There's a fantastic new interview with Alan Moore at Salon.com. You may be required to watch an ad before reading it. Do it. Moore is a visionary genius (meant in the old fashioned sense --before the term was devalued), and anything he has to say about the world is worth reading.
"When an old and distinguished person speaks to you, listen to him carefully and with respect – but do not believe him. Never put your trust in anything but your own intellect. Your elder, no matter whether he has gray hair or lost his hair, no matter whether he is a Nobel Laureate, may be wrong... So you must always be skeptical – always think for yourself." --Linus Pauling
7.22.2004
Movies.
Man Oh Man. The last time I wrote in this thing was back in Year Dot. Anyhow, let's get to it:
Saw Spider-Man 2 the day it came out. Excellent movie, much better than the first. My only complaint is that Peter Parker's whining gets on my nerves now in a way it never did when I was adolescent and very much in the same boat. But the constant guilt and soap opera are what makes it Spider-Man and so can't really be done without.
As in the first movie, J.K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson steals every scene he's in. Personally, I would rather watch a movie of just his character. As that isn't going to happen, I'll just watch His Girl Friday again. As a sidenote: If I were Peter Parker, I'd grind my heel into Mary Jane Watson's face to get to Betty Brant (Jameson's secretary, played by Elizabeth Banks).
I also saw Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 on opening weekend. Easily the best movie of the year for me. And before anyone wants to tell me that it's full of lies, let me just point out that if it were, Mr. Moore could get his ass sued. He's not though, is he? Instead, his opponents have tried every other weasel tactic to keep the film from being shown.
You know, the strain of anti-intellectualism in this country really frightens me. The Founding Fathers must be turning in their graves.
Saw Spider-Man 2 the day it came out. Excellent movie, much better than the first. My only complaint is that Peter Parker's whining gets on my nerves now in a way it never did when I was adolescent and very much in the same boat. But the constant guilt and soap opera are what makes it Spider-Man and so can't really be done without.
As in the first movie, J.K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson steals every scene he's in. Personally, I would rather watch a movie of just his character. As that isn't going to happen, I'll just watch His Girl Friday again. As a sidenote: If I were Peter Parker, I'd grind my heel into Mary Jane Watson's face to get to Betty Brant (Jameson's secretary, played by Elizabeth Banks).
I also saw Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 on opening weekend. Easily the best movie of the year for me. And before anyone wants to tell me that it's full of lies, let me just point out that if it were, Mr. Moore could get his ass sued. He's not though, is he? Instead, his opponents have tried every other weasel tactic to keep the film from being shown.
You know, the strain of anti-intellectualism in this country really frightens me. The Founding Fathers must be turning in their graves.
5.07.2004
Do NOT go to see Van Helsing. Got it?
"Mediocre waste of celluloid" doesn't even begin to cover how horrible VAN HELSING is in every particular. The plot, the dialogue, the pacing; everything was perfunctory at best. I'm not what you would call a huge fan of THE MUMMY or THE MUMMY RETURNS but VH makes both of those look like masterpieces of adventure cinema in comparison.
A complete suck of two plus hours. Don't bother seeing it. Stay away at all costs. Whether you like Hugh Jackman, Kate Beckinsale, David Wenham, etc. forget it. They are all much better in other films.
In the end credits to VAN HELSING, with Stephen Sommers' credit it reads "Dedicated to my father." It makes one curious as to the family drama hinted at there. What could the old man have done so horrible to warrant this?
A complete suck of two plus hours. Don't bother seeing it. Stay away at all costs. Whether you like Hugh Jackman, Kate Beckinsale, David Wenham, etc. forget it. They are all much better in other films.
In the end credits to VAN HELSING, with Stephen Sommers' credit it reads "Dedicated to my father." It makes one curious as to the family drama hinted at there. What could the old man have done so horrible to warrant this?
4.30.2004
Stephenson in the hot, hot sun.
Very quickly:
Last weekend I went to LA Festival of Books. After going on to my friend the good doctor Aparna about how "I don't sunburn" I got sunburned all over my bald head. Serves me right I suppose.
Neal Stephenson was there on Sunday. He began with a Q & A session where people went out of their way to ask him the same questions he seems to get at every opportunity. Ugh. Also, the title of his book is pronounced CryptoNOmicon not CryptoNAHmicon. Even after he said the title twice and corrected someone, two questions later you have some jerk saying the word like he'd just flew in from the continent and missed the previous five minutes.
Stephenson's new novel The Confusion is out now. It's Volume Two of the Baroque Cycle and I'm reading it now. Salon has a great interview full of not the usual questions that you can find here.
Last weekend I went to LA Festival of Books. After going on to my friend the good doctor Aparna about how "I don't sunburn" I got sunburned all over my bald head. Serves me right I suppose.
Neal Stephenson was there on Sunday. He began with a Q & A session where people went out of their way to ask him the same questions he seems to get at every opportunity. Ugh. Also, the title of his book is pronounced CryptoNOmicon not CryptoNAHmicon. Even after he said the title twice and corrected someone, two questions later you have some jerk saying the word like he'd just flew in from the continent and missed the previous five minutes.
Stephenson's new novel The Confusion is out now. It's Volume Two of the Baroque Cycle and I'm reading it now. Salon has a great interview full of not the usual questions that you can find here.
4.16.2004
Kill Bill, Vol. 2
Just got back from a 12.20 a.m. screening of Quentin Tarantino's new film. Very entertaining. Kill Bill Vols. 1 and 2 are one long movie so I don't think it possible to say which is better. The second half is the one with the resolution and the emotional payoff so naturally it's going to be more satisfying. Less violent overall, but with one really scary (for me) scene.
Oh, and David Carradine is great in the film. It's nice to see him again. However, Gordon Liu as Pai Mei steals the film. He doesn't have to say anything either, just stroke his long white beard.
One of the things I enjoy about Tarantino's movies is how he carries out his huge interest in 1970's pop culture. He focuses on the elements he liked (soul music, blaxploitation films, spaghetti westerns, Shaw Brothers kung fu films, Saturday morning cartoons, comic books, muscle cars) and steadfastly ignores all the things he doesn't. (Which is the way to go.)
Watching his movies, it's like the Eagles, Jackson Browne, and Boston never happened. Roger Moore as James Bond? They stopped making them in 1969 with On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Those endless tv variety shows? Someone else watched'em.
For all I know, Tarantino likes all of these things. But for now, I can pretend he thinks they're shit too. At least they aren't worth acknowledging. It's refreshing.
If the Kill Bill epic has done anything for me, it has made me really want to collect the rest of Doug Moench and Paul Gulacy's run on Master of Kung Fu. It was just amazing.
Oh, and David Carradine is great in the film. It's nice to see him again. However, Gordon Liu as Pai Mei steals the film. He doesn't have to say anything either, just stroke his long white beard.
One of the things I enjoy about Tarantino's movies is how he carries out his huge interest in 1970's pop culture. He focuses on the elements he liked (soul music, blaxploitation films, spaghetti westerns, Shaw Brothers kung fu films, Saturday morning cartoons, comic books, muscle cars) and steadfastly ignores all the things he doesn't. (Which is the way to go.)
Watching his movies, it's like the Eagles, Jackson Browne, and Boston never happened. Roger Moore as James Bond? They stopped making them in 1969 with On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Those endless tv variety shows? Someone else watched'em.
For all I know, Tarantino likes all of these things. But for now, I can pretend he thinks they're shit too. At least they aren't worth acknowledging. It's refreshing.
If the Kill Bill epic has done anything for me, it has made me really want to collect the rest of Doug Moench and Paul Gulacy's run on Master of Kung Fu. It was just amazing.
Pleasant
A pretty young woman approached me at the library circulation desk yesterday. We'll call her Renee because I just watched Bridget Jones's Diary last night, and also because Renee happens to be her name.
She told me she needed to find out if her library card was still valid. She hadn't used it for quite a while as she'd been away at school. As I brought her account up on the computer she asked me a question:
"Is your name Jack?"
"Ummm.....Yes," I said. How did she know my name? I took another look at her to see if we had met.
"We had a conversation two years ago. We were talking about Neil Gaiman and you recommended some books to me."
No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.
"Reeaally. And you read'em all I suppose?"
"Yes. All of them were great. Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash was on there, and Michael Marshall Smith. Really fabulous stuff. I've just finished something really light, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom by Cory Doctorow. Can you recommend something else?"
Gentle Reader, in the boxing match I was envisioning at that moment all the smart money was on The Feather. No way would I even last ten rounds.
"Why, yes, Renee. Yes, I can."
The funny thing is, is that this sort of thing happens pretty often for me. This is the longest turnaround on hearing back though. Anyway, excuse me while I feel just tiniest bit smug about how great my taste is. In this aspect, I really am quite astonishing. I know it's true because in my experience, I am the only person this kind of thing happens too.
So, you know, lesser beings fuck off and all that.
She told me she needed to find out if her library card was still valid. She hadn't used it for quite a while as she'd been away at school. As I brought her account up on the computer she asked me a question:
"Is your name Jack?"
"Ummm.....Yes," I said. How did she know my name? I took another look at her to see if we had met.
"We had a conversation two years ago. We were talking about Neil Gaiman and you recommended some books to me."
No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.
"Reeaally. And you read'em all I suppose?"
"Yes. All of them were great. Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash was on there, and Michael Marshall Smith. Really fabulous stuff. I've just finished something really light, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom by Cory Doctorow. Can you recommend something else?"
Gentle Reader, in the boxing match I was envisioning at that moment all the smart money was on The Feather. No way would I even last ten rounds.
"Why, yes, Renee. Yes, I can."
The funny thing is, is that this sort of thing happens pretty often for me. This is the longest turnaround on hearing back though. Anyway, excuse me while I feel just tiniest bit smug about how great my taste is. In this aspect, I really am quite astonishing. I know it's true because in my experience, I am the only person this kind of thing happens too.
So, you know, lesser beings fuck off and all that.
4.13.2004
Spam spam spam spam.
motley joe bedstraw papacy intelligentsia majestic embassy cutover wishy incommutable squander ordeal edmondson cheesecloth poach zen aviv dyad cryogenic
That was the subject line in a junk e-mail I received today. I have no idea what it means but I would like to state for the record: I would certainly be interested in any pornography this individual would care to make available for public consumption.
That was the subject line in a junk e-mail I received today. I have no idea what it means but I would like to state for the record: I would certainly be interested in any pornography this individual would care to make available for public consumption.
4.12.2004
What I've been reading and what I am about to read.
Remember way back when I was frothing at the mouth with excitement over Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver? It was 916 pages long and demanded much from the reader in terms of attention and time (and occasionally patience).
For all that, I loved it. Volume Two of Stephenson's Baroque Cycle is The Confusion hits stores tomorrow.
For all that, I loved it. Volume Two of Stephenson's Baroque Cycle is The Confusion hits stores tomorrow.
4.11.2004
I'm back.
There are many reasons for why I have not written in this thing for the past five months: Holiday season depression, technical difficulties, romantic setbacks (in both the Classical and Modern sense). In late January, my previous computer gave up the ghost in the machine. Laziness fits in there as well.
But I'm back now. Let's get to it then, shall we?
But I'm back now. Let's get to it then, shall we?
11.18.2003
I went to see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World Sunday night. For anyone who is wondering, the movie is fantastic and well worth seeing. For myself, I will certainly be paying to see it more than once.
The movie is based on parts of two novels from a twenty book series written by Patrick O'Brian. The books are set during the Napoleonic War and follow the fortunes and failures of two men: Captain Jack Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy and his ship's surgeon Stephen Maturin.
Jack, nicknamed "Lucky Jack" by his men, is a master of his chosen profession. He's a tactical genius at sea, and knows how to make one of the 'big ships' (the most complicated technology of the time) do anything he wants it to. On land is a different story; with firm ground beneath his feet and society all round him, Jack inevitably becomes well, a bit of a dork. He also plays a fair violin.
Ship's surgeon Stephen Maturin is cut from a different cloth: He's Irish and Catalan, a naturalist fluent in many languages and sciences, and a spy for His Majesty's Government. In his own way, Stephen is as deadly as Jack, capable of brilliant manipulations and schemes worthy of a Macchiavelli. He's also a dab hand at the cello.
The two, while being opposites, are also the very best of friends.
The movie does something difficult and manages to capture the feel of O'Brian's world and the people who populate it well. It is the first movie I think I've ever seen that seems aimed at the "highest common denominator."
O'Brian did not merely write sea stories by the way. He books seemed to want to describe the whole of society at the time. Mary Renault called them "the finest historical novels ever written." (Something she herself is accused of having done.) Walter Cronkite called the books "crack cocaine for intellectuals."
David Mamet wrote a great essay about O'Brian for the New York Times.
The books, and the movie are well worth your time.
The movie is based on parts of two novels from a twenty book series written by Patrick O'Brian. The books are set during the Napoleonic War and follow the fortunes and failures of two men: Captain Jack Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy and his ship's surgeon Stephen Maturin.
Jack, nicknamed "Lucky Jack" by his men, is a master of his chosen profession. He's a tactical genius at sea, and knows how to make one of the 'big ships' (the most complicated technology of the time) do anything he wants it to. On land is a different story; with firm ground beneath his feet and society all round him, Jack inevitably becomes well, a bit of a dork. He also plays a fair violin.
Ship's surgeon Stephen Maturin is cut from a different cloth: He's Irish and Catalan, a naturalist fluent in many languages and sciences, and a spy for His Majesty's Government. In his own way, Stephen is as deadly as Jack, capable of brilliant manipulations and schemes worthy of a Macchiavelli. He's also a dab hand at the cello.
The two, while being opposites, are also the very best of friends.
The movie does something difficult and manages to capture the feel of O'Brian's world and the people who populate it well. It is the first movie I think I've ever seen that seems aimed at the "highest common denominator."
O'Brian did not merely write sea stories by the way. He books seemed to want to describe the whole of society at the time. Mary Renault called them "the finest historical novels ever written." (Something she herself is accused of having done.) Walter Cronkite called the books "crack cocaine for intellectuals."
David Mamet wrote a great essay about O'Brian for the New York Times.
The books, and the movie are well worth your time.
11.17.2003
"Foolish mortals. Even my shallowness has hidden depths."
When it comes to popular culture, I like to consider myself a bit of a connoisseur. Sifting through the myriad novels, comics, movies, tv shows, music, magazines, etc. in search of the best on offer has been a lifelong obsession with me.
It could be argued that there's not much point in the exercise but I believe in being true to one's enthusiasms. Besides that, doesn't who and what we love serve to define us in some way as human beings? No? Bah. Your lackluster taste in literature and film belies your station and has marked you as surely as favors from the Donner Party.
"Opinions are like assholes. We all have 'em." Yes, so I've been told. Yet my ass has been greatly admired in its time. My opinions as well. May we stake the same claim for yours?
I thought not.
But relax, child. Breathe easy. Do not fear my arrogance too much. I am here and all will be made well. When we are finished, we may not be simpatico on all things (that can be so boring), but let us at least agree on this:
1. Everything means something, whether we are aware of it or not.
2. Your right to hold an opinion is only so strong as it is an informed opinion. The market on uninformed opinions fell out long ago and has never recovered value.
3. The woman of my dreams, if she is to be of any quality, must have a love for the music of Leonard Cohen and something approaching a mild detest for one of the following: a) The Grateful Dead b) The Eagles c) Forrest Gump d) COPS and e) So-called "reality shows." This is a dealbreaker.
It could be argued that there's not much point in the exercise but I believe in being true to one's enthusiasms. Besides that, doesn't who and what we love serve to define us in some way as human beings? No? Bah. Your lackluster taste in literature and film belies your station and has marked you as surely as favors from the Donner Party.
"Opinions are like assholes. We all have 'em." Yes, so I've been told. Yet my ass has been greatly admired in its time. My opinions as well. May we stake the same claim for yours?
I thought not.
But relax, child. Breathe easy. Do not fear my arrogance too much. I am here and all will be made well. When we are finished, we may not be simpatico on all things (that can be so boring), but let us at least agree on this:
1. Everything means something, whether we are aware of it or not.
2. Your right to hold an opinion is only so strong as it is an informed opinion. The market on uninformed opinions fell out long ago and has never recovered value.
3. The woman of my dreams, if she is to be of any quality, must have a love for the music of Leonard Cohen and something approaching a mild detest for one of the following: a) The Grateful Dead b) The Eagles c) Forrest Gump d) COPS and e) So-called "reality shows." This is a dealbreaker.
11.15.2003
"I'm the Doctor, and I want the finest wines available to humanity! I want them here, and I want them now!"
He does you know. You can view the first episode of the new animated Doctor Who story "Scream of the Shalka" here. It's fun, and Richard E. Grant does very well. Note: Sophie Okoneda, the actress playing the Doctor's new companion is a bit of all right. (There are interviews with she and Grant elsewhere on the site.)
I look forward to next week's episode with anticipation.
I look forward to next week's episode with anticipation.
11.05.2003
Bear with me as I think out loud.
Various people over the years have told me that they do not read novels. "Oh, I don't read fiction," they said, "I don't have time to read that stuff. It's not REAL." You may have heard something like this as well at one time or another. Hell, you may be one of the people that says that kind of thing.
For some reason though, these same individuals never have any problem with looking at paintings. You never hear from a one of them, "Oh, I don't look at paintings. I'm a photograph man entire. Photographs are REAL. That painting there by --who is it?-- Magritte, I'll look at that when he's painted a proper face for that man. A green apple for a head? Absurd."
No one says things like that because it is so obviously a silly point of view. But then I would argue, so is the first. Incidentally, the only person who has ever said that they have no time for fiction that I believe is Sherlock Holmes. He's fictional though (and more real than I am in another sense) so who can say?
I shall continue this line of thought another time.
Various people over the years have told me that they do not read novels. "Oh, I don't read fiction," they said, "I don't have time to read that stuff. It's not REAL." You may have heard something like this as well at one time or another. Hell, you may be one of the people that says that kind of thing.
For some reason though, these same individuals never have any problem with looking at paintings. You never hear from a one of them, "Oh, I don't look at paintings. I'm a photograph man entire. Photographs are REAL. That painting there by --who is it?-- Magritte, I'll look at that when he's painted a proper face for that man. A green apple for a head? Absurd."
No one says things like that because it is so obviously a silly point of view. But then I would argue, so is the first. Incidentally, the only person who has ever said that they have no time for fiction that I believe is Sherlock Holmes. He's fictional though (and more real than I am in another sense) so who can say?
I shall continue this line of thought another time.
11.04.2003
I want to wake up on the planet that never sleeps.
Tomorrow is November 5th. The Matrix Revolutions opens at precisely the same time all over the world. Here on the West Coast, that means 6 a.m. For me that means waking up at five so I can make it to Mann's (formerly Grauman's) Chinese Theatre.
Naturally, I am going. I love the fact that I get to go to a movie at SIX IN THE MORNING and then grab breakfast and go to work. The 21st century is turning out pretty cool.
What would totally make it though, is if I could go back to bed at noon. I have only myself to blame for this.
Naturally, I am going. I love the fact that I get to go to a movie at SIX IN THE MORNING and then grab breakfast and go to work. The 21st century is turning out pretty cool.
What would totally make it though, is if I could go back to bed at noon. I have only myself to blame for this.
10.30.2003
"I am of the Devil's party."
I have a number of t-shirts which I like to wear to work. Each one has a slogan or somesuch message being delivered to the denizens of my always-fair-in-the-movies-but-rather-strikingly-less-so-in-the-reality city. Here is one of them.
Another shirt I wear has a picture of Hellboy. Created by Mike Mignola, Hellboy is a demon from Hell sent during WWII to destroy the earth. However, things go awry; he's raised by a kindly scientist instead and is now the world's greatest paranormal investigator.
C'mon: How can you not love that? Hellboy is the star of comics, a couple novels, the calendar in my kitchen, and next summer: a movie.
Anyway, I wore the Hellboy shirt to work a few weeks ago. A woman I was checking out videos to noticed it and said, "Hellboy? What's that?" Not one to miss a chance to promote my favorite storytelling medium, I replied.
"Hellboy is a comic book character. He's the world's greatest paranormal investigator, who just so happens to be a demon from hell."
"Oh, I don't think I like that."
I smiled, and my tone was pure helpfulness.
"Ah, there's nothing to worry about, m'am. He may be from Hell, but he was raised by a good family; so that's all right."
"I don't think you should wear that. You know I'm a Christian and warm tapioca pudding for brains. You can tell from the nonsenical natterings pouring from my mouth that I haven't had an original thought since Carter was in office."
Okay, you got me. The woman did not say any of the above after the word 'Christian.' She might as well have though.
Yesterday I wore a different t-shirt to work. This one is black with a lot of laughing skeletons on it. It's a Mexican 'Day of the Dead' shirt. Fine, right?
Wrong. The same woman shows up. She reminds me of our previous exchange, and hands me a flyer that she made herself.
It was a photocopy, and the original was written in pen. Presumably she wrote it, but it might have been hashed out by some other imbecile. The flyer (which I do not have beside me) proclaimed that we should: Boycott Halloween! Boycott the Devil's Day! and then a whole lot of crap about how Satanists sacrifice animals to the Devil and try to get our children and we need to put the Devil out of business (as if he has a storefront operation), etc. and so on.
She was going on about all this verbally as well while backing out the door. The other people in line were laughing at her.
It occurred to me that in my entire life I have never been proselytized to by a Satanist. No one has ever approached me and extended an offer to attend services in worship of Their Satanic Majesty. Ever been invited to an orgy by a Satanist or a Midsummer's Midnight Picnic of Evil (B.Y.O.V.)?
No, you probably haven't and neither have I. Which is too bad, as the picnics sound particularly memorable.
I am so sick of Born Again Christian doorknobs accosting me to tell of their Big Jewish Superhero. What, do they think I've never heard it before? That I'll mistake the bovine gleam in their eyes for the spark of intelligence and a novel way of looking at the world? The point of view they present on a regular basis is like a McDonald's Super-Sized Anathema Shake, and I'm not having any.
By the way, has anyone seen the t-shirts, stickers, etc. with 'Real Men Love Jesus' on them? Am I the only one who immediately pictures a big Mexican with oiled muscles and a leer getting all the man love he can handle? Maybe.
Another shirt I wear has a picture of Hellboy. Created by Mike Mignola, Hellboy is a demon from Hell sent during WWII to destroy the earth. However, things go awry; he's raised by a kindly scientist instead and is now the world's greatest paranormal investigator.
C'mon: How can you not love that? Hellboy is the star of comics, a couple novels, the calendar in my kitchen, and next summer: a movie.
Anyway, I wore the Hellboy shirt to work a few weeks ago. A woman I was checking out videos to noticed it and said, "Hellboy? What's that?" Not one to miss a chance to promote my favorite storytelling medium, I replied.
"Hellboy is a comic book character. He's the world's greatest paranormal investigator, who just so happens to be a demon from hell."
"Oh, I don't think I like that."
I smiled, and my tone was pure helpfulness.
"Ah, there's nothing to worry about, m'am. He may be from Hell, but he was raised by a good family; so that's all right."
"I don't think you should wear that. You know I'm a Christian and warm tapioca pudding for brains. You can tell from the nonsenical natterings pouring from my mouth that I haven't had an original thought since Carter was in office."
Okay, you got me. The woman did not say any of the above after the word 'Christian.' She might as well have though.
Yesterday I wore a different t-shirt to work. This one is black with a lot of laughing skeletons on it. It's a Mexican 'Day of the Dead' shirt. Fine, right?
Wrong. The same woman shows up. She reminds me of our previous exchange, and hands me a flyer that she made herself.
It was a photocopy, and the original was written in pen. Presumably she wrote it, but it might have been hashed out by some other imbecile. The flyer (which I do not have beside me) proclaimed that we should: Boycott Halloween! Boycott the Devil's Day! and then a whole lot of crap about how Satanists sacrifice animals to the Devil and try to get our children and we need to put the Devil out of business (as if he has a storefront operation), etc. and so on.
She was going on about all this verbally as well while backing out the door. The other people in line were laughing at her.
It occurred to me that in my entire life I have never been proselytized to by a Satanist. No one has ever approached me and extended an offer to attend services in worship of Their Satanic Majesty. Ever been invited to an orgy by a Satanist or a Midsummer's Midnight Picnic of Evil (B.Y.O.V.)?
No, you probably haven't and neither have I. Which is too bad, as the picnics sound particularly memorable.
I am so sick of Born Again Christian doorknobs accosting me to tell of their Big Jewish Superhero. What, do they think I've never heard it before? That I'll mistake the bovine gleam in their eyes for the spark of intelligence and a novel way of looking at the world? The point of view they present on a regular basis is like a McDonald's Super-Sized Anathema Shake, and I'm not having any.
By the way, has anyone seen the t-shirts, stickers, etc. with 'Real Men Love Jesus' on them? Am I the only one who immediately pictures a big Mexican with oiled muscles and a leer getting all the man love he can handle? Maybe.
10.29.2003
I hate L.A.
Maybe you haven't heard, but there's a transit strike going on in Los Angeles. This of course means that I have even less of a social life than usual, and getting to work on time is a problem on the best of days.
It's difficult to love a city that is routinely run with such blatant incompetence. It makes me think that I'd love to move back to Chicago, or to Seattle, or someplace else with a fine line in public transportation.
Right now, Seattle is winning for two reasons:
One, I've never lived there.
Two, I have friends who live there and are fun to drink with.
Three, the girls seem to like weird guys there and that suits me down to the ground.
I can't move anywhere at present though. I haven't gotten what I came for. Yet.
It's difficult to love a city that is routinely run with such blatant incompetence. It makes me think that I'd love to move back to Chicago, or to Seattle, or someplace else with a fine line in public transportation.
Right now, Seattle is winning for two reasons:
One, I've never lived there.
Two, I have friends who live there and are fun to drink with.
Three, the girls seem to like weird guys there and that suits me down to the ground.
I can't move anywhere at present though. I haven't gotten what I came for. Yet.
10.20.2003
Writing
On October 22nd I will be reading an original piece to a group of people at the Schindler House in Los Angeles. It's for some shindig in honor of the Disney Concert Hall, which is opening downtown.
I've been told that I will have about ten minutes to read. That comes out to about 1000 words. The problem is, I haven't written it yet.
I want to write something witty and exciting and exotic. Something dynamic that grabs attention and won't let go. My brain feels like a blunt object. Sigh.
However, I know I will get it done in time.
I've been told that I will have about ten minutes to read. That comes out to about 1000 words. The problem is, I haven't written it yet.
I want to write something witty and exciting and exotic. Something dynamic that grabs attention and won't let go. My brain feels like a blunt object. Sigh.
However, I know I will get it done in time.
10.10.2003
My Doctor Who obsession continues unabated. Tom Baker, while being the fourth actor to play the Doctor, became the most famous in the role. Here is a string of outtakes he did for a commerical voiceover.
Hilarious.
Hilarious.
9.30.2003
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