Archive for June, 2007

For the scrapbook: Casablanca at the park

Friday, June 1st, 2007



For the scrapbook: Casablanca at the park

Originally uploaded by idyllopus.

At the Jazz Festival, H.o.p. saw a poster on movies in the park, beginning this week. Today’s offering was “Casablanca”. His first communal big screen experience. The green was pretty well packed but we found a place not too distant (not beyond the port-a-lets). “Casablanca” was a bit out of his league but he enjoyed it, when he wasn’t bored and talking (quietly). His complaint was that there were a lot of rude people who acted like “I’m not there” and weren’t excusing themselves when stepping over him.

Some came prepared in a big way. Like the people with the self-inflating mattress. We just brought along a camp blanket to sit on and some water.

P.S. The weather was clouds with a heavy haze of smoke from the Okefenokee fires. I mean really really hazy.

When Worlds Collide (a plodding movie deserves a plodding blog, I guess)

Sunday, June 3rd, 2007

The credits to “When Worlds Collide” are backed by flames, lots of flames, then smoke, blue streams of it against black, looking suspiciously like lurking under the bottom of the screen are positioned a number of special effects techs puffing away on packs of Camels. And for some reason, don’t ask me why, I wonder what they’re wearing. Oh my, then a hefty leather covered HOLY BIBLE portentously opens to the passage on God warning Noah the earth is to be destroyed because of his having gone bad and filling it with violence. Follows now a leap from religion to science (or maybe not) with a speech on man searching the infinitesimal corners of the universe. For what he’s searching we’re not really told, just that there are lots of stars out there, but the “drift” (a bit of old slang that I used to hate and have managed to never use in my life but seems appropriate here) is that his curiosity is loaded with spiritual inclinations. Eve may be the bad girl of Genesis, but is rewarded here with mothering the pursuit of knowledge and thus all scientific endeavor. There’s an old adage, or something like that, about the Sunday morning sermon following Saturday night’s carousing, which in 50s America transforms into the Sunday morning sermon following Saturday night’s scientific stargazing, the twain meeting as both join hands and seek to learn how and when That Which Knows No Turning Aside plans to destroy humanity. Which, I suppose, is what we get for unleashing The Bomb, except puppeteer and special effects magician, George Pal, whose movie this is (Cecil B. DeMille too, but uncredited) seems to give no nod to The Bomb, though this is definitely a post WWII apocalypse flick. Though I suppose we could say that colliding worlds has all to do with Two Big Bombs having undone the old world, transporting us to a new one. I really don’t know.

As for us, the audience, we’re aware from the title and the flames and the biblical reference that the astronomers are seeking god’s warning of fire and brimstone and that a new Noah will arise and there that’s all that really needs to be said about the film, I suppose. Nevertheless, I will blog, H.o.p. distracting me with constant talk of monster waterbugs (he saw one run across the floor, a fact of life in the South, you’d think he’d be used to it) and I try to pay attention to the announcement now taking place at a South African observatory as to THE MOST FRIGHTENING DISCOVERY EVER unfolding. (It looks like a chicken was killed in here, white feathers all over the floor that H.o.p. has been picking out of a very thin-skinned Ikea pillow, but I can’t vacuum as I lost a ring.) And one kind of wonders as to why the revelation of the end of mankind comes from South Africa. At least I do. And at how South Africa can be featured so prominently in this way but there’s not, I don’t think, a single black person in the film. Not even, I don’t believe, in the United Nations scene.

In South Africa, isolated on their mountain-top observatory, the astronomers confer in the way that religion’s priests once attempted to divine from their rooftop observatories what the movements of the stars revealed of the future.

Says one, “These two bodies have traveled over a million miles in two weeks!”

The ominous sound of an airplane passes overhead and the men look up in terror.

“Is that Randall?”

“I hope so.”

Like they think the mysterious astral bodies they’ve been tracking could suddenly translate into the immediate vicinity? Is a parallel being drawn between Randall and those mysterious bodies? If those mysterious two bodies are connected with Randall and Randall is a pilot then I suppose we could say he represents Nagasaki and Hiroshima. I’m tired and ready to say just about anything though.

The scientists discuss amongst themselves how it won’t be necessary to tell Randall what information he’ll be carrying to other privileged scientists in the outside world.

Poor Randall. Sounds as if he’s being taken advantage of, kept in the dark like that. Cut to Poor Randall with wavy brown-gold hair (looking very much like Danny Kaye in that Bing Crosby Christmas film) cuddled with a curvy blond in the cockpit of his plane. He requests permission to land, then plants a passionate kiss on the blond who wears a green Girl Scout beanie type hat. The hat means nothing except that she’s girly and maybe adventurous. It could mean that and let’s hope she’s always prepared, too.

Later, down in the observatory, Randall paces, the scientists keeping him waiting, but he kept them waiting two hours first and explains he had to get a friend’s old lady aunt home (Randall’s a lying playboy). The scientists make clear that they wanted Randall to make their delivery because he came with a recommendation that assured they could depend on his lack of curiosity. And how’s that for heaping scorn on the unscientific commoner (curiosity a predicate to science), except Randall doesn’t care. Not one bit. His feelings aren’t injured in the least. When they give him strict instructions on the materials he’s delivering and to whom, a Dr. Hendron at the Cosmos Observatory in America, and how they don’t want him to know what’s going on, Randall makes clear all he cares about is the money, and they assure him that the day is coming when money will mean nothing to him or anyone else. At which point they chain their secret black box to his wrist, and Randall to a spiritual awakening.

For, you see, the black box is nothing other than the bible. It is. I promise. With the key to Randall’s deliverance.

Courier David Randall is then shown on his flight to New York, a passenger now. That he’s a babe magnet is reiterated. The stewardess delivers him a telegraph from a newspaper offering him $5000 for an exclusive story on what’s in the black box. She tarries, smiling, waiting for Randall to hit on her. He refrains and looks bemused. But not so entertained by the telegraph, which, expressing consternation, he crumples.

In the next scene Randall must pass through customs. How he’s to do so with that black box chained on his wrist is answered by a young woman in a midnight blue suit exiting from the office of the Chief Inspector, I guess with the Chief Inspector. She points out Randall as being perhaps the man she’s looking for (get it, he may just be the man she’s looking for) and Randall is given a pass straight through customs. The young brunette with the pearl necklace is Joyce Hendron, there to take him to the observatory. And Randall, being a dog, has a difficult time restraining his impulses, but manages to just sniff her up and down. She doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind so much that when the Sentinel rushes up to him with an offer of $7500 for the news of what’s in the box, Randall declining, pointing out he’s working on a better offer, Joyce grins.

Joyce, in the taxi with Randall, has no idea that Randall isn’t the curious type, that he hasn’t a clue what he’s been carrying, and goes on about how they’ve been praying the calculations are wrong.

She asks him, “Don’t you find yourself wishing…isn’t it almost better to not know?”

Randall pretends he’s had more going on in his brain since WWII than babes, money and flying. “No, it’s better to know,” he says, mustering up what should be taken as an expression of deep consideration.

“I wish I had your courage. But I’m frightened. As frightened as all those people would be if they knew. I haven’t the courage to face the end of the world.”

But Joyce won’t really have to face the end, and she knows it, which is why, I suppose, she looks like she’s talking about a dull party to which she’s just turned down an invitation, because she’s got a better offer in the works as well.

Now to science town. Joyce embraces Dr. Tony Drake (Ear Nose and Throat, destined to not get much respect) and introduces him to Randall. Joyce leaves them alone to get her dad and it becomes clear Tony doesn’t have a clue about Doomsday. Another point is made about Randall’s South Africanness, I guess, because he pointedly produces South African cigarettes for a smoke.

All serious urgency, Dr. Hendron appears and receives his box. Tony wants the rest of his courier money but is given the momentary brush-off, because that way he’s forced to stay and become involved. Differential Analysis follows.

Soon we are introduced to what was in that black box, information on the discovery of the star Bellus, approaching Earth at tremendous speed, and a newer discovery, a tag-along planet that’s been named Zyra. You know it’s bad when it’s revealed they are waving hi from the constellation, Scorpio. But you already knew it was bad so why bother with the Scorpio detail, I don’t know.

Bellus and Zyra are 3 billion miles away but could be upon the Earth in less than one year, and will destroy it. First Zyra will rip oceans from their depths and produce tidal waves thousands of feet high and earthquakes. Then Bellas will deliver the take-out punch, and any people who managed to survive the passing of Zyra will be toast as Bellas rips the earth apart.

Hendron’s daughter, struggling to appear more interested in the fate of the Earth than her interest in struggling to appear interested, appears with the results of the Differential Analyzer. The findings of the South African, Dr. Bronson, have been confirmed. Apocalypse is nigh.

Cut to a rather fabulous club with curtains and chairs and band and things which deceives you into believing set design has finally arrived and will lead to more set design, but you’re going to be disappointed if you believe that so enjoy the moment. Tony dances with Joyce while Randall first amuses then annoys a neighboring table by torching bills and lighting his South African cigarettes off them. As Tony tells Joyce about a terminally ill patient of his and how he now knows how it must feel to receive your death sentence, Joyce is making eyes with Randall and he making eyes with her, so when Tony urges that they get married now, Joyce replies that she promised her dad she’d wait, which is about as fast a dropping of a beau I’ve seen on film.

Wait for what?

“There’ll be sooo much to do,” Joyce says. What with the end of the world and all.

Hey, I wouldn’t want to take up my last few months with planning a wedding either.


The Club, which is about it for set design

Having torpedoed her engagement, Joyce quickly slips away from Tony and heads for the table, and Tony is conveniently called away for something to do with the hospital, which must be depressing, pretending to be interested in healing people who are fated to die within a year. Randall tells Joyce he never believed that Americans were the most progressive people on Earth, but does now with alcohol costing by the inch. Measuring how much he’s had to drink, he asks how much is 7 times 2.5? Joyce, proving her overweening intelligence, does the calculation for him. Then he gets straight to the point, asking if she and Drake are really getting married.

“I don’t know,” Joyce smiles.

Sigh. Ho-hum. Oh, Joyce. If you were any truer to the character of the privileged, bored post graduate socialite, we would worry more about poor Tony as in the end you’d marry him because a pilot is so beneath you.

Anyway, Randall says he doesn’t want to be an interested bystander, and we are given to believe this is a hand-in-hand step up the spiritual evolutionary ladder along with money ceasing to mean anything to him. “Money to buurrrrn,” he says, lighting Joyce’s cigarette. His laughter is at least burdened with a struggle to make sense of imminent doom. But Joyce? She laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world. Randall burns money! What an entertaining party trick! Aren’t we decadent?! Yes, weirdly, while Randall is pulling himself up the morals and ethics ladder, distracting Joyce from her betrothed with his acrobatics, Joyce has plummeted down a number of bars, the good and reliable Tony shrugged off her shoulders with nary any consideration as she blithely preens on Randall’s attention, who has obviously wiled his way into the bed of every woman he’s ever met.

And you thought Randall couldn’t be trusted?


Joyce laughs gaily, the end of the world not looking so bad if she gets to fly off to Zyra with Randall

“But she’s just a 50’s woman struggling with society’s admonition that she be the good girl who sacrifices her feelings for sake of convention and a man’s expectations.”

No. There’s a lot less to Joyce than that.

Enough romance. Next stop is the United Nations and the leaders of the world discussing its end.

Dr. Hendron assures, “The effect of Zyra’s passing should be felt about 1 o’clock on the afternoon of July 24th.” Bellus will crush the earth 19 days later on the morning of August 12th.

I like it that the effect of Zyra isn’t going to be anything progressive. I wonder why it’s the 24th of July. Anything to do with July 4th but they didn’t want to be too obvious? No. Something to do with the astrological sign Leo? Probably.

Hendron presents his solution. He and his associates believe Zyra once contained living matter and some vegetation may still exist. Not everyone can move to Zyra, but a few can. A 20th century’s Noah’s ark. But 8 months is very little time. If they wait, there will be no time.

Scorned by the profane, Hendron folds up his papers and leaves.

Not even Washington believes him.

But Sidney Stanton does. While the mysterious Sidney Stanton waits in the wings, Joyce reveals to her dad that Tony, who she always “liked”, wants to marry her now, and maybe she should marry him because he wants it, but she’s all confused because of the new and different Randall. Her dad tells her to let Tony wait while he thinks up a good excuse to keep Randall there.

“Oh, thanks, dad! Thanks!” Joyce giddily accepts her dad’s agreeable promise of a new toy.

Usher in Sidney Stanton in his wheelchair, who tells his attendant to take a brief hike. It’s interesting that the man in the wheelchair is the rich one with the money to make the rocket fly, and also a bitter bastard who not only wants on board but wants to take control and select his shipmates. When refused absolute authority, he attempts to negotiate his selecting at least half of the passengers, arguing what is it Hendron’s right to decide who lives and who dies. But Hendron won’t give, and Stanton angrily ends in agreeing to supply the money in exchange for his passage alone.

The scientists lease a mountain top and make a selection of those who will work on the project of building the ship and stocking it. Though over 600 have committed their remaining months on Earth to the project, only 40 can ride Noah’s ark to Zyra. Who will go will be determined by lot just before take-off.

So everyone pitches in to build the rocketship. And two by two the animals are gathered.

WASTE ANYTHING BUT TIME, TIME IS THE SHORTEST MATERIAL, signs exhort.

Except for being the lucky daughter of Dr. Hendron, Joyce’s credentials have never been clarified, much less given a brief outline, but she’s a busy little Queen Bee, running around, overseeing this that and the other. When it was time to do the Differential Analysis she was there overseeing, jotting notations. She is overseeing all the selected women. She is shown overseeing the women dutifully microfilming the great books of the world…

The Bible, Anatomy of the Human Body, Practical Mathematics, the encyclopedia, Standard Agriculture, The Story of Mankind and Shakespeare’s Plays.

Occasionally Tony brushes up against Joyce. He reaches. She coolly withdraws.

Why would that be? Why is Tony still reaching for Joyce?

Stanton brings guns to protect them when the panic starts, confident that those destined to be left behind will rush the rocketship and attempt to grab a ride. Dr. Hendron believes reason will reign, and humanity, knowing only a few can take the trip on the ark, will stand back and wave heroically bye.

The general public gathers in their blue collar country stores to listen to the announcement that they’re doomed. But it seems they’re only being told about Zyra, and that they will be evacuated from coastal areas in preparation for the mess Zyra will leave in its wake. Are they not told about Bellus?

If, in the 50s, you were looking for a reason to leave the family farm for the halls of education, the above scene is it.

Meanwhile, go to Randall piloting, which is still what he mostly does though he’s been given some management job by Daddy Hendron. Anyway, Randall tells Joyce that he doesn’t figure in the new world, unneeded, not a scientist or farmer or engineer.

“Dad promised me…dad said we’d need you!”

The world no longer looks so bright for Joyce.

Now images of the evacuation of the populace, everyone behaving in a mannerly, lining up for their planes. Images of the world praying and atoning. Images of New York as an ghost town.

Then it is July 24th. The clock approaches 1 p.m.. Passes. The scientists and Stanton wait for the cataclysm on the mountain top. Nothing happens. Stanton gets testy.

“Millions of dollars for a false alarm…all you scientists are crackpots…nothing is going to happen…”

You’re given the feeling that despite their having been able to track Bellus and Zyra way out in the starry reaches of space, they haven’t a clue where it is currently, like it slipped behind some curtain and they’re solely relying on old calculations.

You’re given the feeling that Hendron would prefer that the Earth fall apart and prove him right (Ha! So, there!) rather than be wrong.

And it does, of course. The Earth begins bucking up a storm, vigorously protesting Zyra infringing on its territory. Everything that isn’t nailed down on the mountain top starts coming undone, which seems to be about everything. Joyce and Randall cuddle. Tony turns his flashlight on them.

Oh…the pain!!!! A volcano erupts. Lava flows. Bridges collapse. Forest fires rage. Towns burn. The oceans rage. There are mudslides. Floods sweep away toy houses.

You see, Joyce apparently never told Tony that she was interested in Randall. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on Joyce’s character.

Pockets of people have survived Zyra and plead over the radio for help. Randall and Tony climb in a chopper to deliver medical supplies to some of those pockets. On their way back they see a lucky little boy alone on the roof of a house. Tony, who had never guessed about Randall until that day, is obviously upset that he’s wasted the last eight months of his life on earth. Randall climbs onto the roof of the house, from the chopper, and helps the boy into it. The chopper flies away as Randall retrieves the boy’s belongings, and Randall gazes after it, momentarily worried that Tony may be leaving him, but Tony returns. Yeah, he says he thought about leaving him. It briefly occurred to him. Ha ha.

On the 11th day before doomsday, a big meeting is held, officiated, of course, by Hendron.

“This meeting was called to choose those who will make the attempt to make Zyra. As most of you already know, our human cargo must be restricted to 7000 pounds, 44 persons. Every pound consumes fuel, a commodity we can not waste if our flight is to have a chance. About 900 pounds already have been spoken for, Mr. Stanton, Dr. Frye, my daughter, myself, Dr. Drake and Mr. Randall. Unless there is some objection we intend on including another 40 pounds, the latest addition to the camp.”

The only child on Mount Scientist, by the way.

Randall is still pretending he doesn’t think he ought to go, and maybe he believes it.

“Dr. Frye and I hope we have worked out a sound plan. For the sake of efficiency, it would be unwise for one man to know he was not to go, while the man alongside him was among the fortunate few. In this envelope is a list of numbers…”

Would you have any objection to Hendron and his daughter, Frye (the pilot), and the Queen Bee’s two beaus being exempted from the lottery?

Almost all the other workers have been without names, except for a “Julie” and a no-name boyfriend. Now, her boyfriend urges her to pick both their numbers. Then Randall, unwilling to be among The Chosen, approaches to pick a number but is turned away, told that there are only numbers for the others. Which makes him upset. And makes Joyce furrow her brow over his being upset. Poor Joyce.

Hendron has a talk with Randall.

“Not to quarrel about your sense of ethics, just to ask you why.”

“I haven’t any more right to a ride on that ship than any other man…”

“I’ll grant you that, I’ll even admit my motive was a selfish one. I want to do things according to Hoyle, Dave, but Joyce is important to me…”

“To me, too!”

“I’m glad. I’d do anything to ensure her chances. Wouldn’t you?”

“It isn’t a free ride for Joyce either. She’s qualified to go.”

“No more than some others. We’re stretching a point because she’s important to both of us. But why not, for her sake, stretch the point a bit farther, to include you.”

But Randall still protests and insists he will not go.

The workers now must race against time to finish the project, each hoping they will be among the lucky lottery winners shortly before take-off.

I guess the rest of humanity, at least those who have survived Zyra, are starting to rebuild upon whatever’s been left them, seemingly unaware that the big red object in the sky is Bellus getting ready to make a mockery of their self-congratulations at having survived the test of Zyra.

At some point (a bit of conversation that fits in somewhere, but where I forget exactly), Randall waxes poetic on sunrises (poor paraphrase, much truncated) and Joyce argues that it will be the SAME sun on the other world. (It won’t be, but never mind that.) Joyce just can’t get it through her head why Randall is having a trouble with this free ride business. She simply doesn’t comprehend how Queen Bee wanting him there is not enough to make him more important than the other workers, much less the billions of people out there who are about to be cremated. His inability to think of how he is more deserving than the rest, by reason of Joyce having tagged him as her primary drone, is beyond her.

Enter Tony, who tells Randall that Dr. Frye, the pilot, has a heart problem and won’t survive blast-off. Randall must go.

Randall has the sudden comprehension that everything is for a purpose. Wrestling with the ethics of the situation becomes a moot point in the face of destiny, for certainly fate has written he be on Noah’s ark. The actor playing Randall, faced with this turn of affairs, gives up any character analysis he’s employed that provided his role a smidgen of depth and simply dives for his IT’S FATE line. Dives for Joyce too. Tony watching on the ship’s viewing screen (which has a camera trained on the two-by-two warehouse) Randall goes rushing to Joyce and tackles her with a kiss.

Tony blushes, but it’s all right with him. Joyce is happy.

Indeed, he walks off whistling.

Doesn’t seem to occur to anyone it’s a waste of seats to keep Dr. Frye on the mission, just for the sake of not hurting his feelings?

Now appears the most fortunate little boy on Earth with a dog he’s found. Can the dog come along? Tony says, Sure! My guess is the audience is the child and they’re being assured that though they may not be Queen Bee, they could bring along a loved one just like her, as long as that loved one wasn’t heftier than two plump chickens.

Now it’s D Day and the winning lot numbers are posted. Julie’s no-name boyfriend has a winning number! But Julie does not!

Stanton wants to leave a few people behind rather than risk not having enough fuel for the trip. Hendron asks why doesn’t Stanton donate his own weight. Stanton points out he doesn’t want to do so any more than Hendron wants to donate his weight or his daughter’s. Plus he paid for this ship! “Without me you would have been wiped out with the rest of the world!”

The audience isn’t given an opportunity to think about the question of whether or not Joyce and Hendron deserve to be on the ship more than anyone else, Hendron launching into giving Stanton a good dressing down. “You tried to make this a personal enterprise! A private rocketship for your own special use. This project was started by real humanitarians…you’re not here under any special license. You’re always shouting facts not theories. Well, remember these facts! Our chance of reaching the new world is as thin as you becoming a humanitarian…men and women here have been praying for god’s help and guidance, not your kind of hypocritical praying…”

At which point Julie’s boyfriend shows up and turns in his lottery number and says he can’t go. Finally he’s given a name. Eddie. (How cool is that? My name is Juli and Marty’s middle name is Edward! Not so cool that our namesakes don’t make it on the ship, but, hey, she’s not out beating a bunk mate for her number and he’s willing to give up a new life on Zyra for sake of love.)

“There’s that extra fuel!” Stanton celebrates. But Ferris, proclaiming his hatred for Stanton, says that extra number belongs to him and pulls a gun!

Stanton shoots him dead.

The rebellion starts! Tony, rushing in, reveals just how bad and worthless humanity is with losers stabbing others and starting fights. They make plans to go ahead and put the women on board. Hendron tells Randall to find Julie Cummings and tell her that there’s been a mistake and her number is good. She and Eddie Carson are saved! (Well, that’s a relief!)

The women and animals are loaded aboard. Bellus (it’s name, I assume, drawn from Baal) looms big and red.

Fashion for the new world is something down the line of wrestling with the great white wale, Nantucket seafarer tan rain jackets and pants and black knit caps. This is possibly more to do with military rain fashion, but I’m unfamiliar with it. It just spelled BOAT to me. And this is Noah’s ark, after all.

The men begin to board, Hendron saying he’ll wait outside with Stanton. The workers are mutinying in the barracks. They rush to the ship with Stanton’s rifles and begin shooting. Hendron tells Stanton he was right and a better judge of people then pushes his wheelchair past the boarding ramp rather than on it. He unlocks the ship which begins to lift off, proclaiming, “We’re the extra fuel! The new world isn’t for us! It’s for the young!”

Stanton throws the lap blanket off his legs. He…STANDS. He takes a few steps forward!

It’s one of those praise god, I can walk moments…only the ship is taking off and next thing Stanton knows he’s hit with Bellus.

Which is the only reason I blogged this plodder.

Sidney Stanton is the model for Dr. Strangelove who had proposed a bomb shelter’s Noah’s ark, some individuals chosen by computer but top government and military men included as a matter of course (and of course Dr. Strangelove would be one of those men)! At the end of Kubrick’s film, Strangelove surprises himself by rising from his wheelchair,

STRANGELOVE
…Sir!
(stands up out of his wheelchair)
I have a plan. Heh.
(pauses, realizing that he is standing)
Mein Fuhrer, I can walk!

MULTIPLE SCENES OF EXPLODING BOMBS

Stanton stands. And blam! Earth is digested by Bellus.

As for the rocketship. Inside it looks like a cheap theater with folding chairs for seats.

Everyone survives the “pressure zone” and Randall realizes that Dr. Frye was never in any risk of dying. Ah, gee! “You invented those cardiographs for my benefit!” Randall yells at Drake. Then grins.

Hardee-har-har! Billions of people have just been blasted to smithereens along with lots of literature that WASN’T SHAKESPEARE, SHAKESPEARE, SHAKESPEARE! But who cares, we’re on an adventure and if we make it to Zyra then the SAME SUN will rise.

Below is the number two reason I blogged this plodder.

The rocketship flies in over the icy cold, mountains with glaciers landscape of Zyra. They land. You expect them to step out onto snow, but instead look at what greets them once they emerge from the ship.

Zyra’s got pyramids! And some third monolithic building barely seen to the side with two huge entrances. Now, no one exclaims, “Look, pyramids!” There’s no voice-over confirming for the audience, “Look, pyarmids!” But those are definitely pyramids. And some kind of third building.

SAME SUN RISE, SAME SUN, SAME SUN.

There’s your puzzle for the day. How do The Chosen Ones step off Noah’s ark, onto Zyra, to face the SAME SUN RISE. And pyramids. And remember that the film begins in South Africa.

Solve the puzzle and you get, uhm, to buy me a copy of the 1980 movie, “Flash Gordon”.

The Night Before - another Catastrophic Audio cover

Monday, June 4th, 2007

Wasn’t going to post this one but Marty convinced me to. I like the chorus but when I hear what else I did to it, especially at the end there, I feel like our ever reincarnating cockroach, Fred, scuttling as the light hits. Except for last night, finally caught in the bathroom, on the rug before the sink. “Mom, it’s Fred! I don’t think he’s feeling very good! He’s not moving!” He wasn’t moving but was still quite alive, too easy to kill, and left a mess on the rug. Anyway, out of my mouth belched certain sounds on this tune that I would have preferred not be preserved but here they are. I don’t know why I didn’t slash them out of the mix way back when. At the time I must have been kind of proud of those urps.

#10. The Night Before.

Vocals by me. Instrumentation and engineering by Marty. Co-produced by Marty and me.

The previous Unauthorized Messy Covers are under the “The Unauthorized Cover” category.

“Mom! Is that you singing that song?”

“Yeah.”

“You sing really good!”

Haha. Nothing like having your own unprincipled cheering section.

* * * * * * *

Speaking of unprincipled cheering sections, poor kid was sick Saturday and Sunday. “Boy, he’s subdued,” I thought, and then he complained about feeling ill and didn’t leap to talk to his grandmother on the phone when she called and a couple hours later he took a nap then woke and upchucked every particle of food that had gone into his stomach over the course of the day. After that he was feeling energetic enough that he went Star Trek spelunking.

“Mom, look what I found!” as he came trotting up to me with my old Star Trek episode guide, he believing he’d stumbled on pure gold and that I would be elated to have it close at hand rather than stuffed in a book shelf.

He keeps asking about Star Trek but we threw out all our old tapes of it (taken off the television) years ago. So they are now in the Netflix queue.

When he began feeling ill and curled up on the sofa, he wanted to watch our old Flash Gordon DVD.

Liked this bit from one of the episodes (paraphrased poorly):

Astrophysicist Woman from the Future: And what did the women do back then? Knit all day?

Historian: No, they didn’t fill their heads with knowledge and science and astrophysics, like one young woman I know. They knew their way around the kitchen instead of the lab.

Marty’s paraphrase: They could cook, unlike some young women I know.

In these old Flash Gordons, you had no problem telling who was the bad guy, because they boldly pronounced they were evil and were only interested in going about doing evil.

I don’t like to watch those old Flash Gordons though, because when they’re on Queen’s “Flash Gordon” overtakes, Freddie Mercury singing “Flash - ah - king of the impossible. He’s for every one of us. Stand for every one of us…” and my heart pines for the 1980 film.

Until I can get a copy, I’m going to need to satisfy myself with this vid up at YouTube of the film’s opening credits, which are great.

Anyway, that was our weekend. Except for the part of hours and hours spent working on my computer because of the DVD ROM having gone bad, installing a new one and a new drive (one had gone bad), and rewiring and cleaning it out.

Goofus and Gallant Gordon and Innocent Bystander Talk About The White House’s Lack of Luv for Satellites Used For Gathering Data on Global Warming

Monday, June 4th, 2007

Innocent Bystander: Help! Will, someone not help us?! The White House has arranged it so we are scaling way back monitoring climate change from space which means a perilous loss of data!

Rick Piltz, director of Climate Science Watch, a watchdog program of the Washington-based Government Accountability Project, called the situation a crisis.

“We’re going to start being blinded in our ability to observe the planet,” said Piltz, whose group provided the AP with the previously undisclosed report. “It’s criminal negligence, and the leaders in the climate science community are ringing the alarm bells on this crisis.”

Whatever will we do?

Sci Trash Goofus Gordon: I may be Sci Trash Goofus Gordon, but even I can hear the bells tolling! Though I’m currently preoccupied looking at ground pictures of the dark side of Britney Spears’ moon. More time for booty watch, I say!

Sci Trash Gallant Gordon: Woe the ignoble press, and cellulite-challenged celebrities. Let us now speed to the tropics with an appropriate cover-up for Ms. Spears lest she take ill from a draft.

The Blues

Tuesday, June 5th, 2007

There’s so little in the world that manages to take my breath away. Many things I find beautiful, many things inspire awe, but little that takes the breath away.

I was listening to Bach’s Violin Concerto in A when I clicked on a link in my NASA Science News talking about a spacecraft heading to Mercury was currently swinging by Venus and would zap a laser into the clouds of Earth’s “Evil Twin”.

Evil twin…hmmmm. And to think Venus was once goddess of love and beauty, I was thinking as I clicked the link, the concerto playing, and this came up…


Credit: Galileo Project, JPL, NASA

For some reason, it did take my breath away. Just a moment. But it managed it.

Mean Mister Mustard-Polythene Pam-She Came in Through the Bathroom Window and You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away - covers by Catastrophic Audio

Tuesday, June 5th, 2007

The last of the circa 1995 messy unauthorized covers, by Catastrophic Audio, of Beatles tunes.

Particularly bodacious, messy, and best listened to aggravatingly loud…

#11. Mean Mister Mustard - Polythene Pam - She Came In Through The Bathroom Window.

And lastly (always better than last)…

#12. You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away.

Vocals by me. Instrumentation and engineering by Marty. Co-produced by Marty and me.

The previous Unauthorized Messy Covers are under the “The Unauthorized Cover” category.

He was never on any pedastal for me anyway…

Tuesday, June 5th, 2007

Well this possibly explains why I never read Ray Bradbury after I was fifteen years old. By the time I was in tenth grade I’d already decided there was something not right there (I don’t recall what, since I’ve not read him since I was fifteen).

In an August 2001 interview with Salon, Bradbury said of George W. Bush, “He’s wonderful. We needed him. Clinton is a shithead and we’re glad to be rid of him.” In 2004, he became extremely upset over Michael Moore’s use of the title “Fahrenheit 9/11″ and was quoted by Swedish interviewers as saying, “”Michael Moore is a screwed asshole …. He is a horrible human being.”

Bradbury also says we’ve never had a problem with censorship and that “Farenheit 451″ wasn’t about censorship. Instead it was about television.

I think I once watched, in part, “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, on television and turned it off, reminded of why I didn’t care for Bradbury.

Kiss Me Kate

Wednesday, June 6th, 2007

Several weeks ago at Lance Mannion’s there was a mention of The Taming of the Shrew and a pointing to Self Styled Siren’s review of “Kiss Me Kate”, the 1953 movie with Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson. When I saw it was VIEW NOW at Netflix, I thought it might be fun to watch with H.o.p. as a somewhat introduction to The Taming of the Shrew, especially because he’s on this huge kick lately where he literally goes around wailing about how he wants to see his mom and dad have an argument because he thinks it’s funny.

“Come on, get in an argument!” he exhorts. “I want you to get in an argument!”

“But we don’t want to get in an argument!”

So he comes and he whispers things in my ear like, “Daddy says you’re stupid,” and then he goes and whispers in his dad’s ear, “Mommy says you’re stupid”, and he stands back and waits for Big Argument.

Tuesday night he was trying to get Marty in trouble with me because we had chosen an old sci fi flick we thought H.o.p. might enjoy but in it an alien gets his brain bashed in and H.o.p. was mortified. “MOM! GET DAD IN TROUBLE! HE CHOSE A MOVIE WHERE AN ALIEN GETS HIS HEAD CUT OPEN AND I COULD SEE ITS BRAIN AND I GOT REALLY GROSSED OUT! COME ON, ARGUE!”

“You want to see a couple arguing, then we’ll watch Kiss Me Kate,” I said, and cranked it up on Netflix. I didn’t take one single note so I’m going to do a half-assed discussion with myself here on what I thought of the movie because it just seems the thing to do.

I will go ahead and note that what H.o.p. had to say about it, off and on, was, “That man’s a shrew!” He thought Grayson (Lilli Vanessi, Kate) could be better behaved and not throw things, but he thought Keel (Fred Graham, Petruchio) was A SHREW!

* * * * * * *

ME: What’d you think?

ME TOO: Fine for watching once, except that middle part that threatened to put me to sleep where I finally said to H.o.p., this is boring, isn’t it. If I watched it again it would be for three things. One, the opening scene with that spectacular high bred New York apartment and Ann Miller in day glow pink clattering her taps all over the fine furnishings and kicking stuff off tables. If you’re going to have Cole Porter playing piano in your apartment, that is the apartment for it. And if you’re going to have that kind of apartment, it may be nice to have your buddy Cole Porter tinkling the ivories while you two plot your next Sensation, but there’s still no point to it until Ann Miller has clubbed the furniture to death with her shoes to the tune of “Too Darn Hot”. Now, that’s a christening! Put a champagne bottle in front of those toes and let her pile drive it into the wall. That’s an apartment to live in, where you look up from your morning toast at the dent in the wall made by Ann Miller and her fierce tap shoes.

ME: I was sitting there thinking, hey, that Cole Porter is kinda good looking, but also confused because it seemed to me Cole Porter would be a lot older than that, plus I thought I’d seen a pic of him previously and the movie’s Cole Porter didn’t look like the composer Cole Porter. Still, I couldn’t imagine their having someone else stand-in to play Cole Porter when he was alive, so I feel stupid to admit I was thinking I guess it could be him and that he may have written some fine music but he sure can’t act. So it’s weird that it wasn’t Cole Porter at all. Instead it was Ron Randall.

ME TOO: When he sat at the piano you got an inkling.

ME: Before.

ME TOO: In your heart you knew it wasn’t Cole Porter. You really shouldn’t be so stupid to admit here that you actually thought it might be.

ME: Shut up. Didn’t the apartment’s doors remind you of the set from “Family Affair”?

ME TOO: You don’t have to bring that up either. Instead you could talk about the spectacular color and how that opening scene would have been Floor You Incredible on a big screen. Now, that was a set.

ME: Plus, it had Ann Miller.

ME TOO: I never used to like her. In fact, I hated her dancing. Then one day this hard heart of mine turned to mush and she wormed her way in. Now I love her. Maybe because every Great Depression needs an Ann Miller whirlwind busting up the sepia crud settling over everything.

ME: Great Depression? Maybe you mean Great Tribulation.

ME TOO: Your call.

ME: Strange that you haven’t said anything about Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson, who happen to be the stars. Lilli and Fred! Kate and Petruchio! They’re what the film’s about. Once married and now getting ready to scrapple their way back into each other’s arms on Broadway.

ME TOO: Myeh. They were fine in the opening scene. In a typical and tired man-woman cat fight kind of way. But they could have been anyone. Why Grayson and Keel, I don’t know. Though I was already a little more impressed with Keel. At that point I was thinking, hey, Christopher Walken should be playing Graham. Maybe. If “Kiss Me Kate” was remade back in the late 80s. Which it wasn’t.

ME: Keel was…fine…later. Y’know what I mean. Fine fine.

ME TOO: He was. But we advance too far. What about that weird moving sidewalk bit at the beginning of the theater in the movie part. Everyone dressed up like Santa Claus in red tights though they’re not really dressed up like Santa Claus, but their outfits remind of Santa Claus but they’re just supposed to be traveling actors, I think. Did this open at Christmas? I told H.o.p., hey, I bet this opened at Christmas. And then there’s all that confetti being thrown around, looks like snow.

ME: Hey, you’re right! It opened the 26th of November in 1953 in the USA. So it was a Christmas film.

ME TOO: I’m so smart! Hey people, it’s Christmas. Get out on those escalators and shop!

ME: The set design for the Broadway stage was nice in a pseudo but not too mind-bending surreal way.

ME TOO: It was.

ME: What dressing rooms!

ME TOO: With the dressing room scenes I was finally starting to warm up to Keel. Though not Grayson.

ME: What’d you think of Ann Miller’s boyfriend?

ME TOO: Tommy Rall? I liked him. Thought he was good for the part. He struck me as someone who would gamble away non-existent money and sign Graham’s name for it. I liked the twist that Ann Miller, Graham’s supposed new girl, was just using him to advance her career. That was a nice touch. And I liked it you could still love her despite that. The “Tom, Harry or Dick” number was fun. And she sold the “Always True to You in My Fashion” number as well.

ME: The future flashed before my eyes with Miller and Rall doing “Can’t you Behave”. There’s H.o.p. being begged to behave by someone else who can’t behave.

ME TOO: And jumping on trampolines.

ME: Incredible dancing. Rall is powerful. For some reason I started plastering Jim Carey over Tommy Rall. Not when he was dancing, but when he was speaking.

ME TOO: No,no.

ME: How about the gangsters?

ME TOO: Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore! Where’d the hell that come from? The gangsters becoming unintentional clowns, keeping Lilli/Kate in line on stage, could have been funny. Could have, but wasn’t. I wished it was funny.

ME: Okay. You’d watch the movie again for the opening scene. You said three reasons to watch again. What’s the second one.

ME TOO: Keel’s transformation about the time he takes Kate home into 6 foot 3 guy in gold earrings and black and white manly tights with lots of eyeliner and Suntan 2 make-up and yet way too easy on the eyes to be comfortably near, so it’s good he’s a fiction, and easier on the psyche too with Howard eventually morosing over Lilli having fled with the cattle baron, the bite taken out of him, Wynn and Whitmore doing their number on how it’s time for him to start polishing up on his Shakespeare in order to impress the girls. That was wonderful and I was glad for them that Wynn and Whitmore finally had something to do and they look like they’re celebrating it, showing, hey, we can act and kick up our heels too. Keel had so solidly seized the stage by this number that as they perform he sits with his back to the audience, which could be taken just as a directorial decision to keep him in the shot without being distracting. But what star is going to sit with his back to the audience? Though he’s not Howard performing before an audience at this point, it communicates a relinquishing. He’s powerful enough that even with his back to the audience throughout the number, he doesn’t begin to disappear, and you’re left to ponder it all.

ME: “Where is the life that I led?”

ME TOO: I liked Keel singing “Where is the Life That I Led”, thumbing through his little black book. The thing that didn’t work is that Grayson just wasn’t powerful enough. At the end, when she enters and gives her subservient speech, she’s just not powerful enough to convince you that Howard’s Petruchio would give up his wilder ways for this Kate.

ME TOO: Where was Ann-Margaret?

ME TOO: Ann-Margaret was about 12 years old at the time.

ME: Perfect! A barely pubescent Ann-Margaret facing off with Petruchio! Didn’t they marry them off young way back then? Thirteen or so?

ME TOO: But Kate is the older sister.

ME: Yeah, problematic.

ME TOO: So the ending completely failed for me except the expression on Graham’s face of amazed comeuppance. He looks like he’s had a revelation about love but it has nothing to do with Grayson or what she’s saying or even how she’s playing it. The expression on his face, in fact, makes her anemic speech into something other than it actually is here. Because there isn’t anything to the story of “Kiss Me Kate” than their having been two talents who became celebrated and self-absorbed, hissed at each other a lot, divorced, have recognized they still love each other and are getting back together. They’ve both been abhorrent, he in particular. There’s no reason for Lilli to return to Howard except as part of a pattern of rage then make up. But Keel communicates some revolution in his character. Whereas Lilli more reads as playing another part that suits for the moment. In this way it makes for an uncomfortable, twitchy end. One doesn’t doubt that it’s not going to be too long before they’re pitching things at each other again. If there was more to Grayson than the weirdly pious almost religious submissiveness of her expression, then it might not be so twitchy. Anyway, “Kiss Me Kate” just isn’t deep, so let’s not go there. “Kiss Me Kate” is lots of good dancing, a grand Ann Miller, and a drop dead gorgeous Petruchio. End of story.

ME: Now, the third reason to watch the film a second time?

ME TOO: Bob Fosse’s jazz dance number with Carol Haney. Comes right out of the blue and is wonderful. The only reason to not like it is it makes you feel like a few of Ann Miller’s wild peacock feathers have been plucked and doesn’t fit in the film, but there are a number of movies from the 50s and 60s where things are rolling along then wham out of nowhere there’s a jazz dance routine and then afterwards the movie goes about its business again. So though I love the jazz dance number, it’s an uncomfortable one. I feel like the way it could have worked would have been to have it separate from any of the Miller-Rall dance routines, because in combination with Miller-Rall it reads like, “Get a look at the New School!”

ME: There you have it. Our assessment of “Kiss Me Kate”.

ME TOO: I suppose.

ME: Except, why was Ann Miller’s character named Lois Lane?

ME TOO: I couldn’t begin to address that.

ME: Where was Superman?

ME TOO: Lois Lane first appeared in the Superman comics in 1938, predating “Kiss Me Kate” which opened on Broadway a decade later. Superman is of course both himself and the fabricated identity of Clark Kent, whereas Lois Lane is just what she is. I don’t know why Ann Miller’s character is named Lois Lane when she’s a hustler who is working her own illusions. OK? I dunno. I told you I didn’t want to address that.

ME: Oh, OK.

ME TOO: Never mind. It’s all right.

Venus Dreams of Leaving the Sea

Thursday, June 7th, 2007


Venus Dreams of Leaving the Sea
Digital Painting 2007

Thanks to Cookiekitty of Deviantart for use of her stock for model reference.

Hey, you! The ones who were properly, socially adjusted in school and think homeschoolers are “overly rugged individualists who lack the impulse or skills to mix in as collaborative members of everyday society!”

Friday, June 8th, 2007

I read that kids who win spelling bees Google their names like crazy. If that’s the case, to this year’s winner of the Scripps National Spelling Bee, Evan O’Dorney, congratulations! But I hope he never Googles this page and that his parents have some child filter on their computer because man I wouldn’t want Evan to have to go through reading what’s being said on the internet about him.

First, though, a few facts. He’s 13, a math wiz, studying calculus, composes piano concertos.

In truth, Evan doesn’t much like spelling

His real loves are math and music, in that order.

“In general, I like things that are logical,” said Evan, who studies piano and composition at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.

“I like the way that math works. It’s not like spelling, where you have to memorize all the exceptions to all the words. Math is orderly. It makes sense. You can always figure out whether something is true, and once you figure it out, it will always be true, if the logic is correct.”

Ken Perano, a computer scientist at Sandia National Laboratory in Livermore, calls Evan a “one-in-a-million student” who likely will begin placing at the top of national math exams soon.

“It’s just an extreme aptitude,” he said. “He’s a genius.”

Perano first met Evan three years ago while speaking to students on a field trip touring the lab.

“At first, I thought he was a younger sibling of one of the advanced students,” he remembered. “Then Evan started asking some very probing questions, which proved he knew what he was talking about.”

Perano, whose children also are home-schooled, began spending an hour each week mentoring Evan.

Source: Contracosta Times
http://www.contracostatimes.com/ci_6019445

I don’t follow spelling bees, myself. I don’t care about them. The only reason I know about this…and care about this…is I first read about it on Gawker and their lead sentence is, “The 13-year-old winner of the National Spelling Bee, who is home-schooled, subjected CNN’s Kiran Chetry to an extremely painful live interview…,” which unleashes guess what in the comment area? Which is my concern, the outcry of (paraphrase) “Lookie here! We’ve got a homeschooled idiot who isn’t socialized like the public-school-graduate I am!”

They have a vid of the interview and I watched it, and what do you know, it’s a vid of a kid who’s 13, who has been flooded with interviews, who is exhausted (he said so on another interview I found), a 13-year-old who is dealing with glossy, superficial television inanities, trying to answer their questions as truthfully as he can, and then he has the indignity of trying to spell a word that the anchor mispronounces, and she’s the one who can’t seem to get through her head that she’s mispronouncing it.

Now, after the post at Gawker comes the flood of comments from people who know nothing about Evan, who don’t know that he is a “one-in-a-million student”, that he studies music at the San Francisco Conservatory, that he’s mentored by a computer scientist and that he loves logic. And perhaps you can imagine what these comments are like, coming from people who count themselves as better socialized than poor Evan? I’ll get around to them in a second.

First, you’re probably thinking, “You’re interested in this because you’re homeschooling H.o.p.?”

I’d be interested in this even if I wasn’t homeschooling H.o.p.–who is not a “one-in-a-million” student, hates math, who cares not about logic but instead loves fantasy and talks incessantly about how HIS stories will be better than the stories he reads or watches and then details how, who will never win a spelling bee and doesn’t care, whose personality happens to be one where he’s animated as hell and is pretty much eager to perform, perform, perform, as long as it’s his own idea. He’s obviously different from Evan in the logic department. As far as what Evan’s general disposition is, how animated he may or may not be, and if he’s “socialized”? Y’know? I couldn’t give a guess because I can’t tell from a couple minutes of interview with a tired 13-year-old.

BUT there are a lot of people out there who CAN say exactly what Evan is like, though all they know of him is that he won the National Spelling Bee and that he made sure the news anchor PRONOUNCED his name right because she’d MISPRONOUNCED it and when challenged to spell a word he tried to get her to say it correctly, because you can see his confusion and that he suspects she’s not saying the word correctly, not to mention he’s got a lot of pressure on him because now he’s national news and if he doesn’t get it right he’ll probably be very hard on himself about it in the way that a 13-year-old is going to be hard on him or herself.

Anyway, these people who comment on Evan take it upon themselves to guess JUST how socialized he is (because they are so very socialized adults themselves and are a model standard against which to compare Evan) and how well-adjusted he is (or not) and plunge into hazarding diagnosis. These are some of their comments…

I think he’s officially the new poster child for why you should send your kids out to school.What a weirdo.

and

Holy fuck, I will never home scholl my kid or else he’ll turn into a walking beatdown like that boy.

and

By homeschooling this child, his parents have doomed him to a lonely, isolated, socially awkward life. The good thing is he’s a sort of overly-focused prodigy. He’ll be dressing up in firefighter outfits and setting up smoke bombs to flaccidly fondle women and steal their shoes by at least 20. What a go-getter.

and

total Asperger case. why do people home-school their children? my goodness. this is like child abuse. how can this child possibly function in the world

and

That was painful for all concerned. The home school vibes make me want to take 20 hot showers in a row.

and

Wow, I would have thought a home schooled kid who spent every waking moment of his life with his parents and a dictionary would have been a fucking social dynamo. Someone give this kid a beer or something before he gets accepted to Virgina Tech.

Yeah, I know at Gawker it’s all about humiliation, but we’re talking a 13-year-old kid here, and I’m reading these remarks thinking, “This is socialization???” Because even if it is all about who can be first-rate at cutting, I imagine a number of people who comment at Gawker do believe in their comments.

Or how about over here at the Facepunch Studios forum (for videos and flash movies)? They too took an interest in Evan’s problems.

Their “socialized” comments on Evan’s interview?

…sheer insanity…What a dick.

and

What an ass.

and

nerd

and

I seriously want to get homeschooling banned now. I’m a fucking 99% geek and I don’t sound so geekish like that guy does. I can’t even describe how this thing irritates me.

and

wow, that kid need a real life.

and

America’s best speller. World’s worst idiot.

and

Needs more exposure with the outside world. He takes several tens of seconds before he can say ANYTHING, something is not right.

and


I’ve seen worse. He’s still a little asshole that needs his butt home schooled in proper etiquette.

and

Autistic boy hangs self after misspelled word.

and

He’s like those ’special’ people who can multiply 400 digit numbers… smart and dumb at the same time, he should get a medal for that.

and

I want to kidnap people like him, put them all in one room, grab a gun and have a good time. Does that make me cruel?

And that is SOCIALIZED!

Oh, gee, how grand and wonderful that kind of SOCIALIZATION must be. Of the questions that the majority of homeschoolers are asked, the principle one is, “But what about socialization?” And what’s odd about the question is that a good number of them pushing public ed for socialization’s sake (go read around the internet on it) seem to be well aware of the viciousness of that socialization and believe that every child must be subjected to it in order to get a thicker skin and be able to run with the pack in the “real world”.

Referring back to Russell Shaw’s “Let’s Restrict Home Schooling” post at “The Huffington Post” a couple of weeks ago, which I already commented on here.

Hey, RUSSELL! You SAID:

I’m equally troubled by the fact that a non-trivial number of home-schoolers are taught in that way because their parents are overly rugged individualists who lack the impulse or skills to mix in as collaborative members of everyday society.

Well, the world is overly complex. Lots of different types of people, of cultural forces. Hiding off somewhere and teaching your kids away from the influence of a socially formative school environment can make it harder for your children to learn about the give-and-take of life in our present-day culture.

What? They need to be socialized to the absolute lowest common denominator? Because you were socialized to it and went through the ringer and were beaten up a few times before you got your Fully Initiated socialization skills down and fought to maintain some status by making sure there was always some kid next down on the totem pole on whose head you were standing, butting them in the nose with the heel of your shoe?

Damn. Read through the above comments again and then let’s talk about the importance of going to school for sake of socialization and acquiring the kind of social skills that it takes for “the give-and-take of life in our present-day culture”. And don’t tell me, “That’s the worst of the worst,” because it’s not. It’s par for the course.

It’s brutal, it’s brainless, and the majority of those who suffered through public school think that because they had to go through it then THAT’S NORMAL, so hey you, the “overly rugged individualists who lack the impulse or skills to mix in as collaborative members of everyday society”, get a grip and learn to lick the boot above while grinding yours on the face below, the grinding down on the face below being not only hysterical but necessary of course for the education of the one below so that they change their faltering ways and become more NORMAL.

Whatta world. Whatta world.

Hey, you! The ones who were properly, socially adjusted in school and think homeschoolers are “overly rugged individualists who lack the impulse or skills to mix in as collaborative members of everyday society!” Over here! We’ve got SOMEONE WHO’S DIFFERENT! Come on! Let that 13-year-old in on just how ABNORMAL HE IS! Or wait, forget the chump change 13-year-old. Why not let this homeschooling mom know just what a freak *I* am. Better you go after someone your own size, right?

Except I am a freak, I’m not being facetious, despite the fact I went to public school I’m a freak, and I could really stand to be hurt by the pile-up because despite the fact I went to public school as a kid I still have room for some bruises, right uhm, there, and despite the fact I went to public school I didn’t learn well enough the give-and-take of life in our present-day culture so even if I do land a punch I’m going to angst sorely over the brawl and you will be so able to take unfair advantage of that and squash me like a bug while I angst over that and the fact that I am so ABNORMAL. For some reason public school didn’t teach me how to be NORMAL, and it has been a hard burden to bear.

Well, who cares that I really am a freak! Go for it anyway…

And keep your damn paws off the kids.

Three Tow Trucks At Once!

Sunday, June 10th, 2007

Ouch, I just thwacked the shit out of my hand. That’ll be a nice bruise.

Anyway, every so often the Midtown Blue Boys show back up and proceed to their off-duty policing, which is supposed to have to do with keeping things safer in Midtown but they’re never around for all the hookers turning tricks in doorways, and if they’re around they drive right past them. Instead, what they are primarily concerned with is towing away the cars of people who live here.

Beep beep beep. We go to the front room and there isn’t just one tow truck out there this time, there are THREE. And a Midtown Blue vehicle.

One of the major points of contention is the dead fire hydrant outside our building. It’s been dead for at least five years. It even has a sign up on it saying it’s dead.

You can’t park there, of course, despite the fact it’s dead.

You point out to the Midtown Blue Boys that it is DEAD and has been dead for many years and they act like it’s kind of news to them that they don’t care about (when they well know that it’s dead) and say it’s not their problem, that it’s a fire hydrant and no one is supposed to park in front of it.

Observer (as in Marty): That fire hydrant has been dead for years.

Midtown Blue: That’s of absolutely no concern to me.

Marty called the head of Midtown Blue to talk about this and the prospect of Midtown Blue perhaps helping to get the hydrant back in service if they’re so keen on making sure no one parks in front of it. But of course it’s not their problem, they’re just here to protect us and keep us from parking our cars in front of it and dragging off cars that may infringe an inch into a yellow zone.

People talk. When residents look out and see the Midtown Blue Boys around with the tow trucks, they see dollar signs ringing up on someone’s cash register. Ding ding. Now I have no way of knowing if there’s a foundation for that reasoning but it’s what people say when they talk. Hell, it’s what *I* say when I talk. “Ding Ding.” I have no basis, no knowledge. But I say it. “Ding Ding.”

Residents periodically run down the block to warn someone who’s an inch in the yellow, “Midtown Blue’s back around again and they’re towing everything.”

The Spontaneous Emergence of Captain Beefheart II

Sunday, June 10th, 2007

Aaaah. My little H.o.p. says that he’s going to “do a comedy musical about a man with a fish head who runs around bumping into stuff”.

And he doesn’t even know about Captain Beefheart.

The above idea followed after his talking about the musical he was going to do about a banshee and a yeti.

Boingboing was dismissive but I’m bowing in humbled reverant awe (though not bowing too low, since these are kids, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass them)

Monday, June 11th, 2007

Help! Do you know someone who knows Japanese?

Boingboing was pretty dismissive of some wonderful kids who performed several song routines on a Japanese television show for Johnnny Depp.

In fact, these kids are remarkable..

The video is in two parts here. But H.o.p. wants them both up on the blog so he can watch them whenever he wants (he enjoyed immensely) so the two parts are here too, below.

The first one beginning at 4:11 has the girls performing the “Pirates of the Caribbean” theme. I swear it’s more thrilling than anything in the first movie watching these kids trade off playing phrases. (I say “in the first movie” as I didn’t watch the second, though we have it, and haven’t seen the third and probably won’t.)

The routine at the beginning of part two (below) is incredible!

Years ago, when I was waitressing at The Point, while waiting for customers to appear I spent my time trying to teach myself Japanese, drilling myself on katakana, hiragana and Kanji, but can no longer read or write it now.

Hoping to learn if this was some kind of little girl performing troupe with a real name I attempted to try to decipher some of the figures.

I can finally make out at the top of the screen e re ri too so SHOJO (the last is kanji) vs. Johnny Depp

The first part is katakana (for foreign derived words) and the last kanji is “little girl” so the translation could actually be something like “very little little girls”??? But I’m unsure of it.

At the end of Part Two at about 1:11 there’s a picture of the girls with Johnny and it reads (I think) paireeshi obu reheeteechan.

I don’t know what that means unless it is “pirates of ….?”

Oh well, I was hoping for some group kind of NAME for these girls. They were so entertaining, I wanted them to be more than “little girls versus Johnny Depp”.

Astonishing what they were able to pull off after two weeks of rehearsals. Had it been me instead of Johnny Depp I’d have been out of my chair after each song shouting, “YES!!!!! AMAZING!!!!!” Not that he wasn’t on target with it being somewhat “strange” and “haunting” but he was a bit too coy with those remarks, and it was only strange and haunting in a wonderful way.

He did give each of the girls a nice hug.

P.S. I went to check out the comments section at Japan Probe (realizing they allowed comment) to see if they had further info on the kids but didn’t see any.

A link to the below video was left in the comments section at Japan Probe.

Have some fun watching the MARIMBA PONIES!

I love marimba.