Movies: The Matrix -- Bum Watching

Funny how "The Matrix" -- which was so influential for a little while, in terms of style, how, I dunno, dated it is, too. I enjoy it more now than I originally did. I actually found it very disappointing when I saw it on the big screen. Trinity reminded me of Abby Normal, a character I'd made at least a decade before (herself my own kind of take on Molly from "Neuromancer" -- a recurring character William Gibson used in a few tales). At any rate, "The Matrix" blew its wad after the first movie, staggered, stumbled, fell.

One thing that amused me with it, however, something that was never really dealt with in the pseudo-scientific spackle that made up the story was the Matrix itself. One image in particular (and a minor one at that) always stuck with me -- it was near the end, when a bum in the subway sees Trinity and Neo do something extraordinary, and that alerts Agent Smith, who appears in a few moments to attack Neo. Well and good.

But the bum in the subway always amused me -- Smith talks about how suffering and strife appeared to define humanity's existence, and how perfect Matrices led to the loss of "whole crops" (as he termed humanity). So, the concept of struggle was introduced, and the Matrix ideal archetype was set, with late 20th century civilization set up as civilization at its peak.

So, there's the bum in the subway, and I always found myself wondering: who gets to be the bum? Who's the lucky soul who is the Designated Bum in the Matrix world? For much of the movie, you see this very clean corporate world -- lots of movers and shakers, a few working-class types, some shadowy cops, even some rain-slicked streets and derelict buildings.

But who gets to be the bum? How does that work out? In this world, a variety of situations can lead to that, sure -- mental illness, terrible sustained misfortune (?) -- both? It takes something pretty bad for somebody to end up a bum. However, in a created universe, one that is administered as the Matrix is, something (the Architect, I guess?) is deciding who does what. I guess the program decides that X% of the populace gets to be bums, Y% gets to be famous and rich, Z% occupies some middle niche.

In the movie, you see Cipher talk to Smith about what he wants to be, when he gets plugged back in, and so you can see that there, at least in theory, is some process of allocation in the Matrix, at least for those who are aware of it as a construct.

That being said, say you are one of the unlucky sods who ges to be The Bum. Since the system is a program, since your Bum archetype is effectively your programming, is it possible for you to rise above your "station" -- to become more than a bum, more than a derelict? Or is that guy resigned to his condition, drinking rotten booze and laying there in a subway with his newspapers and his filth because he's lacked the willpower to move beyond his programming.

Given the ghetto Nietzschean values that underpin so much of "The Matrix," it's very hard to look at the Bum and not think that this guy is just a complete human waste, and if he only had the Will To Power(tm), he'd be a player like Neo and Morpheus and the other Matrix Kool Kids(tm).

All the same, I find it funny to think of these constructs with their apparent lot in life, just because it's one thing to have a construct of a playboy club kid, or a restauraunteur, or a tycoon, or fashion model or a rock star -- but the bum? How much does that suck? Big-time. So, is that an expression of the inhuman cruelty of the Matrix in action, or does the Bum(tm) serve a purpose within the Matrix itself, as a cattle prod to ensure that the constructs within it are all busy working hard so they don't, themselves, end up as bums? Since nothing in the Matrix is truly accidental (since it is a program, we have to assume this, right?) -- then the Bum exists for a reason.

Still, I can't help but laugh every time I see that hapless bastard in the subway -- it's somehow an extra screw-job to be a bum in a virtual universe. Bad enough to be one in the real world, and somehow an extra kick in the teeth to be one in a virtual world.

Calendar Girl

I loved Calendar Girl from the Batman animated series. She was only in one episode, but she had such a great look, such killer Gotham villain shtick, and put Bats through his paces...



A pity the character was only conceived as a one-off for the show, because she was great.

http://www.batman-superman.com/batman/cmp/cgirl.html

The only flaw with the episode is the chronology of it -- we're to believe she's attacking seasonally, kidnapping these people and holding them for months before finally planning to dispatch them? Crazy enough, sure, but the practical difficulties of that are daunting, since some of the victims would have been kept on ice for like seven months (?)

But otherwise, it's a great episode.

What are words for?

1733 words (for "Old Hickory", which is currently just under 6000 words).

First proper snow of the season last night and this morning. It looks pretty. The writing weather begins in earnest! Love it!

I didn't get enough sleep last night. Have a bit of sleep-debt going. But had to get some words in this morning.

Magic Number: 3

Stegner

I'm going to try for a Stegner Fellowship next year. Their time of eligibility is September 1 through December 1. I'm going to go for it, will craft some fiction for it. They typically get around 1400 applicants for it each year, so those 1:1400 odds feel pretty good to me! We'll see. That's not for awhile, obviously. Plenty of time. They are primarily about Literary(tm) fiction, so I'll do something Literary(tm) for them.

Still working on the revisions for TGO. I'm about two-thirds done with that. It'll probably take another week to iron them out. I still have to sort out the ending for it, get it right. Then I'll whip up a query for that one, see if there are any takers. More irons, more fires.

Unimog

This is a glimpse of my desk. I have this little Matchbox Mercedes-Benz Unimog truck there. I love the Unimog. It's just very cute. I first saw one at a Target, bought it for B2. He played with it awhile, then lost it (I think it was on his stroller, tumbled away at some point). I was saddened by the loss of the Unimog, and bought myself one (pictured, above). I stumbled across two of them at a Target in Northlake last weekend, and bought both, gave them to my boys. There is something very agreeable about the squat shape of the little trucks. And I love the all black tires, instead of the black-and-silver which is a toy car staple. And I love that the little bed in the back can be put to work.

In my case, I put a Flamingo Casino dice in there. Each morning, I roll the dice, and put that number in the bed of the Unimog. No rhyme or reason to it, just chance.

The number today is 2, incidentally. I'll include the number at the bottom of any post henceforth on this blog. It'll be right at the bottom of the post. That's my number of the day. Of course, only 1-6 will be represented, but that's alright, isn't it?

2

Visions: Chris Cunningham

I think the video director, Chris Cunningham, has a real eye for an arresting image. The Horrors' video, "Sheena Is a Parasite," is magnificent! A snapshot horror movie, full of compelling, arresting images...



It makes me think of my story, "Rotgut." Like a "Rotgut" dance party, basically! Good times!

I'm intrigued by his work, his approach, and his vision. Curiously, he directed a few Aphex Twin videos, which amuse me, because an Aphex Twin tune is referenced in one of my books.

Are We Not Males?

The title of this book makes my mental wheels turn a bit...

HEADLESS MALES MAKE GREAT LOVERS by Marty Crump

It achieves a slightly transgressive flavor, but it castrates itself a little with "Males." That single word fatally undermines the title, by weakening the impact of the overall phrase. "Males?" Who says that? Sounds like something space aliens would say, or robots. Now, of course it's alluding to the Praying Mantis, where the female often bites off the head of the hapless male during sex, which helps facilitate ejaculation, thereby perpetuating the species. Oh, sure, sure.

But two other titles scream out at me from the above phrase (and, of course, beyond the purview of the book itself, which is focused on the biology of sexual cannibalism)...

HEADLESS MEN MAKE GREAT LOVERS

Now, that title immediately makes me smile, makes me think "Huh?" It calls to mind all sorts of images, like what the hell the speaker of such a phrase could have in mind -- some kind of militant feminism? A dystopian future where men are fully reduced to their sexual function in the waning days of the sex (since we all know men-as-we-know-them are likely gone in another 150,000 years, at the rate the Y-chromosome keeps declining). Men who lose their heads make great lovers? Some psychotic radical romantic babe who beheads her lovers for whatever reason? All kinds of possibilities in that. And also...

HEEDLESS MEN MAKE GREAT LOVERS

This one almost qualifies as a sophistic manipulation (putting the MAN in MANipulation) of language, perhaps a retrosexual manifesto (haha -- MANifesto; it never stops, does it?) Something that attacks the Death Cab for Cutie school of Wussified Man(tm), seeks out the Natural Man(tm), tosses out Emo Man in favor of the Retrosexual Man's Man, who boldly goes where no man has gone before (or where other men have gone before, but not nearly so well). Perhaps an anti-intellectual screed praising ignorance as strength as the final solution in the war of the sexes. Again, such a phrase is pregnant with possiblities. This one would be strictly nonfiction -- it's a little more declarative than the other one, stakes out a kind of falsely assured tone inherent in those kinds of books. Whereas the first play on that title screams out for some kind of darkly comic horror novel -- a gleeful misandry right out of the starting gates.

It's fun to play with words.

Movie: 2012 (cont'd)

I had a few additional thoughts about "2012" -- the problematic character of John Cusack's daughter in it, the child actress whose defining characteristics are her problem with bed-wetting (thankfully not much more than an opportunity for some goddamned Pampers product placement[tm]) and her tendency to wear hats. But I found it odd, like that parents would pimp their daughter out in such a role -- "Oh, yeah -- you're the bed-wetting girl, right?" Couldn't be sleepwalking, no; had to be bed-wetting. WTF? I dunno. Just seems like that would be an embarrassing first film credit for an aspiring actress. Maybe that's just how it goes in Hollywood.

Cemetery Dunce

Looks like CEMETERY DANCE isn't taking any new stuff until 2010 (if that). We'll see. It's frustrating how tight the short fiction markets are.

Had another short story idea. I'll just put the title down

• Fuggedaboudit

It's not what you think, but I liked having that in the title (and it is relevant).

I need to buckle down this week and get the rest of TGO done, edited, revised, and what-not. Then query it, see if I can get any interest.

Not a creature was stirring

I woke up this morning to the radiator hissing and the heat the great thing churns out. The living room has a long radiator in it, and that thing can belt out the heat. It was something like 3:30 in the morning. Seeing that the boys were asleep, I snuck outside to the car (noting that my building had finally done something about the bad lighting in the alley -- the are now strong lights shining there during the night hours), and I grabbed the toboggan I'd gotten for B1 -- he'd wanted one since last winter. Hopefully we'll get snow this year. When I bought it at Target, one of the employees quipped "You know we're not getting snow this year, right?" and I said "Probably just because I bought this thing." Anyway, he should be very pleased to get it, and it's big enough for him and his little brother. Good times, if the weather obliges!

I snuck the toboggan into the master closet. The thing is pretty dauntingly long, so I had a bit of inspiration and hid it in one of the garment bags for my suits. The thing actually fit in there! What a perfect hiding place! B1 isn't the type to even think about rooting around, hunting out presents, but even if he were, he'd be unlikely to suss out that hiding place. I was very pleased, since I wanted to get that thing into the apartment without the boys getting wind of it. And they're none the wiser. Christmas Commando operation successful!

Doing a lot of revision and editing on "second" novel (I say "second" because it's not really my second -- it's one of many book drafts, but it's the second one that I've gotten ready to sling out to publishers, so it's my "second"). I can't get my hopes up about it, yet -- I am so luck-averse, but I'll try. It's all I can do.

I was pleased to see that CEMETERY DANCE is still churning out magazines. I may send them a story or two. I have done so in the past, to no avail, but think maybe I'll do that again, see what, if anything, comes of it. Several of the venues I want to send stories to don't accept submissions until January 1, so I'm cooling my heels for the moment for a lot of my pieces.

Movie: 2012

I saw "2012" yesterday, on a whim. It was an odd juxtaposition with "The Road" of the day before, since both serve up apocalypse -- one monochromatic, bleak, and cold; the latter, exuberant and hopeful.

Having no expectations of cinematic excellence with "2012," I wasn't disappointed. I knew critics had panned it, but it hardly matters with a disaster movie like that -- what moral message are you going to get from a movie like that, anyway? It's good to be alive? Family's important? Know the right people? Everybody matters? (easy to say when you're one of the survivors)

It was hokey, had a lot of famous people cameos that felt a bit like "Naked Gun" (oooh, that's supposed to be the Governator! Ooh, there's Queen Elizabeth II!) and so on.

The effects are massive and astounding -- an orgy of mass destruction, annihilation on a grand scale, with little people tumbling into gaping holes in the ground, or being smashed by tsunamis (or by aircraft carriers tumbling -- the symbolism of a black President being killed by the carrier John F. Kennedy was not lost on me, whether Emmerich intended it or not, and I think it was intended, since the carrier broadsides poor, ashy Danny Glover, the name of the carrier visible across the flight deck as it nails Glover).

John Cusack and Amanda Peet don't really gel as a couple, and the kid characters are predictably annoying (the character sketches with them are laughably slight -- the boy has a cell phone! The girl loves wearing hats and apparently diapers because she wets the bed -- something that reappears near the end in an all-time terrible line of dialogue). Woody Harrelson's hippy-dippy deejay loves to eat pickles (that's his character quirk, I guess).

But the characters are entirely beside the point with a movie like this -- the only point is the massive destruction, which gets a bit repetitive as you wade through it. Three airplane near-escapes, lots of waves, tumbling mountains, human dignity (and shame) in the face of certain doom, and so on. I can imagine a grad student doing studies of disaster movies, the evolution of them, the arbiters of virtue and villainy.

A few thematic flourishes rubbed me the wrong way -- several times a kind of tooth-sucking about the futility of modern technology and civilized life in the face of ancient prophecies and crackpot "wisdom." Those little bits happened several times, which was annoying. People might think it, but nobody wants the world to end quite so badly as the crackpots, and few are more disappointed (yet undaunted) when the world fails to end on cue -- the world is bigger than the world's religions, but don't tell that to them (or to Emmerich).

Bizarrely, Africa survives the apocalypse, and appears to be the hope of the survivors, owing to some geological quirk. Not sure the point of that, exactly, except I guess come-uppance for Western Civilization and Africa's turn at bat (I imagine malaria will make very short work of most of the survivors who make landfall there, but it's beside the point of a movie like this).

Still, it does its thing -- massive destruction, the aesthetics of apocalypse, like a gaper's delay in traffic, everybody peeking at the car accident as they go by. Move along, move along -- nothing to see, here.

Movie: The Road

I saw "The Road" on Thanksgiving Day, which was either the worst day to see it, or the best, depending on what one is thankful for, precisely. It's a grueling, grim, bleak-as-fuck movie that offers two slivers of hope in it, sort of like being a starving man finding a peanut in your pocket, and carefully halving the peanut, eating one half earlier in the day, and saving the other half for later.

I won't throw any spoilers into this, but it's a terribly dark movie, and you know what's going to happen to one of the characters almost from the outset, as Viggo does some "acting" (he's a good enough actor, with a penchant for extreme roles like these, but he telegraphs something early on that is like a pulmonary Morse Code for "DOOM(tm)" in movie terms -- from the first exhalation, you know where that's going to lead).

Both Viggo as The Man and the boy who plays The Boy (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Charlize Theron, who plays his mother) do a good job conveying the dismal nature of their existence -- it's like a concentration camp without walls, a world-gone-foul in some unnamed, unspecified apocalypse that has claimed the world-as-we know it. Everything is dead and/or dying, with trees falling and not an animal to be found in the wild, or so we're led to believe.

The world seems divided between varying shades of survivors -- good, bad, and ugly -- with the ugly being the cannibals and slavers, in no uncertain terms, and the bad being the merely ruthless and/or opportunistic predators and/or scavengers. I put a lot of and/or in the mix because in a world devoid of hope and trust, it's hard to know friend from foe, since everybody's brandishing a knife or a gun, without assurances of who's predator and who is prey.

Viggo's quest for hope in the South, and his pathological concern for his son's security point to how strongly human safety is bound up in solidarity -- that is a curious thing. Only the cannibals and slavers appear to work together -- Viggo is very much a go-it-alone type, and there's some kind of editorial point to be made in this. Maybe The Man is too much of a control freak to be willing to trust anyone else, but three groups of predators are all doing pretty well for themselves (in relative terms) by banding together. I feel that maybe McCarthy and/or the director/screenwriter might be chalking that up to the predatory lifestyle of those groups, but that they are in groups is exactly how and why they succeed. That, and guns. Work together, and Man can prosper in almost any setting -- work alone, and you become something of a hermit and a vagabond. Viggo the Vagabond wending his way through a shattered world.

The Boy offers a strong moral counterpoint to some very questionable decisions and actions by The Man, which is valid and vital, makes the Boy's presence in the world all the more vital and necessary. Despite the bleakness of their life, he maintains the hopeful promise of a better world in his heart. That is one half of the sliver of hope in this movie.

The other half, as I saw it, was the presence of a beetle, flying free. They discover it in an empty chewing tobacco container, and the bug flies off for parts unknown. I liked seeing that, since we're to believe the world is dead, and no animals live within it (which feels like a cop-out of sorts, or a narrative convenience -- since wild animals would likely be better able to survive the post-apocalyptic holocaust than man). That beetle, not unlike the sprig of green in "Wall-E" showed to me that all was not lost -- that man may have destroyed his civilization, but the world would, in time, heal and move on, long after we were gone. In the (Cormac) McCarthyite world, even that sliver of hope is better than none at all.

Food: The Gemini Bistro

I ate at the Gemini Bistro last night, and really enjoyed it. It's on Lincoln Avenue, and has a lot of dark wood and old-school kind of elegance and ambiance. Everybody's impeccably-attired and the service was tip-top. It classifies itself as an "American bistro" -- which to me means a bistro with fast service, for which I'm grateful, not being one who likes to wait.

I had the Prix Fixe menu (served from 5 to 6:30 p.m.), which is three courses for $31 ($49 if you want wine with each course). I opted for the lobster bisque, short-rib ravioli, and German chocolate cake.

The bisque was really tasty, with very tender lobster chunks in it, great color and seasoning. I could have probably had that bisque the whole evening, just with some bread (the bread is served in shiny metal cones with attached butter caddies). Great flavor. I savored it.

The short-rib ravioli was tasty, qualified as a "medium" plate serving (Gemini does small, medium, and large plate servings, depending on the menu item), and while it was maybe a half-dozen round raviolis nicely seasoned and accompanied with shards of aged parmesan, it was enough, I found, to fill me up. The taste was good -- rich and hearty, but also very delicate.

The dessert was beautifully plated -- a three-layer German chocolate cake, a square of reasonable size (in Chicago terms -- everything here is served in bistro portions), and a pretty little dollop of hazelnut ice cream atop a hazelnut fruit spread (I asked the waiter about that, and he told me what it was, but I forgot the fruit that was representing, there), and a sprig of mint. The cake was tasty, if not mind-blowing, but the ice cream was a nice treat, served very cold and it kind of upstaged the cake a bit.

The bar is a nice, long, broad thing, and they do full meal service there, too. I had the best Old-Fashioned I'd ever had in Chicago there -- their "Velvety Old-Fashioned" which was a blend of Maker's Mark, Cointreau, and Bitters, with the requisite mulled cherry and orange wedge garnish. It was fantastic. I often use the Old-Fashioned as my benchmark beverage for a bar, to test their mettle -- not because it's a complicated cocktail, but because it's such a simple one. And I am pleased to say that they nailed it -- strong and flavorful, I had two of them, and had a little trouble putting my jacket on when it was time to leave, and my head was spinning for about an hour after leaving. That is one good cocktail!

I had no complaints about the food or the service -- both were very good. I don't have any complaints at all, really. The Gemini is a nice place -- very Chicago, in its mix of elegance coupled with a lack of pretension. The only discordant notes (and they're minor, truly) were the music -- when I came in, Cream was playing, which just doesn't fit with the decor and overall ambiance of the place. Not that one wants the trademark Smooth Jazz(tm) or whatever, but it just didn't fit with the beauty of the place -- the music changed later, but it still wasn't quite right. Also, the television in the top corner above the bar seemed out of place. Sure, I get it -- a bar with a television -- who doesn't have that? But at the same time, the place seems too sharp for such a common contrivance. Maybe its absence would be felt, but something about the Gemini Bistro, to me, makes it seem a classier place than that.

But those are very minor complaints. I enjoyed the food, loved the cocktail, savored the ambiance, and appreciated the setting. All in all, I'd say it's well worth your time, if you're in the area. A great place for brunch, lunch, and most definitely a place to take a date.

Four out of five stars: * * * *

http://www.geminibistrochicago.com/