Hey Dave

I got out of work early, came home, turned on the television, and Dave Wannstedt wished me a happy New Year. What a funny day.

Happy New Year!

In Italy, Spain, and Turkey (and presumably other countries), wearing red underwear on New Year's Eve is a way to bring good luck for the upcoming year; yellow undies bring money.

Choose your color and Happy New Year!

Garfield Minus Garfield

Garfield Minus Garfield is a collection of Garfield comics in which the title character has been erased, leaving behind the obsessive ball of pathos that is John Arbuckle.

"It did not matter that it was the last of her money, that now she would have to walk home, and alone. The pilings of snow were like the white waves of a white sea, and she rode upon them, carried by winds and tides of the moon. I do not know what I want, and perhaps I shall never know, but my only wish from every star will always be another star; and truly I am not afraid, she thought. Two boys came out of a bar and stared at her; in some park some long time ago she'd seen two boys and they might be the same. Truly I am not afraid, she thought, hearing their snowy footsteps following her; and anyway, there was nothing left to steal."
Final paragraph from Truman Capote's short story, 'Master Misery' (about an old man who pays for people's dreams).

What are you reading? Post an excerpt!

from Holbein the Younger

Four simultaneous occurrences of The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb by Hans Holbein the Younger.

3 things to like (in theory)

1. women
2. tea
3. democracy

My Brother and I Made a Snowman

His name is Tennessee.

His hat was knitted by Mrs. Zitta

Living today is just getting so bad...

...there's a look on your face and it says "you've been had."

Ice Storm 2008 (Fitzwilliam, NH)

5 things to do (infrequently or not at all)

1. buy bottled water
2. read books start to finish
3. think in complete sentences
4. eat eggs
5. drink milk/coffee/soda
   

Burger King, Body Spray

http://www.firemeetsdesire.com/

Betcha can't spray just once.

In the news

I thought there was no way that America's First Face Transplant Performed in Cleveland could be toppled from it's place as the-best-headline-I-saw-on-google-news-today until I saw Mickey Rourke in 'The Wrestler' will stomp on your heart.

Actually reading these articles only leads to disappointment. Go with your first impression and just make something up. My version of the first story is loosely based on the middle half hour of Face/Off with elements of feel good urban dancestravaganzas like Honey and Save the Last Dance thrown in. Added twist, the hotheaded dancer with a new face is mentored by a grizzled Cleveland Indians veteran played by Tom Berenger.

The Mickey Rourke story quite simply involves Mickey Rourke actually stomping on someone's heart.

Audiences

Clockwise from top left: Fate, Forgiveness, Subjectivity, the Ocean.

Know Your Disco

Meet Giorgio Moroder.
He's looking for limits with his special kind of imagination as he creates musical magic from thin air.

Political Progress

Well, my telephone rang it would not stop,
It's President Kennedy callin' me up.
He said, "My friend, Bob, what do we need to make the country grow?"
I said, "My friend, John, Brigitte Bardot,
Anita Ekberg,
Sophia Loren."
Country'll grow.

Shitty Movie Alert

Delgo (PG)

Story: A teenager's forbidden friendship with an enemy princess sets the stage for an exiled ruler to stake her claim on the throne of a mystical land.
Actors: Freddie Prinze, Chris Kattan, Jennifer Hewitt, Anne Bancroft
Crew: Director Marc Adler; Director Jason Maurer; Writer Marc Adler; Writer Scott Biear
Run time: 1:30
Genre: Romance, Adventure, Fantasy, Comedy


I know nothing about this movie outside of the above listing on portsmouthnh.com/movies. Normally I would dismiss this as probably just mediocre but the inclusion of Anne Bancroft satisfies the "every truly terrible movie must include one solid actor to emphasize just how terrible it is" rule.

Fair warning.

Milk Mustache

James Franco tells a great story about a fake penis.



If I threw a party, I would invite James Franco to come and tell stories like this one.

A Word to the Wise

Nine-year-old Alec Greven gives his advice on dating from his book "How to Talk to Girls."

Andy Rules Ballz

The Perfect Christmas

Christmas might be all about the big, family-focused celebration on the 25th, but if you slack off during the crucial Christmas Spirit Prep Phase you might as well not even show up at Mom's doorstep on Christmas Eve.

I will be taking the following steps in the coming weeks to guarantee that 2008 is remembered as "The Year Josh had the Perfect Christmas."

1. Wear Holiday Flannel - as Vince Vaughan movies will attest, any asshole can wear a Santa hat; true Christmas fashion is a more subtle thing. I will be wearing my new green and red flannel for a few hours most (if not every) day between now and December 25th to establish a solid power base of Christmas Spirit. Its festive grid of overlapping green and red squares will be spreading subliminal seasonal cheer to store clerks, bank tellers, and bartenders all over the Seacoast Region.

2. Pound Christmas Tree Cakes - Christmas Tree Cakes are the most disgusting, over-sugared, confectionery poison in the Little Debbie line-up of snack cakes. No matter how pure your Christmas Spirit, it is impossible to eat an entire cake without feeling just a little ill. Nevertheless, I will manfully commit to eating at least one entire box of these snack-sized delights before Christmas Eve.

3. Get Serious About Your Soundtrack - I've chosen A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector as this year's Official Christmas Soundtrack - all your Christmas favorites belted in full Wall of Sound, high-octave, Girl Group force. I'm giving this the edge over other Christmas albums based on the inclusion of The Greatest Christmas Song Ever, Darlene Love's "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)."



4. Pound Holiday Brews - I can't really stomach eggnog (at least in concept; I've never actually tried it) and so will be turning to seasonal beers to get my Christmas buzz going. This year's chosen brew: Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale.

5. Start but Don't Stop at Home - As the Christmas Spirit I generate at home begins to snowball and gain momentum, I plan to let it avalanche into my 9-5 life. Maybe a Christmas tie? Maybe a miniature Christmas tree in the cubicle? Definitely candy canes in all my pockets.



If all goes according to plan, one day I will leave my desk, pluck a candy cane from my tree, drive home with the Ronettes belting out "Sleigh Ride" (traffic be damned, I'll listen to it twice), return home, don my Holiday Flannel, and kick back with a Christmas Tree Cake and a Celebration Ale and watch Home Alone. And in that perfect moment when the shards of broken ornaments pierce Marv's bare feet and my lips taste of candy cane/beer/pastry, I will look down to brush the green and red sugar crystals from my green and red checked chest, and The Perfect Christmas will be mine.

Vladislav Khodasevich - "Before the Mirror"

‘I, I, I’. What a word! It’s unfair!
Is this man I? Is this not a fake?
Could his mother love him anywhere –
Grayish-yellow, gray in his hair,
And such witty and wise as a snake?

Can it be that the boy who liked dances
In the summer Ostankino’s balls --
Is I? I who, by each of my answers,
Call for anger’s and fear’s upraises
Of the poets, beginning their toils.

Can it be that the same youthful person
Who put vigor in his arguments –
Is I? I, who, at tragic and passion’s
Elements, met in all conversations,
Has learnt usage of silence or jests. 

Yet it’s always when you just freeze on
The midways through your baleful life:
From the trivial reasons to reasons,
And behold, you are lost in wild regions,
And couldn’t find former trace of your strife. 

Under garrets of France, not a fear
Of a panther has set me, at last.
Virgil does not inspire me here…
There is loneliness – framed in the mirror
That is speaking the truth of the glass.



At the expense of sounding like a total d-bag, 
the translation loses the rhythm of the original
 Russian, alas, I think its still great.

Joan of Arc

Commercial Break

Watch the girls' faces when Bobby Sherman gives them the milk.

Houdini vs. The Great Kellar

Forget escapism! Can Houdini do THIS?!

Escape Artist

Fancy Fluffy Lady

I know this isn't really a forum for personal news ... but I have a new cat. Her name is Penelope.

She is a total babe.

She appreciates belly rubs.

and enjoys games that simulate the action and intensity of "the kill."

you don't love me yet

In case you were wondering, the best sentence (fragment) in Jonathan Lethem's otherwise forgettable novel You Don't Love Me Yet is:

"Just tongue and a smudge of her hips and goodbye."

Our Boob

On the American economy:
"Our aim should not be more government. It should be smarter government."

I could not have said it any better.

Day 15

Beachcombing at Low Tide

Though I spent the first two weeks daunted by the crashing waves and briney surf, today I have sallied forth to comb the beach I now inhabit. The ocean had many wonders to share with me:


A. The shell of a Moon Snail, also known by its hideous scientific name, Naticidae.

B. A Strata Tour Professional golf ball marketed by Sports, Inc. Though I cannot prove it, I believe one of my rich neighbors was trying to chip this item into my ear canal.

C. A well-beaten mollusk shell. I believe it to have originally been that of a mussel.

D. A deteriorating yet spectacularly colored lobster claw...?

E. A beautifully iridescent piece of a seashell. I believe it to have originally been that of a clam or a mussel.

F. A really neat rock!

The moon was exceptionally big and beautiful tonight:

Relax and Take Notes

Recent research reveals:

Describing a Baryonyx dinosaur as "like a real life dragon" is misleading.

"Texas" is a delightful word to write or say out loud. So is "pretty."

Haagen Daaz makes you fat.

"Kvelling" is a real word, not something Amy Heckerling made up for Clueless. (this made my day)

Keira Knightley really does look like a Fassbinder heroine.

Martin Kippenberger's work is more fun to talk/read about than actually look at.

I don't wanna be a poet / Cuz I don't wanna blow it

This guy is the real deal.


Lyrics:
Everywhere you look these days,
It's bound toe around
It's in the air, it's in our food
It's trampled in the ground
Down the block and near your house,
A reactor near your town
Geiger counters round-the-world
Record the deadly sound

Do it left do it right
Do the Radiation Shuffle,
Do it with all your might
Flap your arms we do the dance of death
The Radiation Shuffle to your dying breath

Babies drinking it casually
With their mothers' milk
Dumped in Oceans stupidly
The fishermen pays the bill
Fallout's just another name
For nothin' left to lose
Just wait until the alcoholics find
It's even in their booze

Do it left do it right
Do the Radiation Shuffle,
Do it with all your might
Flap your arms we do the dance of death
The Radiation Shuffle to your dying breath

Everywhere you look these days,
It's bound toe around
It's in the air, it's in our food
It's trampled in the ground
Down the block and near your house,
A reactor near your town
Just wait until the alcoholics find
It's even in their booze

Do it left do it right
Do the Radiation Shuffle,
Do it with all your might
Flap your arms we do the dance of death
The Radiation Shuffle to your dying breath

Not only does Robert Berger rock the shit out of the keys and look almost painfully awesome, he makes his own wine when he's not simply looking awesome (although I'm sure he looks awesome when he's making wine).

Also - he did not write the lyrics to this song.

Barackumentary

HBO will be airing a documentary series about President-Elect Barack Obama in 2009. This documentary series will be directed by Edward Norton.

(o)(o)(o)(o) donuts

I really like donuts. A good many hours of my life have been devoted to donuts. In fact, this very morning I had two donuts.

I think the best donut I ever had was in Berkeley California, on Telegraph Ave, at a place called King Pin Donuts. It's one of the two street side stores that bookends a U-shaped indent of eateries. If I recall correctly the rest of the establishments specialize in Asain delicacies. It was something of an odd experience to eat a hot and sticky glazed donut next to a guy that was downing sushi with chopsticks. These are incredibly good. If you live within a 3 day drive you should probably get the rest of the week off and go now.

Don't think that Boston and New England are without respectable donut shops. I once fell for that. I thought we were doomed to eating those rock hard O shaped carboard pastries from Dunkin Donuts. This isn't the case. Just today I went to Mike's Donuts on Tremont Street in Mission Hill. This place is good. There's a tale that they make all the donuts they are going to sell each day in the morning and once they sell out they close down. I've never asked to verify the truth of the story but I like it.

Also over in Cambridge, just beyond Porter Square on Mass Ave there's a great place called Vierna's. It's another simple shop, as I think all donut places should be. (My personal philosophy is that all a store needs is coffee, donuts and napkins)

For those of you in New Hampshire, you're out of luck for the time being, until next spring, but there are really good donuts at the Portsmouth Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings when the weather is warm. One of the tents has apple cider donuts that are amazing. They're soft and bouncy. I recommend them with some Cafe Kilim coffee.

Well that's it.

The Bee's Knees

If I could be any species of bee I would choose bumblebee. Bumblebees are excellent pollinators but useless as honey producers and therefore rarely kept.


This particular bumblebee lived in my backyard. He is missing, presumed dead or hibernating.

Everybody dance!

Career Opportunities

Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton placed the following classified ad in a London newspaper in 1913.

Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success.

He received over 5,000 responses.

Memories

On rainy, autumn days I get nostalgic.

Today, I searched google images for pictures of my first car: a 1982 AMC Eagle.

three haikus

-the blue sari -
saw the blue sari
blowing behind Vespa grey
and knew I was here

- Mahatma Ghandi Bus Station -
God, it smells like piss
Telugu script brown skin stare
and open hands ask

- Nalgonda Boy's Government School -
The boys know what is...
and I'm here to change that...
Help is just a word.

***inspired by the poetry previously posted on this blog, i decided to take a crack. my brain doesn't understand poetry so, when writing it, i access it via the most efficient and easy route = the haiku***

Playlist

Rather than pick and choose music to suit my mood throughout the day, I went full shuffle at work today. Results were mixed. Tracks that elicited a silent "fuck yea" are in bold and those that were less well received or skipped altogether are in italics.

Isis (live) - Bob Dylan; Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuthin' to F' Wit - Wu Tang Clan; Midnight -Tribe Called Quest; Make the Night a Little Bit Longer - the Palisades; C.R.E.A.M - Wu Tang Clan; Avalanche - Leonard Cohen; Country Pie - Bob Dylan; Try a Little Tenderness - Otis Redding; It's Your World/Pop's Reprise - Common; Flying - Regina Spektor; Macbeth - John Cale; Spot in my Heart - Josh Ritter; The Natchez Burnin' - Howlin' Wolf; We Don't Belong - Sylvan; Incarcerated Scarfaces - Raekwon; Sleep Walkin' Blues - Ma Rainey; 9 Milli Bros. - Ghostface Killah; Purple Rain - Prince & the Revolution; Funny Feathers - Louis Armstrong; The Blast - Talib Kweli; Three Hundred Pounds of Joy - Howlin Wolf; I Touch Myself - the Divinyls; Hotel Arizona - Wilco; P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Things) - Michael Jackson; It Was a Dream - John Brim; Idiot Wind (NY) - Bob Dylan; Dark Eyes - Bob Dylan; Evil (is Going On) - Howlin' Wolf; My Melody - Eric B. & Rakim; What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong; St. Louis Blues - Django Reinhardt; Whip You with a Strap - Ghostface Killah; Life on Mars? - David Bowie; Raspberry Beret - Prince; 25th Floor - Patti Smith; Still Beating - Josh Ritter; I Gotta Right to Sing the Blues - Louis Armstrong; You're So Fine - Dorothy Berry; Too Late - Talib Kweli; Ain't Gonna Kiss Ya - The Ribbons; If You'll Come Back - Jessie Derrick; Definition - Black Star; Lost Someone - James Brown; Miss Being Mrs. - Loretta Lynn; I Left My Wallet in El Segundo - Tribe Called Quest; Harvest - Neil Young; Blame it on the Sun - Stevie Wonder; Clipse of Doom - Ghostface Killah; Somedays - Regina Spektor; The Blues are Brewin' - Louis Armstrong; He's a Bad Boy - Carole King; Protect Ya Neck - Wu Tang Clan; How Does it Feel? - The Ronettes; Midnight Mood - Bill Evans; Les Trois Valses Distinguees Du Precieux Degoute - Erik Satie; One More Time - The Majestic Arrows; (Night Time Is) The Right Time - Ray Charles; Hello Dolly - Louis Armstrong; Don't Ever Let Me Know - Bobby Fuller Four; Lonesome Day Blues - Bob Dylan; Date Bait - Blue Smitty; Winter Lady - Leonard Cohen; Egyptian Shumba - The Tammys; Pense a Moi - France Gall; Girl - Prince; Try the Worryin' Way - The Fabulettes

Pocket Poem: For Lauren Bacall

What do you see?

Rorschach

I see two women setting down their purses or with feather dusters (and red spots). You?

Letter from Norman Mailer

to the Editor of Playboy

December 21, 1962

Dear Sir,
I wish you hadn't billed the debate between William Buckley and myself as a meeting between a conservative and a liberal. I don't care if people call me a radical, a rebel, a red, a revolutionary, an outsider, an outlaw, a Bolshevik, an anarchist, a nihilist, or even a left conservative, but please don't ever call me a liberal.

Yours,
Norman Mailer

"How 'bout Ratt? How 'bout Ratt?"

Between his initial conversation with the kids into heavy metal, the delightful photo-op with the ladies who probably don't own a single Dylan record, and the hug he gives his corpulent, bearded, longtime fan, this is easily one of my favorite clips of the Man.

Vampire Romance

I think this looks creepy/lovely.

Great Couches in History

Sigmund Freud's sofa. So fucking DECADENT. I would say terrible things on this couch.

My own personal sofa. I've taken many noteworthy naps here.

Corpse Groom

In Memory of the Late Mr. and Mrs. Comfort by Richard Avedon






You can see the whole New Yorker series HERE.

Also check out Avedon's own website. The portrait section is pretty excellent. Personal faves are The Family series, the Literature section, and the John Ford portrait in Film.

Golden Gate

Golden Gate Managers Vote to Build Suicide Net
By JESSE McKINLEY
Published: October 11, 2008
The board that controls the Golden Gate Bridge took a major step toward building a suicide barrier, voting to erect a net under the span.

Spiders on Drugs

Everyone can vote!

I don't have a lot of sympathy for anyone involved in this clip. Encouraging uninformed people to loudly shout their personal/political opinions into a video camera is the moral equivalent of getting boozed-up girls with low self esteem to flash their tits on spring break.



Later that night, the self-righteous cameraman received his comeuppance (and a lesson in irony) when a crowd of folksy racists* and townie homophobes took turns sodomizing him in the alley behind Ruby Tuesdays.

Take that, universal suffrage!


*extra irony: probably the same people who made Beverly Hills Chihuahua the #1 movie in America last week

I remember my name, but

1
I have no memory of being anything other than what I am in the moment
now: indivisibly helpless and cruel-minded.

Here on rot-stinking shores, diseased with shipwreck,
I abandon hope
a floatless boat,
a flightless bird
with wings for swimming,

a cash-colored imagination, gathering
all that was in one place
indifferent,
piece by puzzling piece, inept and true to life,
choice no longer waiting for itself to divide

into choices made by time alone
to desecrate all that is and was; here,
a focused beam of apathy melts
tragedy into history, big ideas
into empty punctuation.

Is it a virtue to speak without speech? a sin to walk without walking?

My back is behind me for good enough reasons
and I do respect the tide, despite the redundance

2
of life,

I sit and I sit as if all this were

nothing

more than a foggy mirror, my testes throbbing
ancient songs of seasons deep
in throes of repeating
last year (you remember what happened,
risking life for a moment of Good,
looking for God
in the least understood).

Frustration, capsizing
waves of blissful head-shaking,
love-making…

“Man overboard!” Eternity yells

its reflection aloft. I’ve been here before,
in all this embrace, repeating the words
made flesh to myself
in the dark and in time,
deaf already and losing my sight

3
in time, as if it were meant to be so, like bacon cooking in its own

white fat, thrashing in mortal thoughts that
pop and splash on everything around
but the eggs,
whose white shells await war-crack release,
a fragile inner peace-plop
lost in the recipe now and forever

as causality (a simple faith in the sense of things
we know we don’t possess) is
there in the eggs as in rain, covering streets
in sloppy-wet kisses,
numbing the feeling that “more” is good,
not a pathetic word ignored when
Art speaks volumes in favor of bad,
in favor of less,
in favor of nothing that can be said

4
but I seem to have more dreams
when I sit up in bed unasleep,
kept awake by an incantation:

howsandwhysandwhosandwhat
whensandwhysandwheresandwhat
whysandwhosandwheresandwhen
whosandwhatsandwhysandwhen
(repeat ad infinitum)

as nightmare flames ignite my soul, daydream embers
keep it warm, lighting wherever I am in vain
with lack to the point that I cannot breathe.

Nonetheless, the seat is mine.
There’s no one else unless you count my Self,
the “somewhere-else-as-always” of me,
the indistinct point of a desperate plea for help
and love on sand of plenty
as waters rising flood the city,
buses colliding with horses on pavement,
loose teeth tugged until off they come
tumbling, threading displacement among
the many, a rush to the end of whatever began
when we didn’t exist, and I wasn’t here,
yelling my head off as if someone would listen

5
“Chaos offers us healthy disorder.
A dose of destruction is good for the system
when taken with water, but the wet can’t be helped.
They will always be wet and before I forget,
vanity breeds rats on Sundays
to drown on Mondays
and that’s how the mirror stays clean.”

*This is an experiment. It's essentially 3 separate poems I tried lacing together, but I didn't think it was smooth enough to not keep the numbering, which I'm attracted to anyway.

Catching up on the debates

I read an article in the NY Times this morning, which was comparing the Obama campaign to the (Bill) Clinton campaign. There was criticism on the way Obama held back in the town hall forum, and didn't reach out to the people like Clinton did in the 1992 debates. As I was only 7 or so at the time of the Clinton vs. Bush vs. Perot debates, I had to look into Clinton's ability to give a "psychic hug" to a struggling American people:



While I was youtubing this, of course, I stumbled across these debate gems:

A Week Before Christmas

i.
I heard you went to church
that morning. And the rope

was it already noosed? knotted?
I didn't go to church that morning.

I stopped praying when I colored the Savior
black and blue in CCD, his heart gold,

a cold purple crown.

But you went to church early that day.
And I missed the morning.

You would miss the evening.
It will pour on Christmas.

ii.
I woke up late,
brunched at the Toast

because Harvey's was closed,
my sister and I, frustrated.

You were muttering. Perhaps
praying? You were silent.

Crying? There was silence.
I had eggs over-hard on toast.

I scraped my plate clean.
And you swung.

iii.
Your three daughters are shaking, Donna.
Last night, your eyes were closed like mine

and I saw them screaming, tearing
at their hair, their young faces crumpled,

torrents of tears.
Their fingers only fists.

It was desperate, Donna.
I turned in my sleep so many times last night.

There was nothing else I could do.
You lay in your silence

your last words held fast in a still heart.
Winter settled thickly about you.

Our Sarah

Call me what you will, I thought this was deserving of one good gut laugh.

"We're gonna do a MONTAAAAAAGEyah"

This is the "number 2" training montage in my book.


"Number 1"? Must you ask...

San Fransicko

Tonight, I got drunk
Spoke brashly about Indian Women
And drove home slower than normal
listening to Michael Savage

Earth from Above

The Earth from Above exhibit is going to be in NYC from May 1st to June 29th this year.

I may Fung Wah it down there to check it out.

Yer Darn Tootin' That's Putin

In 9th grade, my history teacher engaged our class in a Capitalism vs. Communism debate where he was pro-Communism and the class was pro-Capitalism. In retrospect, this was an incredibly stupid exercise, although I remember making the argument that Communism doesn't allow for Michael Jordans or Dominic Wilkenses or Larry Birds or Spud Webbs (I was really into basketball at the time). On the contrary, Communism allows for Vladimir Putin, who is apparently a Judo master with a black belt and is beginning to market that fact.

Who do you want to go toe-to-toe with Putin on your behalf, McCain or Obama?

Poetry

I can't get enough of this.



The Great Ecstasy of the Sculptor Steiner (1974)

A good, swift, violent story

From The Postman Always Rings Twice by James Cain:


"You talk like it was all right."
"Who's going to know if it's all right or not, but you and me?"
"You and me."
"That's it, Frank. That's all that matters, isn't it? Not you and me and the road, or anything else but you and me."
"You must be a hell cat, though. You couldn't make me feel like this if you weren't."
"That's what we're going to do. Kiss me, Frank. On the mouth."
I kissed her. Her eyes were shining up at me like two blue stars. It was like being in church.

I'm 24

on the way home
i threw some
rocks at

these ravens
just laughed

and not quite on
the way home
flew back to themselves

Invitation to Stare

Couple, 2004

By making pictures that are erotically charged but resistant to the hurried viewer's quick scan, Brown hoped "to make people stop and look as long as possible. People have lost the habit of standing still in front of a work of art. I didn't want them to feel they'd gotten it too quickly. I always wanted it to be more than one thing, to be multilayered. It could be funny and very serious at the same time."

It could be funny and serious at the same time.

The Up Series

This weekend, my roommates and I started watching the Up Series. It's a series of documentary films following a group of British children as they grow up. They were selected at the age of seven from schools all over England, attempting to get a representative sample from all social classes, and every seven years, the students are interviewed again. The original director believed that the social classes in England were so strict, that they would effectively determine the type of people each of the children would grow up to be.

I've seen "Seven Up!," "Seven Plus Seven," and "Twenty-One Up" so far, and I've found them all fascinating. The last installment of the series was in 2005 when the group turned 49, and a new installment is expected in 2011 or 2012.

The whole series is on Netflix, and many of them are available for instant viewing on your PC.

happy birthday josh

hey everyone, today is josh's birthday. three cheers for his parents having a special moment many years and nine months ago!

Great Characters in History: Omar Little

Unlike movies, where the narrow constraints of plot and length occasionally enable a single actor to dominate and carry the story, television series depend more heavily on the contributions of the supporting cast to facilitate plot development and sustain viewer interest over an extended series (years rather than hours).

Viewed as an allegory for the increasingly transparent political and economic processes in the information age, HBO's The Wire clearly presents the motives and actions of all its characters for viewer scrutiny. Rife with carefully examined subplots from elected officials down to the homeless informants and teenage dealers on the Baltimore streets, The Wire's dramatic tension is derived not from curious speculation (like in labrynthine plotted shows such as Lost, where nothing is simple or clear) but from the grim anticipation of knowing exactly what is happening.

This blunt and forthright form of storytelling is perhaps best exemplified in the story arc of shotgun toting stickup boy Omar Little (Michael K. Williams). Loosely based on the real exploits of Baltimore stickup boy Donnie Andrews and others , Omar, elegant and charismatic, robs drug dealers. While he does occasionally let some of his profits slip back to the needy in his community, he's no Robin Hood and banks most of what he takes, viewing his work as a profession like any other. In one memorable scene he is excoriated by a self righteous defense attorney for preying on the misguided and disadvantaged youth who work in the Baltimore drug trade; Omar narrows his eyes and retorts "Just like you, man. I got the shotgun, you got the briefcase."

Omar might not harbor any romantic illusions about his role in society, but he exhibits a strong sense of the unwritten rules that govern his work and that of his drug dealing colleagues. When angry dealers murder and brutally disfigure his lover Brandon early in the series, Omar takes the excessive nature of the crime personally and he escalates the focus and intensity of his own work. By turns sensitive and unapologetically violent, he has an affection for Greek mythology, whistling "Farmer in the Dell," frequent and emphatic use of the phrase "true indeed," and unlike nearly every other character on the show, never cusses.

Dry Spell

In search of worms,

a small bird hops over many twigs,

beak a bit cracked and empty.

His tiny little belly is a vacuum

of hope,

making his dream of a short year hard.

Date Night

Tonight (for your pleasure),
I’ll wear dark jeans,
a tight, grey sweater,
and lofty shoes.

you don't need a reason

I Betcha Can't Watch It Just Once

If it is a man of the 90's undeniable right to quench his thirst in his own way, were men of the 80's not granted that same right? I don't like this commecial because it features Richard Lewis or an obsolete "adult-juice box," not the out-right condemnation of a cola-dominated beverage scene, but because the 32 seconds it occupies is even more stupefying to me now than when it first left an indelible impression at 7.

Showering / Life

Everyday
I open my eyes,
born to a dead mother.

I shower and ask:

"Brush whatnow when?"

I answer with action:

"In order for clean to make any sense,
dirty must first exist

In mirrors,
time reserves the right to itself.

Time is dirt,
which is not

Clean is immortal and human
Transcendence
is clarity,

a reckoning with nothing of any importance
beyond its reckless elimination

in vain.”
I pass the toilet as I exit.

Schlitz Alert

Word on the street/internet is that Schlitz is reintroducing its original formula. Learn more HERE.


As far as dirt cheap domestics go, I thought the Schlitz I'd been drinking was pretty ok. Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to the Original formula.

Also, Google Image searching "Schlitz" yields some quality results. It seems they were fond of incorporating ham sandwiches into their ads whenever possible.

at six horses

the news is on
at six
I watched six horses
standing in the snow
at seven you

asked me

about the news
at six
horses standing in the
snow is all that I
remember







(note: the idea was that timelines for experience are irrelevent and thusly, when recollecting or experiencing anything, beginning and end is - within reasonable limits - arbitrary. You can start and finish (or not finish) where ever you please and depending on where you are when you stop to look up and try and understand something, you're bound to come up with a different view than at any other given time or place. Maybe this works? Maybe it doesn't? Maybe it's a frivolous exercise, but I refuse to accept the blame for that; any language that lets one word mean more than one thing only encourages frivolity amongst its users)

Her Thumb is a _____!

Courtesy of Digital Spy: A collage portrait of Paris Hilton made from porn magazines has gone on show at a New York gallery. British artist Jonathan Yeo is behind the work, which was purchased by Damien Hirst ahead of last night’s opening.

A similar image of President Bush also forms part of the exhibition, reports The Associated Press.

A gallery spokeswoman said the Hilton portrait is titled “Paris, 2008″ and posters of it will be sold for $20 (£10.80) each.

Yeo is offering the star proceeds from the sale of the posters because she never received any money from the notorious 2004 sex video that starred her and then-boyfriend Rick Salomon, the spokeswoman said.

When trying to capture their subject, an artist is faced with the task of trying to find the medium that will best convey the vision the artist is trying to express. Hell, I couldn’t think of a better way to get at the very essence of what Paris is about: sticky pages from porn mags! The only way it could get any better would be to have a frame made out of unused condoms (because you know she doesn’t bother with those) and the packaging from Valtrex. What do you think Yeo used as glue? You decide.

To see more go to http://yeeeah.com/2008/09/26/paris-hilton-portrait-made-of-porn-collage/

I Smell Oscars.........

Doubt

Frost/Nixon

Postcard

my shirts don't fit.
i've lost weight and
i'll admit that
life is fair

and just

in case you're worried
i'll bring back no regrets

Newman's Own Epitaph

Here lies Paul Newman
Who died a failure
Because his eyes
Turned brown.
-Newman's own epitaph

Great article on Paul Newman and the transition from Old to New Hollywood. Check it HERE.

Paul Newman is dead, still great.

My favorite Newman's Own product is Newman's Own Creamy Caesar Dressing and my favorite Paul Newman movie is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

You?

Buddy Bell, Topps '87

As a baseball loving boy in the early and mid '90s, I had an extensive collection of cards, some of which had considerable monetary value (at least according to the secondhand copies of Beckett that my grandfather filtered down to me).

However, despite close attention to and awareness of the fluid value of all my cards denoted by Beckett's directional arrows, I was prone to coveting cards that were worth nothing. Most of these were obscure Boston players (Bob Zupcic, Carlos Quintana, etc...) but I also became strangely enamored of the 1987 Topps Buddy Bell card (below).


I knew nothing (and still don't) of Buddy Bell beyond what I learned from the stats on the back of his card, yet I still carefully slipped at least half a dozen copies of this particular card into protective sleeves and binders.

Early signs of irresponsibility, financial indifference, and an affection for alliteration and the irrational tenets of Romanticism?