Sunday, October 19, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Shame
After watching the Scary Maze videos on Youtube, I've been thinking a lot about shame. There are basically two types--the sudden, unwanted shame of realizing you've just been scared out of your britches (those blubbering kids on Youtube), and the shame that you CAN do something about, but against your better judgment you keep doing the thing that causes you to feel shame, like carrying a Dungeons & Dragons Player's Kit down Main Street in front of everyone.
Which I did just yesterday.
It all began when I promised two of my "clients" that I would sponsor their D & D club. I'm not kidding: up to and above THREE of them have been carrying around books about it and spend all of their free time designing characters. "I mean, we could be out there playing Halo or getting drunk, right, Dr.____?" "Uhh...yeah...I guess you are right." The Freaks and Geeks episode went through my mind, as well the faces of all those kids in the 80s who were both D & D champions and complete and utter outcasts. But I am a champion of outcasts, eight? See all those posts about trolls, etc.
Mind you, I haven't really played the game very much. I know a little about it, but in the 80s my thing was fantasy sc-fi novels. A Spell for Chameleon! Bio of a Space Tyrant! Caves of Steel! Why play a game when you can READ about it and imagine the action on the page? Of course, my clients saw it the opposite way: why read about it when you can write your own characters and action yourself?
So I avoided the shame all those years. Until now.
The first thing I did--stupidly--was walk into TL Bookstore on Main and request the "D & D section." Our good friend Cl__ LAUGHED IN MY FACE, as did B___y from behind the counter, and a customers. Cl___ said, and I directly quote, "Take your ass down to the comic book store. We don't carry that shit!"
They were still laughing as we proceeded to QC comics, the rain outside cold and disapproving : was this some sort of mission/test that my "character" had to endure? We pushed the door open, convinced that at least here we would not be met so ridiculed.
It was filled with the usual nerds, some hunched over giant white boxes, others cradling glossy stacks of the latest issues as if holding newborn babes. P tried to warn me: "Uhhhh....no, I don't think..." But I had already asked, loud and proud, if there was D & D here. The comic book guy barely looked up and merely thumbed in the direction of that gaming store down by Aldi Foods.
Fuck. It was at least three or four blocks down. But oh well. P's shoes were soaked because he only owns one pair and they have holes in them. I was feeling really sorry for putting him through this ordeal. We were also going to be late in getting Cl__, who was supposed to meet us at Amy's in a few minutes. But we had to complete the mission!
We trudged down the street, and by now I was really glad that I wasn't alone. As we crossed the threshold, I thought, "Either this is certain doom or it's going to be the most welcoming place in the whole city."
The first thing that hit me was the smell. The tiny little gaming store does not have enough fresh air inside of it to sustain twelve 15-year old boys' air supply, let alone thin out their massive B.O. These kids were loud and entirely oblivious. Some were playing video games, some were arguing over game details. One was ferociously insisting that "If that's the rule, that's NOT what they said in Chicago!" Obviously, some inveterate game expert at GameCon Chicago had implanted orthodoxy in his head and Mr. Clueless didn't see the light.
The owner was just as you'd expect: pale and unhealthy looking, yet strangely exuberant for being in his element. Unlike Comic Book Guy, this man loved his customers, and even allowed them to eat subs and drink soda. He had provided chairs to some of them, and, as it was closing time, let them store their bikes in the basement ("Do you think he calls it The Dungeon?" asked P). One of the kids was joking around with a friend about how he was going to fuck someone "with no condom and no KY." "No, he's not," quipped Cl___ later on, after we told her about them. "He's really...not."
The owner pointed out the D & D section and we cut through the B.O. with out invisible swords. There was just so much from which to choose! I at least knew that I wanted version 3.5, not the most recent one. But did I want the Monster Manual? Were there individual campaigns that I could buy for the "clients"? Some unrelated Lovecraft games caught my eye, as well as Moorcock's Elric series made into RPGs. What a world.
From a high shelf I brought down a dusty box that contianed a) the Player's Manual, b) all the dice (4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20-sided), and c) a dozen Abberations (mini figurines of varying origins) which could serve as visual references. Everybody knew that an actual green fire-breathing dragon wasn't necessary, and there was no board, moreover, so it was all about collection the total of 60, I think, and placing them--where? Where the fuck in my house am I going to put these things? Oh, I know: next to my Gummy Mummy, coyote skull, handcuffs, survival knives, gas mask, and Alien facehugger! You know, in the room that I keep closed when entertaining mixed company? Out of shame?
I didn't have cash. "Uh..." P scrambled for it, as the owner looked really impatient. As P counted out singles I asked the guy if I could come back tomorrow. "We're not open tomorrow." "Well, on Tuesday." "We're not open Tuesday." Oh--apparently Wed-Sun is when their beacon shines through the dark Buffalo night, as this is when teens have time off from school or are the most likely to skip. Patrick had only $29 and it was $35. "Just take it," the guy said. He didn't. Even. Ring. It. Up. He waved us out as if he didn't want the kids to see, or, more plausibly, didn't want to keep any record that this sort of thing ever existed in his store. As we walked back in the now pouring rain, it occurred to me that to be truly cool I wouldn't have bought the game there, I would have ordered a classic one from eBay or already owned it--I was of the age, after all. There was just no being cool today. Just shame. In the rain. The man hadn't offered a bag, either, and I think we know why.
"I guess I better hold the box on this side," I said, shifting it out of eyesight from the cars, each set of headlights coming out of the drizzle like... dragon eyes. The little pieces inside made a crunching noise as they hit the side of the cardboard. This sound echoed louder than I could ever have imagined. "Crunch. Shame. Crunch. Shame..." I asked P if we should put the box in his car before meeting Cl__ at the diner. He was nice enough to say no. And to continue walking next to a grown-ass man carrying a D & D set.
Which I did just yesterday.
It all began when I promised two of my "clients" that I would sponsor their D & D club. I'm not kidding: up to and above THREE of them have been carrying around books about it and spend all of their free time designing characters. "I mean, we could be out there playing Halo or getting drunk, right, Dr.____?" "Uhh...yeah...I guess you are right." The Freaks and Geeks episode went through my mind, as well the faces of all those kids in the 80s who were both D & D champions and complete and utter outcasts. But I am a champion of outcasts, eight? See all those posts about trolls, etc.
Mind you, I haven't really played the game very much. I know a little about it, but in the 80s my thing was fantasy sc-fi novels. A Spell for Chameleon! Bio of a Space Tyrant! Caves of Steel! Why play a game when you can READ about it and imagine the action on the page? Of course, my clients saw it the opposite way: why read about it when you can write your own characters and action yourself?
So I avoided the shame all those years. Until now.
The first thing I did--stupidly--was walk into TL Bookstore on Main and request the "D & D section." Our good friend Cl__ LAUGHED IN MY FACE, as did B___y from behind the counter, and a customers. Cl___ said, and I directly quote, "Take your ass down to the comic book store. We don't carry that shit!"
They were still laughing as we proceeded to QC comics, the rain outside cold and disapproving : was this some sort of mission/test that my "character" had to endure? We pushed the door open, convinced that at least here we would not be met so ridiculed.
It was filled with the usual nerds, some hunched over giant white boxes, others cradling glossy stacks of the latest issues as if holding newborn babes. P tried to warn me: "Uhhhh....no, I don't think..." But I had already asked, loud and proud, if there was D & D here. The comic book guy barely looked up and merely thumbed in the direction of that gaming store down by Aldi Foods.
Fuck. It was at least three or four blocks down. But oh well. P's shoes were soaked because he only owns one pair and they have holes in them. I was feeling really sorry for putting him through this ordeal. We were also going to be late in getting Cl__, who was supposed to meet us at Amy's in a few minutes. But we had to complete the mission!
We trudged down the street, and by now I was really glad that I wasn't alone. As we crossed the threshold, I thought, "Either this is certain doom or it's going to be the most welcoming place in the whole city."
The first thing that hit me was the smell. The tiny little gaming store does not have enough fresh air inside of it to sustain twelve 15-year old boys' air supply, let alone thin out their massive B.O. These kids were loud and entirely oblivious. Some were playing video games, some were arguing over game details. One was ferociously insisting that "If that's the rule, that's NOT what they said in Chicago!" Obviously, some inveterate game expert at GameCon Chicago had implanted orthodoxy in his head and Mr. Clueless didn't see the light.
The owner was just as you'd expect: pale and unhealthy looking, yet strangely exuberant for being in his element. Unlike Comic Book Guy, this man loved his customers, and even allowed them to eat subs and drink soda. He had provided chairs to some of them, and, as it was closing time, let them store their bikes in the basement ("Do you think he calls it The Dungeon?" asked P). One of the kids was joking around with a friend about how he was going to fuck someone "with no condom and no KY." "No, he's not," quipped Cl___ later on, after we told her about them. "He's really...not."
The owner pointed out the D & D section and we cut through the B.O. with out invisible swords. There was just so much from which to choose! I at least knew that I wanted version 3.5, not the most recent one. But did I want the Monster Manual? Were there individual campaigns that I could buy for the "clients"? Some unrelated Lovecraft games caught my eye, as well as Moorcock's Elric series made into RPGs. What a world.
From a high shelf I brought down a dusty box that contianed a) the Player's Manual, b) all the dice (4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20-sided), and c) a dozen Abberations (mini figurines of varying origins) which could serve as visual references. Everybody knew that an actual green fire-breathing dragon wasn't necessary, and there was no board, moreover, so it was all about collection the total of 60, I think, and placing them--where? Where the fuck in my house am I going to put these things? Oh, I know: next to my Gummy Mummy, coyote skull, handcuffs, survival knives, gas mask, and Alien facehugger! You know, in the room that I keep closed when entertaining mixed company? Out of shame?
I didn't have cash. "Uh..." P scrambled for it, as the owner looked really impatient. As P counted out singles I asked the guy if I could come back tomorrow. "We're not open tomorrow." "Well, on Tuesday." "We're not open Tuesday." Oh--apparently Wed-Sun is when their beacon shines through the dark Buffalo night, as this is when teens have time off from school or are the most likely to skip. Patrick had only $29 and it was $35. "Just take it," the guy said. He didn't. Even. Ring. It. Up. He waved us out as if he didn't want the kids to see, or, more plausibly, didn't want to keep any record that this sort of thing ever existed in his store. As we walked back in the now pouring rain, it occurred to me that to be truly cool I wouldn't have bought the game there, I would have ordered a classic one from eBay or already owned it--I was of the age, after all. There was just no being cool today. Just shame. In the rain. The man hadn't offered a bag, either, and I think we know why.
"I guess I better hold the box on this side," I said, shifting it out of eyesight from the cars, each set of headlights coming out of the drizzle like... dragon eyes. The little pieces inside made a crunching noise as they hit the side of the cardboard. This sound echoed louder than I could ever have imagined. "Crunch. Shame. Crunch. Shame..." I asked P if we should put the box in his car before meeting Cl__ at the diner. He was nice enough to say no. And to continue walking next to a grown-ass man carrying a D & D set.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Bye Bye Blog?
Well, that's one reason. The other is that I'm trying to write autobiographically, which takes a lot of time--Geoffrey Crayon disappeared right around the time he was finishing his novel, then he had a kid, etc. Blogs aren't always high on the list.
But now that work is beginning again, I find myself in front of the computer lots more. So here's something small--for now.
I've always thought that liking heavy metal--more specifically progressive and symphonic metal (you know, the 'nice' stuff--not that Lamb of God, jingoistic fratboy bullshit--is a lot like collecting comic books or anything else geeky. You tend to know a whole lot about it that others don't, to like it a lot more (too much more) than others do, and to get offended when people don't understand it ("Evanescence is NOT part of this genre, man!" [Sound of geek spittle frothing]). And geeks always yearn to find the homeland of their true people, be it Darkon, Klingon, Comic-Con, or...small pockets of Europe!
Which is where these metal fests take place. Christ, in the U.S. we have, what, Ozzfest? Warped Tour? Fuck that. I want to go see this Medusa shit! I'll swim over there, dammit.
I bet these concerts are the only place in the world where you can't distinguish whose a girl-metal-singer fan and whose a Xena fan. Ah, Xena. If you were a singer in a band, the band would most definitely be a symphonic metal band with whispering banshees and full choir dressed in leather. The orchestra would be...well, like symphonic metal, it would probably be played by one guy on a synth, and he would be made fun of--until the Xena fangirls stared him down with their eye daggers. Because this shit is serious, man.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
This Week in B_n
--I was invited to be the speaker at the "exiting ceremony" where I work--which trite metaphor shall I use as I send them on their way?
--I'm sick of Obama's inconsistency with his old pastor, with Fox news, etc.
--I learned that Teddy Roosevelt's mom and wife died on the same day, and that he subsequently travelled to the American badlands to mull it over. He then led an expedition through Brazil to find a river, during which much of his party committed suicide or were murdered by natives, lived to tell everyone about the place, but was nevertheless disbelieved by respected geographers.
--I stood in line for an hour so that I could pick up my reserve copy of GTA IV. I thought I was a big dork until I realized there were no pimply-faced teenagers around at all. The fans were all my age, of varying ethnicity, gender, and class, some carrying babies on their arms, some an entire nuclear family, though most were lone males like me. None of us seemed like "nerds" at all, but rather celebrants of the most satirical video game about American culture ever invented (by the Scottish). We were all chatting about it line like it was not just some sort of Harry Potter phenomenon, but some sort of very serious event, like a new Wilco or Radiohead record. Not knowing GTA is like not knowing Seinfeld, The Wizard of Oz, or "Happy Birthday"--you must actively reject it not to know of it or at least its general contribution/detriment. When I brought it home I accidentally ripped off the plastic that stays on the case. My trembling fingers guided the disk into the Xbox tray like a nervous teenage virgin. The world of Liberty City opened up like Valhalla. I did not steal a car, punch anyone, or blow someone's brains out. I walked around, interacted with pedestrians, went to my apartment, and watched TV. That's right: you can just sit there in your virtual pad and flip channels around GTA-land TV while you mellow out. One show paired a butch closeted gay man with an out femmy gay man--that's a show I want to see: homophobia and queer criticism encircling each other like good and evil do in Fantasia. I then programmed my virtual cellphone with custom ringtones and tuned my radio to all-Russian pop, which is an amazing new genre I know nothing about except the usual (Gorky Park, Tatu, etc.). Apparently one can also make the character go "online" and connect to some social networking site--I've heard that XBox livers can actually connect to other Xboxers this way, like myspace and facebook. I can't confirm this most odd of mediations I've ever heard of.
--I rewatched the brilliant documentary Hollywoodism, which my "clients" love. They can't believe that Hollywood offers an inclusive picture of the American Dream that, ironically, was constructed by the very people shut out of it in the first place. An image consumes reality yet again.
--Opeth is my new favorite band. What other prog death metal band performs an entirely acoustic folk set of pure evil before launching into the "heavy" stuff? Here's just a mere taste: "Hope Leaves"--great fuckin' title, eh? More Opeth to come. I'll tattoo this O--I don't give a fuck.
--I'm sick of Obama's inconsistency with his old pastor, with Fox news, etc.
--I learned that Teddy Roosevelt's mom and wife died on the same day, and that he subsequently travelled to the American badlands to mull it over. He then led an expedition through Brazil to find a river, during which much of his party committed suicide or were murdered by natives, lived to tell everyone about the place, but was nevertheless disbelieved by respected geographers.
--I stood in line for an hour so that I could pick up my reserve copy of GTA IV. I thought I was a big dork until I realized there were no pimply-faced teenagers around at all. The fans were all my age, of varying ethnicity, gender, and class, some carrying babies on their arms, some an entire nuclear family, though most were lone males like me. None of us seemed like "nerds" at all, but rather celebrants of the most satirical video game about American culture ever invented (by the Scottish). We were all chatting about it line like it was not just some sort of Harry Potter phenomenon, but some sort of very serious event, like a new Wilco or Radiohead record. Not knowing GTA is like not knowing Seinfeld, The Wizard of Oz, or "Happy Birthday"--you must actively reject it not to know of it or at least its general contribution/detriment. When I brought it home I accidentally ripped off the plastic that stays on the case. My trembling fingers guided the disk into the Xbox tray like a nervous teenage virgin. The world of Liberty City opened up like Valhalla. I did not steal a car, punch anyone, or blow someone's brains out. I walked around, interacted with pedestrians, went to my apartment, and watched TV. That's right: you can just sit there in your virtual pad and flip channels around GTA-land TV while you mellow out. One show paired a butch closeted gay man with an out femmy gay man--that's a show I want to see: homophobia and queer criticism encircling each other like good and evil do in Fantasia. I then programmed my virtual cellphone with custom ringtones and tuned my radio to all-Russian pop, which is an amazing new genre I know nothing about except the usual (Gorky Park, Tatu, etc.). Apparently one can also make the character go "online" and connect to some social networking site--I've heard that XBox livers can actually connect to other Xboxers this way, like myspace and facebook. I can't confirm this most odd of mediations I've ever heard of.
--I rewatched the brilliant documentary Hollywoodism, which my "clients" love. They can't believe that Hollywood offers an inclusive picture of the American Dream that, ironically, was constructed by the very people shut out of it in the first place. An image consumes reality yet again.
--Opeth is my new favorite band. What other prog death metal band performs an entirely acoustic folk set of pure evil before launching into the "heavy" stuff? Here's just a mere taste: "Hope Leaves"--great fuckin' title, eh? More Opeth to come. I'll tattoo this O--I don't give a fuck.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Amber Benson (nerd alert)
AB plays an ethical vampire in an episode of Supernatural called "Bloodlust." Check it out at surfthechannel.com
One of the interesting twists on vampire mythology is that dead man's blood can be put on any stabby weapon, not just wood, and it has the effect of making the vampire sick or incapacitated.
One of the interesting twists on vampire mythology is that dead man's blood can be put on any stabby weapon, not just wood, and it has the effect of making the vampire sick or incapacitated.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Yes! [Hand Pumping at Hip-Level)
The guy who came to speak last year, the one I told you all about, who would just make up his own jargon and tried to pass it off as research, whom everyone "loved" and thought was "so charismatic," but who I said reminded me of L. Ron Hubbard and scared the living bejesus out of me because his doubletalk made no fucking sense at all, but which is a kind of discourse that members of my own family have lapped up, never to be seen again--is a fucking fraud!!!!!!!!!!!
Guilty before proven innocent, dude. I smelled your bullshit last year--beeeeeeeeeattttttchhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Guilty before proven innocent, dude. I smelled your bullshit last year--beeeeeeeeeattttttchhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Thine Eyes Bleed
Warning!
What you are about to see will make your eyes bleed.
You will go blind.
I'm not kidding.
You've seen him sneer in State and Main.
You've seen him groan "I just wanna pump, pump" in Happiness.
Curled up next to a model airplane in Love Liza.
And sitting in his tighty-whities in Red Dragon.
Now.
Watch.
Him.
From several angles.
Have sex with Marisa Tomei!
What you are about to see will make your eyes bleed.
You will go blind.
I'm not kidding.
You've seen him sneer in State and Main.
You've seen him groan "I just wanna pump, pump" in Happiness.
Curled up next to a model airplane in Love Liza.
And sitting in his tighty-whities in Red Dragon.
Now.
Watch.
Him.
From several angles.
Have sex with Marisa Tomei!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Speaking of Nerd Trolls--Howzabout "Trolling"?
Those n'er-do-well Scandinavian creatures to which we have been referring to: (nerd) "trolls" have sent me off on a quest for the true meaning of internet "trolling" now.
As I understand it, internet "trolls" attempt to bait others, either by going off topic or, alternately, staying somewhat on-topic but using sarcastic, insulting, demeaning, or patronizing language that will incense others to "flame." It's not unlike hate speech in the legal lexicon--it is so powerful that others cannot help but fly off the handle!
It all started when I encountered someone on gamespot who told me to "say goodbye to my thread" because I had used "A**hole" for "asshole" when I should have used only "A____." Instead of reporting me to the "mod" she pointed out my folly glibly, smugly. I looked her up and found that she does this on all the other forums, too--never engaging with others on the topic of discussion and only narc-ing on them and otherwise policing their language--even signing off with a link to a cyber crime site with .gov at the end.
So when I objected to her methods (calmly, rationally--I wasn't flaming), I was stunned at how many people called me "noob," "newbie" and the like--"learn the rules, dude." Hardly anyone said, Hey, You're right. You broke the rules, but she is trolling--so both of you quit it. No one pointed out her stupid ass American Flag avatar icon, either, probably because it cyberwind was blowing through their Gold-Bonded cyberballs.
It's like a weird version of Stockholm Syndrome in which narcs are more beloved the more they hypocritically cloak themselves in the mantle of "saving" the board from...what...swear words? On a board that was, admittedly, about a game in which you shoot people in the F**king head. I'm sorry, I mean F---- head.
No. I mean THE FUCKING HEAD, goddamit.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Everything is Completely Possible!
Do you want more?
That's some serious summarizing!
What? STILL want more?
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Rusty Nail Part II
In between Last Man and I Am Legend was the 1970s attempt at the apocalypse, Omega Man, starring "C-Dog" Heston, of course, but this one didn't give me nightmares. Oh wait, yes it did: the part in which he watches Woodstock over and over and over again, mouthing the hippies' lines word for word. Shudder.
In I Am Legend, the film Will Smith watches over and over is Shrek, and the one foodstuff he saves in his freezer, bacon. He attaches these memories to his absent family, as with the character in the original novel and film. But as you would expect, the setting is NYC (not LA) and Smith won't leave "ground zero" to explore the possibility of other survivors. Moreover, the film is ruined by bad CGI by once again inserting smooth, shiny surfaces where there should be dark, porous ones. A says that we will look back on the CGI era the way we do cheap color of the 40s and 50s with its garish pinks and greens.
I will say that there are a few poignant moments that give new meaning to the word "loneliness" and an excellent nod to Romero's positing of a "talented 10th" of zombies (well, vampires--they're called "hemocytes" actually) who start to think for themselves. Overall, however, none of the three films dared touch the theme running through the novel about the "lewd and lascivious" female vamp-zombs who attempt to lure him outside by strip-tease and masturbation. In I Am Legend, Smith experiments on a female hemocyte, and one might as, why her? In the novel, the question is given an explicit answer, and it's not pretty (though not necrophilic either).
I also saved myself another restless night without sleep by turning to another fundamentally amazing text, Blade Runner: The Final Cut. The audio is in 5.1, the transfer is sharper, and more gore was added (put back in--it was originally taken out); the bad stunt doubles and continuity problems were nixed completely. However, the accompanying documentary, Dangerous Days, was a nerd's delight! Sound the neeeeeeerd hornnnnnn. Three hours looooooooog! Bring your Hot Pockets and Gatoraaaaaade. You get to see screen tests of other actors trying out for Pris and Rachel--with the exact same lighting, smoke, and blocking!!! <---that's real enthusiasm, not sarcasm). Watching it has the odd effect of suggesting other replicants are "out there."
The most fascinating part of the doc was actually a socio-historical one: why did it fail at the box office during the summer of 1982? Because Reaganomics promised hope and happiness, not dark dystopia. Guess which film made the most that summer? E fucking T!!!! I remember that summer so well because everyone was crying over ET--I mean everyone. Oh and here are some other films Blade Runner had to compete with that summer: Beastmaster, Conan the Barbarian, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Poltergeist, Star Trek II, Rocky III, The Thing, and Tron.
To conclude by reiterating CGI sucks (except in Buffy, in which it has a campy effect that actually heightens suspension of disbelief). As one of the producers of (the new) Battlestar Galactica series relates, "We often just say to the CGI people--give it that 'Blade Runner' look, and they know exactly what we mean." Ironically, there is no CGI in Blade Runner--it's all in-camera effects. We truly are ruled by computers and robots these days. The replicants have won:
In I Am Legend, the film Will Smith watches over and over is Shrek, and the one foodstuff he saves in his freezer, bacon. He attaches these memories to his absent family, as with the character in the original novel and film. But as you would expect, the setting is NYC (not LA) and Smith won't leave "ground zero" to explore the possibility of other survivors. Moreover, the film is ruined by bad CGI by once again inserting smooth, shiny surfaces where there should be dark, porous ones. A says that we will look back on the CGI era the way we do cheap color of the 40s and 50s with its garish pinks and greens.
I will say that there are a few poignant moments that give new meaning to the word "loneliness" and an excellent nod to Romero's positing of a "talented 10th" of zombies (well, vampires--they're called "hemocytes" actually) who start to think for themselves. Overall, however, none of the three films dared touch the theme running through the novel about the "lewd and lascivious" female vamp-zombs who attempt to lure him outside by strip-tease and masturbation. In I Am Legend, Smith experiments on a female hemocyte, and one might as, why her? In the novel, the question is given an explicit answer, and it's not pretty (though not necrophilic either).
I also saved myself another restless night without sleep by turning to another fundamentally amazing text, Blade Runner: The Final Cut. The audio is in 5.1, the transfer is sharper, and more gore was added (put back in--it was originally taken out); the bad stunt doubles and continuity problems were nixed completely. However, the accompanying documentary, Dangerous Days, was a nerd's delight! Sound the neeeeeeerd hornnnnnn. Three hours looooooooog! Bring your Hot Pockets and Gatoraaaaaade. You get to see screen tests of other actors trying out for Pris and Rachel--with the exact same lighting, smoke, and blocking!!! <---that's real enthusiasm, not sarcasm). Watching it has the odd effect of suggesting other replicants are "out there."
The most fascinating part of the doc was actually a socio-historical one: why did it fail at the box office during the summer of 1982? Because Reaganomics promised hope and happiness, not dark dystopia. Guess which film made the most that summer? E fucking T!!!! I remember that summer so well because everyone was crying over ET--I mean everyone. Oh and here are some other films Blade Runner had to compete with that summer: Beastmaster, Conan the Barbarian, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Poltergeist, Star Trek II, Rocky III, The Thing, and Tron.
To conclude by reiterating CGI sucks (except in Buffy, in which it has a campy effect that actually heightens suspension of disbelief). As one of the producers of (the new) Battlestar Galactica series relates, "We often just say to the CGI people--give it that 'Blade Runner' look, and they know exactly what we mean." Ironically, there is no CGI in Blade Runner--it's all in-camera effects. We truly are ruled by computers and robots these days. The replicants have won:
Sunday, March 23, 2008
A Rusty Nail....Part I
Last night I saw one of the scariest films of my life: Vincent Price in Last Man on Earth. How could I not have seen this film until now????? I cannot hold my head up high as a gothic/horror theorist. In fact, this film unites vampire and zombie mythology in one sutured text!
I was so scared that I could not sleep at all last night, not one wink. Oh, wait; yes, I slept for 10 minutes DURING WHICH I HAD NIGHTMARES, one of which was about my trying to get out of a basement full of vampire-zombies by opening one of those windows that swings up and out--only a bucket of long-ass railroad nails, rusty and iron-stinking, fell right on my head somehow. One nail managed to pierce me through the neck. I pulled it out, bleeding profusely and worried more about blood poisoning than the ghouls. Then I woke up.
You can watch the whole film on youtube, but here's a brief clip--watch only the first two minutes of this. Notice that Price isn't picking up dummies; they are real people. He's living in a private holocaust, complete with BURNING BODY PIT to which he makes daily deposits. Gahhhhhhhhhhhh! There is not one single cheesy thiing about this 1964 film and I'm not so sure Romero's first film is scarier. They're both pretty bleak. Stayed tuned for Part II, in which I read the original Matheson novel again, watch Omega Man and the Will Smith version. By the way, the phrase "I am legend" comes from a conversation Price has with a vampire who tells him that they all hate and fear him: he's "legendary" in the city. The book is written in the 3rd person; Price's film narrated in the 1st--though he never utters that phrase. It's one of the best titles ever, though I already know the WIll Smith film will suck--a lot.
I was so scared that I could not sleep at all last night, not one wink. Oh, wait; yes, I slept for 10 minutes DURING WHICH I HAD NIGHTMARES, one of which was about my trying to get out of a basement full of vampire-zombies by opening one of those windows that swings up and out--only a bucket of long-ass railroad nails, rusty and iron-stinking, fell right on my head somehow. One nail managed to pierce me through the neck. I pulled it out, bleeding profusely and worried more about blood poisoning than the ghouls. Then I woke up.
You can watch the whole film on youtube, but here's a brief clip--watch only the first two minutes of this. Notice that Price isn't picking up dummies; they are real people. He's living in a private holocaust, complete with BURNING BODY PIT to which he makes daily deposits. Gahhhhhhhhhhhh! There is not one single cheesy thiing about this 1964 film and I'm not so sure Romero's first film is scarier. They're both pretty bleak. Stayed tuned for Part II, in which I read the original Matheson novel again, watch Omega Man and the Will Smith version. By the way, the phrase "I am legend" comes from a conversation Price has with a vampire who tells him that they all hate and fear him: he's "legendary" in the city. The book is written in the 3rd person; Price's film narrated in the 1st--though he never utters that phrase. It's one of the best titles ever, though I already know the WIll Smith film will suck--a lot.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Hulu.com Launch
So tomorrow is the beginning of hulo.com's auspicious rise to fame. Hulu offers almost all of the TV we'd watch with cable, but--here's the downside--it's ad-supported. However, apparently you can pick the kinds of ads you want to see. If I can pick movie trailers only, then I'm down. I am so fucking down. Gimmeh gimmeh gimmeh mooooore.....
If--and this is a BIG if--hulu.com gets as big as projected, Netflix will see a big drop in TV on DVD requests and iTunes will have to slash their video prices if not eliminate them completely. Youtube will also go back to being a amateur vid site primarily, as the pirated shows won't need to be ripped.
So here's what I'm worried about: some other site will come along and offer HBO, Cinemax, VHI classics, etc. for a small fee, and thus reinstate the same cable/pay division we had before. Anyone else anticipate how this or other sites like it will alter viewing habits, the Habermasian public sphere, etc.?
If--and this is a BIG if--hulu.com gets as big as projected, Netflix will see a big drop in TV on DVD requests and iTunes will have to slash their video prices if not eliminate them completely. Youtube will also go back to being a amateur vid site primarily, as the pirated shows won't need to be ripped.
So here's what I'm worried about: some other site will come along and offer HBO, Cinemax, VHI classics, etc. for a small fee, and thus reinstate the same cable/pay division we had before. Anyone else anticipate how this or other sites like it will alter viewing habits, the Habermasian public sphere, etc.?
Friday, March 7, 2008
So Objectively Speaking....
...this is good, right? None of us has to actually like opera, talent contests, or the stereotypes about people's teeth in the United Kingdom to agree that this is one fucking amazing voice!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Scooby Gang News!
With the BIG BIG Buffy News aripplin' thru town, it gives me great honor to forward the FCC's latest ruling on Alyson Hannigan--yay! What next--the Dushku/Whedon project to premier in my back yard?????
FCC Okays Nudity On TV If It�s Alyson Hannigan
FCC Okays Nudity On TV If It�s Alyson Hannigan
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Juno Part II
I've been thinking about BEM's question--whether I truly thought the "homeskillet" comment was the funniest thing about Juno. Not only was it a genuinely a funny line, the fact that most people don't find it funny says to me that they actually liked Ellen Page's lines better, which I don't because they aren't as funny when a cynical teenager says them. Dwight Schrute (essentially) saying it makes it awkward/cringe comedy because he's a grown-ass man working in a 7-11 who assumes he knows better than a precocious teenage girl--a girl, who, by her own admission, doesn't know "what kind of girl she is." But she does know that she's alienated and cynical--thus all the tiresome "fashizzle" speak. I did like how the film honors every subjectivity, but I kinda agree with this script as an apt parody of Diablo Cody's writing style.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Dinner and an Ear Exam
Last night my brother and his wife and their son visited me. They had just watched Sicko, and guess what they said! "If things don't change, we're moving to Canada!"
Meanwhile, we visited their friend J___, a new myspace friend of mine through them, and who is getting a Ph D in Audiology. Gotta love nerds, no matter what field their in. "Just for fun," she gave us hearing tests. Had one before? It's not just the beeps and boops you have to listen to, it's the anechoic chamber one has sit in while being tested. Without any sounds or echoes, you are forced to listen to your own breathing, the blood rushing through your ears, and every swallow and lip smack you make. Torture! Try doing this for a couple of hours. Waterboarding is for sissies.
Anyway, I don't have any hearing damage, at least not above 8-12 KHz. Humans supposedly can hear between 20 and 20,000 Hz, when we're "young" at least. But since most sounds fall within 1000-8000 HZ, they don't even test for the outer ranges.
So after having bashed drums and cymbals into my skull for over two decades, and after having not visited a dentist in 7 years, I'm tinitus and cavity-free. Knock on wood.
But the most interesting part of the evening was my sister-in-law essentially pushing the audiologist and me together. "You should hang out; you're both right in Buffalo." Awkward silence. Yeah, except she's supposedly getting married to a dude who never visits her in Buffalo and whom she doesn't talk about much or apparently have anything in common with--except that he'll "be a great father."
"A great father"? Oh, I GET IT. So dudes like me are the one who (can) fulfill all the basics needs of a relationship EXCEPT the practical and domestic ones. And of course, the "most important" one--reproducing. God, it was so frickin' awkward realizing that the elephant in the room was, "See, B, if you just wanted to settle down and become one-half of a couple with someone, you'd get a girl like THIS. See what you're giving up?" I saw my life flashing before my very eyes! All the "hot" ones I could have had if only I was the marrying kind. I looked at pictures of this dude and saw how much she is WAY out of his league. That's how fat balding dudes can do it; that's the secret. Just be really, really nice, devoted, and a potential "good father." You'll never have to worry about what kind of books she reads or anything like that. That's something people do "on the side," anyway.
Just to add to cosmic joke, we indeed discussed books for a while and yes, we have very similar tastes in nonfiction. For instance, she's reading about Mormon fundamentalism and the Elizabeth Smart case. THEN she proceeded to outline all of her favorite VIDEO GAMES she plays. Wh-wh-what? Oh yeah. She's "addicted" to her PS2 and is a life-long Lara Croft fan. She "looks at her surroundings and imagines how she could jump or climb on things in order to get to the top of the highest building around." Sounds familiar?
Well, to end on a good note, here's a funny video about it. Watch all the way until the end, esp the angry people:
Meanwhile, we visited their friend J___, a new myspace friend of mine through them, and who is getting a Ph D in Audiology. Gotta love nerds, no matter what field their in. "Just for fun," she gave us hearing tests. Had one before? It's not just the beeps and boops you have to listen to, it's the anechoic chamber one has sit in while being tested. Without any sounds or echoes, you are forced to listen to your own breathing, the blood rushing through your ears, and every swallow and lip smack you make. Torture! Try doing this for a couple of hours. Waterboarding is for sissies.
Anyway, I don't have any hearing damage, at least not above 8-12 KHz. Humans supposedly can hear between 20 and 20,000 Hz, when we're "young" at least. But since most sounds fall within 1000-8000 HZ, they don't even test for the outer ranges.
So after having bashed drums and cymbals into my skull for over two decades, and after having not visited a dentist in 7 years, I'm tinitus and cavity-free. Knock on wood.
But the most interesting part of the evening was my sister-in-law essentially pushing the audiologist and me together. "You should hang out; you're both right in Buffalo." Awkward silence. Yeah, except she's supposedly getting married to a dude who never visits her in Buffalo and whom she doesn't talk about much or apparently have anything in common with--except that he'll "be a great father."
"A great father"? Oh, I GET IT. So dudes like me are the one who (can) fulfill all the basics needs of a relationship EXCEPT the practical and domestic ones. And of course, the "most important" one--reproducing. God, it was so frickin' awkward realizing that the elephant in the room was, "See, B, if you just wanted to settle down and become one-half of a couple with someone, you'd get a girl like THIS. See what you're giving up?" I saw my life flashing before my very eyes! All the "hot" ones I could have had if only I was the marrying kind. I looked at pictures of this dude and saw how much she is WAY out of his league. That's how fat balding dudes can do it; that's the secret. Just be really, really nice, devoted, and a potential "good father." You'll never have to worry about what kind of books she reads or anything like that. That's something people do "on the side," anyway.
Just to add to cosmic joke, we indeed discussed books for a while and yes, we have very similar tastes in nonfiction. For instance, she's reading about Mormon fundamentalism and the Elizabeth Smart case. THEN she proceeded to outline all of her favorite VIDEO GAMES she plays. Wh-wh-what? Oh yeah. She's "addicted" to her PS2 and is a life-long Lara Croft fan. She "looks at her surroundings and imagines how she could jump or climb on things in order to get to the top of the highest building around." Sounds familiar?
Well, to end on a good note, here's a funny video about it. Watch all the way until the end, esp the angry people:
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Casualties
So after last night's party, I'm ecstatic that so many friends of mine have actually found jobs--and locally, too! I had originally wanted to post this picture last week, and now that I have time to write, I wonder if I should: buzzkill!
The pic is sad reminder that not all of us "make it." One story I heard last night was about a certain grad student who simply disappeared off the face of the earth, never telling any of us when or why. I woke up several times last night feeling guilty. "I could have done more to help." Long ago, I had called/emailed several times, as did so many others, to no avail. Academia and shame are so intertwined. The fellow reminded me of my youngest brother who joined the cult: suddenly and severely disillusioned, but so completely stoic about it. Then, one day, snap! Gone.
Although L told me to "Step AWAY from the gaming console," I never cease to find useful ways to make games meaningful to my "real" life. In Rainbow Six Vegas, one has to find fallen teammates and heal them. If they die, you don't go on--game over. I was thinking about our grad student friend as a fallen....soldier?....well, the metaphor breaks down, I suppose. But the emotional impact of the comparison seems right to me.
So, here's to Ch__ Gr___. Best of luck, wherever you are.
(Oh, and sorry the pic is so small. Squint, please.)
The pic is sad reminder that not all of us "make it." One story I heard last night was about a certain grad student who simply disappeared off the face of the earth, never telling any of us when or why. I woke up several times last night feeling guilty. "I could have done more to help." Long ago, I had called/emailed several times, as did so many others, to no avail. Academia and shame are so intertwined. The fellow reminded me of my youngest brother who joined the cult: suddenly and severely disillusioned, but so completely stoic about it. Then, one day, snap! Gone.
Although L told me to "Step AWAY from the gaming console," I never cease to find useful ways to make games meaningful to my "real" life. In Rainbow Six Vegas, one has to find fallen teammates and heal them. If they die, you don't go on--game over. I was thinking about our grad student friend as a fallen....soldier?....well, the metaphor breaks down, I suppose. But the emotional impact of the comparison seems right to me.
So, here's to Ch__ Gr___. Best of luck, wherever you are.
(Oh, and sorry the pic is so small. Squint, please.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
"We Are the Wo--" Fuck It--Here's Something Better
Since this is now totally mainstream, scroll down below for a much better story.
Okay, so at "work" one of the very, very young "clients" is Juno-esque. Got me? Here's how it was revealed to my co-worker/friend, who has their trust and can't break it.
Four clients show up during a break, close the door, and say, "One of us is Juno-esque." YEP! It's like the 80s TV mini-series Lace! They wouldn't say which one it was, just that "someone" in the group was 12 weeks. And that they want to know where "to go." Oh snap!
On the bright side, the movie Juno really is their point of reference. I'm totally not kidding. They have no other cultural text at hand to guide them with its carefully respectful take on "both sides" of "the issue" and thus were hoping that they could do like Juno did and go visit "the place" to "just see how it goes."
So folks, we'll have either a result that the clients home superiors know ZERO about, and probably will never know about until years later, OR another van shows up and whisks the client away to Utah. Wow. Just---fuck. Wow.
Okay, so at "work" one of the very, very young "clients" is Juno-esque. Got me? Here's how it was revealed to my co-worker/friend, who has their trust and can't break it.
Four clients show up during a break, close the door, and say, "One of us is Juno-esque." YEP! It's like the 80s TV mini-series Lace! They wouldn't say which one it was, just that "someone" in the group was 12 weeks. And that they want to know where "to go." Oh snap!
On the bright side, the movie Juno really is their point of reference. I'm totally not kidding. They have no other cultural text at hand to guide them with its carefully respectful take on "both sides" of "the issue" and thus were hoping that they could do like Juno did and go visit "the place" to "just see how it goes."
So folks, we'll have either a result that the clients home superiors know ZERO about, and probably will never know about until years later, OR another van shows up and whisks the client away to Utah. Wow. Just---fuck. Wow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)