series, Parker has been double-crossed in an armed robbery, by his wife no less. She takes up with another crook, shoots him in the back, and leaves him for dead, taking his share of the loot. I can't remember what the amount is in the book, but it was reasonably piddly, even for the standards of the day. (A site I looked up said that it's $45,000. I could go for $45,000, don't get me wrong, but for the trouble he goes through, it's not that much.)
Parker is a GREAT character. He's really smart, really clever, he's always getting in trouble and always taking up with rotten characters who try to do him dirt. The greatest thing about him is that he is so single-mindedly focused on what he is doing that nothing really gets in his way at all. He just batters down anything in front of him and get what he wants. The story of The Hunter is how he comes back from the dead, get his wife, gets his money and gets the other crook. It's a tough as nails story of revenge and pain and Parker never, ever gives up and is never, ever without a plan. He looks at the situation and figures it out, figures out how he's going to handle it, figures out how he's going to achieve his goal. There's never a time when he's at a loss. There are times when he gets beaten up, times when he gets outsmarted, times when he loses what he was going for, but he never doesn't have a plan.
But then there's this movie Point Blank. I REALLY wanted to like this one. The great granddaddy of American Cinema Reviewers, my hero, Vern says that it's a good one. He said that it's better than either version of Payback (The Mel Gibson/Brian Helgeland take on the same story.) But honestly, I can't see it. It's ok. Lee Marvin has a great face. There is a scene during the opening credits, after he has been shot, where he is hanging on the razor-wire fencing at Alcatraz, trying to get out, and his face is so hauntingly scary that it's awesome. He seems tough. He has a quiet, well a REALLY quiet, demeanor and he just seems like he's ready for anything. But then he just kind of floats for the rest of the film. And while Parker is quiet a lot of the time, it is a lot less cinematic than you might think to see a guy sit around and not talk.
There is maybe one scene of him being tough, he beats up some guys in a nightclub. But the whole scene is silly. The nightclub is supposed to be a not-so-hot jazz club, but it mostly consists of this really over-the-top insane funk band and a singer who apparently only screams. I don't know who his lyricist is, but he should NOT be given more work. Maybe John Boorman just never heard songs before, I don't know. Anyways, Walker, (he's named Walker, not Parker in this one) beats up a couple of guys, but it's not really all that impressive. It lacks pizazz and I don't care what anyone has to say about the shaky-cam movement in today's action cinema, placing a fight with a steady-cam in the middle of some sort of psychedelic light show is not more effective story-telling. (And, again, what about this says jazz?)
(And why is the main character's name Walker? And in Payback, why is it... what ever it is, not Parker? Porter? In both movies it says that they got the story from The Hunter, so why not use the name? Parker is a really good name. They had the rights, why not just keep a good name? I can't figure it out. And I guess Porter and Walker are cool names, too. But there is no reason to change them. It's like Walt Disney with all his little changes to the great stories he was telling, why do that?)
The whole point I want to make here is NOT to tear apart a movie that people seem to love and is widely regarded as one of the classics of 70's pulp cinema, but to say that I don't understand what they're doing with the character/story. See, Parker thinks things through. He knows what he's gonna do because he's seen it and done it all before. He knows who is going to doublecross him because it's been done before, though as near as we can tell, the only time anyone ever puts one over on him it's his wife. But this Walker guy has Napoleon's Battle Plan, he shows up and sees what happens. Whatever it is is ok with him. He just lets it happen and hopes he ends up on top. He does sometimes, and in the movie it is left ambiguous as to whether or not he gets what he set out to. It's a real bummer of an ending. And I'm not one of these guys who likes everything spelled out for him. I get it, I don't need to be told why the caged bird sings. But some sort of an ending would be a lot better than an atmospheric shot of the San Francisco Bay.
I know a lot of you haven't seen this movie, but you probably ought to. It's by John Boorman, who made some really good, iconic films. It has a really brooding soundtrack, except for the jazz scene, and one of the funniest musical interludes in a sex-scene, ever. The sex-scene is very PG, by the way, no nudity or anything. But I just can't recommend it from an enjoyment standpoint. To use a phrase that I like, it's a broccoli movie. It's probably good for you, for your filmic education and all, but it's just not a great film to watch.
I really was going to tie it all together with Parkerizing, but then I just lost interest in that part. One time I burned the whole side of my arm doing it, though. I tipped my glove too far into the tank and got a huge blister. I guess that's how I felt when I watched this movie? I don't know. I had a point but I lost it. If I was better at self-editing I'd cut out the beginning, but I kind of like it. It's a good story, or at least it's atmosphere. Think of it as my shot of the Bay.
A Big Inning
So, I've been wandering around on here for a while, reading everyone's thoughts day after day and I've been thinking that I ought to get a hand in. I mean, why should you all have all the fun? Plus, I have many interesting and compelling thoughts that deserve a home outside of my head, so you lucky, lucky kids all get to read them! (And you'd BETTER read them, don't let me catch you NOT reading my compelling thoughts, or so help me... )
At any rate, vague threats aside, this is my blog. Welcome.
I'm going to attempt to post here once a day, but this is a pretty hectic time period, and then in October I'm supposed to move to San Diego for 8 weeks and then Okinawa, Japan for 4 years, so who knows, this might be an experiment in futility.
I think that it's gonna be daily, and I think that it's going to be interesting... ok, I'm losing confidence and steam already, so I'm going to post this and then jump in with my first thought for the day.
At any rate, vague threats aside, this is my blog. Welcome.
I'm going to attempt to post here once a day, but this is a pretty hectic time period, and then in October I'm supposed to move to San Diego for 8 weeks and then Okinawa, Japan for 4 years, so who knows, this might be an experiment in futility.
I think that it's gonna be daily, and I think that it's going to be interesting... ok, I'm losing confidence and steam already, so I'm going to post this and then jump in with my first thought for the day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
