I am screaming and punching myself

ARCHIVE: Sundry updates

[Originally posted June 28, 2006 at MySpace]

On wanting to punch fictional characters: Well, Lynley got some insight on his moral blind spot, and finished the book a redeemed man. So I no longer want to clock him. And I feel that I should clarify that although I might feel the occasional impulse to punch a relentlessly perky fictional 8-year-old, I would never punch an actual child. Not even if it bit me.

On books on tape: I am gonna have to bite some kind of bullet and find a dependable source for complete, UNABRIDGED books on tape by the authors I like. A POX upon whoever came up with the very concept of abridged books on tape. I spend a minimum of an hour a day commuting, motherchuckers; I've got the time, and besides, I want to hear the whole damn book the way the author intended it to be read.

On Pandora: J's possession of Stevie Wonder's hit collection reminded me how much I love old-school funk and soul, so I created another station, called The Mothership (yes, I know it's the least original name imaginable). Stevie, P-Funk, Sly and the Family Stone, Earth Wind & Fire, James Brown, Isley Brothers, Kool & the Gang (remember when they put out those great jams that had, like, four lyrics max?) -- am I leaving anybody out?

ARCHIVE: News from behind the curve

[Originally posted June 28, 2006 at MySpace]

All y'all probably already know about Pandora, but it's still blowing my mind in the nicest possible way. For lack of a better term, I'll call it an Internet radio service, but it's so much cooler than that.

Basically, you tell it what artists you already know you like, and it mixes their songs in with songs it thinks you might like by artists you haven't mentioned. You can evaluate each individual song to help it make better choices. And its understanding of each artist's style is quite impressive: Kylie Minogue's style was identified as involving, among other things, complex harmonies, antiphonic (call-and-response) choruses, and I think they even included a range of beats per minute.

I've got four channels going right now: Clever Pop (Crowded House, Ryan Adams, Robbie), Rougher Stuff (Afghan Whigs, The Darkness, The Used), Danceteria (Kylie, Chemical Brothers, New Order) and Alt.Country, a channel I created solely because of how much I freaking loved "Miss Fortune" by Alison Moorer. Damn, that album was awesome.

"Rougher Stuff" is currently playing "Blue and Yellow" by The Used. That song always makes me want to jump up and down, pumping my fist, singing along at the top of my lungs, even as I tear up a little bit. Gorgeous stuff.

ARCHIVE: I am inconsolable.

[Originally posted June 27, 2006 at MySpace]

I am bereft, heartbroken and bummed. For I have missed the first 90 minutes of a Sci-Fi Network film called "Ice Cream Man." Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like. As the viewing guide summarized it: "Frozen treats vendor terrorizes suburbia."

(That's almost as good as the all-time champion, the synopsis of "Dog the Bounty Hunter" that read "Tiny bounty hunter pursues fugitives." It's funny because Duane "Dog" Chapman is, like, 5'2". In boots.)

But back to the terror from the deep freeze. This looked like something truly special: Clint Howard in full-on, Manson-lamps, shit-in-the-hair-crazy mode, killin' folks left and right as he drives around in an ice cream van.

Regrettably, the Ice Cream Van OF DEATH doesn't play "Pop Goes the Weasel" as Howard dishes out murder. But that just gives the audience a clearer appreciation for the score, which is -- I swear -- entirely in MIDI.

At one point, Howard stages a puppet show on the importance of trusting the police -- with two disembodied heads. For two terrified kids. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

So, yeah, I'm crushed that I didn't get to see "Ice Cream Man" in its full glory. But it's okay, 'cause now they're showing something called "Glass Trap" which seems to involve killer ants and gummy, blood-covered skeletons and -- oh, crap, is that C. Thomas Howell? It IS!

ARCHIVE: You've got red on you

[Originally posted June 27, 2006 at MySpace]

Shaun of the Dead was on HBO again last night, and as always, I watched it to the end. The DVD was on the shelf right next to the TV, which meant that I could have watched it start to finish with commentary, but I was fine picking up the story when Phillip drops in to Shaun's work to remind him to bring his mum some flowers.

You know, that film is a goddamn masterpiece. Comedy and cleverness are woven so tightly into every minute, it's like an 800-thread-count sheet of a movie. Each frame is beautifully composed, stuffed full of cultural references and presented with such care and respect for the audience that it blows my little mind.

And the thing is, there's still a very meaningful message there, about growing up and the power of all forms of love: romantic, familial, platonic. But for some reason, comedies are usually written off as empty diversions. (And in fairness, many of them are. But many dramas are equally empty and don't even give you a chuckle for your time.) I just think laughter should enhance the value of something, not detract from it.

And dogs *can* look up.

ARCHIVE: What if I don't have anything to say?

[Originally posted June 26, 2006 at MySpace]

Okay, this is my first attempt at a blog. My first concern is that my thoughts and emotions are so incredibly bland that nobody in their right mind would want to read them. But I figure I'll bullshit my way through this, and perhaps I'll even develop a unique voice and point of view. Yippee!

My main thought of the day: I'm currently listening to "In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner" by Elizabeth George on tape in the car (Books on Tape is quite possibly one of the greatest innovations of the latter half of the 20th century). And I find myself wanting to punch the living shit out of Inspector Lynley. He's being an absolute turd, utterly oblivious to his moral blind spot and treating his wife like a stunted half-wit. I just want to clock him one.

I can only assume that this feeling will abate by the end of the novel (of course, I know what he goes through in the next novel, and that's truly horrible, so hmmm).

And I always want to pummel Hadiya the cute 8-year-old neighbor. I actually yell "Shut the fuck up, Hadiya!" in my best Walter-from-The-Big-Lebowski voice as I drive along at 75 mph.

Oh, I drive angry. Oh, yes.