A Year in (My)Space, Stream-of-Consciousness Style (Photos, Formatting and Therefore Explanation: Lost)

Saturday, May 05, 2007
Gnats. Nats. Fruit flies. Whatever. I hate them. I am looking for a new solution to the gnat menace.
It makes me a little sad when people that make words their stock in trade can't even be bothered to use spell-check, or a dictionary.
Why does TiVo think I want to watch Lifetime movies or shows from the Spanish-language channels? I've done nothing to indicate this is my favored genre.
Yesterday was Dick Dale's 70th birthday, and today is Michael Palin's 64th.
Spiderman 3 was nice, but hey, what's with all the crying? Jesus, you'd think it was a Mike Leigh film, not Sam Raimi.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
For the discriminating Chow Yun-Fat fan: he may not be in many movies these days, but there is this.
Friday, April 27, 2007
The headline mentioned another al qaeda member and posted the following pic:
Since when did Eric Roberts become a terrorist?
Maybe the conservatives are right about Hollywood after all...
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The disadvantage to my age is that when I get to the relaxed stretches, my mind tells me to rest, take it easy. My gut tells me to have fun. So my afternoon presented itself and I really felt like I should take a nap, but ended up playing Call of Duty. Killin' Nazis in da hood...of Poland, I think. And fun was had by all. But now I'm more tired than I was before...and even more than last night, when I sat on ball-busting chairs and watched shy of five hours worth of sweetass poetry.
Pugsley's Library, home to the Poetry Grind slam of Dallas, featured Ed Mabrey between rounds of the Grand Slam (to determine this year's team). Sir Ed Mabrey, actually, as I feel he must certainly be American royalty when it comes to spoken word. Yeah, it was that good.
The players of the Grand Slam all acquitted themselves handily, providing one of the most impressive shows I've seen in some time.
But I'm tired. Maybe tomorrow I'll take that nap.
Friday, April 20, 2007
I think I saw Sanjaya delivering Papa John's pizzas yesterday afternoon.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Complete the following real MSN.com news headline.
BARACK OBAMA TAPS ______
a) "A GeorgeTown Keg"
b) "That Ass!"
c) "Two Worlds For Funding"
If you guessed C, you were right. The story tells of how Obama received campaign funding from both individual contributors and political insiders. But considering the tabloid level of news stories over the past months, the other two probably didn't seem that implausible, even if they would have been re-worded for family-friendly newspapers.
If you guessed B, well, you were bored like me.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Is it possible for something to be sexy, sad and hilarious, simultaneously? Yes.
Is it possible for someone to create a loving homage to a band/song and at the same time fashion a biting, harsh send-up of everything that is wrong with a genre? Yes.
If you have not yet seen Alanis Morrisette's video cover of The Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps", then rush right over to YouTube and do so, with haste. It is just about one of the most perfect videos I have ever viewed, and manages all of the above as well as being highly entertaining and able to point up all that is displeasing about contemporary music.
Go there, now.

Well, last weekend was the Last Chance Slam at Pugsley's, where one of our two Dallas slam teams (The Poetry Grind, hosted by hipsters Bob "Whoopeecat" Stephenson and "Konnichiwa" Zach) runs their show. I was eligible for the LCS though I had absolutely no intention of going for the Grand Slam (which will take place Friday the 20th). But it provided another opportunity to read my work, so I go, because my desk isn't a very receptive audience.
Here are the three pieces I used for the LCS.
1.
progress

Later that evening, as I was leaving,
I made my way through the long, broad hallway
that lead from the elevators to the high expanse of lobby,
and playing softly but quite clearly was:

"It's gettin' dark, too dark … to see… feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door."
I turned to the young woman in the slightly rumpled
attendant's uniform,
and I asked her:

"Don't you think that song is inappropriate for a hospital?"


…this is a work in progress…

My father was 73 when I wrote this piece.

He is a real man, old school man, good man:
good son, husband, father
good soldier, pilot, administrator
good veteran, retiree, civilian, worker.

Doesn't say much, but is great with people.
Pushes the anger down, has a great smile.
A man of honor and decency in a world of shortcuts;
everyone wants to say their old man was a good man.

My father had been hobbling around for a couple of years,
and finally agreed to the hip replacement.

I visited him after the first day,
and when my mother went home that evening,
we were left alone, together.

We don't talk very much, I thought, and never have.

He kept dozing off from the medication
and every time he came to, he rolled his head
to the side to see me, and dislodged the oxygen tube
from his nostrils each time.

He would reset it with spotted fingers,
one hand tattooed with a tennis-ball-sized bruise
from the IV used during the procedure.

He did this several times.

Halfway through my stay I did it for him, and again before I left.

I felt awkward taking the initiative to help him in any way, this self-reliant man,
looking small and weak in his bed, legs mere sticks, gut distended,
skin not pale so much as opaque.

He did not react when I did it, perhaps because he never anticipated
needing such attention, perhaps because there was an interaction with
<>
just because he was drugged and tired and in pain,
and family does these kinds of things,
even when they don't talk.

When he spoke his voice crackled from dryness in his throat,
and he sipped water relentlessly, with little reward.

We don't talk much, I thought, but right now, would he really want to?

You see your mother or father every day and you think nothing but
excuse or blame, old stories or nostalgia, bad memories, maybe good ones…
but you see them in a weakened state, with tubes in their arms,
oxygen masks covering their lips and nostrils, or just in an immobile or fragile state,
and your view of many things…shifts.

Was he disappointed in me? Did he even have expectations?
if he wanted something for me, could he have told me so?

He lay in that bed looking like a little man, more human
for his frailty than I'd ever seen him before.

We didn't talk much, and I thought we never will.

But that was okay…

It was just a hip, after all.

In a few days he would be home, and warm, and well.
In a few weeks he would be back to normal, and better.
He would be walking faster and stronger than me,
and we'd go back to not speaking so much
in our regular capacity.

My old man is a good man.

I inherited his smile.
And if I seem to use it with less frequency than he does,
it's because I want to respectfully set aside some little piece of him
for when I'll need to remember it most.


…this is a work in progress…
and every time I write it down, I feel like a thief.
2.
disregard

I am full of shit.

I am full of hope.

I am full of love, singular adoration for the woman who will
soothe and protect me while correcting my typing.

I am full of four-lettered words that signify all of a lying breeze.

I am full of fear.

I am full of wind, foghorn farts to steer you far and wide
from the craggy coastline of my shit.

I am full of envy, and my mother once said to
eat something green every day, so you fake motherfuckers
keep laying yourselves in the middle of the road,
because I will watch you and take my unread beauties
back home and fold them neatly
and then swallow that ugly beast
down.

I am full of four-lettered words that signify all of a dimly-lit room.

I am full of food.

I am full of film: ask me about the movie about the party
where the guy did that shocking thing which elicited
a stricken, communal gasp from the audience…I saw that one
before anyone else was into it.

I am full of rage, silent, heightened resentment for the commonality
of widespread stupidity in the name of self, greed for its own sake,
and hatred for something you cannot grasp or what amounts to
little more than the spectrum of the sun's light bouncing against
our flesh with all the intent of an electric pulse within a wall.

I am full of four-lettered words that signify all of your wanting.

I am full of fuck.

I am full of hoax; my trickery is in my absence and
my fraudulence runs thick with the bile and beauty of every other word.

I am full of grit; gravity may hold firm, but
routine will not bind or cut my wrists,
indifference will not halt my stride,
censure will not bloody my mouth.

I am full of four-lettered words that signify the dizzying chasm between
the enormity of a child's vision and the insular depths of an adult's
depression.

But mostly, I am full of shit…
and hope.
3.
better than me
I never had a better brother
I could resent for my own
failure.

Came in 4 out of 6, but that's okay. I'm judge-proof.
(copyrights: progress scn 4/4/07; disregard scn 4/4/07; better than me scn 12/3/05)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Today Larry Birkhead was found to be the father of the late Anna-Nicole Smith's baby girl. I hope he will make the most of the opportunity fatherhood bestows upon him, and not fuck around like the average celebrity train-wreck.
***
Yesterday I almost fainted: I actually agreed (in part) with something Bill O'Reilly said. I was watching the veins almost - pop - as he duked it out with Geraldo Rivera in a tape from last week. Despite the scary level of rage coarsing through his body, O'Reilly was right: illegal immigrants that break laws (especially causing the death of someone else) need to be dealt with harshly - and I think deportation is a fair solution. Why take up more American prison space when there are already too many convicts as it is? Just send them home.
***
This past week was ridiculous: Blades of Glory, Meet The Robinsons, The Lookout, The Reaping, Grindhouse, Inland Empire, The Hoax...on DVD: Blood Diamond, Color Me Kubrick and Harsh Times...and on TV: premieres of the latest seasons of The Shield and The Sopranos. I'm on overload right now, so maybe a book and a nap.
***
Lastly, okay, Imus is a dumbass. But in this country, verbally acting out your dumbassishness is a constitutional right. Boycott him, call him on his shit, but treating him as if he had just killed someone...it's getting out of hand, folks. He's a guy on a radio show who said something offensive and stupid. Since when is that a crime, and if it was, would it really deserve days of media coverage greater than that given to murders, casualties of war, institutional treachery and the degradation of our nation's global status? No, only a selfish and arrogant person would think that...
...you can't crucify yourself, no it takes two...
Saturday, April 07, 2007
My head and my ass hurt.
I have spent 6 of the past 36 hours in movie theaters watching Grindhouse and Inland Empire. Both very different, very interesting viewing experiences. They are, essentially, as disparate as the id and the cock.
Inland Empire wants you to be submerged in the unconscious brain, to accept the drives of human nature and not question too much. Grindhouse wants you to openly rut forth in the viscera of gut-punch cinema. Both are fascinating in their way, and created by masters of their own archetypes. David Lynch mastered question-mark film from day one with Eraserhead...basically created a subgenre all his own. Quentin Tarantino, by aping with great care the films he loves most, created his own as well, but has had far more wannabe followers in his path. A slew of people have attempted to make the next Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction. No one I can think of has tried to make the next Blue Velvet. (It pays to mention that David Cronenberg is another fellow who has molded his own form of subgenre film, the pathology thriller...meant to be read literally...and been highly successful with it. But no one has come along behind him to make that very specific type of movie.)
Inland Empire has a staggering, 3-hour-long performance by Laura Dern, but Grindhouse (co-hosted, if you will, be fellow genre aficionado Robert Rodriguez) has all the fun. But I'm not sure if you can say one or the other is a better film...they both fill quite a different niche.
...they fucked with the wrong mexican...
Friday, April 06, 2007
Happy birthday to Frank Black and Paul Rudd.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
My AFI Dallas experience ended up being spotty at best, but ended quite nicely.
I had originally intended to see eight films, but only saw all of three. I had pre-purchased all my tickets, but at a low-low discounted price, so not seeing some things didn't sting as much as it probably did for the high-dollar passholders. Overall, the inaugural festival was well-handled. They managed to show almost 200 films in 10 days and not cause a riot. That I know of.
There were some schedule snafus, but overall, from what I saw and heard, things went well. And the lineup was really stellar.
I just didn't see as much as I would have liked.
PAPRIKA - Didn't see it (due to a family obligation that came up).
FIDO - Pleasant, sometimes laugh-out-loud parody of 1950's kitsch, Lassie and zombie films. It takes some time to ramp up, but ultimately is a solid effort.
FAY GRIM - Didn't see it (due to weather concerns).
DARK MATTER - Disappointing drama about a brilliant Chinese student who allows the strain of his passionate obsession with an untested theory of the cosmos to drive him mad. Sort of. It had nice moments throughout but was ultimately weakened by a less-than-powerful lead actor, an uncertain tone and no real cinematic spark.
SHUT UP AND SHOOT ME - Left after about 20 minutes. It was interminable. I really like Karel Rodan, so it was another disappointment.
10 ITEMS OR LESS - Seemed sweet enough, with two very funny sequences with Morgan Freeman playing a pleasant actor who is astounded by the concept of Target and delights in the fun to be had at a carwash. Unfortunately, to make another film at a different location I was forced to leave before this film ended. I hated doing so but had to run.
THE TEN - David Wain's absurd and hilarious tales of the ten commandments made for a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Repeatedly laugh-out-loud funny, with some brave comedic performances. All I can say is Winona Ryder earns a great deal of respect for riding the dummy.
NETHERBEAST INCORPORATED - Didn't see it. Goddam, I was tired.
Then there were the celebrity photo opportunities. Let me just say, we didn't even consider taking a pic of Sarah Polley at Mi Cocina. It just felt wrong, and besides, she seemed to be enjoying herself. I was enjoying my tacos. We let it stay that way.
Joe Pantoliano was wandering about the Magnolia lobby in a shirt with the Union Jack on the back and a dark brown cowboy hat, a little bauble hanging from one ear. He seemed genuinely pleased to speak with people and while I was on line for 10 Items, he stepped into view. I readied my aim and just as I clicked away...the director of one of the festival's short film contenders leaned over, nudging me and this is what I got:
Damn you, short film director!
Then during the intro to 10 Items, the director, producer and Morgan Freeman got up and said a few words. The lighting was...well, here's what I got:
Yes, somewhere in that dark, fuzzy void is Morgan Freeman's face. But I can promise you, that is Morgan Freeman's shirt.
Lastly, The Ten's co-creator Ken Marino (of the original troupe from The State) answered a few questions at the evening's end:
Yeah, I know, I suck with the camera phone. I've taken decent shots with it before, but this was just a roundly humiliating experience.
For now, I'm glad I went...The Ten was a great way to close things out for me. There is nothing better than Joe LoTruglia and Liev Schreiber destroying their families over CatScan machines, or Paul Rudd doing practically anything. Now I must wait for August, when the Asian Film Festival of Dallas has their annual run. But that's a ways off. I can stick with standard fare until then.
Best Overheard Crowd Comment: "Who is that, the gay Billy Bob Thornton?" (guy behind me as we passed Pantoliano in his giddyup getup)
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Over the years, and especially when you have as spotty attendance as I do, you miss out on where people have ended up. Jena is somewhere in Austin (anyone got an e-mail address?); Kirsten is somewhere in Dallas, painting; Shannon got hitched and built a cabin in the mountains of some faraway state; the list is long and results varied. But there's one guy I never hear about, never see around, and no one's ever confirmed he died, so I have to assume he's still wandering the earth.
Whatever happened to Frank Edwards?
Frank was a slam poet back in the late nineties during the surge of the Clebo/GNO/Carney sessions. He looked like a disgusted insurance salesman, but actually I think the fact was he just dressed better than most of us. And say what you want about his personality, he tended to be a damn good performer. Sweat dripping off that head, voice booming through the Clearview lounge, he was worth watching.
These days, most poets have either stuck to their chosen neighborhoods or moved far from them. But you can usually find them. Frank just seemed to drop off the face of the planet, from what I can tell.
There are men that even Google cannot find. And only poetic mysteries remain.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
pagan, christian and the truth in-between

fuckin' persians, loosed a thousand-thousand bolts,
corroded sun's light and killed all but the spirit
of leonidas' furious steel

the whole of a nation can fall and go nigh unnoticed

but one compassionate man hung from a pair of railroad ties
takes a single spear in the side, and the throng responds
as if someone poked their god in the eye

like the man once said: in wine is found truth,
and in truth is found a need for more wine.

-scn, march 19, 2007





In Dallas we have two poetry slam venues, and both are manned by and populated with terrific talent. But neither one does a spectacular job of posting who's performing, winning, in the top-tier for each show's team, etc. Come on, wordmeisters, give the mother-lovin' public your summarizations. We're interested even if we aren't there.
*
Found a CD copy of Frank Black's self-titled recording (the Los Angeles one) while doing some compulsive purchasing the day before my birthday. I had forgotten about the CD, which I really like, since a period of time following my college days, when really it feels like I listened to it during my college days, but that's simply not possible. I also found a copy of some Pogues remasters that I could have listened to during my college days, but was not wise enough to do so. During those years I was hooked on Thompson Twins and Cocteau Twins...and it takes a big man to admit that kind of range. I am (in that sense) huge.
**
Speaking of The Pogues: my son (17) heard them for the first time today and thought they were pretty cool. There is hope after all.
***
Paprika is the latest Satoshi Kon mindtrip, and it's showing during the AFI festival this week. I already have my ticket. And I will not be going.
Due to a family obligation I must miss the show, but I will say it looks spectacular. SK's work is best viewed when clearheaded, and frequently it can be kind of heavy stuff. You can see his earlier art work in Roujin Z, and his feature Perfect Blue is a monster of a film. But it's his series Paranoia Agent that really works you over in the very best of ways. Now, with Paprika, he continues to create artistic, beautiful and freaky stories that are on par with little else. The film should be releasing in the states this June, so keep an eye open if you don't have festival access.
****
That song on the most recent Cinemax "Life Needs Movies" promo? That's Erika Wennerstrom of The Heartless Bastards. Her voice is a thing to behold, and the song, "All This Time", is just plain awesome.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Within the same week early in April, we're going to get the Tarantino/Rodriguez production of Grindhouse, the next chapter in The Shield, and the final days of The Sopranos.
I'm quite tingly all over.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
If you're in the Dallas area, don't forget that starting tonight is the AFI-Dallas' inaugural festival. It runs through Sunday, April 1st. They have a variety of cool films to see, so get out and find something that suits your tastes, or just pick randomly and have some fun.
My suggestions:
PAPRIKA
SHUT UP AND SHOOT ME
INLAND EMPIRE
NETHERBEAST INCORPORATED
EXILED
THE TEN
TEN ITEMS OR LESS
DARK MATTER
Enjoy!
What I'm Spinning!
FRANK BLACK Frank Black
THE POGUES Remasters
BJORK Drawing Restraint
ROD STEWART Best Of...
Yep, I'm Just Sayin'...
Category: Sexy!
Just saw this in a bulletin:
"ARIES: The SexiestOutgoing. Lovable. Spontaneous. Not one to fuck with. Erotic. Funny. Takes you on trips to the moon in bed. Excellent kisser. Extremely sexy. Loves being in long relationships. Addictive. Loud. Best in bed."
Now, I usually don't buy into these kinds of things, but - a-hem - let's just say the wife ain't grinnin' because of that sense of humor thing...
Steve Norwood - birthdate: March 23, Year Of The Dragon
Birthsign: Ram!
The sexy never stops...
Saturday, March 17, 2007
"Tickle The Fat Kid Until He Barfs" and win an IPOD.
Lovely.
For those who like a little bonus when doing an online marketing game, he pees himself first.
Welcome to America!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Lily Allen's Alright, Still...
The Rolling Stones' Exile on Main St.
Patti Smith's Easter
Gorillaz' Demon Days
eels' Souljacker
The barking of the children downstairs and the cries of the dog next door
The main screen theme to Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
The hiss of a broken water heater
The ratchety noise of my Deskjet 460 when I try to print out sub-par work
The wheels of cleverness in blogtown

"Reading is FUN-damental!"
Johnnie To's Exiled
Ewing & Grady's Jesus Camp
Tony Bill's Flyboys
Jacques Audiard's The Beat That My Heart Skipped
Martin Scorsese's The Departed
Commercials for Lunestra
Shinya Tsukamoto's Gemini
Approximately 10 minutes of Heroes
The occasional repeat of Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes
Commercials for 300

"Reading is FUN-damental"
Pablo Neruda's The Book of Questions
David Mamet's Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose, and Practice of the Movie Business
Daniel Tammet's Born on a Blue Day
Webster's New World Dictionary, Second College Edition (1980)
2007 Poet's Market
The New American Roget's Thesaurus (1962)
Luann
Funky Winkerbean
Doonesbury
Film Comment
Giant Robot

"Reading is FUN-damental!"





Saturday, March 10, 2007
I was lingering in the local Borders a couple of weeks ago, and came across a display of cheap CDs by black artists. There I found an $8.99 copy of a remastered version of Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain.
Sweet! February turned out alright after all!
(Okay, for the humorless, this was my way of pointing up the way important things are downplayed or commercialized in our society. A rack of discounted CDs in honor of black history should be as insulting as anyone's history being given a mere month for reflection. But sometimes you fuckers don't get the jokes, and I wanted to be sure no one thought I was being insensitive to black people. Christ, what a world.)
(BTW, great CD.)
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
It's possible that above this you are seeing the BEAT UP THE DEVIL game, wherein you can win a ringtone if you pummel Beelzebub.
God, the mighty boxer of the heavens, will left-jab you to a recurring snippet of JUICY, for free!
What a country we live in. Hands on hearts, we should say a little prayer of thanks to capitalism and to the great pugilist, Christian Bearded Deity.
What's New(s)?
Let's see...
Not Iraq, not Iran, not the 2008 contenders getting started up, not the condition of the earth, not the pay and benefits of police, firefighters and teachers, not the minimum wage, not research for cancer or AIDs, not the fight against illiteracy, obesity or racial/religious/class intolerance, and definitely not my poetry.
No, these are the top stories of the day:
- Anna Nicole Smith, ex-centerfold, continues to rot while those around her go mad
- Antonella Barba, American Idol hopeful, may be the subject of both racy modeling shots and X-rated sex photos circulating on the web (and believe me, you gotta really dig deep to find them now that the cease-and-desist is in effect)
- People are outraged that Dreamgirls didn't win more Oscars
and locally:
- The Cotton Bowl will re-locate to Arlington
- TXU is being bought out
Well, okay, that last one is of interest, I'll give you that.
The high today will be 73 degrees, and it's going to be sunny and breezy. Just like the headlines.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I mean, we could record the Oscars, and get fajitas tomorrow night, fast-forwarding through commercials.
And here's how the evening will pro'ly go: Ellen Degeneres won't embarrass herself. Winners: Scorsese, Mirren, Whitaker, Hudson, Murphy, Babel. Really bad renditions of Best Song nominees. Too many clip reels. One or two socially unacceptable or politically incorrect speeches. Somebody gonna call (GW) Bush on his shit. Too many of the right people getting their speeches drowned out by Nelson Riddle (or whoever does that now), and too many of the wrong people (Billy Bush) getting way too much airtime. And, like the Superbowl, no good commercials.
This is different for me, as the Oscars are the thing I make time for each year, knowing the most deserving people won't be awarded, and still eager to treat it like a really exciting high school football playoff game.
But I'm willing to go out tonight. Jim Norton was in town a while back and I missed him, and I don't know how frequently he plans to come to Texas, so I figure I should make the most of the dust-covered VCR and enjoy the best of both worlds.
Of course, if Little Miss Sunshine sweeps the awards, I'll be in a foul mood anyway and need some fajitas and snuggle-monsters to make me feel better tomorrow.
Christ, did I just write "snuggle-monsters"? Thus the secret words are uttered, and the apocalypse doth begin.
Friday, February 23, 2007
"CAMBRIDGE, Massachusetts (Reuters) - Actor Ben Stiller said on Friday he'd be excited to star alongside Tom Cruise in an updated movie version of The Hardy Boys book series."
Yeah...if the Hardy boys were 40.
I'm guessing they'll travel back in time and meet up with a 40-year-old Huck Finn played, of course, by Owen Wilson.
And Nancy Drew will appear in the form of a cameo by Nicole Kidman.
Thank you, Hollywood!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
I think it's safe to say that Britney Spears is crying on the inside.
Shaved head or no, I feel rather sad about her current state. I'd like to see what her "current mood" would be (have you read down through the emotions MySpace offers? There are so many dark and dingy choices that you wonder what they assumed their target demo was really going to be). But hers is one of those laugh now, gasp later lives.
We just saw the rollercoaster-turned-downward-spiral of Anna Nicole Smith come to a rather sudden stop. Yet a few years back we all laughed at the crazy antics of the then-walrus-like ex-centerfold moaning in a slurred, surely-it-means-drug-enhanced mewl about one ridiculous situation or another on her reality show.
Maybe it's because we laughed for so long that the inevitable (?) sad story comes as such a shock. Or maybe it's that protective feeling we co-opt when a vulnerable celebrity is slipping, not quite falling head first but definitely leaning too far in the wrong direction that we feel a sense of genuine concern for people we would otherwise ridicule and scorn. Let's face it, most of these folks have had it easy, or had so many grand opportunities at their fingertips that we cringe when they completely fuck things up.
Some don't warrant our concerns because they come across as too full of themselves or simply mean-spirited. Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Tara Reid, for example, appear to be unintelligent, whining cunts. But they probably aren't so bad in person. We've simply never been given the opportunity to see their better sides. When they lock themselves in a seedy motor inn for a final weekend of whiskey, meth and amateur porn tapings, we probably won't get that unsettled feeling in our guts that maybe someone should have done something to prevent this from happening.
But Britney? She seems like a sweet girl, always has. You want her to make better choices, to not fuck up. And now I fear that she is without strength of will, without firm but loving counsel, and definitely without hair...which is a look that could work. Stranger things have been, as they say, "hot".
I want to heal Britney Spears. I want to make her see the benefits of staying out of the public eye for at least a year, talk to her at length about her honest expectations of life, see if she can grasp a kind of inner calm and strength that will forever allow her to avoid the foolish choices of self-indulgence and the reeling sensation that comes with fast, excessive wealth...and rub her bald pate and tell her to forget all that celebrity nonsense. Tell her that everything's going to be alright. Tell her that her worth is not measured in paparazzi flashbulbs or lines of text in vapid periodicals.
But...I think we all know that's not going to happen.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Here is the content synopsis on the newly-released Def Poetry Season 4 DVD:
"Season four of the improvisational, uninhibited late-night series features the spoken words of the biggest and most stellar talent lineup like Kanye West (6 time Grammy Award-winner), Tracy Morgan (30 Rock) and Mike Epps (Host of Russell Simmons' Def Comedy Jam). Each episode is hosted by the highly regarded hip hop artist and actor Mos Def (hit album Black on Both Sides). Director: Stan Lathan Actors: Ruby Dee, Mike Epps, Tracy Morgan, Kim Fields, Kanye West, Ani Di Franco…"
Glad to see the slam poets getting their due.
Harriet Tubman Was A Sucker!
For all those who think they can uniquely express the black experience in America, well, you've got another thing coming. Please see a true example of what Black History Month is really all about.
Friday, February 16, 2007
BONG-BONG (sniffle)
It's one thing to be sick for over a month, and to start getting better, but not completely, and then to start thinking something far worse is wrong with you.
It's another thing entirely to have a character on Law & Order say that a suspect had the very same malady you anticipate having right before they drove men to murder.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Rest in peace, baby.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
I would have thought that Adult Swim was viewed by enough people that someone in Boston's city hall or their local media or - heaven forfend - some intern in a national media outlet would have recognized the Mooninite character on the guerilla marketing devices placed around that city (and 9 others, where nothing went wrong). Clearly I am am far more into underground culture than I thought possible. Slam poetry and Adult Swim: two things I will watch that apparently no one else in the country does.
(When I first typed that, I wrote "Clam Poetry", which upon further reflection may in fact be more interesting than what was intended. Pearls before swine, indeed.)
Do I think that the Boston officials and media made too much of this event and created the very panic that they sought to quell? Yes. Do I think that the Turner lackeys should have maybe left a business card or some kind of identifier - hell, a phone number? - with their devices? Yes. But do I think the whole thing has gone too far? Yes, absolutely. It would appear either Boston is far more tightly-strung than I was led to believe or someone is aching for a reason to practice martial law.
And with that, I propose everyone turn on the Family Guy marathon tonight following the Uperbowl-Say. Adult Swim, 9pm Central Standard Time. Check your local listings.
Track 4
More and more of my favorite tracks on CDs I've been listening to lately have all been Track 4:
Bruce Springsteen's We Shall Overcome - "O Mary Don't You Weep"
Green Day's American Idiot - "Boulevard Of Broken Dreams"
Louis XIV'sThe Best Little Secrets Are Kept - "God Killed The Queen"
Ali Farka Toure's Savane - Title Cut
The Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers - "Can't You Hear Me Knocking"
Eugene Mirman's The Absurd Nightclub Comedy Of... - "Jews Need Applause?"
Radiohead's Pablo Honey - "Stop Whispering"
and The Raconteurs' Broken Boy Soldier - "Intimate Secretary"

I realize it's completely subjective, but still, it's kinda weird.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Gotta get back to writing poetry and being disgusted by people. So here we go:
BEST ANIMATED FEATURE
I'm sure there were more animated films this year, and possibly better ones, than just these three. Of these, however, Cars was fun and sweet and well-made. Monster House was fun and nostalgic and in its final fifteen minutes quite scary. And Happy Feet...well, I never saw Happy Feet, but I have a feeling it won't compare based on the simple fact that Robin Williams voiced it in the same way he acts in most films: too much.
So, my vote goes to Monster House, though I figure Cars will win it.

BEST DOCUMENTARY
I feel pretty certain that An Inconvenient Truth will take the documentary category. 'Nuff said.

BEST FORIEGN LANGUAGE FILM
Days of Glory (Indigenes) will take the prize from Pan's Labyrinth with unfettered ease.

ORIGINAL SCORE
Babel.
ORIGINAL SONG
No one really cares, because they'll all be badly performed that night anyway.

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Borat winning this category would be a victory for contemporary comedy and mockumentaries. Children of Men or The Departed would be nice for the simple fact that their stories are neatly-packed, densely-coiled drama-thrillers that made excellent films. My choice: Children of Men.

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Babel, The Queen, Pan's Labyrinth...hell, this is a tough one. But I'll pick Babel for the sheer volume of stuff thrown your way as you watch. But I'd be happy with any of these three winning.

That's it, cinephiles. See you in a month and we'll find out how delightfully close or miserably far off I was.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
ART DIRECTION
All the films nominated were worthwhile, but I feel like The Prestige had the richest set design and overall look.

CINEMATOGRAPHY
Tough call, because all nominees were filmed beautifully despite my dislike for one of them. Still, if I have to choose, I would say it's a three-way tie between Children of Men, Pan's Labyrinth and The Prestige. And since I loved it so, I'm going to lean toward Children of Men.

COSTUME DESIGN
Again, all five nominees were well-dressed. But I'll throw Curse of The Golden Flower the bone. I disliked the movie a great deal, but the costumes were great.

FILM EDITING
Babel would be the narrative choice, but Children of Men gets my vote for its sudden, dramatic edits and seemless sequencing that propelled the story forward.

MAKEUP
One of those categories where there are only three nominees, despite the fact that there were more than enough films with effective makeup (see Visual Effects and Animated Features for more of this cheap trick). Apocalypto will take it, hands down.

SOUND EDITING
The ear-splitting pronunciations of U.S. ships shelling Iwo Jima in Flags of Our Fathers was the most effective sound in theaters last year.

SOUND MIXING
By contrast, the hushed blend of footfalls, thrashing branches, jaguars and arrows whistling through the air made Apocalypto the easy winner in this category.

VISUAL EFFECTS
Well, I can't understand why more or simply better films were not nominated here. But I'll go with Superman Returns. Again, a film I ultimately didn't care about, but of the three nominees, a bullet in the eye goes a long way.

Next: The Rest
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
I'll barrel through these since there are so many...
BEST ACTOR
LEONARDO DICAPRIO - BLOOD DIAMOND
RYAN GOSLING - HALF NELSON
PETER O'TOOLE - VENUS
WILL SMITH - THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS
FOREST WHITAKER - THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND
Problem 1: I haven't seen any of these films so I have to come at this sideways. Problem 2: Why isn't Leonardo DiCaprio up for The Departed? I had no idea Blood Diamond was as impressive as they have made it out to be.
DiCaprio is one of the best American actors of his generation, so any film promises to be better with him in it. Ryan Gosling is one of the best American actors of his generation that no one knows about. He's been doing searing portrayals for years now and only after Half Nelson did people start to sit up and take notice. Peter O'Toole is an old favorite of mine, and if the ageist sympathy vote takes hold, he'll win it. Will Smith has a nice way of balancing dumb, populist entertainments with deeply-moving dramatic roles, and people genuinely seem to like him. And then there's Forest Whitaker, who I think is one of the best actors out there if you want thinly-veiled, tightly-coiled, wolf-in-sheep's-clothing performances (see his part in the past season of FX's The Shield).
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - FOREST WHITAKER
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - FOREST WHITAKER (though Ryan Gosling pulling it off would be pretty cool)

BEST ACTRESS
PENELOPE CRUZ - VOLVER
JUDI DENCH - NOTES ON A SCANDAL
HELEN MIRREN - THE QUEEN
MERYL STREEP - THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA
KATE WINSLET - LITTLE CHILDREN
Problem 1: I have only seen two of these films. Solution to Problem 1: It doesn't matter, because I think Helen Mirren owns the category.
Loved Meryl Streep in Prada, though it doesn't feel like the lead role. Love Kate Winslet in anything, but I'm not objective when it comes to Kate Winslet, so let's move on. Judi Dench will have to be happy with her 007 money and her rave reviews for Scandal. Penelope Cruz will have to be happy with her rave reviews and the fact that with Katie Holmes in the bag, she won't be the indirect target of any Tom Cruise jokes on Oscar night.
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - HELEN MIRREN
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - HELEN MIRREN

BEST ACTOR (SUPPORTING)
ALAN ARKIN - LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
JACKIE EARLE HALEY - LITTLE CHILDREN
DJIMON HOUNSOU - BLOOD DIAMOND
EDDIE MURPHY - DREAMGIRLS
MARK WAHLBERG - THE DEPARTED
Ageist votes could go Arkin's way, but his role was mostly the salty old man in the face of everyone younger than him, which was entertaining but not the most actorly part. Didn't see Little Children. Didn't see Blood Diamond. Eddie Murphy was excellent in his small but pivotal role in Dreamgirls, and I would wager that he wins on sheer charm. But Mark Wahlberg was great in The Departed in the same way William Hurt was great in A History of Violence: tiny, pivotal part, excellent delivery, deserves it but will probably be overlooked.
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - EDDIE MURPHY
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - MARK WAHLBERG

BEST ACTRESS (SUPPORTING)
ADRIANA BARRAZA - BABEL
CATE BLANCHETT - NOTES ON A SCANDAL
ABIGAIL BRESLIN - LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
JENNIFER HUDSON - DREAMGIRLS
RINKO KIKUCHI - BABEL
Another complaint comes up here: why wasn't Ivana Baquero nominated for Pan's Labyrinth? It really was a lead role, but seeing how the film did get several substantial nominations, would it have been so far off the mark to throw in one for acting? As child actors go, Baquero outdistances Abigail Breslin's acting by miles.
That said, here's the other thing you must understand: powerful singing does not make for powerful acting. Jennifer Hudson was the white-hot core of Dreamgirls, but only when she was singing. Her acting was okay but let's give the award to someone who actually performed their part.
Unfortunately, the person who made the most impact is the least known, and will probably be overlooked: Rinko Kikuchi in Babel. Her performance was one of the most intense in the whole of 2006, and I think she's a good bet.
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - JENNIFER HUDSON
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - RINKO KIKUCHI

Next: Technical Categories
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
First of all, this is like Superbowl time for me. Cinema is one of my greatest joys and award season, crowned with the Oscars, is when I get to see if justice really can be done in one art form. And trust me, it rarely is. So for the uncaring or bored, go on to the next gig. For film enthusiasts, please read on.
Let's be clear on one point before diving in: there were really no surprises this year (in the major categories, at least). And don't be fooled by the movie pundits saying Dreamgirls should have had a Best Picture nomination. It may have been a rousing film, and may have had a lot of good in it, but it was not a great film. There, I said it.
BEST PICTURE
BABEL
THE DEPARTED
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
THE QUEEN
The real glaring omissions here, I think, are United 93, Children of Men and Pan's Labyrinth. But these five are in line with many of the best film of the year rosters that showed up last month. Of these, Little Miss Sunshine is the weakest choice and a clear longshot to win. Letters from Iwo Jima is powerful, no doubt; and director Clint Eastwood has Flags of Our Fathers to back it up. But Flags has a more resounding emotional impact than Letters, and Eastwood won last year for Million Dollar Baby, and the Academy doesn't often award the same guy in consecutive years. This leaves The Queen, which is an almost perfect film anchored by Helen Mirren's terrific portrayal, and The Departed, a film that nicely balances the need for impressive moviemaking with popularity, and could secure Martin Scorsese his long-deserved first Oscar. Oh yeah, and Babel. I loved Babel, but it was a long, hard ride through bleak, depressing territory, and probably deserves to garner acting awards rather than for the film as a whole.
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - THE DEPARTED
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - THE QUEEN

BEST DIRECTOR
BABEL
THE DEPARTED
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
THE QUEEN
UNITED 93
Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's Amores Perros was a clear sign that this guy had immense talent, and Babel is like a vast, epic and alternately intimate version of the most awful story of dominoes falling you could ever quite imagine. Except that he jumps about, never showing where the first domino toppled until very late in the film. It's a grand excursion, if a depressing one, and terribly bleak to counter the grandeur of its varied landscapes.
Martin Scorsese was overlooked for Raging Bull, which many view as his best film, and again for Goodfellas (which I think is his best film), and again and again, year after year. But The Departed will, I hope, be the one to break that streak, and give the guy what we've all been waiting for.
Eastwood, as mentioned above, won last year, but who knows?
Stephen Frears' The Queen and Paul Greengrass' United 93 are both near perfect films, each sewn from quite different mourning cloth. Too soon for a film like United 93? Maybe, but that does not mute the strength of the film. As for The Queen, a quietly affecting story with warm traces of dignity, respect and humor (and a whale of a performance by Helen Mirren), it would be nice to see things go Frears' way.
WHO I THINK WILL WIN - SCORSESE for THE DEPARTED
WHO I THINK SHOULD WIN - SCORSESE for THE DEPARTED

Next: Performance Categories
Monday, January 22, 2007
(For The Wife: Valentine's is getting closer...here's a little something from last year to whet the appetite while I work on the annual gift.

For the random reader: in my opinion I'm awful at love poems, but being so intensely in love makes me feel a certain obligation to write them every now and then, and February 14th seems like a good enough deadline for such submissions.)

the pattern of our love

she is partially deaf in her right ear,
and on a bad day, or in a loud venue,
you must expect that she cannot hear you.

I have problems of my own: a ringing
in my right ear which has increased with age,
and like the best of wines, will someday topple me.

the pattern of our love
is two facing each other in an Escher drawing
of necessity, a logistical nirvana of accessibility.

into paradise we will glide, reading each others' lips
while the winds of ending drown out all other voices,
all around us deaf to their own patterns,

and to the world's varied and finite alarms.

-scn, march 20, 2006
Thursday, January 18, 2007
...And Then Huang Says, "How Did That Make You Feel?"
There's nothing quite like simultaneously reading bad poetry and listening to an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Go to one of the many local poet's websites and check out the date and time of the event you don't plan to attend. Then, while the event is taking place, check your MySpace friends list to see which local poets are not attending that event. Points for finding a poet who actually says they're going to try to make it out to said event when really they just end up sitting at home writing new self-congratulatory blogs. Bonus points if the next day they leave an apologetic MySpace comment for the facilitator of the event saying they really wished they could have made it out.
Fun for the whole family!

Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Apparently yesterday was Coming of Age Day in Japan. I don't know what that means, but I wouldn't want to be on the cleanup crew.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Best Films of 2006
I haven't seen Pan's Labyrinth. Or Funky Forest. Or The Good German, The Painted Veil and Children of Men. Or Volver, which by now has been touted so highly that I'm going to have to be in a very forgiving mood if it sucks.
I haven't seen these films and many others, so if you're a cineaste and find my choices to be very very wrong, forgive me, but it's a subjective deal, you know. That's why we watch them. To be had, and then tell others how good it felt.
Here are my choices for the best films of 2006, and I admit to cheating; there are ten slots but multiple films in some of them. Work with me.
10 - APOCALYPTO
Remove Mel Gibson's antics this year, and remove the artsy teaser trailer that arrived months in advance...which had little in common with the film it promoted. What you have is a visually stunning, visceral and highly engrossing tale of a young man fighting his way back home to save his wife and children. The movie felt at times like early Herzog crossed with George Miller's worst nightmares, but on foot rather than some Rube Goldbergian hotrod. An unexpected surprise.
9 - THE DESCENT
An absolutely frightening experience, from the crushing claustrophobia of its characters squeezing through unbearably small cave tunnels to the horrific surprise they find when they get too far in to turn back. Viscera wins again, but the haunting aspect of the film stays with you long after the end.
8 - FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS
Letters From Iwo Jima is another of the movies I have yet to see, and if the global chorus is accurate, it will end up on next year's list of 2006 movies seen in 2007. But Flags was a surprisingly powerful film that I'm afraid isn't going to see the wider audiences many of director Clint Eastwood's films has reached, which is too bad.
7 - DEAD MAN'S SHOES
With the casual threat of violence found in the very best verite-style films (I'm thinking Man Bites Dog) and the actual swift, retributive delivery of said violence, Dead Man's Shoes creeps up like its alleged protagonist, watching the men he plans to avenge himself upon, and attacks without warning. Paddy Considine gives the performance of the year with just a cold glimmer in his eyes and a determination that is more frightening than any masked killer Hollywood has ever dreamed up. Again with the violence, I know. But watch the film and then tell me you aren't impressed.
6 - SHORTBUS / SORRY, HATERS
Two very independent films that were so powerful (in very different ways) that I considered myself lucky to have viewed them.
Shortbus is touted as a sexual film, but take out all the sex and what you have is a deeply emotional film about human connectivity, and all the ways people succeed (and more often fail) in the simplest acts of communication.
Sorry, Haters might just be the most powerful film of the year, but it's so deeply painful and was viewed by so few people, you probably won't hear about it from anyone else. Robin Wright-Penn gives the most shattering performance of her career as a deeply troubled woman who gets involved with a Muslim taxi driver with horrible results. It's one of those films that you think you have pegged, but the damned thing twists away from you and kicks you right in the gut.
5 - CASINO ROYALE / MIAMI VICE / THE PRESTIGE
Class acts, all. Don't be fooled by the mainstream trappings. Each of these films were creative, powerful and in many ways re-tooled the elements and methods of a thousand similar movies in years past ... and a few from this year, as well.
Casino Royale is perhaps the best Bond film ever made, Daniel Craig and a darker, more bastardly tone the primary reasons why. But beyond the Bond formula, you have a great film about the very human "blunt instrument" of espionage that so frequently gets the invincible treatment. And the thing was fun, too. What more could you want?
Miami Vice is ... well, first off, I am fairly certain Michael Mann cannot make a bad film. Remove the memory of a Friday night watching NBC's most glam crime show, and what you have is a gritty, tough piece of crime film. Glossy in a darker, meaner way, it gives some guts and muscle to a concept that could have gone very, very badly from small to large screen.
The Prestige is the "magic movie" that could. Its characters, plot and gimmicks were top-notch, and even the most predictable moments didn't taste so bad. And any film starring David Bowie as Nikolai Tesla deserves every kind word it gets.
4 - THE PROPOSITION
Viscera again, yes, I know. This throwback to harsh, bloody westerns where the human condition butts heads with the thirst for vengeance was another film I doubt many people saw.
3 - BABEL / THE DEPARTED / THE QUEEN
Here we have three films that all wore the bright sash that reads "you're supposed to think this is good", and in a month we'll see just how effective that saying was. These are films that are award winners, no doubt. Fortunately, they were also all excellent films.
Babel is the follow-up to Amores Perros that 21 Grams simply couldn't be. If you've seen all three films you know what I mean. An interconnected series of situations that all seem very, very bleak until the last, oh, ten minutes of the film, Babel is supposed to be about how our actions impact those the farthest from us, but really it's about how the language we speak and the intentions we bear mean nothing if those we rail at cannot understand us. It is a long and painful road, but at the end you don't feel beaten up by the experience.
The Departed is Martin Scorsese's return to the crime genre, one of my personal favorites of 2006, and surprisingly, a remake (of the highly touted Hong Kong drama Infernal Affairs). It also contains the best acting by Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon, who are fast becoming their generation's best hope for a class act.
The Queen is quite simply perfect, and I'm placing the wager now that Helen Mirren will walk away free and clear with the Best Actress statuette at Oscar time. The tale of Queen Elizabeth's and newly-elected Prime Minister Tony Blair's reactions and actions in the face of Lady Diana's death is both intimate and grand. It maintains a respectful view toward the royal family while pointing up the missteps in their handling of a public response to the loss. A film with a steady and subtle sense of humor and emotionally honest insights into characters who we only see as stoic heads of state on TV, The Queen delivers all the very best elements a film can strive for.
2 - UNITED 93
Completely enthralling, very painful and perhaps made too soon, but made damn near perfectly by director Paul Greengrass (who made the eerily similar Bloody Sunday), this seeming documentary follows the actions of two fronts during the events of 9/11: the men and women trapped by circumstance on the titular airline (which we know is destined to crash, killing all aboard), and the men and women (both military and civilian) on the ground who are tracking the events of that morning. No film this year seemed as immediate and as gripping.
1 - INSIDE MAN / WHEN THE LEVEES BROKE: A REQUIEM IN FOUR ACTS
The year's top honors go to Spike Lee, a filmmaker who can excel in multiple genres in the same year.
With Inside Man, Lee creates a loving homage to seventies heist films yet retains a mood, tone and pace all his own. With crackerjack performances by all involved, it managed to be the most entertaining film of the year while honoring a slew of others that have mostly been ignored by a new generation of moviegoers.
However, it was with When The Levees Broke that Lee managed to get a message across, and that's what he seems to do best, with simple but resolute flair. In examining the devastation of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina, Lee filmed area citizens, military leaders and civic authorities, and gathers so much in the way of deeply felt emotional heft that the four-hour program can be at times overwhelming. But it is a masterpiece, a work that should be remembered long after best lists and celebrity fade.
I humbly salute Spike Lee for creating the two best films of 2006, and in the process, covering all the bases.

Thank you for reading these lists. If you can extract from them something good, or fun, or cool, and can enjoy or appreciate someone's work because you read it here, then I've done my job.
See you in 2007.
Happy New Year, and best wishes to you and your families.
Steve Norwood / Controlled Burning
Runners-up: Best Films of 2006
Getting closer now. Here are some of the films that were solid in 2006. Not the best, but definitely worth watching. To save time I will keep the quips to a minimum:
All The King's Men
Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan - This and the second Jackass film made me laugh out loud and louder than anything in years.
Cars
The Devil Wears Prada
Drawing Restraint 9 - Not so much a movie as a museum exhibit...a precise work of art so confounding that all you can do is sit back and see what happens.
Game 6 - A real writer's film.
The Great Yokai War - Takashi Miike's apocalyptic Sesame Street.
The Illusionist
The Night Listener
Over The Hedge
Subject Two - A hard-to-find, deeply independent horror film about a man who...well, you find it and we'll talk.
Takeshis' - Kitano's most elaborate trick.
The Tenants
Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story
The U.S. vs. John Lennon - Watch this and tell me things have changed. I dare you.
Unknown White Male
V For Vendetta
The World's Fastest Indian
Next: Finally, the very best films of 2006.
Best Movies of 2006....That Weren't From 2006
Every year something carries over to the next. I live in the Dallas area, you see, so those films released only on either coast at the end of the year, or those with extremely brief or poor distribution, or those I simply couldn't get to for some feeble reason, get missed. Here, in alphabetical order, are my favorite films of 2006 that were actually from 2005:
Cache - A pure and chilling piece of dread. A family begins receiving tapes of their home, which is being watched by someone who clearly holds a grudge. But against who, and for what reason? And what does the viewer want? An absolutely brilliant, frightening film.
Clean - Maggie Cheung's performance has been touted for its power, and rightly so. But watch for Nick Nolte's smaller supporting role, perhaps some of his finest work.
The New World - A beautiful, beautiful film, filled with moments of violence and long passages of worldess calm. And laugh if you want about Colin Ferrell playing the lead, but in the right film (see Tigerland and this year's Miami Vice), he is compelling and completely natural.
On A Clear Day - The tale of a troubled man who decides to swim the English Channel to purge his demons, this movie has the sort of honest feel-good quality that Hollywood films always get wrong. It is feel-good without sap, which Hollywood has in abundant supply.
Rampo Noir - A Japanese "horror" film, but not the kind you would expect. An anthology of four stories that are shown more than they are told, it is a minor masterpiece of image, color, shadow and fear. If you want quick easy scares that you can shrug off with a nervous laugh, stay far away from this movie, for it will drill down inside your brain and nest its troubles inside you.
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance - Chan-Wook Park's final episode in the revenge trilogy, which started with Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and Oldboy, is a glorious piece of filmmaking. Vibrant, giddy and ultimately emotionally wrecking, it is one of my personal favorites of the past two years.
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada - Tommy Lee Jones' directorial debut was a stunner, mostly in how such an epic tale could be told in cramped diners, stuffy motel rooms and on horseback, wandering down isolated Mexican arroyos.
All of these are available on DVD, and most through Netflix, though I can't say how many you will find at your local Blockbuster.
Enjoy.
Next: The Solid Seconds of 2006.
Friday, December 29, 2006
The Worst Films of 2006
Each year I have to preface this one with a clarification: it's more fun to write about the worst movies not because they were bad, as in the case of subgenre schlock like See No Evil and The Hills Have Eyes remake (both of which I admit paying money to see), but because of how disappointing the films that errored out really were. You can create a very long list of crap movies, slasher flicks and stupid, humorless comedies that are in no way enjoyable; what really counts here are the films that set out to be something important or great or in some way solidly affecting, but stumbled so badly that they were painful to watch. These are, in alphabetical order, my worst films of 2006:
An American Haunting - true tale of a Puritan home's haunting by vengeful ghosts, or a latter-day screed against sexual abuse? Guess what? It doesn't matter, because it was awful. Predictable and silly, not particularly scary, and a shame that actors like Sissy Spacek and Donald Sutherland couldn't enliven the damned thing.
Ask The Dust - Robert Towne's disappointing take on John Fante's depression-era novel, with surprisingly poor turns by stars Colin Ferrell and Salma Hayek. The mood was right, but the story drags on and makes you actually not want to read books.
The Big White - Mark Mylod's supremely unfunny tale of a travel agent (Robin Williams) and his c-c-c-crazy wife (Holly Hunter), caught up in a tale of faked deaths, missing corpses and insurance fraud. I don't know if I've ever put Holly Hunter and worst in the same paragraph before.
Friends With Money - Nicole Holofcener directed this film, which at first glance has loads of potential: a cast of terrific female actresses, an interesting examination of social and class structures in contemporary America, and Jennifer Aniston in a French maid outfit. But woe be to the viewer who expects something good from this bitches brew of unpleasantness. There is the occasional ring of truth in the film, but it's so deeply drowned out by the whining, screeching and groaning of unrepentantly terrible characters that you just want the thing to end.
The Great New Wonderful - The Mild Bland Indifferent.
Lonesome Jim - I love Steve Buscemi, and his directorial stints have been very good to this point. But Lonesome Jim is the cinematic equivalent to a monotone. It is a horrible film with nothing to show.
Looking For Comedy In The Muslim World - Albert Brooks has a terrific track record for funny. He didn't bring it to this film.
Mozart and The Whale - A film about people with Autism? Sure, why not. A film filled with the oldest stereotypes of bouncing, moaning, screeching retards? Oh dear.
...and the Worst Film of 2006...
The Black Dahlia / Ultraviolet (TIE)
Yes, last year was a four-way tie, and this year the chips fall that way again as two films so wrongheaded and filled with fault duke it out for the top spot.
Brian DePalma has been known to make good and bad films, but The Black Dahlia should have been a no-brainer: solid cast, spiffy noir stylings, an unsolved mystery. All the elements for a film that if nothing else should have at least been enjoyable. But Dahlia was filled with repugnant characters, predictable twists and an ending that resolves the touted "unsolved mystery".
However, Ultraviolet has no such aspirations. It is the antithesis of the formula film in that it has many familar elements but a complete lack of cohesion. Matrix-style fights? Check. Computer graphics to excess? Check. Bad performances by actors you expect nothing from anyway (William Fichtner excluded)? Check. Silly, ridiculous and badly made, Ultraviolet is a cinematic affront.

Next: Best Films of 2006 that were from 2005
And Now, Our Feature Presentation!
Movies are my favorite thing, second to writing, but movies are (for me) frequently far less painful and frustrating than writing, so I place them on a much shinier pedestal.
The other BEST lists are brief so that I can throw all my weight against the beast that is the movie lists. There are many, and if you don't care, you won't finish them. This will take a few days to complete, so bear with me.
Here we go...
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Best Music of 2006
CDs released in 2006.
Best CD of the Year:
ORPHANS - Tom Waits (anti-)
Runners-up:
Broken Boy Soldiers - The Raconteurs (third man)
We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions - Bruce Springsteen (columbia)
Savane - Ali Farka Toure (world circuit/nonesuch)
Shortbus - Soundtrack (team love)
The Eraser - Thom Yorke (xl)
The U.S. vs. John Lennon - Soundtrack (emi)
Favorite CDs I heard in 2006 for the first time:
The Best Little Secrets Are Kept - Louis XIV (atlantic)
Beggars Banquet - The Rolling Stones (abkco)
Death By Sexy - Eagles of Death Metal
Blinking Lights - eels (vagrant)
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Best Television of 2006
This covers entire seasons taking place within 2006.
Best Show of the Year:
DEADWOOD (HBO)
Runners-up:
The Shield (FX)
The Sopranos (HBO)
Metalocalypse (Adult Swim)
Sorry, fans of 24 and The Wire. You backed the wrong horse.
Best Game of 2006
This doesn't have to take long.
Best Game of the Year:
GEARS OF WAR (Xbox 360)
Runners-up:
Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion (Xbox 360)
Bully (PS2)
Now that didn't hurt, did it?
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Scenarios Describing The Failure of The Service Industry
Scenario 1:
We are at a slightly upscale Italian restaurant, celebrating The Wife's birthday. We have all courses and enjoy a delightful time. The server has been quick and helpful and pleasant. She brings the bill, and I see that there is an entree that we did not order; one that increases the bill's total by a quarter. I ask for the item to be removed, and it takes forever, but they are apologetic and all seems fine. The next day, the larger, wrong amount shows up on the Visa account, and it takes a call to a manager to clear matters up.

Scenario 2:
The Wife, my son and I eat at a Ft. Worth restaurant that no one is enjoying very much. I pay for a $42 bill with $50. The remaining $8 never comes back. We wait and I finally catch the eye of the server, asking for my change. She smiles, caught in an assumption that leaves her the recipient of an even smaller tip than I had planned to leave.

Scenario 3:
I drive to a local Sonic to grab two breakfast burritos for The Wife and I. I pay for $5.61 with $6. Usually, Sonic employees immediately generate change and scurry away, but I was handed two receipts and no change. I pressed the buzzer a moment later and asked for my change (which should have been $0.39), and a smiling young man walked out and handed me $0.75. Deceptive and stupid? You make the call.

There is a basic conceit that all good customer service handlers must remember: it's my money until I say otherwise. If I don't tell you to keep the change, you better bring it the fuck back. And if you're putting a charge on my card, make sure it's right the first time. Each time I have to try to get you to get it right again, my estimation of your establishment drops by degrees.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The Lists Are Coming
...and I'm pretty excited, too.
It's that time of year, so soon I will be putting my best/worst/favorites lists up for all the fun stuff in 2006. Not to mention a few observations on the year.
Until then, here is the official "have a wonderful Christmas & New Year's, and a safe, happy and healthy 2007" wish to everyone out there on the interweb, from Controlled Burning.
Wassail, bitches!
"Which one is it?"
"It's the one that says Bad Motherfucker."
Today, the one-and-only Samuel L. Jackson turns a shocking 58 years old. He doesn't look like a man nearing retirement.
Alongside him today are fellow celebrity electrodes Phil Donahue (71) and Keifer Sutherland (40). Or as I like to call him, Donald Sutherland's son, who also apparently acts.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Holy Mackerel! or, I'll Have The Salmon, Ella
Catching up is so very hard to do when you just don't give a shit.
For the better part of the last month I've been sick. Started out as sinus, then bronchitis, then strep, then a cough that wouldn't let go, then sinus and bronchitis, and it all started with what I believe was a dandy case of food poisoning.
That last claim is based solely on the fact that one minute 4 weeks ago The Wife and I were feeling fine, and then after one meal we were both shitting like rabid mongooses (mongi?). And from there it all went downhill.
My cough could have been a matter of public record, had I followed through on a plan to see Patton Oswalt in Austin on December 2nd. He was recording his next CD that weekend, and I could have assured that my hack-hack-hack of a dry, bronchial cough would have been the house music behind his show. But smarter instincts prevailed and we stayed home that weekend, huddled under blankets as snow fell on Dallas. The cough is the only thing that has lingered to this day, and it's an ornery cuss. I'm hoping by Christmas I'll be fully rejuvenated once more, but I'm not laying any bets down on that one.
During this time my writing has dropped off to null-set, and I bought an Xbox 360, so my kill-alien-commandos quotient has risen sharply. Frankly, I'm just stressed out and bored, so I go to the easiest diversions. Law & Order, Gears of War...I'm a fucking sight.
I haven't even felt inclined to go see many movies, so you know I've been ill. Tonight I broke the curse and saw Apocalypto, which was quite good, despite having none of the artistic qualities found in its initial teaser trailer. The film actually plays out like a cross between early Herzog dramas and George Miller doing an action movie where everyone is on foot instead of in Rube Goldbergian wasteland vehicles.
Accompanied The Wife to her company's Christmas dinner/party. It was a nice affair, though not exactly what I would call a gangbuster night. I had the salmon.
But it was the whiskey that made things seem all better. The whiskey, and the antibiotics.
...for want of a bird, the sky was lost...
Monday, November 20, 2006
Hey, Buddy!
In a world...
Saturday, November 18, 2006
NEW INDUCTEES INTO THE PIECE-OF-SHIT HALL OF FAME
(personal histories extracted from Wikipedia)
O.J. Simpson

Orenthal James Simpson (born July 9, 1947, San Francisco, California), publicly known by his initials as O.J., and nicknamed The Juice, is an American former college and professional football player and film actor.

Football career

High school
At Galileo High School in San Francisco, Simpson played for the school's football team, the Galileo Lions.

College
Simpson won the Heisman Trophy in 1968 while playing for the University of Southern California.

NFL
Simpson was drafted by the National Football League's Buffalo Bills, who got first pick in the 1969 draft after finishing 1-12-1 in 1968. Early in his NFL career, Simpson struggled on poor Buffalo teams, averaging only 622 yards per season. He first rushed for 1,000 yards in 1972. In 1973, Simpson erupted with a then-record 2,003 yards, becoming the first player ever to pass the 2,000-yard mark.

Acting

After his retirement from football, Simpson went on to a successful film career with parts in films such as the television mini-series Roots, and the motion pictures The Cassandra Crossing, Capricorn One, The Klansman, The Towering Inferno, Back to the Beach, and The Naked Gun trilogy. Simpson was considered for the lead role in The Terminator, before it was decided audiences might not accept him as a villain because he was perceived as too "nice".
Simpson's amiable persona and natural charisma landed him numerous endorsement deals. He was a spokesman for the Hertz rental car company (Ford vehicles are usually found in Hertz rental fleets, hence the nickname 'Simpsons' for the cars). He would often be shown running through airports, as if to suggest he was back on the football field. Simpson was spokesman for the pX Corporation, and he appeared in comic book ads for Dingo shoes.
Besides his acting career, Simpson had stints as a commentator for Monday Night Football and The NFL on NBC. He also hosted an episode of Saturday Night Live, but he was the only host not invited to attend the program's 25th anniversary celebration special in 1999.

Filmography
• Medical Center (TV series) episode The Last 10 Yards (1969)
• Cade's County (TV series) episode Blackout (1972)
• The Dream of Hamish Mose (unreleased) (1973)
• Why (unreleased) (1973)
• Here's Lucy (TV series) episode The Big Game (1973)
• The Klansman (1974)
• O.J. Simpson: Juice on the Loose (made for TV) (1974)
• The Towering Inferno (1974)
• The Cassandra Crossing (1976)
• Killer Force aka The Diamond Mercenaries (1976)
• A Killing Affair aka Behind the Badge (made for TV) (1977)
• ROOTS (TV mini-series) (1977)
• Capricorn One (1978)
• Firepower (1979)
• Goldie and the Boxer (made for TV) (1979)
• Detour to Terror (made for TV) (1980)
• Goldie and the Boxer Go to Hollywood• Cocaine and Blue Eyes (made for TV) (1983)
• Hambone and Hillie (1984)
• 1st & Ten (TV series) episodes Blood on Blood (1987) Mind Games (1989)
• Back to the Beach (1987)
• Student Exchange (made for TV) (1987)
• The Naked Gun aka The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! (1988)
• In the Heat of the Night (TV series) episode Walkout (1989)
• The Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear (1991)
• CIA Code Name: Alexa (1993)
• No Place to Hide (1993)
• Frogmen (unaired TV pilot) (1994)
• The Naked Gun 33?:The Final Insult (1994)
• Juiced with O.J. Simpson (TV pay-per-view) (2006)


Judith Regan

Judith Regan (born 1953 in Massachusetts) is an American book publisher.

Regan graduated from Bay Shore High School, on Long Island (where she grew up), in 1971.
She attended Vassar College, receiving her A.B. degree in 1975.

In 1978, while working as a secretary at Harvard, Regan answered a newspaper ad for a reporter for The National Enquirer. She got the job.

In the early 1980s, Regan relocated to New York City. In 1987 she approached Simon & Schuster with an idea for a book, a study of the average American family, with Ozzie and Harriet as its centerpiece. The editor at Pocket Books didn't want the book, but hired Regan to work for the company as a consultant. She soon had a string of successes: Drew Barrymore's Little Girl Lost, Kathie Lee Gifford's I Can't Believe I Said That!, and celebrity autobiographies such as those of Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern.

In 1994 News Corporation CEO Rupert Murdoch gave Regan her own subdivision at HarperCollins called ReganBooks. She later had a show on News Corp's Fox News Channel called Judith Regan Tonight, which is no longer on the air.
Another In A String Of Dumbass Moves
Used to be, you picked on Miramax for its dumbass cinematic moves (see their treatment of almost any Asian film, from dub to soundtrack to distribution strategy), but now we get to zero in on The Weinstein Co., as the brothers W have apparently signed an exclusivity deal with Blockbuster Corp. for the rental rights to all their films. This means if you're a Netflix devotee, like those here at Casa de Controlled Burning, you're fucked when Bobby hits DVD (for example). You miss it in the theater, you gotta play with the corporate censor bureau. Not that I'm saying the Dubs would allow their films to be edited for rental use, but it seems odd anyone so devoted to "quality" cinema would do a deal with a company that isn't exactly the best with free expression of the art. And they're not terribly discerning, either...you won't be able to find a copy of Shortbus at BB, but you can find any number of execrable slasher flicks that have nothing in common other than a fetish for ways to show the human body turned inside out.
Now, I'm not against violence in films, but there is a certain hypocrisy in the U.S. that Blockbuster definitely adheres to where violence in all its horrific, myriad forms is acceptable for distribution, but mature content, be it cultural, societal, sexual or physchological, is frequently shown the door. Especially sexual. But this is nothing new. And it's not going to be for some time, even with a renewed Demo base. Don't think this is about politics; this is about people lazily making choices and allowing things to be removed from the purview, and that's going to keep us on the path to becoming the most bland and unoffensive country of spoiled, uptight, capitalistic and selfish faith-based warmongers on the planet.
Now, did I just circle back to say that the Weinstein brothers are impacting all of American society? Perhaps I did.
Baby steps, people. They go both ways.
Monday, January 22, 2007
American Boy
"He was doing a year for contempt and had a very good system for the garlic."
Happy 64th birthday to Martin Scorsese.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Gold-Encrusted Capsules of Life!
This week I was shocked in a way I have not been for some time now. I am 42 years down and it's rare that something makes me cry out at injustice, failure and madness. But this did:
I've talked at length about my guts. Short version: ulcerative colitis, managed by meds. The meds I take, a delightfully grand capsule called Colozal, is about the size of a waif's pinkie. I take eight of these, four in the morning and four in the evening.
At my last visit, I requested that my doctor write out an extended prescription that I could in turn use with my insurance company's mail-order meds program. You get 90 days of meds at a phenomenally low rate, like a co-pay or a small dinner for two.
Yesterday the package arrived. The box could have contained, oh, a football, as the size of the capsules required bottles that were roughly the size of said waif's head. Don't ask where I keep coming across these little waifs; they're out there. Three waif-head sized bottles of 240 (8 pills X 30 days) waif-pinkie sized capsules (each) to govern my intestinal wreckage. My cost: $20.00.
But if you read all the way down the manifesto that arrived with the meds, you saw the actual cost of the capsules. A shocking number, in my view, and one that caused me to stare gape-mouthed at The Wife for several moments before repeating the number two or three times.
$893.00.
That's right. I'm choking down $9.92 of this stuff each day, but it only cost me $0.22 a day.
I try to imagine someone without insurance attempting to resolve their ulcerative colitis and shaking their head when payment is requested. I try to imagine that week I went without coverage, how I got hit with the $6000 emergency room bill because of a timely, errant kidney stone, and how that turned out. I try to imagine The Wife's meds, my meds, all the household meds, and what they would cost us if we weren't employed, or not covered, or just not bringing down the sums we do. I can't imagine it.
I don't think I'm in the loftiest financial strata by any means, but I am pretty goddam pleased to be able to throw down Andrew Jackson and get three months of piece of mind.
I suppose the lesson here, if their must be one to dampen the outrage, is: find a job and get some basic medical, for god's sake. Do yourself a fuckin' favor.
You never know when an organ is going to test its warranty.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Conceivable!
Wallace Shawn turns 63 today. Happy birthday, you American Icon, you!
[Rex The Green Dinosaur image omitted due to copyright infringement threat from Disney/Pixar corporate legal team]
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Ouch...
God must have had a hard-on for talent in the past week or so. We've lost Arthur Hill, Adrienne Shelly, Ed Bradley, Jack Palance, Gerald Levert and Basil Poledouris.
On the up-side, Roy Scheider turned 74 yesterday, Jonathan Winters is 81 and Stanley Tucci 46 today, and Britney Spears is going to be a single mom, so irony is not at a premium after all.
Long live irony. And long live poor losers. They are more fun than playdoh and lincoln logs combined. You know, to insulate your log cabins, you use the playd-...nevermind. Last week we had Kanye West making a spoiled cry for help as he whined about not winning a European video award, and this week, we have Faith Hill blowing her stack at the Country Music Awards. Sweet, sweet little Carrie Underwood took the female vocalist award and Hill's facial reaction and huffy antics were priceless. Hill had the reaction of someone who was certain they had won, and perhaps had placed a tidy sum on the win in Vegas, as she already had her arms outstretched in victory seconds after Underwood's name was announced. If you get gleeful butterflies in your tummy when someone publicly shows their emotional ass, try "Faith Hill Loses It At CMAs", or a similar search on YouTube.
Tee-hee!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Let Me Clarify
This one goes out to the ladies...and I mean specifically Cristina, Alexandra, Rosie, Catlyn, Donna, Carin, Missy, Tulip, Molly, Angie and Bethany:
It's not that I don't like attractive women. I married an attractive women, so I know where my head's at.
But on MySpace, when a cluster of new friend requests come through and they all bear the images of too-hot womens, I know I'm about to be played by some savage sex-coated spam engine. And I just don't have the endurance for that scenario.
So you get denied. I'm not saying don't try, but know that if you are a sexy little engine that could, I will send you to The Pile of Denial.
Hugs and kisses!
Monday, October 30, 2006
CB/TMI: That Shit Is Expensive!
(In today's mail)
CorpoLab
"We test your bodily secretions, so you don't have to!"

Laboratory Bill
Description Charges
Fecal Fat, Qualitative Analysis 99.00
White Blood Calls (WBC), Stool Study 59.00
Clostridium Difficile Culture 78.00
Ova / Parasite Exam 186.00
Total 422.00
Insurance Payments 324.34
You Pay 97.66
DUE UPON RECEIPT
***
So, what have we learned from the extensive intestinal study that took place 30 days ago?
1) You may not like scooping up samples of your poop, but you'll never smell anything so sweet as those negative (read: good) results.
2) Insurance will pay for 76% of your shit.

Halloween Film Fest, 2006
So my son and I gathered a batch of movies for the weekend, our annual Halloween film festival. For your cinematic edification, here was the roster:
Monster House (2006 - dir: Gil Kenan) - Very fun, very amusing, and the scare effects of the titular abode are quite imaginative and effective. A good flick all around.
Mimic (1997 - dir: Guillermo del Toro) - Nifty bug flick from the acclaimed Mexican director of Cronos, Blade 2 and The Devil's Backbone. Watch mid-level actors get chewed on by man-sized evolving cockroaches. Whee!
The Lost Boys (1987 - dir: Joel Schumacher) - How did the director of this quick, hollow enterprise end up making Tigerland? The latter film's strength and depth of content seems an unfair fluke compared to most of Schumacher's oeuvre. But for teen-friendly vampire movies, it works just fine. And it has a perfect ending.
Dark City (1998 - dir: Alex Proyas) - The visually stout director of The Crow - who managed to give some umph to the Will Smith version of I, Robot - here creates a perfectly twisted little scenario: a dying alien race controls a city of humans to seek out the mysteries of the soul, and one man attempts to uncover the secrets of his own past and finds it inextricably linked to theirs. Roger Ebert claimed this the best film of the year, and it holds up after repeated viewings. Excellent stuff.
Invasion of The Body Snatchers (1978 - dir: Philip Kaufman) - A relentlessly creepy and paranoia-inducing remake of a 1950s science fiction/horror classic. Great job with genre material by the director of such arthouse calamities as The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Henry & June, and the always very uncalamitous masterpiece The Right Stuff.
The Shining (1980 - dir: Stanley Kubrick) - Remove any memory of the Stephen King novel you might have in your head and you'll get a kick out of master director Kubrick's playful nastiness. With very few false moves, it's a creepy goddam story that almost completely works as a crazy man/ghost story that comes up behind you and then places an axe squarely in your chest. Yay, art.
***
I've been trying to move my son slowly into more mature fare as we've watched movies together over these past years. You show your kid his first Kubrick and you kind of hope he'll react with a certain reverance it took you a few decades to cultivate. It's not realistic, but you hope.
So, Friday nights are usually our DVD nights, and I try to mix the fun/action-oriented stuff with the more cultivated, more thoughtful and cinematically enduring types of films. So for every Annapolis, I try to fit in a Casablanca. For every Chronicles of Riddick, I find a Some Like It Hot. And for each XXX, there's a Dirty Dozen. When he's old enough we'll venture into Godfather territory, as well as quite a few other verboten lands. But it's nice to know he at least has some interest in these different types of film, even if he does fall back on the Jurassic Parks and Kirsten Dunst vehicles of the film world.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
my name's sake
my name's sake

have I no heritage
of which to speak?
just the northern woods of
my namesake,
the forests that have set their roots
throughout my veins,
so profoundly that paper becomes my path
and my words ride out
my heritage,
and you will hear me speak
from the depths of that thing.

-scn, march 5, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Ah, Victory!
I learned today that I won the 2006 Poetry Superhighway Poetry Contest, facilitated by Rick Lupert over at www.poetrysuperhighway.com. Came in first place and carried away a tidy sum, something I rarely do.
As I mentioned to Rick in an e-mail earlier today, as a writer you forget that there is something other than a rejection slip waiting for you down some of these roads. It capped off a crappy work day with a bright and happy crown of puppies and balloons. Wow, that was an interesting image. Imagine me with all those puppies and balloons on my head.
The weirdest part is that I had forgotten that the contest results were to be announced this past weekend, and wouldn't have realized I had won if the check had not shown up in the mail. Let me publicly thank Rick, his crack team of judges and all the contributors to the contest's prize list. Each year people donate loads of stuff, so much so that every entrant walks away with some small token. And some not so small.
I've been submitting to the PSH contest for years; tied for second place back in 2000. But this really was a treat, and I think it's okay to have a Snoopy-victory-dance moment. Basking in the gleam of joy is getting to be a rare commodity, so I relish this moment, intensely. Indeed.
And tomorrow, we start again.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Limbaugh's Hidden Comedy File
Here's some of the material that Rush Limbaugh did not use when speaking about Michael J. Fox's Parkinson's disease this past Monday:
"I hear his favorite restaurant is Shakey's Pizza."
"I understand he loves the flavor of Shake 'n' Bake."
"He's a huge U2 fan; his favorite CD is Rattle and Hum."
"Also, I understand he is a big Seth Green and Vin Diesel fan...his favorite film is Knockaround Guys."
In case you missed class yesterday:
Rush Limbaugh = asshole
This is not geometry, but it is a mathematical constant.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
The Shameless Act of a Conservative Lapdog
Rush Limbaugh made the asshole A-list Monday when he claimed that Michael J. Fox's physical motions brought on by Parkinson's disease were "exaggerated" and "an act".
Mr. Limbaugh had seen commercial ads Fox appeared in for support of stem cell research. "He's moving all around and shaking, and it's purely an act. ...This is really shameless of Michael J. Fox."
Well, nice of Limbaugh to get one thing right. Something shameless was happening, but it wasn't the actor's condition.
Later he claimed Fox was simply shilling for Democratic causes, but the damage was already done. Anyone who can't see a shameless, desperate ploy for attention in Limbaugh's insensitive words has really gone too far in their own beliefs of anything their party says. Do we have to sully everything that exists? Does some poor bastard's physical condition have to become a tactical device in a political game? It really is beyond tasteless, beyond sad, beyond excuse.
Shame on you, Mr. Limbaugh. Didn't anyone ever tell you to pick on someone your own size?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Material, Indeed
Madonna adopting an African child. Sigh.
This story lends itself to the theory that celebrities only do something to be noticed.
Why, in this case, does Madonna need to adopt a child from a dusky locale in Africa, when certainly there must be thousands of orphans in the U.K. and America from which she could pick, dependent on which country she claims as her current homebase.
Quietly going down to the local town hall and processing the usual adoption papers was surely an option if she in fact had some maternal energies that were going to dissolve before a specified date and time. But like Oprah laying seige to a boutique after hours, I'm fairly certain Madonna felt that obtaining a child from a country where hardship would seem to be the word of the day was a bold, very high-profile thing to do. And it has gained her more emphatic press than both of her last two CDs combined.
Or, perhaps she just favors imports over those domestic options.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
gut-level
gut-level

the encounter
(like the knife)
was short,
pointed

the blade,
placed swiftly
at gut-level,
was like pushing
a (belly) button

I unfolded the wallet
and spread the leather
wide,
a simple enough offering

he scooped out the paper
-dollars and francs-
and moved away quickly
without running

my body had turned
still and cold,
as I recall

I figured I was
very lucky,
just losing
a handful of bills

my ex,
(then) not my ex,
was mewling helplessly
little silent, whimpering
cries of "oh, no" and "no"
and my name

she was doing us
no good then,
but why should a crisis
have been any different
from every other day?

I'm cruel:
fact is, I was lucky…
the thief was a young kid,
either an american or
very well-schooled
in the general dialect,
and he was almost
-almost-
as gut-level scared
as I was,
the possibilities
of how wrong
it all could have gone
brilliant
in the tunnel's
dim lighting

my sister told me
days before
she'd never had problems
with crime in the city,
and I let that
implied promise
lull me

I tried to enjoy a vacation
with someone I was loving
less and less,
rather,
someone I was realizing
more and more
that I never loved enough
to begin with

that gut-level reaction
hadn't kicked in soon enough
for me
then, either

my new wife
has killed men,
destroyed cities
and blotted out
a billion stars

this isn't enough
to prevent me,
however,
from feeling
still and cold
when faced with
a silver blade
that quivers
at my belly.

-scn, november 19, 2000
Point Of Entry, or The Hole Story
As a man, you hear a lot of stories about colonoscopy and it becomes a kind of grey golem, the kind of unpleasant possibility you hope to never face but some inevitability stands clear. You reach a certain age and know that it's coming for you.
Fortunately, it is also something that can provide clarity and calm when the results are good, or at least certain.
In my case, at 42 years I have spent the last few with some problems I assumed were anxiety related and unpleasant but manageable, and certainly not debilitating. But there comes a time when you can only sit for so much of something, and you see doctors and have tests run and samples and biopsies taken. And you cross fingers and wish for good odds.
So I finally had to have a colonoscopy done, and figured at this age (a few years off from the new caution norm of 45) it would be good to know what I don't have...and maybe find out what I do, too.
So the test itself was easier, quicker and far less uncomfortable than I ever could have imagined. It was, in fact, something that went so smoothly, for the first few hours afterward I was infused with a false bravado ("come on, fucker, I'll take you on every other week!"). But once my head cleared, I was just glad it was done.
And some immediate answers given.
I was diagnosed with an IBD - inflammatory bowel disease - called ulcerative colitis. Which basically mean small ulcerations exist in my colon that cause pain, irritation and other less blog-savory conditions. Let's just say that in previous years, Kaopectate was my good friend. My sweet, chalky lover.
So I was given a month's worth of this monster anti-inflammatory that I have to take three capsules of three times a day. Huge pills. And in two weeks I check back in with my doctor and see what the full story is. But just knowing gives some much-needed relief, even if it hints at a new drug to take for anywhere from a few months to the rest of my life.
I'll take that curtain, if it means improvement.
And now, back to poetry! The poetry of my ass.
Too Clever For MySpace, Apparently
Late last night, after getting home from a three-hour-long high school production of Guys and Dolls, I started to blog because I'd read some sad news on the interweb and wanted to be respectful, clever and artful at the same time. I should know better.
Three guys had died in the last few days that made me kind of sad. Freddy Fender yesterday, Gillo Pontecorvo the day before that, and Ed Benedict a few days before that.
Fender had seen the height of his poularity when I was a kid, Pontecorvo was the director of The Battle of Algiers (an incredible film), and Benedict was the animator responsible for Fred Flintstone, Quick Draw McGraw and Yogi Bear (fond childhood memories).
So I had found some really classy shots from Algiers, and some headshots of the animated characters with really anguished faces, and I had thrown them all together with some very minimalist text, an appropriately respectful and bereaved take on things, and tried to publish it.
And MySpace just couldn't handle it.
After three tries I was tired and frustrated and just quit. Went to get some sleep. And this morning it struck me I had made something really clever and interesting, but it was the brush turning on the painter. I hate when our tools become more beligerent than we artists already are, so to say. Puts us in our places, I suppose. But I don't have to like it.
So, back to drawing board.
And what about that colonoscopy, I hear you ask?
Monday, October 02, 2006
Bought Max Brooks' new book World War Z, which should be on everyone's list if zombies are a part of your ouevre. Dense and giddily serious, it's awesome, and I've barely cracked the spine.
***
DVDs:
The Great New Wonderful may be about the emotional and psychological aftermath of 9/11, and it may be about how people communicate, relate and generally get along, but it's also FUCKING BORING. It should be called The Mild Bland Mediocre.
Looking for Comedy In The Muslim World also suffers from a case of low-key amusement that turns dull and unfunny.
Lonesome Jim was the cinematic equivalent of a monotone. Don't expect a Trees Lounge, man. Expect a nap. What a weekend this turned into.
The Big White was just sad. Could I have struck out worse? Unfunny, seriously similar to about four other films, and did I mention unfunny?
***
New Releases:
Two solid, very engaging documentaries started locally this past weekend. This Film Is Not Yet Rated and Al Franken: God Spoke are both very watchable docs, even if you aren't into their subject matter. Look for them, as they were playing at one of our Angelika theaters, which means if you live in Backwater Gulch, you outta luck.
***
I make damn good pasta.
***
Finally got some clearance on new pieces (sorry, we're talking poetry now). Have finished off about 4-5 new ones, and now just need to tell myself they're good enough for public consumption.
Hell, it's nice just to get some of the scraps off my desk. The best part about always having something to write on is you can take down any clever thought any time of day, and never worry about missing something usable. The worst part is that you have all these half-torn pages and scraps of paper lying everywhere and when it comes time to use them, you can't recall half of what sparked it and you're left with a bunch of disconnected, questionable phrases that you can't use.
Ahh...thank you, artistry! I love the pain and anguish that come when you call.
***
So, about these True whores – err, models. What exactly is the message they're trying to convey?
Dive into something…what was it? Oh, right...love.
"Compatibility test". Uh-huh. I have a neck = WINNER!

…to kick sand in my face. AND LOVE ME!
Well apparently FUZZY DICE! Forget sex, let's all dress our cars up like it's 1958!
Dear God, Sexy Singles! Someone start a meaningful relationship with this poor girl and teach her how to keep her buttons from popping off! She's going to catch a cold, and she appears to be stumbling!
Poor, homely, over-educated girls. Trying to make friends on the interweb, just so they can be more popular. When will they ever learn? The best places to meet people are the grocery store and church. But that would mean they'd have to a) want to eat or b) hear the word of God, and clearly this just isn't high in their priority pyramid.
Congratulations, "dating" sites. You've made women feel good about themselves again, and raised their self-value and esteem a hundredfold. Bravo!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Some Filthy Haikus For The Rabble
On the night of August 30th, I attended Bob Stephenson's venue, Pugsley's Library, for a Haiku Deathmatch (which happens on every fifth Wednesday). I didn't get far, so these newly-written haikus were left as little more than napkin scribbles, until the next day when I unwrapped them, deciphered what I had gotten down and put them in The File.

Here, for your filthy pleasures, are the haikus I wrote that night.


tight haiku

pussy was tight as
dick dale's guitar strings, and the
rhythm twice as sweet.


sexy haiku

sexy maneuver:
by the time her false leg popped
off, well, so had I.



intense haiku
we fuck with so much
intensity that water
just evaporates.


haiku of the silver surfer

the silver surfer
played zamfir's pan flute inside
galactus' butthole.


Thank you, art lovers.



It's Ian McShane's 64th birthday. May I recommend a copy of Sexy Beast if you have all of Deadwood memorized? His part is minor but critical, and great fun to watch. Until then, a little Swearingen philosophy to make your day:
"Pain or damage don't end the world. Or despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man...and give some back."


Monday, September 25, 2006
You're Really Not Special, Part 58
NBC premieres Heroes tonight, a show about normal people like slackers and strippers and overachieving cheerleaders who have special powers like cell regeneration and flight and evil mirror images.
Since the show starts with a shot of a man jumping off a rooftop (assumably the guy will be flying by episode's end), I hope all the impressionable children in the country will be watching wrestling instead. The Beavis & Butthead copycats will be dropping like flies (without wings) after this is done.
***
On the safer, smarter side of the new season is Studio 60, which I find highly entertaining and sharp and one of the few times I've found Matthew Perry thoroughly engaging. Too many delighted adjectives? Maybe. Watch an episode and tell me what you think.
***
"I am sorry, but these poems are not what we are looking for at this time. Please feel free to submit other works in the future."
This was the text of my recent New York Quarterly rejection slip. It's a depressing but glorious badge of honor.
***
My son just turned 17. Glorious and depressing in completely different ways.

...there is no other way. and there never was...
Saturday, September 23, 2006
The Porn Paradox Of Netflix
Netflix is a great service, in my opinion, and you can usually find something to suit your tastes, cinematically... as long as penetration is not involved, that is. They don't truck in hardcore porn, though many a documentary about hardcore porn can be found.
So, in the same sense of adventure as one who might plug their own name into Google just to see what pops up, I plugged "porn" into Netflix's search engine, for grins.
Of course, it was not all Puerile McNastydocs. You get some engaging foriegn films that aren't particularly sexy at all, but have the word "porn" in the title. Silly foreigners, "porn" is for tricks, see?
But the one that caught my attention was the second volume in a series about Al Goldstein's seventies-era cable access show Midnight Blue, of which I recall the name from childhood as some kind of legendary show. But this isn't the punchline.
Under each selection in Netflix, they provide the names of several similarly themed films, sort of a PEOPLE WHO LIKED THIS FILM ALSO LIKED...
For Midnight Blue, Volume 2: Porn Stars, the following:
Ken Burns' Civil War
That's right, folks. You all thought Mr. Burns was some kind of staid historian, when really he is an apparent peddler of smutty Union and Confederate porncakes.
Shame on you, professor.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Alt Save Sum, Sum Save Alt
According To The AP Line...
Poet Adrienne Rich, 77, known for her passionate and socially concious verse, has been named one of the recipients of an honorary National Book Award medal. She turned down the National Medal for the Arts in 1997, because she deemed it "incompatible with the cynical politics" of the Clinton administration.
(CB inserts: Wonder how she plans to accept this one in the face of the current administration, which seems to traffic in practices far more dangerous than mere cynicism?)
***
No mas. Danny Flores, who played saxophone and shouted "Tequila!" in the 1950's hit song of the same name, died at 77 of complications from pneumonia.
***
The one and only, Bruce Springsteen turns 57 today. Kudos to you, sir, for being more than a top-40 hit.
Friday, September 22, 2006
From The New York Times...
The Joy of Self-Inflicted Trauma
By NATHAN LEE
Published: September 22, 2006
When the supermasochist Bob Flanagan nailed his penis to a piece of wood in front of a live audience, it was called performance art. When Chris Pontius sheathes his penis in a cotton puppet, dangles it in front of a live snake, and then braces himself for the fangs while his buddies double over in glee, it's known as "Jackass."
"Puppet Show" is the opening bit in "Jackass Number Two," the second feature-length collection of stunts, pranks and self-inflicted trauma from Johnny Knoxville and his merry band of skate-punk yahoos. Much of what follows is too obscene to be described here; suffice to say that disreputable things are done with the ejaculate of a horse. It is also too exhilarating to spoil. Debased, infantile and reckless in the extreme, this compendium of body bravado and malfunction makes for some of the most fearless, liberated and cathartic comedy in modern movies.
You may prefer a Buster Keaton gag to the spectacle of a man leaping from a trampoline into a ceiling fan, but you can't argue with its purity of expression. At the root of the "Jackass" project is an impulse to deny the superego and approach the universe, with all its hard edges and shark-infested waters, as an enormous, undifferentiated playpen. That, and the impulse to watch a 400-pound woman belly-flop on top of a midget. The Surrealists would have loved these guys, and relished the film's signature image: the application of a leech to the surface of an eyeball.
"Jackass Number Two" is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). Things you can't even imagine.
...because I, like God, do not play with dice...
Monday, September 18, 2006
Did al Qaeda just throw down on the Pope?
Holy shit...
Saturday, September 16, 2006
It was funny to us, but requires so many caveats that I almost don't share the story.
First, you have to have seen Talladega Nights: The Ricky Bobby Story with Will Ferrell to get the joke.
Second, we were watching The Black Dahlia, and you have to understand that Josh Hartnett and Aaron Eckhart play two cops who are partners, and also boxing rivals. They are nicknamed Mr. Fire and Mr. Ice by the L.A. media to promote a proposition to get cops better wages.
SO HERE COMES THE SPOILER PART, AND I DON"T WANNA HEAR ABOUT YOU "ACCIDENTALLY" SKIPPING DOWN...
So, toward the middle of the film (and it's a wacked-out doozy of a story) Aaron Eckhart's character gets killed by a Mystery Killer In The Shadows, and his body is then disposed of by the lackeys of a Powerful Old Hollywood Jew (Mel Gibson was probably apoplectic during the premiere...if they let him in). But the POHJ gives Josh Hartnett's character the chance to say some final words over the bloodied corpse. And Hartnett's cop lays a hand on his friend, mournfully muttering "Fire...and Ice...".
It's at this moment that I lean over to The Wife and whisper "Shake and Bake!" in her ear, which causes her to convulse with politely muffled guffaws, unheard shrieks of laughter. If I had been a stranger and seen her at that moment, I would have thought she was having an epileptic fit, or that maybe her husband had punched her in the solar plexus.
It was a wonderfully giddy moment in an otherwise humorless, loopy movie-going experience.

succumb to the tides
succumb to the tides

if I succumb to the tides,
I will remain just below the surface,
like monks, poets and philosophers do,
utilizing peripheral thought and janus sight
to circumnavigate reason.

-scn, march 5, 2006
The Endurance
Here's wishing a happy 50th birthday to Mickey Rourke. Since I was a kid, this guy has done it all, from rubbing fruit on Kim Basinger's nipples to giving Chinaski his due to whaling on a psychotic cannibal Frodo, Mickey Rourke is The Man when it comes to tough-as-nails character actors. He is the Robert Mitchum of our generation.
Though honestly, I don't recall Mitchum ever rubbing fruit on Lauren Bacall's nipples. At least, on screen.
...there is nothing as boring as the truth...
Friday, September 15, 2006
Next, The Crazy Pieces Of Shit
I kept coming up behind these maniacs in traffic, the kind that when they didn't get to turn in time, or other drivers didn't go fast enough, or any little inane thing, they start to bash the steering wheel with their fists, throw punches into the ceiling of their vehicles, shake and thrash and yell until spittle flies from their mouths. Insane people. Normal don't beat up their own rides.
I mention this because last night we watched Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf, and I realized when it was over that these were two awful, crazy pieces of shit, George and Martha. We went all the way with them and they sit quietly in the dawn's light while we sit on our couch comparing notes on how these aren't just manipulative pricks, these are crazy, crazy, awful pieces of shit (if I may repeat myself) (and I may).
The Black Dahlia is filled with crazy, overacting stars, but none are so evil that you wince at their mere existence. No, George and Martha have that base covered quite nicely, thanks.
Then there are two news stories that couldn't have been more appropriate to my little song of insanity. Tell me which you think is more cruel:
COACH PAYS GRADE SCHOOLER TO HARM 8-YEAR-OLD AUTISTIC BOY TO KEEP HIM FROM PLAYING ON THEIR TEAM
(Despicable bastard?)
or
NANCY GRACE DRIVES CONFLICTED HOT ASIAN MOM TO SUICIDE
(Evil cunt?)
You decide.
...but the memory remains...
First, The Medical Stories
I had a pinched, knotted-up sensation in my lower abdomen. This was two weeks ago Thursday. Seemed worse when I was in an upright, L-shaped sitting position, but still, I knew it wasn't right so I went to the doctor.
Great doctor. Figures it's either a pulled muscle, diverticulosis (not -itis), or possible hernia. Gives me a plan and med samples and off I go. The doctor was out of office for a week, so the plan had to cover a minimum of 8 days.
She also felt that my chronic bowel problems were a separate issue, but we'd deal with that later.
Oh, did I forget to mention for the last few years I haven't been able to shit straight? (The writer leans back and laughs heartily, knowing this is TMI, appropriately angled thumb and pointer to forehead.)
I see no 100% cure, but still only have minor discomfort, so I decide I'll head back to the doctor.
Day of the doctor, I open the door and cut my foot. I go see the doctor, more concerned about my guts than my foot, and she tells me I need an ultra-sound next. I get home that night and realize the part of the door that cut me was metal. I faintly recall my last tetanus shot taking place sometime in a decade when disco was popular, so I hustle down to the late-night corporate clinic and get a tetanus booster. Don't want to get lockjaw when I like to talk so much, right?
When I get out to the car 2 hours later, one of my headlights has gone out. The phrase "what else can happen" has left my vocabulary, as it now illicits only unbalanced giggling.
Next morning I go in for the ultra-sound, which is by turns very uncomfortable and very anti-climactic. I'm told in a few days the doctor's office will get the report. I also have a gastroenterologist appointment the following week, which will probably lead to a colonoscopy.
A colonoscopy.
I'm 42, so this is probably a good thing to have done, but still, I've heard no dreamy, rainbow-flavored stories about this procedure.
So I'm pinched in the gut, my arm is knotted sore from the tetanus shot, my foot is sliced and aching, my anus is questioning the order of things and I'm driving in the dark (sort of). For now.
All of this, and all the dental work from summer, and to think back in May all I wanted was to settle down into a talking cure with a therapist and get my psyche rotated and balanced. Get the anxiety under control. Ha.
...to be continued...
Thursday, September 14, 2006
The Wife and I will probably see The Black Dahlia and Hollywoodland this weekend. They both look quite good. However, I have one strong reservation about the films.
They are both based on unsolved crimes, so I think I know how the films will end:
Hardboiled cop leans over desk, fists down, a fresh bruise on his forehead left from the climactic fight scene that ended two minutes earlier. He glances at the crime-scene photos splayed across the desktop. Lights a cigarette.
"We may never know..."
Music up. Fade to black.
...thank you, bank robber...
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Today's birthdays:
Fiona Apple (dreamy)
Jim Norton (funny)
Richard Kiel (still alive)
***
How To Take Your Mind Off Abdominal Pain
1-Open door to lean over and obtain morning paper
2-Raise up too quickly and lose balance
3-Realize that you have hand on doorknob
4-Use door to regain balance
5-Move to close door
6-Wonder why door is suddenly not moving
7-Look down
8-Realize door has run up over bare foot
9-Re-open door
10-Remove wounded foot from door swing zone
11-Tend to large gash in top of foot that feels like someone has landed an old pickaxe in your flesh
12-(optional) Voluminous cursing
13-(optional) "I Just Gouged My Foot On The Goddam Door" Experimental Dance
14-N-N-N-Neo!


Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Since the 24-hour hand-wringing session is over, maybe we should get back to blindly ignoring injustice and being overly suspicious and fearful again. Until the next anniversary of emotional blackmail, that is.
If our government was so intent on doing what's right for its people, how about:
-pulling armed forces back into the country and shoring up borders, harbors and overall internal security, before that of any external government
-increasing the pay and benefits for all teachers, police, fire and emergency workers
-taxing the wealthy and large corporations to a reasonable degree, i.e. the same relative percentage - or more - than middle and lower class citizens
-letting honor, integrity, truth and dignity mean something again; letting them replace fear, suspicion, special interests and diversions
-end the use of the justification "for the children"; utilizing children to prevent things that adults should be responsible for anyway is just crying wolf, and everyone can see through it
-let freedom of speech include unpopular, vulgar and even anti-American speech, because if we censor anyone, we must be prepared to censor everyone, and the nation was built on a union of voices determined to appreciate that such disparate peoples could live peacefully in one land
-balance our puritanical beginnings with our contemporary developments, so that the world will not view us as spoiled and reckless, but enlivened and enriched
But more than anything else, Americans must call bullshit when they see it, and the powers that be must respect that they will be replaced when the call has gone out once too often. Americans must display a healthy amount of common sense, for without it we are mere consumers and victims. Americans must be held responsible for their actions - legal systems need vast and thorough reform.
We have a country to balance. We have a cultural stew that needs to be gently stirred, and the heat reduced. We have politicians that need to retire and young minds that need civic inspiration.
But as long as we wallow in our sorrows, our self-effacement, and our anger, we can never be great and true. We can only be loud and fast and blind, and thus we shall surely stumble.


...the line forms down the middle...
Thursday, September 07, 2006
A rousing Happy Birthday to Sonny Rollins, 76 today. You are a giant, sir, and Controlled Burning applauds you.
***
Crank is a little piece of junk-brilliance. It sets out to do one thing with one goal in mind and succeeds through-and-through. A movie that promises and delivers.
***
Printer on the fritz, what'll I do? You can't send a manuscript you can't print. Anyone know of a) some low-cost printer maintenance or b) some low-cost printer sales, please let me know.
***
Hernia? Diverticulosis? Submit your votes now!
Monday, September 04, 2006
Scorched doll faces, empty swings, predator mugshots: it must be a Labor Day Law & Order: Special Victims Unit Marathon!
Almost 24 hours of Detectives Elliot "Steadily More Unstable" Stabler and Olivia "I Have A Cause!" Benson, Captain Donald "Stoney" Cragen and Assistant District Attorney (fill in your favorite one here). Hour upon hour of sad, horrible human behavior and the sad, troubled cops who make things right...when they aren't being derailed by "the system".
Grill those burgers, crack open the chips and beer, and let's all settle in with the good times.
Happy Labor Day!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
"my grasp"
my grasp

my grasp of art,
god, sunlight and dust
typifies how easily
the requisite desire
is murdered by
boredom.

-scn, march 5, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Ernesto's A Pussy!
That's really all I was going to say.
I can just see him, whining as he dwindles toward the coast: "Downgraded? Who do they think I am, Pluto?!"
***
Saw an article this morning about New Orleans' progress since Katrina. There was a picture of a woman named Oblique Weaver, who I'm sure is a lovely person. But it struck me that we've gotten way to bored when thinking up names for our children. Are we just picking adjectives now? Next thing you know, some poor bastard will walk up and introduce himself as "Tangential". Tangential Jackson.
I blame Snakes On A Plane. But the problem existed long before that was written. I heard the comedian Lewis Black once talking about children who were named things like Asshole (pronounced Ay-sho-Lay) and Shithead (Shi-thayd). And really, these were actual people, not jokes. So you're either evil for stamping that on your kid's head for their entire life, or you're too stupid to be allowed to have kids in the first place. I don't recall the routine, so if I've just repeated it common-sensically, I apologize and grovel at your angry, shaking feet, Mr. Black. But really, that's some fucked up stuff right there.
There's nothing wrong with Michael, or William. And Sarah, Paula and Ellen are fine, too. Don't get too wacky trying to make your kid special. You're just going to get them beaten and ridiculed - repeatedly.
...too long in the game to not know the rules...
Just finished a delightful lunch of chicken knobs, potato slack and a creamy milk discharge. MMM, yum.
***
A note to all the ladies out there: Hornbuckle got 15 years for raping 3 women, so do the math. Your flesh, dignity and honor are worth 5 years of some son of a bitch's life.
The world is a goddam shame.
***
DNA evidence cleared John Karr of any shenanigans with JonBenet Ramsey. I think he not only wanted out of a Thai prison, but he also wanted to receive some much-needed attention. Clearly he's crying out for a hug. Or, perhaps, to paraphrase Mamet, "he just likes talking to federal agents".
In any case, I feel it's important to point out: I have never met a woman named JonBenet. So clearly the parents have some further answering to do.
***
A few weeks back when the Dallas heat started into the hundreds, someone on a news channel erupted "the roads are buckling!", and it made me laugh, the kind of over-excited reactions people have to otherwise odd situations. Recently, someone at my office had taken one of the outdoor cigarette disposal units and emptied it onto the sidewalk near an office window, and it was an ugly sight to see the following Monday morning. Ugly, but not something to rend hair over. But so many people overreacted to it, acting as though someone had squated down and taken a huge dump outside the building, that it made me wonder if folks really know what's critical and what's not anymore.
And while the roads may not have truly buckled, our front door did. Hell to lock for weeks during the worst heat, today it unlocked with a sweet, fluid ease that only comes with a predicted high of 88.
***
Beerfest (theater) - fun, and brainless, and worth every cent after one of those miserable Mondays in your hellish office of choice.
Chiseen (DVD) - brainless, and brainless, this is what you get when Jackass is emulated by a bunch of Chinese teens. The fireworks were good, I'll give them that.
Bill Hicks: Sane Man (DVD) - classic Hicks pre-cancer stand-up. If you've heard the CDs, you've probably heard most of the material, but still good stuff.
Inside Man, Brick (DVD) - Still two of the best films of the year, so far. Crackling good genre films with terrific performances all around. Check both out.
...and it's real, and it's real one more time...


Sunday, August 27, 2006
New And Improved Squalor!
The extended stay joint down the road has a tarp over its usual signage that reads
NEWLY RENOVATED
which I read as
WE'VE FILED OFF THE RUST AND BLEACHED AWAY THE BLOOD STAINS
The homeless sex offenders must be all atwitter.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
"no finished work"
no finished work

if there was complete and utter silence
there would still be the test pattern symphonic
in my ears

there is no peace
and piece of mind does not
require silence;
only random contacts -
skin, words and puzzle-locked
emotions - sustain us

there is no finished work,
only syllables and palettes.

-scn, august 10, 2003
"important, and not so"
important, and not so

as a poet,
moreover as a writer,
I feel quite useless,
unable to put into adequate terms
the roiling, nebulous themes
trapped inside the head,
the heart.

maybe a mild depression
stunts the language
while exhilarating the senses?

but no; history has shown
that depression favors the wordsmith.

perhaps chemicals, those I indulge
and the ones secreted from the mothers very pores
have dulled me?

doubtful; artists have been known
to indulge the critics and the masses alike
when coursing with other than blood, bile or tear.

the static nature of the world?
stupidity, anger, greed,
each encased in plastic and steel,
serving to deaden the eye, mind and tongue,

leaving only the most personal of epiphanies
to pierce or seep into the skin,
rap the knuckle, embed beneath cuticle,
to infect while defending and
preserving
the genuine, basic means within
our hearts.

there are days when I just dont know
where to turn or how to respond,
past incredulity.

there are other days when I do,
and yet everyone around me seems
mute, bound or gagging
on all their own attempts
to realize the victories
that are their senses,

and that leaves me with my pockets filled
with poems, unread.

-scn, may 8, 2002
Dissing Pluto
After 75 years of outer-rim success, Pluto is downgraded by the International Astronomical Union from a "planet" to a "dwarf planet", which I think is just wrong. It should be "little planet". That's what they like to be called.
I can just see it now. Pluto, sliding through its eccentric orbit, sipping a scotch, and cursing the General Assembly of the IAU: "Who are these men? Who are these men? I wanted to be a planet!"
It's just sad. And there are his neighbors, acting all high and mighty. Haughty Neptune, and Uranus...well, I don't even want to think about Uranus.


...first there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is...
Monday, August 21, 2006
"ruminations: k"
ruminations: k

that icon of yours,
he never looked very happy
in all the film clips I watched.
he looked tired, sad, disappointed in it all;
even when cracking a joke he seemed disgruntled,
yet he was ruggedly handsome in a way none of his peers were,
looked like a character actor we all would recognize even if
we couldn't place the name.

sounds like he never wanted to be your icon,
and would decline the accolades
and invitations to seminars and readings,
and might not think much of a street in his name.


comparisons we cannot make defeat us,
cribbing observations tipped in venom for the ones
who were what we cannot be
and are what we do not want to be
- dead or defeated -
but always more highly praised than we,
until we are defeated and dead and then revered.
we flicker like rays of sun that lost their hour,
cast out, replaced by a billion shadowy stars that cry for fame.
some of us had generations on fire and some
were quieter dissenters whose mere printed words carried weight,
and those long before us were becoming stale and passed by
when I was bored and small,
but they were at least couriers of their own legend
while we, each step faded, carry the weight of the attempt
more than the achievement.


sloth is the comfort fuck that we sleep with,
the marrow we are steeped in, buried with,
attuned to more than any illicit creed,
hours of thought railing over
the cusp of anguished fear and bedazzling lust
ground into the pages,
fear tilting until it
resembles curiosity
and lust just beside itself
with an unnatural calm that
belies the task of
jabbing at the air,
making sharp but illegible marks that
form a language of any merit,
or at least one that can be posthumously
identified.
all his aching will not fit
within the rickety metronome of his fingers
typing pale words on scrolled pages that
cannot fully form plaintive
portraits that are invisible
other than a sad, warm outline
in sepia tone.
his message so deceptively simple
that he sometimes forgot why he took up
the gauntlet of his forebears;
he is a knowing fraud and perhaps they were, too,
yet the unrelenting thirst for creation
drives him down a narrow path
balanced delicately on knowledge and façade,
leaving him feeling entombed,
not enlightened;
leaving him wanting,
not fulfilled.

sloth is the residue on our fingertips,
divining merriment and damnation.


the new york public library
just acquired his papers, notes, score cards,
all the summer league scribblings
and his manuscripts.
so there really will be no mystery
now.

...just an exhibit...

encased in glass,
villa's hall-of-fame performance
will finally be part of
recorded acclaim,
and the annuls of time
will weep for his
greatness.


there is a book whose heft is coffee-table variety,
and it contains mostly his dharmic ruminations.

it is a handsome tome,
the dust-cover a sweetly rusted brown
off-set with large periwinkle lettering.

its very weight gives it the feel
of some lurching importance,
something that is necessary
and of an unparalleled depth
both societal and spiritual
that would help men become
better than they aspire to be.

and yet...

I couldn't read
a god-damned word.


just this once,
I'll take the legend.

-scn, march 15 2001
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Monumental Goof Dept:
When in Austin recently, we saw an old friend and had a lovely momentary reunion. Her name is Jena, formerly Weatherly, formerly of Dallas poetry scenes, and it was wonderful seeing her. She's a real peach.
Unfortunately, I didn't ask her for an e-mail address.
So, if anyone out there knows Jena, and has her address, please send it on or better yet, tell her to get in touch, because 6 years is too long between hugs. I don't want to have to accidentally run into her the next time I'm in Austin just to get to see or hear from her again. And my luck isn't that good anyway.


...and she wondered how a chinese man could be so rude...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
I wonder if, when Stephen Colbert says the words "Ann Coulter" and "credibility" in the same breath, he throws up in his mouth just a little bit?
Hey, Sissy Fanboy!
Yikes.
Just caught myself after sending three consecutive poets gushing messages and friend requests. What have I become? (see title)
Ah, well. I suppose it's perfectly normal to watch people turn themselves inside out with performances and be so impressed you immediately want to spend all the money you didn't already blow on the vacation to buy their stuff. Yeah, that sounds like what every other poet is doing this week.
Nationals was great, and I didn't get the chance to point out some of my favorite moments:
-a woman in the audience said "Christ, he looks 12 years old" when Zach and Colin took the stage for a team piece based on Road Runner cartoons and relationship disasters. Thing is, I'm not sure which one they were talking about.
-preventing The Wife from tagging Phil West in the head with her elbow...for the second time. (Back in 1998, we were at a bout in some shitty little club that was packed, and I mean you could not move. West was making his way from point A to point B and she turned sharply at just the right moment...POP! Her elbow rudely kisses his head, he keeps moving like a trooper, and she didn't even know she did it until I told her last week.)
-Bob "Whoopeecat" Stephenson got the Spirit of the Slam award, and while we did not witness it, we were there in...spirit. We love Bob, and he's done so much in the Dallas community in the last year alone that he deserves a big fat award just for being here. Great guy.
-Did I mention I was blown away by Alvin Lau? I don't think I can repeat this enough, he was that good. And before last week, I had never heard of him before. How cool is that?
-Slam Planet was incredibly fun to watch. I just feel bad about Taylor Mali, so misunderstood. That is, until I saw him with his new 'do at Indie Finals. He's gone from professorial to downright groovy/hipster. It is too jarring a change. I must go back and watch Slamnation again to clear it from memory.
-Whole Foods Market has the best fruit ever displayed in yuppie-neat stacks - but done by hippies. Grab some pineapple, throw it in your hemp bag and sieze the day, bitches!
Kinderwhore*
It amazes me what some people think is clever.
Last night we saw a commercial for a Kids Bop-style CD that had all of these sweet little 8-10 year olds dancing on screen. And then they started to sing it.
Hollaback Girl.
What in the name of all that's right and holy was someone thinking when they said, "Hey, on this edition, let's get some of that new pop sound. The teens love Gwen Stefani. Let's buy the rights to some of her tunes, and make preteens love her too!"
Thus, we get sweet little Mary and precocious Timmy singing the following:
Uh huh, this is my shit All the girls stomp your feet like this [Chorus]:
A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just gonna to happen like that
Because I ain't no hollaback girlI ain't no hollaback girl [Repeat]
Ooooh ooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
I heard that you were talking shit
And you didn't think that I would hear itPeople hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired upSo I'm ready to attack, gonna lead the packGonna get a touchdown, gonna take you outThat's right, put your pom-poms downs, getting everybody fired up
A few times I've been around that trackSo it's not just gonna to happen like thatBecause I ain't no hollaback girlI ain't no hollaback girl [Repeat]
Ooooh ooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
So that's right dude, meet me at the bleachers
No principals, no student-teachersBoth of us want to be the winner, but there can only be oneSo I'm gonna fight, gonna give it my allGonna make you fall, gonna sock it to youThat's right I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust A few times I've been around that trackSo it's not just gonna to happen like thatBecause I ain't no hollaback girlI ain't no hollaback girl [Repeat] Ooooh ooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x] Let me hear you say this shit is bananasB-A-N-A-N-A-S(This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S)Again this shit is bananasB-A-N-A-N-A-S(This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S) A few times I've been around that trackSo it's not just gonna to happen like thatBecause I ain't no hollaback girlI ain't no hollaback girl [Repeat] Ooooh ooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]Yeah, that's some Romper Room Gangsta shit, you feel me?Even if they managed to completely re-write the thing (and really,
how could you make it worse?), everyone will still know what your
source material was, and you could never talk your way out of the
concept. I'm sure someone in the discussion suggested some
50 Cent or Biggie, and hopefully they were lead from the room. But
it's a free market, baby, and you just know there are vanloads of
moms and their dainty progeny rambling down the road from elementary
school, singing in unison, because it's a fun family thing.Oy. Flipping. Vey. *Thanks to Kirsten Macy
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Dallas, Day 7,168 - Home Is Where The High Water Pressure Is
Our cool, dry apartment.
A long, hot shower, with high water pressure.
A fresh pot of hot coffee, some fresh fruit and sandwiches from the local market, and a fat sunday paper.
Space, even in this small apartment, that seems vast compared to the room we stayed in.
Getting all the bills paid and off my desk.
Wanting a nap but watching Charley Varrick instead.
A head full of words for potential poems.
A sack of new books to read and new CDs to listen to, and a list of names: poets to seek out material from.
The Wife, tucked into our freshly made bed, resting easy.
The car, sleek and victorious after the long haul.
No clutter, everything in its place.

It's so goddam good to be home.

Saturday, August 12, 2006
Austin, Day 5, Ongoing - After The Fall, or, A Wing Is Clipped
We're leaving a restaurant midday, getting a late start but a very relaxed, happy one. Nothing could get in the way of a delightful day.
The step was painted yellow, with large stencilled letters that read "CAUTION - STEP".
Usually I hold her hand, and usually I say things like "watch your step" even when I know she's fully capable of walking. But today I was moving forward a split-second faster than usual, intending to open the car door before she ever got there, when she goes to ground behind me. I turn to see The Wife in a heap on the concrete and seconds seem to speed up. I check her, lift her to her feet without using the arm that hurts, get her to the car and dab at her bloody knees and hand with a handkerchief. Only her elbow and wrist hurt enough to worry her, though her knees look like she just finished a rowdy game of rugby without any protective gear.
I get her back to the room, dab at the blood with a wet cloth and spray Bactine on the scrapes. Check her mobility, which is fine except for the elbow. Get her cleaned up, bandaged, wrap the arm and then watch her sleep for an hour before giving her some Motrin.
Thus, our plans changed.
She of the hearty disposition doesn't want to go to an emergency room, and frankly, I have to wonder if they would have done much the same as we did, with, of course, a higher charge. She of the tough skin allows me to re-set bandages and Neosporin and help her with every little thing that requires lifting, moving and any other random arm movements. She re-assures me that I could not have prevented it from happening, could not have sufficiently caught her in time. But her being hurt in any way gives me a chill.
***
So, yeah, we missed the finals. I fed her blackened salmon and greek salad with a delightfully crisp 2006 bottled water. We sat in comfortable huddles and watched Law & Order and Sideways and Red Dragon. And taking care of her and watching her sleep, it was the very best vacation I could have had. And tomorrow we drive home and nap and do laundry and wait for Monday morning.
My vacation should be a chance to see scenery and landscapes that I've not seen before, to explore places where I've never stood and where I've only dreamed of walking. But I keep spending them looking into the sweet eyes and tender grin of my wife's face, and it doesn't faze me one bit that I could, for free, do the exact same thing at home. But I would spend all I earn to be able to look into those eyes. And travel is just a way to do all those same things that bring you joy but in a different environment: eat good food, laugh over stories, and love the ones that you hold dear. Those things are ongoing.
Only the car shows the mileage.
Austin, Day 4 - Alvin Lau, Accept No Substitute
Wanted to take part in the Haiku Slam but didn't get picked. Oh well.
The semi finals were brutal, as was my stomach. I don't know if it was massive anxiety, food poisoning, heat or a combo of the three, but I became wildly sick once the proceedings got under way, though I was able to see most of it from the hallway.
NYC Louder Arts won, and rightly so. Carlos and Rachel wiped the slate clean.
Then on to Indie Finals. All I can say is: Amy Weaver gets all my love and Anis Mojgani (who won) gets my deep admiration, but Alvin Lau was king.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Austin, Day 3 - More Incredible Stuff, More Blind & Deaf Judges
Let me cut it down to the core for you:
Miami's Kyisha (sorry, man, I'm sure I mispelled that, but I couldn't find your name in the program), Will and Asia (again, sorry if that's not right) - incredible stuff all around.
Dallas Pugsley's Library - two more hot team pieces and another scorching Amy Weaver performance, all falling on the heads of judges that failed in recognizing the team's work.
France - yes, that France. Terrific work from a non-English speaking team. My first exposure to subtitled slam, and I liked it.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Austin, Day 2 - Colin Gilbert Hits A Homer
After a very enjoyable morning and a great "Legends" showcase (Daphne Gottlieb, you are "the shit", as the kids say, and Beau Sia, you are no legend...you are sweet velvet crown royalty), we ended up at the first bout, which was Dallas Clearview against Boise, Palatine, Columbia and Newark. Unfortunately, we were able to only watch one round before leaving due to the late start of the venue. Dallas' Rockbaby and Joaquin did a great job with their "change the channel" group piece, and apparently won the bout. Notable from the first round were Dennis from Palatine with a great bar poem, and Stacy from Columbia.
Hoofed it over to the overcrowded Hideout. Got a parking space that indicated miracles are possible. Said hello to our favorites, Dallas Pugsley's, who walked up as we parked. Got inside, got water, got seats that rivaled no other. And then, on time, watched a magnificent bout.
NYC Louder won the night (by 2 tenths of a point), and let me not take away from their performances: Carlos burned the house down, the group piece was great and Marty was simply staggering. Gayle Danley of DC Baltimore was another standout of the night.
But my heart, the Dallas Pugsley's inaugural team, made the greatest impressions of the night. Amy Weaver closed it out with her "book" piece, and ate everyone else alive. But it was Colin Gilbert's "Pops Rocks" piece that made the single-most phenomenal display of the night. The piece on its own is fine, but the choreography of the speaker (Colin) being yanked by God's puppet-strings (thank you God...I mean Bob) made the work into one of the most electric performances I have ever witnessed. I do not say this because I love these guys. I say it because it is true.
Today, day 3 - some much needed relaxation, followed by the second set of bouts. But first: Phil's Icehouse for a Violet Crown, thank you.
But First, A Terror Alert
With the latest foiled terror plot, you will now need to check all lotions, creams and liquids. So be prepared to explain those tubes of "special" lubricant and other discretionary items.
Poor Tony Blair. Finally takes a break from work and this happens. And he has to take a transatlantic flight back. Some guys can't catch a break.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Austin, Day 1 - And Their Shall Be Extended Stay Rooms Without Cigarette Burns Or Sex Offenders
It started off so well.
We changed our plan and got up extra early, figuring to beat hometown morning drive traffic, speed down the tollway and blast through South Dallas so we'd be out of the metroplex before the sun rose, and indeed we did, making great time.
Too good of a time, it would seem.
We arrived in Austin just before 10 am and there was a slight problem with the room...it was unacceptable. Holes in the walls, rust and cigarette burns on most surfaces, the smell of smoke in what was to have been a smoke-free room. Inconvenienced and wanting to unpack, we rambled around town until noon when a new room was ready, a room fit for humans.
The Wife had this crazy thought: don't extended stay places attract sex offenders that can't find any other place to live? That's crazy, I hear you say.
No, no.
Check statistics, and you will find this is in fact true. She did some preliminary research weeks before, however, and found that there were none where we are staying. Sigh of relief.
Once unpacked in our delightfully cramped space, we racked out and 4 hours later headed out again.
Austin Land & Cattle Co. is a very good steak joint. And I love steak. Hey, vegans, I don't care how sad the earth is, you don't know joy like an expertly-cooked steak. The tears of Gaia can flow all day, but a steak would have the Mother licking her sweet green chops. So head out to this place, and enjoy.
Then went down to the Alamo Drafthouse and saw Slam Planet, this millenium's documentary on the poetry slam and the 2004 Nationals where NYC Urbana and Austin seemed like front-runners. All I can say, apart from nicely done, Mike Henry, is: poor, poor, misunderstood Taylor Mali. This guy can't catch a break. Always made out to be some kind of villain in these things. And I'll bet he doesn't give a damn one way or the other.
(As Taylor moves out of camera range, a single tear flows down his cheek. He ducks his head down, lightly shudders, and moves on down the street.)
Now I am here, past midnight, attempting to type on The Wife's laptop. I am a six-foot/four-inch tall, 259-lb, big-meaty-handed, full-grown man. I dislike the keyboard on the laptop because it is, like me, overly sensitive, and because it forces me to type in such a way that is very uncomfortable physically for my wrists and hands. But I have responsibilities, dear friends, and so I endure.
Tomorrow: day 2 holds a hot-sounding "legends" showcase (meaning people who've been slamming for more than 10 years) and the first round of preliminary bouts. Go, teams Dallas!
Saturday, August 05, 2006
For The Dallas Groupies
Here are the bouts containing Dallas Teams for the first two nights of Nationals:

Wednesday, August 9th
7pm - Bout # 7
Dallas "Clearview" at 501 Studios, up against Newark, Boise, Columbia and Palatine
9pm - Bout # 12
Dallas "Pugsley's" at The Hideout, up against Ithaca, Orlando, NYC Louder and DC-Balt

Thursday, August 10th
7pm - Bout # 16
Dallas "Pugsley's" at Ruta Maya, competing with Madison, France (?), Miami and Chicago
9pm - Bout # 30
Dallas "Clearview" at Volitant, fighting off the advances of Houston, Charlotte, Columbus and Oakland

Here's wishing our local crews luck, love and good karma.
Sounds Like Horse Race
Trip Prep neck and neck with Festival Fun and Beat The Heat, edging out Confusing Denouement, closely followed by Austin Delights!

When you spend more money preparing for a vacation road trip than you plan to spend on the actual vacation road trip, is that so wrong? I've been telling myself that no, it isn't, though my gut still twists at where my Visa balance will be a week and a half from now.
Spent $550 on tires.
See, tires are supposed to be changed occasionally, and not driven until they bleed, so this would have happened eventually anyway, but since this was timed so perfectly to accent the oncoming extended remix highway drive, it takes on a tad more emotional weight than it otherwise would.
***
Breaking in a new pair of sandals. Ironing shirts that still have factory creases. Making lists of anything I would need in the extended stay motel for next week. Attempting not to freak out over costs. Wanting to have fun and relax. This is my current lot, managing these weekend tasks before a brief final day at work before the break and then off to Austin. Have capable guard dogs to watch the home front. The car is prepped and ready. The bags will be packed, with all probability, at the last minute. But seeing as this is the first real vacation we've taken since the honeymoon, I'm hoping it will be at the very least calmly pleasurable.
***
The Asian Film Festival of Dallas is off and running. Allow me to promote:
Controlled Burning's Choice Picks for the AFFD 2006
ONE NIGHT IN MONGKOK
Derek Yee's award-winning crime drama is part destined-to-be-failed-romance a la' Wong Kar-Wai, part dark Johnny To cop procedural, and all good. It is, in my humble opinion, the best film at the festival and I encourage anyone going not to miss it.
CROMARTIE HIGH SCHOOL: THE MOVIE
Nonsensical, silly, without a narrative and failing any serious consideration, this is a hilarious live-action version of a manga about a seemingly cursed high school filled with ne'er-do-wells, including a robot and a gorilla. Drop your brain in the lobby and enjoy this surprisingly good comedy.
GREEN CHAIR
It starts off as though you're about to watch some kind of sleazy/adult/crime thriller, but it is actually a sweet, humorous, and polite little tale of a woman who has sex with a minor. When she gets out of jail, they meet up again and wait out the ten days before he becomes an adult by staying with her ceramic-artist friend. They make mugs, have sex, consider life. It's a great show. 18+ audience restricted.
GOJIRA
By the time you read this you will have missed it, but there's always a DVD release in the coming weeks. The original Godzilla, in a director's cut format that frees itself of the American-added Raymond Burr cutscenes, is a fantastic film and a great little piece of memorabilia. Seek it out.
INITIAL D
I found it amusing when, in the promotional materials for the recent FAST AND THE FURIOUS: TOKYO DRIFT, "actor" Lil Bow Wow (or is it just Bow Wow? I cannot recall...) says that there's never been a film about drifting...BUT HE'S WRONG, SEE! Initial D, also based on a popular manga, is a nice little piece of fluff about a...well, who cares, there's cars and speed and The Legendary, so just go have fun.
THREE TIMES
Beautiful. That's all I can say.
THE GREAT YOKAI WAR
Asian director Takashi Miike usually sticks to the bizarro world of crime dramas, meaning yakuzas who defile each other in disgusting ways that make you laugh. This time out, he's made a film of a children's story...that is, let's be clear, not a film for children. Somewhere between Venture Bros. and Wonder Showzen is the apocalyptic Sesame Street of Miike's Yokai. Controlled Burning says enjoy.
TYPHOON
Look, I'm not gonna lie to you, Typhoon is by no means a great film (sorry, AFFD execs). It's such a standard sort of action fare that it looks as if miserable Hollywood producers dreamt it up, then had it translated into Korean for good measure. But say what you want about the dialogue and the story, it is a wonderful LOOKING film. Shot with crisp but luxurious style, it is an absolutely watchable movie. Exciting and dramatic, it fulfills the pretense of mainstream blockbuster. So sure, give it a look.
I have been very proud of the AFFD since its creation, because it not only brings great movies to this otherwise sad little burg called Dallas, but it also has the foresight to acknowledge films that haven't made it big on either coast, where you expect a slightly greater appreciation of foreign film talent (even if for the sole purpose of remaking them).
I applaud Mye and all the AFFD folks for bringing together another great festival.
***
Holy fuck, is it hot out there. When at 9am I run to pick up my car and in 10 minutes feel the sheen of wetness under my shirt, that's some kinda miserable heat. We stayed in for the better part of the day for the simple fact that I don't want to watch the pounds melt away by actually melting.
DVDs are the new radio.
***
The Neighbor No. 13 (DVD) - A very effective, well-made yet grisly little 2005 film about a picked-on grade-schooler who grows up to be a serial killer. Maybe. While very good, the final five minutes lost me completely, leaving me to search the web for a summary of the final act. By someone who knows what the hell. Look for it, good stuff.
Drawn Together, Season 1 (DVD) - As un-PC as a cartoon can get? Probably. Funny stuff that tends to center around racism, handling the handicapped, sweat shop vengeance and The Gays, all in a cutely-animated package that shows up the world of reality TV. Don't watch if you have only a marginal sense of humor.
Miami Vice (in theaters) - Awesome. Forget Don Johnson and Glenn Frey and pastels, and see this gritty, dark, slick piece of work by Michael Mann. Perhaps the best summer film in a season of mostly disappointing choices.
The Descent (in theaters) - Did I just say best summer film? Wow. Great movie. Don't let all the banter about it not having the same ending as in the UK prevent you from enjoying this claustrophobic, intense, trippy little flick. A scary movie where women aren't pushovers? Say it ain't so, baby! Go see this right now. After finishing the blog, of course. Unless you're going to the AFFD first, because, well, we're tight like that.
***
So yeah, we're going to Austin to get away from the grind, but doing so during the week of the National Poetry Slam. We plan to see some of our favorite local artists go to town on teams from around the country. Some have been supportive, some have been good friends, all are extremely talented on the microphone, so it stands to be a pretty entertaining and fun week. But mostly, it's about a break from the dulling effect of work and shit and thoughts too ugly to blog. So here's to fun. And here's to Austin, City of Hills and Haiku Deathmatches.
...nothing harder to watch than an englishman trying to cry...
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Should Have Seen It Coming...
"I wish I could crush Jews as easily as this kitten."
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Guess What Wasn't A Headline?
This kind of shit will get you fired anywhere else in America.
Associated Press
Or at least walked to Human Resources and marked as the easiest choice to lay off during the next reduction of force.
And my answer to the inevitable conservative remark is that Lewinski was a) in private and b) consensual.
Dumbass.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Jack Warden, 1920 - 2006.

Godspeed, Mickey.
Monday, July 24, 2006
"...freedom... so long an unremembered dream, was his."
Makoto "Mako" Iwamatsu, 1933 - 2006

Rest in peace, Akiro.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
The MySpace Whores Have Spoken
A new practice I have come across since beginning this venture: every few days I get approximately 25 notices (in tandem, it seems) for "friend requests" that are from women with names like Dahlia and Lani and Yvette who all have photos that look surprisingly professional, usually of them bent over in rather skimpy attire. They all seem terribly friendly. It's just a shame that if you click on the images to view their profiles, you immediately get inundated with porn spam.
Ah, serendipity.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
It's Why We Have Adult Swim
Just finished the second two sessions of Stephen King's Nightmares & Dreamscapes show on TNT. What a fucking downer. I thought I was depressed.
Here's hoping next week's installments will be gory, funny, exciting, anything but the prolonged yawn of despondency that we saw tonight.
And what happened to the opening song on Pee-Wee's Playhouse? Wah-wah-wah-wah-dum-dee-dum-dee-dum...not there. Still, this is why we have Adult Swim, to regroup after emotionally backsliding dramas.
***
The draws for NPS are finally...finalized. I haven't been excited about any of the side events except for the Haiku slam. I wish there was a general open mic...but there isn't a huge amount of detail on the website yet. But hey, it's two weeks away. Maybe by the weekend.
***
Occlusal guard: $457.
Permanent crown: $1024.
Root canal: $1200.
Eating solid food without crying: Priceless.
...my peace and quiet was stolen from me...
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Every Which Way But Laos
It gets so that a man doesn't know what to do. So much torment in the world.
Had an argument with The Wife last night, but managed not to go to bed angry. If I believe in any superstitions, that's one of the better ones. I don't know if Charles Burnett came up with "to sleep with anger", because it sounds like one of those infinitesimal pieces of Shakespeare that get turned into film titles. Like The Dogs of War (young Walken as mercenary!), Where Eagles Dare (Eastwood & Burton vs. Nazis!), Dagger of the Mind (Captain Kirk and the brain machine!), The Evil That Men Do (Bronson avenges once more!), North By Northwest (run, Cary, run!), The Quality of Mercy (you go, Mercedes McCambridge!) and "Full Fathom Five" (Sylvia!). All that to say, we were all warm butterflies and hearts before the snoring started.
Then I also understand there's some kind of problem in the Middle East? Did someone leave a cigarette burning? Wow. Sorry, haters!
And top it off with: yesterday I sliced open the tip of my thumb at work. It's a small cut, but it leads to hours upon hours of snivelling discontent (another Shakespeare line, I believe). You don't realize how much you use the tip of your thumb until it's too late. And god forbid the French sea salt on your edamame gets in the cut (Shakespeare again!). Ouch.
So this morning I turn on the tee-vee picture box, and there is classic lighthearted Eastwood: Every Which Way But Loose, with all it's fightin', monkeyin', Ruth Gordon awkward comedy moments. Funnier than you would think. And lessons to be learned. But no matter how you cut it, Sondra Locke was never really very pretty.
After that was Joe vs. The Volcano, a sad little Tom Hanks comedy that is funnier than you would think, also. The best moment is right up front: as workers trudge into their horrible, awful, terrible daily grind of a job, they must walk a jagged, Caligariesque path that matches the company logo. Their offices are dimly lit and sickly green, like David Fincher's dining room. And this is the film that provided the delightful malady "brian cloud". If you hate your job, you'll either vehemently hate or casually love this film. And three Meg Ryans, from the cute years! Even dimly greenlit, she's a doll.
Sorry, was a doll.
And one can never get tired of Dan Hedaya. So there you go.
***
Did I mention Laos? Seems like Cambodia and Laos used to be the trouble spots of the world. What happened to those golden years?
***
The Great Yokai War is ... great. Fantasy from Takashi Miike? Yes. Enjoyable? Yes. Weirder than a Salvador Dali version of Sesame Street? You betcha.
Similarly enjoyable though completely different was Fearless (thank you, import DVD), the new and possibly last film from Jet Li. With an almost too-simple storyline (I was headstrong and carefree, then I experienced sadness and guilt, then I became a better man), the fight scenes are quite good. But overall it doesn't feel particularly thrilling, just good. Sort of a glossy version of any of his earlier films, and by that I don't mean The One or Hero. Ass.
Today we have a bundle of Asian films lined up to prevent our exit into the 100+ degree heat of the day, and I have to admit I'll be happy to play hermit. It was 96 a little while ago, and it's not even noon yet.
...there goes my love rocket red...
Sunday, July 09, 2006
South + West + Shoot + Out + Slam + Results = ? ? ?
It should not surprise me anymore that for the most part poets don't update websites very quickly, one assumes because they are sleeping off a previous night's gallery of debauchment. I'm kidding, of course. Poets are usually too poor and too tired from all that pruning pages to the just-so word and flailing their arms on stage for any really time-consuming or costly debauchment. Discount decadence, that's what we truck in.
So I was hoping that the results of last night's Southwest Shootout in Flagstaff might have been available by now, which they are not. It doesn't help that Google seems incapable of taking the words "south" "west" "shoot" and "out", form a cohesive link to a "poetry" or "slam" event for "2006". Had I not stumbled across the (still not updated) MySpace page, I'd know nothing at all.
But I have associates I care about who performed valiantly, I want to believe, and they might have done well, but...I won't know until someone is kind enough to publicize it. So if you have an in with one of the teams or facilitators of the match, I'd love to hear what went down.
***
Loved seeing the news item today about the appeals court judge who ruled that all the companies that sell and rent "cleaned" versions of films have to stop, and return their stock to Hollywood. The judge stated that they violated federal copyright laws, and nothing is sweeter than the thought of Mr. Squeaky-Clean Suburbanite (middle name possibly Christian?) having to exercise a little precaution, judgement and discretion when letting his kids watch a movie.
Yay, parenting!
***
If you're not you should be...watching Deadwood, Venture Bros. and Mind of Mencia.
***
List of injuries:
What a week. I started with the Table Slammed Little Toe. Then moved up to the Sharp Shelf Corner Minor Leg Scar, followed soon after by the Sharp Shelf Corner Major Leg Scar, which precipitated the Finger Slice, the Thumb Prick (not what you think) and the ever-popular Purple Bruise From Nowhere under one armpit (I wear evil, hurtful shirts, people).
Here's hoping the coming week will be relatively free of calamity.
...that was the river, this is the sea...
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Here, Let Me Ruin It For You
Saw the Pirates of The Caribbean sequel last night with The Wife and The Son, and gosh, I didn't know we were back in the land of Matrix cliffhangers. Let me ruin a mediocre film for you, sort of: to know the finale, you must wait until Summer 2007 and see Episode III...err, I mean, Pirate Trois. As tiring as the film became, I was delighted by its wait-for-it ending. Nicely done, and good for Mssrs. Bruckheimer and Verbinksi for having the gall to make us wait a full year to wrap it up.
***
The Son...yes, he has become a Guitar Hero. GH fiends may abound, but there is a point of pride to be had when your progeny gets a near-perfect score on an old Motorhead song and then agrees to shop with you for a collection of Joan Jett or Helmet. I can play too, but with the old man hands, I can only last a few songs before the palsy begins.
***
A Lovely Moment of Irony: walking through the cattle bays of the local Ikea store trying to find the fastest shortcut to an exit, or in the case of Ikea, the only exit, and the overhead speakers begin playing The Animals' We Gotta Get Out Of This Place. Nice.
...if it's the last thing we ever do....
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Denied!
Well, for those who wanted to see justice done, sorry kids. Maybe next time.
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Best & Worst of So Far
So here's what you need to seek out if you like the moving pictures, thus far in 2006:
Brick - Inspiring low-key combination of Dashiel Hammett and AfterSchool Specials, with some terrific, pulpy-noiry chatter.
Game 6 - A playwright can't decide whether to attend the opening of his latest show, watch the crucial World Series game, or hunt down a whacked-out critic. Michael Keaton and Robert Downey, Jr. are great and the dialogue is deeply enjoyable...in that "real people never talk this much to each other without interrupting" way.
Inside Man - One of the few Spike Lee films where race is not a deciding factor in the story's outcome. A really loving tribute to the crime genre of the 1970s, this film is fun and well-made, and I challenge anyone who hasn't seen it to predict its final act.
The Proposition - A brilliant, ugly tale of revenge and brutality in the name of justice and civilization. Or is it a brilliant, ugly tale of loyalty and honor in the face of civilized justice? Whatever your take, if this is your kind of film (and trust me, baby, it isn't for everyone), you will be floored by the thing. Easily one of the year's best.
And from previous years, viewed in 2006:
Beckett On Film (DVD series) - Wanna get deep? Try small doses of this fascinating, thorough documenting of all things Samuel Beckett. Some of the most precise and confounding pieces of literary cinema I've ever seen. Absolutely captivating.
Cache (2005, DVD) - Sometimes frightening in its quiet inaction, sometimes shocking in its bluntness, this examination of the ghosts that come back to haunt us gives new meaning to the word menacing.
Election (2005, import DVD) - Johnny To is not as commonly known in America as Takashi Miike or Takeshi Kitano have become in the last 10 years, but his films usually best their more outlandish works with quieter style and narrative grace. This one is a story of political corruption that stands among his very best.
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005, import DVD) - Park Chan-Wook is the revenge master, the seeming out-of-nowhere director of the nasty triptych that started with Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and the brilliant Oldboy. Here he goes all out, combining wry humor, gut-wrenching drama and a loving, artistic visual style to create one of the best films I will have seen this year, even though it was made in 2005. I highly recommend seeking this out. (note: turns out the film was just released this week in American theaters as Lady Vengeance)
Keane (2005, DVD) - A near-unwatchable film, if only because of the deeply harrowing performance by Damien Lewis. If you like the emotionally rough stuff, give it a shot.
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005, DVD) - Sweetly applied homage to movies in general, and detective stories in particular. Robert Downey, Jr. and Val Kilmer as mismatched sleuths. Once again, dialogue (and narration, in this case) is king.
Lessons of Darkness (1993, DVD) - Where the hell did this come from? If it weren't for IMDB and Netflix, I never would have found this documentary from Werner Herzog, with its brief runtime and startlingly beautiful imagery of Iraqi oil fields on fire following Gulf War I. A near-silent film, it is not to be missed. And if you have no sense of cinema, try this: let it run in the background at your next rave. Your guests will think you are cool, heavy and relevant, man.
The Three Bruials of Melquiades Estrada (2005, DVD) - Great first film from Tommy Lee Jones. Stark and brutal and filled with small, carefully drawn characters. I loved this movie for and despite its Peckinpah overtures.
Venture Bros. Season 1 and Wonder Showzen Season 1 (2004 and 2005, DVD) - Two brilliant shows for two very different adult audiences. Venture Bros. is a sharply funny homage to Jonny Quest wrapped in contemporary comedy and clever, hammy characterizations. Wonder Showzen is A Clockwork Orange by way of Sesame Street, a subversive and painfully honest - and scarily funny - collection of vignettes played out by deceptively sweet children and puppets. You could make the mistake of letting your 13-year-old watch Venture and it wouldn't be so bad. Don't make that mistake with Showzen.
***
As for this week, The Devil Wears Prada is actually quite enjoyable. Meryl Streep swings her mighty Oscar axe with subtle precision. The others are good, too. And with the exception of a couple of unbelievable moments, the story plays out nicely.
***
Netflix is sending me Harvey Birdman and Pornstar Pets. Yes, you read that right. How to see the gentle human being within the pornstar by way of their relationships with their dogs, cats, turtles and fish. Supposed to be a delightful little documentary. I'm sure it will be enlightening.
***
Wordplay, the Scrabble movie, the spelling bee movies...when will it end? I'm waiting on the Boggle doc, which I think HBO has in development.
...yes he really looks quite religious, he's been an outlaw all his life...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Season 2
The Venture Bros. began anew this past Sunday night. Season 2 has been hotly anticipated and did not fail to deliver "the goods".
But let me return to a favorite quote from the first season, from an episode entitled "Past Tense" which dealt with a villain from the characters' college days getting his much-sought-after revenge. In it, Dr. "T.S." Venture says regarding a classmate:
"And the weirdness doesn't stop there. All he writes are these way-to-specific poems about monarch butterflies. Total closet-case."
Those in my former circles will get a giddy chuckle from this. Anyone outside of Dallas poetry scenes will walk away with question marks floating above their crania.
...A hell exists on earth? Yes. I won't live in it. That's me...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
An Amusing News Item
Was anyone else doubled over with laughter when they read that E. Pierce Marshall, the son of oil tycoon J. Howard Marshall, died the other day? Not because he died, but how.
An "extremely aggressive infection".
Those of us in the five-figure income bracket call that a former stripper.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Everyone Doesn't Love You, So Just Cut It Out
I read a fellow MySpace blogger's comments that since everyone loved him no matter what he did or said, life was good. And this irks me to no end, not because no one loves me, and I'm getting shorted somehow, but because to set yourself up with the belief that your worth is brightly manifested through the affections and attentions of others just sets you up for a world of disappointment later in life. And that galls me. And if I were Western Euro, it would Gaul me. (Oy, I'm such a stitch!)
It's like that concept of praising someone for something they've done because it will make them feel good, or a part of something, or just because there can't be any losers anymore. Well wake up, people, we are a world full of losers and second-raters and also-rans. You probably are one, too. There are very few people in the world who are genuinely talented in some form or fashion. We do people a great disservice when we fill their heads with huzzahs and applause, when they are at best mediocre and annoying, undisciplined and ignorant. And by ignorant, I mean IGNORANT, not stupid.
MySpace is a terrible example of positive social reinforcement. Look at almost any person's MS page and scroll down through the endless posts by (one assumes) total strangers. Everyone is glad-handing and back-slapping and other bodypart-actionverbing. But how much of it do you think is truly genuine? How much is just part of the big join-in, to be part of the gang, go to the big party, along for the ride. And guess what? There is no ride.
I'm in a foul mood because I'm tired of facade. I'm tired of taking part because of what someone else thinks. And I'm desperately tired of saying things to people that I do not mean, like "I'm doing just fine", "I really like that" and "You are really good at that thing you keep doing".
Knowing your limitations is always a good start. And if you don't think you have any limitations, well, you're a prime candidate for some.
Just remember: everyone does not love you, no matter how complimentary or nice they are to you. The sooner you wrap your head around this concept the better. Invest your efforts into your ability, not what others are doing, or what they think of you.
In the meantime, there's always a sense of humor. Puns sold separately.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Pharmaceutica Comparatio, Thusly
If you judge a man by the size of the contents of his medicine cabinet, then I am a mighty man, indeed. With the onslaught of muscle and nerve trauma due to the aforementioned dental work, I have quadrupled the number of child-proof happy bottles in my reach.
Normally, I have daily vitamins and a stock of Carbatrol on hand. Carbatrol is a medication generally used to counter and prevent partial and generalized seizure disorders, or more simply put, Epilepsy. It has its base in Carbamezipine, which...well, why try to explain when Wickipedia does it so well:
"Carbamezipine and its derivatives' mechanism of action is relatively well understood. Voltage gated sodium channels are the molecular pores that allow brain cells (neurons) to generate action potentials, the electrical event that allows neurons to communicate over long distances. After the sodium channels open, to start the action potential, they inactivate, essentially closing the channel. Carbamezipine stabilizes the inactivated state of sodium channels, meaning that fewer are available to open, making brian cells less excitable."
I'm not about to spell out what's in the vitamins.
Then there are the newcomers. Because of a "leaky" heart valve, I have to take a prophylactic antibiotic before any dental treatment. That sounds nastier than it is. Amoxicillin is their choice. It acts by "inhibiting the synthesis of bacterial cell walls. It inhibits cross-linkage between the linear peptidoglycan polymer chains that make up a major component of the cell wall of gram-positive bacteria." (Thanks again, Wiki-kids!)
Pain from trauma is responded to with two potential capsules. First line of defense goes to Ibuprofen, in the dandy 600 MG contortion known as Super Motrin Formula X. In stores it is simply labelled Motrin, and given a strength of a mere 100 MG. As a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug, it works rather effectively on localized trauma. But the Neutron Bomb of pain relief comes to me in the form of Hydrocodone, commonly called Lortab. Hydrocodone is a codeine-derived drug which relieves pain by binding with opioid receptors in the brain and spinal cord. Sounds like an E ticket ride, which is why they told me not to use it unless in excruciating pain. It sits safely tucked away in the hazardous materials locker, along with the plutonium and Twinkies. You know, things with a 1000-year half-life.
I also have a half-finished box of Tic Tac mints. And strangely, these are what concern me most. If they were to fall into the wrong hands, well, let's just say I don't want to consider the potential for mass-hysteria and destruction of property. Tragedy, with a tingly freshness.
...aspirin will not bring a hooker back to life, so stop taking it...
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Depression, Debt and Dentistry: TRIFECTA!
Wow, talk about your transitional periods. How do I start off? I quit the team. Let me back up: I was dealing with a huge amount of anxiety, and there are two institutions I love that I'm simply not going to pony up to when I'm this depressed. The AFFD, an Asian film festival group based in Dallas that has had its ups and downs these past few months (transitional, indeed). I just don't want to deal with the rickety bullshit of the organization's new and questionable direction. And I quit the slam team. I had made the team, I feel kind of by default, but was giddy enough and ready to take on the challenge of it. But three weeks in and life's little knots had made me so twisty that there is no way I could have sufficiently done my part for the group. A blog is supposed to be one's virtual diary, where you say everything, but there are stressors I will not discuss here, and so only The Wife will ever really know what has been roiling in my brain and gut these last few years. It just built to a point I wasn't appreciating many of the things I needed to. So, I quit the team. Who needs that hassle? A week later I was in a different world completely. All that worry was in the past. I was focused on only one thing: an overly sensitive tooth. My own creativity, family, contacting therapists, everything went on hold as the left side of my head went off like a broken alarm. First a broken chunk thanks to a wad of Dots and accelerated chewing, a refreshed filling, more pain, a temporary crown, more pain, a root canal, and after a mishap involving floss and a sink drain, a new temporary crown. I now have two more weeks to wait before the permanent cementing of a permanent crown, and then the acceptable period of healing from any subsequent trauma. That will leave me with a full trial period of roughly 6 weeks since this began. I feel much better now, by comparison, thank you. But the six-times-the-power-of-over-the-counter-strength Motrin is helping, I can assure you.
And let me tell you, even with sufficient insurance, advanced dental work costs. But it's worth the expense to be rid of the pain.I'm a big wuss about pain. No father's son here, no military offspring bravery here, no sir, sir. I hate pain. And pain inside your head is the worst. Jab me in the arm, not nice but I ain't cryin'. But man, problems in the brain, eyes, teeth and throat are never fun. Point and laugh, I don't care. So, to recap: anxious, depressed; no more team spirit, no more forced socializing; no more committees that wrack my head with frustration. Dealing with personal health and family issues. Keeping chin firmly inclined. Outlook hopeful.
***
Sore jaw. Cannot open past certain angle without pain. Hard to eat. Why am I writing like this? Unable use article, pronoun.
***
We saw Matthew Barney's Drawing Restraint 9 last night. Until the carving commenced, I was actually enjoying the thing. You keep telling yourself, "it's only a false leg, it's only a false leg".
Barney is the New York artiste who created the Cremaster film series, or "Cycle", I believe he called it. Very into controlled motion, lots of ritual, much, much vaseline. Creation, destruction, transformation, and vaseline. Isn't that life in a nutshell? Oh, and it also stars Bjork, Barney's lifemate. If you ever saw Dancer in the Dark and wanted to punish the Icelandic singer for her awful acting skill, just watch this film and you'll be completely satisfied.
***
On DVD, the delightfully sordid Running Scared takes the cake. I especially loved how it fluidly shifted from grimy crime saga to David Lynchian child-pornography freakshow, and then right back to grimy crime saga, without batting an eye. Priceless.
***
Have sent The Manuscript off to a series of possible publishing houses and contests. We'll see how this round goes. I don't plan on any outside activities until early August, when my compatriots run a regional gig right before Nationals take place. We'll be driving down for that week, more as vacation than opportunity, though it will be nice to take part in some side events and watch some of the nation's best control their respective stages. But mostly vacation. No bullshit, no tension.
...the dust of ages settles on your days but I'm not fuckin' around anymore...