oprah is evil

Belvedere!

2011-03-07T09:17:00.000-06:00

Mr. Belvedere

2011-02-28T13:24:00.000-06:00

Wal-mart

2011-02-22T11:18:00.000-06:00

Susan Lucci

2011-02-22T11:06:00.000-06:00

Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes

2011-02-16T09:59:00.000-06:00

In Mrs. Bruns' 5th grade class, I read Johnny Tremain and Where the Red Fern Grows (by Wilson Rawls) in tandem. I have fond memories of both books, and as an adult, I began to question the validity of my memory of Johnny Tremain due to its historical nature. I hate history. It bores me to death. Hence, I set out to re-read Johnny Tremain in an attempt to destroy my inner child and prove that I cannot trust myself. I realize how fucked-up that sounds, but it made sense in my head when I decided to check it out from the library recently.

Much to my surprise and delight, I love Johnny Tremain (the book and the character) more now than ever before. I can even understand why I identified with him as a child - he worked hard, he was proud, he was no-nonsense, and he was on his way toward greatness. I loved him even more when he was injured, humbled, rejected, and eventually heroic.

Of course, Johnny Tremain is also riddled with racism and religious bullshit. The racism wasn't quite as jaw-dropping as the religious overtones, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by either being that the book was written by an American in 1943. Perhaps more important is Forbes' view on America's politics and economy, making several references to people being more interested in their pocketbooks than anything else.

The primary theme of Johnny Tremain is still relevant, even if only to a few.

“There shall be no more tyranny. A handful of men cannot seize power over thousands. A man shall choose who it is shall rule over him...We give all we have, lives, property, safety, skills...we fight, we die, for a simple thing. Only that a man can stand up.”

It's complicated, isn't it? In a country where corporations dictate government and the masses are sedated with fast food and television, I will say that I am still moved by Johnny Tremain's war cry. Today I will attend a rally on the Capitol here in Madison, Wisconsin, protesting Governor Walker's bill that would essentially eliminate many rights of state employee unions. It's not much, but we'll all be standing up, as much as we can.

My First and Last Television Interview

2011-02-14T20:07:00.002-06:00

Interview Coaching

2011-01-19T09:55:00.000-06:00

Triviatown

2011-01-18T14:45:00.000-06:00

As you can see on the movie poster for Triviatown, the tag line reads, "It's the world's biggest trivia contest." I cannot think of a more misleading description, as this documentary is actually about a trivia contest in which many of the town's residents participate. In theory, the latter premise is just as intriguing as what the tag line claims, but there is also the problem that it's not really a trivia contest.

First, perhaps it is necessary to define "trivia".

a) : unimportant matters : b) trivial facts or details; also singular in construction : c) a quizzing game involving obscure facts

Ok. So, what is "obscure"?

a) : dark, dim b) : shrouded or hidden by darkness c) : not clearly seen or easily distinguished : faint

Based on these definitions, I'd say the nature of this contest is not about answering questions about obscure facts. It is a contest based on minuscule details of irrelevant pop culture. These questions, written by one guy, are almost completely unanswerable.

And that brings us to the game itself. Teams listen to the questions over a radio broadcast at home, and then call in their answers to the station. Wait a second...does that mean they can collaborate? Yes. Does that mean they can use the internet? Yes. Does that mean the teams can call each other (even though it rather obviously works against their own scoring)? Yes. Is that a trivia contest, or simply a series of research assignments?

After feeling a bit annoyed and deceived, I told myself I wasn't really going to review this movie. Instead, I was going to write a tribute to my favorite team, the Cakers. However, I don't know that I could fully express why they are my favorite other than the fact that they were the only team (out of hundreds) who looked like they were having a great fucking time. Although alcohol is not required for a good time, it certainly helps, and this team gave Triviatown a desperately needed diversion. In a town full of seemingly miserable, nerdy, hideous, and often unlikable people, the Cakers represented to me the ideal of Wisconsin - loud, happy, carousing alcoholics who managed to place 6th in a contest while completely wasted. So, here's to you, Cakers. From this point forth whenever I come across a Stevens Point reference, I surely will not be able to suppress a rising, "Woooooooooooohooooooooooooooo!!!!! Cakers!!!" from screeching forth. On that note, I will share the Cakers' prayer:

Our lager,
Which art in barrels
Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk, (I will be drunk),
At home as it is at Trivia.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillages,
As we forgive those who spill onto us.
And lead us not into incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer, the bitter, the lager.
Cakers

Way

2011-01-18T11:38:00.001-06:00

Thumbsucker by Walter Kirn

2011-01-18T11:31:00.001-06:00

I saw Thumbsucker, adapted from the novel, about a year ago. Reading the book upon which a movie is based is not something I'd typically do - not on purpose anyway. In this case, I'm glad I did. As much as I liked the film, the novel only goes further with unexpected character development and extended subplots.

Maybe I like the book because it isn't very palatable. Because their flaws are expanded and accentuated, the characters are very real. They act in ways that are predictable, yet sometimes horrifying. I don't know any people who can be summed up in a neat little package, and the Cobb family is full of dysfunction to the point of being utterly believable.

The progression of Perry Lyman (the dentist) is fascinating, as is the juxtaposition of his peripheral nature and intimate impact on the Cobbs. Also worthy of note is the detailed exploration of Mike Cobb's psyche. As the patriarch of the family, all of Mike's impaired and maladaptive behavior trickles downward as we watch Justin, the "thumbsucker" and main character, constantly trying to react and readjust his stance. We all know that growing up is tough. Kirm reminds us that life is also tough.

Sunset Story

2011-01-18T11:05:00.000-06:00

Sunset Story, a documentary about two old ladies, is more infuriating the more I think about it. Did the director, Laura Gabbert, go into the project knowing that she was going to film the final moments of someone's life, or was that just an added bonus? I thought I was going to watch a film about two women, Lucille and Irja, who are partners in crime, living in a progressive retirement home. What I got was a horribly shot half-assed home video that did not even come close to exploring the dynamic between these two women, the residence they called home, or the bigger issue of aging in America.

Lucille and Irja lived in Sunset Hall, "a nonprofit retirement home for freethinking elders". Other than catching a few shots of the residents attending local protests, it's not clear how Sunset Hall is different from other care facilities for the elderly. I can appreciate such a mission of support for what amounts to a dying breed. However, I didn't see their mission being realized in any way. Anyone can rent a van and take a wheelchair-bound person to a parade.

Despite the lack of focus and the distraction of the absolutely shoddy audio, what I found to be unacceptable in Sunset Story was the demeaning approach. Pointless, indirect interviewing tactics made these women appear silly in many respects. Better filmmakers would have evoked a real story from Lucille and Irja, both of whom clearly led interesting lives worthy of attention and respect. Instead, we saw them get a manicure. Instead, a disconnected random voice behind the camera pushed them to talk about sex. Instead, any kind of storyline was completely abandoned in order to exploit Lucille's illness.

Sunset Story makes me sad, not because Lucille and Irja are now dead, but because this awful film represents them. Such film making is irresponsible and self-indulgent. I only wish I could have simply had a conversation with these women rather than suffering through 75 minutes of wobbling camera shots and attempts at bullshit cinematography. Focusing a video camera on a wind chime for some kind of artistic impact is like smelling a pile of steaming shit for aromatherapy. I hope Gabbert refrains from picking up her flip video in the future.

Rabbit Hole

2011-01-18T10:21:00.000-06:00

I am Nicole Kidman, and my lips ruined this movie.

For future reference, I now know that a director cannot cancel out an actor. In this case, my love for John Cameron Mitchel is not enough to overpower my hatred for Nicole Kidman.

I went to Rabbit Hole feeling hopeful, but deep down I probably knew better. I wasn't even interested in the plot. A married couple losing their toddler in an accident isn't compelling in any way. However, for a film to be based entirely on grief gave me the inkling that with the portrayal of different perspectives might come something provoking. Unfortunately, I found myself mostly ridiculing Kidman's awful American accent, which she seemed to lose completely when her character became agitated. Funnier still is Kidman's face. Her forehead is stretched tighter than a tamborine, and her lips, while not quite to the point of Lisa Rinna, are so puffy she can hardly shut her mouth. My partner and I were making blowfish faces at each other, laughing our way through this train wreck while the rest of the yuppie-filled audience gasped and sobbed in all the right places.

It's only fair to note that Shortbus and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, JCM's triumphs, couldn't have survived Kidman either. I'll anxiously await his next film and hope that Nicole Kidman is busy getting her eyes done when casting takes place.

The Rabbi's Cat by Joann Sfar

2011-01-13T10:29:00.000-06:00

Because I loved his illustrated version of Le Petit Prince, I enthusiastically jumped into Joann Sfar's acclaimed The Rabbi's Cat. As expected, the book exudes charm and delight with each panel. Sfar's greatest accomplishment in this work is his depiction of feline thoughts and moods. The drawings and dialogue represent such a perfectly natural manner, I'll never look at a cat the same way again.

A story about an Algerian rabbi and his daughter in the early 1900s, The Rabbi's Cat explores theology in an entirely interesting way. It is a cross between fairytale, family anecdotes, historical facts, philosophy, and Jewish tradition and culture. The anti-Semitic undertones reflect the attitude of the era, effectively creating a tempestuous mood that Sfar somehow lightheartedly addresses through the meanderings of the rabbi.

More than anything, I like the idea of a Jewish cat.

What Adverb Are You?

2011-01-11T08:37:00.000-06:00

Following Sean

2011-01-10T14:44:00.001-06:00

In 1969, some guy made a short film for a college class. The subject of that film was a four-year-old boy named Sean. Sean said some crazy things, like how he enjoys eating pot and society doesn't really need cops. It caused quite a stir because, geez, a four-year-old kid eating pot?! Come on!

Fast forward 25 years. The same guy decided to make a feature-length film about Sean. He called it Following Sean, even though he didn't really follow him. He filmed him once as a child, and then filmed him again as an adult. I would call that reuniting, not following. Regardless, the reunion wasn't terribly interesting anyway.

I can understand why the original short film received a layered response. It is shocking to see such a young child articulate responses that reveal his exposure to the current issues of 1969. However, Sean is clearly a representation of his parents' chosen lifestyle. At that age, he served basically as a sponge and a tape recorder - absorbing his environment and repeating what he heard. It might be similar to a four-year-old today talking about his cell phone and taking anti-anxiety medication with his double espresso. Is that an exaggeration? It depends on the geographic and socio-economic background of the family in question. I know a boy in Livingston, New Jersey for which that scenario rings true.

In comparison to the four-year-old Sean, I can only speculate that the audience is supposed to be shocked yet again by how Sean grew into a rather responsible blue-collar working man. On the contrary, the only thing I found shocking was the predictably sad place Sean seemed to have found by the conclusion of the film - struggling financially, estranged from his wife, part-time father, exuding misery yet unaware. It almost makes me think it really doesn't matter where a person begins. Everyone faces the same challenges associated with escaping and/or avoiding The Middle. Some make it. Most don't. And that leaves us with an America full of angry, tense, divorced, resentful and guilty parents who impart themselves onto their children. Of course I have no idea what kind of father Sean might be. I only know it is discouraging to see the ending of Following Sean, with him on the playground with his child, completely void of any of the confidence, spark and enthusiasm displayed by his four-year-old self.

I actually wonder why Sean agreed to go back in front of the camera for this guy. Following Sean was watchable, but it was more of a home video than a documentary.

What Deli Meat Are You?

2011-01-09T20:16:00.000-06:00

McCabe and Mrs. Miller

2011-01-04T14:48:00.000-06:00

McCabe and Mrs. Miller, perhaps identified by many as merely a western, is a surprisingly relevant film about the individual fighting against big business. Although the current state of affairs now in 2011 is more of a fight against the corporate infiltration of government and public policy, there will always be an ongoing war involving the struggles of the small local business owner versus the overwhelming societal influence of mega-corporations. In this sense, McCabe is an unlikely hero, and Mrs. Miller an even less likely sidekick.

McCabe shouldn't be a hero. If he were smarter, he would have sold himself and Mrs. Miller in a heartbeat. But McCabe isn't smart. He isn't savvy. He is greedy, and he misplayed his hand terribly. In a way, he reluctantly fell into the role that so poetically ended this film, while Mrs. Miller maniacally hen-pecked him the entire way. The inability of John McCabe and Constance Miller to truly mesh is what made their partnership so heartbreaking. McCabe revealed himself to Mrs. Miller in ways that she couldn't respect, leaving a chasm between them filled with all of the things they'd never discover about each other. Maybe the path of this film should negate any optimism the ending provides. Still, I cannot help but feel uplifted by McCabe's bittersweet victory. I cannot help but feel proud of him for fulfilling a destiny that he did not own.

While the story itself is engrossing enough, more importantly the mood should be noted. It's almost as if Altman chose an easily defined time and place in order to concentrate more heavily on the atmosphere, setting a stage for the whirlwind of random conversations and nameless characters. I'm not one to typically notice camera shots, lighting, or any technical aspects related to directing a movie. However, because of my typical inattention, perhaps it is even more important for me to note Altman's triumph in these areas. I cannot recall a more beautiful film than this, from the sepia tones to the quiet humor and sadness. The overall emotion evoked by McCabe and Mrs. Miller is indefinable. It lands somewhere between melancholy and hope, desperation and empowerment.

Shadow Knights by Gary Kamiya and Jeffrey Smith

2010-12-28T13:49:00.000-06:00

Shadow Knights is yet another achievement in getting me to read history and somewhat enjoy it, much like Logicomix.

The full title, Shadow Knights: The Secret War Against Hitler, indicates the true nature of this graphic novel. Actually, this text-heavy book might not even be a graphic novel. The story is told completely in words, accompanied by new artwork and old photographs. It reads like fiction, and quite frankly, must include some embellishments. But I'll take those embellishments if it keeps me turning the pages.

This is the stuff that should be taught in schools, if schools were not only dedicated to boring the holy shit out of students. I imagine today's youth, even the girls, might easily get into these pulp adventures.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

2010-12-28T13:27:00.000-06:00

Kate Winslet is very weird with an American accent.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind examines what might happen if humans could wipe out memories with what amounts to a long night of sleep.

It's a very "American" concept, isn't it? Let's all live in a numb, mindless daze. When pill-popping and self-medication become too cumbersome, simply have your brain wiped clean.

As with Kaufman's other films, reality is muddled. Memories are displaced, blending into entirely new remembrances that never happened. Once memories are erased, a skeleton of familiarity still exists, leading the person towards the exact same tendencies. This slight push towards fate as being part of everyone's big picture is a bit simplistic. It's an interesting idea to think that a person, if given the chance, would repeat the same mistakes and achievements unknowingly. Unfortunately, this concept wasn't really explored. The viewer instead is forced to accept that the characters presented by Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey are supposed to be together without any explanation.

What I found to be most captivating in Eternal Sunshine was presented in the final moments of the film. What if a relationship could start with all of the shit, instead of end with it? Thinking back to utter trainwrecks in my past, it certainly would have been nice to know up front. But that's not the way life works. We jump into these things with a fluttering stomach and all the hope in the world. If things work out, ten years later you find yourselves walking around the lake with your puppy, talking about all of the lunatics you know.

I wish this movie had been better than it was. The potential was there, but the flashing memory sequences and time lapses were tiresome and did nothing to complete the holes in the characters. I don't know who to blame, but it's not Kate Winslet and her American accent, or even Jim Carrey. He didn't make a single weird rubbery slapstick face in the entire movie, although there was one scene where he obviously wanted to and somehow held back. Oh, and Elijah Wood is a twit. Further proof that Iowans should never be famous.

Logicomix: An Epic Search for Truth by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos Papadimitriou

2010-12-22T11:00:00.000-06:00

There's not much I can say about Logicomix that isn't already covered in the website.

The story is narrated by Bertrand Russell, and admittedly, I had no idea who he was before reading this graphic novel. Written by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos Papadimitriou, the tale is certainly well done. However, I could have done without the writers insinuating themselves and their posse into the story. Perhaps breaks were needed, but it seemed irrelevant, unnecessary, and a bit egocentric.

The artwork, by Alecos Papadatos and Annie Di Donna, is outstanding. The clarity and emotion of the drawings perfectly match the subject matter, without detracting from the serious nature of the content. That isn't easy to pull off in what amounts to a comic book.

While I can recognize what an achievement Logicomix is, I also can't say it instills any great reaction in me. It is meant for a specific audience, although it does say something that I stuck with it given the dry and historical aspect of the text.

Synecdoche, New York

2010-12-21T16:11:00.005-06:00

It would be easy to be intimidated by Synecdoche, New York. It would be easy to let confusion take hold and walk away feeling stupid. But this isn't an easy movie, and it deserves one's attention and effort all the way through to the end, and even beyond.

Phillip Seymour Hoffman plays Caden Cotard, a theatre director. In an attempt to portray something unique and true, Caden begins the task of creating an epic autobiographical play. Directed by Charlie Kaufman, whom I know from being the writer of Adaptation and Being John Malkovich, the viewer is rapidly thrown between the surreal and reality. At some indefinite moment, the two become one, and that is when the viewer has to make the effort to stick with Synecdoche. Caden becomes the subject of his own manipulations, eventually orchestrating his own life through the play by pulling his own puppet strings. The viewer is left to wonder if life is a series of defined moments over time, or if it is overlapping experiences, with everything bleeding into everything else.

This is not a film about the theatre. It is not about New York. It isn't really even about Caden. It is about people, relationships, neuroses, and how we all manage to get through life. It is about how everyone plays a role that changes, despite age or circumstances. It is about the passage of time and how life can so quickly pass us by.

I was once told by a college professor that the sole purpose of mankind is to make a name for himself. It is the "Quest for Human Destiny" (Prof. Jay Holstein, I salute you, even though you are a dick). There could be merit in that theory. People live their lives in order to be remembered, to make a mark, and to somehow think they've made a difference, no matter how abstract that might be. What I like most about Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character, is that he fails miserably on the surface. He fucks up his relationships, he is a coward, and his one unique and true creation ends up being his life, which is internalized and unfinished. The misery and pain that Hoffman somehow delivers through Caden takes your breath away. It shocks you into the realization of how unimportant you are and how short your life is, as well as the fact that any mark one makes is completely insignificant and fleeting.

I've been avoiding Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, simply because it stars Jim Carrey. Even though I liked Dumb and Dumber, it has a certain place, and it is not appealing to think of Carrey attempting anything other than slapstick nonsense. However, I might have to give it a try. The web woven within Synecdoche was such a surprise, I didn't know what hit me by the ending credits.

Nocturnal Conspiracies by David B.

2010-12-17T09:18:00.000-06:00

Nocturnal Conspiracies, by David B, takes the reader through 19 dream sequences. These are actual dreams that the author had over a period of several years. It is apparent in the writing that David B is relaying dreams, as the flow of action changes from lucid to erratic, detailed to distant, often ending in a severe halt.

Listening to someone's dreams, someone with whom you are not intimate, can be similar to looking at photos of a family vacation - disconnected, boring, and uncomfortable. While this is true for a couple of David B's chapters, it is well worth it to experience his recount of wildly imaginative segments of his unconscious. From tiny voices coming from inside books to piles of dead children, nothing is left untold. The uncensored nature of these dreams is admirable, even though it sometimes feels terribly uncomfortable. Is David B going mad? I suppose I only have to remind myself that I have recurring nightmares about two-headed midgets wearing fuzzy blue sweaters, chasing me to my death. We are all clearly mad.

Coupled with David B's straightfoward style, monochromatic artwork brings life to the darkness he describes. The slumberous result is more than fitting. It is necessary, and the writing and art couldn't be better matched.

I look forward to checking out David B's more famous tome, Epilepsy (the French title being: L'Ascension du Haut Mal). It's definitely intimidating to consider, but what the hell else do I have to do? And who knew these Frenchies were so great with comic books? I wonder if David B and Joann Sfar are friends. I like to think they are sitting in a cafe together, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and cursing.

Hardcore

2010-12-15T19:34:00.002-06:00

The Pact by Jodi Picoult

2010-12-14T11:51:00.000-06:00

Holy Christ, this book was awful. It is poorly written, melodramatic garbage that caused me to spend more time rolling my eyes towards the ceiling incredulously than actually reading. With that said, I tore through it and couldn't put it down. Maybe that means it is good melodramatic garbage? I don't know, but I'm embarrassed that I read it and I'm annoyed that I didn't throw it down in a fit of self-righteous indignation.

There is nothing special about The Pact. It isn't shocking, tragic, sad, or interesting. It is an unbelievable tale about two teenagers who speak and act beyond their seventeen years, who apparently fail to complete a suicide pact. There is unimaginative suspense with silly twists, there is an underlying love thread, there are useless peripheral characters, and the whole thing ends with a court scene that drowns in unreadable and utterly boring dialogue. I'm sure I was supposed to care if the main character was convicted of murder. I'm sure I was supposed to care about the two families who were clumsily portrayed as being ripped apart. I didn't. In fact, I have no idea why I kept reading. The relationships couldn't have been more unrealistic, the sex scenes couldn't have been more awkward, and the flashback sequencing couldn't have been more trite. This actually read like it was written by a teenager - inexperienced, romanticized, and over the top.

Maybe there is simply something so intriguing about suicide that I found myself suffering through a ridiculous novel in hopes of revealing a hidden truth. Suicide inevitably creates unsolved riddles, and it is the ultimate open wound for those left behind. Of course a crappy novel isn't going to provide any answers on the subject. Still, it is difficult to be confronted with the topic and allow that person to drift to the surface of your mind. Don't we all know someone who has done it? Maybe not personally and intimately, but they are there, and it is sickening and mysterious because there are never any answers.

So, I pushed through The Pact, perhaps looking for my own answers and finding nothing but disgust with myself for indulging in a book that didn't even qualify as a guilty pleasure.

The Little Prince by Joann Sfar

2010-12-10T15:44:00.000-06:00

Adapted from the book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Joann Sfar attempts to create a graphic novel that somehow stands above (or at least equal to) the original. Yes, the original is illustrated. More importantly, the original is enchanting, profound, and provoking. If anything, Sfar reminded me that I should revisit this story on a regular basis. It is simultaneously uplifting and depressing, much like "My Dinner With Andre". Upon conclusion, I'm not quite sure how to feel, but there is an undeniable warmth from The Little Prince.

As for Sfar's version, why not? Its tone remains true to the story, full of imagination and dreaminess. The color is so inviting it nearly wraps around you, squeezing just enough to evoke a giggle. I fell in love with The Little Prince all over again, only this time also realizing a bit of envy over his journey and point of view. I don't know if life can really be so simple. I only know that it should be.

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson

2010-12-09T10:00:00.001-06:00

When I lived in Maine, my mother excitedly gave me A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson, very proud of herself for finding a book by an Iowan written about hiking the Appalachian Trail. I could appreciate the connection my mother was attempting to force upon me. I could also appreciate the topic, as I had romantic notions of making it to the top of Mount Katahdin, despite only visiting Baxter State Park once during my residence in Maine. Still, I was hesitant. I put the book aside for quite some time, and when I did pick it up, I fully expected for it to suck.

It didn't suck. I was immediately engrossed in Bryson's mix of personal anecdotes and factual references. I learned a lot from that book - about enduring relationships, about New England, and about my own proverbial walk through the woods. Funnily, even after proving myself wrong about my initial reaction, I had the very same reaction to The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. I requested it from the Bangor Public Library, which is fantastic by the way (thanks to Stephen King and his enormous financial support of the entire town of Bangor), but I never read it. Again, I found myself hesitant despite being intrigued by the topic of growing up in Des Moines in the 50s, this time also knowing that Bryson can write a readable story.

So here I am, now living in Madison, Wisconsin, reading a book that I should have read four years ago. Perhaps this just goes to show that Iowans don't expect great things from each other. We expect a certain repressed politeness, generosity, and a hard (although sometimes inefficient) work ethic. But entertainment? That should be up to those people on the left and the right coasts who can stand to be gregarious and yearn for the spotlight.

That's an awfully long intro to basically say that I wasn't crazy about this book. Yes, it was funny and had an ease to it that is overwhelmingly comforting. It was also interesting to travel back in time, recognizing points of interest and noting how much of Iowa is and always will be in a time warp. Bryson also successfully reveals his youthful perspective, and perhaps that is what grew tiresome. A young boy enjoys fart jokes and boobies. I found myself skimming over much of his personal foray before I reached the half-way point. Nonetheless, Bryson captures the era and geography as though he is looking out his window. It is extraordinary how he can manage to instill a desire in the reader to be exactly where his words happen to fall, even if it is as unlikely as Des Moines.

Thunderbolt is worth the read, even though I don't think true autobiography is Bryson's strength. It is his effortless threads of observations and concrete history that make his writing memorable.

A Sickness in the Family by Denise Mina

2010-12-08T11:13:00.000-06:00

The cover of this book, by Lee Bermejo, is fantastic. The rest of the artwork, by Antonio Fuso, is also impressive and well-representative of the crime/horror tone. Unfortunately, that is about the extent of it.

Based on A Sickness in the Family being marketed as an adult graphic novel crime story, I expected certain things. I expected an intricate, or at least interesting, plot. I expected twists and turns. I expected even perhaps a bit of shock and awe. What I got was a predictable caper with diversions of ghosts, riddled with F-bombs and unlikable characters. Was the murderous content and the foul language supposed to make this an "adult" story? It came off as having a little brother complex, trying desperately to be prove coolness by smoking a cigarette without inhaling and cursing up a storm. What's the point of that? Grit has to be revealed in layers, and Mina's plot was utterly boring with tired and scripted dialogue that only achieved slowing the already murky pace.

It's a damn shame, really. A fucked up family is a great premise for any story. However, for the family to be fucked up on such a superficial level and for each family member to be so stereotypical in their role, the opportunity to construct a captivating story was immediately lost. There is a delicate balance when it comes to text and artwork in a graphic novel. They should tell the story in tandem, acting in a harmonizing fashion rather than one carrying the other. In this case, A Sickness in the Family failed terribly in the writing, and it could not be saved by the illustration.

As for the obvious King Lear undertones, it was forced yet undeveloped, just like the entire tale. Again, this could have been an interesting direction if there had been any true analysis of relationships and intentions. Instead, the reader is left wondering why Mina bothered going Shakespearean when this angle did nothing to complement the narrative or the familial interactions.

I have always believed that the old saying, "never choose a book by its cover", is complete bullshit. How else is a person supposed to choose a book? The cover is everything. It is tantamount to a first impression. I'll still pick up books with interesting covers, but maybe I'll have lower expectations, especially when that book is a graphic novel.

Balls

2010-12-07T11:29:00.002-06:00

I'm Not There

2010-11-30T16:57:00.000-06:00

I've been told that most people hold a passionate view of Bob Dylan - either you love him or you hate him. I'm not as passionate about Dylan as I am nostalgic. However, I passionately hated "I'm Not There", which tried to encapsulate his essence without actually being about anything.

Bob Dylan is a lot of things - poet, musician, philosopher, man, lover, megalomaniac - but so what? We are all multifaceted. He is also selling out the train-wreck that is the Overture Center in order for a bunch of sucker Boomers to say they were in the same room with him.

I don't really give a shit about any of that nonsense. I like the way some of his songs transport me. Of course, this is not a power specific to Dylan. Tears for Fears transports me to summers spent camping in the backyard with my sister. The Indigo Girls transport me to my 1987 Ford Tempo blazing across I-70 and dying in Indianapolis. But Bob Dylan and his nasal drone place me directly in Hickory Hill Park in early November with a red doberman named Bodhi, a chocolate lab named Jonah, the smell of wet leaves and dirt, followed by fried eggs and milk shakes at the Hamburg Inn. It's a nice place to be, even though I was miserable when that time happened to be the present. It was comforting to ask someone to pass me my Bob mix tape ("Do you name all of your mixes?", I was asked, when Bob was found wedged between Dave and Sarah), popping it into the deck, and hearing my perfectly orchestrated flow from Blonde on Blonde and Blood on the Tracks. Of course Time Out of Mind came later, with entirely different connotations, but that is beside the point.

The point is that Bob Dylan is full of shit, and "I'm Not There" perfectly and elusively portrays that sentiment. I'll never fully understand the chaos and emotion of Dylan's true era. However, I can understand the difference between the musician and the music. Dylan became the entity that he is today because people wanted something to believe in. Aren't we always desperate for a hero? And, the more cryptic, the more aloof, the better. He's a poet and I can dig that. It just reminds me, as David Carradine once said, "If you can't be the poet, be the poem." I have to believe that sometimes it's better to be the poem.

Revolver by Matt Kindt

2010-11-22T09:41:00.000-06:00

While the idea of alternate worlds can be intriguing, it can also easily be corny. Matt Kindt pulls it off in Revolver. In fact, he does more than just pull it off. He sells it so well that I felt the internal conflict in choosing between the two realities.

The main character in this book, Sam, is alternately experiencing his mundane day-to-day life as well as an apocalyptic adventure. Klindt successfully shows the nightmarish qualities of both situations, which sets a strong tone early for Sam's internal struggle with what he wants his life to be.

It's too easy to forget that we all have choices. We don't have to fall into the mold of striving towards the middle. We don't have to follow the formula of college, work, marriage, kids, suburbia, holidays, television, etc. We don't have to be whiny and miserable and cynical. To take the power away from ourselves regarding our own destinies only underestimates us as humans. We all have the potential to be remarkable and to do amazing things. Still, how many of us actually stop and think about this? Who really thinks about their daily decisions in a way that changes lives and outcomes and realities? This is what Sam is forced to face, and what makes him so sympathetic is that he is perceptive with both feet planted on the ground - whether he is trudging through his daily nonsense, or if he is struggling against destruction. In both scenarios Sam is fighting for his life, and this is a fact easily seen in the text as well as the undertones of the graphics.

Despite Revolver being a fun jaunt, it is also a gentle reminder that we are all meant for greatness if only we snap out of our self-created stupor long enough to embrace change, risk, fear - all of the things that make us alive.

Baghead

2010-11-22T09:15:00.000-06:00

Is it worth 80 minutes of your life to experience a 10 second punchline? If so, immediately see "Baghead".

I should probably be more impressed with the Duplass Brothers and their ability to realistically portray sophisticated and whiny losers whose insecurities and petty jealousies cause a complete melt-down as relationships unravel. It is clear that much of the movie was improvised, but does that make it more interesting? It is also clear that the movie was low-budget with its shaky camera and unfocused shots. I felt like I was being forced to intellectually consider this movie solely because of these characteristics; that it is somehow supposed to be more valid because it is authentic and real. Well, that is bullshit. This movie sucked, the characters were annoying, and the plot had holes that I could drive a truck through. On top of all of that, the ending was sappy Disney garbage that made me lose any respect that I might have had for the attempt at horror parody.

Puppy Did It

2010-11-21T20:22:00.002-06:00

Worst. Stadium. Ever. (yet they still beat us)

2010-11-15T14:59:00.000-06:00

Ryan Field, you are
a joke of a stadium.
High school is better.

O'Hare to La Guardia

2010-11-08T08:55:00.000-06:00

I should never have
to sit this close to someone
for any reason

Stairway to Hell by Charlie Williams

2010-11-05T10:52:00.000-05:00

Although it's not difficult to think of Jimmy Page as a practitioner of Black Magic, or as Satan himself, Stairway to Hell pushes an unlikely storyline that is amusingly preposterous.

The main character and narrator, Rik Suntan, saves this novel from being daft. Rik is a struggling singer who primarily covers songs by Cliff Richard at a local club. Unbeknownst to Rik, Jimmy Page transplanted David Bowie's soul into his body when he was an infant. Shenanigans ensue when Rik is confronted with this information, presented by cohorts he initially presumes to be mad.

See? It's even more difficult to imagine when summarized. However, Charlie Williams' first-person account of Rik Suntan is is downright genius. Rik is narcissistic, unaware, and vulgar in his ongoing plight for world fame as an acclaimed musician. His lack of talent, intelligence, common sense and decency come through in such an earnest fashion that he is actually pathetically tragic. The result is a steady stream of mirth as Rik stumbles his way through self-created obstacles and the occult.

On a side note, there is a midget in this book. I have abandoned what were probably much better novels due to midget involvement, I know. However, I found myself envisioning this particular midget as a gnome, perhaps thanks to reading Nine Kinds of Naked somewhat recently. In any case, I pushed through it, and I hope this is something that will not impede my reading in the future.

Wake Up and Smell the Fascism

2010-11-02T15:38:00.000-05:00

I voted. Nothing
can help me now. Scott Walker
will ruin my life.

Meat Head

2010-10-25T09:26:00.000-05:00

Bret Bielema, you
are the biggest meat-head
I have ever seen.

Necco Wafers to the Rescue

2010-10-20T14:21:00.000-05:00

I can't find chocolate
Necco wafers anywhere.
I need them. Chalky!

Just Pick It

2010-10-20T11:31:00.004-05:00

Will Power

2010-10-20T11:25:00.002-05:00

Scaring Bicyclists is Fun

2010-10-20T10:41:00.000-05:00

Woman in the bug
who almost killed me on my
bike...Don't laugh, Fucker.

Trailer Park Boys (Madison, WI)

2010-10-19T11:46:00.001-05:00

When I saw that the Trailer Park Boys were going to be at the Barrymore Theatre in Madison, I rushed to the Sugar Shack for tickets despite not really knowing what to expect. How does a comedic Canadian television mockumentary adapt to the stage? On October 16th, I found out, and I wasn't disappointed.

Ricky, Julian and Bubbles (Robb Wells, John Paul Tremblay, and Mike Smith, respectively) were not exactly comfortable in the live forum. Julian seemed to be the most uncomfortable, and his lines were obviously limited. Ricky coped fairly well, and even shined a few moments. However, this was unmistakably "The Bubbles Show", and I walked away from the theatre a bit startled by how talented he really is.

While the television show provides a basis for the Trailer Park Boys, the live show was above and beyond anything you can experience in your living room. It was an interactive, foul-mouthed display of truly clever extensions of the characters we know and love. Even on stage, the endearing qualities of Ricky, Julian and Bubbles conflict with their absurd antics in such a way that the viewer is left only with a warm fuzzy.

Despite sitting in front of the human echo (the man behind me repeated every line Ricky spoke in a Beavis and Butthead sort of way, followed by a lame chuckle), despite enduring a heckling drunk asshole in the section to the left of me, despite being splattered with beer and inhaling the all-too-familiar ditch weed wafting around the balcony...I enjoyed my two hours with the Trailer Park Boys. I might have to re-evaluate my own limitations when considering any kind of future situations involving crowds of drunk and stoned people, but that is not entirely surprising as I'm becoming more and more aware of my misanthropic tendencies.

So, thank you, Trailer Park Boys. I laughed. I cried. It was better than "Cats".

Seventh Circle of Hell

2010-10-15T09:45:00.000-05:00

Indiana, I'm
sorry I blamed you. It was
really Ohio.

Incredible

2010-10-15T09:32:00.004-05:00

Priorities

2010-10-14T16:58:00.004-05:00

I Don't Know

2010-10-13T11:09:00.002-05:00

3 Story by Matt Kindt

2010-10-05T10:04:00.000-05:00

3 Story is a graphic novel split into three chapters, each told from the perspective of three women who have relationships with Craig Pressgang - his mother, his wife, and his daughter. It seems pretty straight forward.

Did I mention Craig is a giant? Due to a medical condition, his growth spurts turn into a level of giganticism that is equivalent to a superpower. As with most superheroes, Craig is tragic. His condition isolates him, literally and metaphorically, until he is no longer human. He outgrows all of his senses, leaving him incapable of communicating with his environment other than the inevitable destruction he leaves behind. Unfortunately, after three chapters seemingly about him, this is all I could gather. 3 Story is more about the women in his life, and it isn't nearly as interesting as the possibilities of Craig himself.

In the three chapters we learn that Craig had an embittered mother who felt abandoned by everyone in her life. We also learn that Craig had a close yet short-lived relationship with his wife, while he never really knew his daughter. Despite loving the way the muddled artwork matched Craig in a way that he was always unclear about his place on Earth, I can't say I gained much from the narration of his female counterparts.

As this novel ended, I found myself wanting to know what Craig thought. I'm certainly not a misogynist, but I felt like I was taking everything with a grain of salt. Craig's mother was heartbreaking in the first chapter, only to be discounted by his wife in the second chapter. Perhaps I never recovered from that, making me unable to settle for anything other than the direct source.

I'll be looking for more from Matt Kindt. His art was utterly captivating, and his story was unusual. Those things alone give me reason to like him, even if my own limitations kept me from loving 3 Story.

Cher

2010-10-04T10:46:00.002-05:00

PE

2010-09-30T10:03:00.004-05:00

Tailgating

2010-09-29T08:47:00.002-05:00

Hick Food

2010-09-27T09:14:00.004-05:00

Got Fight? by Forrest Griffin

2010-09-22T10:19:00.000-05:00

I love Forrest Griffin. Yes, he looks a bit like a monkey. Still, I cannot stop myself from being overjoyed when I see him smiling through bloody teeth. I'm not proud of this. In fact, I wish I could condemn the UFC for being barbaric and exploitative. I wish I could be that indignant person who boycotts Dana Fucking White and all that he stands for. Unfortunately, I am not that person. I actually love Dana White too, which is downright shameful.

With my love for Forrest proclaimed, I can now say that he is a shitty writer. Luckily, that isn't the point of his book. No one is going to pick up "Got Fight?" with the intention of being intellectually enlightened. I don't think I'm being elitist in saying so, as this is not because of Forrest's chosen profession. It is because he comes across as a goofball, and this is immediately confirmed in the first few pages of his endeavor as an author. However, I will also note that he had me the moment he confessed his preferred title for the book to be "Who Moved My Nose?". I mean, come on. That shit is funny.

There's not really anything else to say about "Got Fight?". This book is funny, fluffy, absurd, and one giant piece of ridiculous. I enjoyed it, and I will eventually read his other book, "Be Ready When the Shit Goes Down, A Survival Guide to the Apocalypse". If anything, I hope to learn how to kill and clean a squirrel for consumption.

Eddie and the Cruisers

2010-09-21T13:43:00.000-05:00

If a movie can successfully make me feel nostalgic about living on the Jersey Shore, then it has to be fully considered. So, here I am, almost twenty years after the release of "Eddie and the Cruisers", waxing poetic about a mediocre movie. Let the fun begin...

There is no question about the emotion involved in making music. As played by Michael Pare, Eddie is an explosive, self-important, and often delusional rocker. It's easy to fall in love with him, but not necessarily easy to sympathize. The time he devotes to making his music thought-provoking is laughable, especially when considering he's shouting out, "Betty Lou's got a new pair of shoes".

But Eddie is actually peripheral. The front-man in this film is Frank, played by Tom Berenger. The story of his involvement with Eddie and the Cruisers is depicted via flashback. This method is not astounding in itself, but Berenger's portrayal is. He not only successfully plays what amounts to two roles - young Frank and older Frank; he also embodies the geographic area, the timeframe, the physicality, and the nuance of both roles.

What happens with the band is inconsequential. What matters is that this film is the Jersey Shore, in all of it's tacky and unapologetic glory. I can smell the saltwater. I can hear the ringing of the arcade games and the carousel music. I can feel the planks of the boardwalk under my feet. I can see the bright lights off in the distance, and I immediately feel melancholy for a time and place that isn't even mine. The time I spent in Point Pleasant Beach, NJ was but a drop in the bucket. It just reminds me of someone, and I find myself holding back tears while Eddie croons "Tender Years" in a most embarrassing fashion.

I suppose all sentiment is embarrassing in a way. It's more that "Eddie and the Cruisers" embraces what so many people would never admit to think fondly of - New Jersey, the armpit of America.

Sequels

2010-09-20T11:23:00.000-05:00

Eggplant

2010-08-31T20:11:00.000-05:00

Life During Wartime

2010-08-31T16:18:00.000-05:00

Todd Solondz's new endeavor, Life During Wartime, is a continuation of his 1998 film, Happiness. One might think this sounds awfully close to a sequel. Because Solondz rages against the mainstream, Life During Wartime can only be considered to be loosely related to Happiness. Character names are consistent, but the characters themselves are not. Wartime offers the characters of Happiness from a different point of origin. Where they used to be lost and ambling, they are now focused on forgiveness and what their lives might be like without their mistakes holding them down. Hence, Wartime is merely a companion to Happiness - nothing more, nothing less.

With that said, the new cast portraying characters that were previously established works successfully in this film. Different nuances for each character are discovered as Wartime unfolds. This was an interesting turn, showing the multi-dimensional aspect of human beings as well as situations.

Although Wartime contains all of the same taboo subjects as its predecessor, this is Solondz's first film that did not make me squirm in my seat. Even when something grossly inappropriate was displayed, the humor was more easily seen than in Solondz's previous work. The characters were not so jagged and hopeless, even though they contained the same eternal flaws that are unmistakably Solondz's trademark.

It makes sense that the working title for this film was Forgiveness. This is the one recurring concept amongst characters who were previously known as instantly gratifying their inherent desires. Wartime shows us thoughtful interactions, which are inevitably a bit less self-serving. This film is more about people than about situations, perhaps making it easier to swallow despite its familiar darkness.

A couple of things I took away from the movie:

What kind of person expects forgiveness? And, what exactly is forgiveness?

UFC and Hilary Swank

2010-08-31T11:53:00.002-05:00

Adult Diapers

2010-08-29T19:47:00.002-05:00

Wilson by Daniel Clowes

2010-08-26T16:09:00.000-05:00

I'm beginning to wonder if I really like Daniel Clowes, because Wilson is a total dick. Does this mean Daniel Clowes is a dick? Not necessarily. However, I didn't get any enjoyment from reading this compilation of one-page comics about Wilson's life.

Many of these one-pagers end with Wilson having an inappropriate outburst as a direct result of people not meeting his expectations. In other words, he acts somewhat like a teenager crossed with a misanthrope. Was it supposed to be funny? Maybe not. But it wasn't anything...it wasn't eye-opening, profound, enlightening...it was just this ornery guy complaining about his life. In fact, he couldn't even admit he was complaining. He wasn't aware enough to notice.

One thing I liked about Wilson was that each page was drawn differently. Admittedly, the only reason I like that aspect of the book is because it reminds me of Harvey Pekar and all of the different, magical ways he was depicted by various artists. In Harvey's case, the dissimilar drawings showed subtleties that couldn't come through alone in the writing. In Wilson's case, it made him seem superficially more interesting than he really is.

Master Cleanse - Day 4

2010-08-26T11:19:00.002-05:00

The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter

2010-08-26T11:03:00.000-05:00

I was skeptical after skimming the jacket of The Financial Lives of the Poets. I feared I would hate every character. When it comes to the current economic crisis in America, I don't tend to be sympathetic with suburban fathers who bit off more than they could chew. In fact, I tend to get angry at the entire concept of suburbia, the people who fell into the trap, and the outcome.

Luckily for me, Jess Walter is a comedic genius. The first chapter had me laughing to myself, which rarely happens, if only because I consider myself too hardcore to laugh at a fluffy novel. Well, I was laughing. And the humor, along with the honesty of the narrator regarding his self-created situation, saved me from dismissing this book in disgust.

The story follows the life of Matt, the narrator, for approximately one week as he faces multiple emergencies and attempts to get his life back on track. He's jobless. He's on the verge of losing his wife. He's taking care of his father who is stricken with dementia. He is on the verge of losing his house. Most of his troubles seem to boil down to money, but Matt's reckless abandon in tackling these problems makes for a great and unlikely hero.

As I was nearing the end of Financial Lives, I wanted it to end differently. I wanted everything to work out perfectly with a bang. Instead, after a rollercoaster of page-turning events, this book came to a whimpering end. In retrospect, the ending remains true to Matt - it is honest, it is real, and it is sad, much like life. As fantastic as his adventures were for a short time, where he ends up is more realistic and powerful than a firecracker ending.

I wouldn't recommend this book to everyone. The reader has to embrace the flaws in Matt and his situation. But once that is accomplished, it is easy to see the humor, even coming from some asshole who royally fucked up his life.

Vengo

2010-08-23T10:44:00.001-05:00

Vengo is a film that was recommended by a friend. This movie means something very important to her, and I can certainly respect that despite not finding any real personal meaning myself.

I came away from Vengo dissatisfied. The story was lacking because the music tried to compensate, and the music could not stand alone because the story was a skeleton of what it could have been. I was supposed to be aware of the main character, Caco, and the loss of his daughter. I could see his suffering, his maudlin response to her grave, but I could not feel it. I could see Caco's love for his nephew, Diego. It was, again, surface level.

All of the emotion in this film was beheld within the music. It was difficult as a viewer, because it wasn't my emotion, it wasn't my music. In the end, I can't say I enjoyed this movie. I could see the end coming from a mile away, and it became a bit tiresome waiting for it. However, I'm appreciative of the raw passion that comes through every vocal and every string. I am just too far removed from it to be inspired. The flamenco spirit is undeniable, of course. Yet without any common ground, I can't quite allow said spirit to overtake me. The song over the ending credits was actually heartbreaking, an outpouring of homesickness, "I am without landscapes, without a home". With all of the different definitions of "home", it is terribly sad to think of being homeless in a metaphorical way. Maybe it is more about taking claim than it is about one's origins.

I'm also still trying to figure out why Diego was depicted with cerebral palsy. Was this meant to make him seem vulnerable? Lovable? On the contrary, his affliction seemed trite and distracting in relation to the already waning plot.

The Breakfast Club

2010-08-20T10:32:00.000-05:00

This movie makes me feel stupid.

From the time it was released in 1985 and the year of my awakening roughly 15 years later, I viewed this movie a ridiculous number of times. Even though it was not my favorite John Hughes movie, I liked it well enough. I found it funny, quotable, and utterly watchable.

My turning point for this film, as with all of John Hughes' work, came when I met my current partner. We inevitably talked about movies, books, music...and he made me quickly realize that all along, since my first viewing of The Breakfast Club, I never really understood that the characters were based on real people. Growing up in a small town in Iowa, I didn't know anyone like Claire. None of my classmates were that rich, spoiled, self-centered or fashionable. Bender's outright disrespect was nothing I'd ever witnessed first-hand from my repressed Midwestern peers. Allison was seeing a shrink, and that's only something that happens in movies. Brian and Andy were probably the most realistic characters from my point of view, but Andy was too sensitive to be a jock, and Brian was too well-adjusted to be a brain. That left me thinking for over a decade that these characters were imaginary, only concocted for the sake of a silly movie. It took my partner's instruction to make me realize that they exist in every suburb in America.

After that realization, with each subsequent viewing, it is difficult to a) sympathize or like anyone in the film, and b) refrain from laughing at them, especially during the dramatic/serious scenes. Part of that might be due to the very nature of the teenager - they are exaggerated and theatrical in their interactions, even in everyday life. However, when these particular characters talk about their refusal to be like their parents, it's exceptionally amusing due to the irony. They already are their parents. They are parodies of themselves, and despite each of them representing a different stereotype, they are all exactly the same. They are ordinary, unexceptional, and yes, boring.

When I think back to my younger years, I try to evaluate myself in comparison. Was I that lame? Was I that self-absorbed? In my own way, yes. And on top of all of that, I was oblivious to anything that was not in my immediate view - even something so simple as American suburbia. That is what makes me feel stupid. Still, I'll take that feeling of foolishness over the idea of never realizing there is an entire world out there that differs from my small town experience. I feel that I've been places in my adulthood where I have met the grown-up versions of Claire, Bender, Andy, Brian and Allison. It's never too late to learn something, and I'm glad I'm not still watching this movie with unconscious abandon, even though it was more enjoyable that way.

I'm So Funny

2010-08-19T09:25:00.002-05:00

Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby

2010-08-17T10:38:00.000-05:00

I've always thought that melancholia is a muse. Many of my most profound thoughts have appeared during the most horrible times in my life. Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked has made me rethink this idea. Is there something to be said for happiness? Can a person effectively create awe-inspiring art without simultaneously being miserable?

First, of course, I had to get over Hornby's choice of names. The anti-hero rock star recluse is named Tucker Crowe. Only after being introduced to the delightful character of Farmer John, a/k/a Fake Tucker, a/k/a Fucker, could I overlook Tucker's name. However, even worse, and completely unforgivable, is Duncan, the dorky collector and expert on Tucker's work. Duncan? Maybe Hornby could have just called him "Dipshit" and saved me the annoyance of images of new-country singers and, oddly, the Pilsbury Dough Boy.

Beyond names, these are characters that I felt I already knew. Yes, I know Duncan. He's that guy who owns Blood on the Tracks on vinyl, 8-track, cassette, and CD, in addition to three bootleg versions. He's that guy who has dissected every word and note of every song. He asks your opinion and then tells you that you're wrong. He thinks that no one else is capable of actually listening to music, because isn't that all he is doing? He is listening to music and denying that anyone else might have an insightful opinion on something that he fancies himself to be an expert about. Fuck that. I hated Duncan and his self-righteous bullshit.

More importantly, I loved Tucker. I'm sure I was supposed to hate Duncan and love Tucker. I considered raging against this concept, but what's the point? Hornby led me where I wanted to go. To fight it would only result in an anxiety-ridden reading experience. So why did I love Tucker? Because he was an asshole. Because he was a sorry excuse for a husband, father, and sometimes even a human being. He had faults. He was aware that he had faults, and he didn't try to change them through self-help books or Prozac or the Atkin's diet. However, while running away from all of his self-created problems, he managed to figure some things out along the way. The most encouraging aspect of Tucker was that even after some relatively powerful epiphanies, he remained unchanged. Further, his situation remained unchanged. Revelations are great, but do they really mean anything? Aren't we just the same struggling idiot after said revelations?

All of this brings me back to my original question: Can happiness be inspiring? I suppose it depends on who we are trying to impress - all of the Duncans in the world, or ourselves.

Philly

2010-08-15T19:43:00.002-05:00

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark

2010-08-10T11:43:00.000-05:00

Miss Jean Brodie, in her prime or not, is a raging asshole. However, once I got over the idea of rich girls in Scotland walking around with their noses in the air thanks to the direction of their arrogant and misguided teacher, I was able to find some interesting points in this novel.

It is inevitable that all children want to fit in with their peers. (Unfortunately, this sentiment often follows people into adulthood, but that is a topic best saved for another time.) Miss Jean Brodie, a teacher at a prep school in Edinburgh, believes in alternative methods of teaching. While this is admirable, Brodie's methods involve ignoring text books and focusing on herself. I agree there is not much useful information in a text book. However, Brodie's egocentric approach to her students is more than unsettling. In a way, it is actually harmful, as she perpetuates discrimination as shown with her haphazard bullying and thoughtless advice. Furthermore, Brodie defines her students before they have developed, pigeon-holing them into roles that are not necessarily true and valid.

With all of that said, there is something admirable about a woman who tells her students to hold up their text books in case the headmistress happens to walk by. There is something admirable in teaching about life and love, no matter how skewed and unethical, instead of what is expected. There is something invincible in Miss Brodie. In her way, she is fighting the powers that be, and I can fully get behind that.

I just wish Miss Brodie's fight didn't have to be at the expense of her students. I wish that all of the profundity she bequeathed them could stand above everything that she shoved under the carpet.

Film Geek

2010-08-10T10:26:00.000-05:00

Scotty is so far into his geekiness, he is beyond any point of return. He is shunned and hated in a way that makes the lack of compassion in humans readily apparent. Scotty might be a geek, but people are ugly through and through.

But...Scotty meets a girl. I was really pulling for him, and he made it a fun ride, despite the recurring scenes of him masturbating into his bathroom sink Of course the girl breaks his heart. She might have found him amusing at best, and Scotty just couldn't understand the many different levels of reality.

Initially I thought this was a feel-good movie, much in the same light as Napoleon Dynamite...a story about a lovable dork who triumphs in the end. Unfortunately, the ending of Film Geek came off as a weird dream sequence, and I'm still not sure if it was supposed to be Scotty's reality or his masturbation fodder.

If the ending was Scotty's reality, it is too sad to consider how awful people really are. What was meant to be his triumph was actually his acceptance into the mindless hoorah of pop culture. On the contrary, if the ending was his ultimate fantasy, it is even more sad, as the mindless hoorah is clearly what he wishes for. Isn't Scotty more interesting than that?

I liked Scotty. His passion was endearing. His fixations were hilarious. He said he liked movies because..."Movies are another place. Movies let you be other people." I never wanted to be Scotty. Still, it was fun being in his world for a limited time. Anything beyond that window though, would have been terribly depressing.

Can I Help You?

2010-08-06T11:23:00.000-05:00

Impossible

2010-08-04T15:15:00.002-05:00

Kansas

2010-08-04T13:27:00.000-05:00

Ten Years

2010-08-03T20:10:00.002-05:00

The Alcoholic by Jonathan Ames & Dean Haspiel

2010-08-02T13:41:00.000-05:00

An addiction-prone guy falls off the wagon after a bad break-up with his much-younger girlfriend. Why is this interesting? It's not, really. The most interesting aspect about the character of "Jonathan A" is that he is an alcoholic. Even to the most straight and narrow, that is at least slightly romantic.

Otherwise, Jonathan A is predictable, if he were a teenager. Drunk-dialing his ex-girlfriend who moved across the country? Lamenting the fallout with a high school friend that took place 15+ years ago? I can appreciate the honesty of The Alcoholic. I can appreciate the uncomfortable humor. What I can't seem to appreciate is Jonathan A, the man. I'm eager to embrace faults and limitations. It just seems that Jonathan A's faults and limitations are not fully realized. Everything negative in his life stems from his inability to take control, and yes, grow up a little bit.

I would have considered this book to be very deep and edgy if I had read it at the right time in my life - perhaps the same time that I read The Fountainhead and On the Road. Right now, however, it comes across as whiny and even a bit contrived.

I hate being negative about a decent graphic novel. Maybe I'm just still caught up in the loss of Harvey Pekar so much that I can't see merit in anything other than real life. The Alcoholic isn't real life. It is self-created drama that doesn't even read well with the aid of fantastic artwork. It isn't cutting edge. It isn't dark and mysterious. It's just a guy who has experienced some tragedy and has allowed it to cripple him.

Favors

2010-07-27T20:59:00.000-05:00

Fair is Fair

2010-07-23T11:09:00.000-05:00

Whenever I need a good dose of empowerment, it's a good idea to watch The Legend of Billie Jean. An integral part of said empowerment is due to the inclusion of the song "Invincible" by Pat Benatar. Whenever I hear that song, tears come to my eyes and my fist instinctively goes into the air.

Ultimately, I realize this is a silly, teenage flick. Despite that realization, it represents much more to me. It represents a time in my life when it felt as though my back was to the wall. What is a person supposed to do when she knows she is right, yet she is powerless in that conviction? She pulls her chin into her chest, clenches her fists, and she fights. Billie Jean isn't about the fight itself. It's about remembering that the fight is often more important than the outcome. As Billie Jean cried out in the movie, "Fair is fair". As soon as we forget that, we may as well roll over and die.

Justice aside, I noticed a few other items worthy of mentioning during my most recent viewing of this movie.

Christian Slater plays Binx, the younger brother of Billie Jean. A few minutes into the movie I began to wonder if he was supposed to be acting as though he is slightly touched, or if he is just superbly playing a total moron. After much reflection, I'm still not sure.
The choice of Keith Gordon as Billie Jean's love interest is downright baffling.
It occurred to me that it is obviously a pivotal moment when Billie Jean cuts her hair. The Joan of Arc references are hokey, but it is clear than Billie Jean's short locks transformed her into an ass-kicking, no-nonsense icon of strength and certainty. It also occurred to me how many times I've been assumed to be a lesbian because of my own short hair. Why is it so difficult for a woman to be strong, yet maintain her femininity beyond physical stereotypes? Society doesn't want women to be strong. Society wants women to be men with a bad dye job and a ponytail.
Billie Jean's sidekicks are hilarious and added much more to the movie than I remembered. Yeardley Smith's portrayal of Putter brought a subtle directive to Billie Jean's entire strife with her foul-mouthed one-liners. Balancing nicely was Martha Gehman's character of Ophelia, who was mostly just along for the ride with her easy smile and overall pleasantness.

So there you have it - the underlying complexity of The Legend of Billie Jean, a movie I fully recognize as being a fairly awful 80s flick yet I will always hold a special place for it in my heart. Fair is fair, and I can't think of a much better motto for one's life.

Whatever

2010-07-19T20:38:00.000-05:00

Dirty and Cheap

2010-07-16T09:56:00.000-05:00

A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon

2010-07-15T16:39:00.002-05:00

It took me a while to fully get into this novel. In fact, I put it aside several times, not confident that I'd get through it. Then, something happened. I noticed that I was simultaneously loving and hating many of the characters while also laughing at how absurd all of the threads were unraveling.

The central theme being family and relationships, it goes without saying that the plots and subplots are messy. Sometimes these messes are swept up in a fashion that is a bit too tidy. Sometimes they are left dangling over an abyss, where they will most likely remain beyond the last chapter.

What I first feared would be a silly family drama turned into a window of reality where people don't always do or say the right thing. It was easy to cling to the characters' flaws and hope they'd figure themselves out while absorbing the wreckage along the way.

Does anyone have a perfect family? Haddon shows in A Spot of Bother that people have the ability to endure all kinds of emotional disasters while learning absolutely nothing. His manner of exposing insanity and preposterousness is comforting, especially considering that normality is an abstract concept that is nonexistent in reality, yet people tend to desperately strive for it.

The World According to an Asshole

2010-07-15T16:03:00.000-05:00

The World According to Garp is the story of T.S. Garp, an illegitimate child born into money who becomes a family man seeking recognition for being a writer. There is so much pretension in this film, from Jenny and her tight-assed rich accent, to Garp and his house that his mother buys for him, to Helen and her life of academia involving precisely when she should remove and replace her eyeglasses for optimal impact.

I did not feel anything for their losses or triumphs. I couldn't relate to their New England life of oceanic views self-centered emotional outpouring. I wasn't hoping for a happy ending.

Of course I understand the point of the movie - to illustrate that life is a fucking circle (thank you, Harry Chapin). Making the quick decision to run across the street to use the shitter in a Denny's Restaurant can change your life forever. But T.S. Garp wasn't running across the street to use Denny's shitter. He was predictable and unfunny and corny.

With all of that said, I liked this movie. Why? Because John Lithgow plays a post-op transgender, and his portrayal is so subtle and touching that I found myself forgiving the other characters simply because they were involved with him.

Wargames

2010-07-15T15:39:00.000-05:00

Questions:
1. Is Ally Sheedy supposed to play her character as a complete moron?
2. Is Matthew Broderick really heterosexual?
3. Who programmed Joshua to answer random questions?
4. Could Dabney Coleman live without his mustache?
5. Is this movie predicting the future?

Of course I don't have any answers. I only know that Wargames makes me stand firm that we will destroy ourselves within my lifetime. However, it will be a result of corporate greed rather than technology that leads to the downfall of the world. Although this is a fun 80s flick, I really can't think about it too much or I become overwhelmed with the urge to move to a commune off the grid and stockpile.

Paul McFartney (When I'm 64, Revamped)

2010-07-15T15:23:00.000-05:00

Corn and the Royal Family

2010-07-13T20:54:00.002-05:00

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

2010-07-12T11:12:00.000-05:00

What is it like to be a permanent object of hostility and hatred? I don't know. Considering how flustered I was a few weeks back when some asshole yelled, "Get of the road, you fat pig", while I was biking down Willy Street, I don't imagine I'd handle constant and frequent scrutiny very well. I suppose a person has a choice - either one is afraid and lives a life of fear, or a person gets angry and lives a life of revolt. Although that sentiment can be applied to any kind of adversity, I doubt many of us know the feeling of being in true danger because of who we are.

While the film certainly relies on stereotypes to produce laughter, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is more than a romp through the sand with three drag queens. Regardless of how one feels about alternative sexual lifestyles, this film showcases humanity as readily as it does flamboyant costumes and garish make-up in fabulous lip-synced musical numbers. The plight of these queens is multifaceted. On the surface, however, they deal with moronic bullshit like "Aids Fuckers Go Home" being painted across the side of their bus. Dig a little deeper and they confront a deeply entrenched moral entitlement that isn't reserved only for the expected rednecks and homophobes. Their confrontations are internal as much as they are societal, and answers are not always forthcoming. After an encounter with some locals that turned violent, it was noted by Bernadette, the seasoned tranny of the group who was toughened by "being a man one day and a woman the next", that she wasn't sure who this moralistic societal structure benefited -

We all sit around mindlessly slagging off that vile stink-hole of a city. But in its own strange way, it takes care of us. I don't know if that ugly wall of suburbia's been put there to stop them getting in, or us getting out.

Despite their dramatic encounters throughout their journey, Priscilla depicts the gay lifestyle as normal by incorporating familiar insecurities. In addition to the whole slew of other issues, the characters are struggling with things we all struggle with. Life is a journey of self-awareness and self-acceptance. Traveling in a beaten and abused bus is only a physical representation of this journey. In this sense, Priscilla is not a gay movie. It is not a camp movie. It is an exploration of what it means to be human, and how we all react and interact with each other based on superficial nonsense. What exactly is at my core? Am I heterosexual, a woman, a Midwesterner, an artist, a friend, an angry motherfucker? Behind all of the bullshit, I'm just a person. And so are these ladies, traveling across the Australian outback, looking for who they are and who they ought to be.

Rich Motherfuckers and Frisbee

2010-07-08T20:12:00.000-05:00

A Regular Asshole

2010-07-08T09:25:00.002-05:00

Little House on the Prairie

2010-07-08T08:54:00.002-05:00

Kick Ass

2010-07-06T11:06:00.000-05:00

Farmers Market Outburst

2010-06-30T19:21:00.000-05:00

Hair Envy

2010-06-28T08:52:00.003-05:00

Live Nude Smodcast

2010-06-24T16:31:00.000-05:00

I wasn't sure what to expect at the Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier "live nude smodcast" last night at the Majestic. What the hell is a smodcast, anyway?

Apparenlty, a smodcast entails Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier discussing weird news stories, digressions into penis jokes, Smith explaining random songs on his i-pod, and ending with yet more penis jokes.

In the beginning I was worried. Listening to Smith read news stories from his glowing laptop was slightly painful, as he stumbled over words and repeated passages needlessly. However, Smith and Mosier soon hit their rhythm and I found myself laughing harder and more frequently than I ever expected. Mosier's understated mellowness is a lovely balance to the harshly self-deprecating Smith. Their repertoire clearly reflects their longtime friendship.

Although I purchased these tickets as somewhat of a gift for my sweetheart who is NY/NJ born and raised, it was also a kick to hear Smith keeping it real on the Jersey front here in Wisconsin, mentioning spots that weren't too far from our five-year stint together in Point Pleasant. I never thought I was one who needed validation, but such geographic discrepancies remind me of how far we've come together - from Iowa to New Jersey to Maine to Wisconsin - and sometimes that astounds me.

The show ended, appropriately, with a sex toy giveaway. While some lucky men in the audience went home with new fleshlights, Smith and Mosier hopefully didn't leave Madison emptyhanded. In any case, they now know how to pronounce Ed Gein, thanks to an audience outburst in the midst of Smith's coverage of serial killers. I only wish I'd had the opportunity to tell them about Ed Gein, The Musical.

Everything is Funny with a Mustache

2010-06-23T11:29:00.002-05:00

Stitches

2010-06-23T09:31:00.000-05:00

In this visual memoir, David Small focuses on the years of his life between ages 6 and 16. While the central event in Stitches is Small's seemingly quick bout with cancer resulting in the loss of his voice, the relationships he depicts within his family are much more dreadful and tragic.

I'm reminded of This Be the Verse, a Philip Larkin poem:
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

This also raises a recurring question in my mind - Why do people become parents? It's not as though pregnancy is a disease that one randomly catches. Further, even after becoming pregnant, one still has the choice of becoming a parent or not. Do people really think about it, or are they just fulfilling their obligation to partake in the American Dream? Is it an innate quality in humans to leave something worthwhile behind, and it takes the least amount of thought and creativity to simply procreate? Or, as my own mother admits, is it that everyone is afraid to die alone and having children is the easiest way to ensure someone will be there as a caretaker? None of these possibilities sound terribly admirable, but make no mistake, I applaud my mother in her honesty no matter how resentful it makes me feel. Many people simply claim to love children, which I am sure is true in some cases. But, I digress...

So here we are - a grotesquely overpopulated world with millions of children who are homeless or in foster care. Meanwhile, parents who are living the dream choose more often than not to implement socially acceptable non-truths when raising their children. The lies Small's parents told him in order to hide the fact that he had cancer made me consider such silly lies as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. By continually underestimating the intelligence of a child, aren't they being taught that they should feel inferior and distrustful of adults?

Maybe I am biased by my own experience at age 6 when I had my tonsils removed. My parents, to this day, joke about how mad I was. On the gurney into the operating room, my parents tried to coax me into some kind of fantasy land of solace after keeping everything a secret until that very moment. I was scared to death. But more than anything, yes, I was angry. I wouldn't speak to them before the surgery (or for several weeks after, even after my throat healed), which I am sure hurt them very much. Luckily, in retrospect everything is considered to be funny, and I still cannot get a clear answer from them as to why they chose to handle the situation as they did. I realize it's not as though I woke up with a meandering scar across my throat and one remaining vocal cord, as did Small. Still, I related easily to the deception, and I think most people could in one way or another.Yet similar deceptions are usually carried forward for generations to come. That's something I have a hard time understanding.

Of course Small's story is more extreme than anything I can conjure up from my own past, and for that I am thankful. However, I imagine the feelings that Stitches has managed to stir up will keep my mind whirring for quite some time. Although this is a quick read (I read it in one sitting), it isn't light. Be prepared to dig yourself out of a hole once you've finished.

Knockers

2010-06-22T08:27:00.002-05:00

So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away

2010-06-21T16:42:00.000-05:00

Although this is a retrospective narrative, the voice is unquestionably that of the 12-year-old boy who is the center of the story. As the climax builds and a tragedy unfolds, it becomes apparent there is more of a statement being made in the margins than in the accidental shooting death of the narrator's friend.

Set in rural post-WWII Oregon, the boy befriends a man who lives in a self-built shack by a pond. All of the boy's friends are afraid of the man, and have thus concocted and perpetuated legends involving his evil ways based on his questionable lifestyle. The man, completely self-sufficient, is what we'd now so fashionably call "off the grid". Even now, with every asshole confusing a backyard composter with real sacrifice, there is a stigma to living a life of independent isolation. Mustn't there must be something inherently wrong with a person who does not long for and consequently fight for low car insurance quotes, hot showers, and dinner parties with various bacon appetizers? While that same man today might be applauded for his awareness of his carbon footprint, the real issue of his decision to be autonomous would be ignored or distrusted.

On the other side of the pond, the boy befriends a couple who arrive every night at dusk in their pick-up truck. The bed of the truck is always full of living room furniture - couch, coffee table, lamps, family photos, doilies, wood burning stove - and each evening the couple unloads the furniture to create their very own cozy spot for fishing. They sit on the couch together, cook and eat their dinner together, and string their fish as the night wears on. The boy is so preoccupied with becoming a part of their family and answering his internal questions surrounding why they do what they do, it only occurs to him offhandedly that they never cook and eat their fish for dinner. Eventually he wonders what they do with all of the fish they catch, as their entire existence on that pond shore seems like an exercise in futility - from the unloading of their furniture, to their conversation about dead relatives, to the fish they catch and never eat.

I suppose I understand what so many people have said about So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away. It is a comment on America, its decline, and a foreshadowing of Richard Brautigan's gunshot suicide. I just didn't find the tragedy in the corresponding gunshot. I found it in the characters Brautigan discovered while trying to tell the tale of one boy's death and the end of another boy's childhood.

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-21T12:01:00.001-05:00

Exit Through the Gift Shop

2010-06-21T11:20:00.000-05:00

After watching the trailer for this film, I simply hoped it wouldn't suck. I got a few chuckles from said trailer, yet I still expected Exit Through the Gift Shop to be a bust, if only because I thought it was a documentary about Banksy that is also directed by Banksy. Who is Banksy? He is an enigmatic street artist that I knew very little about, and I don't know much more after seeing the movie. However, the movie is not about him. The movie is about Thierry Guetta. Who is Thierry Guetta? I'm still not sure, but he makes for great entertainment.

If that isn't confusing enough, this is a documentary within a documentary. It might sound frightening, much like when I found myself at the corner of Peachtree Ave and Peachtree Ave in Atlanta and thought I was at the nexus of the universe. Fortunately in this case, everything connects nicely, and the viewer doesn't feel trapped in the seventh circle of hell.

In the beginning, it appears that Thierry is just some asshole with a movie camera. In the end, he still is just some asshole with a movie camera, but the time in between is captivating. After exhausting his daily subjects (as well as their tolerance) with nonstop filming, Thierry somehow gets mixed up in following street artists. Because their art is transitory and he claimed to be making a documentary, his presence was discreetly approved as long as he learned to practice the nuance of blending into the crowd.

It was eventually discovered that film making was not Thierry's forte, and Banksy turned Thierry's tapes into Exit Through the Gift Shop which simultaneously celebrates street art and the psychosis of Thierry. More than anything, Thierry was a collector - of moments, images, people, and soon-to-be memories. As with any collector, Thierry's obsessive nature, while pleasant and often admirable, twisted and turned into something else entirely. An offhanded comment by Banksy resulted in Thierry instantaneously becoming "Mr. Brainwash", his own attempt at playing the role of a street artist. Despite Thierry's genuine vigor, his art lacked authenticity, and in time, so did he.

Fortunately for Thierry, or Mr. Brainwash, America cannot detect anything counterfeit. He made an obscene amount of money, contradicting the spirit of the legitimate artists - like Banksy and Shepard Fairy who put themselves on the line personally, physically, and creatively to invent something thought-provoking, and more importantly, anti-establishment and free.

At no point did I dislike Thierry. It was just a bit sad to watch his uncontrollable spiral into re-fried capitalism within an industry that for a moment might have been precariously pure. If it weren't for his mustache and French accent, I'd probably have to hate him.

The Mustache Project

2010-06-21T10:28:00.001-05:00

http://freemustacherides.wordpress.com/

Waffle Fries

2010-06-20T09:04:00.000-05:00

Bigfoot and Kong - Perspectives to be Envied

2010-06-17T11:43:00.000-05:00

It would be difficult not to like Bigfoot, I Not Dead by Graham Roumieu. The artwork is unexpectedly fun, with accompanying text from the viewpoint of Bigfoot.

It is the perspective of a concocted creature coupled with everyday situations that reminded me instantly of The Complete Book of Kong by William Trowbridge, a collection of poetry of the same ilk written from the voice of King Kong.

I fell in love with the Kong poems many years ago, at a point in my life when I could still be greatly altered by cultural influences. I was enchanted by the honesty of Kong himself, especially when reflecting within starkly human circumstances. While it was certainly funny to envision Kong sitting in a traffic jam yelling at motherfuckers to get out of his way, it was also a bit heartbreaking to contemplate the pain and rejection of him being kicked off of the Chicago Bears simply because his spirit is too vivacious.

It is with the same sensitivity that Roumieu relates Bigfoot to his readers. He employs a grounded and practical perspective in Bigfoot, making the absurdity of humans quite clear. Both books should be applauded for their attempts to personify. However, more important is the statement regarding the fringe, and what it is like to constantly be looking inward from the periphery.

David Boring

2010-06-16T16:27:00.000-05:00

There are multitudes within David Boring. On the surface, I suppose it is a love story. But it's more complicated than that. The love story is between the eponymous main character and his abstract idea of the perfect woman. The backdrop is an unnamed city where Boring gets by the best he can despite the omnipresent threat of apocalypse.

As with many of Daniel Clowes' stories, the events that transpire within the story are almost peripheral to the characters themselves. David Boring isn't boring. He is bored. More than that, he instills a feeling of apathy in the reader. Although I was interested in what happened in each panel, I didn't care in the least if David Boring got the girl, escaped apocalypse, or lived in turmoil or bliss. How can that happen? It seems so contradictory that I'm not sure how Clowes achieved such a result.

The humor makes this book a page-turner (do I have to call it a graphic novel?..that sounds so pretentious). The ordinariness of David Boring is startling, but mostly it is his subtlety and lack of verve that make him defiantly hilarious in the face of somewhat extraordinary circumstances.

I hope this never gets made into a movie. It would be ruined.