So a few weeks ago my hard drive crashed and I've busy dealing with getting that solved. I stand by my Macintosh, as the process for getting the computer service was quick and easy. It would have been even smoother if I lived close to a licensed Mac computer center, and didn't have to ship my computer off to get worked on. Since I've gotten it back, I've been sorting through it as if it were a new computer, resetting all my preferences, address books, and bookmarks. So I've given myself less free time to write.
In other news, I've pretty much decided to can posting these entries on Myspace. I've set Facebook Notes to import directly from this site, and its no secret that I've preferred Facebook to Myspace. The inital import sparked some light conversation based on my previous songbook entry and I was intrigued enough to reread some of my past entries. Truth be told, I've grown tired of the theme, and I imagine this will be the last of these entries...Also Oscar season is very much upon us, and I intend to at least dedicate one serious blog entry into discussing the movie awards season.
And it just so happens that the song I've chosen provides a nice bookend based upon my first songbook subject so here we go.
This year I've been wearing out the Christmas music ever since the first of the month. I've got a solid list of about 150 songs pumping on random. The list is dominated by holiday favorites and classics, with an occasional new Christmas song or creative re-imagining of a classic. So I thought it would nice to talk about what I consider to be my favorite Christmas song.
So without further ado:
"Hallelujah, (Chorus) from Handel's Messiah" performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir"
I was mildly tempted to focus on one of the non-traditional songs that is slowly gaining ground on my Christmas song ranking list (like Rilo Kiley's Xmas Cake or Sufjan Stevens' "That Was the Worst Christmas"), but Christmas is all about tradition, and this ripping choral number has it in spades.
And being that the first song I wrote about was Hallelujah, this makes sense too.
The Hallelujah chorus concludes the second of three acts in George Frideric Handel's Messiah oratorio composed in 1741(thank you Wikipedia). I can't remember a time in my life when I recalled ever hearing any other part of Handels masterpiece, and I can say with some confidence that I don't care to, as the chorus stands well alone.
So you may wonder why I didn't chose a more popular carol-friendly tune like Jingle Bells? Well the Hallelujah resonates with me on a couple of different levels.
First, this song is best heard sung by a choir, with proper direction/orchestration. The different vocal sections of the choir are called upon throughout the song. Its simply a very best "showing-off" of what a well-directed choir is capable of. Another great holiday staple that accomplishes this (and also one of my faves) is Carol of the Bells. Its almost like a structured and and refined version of singing in "rounds" like you would do at summer camp, with different groups of campers staggering their belting of "Row Row Row Your Boat" so that as you sing it sounds like their is an echo.
I specifically remember attempting to sing along to the Hallelujah chorus at the tail end of the service of Lessons of Carols run by one Marc F. Cheban at St. Andrews. I hung in the back with the regular choir, and attempted to chime in with the bass singers intoning "And he shall reign for ever and ever." So I suppose this song will always remind me of that.
The words are nothing particularly earth-shattering. Much of the lyrics are extrapolated from the bible (Revelations actually), but I easily get lost in this song. Yeah maybe they're a bit repetitive, but hey the delivery is spirited.
So no your average caroler will not be attempting this ditty on your front door, but there is no shortage of recordings of the this masterpiece to sate yourself with during the holidays. For my money Christmas music doesn't get much better.
I would love to hear what some other peoples favorite holiday songs are so comment away (I love when I assume people actually read these).
I would say I am a little guarded about my affinity for musicals. To be blunt...its not very heterosexual. I have received quite a bit of flack from some friends, one in particular (James) for being adamant that I enjoy most forms of musicals. It seems strange given that I this a recent trend. I wouldn't say that I was decidedly anti-musical in high school, but my enjoyment of all things Fosse, Minielli, etc. wasn't at its current level.
I dug our school's production of Godspell, Me Me in St. Louis, and The Sound of Music, but it wasn't until very late in the year when my roommate Pedro and I got into a very deep Rocky Horror Picture Show rut. Pedro was the only male student at our school that was out of the closet, and his introducing me to Richard O'Brien's tranny masterpiece was the caboose to the yearlong train of education of all things rainbow. While Pedro pined for the Adonis-inspired Rocky, I oogled the youthful Susan Sarandon. I fell for her hardcore when i peeped he in Bull Durham (A cougar like her with a religious devotion to baseball...oh yeah), so the fifteen-years-younger version in her underwear was an easy sell.
Its staggering to think about how cloaked in ignorance about that lifestyle. There's no one in my life to blame for that, save for a lack of real exposure. Its that same cloak of ignorance that allows for horrible things like Prop 8 to pass even the most liberal of states. Yeesh...lets nip that political rant in the bud shall we.
I took my brother's friend Jenny to see Moulin Rouge in the theater in the summer of 2000. I had a thing for her (redhead, what do you expect), she had one for my brother, he had one for her younger sister (at least I think so; I could be completely fabricating that entire love trapezoid--I destroyed plenty of brain cells that summer). This was both our first and last date. I was transfixed by every bit of celluloid that night. As I began to gush about the magic we had just witnessed leaving the theater, I was stopped dead in my tracks as Jenny soundly denounced the film as weird. She didn't like it, didn't get it. Needless to say I found less and less attractive about her.
Moulin Rouge is this wonderful postmodern musical, that is a fusion of three distinct old style operas (La Traviatta, La Boheme, and Orpheus in the Underworld), set at a brothel in turn-of-the- (19th) century France. The rub on that period setting is that the film's songs (save one original "Come What May") are simply re-interpretations of popular songs throughout history, most having to do with love. Setting the film in 1899, allows its hero Christian (played by Ewan McGregor) to appear stunningly innovative as the original writing that he pimps are in fact a Greatest hits from popular music and musicals. When he belts out the classic sound of music line "The hiiillls are allive with sound of muuuuussssic!" that stops the bohemians dead in their tracks, I nearly died laughing at the genius of that moment. So many of this films musical cues elicited this sort of response, I panic that I may have made a hasty decision.
Perhaps I should have chosen to feature this entire soundtrack. I could wax on for quite a while on so many of these tracks (some more than others) Here's a complete list of tracks for the film, and quickly where I see the discussion heading in each case:
1. Nature Boy - David Bowie -- Ziggy himself doing a rendtion of a Nat King Cole classic...some great levels to explore there
2. Lady Marmalarde - Christina, Pink, Mya, Lil' Kim, Missy Elliott -- the pop sensation spawned by the film; its seems so disconnected from the film when I think of it now.
3. Because We Can - Fatboy Slim -- would devolve quickly into a dicussion of his uber cool "Weapon of Choice" video with Christopher Walken, which would segway not so subtley into me just needing more cowbell (its the only solution to my fever)
4. Sparkling Diamonds - Nicole Kidman & Jim Broadbent -- much to be said about the great references to Madonna and Holly Golightly herself
5. Valeria - Rhythm of the Night - Gloria Estfan just won something big right
6. Your Song - Ewan McGregor & Nicole Kidman -- The second big appearance by Elton john in a film fave of mine in as many years (the first being "Tiny Dancer" in Almost Famous) this coupled with the sweet music videos for "I Want Love" (w/ Tony Stark/Robert Downey Jr.) and "This Train Don't Stop Here Anymore" (w/ Justin Timberlake before he brought SexyBack) convinced me to purchase the Elton John double disc Greatest Hits album. He ceased to be from that moment the weirdo who did those two songs for the Lion King, and became a musical icon. Weird how my mind works.
7. Children of the Revolution - Bono, Gavin Friday, Maurice Seezer -- A T. Rex song. Actually not much here. Believe it or not talking about Bono bores me these days
8. One Day I'll Fly Away - Nicole Kidman -- old Jazz standard by Kidman here
9. Diamond Dogs - Beck -- just really one kickass artist doing his thing. Every album is so different from the last its hard to realize their the same guy. I remember belting out Loser in middle school & grooving to Midnite Vultures in high school, but both those memories are on completely different wavelengths.
10. Elephant Love Medley - Nicole Kidman & Ewan McGregor -- At the time I could only identify pieces of this roller coaster of homages. To effortlessly glide from KISS to U2 to the Beatles to disco queen Thelma Houston I was impressed as hell. This medley gets at the very postmodern heart of this film. These songs like "Up Where We Belong" and "I Will Always Love You" already exist to evoke certain movie moments (whether it be An Officer and a Gentleman, or The Bodyguard), but Lurhman pilfered them perfectly, to not only recall those emotions, but project his own gravitas on those already in place.
11. Come What May - Nicole Kidman & Ewan McGregor -- I was miffed during Oscar season that this was not nominated for Best Original Song. It prompted a very close examining of the rules for that an other categories. Because the song was originally written for Romeo + Juliet, it could not qualify for the category for the wholly different movie.
12. El Tango de Roxanne - Ewan McGregor, Jose Feliciano, Jacek Koman -- I'll get there
13. Complainte De La Butte - Rufus Wainwright - My sister recognized his voice, prompted me to gift her his CD, then I heard him sing "Hallelujah," see my first songbook blog for the rest.
14. Hindi Sad Diamonds - Nicole Kidman, John Legizamo, Alka Yagnik -- Ahh the Bollywood-inspired number. Could go any number of ways, including Mira Nair's work, or even Bend it Like Beckham
15. Nature Boy - David Bowie & Massive Attack -- that sets up a wicked tangent on house music
All of these don't even begin to scratch the surface on my initial fascination with Baz Lurhman and his take on Romeo + Juliet. I was so enamored with that world he created. The reason so many of my online login names include the Shakespeare character Mercutio is because of that movie. Harold Perrineau (pre LOST and pre Matrix) created a version of that character that found extremely daring and charismatic. But alas I digress....in a big way....Back to El Tango de Roxanne.
--
"Roxanne" ... Its embarrassing to admit that I never considered what the 1978 Police track was actually about. It took its re-imagining for Moulin Rouge as a tango, for me to recognize that its a song about a French prostitute.
As Satine goes to be the Duke to save the production of Spectacular Spectacular, Christian laments his powerlessness. Jacek Koman (The Unconscious Argentinean) performs a steamy tango with Caroline O'Connor (Nini, Legs in the Air). The resulting dance is cross cut with Satine's "encounter" with the Duke. The Argintinean lays it out for Christian that falling in love with someone who sells intimacy to the highest bidder is path to insanity, for "Jealousy will drive you MAD!"
Two distinct things about this track send chills down my spine. The first is the marked difference between the Argentinean's delivery of this song and Sting's original higher range. What can I say I love a good cover song, particular one that is more of a reinterpretation and not simply a tribute band trying to recreate the original sound.
Secondly is the slow building of drama within the track. The backing begins simply... As the song's momentum builds the vocal focus shifts from the Argintinean to Christian, and the backing, builds and builds. The melancholy felt by Christian and Satine underscored through the song is so achingly palatable. They are torn between wanting their love displayed through their art, or rather in actuality in their very lives.
This scene embodies what is magical about musicals. For so many who scoff at the bright and cheery spectacle of a musical production, it is unfathomable that people are driven by songs in their every action, and it's even more strange that one would let that inner song out, and simply sing to show how they feel.
"People don't just break out randomly into song," is the anti-musical sentiment I've had to contend against for so long. And there's a nugget of truth to that, because most people don't. But the feelings that drive and saturate any music exist within us whether we choose to let feeling erupt from us or not.
This may be why I was first drawn to the darker songs in all musicals like "Tango. My favorite track from Chicago is the self-loathing anthem "Mr. Cellophane" Another track responsible was "I've Seen It All" from Dancer in the Dark. Sadness and inner pain made more sense to be set to music at first. As I came to watch and dissect more musicals (My film class on musicals in college turned out to be one of my favorites) I came to appreciate all aspects of the art form.
I discovered gems like Rent, Mamma Mia!, and Sweeney Todd after college, and loved them.
So I'll guess that the melancholy that eloquently shattered the screen and my senses in "Tango de Roxanne" is responsible for a deep-seeded appreciation of the musical genre. They're a tough sell to much of the movie-going public, but feel renewed with each big studio production that makes it to theater (Even if they make to listen to the terrible vocal stylings of Pierce Brosnan sometimes...for every actor who can't sing there are several that can and thank God they still do.)
For this installment I'd like to examine someone I consider to be one of the best contemporary female vocalists around...Imogen Heap and her song "Hide and Seek"
My introduction to Imogen Heap was in one of the huge center's to my geekdom in my senior year of college. After my laptop and DVD collection were stolen from my room one fateful Christmas break, I was forced to purchase a new laptop, and I was wooed into the world of Apple, by my friend Ozzie. After having a such a horrible time with my Gateway laptop, my G4 Powerbook was a godsend.
I began to stockpile movie trailers from the Apple website. One of the most impressive was the initial teaser trailer for Zach Braff's indie darling Garden State. With my filmic eye at its zenith from all of my film studies classics, I was wowed by this wordless film trailer that relied solely on its impressive film shots and the haunting Frou Frou track "Let Go." Ozzie laughed in my face when I informed him what I had discovered about Frou Frou following the viewing of the trailer. He informed me that he was aware of the artist before seeing the trailer and geeked out when he heard the song in the theater. He had a play count for "Let Go" in his iTunes over a hundred.
I've largely championed Garden State as being one of my favorite films, but its trendiness has softened some of its largess in my minds eye in the years following its release. Much of its hipness has turned sour due to cliche. More than any of the awards it garnered; I was most satisfied with its Grammy win for Soundtrack Compilation, and I felt that the Frou Frou track had much to do with that.
Zach's music choices were eye-opening to me. I was introduced to artists like The Shins, Zero 7, Iron & Wine, Remy Zero; and I was forced to take a second look at artists like Coldplay and Colin Hay. As I entrenched myself in the films songs I noticed a glaring ommission in the film soundtrack (much like in Dazed and Confused with "Hurricane"). Alexi Murdoch's "Orange Sky" which played over the hamster Jelly's funeral was nowhere to be found. I quickly found that the song was a part of first soundtrack compilation for the TV show "The O.C.", and therefore couldn't be legally included in the Garden State soundtrack.
I had avoided "The O.C." like the plague because it was so immensely popular. But this was now two songs on that first compilation that I really dug (The first being "The Way We Get By" by Spoon, that I had on a mix CD) so I decided to seek out the rest of the compilation. And thus the hook was set, and I was slowly drawn into a cheesy teen soap opera.
I was able to justify my dedication to the show because of the music (damn you Stephanie Savage, Josh Schwartz, and Alexandra Patsavas). In the second season they introduced a live music venue called The Bait Shop, where they were able to showcase up and coming artists. Here I was introduced to Modest Mouse, Death Cab for Cutie, The Killers,
Another big player in the second season was none other than Imogen Heap. No longer a part of Frou Frou, her song "Goodnight and Go" was featured early on the show, and garnered a fair bit of mainstream play following the show's airing. Then her song "Hide and Seek" became the centerpiece of the Season 2 season finale, first backing the funeral, and then being called back for the show's cliffhanger open-mouth ending.
They say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery...and there's no better example than the SNL spoof of that very scene. Because I was such a fan of the show the "Dear Sister" digital short made me laugh out loud.
This track cuts me to my core. Imogen's voice by itself is spectacular. The harmonized vocals seem to be the only thing with which you could logically pair it. This haunting song rises and falls beautifully. I used to associate synthesizers and harmonizers with soulless house music, but this song broke down those prejudices.
But what's most amazing is that Heap produced this whole album "Speak for Yourself" by herself. Dissatisfied with how the previous Frou Frou album was mishandled; she took matters into her own hands, and the result is earth-shattering.
Of course then Zach Braff chose to include "Hide and Seek" in the soundtrack for his next film "The Last Kiss." The film came out two years after the songs release, and it had been almost played to death. While the music on the compilation was stellar again, I was disappointed to be familar with the majority of the artists already. Coldplay, Cary Brothers, Remy Zero, Imogen all made their second Braff appearances. But again there were some musician revelations
Snow Patrol - Chocolate -- the song featured in the trailer...almost engineered to feature heavily in a romantic movie; I've since latched tightly to Snow Patrol Fiona Apple - Paper Bag -- revitalized an interest in someone I dismissed as a one-hit wonder (when I saw her at Vegoose in 2006 she killed it; a much better perfomer live) Joshua Radin & Schuyler Fisk - Paperweight -- Radin I knew through following my Braff appreciation to Scrubs; the real revelation was Fisk, who I remembered vaguely as Sissy Spacek's daughter who was in that terrible Orange County movie with Tom Hanks son. Being the daughter of The Coal Miner's Daughter, the fact she can belt out a tune comes as no surprise, her being a darling redhead is just icing. I've constantly sought out any and all of her music since. She's currently working on her first album, and her singing has appeared in two other films I'm Reed Fish an Penelope)
So the cycle continues...Thanks Imogen I await your new album as well as Schuyler's first.
Song #3 makes me a little bit embarrassed, but it represents an important step in my musical journey.
"Callin' Baton Rouge" -- Garth Brooks
When I was younger I would take great pleasure in ragging on my father for his affinity for some country music. He would put on his Tractors CD, and I would roll my eyes as he would bop along with "Baby Likes to Rock It."
It seemed that country music was destined to be shunned forever after it wasn't included in my "high school classic rock musical epiphany." This epiphany was almost single handedly engineered by Geoff Carson, who amassed a nice CD collection by preying on impressionable freshman such of myself, and gently coercing us into joining the BMG music service. Forced to choose 12 CDs at once, broke down my popular music-centric music tastes into the wonderful realms of classic rock. However the walls of ignorance against country music remained high and mighty.
The first concession I would make would be a few years later, in one of many late night discussions with one Oswald Cuervo. My junior year of high school, we logged some several hundred hours of reflection late night on Baum corridor. I've yet to replicate the frequency and depth of our interchanges. No matter what shenanigans we got into we found time for some chatting. Now that he works on the west coast for the other networking giant Facebook, I've all but completely lost touch.
However I digress...one night we discussed music, and I shared my current interest in one Bob Dylan. I was currently listening to his third Greatest Hits compilaton, almost solely for the inclusion of the song Hurricane. Everytime I heard the nearly nine minute song, I was reminded of the scene in Dazed and Confused were Wooderson, Pink, and Mitch walk through the Emporium, and this song backs their slow-motion stroll. Of all the great music in this film, this was my favorite, and yet it was not included on either of the two soundtracks released.
Some of my favorite parts of the song were the violin solos, and Ozzie had recently acquired an electric violin. He fooled around with it in a band (they couldn't decide on a name so they became known as TBA) that won our school talent show. They had huge sound issues and played only DMB cover songs. (Ozzie would go on to play in a band called Mojo Train at college). But that one night Ozzie plugged his violin into my CD player, and riffed along with "Hurricane." I think at that moment I decided that I really dug the violin in a non-classical music sense. So I was prepared to enjoy a bluegrass fiddle. So I was willing to admit I like the song "The Devil Went Down to Georgia"
...
Cut to college...In a whirlwind of events beginning my second semester freshman year, I had gone against my better judgement and joined a fraternity. Not just any frat mind you, but the bastion of Southern Gentlemen, the Kappa Alpha Order. (How I allowed myself to believe that Southern Gentlemen was the proper description for what were actually Good Ole Boys is still baffling to me).
Now these brothers of mine were mostly from Texas and Alabama, and therefore were raised with a healthy dose of country music. Every Friday we would have kegs at the landfill we called our frat house (lovingly termed the KA Mansion). The archaic sound system would blast a mixture of classic rock and country music. As a lowly pledge I had no input into the DJ choices, so I had little recourse but to withstand this barrage of country. Needless to say I lost this war of attrition, much like my friend from high school Birdsey had continually hammered me with his bootleg Phish concert tapes until I actually dug them.
My concessions for country music started small. After hearing Pat Green and Robert Earl Keen so many times, I could barely classify them as country so I began to allow that I enjoyed "Texas country" because the line between Texas country and rock wasn't well defined in my mind. Cory Morrow,
And slowly the other songs that I heard every Friday stopped grating against my eardrums. And late one night when I heard myself belting out the words to "Callin' Baton Rouge" There was now no mistaking it. I knew all the words to a Garth Brooks song. Chris Gaines himself. All the words. Even several cups of keg beer deep. Needless to say...I was a little shocked.
As I came to terms with my light appreciation of country music, I started to explore more and more. This includes finding contemporary gems like Alison Krauss, and fully exploring the catalogs of legends like Johnny Cash. All thanks to Mr. "Friends in Low Places" Brooks.
I can now ridicule with a clean conscience all those lazy people who, when asked to list their favorite bands simply write "anything but country"
Time for another entry into my own personal songbook/mixtape/blog. Today's song:
"Fell On Black Days" - Soundgarden (1994)
I mentioned in my previous blog that the reason I never heard of Jeff Buckley was because I was too busy listening to Seattle grunge. I must qualify that to recognize that in my middle school days, as these were, my musical scope rarely extended off the Billboard top 100 charts. Its not as if I was a diehard grunge fan.
I listened to the radio. Grunge was all over the radio. I didn't grow my hair long, although I did try to bang my head to Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, etc. I did occasionally rock some flannel, but it wasn't a daily look. Its a little sickening to think that the only reason I liked grunge music is because so many other people did.
But the truth is...I've made no real music discoveries over my life. Since my iPod dominates my life, I no longer listen to the radio. MTV no longer plays music videos (that I know of) so I can't so easily glean my music from them. There are several musicians that hooked me back in those glory days that I still keep up with when they come out with new albums (side note I'm really digging the new Ben Folds album "Way to Normal"). I've realized now I've become hooked on accompanying music. Music that accompanies TV shows, movies, commercials. So I'm only indirectly choosing the music that I like. I'm thankful for the music supervisors of the world. The Stepanie Savages and Zack Braff's of this world.
What I can take solace in, is that my fandom is only rarely skin deep. Soundgarden's 1994 album Superunknown was hugely successful thanks in most part to its most popular singles "Black Hole Sun" and "Spoonman" Not to bag on those two songs, but most of their weight is based in a hella-creepy music video (that still turns my stomach a little bit) and a kitchen utensil gimmick.
From maybe the second go-round through my cassette, I was certain that "Fell On Black Days" was my favorite track. Chris Cornell's silky voice was most certainly the best of the era (I can't say that without mentioning that Scott Weiland comes in a very close second). This track serves as a ridiculous oppurtunity to show off his terrific range. It opens with that smooth guitar hook by Kim Thayill. For about two-thirds of the song Cornell sings softly yet firmly, but in the last bit he elevates to a controlled scream that still manages to sit under the actual music.
The song was written by Cornell and he describes it as "like this ongoing fear I've had for years...It's a feeling that everyone gets. You're happy with your life, everything's going well, things are exciting - when all of a sudden you realise you're unhappy in the extreme, to the point of being really, really scared." Reading that quote it suddenly makes sense why I identified with that song so well.
Soundgarden is the one band of that Seattle gringe mid 90's boon whose arch ended abruptly as I moved on to high school. Sure some of the others had bigger stories. Nirvana's lead singer stopped making new music, but new Nirvana CD's continued to come out. It always seemed weird to me that Dave Grohl fronted a popular band after Nirvana...why not stick to drums (maybe thats why I liked Queens of the Stone Age). Scott Weiland has had some trouble keeping out of prison, but he's back with STP. Getting to see them in October 2000 at Voodoo Fest was a special treat. He was clean and they played almost an entirely mid-90's set. My love for Smashing Pumpkins was partially shattered when I discovered Billy Corigan is a really spotty live performer. Pearl Jam wavers in and out of my interest. One good album, a bad one, a good one again; I stopped depending on them, (however Eddie Vedder's score for Into the Wild was amazing).
When the first whiff of the formation of Audioslave, featuring Chris Cornell back in the saddle with Tom Morello and the other parts of Rage Against the Machine, hit me I nearly cried tears of joy. And the marriage of those two rock dynamo's was a smashing success. I enjoyed all three albums they released; however the third was weak enough that it was no surprise that the supergroup wouldn't last too much longer.
I do still find myself longing for the old Soundgarden though. No offense to you and your politics Morello. RATM doesn't occupy the same time in my life as Soundgarden does. I was on the cusp of my musical awakening that I would experience my freshman year of high school. When I learned that I could listen to older music and enjoy it more than the songs on the radio. When I could listen to Led Zeppelin and hear pieces of of contemporary artists.
Listening to "Fell On Black Days" reminds me of time when my tastes were simpler. When all things in my life were simpler.
So I am currently reading the book Songbook by Nick Hornby. This is the limey bastard that wrote the literary inspirations for About a Boy, Fever Pitch, and most famously High Fidelity. This book is a collection of 31 essays on different popular music songs. In the first essay that is termed the introduction, Hornby describes a spectacular realization regarding why certain important songs are associated with certain feelings and sensations:
"If you love a song, love it enough for it to accompany you throughout different stages in your life, then any specific memory is rubbed away by use."
Not all of the 31 songs he pines about take him back to simply a certain place and time. But that happens for all of us. My father asked me some years ago to make him mix CD with several classic rock songs. As he listened the the finished product he talked about some of the tracks in particular and how they reminded him of his days in high school and so on. I realized that these associations explain my enjoyment of these silly "I love the 80's" shows on VH1. But I digress...back to Hornby's essays.
Some correspond to revelations in his personal and professional life. The end result, this book comes off like a mixtape of essays, much like a compliation lovingly constructed by Hornby's Fidelity character Rob Gordon. I was only about 5 essays into the book, when I thought that I could create a collection within this blog. One that would very much be my own.
I don't know how many songs I will end up featuring (the first shortlist I've compiled features ten songs, I figure I may find about five more). My big fight will be keeping movie chatter out of these blogs. I will try to limit focusing on songs that I have interacted with majorly having to do with movies.
I encourage you who read to comment on the blog...if you have a particular take on the song or the subject on the blog. I would also love to read your own mixtape of songs.
The first song I've decided to talk about is:
"Hallelujah" -- Jeff Buckley
This haunting cover of Leonard Cohen's 1984 song is my favorite version of the song even though its not the first version I ever heard. A quick iTunes search reveals that I have 7 different versions of this song in my collection (of the reported 170 different versions that have been produced. There is one other song in my collection that I have so many versions of...that I will also talk about soon enough.
Hallelujah has come to be known as a soundtrack song. Not a year goes by that it isn't featured in some movie of television show to underscore an emoitional celluloid moment. Its melancholy tone lends it to many emotional scenes to denote depression. Or it can be flipped with certain lyrics like my favorite "I used to live alone before I knew you" or "her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you" to partner with romantic undertones. Even Letterman used it recently in a homage to Paul Newman.
Truth is it is a beautiful song that blipped on my radar because of its use in the movie Shrek. I had recently bought a Rufus Wainwright album for my sister, and was captivated by his vocal ability. I recognized his voice, listening to the song in the film, and sought to learn more about this incredible song.
This was a time in my life when I began to fully utilize the internet to expand my knowledge of the music that intrigued me. A search revealed that this song was in fact written by Leonard Cohen, whose was responsible for another of my favorite songs "Everybody Knows." Thus began my long love affair with cover songs that were better than their orignials.
I was dissatisfied with Cohen's version of the song, but soon discovered that their were many others. Some of them were terrible (Bono's makes my ears bleed), but others like Buckley's were transcendent. Its remarkable when a cover of a good song can make it great or even swallow up the original entirely. Hendrix's take on Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower" is leagues better (it blew my mind when I found out that wasn't a Hendrix song). Other times, its a cheap ploy by a struggling artist: Jessica Simpson singing "These Boots are Made for Walking" comes to mind first).
But the reason this song has stayed with me is the ensuing things I found out about Jeff Buckley. An American singer/songwirter whose light was extinguished way too early. His album Grace came out in 1994, when I was too busy listening to Seattle grunge to pay attention to this soft singer's genius. This artist I had never heard of is to this day in the mixtapes and CD players of my idols. His stamp on music grows because he took Cohen's song and elevated it into the stratosphere, so that those who create art (movies, tv, etc.) constantly look to it for an emotional punch.
It reminds me how so many of us long to make an impact on the world, even if its the softest impact imaginable.
its embarrassing to admit that I wanted nothing to do with the AMC TV series Mad Men at first glance. It idea of rehashing and glorifying 1960's Manhattan held no appeal for me. I decided that I would try and watch the show solely because one of the featured players was a relatively unknown actress named Christina Hendricks.
I had more or less fallen in love with Hendricks during her three episode arc on the failed Joss Whedon sci-fi western series Firefly. She was a conniving grifter buried in the gorgeous body of a voluptuous redhead. I am a true sucker for redheads in all forms of media and in my everyday life so the hook was not so hard to set. I was depressed to find that she had done very little mainstream work other than Firefly at the time, so when he image showed up in the promos for this period drama I became mildly interested. Turns out she can fill out the clothes of the period quite nicely.
So I randomly tuned in one night last year to what turned out to be episode 8 of 13 from the first season. The show moves a very deliberate pace, and because I was not up to speed with the subtlety of the characters involved I lost interest very quickly and dismissed the show.
Then the accolades at the end of season awards shows began to trickle in and I wondered what I had missed. The lead actor Jon Hamm defeated the favorite Hugh Laurie for the Golden Globe, and the show beat out Grey's for best drama. The SAG awards probably should have followed, but they became a ridiculous love-fest for the Sopranos.
So I queued up the first season in netflix and decided to take a closer look. The first episode "The Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" had me from the opening scene. Jon Hamm as Creative Director at Sterling Cooper (an advertising agency on Madison Avenue; ad men on Madison = Mad Men) is the epitome of all that is cool about the 1960's he's well put together, and well off, with the perfect life. He's unfaithful to his wife like so many men of his stature are in that era, but we learn throughout the series that he doesn't just troll the nightclubs for a nightly tryst; he seeks independent, complete women. These affairs contrast the vapid home life provided by his cookie-cutter housewife. As the layers are peeled back from Draper's character we find him to be anything but the man he projects.
Another character that piqued my interest was the brand new secretary Peggy Olson played by Elisabeth Moss. Olson, fresh from secretarial school, is assigned to Draper. She is wide-eyed and conservative. She's shown the ropes by the vampish office manager Joan Holloway (played by the aforementioned Hendricks) Holloway gives her tips on how to use her femininity to receive small perks around the office, and even recommends her a doctor. Olson also shows character progression, by proving to be more than a secretary, producing copy for two ad campaigns, leading to a promotion at the end of the season. She represents a remarkable duality of a woman who can think for herself, even though she has been raised to be subservient, but who makes the same mistakes of other women in her place despite her uniqueness.
The shows appeal lies in the 1960's cliches that reflect glaringly against today's ideals. Every character smokes cigarettes almost every chance they get, as the dangers of tobacco have yet to be fully realized. The workers at Sterling Cooper barely hide the bottles of liquor in their desks, and partake regularly throughout the workday. One almost believes that they rarely do any actual work. Yet many issues that are still pertinent today are addressed: closeted sexual orientation, marital infidelity, women empowerment in the workplace, escaping a family name, sexism, etc.
But ultimately the series is about our love affair with words, and our desire as a culture to be sold. Ad men make their living on that perfect catch phrase that lassoes the unsuspecting housewife into choosing one brand over the other. The breaking down of the advertising process is intoxicating, and no one seems to know the game better than Don Draper.
I was given chills by his pitch in the final episode of the first season, called "The Wheel." He was producing a campaign for Kodak's new slide projector, in which he must incorporate the new wheel mechanism they have introduced. He mocks the obvious choice other ad agencies would use ("Kodak has clearly re-invented the wheel"). He then delivers a breath-taking pitch while he showed slides of his own family vacation to the Kodak executives (I've broken the lines as it was delivered; with each break pausing for the changing of the slide:
"This device isn't a space ship, its a time machine. It goes backwards and forwards; it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. Its not called the wheel; its called the Carosuel, it lets us travel the way a child travels. Round and around and back home again. to a place where we know we are loved."
Its impossible to replicate Hamm's dynamite delivery, or to explain how the words are drowning in personal meaning, as their are several plot lines that hinge on these very words.
All I can say is the show is incredible and I can't wait to see more.
It has been far too long since my last blog, The change in my employment has had a large part to do with that. Funny that I have had more free time now for quite a while, yet I have written less.
I recently watched the movie Deal, against the advice of every review I could get my hands on, and of course against my better judgement. The convergence of my two biggest interests (film and poker) must truly inhibit my common sense.
The poker boom is traced by many to the John Dahl independent film Rounders. The post Will Hunting vehicle for Matt Damon. Damon (and certainly his costar Ed Norton) and Chris Moneymaker have brought so many potential poker players to the world of gambling for a living. The movie arguably the best "poker movie" made to date. I tend to champion Steve McQueen's The Cincinnati Kid, over Rounders, almost strictly because Rounders is so evidently the more trendy choice.
Both films have major flaws that help anyone who wants to argue against the film's poker "supremacy."
The featured game in Kid is five-card stud, which is now an antiquated game, rarely played. In the final hand (spoiler alert) The Man draws an incredibly improbable Queen high straight flush (the odds of this in five card game are beyond astronomical, just being dealt a straight flush only happens 1 out of 72,193 times) to best The Kid's tens full of Aces(the odds of this match up of hands occurring are even more laughable: 332,220,508,619 to 1) This hand stinks of Hollywood, and the sheer lunacy of the probability of this match up occurring threatens to undo all of the great poker displayed in the film up to this point (The terrific hero call made in the opening hand by the Kid, and ridiculous bluff run by the Man on Pig are the highlights). After thinking about it though. I think its the only spot in which the Kid could be broken, and the point of the film can not be driven home unless he loses.
In Rounders, my major gripe occurs with the betting in the first big hand, in which Mike McDermott is felted by Malkovich's Teddy KGB. While the hand is based on a colossal misread by McDermott, he made two crucial mistakes in the hand. The first was playing with his entire bankroll. This mistake occurs more often than it should in real life, but one would think that a player with the skills of McD would no better (he even says it; "always leave yourself outs"). The second mistake is his $33,000 raise on the river. Mike holds the second nuts (nuts is pokerspeak for the second-best hand possible) with a nines full of aces full house. He assumes that KGB holds a spade flush, based on his analysis on KGB's play in the hand so far. The ridiculous occurs with Mike, assuming that KGB has a weak hand, raises his huge $15,000 bet into a $5,000 pot, a staggering $33,000 more. KGB can only justify a call with hand better than the one that McDermott holds. A player like McDermott would likely call in that spot, not raise.
But these are quibbling problems. Overall both movies offer excellent depictions of poker, and its encompassing lifestyle. The two most recent movies based in poker that I have watched; Deal and Curtis Hanson's stinker Lucky You, have one common plot point which irritate me to no end. Both movies end with the final table of a prestigious poker tournament, and the father/son and teacher/student combinations from each respective plot facing off against each other.
In both films the protagonist purposely folds a vastly superior hand to their opponent. Nice killer instinct guys. In what poker world would anyone fold a winning hand on purpose. It makes sense that the director wants to make a point. But in no way are there any poker players who would do this. Just pisses me off that poker is being sold to the masses this way.
Poker players are trying to win the money. They don't care about making statements. They win or they lose. They're all degenerates (though some more than others). Don't try and dress them up. Just accept it and move on.
The Happening (dir. M. Night Shyamalan) (starring Mark Wahlberg, Zooey Deschanel, John Leguizamo)
(*** out of ****)
Movies like this walk a very fine line. One on hand, I love a movie that makes me think, but I hate a movie that is so absurd it makes no sense. The more I let all the parts of M. Night Shyamalan's sixth Hollywood endeavor germinate, the more I begin to believe that this film is more of the former rather than the latter.
M. Night's chosen path as a filmmaker reminds of one of those awesomely bad "No Fear" T-shirts that were popular for a hot minute in my formative middle school years: "If you're not living on the edge then you're taking up too much space." Shyamalan has consistently tread on that hair's breadth of a line between genius and poppy-cock (at least in my own estimation) since he burst onto the Hollywood scene almost ten years ago.
Shyamalan knocked one out of the park with his first film 1999's the Sixth Sense. The film with the "killer twist," scored huge at the box office, and landed eight Oscar nominations (including two for Shyamalan himself for writing and directing). It was unheard of that a "scary" movie could play so well for the snooty Academy, so it was not necessarily a disappointment when the film tallied a nasty goose-egg on the big night. Also raking in nearly $300 million in domestic box office on a modest $55 million budget is not too shabby.
Shyamalan has yet to replicate the magic of the Sixth Sense in terms of universal appeal, but he has stayed true to his own style each time out, sometimes to his detriment. With one harrowing exception M. Night has always recouped his film's budget in domestic box office receipts, and that generally keep someone interested in financing you're films no matter how weird they are.
His second film Unbreakable retained the high-powered star that powered his first success, Bruce Willis, and added the money hungry Samuel L. Jackson (I say that lovingly because Jackson seems to do every movie that he reads; he's been in some world class bombs). It was an homage to Shyamalan's lifelong fascination with comic books. His heroes didn't wear flashy colors, and the movie's twist was that the main character's were in fact the stereotypical hero and villain. The movie didn't quite break $100 million at the box office. It might have been bad timing as the first X-men movie had killed during the summer, and maybe moviegoers weren't looking for an offbeat, darker comic book movie.
For Signs, M Night. traded in John McClane for Martin Riggs, and regained his mojo with a $227 million rake. His alien invasion spooker, was well structured. I still maintain that the first reveal of the alien through the news footage is one of the best "recoil" moments in any film this decade. Then the twist truly ruined the film for me. Shyamalan nicked the alien's weakness from H.G Wells, and he made it even more absurd. How do those aliens choose to land on a planet covered with a the very substance that is deadly to them. YAWN! Talk about deflating the suspense.
The trailers for 2004's The Village, didn't inspire very much confidence. I vowed to not watch the film's due to the trailer's pandering to a horror movie's lowest common denominator. I was thus perplexed when my best friend insisted I give the film chance, giving it a must-see label. I entered the theater highly skeptical, and needless to say I was floored by what transpired.
After three films with pronounced twists, one can't watch his films without trying to unravel the mystery before the "big reveal" So I immediately went for M. Night's "dummy twist" proclaiming out loud in the theater "The monster's aren't real!" So as my guard was then lower I was completely blindsided by the real twist, that the film was in fact not a period piece, but a support group of those who had lost loved ones to crimes of passion, had fashioned an isolated community to attempt to escape from the evil that permeates our society today. I remember hearing people scoff at the idea of people foregoing the comforts of modern technology to live in a agrarian society, but I was fairly impressed by the message that even in a simple society you cannot escape man's inherent desire to harm one another to obtain that which they can't.
Oh and I developed an unhealthy fixation on Bryce Dallas Howard, the first in a long line of movie star and musician redheads, that I pine after still.
It was Howard's involvement in Lady in the Water, that ultimately disappointed me the most. Easily the worst of M. Night's canon. I was really disappointed that Howard would agree to star in such a horrible film. I honestly couldn't finish The Lady in the Water. It was the first movie of Shyamalan's to truly fail at the box office, only netting $44 million domestically despite a $75 million budget. Shyamalan had enjoyed a budget around that size since his breakout hit, but the Lady fiasco knocked him down peg, and this summer's the Happening was made for $57 million.
Now for the main event. The Happening is a meticulously structured paranoia thiller, with impressive notes of cringe-inducing horror, and mild comedic beats. The movie is really just meat and potatoes, which some will slam as over simplified, but to me is merely concise and effective.
The movie opens with the scores of people in Central Park suddenly stopping what they are doing, and deciding to end their own lives by whatever means they can. The news outlets in the film identify that toxin was introduced that flips the inhibitor in the brain that controls our human predication for self preservation. The toxin is suggested as a terrorist attack, leading those in major cities to evacuate. This is no "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" rip-off. Those exposed to the toxin are only a threat to one person: themselves. An enemy you can't see or defend against is nothing new, but one who turns you on yourself is a fresh take for sure.
The plot then follows race of a few people to avoid this toxin as best they can. The two leads are a recently married couple, Elliott and Alma. Elliot (Wahlberg) is a high school science teacher, a hopeless romantic, who may have married Alma (Deschanel) hastily. Also in their group is Elliott's co-worker Julian (Leguizamo) and his young daughter Jess (Ashlyn Sanchez). Julian leaves Jess with Alma and Elliott to go after his wife, who had made her way to a different town than their group.
It becomes based on the patterns of the toxin's release, that terrorists aren't behind the toxin, but that plant's are the source of the toxin. The first instances occurred in parks, and they are only occurring in the northeast United States, where there is the highest concentration of nuclear power plants. Thus this M, Night twist seems to have a very political theme: Human beings are polluting their planet to such a degree that plants have evolved in response and are sic-ing humans on themselves to even the playing field. It is suggested that the plants' are triggered by groups of people, prompting the survivors to split into smaller and smaller groups.
This twist is partial reversal on the twist from Signs, but for better effect. Our planet is covered with flora, and therefore, if plants were ever a danger to us, how could we escape their wrath. Mind you this a more elegant version that killer plants. The film does not contain.garish man-eating venus flytraps.
The secondary motivation that triggers the plants to release the toxin, is even more subtle and subject to much debate. It appears that anger and/ or hate is also a catalyst for the toxin's release. A small group arguing over who's in charge prompts a release, and an lone angry woman does as well. Towards the end of the film the remaining three leads: Elliot, Alma, and Jess find themselves separated in what they term to be the end of their lives. Due to their intense love for each other, which was confirmed and strengthened in their flight from this epidemic, they choose to face danger head on, to be together in their final moments. It is at this moment that the episode ends. One can be led to believe that they were simply fortunate that it ended, or one could argue that their love actually prompted these plants to "stand down." These three had abandoned their fear of death, dismantling the efficacy of the plant's toxin.
Thus the strategy of dispersing this toxin reveals its true genius. Facing an unidentifiable and seemingly inescapable foe, those in the line of fire would be hard pressed to feel anything but fear and despair, and even anger at their own helplessness. And they therefore will forever be the best targets.
Peeling back these layers of narrative construction like an onion, further reinforce my appreciation for this film. The acting was fair to middling. However scenes like one where Elliott pleads with a potted plant to not kill him only to find out the plant was plastic redeem the weaker ones.
James Newton Howard's score is Oscar-worthy, as is generally the case.
Overall my faith in M. Night Shyamalan is restored for the time being. He's prone to a make a misstep or two, so a film of this caliber doesn't not completely absolve him for Lady in the Water, but he's certainly out of the dog house. The film is not a homerun, but is most certainly a triple, which are generally harder to come by.
When I came to, I was surrounded by annoyed medical professionals who calmly told me to lay back, try to relax, and to tell them what I had drank that night. My vision was blurred, my motor skills weren't all there, and my chest was on fire. Slowly I realized I had passed out for the umpteenth time due to drinking, and this time I had actually been taken to the hospital.
It was Homecoming my senior year at college. My fraternity made a little formal date party of the event, and I being of supreme wisdom had declined to bring a date. The idea of coat-and-tie tailgating seems absurd to me five years later, mainly because I associate tailgating with less than formal pursuits like shotgunning beers and messy barbeque finger foods. However our fraternity's alumni had put together a nice little spread under our tent, with jambalaya and several different bottles of whiskey. Little did I know that at the end of the evening I would be waking up in the second-worst place to wake up following a drinking stupor.
My most impressive blackout feat to this point in time had been our semi-formal party my sophmore year, when I had awakened in the bushes across the street from the New Orleans Convention Center at 7 in the morning, just next to the off ramp of Interstate 10. I was wearing my brown suit (which blended into the mulch I was laying in). I had however lost my tie, and one of my shoes. I cabbed it back to campus (amazingly I still had my wallet). The cab-driver mentioned that I was missing a shoe, and I agreed with him quietly, and we finished the ride in silence. That evening we had a fraternity meeting, and no one could piece together what happened to me. It would be the first of many times over the next three years that I would black out, and simply wander away at night.
In rampant denial of my alcoholism, I noted that my date to that night's function, had left very early in the night to take care of a friend of hers. With her gone I ceased to curtail my drinking to a reasonable level, and swiftly imbibed myself into a bush. If in fact the lack of a date catalyzed my drinking, it did not bode well for me two years later at homecoming when I was dateless for the whole event, and wearing that same "lucky" brown suit.
At homecoming senior year, I did not see one actual football play executed. I stayed outside the stadium for both halves, only venturing in for the halftime show to see the featured act Outkast. Filming an MTV special, they performed their latest hit Hey Ya! twice in a row, much to the chagrin of the full stadium standing in a light, drizzling rain. I focused on counting bottles that day instead of downs. I progressed throughout the day from Makers Mark, to Jack Daniels, to my old standby Jim Beam. We simply kept finishing the bottles so I had to move on to what I gauged was the next best thing.
I remember heading from homecoming to a bar following the game. We had some food out, and a keg tapped there was laughing and dancing ... This is where the memories end. When I came to, my "lucky" brown suit was still on me. However the hospital staff had cut right sleeve of the coat lengthwise to my shoulder, to put in my IV and get me rehydrated. I distinctly remember how curtly I was being admonished by one nurse in particular, as if to say "Christ, why do I have to babysit these drunk college kids?"
Oh and reason my chest burned was because I had been given a sternum rub to determine how deep my alcohol coma was. I had not come to as a some doctors knuckles had scraped up and down my sternum, prompting the destruction of my favorite suit coat and button-down shirt.
Once again, none of my fraternity brothers had any idea that I was in the hospital. My brother happened to be in town with a friend from high school, and he called my cell phone, and was given the story when a nurse picked up on my end. He came and picked me up at the hospital and left me in my own bed with a bottle of Gatorade.
I reflect on this story now, because I realize that waking up in the hospital is probably the next to worst place to wake up, and I really hope I never experience the first. In my estimation the worst place to wake up would in fact be jail. A good friend of mine recently told me that
...
I've been tossing this story around recently because an acquaintance of mine recently found himself arrested, and in that worst place, for the second time. I had seen him just prior to an incident which ultimately led to him ending up in jail again.
A good friend of mine who cares deeply for this person went out on the line for this unlucky individual, securing his bail through a bail bondsman. I don't believe he's gotten much support from those close to him for this decision.
My friend cares deeply for this individual, and feels that he doesn't deserve to stay in jail while he waits for his court date. At the advice of his lawyer he also believes that the judge will be more likely to be lenient should the individual show up in civilian clothes rather than an orange jumpsuit.
I've still not decided how I feel overall about the situation. I did not know the individual in question well enough to justify securing his bail as my friend did. I know many friends who I would jump to help in a time of need, and similarly those who would come to my aid. What if I should I do something to one day warrant ending up in jail? So my friends and/or family come to my rescue. What if I follow up that kindness, and end up in jail again? At what point do they stop trying to rescue me?
I hope that things iron out as this situation unfolds. I am simply a spectator to this contest. I can only wish for the best; I can't do anything to influence the outcome.
The board is set...the pieces are moving. I can only pray this ends well.
Its a harrowing thought that these days, an exciting news story for me involves a town government possibly talking about things they shouldn't in closed session: things like grant applications. When did these things begin to pique my interest?
I tried to explain why I was finally handed something interesting to write about to my friends last weekend. As I laid out the details, I could see my friends' eyes glaze over: they had mentally checked out. They were no longer listening, but merely waiting for me to stop talking. One of them then compared me to the nameless, faceless teachers in a Peanuts cartoon, whose verbal output was a consistently unintelligible noise (while the noise is instantly recognizable when spoken, I find it hard to replicate in written words).
How do I explain that what I was assigned to write about was interesting? I tend to dismiss most of what I right in my summations of these torturous board of commissioners meetings as trivial and most certainly yawn-inducing. Endless people searching for exceptions to zoning ordinances so they can save $5,000 less on their million dollar construction project. Occasionally though the boards must talk about private matters, such as personnel issues or lawsuits, so they go into closed session. The public cannot know what goes on in closed session, until the matters discussed are no longer sensitive, at which point the closed session minutes are released.
Another time when closed session is needed is when the town is considering purchasing property. They can discuss the matter in closed session in order to protect their bid on the property. However the decision to use any municipal funds cannot be made in closed session; the public should know how the money is always being spent.
So recently we receive a press release from the state agency that has just approved a grant for one of our local governments. Further research into corresponding project reveals that it is contingent upon another sizable grant as well as matching funds from that government. Funny how that town had never to this point mentioned this project in their board meetings, despite having given approval for these grant applications.
So then the town announced support of the second grant recently, and suddenly the dollar amounts involved in the project were different (only four days later). The property owner was now asking for less than before, therefore the second grant would be for significantly less, and now the entire project could be funded without the town providing additional funds. Funny how that works.
This park project that should now be funded, should benefit the community. Thus the dilemma is: if a governing body conspires to do something away from the public eye, is it justified if the end result is beneficial? Who decided if the ultimate goal was beneficial or not?
I'm reminded of a similar ethics argument existing in the movie Gone Baby Gone. Should one who is charged with upholding the law, knowingly break the law to do what they think is right?
I don't tend to like politics, but seeing as I am technically the government reporter at this newspaper at which I work, I figure it was only a matter of time before I started rolling around in these sorts of issues. I can't promise I won't blog about politics in the future, but I sure hope my next political-themed rant is a long way off.
How could I ever have doubted them? My anticipation level for the fourth (and long overdue) installment of the Indiana Jones franchise has risen and fallen like the stock market. There was the countless rewrites with several big name, proven screenwriters taking there shot at Indy 4, and being shot down by Lucas in particular. How could he turn away Oscar nominees like M. Night and Darabont. Has he not seen the Sixth Sense or Shawshank? Darabont was a writer for the Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, but noooooo. So they settled finally on David "Spidey" Koepp (shiver)
Then there was the issue about the principals, namely Harrison "I don't care if I'm sixty-something I'm still going to wear an earring" Ford and Jones Senior himself the now-retired Sean Connery. Connery single-handedly saved the franchise in 1989 in Last Crusade, despite Spielberg moll Kate Capshaw's best efforts in Temple of Doom as the worst female action lead ever. But the news that he would not return for this summer's blockbuster, put the Jones crew on shaky ground. And could Ford, who has been without a hit since Air Force One, still don the fedora and crack the whip well enough?
But now for the three bits of good news I heard prior to actually watching the film. They cast Shia LaBeouf as Indiana the Third, the return of Marion Ravenwood, and the movie features aliens. At least the first and last of the these bits of news were met with some trepidation (some it my own).
Shia, lets face it, is everywhere these days. He apparently can't turn down any blockbuster script he's offered, and really why should he. An Emmy-winning child actor, he broke into the business in 2003 with a decent lead turn in a children's movie success Holes, took supporting roles in summer blockbusters for the next three years in hits (and misses) like I Robot, Constantine, and Charlie's Angels Full Throttle, and staked himself to some indie cred with an impressive performance in 2006 Sundance sensation A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints.
Then 2007 became the year of Shia as he carried a Hitchcockremake to March success, then became the envy of every red-blooded malehttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif in America as he became friends with Optimus Prime, and locked lips with Megan Fox in Transformers. Many people I think viewed his casting in Jones 4 to be a cheap ploy towards a younger audience, but I'm inclined to believe otherwise. I think this kid can act.
Then was the return of Karen Allen. Marion Ravenwood is one of the key points to my argument that Raiders of the Lost Ark is one of the greatest movies ever made. She was as balanced as a female character could be while still occupying that shoe-horned role of damsel in distress. She runs a bar, can drink any man under the table, and is very handy in a fight. Yet she goes gooey in Jones' hands, and becomes the girl that needs rescuing. I heard an inkling that Willie Scott would also cross paths with Indy in this film, but thank god someone put a kibosh on that. In fact, in the film when Marion and Indy fight, he notes that no woman he has been with since her had measured up. This was the ultimate slap in the face to Temple of Doom in my eyes, which of course is well-deserved. Crusade escapes harm from this though as Dr. Schneider turned out to be a villain.
And then of course there is the presence of aliens within the movies plot. My first thought was NO EFFING WAY. Indiana Jones deals with Mysticism, Nazi's, impossible-to-please parents. But then I realized that paring I should have considered was that this was Steve Spielberg yet again tackling alien encounters. As far as movies about aliens go, the man has absolutely knocked it out the park on two outta three tries, and according to Meatloaf "that ain't bad." (Plus I can ignore WOTW due to my hatred of Tom Cruise and the fact that its a remake)
My Cruise-loathing aside...this movie had me at hello. They opened with the original Paramount logo screen that dissolves into the movie's opening shot...just like each of the previous Jones movie's have done. The opening scene blares Elvis's Hound Dog over joyriding teens entrenching the movie in the 50's, and of course toys with its viewers with the reveal of your hero as he's pulled from the trunk of the car, first with the appearance of "The Hat," then the silhouette, and then of course Jones' annoyed snarl. As I viewed Ford at that moment I was drawn back to one of Jones' most memorable lines from the original film: "Its not the years honey, its the mileage." This would become this films mantra, as they fought every instinct along the way to modernize this film and made it just like the Jones movies of old.
Cate Blanchett does of course brilliant work as KGB psychic Irina Spalko, but I felt her casting was a bit wrong. I think that character would have been better suited to have been played by someone less high profile. Substituting the KGB as Jones' foil for the Nazis worked very well however.
But mainly this movie works because of homage and tradition. The introduction of LaBeouf's Mutt Williams is so steeped in movie lore its ridiculous. He appears on a motorcycle costumed almost to a T, just like Marlon Brando in A Wild One. Throw in a dash of Rebel Without a Cause, and stir in a pinch of the Outsiders, and voila there's Mutt. There was the Wilhelm scream featured for the umpteenth time in the library. There was even a rare homage reversal of sorts. The scene which features swarms of ginormous ants seemed to be taken directly from the man-eating scarabs from The Mummy...which I always so as a poor mans Indiana Jones movie anyway. And of course you can't have Harrison Ford ever deliver the line, "I have a bad feeling about this," without humming the Star Wars theme.
But the real homages are to the previous Jones movies. There's the blink-and-you'll-miss-it reappearance of the Ark of the Covenant in the opening hangar scene, and the return of the redline traveling via-map movie device. But I broke into a broad grin, when Jones reflected in his study on the photographs of Henry Jones Jr. and Marcus Brody. Both important cogs in the previous film they were justly acknowledged and remembered. The only person missing was John Rhys Davies's Salah, who I would like to have seen if only for a moment.
The movie worked, because it was an Indiana Jones movie through and through. Jones punched drivers out of vehicles to take the wheel himself. He was constantly kidnapped and forced to lead his enemy to their common goal (because they couldn't do it without him). He saw everything as a riddle, and of course solved them all. And he saw the bigger picture. While all those around him sought treasure and power, Jones, the perennially archaeologist sought to prove the legends he grew up believing, For him it was always about the hunt, and not the prize.
And of course the movie closes on a really well done scene. The wind blows the fedora at Shia's feet, and he picks it up to put it on his own head, only to have it snatched by its rightful owner. The scene encapsulates the film so well. Ford, Spielberg, and Lucas are deftly saying, "We've still got it, and this ain't the end for the ole Jones boys." These fellas are going to clean up with this film, and damn it they deserve it.
So I feel like I'm channeling Beck these days...Vintage Beck circa '94. The first song off the Mellow Gold album kinda encapsulates what I'm feeling right now.
And this doesn't relate to our family's cat Tick dying on Friday night. Tick had been in our family for 17 years, but that number can be misleading when referring to our emotional connection to this cat. Tick never took very well to house training so she quickly became the black sheep of our stable of animals. Losing Tick hurts a little bit, but not a great deal. Thank you to y'all who have sent your online condolences. I appreciate it. Sadly though it is a whole other ball of wax that has got me buried in my web of neuroses at the moment.
In only a few words, I had something I wanted at arms reach, and I apparently did everything in my power to let it slip through my fingers. I'm left with this horrible aftertaste in my mouth, because I really don't know what in god's name I did wrong.
I shouldn't be surprised. I've spent most of my life hiding from this sort of disappointment, by never putting myself out there. So I finally decided I would take that plunge, and I got WAY ahead of myself. And to say I crashed and burned would be putting it lightly.
Maybe good things aren't meant for me at this point in time. That doesn't mean I have to stop hoping for them, but my cynical nature will certainly do everything in its power to keep that from happening.
I guess the bright side would be I gained two friends out of the whole situation. I hope that benefit can help me stay positive about it all. This blog will undoubtedly serve as my closure for the whole mess (and it seems that will be the only way I will get it.
Seeing as the though I still keep abreast of the goings on in the poker community (despite eschewing it these last several months for a menial newspaper job) I feel compelled to comment on the most recent dramabomb dropped by Harrahs Entertainment and ESPN. Apparently this year at the World Series of Poker Main Event, once the final table of nine is determined (which should happen around mid-July), play will stop, and those nine will be brought back in early November to play out the remainder of the world's biggest poker tournament at an "almost-live broadcast."
I had heard whispers of this development during my intermittent poker forum surfing over the course of the last month, but I summarily dismissed the idea as too radical, even for the money-hungry exec's in charge. Even those who supported the idea from the beginning never believed in a million years that the powers that be would have the sac to make this radical change. We shouldn't really be surprised though.
The only two years I've had the opportunity to get an inside look at the vaulted World Series of Poker (as a member of the much maligned "poker media;" not only the lowest of the low, but I worked for Card Player Media; which according to many of the smaller fish as Public Enemy #1) it was run entirely at the Rio, completely under the Harrah's Entertainment banner. I don't know a WSOP w/o the huge gaudy sponsors. What did one do when their weren't nubile young women in Milwaukee's Best Light gear, roaming around trying to give you free (and worthless) poker chips? Was the all-in moment less exciting when it wasn't the Degree All-In moment.
What I'm getting at is simply, what was the outcry when this poker event became ridiculously commercialized at the hand of NASCAR guru Jeffery Pollack, WSOP commish for the last three years?
Wow....as I turn the idea over in my head more....it actually makes sense. Yikes.
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Since the invention of the lipstick pocket cam, the poker boom has enjoyed a huge rollercoaster ride. The best possible scenario happened in 2003. An unknown internet player, outlasted the field of 839 entrants to take down the $3 million 1st prize. He busted up pro after pro, and found the good fortune to outlast a truly shark-invested final table. But really it was all about his name baby. And as Mike "The Mouth" Matusow would say every day at the WSOP '07 the pros mantra became:
"God bless Chris Moneymaker"
He turned a $40 satellite into about $1.5 million, or at least thats what ESPN wanted you to believe The endless ESPN reruns, neglect to mention how he was so confident he would get smoked that he nearly sold off his entry after he won, only to have someone buy up 50% of his action. (Raymer had backers in 2004 as well. Strange how in 2005, the winner plopped down the full $10k entry, but the bigger story seemed to be runner-up Steve Dannenman, who almost gets less time on screen than his "business partner" who gets half his winnings.)
The win for Moneymaker itself was a blessing and a curse. He scored a huge sponsorship deal from Pokerstars, but also had his marriage collapse. All involved with poker could care less. The Maine Event swelled to huge proportions over the next three years. In 2006, Jamie Gold won four times what Moneymaker did (although his money-appropriate name only has half the media shine) besting over 8,000 players. They were predicting over 10,000 for 2007, but then karma slapped the poker community with a nasty one-two combo.
Gold was taken to court when he balked at having to fork over half his winnings to a man who he promised 50% of his action in exchange for that guy finding a couple of "celebrity's (see also.. two-thirds of the dynamo that headlined the critically acclaimed Without a Paddle) to wear the logo of Gold's backing poker site. Now the string of three charismatic main-event-champion-poker ambassadors was gone (Only one of the those last three was really perfect; Moneymaker has very few results to back up his win and "Salty Joe" Hachem was great at the marketing, but is a Mr. Hyde at the tables; he's downright nasty, only coming second to Hellmuth in the whining category)
And to kick the poker community while they're down, The UIGEA made it near impossible for poker players to deposit money on poker sites, shutting down the main resource for Joe-Schmo to enter the tournament.
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So now the execs need a new way to market their television coverage. And by golly they've found it.
So when play is halted at the WSOP this year, each of the final 9 players will be awarded ninth place money. The remaining prize money will be placed in an interest-bearing account, which will simply add to the remaining prizepool.
The final table-ists will also now have months to plan their strategy for the big dance. This will include players paying for coaching, and discussing their opponent's play ad nauseam.
This means better play. This means I might actually know something about the final tablists, which means I can give a hoot if one of them wins.
Editor's note: This maybe the last poker related tidbit I post for a while...the end of bar league poker was none too kind to me. A freeroll for a TV is a daunting task, but I thought I had a better chance of winning then most. However, I saw my solid play wasted when I risked my tournament life for the first time when we were 4-handed, only to be torn a new one by the poker gods who decided the that the a guy willing to risk 90 percent of his chips on a flush draw should be rewarded. Nevermind that I had flopped a set and was 65 percent to win when the money went in. Oh well, thats poker.
Poring over my DVD collection the other day, my eyes fell on an old childhood favorite, The Last Starfighter. I couldn't resist, so I popped in for what was probably my tenth overall lifetime viewing, but the first viewing in many years. As I waited for the old Universal DVD trailer to finish immediately the in-movie video game mantra sprang into my head:
"Greetings Starfighter, You have been recruited by the Star League to defend The Frontier, against Xur and the Kodan Armada"
Those words are emblazoned in my brain just like the Pledge of Allegiance. I couldn't wait to revisit the Starlite, Starbrite trailer park, or travel with Centauri to Rylos where he could put me in my very own Gunstar spaceship.
Oh wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. This forgotten piece of science fiction gold, was released in 1984. It was directed by Nick Castle, and starred Lance Guest and the late Robert Preston (in his final film role). This film's claim to sci-fi fame is that it was one of the first films (if not the first) to heavily feature CGI (computer-generated imagery) for its special effects. Star Wars used some in a practical sense, but to the scale of Starfighter or Tron. But I didn't see Tron until college, and besides I was deeply invested in the Starfighter universe.
It is common for any young child to place himself firmly into an engaging movie's canon. But this movie trumped them all for me. I mean come on the male lead's name is Alex Rogan. Yeah thats right, the main reason I loved this movie at all is because I shared the same first name with the main character. That sounds very flimsy, but I couldn't have been older than five when we saw the movie. And besides I have an older brother named Luke, who had THE effing Jedi Knight to share a first name with. Now I've never asked him if he ever grew tired of people joking that they "are his father" or reminding him to "use the force," but if he identified with that Tatooine-farmer-turned-intergalactic-hero even one iota as much as I hero-worshipped Alex Rogan, then I might be his best man, dressed as Boba Fett, at this Star Wars-themed wedding at the Skywalker ranch.
There are three things about this movie that I will always geek out about: the idea of the "Beta" unit, Centauri the alien's removable face, and a car that turns into a spaceship.
When Alex meets Centauri, he shakes hands with Beta in the back-seat, who then becomes a carbon copy of Alex to take his place as he's off the pilot his Gunstar. What sets this film light years ahead of other sci-fi films is the struggles of this robot to assimilate into a tumbleweed trailer park. When I was younger, the scene when he takes off his own head to adjust his ear blew my mind... Funny that watching it now I recognize that there's simply a hole in the desk, for Guest to stick his head out of.
The comic relief provided by Beta is terrific. The biggest thing he can't figure out is how to interact with Alex's girlfriend Maggie (played by Catherine Mary Stewart, before her turn in Weekend at Bernie's). All the couples go up to Silver Lake to fool around, and he's as clueless as a virgin on prom night. So uses his super-hearing to copycat what the lothario Blake says to his girl. Hilarity ensues. Robots are always funny; Just look at Threepio and R-2.
PG movie.... Alien that removes his human-face to clean it enroute to Space city... red glowing eyes... priceless. Nuff said.
And of course there's Centauri's space car. A full year before Doc Brown makes the Delorean hip again in Back to the Future, Robert Preston shows up with a car with wing doors himself. And get this... its actually a spaceship. When the brake lights peeled back to reveal the rockets beneath, I was hooked. Then again I was five or so, so it didn't take much.
As the movie wraps up, I've found that it doesn't hold up well. Thats not to say that I don't still enjoy it, but that now having studied film off-and-on, I see all of the terrible holes in the movie. The way it still works is in reminding me how simple my taste in movies used to be. I was hooked in to this almost solely by the main character's name. And now I'm a diehard sci-fi fan. Imagine how I would have turned out if I had seen A Clockwork Orange instead?
I have seen full frontal male nudity in a shocking number of films recently, and the man whose name seems to always be lurking behind the scenes is the comedy it-man Judd Apatow.
His latest headline-grabbing penis flash occurs at two pivotal moments in the new disaster comedy Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The lead actor (Jason Segel, who also wrote the film) bares all his manly bits when the girlfriend (the titular character played by Kristen "don't call me Veronica" Bell) breaks up with him, and he drops his bath towel in horror.
This was only the first of many cringe-worthy moments throughout the movie. Normally these moments aren't so bad. I revel this type of brash humor, but in this case I was seated only one row up from a row filled almost entirely with silver-haired grandma-types. Are they supposed to be laughing at the same sex jokes aimed at my demographic? And did they just get that joke that Jonah Hill made about "going from 6 to midnight"? I suppose my awkward-o-meter would only have been ratcheted up higher, by having obviously underage girls occupying the row in front of me. Nonetheless I was compelled to keep a few sarcastic remarks to myself in deference to the Golden Girls. And of course the film was laugh-out-loud funny.
But I digress....back to the money shot(s)...
The intial nudity scene works on several different comedic levels. Just prior to Sarah dropping her bomb, Peter (Segel), tries to entice her by opening his towel and shaking his hips in manner which slaps his manhood against each thigh. This of course is inferred as this action occurs below the framed shot, treating the viewer to the rhythmic "thwack-thwack-thwack." The noise elicits uncomfortable chuckles, and puts the viewer on edge. Then of course, Sarah lays it out, and in the next shot Segel is shown letting it all hang out (gasp!) the one-two comedic punch is doubly effective. The bookend to the male nudity comes at the end of the film, when a new romantic interest walks in Peter backstage changing, instantly diffusing was to be an immensely intense conversation. What a character arc.
This is remarkable on many levels. First that Segel wrote this scene essentially for himself. In interviews Segel maintains that this "naked break-up" actually happened to him, and he actually wanted the girl to hurry things up so he could get to writing the incident down, because it was so funny. Segel is also not the world's most in shape man, and I'd wager that his slightly doughy physique ramps up the comedy further.
And second because this is not the first bit of male nudity in a film in which Apatow is involved. And the progression suggests that it will become not only a regular element in his films, but a constantly evolving element.
I was first introduced to Apatow's universe with his second ill-fated teenage TV comedy "Undeclared." It was here I met two of his regulars who at that time hadn't become the names they are now: Seth Rogen and Segel. It debuted in 2001, and was a comedy about college life. I was in college so presto! I kinda dug it.
For some reason I missed his cult-hit first show "Freaks and Geeks" until last year when I finally was able to Netflix it and instantly fall in love. An IMDB search would reveal that I enjoyed some early Apatow even before "Undeclared" finding out that he was a co-writer on the Disney channel staple Heavyweights. Apatow finally attached himself to a bankable comedy talent in 2004. He jumped on the Will Ferrell juggernaut when Ferrell was hot off of breakout successes in Elf and Old School. He produced Ferrell's Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, and then began his world takeover with feature directorial debut The 40-Year-Old Virgin, launching his career and Steve Carell's simultaneously.
Apparently about this time he went to Segel who had hardly worked since "Freaks and Geeks" and said," Hey I can make movies now, do you have anything?" (or in the words of Ron Burgundy, "I'm kind of a big deal"), and so Segel got his first script and male lead in one fell swoop. Between now and then, he gave his buddy Rogen his first male lead in Knocked Up, produced Rogen's first three screenplays Superbad, Drillbit Taylor, and this summer's Pineapple Express. He also produced Ferell's biggest hit, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
Apatow's brand of humor has firmly brought back the concept of the R-rated comedy to American movies. Its remarkable to me how he's gathered such a wide audience with his brand of sexually-frank humor, and teenage mentality. I've loved Kevin Smith's films for so long, but recognize how his core audience is markedly smaller than Apatow's. Apatow has slowly pushed his dick jokes to the point where he now actively utilizes frontal male nudity shots.
The first instance was in his 2007 produced comedy Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, the first starring vehicle for the underrated John C. Reilly. Early in that film Cox (Reilly) has a serious conversation with his wife on the phone in the aftermath of an orgy, and at two points during this conversation one of his roadies approaches him to ask him fairly mundane questions. The only thing is the roadie is naked with his junk at eye-level, yet Cox is completely unfazed by this, which punctuates the hilarity.
Now Apatow is far from perfect. I still refuse to see Drillbit Taylor and he apparently co-wrote the latest Adam Sandler monstrosity Don't Mess With the Zohan that comes out this summer. But the R-rated comedy is surely back. Case and point will be this Friday's stoner sequel Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay (Apparently the boys will be attending a "bottomless" party, and there will be some reference to an old guy's nether region "looking like Osama Bin Laden's beard").
Apparently Apatow has spoken; to have a successful comedy, one of your boys is going to have to drop trou.
I've been thinking about starting a blog of my own for some time now. I suppose now I will have to curtail my weekly quotient of blog-surfing. But maybe that's a good thing.
Don't suspect I'll settle on a specific theme for quite some time. I can certainly guarantee plenty of discussion about movies. Will probably mention baseball from time to time. And there will possibly be some talk of poker as well. Other various topics as well as they arise
For now....I'm going to cheat and repost my latest Myspace blog.
Originally posted yesterday morning
title: something's missing
I was loving life; on cruise control for the last few months, and now the train's derailed. Something's missing...I think I need a new hobby
(edit. this blog ended up being ALOT longer than I thought...I apologize in advance)
I'd like to kid myself and say that what I really need is a hobby because what I'm really scared to admit is that I really need is a change of venue.
Growing up on the Outer Banks, I've become attuned to the laid back lifestyle. But I think I've misapplied it to my own life. Instead of simply being laid back, what I've become is just flat-out lazy. I've never been surfing despite having lived here for nearly all my life. Part of that was my tendency to do my best impersonation of a radish after any prolonged sun exposure. That and I wasn't that athletic growing up. I suppose I hold some sort of misguided grudge against learning how to surf now. Might be quite like when I finally went skiing for the first time when I was 20. Being the oldest in the beginner's class was quite embarrassing.
So the reason I feel I need a new hobby now is due to my abundance of free time, and energy. I naturally have a tendency to over-analyze whatever it is I have tuned my focus to. Leaving things open-ended just sort of eats at me constantly. I've given myself this free time, but I'm not doing anything constructive.
I find myself these days needing to right a capsized ship, but unwilling do it quickly. Coming off my whirlwind stint on the Fun Ship Ecstasy. I found myself in a small financial hole. My following job in Las Vegas would have all but erased the hole, if I hadn't practiced bad game selection and lost a significant portion of my pay. So I find myself at home, needing to make money. But following my unceremonious dismissal from the breakfast shift at a shiteous 24-hour cafe in a second rate casino, I had little desire to go back to waiting tables (even though I figured it might be the easiest way to get back to black. I was determined to log some job experience to diversify my paltry resume. So now I work at the paper. My first 9-5 job.
My last blog notwithstanding, I can usually leave my thoughts on work, at work. So that gives me 6-7 hours per day, and many more on the weekend for myself. My three favorite things: poker, movies, and baseball just aren't doing the trick. I was consumed for the first three months of this year by a new diet. The diet itself and my adherence to it was very passive aggressive. It wasn't the most strict of diets, but I stuck to the parameters very closely. I lost a small amount of weight each week, and have finally plateau-ed for the last 3 weeks (a good 30 lighter than when I started).
Another solid I did myself with the diet, was cutting alcohol out altogether. Now that I've reached my target weight, I've slowly let certain concessions back in, but I've come to the realization that I've had a significantly destructive relationship with alcohol throughout the years. My problems pale in comparison to those of many others, but I fully recognize that I have at times self-medicated with a blackout. I see how often I would go out intending to drink to excess. I've discussed these revelations, and many people have told me how great it is that I can recognize these things. I think thats a crock. It doesn't take the feelings away. I've felt genuine frustration in the past couple of nights, and heard myself say inwardly, "I need a drink" for the first time in months.
So we come back to why I need a new hobby. I need something therapeutic. Something simple. Something mindless. I'm considering knitting.
Being that I'm slowly chipping away at at debt, I can't really afford to play poker. I've been entrenched in free bar-league poker since September. After the first 'season' I had told myself that I didn't want to play as often as I did in the winter. And yet I find myself there five nights out of the week. I pray regularly for something worthwhile to present itself each week night, to give me an excuse not to go. I occasionally play micro-stakes online, but that's ultimately more stress-inducing than stress relieving.
I've hit a rough patch the last few weeks with movies. I now juggle three different sources for movies: the theater, netflix, and the new bane of my existence = redbox.
The summer season for movies is almost upon us. My only foible now is waiting to see movies that I want to see. Ever since way back, I've never had a problem going to the theater by myself. The movies never made sense to me as a group activity. Particularly as a date they seem like a huge copout. You would take a girl to the movies with whom you have trouble finding things to talk about. In the past couple of months I've tried to go with different people to the movies. I guess it just sort of grates on me in a very self-involved way.
Netflix bothers me in patches. Occasionally I threre's a flick I want to watch that is the kind of movie that one needs to be in the proper frame of mind to watch. And sometimes that frame of mind just eludes you for an extended period of time. Case and point was Ang Lee's latest movie Lust, Caution. I held on to that one for nearly a month before finally struggling through it the other day. It didn't come close to my three-month "not-flixing" record (still held by the Seven Samurai; which I didn't watch). Caution Is a wartime, period piece with subtitles. And I can't watch it with anyone else because of its explicit content (if I were Kevin Smith I would refer to this as hardcore boning). Most of the time when I doze off the first time I watch a film I give it a second chance, but I just knew it might be another month before I gave it a chance again, so I wrapped it up. I've also found that since I've begun using redbox my netflix usage has slipped.
Redbox is fantastic. $1 a night, no clerk to ask if I want damage protection, online reservation. Because its so difficult to get new releases timely from Netflix, I find myself redboxing every "new movie tuesday." I've only had to keep three movies so far longer than the first night, and still is cheaper than going to the movie store (where I used to go for new releases). They actually enticed me back yesterday with a free rental, because I hadn't been in so long. The only problem with juggling these three sources of movies is that recently its made watching movies more like a chore for me. I would have never thought that was possible.
And baseball. My Braves are no longer nationally telecast (tear). They've had too many ridiculous injuries to their pitching staff already this year. Hopefully when I go to see them play the Mets in September everything is peachy keen. The most enjoyable part of my job has been covering local baseball. I few comments from some parents in the past couple of weeks, has polluted my serene baseball lake enough to bug me just a little bit. I'm driving all the way to Hatteras tomorrow night again (and if another parent makes some kind of comment about how we never cover their sports teams again; I will do one of three things: I'll laugh loudly in their face, hand them my most recent gas receipt, or slash their tires)
So I apologize to anyone I may have freaked out with my recent neuroses. I'm trying to mellow the fuck out. The things that I obsess over, pale in comparison to many things my friends are struggling/dealing with. Feel free if you are one of those people to ask me if I want some "cheese with that whine," and to shut my trap. I just need something to occupy my mind.
I've looking into picking up some random catering shifts with High Cotton. From the way I understand it, it is the simplest work, and the pay is in cash. I'm looking forward after this week to an uncomplicated tax return next year (while praying for my first refund in years). I think I've mentally blocked my recent tax check, because it was simply laughable that i didn't save nearly enough for it over the past year.
Feel free to leave a comment, or a leave similar rant if you like. We all need a good vent sometimes. I will also respond kindly to these rants in a pm if you don't feel like sharing them with my huge blog-audience (I think I had 11 views on my last one; though they could have been the same person 11 times--I don't really know how that counter works)
