Musings of an Dystopic Onanist

The Tooth Fairy does not exist, and I'm really pissed off.

2007-05-23T19:18:00.000-07:00

Here's a picture of my dog's extracted molar.

It broke in two when they removed it. I've been trying to clean it to make charms out of it. I used hydrogen peroxide. More details here.

The Best @#%*ing Korean-made U.S.-polluted toxic-sludge river monster horror-comedy ever.

2007-03-20T08:06:00.000-07:00

No posts since whenever. All three of my readers can sue me.

"The Host" directed by Joon-ho Bong, is just fantastic. Good monster movies, very hard to come by, beat the pants off critically praised "serious" films any day. More spontaneous, more energy.

Witty, suspenseful, great monster effect. I achieved suspension of disbelief for at least 80% of the screen time, which is great for me.

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasebabyplease, supreme being, G-d, Buddha whomever, let most of the movies I watch for the rest of my life be closer to "The Host", and less like "The Hours", "21 Grams", or any "quality" prestige releases from Hollywood.

The effective thing about the monster that these stills can't reveal, is the seamless way the SF-based effects team makes it move.

Even more effective is director's use of what you can't see. Lots of shots of industrial sewers, bridges, waterfronts of the Han River in Seoul seem to have something lurking just below the surface.

This guy is the patron saint of sweatpants-wearing pudgy movie heroes everywhere. I love this man.

Best sequence in the movie? You let me know.

Movie Website here.

Critical roundup:

Anthony Lane @ the New Yorker wants to see it a third time. Dargis @ NYT. Hartlaub @ SF Chron. Ebert's editor (Rog reviews some things, are you waiting for the next Ron Howard epic or what?).

Go see this. Even if you don't watch "horror" films. Awesome. It's so fun.

"Oh, I'll never eat another rarebit again, really I won't."

2006-08-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

Puts “the Matrix” to shame.

Takes place in some kind of combination of the SF International airport terminal, and the biggest Costco you ever seen. Boxes of products tower to the rafters 100 ft high. Initially product details abound. Stacks of giant chocolate covered mint marshmallow cakes the size of basketballs, have their boxes ripped open by rats, and are being laid waste. I’m trying to report the vermin problem, but obstacled by bureaucracy. Plant Services consulted, all requests processed in triplicate. But as I run out of request forms, they must be reordered from Materials Management. And as I’m out of MM request forms, new forms necessitate a requisition.

Centuries of stalemate pass.

The setting evolves into a different plot in the same place, but with more marble, public art, and less fluorescent lights. We’re similar to Jedi knights on steroids with ninja derived fashion aesthetic, karate gi’s, but no light saber-ILM derived bullshit, and no honor code. Strictly monomolecular filament wire for us, the better to flay large flaps of your skin away with, my dear. Our forms plastic, endlessly stretchable, distended. Dueling endgame with arch-nemesis, bound by blood feud, as if we had killed and raped each other’s deepest love. Tendrils of flesh and viscera from both bodies coil and intertwine to impossible lengths then grow teeth and bite and tear, becoming metal blades, trying to slice the attacking other away from its principal form enough to finally slay them. Stealth, attack, stealth, attack, each more twisted and violent, drawing blood and bodily fluids then the last, even our very organs are in on the act, forming into machetes and flamethrowers. Not wanting half-measures, our tissues secrete enzymes and chemicals to burn the other, or neutralize the latest corrosive attack. Running to separate corners, seeking stitching for the skin, drugs for strength. Trying to find our doctors in the halls, retreating to coffin closets, trying to catch breath, finding new weapons before the other attacks again. Eternity at war passes, ever-more complex fighting configurations abound, attrition, scars accumulate.

When I awake my right hand is tucked behind my head trying to prop my pillow up higher, and the ache tells me it’s been that way for hours, my neck cocked at an obscene angle.

Cocktail consumed 3 hours before bed:

Grand Sazerac: (from diffordsguide to cocktails 5.2 D-K)

Glass: Old-fashioned
Method: POUR absinthe into ice-filled glass and TOP with water. Leave the mixture to stand in the glass. Separately, SHAKE liqueur, bourbon and bitters with ice. Finally discard contents of absinthe-coated glass and fine strain contents of shaker into absinthe washed glass. (Note that there is no ice in the finished drink.)

1/2 shot La Fée Parisian 68% absinthe
Top up with Chilled Mineral Water
1 1/2 shot Grand Marnier liqueur
1 1/2 shot Bourbon whiskey
2 dashes Angostura aromatic bitters
3 dashes Peychaud’s aromatic bitters

Origin: Created in 2004 by Simon Difford
Comment: An orange twist on the classic Sazerac

Note: As we didn’t have La Fée’s absinthe at my house. I actually used pure absinthe imported from France illegally probably as cheese or something, as far as customs was concerned. Big shout-out to JW for providing that party favor for my bachelor soirée five years ago. This was my first use since. Finally got back on the horse, and aside from night visions, this drink was excellent. I highly recommend it.

With sincere apologies to William Gibson and Winsor McCay (I can’t control my subconscious).

Breakthrough, and a challenge.

2006-03-25T10:29:00.000-08:00

Names below have been changed to protect the innocent.

So, I have become so frustrated with my erratic bowling score, that I decided to take desperate measures.

1st a little background:

In 1997, while visiting the island of Koh Phangan in the gulf of Thailand, I was the victim of a bizarre hammock accident. (Sometime I will get it together to do a whole post on just this weird event, please be patient. I'm still trying to learn to post images properly.) As a result of this accident, I broke various bones in my wrist in four different places, which has lead to some arthritis, and pain. Consequently, my wrist becomes very sore during bowling, and my score suffers, making it difficult to break 150. Additionally, I find that even as much as 3 or 4 days later, I'm still hurting.

So I decided to try a wrist brace. I bought the $9.99 special at Big 5. Just give it a shot, what could it hurt, right? So my teammates and I have a make-up league game for the afternoon of March 21st, and we head down to the alley a little early to get used to the brace.

I start practicing. It's a little funky, and it feels like it's fucking up my accuracy. But my wrist doesn't hurt. So I throw five shitty frames.

Then, on the sixth frame, I start throwing strikes. I finally end up with a 2-strike, 9 pin leftover for the tenth frame, and a final score of 154, which beats my personal best of 150 by 4 points.

This, needless to say, is really cool. But wait, it gets better.

I practice another game before league play starts. League play consists of 3 games which will bring up my day total to five games, a big no-no for my wrist.

Sure enough, game 1 is 116. My wrist isn't sore, but my accuracy is inconsistent. Then it happens:

Game 2:

T is consistently the strongest bowler among us, and usually scores way out in front. S is his wife, a novice bowler with amazing potential. I've seen her make very difficult shots like it was nothing. I'm actually doing better, throwing a strike-spare-8 or 9 pin twice in succession. T's off this game, which means that he's just bowling well, instead of excellent. But S starts throwing strikes (mostly) or spares in the sixth frame which lasts for her through the 10th. I throw my 1st "turkey" ever for three consecutive strikes starting in the 7th, and T throws a 2 strike-1 spare combo starting in the eighth.

The results:
My highest score ever + 1st turkey ever for a personal best of 170. (even during my 4th game of the day!)
S's personal best ever: 165.
T: a perfectly respectable 138 with a nice finish.
Our group score is our 2nd best ever of 473.

For game 3 of league play (my game #5 of the day), I bowl a perfectly respectable 141. T rages back for a 167. S has a 115. Our group score is 426.

Needless to say, I'm ecstatic. I'm bragging about my new bowling prowess to anyone who'll listen. Best of all, my wrist pain is reduced.

But then, two days ago, that bastard, T, sends me this:

You just couldn't let me revel in my glory of 170, could you? Oh no, you had to up the ante to some 201 kinda shit, eh, "Sunflower?".

Ok, it's on, bitch.

Stay tuned.

Ten in play right now.

2006-03-13T17:07:00.000-08:00

Not in order of preference. If I was really cool, I'd have a link list with mp3 downloads. Not right now I'm afraid. I don't really know enough about hosting the files, and who to use. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.

Sorry, been sort of low, and busy. Will try to write more often. Promise.

1) My Morning Jacket, "Gideon" from the Austin City Limits broadcast. Man, that guy has pipes. Check your PBS affiliate for reruns, or download it online if yr. crafty. The album "Z" has some not too pleasant AOR moments, slight pretension here and there, and some good powerful ones too. Proceed with my reservations noted if interested.

2) Sufjan Stevens, "Opie's Funeral Song" from the Mews TWO: An Asthmatic Kitty Compilation. Don't know if this has anything to do with Ronny Howard or Mayberry or what, but, holy shit, what a gorgeous piece of melancholia rainy day-ness. Lonely piano, plaintive vocals, pretty strumming. Best of all, no Jesus, unlike some of his stuff. Don't let his religiosity deter you. Even the name-checking of his deity doesn’t get in the way. He's a hell of a songwriter even if he is an NPR fav.

3) "All the President's Men" and "Network". Bizarre how time changes all things. Show anyone under 20 these films, and they can't figure out the cultural relevance. It is not unexpected that politics is played dirty and without ethics, it is now a given. But in '72, it was a big deal for the Washington Post to accuse the Atty General of being a crook, and eventually all the improprieties could bring down a president. Now we can't even muster a political opposition, and no president would resign, they can make too much dough for their corporate lackeys, even staying in office, immobilized and lame-duck. "Network", Paddy Chayefsky-penned, was ahead of it's time, and foresaw the descent of the TV medium into "reality", court, and exploitation fare in which it now comfortably wallows. In some way, I think it was sort of the "Fight Club" of its day. It's good, but it's hard to tell when they were shooting for "over-the-top" or just kind of predicting, because all the satire has come true, and in fact gone far beyond the "outrageousness" of the film, which looks tame now.

4) Bowling score update: Still trying to beat 150. But we're in a league now. Doing fair, keeping the score above 120 or so, with an occasional lapse below that. Yes, I am a loser for giving a shit, and I wear it like a badge of honor.

5) William Shatner, "Common People" from the Has-Been record. Yeah, I know this is old news. But it's pretty funny, and you've got to give the guy some credit for making fun of himself after all those years of TJ Hooker. Come on, how often can you hear Shatner saying, "You'll never watch your life slide out of you, and dance, and drink, and screw because there's nothing else to do."

6) Chan Wook-Park movies. Check this shit out as soon as possible. "Oldboy" was just completely bizarre, and very successful at manipulating viewer expectations. All fans of anything to do with octupi must immediately view this film to see the only analogue that has ever come close to showing what Cthulhu might look like. (Trust me, when you see it, you'll know. You know who you are.) Great film, very intense. "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance" is also good, even more Hitchcockian, and much more funny. Very black BLACK BLACK humor, but very funny. Not for kiddies. Will be watching all this guys stuff, and I will report my findings back to you as soon as possible.

7) Jon Stewart on the Oscars: Finally someone stung a little of the self-importance out of this bloated piece of shit. (Of course, I watched it, I don't know what I'm complaining about. I admit it, I'm a Hollywood-watcher.) I thought he was great, but what do I know? I liked it when Letterman did it.

8) Don DeLlilo's Libra. When I saw James Ellroy at the SF Film Noir Festival this year, he described this novel as the ultimate noir fiction. It's about the Kennedy assassination from the perspective of the plotters. And it's good. Damn, he can write a sentence. For example,

—"Brilliant riddles floated up and down the echelons, to be pondered, solved, ignored…The men at his level were spawning secrets that quivered like reptile eggs. They were planning to poison Castro's cigars. They were designing cigars equipped with micro-explosives. They had a poison pen in the works. They were conspiring with organized-crime figures to send assassins to Havana, poisoners, snipers, saboteurs. They were testing a botulin toxin on monkeys. Fidel would be seized by cramps, vomiting and fits of coughing, just like the long-tailed primates, and horribly die."

—"The White House was to be the summit of unknowing. It was if an unsullied leader redeemed some ancient truth which the others were forced to admire only in the abstract, owing to their mission in the convoluted world. But there were even deeper shadows, strange and grave silences surrounding plans to invade the island. The President knew about this, of course—knew the broad contours, had a sense of the promised outcome. But the system still operated as an insulating muse. Let him see the softer tones. Shield him from responsibility. Secrets build their own networks, Win believed. The system would perpetuate itself in all its curious and obsessive webbings, its equivocations and patient riddles and levels of delusional thought, at least until the men were on the beach."

—"He rode the subway up to Inwood, out to Sheepshead Bay. There were serious men down there, rocking in the copper light. He saw chinamen, beggars, men who talked to God, men who lived on the trains, day and night., bruised, with matted hair, asleep in patient bundles on the wicker seats. He jumped the turnstiles once. He rode between cars, gripping the heavy chain. He felt the friction of the ride in his teeth. They went so fast sometimes. He liked the feeling they were on the edge. How do we know the motormans's not insane? It gave him a funny thrill. The wheels touched off showers of blue-white sparks, tremendous hissing bursts, on the edge of no-control. People crowded in, every shape face in the book of faces. They pushed through the doors, they hung from the porcelain straps. He was riding just to ride. The noise had a power and a human force. The dark had a power. He stood at the front of the first car, hands flat against the glass. The view down the tracks was a form of power. It was a secret and a power. The beams picked out secret things. The noise was pitched to a fury he located in the mind, a satisfying wave of rage and pain.
Never again in his short life, never in the world, would he feel this inner power, rising to a shriek, this secret force of the soul in the tunnels under New York."

Okay, I just want to say, that if I could write like that, I wouldn't be writing this.

9) Ali Farka Touré 1969-2006. This really sucks. He was a force for positive change in Mali, and one hell of a musician. If you don't know his stuff, nothing is bad. Just buy or download something. I will personally burn what I've got for you if you ask. RIP. I guess I'm just pissed that I never saw him live.

10) Wolf Parade, "I'll Believe In Anything" from the Apologies To The Queen Mary record.

I said nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either way
About your blood, your bones, your voice, and your ghost
Because nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either way
You know I'll believe in anything and
You'll believe in anything
Because nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either way

Thanks for putting in all perspective, guys.

Yes, it's been awhile.

2006-03-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

I only have 3 syllables to say:

150.

Why you should dance to the Dirtbombs…

2006-02-20T08:52:00.000-08:00

Well, mostly because they are just fantastic.

Mick Collins, the mastermind behind the masterpieces. Been around Detroit for decades. Leader of many bands. The Godfather. But this incarnation is my favorite. The classic quote, which I can't remember who coined (post if you know) is that the Dirtbombs are akin to David Ruffin of the Temptations kicking Iggy out of the Stooges and fronting the band. This may have merits as an analogy, but is an oversimplification at best. 2 bassists, 2 drummers, and Mick front and center on guitar and vocals. The band has a complex history with many personnel changes, which can be read in detail here. Their music is roadmap of musical history, with referencing signposts everywhere. One whole album is a tribute to Collins' musical heroes. Another double CD is a collection of 7" vinyl singles, their preferred method of release. Collins swears that the band was conceived to only release 7-inchers. We're lucky he caved. Here's another I just love.

This is DANCE music. When I leave this show, I will be coated with sweat, and legally super-high on my own endorphins. They are coming to a town near you in the next couple of months, and should be experienced live.

You can hear that live sound, along with 3 studio cuts, including the amazing cover of "Ode to a Black Man" originally performed by Thin Lizzy's Phil Lynott. More live sound is available from WFMU in NJ he re if you have RealPlayer. You can see some live performance here along with a great interview (you have to press "voir la vidéo" under the picture of the smiling Mr. Collins in shades, and have RealPlayer), but the audio sucks. Mick is a hilarious raconteur, who is very entertaining either speaking or playing. Several int erv ie ws are here. Check out some ph otos.

But really, you should just come and dance. See you there!

The Aggression did not stand…

2006-02-17T16:37:00.000-08:00

It's true. I bowled (slightly) better than my wife. More importantly, I (barely) bowled all 4 games 100 or over.

She had: 114, 132, 104, 89.
I had: 139, 100, 122, 132.

I would write more about other things that are important, like Disc Golf (my other sports love), the Dirtbombs (coming soon to a town near you, and why you should go dance your little ass off), the incredible book I'm reading about the SF Earthquake of '06, what really happened during that bizarre hammock accident in '97, make links to why Cheney was probably drunk during that hunting accident and should be prosecuted for something, dammit.

But work pounded me into very small bits of stuff stuck to the bottom of your shoes, and I can barely move.

So I'm not going to write anything else.

Tonight.

Senses Working Overtime

2006-02-13T18:58:00.000-08:00

Senses Working Overtime:

Aural 5:
1. Broken Social Scene: All I can say is that anything might happen, and it does. You never know if you'll get a sudden horn section, or a disintegration into noise, or a complete emotional tone change. Like they’re playing in a wind tunnel with lots of shit flying around, and bashing into them, but this is a good thing. Drummer is some kind of animal with more than 2 arms. Or there’s just more than one drummer. There’s like sixteen people in the band. Anyone who can make you want to sing along to this lyric is on to something: “When I was a kid/You fucked me in the ass/But I took my pen to my paper/And I passed you/You know I love the shit/Cause the shit tastes so good/I’ve got pastures waiting in the woods.” Try “It’s All Gonna Break” or “Ibi Dreams of Pavement”
2. Edan: The record is Beauty and the Beat. So maybe I’m wrong, and drugs ARE good. Fractured, wall-of-sound super-fresh flow psychedelic hip-hop. Just how many people can you name-check in one song? Who is this guy? Ask Edan. He will tell you. If you file-share, try: “Rock and Roll” and “Torture Chamber.”
3. Ali Farka Toure and Toumani Diabate: In the Heart of the Moon. These are kora and guitar duets. This is like early-Sunday-morning, spiritual, I'm-glad-I'm-alive-music. I don’t know what the heck is going on Mali, but I sure wish this was as popular as Ashlee Simpson. Aw shit, just go buy the damn thing. These guys deserve even the 13 cents they make on the record sale. Besides they’ll never tour.
4. Bizarre white trash family picnic with compulsory Winnebago for each member at Lagoon Valley Park in Vacaville.. They all had these miniature motorized gas-powered boats and race-cars “It’s an offense to the ear.” Nails on a blackboard kinda shit.
5. Patients where I work all yelling for something at the same time. This keeps echoing even when I sleep.

Visual 5:
1. “City of God” and “The Constant Gardener” directed by Fernando Mereilles. These two movies are messing with my head. Run out and see them now. City of God is about youth life in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro. Visually hyperkinetic, dextrous narrative style, tremendous energy, not for the faint of heart. If you can’t stand art that looks ugliness in the face, but shows the beauty present as well, then this is not for you. Gardener is an adaptation of a LeCarre novel with Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz. It’s definitely more Hollywood than City of God, but not by much. Haunting moments that I will never clean out of my head. Gorgeous. Both of ‘em. If you rent it, invite me over, I’m serious.
2. This dry erase board (see below). I think that is somehow communicating the whole of events simultaneously in a way that makes me feel angry and weak at the same time.
3. Thumbsucker: Mike Mills film about troubled youth with typically fucked up situation. Very simple resolutions to complex emotional problems, but very good at reflecting internal states visually. Funny and sad.
4. Sundown HWY 80 Westbound near Vallejo on 2/11.
5. The open palm visual from the David Lynch film Dune. The movie's a piece of shit, but I used to hallucinate that image all the time, back when I hallucinated regularly. But I still see it sometimes, even when not hallucinating. And never when I'm driving. And certainly not when I'm working. Oh, forget it.

Olfactory 5:
1. The six or seven dead skunks I’ve seen on the road in the last two days.
2. A crazy-stale cigar I smoked on Sunday.
3. My dog’s farts. I don’t know what he ate, but it’s crazy.
4. The insane mélange of “brown patrol” toxic pollution where I work. Think about it. You’ll figure it out.
5. My wonderful wife’s kitchen. It just always smell so damn good in the house. Unless the dog farted.

Tactile/Proprioception 5:
1. The release I had in my right buttock when I bowled that strike today.
2. My super-bitchen DGA Reef putt and approach disc my friend J’sh gave me, when it left my hand, and went right in the chain-net from 25 ft. away.
3. My doggie’s soft face fur on my lips.
4. My wife's hand on mine while we drive.
5. Very hot showers after work.

Flava 5:
1. Fruit Floes (Trad’r Joe’s popsicles) No shit, they’re awesome.
2. Having my wife’s great dinner altered when I heard George Carlin’s version of the very dirty joke in “The Aristocrats.” Do not attempt to view while eating.
3. The dessert: (during Thumbsucker after viewing change) Strawberries blended into Vanilla ice cream, with homemade caramel on top, served with these full-size ginger snaps.
4. That same crazy stale cigar. I think it’s still in my mouth.
5. Popcorn with yeast rocks.

Other int'restin' Shit on "the internets"

2006-02-12T15:59:00.000-08:00

Since I started doing this bl-bl-blah-blog thing, I've been reading some other blogs. One of the better ones is Fimicoulous. Rex Sorgatz spends lots of time putting together links to some great stuff. One thing that caught my eye was his year-end list of lists. Check his out. But I’m gonna cherry-pick some links that tickled me.

For one, drunk driving is really unattractive, as proved by this list of the best 2005 mugshots.

Secondly, the top ten words that people sought definitions of from online dictionaries in 2005 is awfully revealing.

Cute pictures of doggies are, well, still cute.

Be sure to see the banished words list, for perhaps the definitive statement on FEMA.

For the entire news cycle zeitgeist in graphic form, check out this dry erase board for all 2005 as a shot to the brain, but be sure you click the close-up to get all the detail. It makes you wonder why we’re not in the streets with pitchforks and torches crying for the blood of our leaders.

Speaking of which, another thing I saw on Sorgatz’s site was a link to the preview of the new Sofia Coppola film, "Marie Antoinette." The incongruity of watching Kirsten Dunst frolic and cavort in 17th century wigs and bodices to the sound of New Order’s “Age of Consent” (I think) has a certain sick pleasure but what’s next? Reenactments of teenage Khmer Rouge guerillas purging the cities and partying to the tune of the DK’s "Holiday In Cambodia”, or should it just be footage of us bombing everyone else to the tune of our national anthem?

Bilious today, are we?

Yes, most days, I'm afraid.

Another sermon from the Church of Bowling

2006-02-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

Well, sports fans, church was in session this Sunday morning, and while no souls were saved, the sins of the last horrible attempt (0 games over 100) have been expiated.

4 games for me: 115, 112, a lapse into a 98, and a recovery for 136. My all-time high remains a 143.

4 games for my lovely wife: 125, 119, 142 (with 2 pairs of double strikes), and a late fall-off to a 92. Her all time-high remains 163.

As you can see, the numbers do not lie, she continues to kick my ass. "This aggression will not stand, dude."

Stay tuned.

Paper Route

2006-02-11T03:21:00.000-08:00

So I have this paper route which I guess I deliver by automobile, a black sports car. And I get the normal paper for that day + the supplemental. And the paper is normal, but the supplemental for each paper is completely different. One is the size of a comic book. Another is a giant coffee table book. Another is a map. Another a large magazine, the size of the the old Interview, another a box with handles and flaps, sort of a pop-up book. No guidance as to which one goes to each customer. And I'm late, for I keep thinking and calculating how long the entire route is going to complete. It keeps getting longer and longer, because as I assemble each paper ( the news and the supplement), I stop and have to consider each one, because folding is different each time. I begin to stop and look at each of the supplements, and each unique one draws you in. I stop and read one, the comic book, and in it, there are no word balloons, the action is silent. In it, I'm in an large subway station like Grand Central in New York. I walk to a train, and I notice the people around me. As each one moves just out of the appropriate range, the begin to disintegrate, first their features fall away, then their muscles and skeletons lose their coordination, and collapse in a jellified jumble. I go down the stairs to the platform, some of them are just ahead, some behind, and then I pass a mirror and I notice that I am slowly discorporate, my features are falling away, and my dust is being inhaled by the patrons around me, and they know that the proximity to me is what's keeping them whole. They run to keep up, not get too far behind, sniffing the air desperately. But I am slowly being consumed. I start awake, realize that it's a full five minutes later and there is still all these papers with the bizarre supplements to be folded. If I don't hurry it will be halfway through the morning before I'm finished. The next supplement is hard cardboard, about three feet high, and shaped like the lid for a grand piano. It's printed black on black, like a Warhol album cover. I open the hinged lid. I see photos with word balloons. In it, I'm in the airport, and trying to find the gate, people are following me again, the same people, and I'm beginning to recognize individuals from the last time. We approach the gate, and I'm paged. I pick up the phone. A voice tells me to……

These kids today…

2006-02-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

are apparently bowling. At least, in NY and NJ. Thanks for the tip, Matt.

And at least for the next week or so, you can read about it here, if you have a free account with the New York Times.

You all must bowl…NOW.

2006-02-06T22:06:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true. I have become obsessed with bowling.

Best score: 143.

I know, it's not very good. But I broke my right wrist in 4 places in a bizarre hammock accident (another post), and even though it hurts, I really love it.

I have my own ball, shoes, and vintage bowling bag (picture to follow).

I will attempt to beat my own high score tomorrow.

Why bowling? Everything about it.

Visual: Long glossy lanes with matching gutters on side, geometric configuration of pins at the end, the ball reflecting everything around it, hurling toward the pins.

Sound: Very rich. Bam! The ball hits the lane, Crash! the pins fly apart, the sounds of the rolling balls. Lots of exhortations, cries of pleasure, and congratulations. Much Hi-Fiving.

Cultural: As sports go, it's not particularly intimidating on an athletic level. Just about every type of person can be found there. Seniors, kids, teens, big heavyset people, every ethnic stripe. You have to look silly at times to bowl well. In a way, and I mean this only in the most complimentary sense, it is the ultimate "loser" sport. This is not to say those who pursue this are losers. But to have this much focus on balls and pins is vaguely retarded, and to do so can be a very fulfilling act. It is a "necessary distraction." Feeling macho about how much you jog, golf, box, bike, or whatever is sort of culturally expected. Being macho about your bowling score is fucking hilarious. Who are you trying to kid? Unless you are an obsessive, and go alone, it's very social. I seem to see far more camaraderie on the lanes than competitiveness (though that's there too), and most people are rooting each other on.

Internal: There is something incredibly gratifying about the pins all going down for a strike, or picking up a difficult pin for a strike. It requires a discipline of both concentration, and physical control of your body to replicate the correct way to throw the ball over and over again. For those of us with issues around self-discipline, it mirrors internal struggles to be consistent, and to "do it right." In analyzing your form, you have to consider physics, the mass of the ball, the friction of the waxed wood against the ball, the ways that pins respond to directional force. It can be contemplative.

Physical: It has a very nice slow endorphin burn. Long warm-up period, and becomes actually exercise without you being aware of it. At the end, I'm sweaty, feel great, especially if my wrist doesn't hurt too much. I would consider bowling after a long day of work nursing, even when semi-exhausted, when more taxing exercise is impossible.

Yes, dude, the Big Lebowski is one of my favorite films. See the opening credits for the sublime combination of ridiculous expressions, mental focus, elation, and physical grace that all seems to take place within a couple of seconds.

You might think that this is all just crap, but that's uh well…like your opinion, man.

The Great Escape

2006-02-06T17:15:00.000-08:00

My Dad sent me an e-mail about how much he has always liked this, and for once I agree with him.

While still very Hollywood, it has some great sequences. Something about James Garner and Steve McQueen really stands out when you watch this movie. Somehow they bring a very natural acting style, that none of the other principals have, even their peers that were there own age such as Bronson or Coburn. For example, the bootleg liquor still sequence. All of the actors saying “Wow.” is very stilted, and kitschy, but McQueen brings a less stagy energy to it, that is funny, even though the whole scene and every one else in it are hackneyed. McQueen was already a star from "Wanted: Dead or Alive", but this film was what convinced Hollywood to give him leading roles.

For a more intense experience, though maybe not as "fun", if you’re willing to sit through the pacing and the French subtitles, check out “Le Trou” directed by Jacques Becker. It's the most intense breaking-out-of-prison film I’ve ever seen. The smell of stale persperation, sewer, heavy air, the desperation of the men, exhaustion…everything is fully realized.

Le Trou: Info on this amazing film is here, here, and an interesting article on the use of sound in this film is here. I'll probably mouth off about this on this blog more sometime soon.

The Great Escape: Basics, and the actual historical basis for the characters in this film here (I always thought it was fictional).

McQueen stuff here.