This story is predicated on people's historical ignorance...
Waffen-SS reenactors
Sorry, but these d-bags playing soldier are going for something very specific in reenaacting the Waffen-SS.
Not the Wehrmacht, mind you -- that is, the standard German Army. But, rather, the Waffen-SS, who were the fullest expression of Nazi ideological aims. Hitler was displeased with his dependence on the Wehrmacht in WWII, and, particularly with the reluctance and political unreliability of the German generals -- he wanted soldiers who were politicized, fully Nazified, and willing to carry out the atrocities required of them without question.
What he'd originally relied upon was the Wehrmacht to conquer an area, and then the SS would come in behind the regular army and start butchering civilians. And sometimes the SS would cross paths with the Wehrmacht. Hitler and Himmler crafted the Waffen-SS (literally, "Weapon SS") as the ultimate Nazi soldier -- and that's the important distinction: not every soldier in the German Army was a committed Nazi -- and that was the "problem" in Hitler's view: he wanted a whole army of fucking Nazis, and the Waffen-SS served that role.
So, these paramilitary goons who play "Waffen-SS" aren't just innocent history buffs; they are creeps who actually fondly want to play Nazi in a way that they can get away with, so they come in under the war reenactment aegis as a cover for this clear fondness for Nazism. The Waffen-SS weren't better soldiers than the Wehrmacht, the professional class of soldiers -- they were more prone to fighting to the death and to committing war crimes, but, again, it's because of they were political soldiers and weapon-toting goons who were put in that role because they were hitmen for Hitler. Basically, death squads writ large. They were never part of the professional German Army, and Hitler wanted them to remain independent of them because he wanted them to remain "politically pure." They were responsible for any number of massacres and war crimes during WWII. That these creeps in this country are reenacting battles as Waffen-SS men is disgusting.
But then, these are the same brand of creepos who are fond of doing Civil War reenactments, likely wishing everybody could be on the side of Confederacy! I highly doubt these same freaks do Red Army reenactments, even though there were plenty of battles where the Red Army routed their beloved Nazis. No, these guys are very specifically honoring a criminal, politicized, blood-soaked, and disgraced paramilitary army, and are, thereby, disgracing themselves in the process.
Oh, and I'm sure they play innocent and claim that they're only "honoring" the conscript-dominated Waffen-SS of 1943 and beyond, but I highly doubt that. The whole organization was a criminal enterprise, the warhammer of Nazi Germany.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Creation
Today was the Chicago Marathon. Great weather for it. Yawn. Great weather all around -- it feels like a summer day, although quieter and milder. Good stuff. I had the boys out at a playground, where they were busy climbing trees. Very cute.
Nearly 40,000 words on the current book. I'm on track to finish the first draft by month's end, which'll be cool. Then a few weeks of revision, and then the slog of trying to find a home for it, which is always rough. Writing is like talking -- everybody thinks they can do it, but few people actually can. Sort of like this...
Very clear and obvious sentiment, right? Anybody could say that. That's where most people are at, when they say "Oh, I can write."
Some people are maybe at that level, allowing for a little more complexity to the mix.
Still more can maybe get that far. Maybe not even that well, but they can at least string a few notions together.
And so on. And on, and on. The above paragraph is only 376 words, and it's a simple memoir-style narrative, nothing even fancy. A novel is at least 80,000 words.
Most people don't write not only because they can't write (let alone write well, or convey ideas evocatively), but they don't have the stomach for it -- the raw thanklessness of it, the endless call of the words, to say nothing of the nature of characterization, plot, description, storytelling, exposition, narration, theme, metaphor, revision, rewriting, etc. -- most people have better things to do with their lives than write -- like watching paint dry, like getting root canals, driving off cliffs -- any number of worthwhile things.
It's comforting from an ego perspective to think "Oh, I could write a novel if I wanted to." Any time somebody says that, I say "Go for it." It's so much harder than you know. And only people who really, really love it will put themselves through it. The same goes for all creative endeavors -- even though creative things make our lives worth living, make them meaningful and rich and fun -- most creatives are not well-valued or even well-compensated. But all human progress flows through them, whether it's realized or not. Human progress flows from the visionary, and the creatives express their visions through their works, benefiting humanity at large.
It's like the anonymous caveman who made the sculpture of the pretty girl, the Venus of Brassempouy. One of the earliest renditions of a human face...
Now, I can almost hear Anonymous Caveman's buds going "Gronk? Why you sit there stare at Ooona? Why you make THING with your scraping stick? We busy throwing rocks in gorge. You come! You throw, too!" And Gronk shrugs, hides it from them, or else flaunts it. But Gronk made it, and it survived (they estimate it was made ~25,000 years ago).
Ooona must have been a paleolithic hottie, or at the very least, had bitchin' hair, since Gronk lavished attention on those plaits and/or braids she was sporting (or else the hood she was wearing -- it impressed him). All of Gronk's aesthetic choices are curious to me, how he marked her eyes and nose very clearly, but gave her no apparent mouth, and took great care with her hair, which must've really impressed him. Some cavebabe inspired Gronk, and Gronk did her justice in his creation. Maybe he thought it would give him magic powers over Ooona, or maybe he wanted to flatter her with the piece.
The very human, very wonderful nature of that moment, captured in a bit of mammoth tusk, communicates the delightful power of art, and how the seeming pointlessness of it is precisely its magic -- both of them -- creator and subject -- are long, long gone, but that creation endures and survives them. And, yes, I think it was a guy who made it, like many of those early Venus sculptures.
Not everything that's created is worthwhile, but that drive to create something beautiful, however it is done (and however it is defined) is a vital (if thankless) human process that is necessary for our betterment as a species. If art dies, humanity's soul dies with it.
Anyway, end of the month, I should be done. And then my usual cure when I'm done with a piece -- more writing. Hahah!
Nearly 40,000 words on the current book. I'm on track to finish the first draft by month's end, which'll be cool. Then a few weeks of revision, and then the slog of trying to find a home for it, which is always rough. Writing is like talking -- everybody thinks they can do it, but few people actually can. Sort of like this...
Dogs are nice.
Very clear and obvious sentiment, right? Anybody could say that. That's where most people are at, when they say "Oh, I can write."
Dogs are nice. Well, maybe not all dogs.
Some people are maybe at that level, allowing for a little more complexity to the mix.
Dogs are nice. Well, maybe not all dogs. Like Moose, the dog that lived in my neighborhood where I grew up. He was a Yellow Lab, a big dog with baleful brown eyes and a bad habit of chasing kids down the street, bellow-barking at them as he went.
Still more can maybe get that far. Maybe not even that well, but they can at least string a few notions together.
Dogs are nice. Well, maybe not all dogs. Like Moose, the dog that lived in my neighborhood where I grew up. He was a Yellow Lab, a big dog with baleful brown eyes and a bad habit of chasing kids down the street, bellow-barking at them as he went. He ruled the block, was the baron of the boulevard, this braying hell hound. The problem was that he lived at the corner of my bus stop, where I would have to catch the school bus. And every morning, I'd have Moose chasing me down the street, scaring the hell out of me. Then, one day, Moose caught me on a bad day, something had pissed me off at school, and Moose came running at me, barking like he always did, and I saw him and I roared at him in rage, arms held out. Moose froze in his tracks -- the look on his face was priceless, like this blend of surprise and horror, a body-wide spasm of terror as he realized that his bluff had been called. For a split-second, we faced off, and then I began to chase Moose down the street, not entirely sure if the dog was going to go at me or whether he was going to run away, and, on that day, not caring (and I don't quite remember why I was so mad). I was gratified to see Moose take off, running away from me -- for the first time in my childhood, great big Moose the Mutt was on the run. He took off, periodically turning to see if I was still chasing him. And I still was. I was completely going after that goddamned dog. I pursued him all the way to his yard, before leaving him alone, breathless, pleased as could be. Fucking dog. He left me alone after that. In fact, Moose wanted to be my friend after that, with the ineffable dog logic going on -- the same dog that had hounded me day after day, once he realized that I would absolutely go after him if he fucked with me again, THEN he wants to be my buddy. I was the only kid on the block who got on Moose's good side. We were pals.
And so on. And on, and on. The above paragraph is only 376 words, and it's a simple memoir-style narrative, nothing even fancy. A novel is at least 80,000 words.
Most people don't write not only because they can't write (let alone write well, or convey ideas evocatively), but they don't have the stomach for it -- the raw thanklessness of it, the endless call of the words, to say nothing of the nature of characterization, plot, description, storytelling, exposition, narration, theme, metaphor, revision, rewriting, etc. -- most people have better things to do with their lives than write -- like watching paint dry, like getting root canals, driving off cliffs -- any number of worthwhile things.
It's comforting from an ego perspective to think "Oh, I could write a novel if I wanted to." Any time somebody says that, I say "Go for it." It's so much harder than you know. And only people who really, really love it will put themselves through it. The same goes for all creative endeavors -- even though creative things make our lives worth living, make them meaningful and rich and fun -- most creatives are not well-valued or even well-compensated. But all human progress flows through them, whether it's realized or not. Human progress flows from the visionary, and the creatives express their visions through their works, benefiting humanity at large.
It's like the anonymous caveman who made the sculpture of the pretty girl, the Venus of Brassempouy. One of the earliest renditions of a human face...
Now, I can almost hear Anonymous Caveman's buds going "Gronk? Why you sit there stare at Ooona? Why you make THING with your scraping stick? We busy throwing rocks in gorge. You come! You throw, too!" And Gronk shrugs, hides it from them, or else flaunts it. But Gronk made it, and it survived (they estimate it was made ~25,000 years ago).
Ooona must have been a paleolithic hottie, or at the very least, had bitchin' hair, since Gronk lavished attention on those plaits and/or braids she was sporting (or else the hood she was wearing -- it impressed him). All of Gronk's aesthetic choices are curious to me, how he marked her eyes and nose very clearly, but gave her no apparent mouth, and took great care with her hair, which must've really impressed him. Some cavebabe inspired Gronk, and Gronk did her justice in his creation. Maybe he thought it would give him magic powers over Ooona, or maybe he wanted to flatter her with the piece.
The very human, very wonderful nature of that moment, captured in a bit of mammoth tusk, communicates the delightful power of art, and how the seeming pointlessness of it is precisely its magic -- both of them -- creator and subject -- are long, long gone, but that creation endures and survives them. And, yes, I think it was a guy who made it, like many of those early Venus sculptures.
Not everything that's created is worthwhile, but that drive to create something beautiful, however it is done (and however it is defined) is a vital (if thankless) human process that is necessary for our betterment as a species. If art dies, humanity's soul dies with it.
Anyway, end of the month, I should be done. And then my usual cure when I'm done with a piece -- more writing. Hahah!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Hey, There...
My Net was down since Wednesday -- somebody cut my cable line. Not actually physically sheared (like before), but just flat-out removed it. I think an overzealous and/or inattentive cable guy did it. Anyway, after several days of wrangling on the phone with them, I got them here this morning to get things up and running again.
Made good use of my "down time" -- got over 15,000 words written on the book I'm working on. Without television or Internet to distract me, I was good to go. If it weren't for having a job and minding the boys some of those days, I'd have gotten even more written.
It's surprisingly warm this weekend--looks like one last blast of warmth before the inevitable autumn chill creeps in. Right now, though, it's all very sunny and mild. Very lovely.
I'm thinking of making chicken pot pie this weekend. I have a taste for it! I'll try to get the boys to have some, although we'll see. They can be oddly picky sometimes, kid-style. The other thing I'm craving is fish-n-chips and some Newcastle Brown Ale -- must be a seasonal thing, but I'm jonesing for it. There are a number of good places for fish-n-chips in the city. My favorite is the Duke of Perth. I haven't been there for years, but that was a staple for me in the 90s -- I'd call it "going Perthing" -- they have the best Scotch bar around, a fiendish wall o' Scotch, and their hard cider and fish-n-chips are da bomb! It's been so long since I've been there! But I'm fiending for some fish-n-chips, so I'll have to make a trip there. Maybe next Friday (since they do all-you-can eat f-n-c then, although anymore, one plate is about all I can handle). I remember one time a server dropped a Shepherd's Pie on the ground -- it landed with a crunch of crockery and a plop, and everybody in the bar just stopped and looked at it. Shepherd's Pie manages to warp space and time, I think -- like the amount of stuff they cram into those little crocks is staggering. Certainly, seeing it upended like that made me realize it.
No fancy plans for the moment. Just do some writing and some biking, catch up on the world -- I feel like I've been in a news blackout the past few days, at least when I'm home.
Made good use of my "down time" -- got over 15,000 words written on the book I'm working on. Without television or Internet to distract me, I was good to go. If it weren't for having a job and minding the boys some of those days, I'd have gotten even more written.
It's surprisingly warm this weekend--looks like one last blast of warmth before the inevitable autumn chill creeps in. Right now, though, it's all very sunny and mild. Very lovely.
I'm thinking of making chicken pot pie this weekend. I have a taste for it! I'll try to get the boys to have some, although we'll see. They can be oddly picky sometimes, kid-style. The other thing I'm craving is fish-n-chips and some Newcastle Brown Ale -- must be a seasonal thing, but I'm jonesing for it. There are a number of good places for fish-n-chips in the city. My favorite is the Duke of Perth. I haven't been there for years, but that was a staple for me in the 90s -- I'd call it "going Perthing" -- they have the best Scotch bar around, a fiendish wall o' Scotch, and their hard cider and fish-n-chips are da bomb! It's been so long since I've been there! But I'm fiending for some fish-n-chips, so I'll have to make a trip there. Maybe next Friday (since they do all-you-can eat f-n-c then, although anymore, one plate is about all I can handle). I remember one time a server dropped a Shepherd's Pie on the ground -- it landed with a crunch of crockery and a plop, and everybody in the bar just stopped and looked at it. Shepherd's Pie manages to warp space and time, I think -- like the amount of stuff they cram into those little crocks is staggering. Certainly, seeing it upended like that made me realize it.
No fancy plans for the moment. Just do some writing and some biking, catch up on the world -- I feel like I've been in a news blackout the past few days, at least when I'm home.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Hmm
Man, the US and/or Israel had to be behind that Stuxnet worm...
Not that they'll ever cop to it, but it had to be. Of course, it sets a bad precedent -- cyberwar is going to be zipping back and forth in our lifetimes, disabling systems. Should be curious.
European digital security company Kaspersky Labs released a statement that described Stuxnet as "a working and fearsome prototype of a cyber-weapon that will lead to the creation of a new arms race in the world." Kevin Hogan, Senior Director of Security Response at Symantec, noted that 60 percent of the infected computers worldwide were in Iran, suggesting its industrial plants were the target.[12] Kaspersky Labs concluded that the attacks could only have been conducted "with nation-state support", making Iran the first target of real cyber warfare.[1
Not that they'll ever cop to it, but it had to be. Of course, it sets a bad precedent -- cyberwar is going to be zipping back and forth in our lifetimes, disabling systems. Should be curious.
Shore Enough?
I saw that GAWKER was having an informal contest for people to try to write the first page of Snooki's autobiography, since she's apparently snared a book deal and such. I see it going something like this...
FAT, PLUMP FUCKIN' BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE TOP OF THE FUCKIN' STAIRS, luggin' a bowl of pickles on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow muscle shirt was blown gently-behind him by the weak morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
-- Cane che abbaia non morde.
Belching, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:
-- Come up, Slitch. Come up, you fuckin' jesuit.
Seriously, he came forward and mounted the round gunrest (he fucked the staircase? Whaaa --?). For real, he fuckin' faced about and blessed the fuckin' tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of The Situation, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his fuckin' head. DJ Pauly D DelVecchio, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, fuckin' horse-faced in its length, and at the light balding hair, grained and hued like a fuckin' orange.
Buck "The Fuck" Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.
-- Get Snook her fuckin' pickles, he said, like he was Howard Stern.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Pentagon Power
I'm highly amused by this: the Pentagon wants less reliance on fossil fuels. And if there is any truism in American politics, it's that what the Pentagon wants, the Pentagon gets. This might be the perfect "back door" crucible to develop alternative energy resources -- while the government has dithered for 40+ years on alternative energies, held captive to Big Oil and Big Coal, the Pentagon implementing alternative energies will get the tech out there and field-tested and will have civilian applications, and the same politicians who would have been hell-bent on stalling/stonewalling/stopping its implementation at home will be scurrying to placate the Pentagon on this. Bahah!
What'll be especially nice is it'll emphasize portability and decentralization, which'll work nicely to help move beyond the centralization model that's dominated alternative energy so far. The civilian sector, the industrial component, will not want that kind of decentralization in the power grid, because it'll mean energy independence on all sorts of people, but that's exactly what makes this kind of tech so awesome. Eat it, Big Coal and Big Oil.
What'll be especially nice is it'll emphasize portability and decentralization, which'll work nicely to help move beyond the centralization model that's dominated alternative energy so far. The civilian sector, the industrial component, will not want that kind of decentralization in the power grid, because it'll mean energy independence on all sorts of people, but that's exactly what makes this kind of tech so awesome. Eat it, Big Coal and Big Oil.
Monday, October 4, 2010
GBV
I saw GBV in 2001. One of the best live shows I've seen...
"Skills Like This"
I'm just reminded because this popped up in my playlist this morning.
"Skills Like This"
I'm just reminded because this popped up in my playlist this morning.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Yawn
I managed to make a dent in my sleep-debt the past couple of days, which is great. I almost never get to sleep in, so that's kinda precious to me!
Went on a big grocery run yesterday, just because I'm going to mind the boys next weekend, since Exene is running the marathon, so I wanted to be sure to be stocked up for the boys.
Went on a big grocery run yesterday, just because I'm going to mind the boys next weekend, since Exene is running the marathon, so I wanted to be sure to be stocked up for the boys.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Irony Man
I watched "Iron Man 2" -- which hadn't been as favorably received as the original, but I liked it well enough. Maybe some pacing issues, and Scarlett Johannson was as inertly buxom as ever, but overall, it was reasonably enjoyable. I'd watch it again. Gratuitous shot of SJ's cleavage, here...
Mickey Rourke did very well in the scenes he had, and Sam Rockwell was his usual great stuff -- I sometimes think he's masterfully filling in the space left by Luke Wilson. He has a number of great lines, and attacked his scenes well. Don Cheadle replaced Terence Howard as Rhodey, which was maybe unfortunate -- I thought Howard did a great job as Rhodey, but he was supposedly such a diva that he got cut out of the sequel, which is a little distracting -- I don't like those substitutions in movies.
I also caught "Let Me In" -- the American version of the Swedish "Let The Right One In" -- I hesitate to call it a remake, just because the original was only out the other year, so it feels like the American one trying to ride the vampiric coattails while the getting's good. But anybody looking for a little vampire romanticism would be disappointed with the dark "Let Me In." I'm not saying I was disappointed in it -- it did everything it was supposed to do, but didn't exceed the original, either. There were some differences in emphasis in the American version -- 80s religiosity, some token nods to various cultural touchpoints ("Ooh, Reagan! Ooh, arcade games! Ooh, Satanic cults! Ooh, Culture Club!") Something for Gen Y kids to feel nostalgic for (never mind that they weren't actually around properly for the 80s). And a slightly different kind of vibe with the story -- the bully kid looked like a real American-style bully shithead (versus the babyfaced bully in the Swedish original). Also, the protagonist boy in the American version wasn't quite the puppydog the Swedish boy was -- they cast a worm-lipped waif boy (oddly paralleled in the worm-lipped vampire girl, Abby -- they oddly kind resembled each other in their worm-lippedness). There were more special effects, obviously more of a budget in the American one, but I thought that undermined it a little bit -- like showing a CGI vampire girl speedily shinnying up a tree or bouncing up and down around one of her victims, I dunno -- more is sometimes less, where horror is concerned. You'll see what I mean if you see it.
If you catch the American version first, I think you'll enjoy it well enough; if you catch the Swedish original before seeing this one, I don't think it'll have quite the impact. The director of this movie did "Cloverfield," and he has a kind of point-of-view documentarian kind of eye with his shooting that is unconventional in fictional movies. He definitely pays attention to the setup of his scenes, and the violence in this movie is shocking and the overall bleak tone comes through clearly.
One thing that bothered me was I saw a Latina mom had her little daughter there in the movie with her! What the hell?? The little girl didn't seem terribly bothered by it, but holy crap! The girl looked younger than B1, and there were any number of scenes in that movie that weren't appropriate for little kids. I'm hardly a prude about stuff like that, but NFW would any responsible parent take their kid to see this movie.
I also caught "Let Me In" -- the American version of the Swedish "Let The Right One In" -- I hesitate to call it a remake, just because the original was only out the other year, so it feels like the American one trying to ride the vampiric coattails while the getting's good. But anybody looking for a little vampire romanticism would be disappointed with the dark "Let Me In." I'm not saying I was disappointed in it -- it did everything it was supposed to do, but didn't exceed the original, either. There were some differences in emphasis in the American version -- 80s religiosity, some token nods to various cultural touchpoints ("Ooh, Reagan! Ooh, arcade games! Ooh, Satanic cults! Ooh, Culture Club!") Something for Gen Y kids to feel nostalgic for (never mind that they weren't actually around properly for the 80s). And a slightly different kind of vibe with the story -- the bully kid looked like a real American-style bully shithead (versus the babyfaced bully in the Swedish original). Also, the protagonist boy in the American version wasn't quite the puppydog the Swedish boy was -- they cast a worm-lipped waif boy (oddly paralleled in the worm-lipped vampire girl, Abby -- they oddly kind resembled each other in their worm-lippedness). There were more special effects, obviously more of a budget in the American one, but I thought that undermined it a little bit -- like showing a CGI vampire girl speedily shinnying up a tree or bouncing up and down around one of her victims, I dunno -- more is sometimes less, where horror is concerned. You'll see what I mean if you see it.
If you catch the American version first, I think you'll enjoy it well enough; if you catch the Swedish original before seeing this one, I don't think it'll have quite the impact. The director of this movie did "Cloverfield," and he has a kind of point-of-view documentarian kind of eye with his shooting that is unconventional in fictional movies. He definitely pays attention to the setup of his scenes, and the violence in this movie is shocking and the overall bleak tone comes through clearly.
One thing that bothered me was I saw a Latina mom had her little daughter there in the movie with her! What the hell?? The little girl didn't seem terribly bothered by it, but holy crap! The girl looked younger than B1, and there were any number of scenes in that movie that weren't appropriate for little kids. I'm hardly a prude about stuff like that, but NFW would any responsible parent take their kid to see this movie.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Ghostly
So, I'm very nearly done (FINALLY) with "Ghost Story." A few comments before I am done with it...
I feel it’s clunky, and has a lot of shallow stuff thrown in there without much behind it – like a zombie marching band playing a bunch of kazoos (and, sadly, there’s even a peripheral character in the book, Dr. Rabbitfoot, who would likely lead such a band). Stephen King gushed about this book, but I just don’t see the attraction. It's like watching something through glass block -- hell, even that would be more terrifying. There’s only one scene that had any kind of bite for me, and even then, it was more a nibble than a bite – like a case of potential there that wasn’t realized. The whole book is very, very arm’s length, which (at least to me) violates the spirit of what Horror could/should be.
I have a theory, maybe that Straub is a conservative, and this is a conservative person’s Horror novel. Now, Horror is, by its nature, a conservative genre – that’s where the horror comes from, like the outraged sensibilities and the capacity for revulsion and terror at the Other.
BUT, by saying that it’s a conservative’s Horror novel, it’s like it’s ARCH-conservative – now, lest you think there’s some overtly political slant to it, it’s not there. But I can sniff out people’s stances, and my sense is that Straub has this Idea(tm) of Good, Decent People(tm) – MEN, in particular, up against an ineffable, horrible, Female Evil(tm) that upends the Proper Order of Things(tm). Which is certainly a component of classic Horror. I get that.
However, he can’t really properly characterize anybody in it – not the male characters, nor the female menace. They’re cardboard cutouts, and the reader is supposed to be hit by it, like “OMG! What an outrage! How HORRIBLE!” – like bad service in a restaurant or something: “Well, I NEVER—” – that kind of fuddy-duddy, pajamas-n-slippers sensibility. It’s like the cliché of how men aren’t in touch with their feelings – none of the men are really in touch with their feelings; they’re all fucking uptight, totally hemorrhoidal, so the “wild” Evil(tm) just upends things, but he can’t find the “emotional pool” (hah!) to offer the right sell, beyond the fuddy-duddy-ism.
Maybe it hit a note in 1979, but in 2010, I’m thinking “WHERE is the horror, here?” Not finding it. I was really hoping for sizzling slabs of Horror, or even a proper ghost story (I mean, "Ghost Story," right?) But, instead, none of the above -- the baddies are these shapeshifting spirits (?) that basically mindfuck people and make them kill themselves (but you never really properly see this -- Straub "averts the eye" in most of the encounters, which is doubly damning, because the detail isn't much there to begin with, so you're peeking through the glass block of his prose, trying to see what's going on, and just when you think you can see something moving back there, he shifts the scene and you're someplace else). Legerdemain.
Admittedly, the Ghost Story is the hardest kind of Horror story to write -- it really is, but that just requires one to apply oneself harder to it. There's a kind of dueling banjos of ineffability in play with "Ghost Story" -- the main characters aren't fleshed out well enough for their back story to have much meaning, and the villain is so diaphanous and chimerical as to be similarly meaningless. It's kind of my rule with fiction -- "anything goes" is almost the same as "nothing to see, here," bizarrely enough.
Admittedly, the Ghost Story is the hardest kind of Horror story to write -- it really is, but that just requires one to apply oneself harder to it. There's a kind of dueling banjos of ineffability in play with "Ghost Story" -- the main characters aren't fleshed out well enough for their back story to have much meaning, and the villain is so diaphanous and chimerical as to be similarly meaningless. It's kind of my rule with fiction -- "anything goes" is almost the same as "nothing to see, here," bizarrely enough.
I went in with an open mind, but Straub lost me with the overlong and plodding prologue, and he just dug himself in deeper. I mean, I'm glad that the book served him well and let him build a career and a reputation, but I wasn't convinced by this effort.
Poor Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. -- his last movie appearance, I think...
"Ghost Story" (1981)
Which took about a paragraph from the book and made it into a whole movie that was mediocre at best. I'd always held out hope that the book would be better than the movie, but I can't really say it's so. The above scene is actually scarier than anything in the book, which says something, right? (and, yes, the hokey nature of that death scene is editorially right in step with the book). Oh, and it looks like they CGI'd up the ghost in the movie, which sucks -- the original looked scarier.
The Gray Lady
Ah, speak of the Devil...
Biker Chicks
The NYT, with their bogus trendspotting. Sometimes I think the Times just crafts these pieces in hopes that they are on the cutting edge of something, or else, as ever, they're about a decade behind the times. The NYT is like your terminally uncool spinster aunt busy ardently finger-quoting about "raves" or the equivalent.
Biker Chicks
The NYT, with their bogus trendspotting. Sometimes I think the Times just crafts these pieces in hopes that they are on the cutting edge of something, or else, as ever, they're about a decade behind the times. The NYT is like your terminally uncool spinster aunt busy ardently finger-quoting about "raves" or the equivalent.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Oh well, whatever, nevermind....
I'm amused by the Redeye today...
Hipster Safari
Dunno why they finally got around to dissecting the Chicago Hipster in the Redeye. It's kind of like when the New York Times writes about some "new trend in pop culture" -- like, I dunno, raves, or grunge, or rockabilly. It'll be something that's been going on for a very long time, and then the NYT suddenly "discovers" it.
Of course, the piece above is really just a bit of puff around "Stuff Hipsters Hate" -- a blog-turned-book written by a couple of 20-something chicks (themselves surely hipsters, since they puss out on self-identify as such "No one is 100 percent a hipster.") -- one Brenna Ehrlich (25, Northwestern grad), and Andrea Bartz (23, also a Northwestern grad). Andrea Bartz (l) looks like more of a hipster chick(tm) than Brenna Ehrlich. They seem phenomenally well-placed, jobwise (I mean, Psychology Today, SELF, CNN, and, uhhh, Heeb Magazine [?!], to name a few.), which certainly greased the wheels for them considerably in the publishing world.
But writing a hipster-bashing book now? In 2010?? Talk about shark-jumping!
Hipster Safari
Dunno why they finally got around to dissecting the Chicago Hipster in the Redeye. It's kind of like when the New York Times writes about some "new trend in pop culture" -- like, I dunno, raves, or grunge, or rockabilly. It'll be something that's been going on for a very long time, and then the NYT suddenly "discovers" it.
Of course, the piece above is really just a bit of puff around "Stuff Hipsters Hate" -- a blog-turned-book written by a couple of 20-something chicks (themselves surely hipsters, since they puss out on self-identify as such "No one is 100 percent a hipster.") -- one Brenna Ehrlich (25, Northwestern grad), and Andrea Bartz (23, also a Northwestern grad). Andrea Bartz (l) looks like more of a hipster chick(tm) than Brenna Ehrlich. They seem phenomenally well-placed, jobwise (I mean, Psychology Today, SELF, CNN, and, uhhh, Heeb Magazine [?!], to name a few.), which certainly greased the wheels for them considerably in the publishing world.
But writing a hipster-bashing book now? In 2010?? Talk about shark-jumping!
Planet
This news about Gliese 581g is cool, although I wouldn't bank on anything in the constellation Libra. Still, pretty cool.
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