NaBloPoFoNi

I discovered this half way too late. So I officially declare this National Blog Posting Fort Night.

And so it begins.

I barely have time to make this night's post so I'll just say that I discovered this.

My New Tag Line?

I don't know much about Conrad Black and even less about his father, George. I do know that George Black's last words are the verbal equivalent of Adams' "42." I mean, this pretty much sums it all up.

"Life is hell, most people are bastards and everything is bullshit."

Wow. Just, wow.

Singing the blues and crying

I played a horrible show yesterday. Just me. Shyesha was great, charming and engaging. Even the audience was good. They seemed to have found a way to enjoy it inspite of my playing. We got compliments from people who didn't have to say anything.

So it was just me. And I feel horrible about it. There just weren't any melodies in my head. It was like I wasn't even there. No, it was like I was there. Often when I play I kind of go off to some other place. And that's a good thing. I don't get in my way. Occasionally, I'll look down at my hands on the keyboard and think, Well, look at that; that looks like fun, where did I come up with that? But it has nothing to do with me. It's coming from somewhere else. Yesterday, it didn't. It didn't come at all. I was just playing chords and they meant nothing to me.

I could blame it on the odd setup. They knew we wanted to use the piano, yet there it sat, so not on the stage. We ended up rolling the piano next to the stage with Shyesha sitting on the edge of the stage to my left. In a way it might have been an intimate setting but the harsh light and stark straight rows of chairs facing us detracted from that. I didn't feel the casualness I'd hoped for.

And it was an ambience-free afternoon show.

And the piano was very non-responsive. It was like playing an electric Casio.

But I won't blame any of that. It's my job to be ready for anything.

The worse part is how it sticks with me. It put me in an off mood for the rest of the day. And even today, parts of solos that I attempted have popped into my head and made fun of me: Dude, you remember when you played that? Yeah, that sucked.

I feel like I wasted my time and everyone else's. I need another show soon to get this taste out of my mouth.

I'm moving to Australia

I'm having a very bad day.

So far it has lasted about 52 hours.

I know this is where I should go into the particulars of this bad day, but it's just this clusterfuck of a million little annoyances and a couple really big problems. Maybe once the scotch and oxycodone kick in I'll go into it. For now how about some visual oxycodone.

Exhausted

One transgression I just can't wrap my brain around is littering. It's not like I'm asking you to recycle grey water or something. Just don't throw stuff on the ground. It's simple. In fact, I bet you're doing it right now. See how at this moment you're not carelessly tossing something to the ground? Keep doing that.

I was waiting at a light when I saw the driver in front of me throw a cigarette butt out the window. It's a small thing, I know, but it's the thing I understand least why you'd throw it out the window. I know your car has an ashtray. What, do you just not like the smell of smoke? Then stop fucking smoking, you ass!

Then the part that gets me: through the back window I see a tiny hand reach up above the back seat. I'm thinking, You have a child in the car with you?! Great. So not only do you not give a damn about our environment, you apparently don't even give a damn about your toddler's lungs. Jackass.

Bringing True Confessions Back

Sometimes life is about discovery. Discovering yourself. And sometimes the things you discover about yourself aren't pretty. That's what happened to me just the other day.

Because you are all my friends (i.e., no one actually reads this), I feel I can share this with you. It's not easy because what I've learned subverts everything I've known about me or even thought I would ever be. Still, it is me. And I just have to learn to be proud of it. OK, that will never happen. I will at least learn not to feel the shame so strongly.

My shame? I like a Justin Timberlake song.

I didn't mean to. It happened innocently enough. I was driving, stuck in traffic, pressing the scan button every five seconds. Then it just, I don't know, kind of happened. It sounded kind of original. I know, weird, huh? And then I recognised Timbaland's voice, so I thought, OK, it's safe (though I still wasn't sure if I'd forgiven him for what he did to Nelly Furtado [I'm sure it gets better, right?], surely this song made up for that).

In my defense

1. I thought it was a gender-bending butchy woman singing it.
2. I liked it because it was cheesy.
3. Everything else on the radio really sucked

Is that enough?

For what it's worth, I do think the video is a hackneyed mess.

Guess who loves heavy metal

Why, Kelly Clarkson, of course.

Seeing Kelly Clarkson with Metal Skool actually gives me a new-found respect for her. Good move.

It's definitely worth watching the whole thing (if you can forgive Ryan Key for clearly feeling a little overshadowed), but it comes together "sweetly" at about 6 minutes in.

Beefcake

I thought my guy friends in particular would appreciate a little beefcake.

It's not hard, but it still looks tasty.

(Don't be a wuss. Just click.)

Cucurrucucu

Last night I dreamt S and I were exploring caves in another country. It's more of a tourist attraction than actual spelunking. I take us through a path away most of the people, and we come upon a grotto where there's no one else. There is lush greenery cascading over the rock walls. Small waterfalls trickle hear and there. Then a head emerges from the wall to my right. It is that of an old man with white curly hair and a beard. His skin is sun-worn, like that of a mediterranean fisherman. He sings Cucurrucucu Paloma.

That song has been in my head all day.
Click "here" (in the link above) and sing along.

Dicen que por las noches no más se le iba en puro llorar.
Dicen que no comía, no más se le iba en puro tomar.
Juran que el mismo cielo se estremecía al oír su llanto.
Cómo sufría por ella, que hasta en su muerte la fue llamando!

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, cantaba.
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, gemía.
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, cantaba.
De pasión mortal moría.

Que una paloma triste muy de mañana le va a cantar
A la casita sola con sus puertitas de par en par.
Juran que esa paloma no es otra cosa más que su alma,
Que él todavía la espera a que regrese, la desdichada.

Cucurrucucú, paloma,
Cucurrucucú, no llores.
Las piedras jamás, paloma,
Qué van a saber de amores?

Having that as your soundtrack certainly makes the day look different.

I have no idea what that dream meant.

The Good, the Bad, and the Gorgeous

The good news is it's Stacey Dash.

The bad news is it's Playboy - an entity that can airbrush the sexiness out of just about anyone, turning even the hottest of women into cartoon furniture.

But, on the other hand, it's Stacey Dash!!!
(by the way, in case that whole Playboy thing didn't clue you in, that last link is NSFW).

PPD

I had a bit of the Post Party Depression today.

Much of it was just the return to the mundanity.

Sure, some of it was that harsh slide back to sobriety (people are so not interesting when I'm sober), but mostly it's the mundanity. It's the end of the illusion that you have scores of friends just because you all happen to be in the same place at the same time.

It's that Peggy Lee syndrome. After all the sound and excitement and fun and laughter you come back to this? Is that all there is?

Happy New Year!

I hope so.

No big plans, and this is one of those rare times I like it that way. Simple and quiet.

Oh, and here's some befitting stuff:
I love this song and all its multiple personalities.
and as a Second Amendment supporter ... yeah, I've thought about this.

Before Sunrise

But better than the three hours sleep I got the night before.

My insomnia, however, becomes your entertainment. I'm not sure why this exists, I'm just glad it does. Now you watch it and wonder.

The Disheveled Look Becomes Me

I hate that once I wake up, no matter what godawfulhourinthemiddleofthenight time it is, I can't get back to sleep.

So from 2:45 to 4:15 this morning I watched The Exterminating Angel. A really good movie that rests just shy of pretention in a way that makes it a joy to watch at the same time as giving you something to think/talk about.

Of course, then I had to go revisit Un Chien Andalou (what better time than half-awake in the middle of the night) which is a razor's edge shy of pretention. In fact, the only thing that makes it even close to pretentious is that it's been so poorly imitated so often in so many different ways.

Then there were the birds and the channel surfacing and the sun and the delivery trucks and the shower and the and the ('Canes)rad(war)io(The Cup) and the job I hate, etc.

So now, a little earlier than usual, I'm poised at the brink of bed, ready to try again.

Helping to start the revolution

Last night S and I saw The Coup at Local 506. I was surprised, a little disappointed (and, selfishly, a little glad), it wasn't completely packed. The show was tight, though. Particularly T-K.A.S.H (and I think that was DJ Mad Mike with the beats) who performed in this half-filled, small club with the same energy he would have in a packed major venue. I've been to shows where the "I can't believe I'm playing this dive" is apparent on the performers' faces. Not this show.

I don't know if The Coup brought their own sound guy or used someone local, but he was not trained in mixing for a live band hip hop act. Maybe that's understandable, still unfortunate for The Coup. The energy, style, and attitude were nonetheless inescable.

And why weren't you there? Wait, what do you mean who's The Coup? Well, here's some older stuff, but quintessential. And one of my favorites.

LLFD

Guinesso

Herein lies the brilliance of the Guinnesso¹ (or less cordially, the Guinea).

People who drink one cup of coffee a day are 20 per cent less likely to suffer alcoholic cirrhosis than those who drink none.

But here's the frustrating part of the article

And the protective effect increases with the more coffee you have: those who drink two or three cups a day are 40 per cent less likely to suffer cirrhosis, while people who drink four or more cups are 80 per cent less likely to get the disease.

And at the fifth cup? I suppose you're either invincible or dead. It's a coin toss.


¹So I'm driving home from work and I'm thinking "I'd like a Guinness with a shot of espresso in it." I can't recall ever having this craving or this drink before, but somehow it seems so right. And it just sounds like a drink that's been made before, right? So, I go to Broad Street Cafe and order a Guinness, an espresso, and a cup. I don't know what else to call it. And the baristo says, "That's a drink isn't it?"

I say, "It sounds like one."

He says to the other guy there who may be working or maybe just getting off work or maybe just there too much, "Isn't that a drink?"

"What?"

"Guinness and espresso, what is that called?"

"It's called something. I can't remember what. I'm sure it has a lot of names." He tries to think of one. He doesn't. "You know how drinks are."

I'm thinking, Like That Drink That Sounds Like It Should Be A Drink But Doesn't Have A Name Because Everybody Thinks Everything Has Already Been Invented Before So It Doesn't Matter? But I don't say that.

There's some discussion as to whether the espresso is to be counted as a $.50 espresso shot or a $1.65 espresso drink. The former just seems right. Then I take my some assembly required parts to a table. I pour the espresso first. The effervescence of the Guiness will disperse it through the drink, I'm thinking. I take a sip. It is perfect.

I don't know if I have (or anyone else has) ever had it anywhere outside of my imagination driving home that evening, but it was exactly what I was looking for.

Dead Puppies

Yes, I admit it, I literally lolled.

ST. PETERS, Missouri (AP) -- A woman angry that her new puppy had died pushed
her way into a dog breeder's home and repeatedly hit her on the head with the
dead Chihuahua, authorities said.

The best part is the flourish as she left the scene. I'll not quote it, you've just got to read it. Funniest use of a dead puppy ever.

Edit: Well that went away quickly. So as not to leave you hanging:

As the woman drove away, she waved the dead puppy out of the car's sunroof and yelled threats at the breeder, police said. She later called the breeder and threatened her and her family, according to court records.

testagain

ditto.

Best. Killing off. Of. A. Main. Character. Ever.

The season finale of The O.C. did it right.

First there were the presumed spoilers. Not to mention bringing back the Marissa 2.0: this time younger and bitchier. But then the show, with all its I-can't-believe-I'm-saying-goodbyes, I thought, It's all too obvious. Surely, they've got a surprise ending in the wings. The O.C., I soon discovered, is better than that.

The show isn't about the Big Surprise. That's for shows still actually doing the tired, worn-out genre. The O.C. is a self-aware revival of the genre. Not a satire, not a send up. Satires and send ups, too, have all been done before.

And I've got to tell ya, I'd come close to giving up on The O.C. But this episode rebuffed my doubts. It was perfectly self-aware with its I-can't-believe-I'm-saying-goodbyes, and with its unabashed replacement character: "Dad thought you'd need another daughter to worry about," says Kaitlin. Everything so stripped down to playing its part, I was reminded of the Lars von Trier movies Dogville and Manderlay - only without all the condescending pretension. This episode was, in fact, devoid of unnecessary artifice.

It was about the time in the show when Marissa suggested going back to the model house that I began to suspect they're really going through with this. They're making a circle, and they're saying, Hey, we're making a circle. Because the show isn't about shocking you, or even comforting you with pop culture references winking at you, letting you know you're hip, too. It doesn't have subtext; it is subtext. It is the footnotes and exegesis of a genre. And this series finale (among a few other episodes) brought that idea from an exercise up to sublime.

Good show.

Loleanna

Last night i saw "Lucky Number Slevin". It was just what i was expecting, and just what I was looking for - lots of style and banter with a bit of violence thrown in. Unlike Ebert, I like stylistic dialogue for the sake of stylistic dialogue. I mean, just listen to The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer.

you remind me of the man
what man
the man with the power
what power
the power of voodoo
who do?
you do.
do what?
remind me of the man

Who talks like that? No one, and that's what's enjoyable about it.

Sure, not the Slevin greatest of its genre, but i think it delivered what it promised.

The movie I saw tonight also was a bit writerly. It was a little like Oleanna in its exploration of gender issues and such, just less annoying.

More so, it was a subversion of the horror film subgenre that includes films like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, I Spit on Your Grave, High Tension, Wolf Creek, etc. The revenge/torture films.

Only with a twist. I think one day, looking back, this film will be recognised as introducing the Female Gaze. Sure I Spit On Your Grave (a/k/a Day of the Woman) and High Tension were about a woman taking her revenge, but Hard Candy takes it further, and raises the question of is it revenge or is it simply cruelty. It also introduces the Yin aspect of lore, with its Little Red Riding Hood allusions, and the possibility that she is emotion itself, namely the male protaganist's guilt manifest.

The movie does raise a few questions - and then dissappointingly tries to answer a few. I think it would have been a better movie all around had it not tried to offer a couple of the motives it offered, but that would have been against type for the torture/revenge subgenre. In terms of turning the camera around on that style of movie, it was wonderfully consistent.

Superfriends with Money

Last night S and I saw Friends With Money. I liked it. It wasn't the writer/director's best, but it was a good parlor movie. I enjoyed the balance: It was at once both sweet and sad. The rich weren't villians and the not-as-rich weren't saints. Everybody had their virtues and vices to some extent, and they were often the same trait. Also, as S pointed out, the richest ones did seem to have the least problematic life, and that is just often how it works. That's just reality. Nothing wrong with it. In fact, I suspect that's a large part of why people strive for riches. Just a guess.

There's a great line in the movie where Olivia wonders why benefit dinners don't just give the money to the needy rather than wasting so much on the affair itself. I'm sure we've all wondered that.

That's in a way why I can't watch shows like Cribs on MTV. When I see someone with 27 Bentley's it just makes me sad. And I don't begrudge you your Bentley. It's just that, you know, wouldn't one be enough? I was reminded of that when I read this story

GANG of anarchist Robin Hood-style thieves, who dress as superheroes and steal expensive food from exclusive restaurants and delicatessens to give to the poor, are being hunted by police in the German city of Hamburg.

Yes, yes, it's technically stealing and stealing is wrong, but something about it entertained me. Especially that "they presented the cashier with a bouquet of flowers before making their getaway." Nice touch.

And, no, I'm not saying eat the rich. I understand that we've got to live our lives, and the whole problem of poverty seems too big to do anything about. Still, we can "tap into the water try and bring [our] share", and by doing so, make one of the most amazing videos ever.

Just sayin'.

Corinne Bailey Rae

Just in time, I've stumbled upon my lazy summer afternoon soundtrack: Corinne Bailey Rae's self-titled debut album. The sound is kind of like [stop here if you want to make up your own mind] The Brand New Heavies doing Norah Jones songs with Nelly Furtado singing lead - or something like that. She's from England, but has apparently grown up listening to a lot of Southern (US) music which gives her a great accent (like the way Eric Clapton sounds American when he sings, or every American New Wave/Punk band sounded British - but in between). And it doesn't hurt that she's easy on the eyes.

It seems most people I know don't listen to a lot of new music. They like stuff from the '80's (19 and/or 18) or stuff from 80 years ago. I do, too. I still like to discover new stuff. I think Corinne Bailey Rae is interesting enough for me and smooth enough to be slipped into a mix a party. We'll see.

The first song I heard was Like A Star. Then I bought the album. Yeah, I liked it that much. Fortunately, the rest is good, too. Especially Put Your Records On, Till It Happens to You, Choux Pastry Heart.

However, if you do like, I'd recommend waiting for the US release. To download it, you have to, first, register, then there's all these conditions of how you may play it. I hate that. If I buy it, it's mine. Just sell me the mp3 and leave me the fuck alone.

Mmmm, pie

That's all. I just like the video. I like that it never goes ironic. Just like pie.

simplicity of hyperbolicity

Discovering this was pretty much the highlight of my day.

The rest of it pretty much sucked.

Random Random

I was about to post and stumbled upon this blog questionnaire. My posting it here is not to be construed as my thinking it is particularly insightful or meaningful. Just something I found:
And I like that it's 16 questions. Not 20. Not 10. Not even 12, 21, or 17. That's another random.

1. what is your hair color?

I've had a couple. Like many, Black was a contender. How can you not like Black. I think a lot of people (just as many?) like white, but who can admit to it. It's like saying you think you're better than everyone else.

2. what is your favorite movie?

As a bit of cinephile, I just can't answer that. The closest I could site is The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and her Lover. It was one of my first experiences of true cinema, not just "illustrated text." Not that there's anything wrong with that.

3. which famous person, if you witnessed their rape, would you do your best to not help and to not call the cops?

Wow. What a wrong question. I am so not a SNAG, but that is just wrong. Celebrities are people, too. There is no one I would watch get raped and do nothing to help.

4. do you have hair on your arms?

It would be weird if I didn't.
5. do you like small animals?

Who doesn't?

6. how about big animals?

Who doesn't?

7. what's your favorite male body part?

I probably should have read the whole thing before I started answering, but I've come too far now.
His mind.
8. what's the one thing that you wish men would do more often?

Hhmm... I'm beginning to think this is an andorphylic questionnaire. Oh, well. Be nicer. That's my answer. That's my answer for everyone.
9. what are you looking forward to?

tomorrow.
10. what's your favorite sport?

Boxing.
While the industry is stupidly corrupt, the sport itself is simply wonderfully pure. Ah, the irony.
11. who's your favorite athlete?

No one. That's kind of what I don't like about the Olympics. It's so personal. To me sports has nothing to do with the athlete as person. That's why when I watch the Olympics and they do that whole back story thing (NFL does it, too, but to a lesser extent at least), I feel like I'm watching Entertainment Tonight Sports Edition. I mean, would you want your viewing of Lost in Translation interrupted by

"... Scarlett has an older brother and sister and a twin brother. She divides her time between New York with her dad, and Los Angeles with her mother ... "

No. Of course not. When I watch sports I want sporting, not socialising.

12. which famous person's sex tape would you be willing to pay to watch?

Is this limited to actual extant "famous person's sex"? Or more in the sense of "if there were such a sex tape of those famous people? In the first case, the only famous persons' sex tapes I know about that I'd want to see, I've seen for free. And, unfortunately, some I didn't particularly want to see. The problem is most "famous person[s]" are not famous for their sex tape making abilities, so why would you want to pay to see it. Now, if the term famous people included Heather Hunter or Erica Campbell, well ...
In the second case, I have thought Dee Dee Meyers taking a strap-on to Ann Coulter would be interesting.

13. what's the geekiest thing about you?

The fact that I'd like to see Dee Dee Meyers taking a strap-on to Ann Coulter.

14. what do you consider to be the deadliest of the 7 sins?

OK, yeah, I really should have read through this first. Deadliest? Deadliest??? Which one will get you more pregnanter? Geez.

OK. Maybe I'm being too literal. Maybe the Questioner is being poetic.
I'd have to go with Greed. It has the most direct effect on others. Sloth, Pride, Gluttony are all about one's self. Even though Anger, Lust, and Envy are in relation to others they don't necessarily affect others. Greed, on the other hand, deprives others of resources. It's just mean.
15. your best character trait

Lack of Greed.
16. my worst character trait

A tie between Sloth, Lust, and Anger (those adulthood exaggerations don't really interest me).

Wow. That got old quick.

admin notes

I'm still not happy with the template here. I've tweaked it a little, but can't quite get what I'm looking for. Part of the problem being I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for.

So until then, here's a video that somehow turns an idea that could have been exploitive into something fun (I'd say SFW, but there are bikinis involved).

Goose, Goose, Duck

There's a small pond in back of the office building where I work. It attracts ducks and geese. This time of year there aren't many to be found. There is this one duck that has remained. It has odd coloring, a splotchy irredescent green and brown over a white base.

In the mornings it will fly down to the parking lot to meet cars as they drive in, then waddle behind the person going in to the building. Sometimes if you're walking too fast for it, it will take wing to catch up with you. As amusing as ducks can seem when they're waddling on the ground, they can be a little scary when flying straight at your head. But it always stops just in time, and drops straight down to the parking lot like a helicopter.

I'd always assumed some people had fed it, and now it was expecting food from everyone. Now, I'm not so sure that's the case. I think it may just be lonely. The only other waterfowl there are two geese, and they pretty much keep to themselves. It's as if they think they're better than the duck.

I decided to test my theory one afternoon and sat and talked to it for a minute. It seemed to enjoy it. Though it's kind of hard to tell with a duck. It did get the cutest, perplexed look on its face when I got in my car and closed the door. As if it was thinking, How'd he do that? There just aren't any doors in a ducks world. I think they have a hard time wrapping their brains around the concept.

She will be missed

SB's mother-in-law, W's mother, passed away last night.

She was ready.

She will be missed.

OK, now I get it

... and speaking of cats

For a long time I've thought Garfield should be funnier than it is. Like most strips, I long ago finally gave up on reading it. It's not easy to give up on a comic strip, by the way. They're so easy. And you can't help but think, Maybe this time, this time it will be funny. Except, maybe, the for the Quigmans which is so not funny that it's anti-funny and even just seeing it puts me in a bad mood. But, at last, I'm down to just two or three comic strips per newspaper. I may be able to reinstate Garfield strips, now that I now how to read them.

Brilliant.

Eeewwwww!!!

You know, it's pretty much safe to assume that the actors and actresses playing high school students on TV are older than their characters. So I didn't give it a second thought when I said to myself, Johnny, come on, as much as I like Marissa, Kaitlin really is kind of hotter. That is until I discovered that Willa Holland really is 14 years old.

Excuse me while I go bleach my brain.

Old Cat, New Tricks

So I decide to reconstitute my blog after Time Warner screwed me over and deleted my previous one. Then I have an absolutely boring day where nothing interesting happens. Of course.

But The Cat has for the first time in the more than seven years I've known him climbed up on the computer desk to egg contendly. You really can't feel anything but good about what you're typing when there's a cat staring at your keyboard and purring.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year!