By way of research, I've been re-reading Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. I first read this book when I was thirteen, the same age as the two protagonists, and I've loved it ever since.
It seemed to be the perfect example of what I'm trying to do with my own novel. I remembered it as being a dark and delicious children's horror novel that didn't skimp on the scares.
It is in no way Lovecraftian horror, but it concerns a carnival run by Mr. Dark, and Ray Bradbury's first book was called Dark Carnival and was published by Arkham House, who were set up specifically to bring Lovecraft's works into print. So that's a connection too.
Re-reading it now, I find that this is a very adult horror novel about the loss of innocence that comes with puberty, and the reclaiming of innocence that can come with old age. I had previously re-read the book while in my mid 20s, and didn't pick up on it then.
I know a lot of people about 6 or 7 years younger than me, and I keep having to mentally adjust slightly to take into account things I get that they don't just because of life experience. It's weird to find that I can do the same thing with my past selves!
Since the 1960s, it seems that movies have broken pretty much every taboo worth breaking.
Physically, the outside and inside of all kinds of human (and other) bodies have been explored in all kinds of sexual and/or violent activity.
Socially, every perversion, foible or weirdness has been examined.
Politically, every strata has been represented, misrepresented, exploited, exposed, hidden, sublimated and subverted.
Mentally, every personality type has been explored, dissected, exploded, adjusted, swapped and abused.
Sexually, everything from homosexuality to coporophilia, foot fetishism, incest, beastiality, furry fandom, sadomasochism, and even heterosexuality has been pronged.
Racism, sexism, ageism, sizeism, and every other kind of ism has been mocked, celebrated and ignored.
In fact, Takashi Miike and Jess Franco have each busted all of these taboos. Sometimes in a single movie. (mmmmm, Visitor Q, yummy.)
So... What taboos remain unchallenged? Any at all?
Where has cinema dared to never go?
Anyone?
The DVD "revolution" has been a boon for fans of Euro-horror. Almost Mario Bava's complete filmography is finally available uncut, remastered, and in its original aspect ratio, so finally this forgotten master of world cinema is getting his due. All but two of Dario Argento's filmography is now easily obtainable in pristine editions.
As we trickle down the list, we get uncut and remastered Lucio Fulci, Sergio Martino, Ruggero Deodato, Umberto Lenzi, and even bottom-feeders like Bruno Mattei and Joe D'Amato are getting decent releases. The Criterion Collection has released Georges Franju's poetic Eyes Without A Face. Even Jesus Franco, long mis-judged as the worst filmmaker in the world (and naturally, one of my absolute favourites) has dozens of his 150+ films out on nice DVD packages.
Even in Australasia we've got some surprising releases. Here are three of the latest, though hardly three of the best.
The Cat O' Nine Tails is Dario Argento's second movie as director. I've only been able to see this previously as a mega-grainy and much too dark pan & scan VHS with over 20 minutes cut out. In its full 2.35:1 ratio and with a clear transfer, it's like watching a different movie. Karl Malden plays a blind crossword puzzle creator and former journalist who gets drawn into a fiendish plot involving multiple murders and a medical clinic doing top-secret research.
It's a giallo, but an unusual one: the protagonist is male, as are most of the victims; there's no black leather gloves or raincoats; the psycho-sexual aspect of the story is downplayed; even most of the gore is relatively restrained, when compared with contemporary gialli like Sergio Martino's The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh or Mario Bava's Twitch of the Death Nerve. It's still good fun.
The DVD is in great shape (for the first time I could decipher what's happening during the credits sequence), though a bit light on extra features. It's released by Umbrella and it's got that same bloody "An Eye For Horror" doco that every other Argento movie they've released has - I've got five copies of the damned thing now. A few trailers etc. round things out, but the movie's the thing.
Manhattan Baby was available on VHS as Possessed locally years ago. Heavy on atmosphere and light on gore (and plot, as usual), it highlights a direction Lucio Fulci would probably have taken if his producers hadn't had a spaz over this movie. It's one of Fulci's least popular, so naturally it's always been one of my favourites.
An archaeologist is blinded by a mysterious laser beam in a pyramid in Egypt. His young daughter is given a scary amulet which slowly possesses her and allows her to travel to the Egyptian desert - and to transport unwary others there. Her brother is played by the same creepy kid from The House By the Cemetary. There are eye motifs everywhere (though not much eyeball violence for one). The music, by Fulci's then-regular composer Fabio Frizzi, largely seems to repeat the score from The Beyond.
The movie is rated R18 - contains graphic violence and sexual violence. This is absolute rubbish. There's no sexual violence, almost no violence of any kind, and I'd rate it M and let kids watch it if they wanted (though they'd probably be bored). The DVD is good quality, but almost extras-free.
The New York Ripper was made by Fulci around the same time as Manhattan Baby and is notorious as a misogynistic gore-fest giallo where a killer with a Donald Duck voice massacres "loose women". That pretty much sums it up. If you don't want to see razors put through nipples and eyeballs (even I squealed during that bit), avoid this movie.
It's well made, as far as that goes, with good special effects and photography, though the latter suffers from the absence of Fulci's then-regular cinematographer Sergio Salvati. Composer Fabio Frizzi is also missed. Some of the performances seem to be quite good, terrible dubbing aside.
Zora Kerova actually gets a more horrible death scene here than she did in Make Them Die Slowly, believe it or not. Daniela Doria, as usual, gets the worst treatment. I was unable to spot the gorgeous Barbara Cupisti (from Stage Fright, The Church, and Dellamorte Dellamore, among others) anywhere in the movie despite her credit.
I doubt I can recommend this DVD to anyone, but the transfer is first rate. Extras are a trailer and a few stills in a slideshow.
Both Manhattan Baby and The New York Ripper are released by Stomp Visual, a bit of a new kid on the block. They've also imported a number of prime Blue Underground dvds, including Snuff and Fight For Your Life, so they're clearly exploitation hounds after my own heart. I hope they stick around!
Neko Case, in this interview:
"When I think about Jackie Wilson or the Platters and then I think about modern, Top 40 music that's really horrible, it makes me mad. Singing isn't important anymore. I'm not a genius-- if I had been around during the time of Jackie Wilson or Rosemary Clooney or Patsy Cline, I would be shit. I would be singing in some bar somewhere for $5 a week and that's as far as I would ever go. But I'm living now and I write songs, it's different. There's some part about the craft of singing-- craft is too important of a word, I hate that word but I just used it anyway-- in a lot of places, it hasn't really made it. It's not to do with the people who are doing it as much as the people who are producing it. There's technology like auto tune and pitch shifting so you don't have to know how to sing. That shit sounds like shit! It's like that taste in diet soda, I can taste it-- and it makes me sick.
"When I hear auto tune on somebody's voice, I don't take them seriously. Or you hear somebody like Alicia Keys, who I know is pretty good, and you'll hear a little bit of auto tune and you're like, "You're too fucking good for that. Why would you let them do that to you? Don't you know what that means?" It's not an effect like people try to say, it's for people like Shania Twain who can't sing. Yet there they are, all over the radio, jizzing saccharine all over you. It's a horrible sound and it's like, "Shania, spend an extra hour in the studio and you'll hit the note and it'll sound fine. Just work on it, it's not like making a burger!"
"...She's so rich she could get somebody else to do the other stuff while she spends that extra hour in the studio. Or Madonna! Just hit the note! Don't pretend it's William Orbit being crafty-- we know you're not hitting the note because you have other shit to do. You can do it, I have faith in you. But don't leave the studio before you hit that fucking note. And you know what? When you do hit it you're going to feel so much more valid that it'll come through in all the other shit you're supposed to be doing later in the day. Seriously!
"And if Celine Dion is supposedly the great singer that she says she is why is there auto tune on every fucking word in her songs? Can't you just hit it, Celine? Do you have another baby book to shoot? You gotta paint your baby to look like a pot of peas? What are you doing that you can't be singing in the studio? It's your fucking job!
"...I'm not a perfect note hitter either but I'm not going to cover it up with auto tune. Everybody uses it, too. I once asked a studio guy in Toronto, "How many people don't use auto tune?" and he said, "You and Nelly Furtado are the only two people who've never used it in here." Even though I'm not into Nelly Furtado, it kind of made me respect her. It's cool that she has some integrity."
"Don't start an argument with somebody who has a microphone when you don't. They'll make you look like chopped liver."
-- Harlan Ellison
Hey. Guess what?
I can't make it to the Hills Have Eyes tomorrow due to prior engagements.
Just as well none of you motherf**kers wants to go with me1. *sniffle* Guess I'll go tonight instead, all by my widdle self!
Yes, go with me.
So... Does anyone want to knock off work early tomorrow and go see The Hills Have Eyes remake at Regent Manners? It's on at 4:30pm.
Or even better - don't go to work at all!
*sings* Let's take the whole day off! (ba ba ba ba, ba ba!)
I doubt the movie will be as good as the 1977 original, which is still Wes Craven's best, but it's probably more violent. Yay for violence in movies! We love it.
Pearce might have blasted the dude's second band's album, but I've been listening to quite a bit of Michael Franti lately and he's pretty awesome.
I'm real curious to see his movie. Here's an interview with him where he talks about it. It's a documentary about travelling through the Middle East, singing and playing and activist-ing.
I love how the guy manages to write very politically relevant music and come across as sweet and caring and kind, rather than didactic and angry and self-righteous. I've long felt that preaching from on high is a good way to alienate people from your message, and Franti seems to have learned this a long time ago.
I know a lot of well-meaning people who could learn from this. Shit, I'm one of them. So are you, probably. It's hard not to preach, it's hard not to feel like you know better than anyone else. But most people I know (including myself) have difficulty maintaining civil relationships with the people we know and love, so what the fuck makes us think we know the way the world "should" work?
It's Franti's vulnerability - and his willingness to expose and express it - that makes him so beautiful. I'm not one for role models, but this guy is pretty awesome. Don't you think?
Pearce is feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm taking over for a while.
You wack-ass niggaz.
is here.
Kaufman founded & runs the notorious grindhouse production company Troma, of Toxic Avenger and Surf Nazis Must Die fame. His movies are dreadful, but the man himself is a lot smarter than he's usually given credit for.
This review of the most disturbing and troubling movie I have ever seen is the best justification for Kaufman's existence I've found.
As enthusiastic as the review is, I doubt it'll make you want to see the movie. Unless you're a complete freak of course.
Yes it is 23/05 on the heathen calender today. Hail Eris! All Hail Discordia!
Only good vibes allowed today.
Blink is a book by journalist and (according to the blurb) "original thinker" Malcolm Gladwell about snap decisions. It's one of those non-fiction books that lies somewhere between pop cognitive psychology, self-help, general interest, and "ain't life a hoot?" and could potentially sell very well.
It's very well written, and very much in the anecdotal journalism school of non-fiction. Gladwell has a general thesis that snap judgements can be very useful if used properly, and provides plenty of juicy examples of how they have been put to use and (crucially) how they have been massively - even tragically and catastophically - mis-judged.
It's about how we make these snap decisions, which makes it essential reading for what may be a non-obvious reason: it is quite likely to become a textbook for people who want to exploit our decision making processes, particularly advertising gurus.1
The book has been, in my opinion, mistakenly criticized by some who claim that it's about how snap judgements are better than reasoned, thought-out decisions. It is true that Gladwell is maybe a little too in love with his own ideas, but that's natural in any book of this sort. It's also true that there are plenty of examples of how over-thinking something can create problems in some circumstances.
It's also full of examples of where snap judgements fail, some possible reasons why they fail, and how reasoned, thought-out processes and study can refine and enhance snap judgements.
Most of all it is tremendously entertaining. I reckon that the chapter on pre-Iraq war games makes the whole book worth reading on its own. Likewise the chapter on the killing of Amadou Diallo (a black man who was shot 41 times by police for running away from big white men with guns who mistook his wallet for a gun), which is the best account of this tragedy - memorialized in the song "41 Shots" by Bruce Springsteen - that I have read. Further examples range from marriage counselling to radio playlists.
I'd highly recommend this book, probably not as a buyer but definitely as a borrower. Take it with a pinch of salt naturally, but try and learn some of the ad industry lessons.
1. Or, as I like to call them, the scum of the earth.
Dreamed my mouth was full of broken glass. Lovely, huh?
Wish I knew why I've been having so many nightmares.
""There are my 'Poe' pieces and my 'Dunsany pieces' — but alas — where are my Lovecraft pieces?"
- H.P. Lovecraft
And he was one of the most influential and distinctive writers of the 20th century. Hm.
عبدالله الحظرد
Say what you like about Bleeding Hearts and Naivety and Idealism.
At least the Left is not motivated by Bigotry, Greed and Hatred.
The Right is.
So I'm gonna play their game and demonize THEM.
Nyah-nyah, Right-Wingers. You all suck.
I mock how the Right is so often associated with Wealth and with Christianity, when Jesus told us to take what we have and to give it to the poor. Did all that shit about rich men and camels and needles and the Kingdom of HeavenTM not sink into your sponge-like brains?
If you were right about God you'd go to Hell. But you're WRONG because God is about as real as the Easter Bunny, you gullible fucks. You are all sooooo stupid believing that garbage.
You're also anti-Semetic - don't you know Arabs are as Semetic as Israelis? Like I said - "sooooo stupid."
You call the Left naive, then behave as if the market is a law of nature instead of a model invented quite recently by people. I hope you fucking die.
Right, that's out of my system for another year. It's not like any right-wingers read this site anyway. Wherefore art thou, Rodney Hide?
Stolen from David's blog.
There's a spoiler for Edward Scissorhands.
What film made you angry, either while watching it or in thinking about it afterward?
The Spanish Prisoner.
Favorite sidekick
Kurt Russell in Big Trouble In Little China.
One of your favorite movie lines
"Prepare the gorilla!" - Night of the Bloody Apes
William Holden or Burt Lancaster?
Burt Lancaster.
Describe a perfect moment in a movie
"Happy New Year!" in When Harry Met Sally. (I doubt anyone else gets this.)
Favorite John Ford movie
The Man Who Shot Libery Valance.
inverse of a question from the last quiz: What film artist (director, actor, screenwriter, whatever) has the least-deserved good reputation, artistically speaking. And who would you replace him/her with on that pedestal?
Jim Carrey should be replaced by Bruce Campbell.
Barbara Stanwyck or Ida Lupino?
Ida Lupino. Fer sure.
Showgirls-- yes or no?
Yes. Yes! YES!!
Most exotic or otherwise unusual place in which you ever saw a movie
In a graveyard. Not terribly exotic.
Favorite Robert Altman movie
Popeye.
Best argument for allowing rock stars to participate in the making of movies
Purple Rain.
Describe a transcendent moment in a film (a moment when you realized a film that just seemed routine or merely interesting before had become become something much more)
When Vincent Price dies towards the end of Edward Scissorhands. My opinion of the whole movie changed retrospectively because of that scene.
Gina Gershon or Jennifer Tilly?
Gina Gershon.
Favorite Frank Capra movie
Arsenic and Old Lace.
The scene you most wish you could have witnessed being filmed
John Cassavettes punching Ronald Reagan in The Killers.
Robert Ryan or Richard Widmark?
Robert Ryan.
Name a movie that inspired you to walk out before it was finished
Liquid Sky.
Favorite political movie
Patu.
Your favorite movie poster/one-sheet, or the one you'd most like to own
Frankenhooker.
Jeff Bridges or Jeff Goldblum?
Goldblum, for The Fly and Buckaroo Banzai.
Favorite Ken Russell movie
Crimes of Passion.
Accepting the conventional wisdom that 1970-1975 marked a golden age of American filmmaking in which artistic ambition and popular acceptance were not mutually exclusive, what for you was this golden age's high point? (Could be a movie, a trend, the emergence of a star, whatever)
Behind the Green Door.
Grace Kelly or Ava Gardner?
DEFINITELY Grace Kelly! I went to Dial M For Murder just to see her in 3D.
With total disregard for whether it would ever actually be considered, even in this age of movie recycling, what film exists that you feel might actually warrant a sequel, or would produce a sequel you'd actually be interested in seeing?
Friday the 13th Part 12.
Quick poll:
I set out to write a Lovecraftian children's horror novel. What I've written so far could not possibly be published as a novel for children.
No matter what I decide to do, a major rewrite is necessary.
Knowing only this, please leave a comment choosing one of the following two options:
1/ Re-write it as a grown-up horror novel
2/ Re-write it as a children's horror novel
I'll probably ignore the poll results, but it'd be interesting to know what people think. And no, I won't tell you anything else about it at this stage.
This sort of mixtape is usually put together up a wannabe-rapper as a demo. It involves jacking their favourite beats and rapping over them.
So what are we to make of a superstar producer turned solo artist who puts out one of these things right before his major-label debut solo album comes out? Is Pharrell trying for indie/underground cred?
I noticed beats here from the Wu-Tang Clan (Brooklyn Zoo, Liquid Swords, Incarcerated Scarfaces), Rakim (Paid In Full), Mos Def & Talib Kweli (Fortified Live), and even Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five (The Message -- or was it that Check yo Self remix by Ice Cube? might be, Pharrell references the lyrics).
It's pretty weird hearing a guy known for his super-polished commercial-but-experimental beats trying to MC over these old-school joints. He's really got nothing to say, and he sounds like he's reading it all off a bit of paper.
The between-song skits are especially lame, though the self-mocking attitude helps a bit. The bragging about money gets old real fast.
Despite all this, I'm still hanging out for the actual album. It's supposed to drop in June now, but it's been delayed so many times who the fuck knows if it'll ever come out?
Oh yeah -- no idea who DJ Drama is, but I'm still not sure if his scratching technique is the world's worst, or if he just keeps knocking the turntable by accident and left those mistakes in. Either way he sucks. I guess that's part of the underground cred thing. Pharrell would have been better off bringing in Nigga Nilez or somebody.
I've been thinking about sexiness, and my own responses to it. I've discovered that one of the sexiest things to watch in a movie is kissing. I think I've quantified exactly why I find it such a turn-on.
First of all, when you get down to it kissing is hardcore. There's no faking it unless the couple is in long-shot or their faces are obscured, and it's usually right there in close-up. So we've got the turn-on of two people actually doing the deed.
Second, and perhaps more important, the kinds of kissing that I like best (in real life and in movies) are tender. Like all men I have seen more than my share of hardcore pornography, and like many men it mostly leaves me cold. Thinking about kissing helped me work out why: almost every sexual preference is showcased in porn except for tenderness.
So we've got two people - usually attractive, movies being what they are - indulging in unsimulated tenderness. It turns me on. (But don't get me wrong. I'm only dancing.)
I could go into more detail into exactly what kinds of kissing I like best, and what I like about them, and what sorts of lips I prefer to kiss, and what it is that I like about a woman with a little bit of delicate hair on her upper lip... but standing up from my desk afterwards would be embarrassing so I'll leave that for another day.
More deep thoughts tomorrow.
My current dilemma is: should my next Classic Albums review be:
* Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) by Wu-Tang Clan (1993);
* Adult Themes for Voice by Mike Patton (1996);
* American Recordings by Johnny Cash (1994);
* Niggamortis by Gravediggaz (1994); or
* H.P. Lovecraft by H.P. Lovecraft (1967)
?
They are all so similar, I just can't choose!
Oh what a difficult and challenging life I lead. And now I need to choose what to have for lunch. *shudder* Will these trials and challenges never end?
The Rumpus was awesome. It more than made up for any disappointments I may have had this weekend. Big kudos to Morgue & Damon for managing to lure hundreds of people to god-forsaken Petone on a freezing night.
Unsolicited advice re: disappointments boiled down to boys saying "you should give up" and girls saying "you should be a man and see it through." I laugh at your puny suggestions and go my own way, as always.
It's fucking Friday. It's been a fucking shit day at work and I'm fucking fucked off with the fucker. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a fuck!
But... tomorrow is another fucking day!
and other lame jokes. Just started watching the show Deadwood on dvd.
My thoughts so far:
"Yes! This is how to make a western tv show! Though I don't buy the guy who played Lovejoy as being the hardest and scariest bastard in the land; and Keith Carradine looks like he wandered in from a different show."
you and me are a disease and the germs are spreading
use me like listerine, keeping your breath fresher
feel the stroke of your paintbrush, my blank sheet of paper
i'm your book of the month, read the fine print later
we'll invent new four letter words
you are the bitter, i am the sweet
run through the fields, sing with the birds
you are the griddle, i am the meat
i'll turn you on like the electric company
you are the bitter, i am the sweet
flick on the switch and light your pilot light
you are the griddle, i am the meat
you and me are a disease and the germs are spreading
use me like listerine, keeping your breath fresher
feel the stroke of your paintbrush, my blank sheet of paper
i'm your book of the month, read the fine print later
we'll laugh away our golden years
you are the bitter, i am the sweet
we'll line the clouds with silver tears
you are the griddle, i am the meat
you and me are a disease and the germs are spreading
use me like listerine, keeping your breath fresher
feel the stroke of your paintbrush, my blank sheet of paper
i'm your book of the month, read the fine print later
you and me are a disease and the germs are spreading
use me like listerine, keeping your breath fresher
feel the stroke of your paintbrush, my blank sheet of paper
i'm your book of the month, read the fine print later
you are the bitter, i am the sweet
you are the griddle, i am the meat
you are the trick, i am the treat
you are the circus, i am the freak
you are the bitter, i am the sweet
you are the griddle, i am the meat
you are the trick, i am the treat
you are the circus, i am the freak
- Lovage, "Book fo the Month"
This story courtesy of Morgue.
Posted here because Jason Mewes's sober birthday is the same day as my actual birthday -- April 6. And because I haven't made nearly enough blog entries today.
You should all be reading Morgue's blog already, it's better than mine.
The greatest novel ever written has never received the acclaim that it deserves, because it was made into a very popular movie that trivialized it. This movie was followed by a sequel which was even more popular, and which turned the main character into a cardboard cut-out. When people think of the title and the character, they think of the movies (and the second sequel) and have no idea that it was all begun in the greatest novel ever written.
The novel tells the story of a young man in the late '60s who outwardly resembles most young men of his generation: long-haired, bearded, unkempt, smelly. Just another hippy, it would seem. He drifts from place to place and noone will give him the time of day, and the cops are dead set on moving him on from their nice clean towns.
Except this young man is nothing like most of his generation. He has just lived through the nightmare of the Vietnam war, where he has been captured and imprisoned and has freed himself and has emerged as a enarly peerless killing machine. This is the story of what happens when he finally meets another man who understands him -- a cop, as it happens. The cop refuses to help him, and the young man decides enough is enough and he takes a stand.
What follows becomes one of the most effective and disturbing horror stories I have ever read.
I'm talking about First Blood by David Morrell. The character, of course, is John Rambo. The book is an absolute masterpiece of tension. The characters are brilliantly portrayed, in a manner that Sylvester Stallone could never approach. John Rambo is not a hero by any means, and he is not completely a villain, and the moral ambiguity that runs through the novel is as sweat-inducing as the violence and suspense.
David Morrell went on to write a number of other books, most of which have titles like The Brotherhood of the Rose and The Fifth Profession. They are international espionage books, and although they maintain a similar level of tension and excellence, they have never really grabbed me simply because I do not care about the subject matter.
Morrell's first two books (the other is Testament) are soul-crushingly good. His short stories, mostly straight-up horror, are similarly superb.
If you have never read First Blood, I can't blame you because the Rambo movies, apart from being turned 180o from the book thematically, do not give any indication of how good the book is. I have given you this indication now. Any good library or used book shop has a copy.
Get it now. Read it immediately. Then come back here and tell me what you think.
is does Marama read this thing?
Marama, leave a comment if you read this. If you don't read it, send an email.
You must attend this on Saturday.
No exceptions, even for overseas people.
I can't remember the last time I had such a frightening nightmare.
I was examining a Cthulhu-mythos rock opera album filled with beautiful line drawing by Tom Waits of nameless fiends and atrocities, when I realised that it was all a true story and I was living in the middle of it. A many-mouthed tentacled beast attacked!
As Wellington is a city of endless canals and underground tunnels, I hopped on a boat to escape and went to visit a friend's father. He turned out to be a hundred-foot-high monster who bit people's heads off. Luckily the IT guy from my work had a plastic gadget about two feet in circumference that two people could drive across the water, so we sped off into a maze of underground tunnels.
We took a wrong turn somewhere and had to go back, and ended up face to face with head-eatin' Dad, at which point I awoke with the kind of fear that made me not want to roll over and look behind me in case the monsters from my dream were in the room, something I haven't experienced for years.
Yeah I know, other people's dreams are boring. If this one had been one of my usual more lucid dreams, I could have either bent forwards and run off on my hands at incredible speeds, or else flown off into the sky for an aerial view of my old school. Unfortunately I was too scared for that.
The end... or is it? Drive home safely.
Working in Payroll means that I get to see all the bizarre things people put on their employment forms. Things like "Next of Kin: the mother of my child and the love of my life." My personal favourite was "Nationality: Citizen of the world."
I just got one that had "Nationality: First Nation" -- it totally threw me because my first thought was, "Is that some kind of White Power thing?"
Apparently not. After looking the phrase up online, I listed her as Canadian.
Your homework for the weekend is to read this.
It's an essay by Harlan Ellison titled The 3 Most Important Things in Life. You might already have read it, but there'll be a quiz on Monday so maybe you should take another look, hmm?
When I walk alone I wonder
Who's that I see walking in these woods?
Trailer for sale or rent
I leave your picture by my bed
Go Shorty, it's your birthday
Unchain the colours before my eyes
I feel like I been locked up tight
She was more like a beauty queen
Let me run with you tonight
Like a fool I went and stayed too long
I got a letter from the government the other day
Mattie told Hattie about a thing she saw
Baby, are you taping?
I have also decided that the Friends Zone is the only place I want to be with anyone, and for the forseeable future.
I have also decided to kill and eat my enemies.
Did a clown ever emerge from a cemetary at 2am, scare the hell out of you, then offer you a joint? That might have been me, back in the good old days.
I know many people with a fear of clowns. Hence, this link.
First released in 1992, this album is now well overdue for consideration as a classic. How does it stack up? Er...
I loved this album when it was new. Michael Franti's cool deep voice and political lyrics combined with Ron Tse's industrial beats were right up my back alley. Unfortunately attempting to do the track-by-track analysis like I did with One In A Million almost reduced me to tears.
Not only does this album not hold up, it's downright embarrassing. It is track after track of dated, cheesy backing tracks with humourless self-righteous preaching droning over it.
Near the end there's a cover of the Dead Kennedys song California Uber Alles. At least Jello Biafra had a great sick sense of humour to go along with the self-righteous middle-class political whining. Franti later proved that he has a sense of humour of his own, but it's not on this album.
There are exactly two high points on Hipocrisy Is The Greatest Luxury, and one is just a lengthy sample of an automated telephone information line on immigration and how to turn in illegal immigrants. The other is Music And Politics, which is a guitar-based song (yes SONG) about how the obsessions with the title subjects distract Franti from enjoying life and love.
I loved it when it came out because it seemed "deep and meaningful" and "cutting edge" and all that rubbish. Now the edge has well and truly dulled, and the content puts me in mind of a young person who's just been exposed to Chomsky for the first time and wants to set his parents straight, maaaan. It's awful.
I can't go on.
Franti went on to much better, more balanced, and more musical things with Spearhead. Music And Politics pointed the way, thank goodness. He's still around and still cool. I guess that as we grow up, some of us realise that there are better ways to teach than to lecture from on high.
OVERALL: 3/10
CLASSIC ALBUM? Fuck no.
Truth be told: this weekend was awesome.
Saturday morning I got up early and went for a wander. Managed to enter & exit Real Groovy without spending a god damned penny. However five minutes down the road at Ferrett, I found a book of letters of H.P. Lovecraft, celeverly edited to form a kind of autobiography. *joy*
That afternoon I went to meet someone for coffee who I'd been wanting to get to know better after about, oo, ten minutes of conversation several weeks earlier. I was thinking "an hour, maybe two." EIGHT hours, four coffees, a pizza, two bowls of soup, a Neil Gaiman/Dave McKean comic, a bit of walking, and lots of truly awesome conversation later... I decide we don't completely hate each other. Probably.
Somehow my mind goes straight from "I'm tired and I wanna go to bed" to "I got to get to Island Bay RIGHT NOW for drinking!" and magically I am transported to Adrian & Jo's leaving party, where I have a swell time until my body says "Go home immediately, geek boy." So I do.
The next day brings NZ comics (choice) and Sione's Wedding (neither as appalling as I feared nor as hilarious as I hoped) and Cobb & co (not a patch on when I was a kid) and the sleep of the happy man with much to look forward to.
Today I am struck by the realisation that my capable and awesome assistant really has left. Shit.
Plug 1: Atlas #2 by Dylan Horrocks. You absolutely do not have to have read #1 to love it (but read #1 anyway).
The first and best part is part of a larger story, the life of Emil Kopen, but can be appreciated as an isolated event. It's awesome, it's real, it's the best comic I've read in weeks.
You should also read his older, awesome graphic novel Hicksville. It's a classic.
Plug 2: Dharma Punks by Ant Sang. He designed the characters for 'Brotown, but this comic is a bit more serious (though with plenty of levity, humour, and punk-rock anarchy).
Right now feeling Paranoia (an unfamiliar sensation, believe me) that someone I have recently met will inevitably read this blog and misinterpret all kinds of crap. Y'all know lots of what I say here is neither serious nor literal, but Nu-frendz might not. Heh. *hic*