I planted a seed from a clementine a few months ago, put it in a cup. Had a bunch of clementines, ate'em, enjoyed'em. One of them had a seed, and I kept it. A little project for B1 and me. I put some marbles in the bottom, for drainage, then put soil atop, and then planted the seed. Wasn't sure what would happen, if anything, but I would periodically water the soil, had the little cup on the windowsill. A hope, a promise, new life, new love. That kind of thing.
I was pleased to see that yesterday, a seedling has sprouted -- a slender finger of green. I'm very, very pleased.
Friday, March 12, 2010
St. Stanley of Kubrick
I'll proceed chronologically with my patron saints, like ones who inspired me earliest. One of the earliest was Stanley Kubrick. I was genuinely sad when Kubrick died -- all day, just forlorn.
I loved his meticulous approach to movie-making, which I know drove actors bananas, had him branded an eccentric, and limited his output to, what, 13 movies? And people may have qualms about his work, his very dark view of human nature, but the quality of his vision is so pronounced, so striking. His background as a photographer shows up so clearly in his cinematic work -- attention to lighting, angle, framing -- everything. I always say to people that you can do a still frame of almost any shot in a Kubrick movie and it will look good. Because he just paid such attention to that. His use of music and point of view, just amazing.
As a teen, I would foist Kubrick movies on my hapless chums, telling them "Oh, you gotta see this." They'd politely watch the movies, but I could tell I was the only one really grooving on his work. They were watching the movies-as-movies, and I think I was watching them as works of (visual) art.
While my major was in audio-visual production (surely inspired by Kubrick), and I'm a fair hand with a camera (including a video camera), I never had any pretensions of following Kubrick's footsteps. But his way of shooting movies absolutely informed my aesthetic of how I watched movies -- he put so much attention to filmcraft that I soaked that up, and applied it to movie-watching, and he made me pay attention to film directors, ones I liked, ones I didn't, and why. That aesthetic has stayed with me, will always be with me. I appreciate a well-shot movie, above and beyond the contents of the story itself. I like movies that look good, and will take note of directors who have that cinematic eye. I think his cinematic eye influenced my fiction-writing, how I construct scenes. I pay incredible attention to that, even though it's all in my head, and down on the page. People who read my stuff comment on how visual it is, and I am sure it's owing to my love of Kubrick's moviemaking, and that sense that everything in the scene is there for a reason.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm
I saw this when walking home, paused, had to catch it. Intersection of North and Sedgwick.
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.
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