Thursday, March 11, 2010
Patron Saints
I have a number of masculine "patron saints." Various guys who have inspired me over the years. I won't say "heroes" or even "idols," because I don't really have proper heroes or idols (just not my style), but there are a number of guys who do (and have, and continue to) inform my aesthetic, who I admire for a variety of reasons which I'll try to articulate as I think about them in turn.
Hipster Love(tm)
Hipster couple kissing. They didn't really have a fraction of that kind of passion in their kissery, mind you. It was like an ironically-detached equivalent PDA, however.
In retrospect (heh, in retrosexualspect), the above is more like how I kiss. When I kiss you, you know you've been fucking kissed.
Thoughts
Rainy morning. We're due for thunder showers today. The only exciting thing about it was the frontal boundary came through so clearly, this line in the clouds, like a tsunami in the sky, bringing the rain. Kinda cool. But not cool enough to photograph, although I thought about it a moment or two.
There was some Hipster Love(tm) at the corner of Clark and Dickens -- this skinny, bearded fellow and his diminutive babe, both in their Chuckies and assorted regalia, naturally, snogging at the corner bus stop like it was VE Day all over again, instead of just the morning commute. Now, I'm all for romantic love, mind you (and believe me, I most definitely am), but PDAs in the morning commute, I dunno. Too much and too little at the same time.
I had some good ideas of stuff I need to work on, writing-wise. Impious ideas. I'm going to play with them a bit. I have been avoiding writing about writing on here because I hate writers writing about writing (much like actors acting in a movie about acting, or dancers dancing about dancing, or musicians in a musical about musicals -- that kind of self-referential stuff makes me gag). But I've got something that is enticing me at the moment, and going to play with it a bit.
Oh, the City is trying to fuck me at the moment. Some kind of disconnect between the online traffic ticket-paying option and the actual office. I paid my ticket many weeks ago, and got ANOTHER notice in the mail, with an additional $50 tacked on because I hadn't paid. But I'd already paid online, and when the first notice went out, I included a copy of the receipt from that fucking payment. The bureaucrats apparently decided that wasn't enough, and are shaking me down again. Pissing. Me. Off. The Donkey's ghost, haunting me from beyond the grave. I may pay AGAIN with a notice saying I have already paid, include yet another copy of it, and complain about it to the Department of Revenue and the Mayor's Office.
Gonna listen to Alice Cooper today, I think -- their first several albums. I started with "Billion Dollar Babies," one of their best...
There was some Hipster Love(tm) at the corner of Clark and Dickens -- this skinny, bearded fellow and his diminutive babe, both in their Chuckies and assorted regalia, naturally, snogging at the corner bus stop like it was VE Day all over again, instead of just the morning commute. Now, I'm all for romantic love, mind you (and believe me, I most definitely am), but PDAs in the morning commute, I dunno. Too much and too little at the same time.
I had some good ideas of stuff I need to work on, writing-wise. Impious ideas. I'm going to play with them a bit. I have been avoiding writing about writing on here because I hate writers writing about writing (much like actors acting in a movie about acting, or dancers dancing about dancing, or musicians in a musical about musicals -- that kind of self-referential stuff makes me gag). But I've got something that is enticing me at the moment, and going to play with it a bit.
Oh, the City is trying to fuck me at the moment. Some kind of disconnect between the online traffic ticket-paying option and the actual office. I paid my ticket many weeks ago, and got ANOTHER notice in the mail, with an additional $50 tacked on because I hadn't paid. But I'd already paid online, and when the first notice went out, I included a copy of the receipt from that fucking payment. The bureaucrats apparently decided that wasn't enough, and are shaking me down again. Pissing. Me. Off. The Donkey's ghost, haunting me from beyond the grave. I may pay AGAIN with a notice saying I have already paid, include yet another copy of it, and complain about it to the Department of Revenue and the Mayor's Office.
Gonna listen to Alice Cooper today, I think -- their first several albums. I started with "Billion Dollar Babies," one of their best...
ANTM 15
The 15th season (oh, sorry, CYCLE) of ANTM began last night! Yay! Crazed models, clawing at each others' egos! I don't have any favorites, yet, and don't even remember the gals' names so much at this point. I don't think there's a theme this year, except that they brought in a 13th "wildcard" model, named Renn -- this blown-away acid casualty sinister-looking model gal. Not sure the logic of bringing her into it, what the selection process was and why she was added outside of the usual process. No idea.
There were the usual pot-stirrers -- the "bad guy" models in there, making everybody's lives hell. I was pleased that one of the semifinalists, Hallie, a self-confessed trust fund brat from Tennessee (who's like Cybill Shepherd's niece or something) -- I was pleased that she didn't make it. The look of disbelief and hate on her face when she realized she wasn't going to be on the show was classic. Like "OMG! This can't happen to ME! I get everything I want!"
Similarly, the long-faced gal with the nose ring (pierced through the center of her nose, like a bull) and twin lip rings didn't make it, either (she had a pretty enough face, in an unremarkable kind of way, if you took the metal out of her mug) -- but she had this look of hurt and bewilderment at not getting picked. And managed the first blur-cam shot of the season as she curled up coochtastically in a corner and cried at her misfortune.
The makeovers were pretty standard -- requisite amounts of tears, shock, and over-the-top elation. Surprisingly, the rivalries and hatreds have started right out of the box -- either some of the gals are serious psychos, or they pumped in angry gas in there or something (sleep deprivation, maybe?) because some of them were already totally feeling the hate for one another almost immediately. No stew-n-brew, but just in-your-face loathing.
There's a pretty gal from Arkansas whose back story was cringe-inducing. Yes, down with Jesus. Yes, met a 22-year-old man in her church (when she was 16, I think is what I heard). Yes, they had sex (her first time -- abstinence teaching, right?) Yes, she got pregnant, and is now a mother of a one-year-old (I think she's 18, now). I missed whether she and El Creepo got married or are just shacking up, but she complained at how their church hasn't accepted them in the wake of that (naturally, following in the forgiving steps of Christ, as we all know all those evangelicals are). So, she's leaving behind her 1-year-old to try for this modeling gig -- WWJD? He'd try to become ANTM! It's an Arkansas Fairy Tale, right there.
One of the contestants, Gabrielle (remembered her name), seemed like a tough-but-smart little snarkling, who bizarrely resembles the character Matt from "Nip/Tuck." I mean, she really, really does, and it kind of freaks me out (of course, Matt's character always freaked me out, anyway -- he looked bizarre, and acted more bizarre than he looked). But they blonded her up at the makeover and it looks better on her. She seems pretty smart, but has that tough-as-nails look to her that is kinda spooky. She's from St. Louis. I can't find pix of the contestants, yet, so I'll post them when I can, and you can see how she looks like Matt.
The next episode has them nude modeling as their first challenge, so it'll be a blurfest, obviously. That always makes me chuckle -- Oh! They're NUDE! But you can't see it, because it's network television, and they're BLURRY! Really, the nudity is beside the point, anyway -- it's more fun to watch them agonize over each others' performances.
There were the usual pot-stirrers -- the "bad guy" models in there, making everybody's lives hell. I was pleased that one of the semifinalists, Hallie, a self-confessed trust fund brat from Tennessee (who's like Cybill Shepherd's niece or something) -- I was pleased that she didn't make it. The look of disbelief and hate on her face when she realized she wasn't going to be on the show was classic. Like "OMG! This can't happen to ME! I get everything I want!"
Similarly, the long-faced gal with the nose ring (pierced through the center of her nose, like a bull) and twin lip rings didn't make it, either (she had a pretty enough face, in an unremarkable kind of way, if you took the metal out of her mug) -- but she had this look of hurt and bewilderment at not getting picked. And managed the first blur-cam shot of the season as she curled up coochtastically in a corner and cried at her misfortune.
The makeovers were pretty standard -- requisite amounts of tears, shock, and over-the-top elation. Surprisingly, the rivalries and hatreds have started right out of the box -- either some of the gals are serious psychos, or they pumped in angry gas in there or something (sleep deprivation, maybe?) because some of them were already totally feeling the hate for one another almost immediately. No stew-n-brew, but just in-your-face loathing.
There's a pretty gal from Arkansas whose back story was cringe-inducing. Yes, down with Jesus. Yes, met a 22-year-old man in her church (when she was 16, I think is what I heard). Yes, they had sex (her first time -- abstinence teaching, right?) Yes, she got pregnant, and is now a mother of a one-year-old (I think she's 18, now). I missed whether she and El Creepo got married or are just shacking up, but she complained at how their church hasn't accepted them in the wake of that (naturally, following in the forgiving steps of Christ, as we all know all those evangelicals are). So, she's leaving behind her 1-year-old to try for this modeling gig -- WWJD? He'd try to become ANTM! It's an Arkansas Fairy Tale, right there.
One of the contestants, Gabrielle (remembered her name), seemed like a tough-but-smart little snarkling, who bizarrely resembles the character Matt from "Nip/Tuck." I mean, she really, really does, and it kind of freaks me out (of course, Matt's character always freaked me out, anyway -- he looked bizarre, and acted more bizarre than he looked). But they blonded her up at the makeover and it looks better on her. She seems pretty smart, but has that tough-as-nails look to her that is kinda spooky. She's from St. Louis. I can't find pix of the contestants, yet, so I'll post them when I can, and you can see how she looks like Matt.
The next episode has them nude modeling as their first challenge, so it'll be a blurfest, obviously. That always makes me chuckle -- Oh! They're NUDE! But you can't see it, because it's network television, and they're BLURRY! Really, the nudity is beside the point, anyway -- it's more fun to watch them agonize over each others' performances.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Blame Canada
B1's school has the kids dressing up as a nationality tomorrow. Any nationality, but they're supposed to come sportin' a look. We didn't really have anything quite right -- Exene was trying to pimp lederhosen on B1, but I said "What, and end up with a lifetime of swirlies for his troubles?" Then I came up with the great idea of having B1 dress like he's Canadian. Voila! Problem solved! A sweater and some slacks and some boots, and presto! Instant Canadian!
*cackle*
The runner-up was putting him in a sweater vest with a tie and having him be British!
*cackle*
The runner-up was putting him in a sweater vest with a tie and having him be British!
Video: High Numbers
I like this archival footage of the Who when they were the High Numbers. This from 1964, doing their hard R&B stuff, the Mod kids all dancing. In Mod, a "high number" was a player, basically, in the slang -- you could be a "high number," a "big ticket," and a "face" (or best of all, an "ace face"). Love archival footage of Mod kiddies, doing their thing. Fun!
That's what all the "face" and "ticket" talk is about in "I'm the Face." I'm the Face is basically saying "I'm tops!" in Mod parlance.
Roger Daltrey's conception of the band was much narrower than it came to be with the Who. He held them squarely in that R&B mode, covering Motown tunes, etc., until the band rebelled against his leadership and the band ultimately became leaderless (and better). Daltrey's iron fist early on kept them together as a unit during the vital formative years, when the rampant drug use of the other three members (esp. speed and booze) threatened to derail them. But the rebellion of the other three allowed the band to break free of its Mod roots and truly hit the upper stratosphere, where they needed to be.
That's what all the "face" and "ticket" talk is about in "I'm the Face." I'm the Face is basically saying "I'm tops!" in Mod parlance.
Roger Daltrey's conception of the band was much narrower than it came to be with the Who. He held them squarely in that R&B mode, covering Motown tunes, etc., until the band rebelled against his leadership and the band ultimately became leaderless (and better). Daltrey's iron fist early on kept them together as a unit during the vital formative years, when the rampant drug use of the other three members (esp. speed and booze) threatened to derail them. But the rebellion of the other three allowed the band to break free of its Mod roots and truly hit the upper stratosphere, where they needed to be.
Saucy
I made BBQ chicken last night, using my homemade recipe for sauce. Exene was lurking about in the kitchen while I was making it, and I could see her eyes scanning the ingredients (I didn't have them all out, since she was there). I said "Get out of here! You're not going to divine my recipe!" and she said "Your secret sauce. What's the secret?" and I said "I am. I make it great. I'm taking that with me." and she said "It's the cider-to-ketchup ratio. Has to be." [Note: It's NOT that, although she said that twice at different times.] and I said "I'm not telling." and got her out of the kitchen, so I could make the stuff in peace, free from prying eyes. It drives her bananas that I won't tell her the recipe for my sauce. She commented on it several times, trying to suss it out, but I refuse to tell. It really is a superlative sauce, although it's my culinary instincts that really anchor it -- not like I'm superchef, mind you, but I can definitely cook, and I enjoy it, frankly. Cooking's fun for me. I'd never do it professionally -- that would suck the fun right out of it! But in the home, I love it.
I did call B2 in to watch, as he LOVES to watch me cook, wants to join in, and I had him as my little helper. He loves anything with cooking, and I like for him to see his Daddy cooking, so he'll pick up on that. He makes a point to smell every ingredient (he's always been a sniffer like that -- it's very cute, that little freckled nose of his, sniffing foods and flowers). He even likes to make his own stuff -- I'll give him some pretend ingredients, like sugar cubes and flour and water so he can "cook," as well. It makes me smile. My little Epicurean-in-training!
I made B1 a nice grilled cheese sandwich, which he wolfed down. I always use some extra-virgin olive oil for my grilled cheese sandwiches, not butter, when I'm frying them. Makes'em extra-yummy.
I've got another cold -- chest cold. That's what was screwing with me the other night, sleepwise. Stupid cold season. Blech. Disease is like the Internet before the Internet -- we're all networked through the air we breathe. Thanks, whoever gave me that cold. Message received! "You've got Mail!" *koff koff koff*
I did call B2 in to watch, as he LOVES to watch me cook, wants to join in, and I had him as my little helper. He loves anything with cooking, and I like for him to see his Daddy cooking, so he'll pick up on that. He makes a point to smell every ingredient (he's always been a sniffer like that -- it's very cute, that little freckled nose of his, sniffing foods and flowers). He even likes to make his own stuff -- I'll give him some pretend ingredients, like sugar cubes and flour and water so he can "cook," as well. It makes me smile. My little Epicurean-in-training!
I made B1 a nice grilled cheese sandwich, which he wolfed down. I always use some extra-virgin olive oil for my grilled cheese sandwiches, not butter, when I'm frying them. Makes'em extra-yummy.
I've got another cold -- chest cold. That's what was screwing with me the other night, sleepwise. Stupid cold season. Blech. Disease is like the Internet before the Internet -- we're all networked through the air we breathe. Thanks, whoever gave me that cold. Message received! "You've got Mail!" *koff koff koff*
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Bloglist
I went through some of my old, dormant blogs, and snagged the links to blogs that I liked that are still going. Yay! I really, really wish I hadn't fragged my first two proper blogs (covering 2005-07 pretty extensively). I got fed up with blogging and trashed them. I should've saved'em, as they were pretty great. Oh, well.
Movie: Ils (aka, Them)
I finally got the French horror movie, "Ils," on DVD, watched it last night. While people have praised it as exceedingly scary, I found it to not be so -- which was a disappointment, as "The Strangers," (an American version of "Ils" that has not been as well-received as "Ils" was), actually frightened me a great deal. Without wanting to throw spoilers in the mix, I thought that "The Strangers" was far scarier, was shot more evocatively, and absolutely terrified me like few films ever have (although I'll also say that "The Strangers" works ONCE as a terror film -- once you've encountered its terrors, there is a sense of diminishing returns with it on repeated viewings, although the terror gives way to dread, which is still a strong emotion).
What is my problem with "Ils?" Well, it does maintain tension throughout it -- that is without dispute, but the kinetic nature of it, some of the protagonists' choices, this "scared rabbit" mentality they had, it spoke to a kind of political slant in the view of the writers, I think. A kind of moral message carved into the story with a butcher knife, which isn't particularly what one needs in a slasher movie.
So, why did "The Strangers" hit me harder than "Ils?" I think the sense of home invasion was stronger in the former than the latter, and the dilapidation of the simply massive dwelling in "Ils" made it, paradoxically enough, less threatening than the nice cottage of "The Strangers." You already expect horrors in the "Ils" dwelling -- the place looks like the playground of an undead Bond villain, whereas the dwelling in "The Strangers" is a nice, cozy little home -- so, when the descent into nightmare is undertaken, the fall is further in the American version, most definitely.
The protagonists in the American version are somewhat more savvy (and combative) than the chickenshits in the French one. I think any American watching it would be like "C'mon! Deck'em!" when confronted by something like that.
Similarly, the villains in the American version are both more visible and less human than the villains in the French version. There's something terribly chilling about the Mansonian wackos with the masks (see below), when contrasted with the hoodie-wearing villains in "Ils." There are only three killers in "The Strangers" and there are many more in "Ils" and yet the three baddies in the former are far more terrifying.
The use of silence, music, and noise in the American version cannot be overstated -- it plays a key role in it in a way that the French version lacks. The French have you careening through the cavernous dwelling when the American version has you sitting there, in darkness and silence, waiting -- much more powerful stuff. Even simple things like hard knocking on a door at odd hours is absolutely terrifying in "The Strangers."
Perhaps the civilization of the French accounts for the horror they perceive in the "big reveal" of the story, whereas, in the States, where all sorts of outrages are apparently more common (or we hear about them more), the reveal is kind of not so revealing. Oh! Good heavens! Versus in the American version, the baddies are big and bad and scary (and two of them are girls) and we ultimately don't know their identities, and something about that makes it scarier -- we don't know who they are, and their motive for doing it is simply because the characters happened to be home. The arbitrary and absolute nature of that violence seems more terrifying to me than the moral outrage we're supposed to feel in "Ils." Maybe I'm jaded.
I'm at a loss for why "The Strangers" is less-favorably reviewed than "Ils," because I'm a fan of French filmmaking, and I really wanted "Ils" to deliver for me, but it just didn't. Tense, yes, but not terrifying. I think people feel like maybe they're supposed to like the original better, but in this case, I think the American remake was superior. Maybe it was in the hands of a better director and writer, I'm not entirely sure, but one terrified me, and the other didn't.
I'm forever grateful that "The Strangers" came out a few years after I'd sold my home in the quiet woods! Even then, I found myself being sure the door was locked in the apartment while watching it. "Ils" didn't spark nearly that same reaction.
What is my problem with "Ils?" Well, it does maintain tension throughout it -- that is without dispute, but the kinetic nature of it, some of the protagonists' choices, this "scared rabbit" mentality they had, it spoke to a kind of political slant in the view of the writers, I think. A kind of moral message carved into the story with a butcher knife, which isn't particularly what one needs in a slasher movie.
So, why did "The Strangers" hit me harder than "Ils?" I think the sense of home invasion was stronger in the former than the latter, and the dilapidation of the simply massive dwelling in "Ils" made it, paradoxically enough, less threatening than the nice cottage of "The Strangers." You already expect horrors in the "Ils" dwelling -- the place looks like the playground of an undead Bond villain, whereas the dwelling in "The Strangers" is a nice, cozy little home -- so, when the descent into nightmare is undertaken, the fall is further in the American version, most definitely.
The protagonists in the American version are somewhat more savvy (and combative) than the chickenshits in the French one. I think any American watching it would be like "C'mon! Deck'em!" when confronted by something like that.
Similarly, the villains in the American version are both more visible and less human than the villains in the French version. There's something terribly chilling about the Mansonian wackos with the masks (see below), when contrasted with the hoodie-wearing villains in "Ils." There are only three killers in "The Strangers" and there are many more in "Ils" and yet the three baddies in the former are far more terrifying.
The use of silence, music, and noise in the American version cannot be overstated -- it plays a key role in it in a way that the French version lacks. The French have you careening through the cavernous dwelling when the American version has you sitting there, in darkness and silence, waiting -- much more powerful stuff. Even simple things like hard knocking on a door at odd hours is absolutely terrifying in "The Strangers."
Perhaps the civilization of the French accounts for the horror they perceive in the "big reveal" of the story, whereas, in the States, where all sorts of outrages are apparently more common (or we hear about them more), the reveal is kind of not so revealing. Oh! Good heavens! Versus in the American version, the baddies are big and bad and scary (and two of them are girls) and we ultimately don't know their identities, and something about that makes it scarier -- we don't know who they are, and their motive for doing it is simply because the characters happened to be home. The arbitrary and absolute nature of that violence seems more terrifying to me than the moral outrage we're supposed to feel in "Ils." Maybe I'm jaded.
I'm at a loss for why "The Strangers" is less-favorably reviewed than "Ils," because I'm a fan of French filmmaking, and I really wanted "Ils" to deliver for me, but it just didn't. Tense, yes, but not terrifying. I think people feel like maybe they're supposed to like the original better, but in this case, I think the American remake was superior. Maybe it was in the hands of a better director and writer, I'm not entirely sure, but one terrified me, and the other didn't.
I'm forever grateful that "The Strangers" came out a few years after I'd sold my home in the quiet woods! Even then, I found myself being sure the door was locked in the apartment while watching it. "Ils" didn't spark nearly that same reaction.
Suede
Trotted out the suede shoes (weatherproofed, mind you), as it's springtime, and it just seems right. Fuck the rain. Viva la Suede!
Started working on a writing project again (one from late last year), finding my feet on it, while the new "real-world" story germinates. Good stuff, should be. Gonna make it so, anyway.
Slept uneasily last night. I think my asthma and reflux are worse in Spring and Fall -- I think all the mold gets to me. I know I'm strongly allergic to mold, and I know those times of year are tough for me. I feel that more than a bit.
B1 was sweet -- I was getting the boys ready for their day, and he sighed contentedly and said "You're so NICE, Daddy. You're a nice guy." That made me smile, warmed my heart. I asked "What'd I do?" and he said "Nothing, you just ARE." I loved hearing that. One of the rewards of parenting. I'm good at being a dad, and I enjoy it so much. My guys'll learn how to be good dads from me, and that makes me happy.
Started working on a writing project again (one from late last year), finding my feet on it, while the new "real-world" story germinates. Good stuff, should be. Gonna make it so, anyway.
Slept uneasily last night. I think my asthma and reflux are worse in Spring and Fall -- I think all the mold gets to me. I know I'm strongly allergic to mold, and I know those times of year are tough for me. I feel that more than a bit.
B1 was sweet -- I was getting the boys ready for their day, and he sighed contentedly and said "You're so NICE, Daddy. You're a nice guy." That made me smile, warmed my heart. I asked "What'd I do?" and he said "Nothing, you just ARE." I loved hearing that. One of the rewards of parenting. I'm good at being a dad, and I enjoy it so much. My guys'll learn how to be good dads from me, and that makes me happy.
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