And we're back!

...for probably just the duration of this month.  I know, it's killing you three readers that I haven't posted in so long.

The self-deprecation, the hipsterism, the sex!  I'm so proud

Oops, forgot the sex.  Here you go- it's slimy and erotic.

Quick update: What's better live today?

-In short, very little.  It's atrociously cold.  Stay inside and warm your toes.

-Play Cityville.  Yes, i'm being serious.  It's all the rage, and within 10 seconds, Zynga will have already ensured your addiction with bright colors, snappy sounds, and the devilishly ingenious scoring system popularized by Farmville.*  

-The Quakertown Senior High School Winter Choral Concert is tonight.  

-I forgot how to use the credit card machine at work today.  I thought there was a special trick, and then I turned the card around.  It's been a while...

To do list

-See Tron

-See Blackswan

-See True Grit

-See The King's Speech

-Find something other than movies to occupy time.
-Oh, torrent the new Nic Cage movie.  I'm sure it'll be full to bursting with screaming, and more screaming.

* I am not paid to advertise Cityville.  I just need neighbors to expand my Jitter Bug coffee house franchise into.  I admit, I have problems.

Stanley Kubrick Marathon

After the David Lynch marathon, I had to follow up with an equally prolific director.  Stanley Kubrick is one of my favorites and made perfect sense as a sequel.  We watched, in this order:

The Killing (1956)

Dr. Strangelove and How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

Total run-time: 8.9 hours

I specifically chose these movies to span Kubrick’s career and showcase his style.  I also tried to avoid redundant themes and genres.  Let’s see how I did.

The Killing

B/W 1956 Starring: Sterling Hayden

The Killing is hailed as a masterpiece heist movie.  Much like his later movies, Kubrick defined a genre with his take.  Movie critics often reference The Killing as Tarantino’s influence for Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.  An auspicious beginning to his career and our marathon.

The Killing is divided into two acts: the heist set-up, and the execution, centered on Johnny Clay.

In the first act, he brings together normal men with talents or positions vital for pulling off a $2 million robbery of a racetrack.  Heavy dialogue carries the plot and the characters reveal themselves and their flaws- a jealous husband, a meticulous planner, a gold-digging wench, and so on.  Johnny personifies Kubrick for his mechanical attention to detail and intensity.  Little wonder he was drawn to the project.

The narrator carries the second act.  In a deadpan voice, he announces the time and location for each player in the heist.  Even as the characters meet tragedy, the narrator plows on.  The juxtaposition of structured story telling over the derailment of the plotted plan is excellent.

Seeing as film noir was going out of fashion, Kubrick took a small chance with the The Killing.  Nevertheless, the film performed well, kicking his career off to a good start.  Most importantly for the marathon, many of his signatures are present:

            -Dialogue driven plot

            -Narrator

            -Two acts

            -Using “The End” before the credits roll

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (-omb)

B/W 1964  Starring: Peter Sellers, Sterling Hayden

I chose this film because it’s one of my favorites and shows off Kubrick’s sense of humor.  He employs Peter Seller’s acting talents to play three wildly different characters, much like he did in Lolita. 

Tyler Perry, eat your heart out

For those who don’t know storyline behind Dr. Strangelove, it explores the possibility of nuclear war.  Sterling Hayden (from The Killing) orders an attack on the Russians.  The situation is ludicrous- the attack can't be called off because of the bureaucracy set in place, but if the planes drop their payload the Doomsday machine will be triggered and destroy most of human life.  The president of the U.S.A. and prime minister of Russia discuss the issue and agree to shoot down the planes.  Of course, one plane gets through and the desperately manages to reach the target.  The finale is a series of nuclear explosions set to “We’ll Meet Again”.  Brilliant.  Kubrick certainly had some balls to make this movie.  He satirizes commie paranoia and makes war into a sad joke, during the time of LBJ and Vietnam propaganda.

Eyes Wide Shut

1999 Starring: Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman

This is actually the last movie Stanley Kubrick did before he died.  It’s also one of the sexiest movies he ever worked on and there’s a reason the movie was placed in this rotation- we had to wait for a certain younger sibling to leave the house.

Eyes Wide Shut is a “psycho-sexual” adventure.  Tom goes on a dark seedy adventure after his wife, Nicole, confesses her lecherous feelings for another man.  Each encounter is a contained exploration of the sexual mind, and in the end, we are forced to consider what really gets us hot and bothered.  Does gender matter?  Is sex something to be open about, or a dark mysterious subject?  How much does context play a role?  And of course, the topic of fidelity in marriage plays a major role.  Eyes Wide Shut is long, methodical and makes you think and even after six viewings it still feels fresh.

Plus, I had a surprise for my guests- the unedited international version, released stateside in 2007.  When it was first released in 1999, much of the cultish orgy mansion was obscured by digital silouhettes.  The orgy scene is interesting.  It’s pornographic, no doubt, but choreographed Kubrick style.  It’s classy and seems planned.  The actors are clearly not improvising, but following their scheduled humping (humphink?) with a mechanical rhythm.  I wonder if Kubrick intended the viewer to make this observation.  In other scenes the sex is passionate and organic, but in the mansion it is distant.  The exhibitionists also wear masks, hiding both their identities and their organic (orgasmic?) reactions, making the whole act even more removed from humanity.

Without dragging this into an essay on sexuality.  Eyes Wide Shut takes you on an anxious thrilling ride.  See it.  Especially if you like Nicole Kidman.

2001: A Space Odyssey
1968


I'll start with the spoilers and work backwards for this one.  Here's what happened at the end:

Okay, so that big black monolith in the beginning?  Yeah, that was created by aliens some millions and billions of years ago and it influenced the monkeys to start evolving into modern man.  In the end, when the astronaut sees all the crazy colors, the monolith is present again.  The colors represent the astronaut's transformation into an alien being.  The crazy shit is all the brilliance of the universe.
When he comes to in a weird bedroom, that's the visualization of his transformation and aging.  The fetus at the end is his rebirth as an alien, or a higher being.

Got it?  Good.  'Cause I don't have much else to write about this movie.  It's the quintessential sci-fi movie by one of the best directors/visionaries/awesome guys of all time.

Stanley Kubrick is a pretty cool guy who doesn't afraid of anything.  Open the pod bay doors, HAL.

Mercer Museum

Construction is well under way!  Foundation is laid and walls are being put up.  Some other little effects are being added as well, such a large LED lights that will light up the back wall and have the capacity to change color.  Nice.

Most of the visitors are interested in the expansion with a mix of excitement.  Others, however, decide to spout off their corporate paranoia at ME, as if I signed off on the multi-million dollar project.  After filling out a survey, one guy demanded a spiel about the expansion.  I explained that it’s replacing the old vistor’s center and will have room for blah blah blah.

            “I am fearful of this expansion!  New parking lot, right?  All that grass torn up, of course.  Sheesh.”  And off he went.  I looked at his survey.  He didn’t just write his complaints, he carved his comlplaints.

I am fearful that this new expansion will ruin the integrity of the original building.  Corporations just adding on all the time, no thought to the precious arifacts.  What’s next, a STARBUCKS???

The word “Starbucks” was enormous and double-underlined.  And precious artifacts?  Okay, Gollum.

I guess this guy doesn’t realize that the Mercer Museum is a business, driven by revenue from visitors, events, and renters and that the expansion will keep his treasures safe.

The best part was how annoyed he was.  I tried to explain a few of these things but he just burned my toast and walked out.  The last thing I noticed, he had the “ohm” symbol tattooed on his earlobe.  Nice.  I guess a clear mind really means an unused mind.

Anyway, the visitor’s center opens Spring 2011!  See you then.

Malware Malfunction

I work at the front desk of the Mercer Museum.  I take people's money and answer the phone.  Generally, it's an easy job- it's leisurely and I get to read.  Except today, I was thrown a curveball in the form of a vicious Trojan virus.

It was hungry.

My reception computer was a juicy steak.

Isn't "extended pleasure" dependent on the wearer?

Before the museum opened its doors for visitors, I was lightly surfing the internet (as in, only two tabs open, no downloading, no power reloading) and ended up reading the instructions for installing Rosetta Stone on a Mac.  Keep in mind, no downloading.

I exited Internet Explorer and it suddenly became Internet Exploder.

"Need a light?"

Pop-up after pop-up ingloriously intruded on my "Vista Gateway" (not Windows Vista).  It got even more hilarious when Viagra ads made their debut in harmonious synchronization with the arrival of a group of retired Floridians.  I threw down my book and pounced on the computer mouse with the dexterity and grace of a retarded pelican and calmly welcomed them to the wonderful Mercer Museum.

And I thought my job was easy.  Phew.

Never fear, the tech guy managed to clear it up (reboot in safe mode, launch a couple sweep cleaners, one more reboot) and my job was saved.  By the way, I'm really not supposed to surf the internet using my work computer.  I now understand why.

p.s. I Google image searched "Trojan Condom" and was fearful of the results.  My eyes were spared.  Thank you, SafeSearch.

p.p.s. The infinite scroll on image searching... about damn time.  That's tight.

Just to Share

I found some videos from the Black Keys concert on July 30th.

The first is Kurt Vile.



For reference, at the very beginning you can see a guy in a striped fedora.  I was sitting about eight feet to his right.  Also, fedora guy kept yelling out "Play Stairway to Freebird!"  Classic.

But this... this is music.  This is a performance.

Burning Out the Next Twelve Days

School is around the corner and I'm burning up the last few days.  What's in store for Better Live?

Well first, I'm planning a Stanley Kubrick movie marathon.  Won't be a mind-bender like the Lynchathon but should turn us deeply introspective.

The plan:
The Killing  (1956)
Dr. Strangelove  (1964)
2001: A Space Odyssey  (1968)
Eyes Wide Shut  (1999)

Spans his entire career (ignoring a couple movies before The Killing) and four different genres.  Genius-level inspiration- highly anticipated.


AU and D.C. will give me plenty to write about especially when I rejoin forces with the Tin Can Partier- Benjamin Miller.  I see only glory and fortune in the future.  Pretty similar to what I see in the mirror...

"I suppose if it was 9:45, I would think it is after midnight."

So here it is- the post on the David Lynch movie marathon.  What's that?  You weren't anxiously awaiting its arrival?  Hush your mouth, young one.

David Lynch is one of those crazy bastards that directs movies so intense he dares you to ridicule them.  Assuming, of course, you weren't lobotomized by the time the credits roll, and rendered able to only groan in anguish.  I approach these guys like a challenge, to see if I can beat them.

My friends and I watched, in this order-

Blue Velvet  (1986)

Mulholland Dr.  (2001)

Inland Empire  (2006)

Eraserhead  (1976)

Total play time: approx. 8.9 hours.

We didn't give much thought to the order before watching.  We started with Blue Velvet because my friend had already seen it.  As for the others... it was whichever downloaded first.  Turns out, we watched them in  the perfect order, from the most straightforward to the most abstract.  

Blue Velvet tells the story of a young man investigating the origins of an ear he found in a field.  He uncovers a terrible underworld of drugs, sex, and evil within the charm of his small town.  Starring Kyle MacLauchlan as Jeffrey Beaumont and Laura Dern as Sandy Williams.  Isabella Rossellini plays Dorothy Vallens, a singer mentally ensnared by Frank Booth, played by Dennis Hopper.  I'll say this here:  Dennis Hopper is the most effed up actor in a mainstream movie.  Take an early scene for example:  Jeffrey Beaumont is hiding in a closet, hid there by Dorothy Vallens.  Frank comes in to her apartment and begins what we can only assume to be a ritualistic rape, heavily breathing in a drug and crying out for his mommy, stuffing blue velvet in his mouth and Dorothy's.  My friends and I were terrified.  We were also dreading the rest of the night.  Would things get worse?

With Mulholland Dr., yes and no.  The tone of the movie was not so violent but started to feel more like a nightmare.  Hailed as Lynch's masterpiece, Mulholland Drive is a ceaseless avalanche of his thoughts and imagination.  I would try to give you a synopsis or a summary, but it's damn near impossible with a movie this abstract.  Basically, Naomi Watts goes to Hollywood, meets Laura Harring, they have some steamy lesbian sex, and before you know it no one is who you thought they were.  Or maybe they were all the same person.  Like I said, the tone is nightmarish.  I consulted Roger Ebert (hail the bastion of all things reel) to make some sense of the movie.  His advice?  

"This is a movie to surrender yourself to. If you require logic, see something else. "Mulholland Drive" works directly on the emotions, like music. Individual scenes play well by themselves, as they do in dreams, but they don't connect in a way that makes sense--again, like dreams."

So that's what I did.  I sat back and let the scenes and colors and sounds wash over me.  I feel stupefied.  I felt drugged.  But I did not feel happy.  Ebert called them dreams, but I still disagree.  Nightmares all the way.  One thing did make me happy and that was the arrival of this character:

That is Billy Ray Cyrus being an asshole, mullet and all.  WTF?

Midway through the marathon, the sun had set, dinner had been noshed on, and we were content in our seats once more.  Time for Inland Empire.

                                     

Key locations: I was on the right side of the television with my laptop open in front of me.  Lauren was directly across from me with a blanket.  Lydia was behind me clutching a pillow.  Tyler and Carolyn were far back into the room sharing a couch.  These are important details.

Inland Empire is the Arc de Triomphe of abstract film.  David Lynch calls upon Laura Dern's acting talents once more, to play an actress struggling against the temptation of her costar.  An actress playing an actress struggling against an actor playing an actor.  Inception, anyone?  

Laura Dern has come a long way since Velvet.

At first I was \=, then I was [=, then I was D-:<

That final picture is one of the many startling scenes from Inland Empire.  The plot barely kicks in before the crazy takes over.  Allegedly, the movie is the projection of her psyche, going completely apeshit because of her conflicted feelings for her co-star.  Whatever it is, it scared the bejeezus out of me and my friends.  I realized at one point I was hiding behind my laptop, clutching the top of my screen.  Lauren had the blanket at her nose and all I could see were the tips of her glasses.  Lydia was trembling under her pillow.  Tyler and Carolyn were petrified but safe because of their distance from the screen. 

Three hours later, we could finally breathe easy.  We had subjected ourselves to the most random assortment of nightmare imagery ever assembled this side of Holocaust documentaries.  The time?  Nearly midnight.  We were exhausted, but not because of the hour.

Last on our list was Eraserhead.  We started it, unsure of what we would encounter, but determined to finish the marathon.  Nearing the end, we were emotionally drained and jaded.  Nothing could freak us out, right?

Bzzzz, wrong!  Look, the tagline of the movie even says, "Be warned.  The nightmare has not gone away."  A prescient statement for his earliest movie of the bunch.  

Little in the movie made sense.  The guy on the movie poster is a scared man in an industrial nightmare (look, that word again!).  A mutant baby is thrust into his life, a temptress sucks him into a pool of metaphorical sex fluid, his head is turned into an eraser, and a woman with ovaries on her cheeks stomps on large, rubbery sperm.  Oh God.

If someone can explain this video to me, I would love to hear you try.  I need a good laugh.

And yet, for all the absurdity, I couldn't tear my eyes away.  Eraserhead was the shortest of the four films, but certainly the strangest and the most atmospheric.

At the end, I was scared silly, drained of energy, and ready to collapse.  One of the best ways to spend a day.  Or three days... or maybe it was all a dream...


Cheesy endings aside, here are a couple links.

A more emotional account of the marathon by Lauren Hank

My intense narrative written sometime during, but I don't remember doing it.

The list of David Lynch's works, in case you want to dive in for yourself.  Just be careful.

The Black Keys, Better Live? Stupid Question

I saw the Black Keys for the second time at Penn's Landing on Friday.  Definitely near the top on my list of favorite concerts.

First, the venue is amazing.  For those who haven't been to a show at the River Stage, put it on your to-do list.  It's an outdoor amphitheater with a small flat area in front of the stage.  I was one of the first people through the gate and planned on rushing up to the stage but my friend pointed out that standing a couple steps up was the best spot.  We were eye level with the band and still only 15 feet from the stage.  Brilliant.

The crowd, too, was very good.  Hipsters and young people (hipsters aren't people) filled out with some older folk rocking out with beer.  Our experience was almost ruined by a couple drunk assholes, but luckily they were too wasted to be truly obnoxious.  Overall, it seemed like everyone there was on the same wavelength, but that could be attributed to this guy:

Kurt Vile.  "Would it be curt to call this vile?" -- Ben Miller

Kurt Vile is a Philadelphia native and he was recruited to fill in for The Morning Benders to open.  It was him, an older guy with greasy hair, and a woman on harp.  The crowd was settling down, waiting for the Black Keys but possibly patient enough to sip a beer through the opener.  In other words, this guy had one chance.  He started finger picking his acoustic guitar.  Heavy reverb and delay masked any possible sense of melody.  The greasy guy started playing guitar; the noise just got more confused.  I could steal a few notes out of the cacophony from the harp.  

And then he sang.  

If I could type the onomatopoeia for yodeling into a kazoo, I would.  Instantly, everyone in the crowd started looking around to see if their neighbors were listening to the same thing.  What the hell?  Kurt kept on singing, his hair covering his face, most likely in shame.  Greasy guy wore sunglasses.  Harp lady was oblivious.  Pluck pluck she went, rocking out.

Every song sounded the same- off-key screaming and finger-picked guitar shoved down an endless hallway.  It's funny I said hipsters aren't people above, because I found that picture of him on this blog, Hipsters Eat For Free (but please, don't feed the hipsters.  It just encourages them).  I think 'Andrea' had a lobotomy before seeing Kurt Vile because she describes him thusly-

"You know how some people seem to have an aura around them? Kurt Vile is one of those people. Although not much taller than me, he seemed to loom like a giant over the crowd, his face rarely peeking out from a thick, messy mane of hair."

More like, he hid behind his hair and sort of mumbled at the microphone, encouraging the crowd to bond over their mutual hatred of all things Kurt Vile.  If you do read Andrea's blog, just keep in mind that anything she says is actually the complete opposite.

So... I spent most of this blog complaining about Kurt Vile instead of gushing about the Black Keys.  But there's not much I can say without sounding like any other fanboy.  They are one of the best musical acts touring right now and you have to see them live.  The guitarist, Dan Auerbach, adds so much to the show, so much that their studio albums are boring and cookie cutter by comparison.  Pat Carney plays the drums like an over-developed twelve-year old plays whack a mole.  And it's all amazing.  Here are a couple pictures.  Sorry for the fuzziness, I was too excited to focus on quality.

                                                  

                                      

                                      

Theroux Examination

Note: I intended to write a blog comparing two of Paul Theroux’s books- The Great Railway Bazaar and Ghost Train To The Eastern Star using a scribbled junket of half-formed thoughts and sentences.  Unfortunately, I accidently returned the second book to the library with all of those notes inside.  Whoever checks out the book next will find themselves overwhelmed with thoughts, recommendations, revelations, and inside jokes, all of which were my planning stage for an long post.  I was annoyed, but writing from the top of my head proved to be a useful exercise, even if it is poorly executed journalism. 

And, believe it or not, the result is a much shorter piece.

If you missed it, I raved in short about Paul Theroux and his modernization of the travel novel a few posts back.  Basically, I loved his observations and wit and I truly liked Theroux, the perfect traveling companion.  He makes the reader feel as if they are both with him and alone, traveling in Theroux’s place.  Most importantly, he instilled a sense of magic (excuse the platitude) on traveling by train. 

In the second book, Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, Theroux retraces his route across Europe and Asia, thirty-three years later.  What a difference those decades made.  He is thirty-three years more wise, world-weary, bitter, self-important, and old.  Gone is the adventurous and open-minded man I traveled with in Railway Bazaar.  He begins Eastern Star by stating he dislikes most travel novels, which are simply recounts of visits to museums, artifacts, and notable places, with a hint of “mystery” and, most likely, invented characters encountered on the path.  Just a couple pages in and Theroux is getting on my nerves. 

He spends several paragraphs explaining how he lost his wife during his first four month journey and then several more on how he doesn’t wish to sound like one of those tired folk, “Back in my day…”.  To paraphrase some of his meta-discourse, he tells those rhetorical old people to shut up about times past and move into the future.

I pushed through the dreadful opening to get to the meat of the book.  Theroux is an excellent writer and I assumed Eastern Star would pick up and entertain.  Nay, dear reader.  Nay.  His trip out of London into France starts on a dreary and cloudy day and he pines for the lost days of charming travel.  He leans his head against the window and makes observations about changing times and changing scenery.  In no way did he avoid sounding like one of the rambling elderly that he slanders in the introduction.

Frankly, Theroux pissed me off.  He’s hypocritical, more sarcastic (in all the wrong ways), tired, and vastly self-important.  He instantly gives off the vibe that he wrote the book to show up the legion of travel writers who followed in his footsteps.  In his eyes, they are cheap imitations of himself, writing only to tap the cash flow of vicarious adventurers.  Oh, Theroux, how can we possibly live up to your expectations?  You set the bar so high! 

I confess that I did not finish the book, and I haven’t read any of his others.  Still, first impressions are half the battle.  If the author’s ethos makes me hate him or her, why should I finish the book? 

This also makes me wonder about the longevity of “seeing it live”.  Clearly, I won’t be writing this blog for thirty-three years, and maybe not even a fraction of that, but Theroux’s change from joyful observer to bitter traveler scares me. 

Life is a series of experiences, each event affects how future events are perceived, and not all of these situations are controlled.  This is an obvious statement but one that needs to be observed because it brings up an important question- what was it about Theroux’s chain of life experiences that changed him for the worse?  Case in point- had I embarked on the same trip as Theroux in Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, I would have seen an exciting new landscape and interesting characters, rather than a dreary landscape and poor people. 

Is it even possible to retain that sense of excitement for travel after spending a lifetime making a career of it?  Is this a case of too much of a good thing?  I wonder if this happens to all people who choose to make a normal life activity into a job.  Do racecar drivers dread the thought of driving home through traffic?  Do accountants hate balancing their own checkbooks even more than the average Joe?  I imagine chefs find the thought of cooking a family dinner to be a heinous chore.   I hate to imagine that this is the rule or even a common occurrence.  I plan to make a career of international service; God forbid I can’t enjoy a traveling retirement. 

And it may seem silly to worry about this now, before I’ve even started a career, but I hope that I can avoid becoming like Paul Theroux, a bitter old man with a massive ego (although I have one of those, too.  After all, I photoshopped myself consoling Leonardo DiCaprio on the movie poster for one this summer’s biggest blockbusters).  So, we’ll see what happens.  For now, I’ll just go with the flow, but it’s never a bad idea to look into the future.

Your Mind on David Lynch

I'm planning two posts about the affects of seeing it live, one about David Lynch and the other about the difference years can make.

The David Lynch post will tell the story about how I and four other impressionable young minds subjected ourselves to the madness lurking in David Lynch's cranium.  Who is he?  One of the most prolific, effed up directors to grace Hollywood.  He created dirty gems such as Blue Velvet and Mulholland Drive.  And what was the level of subjection?  We watched four of his movies in a row, which is equivalent to an eleven hour nightmare.

In this post, I want to share with you my mental state near the end of the marathon.  The following day, I was closing out programs on my computer, and found a document open on Word.  I don't quite remember typing this out, and I'm a little impressed with it.  But DAMN.  Here we go:
...............

Look at the couch.  It’s one of those couches without armrests, you know, the ones for laying down.  Fashionable from the 20’s, Gatsby-style.  Look again, it’s the piece your grandmother burdened on the family.  It’s where you had your first kiss.  There’s the cigarette burn from Aunt Tara.  Underneath, a foot pulls itself under.  It curls up. 

Now get closer.  The cracks between the cushions, separate them, push them apart with your finger tips.  Really dive in next, slide your hands down, palms facing out.  Inexorably, you push down, arms akimbo.  You’re afraid.  You touch something sticky.  You remember the foot.  It is disconnected, and you’re really looking down now, you know if you look up, look up at the wall, you will see the face of the man it belongs to.  You know he will be smiling, lips pulled back framing crooked teeth. 

Lost in these thoughts, you stop.  You’re in front of the couch again.  The foot is sticking out from under the couch.  Out from under the couch.  Why?  You slowly crouch down.  It’s an exercise to see how slowly you can move, not make noise.  So quiet you can hear the joints in your knees groaning.  The foot is always there.  What’s under that couch?  You slip onto your knees, and then onto your hands.  A noise behind you.  The foot?

You walk into the room and see an old couch, God, what a piece of trash.  Burns and stains.  You close the door, but you struggle against the warped frame.  The bolt slips into his housing.  Finished, straightforward, case closed.  Door closed.

“And that’s it.” 

“That’s it?”

“The whole dream.  Almost a nightmare, I guess.  You can’t tell me how you arrived or why, but you were in front of that couch in that house.”

“What does it mean?”

................

So yeah, I'll probably be doing another Lynch marathon in the future, and watch for when I finish my post.  It should explain everything.  And by everything I mean nothing.  

Because I Couldn't Put It Any Better Myself

In my last post, I referred to cloud computing and I realize I gave a less than satisfactory explanation.  Sorry!

This excellent article from the Opera portal explains everything in a handy dandy, non-techy style.  The author uses starting a small business as his example, and I'll be honest, who cares, but you get all the good details.

Oh and check out this girl's Tumblr- http://thisisappalling.tumblr.com/.  Love her style and her GIFs.

Cloudy with a chance of Photoshop

In today's post I want to share my excitement about some great new software.  Some of it I plan on using to make my blog more fun and engaging.  Fear not, luddites, this could be of use to you.

The first application I want to talk about is called CloudApp.  This great app (Mac only, sorry Windows users) allows you to quickly upload files from your computer to the cloud.  

First, what is the cloud?  I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the concept, but basically it allows for greater data sharing, faster data access and greater power for mobile technology.  Yes, I'm drooling right now.  This website has five great videos explaining the cloud.  I like to think about it this way:  many of those great apps for your iPhone or various Android powered phone use the cloud to overcome the limitations of your hardware.

Okay, before I stray into territory that I can't quite explain, I'll simply talk about CloudApp.  When you upload the file from your Mac to the cloud, it is backed up by Amazon's Simple Service Storage and saved multiple times, completely safe.  That's pretty cool.  Your file is also given a unique URL that you can copy and paste anywhere for other people to download.  For example, in iTunes I simply highlight the desired song, hit the hot key (for me it's Shift+Alt+Command+Up) and it immediately starts to upload.  A few seconds later I have a URL that I can paste on Facebook and the song is instantly available.  

Try this:  Four Hours in Washington.  Great song, by the way.

This is my personal screen.  I've only been messing around with it for a day, but it works just like I would expect it to.

It is also a really awesome way to create screen caps.  I simply hit Shift+Command+4, make my selection, and the picture is uploaded automatically.  Then I have a downloadable URL at my disposal.  Should make my job easier on here and make me more able to share music and ideas.

Next is a program everyone is familiar with- Photoshop.  But not only do I have Photoshop, but I also have the entire Adobe Create Suite 5.  Oh yes.  

Really, I don't have terribly much to say except that I can't use probably 90% of the power here.  I'll need to hop on some tutorials as soon as possible.  Especially for the new Photoshop, because I used to be fairly accomplished at CS4.  Maybe I'll learn to use Dreamweaver and finally eschew the crap that is Blogger.  C'mon Blogger, you are a tool for multimedia expression; learn to handle multiple media!  

                                       

This is what I see when I open my Applications folder.  Be very jealous.  And a little afraid.

Lastly, and this is something I'm very excited for... Starcraft II will be released July 27th.  

                                     

I want to stress how huge this is-  I was raised on the first Starcraft and have waited many long years for this one.  For those of you who don't know what Starcraft is, expect some updates in the next couple days and then a lengthy post once it's released.  I'll make it entertaining between all the glowing adjectives.  Maybe try out some videos, screen caps... I'll be holed up for a few days.

"Inception": A Review Within A Blog

Was Inception better live?  Silly question, given the medium, but yes.  Oh God yes.

Don't worry, Cobb, your crazy problems don't bother me

Never have I ever walked out of a theater feeling so satisfied and fulfilled.  The action, the dialogue, the cinematography, the vision, the crowd experience, the sour skittles (how you burn my tongue)… wonderful. 

I usually choose to pick on some aspect of a movie.  Some obvious plot hole, a glaring omission in thought process, something that gives me an itch to scratch, but this time… oh no.  Not for Inception. 

Now, I’m not some rabid fanboy, suckling at Nolan’s teat (although come to think of it, Memento and Dark Knight are among my very favorite movies…).  I’m sure if I watched the movie again I could point out a few issues.  But the rest of this blog will be nothing but gushing and cooing.  Sorry, film elitists, but sometimes a boy’s gotta express himself.

First off, what an attractive and well put-together lead cast.  Leo?  A no-brainer.  Joseph Gordon-Levitt?  Plays an awesome action hero.  Intelligent and calculating, reminded me of Daniel Craig's Bond.  Then there's Tom Hardy, who hasn't had too many lead roles, but plays the wise-cracking tough guy like he was born into the role.  Christopher Nolan once again taps the talents of Cillian Murphy who has the chops to casually mention his $10 million insurance from kidnapping and make it seem natural.  Out of the primarily male cast, Marion Cotillard and Ellen Page stand out prominently.  Page is adorable as ever, but Cotillard manages to evoke that crazy heavy-lidded sensuality that she procured in La Vie En Rose.

She doesn't need a gun to stop me in my tracks.  Just sayin'

And the action.  The most beautiful fights scenes ever choreographed (okay, forgetting classics like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon)… I could weep for the inventiveness.  I’m sorry, but a zero-g fight like that will be hard to top.  Also, the car chases are straight out of Dark Knight scenes, but I don't care, Nolan practically made the car chase relevant again.

Also, I've read that Inception is "Kubrickian" and I feel that statement must be referring to The Killing, which I mentioned in my previous blog.  Both are perfect heist films, but Nolan eschews Kubricks taut dialogue and still camera shots and instead uses inventive movie magic and clever timing to keep the audience on the edge of its seat.

Overall, it's the perfect summer movie.  It's the big-budget thriller that appeals to a huge audience- Appealing cast, excellent action from a director known to deliver the goods, thought-provoking dialogue on dreams, and an ending that keeps you guessing.  Ebert pointed out that the film will be discussed on the internet for ages to come and that's what makes it so great.

Oh, and the audience... dead quiet for two and a half hours up until the very last moment when we all erupted with the same response.  Perfect.  HNNNGG

And for those who didn't like the score.... BRAHHHHH BRAHHHH.

Rain or Shine, Make Up Your Mind!

Before you start reading, load this youtube video and listen.  





Due to the past few days of finicky, irritating weather, I have elected to stay inside where the air is a regulated 72 degrees.  And during these past few days, I've done a lot of reading and watched a lot of movies.  Here's what I accomplished:


Finished reading the Harry Potter series.  Nothing remarkable here, just continuing the tradition of the summer read-through.  I have determined that the third book is the best in the series, hands down.  The tone of the series starts trending toward darker themes (although some could argue that the extinction of mudbloods in book two is pretty hardcore) and the story stands on its own quite well.  The plot twists are gripping and the characters believable.  I'm pretty sure every other fan wishes they could read the series as if for the first time.  Obliviate!


It's not quite the same, but I'm almost done watching the Harry Potter movies, too.  Damn, they suck.  I probably could have avoided disappointment had I watched the movies and then read the books, but it's impossible not to compare the gaping flaws in the movies to the books.

Masters of ruining a beloved childhood tale.  The four most ironic smiles I've ever seen

I also did more than reading children's books.  I finished The Great Railway Bazaar by the master, and arguably the inventor, of the travelogue, Paul Theroux.  

                                                          

He travels from London, into Turkey, across Asia, over to Japan, back across Siberia, and back into London over three months, using railways as much as possible.  He recounts the entire tale with sharp observations, a keen sense of humor, and a traveler's intuition.  The man can write.  I've always wanted to travel to Asia, but this book made me ache with desire for an adventure via railway.  

In movies, I watched She's Out of My League.  It's an exercise in formulaic movie-making, and nearly the definition of bland.  It has its moments- Jay Baruchel plays an endearing, almost painfully shy young man named Kirk who is genuinely easy to root for.  His best friend, Stainer (played by the poor man's Seth Rogan, T.J. Miller) is a delightful asshole who pushes the plot forward, but in a very funny way.  Unfortunately, the movie seems a little disconnected at times.  Kirk and his unlikely hottie girlfriend (I think he used Sparkling eyes technique.  If you get that reference, high five) go through the paces of a comedy movie, but the real stars are Stainer and Patty, the respective friends.  They stand outside the storyline (and sometimes out of the realm of social norm), while Kirk and Molly (the hard 10) are trapped in a circle of hell, destined to awkward situations and the peer pressure of their friends.  Anyway... this mini-review was still too long for a movie this inconsequential.

I also watched The Killing, but Stanley Kubrick.  You could say I have a bit of a crush on Kubrick.  This is one of his earliest films, in his black and white era.  I'm not going to touch it with a review.  I will say that it's one of the finest heist films of all times and it influenced Tarantino when he made Pulp Fiction.  That should be all you need to know, anyway.  So go watch it.  Now.

Now, for that song I made you listen to.  St. Germain is the pseudonym of Ludovic Navarre, French electro-jazz musician.  And it's a truly wonderful experience.  Sorry about the terrible quality of the Youtube video, a good version can evoke visions of a night time stroll along a lit waterway.  No homo.

Little Monsters in the Big Apple Carnival

So.  Yours truly went to New York City and waited with thousands of others for the chance to see Lady Gaga perform on the Today Show.

There's more to the story, of course.  Around 3 pm, Thursday, a friend of mine, Lauren Hank, asked me to go up to New York to wait in line.  Her appeal was the promise of never-ending love and adoration, but she was being silly.  I expect those things anyway.

I enjoy Lady Gaga, but not to extent of waiting almost 12 hours with the "hope" of seeing her perform.  So I went for my friend and for the experience.  Turns out, it was kind of worth it.

We drove to Jersey City and took the Path up to the city.  I could have sworn Ryan Howard was on the same car as us.  Too bad that wouldn't make sense.  He looked JUST LIKE HIM.  Really.

The Path dumped us into the city around 8:30 and we were in immediate pursuit of the sound of screaming fans and the many clicking of flashbulbs.  Off to Rockefeller Plaza!  We heard the roar first, the unified noise of a happy crowd.

Our quarry greeted us like a many headed beast of Dorothy.  That is, thousands of gay men and screaming girls, Lady Gaga's main fan base.  We walked past each row, staring at the waiting fans.  They stared back through the bars of the barricades, lost little monsters in the Big Apple Carnival.  They had their gear strewn about, all necessary equipment for a marathon queuing session.  Blankets, cards, empty pizza boxes, water bottles, headphones, spilled out of bags torn open in careless haste.  The buzz and air was like that of a giant camping party.  Friends were made in an instance over card games and a shared pizza, group shots were taken, and the night was just starting.  Some of these people had already been in line for hours before we arrived.  Oh God, the headache was just beginning.

We plunked down near the end of the block and examined our chances of getting to see Lady Gaga in the morning.  Here's what we saw-

Now multiply that by a few hundred and you're almost there.  Also, add a third row between poofy afro kid and the caution tape behind him.  For a whole block.  I had no idea what would happen, but I was feeling adventurous.  

From 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., the night felt like one big slumber party.  Lauren and I played cards with our line neighbors, gulped down energy drinks and told our life stories, painted our nails... oh no, that was the guys near us.  The fumes made me high and I got confused.  The NYC traffic flowed past, slowed down in the wee hours, but never actually stopped.  It really is the city that never sleeps, and we were a part of it.

A few times I walked around the corner to watch the line grow behind us to a ludicrous length.  It stretched 5 feet wide for more from 48th street to 52nd.  The worst part is?  None of those people got in.  Ouch.  Here's Times Square at 3 a.m.  Just from the corner to McDonald's, I was offered coke twice.  Oh New York, you naughty city.  

                            

                                               

The energy of the line went from screaming cheerleaders to aerobics at the assisted living home.  The guy a row over kept trying to sing Gaga songs, getting a line through and then leaning his head back against the barricade.  Give it up, man.  I was getting pretty haggard as the night dragged on, but I never fell asleep.  I thank Lauren for her enthusiasm.

When the sun started coming up, so did the line.  Weary heads started popping up, the make up was smeared from sweat and makeshift pillows, the hair was a mess, but everyone was smiling.  Just a couple hours!  I just wanted a change of scenery.

                                       

                                              

Man!  Look at that ginger's jaw!  Could cut a hand off.  He was looking for a wristband, and I'm not sure if he found one, but he managed to sneak in.

Once security started letting people in, tempers started flaring up.  Never have I heard such vitriolic gay sass.  It was like "Will & Grace" went to the prison in "Oz".  A couple guys were actually barred from the performance for mouthing off to a security organizer.  Oh, they were just SO mad, like oh ehm gee.

As it turns out, I was the last person let in, along with a girl.  We were feeling pretty "meh" about Lady Gaga at that point.  But hell, I was there, and this was some bloggable stuff.  I was pretty far back in the crowd, and could hardly see Lady Gaga.  Thankfully, I was taller than most of the people and could see a short blond prancing around on stage, warming up and throwing around rehearsal directions.  She sang an excellent version of Someone to Watch Over Me and I was happy with that.  Also, this adorable Asian woman shirked her duties for an awesome view of the stage.

It was also easy to tell when Lady Gaga would start to do something on stage, because this is all I saw:

Everybody, quick!  Compulsively capture every single moment on camera and shaky Handycam videos!  Jesus, buy a new memory or something.  These antics, combined with my backpack and headache were making it harder and harder to wait for the actual performance.  I did get one shot of her, though:

Sweet moment, but seriously... COOL ARM, HANSEL.  Christ!  I finally cracked and left Lauren to find a bathroom to change clothing in.  I came to the Starbucks on Madison with the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen.  Clean, dry, and enormous.  I took my sweet time, savoring the dry and fresh smelling clothing.  I bought an iced coffee and went to the steps of St. Patrick's cathedral, from where I could still hear the performance.  As an added bonus, I avoided the freak torrential downpour.  

I think the rest of the day was spent at the Met and eating at Chipotle, but honestly, my body was just too tired to soak in memories.  But I can say that Lady Gaga is better live.  

I think in order to rescue my tattered masculinity I'm going to hunt buffalo using my tickets to see the Black Keys as knives.  And then use the bones as weapons to hunt some dinosaurs.  

Also, by the time I went to bed, I had been awake for nearly 36 hours.  Never, never again.