Those sly foxes over at Keebler know how to get my attention. What's next - an attitude overhaul for Ernie?
It's subtle work, photoshopping. Very subtle.Thursday, April 30, 2009
So elfin' true ...
Those sly foxes over at Keebler know how to get my attention. What's next - an attitude overhaul for Ernie?It's subtle work, photoshopping. Very subtle.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
A rediscovered Youth
As a kid, I was always encouraged musically. I started playing piano when I was five. I started learning percussion when I was eleven because I had trouble reading rhythms in my piano studies. I battled with practicing these two instruments until I was twenty years old. Drums won.
Despite all of this musical activity and encouragement, I totally missed out on a lot of music growing up. I really didn't start listening to the music of my generation until it was tailing off, and even then, I just wasn't in to a lot of it. Nirvana didn't hold a lot for me. I did love Soundgarden's Superunknown and Stone Temple Pilot's Purple.
Now, in my adult life, I'm rediscovering all sorts of good music I missed out on back then. One of the biggest revelations to me has been Sonic Youth. I have an excuse for not having listened to Daydream Nation - I was only seven when it was released - but this band was a major piece of the musical puzzle when I was in my formative music-listening years.
The crazy thing is that this band, formed in 1981, is still creating music. They recently left Geffen Records and signed with Matador Records who plans to release the band's latest effort on June 9th.
I think that, if for no other reason than the repose of my teenage soul, I may just check this one out.
Despite all of this musical activity and encouragement, I totally missed out on a lot of music growing up. I really didn't start listening to the music of my generation until it was tailing off, and even then, I just wasn't in to a lot of it. Nirvana didn't hold a lot for me. I did love Soundgarden's Superunknown and Stone Temple Pilot's Purple.
Now, in my adult life, I'm rediscovering all sorts of good music I missed out on back then. One of the biggest revelations to me has been Sonic Youth. I have an excuse for not having listened to Daydream Nation - I was only seven when it was released - but this band was a major piece of the musical puzzle when I was in my formative music-listening years.
The crazy thing is that this band, formed in 1981, is still creating music. They recently left Geffen Records and signed with Matador Records who plans to release the band's latest effort on June 9th.
I think that, if for no other reason than the repose of my teenage soul, I may just check this one out.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Can you spare some change?
We've all been approached with this phrase at least once in our adult lives. It's usually accompanied by a wave of mixed feelings and followed by a dismissive nod or muttered 'no' on our part.
Playing for Change is an organization that seeks to bring people around the world together through music. Their first project: start with a base track of a street musician in Santa Monica performing Stand By Me and then take it around the world to let others add their own voices and instrumentation.
I'm a little behind the curve in putting this out there, so maybe you've already seen this, but it's a worthwhile cause and an interesting take on a classic tune.
Also ... I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not that this was the first thing I thought after watching the above video, but if you're in the mood for comedy about change, just click here.
Playing for Change is an organization that seeks to bring people around the world together through music. Their first project: start with a base track of a street musician in Santa Monica performing Stand By Me and then take it around the world to let others add their own voices and instrumentation.
I'm a little behind the curve in putting this out there, so maybe you've already seen this, but it's a worthwhile cause and an interesting take on a classic tune.
Also ... I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not that this was the first thing I thought after watching the above video, but if you're in the mood for comedy about change, just click here.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Rosebud ...
Dead or alive ... it could probably turn out to be a very simple thing.
I've never seen Citizen Kane and, as of this moment, I'm only 15 minutes in. I have to say, the look of black and white film seems to fit movies like this in a way that color doesn't. It's as if, by removing the objects, places and people's colors, you gain an extra degree of leverage through which you can mold them in a way that dialogue can't.
I suppose lighting is about 95 percent of this effect and I'm not going to ramble on and pretend I know anything at all about the techniques in play here. I'll stop short of that and just say that I like it.
I've never seen Citizen Kane and, as of this moment, I'm only 15 minutes in. I have to say, the look of black and white film seems to fit movies like this in a way that color doesn't. It's as if, by removing the objects, places and people's colors, you gain an extra degree of leverage through which you can mold them in a way that dialogue can't.
I suppose lighting is about 95 percent of this effect and I'm not going to ramble on and pretend I know anything at all about the techniques in play here. I'll stop short of that and just say that I like it.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of adequate storage space
I think we can all agree that the future of the Antarctic Ice Shelf is something we all consider important to all of mankind. And the future of continental shelves everywhere are a constant source of concern for people called marine biologists, whom I can only assume felt the Peace Corps was a bit too patsy and the Coast Guard was too much effort. In general, shelves are fairly important to us, but nowhere is our struggle with their future more apparent to the common man than with those shelves of the laminate wood variety.
Those of us in landlocked states can ignore the continental shelf, as we are not generally concerned with things that are underwater and meant to be that way in the first place. The Antarctic Ice Shelf is a little different because it's on the news a lot and seems to be connected with Al Gore in some way, but still, there seems to be a lot of ice around and we seem to have the hang of making more if we need it.
In stark contrast to these shelf's extraneous relationship to us, the store-bought wood shelf makes an impact on us all at least once, if not more often than that, depending on how well read you are or your attitude towards a carrying a library card and re-learning the Dewey Decimal System. These shelves can turn an otherwise calm day or evening into an exercise of human wit and will against mounting stress and Murphy's Law.
Where's that other piece? Did they even give it to me? Why the hell won't this fit where it's supposed to?
I won't even attempt to answer these questions. Mostly because I don't like the look of that last one.
These shelf projects always start - and end - the same way. You take out all of the pieces. Maybe you arrange them neatly, depending on your proclivities (nice way of saying depending on whether you're OCD or not). Then, it begins.
Things aren't quite fitting together. That one little piece isn't there, so you either leave it out or find some discarded 'extra piece' from a previous project. God forbid you have to call the manufacturer of the shelf to ask them to send you a screw, pin or one of those crazy round things that you quarter turn clockwise to hold this unstable wreck of a furniture piece together.
So, maybe by now you've finished putting the shelf together and you're ready to start putting your first editions up there. Wait ... what happened there? Oh. shit. There's one piece on backwards so that the natural wood veneer that you so painstakingly chose is giving way to plain, disgusting, flaky wood laminate. You can't just take that one piece out, flip it over and be done with it. This thing is together now, and it was a pretty big pain in the ass.
How could this happen? You followed the instructions, so what gives? The answer to this one is surprisingly simple. Shit happens.
No matter how clear the directions are, and they're not always so, you will make at least one mistake putting one of these things together. Maybe you can live with it, or maybe you can't and you have to start over, though I would say that almost no mistake you could make in your right mind in this activity would be worth restarting this process.
This is all starting to sound like some allegory of life, but all I'm trying to say is that, until the majority of us stop fucking up when we try to build modular furniture from IKEA and Target, there is no way in hell we're not gonna fuck up something else too.
Those of us in landlocked states can ignore the continental shelf, as we are not generally concerned with things that are underwater and meant to be that way in the first place. The Antarctic Ice Shelf is a little different because it's on the news a lot and seems to be connected with Al Gore in some way, but still, there seems to be a lot of ice around and we seem to have the hang of making more if we need it.
In stark contrast to these shelf's extraneous relationship to us, the store-bought wood shelf makes an impact on us all at least once, if not more often than that, depending on how well read you are or your attitude towards a carrying a library card and re-learning the Dewey Decimal System. These shelves can turn an otherwise calm day or evening into an exercise of human wit and will against mounting stress and Murphy's Law.
Where's that other piece? Did they even give it to me? Why the hell won't this fit where it's supposed to?
I won't even attempt to answer these questions. Mostly because I don't like the look of that last one.
These shelf projects always start - and end - the same way. You take out all of the pieces. Maybe you arrange them neatly, depending on your proclivities (nice way of saying depending on whether you're OCD or not). Then, it begins.
Things aren't quite fitting together. That one little piece isn't there, so you either leave it out or find some discarded 'extra piece' from a previous project. God forbid you have to call the manufacturer of the shelf to ask them to send you a screw, pin or one of those crazy round things that you quarter turn clockwise to hold this unstable wreck of a furniture piece together.
So, maybe by now you've finished putting the shelf together and you're ready to start putting your first editions up there. Wait ... what happened there? Oh. shit. There's one piece on backwards so that the natural wood veneer that you so painstakingly chose is giving way to plain, disgusting, flaky wood laminate. You can't just take that one piece out, flip it over and be done with it. This thing is together now, and it was a pretty big pain in the ass.
How could this happen? You followed the instructions, so what gives? The answer to this one is surprisingly simple. Shit happens.
No matter how clear the directions are, and they're not always so, you will make at least one mistake putting one of these things together. Maybe you can live with it, or maybe you can't and you have to start over, though I would say that almost no mistake you could make in your right mind in this activity would be worth restarting this process.
This is all starting to sound like some allegory of life, but all I'm trying to say is that, until the majority of us stop fucking up when we try to build modular furniture from IKEA and Target, there is no way in hell we're not gonna fuck up something else too.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sign of the times ...
I saw a building with two signs on it today - Boxing and Triple Boxing. I don't know about you, but I've seen people box before and I'm pretty sure they got the amount of punches to the face right the first time.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Constitution as a selfish document
There's not much you can write to back up the statement this bog displays as its title. Our Constitution is a document that binds us all together through common aims, goals and a common belief in the community's ability to transcend what one man can accomplish, and if anything, this document has been made less selfish over time by the addition of key amendments.
If there was, however, a breeding ground for selfish attitudes embedded in to this document, it would be in the Second Amendment - the right to bear arms. Here's what it says:
The Tennessee state legislature is currently mulling over an amendment to the state's gun laws which would allow guns to be carried in establishments that serve alcohol and state parks and recreation areas. I don't know the details of this document, but you could glean some info from this article from the Commercial Appeal in Memphis - a city that knows guns and gun violence better than most in Tennessee.
This desire to carry a gun wherever and whenever you please is exactly where selfishness invades our discussion about constitutional rights. Let me reiterate that the Second Amendment guarantees that 'A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms' will not be infringed. Notice that it's not 'a well regulated Militia' and ' the right of the people to keep and bear Arms.' These two things, as they relate to the language of the amendment are actually one and the same. The militia is the expression of this right to bear arms and the militia is what is protected by the Constitution, not the gun strapped underneath your jacket or tucked away in your boot.
'But, I want to carry a gun because what if [insert pseudo-heroic anecdote here]?'
Guess what. I don't care what you want and neither does the Constitution. If you want to be an active participant in the protected activities of the Second Amendment than be a policeman. Join the military. Join the National Guard, which seems to be the true embodiment of the militia in our times. But, whatever you do, don't come crying to me about wanting to carry a gun everywhere.
What if, in your heroic display of marksmanship that will no doubt ensue if some criminal does terrorize your local watering hole, you miss the bad guy and hit someone innocent? I'd ask if you can take the ramifications of this, but that's not the point. The point is that they are not your responsibility now, and they should never be. This is the responsibility of the police and those who make it their life's work to protect and serve. They're trained to do these things and they're educated about the consequences.
I'm not against people owning guns, or even carrying them in some situations (though I would bet that instances where carrying a firearm worked out the way the carrier wanted them to are few and far between). However, I do not think that the individual right to bear arms is in any way protected and I'm not sure that it should be.
If there was, however, a breeding ground for selfish attitudes embedded in to this document, it would be in the Second Amendment - the right to bear arms. Here's what it says:
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.I'm going to immediately throw away any notion of the founding fathers not realizing how truly massive our country and its governing infrastructure would become in the coming decades and centuries. That might be true and it might not be, but what I do know is that it's not relevant to what I want to talk about.
The Tennessee state legislature is currently mulling over an amendment to the state's gun laws which would allow guns to be carried in establishments that serve alcohol and state parks and recreation areas. I don't know the details of this document, but you could glean some info from this article from the Commercial Appeal in Memphis - a city that knows guns and gun violence better than most in Tennessee.
This desire to carry a gun wherever and whenever you please is exactly where selfishness invades our discussion about constitutional rights. Let me reiterate that the Second Amendment guarantees that 'A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms' will not be infringed. Notice that it's not 'a well regulated Militia' and ' the right of the people to keep and bear Arms.' These two things, as they relate to the language of the amendment are actually one and the same. The militia is the expression of this right to bear arms and the militia is what is protected by the Constitution, not the gun strapped underneath your jacket or tucked away in your boot.
'But, I want to carry a gun because what if [insert pseudo-heroic anecdote here]?'
Guess what. I don't care what you want and neither does the Constitution. If you want to be an active participant in the protected activities of the Second Amendment than be a policeman. Join the military. Join the National Guard, which seems to be the true embodiment of the militia in our times. But, whatever you do, don't come crying to me about wanting to carry a gun everywhere.
What if, in your heroic display of marksmanship that will no doubt ensue if some criminal does terrorize your local watering hole, you miss the bad guy and hit someone innocent? I'd ask if you can take the ramifications of this, but that's not the point. The point is that they are not your responsibility now, and they should never be. This is the responsibility of the police and those who make it their life's work to protect and serve. They're trained to do these things and they're educated about the consequences.
I'm not against people owning guns, or even carrying them in some situations (though I would bet that instances where carrying a firearm worked out the way the carrier wanted them to are few and far between). However, I do not think that the individual right to bear arms is in any way protected and I'm not sure that it should be.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Bamboo Bicycle: It's not just about alliteration
Bamboo is an amazing plant. It has been a staple of life in Asian countries for hundreds of years. They use it in architecture, medicine, food and even in art. After atomic bombs were dropped on the country of Japan, bamboo in the area was said to have received [marginal] damage and was one of the first plants to reclaim its place in the landscape. (http://ezinearticles.com/?Green-Bamboo:-Strength-in-Flexibility&id=18657)
Well, this ecological stalwart has been making a big push in parts of the world west of the lands of Columbus' expectations as a super-cool garden decoration and as flooring for your brand new, trendy condo. However, none of this is as impressive as the idea of building bikes from bamboo.
I was first introduced to these bikes by a friend who found Calfee Design's website. Check out this mountain bike
That's right. The entire frame is made of bamboo and hemp fiber. I think this is quite possibly the coolest thing I've ever heard of in the realm of cycling. Some novelties, particularly where sports equipment is concerned, just don't work. Bamboo is actually in some ways superior to other frame materials (steel, aluminum, titanium, carbon fiber, et al) and provides a very environmentally sustainable alternative to processed, man-made materials.
So, it's certainly one thing for there to be a boutique bicycle maker here in the U.S. offering up $3,000 (frame only) bikes. It's a completely different story when this innovation leads to something that can help people in less affluent, less developed countries improve their quality of life. Check out the Bamboo Bike Project.
Bamboo is a prominent figure not only in Asia's landscape, but also in Africa's. The abundance of this raw material means that, when properly trained, the people of Ghana and other African nations are empowered to make their own bamboo cargo bikes, creating a whole new industry and with it, a new means of sustaining life itself. Maybe that's overstating things a bit, but it's worth a shot, right? This is something that they can truly own, instead of something that we just hand to them and hope it takes root (because that's going well with that whole AIDS education thing, right?).
So much of their traditional way of life has been eroded away. Some might say that this is progress, that they have to move towards industry or be doomed to fall further behind. But what if these bikes, or more broadly but accurately bamboo itself, represent the beginning of fitting industry into their culture instead of changing the culture to accommodate industry? Is that not a better pursuit?
Clearly I'm out of my jurisdiction talking about political, cultural and economic rammifications of wester societies' involvement in Africa's development. I didn't exactly do my research on this. I sure don't sit around watching programs on Npt about Africa. I am interested in the subject and hope that enough smart people are out there working on this kind of stuff in my mental absence.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
People hear what they want to hear ...
I could go on and on about religion - really, I could - but no one really wants that. I'll leave it at this ...
Just watch this video. Not only is it hilarious, but it also raises serious questions about the religious pursuits of modern man.
** Just a side note: I hate it when kids act like adults. It creeps me out.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Aman Iman: Water is Life
So, I stumbled on to this band today ... Tinariwen. I've always loved bands who fused world music in to popular western music - The Police, Paul Simon, et al - but I've never really explored the ethnic music that was at the heart of that influence on these great songwriters.
Besides just writing really beautiful music, Tinariwen has a deep story behind it that really just brings home the importance of music to the human soul.
Check out the track Mataraden Anexan here on YouTube.
Besides just writing really beautiful music, Tinariwen has a deep story behind it that really just brings home the importance of music to the human soul.
Check out the track Mataraden Anexan here on YouTube.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Ezra Furman and the Harpoons
I need to talk about this band for a second. Yes, this is the second time that I've mentioned them in my blog but, as explained in a previous blog, the first one was kind of a technological mishap. Anyway, on to my story ...
Ezra Furman and the Harpoons showed up in Nashville yesterday to play a show at The Basement with Nashville's own Harrison Hudson and Detroit trio The Hard Lessons. Harrison Hudson was great as usual and The Hard Lessons were a great surprise, but Ezra Furman - the man and the band - were just something else entirely.
I don't know if I'm saying that I believe that they're the next big thing. They really probably aren't. What they are is incredibly honest, catchy and energetic rock 'n roll music. The music itself is punk-influenced indie rock, complete with hand claps and gang vocals, with somewhat of a folk influence. Ezra Furman's voice is high and slightly whiny, but it's his onstage (and offstage) persona that really grabs you.
He's like that kid you befriended in third grade and every time you asked your mom if he could come over you had to give her that extra But, mom ... to make it happen. It's not that he ever broke anything, and he definitely said thank you. He's just barely oozing this frenetic energy, making wild claims and mischeivous. You can hear it in his music, but you only really get it if you see it happen in person.
Check out the track Take Off Your Sunglasses and get hooked. Or harpooned. Whatever.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
This is the true story...
of one Pacman ... picked to run around a maze ... work alone to pick up a ton of white dots (and fruit) ... to find out what happens ... when ghosts stop being polite ... and start getting real ... The Real Pacman.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Adventures for a Saturday
Mountain biking is about adventure and the rediscovery of your childhood freedom. It removes you from the daily grind and puts you in an environment with endless possibilities - wildlife, epic views, a personal epiphany about what really matters, and tasting your own endorphines after a long, hard climb. The reward is looking back at obstacles, that are now behind you, and feeling like anything's possible.
-Gary Klein [cyclist, framebuilder, innovator]
-Gary Klein [cyclist, framebuilder, innovator]
Friday, April 17, 2009
If you try sometimes, you find you get what you need
Okay, I'm not a fan of the Stones by any stretch. Sure, they have some good songs but if I have to judge them on their whole catalog (I don't but I choose to) I just don't think they're that special.
This blog is not about the Rolling Stones. It's about me not knowing what to blog about, searching around the internet and stumbling on to this: a video of Jack Black dancing around like a fool to a song called You Can't Always Get What You Want on the childrens show Yo Gabba Gabba.
Now, I don't have kids, but I do know what Yo Gabba Gabba is because my favorite thing to do in the morning is listen to Free Beer and Hot Wings and they once talked about this show for at least 30 minutes.
By any account, this show must be pretty cool. After all, it does derive its name from a Ramones song. Plus, the likes of Elijah Wood , Mark Mothersbaugh, Of Montreal and Tony Hawk have all graced its stage (just in case you're not a fan of JB). They even teach kids to beatbox.
The more I talk about this show the more it fascinates me. I want to watch this. It's like some LSD infused cornicopea of knowledge that I just didn't have access to as a kid. There are cartoonish monsters, adults acting like they've had their mental age squashed down to that of a 3 year old, all the bright colors ... Sit me down with apple juice and crackers because I'm ready to get crazy with some kids day time television.
Speaking of LSD ...
Does anyone else find it strange that so many kids shows have blatantly obvious psychedelic drug influences? We all grew up with them too, this is not a new thing. Fraggle Rock might be the most prominent example of my generation, but here's a starter video (sorry for the low quality file, not my fault) on some of the originals from the 60s and 70s.
Okay the real blog ended with the bit about apple juice ... this was just an aside (or something like an aside).
This blog is not about the Rolling Stones. It's about me not knowing what to blog about, searching around the internet and stumbling on to this: a video of Jack Black dancing around like a fool to a song called You Can't Always Get What You Want on the childrens show Yo Gabba Gabba.
Now, I don't have kids, but I do know what Yo Gabba Gabba is because my favorite thing to do in the morning is listen to Free Beer and Hot Wings and they once talked about this show for at least 30 minutes.
By any account, this show must be pretty cool. After all, it does derive its name from a Ramones song. Plus, the likes of Elijah Wood , Mark Mothersbaugh, Of Montreal and Tony Hawk have all graced its stage (just in case you're not a fan of JB). They even teach kids to beatbox.
The more I talk about this show the more it fascinates me. I want to watch this. It's like some LSD infused cornicopea of knowledge that I just didn't have access to as a kid. There are cartoonish monsters, adults acting like they've had their mental age squashed down to that of a 3 year old, all the bright colors ... Sit me down with apple juice and crackers because I'm ready to get crazy with some kids day time television.
Speaking of LSD ...
Does anyone else find it strange that so many kids shows have blatantly obvious psychedelic drug influences? We all grew up with them too, this is not a new thing. Fraggle Rock might be the most prominent example of my generation, but here's a starter video (sorry for the low quality file, not my fault) on some of the originals from the 60s and 70s.
Okay the real blog ended with the bit about apple juice ... this was just an aside (or something like an aside).
Thursday, April 16, 2009
That which we call a rose ...
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Thanks, Shakespeare, I can take it from here ...
Okay, I'm going to go ahead and post this. Not because it's interesting, not because it's funny and certainly not because it's true (it isn't). But, I feel that when Blogger gave me my first random question - When your science teacher smashed a frozen rose with a hammer, did you warm the petals to bring them back to life? - I should answer it. I did and Blogger promptly told me that it should be no more than 400 characters. Why not say that on the front end? Anyway, here was my response ...
I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
Thanks, Shakespeare, I can take it from here ...
Okay, I'm going to go ahead and post this. Not because it's interesting, not because it's funny and certainly not because it's true (it isn't). But, I feel that when Blogger gave me my first random question - When your science teacher smashed a frozen rose with a hammer, did you warm the petals to bring them back to life? - I should answer it. I did and Blogger promptly told me that it should be no more than 400 characters. Why not say that on the front end? Anyway, here was my response ...
Back in 6th grade, I was just learning about girls ... or at least noticing them. It was nothing like what The Wonder Years taught me. Girls my age didn't know what love was; they thought you could find it in folded paper. But not Ms. Lewis, my science teacher.So, Blogger, I win. I posted this on your website despite your firm protesting of it's length. Maybe I should set this to post later, as a backup plan ... I will. If you're reading this, it's Thursday and, for fear I wouldn't get home in time to tell you all about it, I've set this blog to publish now while I'm at TPAC watching Dimitri Martin do stand-up comedy.
She was a goddess. She asked me to bring that rose to her and I was so proud to be chosen. I was certainly her favorite. And when she chilled it with liquid nitrogen and smashed it I was devastated. I tried to thaw the petals out. Tried to put the rose back together, but the damage was irreparable. Red lay upon Ms. Lewis desk for a moment and then was swept away into a bin.
Later that day a girl named Ginny kissed me on the cheek at the soccer fields. I ran in to school, found Ms. Lewis and kicked her in the shin. I didn't believe my mom when she told me that's not how you break up with a girl. This, unfortunately, came back to haunt me later in life.
I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
A fast food worker's confidence in you is low ...
There are two reasons why I believe/know that fast food workers have little to no confidence in the consumer:
1) They apparently think, regardless of the more apparent clues to your personal hygiene practices, that you are the messiest person on the face of the planet. This is why they give you some many napkins despite the fact that most of us could do with just one or two.
2) No matter how much or how little of a condiment you ask for they don't think you really know what you want, so they just put a shitload (shitload being an industry term).
These are things I know to be true about 'fast food'.
1) They apparently think, regardless of the more apparent clues to your personal hygiene practices, that you are the messiest person on the face of the planet. This is why they give you some many napkins despite the fact that most of us could do with just one or two.
2) No matter how much or how little of a condiment you ask for they don't think you really know what you want, so they just put a shitload (shitload being an industry term).
These are things I know to be true about 'fast food'.
One blog, two blog; big blog. small blog
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The OJ Simpson theory of time travel
Over the weekend, specifically Saturday night, I got to talking with a friend. This talking led to the revelation that OJ Simpson - the OJ Simpson - might have been a spokesperson for Isotoner gloves. I haven't found any evidence of this, but if true this is not only the most ironic celebrity/athlete endorsement; it is also a clue as to how OJ Simpson got where he is today. Or at least to where he was before he was back on trial for threatening that dude in Vegas.
Here is my theory ...
It's some time between 10:15 and 10:45 pm on a warm night in June. OJ just stabbed his ex-wife, Nicole Brown, and her lover, Ron Goldman, to death. He's panicking. Hundreds-of-thousands of synapses firing in his brain. Some telling him to run. Some telling him to cover his tracks. Then, a flash of light and a dark figure aproaching. OJ looks up, thinks for a second and says, "A.C.? Is that you?"
"No, dummy!" says a familiar voice. "It's me. You."
(pretend he sounds like Mr. T. It's more fun that way)
This 'future' OJ goes on to explain that he is from the future and that they have to act fast because the dog is barking and someone will be there at 11:40 pm and find the bodies. First thing's first, says future OJ. "Take this glove and throw it on the ground," he orders. But why? Why leave evidence at the scene of the crime. It's decided that present OJ doesn't need to know anything about that.
"I'll take care of the rest," says future OJ. "Get home and get in that limo before anyone notices you left."
Off present OJ goes, trying to move on with his life. So confused about what just happened that he's not even sure that he just stabbed someone. Two someones. No way that all just happened, right?
Present OJ is now at a Hertz convention in Chicago. He's shaking hands, smiling and being every bit the pitchman that got him where he was in life. Public bathrooms are always a problem at these things. It's one thing for people to want to shake his hand out there, but in here he just wants to be left alone. A men's restroom is the one place in the world any man should be guaranteed to be left alone.
"We've got a problem," said the familiar voice from just a few days past. He was almost laughing. Like he'd just said something completely ridiculous.
As present OJ turns around, he is met with the measured gaze of a man staring directly into his own eyes. This man was, in fact, staring directly in to his own eyes, and in a way that was never possible until that exact moment. It was future OJ.
Future OJ explained that there was more work to be done and it was only as this alter-OJ explained the rest of his/their/your plan that present OJ remembered: He had stabbed his wife and that Ron guy. Shit.
The plan was simple. OJ the Present needed to act as eratic as possible when he returned to LA. He was wanted for murder, so any insanity could go a long way. Future OJ, knowing full well what would happen said, in an off-hand fashion not typical of a time traveller, that he should track down A.C. and take the police on a chase. Make them believe he might commit suicide or something. The important thing, the linch pin to the whole plan, was that the police had The Glove.
"What's so special about that glove anyway," pondered present OJ.
"It's your size, but it doesn't fit," remarked his future self.
This didn't make any sense to the OJ of our time. Why plant a glove at all?
"You're going to drive people so crazy before the trial that they're already not thinking straight," explained Robo-J (he wasn't a robot really ... or was he?). "Then, by the time it gets to trial and all they have is that fake-ass glove, that shit won't fit."
"Hey, that rhymed!" mused The OJ of Murder Present
"Later, man. Trust me." The words of a knowledgeable future OJ.
So OJ went about his business. Present OJ, that is, went about the business of being crazy. Not crazy like a murderer, though. Crazy like ... well, like a man that would agree to do more than one Naked Gun movie.
We all know how the rest plays out, and this series of events is exactly why I think that, at some point, Orenthal James Simpson created a time travel advice.
This could have been when he was in prison after he was found guilty (this would now be an alternate and destroyed timeline). He would have plenty of time to read, to learn science, string theory or whatever he would need to know about wormholes. Then, he could fashion some sort of time travel device out of lunch trays and matress springs.
It could be that, in the panic filled moments after the murders, his mind was racing so fast that he instantaneously discovered time travel, actually traveled in time and then forgot about it enough that when his future self showed up he was actually surprised.
That's the thing about time travel: you'd probably never really know if you ever did it because time traveling would immediately erase any version of you that couldn't fit in your reality. Of course, that's just theoritical. It also negates the premis upon which I based this entire post.
Going back to the Isotoner thing ... It is also possible that future OJ went a little further back and told his former self that he should try and get an endorsement from them. Not just for the irony of it, either. They needed the money for Johnny Cochran.
Here is my theory ...
It's some time between 10:15 and 10:45 pm on a warm night in June. OJ just stabbed his ex-wife, Nicole Brown, and her lover, Ron Goldman, to death. He's panicking. Hundreds-of-thousands of synapses firing in his brain. Some telling him to run. Some telling him to cover his tracks. Then, a flash of light and a dark figure aproaching. OJ looks up, thinks for a second and says, "A.C.? Is that you?"
"No, dummy!" says a familiar voice. "It's me. You."
(pretend he sounds like Mr. T. It's more fun that way)
This 'future' OJ goes on to explain that he is from the future and that they have to act fast because the dog is barking and someone will be there at 11:40 pm and find the bodies. First thing's first, says future OJ. "Take this glove and throw it on the ground," he orders. But why? Why leave evidence at the scene of the crime. It's decided that present OJ doesn't need to know anything about that.
"I'll take care of the rest," says future OJ. "Get home and get in that limo before anyone notices you left."
Off present OJ goes, trying to move on with his life. So confused about what just happened that he's not even sure that he just stabbed someone. Two someones. No way that all just happened, right?
Present OJ is now at a Hertz convention in Chicago. He's shaking hands, smiling and being every bit the pitchman that got him where he was in life. Public bathrooms are always a problem at these things. It's one thing for people to want to shake his hand out there, but in here he just wants to be left alone. A men's restroom is the one place in the world any man should be guaranteed to be left alone.
"We've got a problem," said the familiar voice from just a few days past. He was almost laughing. Like he'd just said something completely ridiculous.
As present OJ turns around, he is met with the measured gaze of a man staring directly into his own eyes. This man was, in fact, staring directly in to his own eyes, and in a way that was never possible until that exact moment. It was future OJ.
Future OJ explained that there was more work to be done and it was only as this alter-OJ explained the rest of his/their/your plan that present OJ remembered: He had stabbed his wife and that Ron guy. Shit.
The plan was simple. OJ the Present needed to act as eratic as possible when he returned to LA. He was wanted for murder, so any insanity could go a long way. Future OJ, knowing full well what would happen said, in an off-hand fashion not typical of a time traveller, that he should track down A.C. and take the police on a chase. Make them believe he might commit suicide or something. The important thing, the linch pin to the whole plan, was that the police had The Glove.
"What's so special about that glove anyway," pondered present OJ.
"It's your size, but it doesn't fit," remarked his future self.
This didn't make any sense to the OJ of our time. Why plant a glove at all?
"You're going to drive people so crazy before the trial that they're already not thinking straight," explained Robo-J (he wasn't a robot really ... or was he?). "Then, by the time it gets to trial and all they have is that fake-ass glove, that shit won't fit."
"Hey, that rhymed!" mused The OJ of Murder Present
"Later, man. Trust me." The words of a knowledgeable future OJ.
So OJ went about his business. Present OJ, that is, went about the business of being crazy. Not crazy like a murderer, though. Crazy like ... well, like a man that would agree to do more than one Naked Gun movie.
We all know how the rest plays out, and this series of events is exactly why I think that, at some point, Orenthal James Simpson created a time travel advice.
This could have been when he was in prison after he was found guilty (this would now be an alternate and destroyed timeline). He would have plenty of time to read, to learn science, string theory or whatever he would need to know about wormholes. Then, he could fashion some sort of time travel device out of lunch trays and matress springs.
It could be that, in the panic filled moments after the murders, his mind was racing so fast that he instantaneously discovered time travel, actually traveled in time and then forgot about it enough that when his future self showed up he was actually surprised.
That's the thing about time travel: you'd probably never really know if you ever did it because time traveling would immediately erase any version of you that couldn't fit in your reality. Of course, that's just theoritical. It also negates the premis upon which I based this entire post.
Going back to the Isotoner thing ... It is also possible that future OJ went a little further back and told his former self that he should try and get an endorsement from them. Not just for the irony of it, either. They needed the money for Johnny Cochran.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Lessons learned about technology
Okay, so I had a big blog set for today, but ... this is going to take precedence.
I recently was shown a way to simplify keeping up with all of your social media cogs and sprockets without totally losing your mind, or, at least not losing a whole evening updating every single one of them. It's called Ping.fm.
I must say, it's pretty convenient. I added my facebook and twitter accounts to it and, as if by an act of God himself, both were simultaneously updated - and without me even having to log in to either! Pretty sweet, right? I then got a little bit overzealous and added this Blogger account in to the mix. I specifically unchecked blogging in Ping.fm with hopes that it wouldn't post to my actual blog. I did, however, leave both status updates and micro-blogging checked. Mostly because I: (a) didn't know that there was such a thing as a status update on Blogger and wanted to see where that showed up and (b) had no idea what micro-blogging was in the first place and it sounded like something I should be keen on - or at least on which I should be keen.
Disaster.
What the hell kind of blog post is 'Really digging this band, Ezra Furman and the Harpoons'? There's no link to their website, myspace or other pertinent information. I didn't describe them in any way. Garbage. We know where that belongs - and last time I checked, I don't work for 'network news' of any kind ... (The preceding statement means nothing coming from me. I haven't watched CNN, MSNBC, Fox or any of those other entertainment channels since they stopped replaying shock-and-awe ... ah, those were the days.)
Anyway. I took my Blogger account out of the mix for Ping.fm and will leave it to twitter and facebook updates. This does bring up yet another question, though. If I get an account at all of the cool social sites, only to get another account (and login and password) for another site that posts to those sites so I never have to go to them anymore, then what exactly is the point in the first place. We're all so overextended in our online habits that we're not really even that social.
My updating facebook and twitter and Blogger, et al all at the same time is completely taking what little social interaction these sites did offer completely out of the equasion leaving my updates as the equivalent of a no-eye-contact-slight-hand-gesture-and-a-muttered-syllable hello to the online world. Maybe I'll just post a picture of my apathetic middle finger. It'd be no less personal.
Remember when email was considered so impersonal? So unprofessional? It was only about six years ago, maybe less. Now I long for the days when getting an email meant something - not just a reminder that someone commented on something on someone else's page. Every day I'm tempted to shut it all down and just tell people to email me whatever they want to say, but I know a lot of them wouldn't and that would be a shame. So, I put aside my fantasy land of social networking-free life and I'll probably sign on to facebook in a few minutes, tell you I like the link you posted and then try to find something marginally funny to post to twitter - and my facebook status at the same time. How awesome is that?!
I recently was shown a way to simplify keeping up with all of your social media cogs and sprockets without totally losing your mind, or, at least not losing a whole evening updating every single one of them. It's called Ping.fm.
I must say, it's pretty convenient. I added my facebook and twitter accounts to it and, as if by an act of God himself, both were simultaneously updated - and without me even having to log in to either! Pretty sweet, right? I then got a little bit overzealous and added this Blogger account in to the mix. I specifically unchecked blogging in Ping.fm with hopes that it wouldn't post to my actual blog. I did, however, leave both status updates and micro-blogging checked. Mostly because I: (a) didn't know that there was such a thing as a status update on Blogger and wanted to see where that showed up and (b) had no idea what micro-blogging was in the first place and it sounded like something I should be keen on - or at least on which I should be keen.
Disaster.
What the hell kind of blog post is 'Really digging this band, Ezra Furman and the Harpoons'? There's no link to their website, myspace or other pertinent information. I didn't describe them in any way. Garbage. We know where that belongs - and last time I checked, I don't work for 'network news' of any kind ... (The preceding statement means nothing coming from me. I haven't watched CNN, MSNBC, Fox or any of those other entertainment channels since they stopped replaying shock-and-awe ... ah, those were the days.)
Anyway. I took my Blogger account out of the mix for Ping.fm and will leave it to twitter and facebook updates. This does bring up yet another question, though. If I get an account at all of the cool social sites, only to get another account (and login and password) for another site that posts to those sites so I never have to go to them anymore, then what exactly is the point in the first place. We're all so overextended in our online habits that we're not really even that social.
My updating facebook and twitter and Blogger, et al all at the same time is completely taking what little social interaction these sites did offer completely out of the equasion leaving my updates as the equivalent of a no-eye-contact-slight-hand-gesture-and-a-muttered-syllable hello to the online world. Maybe I'll just post a picture of my apathetic middle finger. It'd be no less personal.
Remember when email was considered so impersonal? So unprofessional? It was only about six years ago, maybe less. Now I long for the days when getting an email meant something - not just a reminder that someone commented on something on someone else's page. Every day I'm tempted to shut it all down and just tell people to email me whatever they want to say, but I know a lot of them wouldn't and that would be a shame. So, I put aside my fantasy land of social networking-free life and I'll probably sign on to facebook in a few minutes, tell you I like the link you posted and then try to find something marginally funny to post to twitter - and my facebook status at the same time. How awesome is that?!
Monday, April 13, 2009
A continuance, stay of execution, or whatever ...
I don't have anything to blog about tonight. I've got some choices ahead of me ... Citizen Kane, Wall-E and Monty Python sit in front of me. What I need to do is work on tomorrow's blog, because the concept is there, but the words aren't right.
We'll see what tomorrow brings ...
We'll see what tomorrow brings ...
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The Robot Revolution
I still haven't seen Wall-E, but I'm well aware of how much robots kick ass. Except for time-traveling ones - they're always trying to kill us ... what's up with that? I even enjoyed the movie Robots, and that movie's not exactly a classic.
Anyway, I came across this article earlier today and I felt that it might be good to share. It's a really interesting experiment on human interaction with the world around us. Check out the tweenbots blog if you want a little more information than the article provides.
Anyway, I came across this article earlier today and I felt that it might be good to share. It's a really interesting experiment on human interaction with the world around us. Check out the tweenbots blog if you want a little more information than the article provides.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
That's the money you could be saving with ...
Okay, so I've always been interested in advertising campaigns. In advertising, you're trying to take a product, service or maybe even a person and make it (them) accessible and/or attractive to others. The psychology of this and the creativity it would take sound like a lot of fun.
Especially after working at a studio that created music for advertisements, I can be picky about commercials. I sat around for a while today watching television - I don't call it TV because TV is a nickname, and nicknames are for friends, and television is no friend of mine. Anyway, these commercials for insurance companies like Geico, Allstate, et al seem kind of pointless to me.
They all say the same thing: people who switched from ___ to us saved an average of $__. Of course they did. They wouldn't have switched if they weren't going to save money (for the most part). There would be no point because all of these insurance companies are basically the same.
I know their point is that you should check them out and see if you'd save money, but the basis for their argument is kind of shoddy in my opinion.
That, and I didn't have anything more interesting to write here before I leave the house for the night. We can talk later about where the balance point is between churning out content on a deadline and churning out *good* content. At least there's a link to Mr. Show in there ...
Especially after working at a studio that created music for advertisements, I can be picky about commercials. I sat around for a while today watching television - I don't call it TV because TV is a nickname, and nicknames are for friends, and television is no friend of mine. Anyway, these commercials for insurance companies like Geico, Allstate, et al seem kind of pointless to me.
They all say the same thing: people who switched from ___ to us saved an average of $__. Of course they did. They wouldn't have switched if they weren't going to save money (for the most part). There would be no point because all of these insurance companies are basically the same.
I know their point is that you should check them out and see if you'd save money, but the basis for their argument is kind of shoddy in my opinion.
That, and I didn't have anything more interesting to write here before I leave the house for the night. We can talk later about where the balance point is between churning out content on a deadline and churning out *good* content. At least there's a link to Mr. Show in there ...
Friday, April 10, 2009
Death and Taxes
Death and taxes are forever linked by Benjamin Franklins quote. When I typed them as the title of this blog, this editor, as well as the part of my brain I was going to use to write in it, was completely empty. I really wasn't sure where I was going with it. I was kind of thinking of raising questions about how we're taxed - the transparency and forthrightness of the process to be specific.
See, today I left the auto garage after spending about $2,000 on new catalytic converters thinking I would run my car or a few days like they recommended, get my emissions done and then take care of those expired tags. It's ten days in to the month, so they're well expired, but given the fact that the repairs were so expensive and that Davidson county's own county clerk totally butchered my registration change from Rutherford (they switched my expiration to October, resulting in my not getting renewal papers from them) I've had a bit of trouble getting this taken care of.
I didn't get more than two miles away from the shop when a policeman pulled me over. He mentioned to me that my tags were expired, to which I responded with the receipt for my repairs and the short version of the above paragraph hoping that, seeing my intention to change this, he'd just let it go. Letting me go was the right thing to do. You can go all black-and-white on me and refute this, but you know I'm right.
He did not let me go. He gave me a ticket.
I mention all of this because it seems like whenever there's a rash of people getting tickets, the response is something like "They're out raising money." And they're usually right. What government institution isn't cash strapped at all times? However, it's up to taxes raise money. Non-profits raise money. Children raise money for baseball teams. Policemen, very dissimilarly from any of these, protect and serve. The purpose of any monetary penalties they can impose shouldbe solely to deter further violations, right? If they need my money then either taxes need to be adjusted or the government is being inefficient. One of these things should change, or at least they should give me a box of Tagalongs or candy bar with the ticket like a normal fundraiser.
It's not the money that's important, it's the method by which you're taking it from people. Newsflash, officer - you're not Robin Hood. That story is fiction.
Perhaps Benjamin Franklin could have added government inefficiency to that list of certainties.
See, today I left the auto garage after spending about $2,000 on new catalytic converters thinking I would run my car or a few days like they recommended, get my emissions done and then take care of those expired tags. It's ten days in to the month, so they're well expired, but given the fact that the repairs were so expensive and that Davidson county's own county clerk totally butchered my registration change from Rutherford (they switched my expiration to October, resulting in my not getting renewal papers from them) I've had a bit of trouble getting this taken care of.
I didn't get more than two miles away from the shop when a policeman pulled me over. He mentioned to me that my tags were expired, to which I responded with the receipt for my repairs and the short version of the above paragraph hoping that, seeing my intention to change this, he'd just let it go. Letting me go was the right thing to do. You can go all black-and-white on me and refute this, but you know I'm right.
He did not let me go. He gave me a ticket.
I mention all of this because it seems like whenever there's a rash of people getting tickets, the response is something like "They're out raising money." And they're usually right. What government institution isn't cash strapped at all times? However, it's up to taxes raise money. Non-profits raise money. Children raise money for baseball teams. Policemen, very dissimilarly from any of these, protect and serve. The purpose of any monetary penalties they can impose shouldbe solely to deter further violations, right? If they need my money then either taxes need to be adjusted or the government is being inefficient. One of these things should change, or at least they should give me a box of Tagalongs or candy bar with the ticket like a normal fundraiser.
It's not the money that's important, it's the method by which you're taking it from people. Newsflash, officer - you're not Robin Hood. That story is fiction.
Perhaps Benjamin Franklin could have added government inefficiency to that list of certainties.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Measuring Up
I always find it awkward when I'm approached after playing a show by someone telling me how good a drummer I am. So, part of it is definitely that I don't know how to take a compliment, but another part of it is that I'm not sure that I believe them all the time.
There's a part of me that is searching for that point at which I feel like I'm worthy of praise as a drummer, and it doesn't matter to me who else is impressed until I reach that point for myself. As a test for myself, I decided to throw my hat in the ring to be the next drummer of Smashing Pumpkins. It's an opportunity to see how I stack up against other drummers and to see if what I do stands out. I recorded a video of myself playing the song Cherub Rock as part of the audition process and it turned out pretty okay, all things considered.
I wouldn't say I set out to make this blog some official account of what I've been up to, but I'm not sure I have anything else to blog about at the moment.
The Appleseed Cast is at The End tonight and I think it's safe to assume this might be the only chance I have to write something. The Blog Challenge must go on ...
Oh, also ... You might want to check out To Die For by Hell is for Heroes.
Good stuff.
There's a part of me that is searching for that point at which I feel like I'm worthy of praise as a drummer, and it doesn't matter to me who else is impressed until I reach that point for myself. As a test for myself, I decided to throw my hat in the ring to be the next drummer of Smashing Pumpkins. It's an opportunity to see how I stack up against other drummers and to see if what I do stands out. I recorded a video of myself playing the song Cherub Rock as part of the audition process and it turned out pretty okay, all things considered.
I wouldn't say I set out to make this blog some official account of what I've been up to, but I'm not sure I have anything else to blog about at the moment.
The Appleseed Cast is at The End tonight and I think it's safe to assume this might be the only chance I have to write something. The Blog Challenge must go on ...
Oh, also ... You might want to check out To Die For by Hell is for Heroes.
Good stuff.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Modern Age
Somehow or another, most likely something to do with the patterns of moving air in our atmosphere, today was about 20 degrees warmer than yesterday. This meant that I was able to get out on my road bike after work and cruise around a little bit.
As I was on my way home, I noticed a plane in the air above me and thought to myself - no big deal. No big deal? Yeah, it's only a few thousand tons of metal defying the basic principals of gravity and flying through the air. No big deal.
It struck me that there are a lot of 'no big deal' moments every day. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was riding on one. Bikes are amazing machines ... but so is the human body. Did you know that one gallon of gas contains 31,000 calories (don't ever drink gas ...) and that on those 31,000 calories you can travel only about 20 miles? Consider that a human on a bike traveling an average of 15 miles per hour would travel over 900 miles before they burned 31,000 calories. No big deal.
Well, I wasn't expecting to go all Discovery Channel on you, but there it is.
As I was on my way home, I noticed a plane in the air above me and thought to myself - no big deal. No big deal? Yeah, it's only a few thousand tons of metal defying the basic principals of gravity and flying through the air. No big deal.
It struck me that there are a lot of 'no big deal' moments every day. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was riding on one. Bikes are amazing machines ... but so is the human body. Did you know that one gallon of gas contains 31,000 calories (don't ever drink gas ...) and that on those 31,000 calories you can travel only about 20 miles? Consider that a human on a bike traveling an average of 15 miles per hour would travel over 900 miles before they burned 31,000 calories. No big deal.
Well, I wasn't expecting to go all Discovery Channel on you, but there it is.
What is time, anyway? ...
I know that the time stamp on this post will place it somewhere in the 1-am-on-Wednesday range, but don't let that fool you. I haven't really gone to bed yet, so, technically, Tuesday hasn't ended for me, at least in the productive sense. That's right, I'm calling in to question all you currently know about time and space, and how it relates to your reality.
You know, we only observe daylight savings time based on some old farmer's crappy calendar management anyways ... well, they needed the extra time to make their kids work before/after they went to school. What a crappy reason to have daylight savings time.
As a great writer once said, "Time is an illusion, and lunchtime doubly so."
If you don't know who said that, it's really a shame. Happy birthday, Chirs Wood.
You know, we only observe daylight savings time based on some old farmer's crappy calendar management anyways ... well, they needed the extra time to make their kids work before/after they went to school. What a crappy reason to have daylight savings time.
As a great writer once said, "Time is an illusion, and lunchtime doubly so."
If you don't know who said that, it's really a shame. Happy birthday, Chirs Wood.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Sunday Funday
Things I've done today, as of 3:30 pm:
(1) Ran 2 miles
(2) Nothing
Nothing isn't entirely accurate ... I've watched both The Patriot and We Were Soldiers. It must be Mel Gibson's birthday or something ... I also caught bits and pieces of everyone's favorite middle child, Frankie Muniz, in the horror fest that is Stay Alive.
Sounds like a movie that features zombie Barry Gibbs chasing towns people via the electric slide. You could say this would be a simple zombie to evade - one that can only chase you by moving to left, to the right, now slide - but then again, aren't zombies usually really easy to avoid and yet people still screw it up?
Stay Alive is actually another one of those movies where some supernatural force exerts itself on the world via some new media - cell phones, the television or in this case, video games. Like we needed one, let alone the plethora of such movies that have been released in the last five or six years.
Anyway, the reason I even mention that Stay Alive was on is that I might have found a way to make these crap movies, which I actually watch on a regular basis, a little more interesting. Here's the plan ... Start watching the movie to get an idea of the general plot. Then, after the first commercial break, skip a section of the movie. Continue in this fashion, skipping every other section of the movie, but make sure you see the end.
What this does is create holes in the plot - unexplained new characters, references to events you know nothing about, etc. - which you can then find your own unique way to justify. In the case of Stay Alive, I know that I saw Frankie Muniz die. He was stabbed by some crazy looking lady in a red cloak. <> Here's Frankie Muniz saving the hero of the movie (some sorry excuse of an actor that I'm not familiar with) from same red cloaked lady. WTF?
I'm sure the movie explained this. I'm also sure that it was something really, impossibly dumb. But, since I skipped that part, I can invent whatever I want. Maybe Frankie Muniz is really a T1000, sent from the future to ... oh, well that's not very original, is it? Maybe he's ... no, that was the plot from Mad Max. Damn ... too much Mel Gibson today.
(1) Ran 2 miles
(2) Nothing
Nothing isn't entirely accurate ... I've watched both The Patriot and We Were Soldiers. It must be Mel Gibson's birthday or something ... I also caught bits and pieces of everyone's favorite middle child, Frankie Muniz, in the horror fest that is Stay Alive.
Sounds like a movie that features zombie Barry Gibbs chasing towns people via the electric slide. You could say this would be a simple zombie to evade - one that can only chase you by moving to left, to the right, now slide - but then again, aren't zombies usually really easy to avoid and yet people still screw it up?
Stay Alive is actually another one of those movies where some supernatural force exerts itself on the world via some new media - cell phones, the television or in this case, video games. Like we needed one, let alone the plethora of such movies that have been released in the last five or six years.
Anyway, the reason I even mention that Stay Alive was on is that I might have found a way to make these crap movies, which I actually watch on a regular basis, a little more interesting. Here's the plan ... Start watching the movie to get an idea of the general plot. Then, after the first commercial break, skip a section of the movie. Continue in this fashion, skipping every other section of the movie, but make sure you see the end.
What this does is create holes in the plot - unexplained new characters, references to events you know nothing about, etc. - which you can then find your own unique way to justify. In the case of Stay Alive, I know that I saw Frankie Muniz die. He was stabbed by some crazy looking lady in a red cloak. <
I'm sure the movie explained this. I'm also sure that it was something really, impossibly dumb. But, since I skipped that part, I can invent whatever I want. Maybe Frankie Muniz is really a T1000, sent from the future to ... oh, well that's not very original, is it? Maybe he's ... no, that was the plot from Mad Max. Damn ... too much Mel Gibson today.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
We've been over this already ...
I went to the art crawl tonight. It'd be great to blog all about art at this time, but it looks like I kind of did that yesterday. There were actually a lot of really interesting pieces on display. Unfortunately for me, currency is not based on the *pocket lint standard*, so I don't really have the dough to give any of it a good home.
Walking around the arcade (no Galaga) and downtown Nashville was a bit of an eyeopener for me. I live so close to downtown and I never go down there and participate in what this city has to offer. I'm always up for going to a show or going to a bar to hang out, but I rarely take the time to see what kind of events are going on outside that realm.
Who knows what I've missed in favor of a pint of beer. What I do know is that the beer is not going anywhere, but these opportunities to braoden my horizons can be fleeting.
Pheonix is on SNL ... time to go.
Walking around the arcade (no Galaga) and downtown Nashville was a bit of an eyeopener for me. I live so close to downtown and I never go down there and participate in what this city has to offer. I'm always up for going to a show or going to a bar to hang out, but I rarely take the time to see what kind of events are going on outside that realm.
Who knows what I've missed in favor of a pint of beer. What I do know is that the beer is not going anywhere, but these opportunities to braoden my horizons can be fleeting.
Pheonix is on SNL ... time to go.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Down to the wire ...
What to talk about tonight ...
Okay. From the looks of things I haven't discussed music here yet. I don't really want to overdo things in my first post on the subject, but it wouldn't be a bad thing to introduce early on, as it consumes the better part of my brain's function.
Art, in general is an interesting thing. When you create it, you're expressing some inner thought or feeling that no one else on this planet can replicate. People can get close, but they can never be exactly the same as you. This gives every artistic expression an inherent value. But, who decides what's good and what's not? Painters are only good if they die, or are crazy or are some virtuoso kid who might not really be painting at all. So what about music? What makes music good or bad? This is where things get crazy for me and music ...
Music has become a commodity. As a musician, your art has been monetized in a way that people who don't create can understand. They see your notes bobbing down a conveyor belt in a factory and they try to determine if what's going on there is efficient enough to make a profit. Then, they market the music, and they place it on a shelf and they do their best to convince us - the masses - that we should agree that the music they're putting out there is the best the world has to offer.
So many people stop right there in their search for music that it scares me. And I'm not directing this solely to people that frequent the Top 40 section at Best Buy because this applies so often to so-called music snobs as well. People who like a band like Arcade Fire, Animal Collective or The Decembrists only because it's not what's in *the mainstream*. Tell me why you like them. What makes them so special and better than any other artist? Do you honestly believe that there's not a marketing or management team that positioned all three of these artists in that way just to catch your eye?
I would guess that the only reason they got record deals over a host of other talented acts that neither you nor I know of is that someone saw money. They knew you'd buy in and that you, as a dissenter to the mainstream, would identify yourself as someone with *good taste* by telling all other dissenters about how great Arcade Fire is.
So, like I was saying an hour and four paragraphs ago, what do good and bad really mean when it comes to music? It's probably the most subjective question possible, to ask someone if a song is good or bad.
And success musically doesn't mean your good! What's that about? The Backstreet Boys sell record-setting numbers of albums, make all that money and it takes years for people to wake up and realize they're terrible. An artist like Jeff Buckley toils away in relative obscurity for a while, gets drunk and jumps in the Mississippi, and only then do people jump on the bandwagon?
Maybe my problem is that I feel that you should be good to be successful and that being bad shouldn't be rewarded. The Backstreet Boys will live on, and on, and on, and they will be remembered as a success, and some people will say that they were good. The same is true of Jeff Buckley. The only real difference is that only one of them is an artist.
At least, that's my opinion.
Okay. From the looks of things I haven't discussed music here yet. I don't really want to overdo things in my first post on the subject, but it wouldn't be a bad thing to introduce early on, as it consumes the better part of my brain's function.
Art, in general is an interesting thing. When you create it, you're expressing some inner thought or feeling that no one else on this planet can replicate. People can get close, but they can never be exactly the same as you. This gives every artistic expression an inherent value. But, who decides what's good and what's not? Painters are only good if they die, or are crazy or are some virtuoso kid who might not really be painting at all. So what about music? What makes music good or bad? This is where things get crazy for me and music ...
Music has become a commodity. As a musician, your art has been monetized in a way that people who don't create can understand. They see your notes bobbing down a conveyor belt in a factory and they try to determine if what's going on there is efficient enough to make a profit. Then, they market the music, and they place it on a shelf and they do their best to convince us - the masses - that we should agree that the music they're putting out there is the best the world has to offer.
So many people stop right there in their search for music that it scares me. And I'm not directing this solely to people that frequent the Top 40 section at Best Buy because this applies so often to so-called music snobs as well. People who like a band like Arcade Fire, Animal Collective or The Decembrists only because it's not what's in *the mainstream*. Tell me why you like them. What makes them so special and better than any other artist? Do you honestly believe that there's not a marketing or management team that positioned all three of these artists in that way just to catch your eye?
I would guess that the only reason they got record deals over a host of other talented acts that neither you nor I know of is that someone saw money. They knew you'd buy in and that you, as a dissenter to the mainstream, would identify yourself as someone with *good taste* by telling all other dissenters about how great Arcade Fire is.
So, like I was saying an hour and four paragraphs ago, what do good and bad really mean when it comes to music? It's probably the most subjective question possible, to ask someone if a song is good or bad.
And success musically doesn't mean your good! What's that about? The Backstreet Boys sell record-setting numbers of albums, make all that money and it takes years for people to wake up and realize they're terrible. An artist like Jeff Buckley toils away in relative obscurity for a while, gets drunk and jumps in the Mississippi, and only then do people jump on the bandwagon?
Maybe my problem is that I feel that you should be good to be successful and that being bad shouldn't be rewarded. The Backstreet Boys will live on, and on, and on, and they will be remembered as a success, and some people will say that they were good. The same is true of Jeff Buckley. The only real difference is that only one of them is an artist.
At least, that's my opinion.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Quizno's, Frank Zappa and just a touch of ... everything else possible
I'm sure that more than a few people have watched and discussed this most recent Quizno's ad, but it's been on my mind to address it myself and I am desperate need of material for my blog as it's already 10:30 pm on the second day of the Blogging Challenge.
Hopefully, you clicked on the link to that video, maybe hit the back button on your browser of choice because you forgot to open in a new tab (CTRL+Click - who knew there'd be a technical side to this ...) and have returned to read the remainder of my blog.
The basic premis of this commercial, as I see it, is that this particular purveyor of toasted sandwiches has developed an unnatural relationship with the oven. The last time I remember hearing anything about people having unnatural relationships with kitchen appliances was Frank Zappa's Joe's Garage, which uses this same story telling device to take shots at the church of scientology.
In the song A Token of My Extreme (lyrics here), it is explained to the tragic hero of our story, Joe, that he is a *latent appliance fetishist* and that his life will only be fulfilled when he joins the Church of Appliantology and chooses the appropriate appliance mate. In his case, it ends up being a toaster that speaks German. I won't go any further in to this story because it gets both disturbing and hard to follow at this point of the album. Plus, I totally have more to say about Quizno's.
Mt point in all of this is simple, really, and it is this:
What the hell, Quizno's? What. the. hell? ...
All of this sexual inuendo about this dude and his toaster doesn't really make me want a sandwich. If anything, it makes me question exactly what you do with these *torpedo* sandwiches before you try to pawn them off on my for $4.99.
And this isn't the first time that Quizno's has gone creepy with their commercials. Long before a baby was telling you all about the stock market and how easy it is (child's play, really), Quizno's had Bob. He's a little baby that acts like a grown up. This, in my opinion, isn't a good thing - it's just plain creepy. To top out the creep factor, I'm pretty sure Artie Lang from The Howard Stern show is his voice.
The other weird-ass marketing ploy Quizno's threw our way a few years ago was the concept of a maybe-dead-rat-maybe-levitating-marsupial flying thing that sings to you about Quizno's on occasion.
I get that all of these companies are trying to be cool and all, with their weird *viral* marketing, but if you're going to do this - do it right. Like Skittles. That's how you make a weird commercial.
I'm not sure if I really made my point about Quizno's, I just see a lot of links. Sounds like a blog to me: no coherent point + links + a self-depricating closing sentence which makes it sound like I didn't take this seriously (I did) so that I can't be at fault if I'm wrong.
Hopefully, you clicked on the link to that video, maybe hit the back button on your browser of choice because you forgot to open in a new tab (CTRL+Click - who knew there'd be a technical side to this ...) and have returned to read the remainder of my blog.
The basic premis of this commercial, as I see it, is that this particular purveyor of toasted sandwiches has developed an unnatural relationship with the oven. The last time I remember hearing anything about people having unnatural relationships with kitchen appliances was Frank Zappa's Joe's Garage, which uses this same story telling device to take shots at the church of scientology.
In the song A Token of My Extreme (lyrics here), it is explained to the tragic hero of our story, Joe, that he is a *latent appliance fetishist* and that his life will only be fulfilled when he joins the Church of Appliantology and chooses the appropriate appliance mate. In his case, it ends up being a toaster that speaks German. I won't go any further in to this story because it gets both disturbing and hard to follow at this point of the album. Plus, I totally have more to say about Quizno's.
Mt point in all of this is simple, really, and it is this:
What the hell, Quizno's? What. the. hell? ...
All of this sexual inuendo about this dude and his toaster doesn't really make me want a sandwich. If anything, it makes me question exactly what you do with these *torpedo* sandwiches before you try to pawn them off on my for $4.99.
And this isn't the first time that Quizno's has gone creepy with their commercials. Long before a baby was telling you all about the stock market and how easy it is (child's play, really), Quizno's had Bob. He's a little baby that acts like a grown up. This, in my opinion, isn't a good thing - it's just plain creepy. To top out the creep factor, I'm pretty sure Artie Lang from The Howard Stern show is his voice.
The other weird-ass marketing ploy Quizno's threw our way a few years ago was the concept of a maybe-dead-rat-maybe-levitating-marsupial flying thing that sings to you about Quizno's on occasion.
I get that all of these companies are trying to be cool and all, with their weird *viral* marketing, but if you're going to do this - do it right. Like Skittles. That's how you make a weird commercial.
I'm not sure if I really made my point about Quizno's, I just see a lot of links. Sounds like a blog to me: no coherent point + links + a self-depricating closing sentence which makes it sound like I didn't take this seriously (I did) so that I can't be at fault if I'm wrong.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Blogging Challenge: Day One, and no other thoughts
The great thing about doing a blogging challenge is that it gives you an excuse not to try on the first day.
I suppose I could post a link to some super cool video. No, that video's not that cool. It's just some dude showing you how to use chopsticks.
I feel like this is an *either you have it or you don't* type skill. It's not like there are millions of people out there wondering how to pick up chopsticks and hold them - I think we all get that part. And pinching them together? Not difficult. It certainly doesn't require some half-assed lesson from the only white dude at the dinner table in Vietnam.
Maybe someone else at the table could answer some tougher questions. Like ... why do Asian markets always smell so bad? I think it's their questionable standards for storing dead fish. If you've been to one, you probably have seen what I mean. Also, what are the realistic chances kung pao chicken is kung pao not chicken?
Putting all of this aside, the biggest reason not to learn how to use chopsticks is the fork. This is followed closely by the spork and less closely by salad tongs.
This blog didn't go where I tought it would. Ignore that whole *no other thoughts* thing in the subject line. Maybe that'll be my blog theme: writing a clear subject line, sticking to it for a sentence or two and then rambling for half an hour.
This did not take half an hour...
Clearly, I'm in trouble here.
I suppose I could post a link to some super cool video. No, that video's not that cool. It's just some dude showing you how to use chopsticks.
I feel like this is an *either you have it or you don't* type skill. It's not like there are millions of people out there wondering how to pick up chopsticks and hold them - I think we all get that part. And pinching them together? Not difficult. It certainly doesn't require some half-assed lesson from the only white dude at the dinner table in Vietnam.
Maybe someone else at the table could answer some tougher questions. Like ... why do Asian markets always smell so bad? I think it's their questionable standards for storing dead fish. If you've been to one, you probably have seen what I mean. Also, what are the realistic chances kung pao chicken is kung pao not chicken?
Putting all of this aside, the biggest reason not to learn how to use chopsticks is the fork. This is followed closely by the spork and less closely by salad tongs.
This blog didn't go where I tought it would. Ignore that whole *no other thoughts* thing in the subject line. Maybe that'll be my blog theme: writing a clear subject line, sticking to it for a sentence or two and then rambling for half an hour.
This did not take half an hour...
Clearly, I'm in trouble here.
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