I'm Nothing But a Stranger in This World

Slouching Towards Angeles, Day 1

2010-01-03T12:00:00.007-06:00

Cataloging the trip from Austin to LA:

3:00 p.m.: Despite having a shockingly (for me) organized packing that involved going through the New Year countdown on a particularly miserable New Years Eve, I still departed later than expected.
4:15 p.m.: Ignored/forgot the constant protestations to stop in Fredricksburg and get gas. This in lieu of being warned that West Texas is sparse on gas stations, that there's a time portal somewhere along I-10 that takes you back to the 1800s, and that there's Injuns in them thar' hills.
4:35 p.m.: Freak out, get off phone, turn around.
4:55 p.m.: Get gas in Fredricksburg.
5:15 p.m.: Pass the location of the original freak out.
5:17 p.m.: See gas station.
6:00 p.m.: Beheld my last Texas sunset for a long time. Which was nice that Mother Nature granted me such a watercolor masterpiece. The light very literally faded around the source, then brightened in a half-circle flare, a patina of unnaturalness that I took as being specifically just for me and my moment.
8:13 p.m.: See my first mountain.
8:43 p.m.: See brilliant moon behind me.
9:01 p.m.: See mountain illuminated by moon and distinctly find myself thinking of No Country for Old Men. Text people to ask if Anton Chigurh is going to shoot compressed air into my temple.
11:15 p.m.: See first hints of Juarez in the distance.
11:35 p.m.: Can't see anything but Juarez.
11:41 p.m.: See these glowing lights in the sky. Never figure out if they're a crane, a distant downtown, a UFO, or hallucinations. Almost halfway!
11:52 p.m.: Mentally note to change the shoot locale of my future post-apocalyptic dystopia movie from Gary, IN, to Juarez.
12:07 a.m.: Hit downtown El Paso. Avoid eye contact with other drivers. My White Liberal membership card gives me a frown from inside my wallet.
12:17 a.m.: New Mexico!
1:08 a.m.: Decide that I don't want to pay Friday night rates for a motel, even though in the middle of nowhere it's the same as a normal night anywhere else.
1:17 a.m.: Go to sleep in a car that's about 69 degrees inside.
6:56 a.m.: Wake up in a car that's about 20 degrees inside. Cocoon myself further in the sleeping bag.
7:37 a.m.: Can't breathe anymore of cocooned sleeping bag air. Star Day 2!

Whatever (the Hell) It Is

2009-10-29T18:14:00.001-05:00

To quote the opening line of Greil Marcus' review of Bob Dylan's Self-Portrait: What is this shit?

Adventures in Sleepin'

2009-07-13T13:53:00.002-05:00

Comparing & Contrasting the Two Instances in My Life Where a Male Roommate or Roommate's Male Guest Crawled Onto My Bed While I Was Sleeping

When did this happen?
1st instance: 2000; I wanna say spring. The night before Brad-Daede moved out.
2nd instance: 2009, last night.

Male roommate or roommate's male guest?
1st instance: Roommate's male guest. Over the years we've called him "Sam," as will be explained below.
2nd instance: Male roommate Lucas.

Were either males gay, bi-, or curious?
1st instance: Unlikely, though I never knew the guy. "Sam" could be married in a few states for all I know.
2nd instance: Nope, though Lucas does have a bromantic love for his bandmates and romantic love for black-out drinking, as evidenced last night.

What preceded the crawling onto bed?
1st instance: As it was Brad-Daede's last night before moving, he'd decided to throw an intimate chaos-bash. But since he wanted his deposit and was friends with us who were remaining residents, he couldn't trash the place, as he had infamously with his previous, first, parent-paid apartment. Instead, he and about five-to-ten friends went out on our front lawn and started throwing water balloons at passing cars on Washington Avenue. We were in a mini-feud with our next-door neighbors, who Brad-Daede had angered during some notably loud parties, and if I remember right they might have had a strong hand in the eventual complaints. That, coupled with the calls sent in by those motorists unfortunate enough to chose Washington Avenue as a route that evening, led to po-po's on our doorstep by evening's end. When that happened, Brad-Daede O-so-stealthily turned off the lights and the remaining party-people in the house found a different room in which to hide. I, in my basement bedroom, lay still, hearing someone upstairs let the police in and give permission to walk around our house. Then "Sam" chose the basement to hide.
2nd instance: Fuck if I know. It's weird how I don't consider my roommates alcoholics, yet think their being drunk a personality trait. Three a.m. gives their fates the multiple choice option or mating call, mating season, season of defeat, or all of the above.

Most likely motive for the crawling onto bed?
1st instance: Thought the bedroom was empty, hiding from cops.
2nd instance: Thought the bedroom was empty, near being black-out drunk.

My sleeping situation at the time?
1st instance: Wide-awake. I had to work the next day and was mad about something else, which wasn't helped by Brad-Daede throwing an unprompted party just when I thought I was in the clear of his shenanigans. Regardless, it was a move of deep passiveness and too-subtle, masochistic aggression on my part to say, to myself, "I'm going to sleep at 11 p.m. That'll teach 'em." Especially when I can hear everything happening in the house from my room. And especially when I can be a light sleeper.
2nd instance: Got back from Sunday night beer and movies at Scott's, so I myself was in deep buzzed sleep.

My reaction upon realization?
1st instance: I shuffled and said, "What the fuck are you doing?" "Sam" jumped.
2nd instance: OK. This is the weirdest part of the whole story so far. (Sorry, despite Bruno's influence, no latent homoeroticism will emerge non-latent.) You know how you get lost in deep dreams and can believe anything, and when you gradually wake up it takes time for you to readjust your basic identity and worldview? I guess in my dream the Middle East had taken over the U.S. and diplomatic relations were very tense. So as I woke up to the odor of cigarettes and a bear-body at my side, I came to believe the U.S. had, overnight, rationed homes and beds to random citizens from the Middle East. And though I was increasingly uncomfortable, I still wanted to be morally and relativistically above reproach toward the guy in my bed without permission. Yet, I had to get out of this situation with etiquette finesse; after all, I was stuck in bed with whoever this guy was. Literally, the feeling was like waking up and believing you were moved to a prison over night. That's not the oddest reaction to finding some dude abruptly in your bed, is it? I'm sure my inmate readership will back me up on this.

What happened after?
1st instance: Or perhaps this is the weirdest part, if at the very least the most infamous. Right after "Sam" shuffled off, a flashlight beam came down the stairs. Then it moved over to my bed where two cops eyed "Sam" on top of me. "You live here?" Yes, I said. "You throwing balloons?" I worked tonight, I'm sleeping. And then the two exited and eventually left the house, no problems. At some point Brad-Daede left and other roommate Stacey arrived, who calmed me down by playing Nintendo. Brad-Daede returned around 1:00 a.m. and relayed what he'd heard when he'd ran into some cop friends at the Motomart. "'Heard there were some problems at your house earlier this evening. You live in a very "interesting" house, Brad. You have some very "interesting" roommates downstairs.'" Since this was the last night his wack(i)ness could hurt me, we all laughed together in preemptive nostalgia.
2nd instance: Finally awakened from dream logic and still unsure who it was in my bed, I used my phone as a make-shift flashlight. Still unsure, I turned on the room light. Then I started poking Lucas. It took a while. I think he muttered a "Sorry" as he walked out. A few minutes later I heard him bang on the bedroom next to me, which immediately brought to mind the notion of him spooning with another roommate. A few minutes later, I texted him, "Don't ever fucking do that again." This afternoon he left a voicemail explanation that he'd been sleepwalking.

What this meant?
1st instance: Brad-Daede managed to ride the thin line of bridge-burning and memorable tomfoolery. Most likely because he didn't give a fuck.
2nd instance: Drunk, cigarette-smelling Lucas and/or drunk, cigarette-smelling whomever else have been crashing on or in my bed during nights when I'm not home. In all instances, none of my roommates give a fuck.

How friends spun the situation?
1st instance: For those who don't know I can now reveal that "Sam" was only the second half of the nickname, the first being "Shirtless." That's because Dustin managed to tell the story with constantly evolving details. In one telling "Shirtless Sam" was wearing a mesh T-shirt. In the next "Shirtless Sam" wasn't wearing any T-shirt. Then "Shirtless Sam" was shirtless, and the story became its own organism from there. "Shirtless Sam" was wet (from the water-balloon fight? sweat? being in a music video?) and dripping on me. "Shirtless Sam" rolled on top of me in the confusion. "Shirtless Sam" was overtly gay. "Shritless Sam" was overtly gay, in the army, and leaving for basic the next day. "Shirtless Sam" was returning from a tour and kept dangling his dog-tags in my face.
2nd instance: Unforeseen. Most likely: "Shane's telling another roommate story." Smirks. Polite laughs. "You should move out." Next topic.

Current whereabouts of roommates responsible?
1st instance: Though I haven't kept in close contact with Brad-Daede beyond social network sites, the last time I was around him consistently was when we worked together at WFIE, by which time he'd dropped the -Daede off his name*. If we'd tell a Crazy Roommate Story® people would generally be entertained and puzzled, as Brad himself has been on an upward curve of responsibility and no longer resembled Brad-Daede. He's currently married with a kid and seems well off. The last evening we spent together, eating at a Los Bravos, multiple people commented on how BFF-y we were in laughing and reminiscing.
2nd instance: As of this writing, probably still asleep in the commandeered living-/band-practice-room, not paying rent. Or on the toilet shitting and sweating alcohol, still not paying rent.

*NOTE: For future Brad biographers, I'm being facetious; Brad's temporary name-change to Daede didn't happen until after he'd moved north for school.

The Way We Sleep All Summer

2009-07-04T00:36:00.005-05:00

For fear of making myself even more uninteresting, I haven't bemoaned (on here at least) (God-help-those-around-me I've bemoaned it in-person) this fact: I've slowly been losing my taste this last year. I've come up with grandiloquent theories about how this is my late-twenties rite, to grow up and lose the shackles of loose identity I've used pop-culture to replace. But really, it's mostly because my computer is dying.

It's so full I download to external hard-drives. For some reason since the data still travels through it it acts like I've used up its last bit of its precious memory—until I restart. And its CD burner's been on the fritz this last year. And it won't communicate with not one, but two iPods. In theory, I am, technologically, almost back at the point I was at right before I owned my first CD burner—only I can still download music. So I have no excuse.

And now, after a full year absence, it remains to be seen and is up for public discourse if or not I've regained any taste back:

7/2/09 I'm Baaaaaaack Mix

"Old Movies" — Mock Orange (Captain Love)
"15 Step" (live) — Radiohead and the USC Marching Band (2008 Grammy Awards, February 8, 2009)
"No Cars Go" (live) — Arcade Fire (BBC2, June 19, 2007)
"J. Smith" — Travis (Ode to J. Smith)
"Let's Give This Love a Try" — John Hiatt (Same Old Man)
"Last Night" — Tom Verlaine (Tom Verlaine)
"One Wing" — Wilco (Wilco (The Album))
"Intravenous Agnostic" — Manic Street Preachers (Know Your Enemy)
"Conjure Me" — The Afghan Whigs (Congregation)
"See If They Salute" — The Streets (Twitter, April 21, 2009)
"Rainin in Paradize" — Manu Chao (La Radiolina)
"I Was Made to Love Her" (extended) — The Beach Boys (Rarities)
"Rocket Man" (Elton John cover) — My Morning Jacket (Chapter 1: The Sandworm Cometh)
"Unknown Legend" (Neil Young cover) — Tunde Adebimpe (Rachel Getting Married OST)
"Unguided" — The New Pornographers (Challengers)
"My Maudlin Career" — Camera Obscura (My Maudlin Career)
"I Google You" (live) — Amanda Palmer (Who Killed Amanda Palmer Bonus, August 5, 2008)
"Sleep All Summer" (Crooked Fingers cover) — St. Vincent and the National (Score! 20 Years of Merge Records: The Covers!)
"We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed" — Los Campesinos! (We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed)

I'll Never Ask You the Truth But You Owe That to Me

2009-06-18T15:49:00.003-05:00

When all inspiration fails, post a mid-year best-of film list.

(500) Days of Summer
Star Trek
Up
Duplicity
The Hangover
The Brothers Bloom
Drag Me to Hell
Coraline
State of Play
Adventureland

TMI Too Late

2009-05-10T22:17:00.008-05:00

Later in the day someone said something that made me remember sometime, where I was on this day of the week a year ago. Earlier in the day I'd distinctly had the thought of how much I've changed in the last year. Part of it was because I read the passage below. It provided one of those epiphanous before/after self-observations. I thought about how I don't read as much, don't think in words as much, don't worship at the altar of articulation anymore.

The below is not where I'm at at all now; but it's where I was for a long time a while back. And I could have used this then.

He recognized his dumb urge to never think about her again even as he failed to stop thinking about her, perhaps because of the energy required to stop those other thoughts. Photography stills in his apartment claimed there had been Eiffel Tower kisses and golden beach sunsets; he hadn't thrown those out yet. He had drawn her portrait a hundred times and shot eight-millimeter video of her and sometimes still watched it when he was home alone and in the mood to mope. When there were animal shows on cable, he would put on the CD of Summer Holiday and mute the TV switching back and forth with the remote, hitting Video Input over and over: Rachel sleeps on her side, her hair fanned out behind her and her arms pushing in front of her, as if she were soaring through the sky; the polar bear rears back and with both fists double-punches straight down through the ice to reach the seal; Rachel bats a dream pest away from her face; the seal is consumed in eight bites; "—I cover the waterfront…"

Lately he watched the animals more and Rachel less and sometimes felt as if all human affairs—but especially his own—could be sufficiently explained by the wily, competing coyotes and babysitting, gnu-gnawing lionesses and fascistic ants. After he was separated from Rachel and returned to the wild, he watched animal channels for hours at a time because they helped him fall asleep. Later, when he was sandbagging the new structures of mind necessary to keep pain from splashing over all his daily activity, when he could consider three years and still go to work, the animals remained. When he was able to think about his past, to consider and not just feel his pain, to calculate how thoroughly Rachel had broken and discarded him, how comprehensively they had misimagined each other, the baboons and orcas offered a certain stabilizing hope for the years ahead, and soon everything seemed explicable by animal behavior. Aggressive Teamsters on a commercial set were expressing threatened alpha status; gallery openings served to tighten group bonds for the protection of like genes. One had to be less heartbroken, since our cousin primates died from emotional trauma or recovered from it quickly. Litters in the wild of almost every species included a certain number of unfeasible offspring, starved by the mother and siblings, or just eaten by them.

Urges that had once driven Julian—to pursue and capture shampoo models, for example—were explained and defused by animal shows. That old behavior was just what countless cheetahs did, spreading seed. More and more of life dripped down beneath him, reduced by the immutable laws and relaxed habits of the animal kingdom. Entire species went extinct; ours would, too, someday, or evolve into something unrecognizable, a higher species that would pay no more attention to our obsessively cataloged feelings than we do to the despairs of Australopithecus, and all of this vain heartbreak that we cling to as important or tragic would one day be revealed—by TV scientists—for what it is: just behavior.
—Arthur Phillips, The Song is You

Nine months ago I would have eaten this shit up.

Adventures in Parkin'

2009-05-04T15:11:00.005-05:00

Saturday night I went to Spiderhouse to write (though, mostly, read). Spiderhouse on a Saturday night is a little busy, and their parking is bad, but towards the end of the year it's not hard to find a spot. Still, I parked at my normal spot, catty-cornered from the place at my landlord's office. Now, I've always had a response in the back of my head if I were to get in trouble: "I was dropping off my rent check." I prepared this excuse even while parking in the middle of the month. Tonight I wouldn't have to lie since I was dropping off rent. But I never got that chance to deliver the excuse to anyone; when my car was gone, it was just gone.

So I called J&J Towings, whose number was posted on the sign above where my car should have been.

"I was dropping off rent!" I yelled at the guy.

"That's a long time to drop off rent."

That's when I went over my phonebook and realized that, no matter how many more friends I've gotten in Austin, I still only had two people to call—Scott and Lucas roommate. Neither of them answer. I leave a message with Scott, say a silent fuck you to Lucas, and begin walking. I walked five miles home. (Here's my route.)

A few blocks in a homeless person stopped me as I rushed by. "How's your night?" Shitty, I said. "I hear ya," he said, then added, "Hey, do you know a good place to sleep?"

Two things occurred to me halfway: First, I texted the situation to someone not in town any longer and added, "Fuck this town and all its inhabitants." He then suggested two people (plus my roommates). In both instances, I first thought, I don't want to get them out of bed; then I thought, Neither of them would answer; finally, I thought, fuck them especially. In fact, the way home I went through a laundry list of every person I know and damned them because I didn't feel comfortable calling them in the middle of the night to pick me up.

The second was that I should have just called a cab. But, considering the J&J guy told me I'd have to drop $200 for this, I wasn't wanting to waste money. At about the halfway point I was willing but couldn't find a number. After crossing I-35 I finally scribbled down the number but went ahead anyway, numb feet be damned. (I also had to walk a little extra to avoid Cameron Rd. because I thought that would be the place where they'd steal the laptop I'd been lugging on my shoulder. I finally got home and collapsed about 3:30.

Scott called me around 9:00 the next morning. He's a deep sleeper and he missed both my phone calls. (This actually is legit.) I then have him pick me up around noon and take me to the far ass of the city where this towing place is. His damnation is completely invalidated and more than a little over-reactionary.

I'd called ahead and as opposed to the night before the lady was nice (she called me "honey"), so I was determined not to be a dick. First question when I went to the window: What do I do about contesting this? "Uh, small claims court? I don't know." Second question: How does this work, the two truck sees the car in front of a sign it just picks it up, no questions asked? "I don't know."

Then they come back with the new amount: $220. (I didn't notice this till afterwards, but they picked up my car at 11:50, and I picked it back up at 12:50. And for twelve hours they charged me for two days of storage.) I give them my card (no checks, only cash or debit) and they can't swipe it. "It's not swiping." Can't you just type in my number? It's a perfectly working card, I've never had a problem with it. "No." That's when I lost it; the "fucks" went flying and I kicked their tiny chain-link fence pay-area.

Went to the ATM and, sure enough, insufficient funds. That's because I haven't deposited my tax refund check. Which is in my car.

I ended up OKing some direct deposit advance and getting the car back quickly. I double checked the receipt and it has clear instructions on how to contest—plus, it also states that my landlord gave a blanket authorization for towing. I called them today, and they said they'd write me a letter stating I was conducting business. Actually, I'm duly impressed with my landlord:

His vehicle should not have been towed because he was dropping off rent at the time. Please release his vehicle and drop all fees.

Then she went on to chastise the company for towing without authorization. All previous landlord bitching is now moot.

More than anything I'm held it against a shitload of people, thinking, They don't answer the phone when I casually call. Why would they now? But mostly I imagined them picking me up only hear is my step-dad in my head chastising me for irresponsibility the same way he always did when he picked me up during a car snafu. Which, of course, only helped project more undeserved passive-aggression.

Sure enough, over the next few days I freely volunteered the story to people I'd been determined to never utter the story to. This exchange happened more than once:

"Why didn't you call me?!"

"It was two in the morning."

"Oh, OK. Then I wouldn't have answered."

Dead Man on Dunbury

2009-04-07T12:42:00.004-05:00

This morning, at about 2:35 a.m., I was sitting on my bed, Indian-style, watching my fingers shake, being spoken at by my roommate, who stood in my doorway, trying to explain why it was OK for him to play his band's CD full blast to a lure a new one-night-stand, that it really was an ulterior motive to get me out of my wallflower-shell, despite no invite having come my way from him in months, and despite it being the first time that night we'd seen each other. In reply, I finally mustered to mutter with utter conviction: "I'm going to stab you in your sleep."

Adventures in Automobilin'

2009-03-17T15:04:00.007-05:00

As much as I want this to be a story about an Austin DoucheBag, I'll be honest: it isn't (necessarily). That it did happen on Red River, one block from what I consider ADB Ground Zero, is probably its only justification. That and it involves a jolly homeless guy butting in, something I justifiably identify with this city.

Amidst the SXSW Music (First Day's) Eve, traffic was bad. Around Red River and 10th I hit a red light, behind a truck carting a trailer. It creeped forward, getting ready to turn right on a red. I creeped forward following. Then regrets must have come about, because I saw his white reverse-lights light up.

I honked. He was inches away from my bumper. He stopped.

Then he kept going. I honked again. Fewer inches away from my bumper. He stopped.

Then he kept going. Honked longer. Fewer inches. He stopped.

Then he had one last try. Laid on the horn. Almost there. His reverse-lights turned off, his car went into park, and he got out ready to kick my ass.

"CAN'T YOU FUCKING BACKUP JUST A LITTLE BIT?" he said to me.

"NO I FUCKING CAN'T," and then I thumbed back to the car behind me. Which was on my tail.

Even though he could have recreated a famous LA riot moment right then and there, he immediately got embarrassed. I seethed. As my eyeline followed him back to his car it kept moving on to a homeless guy, beside my passenger side window, looking at me, then pleading with me, using his full-body force of his arms to show me how to shove down the bad vibes, finally advising deeply:

"CALM THE ROADRAGE. Calm the roadrage."

Thread Quote/Exchange of the Week: 3/13/09

2009-03-13T00:53:00.000-05:00

Quote:

Adam: So, a friend of mine got this in her facebook inbox. Apparently Tanya is a person she went to high school with and is a face book friend of. Apparently somebody is pretty pissed at Tanya and sent his message out to all of Tanya's facebook friends:

Tanya,
I know you fucked my husband in the back seat of his car on Sunday night in a cracker Barrel parking lot on your way home from the Greenville CVS.. I know exactly what time it was there was a break in the phone messages between 6:30'ish' and 7:45. I hope you are satisfied with what your 20 minutes got you! Apparently you weren't that good you couldn't even make my husband finish. You are nothing but a white trash whore who will burn in hell. I hope your 3yr old daughter finds out what kind of person you are! You are a very classy lady to be fucking someone's husband and betraying your own husband and little girl, not to mention the backseat of a car in a cracker barrel parking lot! WOW! It would be in your best interest to never come in contact with me! I will be sending the pictures you sent to my husband a long with the phone records and the leather I cut out of his back seat that has your skanky ass on it, maybe you can make a belt or something with it? I strongly suggest if you have not confessed to your husband that you do before all this information reaches him. You are one hell of a woman to lie to me and not have the guts to admit your wrong doing. One thing about me is I ALWAYS win!!
Have a great life!

And exchange:

Elliot: A friend of mine growing up owned a spider monkey. They thought it was cool, at first, but they never trained it and it got a little rambunctious, so they tied it up in the backyard and pretty much neglected it. Any time you would walk in their backyard, you'd get pegged with precision-thrown acorns hard enough to leave a welt. Those fuckers are accurate.

Dustin: Did it masturbate?

Elliot: Not that I saw, but I'm sure it did. Everything masturbates!

Dustin: I remember that kids book.

Me: My dog used to masturbate with his dog bowl. Even though I still don't understand the physics of it.

Dustin: The physics of masturbation? There is a kids book I want you to read.

Me: He humped the dog bowl. The edges were sharp. You explain to me how that doesn't hurt or how it works. Hell, find an illustrator if you think that'll help.

Dustin: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O09x9sT5Ks8 [Ed. Note: Video title: "Dog humps his food."]

Kurt: One of the greatest videos I've ever seen.

Elliot: Did you just google "Masturbating Dog" at work?

Me: He's humping air!

Look, I understand that animals, in particular dogs, do hump motions onto inanimate objects. Hell, I'll concede that it might even work from time to time, or for more than I'm giving credit. But I refuse to believe my dog ever got off humping his sharp, worn, plastic dog bowl! If I had to bet, I'd put more money on him cutting his penis rather than coming.

Alexandria: hahah that statement is very amusing to me. good job shane.

Elliot: Haven't you ever heard of "fidomasochism?"

Me: I'm friends with Dustin. I'm sure it's been brought up before.

Dustin: Look. There's only one way to solve this. We need to get a dog bowl and hump it. Maybe Mythbusters has a stipend for this sort of thing.

Kurt: "Hi, I'm Dustin L[.], and this is dog bowl humping!"

Dustin: Mythbusters, not Jackass, you....err... jackass.

I want the bowl to explode when I'm done.

Me: Why stop there. I'm pretty sure Huggy's buried with his bowl. Why not exhume the body, Geraldo?

Dustin: i don't understand. You want me to hump the bowl or you want Huggy to hump the bowl?

Me: I think I resoundingly speak for the thread and all of humanity in saying that I'd rather you hump the bowl than the dead remains of my childhood dog.

Plus, you humping a bowl? Priceless.

Kurt: I'm just saying, you've got a way better shot of getting on the air on Jackass.

Dustin: I've humped worse.

Me: Thread,

One time in high school I'd left a t-shirt in Dustin's car for some reason. His girlfriend used it for clean-up, and they didn't tell me about it till months after. I'd worn it many times.

Explained? More?

Dustin: I forgot about that. That story always makes me laugh.

We always had a private little joke everytime we saw shane wear that shirt.

Kurt: Dustin, I'd like to request a list of inanimate objects you have humped. This is for research in preparing the bowl project.

And yes, sleeping roommates count.

Me: I want to do a thread poll of what worse objects you think he's humped.

I'll start. A pole.

Elliot: Cactus? No flaps, though...

Me: Good! OK, here:

The upper back of a sleeping retarded girl on the back of the bus.

Kurt: I'm gonna guess...a Tear 'n' Share bag of M&Ms. Probably peanut. Possibly peanut butter.

Dustin: Here is a short list:

able, achieve, acoustics, action, activity, aftermath, afternoon, afterthought, apparel, appliance, beginner, believe, bomb, border, boundary, breakfast, cabbage, cable, calculator, calendar, caption, carpenter, cemetery, channel, circle, creator, creature, education, faucet, feather, friction, fruit, fuel, galley, guide, guitar, health, heart, idea, kitten, laborer, language, lawyer, linen, locket, lumber, magic, minister, mitten, money, mountain, music, partner, passenger, pickle, picture, plantation, plastic, pleasure, pocket, police, pollution, railway, recess, reward, route, scene, scent, squirrel, stranger, suit, sweater, temper, territory, texture, thread, treatment, veil, vein, volcano, wealth, weather, wilderness, wren, wrist, writer

actor, airplane, airport, army, baseball, beef, birthday, boy, brush, bushes, butter, cast, cave, cent, cherries, cherry, cobweb, coil, cracker, dinner, eggnog, elbow, face, fireman, flavor, gate, glove, glue, goldfish, goose, grain, hair, haircut, hobbies, holiday, hot, jellyfish, ladybug, mailbox, number, oatmeal, pail, pancake, pear, pest, popcorn, queen, quicksand, quiet, quilt, rainstorm, scarecrow, scarf, stream, street, sugar, throne, toothpaste, twig, volleyball, wood, wrench

advice, anger, answer, apple, arithmetic, badge, basket, basketball, battle, beast, beetle, beggar, brain, branch, bubble, bucket, cactus, cannon, cattle, celery, cellar, cloth, coach, coast, crate, cream, daughter, donkey, drug, earthquake, feast, fifth, finger, flock, frame, furniture, geese, ghost, giraffe, governor, honey, hope, hydrant, icicle, income, island, jeans, judge, lace, lamp, lettuce, marble, month, north, ocean, patch, plane, playground, poison, riddle, rifle, scale, seashore, sheet, sidewalk, skate, slave, sleet, smoke, stage, station, thrill, throat, throne, title, toothbrush, turkey, underwear, vacation, vegetable, visitor, voyage, year

alarm, animal, aunt, bait, balloon, bath, bead, beam, bean, bedroom, boot, bread, brick, brother, camp, chicken, children, crook, deer, dock, doctor, downtown, drum, dust, eye, family, father, fight, flesh, food, frog, goose, grade, grandfather, grandmother, grape, grass, hook, horse, jail, jam, kiss, kitten, light, loaf, lock, lunch, lunchroom, meal, mother, notebook, owl, pail, parent, park, plot, rabbit, rake, robin, sack, sail, scale, sea, sister, soap, song, spark, space, spoon, spot, spy, summer, tiger, toad, town, trail, tramp, tray, trick, trip, uncle, vase, winter, water
week, wheel, wish, wool, yard, zebr

apple, arm, banana, bike, bird, book, chin, clam, class, clover, club, corn, crayon, crow, crown, crowd, crib, desk, dime, dirt, dress, fang, field, flag, flower, fog, game, heat, hill, home, horn, hose, joke, juice, kite, lake, maid, mask, mice, milk, mint, meal, meat, moon, mother, morning, name, nest, nose, pear, pen, pencil, plant, rain, river, road, rock, room, rose, seed, shape, shoe, shop, show, sink, snail, snake, snow, soda, sofa, star, step, stew, stove, straw, string, summer, swing, table, tank, team, tent, test, toes, tree, vest, water, wing, winter, woman, women

ball, bat, bed, book, boy, bun, can, cake, cap, car, cat, cow, cub, cup, dad, day, dog, doll, dust, fan, feet, girl, gun, hall, hat, hen, jar, kite, man, map, men, mom, pan, pet, pie, pig, pot, rat, son, sun, toe, tub, van

also, 4 of these 6 items:

http://www.cracked.com/article_17098_6-strangest-objects-people-were-caught-having-sex-with.html

Kurt: Hang on...I saw woman on that list...

Elliot: Fleshlight?

Me: Seriously dude. "Mom"?

Dustin: Your mom!

Me: It wasn't "other person's mom"; it was just "mom."

Dustin: Dustin Humps the Aftermath is my new band name.

Kurt: Does Dustin Humps the Aftermath need a sax player?

Me: No, but it can use the sax. Just don't be around when they empty the spit-valve.

Elliot: You should change it to "Dustin Humps the Aftershock." Who wouldn't want to hump an earthquake!?!?!

Me: Very zen. Do you hump the earth, or does the earth hump you?

Dustin: More things I humped:

A safety pin, a row of button batteries, a car key, A fork, Montana, bed springs, magnetic pieces of a block, a 10-Pound Hairball, Live Frogs and Rats, 20 cobblestones, A Plane, a Bike

Me: See, now, a safety pin? A fork? We come full circle -- how do you not cut yourself? And is it worth it?

Dustin: Dude. It's a SAFETY pin. and a fork, not a knife. I know how to be careful.

Dustin: the Brave Little Toaster

Dustin: Sam's Air Mattress

Me: OK, that's a loaded answer, and I am, for the first time in this conversation, disgusted.

Dustin: http://s5.tinypic.com/28bsnqh.jpg [Ed. Description: giant camel face.]

Kurt: And how exactly do you go about humping that?

Me: With gumption and hope.

Dustin: A step ladder, which luckily I had on hand from an experiment earlier in the day.

Thread Quote of the Week: 3/6/09

2009-03-06T15:22:00.002-06:00

One of these days—bang! zoom! right in the kisser!—these things will get good. For now I'm awarding myself quote of the week:

Dustin: Yet ANOTHER thing Shane and Miley Cyrus have in common:

http://www.spike.com/blog/miley-cyrus-got/74656

Me: I don't like you bringing up in mixed company the fact that Billy Ray Cyrus molested me.

Just don't tell my parents, [my] stupid prudish parents. I just don't think they'd understand.

Thread Exchange of the Week: 2/27/09

2009-02-27T15:13:00.000-06:00

Me: I had a dream last night about playing guitar for Diablo Cody and she called me funny and sweet. I think it was because I'd just watched the last United States of Tara, which she wrote, and which was apparently autobiographical about boob implant surgery.

Dustin: I dreamt I made out with someone from the thread at my old movie theatre while my manager Gopher watched.

Sam: i had a dream that was weird and inside jokey too

Dustin: 75%

That's the amount of time I hate when Sam is on the thread.

Me: But your subconscious has you making out with him in your old theater while Gopher watches. So what does that tell you?

Sam: 76%

That's the amount of your body covered in hair.

BOOM.

Dustin: Is that the same percentage for you or is there an "up top" handicap? [Ed. Note: Sam's hairline is receding like the economy right now.]

Sam: you slammed it home.... 10 minutes later.

Me: I miss Sam, even when I'm trying to verbally beat him into quiet submission.

Sam: Aw... thanks you guys! I can feel all your love, in my groinal area, slightly burning... thanks guys.

Me: Why is it burning down there? I thought you hadn't gotten laid in a while.

Dustin: Yeah. that always pisses me off. I hate when it burns when you pee and you haven't got any in awhile.

Sam: what's 'awhile'?

Me: Let's hear yours first. Then Dustin's. I bet both will make me laugh.

Dustin: Does by yourself count?

Me: I think "I haven't gotten laid in sooooo long!" jokes tend to plateau once we start on jerk-off entendre.

Sam: thats too bad, because i was really looking forward to that awesome riff-fest.

I really want to eat some tacos. that was me changing the subject... not making it more specific.

Me: Because I think everyone here could do something with tacos.

I mean metaphorically. Or not. Discuss.

Sam: question for the mini thread....

for my lunch, should i buy some tacos from... chipotle? or should i go to the grocery and get ingredients to make my own tacos, i already have tortillas at home

Dustin: I haven't had tacos in "awhile"

Me: Who's on first, Vagina's on second, Taco's on third! That's what I want to know!

Sam: you told me you had them for lunch this very day!!

Me: Knowing your money situation, eat at home.

Plus, every time you go out for tacos you get something spicy that still feels itchy months later.

Down your throat.

Sam: how would you know my money situation?

Me: Because I've met you.

Sam: you don't sign my checks!

Me: And yet I feel I can safely bet on their elasticity.

Dustin: The ways I hear it, you don't get many checks.

Sam: thats just because i forgot to approve my hours on the online database thing... and no one caught it... so maybe i didnt get paid for February, but my first check in march is going to be a bastard!

besides, my face cashes fucking checks

Me:That your mouth can't pay? Are you wanting to fight? Because if you do, there'll be two hits.

Tacos.

Sam: i cant decide if i want chicken tacos or steak tacos. I cannot decide.

And scene.

Thread Quote/Exchange of the Week: 2/20/09

2009-02-20T16:25:00.001-06:00

I've mentioned many times how most of my energy for blogging, be it in the form of links or rants, has gone into my friend Dustin's work email thread, which he put me on three years ago. (Bored at work, 20 or so people surf the Internet and send each other links of NBA mascots falling full-bodied through a regulation hoop after having been hit in the balls by a turned-around half-court shot from a fellow mascot and such. Plus, we argue like a high school computer class. I've probably met four of the 20 in person.) Now, to harness that energy, I've got a new weekly gimmick/column:

Thread Quote/Exchange of the Week

This first week, however, is starting off pretty weakly. I sent a link about Christopher Hitchens, the only respectable man still defending the Iraq War to swallow his whole head with his lower lip, getting the crap beaten out of him in Lebanon. To wit:

Steph: I bet that spilled his drink.

I followed up with a joke comparing Hitchens to Dudley Moore, but no one thought that was funny.

Don't worry. They get better.

You Talk Too Much, Cat

2009-02-18T14:27:00.005-06:00

"I'm really embarrassed to say it, but I read your blog the other day."

"Really?" I said, impersonating a puppy. "And?"

Then she turned and addressed this more to the rest of the table. "There were just paragraphs that went on forever. Like, there was this one post where it took me three times read. I had to go over it and I still didn't get it."

"Which one?"

"It had a list? There was a girl? But it was a list and you'd have just one part, and I had to scroll down twice just to get through one paragraph."

"I'm sure there's a compliment in here somewhere. Even backhanded."

Sarah, sitting in between me and her friend Sara, turned to me. "That's her way of complimenting." I heartily took it, then spent the rest of the evening talking too much.

So an oldie-but-goodie observation rears its homely but true head, be it coming from an an old boss, old boss's boss, or Dustin every other day. I have a high word count. To paraphrase a Doug Stanhope bit, getting me really talking "is like going off to battle. Some of you aren't going to be here in the end."

Which begs the question: Should I work on being a better Cliff's Notes version of myself? Or should I somehow try to find a way to work footnotes better into everyday conversation? I, obviously, stand in the latter camp, and have stood here for years.

Deadbeat Dad Checks In

2009-02-09T18:03:00.001-06:00

I'd like to promise you that I'm down to only one post a year, for my top whatever-the-hell best movies of the year. I'd like to. Also, I'd like to send you all birthday cards.

WALL•E
The Dark Knight
Rachel Getting Married
Reprise
Doubt
Slumdog Millionaire
Zack & Miri Make a Porno
The Class
Vicky Christina Barcelona
Speed Racer

Honorable Mention (In Order of Preference)
Milk; Tell No One; The Wrestler; The Brothers Bloom; Valkyrie; The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; The Fall; The Unforeseen; Burn After Reading; Synecdoche, New York; Iron Man; Che; Revolutionary Road; Frost/Nixon; Cloverfield; Let the Right One In; Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist; Gran Torino; Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull; Forgetting Sarah Marshall; Son of Rambow; Dreams With Sharp Teeth; Shotgun Stories; The Foot Fist Way; Redbelt; The Promotion; In Bruges ; Pineapple Express; Paranoid Park; Seven Pounds; Blindness; Religulous; The Wackness; Elegy; Hamlet 2; U2 3D; The Bank Job; Hellboy II: The Golden Army; Role Models; W.; Quantum of Solace; Man on Wire; Hancock; Australia; Kung Fu Panda; You Don't Mess With the Zohan; Punisher: War Zone; Step Brothers; Be Kind Rewind; My Blueberry Nights; Frozen River; Body of Lies; Standard Operating Procedure; The Other Boleyn Girl; The Spirit; The Signal; Chicago 10; Changeling; Wanted; Leatherheads; Charlie Bartlett; Sex Drive; War, Inc.; Shine a Light; Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson; Definitely, Maybe; My Best Friend’s Girl; Rambo; Teeth; and Snow Angels.

Starts & Stops

2008-11-28T16:25:00.005-06:00

The day before Thanksgiving I had this conversation:

Friend: "So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Me: "As usual, I forgot about it. It's my afternoon off."

Friend: "Really? Nothing?"

Me: "It's my third straight Texas Thanksgiving. My dad always asks if I'm coming home, and I'm like, 'If you want to buy a ticket…'"

Friend: Sympathetic stare, trying to gauge if I'm serious or masking.

Me: "No, really. Thanksgiving was always the holiday that made things seem more dysfunctional, with the going to the three different divorced families. I always work on Thanksgiving, too. I've never been a fan."

Friend: "I wish I would've known. I'm going to my college-buddy's in Ft. Hood."

Me: "It's fine."

And no, it wasn't fine, but its lack of fineness was pretty low on the priority list of not-fine things. At least, at the time. But, with my lack of foresight, I wasn't taking into account that I was at a bar with this friend due to his having driven me there. That's because my car had begun smoking from the hood when it rolled into park a block away from his house, a death knell it'd been trying to communicate all week to me. (For the last two weeks, only gears three, five, and reverse worked on my standard transmission vehicle.) And, in my increasingly unobservant state, I was unable to tell if another friend, whose birthday we were there to celebrate, was even having a good time.

With that in consideration, and the reveled drive-me-home drunkness I also was unable to foresee, I spent most of Thanksgiving on a bus trying to get back to my car and drive its whimpering, near-dead ass back home. Then take the bus back to work. Then walk home across I-35 after midnight. Which, to find reasons to be thankful, didn't actually occur on Thanksgiving in this time zone.

The bus schedule was severely limited, which increased the time on the bus or bus stops. I asked my roommate if he'd drive me to my car. He said, "But I just got home with groceries."

"Oh. Then it's OK, don't worry about it…" He went on to make himself a sandwich instead of interrupting my ellipsis, so I grabbed my coat.

After I'd missed my stop and walked a few blocks back to Hancock Center for a transfer, I ended up walking across one of Austin's busier parking lots—and it was completely deserted, post-apocalyptic style. It was a particularly dreary day, and at a certain point the fineness drained.

To compensate for my mood right now, on here of late, and in general, I think I'm going to break my job-story moratorium—safely, hopefully, since the names or proper nouns will be changed to protect the innocent and my non-disclosure agreement. Because, if I think about it for more than five seconds, my job is magical, and provides me so much to be thankful for.

(Long-winded background: The one thing I've always felt certain of in life is that I want to make movies. I do this because I decided sometime in my teenage years that the point of life was sharing one's inner-life and making the world better for, with, and by dialogue better articulated. Somewhere along the line I subscribed to the theory the film is the most powerful medium, be it because it combined so many other mediums, had changed the world so drastically in the early half of the past century, or because it'd meant so much to me so consistently. No matter how many transient details maneuver themselves through and past my life, this has never changed.

My whole movie-watching thing, that trait which has most likely to be identified in a limited-word quiz taken by anyone I've met in the past ten years, comes not just from love but also research. Even the most dogshit movie has techniques and ideas to steal. My favorite artists are the widely-read and -watched, those whose wide-net influences give them a toolbox to get the intangible across more powerfully. Long-winded background done.)

I've never respected someone I see day-to-day more than the boss-boss. A few Saturdays ago, the office is empty except me and him, and, as usual, I'd stockpiled work to show, get critiqued, noted, dismissed. He really liked something a little left-field I'd done, and after about five minutes finessing it, he notes, "You're doing that weird ____ ______ stuff," referring to one of his old editors and a flashy technique I'd employed.

"Well, you used it a bunch in ____ ___ ____," I said.

"We did?"

"Oh yeah! In the __________ stuff? In fact," I said, preparing to launch into another forced fact-about-myself exposit: "When I was first learning editing, I watched ____ ___ ____ a lot, and when I saw that, I remember thinking, I'll never figure out how they did that." But I wasn't saying it right. I'd "technically" figured out how to recreate it pretty quickly. (In fact, what I didn't know at the time, was that it was a camera mistake left in.) But I'd never seen that technique used so transcendentally, so out-of-the-box different yet functionally magical. And I got depressed. Because, at that point years earlier, I thought I could never be that smart or inspired to think that up and put in my toolbox.

"Oh," boss-boss said, dutifully satisfied. "I guess we did."

My thankfulness comes from the fact that, since moving to Austin (and especially since this job), I've become preoccupied with the idea of having a conversation with my different aged selves. If we started talking about levels of emotional happiness, yes, maybe nothing new would be said. I'd get told specifically what was happening then with details I'd fudged out, and I'd get bitter and either tell when such-and-such a person would disappoint us or get a grin when something unexpectedly nice hadn't happened to Young Me yet. And then Older Me would do the same to me. But when we get to the objective details of what's happening, right now, I can be proud to tell Young Me what I'm doing, and I'd love to see the wide-eyes m/he'd get. When I think about these conversations I can ignore my own hurt, or people I've hurt because of my petulant hurt, the wider number of people I've left unaffected, and the people whose unknown amount of influence I've had.

Plus, when I got off the bus to work, there was some decent dark meat turkey. Which, superficially, fulfilled one thankful Thanksgiving obligation.

The Beard Goes, You Stay!

2008-11-05T14:43:00.008-06:00

My costume was pretty mediocre this year. But, more importantly, I shaved for the first time in three years. (I know! Because there's a lack of clean-shaven pictures of me on the Interwebs.)

Let me try to recreate every single explanation of my costume:

Them: Blank stare.

Me: "Jack Nicholson from Chinatown?"

Them: "Oh! I knew that."

This girl Katy and I had a heated discussion about her sister. Then her daughter. Then her sister. Then her daughter. For the love of God we couldn't get a good picture, no matter how many times I smacked her.

Another three year moratorium was lifted, too: I danced. Well, not so much danced as scratched my nose.

So (internal) debate rages to keep a stubble or go back to the beard. Before you know it I won't need my glasses anymore. And I don't know if it's my strength but this chair no longer keeps—breaking!

Re-Newed Love Affair

2008-11-05T00:56:00.003-06:00

Still feeling too lazy (and, honestly, a little overwhelmed) to write more, I'll just pointedly link to two old post. Just an odd comparison to show where the country is at now.

First. My reaction to Election Night 2004.

Second. Where my wholly uncynical, renewed sense of patriotism that's overwhelming me now started, and where my faith was fulfilled.

The Algonquin IHOP Club

2008-11-03T01:31:00.002-06:00

Inconclusive Findings I Like to Share

2008-10-28T13:07:00.013-05:00

I just saw a picture that made me hit my fist against a brick wall. So I figured, what better time than to return to the vague, vaguer, public, and unread world of blogging? I haven't written anything in a while because my mind has been going in two directions.

1. There was a girl earlier this summer. Yes, I know that seems like a long time ago to emotionally healthy fucks, people who cavalierly stream through one human connection after another like confetti, and myself six months ago. But it's me. It takes me a long time to get over attachment. I'm crazy like that. Getting over people involves a constant logical reassurance of the way things objectively are, seguewayed longer flights of fancy for why things just might subjectively not be that way, an increasingly sliding scale of less obsessiveness and getting back into the habit of not-being an uninteresting twit, and a healthy dose of cold-turkey on faith in humanity. In-between this involves a lot of certain and dire mapping of my future levels of happiness from here to the end.

Oh. And many internal pats-on-the-back for thinking for five minutes the way I thought six months ago. Like a normal person. Logically, I can agree with everyone else that, without the details, it's practically archetypal—this could have been written 10 years ago minus a little cynicism and some big words—and should simply remain that way: private. But, as I'll get to later, I'm pretty sure it is relatively private. And this isn't about her; it's about the fact at how upset seeing a picture is still making me, how evident a lack of progress in my quest to turn into stone over that (I guess) meaningless period that happened what seems like already a long time ago—if we're talking about the relativity in terms of how much it apparently meant. If I've been objectively told by another person's words and actions that a relationship truly doesn't matter, I really would like to not waste all my time, mental and linear, on it. Again, if it hasn't been made clear so far, I'm crazy like that.

2. There's that and my job. My secret job, which is the greatest, most creative, most rewarding job there is. But let's not get crazy with the happiness-for-me. It's not a dayjob, I'm still poor, it's low on the totem pole, it's still 15 steps and a sheer drop away from where I want to be. Also, it's been trying enough lately to get to a position where it's almost average, almost grind-ish. And it vacuums all independent thought of mine, meaning I haven't written anything on here or in my own creative life. My sole imaginary output is an office in-joke where I write missives to my boss-boss from Michael Bay and stick them on the door to an editing bay for all to read. (And honestly, I'm being outdone.)

So the lack of updates. The dreaded, previously unthought option of deleting six years of blog musings and written archives of my personality has been put on the table. This is for one basic reason: it no longer has a connection with my daily life. No one I talk to on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis reads this. No one I talk to really spends much time on the Internet, which, maybe I was crazy, but was one of my relied forums for human connection. It's all this accumulative disconnect I feel more, which I never thought would get worse, even if I can acknowledge (again with the logic) that it's just an ebbing and flowing. The only connect there is is the aforementioned lessened humanity-faith and its connection to my increased chronic dissatisfaction with fucking everything. Every unreturned phone call or email becomes lumped in. And so the blog is just another once-important component of my life diminished with nothing to replace it in its diminishing.

Nothing changes. No one is making me feel better and therefore I'm not making anyone else feel better. I'm verbose and sad. A tad too self-obsessed. I've written the same variant and I can't tell the difference. I'm either putting this out in public because I secretly hope someone who cares reads it and connects or someone anonymous reads it, connects, then cares. But due to diminished returns, further separation between current and former readers in different states, I've had a little trouble giving a fuck.

I'm sorry. This has been a bad, bi-polar week, month, season, what-have-you. Probably the biggest reason I haven't written anything is that I always took the advice to write down stuff to figure stuff out. And, as has become apparent, none of this stuff has been figured out since I learned to read or write, and never will be figured. When you're prone to constant, alienated thoughts that you're different in the way that your life is going to be constant passion, disappointment, and perpetual struggle, and your one solace has been to aggrandize the supposed nobility of it all, therein lies a fallacy. That fallacy, inconsistent with the whole masochistic noblesse oblige vibe, is that if you bring to light that self-aggrandized nobility, that somehow it will change things. Not only can't I see that change, but it feels like I shouldn't be living a life where I'm shilling for myself with so much misguided effort.

My friend Josh, his wife gave birth to a baby girl Sunday morning. It's never been a question about if there are good things out there. It's only been about how to find them and how long they'll stay, and what to do when they're done.

Footnote

2008-09-15T00:24:00.011-05:00

He tried so hard to be sincere and to attend to the world around him because he was excruciatingly aware of how often we are merely "sincere" and "attentive" and all too willing to leave it at that. He spoke of the discipline and of the abrading, daily labor such efforts require because the one imperative that runs throughout all of his work is the intimate connection between humility and wisdom.
—Laura Miller, "Remembering David Foster Wallace"*

Sometime over a year ago, towards the beginning of spring but when it was still cool, I was going through a period very similar to what I'm going through now: heart-stuck on a person when my mind logically has moved on, being unemotionally certain of this being the better thing but consistently finding my mind drifting to thoughts of her because, goddammit, it's so hard to be unemotional. One free afternoon I did a very preparatory writer-thing to deal. Some writers have been known to copy a book completely, long-handed or typed, just to find yourself producing the sentence rhythms of a long work or a master writer. It's actually fun, too. In college, one teacher suggested Henry James. I'd do passaged. I didn't do a novel, but, to see if I could unencumber my emotional life, I typed out my favorite short story: David Foster Wallace's "The Depressed Person." This is how that story opens:

The depressed person was in terrible and unceasing emotional pain, and the impossibility of sharing or articulating this pain was itself a component of the pain and a contributing factor in its essential horror.

Despairing, then, of describing the emotional pain or expressing its utterness to those around her, the depressed person instead described the circumstances, both past and ongoing, which were somehow related to the pain, to its etiology and cause, hoping at least to be able to express to others something of the pain’s context, its—as it were—shape and texture.

The thing about Wallace's suicide by hanging is that it doesn't strike you like other literary suicides of Ernest Hemingway or Hunter S. Thompson as fatalist if you've read even some of the writing. Wallace had such a keen, entrenched way of writing about sadness, but he was so smart that he almost gave you the hope he'd had it figured out.

Full disclosure: I'm one of those people who bought a copy of Infinite Jest in hopes it'd be 1,000 page door-stop of guilt that I still hadn't read. I only got 100 pages in. But this is my favorite passage.

'Hal?'

'…'

'Hey Hal?'

'Yes Mario?'

'Are you asleep?'

'Booboo, we've been over this. I can't be asleep if we're talking.'

'That's what I thought.'

'Happy to reassure you.'

'Boy were you on today. Boy did you ever make that guy look sick. When he hit that one down the line and you got it and fell down and hit that drop-volley Pemulis said the guy looked like he was going to be sick all over the net, he said.'

'Boo, I kicked a kid's ass is all. End of story. I don't think it's good to rehash it when I've kicked somebody's ass. It's like a dignity thing. I think we should just let it sort of lie in state, quietly. Speaking of which.'

'Hey Hal?'

'…'

'Hey Hal?'

'It's late, Mario. It's sleepy-time. Close your eyes and think fuzzy thoughts.'

'That's what Moms always says, too.'

'Always worked for me, Boo.'

'You think I think fuzzy thoughts all the time. You let me room with you because you feel sorry for me.'

'Booboo I'm not even going to dignify that. I'll regard it as like a warning sign. You always get petulant when you don't get enough sleep. and here we are seeing petulence on the western horizon, right here.'

'…'

'…'

'When I asked if you were asleep I was going to ask i you felt like you believed in God, today, out there, when you were so on, making that guy look sick.'

'This again?'

'…'

'Really don't think midnight in a totally dark room with me so tired my hair hurts and drills in six short hours is the time and place to get into this, Mario.'

'…'

'You ask me this once a week.'

'You never say, is why.'

'So tonight to shursh you how about if I say I have administrative bones to pick with God, Boo. I'll say God seems to have a kind of laid-back managements style I'm not crazy about. I'm pretty much anti-death. God looks by all accounts to be pro-death. I'm not seeing how we can get together on this issue, he and I, Boo.'

'You're talking about since Himself passed away.'

'…'

'See? You never say.'

'I do too say. I just did.'

'…'

'I just didn't happen to say what you wanted to hear, Booboo, is all.'

'…'

'There's a difference.'

'I don't get ho you couldn't feel like you believed, today, out there. It was so right there. You moved like you totally believed.'

'…'

'How do you feel inside, not?'

'Mario, you and I are mysterious to each other. We countenance each other from either side of some unbridgeable difference on this issue. Let's lie very quietly and ponder this.'

'Hal?'

'…'

'Hey Hal?'

'I'm going to propose that I tell you a joke, Boo, on the condition that afterward you shush and let me sleep.'

'Is it a good one?'

'Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, and unwilling agnostic, and a dyslexic.'

'I give.'

'You get somebody who stays up all night torturing himself mentally over the question of whether or not there's a dog.'

'That's a good one.'

'Shush.'

'…'

'…'

'Hey Hal? What's an insomniac?'

'Somebody who rooms with you, kid, that's for sure.'

'Hey Hal?'

'…'

'How come Moms never cried when Himself passed away? I cried, and you, even C.T. cried. I saw him personally cry.'

'…'

'Hey Hal, did the Moms seem like she got happier after Himself passed away, to you?'

'…'

'It seems like she got happier. She seems even taller. She stopped travelling everywhere all the time for this and that thing. The corporate-grammar thing. The library-protest thing.'

'Now she never goes anywhere, Boo. Now she's got the Headmaster's House and her office and the tunnel in between, and never leaves the grounds. She's a worse workaholic than she ever was. And more obsessive-compulsive. When's the last time you saw a dust-mote in that house?'

'Hey Hal?'

'Now she's just an agoraphobic workaholic and obsessive-compulsive. This strikes you as happification?'

'Her eyes are better. They don't seem as sunk in. They look better. She laughs at C.T. way more than she laughed at Himself. She laughs from lower down inside. She laughs more. her jokes she tells are better ones than yours, even, now, a lot of the time.'

'…'

'How come she never got sad?'

'She did get sad, Booboo. She just got sad in her way instead of yours and mine. She got sad, I'm pretty sure.'

'Hal/"

'You remember how the staff lowered the flat to half-mast out front by the portcullis here after it happened? Do you remember that? And it goes to half-mast every years at Convocation? Remember the flat, Boo?'

'Hey Hal?'

'Don't cry, Booboo. Remember the flag only halfway up the pole? Booboo, there are two ways to lower a flat to half-mast. Are you listening? Because no shit I really have to sleep here in a second. So listen—one way to lower the flat to half-mast is just to lower the flat. There's another way though. You can also just raise the pole. You can raise the pole like twice its original height. You got me? You understand what I mean, Mario?'

'Hal?'

'She's plenty sad, I bet.'

*Note: I couldn't resist the gimmick of a footnote. On the subject of that, Wallace's most famous writerly trait, esteemed book critic Miller, who says Wallace was her "favorite living writer," had in stock a perfect quote from Wallace on his footnotes, though she doesn't specifically attribute it. His footnotes and digression are about the "difference between the size and speed of everything that flashes through you and the tiny inadequate bit of it all you can ever let anyone know."

Everybody (Me) Hurts (At an Airport)

2008-08-07T20:59:00.002-05:00

I thought the ticke ts would go away. I thought after finally receiving my court date (August 22) and figuring out a solution (plead guilty and ask for a reduced fine) that this would finally go away. But no. Austin's accelerated parking ticket program just went a little further. It's time to bring in the big guns.

Fuck You Dicklicking Airport Cop Who Gave Shane a Parking Ticket for Leaving His Car Unattended for, Literally, 30 Goddamned Seconds!
by Mr. Belabor the Point

The funniest part of this? So Shane's finally parks after having circled Austin-Bergstrom twice waiting for his mom, who's visiting, to pick up her luggage. She calls, he parks, and after a quick conversation they realize they're at the opposite ends of the pick-up area. He gets out of the car and (here's the key part) turns it off. His mom meets him halfway. There's hugs and warm greetings and Shane grabs his mother's suitcase, turns around to see—

An airport cop giving him a parking ticket.

This whole process, as stated eponymously, took 30 seconds.

I'm sorry, that's still not the funniest part. So Shane hands the suitcase back to his mom and runs down the orange-vested ass.

"Excuse me! EXCUSE ME! I just left the car to help my mom carry her luggage."

"You left your car sir," said orange-vested ass. "I saw you pass me."

"It was literally 30 seconds! I just went to help my mom with her luggage!" He then ignored Shane. Wait, wait. Still not the funniest part.

Shane loses it and almost pulls a Zsa Zsa. In front of his mother.

"This is BULLSHIT!"

Orange-vested training cop ass looks stunned but keeps writing. "It isn't bullshit, sir. You parked in front of a sign." He then pointed with his pen to a sign next to the car, which Shane again ignored, though this time purposely.

"IT IS BULLSHIT BECAUSE I WAS ONLY GONE FOR 30 SECONDS TO HELP MY MOM PICK UP HER LUGGAGE!" Somehow he thought yelling talking points would help.

By this time, Shane's mom walked up and looked embarrassed as orange-vested, training, ass-y, Pinocchio-cop (one day he'll be a real cop!) finished the ticket and handed it over. Then, violently, Shane snatched it from his hands!

He walked over to grab her suitcase, which she'd by then dragged over, to place in the car. "I'll pay for it," she said, trying to calm him.

"No, I will. It's just the fucking principle of it all." Shane's mom winced at her's son's f-bomb, as she is wont to do. "I mean, look at me; I'm shaking!"

Then, after placing his just-off-the-place mom in the passenger seat, as he walked behind the trunk to the driver's side, he yelled down the enclosed lane to orange-vested, training, ass-y, Pinocchio-cop ass, "THANKS A LOT MOTHERFUCKER!"

Recently Viewed:
Pineapple Express (Tues.)

Calling All Lone Wolves

2008-08-01T11:36:00.003-05:00

I use my infamous analogy: If I were to black out, wake up behind the sight of a rifle and in between the cross-hairs just so happened to be Stan Lee…would I pull a trigger?

Paris Hilton Gets Animated For Stan Lee-Created Superhero Spoof

Can Stan Lee do for Paris Hilton what he did for Pamela "Stripperella" Anderson? Word leaked out last year that the dynamic duo were working with MTV on a mutant-geared animated series for the heiress, so what’s the latest?

"We're developing that right now and just going over scripts and drawing my character," Hilton told us. "I fight crime."

Recently Viewed:
Step Brothers (Thurs.), Cinema Paradiso (Fri.), Tropic Thunder (Wed.)

Who Watches the Watchword?

2008-07-24T16:20:00.006-05:00

[T]o actually read a comic, you do have to be able to read, which is not something you can say about watching a film.
—Alan Moore, interview

I guess I'm the only one in the world who wasn't excited about the Watchmen trailer. I thought it was too saturated, slow-motion, synthetic, generally 300-y, and lacking all the much-promised "realism." Plus, there definitely aren't any ulterior reasons.

But the trailer, followed by this week's San Diego Comic-Con, will begin the all-out media blitz of the new Watchmen. Not just the Alan Moore/Dave Gibbons comic, but the film and, more importantly, the entity intellectually owned by TimeWarner. One of the main components to reselling the comic for a wider audience was to debut an animated version of the comic on iTunes.

This annoys the shit and any hint of charm out of me.

Now, I apologize in advance for getting into RANT ON! mode since, admittedly, I haven't seen the animated comic. (There's something wrong with my iTunes Store keygen which won't let me purchase anything from there.) But, if it brings, as described by its Warner Premiere Motion Comics press release, "a visually engaging experience to life through the use of subtle movements, voice-overs, sweeping music scores and stunning comic book artwork," then there's one thing to keep in mind. IT'S NOT A FUCKING COMIC. And its creators have nothing to do with it.

Comics are not movies. They don't have music. They don't have movement. Intelligent people and comic fans make this mistake, sometimes even comparing comics to storyboards. There are things that only movies can do. There are things that only comics can do. If you really want to know the difference, I'm sure Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics or Will Eisner's Comics and Sequential Art are available at your local library; I'll loudly recommend those essentials through even sore lungs.

Comics are color (or lack of) and images and iconography sequentially and strategically placed to move the eye to convey something: emotion, story, or information. Part of its art is how it moves the eye. This is one of the five billion reasons Watchmen is a masterpiece, because it has better movement in one page than an all-night Nora Ephron marathon. But they do this with static images and absolutely no persistence of vision.

That's not the hoopla received from the Watchmen motion comic. I got at least six different emails from excited friends, all comic fans, sending out links. Harry Knowles, the poser twit fanboy ambassador, said it was "pretty darn groovy," but wishes "they had done a full on audio production—with more voice actors and ambient sound." In fact, I've only seen one critical instance, though I'm not going to pretend my RSS reader is all-seeing.

Let's start with the premise/tagline stated in the trailer (why couldn't they go with the time-tested "Who Watches the Watchmen?"), that Watchmen is "THE MOST CELEBRATED GRAPHIC NOVEL OF ALL TIME." If true (which I believe), then take other most celebrated pieces of art from other mediums and try this tact with them:

Tolstoy's War and Peace, the interactive version!: Choose your own way through post-Napoleonic War Russia! (Warning: It's pretty boring for the first 100 minutes.)
Picasso's Guernica, the first person shooter!: Go inside one of the few paintings to psychically communicate the atrocity of a war massacre! Our advance game modelers put you into the surrealistic environment where reality twists Nazi warfare into your palpable revulsion!
Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, the board-game!: Be the first person to roll your way to the Fourth Movement and win an Ode to Joy!
Welles's Citizen Kane, the storybook!: Get to the last page to find out the secret of Rosebud—in pop-up form!
Scott's 1984 commercial, the novelization!: The harrowing adventure of a dark future where the government takes over by limiting people's language! Follow the travails of Dirk 84, and his forbidden love Donna 19, as they fight to get the Dyson Sphere Crystal in order defeat the evil Big Brother! Written by Peter David.
Captain Crunch: The Motion Picture!: High seas adventure. If it isn't the Captain, it doesn't CRUNCH—your balls. (Note: Movies adapting cereal was actually a suggestion Moore himself made in a recent interview.)

While we're at it, why not just make a Choose Your Own Adventure: Watchmen? Is Ozymandias fast enough to catch a bullet? Will Moloch get the type of cancer for which there is a cure, or the one for which there isn't? Who does the Comedian rape: Sally Jupiter or Hollis Mason? Does Rorschach feel cleansed, feel the dark planet turn under his feet and know what cats know that makes them scream like babies into the night, then look at the sky through smoke heavy with human fat and see God not there, with the cold suffocating dark going on forever and realize we are alone—or not? Turn to page 398 if yes, 1,047 if no!

And, yes, I understand that TimeWarner could be much worse.

Before you go and say, "What about abridged audio-books?" I cop to that being a decent comparison. The difference is, in those instances, the book is first and foremost. If DC or TimeWarner made an even bigger marketing push on, say, a Watchmen TPB or the Essential Watchmen hardcover, then I wouldn't have a problem. I understand this isn't the first time a great work has been co-opted. (The other Warners Motion Comic is Paul Dini and Bruce Timm's Eisner Award-winning Mad Love, itself an adaptation of the Batman: The Animated Series format they created, which was later re-adapted into a pretty good episode.)

But animated Watchmen is the act of the corporate intellectual property-right owners strategically marketing an upcoming adaptation by butchering, by cropping and panning over the most innovative yet communicative sequential art ever committed to paper, adding sweeping moves and music—without (and this is the key, most important part) the consent of its chief author. It's deliberately pushing this as a main-point, more accessible entry into a movie by turning its source into a base and, essentially, illiterate form. After hearing a lifetime of backhanded insults about how illiterate I and comic readers are, they take our shining beacon—one of the most structurally complex yet accessible narratives of all time—and dumb it down.

Gibbons might have signed off on this but Moore has not realistically had anything to do with DC Comics since 1988. Why? Because the comics industry is notorious for its creators-rights, and Moore's and Gibbon's contract stipulated that they'd gain rights to the book—where he and Gibbons created all the characters—only if the book went out of print for one year. This was a loophole that would never happen. Some have said Moore knew what he was getting into, but Watchmen's quality and success and event-ness was so unprecedented that it not only spurned him and Frank Miller away from DC for years, it made a giant leap in an industry that'd barely made baby-steps to celebrate creators and not concepts or characters. In fact, it's been long commented that DC lucratively learned its lesson from screwing Moore by its handling of its next superstar, Neil Gaiman, primarily with the creation of Vertigo. Films aren't any better to their creators when it comes to rights, but at least they've got a justification—huge investment. What are the comics' excuse?

And that's not to say I'm being a philistine socialist about the purity of comics and cross-promotion. That's why the Watchmen video game doesn't bug me one iota. One of the reasons Moore left was due to profit sharing over ancillary Watchmen properties, like (and this is to show how innovative the comics industry was in the late '80s) RPG boardgames. Moore and Gibbons were even chiefly involved with Watchmen's marketing, including the bloody smiley-face button and "WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN?" slogan, things that I'm sure will be ubiquitous come March 2009.

Some movie sites reported the "news" from the earlier linked EW interview that, shock, Moore doesn't approve of Watchmen the movie, won't have his name on the film, and won't take any money from that. This shocking news is over three years old, starting after Joel Silver mistakenly (maybe deliberately) declared Moore's participation in V for Vendetta. And Moore, whose movie adaptation treatment has been called the worst of any major writer, will continue to not be associated with the movies, and will deliberately refuse to even see them (although he did read an early draft of V for Vendetta that accurately pointed out it never once mentioned fascism, the point of the comics). (Obviously he didn't comment on the Watchmen trailer, but his daughter, Leah, Twittered: "It resembles Dave's art very closely, but dad does Rorschach's voice waaay better.") What struck even defenders as crazy or prima donna-ish was Moore declaration, since unobserved, that he wanted to take his name off the comics (he did something similar with Marvel and Captain Britain, which was slightly observed with an added sticker of disapproval). Does this sound extreme? Maybe. But it also might simply be the (over)reaction of the greatest and possibly most lucrative comic writer ever wanting artistic control for creating some of the medium's inarguable masterpieces. They don't do this shit to Spielberg.

In the wake of this summer's movie schedule there's been a lot of talk about superhero fatigue. To which I've been wanting to scream, as a self-appointed spokesman for comic fans, "NOW YOU KNOW HOW WE FEEL." Michael Chabon has a rant about the stiltedness of short fiction that applies even better to comics: "Imagine that, sometime about 1950, it had been decided, collectively, informally, a little at a time, but with finality, to proscribe every kind of novel from the canon of the future but the nurse romance." Take the nurse romance analogy and change it to super-heroes. To love comics you have to learn to love them or tolerate them. Every major comic talent ever, with few exceptions, has done them. Now, imagine the non-mainstream, largely stilted alternative so reactionary and unimaginative that the best term to describe it would be mid-'90s Sundance character pieces. This all creates a ghetto mentality, a pulpy, cannibalistic relationship to a dying status quo. I don't need a reminder that the medium I've cheer-led too much hasn't produced much of merit and that, no matter how much puppy-dog excitement it gets from the merest mainstream attention, it's still decades behind most other mediums.

But I know how to read. So no thanks, TimeWarner, on reading my comics to me.

Recently Viewed:
Screaming Masterpiece (Mon.), The Shooting, Elegy (Wed.)

Midnight With the Stars and You

2008-07-16T22:23:00.001-05:00

The BBC aired a documentary called Stanley Kubrick's Boxes about a guy rummaging through—you guessed it (available here, here, here, here, and here).

(skip to about 5:20 for some good stuff)

Elsewhere, my two favorite revelations:

Kubrick was a prophetic about the ultimate fate of Eastern Europe Communism:

Praise was lavished on Kubrick for The Shining. Like so many of his other films, this fast became a cult classic. Business was always business, however. In response to a request by Frank Pierce on October 26, 1987, to sell the country rights to The Shining to Hungarofilm for $12,000 for five years Kubrick write NO! in gigantic letters by the side of this message and sent the following cable.

October, 1987
To Frank Pierce
Dear Frank, I think you know that I have always maintained that it is a very great mistake to virtually give away films to Socialist countries when at some point in the future they are likely to be viable commercial markets. Obviously I haven't changed my views about this. Stanley.

And Stanley was a Barbra fan:

August 10, 1964
To Sidney Chaplin (Streisand's co-star in the stage production)

Barbra is the end! None of the praise she has received has sufficiently described her genius. I won't attempt to here but I do have one observation. I think it's true only the most magical actors in the world can overdo and make it believable and tasteful. She belongs in that group.

Recently Viewed:
Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (Sun.), The Dark Knight (Mon.)

Type a Plan to Love Me

2008-07-13T00:38:00.001-05:00

I've got a rich, rewarding history when it comes to long, deep conversations with myself and people trying to sell me onto their porn web site via Instant Messenger. But these pornbots today!

Ernestine: Hi
Me: Hello.
Ernestine: hey, A/S/L?
Me: Yeeeah. Do I know you?
Ernestine: hey whats up babe, U got a webcam? finally someone adds me, I am soo fuckin horny today for some reason lol
Me: Oh, OK. Interesting.
Ernestine: listen hun, I\'m just about to start my webcam show with jen, come chat me there in my chat room? We can cyber, I\'ll get naked if u do..lol!
Me: Uhm, I don't have a web cam. But I draw fast and semi-accurately.
Me: Can I get your postal address?
Ernestine: I can show u how to watch if u promise not to tell anyone else how to do it???PLEASE
Me: Your webcam's a trade secret?
Me: Would I be violating SEC laws if I revealed it?
Ernestine: well since its the law that u gotta be 18 (nudity involved), u have to sign up with a credit card for age verification! BUT.. Once you are inside, just clikc on \"Webcams\" let me know what name you use to sign in with so I know it\'s you babe! http://janeh.lovelocalgirls.com fill out the bottom of the page then fill out the next page as well and u can see me live!
Me: All that for getting off!
Ernestine: Please dont mention anything about that in the chatroom once u get in ok?
Me: So it's not a trade secret? Is someone really sensitive about the chat room?
Me: Too soon?
Ernestine: OH SHIT.. k I\'m late to start my show, I gotta get off msn...I\'ll see ya inside my chatroom babe.. remember not to mention that I am upgrading u... You can use your msn name to sign in so i know it\'s you..
Me: Right. because we bonded.
Ernestine: AUTO-RESPONSE: hey just in the middle of my webcam show if you want to watch click the link http://janeh.lovelocalgirls.com
Me: And you'll do an extra cunt-thrust just for me, right?

Where's the human touch!

Recently Viewed:
Gold Diggers of 1933 (Sat.)
Recently Read:
After Dark by Haruki Murkami

Let Us Mean More to Each Other

2008-07-11T00:52:00.004-05:00

"I think about the old days a lot. […] If I try hard to remember, all kinds of stuff comes back—really vivid memories. All of a sudden out of nowhere I can bring back things I haven't thought about for years. It's pretty interesting. Memory is so crazy! It's like we've got these drawers crammed with tons of useless stuff. Meanwhile, all the really important things we just keep forgetting, one after another."

Korogi stands there holding the remote control.

"You know what I think?" she says. "That people's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn't matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They're all just fuel. Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed 'em to the fire, they're all just paper. The fire isn't thinking, 'Oh, this is Kant,' or 'Oh, this is the Yomiuri evening edition,' or 'Nice tits,' while it burns. To the fire, they're nothing but scraps of paper. It's the exact same thing. Important memories, not-so-important memories, totally useless memories: there's no distinction—they're all just fuel."

Korogi nods to herself. Then she goes on:

"You know, I think if I didn't have that fuel, if I didn't have these memory drawers inside me, I would've snapped a long time ago. I would've curled up in a ditch somewhere and died. It's because I can pull the memories out of the drawers when I have to—the important ones and the useless ones—that I can go on living this nightmare of a life. I might think I can't take it anymore, that I can't go on anymore, but one way or another I get past that."
—Haruki Marakami, After Dark

Recently Viewed:
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (Fri.), State of the Union (Sat.), Reprise (Mon.), The Onion Movie, Hellboy II: The Golden Army (Wed.)
Recently Read:
Born Standing Up by Steve Martin

What Kind of Week Has It Been

2008-07-03T23:45:00.002-05:00

Last Saturday I was driving while working my newest/greatest-ever!/unpaid gig to get a free lunch when I put my car into reverse on a richy rich Bee Caves street. Something happened that had occurred two months ago: the car became stuck in reverse, and the clutch became limp. No matter where I moved the stick the car stayed in reverse. When this had happened last time, it was because a pin attaching the clutch to the transmission had broke.

Luckily, this time, I was only two blocks away from a Shell service station. "Well, it's Saturday, and our weekday people aren't here," the Shell mechanic said. "And it ain't like we can go your car to look at it; we still gotta have it here."

Some time after I'd called a tow truck to take it somewhere else, I estimated in my head, based on how much it'd cost last time to fix, that, even though this was a relatively cheap fix, I didn't have enough money in the bank for a tow truck and labor.

I got on the phone with the tow truck people. "You said you'd be here 45 minutes ago! You're 20 minutes late!"

"Our guy says he's pulling up now."

"Yeah, well," I said, "I'll take care of it myself." And so I drove it to the service station. In reverse.

I took the bus cross-town yesterday to pick up the car. They told me my clutch is going out, which is a job arguably more expensive than the car has become. Also, the job ended up costing twice my estimate. And, because of (in my estimation) shoddy repair work, my car frequently won't go into reverse, second, or fourth gear now.

And let's not forget: Because the job ended up costing twice what I'd expected, I don't have enough for rent this month.

Remember my wacky bullshit handicap parking ticket, the one I was given in an empty parking lot after midnight at my place of work where I'd been given permission to park? I'd went in to contest it a few weeks ago, waited an hour only to find that I was just there to request a court date; they said they'd mail said date to me. After not having gotten any mail for the last week, I came home and found a stack in the kitchen, hidden by my roommates. On the stack was a letter from City of Austin.

It was a delinquent notice for not having paid the ticket.

Not only that, but through some filing error City of Austin put in two different citations for the same offense. Thus, the bill says I owe $550 for a parking ticket.

That's just the financial stuff. There's like fifteen billion little things that are attacking my manic depression, of which, I probably couldn't articulate, but are just as effectively making the shit-whole greater than the sum of its parts. Some weeks I feel like I'm living the origin of a supervillain.

Recently Read:
Orlando by Virginia Woolf, The Devil's Guide to Hollywood by Joe Eszterhas

Half Sigh

2008-06-29T21:13:00.004-05:00

As per recent tradition, here's my mid-year top ten movies:

WALL•E
The Fall
Cloverfield
Iron Man
Speed Racer
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Son of Rambow
Dreams With Sharp Teeth
The Foot Fist Way

Even though it seems like a depressingly bad year, here's some honorable mentions: The Unforeseen; Redbelt; The Promotion; U2 3D; Hancock; The Bank Job; Kung Fu Panda; You Don't Mess With the Zohan; Standard Operating Procedure; Be Kind Rewind; In Bruges; My Blueberry Nights; Wanted; Leatherheads; Charlie Bartlett; War, Inc.; and Shine a Light.

I had three different posts I've been working on but can't find the energy to finish. I also can't find the energy to make a joke to end this, either.

Recently Viewed:
Wanted, Get Smart (Wed.), The Love Guru (Thurs.), Woman of the Year (Fri.), War, Inc. (Sat.), Mongol (Sun.), Hancock (Mon.), WALL•E (Wed.), When Did You Last See Your Father? (Thurs.), Grace is Gone (Fri.)

Just Kidding, FUCK SHIT UP!

2008-06-17T00:27:00.000-05:00

I flew down to Indiana on my brother's birthday and realized I hadn't gotten him anything. I thought something up on the plane.

The first person I told was my niece Mekenzi. Even if it didn't work out, it'd be a fun way to spend an afternoon. She told her sister, Ashley, then she announced to our family, who was eating lunch:

"Everyone? We—uh, me and Shane and Ashley, we're all going to go home, and then we're going to make a uh. A movie!"

And that's what we did:

I took too long with the editing and my brother never really likes any presents I make. But depending on their reactions, hopefully Mekenzi and Ashley now have their uncle's love of moviemaking.

Recently Viewed:
Hud (Mon.)

The Malina Chronicles

2008-06-12T20:29:00.011-05:00

It's time for a new column. But when I started to write an the story explaining this I realized it's far too long and uninteresting—yet outlandish. Basically, honest to blog, I'm not making this up.

For almost a year I've been getting "anonymous" death threat emails from Joshua Malina, an actor from Sports Night, The West Wing, and many other stuff not related to Aaron Sorkin. But not the real Joshua Malina. Someone with an email address for "Joshua Malina."

September 14, 2007

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: It is on.

Meet me at the abandoned warehouse, 1AM tonight.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: It is on.

Now I'm blogging about this.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: It is on.

Not if you're dead first.

So how did I respond? I got in "character," upped the ante, and death-threatened back.

Again, I'm not making this up. The end results is two people pretending to be mortal enemies, with one making personal attacks against an actor he likes fine and the other getting their character details from Wikipedia. For example, here's the exchange since Leap Day:

February 29, 2008

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Coming this Fall

I just pitched a TV show to some execs where I play myself tracking you down to kill you.

It's like DAWG the Bounty Hunter meets Curb.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

Oh, crap! I'm worried. I mean, unless I'm standing a distance further than five feet from you.

Because you'd have to be pretty fast to move five feet before a network cancels one of your shows.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

At least the network produces my shows!!!!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

How else are they to keep in Sorkin's favor?

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

I'm more than Sorkin's boy-toy!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

But you still blow him after your poker games, right?

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

Ha! Maybe he blows me!!

Would you like to come over to a poker game? I'd love to take you and your entire $150 life savings.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

You ever look at yourself in a mirror, Malina? Because every time I see your picture, I think that one of these days you're going to become a real boy.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

Just think of all the times you had to stick that finger up and tickle Sorkin's asshole...

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Coming this Fall

Hey--

This [is] Aaron Sorkin, writer of Charlie Wilson's War, A Few Good Men and the first four seasons of West Wing. I've been battling a cocaine addiction for several years. Josh told me you've been giving him shit like a whiney little bitch. You better stop or I'll pistol whip you. You suck lemur balls.

What's next,

A.S.

Ha ha!!! Take that!!!

Me to Joshua

For A.S.:

...

...

Yeah.

April 2, 2008

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Look waht just came across my desk...

My agent, Ted Evans, just dropped off a very interesting script that he thinks I would be perfect for... [NOTE: This was before I'd revealed my April Fools joke involving my agent, "Ted Evans."]

I'll die before I see you make a movie in my town, Hazen!!!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Look waht just came across my desk...

Holy crap! You have my same agent! This is proof that you're real and not completely made up!

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Look waht just came across my desk...

Ha! You're the one that's probably made up!

April 11, 2008

Joshua Malina to Me
Subject: FW: You Son of a bitch

Get all your croneys to threaten me, queer! I'm still coming after you.

From: charlesgrodin@live.com
To: joshuamalina@hotmail.com
Subject: You Son of a bitch
Date: Fri, 11 Apr 2008 14:18:45 -0400

I'm tired of you messing with my boy, Hazen!!

Back the fuck off, bro!

Me to Joshua Malina
Subject: Re: FW: You Son of a bitch

Charles Grodin is a family friend. He introduced me to Ted Evans.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: FW: You Son of a bitch

HAHA!

There is no Ted Evans!!! I April Fooled you again!!

VICTORY MALINA!!!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: FW: You Son of a bitch

Or maybe Ted Evans is real and he just April Fooled you to give hope to your pathetic career, you four-eyed fuck.

May 22, 2008

Joshua Malina to Me
Subject: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

U-S-A!!! U-S-A!!!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

Wow. Does flag waving get you more auditions to fail at?

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

I'm trying to get the VP role in the upcoming Swing Vote movie!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

Way to swing for the fences Malina. I wouldn't put money on you getting an extras role.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

I was a featured extra in Driving Miss Daisy so don't tell me how to get parts.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

I bet that goes in the first paragraph of your obituary.

Oh wait, what am I talking about. Who the fuck would write an obituary for you, much less read it.

I'm going to kill you.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

I will see you in hell!!!!!!! You can never outsmart me!! I was on jeopardy!

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

Little children laugh at the size of your penis.

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

Why do you think I would be showing my penis to children?

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: Where's your flag pin, Hazen?

Knowing you, why WOULDN'T I think you'd try to face-fuck a kid and then start crying w[hen] the 3 year old ask[s] why his is bigger?

June 10, 2008

Joshua Malina to me
Subject: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

Hey Shane, buddy!!

I just ran across this great article that I thought you might like to check out:

http://www.the-trades.com/article.php?id=2675

Love,

Josh

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

Good for you! Making your own web site and writing an interview with yourself using a pseudonym is really a step up from editing your IMDb bio and Wiki page every other hour.

I'm going to put a bomb in your car.

Joshua to me
Subject: Re: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

I swear to you.... As soon as I figure out which trailer you're in, you're a dead man.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

Wouldn't that require leaving the house? What're you going to do i[f] Sorkin calls and offers you a job while you're out? How else are you going to pay rent then?

Joshua to me
Subject: Re: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

God I Hate You.

Me to Joshua
Subject: Re: I noticed you didn't have an IMDB page, loser.

And, as made apparent by your shitty career and life, God hates you too.

(If you really want to know: One of my biggest sources of weekday entertainment since moving to Austin is Dustin's work email thread, where I send and receive more daily news, entertainment, and political stories than my RSS reader from Dustin's Chicago friends. We separated into a mini-thread to talk about Sorkin's Studio 60, and invariably Malina's name came up. Then one day Dustin sent me an email with a Malina headshot saying something like, "HE'S COMING." Then, I guess, he made the Hotmail account and starting emailing me demands to watch Big Shots. Then he started emailing other people and trying to convince them Malina was me. He sent out an Evite for a Halloween party, emailed himself, made (as seen above) multiple fake email address (Grodin, Anderson Cooper, former 103GBF DJ Turner Watson), and emailed himself using these fictional personas. For almost a year.

Actually I guess it isn't all that uninteresting.)

Recently Viewed:
Inning by Inning: A Portrait of a Coach (Tues.), Kung Fu Panda (Thurs.), You Don't Mess With the Zohan (Tues.), Modern Romance, The Happening (Wed.), The Incredible Hulk (Thurs.)

They Wax Brain Cells, Don't They?

2008-06-02T23:36:00.002-05:00

I went to go see Sex and the City with Ted at Showplace East's midnight showing, and it was absolutely the single woman's Star Wars dress-up. The next day, however, I developed a SPOILERy impression of Mr. Big's character arc in one minute, slightly amended here:

"Hey Babe, whatever you want.

"I just want you.

"This wedding is getting too big, materialistic, and status-obsessed. It's making me have doubts, especially considering my past two failed marriages. All I really want is something simple and with you.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry."

Disappears for an hour.

"How convenient I'm here.

"Well, honestly, it's just kinda obvious I'd be here.

"I'm sorry.

"Will you marry me?"

And it's fine as revenge for the billions of movies where a woman's character is flimsily reactive of men. (Plus its opening weekend is a nice rejoinder to film execs who don't want to make movies with leading women anymore.) But then it got me thinking about its male corollary HBO white-suburban wish-fulfillment porn, Entourage. I guess the equal-opportunity stupidity goes around.

…
I wanted to do this one before I left for Eville then Louisville (Stacey's wedding!), so I could hand some of these mixes to people in person. Here's some feminism for non-twits, or at least women who don't secretly let their daddy issues overtake their rational minds with endless hopes for princess weddings. (Speaking of which, side note for people planning weddings: We sang "Yo Ho, Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)" after her and Chris's first walk up the aisle as man and wife. That, like all things Stacey, was goofy without being forced and eccentric without being kitschy. It was an awesome wedding.)

5/25 Sleater-Kinney's Greatest Hits Mix

"Little Mouth" (Call the Doctor)
"Dig Me Out" (Dig Me Out)
"The Fox" (The Woods)
"Oh!" (One Beat)
"Turn It On" (BBC, "Get Up")
"Jumpers" (The Woods)
"I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" (Call the Doctor)
"Lions and Tigers" (One Beat Bonus)
"Little Babies" (Dig Me Out)
"Ironclad" (All Hands on the Bad One)
"Far Away" (One Beat)
"You're No Rock N' Roll Fun" (All Hands on the Bad One)
"Not What You Want" (Dig Me Out)
"Words and Guitar" (Dig Me Out)
"Light Rail Coyote" (One Beat)
"Modern Girl" (The Woods)
"Leave You Behind" (All Hands on the Bad One)
"A Real Man" (Sleater-Kinney)
"Get Up" (The Hot Rock)
"Step Aside" (One Beat)
"Good Things" (live)
"Start Together" (The Hot Rock)
"Jenny" (Dig Me Out)
"One More Hour" (live, Crystal Ballroom, Portland, OR, August 12, 2006) (S-K's final song at the final performance!)
"Entertain" (The Woods)

…
It seems like recently I'm a sucker for high-media reflections-on-blogging's. And though I caught this a week late, the first few pages of this NY Times magazine essay describes some of the introverted-extrovert reasons I blog—along with more gray areas I've crossed many times. I took down two posts recently and held it against the person who asked me to do it; "I've never taken anything down," I said. "Anything" (this being a pointed reference to the many overdramatic things that have come from good ol' INBaSiTW). The most hilarious points come from times the essay's writer, Emily Gould, wanted to erase a post, but instead said, "Just password protect it." (This is the same Gould who was the subject of one of the best pieces of non-political journalism I read last year.) The archivalist takes over; for better or worse, this is the author's public diary.

But the thing is, it hasn't. I been off the personal post wagon for quite some time, and those confessional passages of her essay made me feel almost as equally guilty. This blog's audience base has always been weird, and even though it's still mostly scattershot over the country and old friends, there's still times where little ol' 20-hit-a-day me might still get a reaction from someone I see in person who's been mentioned on my Interwebs—potentially even with the boldness of a proper noun! It's the same whenever I read some blogger I know, the uncertainty of a pronoun-laden post cutting you to the bone even though it isn't about you. Blogging ain't for the paranoiac, and yet, it absolutely is.

Plus, I try not to repeat stories I've always written about, because, especially if I use the same language in person, it would become increasingly embarrassing if I realize it'd been read—or will later be read. And I'd like to genuinely feel as I tell someone a story that I'm not reciting it, that I'm genuinely informing them in real time. But, by that same token, the public diary effect is on. My best stories are on here, and the half the time, knowing how memory works, the blog clears the first path for a soon-to-be heavily trafficked neural pathway. And if the story's not on here, I have trouble remembering it. Maybe that's a vow for future writing on here. Or a requiem for past writing on here.

Whatever. Maybe the reason I don't do personal posts anymore is because I get maudlin and boring as shit.

Recently Viewed:
Sex and the City (Thurs.), The Fall (Fri.), Standard Operating Procedure (Mon.)

As Funny as a Screen Door on a Fridge (In a Nuclear Test)

2008-05-23T20:10:00.005-05:00

(Indiana Jones 4 SPOILERS!)

Indiana Jones screenplays are Frankenstein creatures to begin with, be they gags that didn't make it into earlier Lucas or Spielberg movies (the coat-hanger Nazi gag from Raiders is also a deleted scene in 1941), set-pieces from earlier drafts (Temple of Doom's opening bears similarity to a cut sequence from Lawrence Kasdan's third Radiers draft where Indy fought a samurai, and a boat chase from Chris Columbus's rejected 1985 Indiana Jones and the Monkey King was recycled into Last Crusade), or just stupid in-jokes.

But in the early Kingdom of the Crystal Skull sequence when Indy survives a nuclear test blast by climbing into a refrigerator, it seemed like an poke towards to a parochial Spielberg movie: the first Bob Gale and Robert Zemeckis draft of Back to the Future. When the time machine was itself still a fridge.

See, in the exclamation mark filled original version, instead of driving a Delorean 88 miles per hour right as lightning struck it to generate a nuclear reaction charge, they drove the fridge out to a nuclear test site and left it in there.

EXT. MOVING TRUCK The truck barrels along toward the crater as Marty climbs into the back of the truck and throws the switches on the Time Machine!CONTROL VOICE...9...8...7... The truck hits the crater! Marty is thrown from his feet, into the bed of the truck! The truck lodges into the hole with the nose slightly off kilter from the tower! Marty climbs to his feet and turns the solar cell back toward the bomb!CONTROL VOICE...5...4...3... Marty opens the refrigerator door and climbs in!CONTROL VOICE...2...1... Marty slams the refrigerator door shut! INT. DETONATION CONTROLTIMEKEEPERDetonate! Three technicians turn their detonation keys in unison! EXT. BOMB SITE DETONATION! An incredible FIREBALL WHITES OUT EVERYTHING for a moment, then recedes into a YELLOW GLOW! EXT. TRUCK Brilliant light strikes the power converter!

The urban myth goes that this version was rejected because Universal didn't want kids climbing into fridges. But that strikes me less that a producer of Spielberg's stature could be shot down for an inane product safety thing and more that Zemeckis didn't have his first hit till early 1985's Romancing the Stone. (This draft was early '80s, right after Used Cars.)

I kind of have a theory that this scene's inclusion is revenge for this first draft's original opening:

FADE IN: EXT. OUTER SPACE The MOTHER SHIP rises above Devil’s Tower and sails off into space to the strains of John Williams. In a moment we realize that we’re watching the end titles of “Close Encounters”, and then we PULL BACK TO REVEAL that the image is on a TV monitor...as we continue PULLING BACK, we discover a bank of video equipment, and “Close Encounters” is being pirated, from 3/4” cassette to VHS and Beta. INT. VIDEO WORK AREA – LABORATORY – DAY The video pirate operating this equipment is MARTY McFLY, 17, a good looking kid who has an air of confidence just shy of cockiness.

In that version Doc operated out of a movie theater. He and Marty were friends because Marty pirated movies—including those of Zemeckis/Gale's boss, Spielberg.

But, honestly? I just think the shot of the mushroom cloud in KotCS is just cool. I swear at two points it looks like a skull, with two eye-sockets of demonic light shining out.

Recently Viewed:
Blast of Silence (Fri.)

See Yourself in Any/Everyone

2008-05-22T16:47:00.002-05:00

My brother: "Mom thinks that he [Ethan, my nephew] look like you in this picture."

I'm leaving for Indiana Sunday to give my young doppelganger way too much attention. And maybe some future haircut advice. For example: don't buzzcut your hair for most of your life as a lazy default style.

To quote David Spade: "Buddy, welcome to hell!"

Recently Read:
Right as Rain by George P. Pelecanos

Indiana Jones and the Gimmicky Serial Parody Title

2008-05-18T20:04:00.008-05:00

Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was getting bad advance Internet reviews before it showed at Cannes and select press screenings today. Our theater held one of those screenings. (I thought the first half hour was the worst Indiana Jones sequel, and the rest was its best.) In celebration of both, I used my fascist hold over the theater's in-between music to play a specific joke on expectations for the movie:

I played John Williams' Phantom Menace score. I thought it was funny.

As I was sitting and waiting for the movie, this conversation happened behind me.

Little Kid: Mommy. They're playing Star Wars music. [x6]
Mother: No, that's Indiana Jones music. [x6]

To have the adult not get the joke but have the kid get the reference without irony? I felt like I was a Blue Sky Studios screenwriter. (Being fair, though, John Williams' Phantom Menace score liberally rips off his Temple of Doom one.)

Recently Viewed:
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (Sun.)

Belabor-the-Point's Coming, Hide Your Heart Girl

2008-05-16T20:16:00.011-05:00

In the last 24 hours I've

had to pay $200 to make sure my registration didn't abruptly expire (since IN didn't send me a renew notice),
received a ticket for parking in a handicapped spot
- at my job
- after having parked there only after business had closed (11:00 p.m.)
- having had the car there for only only 45 minutes before citation
- in a well-lit and near-the-building spot I'd been using for over a year
- (because my car had been broken into last year, and the cops couldn't keep a security guard from getting stabbed, much less patrol the parking lot)
- despite the fact that all management uses the spot (frequently in business hours)
- (because, c'mon!, like normal, I was working there late)
  - (and it's not like chance of theft increases at night or anything!)
then I dropped my PowerBook, which is now not starting up.
- (after having literally said earlier in the day, to someone in sympathy at having heard about damage to their computer: "Man, I don't know what I'd do if my computer got busted; my whole life's in my laptop").

And as soon as the computer comes back up, expect a full debriefing, people-who-don't-like-to-see-me-so-worked-up.

In the meantime, I want to open up a topic for comments that's been on my mind. Do I rant too much? Do you just accept it as a part of my personality? Or has it gotten worse? Because, due to that ticket, I yelled so much it caused a friend to leave my presence because she was "scared." I can't believe I'm saying this, but I almost wish Stacey or Dustin had been there to mock me.

Recently Viewed:
Baghead (Thurs.)

To Compensate for Nothing

2008-05-13T11:49:00.008-05:00

First off, these are random, untimely links I had set aside to write about, but, I'm afraid, didn't.

Considering the critical drubbing Speed Racer's gotten (and my still-strong love of the last two Matrix movies), I officially became a card-carrying Warchowski brothers apologist last Wednesday night. I fucking adored the Warchowski's cheesy, earnest, non-campy-but-still-goofy Speed Racer. While the peanut gallery's bitching about how pop and gimmicky the editing style is (in a way very similar to reactions for Ang Lee's Hulk), the complaints insultingly diminish the Eisensteinian and Eisnerian ways they put images together. (I'd die if Frank Miller brought any sequential art editing to his increasingly one-note, monochromatic approach to adapting Will Eisner's Spirit.) Whatever dorky reasons there were for the Warchowskis' to do it are irrelevant—they still managed to push the grammar of film and had fun with it. This stuff should not go ignored and without lauding. And while I've never been a Michael Giacchino fan, the score is goofy, wild and amazing.
Speaking of new adventures in hi-fi filmmaking, this month-old interview about the "stereo filmmaking" going into his first fictional feature in ten years, Avatar, is, as John August wrote, "[a]n example of why James Cameron is the Steve Jobs of filmmakers." Back in the '90s around every article or featurette or bubble-gum label about visual FX cited four major pioneers of recent years: Lucas, Spielberg, Zemeckis, and Cameron. Since then Lucas pushed too much and too misguidedly, Spielberg hasn't pushed, Zemeckis hasn't fully justified his retirement solely into mo-caps animation, and Peter Jackson and the aforementioned Warchowskis' have been added to the list. Meanwhile, Cameron's been MIA; so it makes sense that when he comes back from his Lean-esque decade sabbatical, a freaking cinematic Athena will burst from his head to kick our ears and eye-balls' asses. I admit that reasons to get excited about Cameron's big return are varied ("One friend went from saying 'It's going to be a really expensive cartoon, albeit a very cool one,' to 'It's nothing like his other films... it's very cerebral and the world is so immersive... it's not what I expected, but it’s also not like anything I can reference'") and abound ("I don't know if this will be a good film, great film, awful film, but I can say with absolute certainty that you will see stuff you've never imagined"). But before this interview—despite how much I liked U2 3D (and even acknowledged that Hannah Montana 3D looked kinda cool)—I had trouble giving three shits about 3D. I remember around the time of Spy Kids 3D mocking anyone and everyone around me who was excited for the format ("Were you a fan of odorama, too?"). But, to abate people with less reason to trust him, Cameron dumbs down and explains, a little in a NSFTP (Not Safe For Techno-Phobes) way, how these frame-rates will change everyth—…. I now find myself wanting to go on about frame-rates, the history of frame-rates, this time a friend changed around a shutter fan so 35mm showed at 48 fps, the difference in quality (according to the friend) what the shutter fan changes, explaining what a shutter fan is, 4k, 8k, the long unwritten short story I have planned about an alien whose visual sense doesn't have a persistence of vision and their first viewing of a motion picture, 3D, RealD and other competing formats, focus, focal points in composition, convergence, convergence-as-focus, 3D headaches, projecting, work, and puking. And to quote Tim from the British Office, "…and I've just bored myself." Just read the interview. The man is so articulately prepared to change movies his first salvo thoroughly bitch slaps an oft-quoted Godard maxim. In an aside.
There are plenty of de rigueur reasons to love/hate personality-profiling networks sites, the least of which, for me, involves putting the effort into qualifying your personality into taste lists, only to have the coolness of the site sink while the hipster rats jump ship. (What happened to Friendster? My MySpace was just fine! Facebook has so many cool options and is so addictive! And Goodreads makes me look good!) Still. Who'd've thought that the taste-condensing was the more insidious, evil part? (This is nicely similar to an NY Times link Melissa sent me a month ago about reading tastes and dating.) (I think I ultimately decided that the only thing I should feel unashamed for judging is when someone brags that they never read anything. And, still, that's pushing it.)
Roger Ebert has begun blogging. Since more and more people are blogging (or, at least, writing one post and semi-abandoning said blog), it's been a while before I've been excited that someone else had been brought into the blogging fold. But Ebert is one of the most thoughtful, prolific, plain-spoken, yet articulate writers for anything. (The man's won a Pulitzer, for chrissakes.) Last week he had a fascinatingly nerdy, funny theory about the origins of the 'Net's collective tone. And he's only a few weeks in. If he keeps this up he might replace Neil Gaiman as my favorite blogger.

Now. The other semi-monthly bullshit. A feared, possible testimonial from my future kids (is it odd that it's datelined at the only town my dad's lived in aside from Eville?):

Son Discovers Dad's Welcome Back, Kotter Spec Script While Cleaning Out Attic

WEST LAFAYETTE, IN—While cleaning out his parents' attic Sunday, Mark Norton, 24, stumbled upon a Welcome Back, Kotter spec script...

And, this month's mix.

5/8/08 Mix

"Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas Toward Heaven" — Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas Towards Heaven)
"You Spin Me 'Round (Like a Record)" — The Mullets (Sit Down Mamaw)
"Muscle Museum" — Muse (Showbiz)
"Smile On" — Mock Orange (Captain Love)
"Lipstick Vogue" (live) — Elvis Costello & The Attractions (Live at the El Mocambo)
"Librarian" — My Morning Jacket (Evil Urges)
"The Empty Page" — Sonic Youth (Murray Street)
"Salty" — Enon (High Society)
"Charity, Chastity, Prudence, and Hope" — Hüsker Dü (Warehouse: Songs and Stories)
"Game of Pricks" (live) — Guided by Voices (Hardcore UFOs: Live at the Wheelchair Races)
"Heart Throb" — Be Your Own Pet (Get Awkward)
"The Engine Driver" (live) — Colin Meloy (Colin Meloy Sings Live!)
"Magic Doors" — Portishead (Third)
"Anytime" (live) — Neil Finn (7 Worlds Collide: Live at the St. James)
"In McDonalds" — Burial (Untrue)
"Lady Shoes" — The Jesus Lizard (Goat)
"Cath…" — Death Cab for Cutie (Daytrotter Sessions)
"Superstition" / "Going to Town" (live) — The Afghan Whigs (Live at the Howlin' Wolf)
"One of These Days" — Pink Floyd (Meddle)
"Everything I Own" — Bread (Baby I'm-a Want You)
"Violet Hill" — Coldplay (Viva la Vida or Death and His Friends)

Recently Viewed:
Baby Mama (Tues.), Redbelt (Wed.), The Life Before Her Eyes, My Blueberry Nights (Sun.), Iron Man (Tues.), The Foot Fist Way (Wed.), Speed Racer (Wed.)
Recently Read:
Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris

Since We Became Accelerated Readers We Never Leave the House

2008-04-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

"Hey," my brother said over the phone, "you know what today is?"

"Um…(April 17…). I don't know. What."

"It's Ethan's birthday."

"…Are you fucking kidding me?" My little nephew is already a year old, and I had no clue. Behold the red-eyed glory, via photos from Heather's mom Vickie:

(Update, 4/26: Heather posted her pictures.)

OH isn't it cute! He doesn't have a developed sense of hand-eye coordination! He's therefore going to get food coloring all over his face! The parents even know this so they take his clothes off and bathe him directly after this. Some of those photos aren't even cute; they look like mutilation. And maybe sometime afterwards he stared at a grape.

Yes I'm a twit for posting baby pictures. But I have to compensate somehow being over a thousand miles away from my nieces and nephew's lives anymore. I worry that there's a sliding scale of familiarity, where the older kids will know me better and, conversely, like me better. You might say that Ethan's too young to know faces, but that didn't stop me from taking advantage of how my voice sounds like their father's to make Mekenzi and Ashley recognize and like me more. I just forget stuff lately. I was a day off on Ashley's birthday. I get stumped when asked their ages. Every time I talk to them on the phone we never get past first sentences before each of us realizes we can't understand one another.

Most of the updates I get on their lives come from either Heather's or her mom's MySpace. Mekenzi's playing soccer and scored a goal in her first game. Ashley's started preschool. Ethan took his first steps. And I'm, at best, a picture on a wall during these events.

Still, even one thousand miles away, I made a point to call Mekenzi last month and push through a compliment spoiled conversation to tell her how super prideful and happy I was for her after her mom posted this bulletin:

Date: Mar 19, 2008 10:07 AM
Subject: Mekenzi and her first book!!
Body: Well, everyone, Mekenzi has read her very first book...by herself!! She is soo excited about doing it. It was a Clifford Easter book. She wanted me to tell EVERYONE that she did it. She is getting so big and grown-up. I can not believe it!! I am very proud of her.

Of course, I'm almost equally as proud to hear that she's multiplied the books read and is now forcing people to sit and listen to whatever she reads.

It's like her first pretentious spoken-word performance for a bored audience. Despite the distance, she's still taking after her beaming uncle.

And I know the exact book I want to get her now. To be delivered by Amazon, of course.

Recently Viewed:
Smart People (Sun.), Unknown Pleasures (Tues.), The Unforeseen (Wed.), The Last Emperor (Sun.)

April Scowlers Bring Golden Showers

2008-04-13T02:42:00.008-05:00

For the past consecutive Sunday mornings between the hours of midnight and 2:30 a.m. I have separately had three different guys whip out their dicks in front of me and piss in a public parking lot. And I'm pretty positive in both instances it wasn't something I said.

Last weekend I just wanted a breakfast taco and a relatively quiet table with my book after seeing the late show of Snow Angels. I thought if it was before 2:00 I'd beat the last-call crowd. My mistake. The 183 Kerby Lane's parking lot was so full after midnight that I only found a spot in its unbeknownst, campsite-ish back gravel lot. I was on the phone with Dustin and, trying to finish out the conversation, just stayed in the car for a few minutes instead of walking into a public place and talking into my shoulder like a schizo. Straight ahead in my line of site was a dumpster. About ten minutes into parking my view of the dumpster was obscured by a guy peeing on it. It was a dark area and he had no reason to believe anyone was in one of the surrounding cars that hadn't moved in minutes. So I granted him back his modesty and shielded my eyes with my hand.

Tonight, just a few minutes ago, I was leaving work. It was 2:30 and the parking lot had one empty car. Another abruptly drove up parallel to the empty car. (At Showplace, that usually signaled a drug deal; oddly enough, not at my current job. Its late night patrons content themselves to frequently breaking into cars. Seriously. Two weeks ago a security guy got his car broken into. The last time our projection tech was out, his laptop was stolen in the middle of the day.)

It seemed like some last-callers dropping off a friend. He had a too-tight polo and, I'm guessing, a shell-bead necklace. He got in his car. But his dropping-off friends both got out and starting pissing back to back, like a frat-fuck fountain. Seeing as I'm supposed to be responsible, I stare them down, thinking I should tell them to stop on my place of employment's property. But then I realize that all it takes is a pivot and they're peeing on me. So it turns out I don't care all that much.

"Walk on!" yells one of the dudes.

"Did you just say 'rock on'?" I'm just making sure they aren't quoting U2 to try and intimidate me. Because, for some reason, that was the deal-breaker in me keeping quiet.

"No! I said, 'Rock on!'"

"OK," I say, "'Rock on.'" I give them a hook 'em horn/Spidey-thwip/death metal horn and get in the car.

Anyhoo. This month's mix.

3/5/08 Mix:

"You! Me! Dancing!" — Los Campesinos! (Sticking Fingers Into Sockets)
"Horse to Water" — R.E.M. (Accelerate)
"The Break" — Your Black Star (Beasts)
"Richter Scale Madness" — …And You Know Us by the Trail of Dead (Live & Unreleased from Farmclub.com)
"We're in This Together" — Nine Inch Nails (The Fragile)
"The Start of Something" — Voxtrot (Raised by Wolves)
"Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)?" — The Buzzcocks (Singles Going Steady)
"Daddy Needs a Drink" — Drive-By Truckers (Brighter Than Creation's Dark)
"Northern Star" — Hole (Celebrity Skin)
"You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby" — The Smiths (The World Won't Listen)
"Personal Halloway" — Bush (Razorblade Suitcase)
"Glitter in Their Eyes" — Patti Smith (Gung Ho)
"Can't Wash It Off (Naked Version)" — Wheat (Too Much Time Bonus)
"No One Can Hurt Me" — Jon Brion (Home Demos (1991-1995))
"Rebekah" — The Markovnikov Process (unreleased)
"Heretic Pride" — The Mountain Goats (Heretic Pride)
"How to Disappear Completely" — Radiohead (live, August 16, 2000, Nijmegen)
"I Thought I Saw Your Face Today" — She & Him (Volume One)
"Be My Baby" — The Ronettes (Presenting the Fabulous Ronettes Featuring Veronica)

Recently Viewed:
Chicago 10, Snow Angels (Sat.), Son of Rambow (Tues.), Street Kings (Thurs.)

…Without Wishful Thinking

2008-04-03T11:48:00.001-05:00

Though I said, "If this is an April Fool's joke, I will cry myself to sleep," the joke's on you people. I already cry myself to sleep nightly.

So yeah. "April Fool's." Ha ha; ha…. According to the positive comments I got, though, I'm apparently an asshole. I got home from work late so I couldn't post this till after midnight. But c'mon! It's still timestamped as April 1; it's even tagged "AprilFools"! Right? Right. I am an asshole.

To compensate, I'll have a real update on The Movie(s!) next week. OK?

Recently Viewed:
Truly, Madly, Deeply (Wed.)

Where Would We Be…

2008-04-01T22:50:00.008-05:00

You might notice that I've called a full lid half a year ago on news about The Movie (that pesky one I was supposed to have started shooting last September) (but didn't). Up until tonight there was nothing to report except I was sitting back, quietly and patiently trying to get jigsaws to fall into place. Mostly this involves lots and lots of waiting. And emails. And rejection. And quarterlife crises.

I now understand why so many major filmmaker's have had projects languish. In fact, I feel like I have a personal picture of the gridlock of Hollywood for the last, well, ever. You hear these stories about great and stalled filmmakers only to wonder, Why didn't anyone give them the money to make a movie? Now, imagine if they'd never made a movie! Also, imagine if no one had faith in them? Ha ha!

'Cause that'd be terrible.

But that was the last few months.

Today I got the call I've been waiting on since I graduated high school.

An agent. He said he was from William Morris.

The path to this phone call, as the interested agent, Ted Evans, explained, was long and started, as I should have expected, from the last place I would have seen. OK. While I'd never admit this if this weren't one of the greatest days of my life, but: basically: (ahem):

When I originally put out the casting call last summer, one of the 100 women who sent in a headshot and resume was from Oklahoma. This wasn't odd; you'd be surprised how many people ignored the "locals only" part, mostly because they have that hope within hopes that a movie will take them out their trailer park. This particular girl sent a resume link, which not only had pictures of her that looked like she was crying while doing porn, but also had a self-description where of her best acting asset, her breasts ("they are a 34D"). It was even funnier still when, months later, I actually found unclothed, genuine porn of this girl.

Now here's the rub that I can freely talk about: One dark night of the soul last October, I emailed her. I sent her the script. As usual for anything that seems stupid or self-destructive, I told myself it was just a lark and I'd have a story to tell. I'm not one of those writers who worries about my ideas getting stolen (it's already stolen and they're all about the execution anyway), but I did had to take measure when I heard nothing from her.

Then, in December, ironically on the day I was supposed to have finished shooting if my original schedule had gone through, I got a call. From her boyfriend. Who, guess what, was a producer. I tried harder to get off the phone when he told me they were both in Austin and wanted to meet, no matter what the freakshow aspects of this were. But then, he resorted to the lowest of the low: flattery. He said he'd seen my YouTube clips and one in particular, featuring Kim (a girl, mind you, I've known since Kindergarten), displayed "eroticism." We set up to meet at a public coffeeshop. It'd be a lark. And I'd have a story to tell.

I met them later that day, on a usual Saturday afternoon where I wasn't doing anything. They weren't wearing the gym suits and halter tops I was expecting; they wore business suits. They talked good talk. He asked me how much my movie would cost. I bluffed just to scare him and said possibly $1 million. He flinched and came back with $500,000. I asked him if he was serious. He said he had it in a bag in his car. I almost pulled a Bill Paxton and shit my pants. Then he laughed.

Adapting to the situation (even though I'd wavered on this subject for the movie), I told them I was expecting lots and lots of nudity. They were in town for a week but they wanted more to go on than a YouTube clip. They asked about what camera I had now. They asked what lights I had. They asked about my editing equipment. They asked about my sound. Then, so that I might prove I was an amenable director who could adjust to any situation, they asked if I'd come to their hotel room later that week and film them having sex. This time I didn't pull a Bill Paxton. But also, unfortunately, this time he wasn't fucking with me.

Let me tell you. I was so freaking close to actually showing up when I was supposed to've.

And until today I never heard back from anyone who knew them. But, how (we inevitably come back) did the script land in Ted Evans's hands? The big boobed porn star's boyfriend. You can't make this shit up: they are cousins. "He's a douche," Ted said, "but I still feel obligated to read one 'producing project' of his per year." (Luckily, the big boob's boyfriend, Rand, won't be having anything to do with me from here on.)

Ted told me everything I wanted to hear. People will actually read my script. Including actors. He's unofficially sending out the script to a bunch of producers, and I might be flying out to LA later this month. Before the end of the year's over, I might be paid a living wage to write for a living.

When Ted called I was composed enough to ask for a client list and their phone numbers. But even so, it took an hour to calm before I called my dad and asked if his lawyer (who's handling the aunt's lawsuit) would look it a contract. He'll ask tomorrow.

If this ends up being an April Fool's joke, I will cry myself to sleep.

Recently Viewed:
Diary of the Dead (Sun.), Beaufort (Tues.), Funny Games, Romance & Cigarettes (Wed.), The Bank Job (Sun.), Shine a Light, Leatherheads, ~~The Day the Clown Cried~~ (Tues.)
Recently Read:
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Accumulated Vanity

2008-03-21T15:19:00.000-05:00

To start, I'm apparently not at genius level:

And:

Advanced Global Personality Test Results

Extraversion	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Stability	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%
Orderliness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	40%
Accommodation	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Interdependence	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Intellectual	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	83%
Mystical	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Artistic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Religious	\|\|	10%
Hedonism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Materialism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Narcissism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Adventurousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Work ethic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Self absorbed	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Conflict seeking	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Need to dominate	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%

Romantic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Avoidant	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Anti-authority	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Wealth	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Dependency	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Change averse	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Cautiousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Individuality	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Sexuality	\|\|\|\|	16%
Peter pan complex	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Physical security	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Physical Fitness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	57%
Histrionic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Paranoia	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Vanity	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Hypersensitivity	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Indie	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	68%

Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality test by similarminds.com

Finally:

You are 40% sucky as a person

Your a bit lame. What the hell is wrong with you? You want to cry?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do You Suck As A Person?
Create a Quiz

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Wow

2008-03-18T14:14:00.007-05:00

My favorite part starts at the 26:00 mark and goes to the end. (The embedded video had trouble loading on other sites, so if you can't see it, try here. Or listen to the MP3 here.)

Andrew Sullivan wrote, "It is a speech we have all been waiting for for a generation."

Charles Kaiser wrote for Radar:

No other presidential candidate in the past 40 years has managed to speak so much truth so eloquently at such a crucial juncture in his campaign as Barack Obama did today. And he did it by speaking about race, the most persistent source of hatred among us since America began.

It turns out that a candidate for president with a white mother and a black father has a capacity that no one else has ever had before: He can articulate an equal understanding of black racism and white racism—and that makes it possible for him to condemn both of them with equal passion.

On MSNBC, The Washington Post's Sally Quinn said, "This may be hyperbole, but this may be the most important speech about race since Martin Luther King's 'I have a dream' speech."

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The Driver (Sun.), Kurt Cobain: About a Son (Mon.)

Calling Dibs on Girls You Don't Talk To

2008-03-16T01:33:00.005-05:00

Like every other Austinite who's survived one annual SXSW, I'm blase to it. And by "blase" I mean one reconciles that, for every event missed, there's an illuminati in one's head of judgmental hipsters, internal monologuing past versions of oneself from a town where shit never happens, and a reckless accountant in a Hawaiian shirt who informs one that they could've afforded the event if they had only read the Chronicle Thursday and loosened up, brah. I ignore that illuminati now. There's too many things incalculably going on. You'll find out on what you missed a day too late and be afraid some douche will rub it in your face. The things you do catch up on will cause you to be that informant douche.*

SXSW is now a week where all my road-rage gets blamed, fairly or not, on fucking hipsters whose pants are too tight to realize they cut me off, or who are too busy on their cell asking Mom for a used clothes budget that could pay my rent for six months. Besides. It works out better when you accidentally stumble onto an event in a city where the memorable is always happening.

This is my first year living here where I didn't stumble onto a free badge of some sort. I immediately eliminated music from this week's docket just to clear RAM-space in my head (though I really wish I'd seen She & Him, R.E.M., or My Morning Jacket). I mapped out movies I wanted to see, noted and budgeted each $10 fee, and plotted which shows wouldn't be sold out. I saw two movies today that I assumed would be very popular, but since no one's seeing movies by the second Saturday I got into both minutes before showtime with neither line nor hassle.

After Joy Division at the Alamo Ritz, I strolled out onto Sixth Street to behold the Hipster Fall Festival (it's still an interesting competition to see which has more drunk assholes). It is, for me, the most entertaining part of the fest. Then I strolled back to my car around 8:30, most likely to finish up the night like my last few Saturdays: home by 10:00 p.m., watching SNL and playing Super Nintendo. Because I apparently want to replicate my middle school Saturday nights.

I expect a parking ticket when I get to my reliable east downtown parking spot; instead I hear music from near the capitol. And then I recognize it: "No Aloha" by the Breeders!

I did actually know the Breeders were playing; I just didn't know when. Last Splash was one of my top five albums in high school. But I didn't like this new album, Mountain Battles, too much; plus, there was the music moratorium. Plus I've seen the Breeders before and wasn't too impressed. This was their first announced show before Title TK and my first time driving to Chicago. I dragged Stacey along and we got lost in Gary. When she pulled out a map, I yelled at her to make sure she kept the map below the window line. Later her mother thanks me for saving her life. Also at this show, the Deals' parents came on stage and introduced themselves as "the breeders of the Breeders!"

The Breeders won out over Saturday night network TV. I followed the music into Waterloo Park, next to some other band. Both bands' sets bled into one another. (Later, from the Breeders stage you'd be able to hear the other band yell, "FUCK THE BREEDERS!") I ran into a fence and traced a path ending right behind the stage. I could see the drummer and back outlines of the band. To be honest, I've been to Radiohead shows with worse views.

And the whole evening I sat on a park bench in an idyllic 68 degrees pretty-people-watching and listening to free live Breeders instead of going home. I kept expecting someone to tell me to leave. I even prepared two responses: 1) pretend I'm a schizoid homeless guy with heatstroke; or 2) point out it's a public park, and if there were really a problem why wasn't this fence moved further back. But the only person who seemed to notice me was the lighting guy with a miner-light hat, who kept looking up at me from a laptop. In fact, various homeless and badge-less have-nots watched from the area too. One guy who'd been playing with his dog earlier tossed said dog over the fence to a girlfriend and then climbed it; no one did or said anything. I was content. They seemed to play more Pod/Last Splash songs than my last show. And of the Mountain Battles songs played, they only played one of the album's generic lullaby ballads but encored with one of its few upbeat rockers, "German Studies." And after the encore the Deals walked off stage and less than five feet from me, only the fence between us.

It's nights in Austin like this where the internal monologuing past version of myself from a town where shit never happens pats me on the head and says, "You did good by us."

When I got home to my SNL and SNES I found out it was an all day concert and free. It also featured many bands and comedians I'd have liked to seen. But I don't care about what I missed. I'm blase.

*Random thought of yesterday: Shouldn't douche rhyme with touche, and not toosh?

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What Happens Next by Marc Norman

Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

2008-03-06T21:10:00.002-06:00

3/5/08 Mix

"God Yu Tekkem Laef Blong Mi" — Hans Zimmer (The Thin Red Line OST)
"She Sends Kisses" — The Wrens (The Meadowlands)
"All the Lost Souls Welcome You to San Francisco" — American Music Club (The Golden Age)
"Stop the Show" (live) — Built to Spill (Live)
"Start Again" — The Electric Soft Parade (Holes in the Wall)
"Straight to Hell" — The Clash (Combat Rock)
"Death Announcements and Funerals" — Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson & Sigur Rós (Angels of the Universe)
"Everything" — Sleater-Kinney (The Woods iTunes Bonus)
"Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart" — Against Me! (New Wave)
"Photobooth" (live) — Death Cab for Cutie (The John Byrd E.P.)
"Paper Planes" — M.I.A. (Kala)
"Eternal Life" (live) — Jeff Buckley (Mystery White Boy)
"The Last Man" — Clint Mansell and Antony Hegarty (unreleased)
"Take Me Home" — National Biscuit Company (On the Dance Floor)
"Sick of Goodbyes" — Sparklehorse (Good Morning Spider)
"Frail and Bedazzled" — The Smashing Pumpkins (Pisces Iscariot)
"Soon My Lord" — Choir of All Saints (Chants from The Thin Red Line)
"Hymn of the Big Wheel" — Massive Attack (Blue Lines)
"A&E" — Goldfrapp (Seventh Tree)

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Great World of Sound (Sat.), Youth Without Youth (Tues.), Superman: Doomsday (Thurs.)

From Coen to Cuba Gooding

2008-03-01T00:48:00.003-06:00

There's two cool events coming up this week where I'll be around celebrities. (One is a repeat of last year.) And thanks to my new post-Academy Awards doppelganger, Dustin and I decided tonight that at each of these two events I'm to dress up in a tuxedo, carry around a fake plastic Oscar, and tell everyone, "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!" (This line is to be delivered with the same matter-of-fact inflection that Bruce McCullough delivers the line, "It's a pill that gives worms to ex-girlfriends!" in Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy.) It is all I'm to say, no matter what, at these events. For example:

"You ready to fire up the projector?" "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Could you put down the fake statue and help me out here?" "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Hey Terry? This is Shane, the guy I was telling you about." "It's nice to meet you." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"You look really cute in a tux." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Hello, I'm Cormac McCarthy. I know it's odd that I'm here, but, here I am." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Hello, I'm Joel Coen." "Hi, I'm Ethan. We came with Cormac." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Are you in any condition to be driving home?" "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"Shane, you're being a disturbance; I'm going to have to ask you to leave." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

"You have the right to remain silent." "I'm the co-director of No Country for Old Men!"

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And Then I Woke Up

2008-02-26T23:34:00.008-06:00

I've heard it multiple times since the Oscars:

Yes, I kinda look like Ethan Coen. And I proudly take any comparison to a Coen.

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A Good Milkshake Catchphrase Never Curdles

2008-02-24T13:33:00.002-06:00

This had me crying.

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Half the Time in the Dark

2008-02-21T16:39:00.015-06:00

Great movies are rarely perfect movies.
—Pauline Kael

(Thanks for the quote, Ted!)

About two years ago, when we set up this special device so that we can watch upgraded DVDs in the theater, we all picked what movies we've always wanted to see on the big screen. I bellyached and won right of first movie: Star Trek II. At a certain point I turned to my friend Josh and said, "This might be my favorite moment in all movies."

Here's a list of a few more. This includes TV shows as well. It is no way definitive and is definitely in no order of preference. (I ended up shortchanging comedies.)

Lots of these don't come from good movies. Many of them are arbitrary moments. Most of these are verbally indefensible; at least, I'd have trouble defending these in person. Most of these got to me when I was a kid, had only seen a few narratives, and was still neurologically malleable. There's no formula except to say that these moments came out of nowhere, narratively changed a movie's expectations, or that they hinted in a moment a wellspring of humanity unseen up to that point—be it on screen or behind the screen. Some were just neat. If I haven't seen these movies in a while they can still give me the same effect. Most of these can gives me literal goosebumps just for remembering them. If I'm honest, I need only two or three of these a year to keep me seeing five movies a week; spending the majority of my time reading up on new releases; delving back into its history or criticism or criticism of that history; ambitiously writing and plotting to make my own claims into this steeped history and eternal forum. And if I'm honest, these things build up the most important thing in my life right now.

I tried to keep these vague and unspoilery:

The Enterprise sneaks up behind the Reliant. (Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)
"Bring my shuttle" (not in the Special Edition, I might add); or, Luke and Darth Vader talk telepathically. (The Empire Strikes Back)
"I'm afraid we've lost him." (Brazil)
As Batty's dove flies away raindrops fall off his brow, and Deckard blinks a hard blink in recognition. (Blade Runner)
Jesse tells Celine, "I might have given up on the whole idea of romantic love that day"; or, when he says, "I know." (Before Sunset)
Mary recites an Alexander Pope poem; or, Joel tells his memory of Clementine, "I thought you knew that about me." (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)
Josh tells the guy that they won't go through with their nominees because "that's not what we do." (The West Wing, "Let Bartlet Be Bartlet"); or, from behind the podium, the President puts his hands in his pockets, looks away, and smiles. ("Two Cathedrals")
Peter jumps from the rooftop onto Dr. Octopus. (Spider-Man 2)
Instead of an even bigger canon, Bugs Bunny presents Elmer Fudd with a bouquet of flowers. ("Rabbit of Seville")
The water rises around the old couple's bed; or, Rose realizes where the diamond is; or, she's reunited with the crew in a dream. (Titanic)
Dave watches himself age to an old man in about one minute. (2001: A Space Odyssey)
"Smile you son of a bitch." (Jaws)
Harry watches the blood shoot up from the toilet. (The Conversation)
The snow starts to cover McCabe. (McCabe & Mrs. Miller)
Vito takes Michael's little hands and waves goodbye from the train. (The Godfather Part II)
Angel and Buffy hug as the clock ticks and she says, "I'll never forget" (Angel, "I Will Remember You"); or, "Well, personally? I kind of want to slay the dragon." ("Not Fade Away")
"Yeah, I even lost my cat." (The Long Goodbye)
Amr nods and turns the boat to shore. (Syriana)
Wash whispers, "I'm a leaf on the wind…" (Serenity)
The moment before he and Frank finish their standoff, Harmonica remembers how he became eponymous. (Once Upon a Time in the West)
David and Bill wake up in front of the mural they just painted to a new crowd. (Pleasantville)
Vincent asks Max if he thinks they'll notice a dead man on the train. (Collateral)
Max revs his engine as two other cars try to wolfpack him. (The Road Warrior)
Michael hands the cabbie $50 and tells him to "just drive." (Michael Clayton)
"Do it already muthafu—!" (The Wire, "Middle Ground" and "Mission Accomplished")
Batman walks into the cathedral. (Batman, 1989)
Borat chases Azamat into the hotel conference room. (Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan)
Tony opens Meadow's reconciliation Christmas gift: a singing fish. (The Sopranos, "To Save Us All from Satan's Power")
Hank overcomes Grandi in Mrs. Vargas's hotel room. (Touch of Evil)
Javier watches the baseball game. (Traffic)
Seita remembers the date of his death. (Grave of the Fireflies)
King Kong laughs on the ice rink. (King Kong, 2006)
Everyone is stunned to hear a baby's cry. (Children of Men)
Just after Witt raises his gun, he's swimming again with the Melenesian kids. (The Thin Red Line)
Buffy tells Glory, "Come and get it" (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "The Gift"); or, Dawn's fingers get just inches away from touching her mother's face. ("The Body")
"I'm not smart enough for him. Hang in there." "I don't know what I'm saying—she senses I'm shallow." (Annie Hall)
Neil and Eady drive through a bright tunnel. (Heat)
Jake runs to the stairs to tell Kitty, "It never goes away." (The Two Jakes)
Marcello starts banging on his fogging up car windows. (8½)
Mr. Bernstein tells the reporter about the girl with the white parasol. (Citizen Kane)
"Same thing we always do: Fight 'em till we can't." (Battlestar Galactica, "Lay Down Your Burdens, Part 2")
Kim remembers the last time it snowed. (Edward Scissorhands)
Tom watches Xibulba die; or Tommy buries a seed. (The Fountain)
Chris discovers the torn page out of the Dylan Thomas book that Rheya left him (Solaris, 2002)
The army lets the Iraqis go through. (Three Kings)
The Bride remembers that vengeance is like a forest. (Kill Bill, Vol. 1)
"You got it." (Fight Club)
George says, "I don't trust anybody but you." (Shampoo)
The Fellowship exit the Mountain Pass. (The Fellowship of the Ring)
Will carries his dad past "everyone" towards the river. (Big Fish)
The last non-flying fight between Neo and Agent Smith. (The Matrix Revolutions)
"But don't hold that against me, I'm a little screwy myself!" (It Happened One Night)
Nate sits with his wife and remembers he already dreamed this moment. (Six Feet Under, "Perfect Circles")
Woodward and Bernstein type as the TV goes on in the background. (All the President's Men)
"Shut your fucking face Uncle Fucka." (South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut)
Christian sings "Roxanne" as he walks out the Moulin Rouge just after the Duke tears Celine's neckless. (Moulin Rouge)
"And then it flows through me like rain." (American Beauty)
Baxter's kicked off the bridge. (Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy)
The waves against the beach. (American History X)
"I'd like to think this wasn't weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness." (Atonement)
Bugs Bunny wiggles one brow right before switching from saying "Duck season" to "Wabbit season." ("Rabbit Fire")
"Hello? Anybody here?" (The Shining)
The mother quiets her baby to hide. (The Pianist)
Donnie laughs before the plane falls. (Donnie Darko)
The prideful look in Anakin's eyes just as the mask falls on his face. (Revenge of the Sith)
"Do you like your chili, Scott?" (South Park, "Scott Tenorman Must Die")
Kanji singing on the swing in the snow. (Ikiru)
"My, she was yar." (The Philadelphia Story)
Maximus is carried over flowers petals on the coliseum ground. (Gladiator)
Wheezy Joe mistaking his inhaler. (Intolerable Cruelty)
The final scream. (Invasion of the Body Snatchers, 1979)
Jacob tells his brother what really happened the month he dated Carrie Richards. (A Simple Plan)
Even after it's picked up, the phone keeps ringing in the opium den. (Once Upon a Time in America)
Charlie watches the sun set in the subway ad. (Carlito's Way)
Charlie's head falls on his pillow to "Be My Baby." (Mean Streets)
The Fourth of July fireworks go on around Jack. (Blow Out)
Dan goes back on the air as "Eli's Coming" plays around him. (Sports Night, "Eli's Coming")
Weeds grow over Bill's grave site in view of the Twin Towers. (Gangs of New York)
"But I saw an old couple bein' visited by their children—and all their grandchildren too." (Raising Arizona)
The animator re-draws Daffy Duck's parachute into an anvil. ("Duck Amuck")
"IT WAS IN THE REIGN OF GEORGE III / THAT THE AFORESAID PERSONAGES LIVED AND QUARRELLED; / GOOD OR BAD, HANDSOME OR UGLY, RICH OR UGLY / THEY ARE ALL EQUAL NOW." (Barry Lyndon)

I more than encourage anyone reading it to treat this like a meme and post your own somewhere. But they don't just have to be about movies. It can be music. Or books. Or whatever inanimate object or hobby consumes your life a little too much. Or, if you're brave enough, do something else: like the moments that made you love a city. Or, if you're ambitious, a person.

Recently Viewed:
Paper Moon, Taxi to the Dark Side, Russian Ark (Sun.), Charlie Bartlett (Tues.), The Other Boleyn Girl, Bubba Ho-tep (Wed.)

What Makes the Hottentot So Hot?

2008-02-15T13:19:00.003-06:00

For all that readership in the Midwest, let me apologize for delivering this factoid: We had to turn on our air conditioning last week. Then call the landlord to repair it because, as expected, it was broke. And it was too hot to let it slide.

The problem's been that our landlords will, upon complaint, send out an A/C guy who will look at our unit, say, "There's a freon leak," fill it, and then we'll call two months later for process to begin anew. (The first time I did this, I took a day or two to call because Aaron Roommate kept warning that our landlords were deadbeat. When finally on the phone, one of the landlords said with urgency, "We need to know right away so we can do something.")

Sure enough, the guy came out last Saturday and filled his obligation and the freon. But he said he'd be back next week. "Do we need to be home?" No, he said, he'll just work on the outside, but he'll be sure and give us a call before he comes out.

This morning I was awakened by two guys outside my window. Because my roommates periodically leave the house unlocked, they then walked into my house, only speaking Spanish. I weighed the options: I don't own anything outside my room except food. Then, when the A/C kicked on, I realized they're repair men and tried to go back to sleep. But I couldn't, as they were hammering and even sawing at one point.

So I stayed in my room quietly for two and a half hours.

I slept some, but mostly read my Hilary Clinton biography. I didn't get online, as I thought typing would be too loud, and I hoped the phone wouldn't ring. I even thought about doing something I've done many times to avoid the roommates: Climb out the window.

All this because I didn't want to put on pants.

Make the World for You a Better Place

2008-02-14T21:33:00.006-06:00

A friend asked last week what I was doing for Valentine's Day. I've never had a girlfriend on Valentine's Day, and I haven't really expected that sentiment to get a reaction since high school. So I didn't even have a quip in mind. I started to stutter out both, "I'm going to a brothel," and, "then a Hallmark Card shop," but I couldn't even get that out because I was so flustered with the question. It's an easily ignorable day. I can't even remember the last time I met someone who wanted to celebrate it.

It's been a while since I heard it called "Black [Whatever]day." For the last two years I've used Warren Ellis's annual email-list proclamation: "Valentine's Day is a Christian corruption of a pagan festival involving werewolves, blood and fucking. So wish people a happy Horny Werewolf Day and see what happens." Trying to answer what I was doing on that day? I just wanted to pat her pretty little head.

I spent most of my Valentine's Day reading one ironic Valentine after another. In fact it was that last site, someecards.com, with their Victorian illustrations, that scored my favorites of the day. "There simply must be a correlation between quantity of chocolate purchased and anal sex permitted." "This is the perfect night to troll the city for undatable alcoholics." "Let's spend Valentine's Day alone together." And, "My true love is out there somewhere and they can go fuck themselves." There were so many ironic Valentines ecards that one pointedly said, "Let's ironically celebrate Valentine's Day by going on a date."

The day almost ended up uneventful except, when I got to work, I was greeted with the knowledge that one movie tonight was going to have a special preshow. This special preshow? A guy proposing.

"Not only that," said the person handing me the DVD I had to play, "but you've got to see the video. There's this horrible awkward part where he gets on his knees in the video, doesn't say anything, and the camera zooms in on silence. Then he finally says, 'Will you marry me?' It's awesome."

I was simply annoyed at no one having told me till today, so my snark level was at red by the time I popped in the DVD for a test. Sure enough, it was a picture montage over which the guy, in halted English, read a self-composed poem with a periodically dropped rhyme scheme that at one point rhymed "river" with "quiver." The sound was recorded from a camcorder with the guy standing five feet away and, though I never checked in the theater, it sounded accentuatingly embarrassing up in the booth.

The rest of the night we made jokes. "What is she going to tell her children? 'It was so romantic, honey. Your father proposed before Step Up 2 the Streets.'" "You know if he proposes at our theater, that marriage is going to last." "Maybe he can run out the theater and the wall carpeting at the side might fall on them. Like a veil." Then the more embarrassing scenarios entered the conversation, the common and obvious one: What if she turned him down?

"If he goes to the bathroom and slits his wrists, are we responsible the way a bartender's responsible for a drunk driver?"

"Have you ever been any place where someone proposed?" I asked.

"I don't think so."

"Me neither. Have you ever even seen one?"

Over the next two hours I started getting nervous, involved for the guy. Our theater is what marketers euphemistically call "urban." I'd call it, with unforced political correctness, a "rowdy" crowd, maybe a young one. The bigger worry became how the Step Up 2 crowd would react. Yell throughout the proposal? Throw popcorn or nachos at them for delaying the long-awaited Step Up sequel?

A manager's friend came in just to witness. "You are going to see human frailty at its most," I said.

The couple arrived for the 9:00 show and before I could test it they rushed in, first ones in their seats. A 293 seat auditorium filled up. I made sure to evacuation pee before I started the movie. Employees who were free got into positions after I walkie-talkied down that it was starting. The curtains opened, the screen's red lights dimmed. I couldn't see much and I certainly didn't hear anything except the video's blown out levels. Then, as the video ended, and it cut to the shot of him standing there awkwardly, on one knee, room tone, zoom, proposal. Later, people inside said the entire theaters' heads collectively turned around from the screen to see him, live, awkwardly on one knee. But all I saw or heard, as the video ended, was a rapture of clapping and wolf-whistles. Of course, she said yes.

And as I was typing this at work, the couple came up to get the DVD, hand and hand, nervous, quick to a thank you, smiles akimbo. This has been the best Valentine's Day I can remember.

With one to grow on, here's this month's mix, Valentine cuts intact:

2/3/08 Mix

"Stormy High" — Black Mountain (In the Future)
"Unheard Music" — Elastica with Stephen Malkmus (SubUrbia OST)
"I'm Ready" — The Twilight Singers (Powder Burns)
"Savoy Truffle" — The Beatles (The Beatles)
"Jenny Wren" — Paul McCartney (Chaos and Creation in the Backyard)
"I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" (live) — Sleater-Kinney (???)
"Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" — Modest Mouse (BBC Radio 1 Session, July 13, 1999)
"News of the World" — The Jam ("News of the World")
"The Galaxist" — Deerhoof (Friend Opportunity)
"Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime" — Korgis (Dirty Waiters)
"My Funny Valentine" — Elvis Costello & The Attractions ("Oliver's Army"/"My Funny Valentine")
"Magic Trick" — She & Him (KCRW Open Road, January 6, 2008)
"Sweet-Lovin' Man" — The Magnetic Fields (69 Love Songs)
"Beauty of a Scar" — Mock Orange (unreleased)
"Man in Decline" — Mission of Burma (The Obliterati)
"Yawny at the Apocalypse" — Andrew Bird (Armchair Apocrypha)
"Real Bad News" (live) — Aimee Mann (Lost in Space: Special Edition)
"Knock That Door" — Enon (Lost Marbles and Exploded Evidence)
"The Frug" — Rilo Kiley (Initial Friend)
"Omerta" — The Afghan Whigs (1965)
"The Vampire Lanois" — The Afghan Whigs (1965)
"Everyone's a V.I.P. to Someone" — The Go! Team (Thunder, Lightning, Strike)

Recently Viewed
The Paper Chase, Revenge (Sat.), Sans Soleil, Teeth (Sun.), Rambo (Wed.), Quiet City (Sun.), Dance Party, USA, Private Fears in Public Places (Tues.), The TV Set (Wed.) Starting Out in the Evening (Sat.), The Day of the Jackal (Mon.), Definitely, Maybe (Wed.), Jumper (Thurs.)
Recently Read:
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Rambo 5 Update!

2008-01-24T17:29:00.001-06:00

You know this outlandish, totally tongue-in-cheek joke I made five years ago? It comes true tomorrow.

Now begins Rambo 5 update! As our favorite maker of comeback-metaphor-for-my-career stories told AICN:

I truly can’t tell you yet because I think it would be bad luck, but I think a challenge would be to take the character which has been perceived mostly in a realistic vein and add another element of the surreal that would actually take the audience into a slightly different genre. It’s not like I’m going to turn it into a full on Broadway musical starring the Muppets, but it is ambitious.

Rambo in Space!

Also, random observation while listening to this new Magnetic Fields album: doesn't Stephin Merritt sing like Sly talks? Wouldn't it be cool Merritt scored Death Wish?

Recently Viewed:
Cloverfield (Thurs.), I Am Cuba (Sun.), RSO [Registered Sex Offender] (Mon.), Au hasard Balthazar (Tues.), In Bruges (Wed.)

PowerBook Ran Into a Door Knob

2008-01-13T01:49:00.002-06:00

In celebration of Radiohead's In Rainbows being my greatest album of 2007, last month's mix is an all-Radiohead (b-sides!) mix. But I had to wait for their New Years Webcast, though, so I've let them down. And I can't call it a "Radiohead B-Sides Greatest Hits," because I always made that mix a few years ago for Stacey (and even then, I couldn't keep it to under two discs) (and even then it wasn't a greatest hits 'cause she herself was familiar with the good b-sides). So, taking a cue from ~~The~~ A Daily Show, this is

A 1/3 Radiohead B-Sides Mix

"A Reminder" (Airbag/How Am I Driving?)
"Planet Telex" ("Just" #2, London, March 24, 1995)
"Idioteque" (Saturday Night Live, October 14, 2000)
"Bangers & Mash" (In Rainbows Discbox)
"Lift" (Pinkpop Music Festival, May 27, 1996)
"How I Made My Millions" ("No Surprises" #1)
"Bodysnatchers" (Scotch Mist Webcast, January 1, 2008)
"Maquiladora" (Live at Astoria, May 27, 1994)
"You Never Wash Up After Yourself" (My Iron Lung)
"Down is the New Up" (In Rainbows Discbox)
"The Trickster" (My Iron Lung)
"Trans-Atlantic Drawl" ("Pyramid Song" #1)
"Ceremony" (Thumbs Down Webcast, November 9, 2007)
"Nothing Touches Me" (BBC Evening Session, June 13, 1992)
"Up on the Ladder" (Salamanca, Spain, August 6, 2002)
"I Want None of This" (Help: A Day in the Life)
"Fog" ("Knives Out" #2)
"Paranoid Android" (BBC Evening Session, May 28, 1997)
"Stop Whispering" ("High and Dry" Live Package, December 2, 1994)
"4 Minute Warning" (In Rainbows Discbox)

And then, there's this month's normal mix. Notice it too had to have a Radiohead song, because the Scotch Mist Webcast goodness, much less the ethereal Radiohead goodness, couldn't be contained to one disc:

1/10/08 Mix

"Spoke" — Shellac (Excellent Italian Greyhound)
"Drive on, Driver" — The Magnetic Fields (Distortion)
"Australia" — Manic Street Preachers (Everything Must Go)
"Flightless Bird, American Mouth" — Iron & Wine (The Shepherd's Dog)
"Clean Money" — Elvis Costello & The Attractions (Ten Bloody Marys & Ten How's Your Fathers)
"Chinese Bombs" — Blur (Blur)
"Meet Ze Monsta" — PJ Harvey (To Bring You My Love)
"Nobody Has to Stay" — Mirah (C'mon Miracle)
"Anyone Else But You" — Michael Cera and Ellen Page (Juno OST)
"Foam Hands" — Destroyer (Trouble in Dreams)
"15 Step" — Radiohead (Scotch Mist Webcast)
"She's Lost Control" — Joy Division (Unknown Pleasures)
"Split Needles" — The Shins (Wincing the Night Away)
"Homecoming Queen" — Sparklehorse (Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot)
"Saddest Quo" — The Pernice Brothers (Discover a Lovelier You)
"The Scientist" (live) — Aimee Mann (Lost in Space: Special Edition)
"Please Be Patient With Me" — Wilco (Sky Blue Sky)
"One Step Closer" — U2 (How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb)
"Baltimore" — Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks (Real Emotional Trash)
"Ponytail" — Panda Bear (Person Pitch)
"Finest Worksong" — R.E.M. (Document)

Over Christmas I vowed to expand the monthly-mix subscriber list as Christmas presents. Unfortunately, not all the new subscribers know yet, since there's that vague should-I-give-you-a-Christmas-present? vibe; conversely, I'll have to practice my, "Oh, no, don't worry, I didn't expect a present back…" reply. Regardless, I found a way to get past my failed CD burner, so hopefully I get back to giving people their monthly CDs. Which is a needed thing, because that failed burner and many more of my PowerBook's recent failings caused me to do a terrible thing that I promise I will never ever do again, and I'm so sorry and ashamed I did it but I will never never do it again!…

I hit PowerBook.

It was a stressful moment and things got out of control. And I'm so ashamed.

PowerBook had been doing this nagging thing where, if I press the mouse button, even after I let up it continues to act as if I'm pressing down. Even after it knows I've let up, as soon as I move the cursor there it is wildly scrolling the page up and down or highlighting the wrong text—after I specifically did it right. I've tried being patient. I've tried gently tapping the button again. I've hit it jarringly to get its attention; nothing violent, but more forceful than normal.

(Oh, I'm such a terrible, terrible person!)

Now, PowerBook isn't as young as it used to be. It's older; I know that. It's filled up with memory. I spilled a little bit of Coke on it a few weeks ago, and some keys are still sticky. It's got dents in it, little hairs stuck underneath its keyboard keys, and even despite the new hard-drive I got a year ago I still can hear it wheeze every once in a while. But on this day…

On this day… PowerBook wasn't getting Firefox to respond. Just kept freezing. I only had one program up. I was busy. I needed to send a reply back to Dustin's work thread and timeliness was of the matter because, if it were just a second later, the joke wouldn't have been funny. And PowerBook knew that! So I tried to compromise; I shut down every other program, and just had three tabs open in Firefox. And it just kept sending that rainbow beach ball, which we all know is a Macintosh's form of laughter. And the ball just kept spinning, and spinning, and spinning…

And I lost it. I hit PowerBook in the hard-drive. The computer equivalent of a cunt punt, and I did it.

And I can never take it back.

(I'm so sorry, PowerBook!)

PowerBook wasn't hurt by this. There's no noticeable damage. Right away, it didn't do anything differently, trying to pretend it didn't happen. But as the shame set in I couldn't help myself but to plead with it. I cried, told it it could leave me if I ever did it again. I swore off drinking (even though I was completely sober at the time).

It hasn't been easy. I've noticed the small things change. Even while writing this PowerBook flared up and sent me the multi-colored spherical fuck-you, and I accept it. Dealing with a dying computer is the worst thing that can happen to anyone, especially if you've got a lot of hard-to-find stuff on there. The closest comparable thing is having to deal with a family member who has Alzheimer's. Or maybe a car that's crapping out on you.

I get through it by telling PowerBook, "PowerBook, you're the most important thing in my life. You're where I do all my writing and video editing and email. I love you, PowerBook." But if I'm honest, I can handle the shame because, deep down, I know that, some day, when I get myself together better and get the money, I plan on getting a new Mac. Don't tell PowerBook this.

Recently Viewed:
La Vie en Rose (Thurs.), Legend, The Orphanage (Sat.), Evangeline (Tues.), The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Fri.), Persepolis (Sat.)

These Are My 10 Most Favoritest Things (of 2007)

2008-01-03T17:38:00.002-06:00

Updated! 1/13

Movies!

Zodiac
No Country for Old Men
I'm Not There
There Will Be Blood
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Once
Death Proof
Michael Clayton
Juno
Ratatouille

Honorable Mention (In Order of Preference) (in all, Top 100 of 2007!)
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford; Black Book; Atonement; Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street; The Lives of Others; Hot Fuzz; The Kingdom; Eastern Promises; Knocked Up; Persepolis; Lions for Lambs; Breach; Before the Devil Knows You're Dead; The Simpsons Movie; Superbad; Into the Wild; In the Valley of Elah; Hot Rod; Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; Across the Universe; Beowulf; 2 Days in Paris; The Bourne Ultimatum; The Savages; The Darjeeling Limited; I Am Legend; Sicko; Inland Empire; Smiley Face; A Mighty Heart; American Gangster; Shoot 'Em Up; Spider-Man 3; Rescue Dawn; Reign Over Me; Lucky You; Gone Baby Gone; Redacted; Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story; Sleuth; No End in Sight; La Vie en Rose; 28 Weeks Later; Dan in Real Life; Ocean's Thirteen; The Bucket List; Black Snake Moan; Bug; Waitress; The Great Debaters; Lars and the Real Girl; In the Land of Women; 1408; Stardust; The Hoax; Reno 911!: Miami; Control; The Prisoner or: How I Planned to Kill Tony Blair; Vacancy; Away from Her; Sunshine; Transformers; Live Free or Die Hard; 3:10 to Yuma; Hairspray; Lust, Caution; Hannah Takes the Stairs; The Heartbreak Kid; The Hunting Party; Paprika; I'm a Cyborg, But That's OK; TMNT; Rendition; The Lookout; Paris, je t'aime; Planet Terror; Smokin' Aces; The Astronaut Farmer; Old Joy; Rocket Science; Chalk; Severance; Blades of Glory; Black Sheep; Enchanted; Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium; and We Own the Night.

Albums!

Radiohead: In Rainbows
Various: I'm Not There: Music from the Motion Picture
The National: Boxer
Stars: In Our Bedroom After the War
The Arcade Fire: Neon Bible
Ryan Adams: Easy Tiger
Band of Horses: Cease to Begin
Voxtrot: Voxtrot
Spoon: Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
The New Pornographers: Challengers

Honorable Top 40 (Again, in Order of Preference):
PJ Harvey: White Chalk; Elliott Smith: New Moon; Arctic Monkeys: Favourite Worst Nightmare; Sigur Rós: Hvarf-Heim; the Shins: Wincing the Night Away; Travis: The Boy With No Name; Modest Mouse: We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank; Feist: The Reminder; Tegan & Sara: The Con; The Go! Team: Proof of Youth; Against Me!: New Wave; Bloc Party: A Weekend in the City; Wilco: Sky Blue Sky; Rilo Kiley: Under the Blacklight; Iron & Wine: Shepherd's Dog; Okkervil River: The Stage Names; Ted Leo & the Pharmacists: Living With the Living; Nine Inch Nails: Year Zero; Shellac: Excellent Italian Greyhounds; Panda Bear: Person Pitch; Ryan Adams & the Cardinals: Follow the Lights; Bright Eyes: Cassadaga; Hot Hot Heat: Happiness Ltd.; Interpol: Our Love to Admire; Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!: Some Loud Thunder; Low: Drums and Guns; Of Montreal: Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?; Deerhunter: Cryptograms; Charlotte Gainsbourg: 5:55; Blonde Redhead: 23; Bjork: Volta; Andrew Bird: Armchair Apocrypha; Explosions in the Sky: All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone; the Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Is Is; Ben Folds: The Sunnysuperspeedgraphic LP; the White Stripes: Icky Thump; Bruce Springsteen: Magic; Dinosaur Jr: Beyond; LCD Soundsystem: Sound of Silver; and Rivers Cuomo: Alone: The Home Recordings of Rivers Quomo.

Books! (Fiction and Non-) (I Actually Read Enough This Year for This to Count!)

The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein*
The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Exit Ghost by Philip Roth
Falling Man by Don DeLillo
On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan
Reading Comics by Douglas Wolk
The Assault on Reason by Al Gore
Love is a Mix-Tape by Rob Sheffield

Honorable Mention:
No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July, Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo*, You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem, After Dark by Haruki Murakami*, Dead Certain by Robert Draper*, Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis

* still reading or unfinished; cop-out, yes, but I lamely apologize

Recently Viewed:
The Savages (Tues.), The Great Debaters (Wed.)
Recently Read:
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Happy Families Resemble One Another

2007-12-26T14:33:00.000-06:00

Multiple family Christmases were lunked into one on its Eve and I was done with gift-giving. Considering I almost was my own director of photography for a movie this year and I based that hubris on some supposed eye for framing and natural light, it's odd I've never had a still camera for a long period of time. So Mom let me go all visions-of-light with her camera while everyone else opened presents. I figured out most parts of camera quickly -- except the autofocus. When we loaded these I couldn't find the first picture: I'd managed to frame my mom and dad into a nice shot. My guess? Mom deleted it.

First up, the whole crime scene (my brother's house):

Mekenzi methodically opening a package.

Mekenzi less methodically opening a package, in an unfortunate Tara Reid-esque position.

Ashley attacking the paper-strewn landscape like a two-foot tall Godzilla.

Step-dad Don trying his best to stay out of the carnage.

Ethan's first Christmas, verite-style motherfucker. This ain't no K-Mart backdrop, Grandma, so go shit your colostomy bag.

For most of Ethan's photos I couldn't understand why they were all coming out blurry. I'd somehow, I thought, gotten stuck on a weird low-light setting where the aperture was staying open for two seconds. Turns out I was making two-second movies. Most of those were perfectly in focus.

And finally, Mom playing with Ethan:

Recently Viewed:
National Treasure: Book of Secrets (Thurs.)

I Only Wish God Was Alive to See This

2007-12-20T13:58:00.000-06:00

First it starts out as parody. Then it turns into self-parody. Then you realize they're serious. Then it seems like the most oblivious, horrible, hilarious video ever. But, if you make it to the end—and you buy that it's genuine—the video turns into one of the saddest, most evil things in the world right now. Either way it's disturbing.

http://view.break.com/278059 - Watch more free videos

…
That Hilary Swank/Richard LaGravanese movie P.S. I Love You comes out this week, and studios often send us movies with fake names. (For what? I don't know. Do they really envision a scenario where someone desperately wanting Resident Evil 3 stakes out an airport DHL or FedEx hub but is foiled by its fake name? Or that terrorists take over an entire theater because the center of their nefarious schemes revolve around getting a copy of the hard-drive to Norbit, but, thanks to their stealthy renaming, it evades their evil, evil hands?)

You watched the trailer yet? So you know it has Swank playing a grieving widow who finds her husband left her letters on how to live without him? A movie like this needs the utmost heart and tact to sell it. Then what fake name did Warner Bros. give?

Deadmates.

Recently Viewed:
Charlie Wilson's War (Wed.), Hoop Dreams (Thurs.)

Xenophobic Tales

2007-12-19T01:17:00.000-06:00

I caught an advance screening of The Kite Runner tonight, put on by a radio station. I was getting in because of a press invite. There was a special row set aside for "press," but I don't like sitting there on egalitarian principle. I picked a front row seat, empty on both sides. And, of course, before the auditorium's full, I had both seats filled and ready for babble in stereophonic twit for the movie's duration.

The old (cat) lady on my left just reacted audibly and loudly to every moment—from individual gun shots, to blood, to everything and anything. After one such grunt I made the mistake of giving her an open look of annoyance, which she somehow mistook for a look that said, "This movie! Let's now talk monosyllabically about it." She then monosyllabically recapped the plot point we both had just seen and said, "Ehn?" while I sunk my head in my hands.

But the middle-aged guy on my right, to get racist for a second, was like an '80s Italian comic's stereotype of a black person at a theater. And he was Hispanic. And actually, not that rowdy. So the whole '80s Italian comic's black person stereotype doesn't apply. Except to say that he obliviously blathered a lot. (Dang it. These racial stereotypes are too general and not applicable enough.)

Still, he conversed with his wife about everything from the movie to whether or not his son gave him the right change for his Dr. Pepper. He talked like my favorite type of moviegoer: the ones who think they're at home and can talk back to the TV. He struck me, before movie's start, to think, Free or not, I doubt this guy will sit through subtitles.

I was wrong. He sat through most of The Kite Runner, a unifying and humanistic movie and book about different cultures, a generational epic about Afghanistan and its oppression and the ways its oppressed citizen have never been able to blossom, from the Soviets through the Taliban. Most of his comments, like the ventriloquial dummy to my left, reminded me of things that happen .5 seconds ago or helped me out in case I'd suddenly become subtitle illiterate.

Then, in a high tension point, a Taliban official seems like he's caught the main character, but suddenly gives a big character reveal. (This scene happens in 2000.) Before he can reveal this, the family guy on my right tries to MST3K the Taliban Afghani's dialogue:

"Hey, you wanna join our side? Can you fly a plane? Ha ha!" Then he elbowed his wife in celebration while I stared at him with a gaping jaw.

Recently Viewed:
Margot at the Wedding (Sat.), The Kite Runner (Tues.)

(Please Don't) Ask D! (With Me) 12/14

2007-12-14T23:57:00.000-06:00

Dear D!,

Should you naively send out your own personal Evite link out for a party via email to anyone else?

Sincerely,
Bronco

Bronco,

No. Even if the party's for mutual friends, like Adam and Lauren, that allows anyone with the link to change your "Party Reply." For example, say Dustin and Shane get ahold of this email, and you send out the link via email at 3:59 p.m. this afternoon.

By 4:08, Dustin has "you" writing, "I sure hope cock is on the menu, because that's what I like to eat."

Seconds later, unbeknownst that Dustin is also writing messages as "you," Shane writes as your proxy, "I masturbate to Adam's picture nightly. Can't wait for the party."

Then Dustin, at 4:11: "Is it too soon to get on the list for the wine enemas? That is how you have a party! Make sure there are plenty of things for me to stick up my ass. P.S. I still want cock."

Then Shane: "I plan on getting drunk and seducing Adam. Lauren, if you get in the way, I will crush you."

Shane again: "I've been having an affair with my uncle every family Christmas since I was 8 years old. I don't know why I thought this was the right forum to reveal that."

Then at 4:16, Shane put back up the "masturbate to Adam's picture nightly" one, only to add: "Lauren, you should get in on this, though, fair warning: I WILL CRUSH YOU."

Then Shane, later: "I've been playing 'Doctor' at every Christmas party since I was 5, and I expect this party to be no different."

And just when you think you've taken them all down and everyone's left work after 5:00, Shane leaves up, for a few hours: "I've got a tattoo of a Georgia Bulldog on my vagina and hopefully I'll drink enough for you guys to see it! MERRY CHRISTMAS! Imma rape you all!"

It's not till you come home and finally disable the option that this debacle is over. Because if you hadn't, Shane would've added, "I'm bringing a gun to the party. Related or unrelated P.S.: Always and forever, I will love the cock."

So don't do that. Or anyone else shouldn't. 'Cause that's just not smart.

Recently Viewed:
The Singing Detective, Bush's Brain (Tues.), Stripes (Thurs.), Atonement (Fri.), Frownland (Sun.), The Golden Compass (Mon.), The Bucket List, The Hunger (Tues.), Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (Wed.), There Will Be Blood (Thurs.), The Color Purple (Fri.), I Am Legend (Wed.), Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (Thurs.)
Recently Read:
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Licked Before They Start

2007-11-26T04:10:00.000-06:00

This post's title comes from an essay on screenwriting by Raymond Chandler. The writers strike is freaking fascinating, and the definitive reporting on all things strike related goes to Nikki Finke.

In celebration of all the writers not writing and the resumption of talks beginning today, I'm posting third-act sum ups from two of my favorite screenplays from this year—both based on real events and with excerpts extremely SPOILERish—Zodiac and Charlie Wilson's War.

First up, Zodiac by James Vanderbilt. This is an earlier, more conventional draft—they even changed Arthur Leigh Allen's name to "Robert Hall Starr"! The scene was apparently replaced by the diner scene with Toschi and Graysmith, but this one leaves in some plotlines and pay-offs that were sadly excised from both the theatrical and director's cut.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY Graysmith settles into his chair opposite a PANEL of SEVEN AGENTS. The lead one, JOHNSON, runs the meeting.

AGENT JOHNSONMr. Graysmith, thank you for coming. These are the agents who will be running the Zodiac investigation. I understand you have some... concerns you'd like to raise with us?

The other agents exchange looks. Who does this Graysmith guy think he is?

GRAYSMITHI just want to say my piece, then I'll leave you alone.AGENT JOHNSONFrom what we've come to understand, you have a history of not leaving things alone.

Laughter all around. Graysmith smiles in acknowledgment. Knowing he's being ridiculed.

GRAYSMITHFair enough. You mind if I stand? I think better when I'm standing.

Agent Johnson motions for him to do so. Graysmith rises.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)I'm not in law enforcement. I've had no formal investigative training. Like a friend of mine once said, I "drew funny pictures for a living". So what the hell am I doing here standing in front of you, right?

More chuckles from the Agents.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)A lot of words have been used to describe the Zodiac. Phantom. Mirage. Ghost. I am here because I believe he is none of these things. The truth is, the Zodiac is a fifty year old man, working in Vallejo at a hardware store. His name is Robert Hall Starr.

Graysmith begins pacing as he talks.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)When the first Zodiac letter was received in 1968, it contained a cipher that promised when translated to name the killer. When the translation was complete a grouping of leftover letters was found at the bottom.

He produces a paper with the letters on them: KBEORIETMETHHPITI

GRAYSMITHMost people assume this was some sort of word jumble - the letters when unscrambled would give us a clue about the killer - "Robert Hemphill", "Van M. Blackmen", "I Am O. Riet". The problem is that none of these people exist. If anything it's typical Zodiac. A mystery with no solution. A dead end at the end of a dead end-AGENT JOHNSONIt certainly does not spell "Robert Hall Starr".GRAYSMITHNo. But let's talk about Starr. Born in Honolulu, December 18 1933 into a Naval family that moved around a lot. They settled in Vallejo where Starr attended high school. His favorite short story was "The Most Dangerous Game" and he was known for trapping and torturing small animals. During this time, he became intensely jealous of a classmate named Robert Emmett. They had words. After graduation Emmet was swept up in the counterculture movement and became a hippie. He later moved to Germany-AGENT JOHNSONMr. Graysmith, are we nearing a point here?GRAYSMITHThe point is, Starr hated Robert Emmet-AGENT JOHNSONDid Starr kill him?GRAYSMITHNo-AGENT JOHNSONHurt or threaten him in anyway?GRAYSMITHNo, but-AGENT JOHNSONThen I fail to see why a suspect's childhood rival has any bearing on the deaths of up to fifty people.

Silence. Graysmith, quietly:

GRAYSMITHI forgot to tell you the most interesting solution to the word jumble.

Graysmith turns the jumble paper over. Printed on the back: ROBERT EMMET THE HIPPIE

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)At the time the letter was received, Starr's "childhood rival" Robert Emmett was a hippie living in Germany. (pause) If this is just a coincidence, it's the first of many.

Johnson, chastened. The Agents stare at the paper. Listening, now.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Like his father, Starr did a stint in the Navy. During this time, he received code training and lessons in marksmanship. He was discharged less than honorably after a fight he got into with a civilian that one source has identified as Bryan Hartnell, later a Zodiac victim at Lake Barryessa. Following his discharge, Starr began teaching, working both with children and mental patients at the Atescendero Hospital for the Criminally Insane, located just noth of Riverside Community College. In 1966, a woman named Cheri Jo Bates was found murdered in the parking lot of the Riverside College Library. Her father and the police were taunted by letters that used similar phrasing to the Zodiac letters. Because of the timing of the killing, the police came to the conclusion that Cheri Jo must have known her attacker. This would become a pattern in the Zodiac killings. Starr has been confirmed by several sources to have been in Riverside at the time - one of only a few major Zodiac suspects to be place there.

The Agent, writing. Taking notes now.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)On December 18 of 1968, Starr received two birthday gifts from his mother - a Zodiac watch and a ring with the letter "Z" emblazoned on it, identical to one worn by the Count Zaroff character in the 1932 silent film adaptation of "The Most Dangerous Game". Two days later, the first official Zodiac murders were committed in Starr's hometown of Vallejo on Lake Herman Road - a lover's lane. David Farraday and Betty Lou Jensen were shot to death while running from their car.

Graysmith hands out CRIME SCENE PHOTOS.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Betty Lou was shot five times, a moving target with a tight grouping of entrance wounds, an impossible feat for someone who was not an excellent marksman. By this time Starr had become an avid hunter and it has been confirmed that he owned a .22, the same caliber of weapon that killed David and Betty Lou. The biggest mystery, though, was not how a man could pull off such precise marksmanship, but how he could do it total darkness, as it was pitch black at the scene at the time.

More scribbling from the Agents.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Twelve days after the murder, Starr had a conversation with one of his hunting friends, Ryan Cheney. The short story of "The Most Dangerous Game" came up and Starr asked Cheney if he had ever considered hunting people. Starr said if he ever did, he would kill couples on lover's lanes in the dark, by using a weapon with a flashlight taped to the barrel so he could sight his targets at night. He also told Cheney he would get women on the freeway to stop by indicating they had some problems with their tires, and then loosen their lug nuts so the tire would fall off and he could take them captive - a method later used on Zodiac survivor Kathleen Johns. Starr then theorized a third form of attack to be carried out on school children - he would shoot them as they came off a bus.

The scribbling has gone quiet now. The Agents, staring.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)
When Cheney asked Starr how anyone could get away with this, Starr said he would disguise his handwriting and write the police letters to confuse and taunt them, naming himself "The Zodiac" and using the symbol from the watch his mother gave him. He showed Cheney the watch and the ring. (pause) This conversation occurred in January of 1969, eight months before the first Zodiac letters arrived and the killer gave himself the name.

Silence. The Agents, stunned.

AGENT JOHNSONAnd this- this is confirmed?GRAYSMITHMr. Cheney has taken a polygraph test and passed it.

None of the Agents know what to say.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)But between the conversation with Mr. Cheney and the first Zodiac letter came the July 4th murder of another Vallejo native, Darlene Ferrin. Which brings us to the geography of Vallejo.

Graysmith puts a MAP OF VALLEJO on an easel. Pointing to various locations as he continues:

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Starr's mother's house, his main residence, is here. Less than half a block away is this International House of Pancakes where Darlene Ferrin worked. Cheney confirms that Starr ate there regularly and once pointed out Darlene to him saying that "he thought he had a shot with that waitress." Later, after Darlene got married, she acquired a job at Terry's Restaurant, here. Starr became a regular there as well. Several patrons at Terry's have confirmed a man named "Bob" would sit at the counter and flirt with Darlene. This same man showed up at Darlene's house in a full suit for the painting party - which is located here, six blocks from Starr's house and on the same block as the Vallejo Police Station. This "Bob" has been sending Darlene gifts for months, including a ream of fabric that Darlene sewed into the outfit she was wearing on the night she died. This is the same outfit that Zodiac was able to describe in great detail in his first letter, even though the killer did not spend nearly enough time by the car to memorize what Darlene was wearing according to surviving victim Mike Mageau.

Graysmith holds up YEARBOOK PHOTOS of Darlene and Betty Lou.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)At the time of their murder, Betty Lou Jensen and Darlene Ferrin looked almost identical. One theory is that Starr mistook Betty Lou for Darlene in December and killed her. Another is that Betty Lou was a dry run for Darlene. In either case, nearly identical crimes - both couples in cars in Vallejo killed at lover's lanes not fifteen minutes from one another. Then, on July 31st, Zodiac wrote us.

Graysmith holds up copies of the letters.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)He took credit for the two Vallejo attacks and detailed his methods, which were identical to the ones Starr described to Cheney in January. He included the cipher which contained the name of Starr's high school rival Robert Emmett. And he promised he'd kill again. Six weeks later he did.

More crime scene photos - this time, Lake Berryessa.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)September 27, 1969, Bryan Hartnell and Cecelia Shepard at Lake Berryessa. Cecelia was a former student of Riverside Community, the same college that Cheri Jo Bates was murdered at. Several people confirmed the two had known each other. Footprints found at the scene were traced to a type of boot called Wing walkers, which are only sold at military instillations and cannot be purchased without a military I.D. - Starr had one. The bootprints were measured at size 10 and a half. Starr's shoe size is 10 and a half. On the day of the attack, Bryan Hartnell was driving a white convertible Volkswagen Harmann Ghia. Several years ago, Starr purchased an identical white convertible Volkswagen Kharmann Ghia.

Graysmith produces a sketch of ZODIAC'S EXECUTIONER COSTUME.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Hartnell survived the attack, and described the outfit as what Zodiac was wearing - it's identical to the costume worn by the character Count Zaroff in "The Most Dangerous Game", right down to the "Z" ring that Starr's mother gave him for his birthday. The last time this film played in the Bay Area before the murders was in May 1969 in a theater with a giant Zodiac symbol adorning it's ceiling. This theater advertised with hand drawn posters which almost perfectly match the handwriting style of the Zodiac letters.

He passes the Agents a poster.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)I believe Starr, an admittedly avid fan of the story, attended the film and took some of the discarded posters. He then used an enlarger to trace his letters off the poster to disguise his handwriting. It has already been confirmed that an enlarger was used in the manufacture of the ciphers - it stands to reason that it could have been used to disguise the Zodiac handwriting as well - which Starr claimed to Cheney that he would do. It's important to note that several of Starr's friends have confirmed he owns an enlarger.

Graysmith pauses take a drink of water. Then continues.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Up till Berryessa, we've been able to place Starr at every murder scene - one in Riverside, two in Vallejo. But this could still be a coincidence, right? Riverside and Vallejo are both small cities with thousands of people in them. One man among thousands doesn't prove anything. On that day at Berryessa, however, there were only twelve people surrounding the twenty five mile man made lake.

He shows the Agent's a photo of Starr.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)When questioned by police, Starr told them he had been planning on going up to Berryessa on the day of the murder but then changed his mind. However, five of the twelve people there have identified him from this photograph as being there that day. (pause) Let me say that again - five separate eyewitnesses put Robert Starr at a murder site only accessible to twelve people in the world. And when he returned to Vallejo later that day, Starr's sister-in-law remember seeing a bloody knife sitting on the passenger seat in his car. When she questioned him about it, Starr replied that he had "used it to kill some chickens". Hartnell's words to Zodiac when he asked which of the two teenagers he should stab first? "Do me first. I'm chicken."

Graysmith walk back to the table and picks up another crime scene photo. This one is of a cab. Paul Stine.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Exactly two weeks later, cab driver Paul Stine was shot to death by the Zodiac in San Francisco. This incident has always been the most baffling to detectives as it seems to break the profile - while the attack occurred in a car it did not involve a woman or take place in a secluded location. For Zodiac, it made no sense. According to a friend of Starr's named Ralph Spinelli, Starr bragged to him following Berryessa that he was in fact that Zodiac Killer, and that to prove it, he was going to, and I quote - "go to San Francisco and kill a cabbie."AGENT JOHNSONSpinelli said this on the record?GRAYSMITHYes. Now - it's been established that Zodiac shot Stine, wiped down the cab, and then was spotted by two children in the house accorss the street. The composite sketch done of him bears an incredible resemblance to Starr, but it still doesn't physically place Starr at the murder scene as he was with all the others. When polices arrived, they let loose several K-9 units who tracked Zodiac's following the shooting - directly into the Presidio Naval Park where the dogs lost the scent. People have speculated for years that Zodiac took this route because of his knowledge of the area from his Navy days, however an examination of apartment records in the area have recently revealed this fact - At the time of the Stine murder an apartment was being rented on the other side of the park by a man who put this name on the lease.

He hands the Agents apartment records. Pointing to one name. Robert B Starr

GRAYSMITHIf you draw a line between the murder site and this apartment, it follows almost exactly the escape route Zodiac took through the park.

Graysmith lets this sink in for a moment.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Now, if all this is true, why is Starr still walking around free? Two reasons. Handwriting and fingerprints. They never matched. Handwriting we've already discussed. Let's talk fingerprints.

He passes out blown up copies of two prints.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)For years, law enforcement officials have cleared Zodiac suspects using a bloody print from Paul Stine's cab. It is considered gospel that only the killer could have left this print. Sounds logical, right? Wrong. Take a look at this photo.

He shows them a PHOTO of the crime scene. Cops everywhere, Stine already on the sidewalk, onlookers next to the cab.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Look at the police barrier, right next to the cab, whose windows are open. Any one of these onlookers could have reached in for a souvenir and left their print there. It's important to note that the rest of the cab was wiped down by Zodiac, yet this one print was left in plain view.

He walks back to the desk as the Agents examine the photo.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Not only does this print not match Starr, it does not match any of the other twenty-five hundred Zodiac suspects that four separate police departments have questioned over a period of more than fifteen years. Nor does it match any criminal in the United States Police or FBI fingerprint database. The odds that a sexual sadist killer was never arrested and fingerprinted on even a misdemeanor charge in his entire life are beyond astronomical, they are ludicrous. The only conclusion available is that these are not the prints of the Zodiac Killer.

Graysmith walks back to the desk and holds up a sheaf of letters.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Over the next year and a half, Zodiac wrote almost a letter a month. In these he threatened school children, just as Starr told Cheney he would. He mentioned Kathleen Johns, a woman who was almost abducted in the same manner Starr told Cheney he would. He threatened bombings - Starr had taining and knowledge of explosives. And then the letters suddenly stopped. Why? Because in June of 1971, Inspectors Toschi and Armstrong searched Starr's trailer in Santa Rosa. Before they questioned Starr? Almost a letter a month. After? Silence.

Holding up more letters.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Until 1974. Starr feels safe. No arrest. Zodiac writes again. Three letters over the summer. But then they stop again for three years. Again, why? Because Starr is arrested at the end o the summer on child molestation charges and sent to Atescedero. His sentence? Three years. (pause) Starr is paroled in late 1977. He immediately writes Toschi as himself, the only suspect out of twenty five hundred to do this. Months later Zodiac writes again, breaking his silence. He claims that he is now in control of all things. And this is the last we have heard of him.

Silence. Graysmith exhales.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Robert Starr still lives with his moth in Vallejo, down in a basement like the one Zodiac described. He works at a hardware store. And everyone I know whose life has touched his has been destoryed. Not just the victims, but the investigators as well. Bill Armstrong ended up quitting the force. Paul Avery left the Chronicle and his health has been going south ever since Zodiac threatened him. Dave Toschi, a man who was going to be Chief of Police, had his entire career obliterated in a day. All of them good men who just wanted to catch a killer. (pause) All of them victims.

Silence.

AGENT JOHNSONWhat about you?

Graysmith looks at the floor. Considering it. Slowly:

GRAYSMITHI have lost my job, my house, and my wife. I have lost everything, and I am still convinced I have done right - because this man did wrong. I have spent over a decade looking for him. The mirage. The phantom. The ghost...

Graysmith looks up at the panel.

GRAYSMITH (CONT'D)Robert Starr was everywhere I looked.

INT. DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE -- CORRIDORS -- DAY Graysmith walks through the hall towards the front entrance.

AGENT JOHNSON (O.S.)Mr. Graysmith!

Graysmith turns to see Agent Smith running to catch up.

AGENT JOHNSON (CONT'D) (out of breath) That... that was amazing... We were wondering if maybe you could stay a couple hours, discuss your theories in more detail?

Tempting offer... A beat. And then Graysmith hands Johnson the files.

GRAYSMITHSorry. I gotta go pick up my kids.

Graysmith turns and walks away.

Now, Charlie Wilson's War by probably my favorite (or top two) screenwriter, Aaron Sorkin. (I get too few hits for anyone to give a shit about a cease and desist order, right?) Charlie will be played by Tom Hanks, Gust by Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Bonnie by Amy Adams; Joanne, who is referenced, is Julia Roberts' character. They're getting ready to watch Dan Rather announce that the Soviets are withdrawing from Afghanistan.

And CHARLIE heads out to-- EXT. TERRACE - EVENING --where GUST is standing--cigarette and a drink--reading a set of briefing papers.CHARLIEI didn't see you come in. GUSTHang on. CHARLIE (beat) There's this girl here named Jane. I met her about three years ago when she-- GUSTDCI got an SR this morning. Pakistani intelligence is telling our six man paramilitary team to stay out of Asadabad for the next 48 hours. CHARLIEWhy? GUSTA Cleric named Mohammed Haroon Hamid spoke at the Jalabad Mosque and Madrassa this morning. I'm just looking at the translation of what he said. (reading) "The day will come when we will rule America." CHARLIECome inside, it's gonna start. GUST (reading) "The day will come when we will rule Britain and the entire world." CHARLIEI think it's a longshot, put down the work. GUST (reading) "Except for the Jews. The Jews will not enjoy a life of tranquility under our rule because they are treacherous by nature, as they have been throughout history. The day will come when everything will be relieved of the Jews--even the stones and trees which were harmed by them. Listen to the Prophet Muhammad, who tells you about the evil end that awaits the Jews. The stones and trees will want the Muslims to finish off every Jew." CHARLIEI need the CIA to tell me there are crazy people in the Middle East? GUSTYou need somebody to tell you. CHARLIEWhat's the problem? GUSTThis guy's two sons-in-law are the leaders of the al-Koner arm of the Mujahideen. We gave them 44-million in weapons and supplies and I oversaw their training myself. We might want to be a little more careful about that. CHARLIEI don't vet these guys, Sundance. GUSTNo shit, Butch. CHARLIEI meant I'm not the one who vets them. GUSTGuy had 3000 people show up. I don't know of a Klan rally in Mississippi that ever had 3000 people show up. CHARLIESo kill him. GUSTThat's a good plan, 'cause that definitely wouldn't stir anti-American sentiment. Plus I'm sure he's the only one, once we get him that'll be it. CHARLIEGust-- GUSTNo wait, I forgot about his sons-in-law. To say nothing of Joanne's friend, the President of Pakistan, who according to this-- (showing another paper from his packet) --has been skimming quite a bit of American taxpayer money for, according to this-- (another piece of paper) --an Islamic bomb. BONNIE steps out--BONNIEExcuse me. It's two minutes and you'll want to keep your voices down guys. CHARLIEThank you. BONNIE goes back in.CHARLIE (CONT'D)We done with show and tell. GUSTOne more. (showing) This is a two year old report. It's from the Red Cross. They were gathering statements from Afghan refugees regarding Soviet atrocities in their village. This woman said the Russian soldiers came in, gathered them in a semi-circle and you know what they did? CHARLIEWhat. GUSTThe Russians forced them to learn how to read and write. CHARLIEYeah, that's what the communists are, man, a benevolent group of inner-city school teachers. GUSTHey, I was fighting communists while you were doing blow off a Playboy Bunny. BONNIE steps out again--BONNIEFellas, I really need you to keep your voices down. GUSTSorry. CHARLIESorry. BONNIE goes back in.CHARLIE (CONT'D)The deadliest, most tyrannical force in the world is leaving. I'd say it was a good day's work and turn off the lights on the way out. GUSTWell I'd be happy to turn off the lights but there's no electricity in Afghanistan. Or roads. Or schools. You know why that's a problem? Because at this moment over half the population of Afghanistan is under 14 years old. And they're gonna come home from the camps and they're gonna find that their villages have been napalmed and their fathers are dead. CHARLIEYou want a Marshall Plan for Afghanistan? A covert war to teach 'em how to read and write? GUSTYes. Yes I do. In fact I think we should've said, "Sure we'll give you the guns, but first you have to build some schools. Let's see your 14 year old boys pass general knowledge tests in history and science. When they pass 'em we'll give you the bullets." CHARLIEWhat's more important to the history of the world? Some stirred up Muslims or the liberation of Central Europe and the end of the Cold War? GUSTThere's such a thing as unintended consequences, especially when you've been as reckless as we have. CHARLIEWe haven't been reckless. GUST (reading) "The day will come when we will rule America." CHARLIEThat guy's snapped. GUSTThe whole fuckin' place has snapped. They pray five times a day to a God who requires more sucking up than a movie star. Their fighters are willing if not eager to die in huge numbers with the expectation that they'll be met in paradise by 70 virgins who, by the way, I'm not entirely convinced are meant to be women. I'm not worried, though, 'cause I know if Islamic fanaticism ever gets outa hand, Joanne Herring and her friends will rise up to meet it with Christian fanaticism and then we've got ourselves a ball game. And I wouldn't be that concerned except we just sent enough weapons over there to kill everyone on both sides. CHARLIEYeah, and we helped them win a war. GUSTThey don't get home delivery of The New York Times, plus it was covert, so it's unlikely that they're ever gonna know the role we played. What they're gonna be is poor, broken and off-the-charts stupid like no stupid you've ever seen. Their leaders are gonna tell them that we used them to fight our war, they're gonna see us in Israel and they're gonna be mad. I come from the mentality, Charlie. We made it and they didn't and they're gonna think it's our fault. We whipped them into a religious frenzy and-- CHARLIEGust-- GUST--taught 'em how to fuck with the army of a superpower. (beat) That's what we did. (showing the paper again) So I'm just saying we should be a little more careful. BONNIE steps out--BONNIEIt's on. GUSTLet's go in, show me this girl. CHARLIEWe did a big thing well, Gust. As well as we could. GUSTI know. You're all right.

Monthly Obligations

2007-11-25T01:39:00.000-06:00

Romantic-Comedy Behavior Gets Real-Life Man Arrested

TORRANCE, CA-Denny Marzano, who went to hilarious lengths to win the love of his dream girl, was arrested for that very reason.

And…

11/23 Mix

"Carried Away" — Television (Adventure)
"Shot by Both Sides" — Magazine (Real Life)
"Big Brat" — Phantom Planet (Phantom Planet)
"Back in Your Head" — Tegan & Sara (The Con)
"Keep the Car Running" (live) — Bruce Springsteen with Arcade Fire (Ontario, October 14, 2007)
"My Love for You is Real" — Ryan Adams & The Cardinals (Follow the Lights)
"I Will Be There When You Die" — My Morning Jacket (The Tennessee Fire)
"I Wanna Be Adored" — The Stone Roses (The Stone Roses)
"Armalite Rifle" — Gang of Four (Yellow)
"Accelerator" — Primal Scream (XTRMNTR)
"Hairy Trees" — Goldfrapp (Black Cherry)
"Wanderlust" — R.E.M. (Around the Sun)
"What Ever Happened?" — The Strokes (Room on Fire)
"We Were Born the Mutants Again With Leafling" — Of Montreal (Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?)
"This Job is Killing Me" — The Walkmen (A Hundred Miles Off)
"All Cleaned Out" — Elliott Smith (New Moon)
"The Ballad of El Goodo" — Big Star (#1 Record)
"Grip Like a Vice" — The Go! Team (Proof of Youth)
"Rocks Off" — The Rolling Stones (Exile on Main Street)

Recently Viewed:
Redacted, The Mist (Tues.), I'm Not There (Thurs.), The Double Life of Veronique (Fri.), Orwell Rolls in His Grave, Killer of Sheep (Sat.)

Top Marks for Not Trying

2007-11-19T00:16:00.001-06:00

Dear Mr. Belabor the Point,

I—I mean, my friend—has a problem. My friend's roommate recently went through an in-between quarter- and midlife crisis and quit his job for another, and when that didn't pan out he decided to stay unemployed and go "freelance."

Let's call my friend, for the sake of anonymity, "Shane," and let's call his roommate "Aaron Roommate."

The funny thing is that his previous job provided free Internet, something that, aside from being addicted to, Shane needed for his new semi-job. Yet after Roommate Aaron quit the Internet and cable inexplicably continued (we—they just lost premium channels).

Now, what was Roommate Aaron's solution? Get a job for a week then subsequently quit. Record a lot more music very loudly. Not be home much. Increase early morning libido and make your girlfriend moan more loudly into Shane's room, a den of sexlessness. Lay on couch and watch more Discovery Channel. Smoke more pot.

Then one morning he woke me—Shane…my friend "Shane"—and took the cable box, realizing that he was being charged because of some policy that required the equipment before service was shut off. So Shane was SOL on his semi-job for a while. Without cable, Roommate Aaron now is rarely home unless he's rented a movie, and to save money he always turns down or off the heat upon leaving, feigning ignorance to Shane's being home.

The annoying thing is, throughout all these developments—from the quitting of the job, to the loss of the Internet—Roommate Aaron never mentioned anything until the last minute. Shane didn't learn about his roommate insolvency until the day he quit, and didn't learn about the lost Internet until Aaron knocked on his door asking for the cable box.

What should Shane do? Move out? Bring a homeless guy in the house and start smearing his roommate's door handle with Hepatitis-infected urine? Address his concerns to his roommate honestly and openly? Or just keep his head down and refuse to loan any money?

Yours,
Yet Another Person Completely Made Up

Dear YAPCMU,

C'mon. How are you emailing this to me? It's obvious you figured something out and order the Internet from some other provider and paid for it like everyone else.

As wacky and dead-beaty as this sound, it's obvious everything's cleared up. Even I think you should let this one slide. Although, I think you should find a forum of some sort to publicly bitch. Work on that.

Me,
Mr. Belabor the Point

Recently Viewed
Into the Wild, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (Sat.), Old Joy (Mon.), Beowulf (Tues.), Los Angeles Plays Itself, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (Wed.), Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium (Thurs.), Southland Tales (Sat.), Control, Enchanted (Sun.)

I've Seen Things You People Wouldn't Believe

2007-11-10T19:43:00.000-06:00

My brother sent me a link last week saying I have the tenth worst job in America.

Considering Friday, I'd say, Not so much. Because our theater got the press screening for Blade Runner: The Final Cut in glorious, glorious, glorious digital. Which meant I got to see it early and on a big screen.

And not just once—three times in 26 hours.

And not just an overall 26 hours—in between normal daily film show times. I watched it at 2:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m., and then the next night at 2:00 a.m.

Granted, this thing's opening at the Paramount over Thanksgiving and is to play again just after the New Year. But this was my own personal, theatrical copy to play at my own behest. On Friday, the first night, I kept saying, "As soon as I'm done I'm going to straight watch it again," but no one, myself included, took me seriously. Yet right as the credits were ending my friend Josh called; he has a perpetually on-call job, and as I looked at my watch and it said 3:50-something a.m. he said, "Are we watching this shit?"

I first rented Blade Runner from the Premiere North after having read this Cinescape article calling it the second best sci-fi film after 2001. Like all the really movies that really mean something to me, the ones that have a form so poetic and elevated it changes my worldview, I fell asleep when I first watched it. Then I watched it many, many times thereafter. I memorized it. I thought the "tears' in the rain" speech was hands down better than "To be or not to be." I made everyone watch it, too. This girl from high school, who I miss a lot and yet am too chickenshit to correspond with, recently wrote me that she thinks of me whenever she thinks of Blade Runner.

But for all the reasons I liked it—its visionary effects being used in a tone-poem fashion, its elegant and primal existentialism—most of the movie's power comes from its beautiful images, and yet I realized I've never seen those images really. (I've never managed to see it on the big screen.) Seeing it from what was ostensibly a 70mm master (it's a 4k master, and while lots of people are reporting they've seen it in this format, there's supposedly only two consumer 4k theaters in the U.S.), I got to see its cracks and, conversely, all the places where video and DVD couldn't let it shine.

Even though I'm further from it than I expected, I'm getting ready to make a feature movie. And not only did I find myself looking at Blade Runner from a photographic and lighting standpoint as exactly the movie I want to make, it was just perfect timing. Lately I've been trying to find cinematic inspiration; either something new that shows me the possibilities, or the reason I developed the theory that this is what I should base my life around. The Final Cut turned out to be, to quote another film, that joke you've heard so many times, "[b]ut then you hear it again and suddenly it's new. You remember why you loved it in the first place."

After that first night, before I walked out of the theater around 6:00 by myself (Josh couldn't make it all the way through), I did one last thing: I put in "Shane's Super Superior Movie Mix, Vol. 1" (the three volume mix CD set of favorite movie cues I made to play in theaters between movies) and set it to Vangelis' Blade Runner "End Titles" for the press people's appreciation. When I came to work the next night, no one had taken it off repeat. A friend was seeing another Ridley Scott movie that night, American Gangster, and when I explained the repeat, he put the whole effort succinctly:

"Yeah; it was a little overkill."

Recently Viewed:
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (Sat.), Wristcutters: A Love Story (Tues.)

One for the Good Days

2007-11-02T23:39:00.000-05:00

I actually followed through on my promise to start making mix CDs for friends or anyone who requested them. I did this monthly. I had about four takers. I badgered two more into it. I feel like I almost talked others into sending back mixes, thus fulfilling the whole communicate-via-music point. And making mixes is one of the most comforting and calming things to do. But that was until the end of August.

Then my PowerBook stopped fully reading my iPod, making it so I couldn't get music off it. Then my CD burner went completely kaput. Then iTunes wouldn't read the iPod at all to let me manage music, meaning I could no longer make playlists on it. Now, the PowerBook won't register the iPod at all, meaning I can't get my unbacked-up music off, and most likely resulting in a visit from Mr. Belabor the Point.

I'm trying to make do; for example, this newest mix is made of everything recently downloaded or that I still have scrounged on my harddrive (which is why it's all hipster-y and recent). I put the albums so, in the absence of CD-Rs in the mail with my return address on them, you can download this. Also, I'm retroactively posting the other mixes (including January, March, April, May, June, along with ones that haven't been physically burned yet: July, and August). Why? To compensate for the backlog. Also, of course, so you suckers can see what you're missing.

"The Night Starts Here" — Stars (In Our Bedroom After the War)
"Texas Never Whispers" — Pavement (Watery, Domestic)
"How Soon is Now?" — Everclear (Jabberjaw Compilation, Vol. 2: Pure Sweet Hell)
"Jigsaw Falling Into Place" (live) — Radiohead (Copenhagen, May 6, 2006)
"No One's Gonna Love You" — Band of Horses (Cease to Begin)
"Good News" — M. Ward (Duet for Guitars #2)
"Needles in the Camel's Eye" — Brian Eno (Here Comes the Warm Jets)
"Simple Twist of Fate" — Jeff Tweedy (I'm Not There OST)
"Us" — Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks (Pig Lib)
"See No Evil" (live) — R.E.M. (Covering 'Em bootleg)
"Rockers to Swallow" — The Yeah Yeah Yeahs (Is Is)
"Oliver's Army" — Elvis Costello & The Attractions (Armed Forces)
"Wherein Obscurely" — The Pernice Brothers (Overcome by Happiness)
"Communion Cups and Someone's Coat" — Iron & Wine (Passing Afternoon)
"Angry Inch" — Sleater-Kinney (Wig in a Box: Songs from and Inspired by Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
"Surfin' on a Rock" — Air (Talkie Walkie)
"Brainy" — The National (Boxer)
"Big Chair" — Travis (The Boy With No Name)
"Hang Wire" — The Pixies (Bossanova)
"Remember Me as a Time of Day" — Explosions in the Sky (How Strange, Innocence)
"Plus Ones" — Okkervil River (The Stage Names)
"Domino" — Van Morrison (His Band and the Street Choir)

Recently Viewed:
Sleuth (Sat.), Hannah Takes the Stairs (Sun.), I'm Reed Fish (Tues.), American Gangster (Wed.), What is the Deal With Bees? (Thurs.)

The Night Starts Here

2007-10-27T04:06:00.000-05:00

To be completely honest, I never thought I'd have the career I have now. It's such a huge blessing. But there's a part of me that, in the end, that knows that any kind of accolades and any kind of praise: That's just provisional. If you're serious about this tradition—if you're serious about participating in writing and in reading—you know that what you're really about is that you're trying to build a relationship with a reader. With a reader that you'll never meet or you never see. And you want that relationship, you want a book to last on a shelf longer than the fireworks of people saying, "Oh, you done well, son. You did well." I mean, really great art has to last. You never really know if you've done great art, because there were plenty of people who were praised in their days that we don't read anymore at all.
—Junot Diaz, "Fresh Air" October 18, 2007

I make movies because movies allow me to get closer to people I want to be close to. If there was another art form where I thought I could do that, I'd probably drop this. I don't think of cinema as some big thing and myself as some big filmmaker. But film allows me to get close to people. That's actually not some lofty, big intention. It's pretty base. I'm in it for me.
—Joe Swanberg, "Something Out of Nothing," The Austin Chronicle, October 26, 2007

Talk. Vital to commerce. The end of art.
—Richard Russo, Bridge of Sighs

Recently Viewed:
Lust, Caution, The Darjeeling Limited (Sun.), Lars and the Real Girl (Mon.), Lions for Lambs, A Mighty Heart (Tues.), Dan in Real Life (Wed.)

Meet Cute

2007-10-21T14:53:00.001-05:00

I went to go see a play last night, and a couple, who I surmised were on a first (possibly blind) date, sat next to me. I surmised that because of this conversation they had about movies:

Woman: You know what I want to see? I want to see The Darjeeling Limited.
Man: Oh. There's just something about those movies.
Woman: I love Wes Anderson movies.
Man: I don't know, there's just something about them that's so…
Woman: Sweet?
Man: …intentionally kooky and weird.
Woman: Oh.
Man: Yeah. You know what else I want to see? That Things We Lost in the Fire.
Woman: "Things We Lost in the Fire"? I haven't heard of that one.
Man: And I want to see that new Ben Stiller movie.
Woman: New Ben Stiller movie?
Man: You know. That one about he gets married, but he falls in love on his honeymoon and tries to get rid of his wife? It's been out for two weeks?…
Woman: Heartbreak Kid.
Man: Heartbreak Kid!
Woman: Yeah—I don't want to see that at all.
Man: Oh! Really. That's blunt. "Not at all"?
Woman: It just looks stupid.

Then a mutual friend sat next to the girl and they barely talked after that point, except to point out that the play was going to be depressing and that they were in for a depressing night. Unless, that is, those glasses of wine later took effect.

Recently Viewed:
Gone Baby Gone (Wed.), The Nightmare Before Christmas (Thurs.), No Country for Old Men (Fri.), Wings of Desire (Sat.)

Inbetween Sunset

2007-10-17T18:49:00.000-05:00

Previously on INBaSiTW:

"You'll never make it over that tank of sharks!" / I'm depressed and lonely because the day ends in y. / "Tell me where the bomb is or I'll electrocute the inside of your scrotum!" / "'I'm Shane.' 'I'm Debbie.'" / "Which wire do I cut?" / Director Jason Reitman gives me his comp ticket to see the Festival showing of Juno. / Then he walked into the building and the building blew up! / I subsequently give it to a girl I'd just met in line. / "I'm pregnant. But not with your baby. Because, I mean, c'mon. Look at you. You smell." / Because it doesn't look like I'm going to get in, "I think I got hosed." With a rubber hose!

And now: the conclusion…

A few minutes pass. "Yeah dude, I think you got hosed," the guy said.

The other lines empty and finally we're allowed buy tickets. "We just opened up the upper balcony," says the usher, preparing to let me, now first, in, "which is 600 seats." The ushers inside block me from the lower level because "It's closed." I get halfway up the stairs, then abruptly 180 like an autism patient hearing a love song in his head. Before I can say anything, Debbie's standing halfway down the aisle. Waving me down, yelling my name.

We didn't say much as someone came out on stage to speak when I was seated. She took this novelty give-away rubber ball she'd been found and, in a gesture of forced playfulness, tossed it high onto my lap, where I, surprised, let it drop and roll down the aisle.

The first thing she asked me when the movie ended was, "So, did this make you want to knock some girl up?"

After the Q&A and as we filed out, I ran into a friend while Debbie went ahead. Like, hurried, ditch ahead. I found her outside smoking on a bench with a seat waiting for me. She didn't like the movie. "It was a little too clever, and I felt like I wasn't in on something. Like it could've been more—I don't know—more subtle. And there were things that didn't seem realistic. That's not open or closed adoptions work." I did like it but just wanted to listen, and I felt her look at me. "But, well. I don't know anything about movies."

Then she dropped into the conversation, casually, "I went through the same thing of giving up a baby as a teenager," and, yes, it took a second for my hearing to return. Now revealed the theater's biggest expert on teenagers giving up their babies, I quizzed her: Yes, she gets pictures once a month, no she doesn't know where her kid lives, no her parents weren't as supportive, no it wasn't a pro-choice stance, no she hasn't had any kids since. The thing she did like most was how the movie treated the main character's ability to make a choice and follow through.

"You feel like getting something to eat?" I asked.

"I know this good Mexican place on Sixth St."

I told her about my nieces, she told me about the kids she takes care of at the Boys & Girls Club. We started talking about Craigslist, about the Missed Connections, about how she'd had a "successful" one. "I met a guy at a bar. And I was drunk. And he gave me his cell, but my cell was changing over, and I lost it. So I put one up. And he answered it."

"Did yours work out?"

"We're still dating, so let's see," she said. Again, my hearing left for a second.

Another topic, somehow or other, was schizophrenia, and whether or not people perceive the world they want versus the world that is. And even after she said that, it wasn't my signal that, once again, my instincts were wrong, my imagination and hopes were getting in the way of reality, and that this was one more instance in a perpetual line of instances of me being very badly out of sync with the world at large. As usual, it just didn't fucking make any fair sense: Up until we parted company, we never stopped talking. But, even in the retelling, here, there was some point or action I'm not writing down that turned things, of which, I just don't know. Oddly enough it wasn't until the bill came and she made a silent point to pay for it that my finely tuned senses told my brain I'd just had a nice afternoon's company and nothing more.

We walked around downtown back to our cars, although I was mostly following her. She took us a few blocks in the wrong direction. I began to break off and say goodbye when she said, "Fine. I'll just walk back to my car. A-lone." Like every morning upon waking, I was defeated but still open to the possibility of something. I decided then and there I was going to follow this through to the climatic moment, to see if a number or a goodnight kiss or a "Let's go somewhere else" was offered.

"Well," she said at the catty-corner from her car, "I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah."

As I turned away, I heard her say, "Well, goodnight Bruce."

Recently Viewed:
Rendition, Chopper (Tues.)

Inbetween Sunrise

2007-10-16T03:26:00.001-05:00

That's it. The rest is your illusion. What a wounded person you are to imagine otherwise.
—Philip Roth, Exit Ghost

Don't ask why, but I was having my weekly loneliness fit before I went to see the Austin Film Festival's Sunday centerpiece movie, Juno. I'm sure you have those fits too. Where you realize you're completely alienated from the rest of humanity; have never known true love due to some fundamental psychological flaw or, more likely, because of mistakes you made in or around puberty; that you're lethargically incapable of the type of connection or intimacy normal people easily accomplish daily; that your default state of being is unhappiness and all other positive feelings are unreliable exceptions that could end at any time; days you know you're going to die alone. You know. One of those.

I didn't have a film pass or badge, and, having to wait in the ghetto line, got there an hour early for better odds of getting in. And so as I walked up with a book to an event most people find unfathomable to attend solo, serendipity wanted to poke my manic depression by putting me right behind a cute blonde girl, sucking down a cigarette and reading her own book. Which is fine. Similar situations tend to happen like this every time I, oh, say, go into public. It's not like I was going to talk to her or anything.

"Hey," she said, "We're both by ourselves."

"And we both got a book," I said.

She told me she was excited for the movie, and told me by the way of putting forth many autobiographical details. She liked Juno's director, Jason Reitman, and his previous movie, Thank You for Smoking, because she worked for a lobbyist in Washington as an administrative assistant. She's reading a Caribbean writer because she likes post-Colonialist literature, due to having gone abroad to South Africa in high school, and there she used to find authors numbers in the phone book and call them up for autographs. She's studying PR at UT after having gotten her undergrad degree in English. She wouldn't let the conversation die of awkwardness of just having met. She laughed easily at my jokes. This girl thought I was cu-ute.

"I'm Shane."

"I'm Debbie."

I never opened my book. I guaranteed her how great the movie was to be and how cool its screenwriter, Diablo Cody, is. We sweated and mocked the hired security firm workers who came by every five minutes to remind we couldn't have cameras, cell phones with cameras, or laptops. Then, finally, as they were about to open up the lines, this manly suited guard examined our phones.

"Does it have a camera," she asked both of us. When we both said yes, she said, "You need to take it back to your vehicles." We stood still, and she stared us down.

Finally, Debbie asked me to save her spot. "Buy me a ticket if they open the line while I'm gone, and I'll do this for you when I get back."

As she was gone I waited for the guard to get out of sight. I'm parked pretty far so I decide that pulling a Richard Reid is my best option. In reverie, testing to make sure I don't crush the cell phone in my shoe heel, keeping an eye to see if anyone notices my new limp, figuring out when or if I should go to an ATM to get extra money for her ticket, figuring out exactly how it'll play out post-movie for us to stay together instead of going home—suddenly Jason Reitman walks up to me, hands me a comp ticket, says, "Here ya go," and walks off. Six people around me, who'd also been waiting for an hour, also got filmmaker comps. Thirty seconds after, Debbie walks up.

And she looked like she was about to cry. The rest of the comp'd line-attendees went ahead inside, ahead of even the film badge holders, while me and another guy stayed around. The other guy was waiting with his girlfriend.

"The line's all the way around the corner."

"And that's just the badge line; there's also the pass line on the other side. It's probably around the other corner."

"Don't rub it in! Now I'm never going to get in!"

"We're fine. I guarantee we're going to get in." I kept saying "we." "Here, take my ticket; that's how much I know we're getting in."

"I'm not taking your ticket."

"We are getting in."

She took the ticket, tried going inside, but they wouldn't let her in. She handed back the ticket.

"It's yours, c'mon." Then I quoted Knocked Up: "I never get to do something this cool."

"It's very sweet." Then she made another try. "I'll save you a seat, OK?" This time she got in.

I turned to the couple behind me, the one who also had one comp ticket between the two of them. They were watching us, and pulled out their camera-less cell phones. If they go inside, they said, they'll use their phones to find each other. That's when I realized I have no way of finding her. Or of knowing if she's gotten us a seat. Or if I'll ever see her again. Or how lucky I was for having been given one of Jason Reitman's personal comp tickets. Or if she's a schizoid klepto who's going to pull out an Uzi in the theater. Or much of anything.

I say to the couple, "I think I just got hosed."

Part 2 coming tomorrow. If I feel like updating.

Recently Viewed:
Elizabeth: The Golden Age (Fri.), Juno, If…. (Sun.)

Novelty Toy Ad on Line 1

2007-10-11T21:03:00.000-05:00

ALERT TO THE GREATEST CONTRAPTION EVER UNLEASHED UPON THE INTERNETS: In promotion for the upcoming Transformers DVD, you can have Optimus Prime call whomever you choose.

And did I ever. I'm stupidly busy and yet I was on here for three straight hours this afternoon. I went through my phonebook. I called every office I've worked in the last two years. I called people I haven't spoke with in a year. I called work four times, varying to whoever's answering the phone or if a boss will answer. And in some instances, yes, I went a little too far. By the end of the day I was using the White House's comment line as a return number.

But the call I was happiest with was the one I had Optimus put in for my niece, who I've barely talked to since last being in Eville:

Mekenzi: This—is Optimus Prime. Take a break from your school work—and listen to me. I am contacting you from the battlefront, alongside your uncle—Shane. Autobot scouts have detected Decepticon forces—moving into Indiana! You must warn everyone you know. But be cautious with your so-called sibling—Ethan. We believe he may have joined forces with Megatron—and now goes by the Transformer name—Brawl. Time is short. You must prepare for battle. Begin by obtaining the Transformers DVD, available October 16. In the mean time, if you know somebody who might want to join our forces, I will speak to them personally. Just go to transformersmovie.com. Autobots? Transform! And roll out!

Now these are instances where I don't know

Will it stimulate her imagination? Like, is this something when she's giving an interview to Time about being the first female pure sci-fi writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature, she'll say, "I remember getting a phone call from a robot. At the time, I didn't know it was my uncle, Shane, but the wonderment alone made my imagination viral outward"?
Will it instead make her force my brother into buying the DVD? (Something he'd do anyway.)
Will it scare the shit out of her?
Will it keep her awake (I sent this right around her bed time) trying to figure out various ways to defend Indiana?
Will it make her mistrust her brother for the rest of her life and secretly assume he's a robot?

This is why I'm an uncle and not a parent. Aside from the fact that nobody'd let me fuck a baby into their belly.

Recently Viewed:
The Jane Austen Book Club, We Own the Night (Fri.), Across the Universe (Sun.), Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (Tues.), The Heartbreak Kid (Thurs.), The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (Tues.), Michael Clayton (Wed.)
Recently Read:
Exit Ghost by Philip Roth, Candy Girl by Diablo Cody

Does Whatever a Spider-Pig Does

2007-09-25T16:18:00.000-05:00

This may not be a big deal, but considering how razorsharp Philip Roth's commentary has been on past presidents, he has yet to say a word in his books on Bush. Supposedly that's going to change with Exit Ghost, though my private hope was that he was going to write an Our Gang for the Bush Administration (Our Gang being a book of different speeches from a character named Tricky Dick, the last of which involves him running for the position of ruler of Hell).

Elsewhere on YouTube is a BBC documentary that I've been waiting for: In Search of Steve Ditko. Steve Ditko is the batshit crazy co-creator of Spider-Man who fell under the objectivist spell of Ayn Rand and has since one-printing-press war against moral relativism. For those wanting a reference point, Rorschach in Watchmen is based on Ditko's characters Mr. A and the Question. In the original proposal, Watchmen was written with then-recently acquired Charlton character Ditko created, and Rorschach was the Question. In the comic, Rorschach goes on to be a parody, commentary, and gentle ribbing of Ditko's advanced conservatism and vigilante celebration. At one point in the doc, Moore tells a band of his and their song, "Mr. A," a rip-off of the Velvet Underground's "Sister Ray," and he recited the lyrics. It's something to behold.

That being said, Ditko was also an incredibly inventive artist. A sequence in Amazing Spider-Man #33 is often compared to the Odessa Steps sequence in Battleship Potemkin. If you can, check out the Ditko chapter in Reading Comics. Or you should really watch the documentary, if only so to see Stan Lee confront his true feelings on Spider-Man's creatorship. I first heard about the documentary from "Lying in the Gutters," and Rich Johnson's main gripe is that Ditko leaving Amazing Spider-Man and Marvel is called a mystery when, according to a linked passage from artist and Ditko friend Mark Evanier, it isn't:

He was unhappy because he believed Marvel's then-owner was reneging on certain promises about sharing in the revenues of the characters Ditko co-created, Spider-Man and Dr. Strange. He was upset with the way his comics were then produced, feeling that he was doing most of the writing work on the comics he did with Stan Lee, but that Lee - as dialogue writer - was getting too much of the credit and money. (Marvel's two other best artists of the period, Jack Kirby and Wally Wood - both good friends of Ditko's - felt the same way.) There were also personality clashes between Lee and Ditko - they didn't speak for the last eighteen months or so of their 'collaboration' - and Ditko was displeased by many of the creative choices Stan was making, treating Spider-Man as a morally-confused, troubled protagonist. Ditko, as was obvious from his subsequent work, didn't like heroes who didn't rigidly adhere to his own interpretation of good and evil, black and white. But Stan, of course, was the editor and had the last word.

Ditko told me all that in his studio in 1970, not long after he quit. He's said it to others and I also think it's pretty easy to perceive in his other comics and in the occasional essays he's written for the fan press. He may write things like "My reasons are my own and I've never divulged them to anyone" but we don't have to believe that…

If the first doc link is down, just do a search.

Recently Viewed:
Playtime (Tues.)

Death of a Clown

2007-09-23T22:09:00.000-05:00

Dustin: Hey, did you hear Marcel Marceau died?
Me: Do you think he made a sound?
Dustin: Can we get a moment of silence?
Me: Can we get a lifetime of silence.
Dustin: Hey! Marcel's trapped in a box!

Recently Viewed:
Eastern Promises, Resident Evil: Extinction (Wed.), The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Thurs.), The Champ, In the Valley of Elah (Sun.)

Say Either Too Much or Not Enough

2007-09-19T23:46:00.001-05:00

Again, I'm either writing too much or not enough for you people. So we're bulleting this mother:

My boss has taken to repeating everything I say on the walkie-talkie with a lisp. That's definitely not legally actionable.
My grandma's health was getting very bad but is now getting better. Though, according to my mom, her medication wasn't helping. That medication? Pill-form pot. That, sadly, makes my grandma the biggest pothead in our family.
I've been getting a lot of shit to update the Jackie blog lately. That's because I let it slip that uncle Jackie might or might not have touched an 11 year-old girl at a public pool. The reason I haven't made an update is because that is all I know—he might or might not have. And, all character-blogging aside, I do feel a little guilty about telling stacked-deck stories making my mentally handicapped uncle, he of the intelligence of a 6 year-old, look bad.
Road rage almost resulted in a busted car window yesterday. I was late and looking for a spot in at the Alamo South when a guy almost pulled into me; I was driving correctly down a one-way lane. After reversing out of my way, he started honking and flipping me off and, being late, I decided to waste some time flipping him back off, pointing at the black top arrow and yelling, "One-way you thick neck fuck!" Then I saw him shake his head, mouth "Oh no he didn't," and start to tailgate me. More importantly, I realized there were three other people in his car.

So I did what any sensible person would do. I circled until he stopped tailgating me (but, I still threw in some sharp, spiteful brakes, just to let it be know I wasn't a complete pussy). Then when I saw the guy and his four companions walk up to the Alamo box office, I cut short the story I was telling and ducked into the movie.
My step-mom had a cancer scare three weeks ago. I was talking to my dad on a Sunday and he mentioned she was going to the hospital and was in a lot of pain; but, no big deal. He emailed me Wednesday (he's taken to the email a lot lately) saying she was back in the hospital; but, no big deal. Then I got a call that Friday, and my dad opened with, "So, it isn't cancer!" (Also, my dad didn't hear the word "cancer" until Thursday night.) (Weirdly enough, blood was being cut off to her ovaries, which was causing the pain, and was supposedly completely cured. Ann's recovering.)
Our air condition's out again. Well, not exactly out, but as I type this, it's turned off, due to our possibly erroneous electrical bill. I shouldn't bitch, since I just paid for the first time in three months. (In my defense, roommate Aaron just gave me the amount owed the day after I received the new, flashy camera.)
My job at AFS ended a few weeks ago. We gave out $150,000. Well, not me. Because I would've kept it if it were up to me. But I helped.
Last week I was stuck overseeing this very grueling operation at work. (It was two months in the making, with me constantly saying things like, "Well I don't know what to do from here…," only to be asked the next day, "So what are we doing with that?") I was stuck through the whole ordeal doing heavy-lifting with co-worker who, self-declared, has run into a bunch of ghosts.

Guy: Man, back here? I saw a ghost once.
Me: Every theater says they have a haunted story. Some guy died in construction when a wall fell on him?
Guy: No but this guy's face, you can see it in the screen.
Me: Oh. You told me about that.
Guy: Yeah. I took photos. You can see their faces in the screen, like these little white dots.

Then ten minutes later:

Guy: There were ghosts at my school cafeteria too.
Me: You see a lot of ghosts, don't you.
Guy: They were in the middle of the night; there was this old guy, and I turned around!
Me: Like Ghostbusters?
Guy: And he was like, "RRRAAAHHHH!"
Me: Did you break in, or…?
Guy: They gave me a key.
Me: Oh. Right. Of course.
Guy: He was like, "RRRAAAHHHH!"
Me: What are you, Jennifer Love Hewitt?
A few months ago it seemed like I was getting accosted for mumbling in certain situations, usually from authority figures or people I respected who I didn't think liked me. (A few weeks ago, Amy asked if I should cast myself in the movie. "You mumble; it could be mumblecore," a movement that's kinda popular in the immediate area due, ironically, to a movie opening in New York. It's pretty much the film equivalent of "emo" labeling; all the filmmakers involved roll their eyes at such an intentionally generic term even while being real happy that their unintentional movement is gaining steam. I see most of this because my now-ex boss at AFS, Bryan Poyser, is among its fringes, which somehow includes Homestar Runner and SpongeBob SquarePants as well. Meanwhile, it's backlash is already huge, with Armond White calling it an "artistic wasteland.") Which annoys me because I only started mumbling as a dealing mechanism for my step-dad, who, ironically, used to comment how talkative I was when he first moved in. That was until he started employing the parental technique of the rhetorical question, one in which he always wanted an answer. The most infamous of which involved him asking why I didn't want to mow the lawn every five days, to which I finally, well, mumbled, "I don't care." (I meant to say, "I don't take pride in lawn care.") I obviously love the guy to death right now, but in my teens he had such a management mentality I was half-expecting punishment to come via memo, and he took this "I don't care" as a sign of my apathy towards anything utilitarian for the house or family. And so he kept asking the the rhetorical questions. And he kept waiting for answers to those rhetorical questions. And my volume went down and down.

Now if I'm mumbling, I'm even more annoyed because I feel I'm fundamentally a talkative person, if I'm comfortable enough. Meaning these people are (maybe obliviously) applying pressure, which makes me even more mad and alienated from them, which makes me mumble even more.
By that same token I'm realizing I talk too much to more and more people. And if I didn't get the point, very frequently and to the point my friend Josh says, "Goddamn you talk too much! It's like you start talking and completely forget anyone else said anything…," or something like that. There are times lately where I can't tell the difference between rapt attention and being polite; more often than not, retrospectively, I'm finding that "rapt attention" doesn't exist. And then there's instances where I give out much needed details, either at work or related to the movie, are completely ignored. In my head I sometimes pride myself on occasional language economics, and here I realize that occasional economy was completely glazed over because I'd been talking too fucking much. I guess my problem is that I think I'm interesting. I'll work on that.
The aforementioned boss loves to interrupt me every time—and I mean every time—I tell him something, work related or not, usually with either a quick, "Homosayswhat?" "Oh that's very interesting," or "I'm already bored." Then the next day when he asks, "Did we ever get that speaker thing fixed?," as I try to explain once again that I've seceded responsibility on it he'll interrupt me with, "Oh I'm sorry you were saying something?"

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The Hills Have Potholes

2007-09-09T16:01:00.000-05:00

My weekend, as usual, was a blank canvas with a few paint-by-number options. I'm off for the two days. There's an afternoon at the movies. A few rented ones, too. Some work at a coffee shop. I've been going to random plays and improv shows for the movie casting. And, then, there is the glorious, glorious new video camera I just purchased; it's no joke to say I've been plotting to buy this for four years. All I need is a pastoral place to shoot tests.

I print the manual off the Canon web site and drive out about a half-hour west of Austin to Lake Travis, the mid-Texas beachfront where, one can assume, the sun reflects off water in a purty way. I can only assume that; most of its lakefront areas charged entrance money. It is a big lake, so not only are there many of these paid lakefront beaches to choose from—and I tried most of them, all of them signs, signs, everywhere signs—there's also big valley hills around it, and in them-thar hills lie twisty, narrow roads. Having driven around for two hours and only getting out once, for a big ugly dam, I get ready to turn around. And that's when, on them-thar narrow hill roads, my front passenger tire goes flat.

It happens on a very tiny hill, which happens to also have a curb, which also happens to have an invisible invitation to joyride really fast around it. I turn around and drive the flat about 30 feet to the closest amount of a dirt shoulder I can find. Being not-flat-land, it's at an angle, and most of the time I'm assuming paranoiac that the jack will tip the car over at any moment. Though, that paranoia's abated because of the insanely gross allergies that were hitting: I was dripping sweat from my forehead and thin snot from my nose, sneezing every twenty seconds. Spinning the car jack and the tire iron around, I started to play a game, like placing a slow fan underneath a leaky faucet. The only thing I have to wipe my face and nose is my work shirt, which I also have to use to unscrew the tire bolts, apparently too hot from the stress of that 30-second drive to find the shoulder.

It takes a while to get my donut on. Now this donut is so wafer-like it could be a prop for a silent comedy, and yet, I've driven almost 400 straight miles on it before. Which either makes it surprisingly sturdy or in need of an iron lung.

Take a guess which.

A half mile later, even with my emergency blinkers on, I'm being tailgated by a shiny Prius, the whole time thinking of Clive Owen's rant from Shoot 'Em Up: rich people are inconsiderate, shitty drivers because they got rich by being inconsiderate, shitty people. I shift awkwardly and suddenly, the car seems to pop and drop. The Prius barely gives me a few feet to pull over.

Now the donut isn't flat. But its rim is touching the ground. What I later found out was, due to bad front alignment, the rubber tube had popped off. I know there's a parking lot up ahead and I barely make it, just looking for sparks the whole time. Of course, right as I'm signaling to turn right, another shiny car slows to a stop in the middle of the intersection—staring either at my tire or a tree, I can't tell. I scream "GO YOU RICH MOTHER FUCKER" out an open window, and by the time I get onto the gravel parking lot two parents and their little toddler are staring at me, the screaming man, and not the grinding tire, the screaming man's raison d'etre.

So yeah. I had a flat, and then my spare went flat. I mean, that's gotta be a once in a lifetime experience, right? It's not like anything similar has ever happened to me before. Because that'd be ridiculous.

It takes about another 45 minutes to call someone. Partly, I don't understand why roadside assistance can't just deliver me a new tire. Also, I'm 30 miles from home and don't know anything about the area. Most of the time is taken because every place has a two-hour waiting time. Against a beautiful Texas sunset lowering past the lake horizon, I end up using my open trunk as a propped couch, reading a book, still snotting like a toddler as every immaculate SUV blows gravel dust straight into my sinuses, waiting for the tow-truck-driver who acted like he knew where I was at but never took my cell number.

I start thinking to different ends of my luck spectrum. On the high end, I start thinking what it would take, even though it's currently 6:00 p.m., for me to make the 8:00 p.m. play's curtain call. On the low end, I start casing which cars I could, if stranded and desperate enough, jack a tire from. I think it'd be funny. Especially if I got caught: since this is a totally hypothetical bad-ass me, why not assume/imagine I'll tire iron their window out, reach into their glove compartment, pull out their registration, growl at the rich car-owners that I now know their address and that if they mention my description to the cops I'mma rape 'em in they beds.

That little reverie ends when the tow-truck guy gets there. He gets there quickly, drops me off at an ATM to pay him cash, and gets me to a Wal-Mart, typically open late. I walk up to their door at 7:15 p.m. and see that they close at 7:00 p.m. But the garage is open; three guys are standing around; one guy comes up to me, says, "I'll get you"; another directs the tow-truck where to drop-off the car. And it never happens: No one ever mentions that they're doing this past their closing time, which really cuts down my wait time. Instead, the guy keeps telling me UT's down 10-0 at halftime against Texas Christian University, and I keep in the conversation enough for him not to realize he could keep me car in the parking lot all night.

Now $160 poorer and yet without having shot anything that day, I drive straight to the theater—just for dirty shits and bitter giggles. If I'd only given 15 extra minutes at any point, I would've made the play.

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2 Days in Paris (Sun.), The Yes Men (Tues.), Halloween (Thurs.), No End in Sight (Sun.), Peggy Sue Got Married (Tues.), Raise the Red Lantern, Shoot 'Em Up (Wed.), 3:10 to Yuma (Thurs.), The Hunting Party, Twentieth Century (Fri.)
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Your ID Has Not Yet Been Rated

2007-08-24T14:37:00.000-05:00

The new trailer for No Country for Old Men is up, and it's a red-band, meaning it's for 18 years of age or older. What's creepy about it, though, is that to verify your age, there's these ominous notes:

"FOR VERIFICATION, PLEASE PROVIDE INFORMATION AS IT IS LISTED ON YOUR CURRENT DRIVER'S LICENSE OR STATE-ISSUED ID." Then a parenthetical after the zip code form demands, "(Must match your government-issued ID)."

Aside from the demanding, "We-will-fact-check-your-ID!" tone, what's scary is: This is a week after it was disclosed that Bush's domestic spying programs enlisted telecom companies like AT&T and Verizon. And I've seen This Film is Not Yet Rated; I don't want my private details in the hands of 40-year-old screenwriters with no families.

Lucky for us, the next Coen bros. movie is Burn After Reading, about a CIA agent whose memoir manuscript gets out. That'll definitely even things up.

Steers & Queers

2007-08-23T21:34:00.000-05:00

Warren Ellis on Texas, from his novel Crooked Little Vein:

"No sidewalks," Trix muttered. Trying out the phrase on her tongue.

"You East Coast types," Bob smirked. "You're like little weakass colonies on the edge of Real America, you know that?"

"Walking makes us weakass?" I laughed.

"Fine for your cramped little towns like New York," Bob proclaimed, sitting up taller in his seat. "But this is the big country, and we need big cars, and the space for 'em. This sidewalk thing, it just means we ain't too proud to make things a little easier for our visiting cousins from Weakass Country. We're big people like that."

"You're from fucking Minneapolis."

"Texans are born, and Texans are grown, and they're all Texans nonetheless. I fucking love it here."

A few minutes later, he started crying, and had to pull over the car.

"They hate me," he gasped between great painful heaving sobs, his big soft face contorted in agony. "God help me, Mike, they all fucking hate me like I was Hitler's fartcatcher."

The Sophomore's 598th Slump

2007-08-22T12:50:00.000-05:00

If it makes you feel better that I can go a month without posting, know that I tried. I have multiple saved and unfinished drafts of old stand-bys, including:

a pleasantly surprised and bemused retelling of my dad's visiting on my birthday
a "Damn…Your Dad…Whew" retelling my dad's visit
a "Mr. Belabor the Point"
a brand new column idea
a self-interview
an explanation that when I go on a post drought it usually means that I'm suddenly self-conscious about airing most my stories in public, and that you should probably just call me if you want to keep up
a recrimination about how, if I don't archive these stories down, I'll be retelling worse and worse versions of them for a long time to come
a self-interview explaining the post drought and recriminating the post drought, and
a self-interviewing "Mr. Belabor the Point" explaining the post drought

But there was one more boring cliche I didn't try. Will I now regale you with baby pictures of my family? No. Will I unveil high school poetry? No. All things I've done before, but instead I have a different way to bore the shit out of you if you're still reading:

I'm gonna tell you about my dream last night!

I was somehow a teaching intern for a post-WWII institution of Nazis. The dream was in black and white, though I remember vaguely (whodathunkit?). My teaching job involved giving a lecture on math to a theater of students and then projecting a film. These classes took place in a multiplex. There was an angry, Ian McKellan-looking-malnourished head Nazi who seethed all the time, but he never lost his temper. Because of the math I kept getting later and later starting these movies on time (because there was a strict schedule…that is in no way familiar to my normal life…). Finally the head Nazi was rewarding all his interns with cookies in a cafeteria while I was trying to hide that I hadn't started two of classes, and I was a half-hour late. I snuck by him and started one of the classes with no problem. But when I walked outside, he was waiting in the hallway and shot me.

Yeah. I woke up in sweats. Because it was math.

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8/16 Mix

2007-08-16T23:32:00.000-05:00

"Let There Be Light" — John Williams (Close Encounters of the Third Kind OST)
"Where Are They Now?" — Local H (Whatever Happened to PJ Smalls?)
"The Rat" — The Walkmen (Bows + Arrows)
"Teenage Wristband" — The Twilight Singers (Blackberry Belle)
"Crash and Die" — Mock Orange (The First EP)
"Falling Slowly" — Glen Hansard & Marketta Irglova (The Swell Season)
"Suddenly Everything Has Changed" — The Postal Service (The District Sleeps Alone Tonight)
"It's Alright for You" — The Police (Regatta de Blanc)
"Who Do You Love?" — Ted Leo & The Pharmacists (Living With the Living)
"As Far as I Know" — Paul Westerberg (Folker)
"These Days" — Mates of State (Wicker Park OST)
"Jeepster" — T. Rex (Electric Warrior)
"What You Meant" — Franz Ferdinand (You Could Have It So Much Better)
"Thank You (For Living)" — Clinic (Winchester Cathedral)
"Bessa" — Tilly and the Wall (Wild Like Children)
"Goddess on a Hiway" — Mercury Rev (Deserter's Songs)
"It's Only Time" — The Magnetic Fields (i)
"Some Might Say" — Oasis ((What's the Story) Morning Glory?)
"Steadier Footing" — Death Cab for Cutie (The Photo Album)
"Untitled #8 (Popplagið)" — Sigur Rós (( ))

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Sunshine, Paprika (Tues.), Fahrenheit 451, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Bourne Ultimatum (Wed.), Hot Rod, The Duellists (Thurs.), The Proposition (Sat.), Superbad, Stardust (Thurs.), Vanishing Point (Fri.), Love and Death (Sat.), Brief Encounter, Summertime (Sun.), More American Graffiti (Tues.)
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