...of The Order of Psionic Cerebrovillains and Mysterious Quasininjas, Local 546
(Click to blow up)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Secret Headquarters...
...of The Order of Psionic Cerebrovillains and Mysterious Quasininjas, Local 546
(Click to blow up)
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Scare Yourself Silly
I've never liked clowns, and I was terrified of them as a kid. Something about their unpredictable antics made (makes) me uneasy. The Evil Clown Generator is fun, though--maybe because I get to have some control over what happens on screen. You can click on buttons to change the jester's facial features, or just hold your cursor over eyes, nose or mouth to see a rapid-fire series of different evil/funny expressions.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Way I Feel
I finally figured out what to say to the Spanish-speaking woman who keeps calling me and asking for "Maria". I said "numero incorrecto", and instead of mumbling "uh? uh?" as she usually does when I say "wrong number" in English, she slammed down the phone. Felt pleased.... It's raining. Again. Feel exasperated.... We ate lunch at a soul food/health food restaurant in Newark today. Felt like "the white people," a little, but the food was good. I had the East Mississippi (fish) sandwich.... Watched Lost tonight. As usual, felt mystified - not a bad feeling, necessarily, if it's combined with entertainment. Just wondering how exploding a hydrogen bomb is going to solve anything....
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Word of the Day: octothorpe
octothorpe (n)
The name for the telephone keypad symbol #
"It was a slow day at the pet store, and as the birds screamed and the puppies squealed, Sebastion stared at the telephone keypad, hoping that Fatima would call. Pound symbol or octothorpe? Which was correct? In the end, did it matter?"
--Hector Del Rio, Under the Overpass
Someone has been calling me daily on my cell phone and asking, in Spanish, for "Maria." No habla español. How do you say "wrong number" in Spanish? "Numero incorrecto"? All I can think of to say is "no hay banda."
The name for the telephone keypad symbol #
"It was a slow day at the pet store, and as the birds screamed and the puppies squealed, Sebastion stared at the telephone keypad, hoping that Fatima would call. Pound symbol or octothorpe? Which was correct? In the end, did it matter?"
--Hector Del Rio, Under the Overpass
Someone has been calling me daily on my cell phone and asking, in Spanish, for "Maria." No habla español. How do you say "wrong number" in Spanish? "Numero incorrecto"? All I can think of to say is "no hay banda."
Monday, May 04, 2009
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Weekend Netflix Report: Youth Without Youth
Youth Without Youth (2007)
We like to think there is a sharp distinction between what happens in the "real world" and what happens inside our heads. Some of the most interesting (to me) films of the last few years have called this bedrock assumption into question. Youth Without Youth is one of them. Francis Ford Coppola explores Lynchian territory with this one, creating the same sort of unsolvable conundrums -- if we're to take what we see on the screen literally -- that Inland Empire does.
[SPOILERS AHEAD] An aged (70ish) Romanian linguistics professor (Tim Roth) is struck by lightning in 1938, and when he recovers, he's physically 30 years younger. As Europe falls, the Nazis take an ominous interest in him, and he's forced to change his identity and go into hiding. Over the next 30 years, he appears not to age a day. He pursues his linguistics studies but never manages to complete the book he's working on. He meets doppelgangers of himself and a woman he once loved, who died in 19th century. In the end, he returns to Romania, and suddenly it's 1938 again and he resumes his normal age. In the final scene, we see his wizened corpse lying in the street -- as a miniskirted woman (circa 1969) walks by.
No, it's not "all a dream" of a dying man, since many future historical events (Hiroshima, the moon landing) are referenced, accurately, along the way. Just as with Inland Empire, there's no way to make logical sense of the story. I tend to think that this sort of plot works better on the printed page (in a Philip K. Dick novel, for example) than in the photographic realism of the movie screen -- and this film is, in fact, based on a novella by Mircea Eliade. But I'm a sucker for movies that make me think. I'm not sorry I watched this, though I wouldn't recommend it as mere entertainment. Roth is fine. The direction and cinematography are up to Coppola standards, though a few of his choices seem overly mannered -- several shots are presented upside down (perhaps a clue that what we're seeing is a "reflection" of reality?)
We like to think there is a sharp distinction between what happens in the "real world" and what happens inside our heads. Some of the most interesting (to me) films of the last few years have called this bedrock assumption into question. Youth Without Youth is one of them. Francis Ford Coppola explores Lynchian territory with this one, creating the same sort of unsolvable conundrums -- if we're to take what we see on the screen literally -- that Inland Empire does.
[SPOILERS AHEAD] An aged (70ish) Romanian linguistics professor (Tim Roth) is struck by lightning in 1938, and when he recovers, he's physically 30 years younger. As Europe falls, the Nazis take an ominous interest in him, and he's forced to change his identity and go into hiding. Over the next 30 years, he appears not to age a day. He pursues his linguistics studies but never manages to complete the book he's working on. He meets doppelgangers of himself and a woman he once loved, who died in 19th century. In the end, he returns to Romania, and suddenly it's 1938 again and he resumes his normal age. In the final scene, we see his wizened corpse lying in the street -- as a miniskirted woman (circa 1969) walks by.
No, it's not "all a dream" of a dying man, since many future historical events (Hiroshima, the moon landing) are referenced, accurately, along the way. Just as with Inland Empire, there's no way to make logical sense of the story. I tend to think that this sort of plot works better on the printed page (in a Philip K. Dick novel, for example) than in the photographic realism of the movie screen -- and this film is, in fact, based on a novella by Mircea Eliade. But I'm a sucker for movies that make me think. I'm not sorry I watched this, though I wouldn't recommend it as mere entertainment. Roth is fine. The direction and cinematography are up to Coppola standards, though a few of his choices seem overly mannered -- several shots are presented upside down (perhaps a clue that what we're seeing is a "reflection" of reality?)
AlienNation
In the mood for some arty Flash animations and experimental music? Hurry on over to:
Modern Living
Creepy, alienated and existential, but with a twist of humor--this is some inspired lunacy.
Modern Living
Creepy, alienated and existential, but with a twist of humor--this is some inspired lunacy.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Much Ado about NOTHING
Today was dental hygiene day. While confined to a high-tech dentist's chair as the hygeniest roto-routered my mouth, I tried to decide where to rest my gaze. I didn't want to close my eyes because, based on past experience, that would cause her to ask "Are you okay?" every 30 seconds, apparently out of concern that I had fainted. And then I would have to mumble "uh huh" over and over while she pick-axed my teeth.
I didn't want to look into her eyes, which would be rude, or stare at her neck, which would be weird. So I looked, as I usually end up doing, at a large oil painting on my dentist's wall. It depicts white, puffy clouds against a cerulean sky and a single soaring seagull.
There's something ironic about forcing patients who can't move, who have fingers and power scrubbers in their mouths, to stare at a scene that calls to mind the phrase "free as a bird." Seagulls don't have teeth. They don't have to endure oral torture and then pay for it. They can fly. I wish I could fly.
I had plenty of time to think about what it would be like to be a seagull as I sat immobilized in that chair. I finally decided I wouldn't like it. I'd rather have aching gums than make detestably annoying "k'kaw" noises while I fight over garbage at the beach.
I didn't want to look into her eyes, which would be rude, or stare at her neck, which would be weird. So I looked, as I usually end up doing, at a large oil painting on my dentist's wall. It depicts white, puffy clouds against a cerulean sky and a single soaring seagull.
There's something ironic about forcing patients who can't move, who have fingers and power scrubbers in their mouths, to stare at a scene that calls to mind the phrase "free as a bird." Seagulls don't have teeth. They don't have to endure oral torture and then pay for it. They can fly. I wish I could fly.
I had plenty of time to think about what it would be like to be a seagull as I sat immobilized in that chair. I finally decided I wouldn't like it. I'd rather have aching gums than make detestably annoying "k'kaw" noises while I fight over garbage at the beach.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Random Acts of Poetry
The Seeds
The seeds multiply under leaves
while bystanders, with their truths,
study you carefully; you ignore them.
The light arranges a gallery of porcelain.
Ah vague
dove, the lover of confusion,
feathers, humble minds--
every second this
day has vibrated,
like a tumbleweed solstice.
Your fingers form a flower, the languid
willows praise your cheek.
They promise
to convey you to a radiance
inner and secret, a rich knowledge.
The seeds multiply under leaves
while bystanders, with their truths,
study you carefully; you ignore them.
The light arranges a gallery of porcelain.
Ah vague
dove, the lover of confusion,
feathers, humble minds--
every second this
day has vibrated,
like a tumbleweed solstice.
Your fingers form a flower, the languid
willows praise your cheek.
They promise
to convey you to a radiance
inner and secret, a rich knowledge.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Brain Dump
Swim like a fish out of water falls down and out of your mind your own business trip over your own feet first. Don't get your knickers in a twist and shout it from the rooftops of the city limits on executive compensation for lost luggage carousel horse feathers. Busier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest rules of the road to nowhere man making all his nowhere plans for nobody knows or cares about face the facts of life of the party pooper scooper. Shit happens to make sense of humor me and you can bet your bottom dollar beer night. OK kids?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Word of the Day: omphaloskepsis
omphaloskepsis (n)
Navel-gazing, or preoccupation with oneself.
"From the omphaloskepsis of my writing I have been dragged back into life."
--Brian Moore, An Answer from Limbo
Another good alternative name for this blog....
My little brother had an "outie" bellybutton as a kid, and I used to press it while saying "ding dong!" as if it was a doorbell. He would laugh.
Navel-gazing, or preoccupation with oneself.
"From the omphaloskepsis of my writing I have been dragged back into life."
--Brian Moore, An Answer from Limbo
Another good alternative name for this blog....
My little brother had an "outie" bellybutton as a kid, and I used to press it while saying "ding dong!" as if it was a doorbell. He would laugh.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Weekend Loew's Report
I saw two classic films at the Landmark Loew's Jersey Theatre here in the JC this weekend. Yeah, I could see these on DVD on my plasma, but watching these old chestnuts in CinemaScope on a 50-foot screen is quite a different experience.
The Lion in Winter (1968)
This is one of those 1960s highbrow films, the sort they don't make too often for theatrical release anymore; they're now considered BBC/PBS fare. Peter O'Toole and Katherine Hepburn, as medieval royals, make like George and Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, tearing each other apart with verbal barbs, even though they clearly love each other on some level. As King Henry II, he's obsessed with finding a successor among his three smarmy sons, and as his queen, she's a plotter who's so manipulative that Henry keeps her locked up in a tower for most of year, only letting her out on holidays. Hepburn won an Oscar for this, her third of four, and she's a "great actress." But the thing about Hepburn, it seems to me, is that she was always playing herself. How hard is that, really? Lucky for her, all the roles she was cast in called for a "Hepburn type" -- strong-willed, intelligent, witty. Hard not to admire that sort of character, but I wonder if she could have played an airhead or a maniac. Anyway, an excellent film of this type. The director, Anthony Harvey, was on hand and talked a bit about the making of the film before the show.
Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959)
The CinemaScope restoration print of this was gorgeous. I didn't see the recent remake, but I've heard that the original (as usual) is better. They don't make this kind of earnest, straight-forward, sci-fi-for-the-whole-family movie anymore; these days, they're full of wisecracks and stomach-churning digital eek-fex. This was an elaborate production for the time. Some of the effects, like using tiny lizards to portray dinosaurs, seem hokey now, but much of the film was shot in Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico, and that realism makes up for a lot of the unavoidable cheesiness. Good acting and art direction. Pat Boone? Well, he didn't ruin it, and James Mason and Arlene Dahl were quite effective. Dahl was present in person for this showing (she's still pretty glamorous), and talked about the film afterward. She said she hadn't seen it on the big screen in 50 years. I would call this film fantasy, by the way, not science fiction. You'd be crispy long before you reached the center of the Earth, I'm afraid, dear reader -- Geology 101.(Bonus points for the terrific Bernard Herrmann score.)
The Lion in Winter (1968)
This is one of those 1960s highbrow films, the sort they don't make too often for theatrical release anymore; they're now considered BBC/PBS fare. Peter O'Toole and Katherine Hepburn, as medieval royals, make like George and Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, tearing each other apart with verbal barbs, even though they clearly love each other on some level. As King Henry II, he's obsessed with finding a successor among his three smarmy sons, and as his queen, she's a plotter who's so manipulative that Henry keeps her locked up in a tower for most of year, only letting her out on holidays. Hepburn won an Oscar for this, her third of four, and she's a "great actress." But the thing about Hepburn, it seems to me, is that she was always playing herself. How hard is that, really? Lucky for her, all the roles she was cast in called for a "Hepburn type" -- strong-willed, intelligent, witty. Hard not to admire that sort of character, but I wonder if she could have played an airhead or a maniac. Anyway, an excellent film of this type. The director, Anthony Harvey, was on hand and talked a bit about the making of the film before the show.
Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959)
The CinemaScope restoration print of this was gorgeous. I didn't see the recent remake, but I've heard that the original (as usual) is better. They don't make this kind of earnest, straight-forward, sci-fi-for-the-whole-family movie anymore; these days, they're full of wisecracks and stomach-churning digital eek-fex. This was an elaborate production for the time. Some of the effects, like using tiny lizards to portray dinosaurs, seem hokey now, but much of the film was shot in Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico, and that realism makes up for a lot of the unavoidable cheesiness. Good acting and art direction. Pat Boone? Well, he didn't ruin it, and James Mason and Arlene Dahl were quite effective. Dahl was present in person for this showing (she's still pretty glamorous), and talked about the film afterward. She said she hadn't seen it on the big screen in 50 years. I would call this film fantasy, by the way, not science fiction. You'd be crispy long before you reached the center of the Earth, I'm afraid, dear reader -- Geology 101.(Bonus points for the terrific Bernard Herrmann score.)
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