Filtered through the brain cells of Lisa McElroy
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Fantastic Mr. Fox by Wes Anderson - trailer
With the voices of George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman and of course, Owen Wilson. Hmmmm. I really like Roald Dahl's book. Mr. Fox is extremely clever at outsmarting his human adversaries. Anderson's stop-motion animation is...interesting and reminds me of the original King Kong--how Kong's fur involuntarily moved while being animated, giving him the appearance of a creature being tormented by unseen ticklers.
I'm wondering why this particular style of primitive furry animation is being used, especially when astounding stop-motion like "Coraline" is going on. Well, it's only a trailer. But Clooney voice coming out of Mr. Fox--it just doesn't sit right with me. No sir.
Let's review some classic animation from 1933. Truly the thrill of thrills!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
MadMen Yourself - It's Swanky
AMC's Mad Men site allows you to MadMen yourself. Choose your body type, coloring, eyes, hair, swanky outfit, etc. and marvel at the results. I did myself and Keith to see what kind of caricatures we'd be if it were 1964.
I could not resist having a drink with Don Draper. Hey, it's just a business meeting. That's how we do it in 1964.
Keith at his new job at Sterling Cooper, coming up with all kinds of brilliant ideas while partaking in a morning Danish (no bagels around the office back then, I guess).
From the fertile creative mind of Dyna Moe.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Bad Sax: It Happens
You're grooving—you're in tune and the rhythm is right. Then: BOOM, bad sax solo. It happens to everyone, especially to audiences in the 80s.
This clip, originally entitled "The Lost Boys Buff Guy Playing Sax," (before being yanked for copyright infringement) describes the scene perfectly. A well-oiled, very muscular and gyrating Tim Capello is indeed playing sax in this cover of I Still Believe (originally performed by the non-buff group, The Call), to the delight of young Corey Haim and hundreds of whooping Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk extras.
Capello slaughters another solo at the 2:52 mark of Tina Turner's One of the Living, part of the juggernaut of terrible music videos spawned by Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. If I had to describe this brief solo, it would be along the lines of, "Boop Boop BWEEEEE! BWEEEEOOOEEEEOOOOEEEE!!! BEEE BEE BEE BEEEE!. In my musical opinion.
St. Elmo's Fire is perhaps the most earnest, worst movie ever produced for potential mass consumption. Rob Lowe is ultra pretty as bad-boy Billy Hixx. And he's honking away in a very sleeveless new-wave bat-appliqué shirt with his band, Billy Hixx and The New Breed. His tortured solo—edited here for the full, glorious effect—can seemingly only be interrupted by his wife's indication of infidelity. That's the kind of heightened drama St. Elmo's Fire is known for. I paid a dollar to see it and that was overpriced.
Side-note: The New Breed was an actual 80s mod band from San Francisco. My roommate went out on a few ambiguous "dates" with the drummer. This was going to be their big break but the movie tanked so bad that we never heard from The New Breed again. Bummer. The drummer got a five-second coke-snorting scene with Rob Lowe and Demi Moore so it wasn't a total bust.
Waverly Film's "Sax Master."
They're also responsible for "Cartwheelin'" and "Floating Head," so I wouldn't take this too seriously.
It's been several years since Mike Diva Productions shared this with the world but for sheer impetus, not much bad sax can top "Sexy Sax Man Careless Whisper Prank feat. Sergio Flores." Shirtless, shiny-pants-with-suspenders-wearing Flores with his manly mullet, endlessly (and badly) repeating the George Michael hit solo within SoCal's (which might as well be Anywhere, USA's) bland consumer environs is an absurd little masterpiece of awkward weirdness. Anyone who's been enveloped within the dreadful pop muzak loops that is our constant reality while shopping in public can appreciate what's going down here. Just the right dose of obnoxious theatrical pizzazz. Hail.
This clip, originally entitled "The Lost Boys Buff Guy Playing Sax," (before being yanked for copyright infringement) describes the scene perfectly. A well-oiled, very muscular and gyrating Tim Capello is indeed playing sax in this cover of I Still Believe (originally performed by the non-buff group, The Call), to the delight of young Corey Haim and hundreds of whooping Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk extras.
Capello slaughters another solo at the 2:52 mark of Tina Turner's One of the Living, part of the juggernaut of terrible music videos spawned by Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. If I had to describe this brief solo, it would be along the lines of, "Boop Boop BWEEEEE! BWEEEEOOOEEEEOOOOEEEE!!! BEEE BEE BEE BEEEE!. In my musical opinion.
St. Elmo's Fire is perhaps the most earnest, worst movie ever produced for potential mass consumption. Rob Lowe is ultra pretty as bad-boy Billy Hixx. And he's honking away in a very sleeveless new-wave bat-appliqué shirt with his band, Billy Hixx and The New Breed. His tortured solo—edited here for the full, glorious effect—can seemingly only be interrupted by his wife's indication of infidelity. That's the kind of heightened drama St. Elmo's Fire is known for. I paid a dollar to see it and that was overpriced.
Side-note: The New Breed was an actual 80s mod band from San Francisco. My roommate went out on a few ambiguous "dates" with the drummer. This was going to be their big break but the movie tanked so bad that we never heard from The New Breed again. Bummer. The drummer got a five-second coke-snorting scene with Rob Lowe and Demi Moore so it wasn't a total bust.
Waverly Film's "Sax Master."
They're also responsible for "Cartwheelin'" and "Floating Head," so I wouldn't take this too seriously.
It's been several years since Mike Diva Productions shared this with the world but for sheer impetus, not much bad sax can top "Sexy Sax Man Careless Whisper Prank feat. Sergio Flores." Shirtless, shiny-pants-with-suspenders-wearing Flores with his manly mullet, endlessly (and badly) repeating the George Michael hit solo within SoCal's (which might as well be Anywhere, USA's) bland consumer environs is an absurd little masterpiece of awkward weirdness. Anyone who's been enveloped within the dreadful pop muzak loops that is our constant reality while shopping in public can appreciate what's going down here. Just the right dose of obnoxious theatrical pizzazz. Hail.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Who Framed Roger Rabbit - 1988
We've been watching a lot of classic Disney cartoons around here lately, so I thought I'd revisit "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?"--a love letter to classic animation. A very expensive, time-consuming, difficult-to-comprehend-the-scope-of of love letter. Director Robert Zemeckis did the impossible with a crew of hundreds of hard-working artists, craftsmen and coffee-fetchers and the result is the first and only blend of 40s-era film noir detective story combined with zany animated madness.
So how does it hold up, all these years later? As a visual effects break-through: excellent. The "toons" and the real-life actors truly seem to interact and react to one another. The animation is masterful and there's plenty of hat-tipping to classic Disney and Warner Bros. cartoons and their characters. The sets and costumes are fun and inventive. I especially liked the references to the Metro Red Line streetcars that zig-zagged across Los Angeles before the freeways took over (in a fit of insanity, according to the movie--long before we were obsessed with "going green").
Still weird: Bob Hoskins in the title role. He's one of the short, squat character actors that permeated the 80s (Danny DeVito and Joe Pesci complete the trio) and he's no leading man. He spends the first half of the movie in a drunken, explosive rage and the dark alleyways and piles of garbage and dust that surround him don't exactly announce: children's movie.
But when he starts playing off his toon co-stars, you can't help but be in awe of his focus and ability to pretend. The DVD contains many "making of" shots of Hoskins acting alongside big, rubber dummies of the toon characters, held up by mimes; with Charles Fleischer (the voice of Roger) who wears a bunny suit to get into character; and with...nothing--just a blue screen. As you can see in this still, he's playing a scene with Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny. Only instead of the famous stars, he's actually interacting with two markers placed on sticks held by off-camera crew members, all the while pretending to fall at terrific speeds to his impending doom. Pretty impressive, Bob.
More weirdness: it's really not a kid's movie but it's clearly not entirely an adult film as well. It's in that in-between place where darkness meets absurd comedy and no one can classify what it truly is. Also, Jessica Rabbit hearkens from the pages of 60s-era Playboy, not from any classic cartoons that I can name. Her effect on her male co-stars portends Internet cartoon porn by several years. And Christopher Lloyd as Judge Doom is the stuff of nightmares. These dark concepts plus the fact that every frame of animation was hand-drawn with no computer enhancement make Roger Rabbit a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience--a freak of film history.
And now:
Roger Rabbit - the ride
So how does it hold up, all these years later? As a visual effects break-through: excellent. The "toons" and the real-life actors truly seem to interact and react to one another. The animation is masterful and there's plenty of hat-tipping to classic Disney and Warner Bros. cartoons and their characters. The sets and costumes are fun and inventive. I especially liked the references to the Metro Red Line streetcars that zig-zagged across Los Angeles before the freeways took over (in a fit of insanity, according to the movie--long before we were obsessed with "going green").
Still weird: Bob Hoskins in the title role. He's one of the short, squat character actors that permeated the 80s (Danny DeVito and Joe Pesci complete the trio) and he's no leading man. He spends the first half of the movie in a drunken, explosive rage and the dark alleyways and piles of garbage and dust that surround him don't exactly announce: children's movie.
But when he starts playing off his toon co-stars, you can't help but be in awe of his focus and ability to pretend. The DVD contains many "making of" shots of Hoskins acting alongside big, rubber dummies of the toon characters, held up by mimes; with Charles Fleischer (the voice of Roger) who wears a bunny suit to get into character; and with...nothing--just a blue screen. As you can see in this still, he's playing a scene with Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny. Only instead of the famous stars, he's actually interacting with two markers placed on sticks held by off-camera crew members, all the while pretending to fall at terrific speeds to his impending doom. Pretty impressive, Bob.
More weirdness: it's really not a kid's movie but it's clearly not entirely an adult film as well. It's in that in-between place where darkness meets absurd comedy and no one can classify what it truly is. Also, Jessica Rabbit hearkens from the pages of 60s-era Playboy, not from any classic cartoons that I can name. Her effect on her male co-stars portends Internet cartoon porn by several years. And Christopher Lloyd as Judge Doom is the stuff of nightmares. These dark concepts plus the fact that every frame of animation was hand-drawn with no computer enhancement make Roger Rabbit a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience--a freak of film history.
And now:
Roger Rabbit - the ride
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
It Might Get Loud - trailer and excited anticipation
Davis Guggenheim has made perhaps the ultimate guitar-god documentary. He got Jimmy Page (my first rock & roll crush), Jack White and The Edge to hang out, talk, and play their guitars. That may not sound fascinating to some, but I think it's the ultimate use of film and sound.
Some may also question the inclusion of The Edge with Page and White, who are blues-rock innovators, while he is firmly in the jangly treble-clef of new wave, but I say: piffle! It's a good trio of obsessive geniuses. I only hope they saved a chair for where Jimi Hendrix would have sat in.
Trailer
Summary: The history of the electric guitar as seen from the point of view of three significant musicians: Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page, U2's The Edge and the White Stripes' Jack White. It tells the personal stories, of three generations of electric guitar virtuosos. It reveals how each developed his unique sound and style of playing his favorite instrument. Concentrating on the artists musical rebellion, traveling with him to influential locations and provoking rare discussion as to how and why he writes and plays
It Might Get Loud opens August 14 in NYC and Los Angeles, then spreads out in theaters for our general viewing pleasure.
ONTD post with much Page/White love thrown in.
Some may also question the inclusion of The Edge with Page and White, who are blues-rock innovators, while he is firmly in the jangly treble-clef of new wave, but I say: piffle! It's a good trio of obsessive geniuses. I only hope they saved a chair for where Jimi Hendrix would have sat in.
Trailer
Summary: The history of the electric guitar as seen from the point of view of three significant musicians: Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page, U2's The Edge and the White Stripes' Jack White. It tells the personal stories, of three generations of electric guitar virtuosos. It reveals how each developed his unique sound and style of playing his favorite instrument. Concentrating on the artists musical rebellion, traveling with him to influential locations and provoking rare discussion as to how and why he writes and plays
It Might Get Loud opens August 14 in NYC and Los Angeles, then spreads out in theaters for our general viewing pleasure.
ONTD post with much Page/White love thrown in.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Bagpipe Mania Monday
Today I had to get up and go to the DMV. Woe! But I just thought of music that featured bagpipes and that cheered me right up.
AC/DC - It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'n' Roll)
Bad Haggis - Cinderella Man (performing at Disneyland)
Schelmish - Aequinoctium
Forest For The Trees - Dream
Dance Dance Revolution Expert - Bag (follow the arrows with your feet)
AC/DC - It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'n' Roll)
Bad Haggis - Cinderella Man (performing at Disneyland)
Schelmish - Aequinoctium
Forest For The Trees - Dream
Dance Dance Revolution Expert - Bag (follow the arrows with your feet)
Friday, July 17, 2009
Viva The Zeros
Last night on KALX a well-informed DJ told the back-story of The Zeros, the 70s-era punk band consisting of high school friends from Chula Vista, California. Up until that moment in time I knew NOTHING about The Zeros, even though I've been aware of the career of their former guitarist, El Vez (Robert Lopez), for years. And I vaguely knew bassist Hector Penalosa in the 80s from his San Francisco band, Flying Color. If Hector had been in one of the coolest Mexican-American punk rock bands of the the past decade, he was very quiet about it.
The Zeros played up and down California alongside The Germs, The Avengers, The Nuns and The Dils, but like many early punk bands, they split up before they could achieve the worldwide fame they so deserved. But it's all going to be OK because they've reformed and they're playing TONIGHT at the Elbo Room in San Francisco. All four original members, including guitarist Javier Escovedo and drummer Baba Chenelle, played their 30-year reunion show in Spain back in 2007 and are now touring the West Coast (opening for Mudhoney at Dante's in Portland, September 18). Excelente!
San Diego television, Don't Push me Around & Wimp - 1977
Don't Push Me Around - no year listed but definitely a reunion show.
The Zeros 30th Anniversary - DVD trailer, supposedly released from Last Bandit Films in Spain and Munster Records but I can't find it on either site. Elusive!
MySpace
The Zeros played up and down California alongside The Germs, The Avengers, The Nuns and The Dils, but like many early punk bands, they split up before they could achieve the worldwide fame they so deserved. But it's all going to be OK because they've reformed and they're playing TONIGHT at the Elbo Room in San Francisco. All four original members, including guitarist Javier Escovedo and drummer Baba Chenelle, played their 30-year reunion show in Spain back in 2007 and are now touring the West Coast (opening for Mudhoney at Dante's in Portland, September 18). Excelente!
San Diego television, Don't Push me Around & Wimp - 1977
Don't Push Me Around - no year listed but definitely a reunion show.
The Zeros 30th Anniversary - DVD trailer, supposedly released from Last Bandit Films in Spain and Munster Records but I can't find it on either site. Elusive!
MySpace
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Let's talk about...throw pillows
Now that we're all broke and finally saving rather than spending our money, throw pillows are going through some kind of design resurgence. Interior decorators eager to push some product, ANY product on us, especially now that we're "nesting" more than ever, have hailed the throw pillow (and paint--they're always telling us how cheap it is to paint--not true, but that's another post) as an "essential component" in your decorating schema.
As someone who suffers from a dust-mite allergy, throw pillows to me just look like comfy condominium complexes for the microscopic vermin. But now that I've moved into a neutral-toned (i.e., beige) rental and I can't deal with painting yet, I'm starting to re-think my views on throw pillows. Designers are always telling us (never "suggesting," aways "telling") to swap out our pillows seasonally and if we have to buy new storage units and make extra space in the garage to store our seasonal pillows, so be it. ANYTHING for design!
I went to Etsy and tried to find the strangest assortment of throw pillows I could. Etsy URLs are the longest in the history of Internet browsing, so I unfortunately can't link to any of these pillows' sellers without causing severe eye-strain while proofreading. You'll have to search for them yourself. Type "throw pillows" at Etsy. That should do it.
There seems to be a mega-trend of caged-bird motifs in throw pillows. Maybe we feel trapped on the domestic confines of our couches, surrounded by pillow forms and walls that cry out for cheap paint jobs. The images simply mirror our predicament.
"Excuse me. This conversation is fascinating but I feel the need to genuflect to your pillow. Don't mind me--I was raised Catholic! Do you have any holy wafers to go with this wine?"
Sasquatch. Bigfoot. Whatever you call him, I think you'll agree he makes a lovely knitted pillow. Will there ever be a sighting of a female Bigfoot and if so, will she have long eyelashes and be wearing a bow?
You loved the movie, wore the T-shirt, and now you can cuddle with the throw pillow. I wish with all my heart I still had my vintage Hanson T-shirt. It never occurred to me to recycle it in this manner. Snugly.
Gotta include a poodle.
These animals are listed as "cute" by the seller. But I BEG TO DIFFER.
Look at this smarmy little pony. As my Grandma Tocha used to say, "He thinks he's it."
Giant uterus pillow anyone? Hey, how come no one's sitting on that end of the couch? Is it the giant uterus? You can just push it to the side. What? The female body is beautiful, man. Just get over yourself and get the feel of that plush fallopian tube. Ya big baby.
What else have I got here? Anyone from Oklahoma? Raise your hand. Have I got the pillow for you! This would actually go really well with my tacky vintage collector plates from all over the continental United States.
You don't see enough walrus decor these days and that's too bad. Remedy the problem with this dignified fellow. Blubber, tusks and ascots are all making a come back. So I hear.
I could easily become one of those older ladies who collect owls if I could start off my collection with this hand-drawn guy. So cute! Owls are the perfect bird for older people because we think of them as "wise" and that's what we aspire to as we age. Ultimately, as long as owls keep the rodent population down, they're doing their job on the planet. That is really why we secretly admire owls.
As someone who suffers from a dust-mite allergy, throw pillows to me just look like comfy condominium complexes for the microscopic vermin. But now that I've moved into a neutral-toned (i.e., beige) rental and I can't deal with painting yet, I'm starting to re-think my views on throw pillows. Designers are always telling us (never "suggesting," aways "telling") to swap out our pillows seasonally and if we have to buy new storage units and make extra space in the garage to store our seasonal pillows, so be it. ANYTHING for design!
I went to Etsy and tried to find the strangest assortment of throw pillows I could. Etsy URLs are the longest in the history of Internet browsing, so I unfortunately can't link to any of these pillows' sellers without causing severe eye-strain while proofreading. You'll have to search for them yourself. Type "throw pillows" at Etsy. That should do it.
There seems to be a mega-trend of caged-bird motifs in throw pillows. Maybe we feel trapped on the domestic confines of our couches, surrounded by pillow forms and walls that cry out for cheap paint jobs. The images simply mirror our predicament.
"Excuse me. This conversation is fascinating but I feel the need to genuflect to your pillow. Don't mind me--I was raised Catholic! Do you have any holy wafers to go with this wine?"
Sasquatch. Bigfoot. Whatever you call him, I think you'll agree he makes a lovely knitted pillow. Will there ever be a sighting of a female Bigfoot and if so, will she have long eyelashes and be wearing a bow?
You loved the movie, wore the T-shirt, and now you can cuddle with the throw pillow. I wish with all my heart I still had my vintage Hanson T-shirt. It never occurred to me to recycle it in this manner. Snugly.
Gotta include a poodle.
These animals are listed as "cute" by the seller. But I BEG TO DIFFER.
Look at this smarmy little pony. As my Grandma Tocha used to say, "He thinks he's it."
Giant uterus pillow anyone? Hey, how come no one's sitting on that end of the couch? Is it the giant uterus? You can just push it to the side. What? The female body is beautiful, man. Just get over yourself and get the feel of that plush fallopian tube. Ya big baby.
What else have I got here? Anyone from Oklahoma? Raise your hand. Have I got the pillow for you! This would actually go really well with my tacky vintage collector plates from all over the continental United States.
You don't see enough walrus decor these days and that's too bad. Remedy the problem with this dignified fellow. Blubber, tusks and ascots are all making a come back. So I hear.
I could easily become one of those older ladies who collect owls if I could start off my collection with this hand-drawn guy. So cute! Owls are the perfect bird for older people because we think of them as "wise" and that's what we aspire to as we age. Ultimately, as long as owls keep the rodent population down, they're doing their job on the planet. That is really why we secretly admire owls.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Isn't it time you owned a Theremin?
Tired of throwing your money away, leasing your Theremins? Have your friends started hiding out when they see you coming up the street because you keep borrowing THEIR Theremins? Maybe it's time to think of pride of ownership. Live the American dream with your very own Theremin.
Tired of your electronic music hobby jacking up the electricity bill every month? Go "green" with the solar-powered Theremin.
Very famous celebrity Jon Spencer could use some Theremin lessons.
Thomas Grillo teaches YOU how to play the Theremin.
A cat plays a Theremin. What was life like before YouTube? Cold, wind-blown, and grayish I imagine.
- Moog Etherwave(R) Theremins add life to any party, spiritual gathering or impromptu happening.
- The EtherMusic Festival is fun for all.
- The Theremin's Making a Comback - Brow Beat.
- See you later everyone, I'm going to Theremin World.
Tired of your electronic music hobby jacking up the electricity bill every month? Go "green" with the solar-powered Theremin.
Very famous celebrity Jon Spencer could use some Theremin lessons.
Thomas Grillo teaches YOU how to play the Theremin.
A cat plays a Theremin. What was life like before YouTube? Cold, wind-blown, and grayish I imagine.
- Moog Etherwave(R) Theremins add life to any party, spiritual gathering or impromptu happening.
- The EtherMusic Festival is fun for all.
- The Theremin's Making a Comback - Brow Beat.
- See you later everyone, I'm going to Theremin World.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Look at all this lovely, lovely liquor
Shopping at my nearby Trader Joe's this week, I rounded the corner of the last aisle and came upon this:
I had to photograph it as evidence that California knows how to party. How do I know this? Because I've been living in SW Washington State for the past two years and you will never see this selection in a Trader Joe's or any other store other than one sanctioned by the government if you go there.
They make you work hard for your liquor in Washington. And when you go to the government-sanctioned liquor store, you better have some valid I.D. because even if you're in your 70s, like my dad trying to get his allotment of high-end vodka, they STILL card you. It makes no sense but I suppose with the weather being what it is and the abundance of seasonal affective disorder (SAD), plus winding mountain roads, cliff-sides and gorges, perhaps an attempt to curtail the sale of liquor makes some sense.
There's also no doubt some old religious, moral laws from pioneer days affecting the sale of alcohol in Washington. Obviously not enough Catholics settled in the Northwest back in the day. Disclosure: I was raised Catholic and imbibing the occasional glass of wine (or gin or whatever) is not looked down upon by Catholics and can even represent the blood of Christ on occasion. Overall, the Catholic religion puts the spiritual in spirits.
Of course these archaic laws don't stop a drinker from drinking. They just make it harder to get the drinks without going to a bar. So when I turned that corner in Trader Joe's and saw all the lovely, expensive, imported booze, my heart sang. Not because I'm a big drinker or even have a home bar stocked for visitors (you're getting beer, wine and probably vodka at my house at all times and that's about it), but because if I ever DO need to obtain some tequila, scotch, grappa, or schnapps, I know EXACTLY where to go and I couldn't say the same at my old house. Just one more reason to feel at home in California, where the ouzo flows like wine.
I had to photograph it as evidence that California knows how to party. How do I know this? Because I've been living in SW Washington State for the past two years and you will never see this selection in a Trader Joe's or any other store other than one sanctioned by the government if you go there.
They make you work hard for your liquor in Washington. And when you go to the government-sanctioned liquor store, you better have some valid I.D. because even if you're in your 70s, like my dad trying to get his allotment of high-end vodka, they STILL card you. It makes no sense but I suppose with the weather being what it is and the abundance of seasonal affective disorder (SAD), plus winding mountain roads, cliff-sides and gorges, perhaps an attempt to curtail the sale of liquor makes some sense.
There's also no doubt some old religious, moral laws from pioneer days affecting the sale of alcohol in Washington. Obviously not enough Catholics settled in the Northwest back in the day. Disclosure: I was raised Catholic and imbibing the occasional glass of wine (or gin or whatever) is not looked down upon by Catholics and can even represent the blood of Christ on occasion. Overall, the Catholic religion puts the spiritual in spirits.
Of course these archaic laws don't stop a drinker from drinking. They just make it harder to get the drinks without going to a bar. So when I turned that corner in Trader Joe's and saw all the lovely, expensive, imported booze, my heart sang. Not because I'm a big drinker or even have a home bar stocked for visitors (you're getting beer, wine and probably vodka at my house at all times and that's about it), but because if I ever DO need to obtain some tequila, scotch, grappa, or schnapps, I know EXACTLY where to go and I couldn't say the same at my old house. Just one more reason to feel at home in California, where the ouzo flows like wine.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Unfortunate Classic Music Videos
Billy Ocean - Loverboy
One of those "must be seen to be believed" experiences that I can't begin to describe here. I'd rather imagine the initial creative-team meeting with Billy, to vaguely go over their concept for this one.
Team leader: Well, Mr. Ocean, as you can see, the outline features a really hip bar scene with a dramatic occurrences that will take place within the beach-front club. We don't have the storyboards as of yet, but I think you'll agree: This one will up your "cool" factor by exponential ten!
Ocean: Sounds good. Will I have a role?
Team leader's assistant: You'll be performing within the context of the dramatic action!
Ocean: Fine, fine. Draw up a contract. I have to get to a recording session now. Let me know when the second-unit crew has finished shooting so you can edit me in there.
Team leader and cohorts: Affirmative Billy Ocean! See you at the MTV awards of 1985!
As Ocean leaves the room, the creative team high-fives one another while adjusting their thick eyeglasses and snorting with pleasure.
Kansas - Dust in the Wind
The minor-key classic gets a fittingly somber treatment for the video. But we must ask ourselves: do we want to see the group in foggy tableau, playing a dirge while wearing prom-night outfits in soft-focus? Does that benefit us or the group? They look like a bunch of guys whose coke deal fell through just before filming began. It's appropriately sad but takes away from the overall suicidal hopelessness of the song itself.
Journey - Separate Ways
From the ugly and low-cost warehouse backdrop to Steve Perry's hysteria-infused dramatic performance, this one's an all-time classic bad music video from frame one. It's got terribly unflattering hair, a big mustache, air keyboard, Perry's tight T-shirt/jeans combination that would help catapult him to hyperbolic stardom, plus some kind of home-made industrial musical instruments that can't possibly sound good even within experimental standards, and a forklift. And the 80s staple: white pumps with a black leather skirt.
And here's a really admirable move-for-move remake, proving that even terrible productions can be inspiring and even worthwhile if they don't make our brains explode in the process.
And while I'm at it, I cannot ignore Steve Perry's postmodern take on Oh Sherrie. Just because he's making fun of high-concept music video, doesn't make it any less shitty when he launches into "sincere" mode. A not-so-bad bombastic love ballad made brain-meltingly annoying on film. Thousands of Perry fans will now attack me with sharp pointed objects but I've always thought that Journey is the greatest band for people who generally hate music.
Guns N' Roses - November Rain
Epic, expensive, macabre, dramatic, pointless, stupid, unnecessary in the extreme; this was the "Heaven's Gate" of music videos. No amount of high production values and scenery could disguise the fact that the song wasn't very good and just as pieced together as this disjointed narrative. At least Axl isn't swimming with the dolphins while wearing his Charles Manson T-shirt.
One of those "must be seen to be believed" experiences that I can't begin to describe here. I'd rather imagine the initial creative-team meeting with Billy, to vaguely go over their concept for this one.
Team leader: Well, Mr. Ocean, as you can see, the outline features a really hip bar scene with a dramatic occurrences that will take place within the beach-front club. We don't have the storyboards as of yet, but I think you'll agree: This one will up your "cool" factor by exponential ten!
Ocean: Sounds good. Will I have a role?
Team leader's assistant: You'll be performing within the context of the dramatic action!
Ocean: Fine, fine. Draw up a contract. I have to get to a recording session now. Let me know when the second-unit crew has finished shooting so you can edit me in there.
Team leader and cohorts: Affirmative Billy Ocean! See you at the MTV awards of 1985!
As Ocean leaves the room, the creative team high-fives one another while adjusting their thick eyeglasses and snorting with pleasure.
Kansas - Dust in the Wind
The minor-key classic gets a fittingly somber treatment for the video. But we must ask ourselves: do we want to see the group in foggy tableau, playing a dirge while wearing prom-night outfits in soft-focus? Does that benefit us or the group? They look like a bunch of guys whose coke deal fell through just before filming began. It's appropriately sad but takes away from the overall suicidal hopelessness of the song itself.
Journey - Separate Ways
From the ugly and low-cost warehouse backdrop to Steve Perry's hysteria-infused dramatic performance, this one's an all-time classic bad music video from frame one. It's got terribly unflattering hair, a big mustache, air keyboard, Perry's tight T-shirt/jeans combination that would help catapult him to hyperbolic stardom, plus some kind of home-made industrial musical instruments that can't possibly sound good even within experimental standards, and a forklift. And the 80s staple: white pumps with a black leather skirt.
And here's a really admirable move-for-move remake, proving that even terrible productions can be inspiring and even worthwhile if they don't make our brains explode in the process.
And while I'm at it, I cannot ignore Steve Perry's postmodern take on Oh Sherrie. Just because he's making fun of high-concept music video, doesn't make it any less shitty when he launches into "sincere" mode. A not-so-bad bombastic love ballad made brain-meltingly annoying on film. Thousands of Perry fans will now attack me with sharp pointed objects but I've always thought that Journey is the greatest band for people who generally hate music.
Guns N' Roses - November Rain
Epic, expensive, macabre, dramatic, pointless, stupid, unnecessary in the extreme; this was the "Heaven's Gate" of music videos. No amount of high production values and scenery could disguise the fact that the song wasn't very good and just as pieced together as this disjointed narrative. At least Axl isn't swimming with the dolphins while wearing his Charles Manson T-shirt.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Here's to good friends...
It won't be long now and we'll be "entertaining" in our new abode. The boxes are (somewhat) unpacked; the kitchen is kind of functional; the decor is happening (in my head). Just DON'T go in the garage. Best of all: the friends are nearby and willing. Here's to you.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Rye Rye 4th of July - Bang
The latest from Baltimore's Rye Rye, directed by M.I.A. (swear-word chorus). Have a good fourth. I like to imagine Thomas Jefferson visiting the current White House and doing a tremendous double-take. Ha!
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Mrs. Slocombe has left the building
I don't know if you've ever been privy to "Are You Being Served," the British sitcom that was in constant rotation on Bay Area PBS throughout the 90s. I never get through an entire episode, but let me say this, Mollie Sugden, who played middle-aged Mrs. Slocombe with her multi-colored hair, was a funny, funny lady.
What I liked about Sugden was that she didn't mind playing her character as mostly unlikable. Mrs. Slocombe was a bit of a grotesque, but a proper one who always stood at attention just so. She was fussy and clueless and her hair was a different color for every episode. I honestly watched the first five minutes of every show to see what she looked like, especially her incredible outdoors-wear.
At age 86, Mollie Sugden has left us.
Thank you, ONTD for helping me blog this week while I'm unpacking. There will be no "deep thoughts" while I'm moving into my new home.
What I liked about Sugden was that she didn't mind playing her character as mostly unlikable. Mrs. Slocombe was a bit of a grotesque, but a proper one who always stood at attention just so. She was fussy and clueless and her hair was a different color for every episode. I honestly watched the first five minutes of every show to see what she looked like, especially her incredible outdoors-wear.
At age 86, Mollie Sugden has left us.
Thank you, ONTD for helping me blog this week while I'm unpacking. There will be no "deep thoughts" while I'm moving into my new home.
Monday, June 29, 2009
RIP Sir Billy Mays, Knight of Consumer Products
Now why am I all sad about the death of Billy Mays? The man was obnoxious, yet I did believe in his products. He was talented at convincing me that way.
He was kind of like the kid in your junior high who was socially awkward, but not in an introverted way--in a loud, booming, in-your-face way. The kid who didn't know when to pull back and give it a rest to let you absorb his presence. The kid who tried too hard but who was basically good inside. That's the Billy Mays pitchman persona. He knows he's being too loud, too forceful, too TOO, but dammit, this product needs to be in your possession and he'll make sure it's so.
Two weeks ago before our move, I finally bought a Billy Mays product. Can you guess what it was? Of course, it was KABOOM Bowl Blaster. I always loved the name, the magenta bottle and the foaming action. Who ISN'T attracted by a foaming toilet-bowl cleaner? Come clean, consumers. You want some KABOOM.
My excuse is that I've been using natural, bio-degradable products in the home for several years now and as a result, my toilets in Vancouver, WA looked like crap. There's something in the water up there, like lime or something, that makes stains. Kind of greenish-brown stains, all around the rim, wherever there's been water passing through. So I got some KABOOM. I was willing to try anything. Even bleach hadn't worked. So I let it foam away. It kind of smells like raspberry gummy sours, which is a weird smell in a bathroom.
Did it work? No. Stains were still there, although slightly faded. Perhaps I had waited too long and the hard-water build-up had completely taken over, but it was fun and I enjoyed the experience. I left it behind for the new owners. I thought it would cheer them up to get in their brand new Northwestern digs and find a magenta bottle of KABOOM in the bathroom. A little welcoming present. Now it will have extra resonance with the passing of Billy Mays.
The geniuses at ONTD have noted that the Discovery Channel has scheduled a "Pitchmen" marathon for Wed., July 1st from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Mays and Anthony "Sully" Sullivan co-hosted the behind-the-scenes show about the making and marketing of infomercial-product inventions. I don't have cable at the moment, or even TV itself, but I just thought you would want to know.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Au Revoir, Sky Saxon of The Seeds
It's been quite a week of celebrity death. I'm still reeling from the concept of a world minus Michael Jackson. I literally grew up hearing Michael Jackson (and his brothers) and have watched a lot of people joyfully dance and sing along to Michael Jackson. He was truly one of a kind and I will miss him, even if he was struggling for the last decade or so. There was something delicate and vulnerable to him, even as a confident child pop star. When I was child, I sensed a sadness there. He loomed large in my subconscious in troublesome, not very comforting ways, but I LOVED him and his phenomenal talent just the same.
Farrah Fawcett was an interesting sex symbol. She really did all kinds of stuff to avoid being called that, yet who was sexier in the 70s? It's always sad to watch someone fight against their natural abilities (in her case: photographing sexy), but she was so effortlessly "watchable" and that face! That smile! An Earthbound goddess. Another dark figure though. Leaving "Charlie's Angels" after only one season. "The Burning Bed"--yikes. Ryan O'Neal--I know the man is grieving, but I'm going to say it, "YIKES." We'll always remember her golden glow and although her bathing-suit poster is a classic, I liked the one of her on the skateboard better. I used to ride a skateboard, so that probably explains that.
Then there was Sky Saxon. His death made me personally sad because I briefly knew him in a surreal and perfectly Sky Saxon way. My band She Mob once played a Halloween show at the Purple Onion and he figured prominently that night. I can't adequately explain the atmosphere of early 90s-era Purple Onion, suffice to say, it's in a basement, so it was necessary to lug musical equipment downstairs in order to play there (once manager and famous nut-case Tom Guido showed up to unlock the gate and let you in).
As you descended into this literally underground realm, all sorts of oddball San Francisco history wafted around you, starting with the 60s comedy scene (think: Phyllis Diller, just starting out) and then rolling into a garage-rock venue that was passionately overseen by Guido and his intense need for 60s fuzztone soundz.
All that intensity played out in interesting and often indescribable ways. Like the time we opened for Brian Jonestown Massacre and watched as a member (ahem) of the band got a blowjob pretty much out on the floor in front of everyone before going on stage and blowing us all (ahem) away. These happenings were nothing compared to the bi-polar wrath that Guido could dish out at any moment to anyone for any (usually imagined) reason. He adored our band but it was an edgy sort of love.
So there we were, dressed as a bad acid trip (it was Halloween in North Beach!) with our friends dressed as an Easter Island statue, a port-o-let, a glamorous drag queen (made more so by the general disgruntlement of the drag queen being stuck in a basement in North Beach on Halloween), and memorably, death himself, who we thought was a Halloween prop until it moved and started dancing around to one of our songs. All went well. Even Tom Guido was thrilled by our newest 60s-inspired pop tune.
When Sky Saxon took the stage after us, Tom suddenly announced that we would be backing him. We looked around in our bad acid finery, saying, "Whu-WHAT?" until he explained that that's how Sky Saxon always worked nowadays. He played with whatever opening band was billed that night, sang over their songs in his own made-up-on-the-spot lyrics, and recorded it for his pending record release. Well, once that was explained, all became clear. As mud. Being up for anything (we once dressed as Power Puff girls, wearing towels as capes), we were happy to help out a 60s icon. It was a thrill to play music with the guy who sang "Pushin' to hard on meeeee" so urgently.
So we proceeded to play our entire set over again while Saxon did his thing out front. According to my friend, Laura (Easter Island statue of the night), it was beyond memorable. We were possibly suffering too much from a contact high from the entire evening to even understand what was being sung and spoken to our music. It was strange, surreal fun and I'm really glad we got a chance to play with the guy, who was a very nice, soft-spoken individual. I don't know if the record ever got made. I was so curious to listen to it over the years.
Eons later, we emerged from our Berkeley rehearsal studio one evening and there was Sky, hanging out with the guy who rented a the warehouse next door. He started explaining who he was to us before I interrupted with, "We know who you are. We PLAYED with you once! Remember?" He puzzled over that and admitted that he might remember us vaguely. I just loved that guy. Every meeting with him was funny in a pleasant and interesting way.
Here's some photos from the Halloween show.
Sky is sitting in the middle next to his (extremely sweet) wife. His friends all around him.
Here's our bad acid look. Classy as always.
This was the most popular costume in Castro Street history that week. Laura could work wonders with a laundry basket and paper mache.
Our friend Neo, holding the orb; a glowing, flashing, globe-on-a-stick that emitted thunderous sound effects. Neo really knows how to make an entrance.
The Seeds - Can't Seem to Make you Mine (Thanks Stereo Steve)
Farrah Fawcett was an interesting sex symbol. She really did all kinds of stuff to avoid being called that, yet who was sexier in the 70s? It's always sad to watch someone fight against their natural abilities (in her case: photographing sexy), but she was so effortlessly "watchable" and that face! That smile! An Earthbound goddess. Another dark figure though. Leaving "Charlie's Angels" after only one season. "The Burning Bed"--yikes. Ryan O'Neal--I know the man is grieving, but I'm going to say it, "YIKES." We'll always remember her golden glow and although her bathing-suit poster is a classic, I liked the one of her on the skateboard better. I used to ride a skateboard, so that probably explains that.
Then there was Sky Saxon. His death made me personally sad because I briefly knew him in a surreal and perfectly Sky Saxon way. My band She Mob once played a Halloween show at the Purple Onion and he figured prominently that night. I can't adequately explain the atmosphere of early 90s-era Purple Onion, suffice to say, it's in a basement, so it was necessary to lug musical equipment downstairs in order to play there (once manager and famous nut-case Tom Guido showed up to unlock the gate and let you in).
As you descended into this literally underground realm, all sorts of oddball San Francisco history wafted around you, starting with the 60s comedy scene (think: Phyllis Diller, just starting out) and then rolling into a garage-rock venue that was passionately overseen by Guido and his intense need for 60s fuzztone soundz.
All that intensity played out in interesting and often indescribable ways. Like the time we opened for Brian Jonestown Massacre and watched as a member (ahem) of the band got a blowjob pretty much out on the floor in front of everyone before going on stage and blowing us all (ahem) away. These happenings were nothing compared to the bi-polar wrath that Guido could dish out at any moment to anyone for any (usually imagined) reason. He adored our band but it was an edgy sort of love.
So there we were, dressed as a bad acid trip (it was Halloween in North Beach!) with our friends dressed as an Easter Island statue, a port-o-let, a glamorous drag queen (made more so by the general disgruntlement of the drag queen being stuck in a basement in North Beach on Halloween), and memorably, death himself, who we thought was a Halloween prop until it moved and started dancing around to one of our songs. All went well. Even Tom Guido was thrilled by our newest 60s-inspired pop tune.
When Sky Saxon took the stage after us, Tom suddenly announced that we would be backing him. We looked around in our bad acid finery, saying, "Whu-WHAT?" until he explained that that's how Sky Saxon always worked nowadays. He played with whatever opening band was billed that night, sang over their songs in his own made-up-on-the-spot lyrics, and recorded it for his pending record release. Well, once that was explained, all became clear. As mud. Being up for anything (we once dressed as Power Puff girls, wearing towels as capes), we were happy to help out a 60s icon. It was a thrill to play music with the guy who sang "Pushin' to hard on meeeee" so urgently.
So we proceeded to play our entire set over again while Saxon did his thing out front. According to my friend, Laura (Easter Island statue of the night), it was beyond memorable. We were possibly suffering too much from a contact high from the entire evening to even understand what was being sung and spoken to our music. It was strange, surreal fun and I'm really glad we got a chance to play with the guy, who was a very nice, soft-spoken individual. I don't know if the record ever got made. I was so curious to listen to it over the years.
Eons later, we emerged from our Berkeley rehearsal studio one evening and there was Sky, hanging out with the guy who rented a the warehouse next door. He started explaining who he was to us before I interrupted with, "We know who you are. We PLAYED with you once! Remember?" He puzzled over that and admitted that he might remember us vaguely. I just loved that guy. Every meeting with him was funny in a pleasant and interesting way.
Here's some photos from the Halloween show.
Sky is sitting in the middle next to his (extremely sweet) wife. His friends all around him.
Here's our bad acid look. Classy as always.
This was the most popular costume in Castro Street history that week. Laura could work wonders with a laundry basket and paper mache.
Our friend Neo, holding the orb; a glowing, flashing, globe-on-a-stick that emitted thunderous sound effects. Neo really knows how to make an entrance.
The Seeds - Can't Seem to Make you Mine (Thanks Stereo Steve)
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Hayao Miyazaki's "Ponyo" trailer
Coming to theaters in the U.S. in August. When the narrator says "one of the greatest filmmakers of all time" and "his next masterpiece," he's not kidding.
Wikipedia will explain it all, as usual.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
We have landed in California
Items that dropped on my left or right foot while packing this week:
1.) Extremely heavy book-end made out of some kind of carved stone.
2.) A television remote, angled for maximum impact upon the joint where my big toe bends each time I take a step.
3.) Something I can't even remember (a child's toy?) that hurt like hell but I was too busy to notice at the time. This was a time-released injury that made itself felt throughout the day at hourly increments.
But we made it. Rain showers throughout Oregon, getting brighter and sunnier and hotter as we headed toward Mount Shasta (the town). Mount Shasta (the town) is so cute. It has this little downtown full of old one-story buildings where every other store-front appears to be a cool looking cafe with free Wi-Fi. Or a crystal shop or a tempeh deli or a bookstore.
Because our child hates most all food (with a passion), we found out where the nearest pizza was located. This turned out to be Say Cheese which is a sports bar with a salad bar and an arcade full of tween-age boys playing speed basketball and Dance Dance Revolution. In my punchy traveling/moving state, I found this really charming. Maybe because Mt. Shasta (the mountain) looms over the entire town like something out of anime fable. The melted snow in June looks like tiger stripes going down every which way. Dude, it's impressive.
So here we are in sunny Northern California where the unemployment rate has reached 11.5%, compared to Oregon's 12.5%. So far, we're feeling right at home.
Oh, hai there Mt. Shasta!
1.) Extremely heavy book-end made out of some kind of carved stone.
2.) A television remote, angled for maximum impact upon the joint where my big toe bends each time I take a step.
3.) Something I can't even remember (a child's toy?) that hurt like hell but I was too busy to notice at the time. This was a time-released injury that made itself felt throughout the day at hourly increments.
But we made it. Rain showers throughout Oregon, getting brighter and sunnier and hotter as we headed toward Mount Shasta (the town). Mount Shasta (the town) is so cute. It has this little downtown full of old one-story buildings where every other store-front appears to be a cool looking cafe with free Wi-Fi. Or a crystal shop or a tempeh deli or a bookstore.
Because our child hates most all food (with a passion), we found out where the nearest pizza was located. This turned out to be Say Cheese which is a sports bar with a salad bar and an arcade full of tween-age boys playing speed basketball and Dance Dance Revolution. In my punchy traveling/moving state, I found this really charming. Maybe because Mt. Shasta (the mountain) looms over the entire town like something out of anime fable. The melted snow in June looks like tiger stripes going down every which way. Dude, it's impressive.
So here we are in sunny Northern California where the unemployment rate has reached 11.5%, compared to Oregon's 12.5%. So far, we're feeling right at home.
Oh, hai there Mt. Shasta!
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