Plaza de Mulas

Plaza de Mulas (2003) Syrah. Mendoza - Argentina.
X-mas present from Jon.
Very nice. Starts a little tight, smooths out nicely. Good flavor, and finishes well. Strong, kicks like a mule, leaves you stumbling slightly and reaching for another bottle that isn't there. Label resembles something out of an old Western movie, horses, thatch roof, guy playing a guitar. This is not a peasant's wine, though. Recommended.

Reviews - the world of apocalypse and grace

Saving Grace (2000) - Woman's husband dies. Truth of husband's deceit comes crashing down upon woman. The affair. The debts. The cold reality. What to do? Perhaps...seeing as how she is a wonderful gardener and all...perhaps she could make a little money selling drugs? Not that she comes to the conclusion right away, mind you, it just sort of happens. And hilarity ensues. And the ending is odd, but I won't give everything away.
Rating: three of a kind.

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004) - This is pure pulp entertainment. It is pretty to look at, the story is well executed with enough little twists to keep it interesting, the acting is solid and the effects are spot-on. Worthwhile.
Rating: flush.

Apocalypse Now Redux (1979) - The longer director's cut. This is a brilliant movie to begin with, and while the extended version does not add too much essential, it doesn't detract from the story, either. This movie just drags you into a place that you are thankful not to be in, a vision of hell that is occasionally terrifying in its' beauty.
Rating: royal flush.

If your life was a movie...

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

cook before eating

I've noticed the label before, but it never really bothered me. Maybe I'm just in one those "moods". The frozen pizza box, and the dire warning: "Cook Before Eating". The frozen eggrolls and Lean Cuisines remind you to "Cook Thoroughly". On the other hand, the vegetables have no advice against eating frozen broccoli, in fact I am reminded not to overcook the corn lest all the nutrients be destroyed. The fish doesn't have any reminders about not eating it while it is still frozen, either, which I think is a dire oversight, a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Some warning labels are appropriate, and I know it's cliche to comment on the loss of common sense in this world, but still...cook before eating?

audio vortex

Music related posts will now be appearing on the audio vortex page.

Review: Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
This is when the books went from medium to large. So from now on, it is going be quite tricky for the team creating the movie to cover the territory completely enough to satisfy an audience that in some cases tends toward the obsessive. What I will say is that they have made a good start of it. Yes, things get left out, but the core of the book is there, and enough of the periphery is covered to not require too much backtracking through the rest of the series. What gets left out is detailed explanation of some things, such as the workings of the pensieve; there is an extent to which the film relies on the audience being able to fill in the blanks for themselves.
Some of the criticism I have seen talks about the pacing of the movie, and it is true that some parts feel rushed. But it doesn't really detract from the story. We also get a darker tone, but considering the direction of the series from this point forward, it has to be dark. The effects are fluid and generally integrate well into the live action shots. And the casting is spot-on all the way through.
It's pretty much a given that any fan of the books will see this movie, so this review is less about making a recommendation than simply acknowledging that this is a worthy addition to the series, in fact the best so far.
Side note: the kids at this showing were very well behaved, and there was about a half hour's worth of commercials and previews prior to the start. Preview highlight: King Kong. Preview lowlight: Cheaper by the Dozen 2.
Rating: four of a kind.

kma fandango

Note to Firefox users: the Fandango ticket site does not seem to work on Firefox. Shame on them.

White Apples - Question 1

What three meals from your past would you like to eat again? Describe the three most memorable meals you've ever had -- one breakfast, one lunch, and one dinner. (from White Apples, by Jonathan Carroll).

Difficult question. Some of my most memorable meals I would not choose to have again, for the reasons that made them memorable. The Tony-Paul brawl dinner, for example.

Picnic lunch, road trip with R, 1998; somewhere in Colorado. Relatively warm, but snow all around, drifts hanging over a clear stream.

I'll edit this when I think of other meals.

12.20.05 added:
There was a breakfast, actually a brunch, a few years back with the J & K group, a lot of people from college, over at the Twisted Spoke. I don't remember what I ate, or much of the concrete details, it just sticks out as a moment with a group of people that would soon after be scattered to some extent.

Dinner. What was it we ate? Yummy salad, and perhaps some fish and pasta concoction? It was a couple years ago at Tony and Ron's place near L.A. Memorable for the massive amounts of wine and details of old family stories/skeletons.

Reviews: Down by Chow

Finally caught up on my rental reviews with these last two...

Down by Law (1996) - From the poetic, whimsical mind of Jim Jarmusch comes a tale of three cons thrown together in a jail cell too small for their ambitions. Tom Waits, Roberto Benigni, and John Lurie each play their character with such ease down to the smallest detail that it is as though they aren't even acting. And perhaps they are not; maybe they really all couldn't stand each other at first and bonded over the course of filming. In the end, maybe it doesn't matter which road you take, so long as you are ready to start walking. Rating: full house.

Kung Fu Hustle (2004) - This movie is just silly. But what does one expect from the guy who unleashed cult classic Shaolin Soccer upon the world? The martial arts are like a live-action cartoon, which I suppose is the blessing or curse of the movie; purists who long for Bruce Lee authenticity and cringed at Crouching Tiger will absolutely abhor this entry into the martial arts canon. But if you're okay with a thin plot and deviously fun fight scenes, this is not to be missed. Rating: flush.

flipping channels

It's a Sunday night. Flipping channels, bouncing between movies, a mid 80's nostalgia festival being played out on multiple stations. Pretty in Pink, Goonies, Sixteen Candles. I check the listings, fully expecting Say Anything or the Breakfast Club to be on as well, but no. But I'm struck by the naive sweetness of these films, for some reason more today than any other time I have seen them. Maybe it's just an overload of soundtrack driven sentiment and longing for moments I never really had. And I'm wondering if I still could have such moments, or if I am too cynical, too old and wizened to the cruelties of the world to have them.
I take life for granted too much, perhaps. I look for joy, but I don't think I seek out nearly enough. I don't take risks the way I did when I was young, I mean really young, to the point where even if I knew better I just didn't care. Silly things like sneaking off on my bike to Ford City to see the aforementioned Goonies. Twice. At the age of 12, and that was the last time I ever sat in a theater by myself, and probably the last summer when I wasn't self-conscious and worried about other people's opinions.
I hate how shallow and defiant this world is. I hate how callous people are. I hate these traits in me.

Reviews: the legless hitchhiker

More reviews.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005) - When one is adapting a beloved work of fiction, there are really a few central questions to be answered: Can the spirit of the work be captured? What is essential and what gets cut? Does the interpretation cheapen the source material? Will the fanboys rip you a new asshole when you don't get it just right? The answer to all of those questions, obviously, is 42. Seriously, all that I hoped for with this movie was to come away from it not thinking about Douglas Adams spinning in his grave. And it succeeded on that level, streamlining the story a bit and casting the characters fairly well. While it isn't on a scale of adaptation as Lord of the Rings, it doesn't disappoint. It does help immensely to be familiar with the book, though, so novice hitchhikers may want to grab their favorite towel and read the source material prior to seeing it. Rating: full house.

Saw (2004) - Thrillers are not my usual fare. I find them boring and predictable, generally latching on to some signature style and then playing it out over numerous sequels that devolve into farce. That said, I was very pleased with how this movie played out, the twists it took, the dilemmas the characters faced, and the prospect of Cary Elwes hacking his leg off. A good, fun movie for your next family get-together, with the holidays upon us it would also make a great stocking stuffer. Rating: straight.

Dodgeball (2004) - Another uncharacteristic choice for me (I'm pretty damn picky, I know). Pirate Steve! Dodge! Duck! Dip! Dive! Dodge! The main characters pull it off nicely, and their are some choice cameos sprinkled throughout. Pretty much exactly what you want from a brain-dead "let's all get together for some beers and a movie" kind of evening. See it, and remember to dress in leather for the occasion. Rating: straight flush.

!vOrTeX! 11.05

"That's a very satisfying carpet." But I don't have a shirt to go with it. How can I take a hiatus if I cannot even dress for it? And yet, here we are, a month of absence in the land of mix CDs, and despite having consumed in that time a quarter of a bottle of krupnikas, half a bottle of vanilla-flavored vodka, numerous varieties of beer, perhaps a glass of scotch, Bailey's, white rum, numerous red and white wines, and even some madeira, these are all things that didn't kill me. Still, anyone can appreciate such a satisfying carpet.

Reviews: colors and casino

Catching up on recent Netflix items that I never got around to reviewing.

Le Cercle Rouge (1970): French flick about two cons on a job and the savvy officer trying to track them down. Scenes that revolve around cigarettes, trunks, lessons in metallurgy, and why it is important to run fast. An interesting predecessor to some other heist/robbery movies. Rating: three of a kind.

Blue/White/Red (1993-94): The Three Colors trilogy. Various takes on love and loss and the lengths we will go to trying to hold on to a dream. Alternately tragic, soothing, and passionate; each film stands on its' own quite well but it does seem best to watch them all in succession. Oddly, it is rarely the main characters that hold our attention as much as the supporting cast, who infuse each movie with just the right amount of mania, level-headedness, or balance that is needed. All together, I rate this series a straight flush.

Casino Royale (1967): A satire of the Bond films, a showcase for experiments from directors who should know better, Peter Sellers, Orson Welles and Woody Allen, editing that tries to rescue the movie but only brings to the fore what a mess it was to begin with. There are a few brilliant moments that make it worth seeing, if you can manage to sit through the filler. Rating: two pair.

More catch-up reviews soon.

Pool

It has been so long since I played pool. How long has it been? I don't even know, that's how long. Met up with Richard, Brant and George at a location that shall remain undisclosed, since it is apparently the "super-secret pool room that nobody knows about where you can always get a table." And this is true. Some things never change, though; I still have a knack for making a difficult shot and then following it up by missing an easy one. One thing I did realize is how much I miss playing, so if anyone's up for a game, let me know. And then I can let you in on the secret.

random 11.5

I know I haven't posted much lately. I've been busy writing a treatise on climate change, entitled: "Global Warming - An Intelligent Design Perspective, or Tell St. Peter to stop playing with the thermostat."

Carving at Chris and Anita's

"It's been a rough life, alright? Grow up on a nice little patch of ground, surrounded by your buddies, only to be uprooted, tossed onto the back of a truck, and sent off to sit in a huge cardboard box outside a supermarket waiting for someone to take you someplace warm. But it's okay, really, I'll get by. Say, can you be a pal and pour me a stiff drink?"

Chicago sports

Let me be the first and perhaps the only one to say it: We are living in the midst of a charmed time for Chicago sports. I mean, when I consider the droughts our various teams have had, and then look around at my group of friends largely born in the early 70's, it is fair to say that we have not suffered through the years of sports disappointment that our parents and grandparents have endured. The Bears, Bulls, and now Sox have come out on top, giving us a solid team to root for in the 80's, 90's, and 00's. So if the theory I'm building here is correct...Blackhawks in the teens and Cubs in the 20's? Or is that optimistic? And yes, I know I am ignoring the Chicago Fire soccer team, who have also been winners in the past decade, but they lack the historical context of our other franchises. Anyway, Cubs fans, don't give up hope. Your decade is coming. GO SOX!

Hum

The scene: Michele acquires some passes to Rockfest, a free all-day show down in Champaign culminating in a reunion set by local heros Hum.
M comes down from Green Bay and Saturday morning we hit the road for Chambana; I passed through town a few years ago but otherwise haven't really been back since leaving in 1996.
We make good time and decide to go get lunch. Off to the Courier in Urbana we go, the food there is okay but they make the best milkshake in town. I'm a sucker for good desserts. Eavesdrop on a conversation at the next table about the definition of dusk. Yeah, that's college; debating the meaningless with big words.
Drive through campus (Green street is worse, more commercially in-your face and devoid of character than the last time), and ditch the car near a park in the vicinity of "downtown", about two blocks from one of my old apartments. Take a stroll, no particular hurry; drop into Jane Addams used bookstore. I am relieved to see that it hasn't changed a bit; M keeps asking me about nostalgia and yes, I admit I am nostalgic for places like this. As we progress through downtown, I am surprised as much by what is gone as I am the places that have survived; restaurants and coffee shops that opened when I was in school are still here, but the bars have all pretty much moved or been re-christened.
We swing by the festival and see that there isn't much of a crowd yet, so continue walking around. Eventually end up at Cafe Kopi for coffee and kill an hour doing a crossword puzzle.
So, the opening bands: Missed The Boat Drunks; saw a little bit of Whiskey Daredevils (blah), Liquid Soul is a rock-funk outfit from Chicago, they were decent but had a less than ideal crowd for their participatory style; American Minor made an attempt to recreate the grunge protion of the Singles soundtrack and failed; and Shooter Jennings is a country group with no sense of irony that played too long and collectively needs to bathe.
But we came there for Hum, and they were worth the trip. It was a decent mix of material, a little heavy on the later stuff but they played it with vigour. There were a few people in the crowd that I would like to have decapitated, obnoxious drunks and a few too many who thought they were at a campfire sing-a-long.
Ran into John F at the end, rescued M from some guys hawking some nonsense, and hit the road.

!vOrTeX! 09.05

In creeping crawlspaces we lay in wait, taking sustenance from tree roots that penetrate the foundation. Our hands are rainbow paint guns, fingertips stained permanently; the police took our prints and were highly amused. As if on cue, he was late, not for the last time; and the second hand sweeps like a windshield wiper, keeping time in a twenty-one tick tape loop, we see what we want to see and then we see it again. Climbing, can't get a toe-hold in the chain link fence, dogs getting closer, moving away, slipping down, climbing.

most days are like this.

analysis

A thought I haven't thought through. I'm not charismatic, exactly, but I have a goofy side, a mode that maybe comes across as immature or silly, moments when I just don't care what people think, or I do, but I choose not to process any negatives. So what is that about? Is it rooted in having to be the responsible one? Do I occasionally fend off being uptight and serious all the time by coming up with the most random larks? Is that why it has become harder over time to be passionate about anything? Without competition or a sense of gravity or someone needing me to do something, I get complacent. Is there a touch of the martyr in all of that, and assuming there is, I know I resent it a bit.

The National review

One of the best places to see a band in Chicago is at Schuba's. With a capacity of about 200 or so, there is a nice intimacy to the setting. The room has decent acoustics, a bar in back, and I have always found the crowd there to be polite. And they waste no space; the band actually enters the room via a door leading onto the street; exiting their tour van/bus, taking three strides over the sidewalk, through the door, up 4 steps and gathering around their respective instruments. Any more low key and it would be a friend's basement.
We (J & K, George, Mike S) staked out a spot near the back, which is to say about 30 feet from the stage. It was the early show, so the opener was Talkdemonic, a 2-piece from Portland whipping off tight little tunes devoid of lyrics but heavy on drums, synthesizers, and electric violin. They were decent; though I didn't pick up the CD it would probably make good background music after a long day.
After a ten minute break the six guys calling themselves The National ambled up on stage. Lead singer Matt Berninger is a commanding presence on stage, alternately surrounding his lanky frame with a halo of smoke and then straining himself to full height, tilting his neck back and singing up into the rafters as if the devils he were conjuring via his tortured musical protagonists had somehow slipped upwards on their way down to hell. They played a good mix of material from their albums, probably a breakdown of 20/30/50% from their first to most recent. Requests for the piano-driven "Karen" led to Berninger quipping that he "had to forget how to play the piano for Karen". They finished up with the song that drew me to the band a couple years ago, "Available", off of Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers. Catch them while they are still playing the small venues; maybe they'll never get popular enough for the bigger places but they deserve to.

Beck review

Beck at the Riv. The house was packed. And hot. At least I had the sense to skip any attempt at style and wear shorts, even though I was chilly when I walked out of there; a small price to pay for not overheating. The opener (McRory?) was this guy decked out with a couple keyboards strapped to his side like a gunslinger, drum pads all over his body, and effects pedals wired into his arms. Basically a high-end street performer with the demeanor of someone who got nabbed off a corner and thrust into the spotlight; book him for your next party.
I got to the venue first, ironic since I was coming from furthest away. Secured a good spot in line, which was for nought since nobody else showed up until the doors had already opened and the last of the line had already entered the building. Side note, why do I only get chatted up by girls (explicitly) waiting for their boyfriends (girl with sprayed metallic denim purse in same situation as me; good spot in line, no tickets on hand).
Anyway, ask me for a set list and I'll be vague; I have gotten really lousy with song titles. But he played a lot of the popular stuff, and threw in a couple of his slower Mutations/Sea Change songs, which was nice. There was an interesting little acoustic set during which the band sat on stage and had dinner, leading to a little jam where the instruments they played were the empty glasses and bowls and whatever was sitting around on the table. I guess that's what I expect from a Beck show, a combination of energy and quirkiness, and that's what we got. Overall, a good show.
Now, I just want to send some luck out to my friends who are flying into the teeth of Hurricane Rita for a wedding in Houston this weekend. Stay dry, or at least on solid ground.

stray thoughts

Here comes the rain, a little late.
The foundation is going in next to the old house. All things change, all things change...
Talked to my grandfather who turned 77 yesterday. He seemed to be in good spirits. He has picked up on the "find yourself a girl and settle down" theme. If only it were as easy as that.
Going to the Beck show tonite. Haven't been to a concert in what feels like ages, an uncharacteristic dry spell.
Where is my passion?
Have been on a cleaning kick lately. The place got too cluttered. Went through the closet and disposed of a Gap jacket I have had for 15 years, grey, worn through in the cuffs, zipper broken; in college Gabe dubbed it the "grampy-gap", suggesting that it gave off the impression of a rumpled old man. The name stuck, everyone called it that. I violated a fashion rule, I think; the moment that an article of clothing is so associated with you that it gets a nickname, you should dispose of it.
If everyone in the world would just shut up and listen once in a while, we would all get a lot more accomplished.

house photo status

I'll pick up on the house photo series soon. In the meantime...have had to drive past the old house a few times today. They have ripped out all of the vegetation in the side yard and have started putting some ugly yellowish siding up.
I suppose it's only a matter of time before they knock down the garage and break ground on the flat they are going to build in the side yard.

ceiling details

A couple detail shots of the bedroom ceilings. Imagine taking the time to pattern an entire ceiling this way; that was pretty much the whole second floor of the house. Looks like potato masher and comb for these patterns. I liked the comb version better; it was more soothing, less like having a thousand little stalactites hanging above you.

bathroom radiator

Upstairs bathroom. Isn't that just the cutest little radiator ever!?

bathroom

The sink and toilet are not original, but the bathtub is. It was moved once to refinish the outer portion (it was painted black for a long time) and to fix the floor. The original pull-chain toilet with the occasionally leaky tank mounted near the ceiling wasn't replaced until the late 80's or early 90's. Despite its' quirks, I was kind of sorry to see it go; I didn't miss the sink, though, one of those dual faucet affairs where you alternated between hot and cold.

back view

The view out mom and dad's west window. Top of the back porch roof, green deck tent, and garage. Pussywillow bush/tree branches on left, maple in center, dwarf apple tree on the right.

mom and dad room

Mom and Dad's room; window facing south and closet. They had a huge four poster bed that was a good trampoline. The posts themselves had rounded tops about the size of a bowling ball; they could be removed and to this day I don't know how we got through our childhood without ever bonking each other on the head with one of those things. I think they rearranged the room once in 27 years; the furniture was heavy, chiseled directly out of petrified trees.

attic stairs - underneath

Why include a shot of the underside of the attic stairs? Simply for the sake of explaining that the back of the closet in J & J's room was opened up, so that one could crawl to the back and look up to see what you see here. Why this was accessible I have no idea, though I imagine that you could perhaps hide someone in the space if you absolutely had to. Or stash valuables in such a nook. I don't recall ever finding one of those hideaway spots in any of the floors (and yes, houses of that era had such places; I specifically recall a bunch of us neighborhood kids running around through an old house waiting to be torn down and being exultant at finding just such a feature, though sadly there was no treasure there).

J & J bedroom

J & J's bedroom, predominantly. I had it for the year I moved home while saving up to buy the condo. At the end it was John's room. So many stripes in this picture; it's enough to make you dizzy. Better than the crazy forest wallpaper, though. Items that passed through this room included bunk beds, tyco race track, He-man castles and toys, an array of Cubs/Ryne Sandberg memorabilia (when it was Jason's room), enough "best of the 80's" CDs to bury someone with, a couple fish tanks, and various other objects that my siblings and I threw at each other.

radiator

The radiator in my old room. Underneath, the land of lost coins and matchbox cars. Soon after we moved in, my dad constructed protective boxes for our bedroom radiators, made of plywood and window screen. Once we were old enough not to burn ourselves on them, the boxes went away. We would have tie pins full of water underneath to keep the house from getting too dry (poor man's humidifier). They were a good spot to sit and look out the window, weighed a ton, and thankfully were never noisy.

my old room

My old bedroom. For a while it was orange. Then it was blue. Did I unconsciously know I would end up at U of I (where the school colors are orange and blue), or was it mere coincidence?
This shot focuses on the corner where my 30 gallon fish tank rested for years. The two kissing fish lasted the longest. Guppies, neon tetras, mollies, platys, zebras, and suckerfish (proper name? I don't remember. The long skinny ones that eat the algae) were also prominent residents.
When my sister inhabited the room she went with the purple and black accents. Before the move, it became the office and baby toy room.
The windows face north and east, respectively.

stairway - cutaway

Shot from the foyer looking at the stairway. Notice how a section of the wall has been cut away; it may look like it was designed that way, but it wasn't. It was an almost immediate change to the house upon moving in, necessary to allow furniture to be brought upstairs. In the end, it wasn't a drastic enough change; it became necessary to set up scaffolding outside and take apart a window to get my parents' entire bedroom set up to their room. (Their bedroom set is made of wood, very heavy; substantial enough to keep a fireplace going for an entire brutal winter). The cut in the wall later served as a good spot to peek around on x-mas morning, as we kids would crowd the stairs trying to ascertain the extent of our holiday loot while waiting for mom and dad to wake up.

backyard beastie

Looking out the back door...and then a dragon appeared and used its' fiery breath to torch the deck!

alarm

After the garage was broken into (and the bastards made off with my Dad's Harley, among other things), we put in an alarm. Of course, we would often forget to turn it off before going in to the garage, so the horn for it could be heard blaring about a block away on occasion.

kitchen - hallway

Looking from the foyer down the hallway toward the kitchen; back door visible all the way at the, um...back. Originally the hallway wall was fitted with white metal cabinets from the floor to about a foot or so shy of the ceiling, with a yellow laminate countertop running the length of it. The area in the kitchen, where the cabinets were later added, was bare; for many years the dinner table was there. The floor was tiled for years, until the tile was finally removed to reveal the wood underneath. It wasn't in the best shape, but they sanded and varnished it to the point where it looked decent.

stairway railing - detail

The sturdy railings at the bottom of the stairs. How many times did we bump against them, sit on them, climb over those railings while chasing each other up and down? They were like pillars sunk into the earth; they never budged. The woodwork detail is not unique; I have seen it in at least one other house (I don't remember exactly where, though). Originally, the wood was stained darker, but my parents carefully stripped the varnish and sanded it to reveal a lighter shade that better delineated the texture of the wood.

living room - detail

The original light fixture(?) in the living room. It was painted a few times; it ended up a sort of metallic blue, but it was also gold for a long time. It added a little character to a room that was generally rather plain, with the exception of the x-mas season when the tree would go up and dominate the space.

this old house - intro

The next few posts will be a photographic journey through the rooms of the house in which I grew up. It was in my family's possession from 1977-today. It was big enough, had a good yard to play in, was built sometime in the 1920's (we think), and survived all attempts by myself and my siblings to destroy it. I'll miss this house.

magma

First Tuesday of the month, 10:00 a.m., time to do the tornado siren test. But in my head, I thought "volcano siren". Is this a sign that natural disasters have become so pervasive that I immediately think the worst? Do we actually need a volcano siren here? I would hope not, but the way things have been going, I'm not taking anything for granted.

and then two

Two political posts in a row? Not typical for me. Two open seats on the Supreme Court? During the tenure of Bush the Lesser? Our civil rights are about to go "poof".

Hindsight

Hindsight. They say it's a bitch. I say it's a Bush. To me, the best hindsight will be the ass of our fearless leader in January 2009, officially removed from his throne room in the (white) frathouse. It's a tragedy when you don't see it coming; it's negligent manslaughter when you do. Yes, people should have gotten out of New Orleans, but some just couldn't. So thanks for cutting the funding for flood management, dismantling FEMA, and depriving the country of the personnel to handle such an emergency, you arrogant asshat. The word "quagmire" seems even more appropriate now as we view the pictures of an historic marshland crumbling away. Was it folly for New Orleans to even exist? Maybe, but that is the triumph and potential tragedy of the human spirit; the Panama Canal was folly; reversing the Chicago river was as well, but they were big dreams that worked and in the end we celebrated our ability to conquer nature for our own benefit. So it seems hypocritical to criticize the existence of the place, though I suspect that if more of its' inhabitants were upper class and white there would be far less of such talk.
Go back to the ranch, Georgie-boy. Get on your bike, and the next time you crash it, try to impale yourself on something. It's the Christian thing to do.

captured moments

"Summer Skin" - Death Cab for Cutie (2005)

Squeaky swings and tall grass
The longest shadows ever cast
The water's warm and children swim
And we frolicked about in our summer skin

I don't recall a single care
Just greenery and humid air
Then Labor day came and went
And we shed what was left of our summer skin

On the night you left I came over
And we peeled the freckles from our shoulders
Our brand new coats so flushed and pink
And I knew your heart I couldn't win
Cause the seasons change was a conduit
And we left our love in our summer skin

Days and days

Happy birthday, Michele. The spider plant is still alive. Happy birthday, C. My reality is still fiction.
Amongst the J & K group, 3 major separations in as many weeks of long-time couples. Is there something in the air? Or do statistics catch up with us all at once?
Movie 1: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - A whimsical, well crafted remake; worth seeing. In hindsight, the previews for this movie were awful; whoever edited them should be buried alive under gobstoppers.
Movie 2: Le Cercle Rouge - 70's French sort-of gangster-noir flick; the bad guys suffer for their trespasses but we get a nice lesson in metallurgy along the way. Artsy, interesting.
Movie 3: Blue - First in the 3 colours triad; I'll probably mention this again once I see the other two (go, Netflix, go). When you lose it all, it's a thin line between giving up, hiding out, and rebuilding. In a sense, a testament to the power of music to keep us from slipping away into the darkness.

flightplan

Okay, is it just me, or do the promo posters for the new Jodie Foster pic Flightplan make her look like she's about 14 years old? (Considering she is 42 at the moment, this is either impressive or creepy.)

Peering 'round corners

Dear Sarah Shu - John Vanderslice (2005)

dear sarah shu,
I leave for you
all I knew about this job
on microcassette for further review

what it meant to me
how you’ll make it dear, hopefully
it’s dangerous here
yes it’s dangerous here

peer round corners with dental mirrors,
heed the threats, taking cautionary measures,
in the end, it is love
you’ll have to learn to survive

dear sarah shu,
I leave for you
all I knew about this job
on palmcorder for future review

your office will flood every night,
it’s water, don’t try to fight it
suspend all your files using
my system of hanging wires

break apart what I connected
show what I only suggested
’cause in the end it was love
I had to learn to survive

picture me by the window sill
wrapped in copper wire, my autumn sleeves,
with torn up directives
spread round the floor like shoreham leaves

picture me locking office door, now
kneeling down on the floor,
screaming: “protection,
I can make it, I can make it!”

peer round corners with dental mirrors,
heed the threats, taking cautionary measures,
but in the end, it is love
you’ll have to learn to survive

so long, sarah shu,
farewell to you,
stay calm, stay sweet,
regards from the other side of the teeth

break apart what I connected
show what I only suggested
’cause in the end it was love
we had to learn to survive

theology footnote

If there is a heaven, an afterlife, some sort of otherness after this physical plane, I'm putting in my request now to be returned to this dimension as a guardian angel.

!vOrTeX! 08.05

August came, and almost went, and out of the shadows crept a new compilation of music to be shared amongst the friends of the troubled and perhaps psychologically unstable proprietor of the nightmarevortex. And in the wake of such news, cows around the world wept; the river of cow tears coupled with the methane they produce in such staggering quantities created a potential liquid fireball destined to destroy the planet. But such a fate was avoided; alas, the solution came in the form of a large meteor of ice that pierced the planet, severing it into two halves that would forever drift apart.

"Close"

Telepopmusik (2005)

I don’t put a smile upon your face no more
I can’t make your heart shine like it did before
You don’t listen to my stories anymore
You can’t comfort me the way you did before

Was I too loud, was I too bad
Was I too open
Was I too high, was I too fast
Was I too close

I don’t feel your lips like the first kiss
I’d rather run away than sit to face the truth

Was I too proud, was I too hopeful
Was I too needing
Was I too crazy, was I too long
Was I too giving

No matter how far, no matter how long
I will be there

miles to go before i sleep

Notes on helping my sister move from Fort Collins to Green Bay...

Wednesday: Flew out to Denver on ATA. Easy flight. When we landed, there was a rainbow past the eastern edge of the airport, which I could see from one end to the other. I took that as a good omen for the days ahead.
Found Michele and headed back to Fort Collins. Her place was mostly packed up, so we went out to Beau Jo's, the only good pizza place in town. Honey garlic cheese bread appetizer! Yum.
Michele was a little worried about leaving behind all of her wonderful Colorado breweries (New Belgium especially), so I had to convince her that she will still be able to find good beer in Wisconsin.
Eventually joined by her friend C; after dinner hit the Rio for one of their famous margaritas. Then off to a favorite dive bar (where a cool pint glass was liberated as a souvenir) for a little while (the jukebox was frightening; why must Jimmy Buffett exist?) then back home to sleep.
Next day, Michele's car having been loaded full of plants (a rolling greenhouse) up onto the trailer it went. Finished packing up the truck and hit the road.
Soon, Nebraska. And more Nebraska. Tra la la, Nebraska. Not enough cars on the road to play silly license plate games, Nebraska. 37th state admitted into the union, Nebraska. Arbor day began in Nebraska, which is simply astonishing, considering that there seem to be so few trees, at least along route 80, and yes, we are still, still, persistently in, wait, we are almost passing near Lincoln, originally Lancaster, almost done, and what else can I say about: Nebraska. (Good luck with this one, Sufjan Stevens).
Eventually we hit the Days Inn near Des Moines. Ah, sleep.
Early start for Friday. By the time we hit Green Bay around 3:00 p.m., the truck will have burned through about $350 worth of gas.
3 hours later, the truck is unloaded, the tow hitch is reattached to the truck (after a bit of struggling and cursing), the greenhouse has been emptied out, and the fish that rode in the truck cab the whole way is now on more solid ground (so to speak). Michele and I bickered a lot more than I would have expected, but she's stressed out over the whole ordeal and I'm just tired.
Green Bay is, in fact, very green. In the spots where it is not an industrialized slab, anyway.
Saturday, the apartment starts looking less like a collection of boxes and more like an actual home. We head out in search of some decent coffee (I am going through caffeine withdrawl and wake up with an awful headache. Michele explains the physiological effects, something to do with arterial constriction, but I don't remember her explanation very well because my head was pounding and there was no aspirin at hand). We drive from one end of the city to the other in about 20 minutes, stopping at a drive thru Starbucks (ugh) and spotting a promising brew-pub during the excursion; by the time we get back to her place Mom and Dad are sitting there waiting for us. More unpacking and setting up, and eventually we hit the aforementioned Titletown Brewing Company for lunch. Eventually, back in the car and headed home; it has been a long few days.

Botanic Garden

Yesterday was a nice day to go visit the Chicago Botanic Garden.

Pictures: Page 1, Page 2.

Hyperbowl

Went to Gameworks at Woodfield last night.
They have this bowling game. You spin a bowling ball while navigating it on the screen through various types of lanes. We played a San Francisco theme, with hills and trolley cars and bums adding to the difficulty (okay, there weren't any bums, but why not?) Anyway, my hands are absolutely wrecked from that game; I think I now know what arthritis will feel like, and if this is it I'm surprised that people who suffer intensely from that condition don't simply cut their hands off.

Review: American Splendor

American Splendor (2003)

Paul Giamatti is one of the best character actors of the moment. He takes his lack of grace and classic good looks in stride, adapting to each role through sheer force of will. Tony Shalhoub is a bit like that, too. Anyway, American Splendor is the story of Harvey Pekar: depressive, manic, and autobiographically dizzying. Pekar narrates and occasionally appears in his own story, spliced with the occasional bit of animation done in the shifting style of his inconsistently illustrated comic books/graphic novels. The movie jumps around a bit, and has a few throwaway moments and narrative dead ends, but anyone who agrees with the notion that artists tend to suffer for their craft may appreciate the inverse relationship presented here: some artists' suffering is their craft. Well acted and worth seeing.
Rating: flush.

on moving and moving on

This time a week from now I'll be in the air, a window seat to Fort Collins by way of Denver, to help my sister move.
The process will involve a large truck and an even larger expanse of nothingness along Rte. 80.
Thus continues a tradition of helping people move. Seems like I do that a lot. I'm useful for the heavy lifting in life, but for the day to day routines I'm more of an annoyance.
I had a conversation with someone the other day about work, and my time off this summer, and it contained this small revelation: I am always trying to save people, always trying to be helpful to the point where I leave myself no time to work on what I need to fix for myself. It's a disastrous pattern. When the situation doesn't call for me to do something useful, I don't know what to do. It's as if I had no purpose outside of the present need, and once the problem has been resolved, I cease to exist.
It's a mixed blessing type of trait. On the one hand, I can be very dependable, very useful, but on the other hand, in the interim I am a bit boring and generally uncomfortable with my surroundings.
I have no idea how I got this way.
Maybe it goes back all the way to junior high school, when the dumb but popular kids depended on me to save them during group projects or to pass along last night's homework to copy, and I would do it to stay in their good graces and somehow be included.
That seems kind of silly, though. I guess I just don't know.
I hope the truck has a CD player. I'm not anticipating a lot of good radio stations between Fort Collins and Green Bay.

catblog1

Tori is tireless in her search for catnip; my cat is an addict but I'm okay with that.

all of those yesterdays

Drown, by Smashing Pumpkins

No matter where you are
I can still hear you when you drown
You've traveled very far
Just to see you I'll come around
When I'm down
All of those yesterdays
Coming around

No matter where you are
I can still hear you when you dream
You traveled very far
You traveled far, like a star
And you are
All of those yesterdays
Coming around

Is it something someone said?
Was it something someone said?

Yesterday the sky was you
And I still feel the same
Nothing left for me to do
And I still feel the same

I wish, I wish I could fly
I wish, I wish I could lie
I will, I will try
I will, I will
Goodbye

exhibitionism

The beauty of the online personals sites isn't the ease with which one can find a date. In fact, it's quite the opposite. It's the extent to which they steel you to the concept of rejection. You go to the trouble of trying to describe yourself within the categories and word limits offered, put up a picture or two that may or may not be flattering, and then wait for your reality check. Because what you think you want, what you think you deserve, is an illusion in this virtual dating world. And yes, I know people for whom this whole concept has worked, and I am happy for them. I don't put a lot of faith in it, though, ironic perhaps given my dependence on technology in general.

Exhibition

You are...

Review: Morvern Callar

Girl (Morvern Callar) works dead end job in supermarket. Girl (played by Samantha Morton) comes home to find that her boyfriend has bled out all over the kitchen floor, wounds self-inflicted, note tapped out prior and beckoning to her from the computer screen.
And then things get weird.
A book has been written. There's some cash left in the bank account. And the hard truths that nobody else knows don't have to be faced, don't have to be dealt with, do they?
"Be brave", says the suicide note. "I wrote the book for you", it says. And so we follow Morvern around, as she erases her past and springboards off of death into a new life that she will create for herself in the colors of sunset and flowers left for the dead, in a haze of cigarette smoke and "e".
It is a dark and beautiful movie, and when it works it is brilliant, and when it doesn't you just want to reach through the screen and give Morvern a good shake. Not sure if it is worth seeing, but it is definitely something different from the usual tripe out there.
Rating: three of a kind.

imagined conversation #3

I asked you once if you were ever engaged.
And I said no.
But I never asked if anyone ever proposed to you.
Well, obviously, if anyone did, I said no.
You're not answering the question.
Nobody ever asked.
Why do you think that is?
What do you mean?
I mean, do you just project a sense that you don't want marriage, or are you afraid of commitment, or what?
Maybe I just don't want to settle.
Ah, yes. You still think perfect exists.
Why shouldn't I think that?
Can you prove it does?
Can you prove it doesn't?
I can make my case more easily than you can.
I suppose. But that doesn't mean I should give up on it.
What if perfect is what you create, not what you find.
You're chastising me now.
Am I?
You're telling me that I date around too much, and that I should just settle on someone and mold him into what I want.
Yes, but not exactly. I'm saying that you should look for quality over quantity.
But I have to look in a lot of places to find quality.
Fair enough. Find it yet?
No.

pictures of you

Pictures of You, by The Cure

i've been looking so long at these pictures of you
that i almost believe that they're real
i've been living so long with my pictures of you
that i almost believe that the pictures are
all i can feel

remembering
you standing quiet in the rain
as i ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in
holding you close
how i always held close in your fear
remembering
you running soft through the night
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
and screamed at the make-believe
screamed at the sky
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go

remembering
you fallen into my arms
crying for the death of your heart
you were stone white
so delicate
lost in the cold
you were always so lost in the dark
remembering
you how you used to be
slow drowned
you were angels
so much more than everything
hold for the last time then slip away quietly
open my eyes
but i never see anything

if only i'd thought of the right words
i could have held on to your heart
if only i'd thought of the right words
i wouldn't be breaking apart
all my pictures of you

looking so long at these pictures of you
but i never hold on to your heart
looking so long for the words to be true
but always just breaking apart
my pictures of you

there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to feel you deep in my heart
there was nothing in the world
that i ever wanted more
than to never feel the breaking apart
all my pictures of you

pictures of me

Pictures of Me, by Elliott Smith

start stop and start
stupid acting smart
flirting with the flicks
you say it's just for kicks
you'll be the victim of your own dirty tricks
you got yourself to tease and displease
doors swinging wide
you walked in to hide
looking at your feet
failure's complete
saw you and me on the coin-op tv
frozen in fear every time we appear
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
go walking by
come another guy
jailer who sells personal hells
who'd like to see me down on my fucking knees
everybody's dying just to get the disease
hey hey hey hey
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
completely wrong
totally wrong
i'm not surprised at all and really, why should i be?
see nothing wrong
see nothing wrong
so sick and tired of all these pictures of me
oh everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease
everybody's dying just to get the disease

kodachrome

I am not photogenic.
Thus I am thankful for digital cameras. Now, no money need ever be wasted on having a picture with me in it printed.
There are perhaps two decent pictures of me taken in any given year, since about the age of 7, when I stopped being cute and transitioned into slightly geeky, sort of shaggy, definitely self-conscious.
This isn't a lament or anything. Just one of those simple truths that one must face.
I sort of raise one eyebrow when I try to smile. I don't know why. It gives me this weird half-squint look. Catch me off guard, and maybe it'll come out okay. Or when I am in the midst of a truly happy or content moment. But I can't force my smiles.

Review: Oryx and Crake

"When any civilization is dust and ashes, art is all that's left over. Images, words, music. Imaginative structures. Meaning - human meaning, that is - is defined by them."

Atwood's vision of the future builds on what we know of the world today: science, technology, climate change, geopolitical conflict, class issues, and so on. It is a land of bioterrorism where the elite are hidden away in their protected, germ-free domes, using their skills to build what they hope is a better life, or at least one free from the pain of the outisde world. As is typical of any fictional utopian/dystopian vision, things fall apart.

"How much misery...how much needless despair has been caused by a series of biological mismatches, a misalignment of the hormones and pheromones? Resulting in the fact that the one you love so passionately won't or can't love you. As a species we're pathetic in that way..."

But why do things fall apart? Is it about our excesses, either self-destructive in and of themselves or aided by nature taking a hand in curbing them, or is it a question of how we relate not only to the world but to each other? And in the end, what exactly is human nature, and is it inherently good or evil? There are the questions Atwood raises, and while she doesn't exactly answer them, she makes her point in the midst of a well-told, chilling narrative.

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood (2003). Rating (using the poker hand scale): four of a kind.

red lobster

Spent the day at the 57th street beach (with J & K and Soren).
Do I ever learn?
The spots where I usually burn: those are okay.
The spots that I perennially forget about? Oh, yeah: burnt.
I've been to Phoenix in the summer a few times, and today felt like that, only more humid.
Needless to say, I won't be doing any limbo dancing or other non-esssential moving about this evening (or the next day or two, most likely).
And yes, cheapskate bry has turned the a/c on, so don't worry, my poor kitty cat will not collapse under her fur coat from heat exhaustion.

red schoolhouse four

Little Red Schoolhouse, series 4.

Review: In America

Watched In America last night. It is about an Irish family that moves to New York in the midst of dealing with the grief of a dead son while trying to eke out an existence in the city that embodies the "american dream". To explain the movie too much would give away the plot, but ultimately it is about family, life and death, and the beauty in little moments that keep us from retreating entirely within ourselves. The cinematography is exceptional, and every character is complete; you get to know everyone in the movie well enough in the first hour to be able to predict what they will do, but rather than make things boring it makes it all the more satisfying to see each of them emerge from the darkness of loss.
Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight flush.

An aside: This is my first experience with Netflix; my initial impression is very positive.

the walls don't speak

Ginger Snaps, Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips (2003)

When the cowboy sings
When the Saturn rings
When the ginger snaps
When the thunder claps

You can cut my hair
You can fill my cup
You can tell me lies
You can make it up
We're gonna make it after all

I don't need to know who's right or wrong
It's not a crime to change your mind

When the kitchen sinks
When the sugar winks
When the doctor calls
When Niagara falls

I'm a wayward Tom
I'm a silver streak
And the walls have ears
But the walls don't speak
We're gonna make it after all

I don't need to know who's right or wrong
It's not a crime to change your mind

Don't need to know
Don't need to know...

Purple Prince

"From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork."

First of all, while I am not a midnight buyer of this book, I did manage to read the whole thing in two days. One nice thing about these books is that they are relatively quick reads, even given their ever-increasing mass (though this volume seems slightly thinner than Order of the Phoenix). Okay, so, no spoilers. You probably already know that someone dies, and the whole book sort of sets you up for it. The underlying theme concerns choices, whether they are the type confronted by typical teens or issues of life and death. A great deal of backstory is filled in, which manages to keep things interesting during intervals of class mishaps and attempts to spy on Malfoy.
The records set for sales of this book so far will be nothing compared to how quickly (magically?) the seventh and final tome flies off of the shelves.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling (2005). Rating (using the poker hand scale): full house.

Review: Speaking with the Angel

"What I reckon is: everyone's a loony. However normal anyone seems, deep down inside they're actually mental, every single person in the world and the whole of your life you have to learn not to seem mental to other people, who are all mental, too." - Colin Firth

A short story collection edited by Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, About a Boy) featuring a number of noted (mostly British) authors. All of the work here is worth reading, and it jumps around a great deal in style and theme, so just about any taste should be satisfied. Best: Colin Firth's The Department of Nothing, about a boy dealing with the death of his grandmother. Last Requests, by Giles Smith, explores the emotional challenges in being the person who cooks the last meal for death row inmates. Decent: Hornby's NippleJesus follows a guard through a few days standing watch over a controversial work of art. The Slave, by Roddy Doyle, centers around a middle-aged man trying to keep up with age and the changes in his life.

Speaking with the Angel, edited by Nick Hornby (2000). Overall Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight.

Part of the proceeds from the book were donated to autism schools in New York and London.

-.-- --- ..- .- .-. . ... --- ...- . .-. -.-- .--. .-. . - - -.-- .-.-.-

You never know when you'll need a morse code translator.

"billowy white pile"

So somehow I missed this story last week about the herd of Turkish sheep who jumped off of a cliff. Apparently sheep don't lecture their young..."if one of your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?"

poker weekend

Friday night with the regular group, as detailed on the poker night page. Played Saturday night as well, for Rick's about-to-be-a-daddy-we-will-never-see-you-again gathering. The Players: Rob, Rick, Jim, Michelle, Brian, Brandon, Mike, Me. The stakes were higher than what my usual group plays, but in the end I didn't mind since my two 5's held up against an A-8. Oddly enough, I played the same final hand Friday night, but it didn't work out that time.

Review: Röyksopp - The Understanding

Röyksopp returns with a thinly veiled pop album. Behind all the synthetic echoes and lyrics nearly swept away in swirling bliss, they puff-paint their way through a series of lost loves and frozen moments. As with their previous, Melody A.M., this album will get cherry-picked for uptempo dance-floor remixes; it's almost as if they hold back a bit on some tracks in anticipation of how they might be reimagined. That's okay, though, this is still a strong set with some decent guest vocals and very little filler. Best tracks: Only This Moment, What Else is There, Circuit Breaker (reminds me of Pet Shop Boys circa Bilingual).
Rating (using the poker hand scale): full house.

!vOrTeX! 07.05

Nightmare Vortex, Inc. is proud to announce the release of the July vortex compilation. In order to properly highlight the magnitude of this event, we have placed various objects under your seat to be employed during the celebratory unveiling. You will find: A rubber hose, 2 quarts of ice cream, a stuffed owl, a vintage pair of knickers, a mouse, an unpublished Tennessee Williams manuscript, and a grenade. Each section of the audience, please watch for your cues and please hold your applause and your nose until the end. Thank you.

Various potentially inconsequential

It looks like this weekend will be a poker extravaganza, with matches already set up for Friday and Saturday. Of course, between buying booze for Tuesday Night Dinner, and the usual weekend poker game, and whatever I manage to consume during the week, the local liquor store should either be giving me frequent drinker discounts or tossing a note with the location of the local AA meetings in my bag.

Last night at dinner I heard about a kid whose middle name is Thor. What is the most unique name, middle or otherwise, that you have come across?

I know I promised some music reviews, and promptly reneged on that statement; I'm trying to finish up the July vortex compilation and then I'll get around to it.

Left Behind

Lyrics by Aqualung (Matthew and Benjamin Hales)

Open the curtain
Let some light in
I feel so grey
The world got smashed to pieces
And put back together
The wrong way

Why you leaving me now?
There must be some doubt in your mind
Can't you open your heart
Don't want to be left behind

You open your mouth and I know what you're going to say

Open the window
Let some air in
I feel so old
There - where we were happy
Long ago
Yesterday

Why you leaving me now?
There must be some doubt in your mind
Can't you open your heart
Don't want to be left behind

You open your mouth and I know what you're going to say

A swimming pool and an ocean

"The individual soul touches upon the world soul like a well reaches for the water table. That which sustains the universe beyond thought and language, and that which is at the core of us and struggles for expression, is the same thing. The finite within the infinite, the infinite within the finite."

The genius of this book is the way in which it makes you identify with a character so far removed from our typical existence. His struggles, with religion, change, survival, and faith are an inherent part of just about everyone's life regardless of whether we consciously choose to confront such issues on a regular basis. Eventually, we have no other recourse, and we must make a choice. This is a story about cause and effect, and the rationale we use to justify our actions. It is a story about how we define our freedom; about the real and self-imposed limits to our life and our actions. In telling a tale of survival, Martel reminds us time and again that the journey is more important than the destination.

Life of Pi, by Yann Martel (2001). Rating (using the poker hand scale): four of a kind.

Sox

Friday: Out to Comiskey for the Sox vs. the A's. No, I won't call it by its' bought and paid for name. Mostly work people etcetera in attendance. We got an odd batch of tickets, spread out over several rows, but that sort of worked for chatting with people. The game itself was not all that exciting; Sox lost 4-2. Some random thoughts: I had never taken the orange line before. How odd. Ran into a bunch of kids from Savannah, Georgia at the Midway stop here to do some sort of social work project; that was kind of neat; they were all polite but obviously excited to be in the city. It was Rat Pack night at the ballpark, which was a nice coincidence; at the end they had a guy out at home plate sing a medley of Sinatra songs; he was decent. (I know, I am on a run-on sentence kick this morning; sorry.) After that was the fireworks show; we had excellent position for that (center-right field bleachers) but our location also afforded us a hail of ash and debris falling down upon us the whole time. Thankfully, nobody caught fire. Also observed: A guy yelling at his buddy: "Hey, get off your cell-phone; this isn't Wrigley!" Ironic in a park presently named for a cell-phone company.

Must love cats

Prediction: For the entire month of August, anyone who meets up on an online dating site will suggest (sheepishly? daringly? tongue in cheek or lolling?) going out to see Must Love Dogs. In theatres July 29, I'll bet you can already guess the premise, punchlines and outcome. Hopefully it has more depth than the shameless cashing-in-on-a-trend You've Got Mail, though the presence of John Cusack guarantees at least a more apropos range of facial expressions than Tom Hanks could manage...

A heartbreaking work

"What am I giving you? I am giving you nothing."
"I give you virtually everything I have. I give you all of the best things I have, and while these things are things that I like, memories that I treasure, good or bad, like the pictures of my family on my walls I can show them to you without diminishing them. I can afford to give you everything."

This has been sitting on my bookshelf for a while now. And now that I have finally gotten around to reading it, I am struck with the following thoughts:
1. Dave Eggers could have saved himself the trouble of writing this book if, at the time of the events in question, he had a blog.
2. San Francisco is best enjoyed with sunblock, a good coat, and a glass of wine.
3. There is always regret and tragedy in death, no matter how we approach it, no matter what sort of resolution we lend to it.
4. Consciously calling attention to the fact of using your characters as voices for yourself is neither brilliant nor creative, it is sheer ego played off as literary device.
5. Read this book. Don't read it. It is interesting, occasionally funny, and tries very hard to be endearing, but at the same time it is unlikely that it will nourish your soul in any way.
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers (2000). Rating (using the poker hand scale): three of a kind.

Disappearing weekend

Friday: We had a big poker night for Jeff's b-day. Good crowd, mumbling, laughing, the sound of chips hitting the table, empty bottles lined up like an art installation in-progress, Andy Goldsworthy's "Rivers and Tides" dvd providing background scenery.
Didn't do much on Saturday; am presently reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (finally) and thus far it is more heartbreaking than genius. I'll review it properly when I'm done.
Sunday, out with R. to Taste of Chicago. Ate: crab cake nuggets (yum), catfish nuggets (okay), Connie's pizza (big!), jerk tofu (and I'm not a big tofu fan, but oh-my-god it was excellent), rainbow cone (of course), enchiladas (decent), pot stickers (quite tasty), and I'm probably forgetting something. Went early enough to catch a lesser propertion of stupid people who do not understand how to walk in a crowd. Took the Metra up there; something I have never done, so it was an interesting ride through the well manicured suburbs through the decaying city stops (Cicero stop especially; looks like it'll fall down any moment now).
Later, watched The Apartment, a Billy Wilder movie from 1960, with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. Classic; excellent movie, some of the dialogue and little comedic touches are brilliant.

Review: Turin Brakes - JackInABox

Turin Brakes JackInABox

The Pitchfork review of this album calls it "a definitively happy piece of work beginning to end." Uh, no. Songs about death, relationships falling apart, and loneliness don't become happy just because you can sing about such things with a smile on your face. That said, if you should find your world falling apart, these are the guys you want to hang out with when you hit bottom. Because there is no guarantee when you are down there that anyone is going to throw you a rope, so you'll just have to start climbing and hope you have the strength to make it back into the daylight. Sometimes your climb is driven by the sheer force of will, other times through cheesy motivational sentiment; what is important is that you keep going and don't stop to look down. "I may be bleeding, but I don't care / See where i'm leading, see I'm almost there / These days lost their meaning, but I don't care / But still we're all breathing, so cry if you dare" (Buildings Wrap Around Me). Some of the material doesn't work, but for the most part this is a consistently decent album. It doesn't reach the heights of the their previous two, but it doesn't have the lows either. Rating (using the poker hand scale): full house.

Brief consultation of the roadmap

I'm in a music review kind of mood, so the next few posts will probably be my unvarnished opinions about recent (or recently heard) releases. Before I get to that, though, let me just say that if you've never seen Keith Knight's comics, you're missing out.

Above the Clouds

Turin Brakes, from new album JackInABox

One, two, three, four
Up above the clouds, it is always a blue sky
Some will try a trick, but you just look them in the eyes
What will they do, when the money runs dry?
Where will they go, when the jet planes can't fly?

When all is said and done I will love you
When all is said and done I'll still love you

Starring out at the stars, you feel helpless and so small
Nothing but closed down bars, no one helps you when you fall
One day this world will be returning to its' prime
We'll all be gone, there'll be no more roads to find

When all is said and done i will love you
When all is said and done i'll still love you

The rain came again,
Cleaning the dream and it always makes me cry, oh my
Something about the rain, it sends memories through my veins
Memories always stain, you can't wash them down the drain
Where will I go when my broken body dies?
And what will I know when i look up to the skies?

When all is said and done will you love me?
When all is said and done will you love me?

Another imagined conversation

Standing on rocks along the Lake Michigan shoreline.

It's a nice night.
Yes.
Do you ever wonder...
Wonder what?
What one choice you made in your life that irreversibly affected everything else after that, and whether you would change it if you could.
Life isn't a "choose your own adventure" book.
I know, I know it's not, but if you could...
I would have picked what was behind door number three.
C'mon, seriously.
I'm stalling, let me think about it for a bit...Let's walk a while.

No.
No what?
There isn't any one thing big enough to qualify.
How can that be possible?
Because too much depends on what other people would have done.
What do you mean?
I mean...look, I could have resisted coming back to Chicago after school. Or been married and divorced two or three times already. I could have chosen to be an architect instead of a teacher, or gone to school in a whole other state. For instance, if I had gone to USC I probably would have drifted up to San Francisco when I was done. And maybe, independent of everything else, I would have met the people I know there now and in turn would know that same group. Or I could have gone to school in St. Louis and stayed and eventually met a different, but still known to me now, group. Or gone to Florida and met L. Undergrad was probably the biggest choice, but I would not change that.
So you think there is a certain amount of the inevitable, no matter what choice you make?
"A certain amount"...yes.
That seems a little depressing.
It's just one way to look at it.
We should have more control over our fate than that.
We believe that we do, and that's why we get out of bed in the morning. I mean, despite what I'm saying, I do believe that we decide our own fate for the most part. But at the same time, I think that we are somehow connected to people in a way that makes it very likely that they will pass through our lives at some point.
So our choices make no difference?
Our choices affect the outcome of those meetings; whether we keep people in our lives or let them go, whether it is a positive or negative thing.
You sure do leave a lot up to fate.
I try not to, but fate always seems to win.

Float On

Spent Saturday watching the ballgame and playing poker. Lost at poker, so my two match win streak is done. Probably won't win again for another six months.
Sunday, out early to J & K's; accompanied them and Soren to the Pride parade. A few highlights: dykes on bikes (loud and louder), seeing Lee on a float (but I don't think he saw us), the defective green beads that left J & K with ink all over their necks, creative uses for black tape, lots of women carrying small dogs (?), the wienermobile (of course), and various levels of sunburn throughout the crowd.
My favorite part: There was a float that had a machine that blew a cloud of rainbow confetti into the air. It stopped right where we were standing, and proceeded to spew confetti for about two minutes solid. I just stood there, looking up where the sun should be, but it was mostly blocked out, reflecting off of the paper rainbow cascading down on us.
Such a fun crowd. I cannot understand why I have never been to one of these before.

Fragment of an imagined conversation

A knock on the door
Hi
What do you want?
A new beginning
It’s too late for that
Another chapter, then
And how would this one end?
Does it have to end?
It always does, why should this time be different
But I thought…
You thought I would wait for you
Well, yeah
I got tired of waiting
Is there someone else?
Makes no difference
There is, isn’t there?
If there were, would you fight for me?
What do you mean?
Would you try to pry me away; is it that important to you?
Yes…maybe…I don’t know; are you happy?
Since when did my happiness matter?
You were happy before
And you weren't, so why would you be now?

Movie night

Friday night, out to Hollywood Blvd with Ydalia, Monica, Jorge and Kerry (work, etc. people). Nice place, you get served food and drinks while you are watching the movie. Saw Mr and Mrs. Smith. It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be; actually, it was okay. Had a vanilla almond martini; very yummy. But the potato skins are weighing me down at the moment. Kind of defeats the purpose of having a lean cuisine for dinner.

The Negotiator

How do I always seem to find myself in the middle of things? At work, for instance, I do an administrative job without actual admin status (or pay, but that's a whole other bitch session). Even my superintendent admits to the difficulty of the position, referring to it as the de-militarized zone. Demilitarized, my ass. I tend to get caught between the needs of the teachers and the demands of the principals, and in my district the two factions are often at war with each other. In the midst of this, I'm just trying to get the job done, dragging the district kicking and clawing into the present century.
Meanwhile...I'm on my condo association board, and the past few days have also found me stuck in the middle of a situation involving a leaky pipe, an irate (flooded) tenant, a useless general contractor, and a bunch of other tenants who would very much like the main cold water line turned back on so they can flush their toilets, please...
I think that if I ever get tired of what I do now I should look into a career as a negotiator.

observations, questions

R makes a better chocolate martini than she gives herself credit for.

So if the unthinkable happened, and B wanted me back, what would I do? I would want to know why. What changed? Meanwhile, she'll go back to her old haunts, looking for that perfect guy to walk through the door, but if it didn't happen yet, why would it happen now? In the end, would I give it another try? Sure, but it's easy to say that when I'm certain that it will never happen.

Am I burning myself out from the inside? How much intensity do I keep in check, and will it eat me away? Is that my curse, Nightoak? A fire that brings people close for warmth, and eventually scalds them?

Maybe I just need things to break so that I can fix them.

Laundry List

Lately...
Went to the Body Worlds exhibit yesterday. Enlightening, creepy, very much worth seeing.
Ate out at Uno's. I had no idea that they had so many locations throughout the country. I drank my first mojito, but M swears that it wasn't authentic (since it lacked mint sprigs), so now I'll just have to learn how to make them.
Tuesday night dinner featured grilled chicken and the best plantains I have ever had. Rick recommended this bio of Philip K. Dick. John and Jenny should now be boarding a plane to Seattle (or thereabouts; can't recall where they are starting their northwest tour). Alas, the submarine squid tour that John promised her is a myth.

So, I have three days left at work, and then begins the stretch of time when I'll have empty days and lots of personal rebuilding to do. Projects to finish around here, a couple beginner's piano books to slog through, Spanish tutorials to be bewildered by. But that is just the tip of the gradually melting iceberg.

You should have known me then...

Finished reading The Time Traveler's Wife (author: Audrey Niffenegger) this weekend. I started on it kind of slowly, but the more I read the less I wanted to put it down. I suppose it doesn't tackle any themes that haven't been dealt with before, but the way issues of love and loss are approached through the device of Henry the time traveler offers an interesting perspective. Also, there is a lot of Chicago in this book, so anyone who knows the city a little can have fun following the characters around while actually being able to visualize the places mentioned. Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight flush.

My baby done left me

I never knew you could dance to the blues. And then I remembered: you don't play the blues to stay in the emotional gutter of lost love, you play it to cleanse your soul, to vanquish your demons, to reaffirm that you are standing on solid ground in the midst of the storm.
First visit to a blues club in Chicago; what the hell took me so long? Saw Lil' Ed and the Blues Imperials, on an evening with my sister and her friend in town for a long weekend; part of the impetus for all of this was to give her friend a piece of the Chicago experience.
Funny, sometimes, how you can live in or near a place for so long and still miss out on so many things that make it real, make it breathe, and give the city a soul. Now that I have some time on my hands, I think I'll have to do this kind of thing more often. Because whenever you go looking for meaning externally, it is nearly inevitable that you look inward as well.
Anyway, B.L.U.E.S is a hopping little joint; smaller than I expected. The crowd moved in and out like a bell curve, peaking at about 1:00 a.m. We were there early enough to score a good table, and watch for M's friends while taking in the crowd, a lot of whom seemed like regulars given the way they bantered with the staff, performers, and each other. But the atmosphere was friendly; I've been to places like that, where there is a core group and you feel like you are stepping into someone else's territory, where they eye you warily and you start to get a bit self-conscious; what are the rules here, what is the culture? So yeah, it was a good night.

The pain we attach to places

Chicago, by Sufjan Stevens

I fell in love again
All things go, all things go
Drove to Chicago
All things know, all things know
We sold our clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

You came to take us
All things go, all things go
To recreate us
All things grow, all things grow
We had our minds set
All things know, all things know
You had to find it
All things go, all things go

I drove to New York
In a van, with my friend
We slept in parking lots
I don't mind, I don't mind
I was in love with the place
In my mind, in my mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

If I was crying,
In the van, with my friend
It was for freedom
From myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes

Lassie! Bruce fell down the well!

Out with Tom and Mike and Steve to see Batman Begins.
It was detailed. And long. And it was dark, yes, but lacked gravity. It had little touches of humor, as an afterthought. Many good ideas, some of which were played out while others were left to decay. I don't know; an interesting notion, but where do you go with the franchise now?

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
What do you mean my favorite sandwich is no longer on the menu?
Why the hell not?
Look, talk to the guy in the kitchen, maybe they can make it anyway?
Damn. That was my favorite sandwich.
Fine, I'll have the Philly instead.

Red Schoolhouse

Photos from the Little Red Schoolhouse nature center.
Series 1
Series 2
Series 3




It's a good place for me to clear my head. Even though it holds certain memories, sometimes revisiting a scene and making it your own again is therapeutic.

Change Forces

All those articles, talk shows, etcetera that talk about what women want in a man, they all leave out one of the most important parts. Sure, you can be sensitive, fatherly, confident, a good listener, and emotionally open; but when you get into a new relationship, you need to figure out if that is what is expected of you. Does she want someone completely different, or does she want to try taking the same guy she's been dating for years and be the one to change him into that ideal man? I mean, look at the bragging rights amongst her friends: "He was okay when I met him, but look at him now. See how much he loves me, see how much I have gotten him to change?" This notion of men as fixers may reflect reality in a physical sense, but in the mental realm it is the women who want to do the fixing. Show up as a polished gem instead of rough quartz, and what she'll see in the reflection is how little work there is to be done, how little she can take credit for. So even if you have those much lauded qualities, they have to be hidden, at least for a while.
Yes, I'm bitter, and this all sounds like absolute shite. I shouldn't base a thesis on one awful experience. But what is a guy to do? You work so hard to reach this popular ideal only to have it thrown back in your face. Give your heart to someone only to see it put in a jar of formaldehyde, placed on the kitchen counter, and be told "Okay, I'm done with you now."

I was stubborn for a long time, and resistant to change. The women in my life have been trying to change me into this person for a long time; it's a bad trade, really, as others have done all the hard work and now someone else will get the benefit of that. I suppose that is how it usually works, though.

Storytime: California Chasm

Tell me a story.

Okay. Northern California coastline. A cliff, about 200 yards above the shore. I am walking along the edge, and there is an outcropping, shaped in such a way that there appears to be a path cut into it. I cannot resist a path. So I walk it, to a section a little higher, like some random boulder just sitting up there. There is a gap, but I can reach across it. The boulder has worn away enough so that I can get a foothold, and I pull myself across the gap and on top of it.
I sit up there for a while, take a few pictures, have a smoke, and just look at the ocean. I wish there was someone there to share it with, but at the same time I am content.
After a while, I am ready to move along. I turn around and look at the path. It seems to have moved away. And now the gap I stepped over a short while ago looks like a chasm into which I am doomed to fall.
I think, maybe I can just jump it. But I worry I'll land wrong and slide off the path, down to the rocks below. I decide to ease myself down backwards and try to step back over. The camera is around my neck, sunglasses in my pocket. As I bend down, the sunglasses slip out, but I am still stretched over the boulder so they don't go far. I snatch them up and put them on; meanwhile, the camera dangles and scrapes against the rock.
I reach a foot out, looking for something solid, and as I am about to start panicking, I find the ground. I shift as much weight as possible to the landed leg and push myself back off of the boulder.
The path is gravelly, and I slip a little, but then regain my footing.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. Slowly, I walk back to the rented convertible, get in, and turn the key halfway. I dig through my CDs...put in Telepopmusik, start up the car, and I'm gone from that place.

I'm Still Here

Radiohead, Talk Show Host excerpts.

I want to
I want to be someone else or I'll explode

You want me?
Fucking well come and find me
I'll be waiting

You want me?
Well come on and break the door down
You want me?
Fucking come on and break the door down
I'm ready

Psychic Poetry

Looking at some of the poems I wrote in the days before things ended with B, I am a little surprised at how prescient they were. But then, I continue to spit out my awful blank verse odes specifically to capture certain moments in my life. To remember when I felt like the world was beautiful, or, more often, to tap into whatever was troubling my mind at the time. The best poetry exists to make sense of the world; that is beyond my scope, though, so I try simply to make some sense of the moment.
M and R understood why I needed to write, even if they couldn't always figure out what the hell I was trying to say. Sometimes I don't know what I'm trying to say, I just start typing and see what happens. I never edit, never go back and change anything. This is why I will probably never write a novel.