The One Thing
Sorry about the distinct lack of blawgage yesterday; I was contending with one hell of a chest cold. Back at work today, though, walking wounded, hoping to infect all my lovely coworkers. They're already terrified of me, so I imagine if I tell 'em I've got the whooping cough they'll give me an extra-wide berth. ...
So of the few things I have to look forward to in life, Richard Linklater's Waking Life is near the top of the list. Not because I'm some Linklater disciple or anything; in fact, since the genius that was Slacker, his films have gone from good (Dazed and Confused) to mediocre (SubUrbia) to downright awful (The Newton Boys).
But I expect that Waking Life will change all that. Filmed in digital video then converted to QuickTime, the footage was then rotoscoped by a team of animators using a brand-new computer-animation process. (Click here for a fascinating featurette on the process — in QuickTime, of course.) It all adds up to what should make for an entirely new kind of movie experience and, hopefully, a return to form for Linklater.
Next up for Linklater? Tape, a film with only three actors set entirely within a hotel room. Claustrophobia, anyone? Shot for less than $150,000, also on DV, early notices are good, despite the fact that one of three actors in question is Ethan Hawke. For the record, the other two are Robert Sean Leonard and Uma Thurman.
The Other Thing
Perhaps the only other thing worth looking forward to is the amazing bill Tracy and I will be checking out at the Great American Music Hall on Saturday night. The fifth-to-last-ever show by the hallowed Murder City Devils, the ineffable Rocket from the Crypt, Botch, undisputed best-song-namers of all time (c.f. "C. Thomas Howell as the Soul Man" and "I Wanna Be a Sex Symbol on My Own Terms"), and American Steel.
Look out for the full review on musicrag.com on Monday. Party on. ßßß
Stop the Sitcom Insanity
What do Ellen, Raymond, Bernie Mac, Damon Wayans, Jim Belushi, Emeril, and Calista all have in common? Well, let's see: None of them are funny, and yet they all have prime-time "comedy" TV shows. Curious.
Will someone please explain to me how (not to mention why) TV networks churn out the same exact shitty formulaic situation comedies season after season and expect us to bend over and take it? No more, I say. No more. And especially no more pathetic "dramedies" like Ed and Ally McBeal and tripe like that. Drama plus comedy does not equal "dram-edy"; more often than not, comedy and drama add up to "co-ma."
And how is it that these TV execs pull in hundreds of thousands of dollars creating this crap?? It's color by fucking numbers, fer crissakes.
C'mon, people. We deserve better than this. Better like Undeclared, which is actually funny. And which, near as I can figure, is the only good program to come out of this whole TV season. With the possible exception of The Tick, which I ain't seen yet, but hold out hope that it won't suck. But please. In the name of all that is holy. Stop the sitcom insanity. Today. ßßß
And so it goes.
The best regular season record ever in the American League might get you to the playoffs, but apparently it does not guarantee a trip to the World Series. Seattle, who won an AL-record 116 games this regular season, were ousted by the Yankees last night. See yesterday's entry for my thoughts on a Yankees/Diamondbacks World Series. Might be interesting. Might not be. We shall see.
Band update? Not really. Sorta, though.
So I'm writing lyrics now for the new band thing. First time in a dozen years that I've done it, probably. And it ain't easy.
Oh, sure, it's easy to write down a bunch of words that rhyme or at least come close, but writing something meaningful, something powerful, something that avoids all (OK, most) of the rock 'n' roll clichés — that's freaking hard. But I'm muddling through. Two songs almost complete. They will not be posted anywhere, ever, at least until the record comes out. You can read them then. Or not. Most likely not, I'm thinking.
But I did just register thehillshaveeyes.com, so that the new band will have an online home when it's ready for one. I'll let you know when there's something there worth seeing. Don't hold your breath or anything, though.
Cheezy emo faux noir photography update.
Apparently my photography doesn't suck quite as badly as I thought. People who oughta know better have told me that the one pic from last week ain't half bad. And some folks had even made it their desktop wallpaper. Very flattering. So I took the liberty of making some actual wallpaper-sized versions if you are inclined toward having super-emo black-and-white photos on your desktop. Do not mix this wallpaper with music by the Smiths or Jets to Brazil. You may become dangerously introspective.
To do the thing, click on the appropriate link, then right-click on the photo and make it your wallpaper. I can't be bothered to keep up with all the peculiarities of various browser versions anymore, so if you need help, IM me or email me. 800x600 version | 1024x768 version. Rock on. ßßß
Whoa. That was close.
So I've been spared a Yankees/Braves World Series. Thank heavens for small favors.
It's looking a lot like it'll be the New York vs. Arizona, which should make for an intriguing matchup. Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson would each be able to go twice in a seven-game series, and if those guys can shut down the Yankees the way they did the Braves, even the Diamondbacks anemic offense might be enough to get over.
And apologies to all the non-baseball fans out there. It'll all be over in a week or so. Then I'll be back to normal, just posting about how much I hate everyone.
More from the "I'm officially too old for this" department.
So my last official "vice," in the Merriam-Webster sense of the word, is smoking the occasional cigar. And having the old man around gives me plenty of opportunity to indulge, as he's a pipe and cigar smoker. My two main barriers to cigar smoking are the expense and the loneliness, both of which are removed when he provides the smoking materials and hangs out while we smoke. Quality male bonding.
So we did the bonding thing on Saturday, wherein I enjoyed one of his fine Punch robustos. Since I only indulge once every few months, I could only smoke half the thing before I was too faded to stand up straight. All in all, a very enjoyable experience.
But here it is, 40-plus hours later, and I still feel like someone is standing on my chest. I woke myself up coughing the past two nights, and I feel like I'm expectorating large pieces of my internal organs. Bah.
On the plus side, though, my predicted cold/flu/typhoid/anthrax hasn't manifested itself just yet. I chalk it up to clean living, very little sleep, and drinking my weight in coffee each day. You should try it! ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
