Sitting by a fire gives one perspective. The small sounds of wind in leaves and insects chirruping soothes. In the moonlight every shadow is bottomless, every angle softened. Fireflies dance in the breeze very much like the embers spiraling up from the nearby glowing pile of logs. The wavering circle of light creates a pocket of your night, this microcosm of serenity walled by solidifying darkness. The fire is warm, communal and comforting.
Anyone would be reluctant to admit, in that calm little place, that there are things in the darkness that want to end you. Nothing more than glinting teeth and glowing eyes slowly circling your makeshift hearth. Nearly inaudible snuffling sounds as the scent of your flame-warmed flesh is carried by the night breeze.
No supply of firewood is without limit. Soon you will run out. Perhaps the hunger of those watching you will overpower their desire to cause you to suffer for the distinct insult they've suffered at your hand. How dare you bring warmth and comfort to this, their place of savage austerity and feral grace? Keep the fire lit, stoke it with care. The longer they wait, the quicker your pain will end.
Thus the natural order is maintained. Comfort, peaceful serenity and contentedness offend the forces that be. That we should take it upon ourselves to believe that we have any right to feel that we are the masters of this or any domain is, in a word, hubris. Gunpowder, Drywall and the Internal Combustion Engine have lulled us into the firm belief that the rest of our little blue-green ball of life and death is subservient to us.
Man has simply outmaneuvered his predators to the top of the food chain.
At some point, they might want that position back.
10.10.2009
8.08.2009
Mortuary Mileux
At the end of this day, as at the end of all metaphorical days, my thoughts turn to that final irrefutable end toward which we all race frantically. It is perhaps unwise and less than helpful to think of humans as organic pain collectors racing toward a communal and inescapable oblivion, and yet somehow I and others of my mindset manage. There is, and has always been, only one way off this hideously accelerated rock we call a planet: The cooling and pooling of less than oxygen rich blood in our stilled and quietly solidifying cardiac chambers. I won't insult your intelligence any further than I need to by stating for the record that we all, every one of us, will die. Death and Taxes dear reader, are the only things we can count on. Morbid as that fact is, it's not directly my point.
Say a loved one was to die, a mother perhaps. You leave the church (having sated your particular religious need for ritual in this time of debilitating loss) and notice that the people passing on the nearby highway have taken no notice of the reason you were even in said ritual. Your mother has died, yet the world at large continues completely unscathed. That is not, by any stretch of the imagionation, to imply that it wouldn't effect you both deeply and lastingly (she was your mother), but is only intended to demostrate the fact that we, as individualized cognisent beings, are (when shadowed against the backdrop of even local affairs) totally insignificant. We die, and the world moves on.
I'd like to nip in the bud any suggestion that I may be inferring that human lives CANNOT be significant in the grand scheme of things. A PERSON can invent a device, can solve an equation, can build a formula or program a logical circuit that changes the course of history. They will be revered and lamented upon their passing by a society as a whole, as a result of having affected that structure. On the other hand PEOPLE are foolish, flighty creatures who cant be trusted to identify the sharp end of a spork and must needs be monitored during the most mundane of activities lest they create chaos and breed anarchy by the simple dint of their inability to follow simple, boldly presented directions. Any substance that happens to be lighter than water (be it poultice or poison) will rise to the top and be noticed. Hence, many influential men accomplished deeds the world at large proclaimed to be horrible and monstrous, and did so efficiently and successfully. The ability to lead does not preclude the desire to do harm. ...
To summarize: Those who desire power are the least likely to deserve it, Your lack of understanding of another's point of view does not invalidate their beliefs, Death is a force that has been with us since the dawn of consciousness and is worthy of both our respect and admiration, The fact that we don't matter to the universe at large is no reason to not attempt to accomplish something with our lives, and last but certainly not least, The most noble thing we can do in this life is to ensure that when we're lying in a casket surrounded by flowers that there will be people there arguing over who gets to take them home.
Say a loved one was to die, a mother perhaps. You leave the church (having sated your particular religious need for ritual in this time of debilitating loss) and notice that the people passing on the nearby highway have taken no notice of the reason you were even in said ritual. Your mother has died, yet the world at large continues completely unscathed. That is not, by any stretch of the imagionation, to imply that it wouldn't effect you both deeply and lastingly (she was your mother), but is only intended to demostrate the fact that we, as individualized cognisent beings, are (when shadowed against the backdrop of even local affairs) totally insignificant. We die, and the world moves on.
I'd like to nip in the bud any suggestion that I may be inferring that human lives CANNOT be significant in the grand scheme of things. A PERSON can invent a device, can solve an equation, can build a formula or program a logical circuit that changes the course of history. They will be revered and lamented upon their passing by a society as a whole, as a result of having affected that structure. On the other hand PEOPLE are foolish, flighty creatures who cant be trusted to identify the sharp end of a spork and must needs be monitored during the most mundane of activities lest they create chaos and breed anarchy by the simple dint of their inability to follow simple, boldly presented directions. Any substance that happens to be lighter than water (be it poultice or poison) will rise to the top and be noticed. Hence, many influential men accomplished deeds the world at large proclaimed to be horrible and monstrous, and did so efficiently and successfully. The ability to lead does not preclude the desire to do harm. ...
To summarize: Those who desire power are the least likely to deserve it, Your lack of understanding of another's point of view does not invalidate their beliefs, Death is a force that has been with us since the dawn of consciousness and is worthy of both our respect and admiration, The fact that we don't matter to the universe at large is no reason to not attempt to accomplish something with our lives, and last but certainly not least, The most noble thing we can do in this life is to ensure that when we're lying in a casket surrounded by flowers that there will be people there arguing over who gets to take them home.
7.12.2009
Decadant Disinfectant
Its a solidly logical let little discussed fact that that which we term 'reality' is little more than an audio-visual representation of where our attention happens to be. Lovecraft has lovingly pointed out myriad times that not only is reality subjective, and able to be bent to and beyond any notable point of 'reason', but that often what we chose to believe to be our lives and the lives of those around us can be and is (usually) complete fucking bunk.
We go to sleep. We close our eyes and suddenly we're somewhere else. Flying, having strange and beautiful experiences, living a life that makes perfect sense at the time and has its own logic and reason that when examined in the waking world seems completely insane. Who has the authority to tell us that the 'waking' world is more real than the 'dreaming' one. That getting up every morning and suffering through the workday has more meaning than bargaining with a one eyed merchant for half a day to acquire a ruby the size of a melon with the intent of charming the young maiden who's been making eyes at you in the kitchen you both serve indentured in? Both happened. Both took effort and skill (well, the workday perhaps a bit less, all things considered).
Do we, then, assume that we've created the worlds of our dreams? Do they exist whether we are there to witness them or not? Who is to say? Who has the authority? The right?
It's a simple thing to say that what I see cannot possibly be what you see. That what I experience through the filters imposed by my existence in no way even resembles your memories of the same event. Logical, simple, exact. And yet... To understand that we can never share a single experience, in the most technical sense, with another living soul ever in the course of our disassociated and abstract lives... its a heavy intellectual burden to say the least.
So in this life, our hour of blackest need, we turn to social contracts to fill that particular void. Friends, lovers, favors and hangers on fill our lives (by our own choice) to the brim with the tittering of clouds of small birds. How can we possibly be lonely with such cacophony flooding our consciousness? How can one help but forget the abject singularity of our 'educated' perspective? The word 'alone' fails to even be something as simple as inadequate at this point.
But... the contemplation of such matters is a cold gruel to attempt to find sustenance from at this late hour. One cannot be functional if grim reality is all one has to get by. By that token, my friends, indulge. Allow the flames of hollow frivolity to fan in the wind of misplaced conjecture. Go to the parties, meet the pretty interchangeable girls, the nearly faceless parade of semi-charming potential pseudo-friends, the babbling admirers ( it matters not who you are, someone admires you enough to fall all over themselves ) with their incessant mouth breathing... Get to know them (what little there is of them to know) and involve yourself in their life, just as they have yours. Attend weddings and graduations, reunions and funerals.
Pretend it all matters.
Or, failing that... just live. It's all we can ask of each other in the long run anyway.
..or of ourselves.
We go to sleep. We close our eyes and suddenly we're somewhere else. Flying, having strange and beautiful experiences, living a life that makes perfect sense at the time and has its own logic and reason that when examined in the waking world seems completely insane. Who has the authority to tell us that the 'waking' world is more real than the 'dreaming' one. That getting up every morning and suffering through the workday has more meaning than bargaining with a one eyed merchant for half a day to acquire a ruby the size of a melon with the intent of charming the young maiden who's been making eyes at you in the kitchen you both serve indentured in? Both happened. Both took effort and skill (well, the workday perhaps a bit less, all things considered).
Do we, then, assume that we've created the worlds of our dreams? Do they exist whether we are there to witness them or not? Who is to say? Who has the authority? The right?
It's a simple thing to say that what I see cannot possibly be what you see. That what I experience through the filters imposed by my existence in no way even resembles your memories of the same event. Logical, simple, exact. And yet... To understand that we can never share a single experience, in the most technical sense, with another living soul ever in the course of our disassociated and abstract lives... its a heavy intellectual burden to say the least.
So in this life, our hour of blackest need, we turn to social contracts to fill that particular void. Friends, lovers, favors and hangers on fill our lives (by our own choice) to the brim with the tittering of clouds of small birds. How can we possibly be lonely with such cacophony flooding our consciousness? How can one help but forget the abject singularity of our 'educated' perspective? The word 'alone' fails to even be something as simple as inadequate at this point.
But... the contemplation of such matters is a cold gruel to attempt to find sustenance from at this late hour. One cannot be functional if grim reality is all one has to get by. By that token, my friends, indulge. Allow the flames of hollow frivolity to fan in the wind of misplaced conjecture. Go to the parties, meet the pretty interchangeable girls, the nearly faceless parade of semi-charming potential pseudo-friends, the babbling admirers ( it matters not who you are, someone admires you enough to fall all over themselves ) with their incessant mouth breathing... Get to know them (what little there is of them to know) and involve yourself in their life, just as they have yours. Attend weddings and graduations, reunions and funerals.
Pretend it all matters.
Or, failing that... just live. It's all we can ask of each other in the long run anyway.
..or of ourselves.
7.03.2009
Outbound Influx
When the passage of time becomes something unnoticed, something mundane and expected, in that moment something is lost. Something incalculably valuable. Time passes, people age and die. Events and opportunities pass us by each and every moment that we barely notice, let alone mourn the loss of. When we're young, time passes with a rapidity that, when looked back on, is simply alarming in its alacrity. Maturity brings on responsibilities that cut into the time we could be spending on other, much more entertaining pursuits. Time then slows to a reasonable pace, sometimes even stuttering along at a glacial near-crawl. As the golden years of our lives approach, time again leaps against its reins and drags us along at breakneck speeds even as our bones and joints become less and less capable of allowing us to keep up.
Our ability to experience is such a fragile thing. A refractive simulacrum of gossamer and spun-glass, breathtaking in its sheer blatant temporary nature. I've no time to talk of God, nor will or whim to deign declare anything 'sacred'. I've no right to infer any substantial nature to an aspect of the understanding of any person other than myself. What I do have the sheer chutzpa to do, is pointedly denote the crystalline nature of each and every moment that we are allowed, however briefly, to hold clutched warmly to our collective breast. To hopefully give you pause to think about how often we autopilot through life.
How many times have you gotten in your car and driven to work? How often, upon arriving, do you remember the details of your drive? Was the sun breaking through the morning clouds breathtaking? Did an irregular flight of birds bank above the highway and wheel away into the great azure above? Are the trees along that curvy stretch becoming more and more draped by Spanish moss as the seasons pass, bearding them with intrigue and the subtle glow of life unbound? You've no idea. However, that asshole did cut you off and almost make you spill your fuckoff-big overly expensive double soy chai latte.
It's commonly said that : 'time waits for no man'. It's commonly said because it's very true. However, if your willing to put in the effort, I believe that time is willing to take you along for the ride.
Wherever it's going, I believe it's a place worth being.
'To know life in every breath, in every cup of tea... that is Bushido.' ~ Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai)
Our ability to experience is such a fragile thing. A refractive simulacrum of gossamer and spun-glass, breathtaking in its sheer blatant temporary nature. I've no time to talk of God, nor will or whim to deign declare anything 'sacred'. I've no right to infer any substantial nature to an aspect of the understanding of any person other than myself. What I do have the sheer chutzpa to do, is pointedly denote the crystalline nature of each and every moment that we are allowed, however briefly, to hold clutched warmly to our collective breast. To hopefully give you pause to think about how often we autopilot through life.
How many times have you gotten in your car and driven to work? How often, upon arriving, do you remember the details of your drive? Was the sun breaking through the morning clouds breathtaking? Did an irregular flight of birds bank above the highway and wheel away into the great azure above? Are the trees along that curvy stretch becoming more and more draped by Spanish moss as the seasons pass, bearding them with intrigue and the subtle glow of life unbound? You've no idea. However, that asshole did cut you off and almost make you spill your fuckoff-big overly expensive double soy chai latte.
It's commonly said that : 'time waits for no man'. It's commonly said because it's very true. However, if your willing to put in the effort, I believe that time is willing to take you along for the ride.
Wherever it's going, I believe it's a place worth being.
'To know life in every breath, in every cup of tea... that is Bushido.' ~ Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai)
5.15.2009
Chemical Abrasives For Your Hard To Reach Places
Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?~ Morpheus
Things that have not been on my mind: Delta waves. Healthy O2 saturation. Rest.
Things that have been on my mind: The recent House story arch, Fight Club, Dissidence.
I have sleep apnea. Officially undiagnosed, but there anyway. For quite a while now I have woken up every morning feeling fatigue nearly equivalent to when I fell asleep. While I have yet to hallucinate during my waking hours, I have had a few potentially unpleasant episodes while driving to work in the morning. This has not been addressed medically for one reason: If the Navy decides they want me, I will have THEM diagnose it, then pay me disability for the rest of my life. If the Navy decides my medical history is too shady and they don't want me, well, then ill get checked out immediately.
I digress...
In recent weeks I've noticed that things have become less... weighty. I still have every desire to go to work in the morning and satisfy customers and proform admirably. I still run in the evenings. I still see my friends socially on a regular basis. But when things happen in the course of the day that should create stress... Its like I'm slowly becoming a duck's ass. Things just roll off me. This has helped my customer service considerably, as it allows me to deal with both loud and angry assholes as if they we'rent spitting in my face. I've noticed also that my usually very very low inhibitions in social situations are even lower lately. This should alarm any of you who've known me for any length of time. I was on a counter humping a cash register in a gamestop full of people in the mall on my lunch break the other day. It was very brief, but it happened. Tonight I had a conversation about precolombian architecture with everyone in the back area (what used to be the smoking section) of my local Denny's. I would like to point out that I know little to nothing about the subject and was making it up from whole cloth at full tilt as the converation wore on, and even presided over a debate about columns (doric and ionic).
I stayed up for excessive amounts of time often enough in my youth to be wary of the next stage of sleep deprivation. The Navy can't give me an answer soon enough.
OH about that.
I have discussed enlisting as a Cryptologic Technician Interpretive (translater with security clearance) and have even fetched my medical records for the recruiter. I go soon to take the ASFAB then DLAB. Could be very very good. Feel free to completely skip the obligitory 'bad time to join the military' and 'your gonna get shot' and 'the military is hard' and 'your selling yourself to the government' and 'you have a problem with athority' speaches please.
Anyway, my copy of a copy of a copy of a copy needs to fade to black for a while now.
...anyone wanna start a Fight Club?
Things that have not been on my mind: Delta waves. Healthy O2 saturation. Rest.
Things that have been on my mind: The recent House story arch, Fight Club, Dissidence.
I have sleep apnea. Officially undiagnosed, but there anyway. For quite a while now I have woken up every morning feeling fatigue nearly equivalent to when I fell asleep. While I have yet to hallucinate during my waking hours, I have had a few potentially unpleasant episodes while driving to work in the morning. This has not been addressed medically for one reason: If the Navy decides they want me, I will have THEM diagnose it, then pay me disability for the rest of my life. If the Navy decides my medical history is too shady and they don't want me, well, then ill get checked out immediately.
I digress...
In recent weeks I've noticed that things have become less... weighty. I still have every desire to go to work in the morning and satisfy customers and proform admirably. I still run in the evenings. I still see my friends socially on a regular basis. But when things happen in the course of the day that should create stress... Its like I'm slowly becoming a duck's ass. Things just roll off me. This has helped my customer service considerably, as it allows me to deal with both loud and angry assholes as if they we'rent spitting in my face. I've noticed also that my usually very very low inhibitions in social situations are even lower lately. This should alarm any of you who've known me for any length of time. I was on a counter humping a cash register in a gamestop full of people in the mall on my lunch break the other day. It was very brief, but it happened. Tonight I had a conversation about precolombian architecture with everyone in the back area (what used to be the smoking section) of my local Denny's. I would like to point out that I know little to nothing about the subject and was making it up from whole cloth at full tilt as the converation wore on, and even presided over a debate about columns (doric and ionic).
I stayed up for excessive amounts of time often enough in my youth to be wary of the next stage of sleep deprivation. The Navy can't give me an answer soon enough.
OH about that.
I have discussed enlisting as a Cryptologic Technician Interpretive (translater with security clearance) and have even fetched my medical records for the recruiter. I go soon to take the ASFAB then DLAB. Could be very very good. Feel free to completely skip the obligitory 'bad time to join the military' and 'your gonna get shot' and 'the military is hard' and 'your selling yourself to the government' and 'you have a problem with athority' speaches please.
Anyway, my copy of a copy of a copy of a copy needs to fade to black for a while now.
...anyone wanna start a Fight Club?
5.12.2009
Hacksaw Harmoics
When one stops to goggle slack-jawed and bug-eyed at the realities of the world around them vis the sociopolitical climate and the more mundane (yet no less tame) complexities nascent to their tiny wedge of existence and the employment that allows it to function... one realizes that they would have been better served getting an Orange Julius and rolling over, tongue lolling in the dirt, until apathy and culturally-inspired brain damage set in. The deviously soul-depleting mannerisms of our corporate-ideology based employment regime drives us in turns to both better ourselves to be qualified for increasingly better compensated positions and to strive in abject futility to constantly find that one thing we all need: to get to the next level of pay-grade. If only I made x-amount more a month, I could afford useless-shit-Y that I've always wanted. No longer do we leave the safety and communal warmth of our enclosed and xenophobic tribal dwellings to venture among the forest primeval in hopes of somehow bringing down that large fanged beast that did rend our cousin limb from limb to gain some measure of revenge and face the long arduous task of dragging it back to the village to carve up and roast, thus feeding our tribe for another day. Costco has become our Forest Primeval. IKEA has become our Mecca. No longer do we thresh the long grains of our endless prairies to provide bread for our young and beer for our old. The time of the Hunter-Gatherer has, perhaps, past forever from our culture. What pride then is there in awakening to the buzz of an alarm before the sun has even shown its face to scape the stubble from your jowls and mousse your hair into position above a smart tie complimenting your slate shirt and charcoal slacks before commuting to a place wherein you will sacrifice all the light the day has to offer by appeasing managers and customers alike in that futile and never-ending ritual known as 'work'? Revel in your ability to buy things, my compatriots, for at the end of the day our potential for wanton consumerism is the only reward allowed us by the society we helped to create. Horde your useless knick-knackery, polish your dust-gathering shiny shit. Find what solace and meaning you can in your collectibles and contemporary ergonomic furniture.
Rebel, my friends. If you've any love of what you have left to give to a world that doesn't even know it's missing it, break free. Do something meaningful. Don't just react. Act.
Hojo Volente.
Rebel, my friends. If you've any love of what you have left to give to a world that doesn't even know it's missing it, break free. Do something meaningful. Don't just react. Act.
Hojo Volente.
3.09.2009
Gene Siskel and Guildenstern are Dead
This last week has been full of one of my very favorite activities: Movies, and the watching thereof.
Movie One: Coraline. Seen with Mr. Portier et familia. Written by Henry Selick and based on the book by Neil Gaiman. Whimsical and disturbing in a detached sort of way. With bright ethereal visuals, and dark visceral plot points. Is this a movie for children?: No. Was the book it was based on intended for children?: Not really. It was described by its author as 'a book for all ages'. In its written form, even a story with disturbing undertones can be digested by the young (take the stories Europe's children were subjected to as entertainment and soothing bedtime sojourns for centuries), but with cinema you lose that detachment. Would children enjoy this movie?: Maybe. Depends entirely on the child. Now, I want to point out that I'm not demonizing the movie in any way. I enjoyed the hell out of it. I'm just going on record as saying that if you knowingly take a child to see this movie, then you FULLY deserve the sleepless nights your going to enjoy c/o your child's understanding of the world around them vis a vis shadowy corners, any partially open doorway, and (god forbid) dolls. It's a good bet that my readers already know that I generally disapprove of children for a plethora of reasons, but I want to state that I'm not wishing anything on them. It's an enjoyable romp in grand Gaiman fashion. Go see it.
Movie Two: Taken. Seen with Mr. Tester. This movie could very well be called 'Liam Neeson Ruins Everyone's Day' and be the same movie. Ex very very dangerous government black ops style agent rapes his way though everyone even tertiarily involved in the taking of his daughter. Mr. Tester was quick to point out the heavy handedness with which the girl's personality was established, and the blatentness of the exposition of Neesons love for his daughter in the face of not really having a relationship with her. Oh, three very important things. 1) If your Albanian, stay the hell away from Liam Neeson. 2) If an old acquaintance shows up in your country, and you have a position of power in that country, and you find it needful to ask him politely to not destroy your country, its a pretty good idea to stay out of his way. 3) If your daddy/ex-husband did scary things for the government in foreign countries that no one is ever allowed to talk about, and he specifically says that a particular plan of action outside the country is a bad idea.... LISTEN TO HIM. This is praise, not a spoiler, so I'm gonna wrap this up. Mr. Neeson was very well cast for this, and the movie was brilliantly put together. Go see it.
Movie Three: Watchmen. Seen with Mr. Portier. If you've read the graphic novel, you've seen a still frame version of the movie. The film makers stuck (in most cases) so closely to the visuals and flow of the story that at times it bloated certain scenes into absolute ponderousness. Even if your not particularly knowledgeable about the novel, if you do happen to be a fan of excess in all its glorious forms, then this movie will please you. Blood, gore, sex, psychosis, being the kind of clever that results in your enemies harming themselves to get at you. There was more than enough there for critics to bitch about, but all in all I was very pleased. Watchmen was well cast and the cinematography was enough to glue me to a seat for the THREE GODDAMN HOURS it took to watch it. Go see it.
Movie One: Coraline. Seen with Mr. Portier et familia. Written by Henry Selick and based on the book by Neil Gaiman. Whimsical and disturbing in a detached sort of way. With bright ethereal visuals, and dark visceral plot points. Is this a movie for children?: No. Was the book it was based on intended for children?: Not really. It was described by its author as 'a book for all ages'. In its written form, even a story with disturbing undertones can be digested by the young (take the stories Europe's children were subjected to as entertainment and soothing bedtime sojourns for centuries), but with cinema you lose that detachment. Would children enjoy this movie?: Maybe. Depends entirely on the child. Now, I want to point out that I'm not demonizing the movie in any way. I enjoyed the hell out of it. I'm just going on record as saying that if you knowingly take a child to see this movie, then you FULLY deserve the sleepless nights your going to enjoy c/o your child's understanding of the world around them vis a vis shadowy corners, any partially open doorway, and (god forbid) dolls. It's a good bet that my readers already know that I generally disapprove of children for a plethora of reasons, but I want to state that I'm not wishing anything on them. It's an enjoyable romp in grand Gaiman fashion. Go see it.
Movie Two: Taken. Seen with Mr. Tester. This movie could very well be called 'Liam Neeson Ruins Everyone's Day' and be the same movie. Ex very very dangerous government black ops style agent rapes his way though everyone even tertiarily involved in the taking of his daughter. Mr. Tester was quick to point out the heavy handedness with which the girl's personality was established, and the blatentness of the exposition of Neesons love for his daughter in the face of not really having a relationship with her. Oh, three very important things. 1) If your Albanian, stay the hell away from Liam Neeson. 2) If an old acquaintance shows up in your country, and you have a position of power in that country, and you find it needful to ask him politely to not destroy your country, its a pretty good idea to stay out of his way. 3) If your daddy/ex-husband did scary things for the government in foreign countries that no one is ever allowed to talk about, and he specifically says that a particular plan of action outside the country is a bad idea.... LISTEN TO HIM. This is praise, not a spoiler, so I'm gonna wrap this up. Mr. Neeson was very well cast for this, and the movie was brilliantly put together. Go see it.
Movie Three: Watchmen. Seen with Mr. Portier. If you've read the graphic novel, you've seen a still frame version of the movie. The film makers stuck (in most cases) so closely to the visuals and flow of the story that at times it bloated certain scenes into absolute ponderousness. Even if your not particularly knowledgeable about the novel, if you do happen to be a fan of excess in all its glorious forms, then this movie will please you. Blood, gore, sex, psychosis, being the kind of clever that results in your enemies harming themselves to get at you. There was more than enough there for critics to bitch about, but all in all I was very pleased. Watchmen was well cast and the cinematography was enough to glue me to a seat for the THREE GODDAMN HOURS it took to watch it. Go see it.
3.01.2009
Backwards Tined Salad Torque
Being the recollections of slightly less than a week spent in California on the Company's dime.
BWI - DFW - SJC... Fractionally less than 11 total hours of sitting in either a cramped economy class seat in a steel tube being hurled through the sky, or in equally cramped seats in an airport (alternately wishing for the arrival of boarding time or a swift, merciful death) found me delivered mostly safe and sound to the other coast of our fair country. A charter bus ferried us the remainder of the way to Chaminade Resort (at least partly owned by George Zimmer, and locale of the yearly management meetings of Men's Warehouse).
Of the meetings there is little to tell. They were about company policy and changes to be made to the structure of things in the current economy. Pretty standard fare for a company management seminar outing. I will say I learned a few things though... I will say that.
The evenings were far more entertaining. Having been given a small allotment of drink tickets and having come bearing an amount of cash who's specific purpose was to be spent in the bar, having a good time was far from difficult. The people were (for the most part) engaging and easy to get to know. There were activities and a variable selection of locales in the resort to park between dances/drinks.
Addressing rumors that I've already heard surrounding anyone I may have met at this shindig who has been allotted a bit more consideration than the average new acquaintance might be worthy of: She knows who she is and what was said. The future will hold what it may, and I'll live with that.
The food was consistently amazing. The rooms were posh and fluffy. The amenities were complete and unstinting.
Truly a relaxing experience.
Sitting on the runway for an additional 2 hours on the way home was less pleasant, but I arrived back in Maryland having suffered nothing more serious than a wicked case of Jet lag the next morning.
I'd love to be able to say 'Be it ever so humble blah blah blah', but if I did that I'd be forced to admit myself to the nearest trauma center and demand a brain CT to check for a tumor at the very least.
However, I AM home. That means what it means to those of you that it means something to.
Alas, poor Hojo. I knew him Horatio.. A fellow of infinite jest... of most excellent fancy.
BWI - DFW - SJC... Fractionally less than 11 total hours of sitting in either a cramped economy class seat in a steel tube being hurled through the sky, or in equally cramped seats in an airport (alternately wishing for the arrival of boarding time or a swift, merciful death) found me delivered mostly safe and sound to the other coast of our fair country. A charter bus ferried us the remainder of the way to Chaminade Resort (at least partly owned by George Zimmer, and locale of the yearly management meetings of Men's Warehouse).
Of the meetings there is little to tell. They were about company policy and changes to be made to the structure of things in the current economy. Pretty standard fare for a company management seminar outing. I will say I learned a few things though... I will say that.
The evenings were far more entertaining. Having been given a small allotment of drink tickets and having come bearing an amount of cash who's specific purpose was to be spent in the bar, having a good time was far from difficult. The people were (for the most part) engaging and easy to get to know. There were activities and a variable selection of locales in the resort to park between dances/drinks.
Addressing rumors that I've already heard surrounding anyone I may have met at this shindig who has been allotted a bit more consideration than the average new acquaintance might be worthy of: She knows who she is and what was said. The future will hold what it may, and I'll live with that.
The food was consistently amazing. The rooms were posh and fluffy. The amenities were complete and unstinting.
Truly a relaxing experience.
Sitting on the runway for an additional 2 hours on the way home was less pleasant, but I arrived back in Maryland having suffered nothing more serious than a wicked case of Jet lag the next morning.
I'd love to be able to say 'Be it ever so humble blah blah blah', but if I did that I'd be forced to admit myself to the nearest trauma center and demand a brain CT to check for a tumor at the very least.
However, I AM home. That means what it means to those of you that it means something to.
Alas, poor Hojo. I knew him Horatio.. A fellow of infinite jest... of most excellent fancy.
2.20.2009
A Sprinkle of Thyme
When one stops to smell the roses, thus delaying your trip to the parking garage by 30 seconds, your car then leaves the garage half a minute later than it otherwise would have, turns the corner half a minute later than it would have, reaches the intersection half a minute later than it would have, and fails to carry you directly into the path of the gasoline tanker with failed brakes and the horrible screaming fiery death that otherwise would have been yours. Your alive because you indulged a fanciful whim and sniffed a flower. Conversely there could be something on television tonight you desperately want to see, and you hurry to the garage, leave a few minutes early, turn the corner, breeze through the intersection, and end up positioned perfectly to be flattened/shredded under the rolling dump truck full of old farming implements and broken sheet glass. These things happen ALL THE TIME. The very fact that we can even grasp at the edges of this interplay between the possible and the actual, the probable and the likely, is enough to send a strong man into gibbering fits of hysteria.
That by itself is a less than easily digestible morsel, but when pointed out that it struck me while eating a Buffalo Chicken sub on my lunch break, it becomes just another piece of datum supporting my theory about relativistic snacking and its affects on the brain function of adolescent rhesus monkeys who like Sun Chips.
That by itself is a less than easily digestible morsel, but when pointed out that it struck me while eating a Buffalo Chicken sub on my lunch break, it becomes just another piece of datum supporting my theory about relativistic snacking and its affects on the brain function of adolescent rhesus monkeys who like Sun Chips.
2.13.2009
Pediatrists with Pedipalps
I've allowed this blog to sit idle too long blah blah blah. Forgive me blah blah blah.
Disclaimer and apology: check.
Last night: Concert. Up first was Ego Likeness, an acceptably heavy Industrialish Techno/Dance three person Electronca act. Following them was the mistake that is the band A.C.Slade (note: this is the lead singers name, and whenever he said this it was preempted by the phrase 'I am' and no reference to the band). Now, follow me here, I was unaware that Emo/Scene and Punk had ever crossed streams, and yet I was forced to let it make violently loud noise at me.
It was like Fugazi (a perfectly decent punk band in all respects) went into a hot topic and wholly consumed a rail-thin kid wearing his sisters cloths and buying a copy of Twilight with $2 bills and then shat out a band. Seriously.
A fresh beer and some off color banter with my compatriots, Adam and Dan, got us back in the proper mindset for our next act: Black Light Burns. I'm sure its been said before and will be again but GODDAMN does Mr Borland put on a good show. Energy. Craziness. Flying water bottles. An absurd handlebar mustache. An outfit straight out of Gangs of New York. It was good like DAMN.
The technical headliner of the evening was Combichrist. Abusively heavy Industrial basslines. Blindingly psychotic light show. The always fun Show Drummer (a favorite of Mr. Portier). IDM at its finest, had the whole place moving. It was great until the Niq got shaky and lightheaded and we decided to call it a night a few songs early. It was a moderately great show.
Today: Day One of Katsucon. Started the day by twisting my ankle pretty savagely before the drive to D.C. Stood in a predictably long line, an hour or so I'd guess. Not fun, but not overly taxing. First order of business was to visit Mookie and have him sign my badge (rapidly becoming a tradition). Bought a Totoro plush, a Domo-Kun tee, and an awesomely creepy vented leather and chrome mask. Lunch was partaken at the Maid Cafe. Mr Portier missed the bulk of the day, but he will be there all weekend. As I have to work almost all of Sat, I'll be missing that chunk of the Con. Ill be there to witness the close on Sun though.
Right well, that's that.
I'll post more on Sun.
Disclaimer and apology: check.
Last night: Concert. Up first was Ego Likeness, an acceptably heavy Industrialish Techno/Dance three person Electronca act. Following them was the mistake that is the band A.C.Slade (note: this is the lead singers name, and whenever he said this it was preempted by the phrase 'I am' and no reference to the band). Now, follow me here, I was unaware that Emo/Scene and Punk had ever crossed streams, and yet I was forced to let it make violently loud noise at me.
It was like Fugazi (a perfectly decent punk band in all respects) went into a hot topic and wholly consumed a rail-thin kid wearing his sisters cloths and buying a copy of Twilight with $2 bills and then shat out a band. Seriously.
A fresh beer and some off color banter with my compatriots, Adam and Dan, got us back in the proper mindset for our next act: Black Light Burns. I'm sure its been said before and will be again but GODDAMN does Mr Borland put on a good show. Energy. Craziness. Flying water bottles. An absurd handlebar mustache. An outfit straight out of Gangs of New York. It was good like DAMN.
The technical headliner of the evening was Combichrist. Abusively heavy Industrial basslines. Blindingly psychotic light show. The always fun Show Drummer (a favorite of Mr. Portier). IDM at its finest, had the whole place moving. It was great until the Niq got shaky and lightheaded and we decided to call it a night a few songs early. It was a moderately great show.
Today: Day One of Katsucon. Started the day by twisting my ankle pretty savagely before the drive to D.C. Stood in a predictably long line, an hour or so I'd guess. Not fun, but not overly taxing. First order of business was to visit Mookie and have him sign my badge (rapidly becoming a tradition). Bought a Totoro plush, a Domo-Kun tee, and an awesomely creepy vented leather and chrome mask. Lunch was partaken at the Maid Cafe. Mr Portier missed the bulk of the day, but he will be there all weekend. As I have to work almost all of Sat, I'll be missing that chunk of the Con. Ill be there to witness the close on Sun though.
Right well, that's that.
I'll post more on Sun.
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