I am exactly the right age to enjoy 80's videos on any and all levels - as kitsch or moving art. Since I hit 30 a few years ago, I have lost all shame about my music choices. Barry Manilow, Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, Faure (who, according to one musical encyclopedia I read, is nothing more than a cut rate Debussy wannabe) Wham!, Apocalyptica etc. And I refuse to be "ironic" in my enjoyment of these groups; all have music or lyrics which move me for one reason or another.
Duran Duran are probably my favorite nonsensical band. Their lyrics make no sense. Ever. When I started listening to them I was about 11, and I assumed that they must be serious poetic works that I would understand better when I was an adult. As an adult, I realized they still don't make sense, but I no longer care. I love their musical arrangements. And their videos, which make as much sense as their lyrics. Greg, I remember reading that the video for "Wild Boys" was supposed to be a representation of the band being tortured by what they loved most, hence John(?) being strapped to the car. I have no idea Simon's method of torture indicated - a great love for water? Wind power? Who cares! It was awesome! And, like Labyrinth, something that compelled and/or warped me at a young age whose implications I can only fully appreciate as a grown up.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to crank up the volume on this a-ha CD.
The Great "but-is-it-art" debate is interesting. I rail against this kind of snobbery in many media, but I've found myself on the other side of the "elite" divide a few times. I remember bitching and moaning about Andrea Bocelli, and that I felt there were more talented yet still accessible singers out there who were working as temps and waiters because they unfortunately still have their sight... and then someone reminded me that if more "regular" people were listening to Mozart and Puccini where was the harm in it? Also, I was reminded of the number of string musicians who worked every time he had a concert.
I don't argue with the existence of art that I don't understand or like - even if my tax money goes to support it - but there is an annoying undercurrent of "if you don't like it, you're a tasteless oik" even in the mainstream press. Recently I saw an exhibit that I found incredibly moving - and neat! The art critic for the LA Times gave it a brief, eye-rolling review, implying that any adult who would enjoy it was some kind of middle-brow bozo. Next to that review was a longer rave about an installation involving a plastic box.
While I rarely let art critics decide what I want to see (the recent King Tut thing is the rare exception - the press only reinforcing my impression that this was more of a Zahi Hawass publicity event) I can imagine that seeing reviews like this bugs the bejeesus out of lots of non-artists who may not know about art, but we know what we like.
I'm pretty sure that Billington fellow is wearing too-small underpants, and wrote that commentary right after sucking on a lemon. What a maroon!
Glenn, that Hogwarts Express story is great! I've done a few day sails on tall ships, and the best part of it is the looks on people's faces - from kids to adults - when they see a "pirate" ship under full sail, smoke rising from the cannons.
I'm beginning to think that living in Hollywood (both literally and figuratively) is wasted on anyone not an Urban Fantasy author.
With the new dog and new work schedule, I find myself walking a lot more, which has invariably lifted my spirits. Even the awful smog that blankets most of LA from April through October takes on a weird bright glow, the cheerful shine of the haze making me feel like I'm in the middle of an overexposed grainy film.
On my way home from work the other day I left the red line station to drop my books off at the library. While I was walking home I started noting the pictures I would take for friends and family back in the midwest when I finally get my camera repaired - I can never get words to describe what makes my neigborhood magical; the row of feral ficus trees, their roots bursting through the sidewalks, wrecking parking lot asphalt, making the sidewalk dangerously lumpy. The tiny fan palm seedlings growing in the tiny cracks in the pavement. The strip mall built in the 1980's to look like a movie set from a 30's western set in the 1880's.
I was just lamenting not getting the picture of Darth Vader leading a detatchment of Stormtroopers down Vine, across Sunset Blvd, (with the light - even The Empire follows traffic laws) the sole highlight of last year's Star Wars premiere, when I turned the corner onto my little side street and nearly walked into a man. Since I live in a residential neighborhood, it's not unusual to see people. Nonetheless, he was striking, and I had to stop. At six feet tall with shoulder length dreadlocks, the garden variety tattoos covering his muscular arms and shoulders - even the many stainless steel studs decorating his face - didn't mark him out as particularly unusual. But he leaned against his primer-gray pickup truck and smiled at me, and it was the numerous dark blue cuneiform tattoos lining the warm brown of his face that made me stop and stare.
He acknowledged me with a nod and a widened grin and said: "I'm sorry; I pulled over so I could ask - I just had to know if you were spoken for."
I giggled and with best NYC reflexes, assumed any stranger talking to me was some kind of weirdo, and lied about my status. The man chuckled ruefully and replied, "Well, I just had to know! You have a good day." And then he hopped into his truck and drove off.
I could have asked him a million questions, starting with what makes a guy pull over for a fat thirty-something wearing a giant russian shawl, rhinestone cat-eye glasses and carrying a Darth Vader messenger bag - or maybe what language the tattoos were in and what did they mean - But part of me just wants to believe that he's part of a weird subterranean cabal of imps, elves and faeries populating Hollywood, and they're looking for an amateur musician and accomplished office monkey to Help Save The World.
I live happily in an LA neighborhood that's the intersection of Thai Town and Little Armenia, with a populace that seems to be divided equally between white, hispanic and armenian folks. I have no idea what the immigrant status of any of my neighbors is and as they pay rent and taxes (well, I'm guessing) and go to work and school, walk their dogs, do yardwork, enjoy music and have BBQs with friends and family on weekends I see no reason why I should give a rats ass whether they've been here for two weeks or two generations, let alone whether they have or need a green card.
While I suppose it's true that our immigration policy is wacky (hey look - It's a serf class!) I have avoided most discussions about it because I find the rhetoric surrounding the issue breathtakingly racist. Maybe it's because I live here and have lived in NYC that I just don't find a group of people who speak a different language and don't look like me inherently scary.
Unfortunately, my otherwise liberal parents seem to have an obsession with "the mexicans" - and who can blame them, with Schaumburg, Ilinois' whopping 5% Hispanic population (according to the offical Schaumburg website) Mariachi bands may soon be outnumbering Polka bands 2-to-1.*
Dad forwarded me some anti-immigrant claptrap from Bill Frist a couple of weeks ago, and I deleted it without response. Not since the Arnold Friberg Incident of 2002 have we so obviously failed to see eye-to-eye.
* in the interest of full annoying music disclosure, I enjoy bagpipe music, and have no ethnic excuse to do so.
I believe I heard of Henry VIII having been conveyed by crane onto his horse for a tourney near the end of his reign. This was not normal, as Tourneys were at that point entirely ceremonial, and he was the King. The crane had less to do with the weight of his armor than his own physical limitations.
Mind you, this could be another Tudor Urban Legend, but it's plausible; the various Henry VIII armors on display at the Tower of London are certainly instructional.
All this comic discussion reminds me of the first time I saw Neil Gaiman at a con. I was a big fan of his books, but I had never read his comics.
It was SDComicon a few years ago, and he was doing a Q&A to a packed room. One guy got up and asked Neil why so many girls liked Sandman. Actually, he got kind of a hostile whine in his voice, and stated that "Why is it that if I tell a hot chick I read comics, she says 'Oh, I love Sandman'!? I mean, why is it that so many chicks like your comics?"
It almost sounded like a complaint - why have you let them in to our male domain? - as much as a tacit acknowledgement that regular girls who read comics are beneath notice, on accounta they're not "hot chicks". I was a little shocked by the hostility, frankly. But Neil paused a moment and answered:
"Well, because they're not post-adolescent male power fantasies."
There were a lot of cheers (and a woman in the back yelled that chicks dug Sandman because he was hot) and then Neil continued to patiently explain that like other humans, women enjoy good storytelling.
After that Q&A, I picked up volume 1 of the Sandman collection, and haven't looked back.
I'm afraid I never got into comics as a kid, specifically because I didn't ever see any female I related to on any level. As an adult I am learning to really enjoy the medium, but I'm still grossly uninterested in Superhero comics - although perversely, I do enjoy many Superhero type movies. I blame Hugh Jackman.
I've been looking for tank tops with molded cups for some time, and while they've finally hit the fat lady sizes, I've noticed that there is just too much "cup" at the top. Who gave these designers the idea that someone with a DD cup had as much boob on the top as on the bottom? Perhaps too many comic books?
They'd be great for any large-chested woman who looks like she has cantaloupes stapled to her chest though!
I'm de-ROT13-ing a non-spoilery bit of your comment, Xopher:
"I thought they made the fucked-upness of V pretty clear, actually. He was certainly elegant, but he wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, a sane man. Who was it who said that all progress is the work of unreasonable people?"
You're right - his complete loonines is pretty clear. I suppose all of my analysis may be an attempt for me to assuage my guilt at finding the character at times so damn attractive - not neccesarily in the physical sense, but in an overall logic-and-personality way. And while I am certain the creators of the film intended for V to be compelling, I'm still disturbed that I am personally compelled.
But then I saw this film with a friend whose favorite SW character was always Darth Vader, and as a kid she was deeply upset at Vader's redemption at the end of ROTJ. (the less said about the prequels, the better) She is rather unapologetic about liking V, and finds him much more of an anti-hero than a sympathetic villain. I believe we may have found common ground with the Trickster identity.
I was thinking the same thing about the mass of Guys descending upon the White House, but given the lack of coverage of the giant protest marches this weekend (the LA one snarled up my neighborhood in Hollywood ten times worse than the Oscars - and was represented in the LA Times by one small pic of a person with a no-bombs pictogram painted on hir face) and people being arrested for wearing T-shirts (albeit politically charged ones) to SOTU addresses, I suspect it won't have the desired outcome. Shame, really.
I think that turning 50 automatically means that "Teresa" is to "Trouble" as "W" is to "Illegal"; As Teresa is a respectable 50-year-old, you must be confused and mistaken about the nature of the "trouble" or "mischief" she has caused and/or participated in. Going out in her barefeet to light fireworks or other assorted incendiary devices (for example) has been elevated by Teresa's participation in it. Who says this is "trouble"? Why do you hate America?
Happy Birthday, Teresa!
Jon H - not only am I American, but I am also a Californian; here it's considered a tragedy when an historic hot dog stand is demolished.
So as far as I'm concerned, Parliament is Old.
Greg, in response to gur gbegher vffhr va gur svyz does intention play into your perception at all? Honestly, I don't think there's a right or wrong answer to this conundrum; please no one think that my views toward this movie, this character and this issue are at all transferrable to certain similar issues in Real Life.
ohg gur snpg gung I jnf hfvat gur bayl gbbyf ur xarj ubj gb rssrpg n punatr va Rirl znxrf uvf gerngzrag bs ure n gval ovg orggre guna gur npgvbaf bs n fgngr zbgvingrq bayl ol cbyvgvpny cbjre-tenoovat. Uvf erzbefr vf nabgure fznyy tyvzzre bs uhznavgl va.
V qba'g guvax guvf znxrf uvz n Tbbq crefba, ohg sbe zr, vg qvssreragvngrf uvf npgvbaf sebz gur fgngr.
It's also what keeps him from being a dashing anti-hero, makes the character ambiguous and interesting, and makes me seriously disturbed that I have a crush on him. ;)
Hmmm... While Greg and I might be in agreement, Serge and I are not thinking of the same Reprehensible Act, so I am going to have to resort to ROT13:
Gung jr ner gnyxvat nobhg gjb ragveryl frcrengr Ercerurafvoyr Npgf fhccbegf zl gurbel gung I vf yrff n gbegherq nagv-ureb guna n flzcngurgvp Ivyynva. Vg'f zl bcvavba gung ur zrnag sbe rirelbar va gur znfxf gb rzretr ng gur fnzr gvzr, naq gurersber nibvq univat whfg gur bar bs gurz fubg. Vg vf, ubjrire, cerggl nzovthbhf. Gur obzo irfg ur jrnef gb tnva npprff gb gur argjbex vf nabgure ovg bs nzovthvgl - V pna'g gryy vs vg jnf npghnyyl n obzo, be whfg n pyrire pbhagresrvg, fvapr uvf oybjvat uvzfrys nybat jvgu gur GI fgngvba xvaq bs qrsrngf uvf checbfr bs trggvat gur jbeq bhg - gung V guvax V zvtug cersre abg gb xabj sbe fher. Gur ovg bs rkcynangvba - juvpu V'z abg fnlvat whfgvsvrf nal bs I'f npgvbaf - vf urneq va gur fprar jura ur gevrf gb znxr rkphfrf gb Rirl: "Gurl gerngrq zr zbafgebhfyl!" gb juvpu fur ercyvrf dhvgr znggre-bs-snpgyl "Naq gurl znqr lbh n zbafgre." Naq urer V unir gb tvir cebcf gb Angnyvr Cbegzna'f qryvirel, juvpu xrcg gur erfcbafr sebz orvat n syvc erwbvaqre, naq zber n fvzcyr fgngrzrag bs snpg.
Zl qrfvtangrq Ercerurafvoyr Npg vf gur bar n yvggyr yngre - I'f flfgrzngvp oenvajnfuvat naq gbegher bs Rirl, naq ure riraghny tengvghqr sbe vg. V guvax gung'f npghnyyl gur pehk bs gur zbivr - lrf, fur unf rzretrq n fgebatre crefba naq ol ure bja nqzvffvba, fur nyjnlf jnagrq gb or srneyrff. Ohg ng jung pbfg? Va uvf qrsrafr, I qbrfa'g erzrzore nalguvat gung unccrarq gb uvz orsber uvf bja gbegher; vg'f gur bayl jnl ur xabjf ubj gb tvir ure jung fur jnagf. Gung qbrfa'g znxr vg evtug. Ohg gurer vf fbzr gval fbzrguvat va gur svyz juvpu xrrcf Rirl'f pbagvahrq qribgvba gb I sebz orvat abguvat ohg Fgbpxubyz Flaqebzr - whfg nf gurer vf fbzr bgure yvggyr jungabg gung xrrcf gurve fprar va gur Ghor ghaary jurer ur yrnirf ure sebz orvat gur ynfg fprar bs Pnfnoynapn.
Lrf, vg vf hapbzsbegnoyr, ohg gung'f jung xrrcf zr guvaxvat nobhg vg nyy qnl.
Oh, and may I just say that V just might be living in my dream home? While I would prefer maybe some southern-facing windows in there, his taste in art is just about my speed. Not to mention I fear his book-infested bedroom is what mine is ultimately destined to be.
Greg -
I do believe we're referring to the same thing here. I'm pretty sure the screenwriter/director intended to make that aspect uncomfortable. Beyond character motivations which when analysed, make complete sense - but explain rather than fully justify - I think the question is meant to be a variation on "do the ends justify the means?" both in reference to this individual reprehensible act, and also every other act in the film.
While the overall "message" of the film can be summed up as the rather simplistic and cliche "facism is bad", it's the little acts (the dominoes) that I'm going to be turning over in my mind for the rest of the week.
Addressing two previous comments - yes, they have made the Guy Fawkes connection rather explicit, specifically for the American audience I wager, and disappointingly, they've excised the Vicious Cabaret.
Also annoyed that the LA Times has reported that the film is #1, on accounta all those precious Male viewers who have now Saved The Cinema by deigning to buy a ticket. According to the article, 60% of the audience was male, which is less than an overwhelming majority if you ask me, though I'm no expert in statistics. Never mind that my friend (also a female) and I saw the movie twice in the theatre. Maybe we're just male and don't know it.
I saw V this weekend (twice), and I loved and loved it. I have one or two questions that might be answered by the comic, but other than that, I thought it was great - marred only by Natalie Portman's crummy approximation of an accent.
The only review I can really give is that if you like the kind of movies I like, you'll also enjoy it. My tastes run toward swashbuckling melodramatic epics (Gladiator, SW, Indiana Jones), bonnet movies (Pride & Prejudice) and of course, upper-middle-brow SF (Serenity, LOTR, V for Vendetta, Nightwatch). If a preview has one or more shots of Our Hero flying away from a ball of flame, I'll skip it. (the MI:3 trailer had no fewer than three of these shots.)
Yes, there are plot holes (that one Serge mentions with Stephen Fry), but I find V interesting because he's very much an almost-villain, rather than an anti-hero. While parts of him definitely fit into that charming anti-hero role, he does some things that are truly reprehensible (and I'm not even talking about the blowing historical buildings up).
I saw the film twice and felt differently about the characters each time I saw it. I suspect next time I see it, I'll change my mind again.
The Los Angeles diocese has the special dispensation to eat meat - St. Patrick is also the patron saint of the LA diocese.
I realized when watching MI:5 (which was originally called "Spooks") that those edits for time were just as annoying as the edits for content.
I've never watched Dr. Who before - when I first became aware of it, all that was available was the hokey early-ish stuff which put me off, rather like ST:TOS must have done for people not raised with it. I've heard such good things about this new series and am hoping I can just hop right into it and enjoy it enough that it can be an entertaining substitute for BSG for awhile. If they blur out a booby, I'll roll my eyes but eventually be OK. If they excise the character who is reportedly openly bi-sexual, I'll be cranky.
The worst example of Sci-Fi's scardey cat bleeping policy was on an episode of Firefly when Jayne's offhand comment about the quality of his lunch - "This tastes like crotch!" became "This tastes like ****." Which actually made it sound much dirtier than it was.
Does anyone know if Sci-fi's cutting Dr. Who for time and/or content? I kind of assume they are, but on the outside chance they're going to be decent human beings about it, I'd like to know. Otherwise, I'll just Netflix them.
Thanks, Jim! I love how this entry illuminates both St. Pat's, Irish and US history. May I copy it to the mailing list I've created for my upcoming trip to Ireland? It would be a nice companion to my patient explanation that the Republic of Ireland does not have a Queen.
I'm celebrating by listening to Gaelic Storm and Great Big Sea - not strictly Irish, but close enough. Maybe I'll have a bit of Jameson's in my coffee later on.
Oooh, thanks for the reminder! Having spent the weekend on a mock battle sail with my favorite pirates and then being mildly disappointed with the National Geographic Blackbeard special, this should be just the thing.
I'm trying the Easy White recipe next, as my roommate stubbornly refuses to enjoy chocolate quite as much as the rest of the world. If a cake is frosted in chocolate, she picks most of the frosting off!
TJ's had a great vanilla paste around xmas that made the best vanilla frosting, but even so, buttercream frosting unadulterated by cocoa is sometimes a bit much.
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