i've started a new blog chronicling my 'other life', basically a set of 'real-time' (the term is neither accurate nor in any other sense strictly true, but there you have it) reviews over at:
http://onanotherlife.blogspot.com
inspired by Jeff VanderMeer's Shriek: An Afterword, i start with that book. (read the entry called Antrum for my 'justification' of that blog.)
no worries for those people morbidly afraid of spoilers. i do my best to make none, and would warn you if i did.
feel free to drop by, comment, link, or dis the new blog elsewhere anytime.
31.8.06
30.8.06
one where i talk about getting SHRIEK...
that's right. i finally got it. but before that, allow me to rant.
writing SF, particularly of the 'sci' kind, tends to be something of a blind race for ideas, where the runners only learn about the competition after they or said competition have reached the finish line. this is true for all writing, of course, including all the other 'branches/tributaries' of the wild genre of SF, but sci-fi is far less forgiving.
of course, getting an idea published in a story doesn't give you a patent on that idea; neither does it guarantee that no-one will write anything that trumps your work even as they revolve around the same idea/s.
browsing Strange Horizons, i found out through their extensive reviews that Justina Robson's Natural History (one of the books i've been consciously trying to avoid to keep the book count on my 'to-read-as-soon-as-possible-and-definitely-before-i-die' list down) shares some major ideas with the one sci-fi story i've ever completed ('Generations', last heard of extensively here), which, idiot that i am and not having done my homework properly, i submitted to said online publication. admittedly, the treatments are very different, and the 'key themes' of the two works differ significantly, and i'm not saying that's why they rejected the story over at SH; nonetheless, though i'd known i wasn't exactly coming up with groundbreaking, brand-spankin' new SF concepts with my short, reading about Robson's work makes my short feel all the more lackluster.
ah well. it's not all bad. at least it got me to finally search for an excerpt of Natural History, which i found over at Powell's books... and to realize that this is just the sort of SF i truly, utterly dig.
which launches me on the next bit in my ramble.
Mabel and i had been planning on catching The Golem at the 3rd German Silent Film Fest since we learned of it a couple weeks ago. since it was salary day for me, i also used our trip to the mall as an excuse to hunt for Natural History. i imagined i'd go right to the SF section, find the book (and possibly the sequel, Living Next Door to the God of Love), pay for it and get out.
fortunately for me, they didn't have a copy of the book, so i thought i'd browse the new titles section.
and there i found Shriek: An Afterword in all it's hardbound glory. i'm pretty much done with ecstatic, epiphanic, whatever you call them moments, so i fairly calmly snatched it up, walked over to the cashier and forked over my cash. so yes, Jeff VanderMeer's first 'proper' novel on Ambergris has hit local bookstores.
mind you, my expectations for this book are so high i couldn't possibly help but be utterly disappointed by it on first reading. unless Mr VanderMeer really is, as a friend of mine would put it, The Shit. we'll find out soon enough. i've already read the first 30 pages; so far, i find that the point-counterpoint style Mr VanderMeer has chosen is a bit distracting, tending to break the flow of his otherwise beautiful yet efficient prose. still, at this point, it amazes me how much i really do get the sense of one writer (Janice Shriek) having written the main body of the text, while a second (Duncan Shriek) has inserted comments into the first's manuscript 'after the fact.'
oh yes, tickets were sold-out for The Golem when we got there, so, no, we didn't get to see it. i was really looking forward to the odd blend of the film and Drip's music, but, well, what can you do?
it still makes me wonder how they decided on Drip to score a German Expressionist silent film on a Kabbalistic myth set in the 16th century, particularly given the other films in this particular film fest, and though i have no idea at the moment how it worked out, i raise my hat to the person who came up with such a twistedly delicious idea.
writing SF, particularly of the 'sci' kind, tends to be something of a blind race for ideas, where the runners only learn about the competition after they or said competition have reached the finish line. this is true for all writing, of course, including all the other 'branches/tributaries' of the wild genre of SF, but sci-fi is far less forgiving.
of course, getting an idea published in a story doesn't give you a patent on that idea; neither does it guarantee that no-one will write anything that trumps your work even as they revolve around the same idea/s.
browsing Strange Horizons, i found out through their extensive reviews that Justina Robson's Natural History (one of the books i've been consciously trying to avoid to keep the book count on my 'to-read-as-soon-as-possible-and-definitely-before-i-die' list down) shares some major ideas with the one sci-fi story i've ever completed ('Generations', last heard of extensively here), which, idiot that i am and not having done my homework properly, i submitted to said online publication. admittedly, the treatments are very different, and the 'key themes' of the two works differ significantly, and i'm not saying that's why they rejected the story over at SH; nonetheless, though i'd known i wasn't exactly coming up with groundbreaking, brand-spankin' new SF concepts with my short, reading about Robson's work makes my short feel all the more lackluster.
ah well. it's not all bad. at least it got me to finally search for an excerpt of Natural History, which i found over at Powell's books... and to realize that this is just the sort of SF i truly, utterly dig.
which launches me on the next bit in my ramble.
Mabel and i had been planning on catching The Golem at the 3rd German Silent Film Fest since we learned of it a couple weeks ago. since it was salary day for me, i also used our trip to the mall as an excuse to hunt for Natural History. i imagined i'd go right to the SF section, find the book (and possibly the sequel, Living Next Door to the God of Love), pay for it and get out.
fortunately for me, they didn't have a copy of the book, so i thought i'd browse the new titles section.
and there i found Shriek: An Afterword in all it's hardbound glory. i'm pretty much done with ecstatic, epiphanic, whatever you call them moments, so i fairly calmly snatched it up, walked over to the cashier and forked over my cash. so yes, Jeff VanderMeer's first 'proper' novel on Ambergris has hit local bookstores.
mind you, my expectations for this book are so high i couldn't possibly help but be utterly disappointed by it on first reading. unless Mr VanderMeer really is, as a friend of mine would put it, The Shit. we'll find out soon enough. i've already read the first 30 pages; so far, i find that the point-counterpoint style Mr VanderMeer has chosen is a bit distracting, tending to break the flow of his otherwise beautiful yet efficient prose. still, at this point, it amazes me how much i really do get the sense of one writer (Janice Shriek) having written the main body of the text, while a second (Duncan Shriek) has inserted comments into the first's manuscript 'after the fact.'
oh yes, tickets were sold-out for The Golem when we got there, so, no, we didn't get to see it. i was really looking forward to the odd blend of the film and Drip's music, but, well, what can you do?
it still makes me wonder how they decided on Drip to score a German Expressionist silent film on a Kabbalistic myth set in the 16th century, particularly given the other films in this particular film fest, and though i have no idea at the moment how it worked out, i raise my hat to the person who came up with such a twistedly delicious idea.
29.8.06
Not THE Doctor
House, MD, i only just found over the weekend, has three things going for it that i noticed right off the bat: the obvious interesting, not unsympathetic antihero protagonist; an opening theme by Massive Attack (an edited version of 'Teardrop'); and a hands-on executive producer who directed the pilot (and at least one more ep, episode 3 called 'Occam's Razor'). what's so great about that last bit? well, it happens to be pretty darn awesome, imho, that producer being Bryan Singer.
*
tonight, in case anyone's at all interested (and you should be), it's The Golem (1920), directed by Carl Boese & Paul Wegener, with music by Drip at the 3rd German Silent Film Fest.
you can catch it at Greenbelt Cinema 1 at 8:00pm. ticks are only P50.
*
tonight, in case anyone's at all interested (and you should be), it's The Golem (1920), directed by Carl Boese & Paul Wegener, with music by Drip at the 3rd German Silent Film Fest.
you can catch it at Greenbelt Cinema 1 at 8:00pm. ticks are only P50.
28.8.06
Dark Water revisited
it will take some patience, but this entry takes off from this other entry from my old blog over on the friendster network, and you should probably go read that first before getting back to this one. it's one of the longest blog posts i've ever put up, but scroll down the September 24, 2005 entry and skip past all the bibliomaniacal crap to find the relevant bits.
this is going to be another ramble: i caution you to proceed at your own risk.
(in case you want to explore that other blog, i should probably warn you that when i started Zen, it was a mirror of that other place, so, yes, all the blog-entries are duplicates from the first Zen in Darkness entry in April to around, oh, June, methinks, when i finally gave up on the relatively inaccessible friendster.
it also occurs to me how uninterestingly redundant i can get, beyond the entry-duplications... how certain themes keep coming back around to haunt this and the other blog: mainly, while looking for this post, i found evidence for a particular fixation for the Titus Groan books, Neil Gaiman, the Titus Groan books, writers like Michael Moorcock, Jeff VanderMeer and Mervyn Peake, and the Titus Groan books. did i mention how fixated i am with the Titus Groan books?)
right. where was i? ah yes, taking off from this post. well, i've finally read the Koji Suzuki short that served as the basis for the films Honogurai mizu no soko kara (aka Dark Water) and Dark Water. The short story has the odd title of Floating Water, and is part of a themed collection of short stories by Koji Suzuki called, you guessed it, Dark Water, published by Vertical.
now, i should probably point out up-front that i absolutely love both films; however, of the two versions, i prefer Hideo Nakata's over Walter Salles's, for the simple fact that i find the Asian Horror Movie view of the afterlife much more sensible, more fascinating and more frightening than the Western Horror Movie POV (as i interpret, correctly or not, those particular "cultural POVs"). also, being the earlier film adaptation and made by someone with what i figured ought to be a similar cultural POV, i imagined Nakata's version would be more faithful to the original short story than Salles's. and, not having read the original short at the time, i felt that Rafael Yglesias's blatantly Disneyfied screenplay was a violation of the original material.
thankfully, i could not have been more mistaken.
while it's true that Yglesias's screenplay suggests linear descent from the screenplay by Nakata, Takashige Ichise and Yoshihiro Nakamura, it might just as well have been written with only Suzuki's original text in mind.
Suzuki's short is a straightforward ghost story, and both filmic translations of the material turn-out to be logical translations of the 'hidden' themes of the original text. while it may be argued that Yglesias's translation is dependent upon Nagata's team's interpretation of those 'themes,' all but hidden from readers of the original text, creating the assumption that the Salles version would be further removed from the short story, neither interpretation violates the 'rules' laid down by the core material, and are equally, in their own ways, 'faithful' adaptations.
the 'Dark Water triumvirate' formed by the two films and Suzuki's short story concretizes, in my mind, my personal theory on the relevant 'cultural' perspectives of the afterlife. Floating Water, in its simplicity, is interestingly universal: in the short story, Yoshimi (Jennifer Connely's Dahlia in the Salles version) is a rich character, one certainly formed by her cultural origins, and yet exhibiting an alienating individuality that translates into an archetypal horror-genre personality that could just as easily be transplanted into any cultural background; furthermore, by keeping the story simple, Suzuki keeps the supernatural elements of the story open to interpretation, and the film-makers of both adaptations make brilliant use of that levity.
the universality of Suzuki's 'hidden themes' underpin the superficial differences of the two film adaptations, and provide an interesting template for showcasing those differences. while the two films are identical in terms of plot (a plot that, imho, is brilliantly extrapolated from Suzuki's rather sparse original), the subtle implications that may be derived from each presentation is radically different. certainly, the endings of both films, being more or less identical, are equally poignant in their own right; however, while Salles provides an arguably upbeat note to the end of his film, Nagata retains the ominous feel that is typical of his and other films of the genre.
both treatments are ultimately valid: whether you prefer one to the other may depend on your personal perspectives, arguably dictated by cultural upbringing, on the matter.
all this, of course, is beside the point: the differences are more likely incidental to the respective writers' perspectives rather than integral to the basic essence of the core material, and may, ultimately, have no effect on your own appreciation of any or all or none of the three works. however, it constantly fascinates me to see these differences repeated in modern horror fiction, further exemplified not only by the differences between western interpretations of Asian horror flicks and the originals, but between Western horror films as typified by What Lies Beneath and Gothika contrasted with their Asian 'equivalents.'
if you've made it this far on this post, i feel i owe it to you to provide you with something relatively more entertaining than my ramble, so here's the trailer of Nakata's Dark Water, also viewable directly from youtube here; sorry, it's in Japanese with French subtitles, but you should get the idea from the visuals:
right. back to work.
this is going to be another ramble: i caution you to proceed at your own risk.
(in case you want to explore that other blog, i should probably warn you that when i started Zen, it was a mirror of that other place, so, yes, all the blog-entries are duplicates from the first Zen in Darkness entry in April to around, oh, June, methinks, when i finally gave up on the relatively inaccessible friendster.
it also occurs to me how uninterestingly redundant i can get, beyond the entry-duplications... how certain themes keep coming back around to haunt this and the other blog: mainly, while looking for this post, i found evidence for a particular fixation for the Titus Groan books, Neil Gaiman, the Titus Groan books, writers like Michael Moorcock, Jeff VanderMeer and Mervyn Peake, and the Titus Groan books. did i mention how fixated i am with the Titus Groan books?)
right. where was i? ah yes, taking off from this post. well, i've finally read the Koji Suzuki short that served as the basis for the films Honogurai mizu no soko kara (aka Dark Water) and Dark Water. The short story has the odd title of Floating Water, and is part of a themed collection of short stories by Koji Suzuki called, you guessed it, Dark Water, published by Vertical.
now, i should probably point out up-front that i absolutely love both films; however, of the two versions, i prefer Hideo Nakata's over Walter Salles's, for the simple fact that i find the Asian Horror Movie view of the afterlife much more sensible, more fascinating and more frightening than the Western Horror Movie POV (as i interpret, correctly or not, those particular "cultural POVs"). also, being the earlier film adaptation and made by someone with what i figured ought to be a similar cultural POV, i imagined Nakata's version would be more faithful to the original short story than Salles's. and, not having read the original short at the time, i felt that Rafael Yglesias's blatantly Disneyfied screenplay was a violation of the original material.
thankfully, i could not have been more mistaken.
while it's true that Yglesias's screenplay suggests linear descent from the screenplay by Nakata, Takashige Ichise and Yoshihiro Nakamura, it might just as well have been written with only Suzuki's original text in mind.
Suzuki's short is a straightforward ghost story, and both filmic translations of the material turn-out to be logical translations of the 'hidden' themes of the original text. while it may be argued that Yglesias's translation is dependent upon Nagata's team's interpretation of those 'themes,' all but hidden from readers of the original text, creating the assumption that the Salles version would be further removed from the short story, neither interpretation violates the 'rules' laid down by the core material, and are equally, in their own ways, 'faithful' adaptations.
the 'Dark Water triumvirate' formed by the two films and Suzuki's short story concretizes, in my mind, my personal theory on the relevant 'cultural' perspectives of the afterlife. Floating Water, in its simplicity, is interestingly universal: in the short story, Yoshimi (Jennifer Connely's Dahlia in the Salles version) is a rich character, one certainly formed by her cultural origins, and yet exhibiting an alienating individuality that translates into an archetypal horror-genre personality that could just as easily be transplanted into any cultural background; furthermore, by keeping the story simple, Suzuki keeps the supernatural elements of the story open to interpretation, and the film-makers of both adaptations make brilliant use of that levity.
the universality of Suzuki's 'hidden themes' underpin the superficial differences of the two film adaptations, and provide an interesting template for showcasing those differences. while the two films are identical in terms of plot (a plot that, imho, is brilliantly extrapolated from Suzuki's rather sparse original), the subtle implications that may be derived from each presentation is radically different. certainly, the endings of both films, being more or less identical, are equally poignant in their own right; however, while Salles provides an arguably upbeat note to the end of his film, Nagata retains the ominous feel that is typical of his and other films of the genre.
both treatments are ultimately valid: whether you prefer one to the other may depend on your personal perspectives, arguably dictated by cultural upbringing, on the matter.
all this, of course, is beside the point: the differences are more likely incidental to the respective writers' perspectives rather than integral to the basic essence of the core material, and may, ultimately, have no effect on your own appreciation of any or all or none of the three works. however, it constantly fascinates me to see these differences repeated in modern horror fiction, further exemplified not only by the differences between western interpretations of Asian horror flicks and the originals, but between Western horror films as typified by What Lies Beneath and Gothika contrasted with their Asian 'equivalents.'
if you've made it this far on this post, i feel i owe it to you to provide you with something relatively more entertaining than my ramble, so here's the trailer of Nakata's Dark Water, also viewable directly from youtube here; sorry, it's in Japanese with French subtitles, but you should get the idea from the visuals:
right. back to work.
25.8.06
SPITtin' EhDis
it could just be pseudosophomore syndrome, but last night, SPIT (Silly People Improv Theater, if you haven’t been paying attention and missed this and this) just weren’t on par with themselves from the last time we saw them. the wit wasn’t quite as sharp, the improv not quite as brilliant, and everything just wasn’t quite as funny.
still, if you’re only out for a good time and have no particular brow-level issues, there’s no better way to blow an easy ton an’ a half, and the hours flew by with barely a tick.
i was happy to have gotten to spend some time with three of the loveliest ladies i know (Mabel, of course, who frequently appears on this blog, most notably here and here; Ella, last seen here; and Michelle, who, to my knowledge, has never been seen on this blog before. also in attendance was Ella’s new beau, Bingo, in an uber-cool-but-i-wouldn’t-myself-be-caught-dead-in-one blue shirt, ‘Bagets’ in red 80’s retro script across the front), and was done particularly proud by Mabel when she broke the audience ice by being the first audience member to throw in a joke for the SPIT staple game EhDi.
(note: the ‘theme’ for round one was Asian Telenovelas)
*
Mabel: Eh Di… My GRRRL!!!
Audience: wild, roaring, raucous and barely-contained applause and laughter*
Ella, not to be outdone, threw her lot in with round two.
*
Ella: EhDi... SOCCER!!!
sadly, about half a dozen or so audience members came up with their own EhDi jokes for this round, and the mug went to someone else; who happened to be celebrating her birthday that night, so maybe it’s just as well.
still, if you’re only out for a good time and have no particular brow-level issues, there’s no better way to blow an easy ton an’ a half, and the hours flew by with barely a tick.
i was happy to have gotten to spend some time with three of the loveliest ladies i know (Mabel, of course, who frequently appears on this blog, most notably here and here; Ella, last seen here; and Michelle, who, to my knowledge, has never been seen on this blog before. also in attendance was Ella’s new beau, Bingo, in an uber-cool-but-i-wouldn’t-myself-be-caught-dead-in-one blue shirt, ‘Bagets’ in red 80’s retro script across the front), and was done particularly proud by Mabel when she broke the audience ice by being the first audience member to throw in a joke for the SPIT staple game EhDi.
(note: the ‘theme’ for round one was Asian Telenovelas)
Audience: wild, roaring, raucous and barely-contained applause and laughter*
Ella, not to be outdone, threw her lot in with round two.
sadly, about half a dozen or so audience members came up with their own EhDi jokes for this round, and the mug went to someone else; who happened to be celebrating her birthday that night, so maybe it’s just as well.
24.8.06
Headsup: more SPIT
Ella loves theater. she loves it so much that any room she steps into undergoes a skewed expressionst dissolve into a stage. in a good way.
'All the world's a stage'? you don't know the half of it. not until you spend some time with this girl.
tonight she debuts as the latest member (or one of, at any rate) of Silly People Improv Theater, lovingly known as SPIT, last seen on this blog here.
i kept meaning to give people the heads-up on this; my bad that i only remembered to put it up now. hope it isn't too late for anyone interested in checking the show out.
for those who can't make it tonight, SPIT performs Thursdays at Mag:Net Katipunan; first 'act' starts at 9pm. there is a cover charge, but it isn't unreasonable, includes a free drink, and if you're a fan of things like 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?', worth every penny.
'All the world's a stage'? you don't know the half of it. not until you spend some time with this girl.
tonight she debuts as the latest member (or one of, at any rate) of Silly People Improv Theater, lovingly known as SPIT, last seen on this blog here.
i kept meaning to give people the heads-up on this; my bad that i only remembered to put it up now. hope it isn't too late for anyone interested in checking the show out.
for those who can't make it tonight, SPIT performs Thursdays at Mag:Net Katipunan; first 'act' starts at 9pm. there is a cover charge, but it isn't unreasonable, includes a free drink, and if you're a fan of things like 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?', worth every penny.
23.8.06
meetings
last night was a bit of a monumentous occasion for the family. i make it sound bigger than it is, and make us sound like a Society for Organized Crime and Kipper (aptly, SOCK) or something, but i find that we in the family seem to measure things a certain way.
the last monumentous occasion anywhere near being the sort this one was that i can remember was when one of the twins got married, and when his son, Sean, our first ever nephew, was born.
of course, those were undoubtedly monumentous. last night's little event is on a whole different order of monumentousness.
finally, after years of planning and not-pushing-through-for-some-reason, we cousins got around to meeting up for dinner-drinks-and-coffee.
i hear other families do that sort of thing all the time. granted, we do it, too, but it was the first time we got around to it sans (as my friend CJ over at Cyberlaundry would call 'em) "parentals".
we're all grown-up, it seems. and hey, after an average of thirty years, it's about time, yeah?
the 'el padrino' among us cousins, hizzonah Dr Jose "Jojo" Simpao, has been in Missouri (or some other state beginning with 'M') for thirteen years, but flew in last weekend for the bon voyage dinner of his sister, Kaye, who will also be leaving to work and live in the US, albeit in Michigan (or some other state beginning with 'M'). they both fly back out on Thursday.
while dinner over the weekend was all good, wholesome, clean family fun, complete with two-year old literally bouncing off the walls, we wanted to get away from the watchful eyes of the so-called "parentals" to where we could let our collective hair down, and we decided that, with a couple of us leaving for the US on a more-or-less permanent basis, it was high time we did. so we did.
last night was all good, wholesome, clean family fun. sans the two-year-old-bouncing-off- the-walls entertainment package, but we were able to let our collective hair down, which was the whole point of it. and do it in the company of family who were also friends.
a novel experience for me, yet totally comfortable and pleasant by all means. i'm glad of it. in fact, as i often say, immensely pleased we got around to it.
*
we'd called it a night around ten-ish, it being a work night, after all, and no one was going to be responsible for anyone else "not-getting-to-work-on-time" the next day, or, possibly (heaven forbid) "not-getting-there-at-all" (we're still all family, after all, remember, and this was done out-of-home), and, driving home, i'd thought the night was done.
only i'd remembered i'd promised Mitch she could borrow my microscope, and had loaded the thing in the car.
so i drove over to her apartment to drop it off and, as she wasn't there, called her on her cell to let her know i'd done so.
'Who're you talking to?' i heard a familiar voice say in the background. She told him. "Tell him to join us for coffee."
it was, well, you might call him one of my old bosses. i didn't really feel like 'calling it a night' just yet, so i obliged, changed course and found my way to where they were having coffee.
i count myself lucky for having all these people, friends and my family ready to spend an hour or two or three simply chatting it up, and the latitude my current job allows me for my personal life makes it all worthwhile.
i love being able to see people as people, and not as, say, authority figures. which is as good a reason as any, in my mind, for quitting a job you hate, where the people aren't necessarily spectacular, aren't always rational or agreeable, but are always interesting and, in the end, worth knowing...
'Don't you miss all this?' says my old boss after an anecdote about a particularly disagreeable person from work that's one of the stories that help form the foundations of interesting conversation in the closeted world of my old job.
'Well,' i says, 'i miss the people.'
the last monumentous occasion anywhere near being the sort this one was that i can remember was when one of the twins got married, and when his son, Sean, our first ever nephew, was born.
of course, those were undoubtedly monumentous. last night's little event is on a whole different order of monumentousness.
finally, after years of planning and not-pushing-through-for-some-reason, we cousins got around to meeting up for dinner-drinks-and-coffee.
i hear other families do that sort of thing all the time. granted, we do it, too, but it was the first time we got around to it sans (as my friend CJ over at Cyberlaundry would call 'em) "parentals".
we're all grown-up, it seems. and hey, after an average of thirty years, it's about time, yeah?
the 'el padrino' among us cousins, hizzonah Dr Jose "Jojo" Simpao, has been in Missouri (or some other state beginning with 'M') for thirteen years, but flew in last weekend for the bon voyage dinner of his sister, Kaye, who will also be leaving to work and live in the US, albeit in Michigan (or some other state beginning with 'M'). they both fly back out on Thursday.
while dinner over the weekend was all good, wholesome, clean family fun, complete with two-year old literally bouncing off the walls, we wanted to get away from the watchful eyes of the so-called "parentals" to where we could let our collective hair down, and we decided that, with a couple of us leaving for the US on a more-or-less permanent basis, it was high time we did. so we did.
last night was all good, wholesome, clean family fun. sans the two-year-old-bouncing-off- the-walls entertainment package, but we were able to let our collective hair down, which was the whole point of it. and do it in the company of family who were also friends.
a novel experience for me, yet totally comfortable and pleasant by all means. i'm glad of it. in fact, as i often say, immensely pleased we got around to it.
*
we'd called it a night around ten-ish, it being a work night, after all, and no one was going to be responsible for anyone else "not-getting-to-work-on-time" the next day, or, possibly (heaven forbid) "not-getting-there-at-all" (we're still all family, after all, remember, and this was done out-of-home), and, driving home, i'd thought the night was done.
only i'd remembered i'd promised Mitch she could borrow my microscope, and had loaded the thing in the car.
so i drove over to her apartment to drop it off and, as she wasn't there, called her on her cell to let her know i'd done so.
'Who're you talking to?' i heard a familiar voice say in the background. She told him. "Tell him to join us for coffee."
it was, well, you might call him one of my old bosses. i didn't really feel like 'calling it a night' just yet, so i obliged, changed course and found my way to where they were having coffee.
i count myself lucky for having all these people, friends and my family ready to spend an hour or two or three simply chatting it up, and the latitude my current job allows me for my personal life makes it all worthwhile.
i love being able to see people as people, and not as, say, authority figures. which is as good a reason as any, in my mind, for quitting a job you hate, where the people aren't necessarily spectacular, aren't always rational or agreeable, but are always interesting and, in the end, worth knowing...
'Don't you miss all this?' says my old boss after an anecdote about a particularly disagreeable person from work that's one of the stories that help form the foundations of interesting conversation in the closeted world of my old job.
'Well,' i says, 'i miss the people.'
22.8.06
Rockestra
woohoo. finally got my rejection letter from Strange Horizons today.
the thing about rejections i've found is that they release you from worrying about things that you basically have no control over and let you worry about things that you, ostensibly, do.
for me, it's the five stories i have in the works that have each met with possibly fatal deadends in my headspace and, well, work. i.e., the rest of my life.
*
Mabel and i spent Friday night at Rockestra II. while i have my usual gripes about the thing (as per usual, the production wasn't quite up to par with the requirements of the situation, with either the orchestra or the guitar solos being effectively drowned-out most of the time, relegating both to vague background noises that barely break into the conscious level of the listening ear), we had, in the end, a rocking good time of it.
i find myself, however, questioning the idea that the concert provides evidence of the "non-existence" of the "boundary" between classical and contemporary music. even the orchestral crescendoes provided by a few of the arrangements (most notably the closing sections of Urbandub's arrangements and the brief moments in the Itchyworms' performance when the orchestra provided the instrumental backdrop for the songs, as in the opening stanzas of Akin Ka Na Lang), were, i would argue, merely showcases of the merits and general viability of orchestral arrangement in decidedly "contemporary" (read: rock) compositions.
which is not to say that the subtle blending of the rock band and the orchestra in places were not worthy of note. the symphonic backdrop for updharmadown's performance, for instance, produced such an intimate melding of the two components that it's hard to imagine the songs as having ever been without the solid ambient foundations provided by the orchestral sound.
what i agree the whole event does prove is that good music is good music, whatever the format of presentation, whether it's a three-piece band or a fifty-odd piece orchestra. which some listeners may find amounts to the same thing.
the orchestral bits were provided by the Manila Symphony Orchestra, and the six bands that performed that night were 6-Cycle Mind, Urbandub, Hale, the Itchyworms, Updharmadown, and the Dawn. all the performances were brilliant, if only for providing the audience with an undeniably good time.
the thing about rejections i've found is that they release you from worrying about things that you basically have no control over and let you worry about things that you, ostensibly, do.
for me, it's the five stories i have in the works that have each met with possibly fatal deadends in my headspace and, well, work. i.e., the rest of my life.
*
Mabel and i spent Friday night at Rockestra II. while i have my usual gripes about the thing (as per usual, the production wasn't quite up to par with the requirements of the situation, with either the orchestra or the guitar solos being effectively drowned-out most of the time, relegating both to vague background noises that barely break into the conscious level of the listening ear), we had, in the end, a rocking good time of it.
i find myself, however, questioning the idea that the concert provides evidence of the "non-existence" of the "boundary" between classical and contemporary music. even the orchestral crescendoes provided by a few of the arrangements (most notably the closing sections of Urbandub's arrangements and the brief moments in the Itchyworms' performance when the orchestra provided the instrumental backdrop for the songs, as in the opening stanzas of Akin Ka Na Lang), were, i would argue, merely showcases of the merits and general viability of orchestral arrangement in decidedly "contemporary" (read: rock) compositions.
which is not to say that the subtle blending of the rock band and the orchestra in places were not worthy of note. the symphonic backdrop for updharmadown's performance, for instance, produced such an intimate melding of the two components that it's hard to imagine the songs as having ever been without the solid ambient foundations provided by the orchestral sound.
what i agree the whole event does prove is that good music is good music, whatever the format of presentation, whether it's a three-piece band or a fifty-odd piece orchestra. which some listeners may find amounts to the same thing.
the orchestral bits were provided by the Manila Symphony Orchestra, and the six bands that performed that night were 6-Cycle Mind, Urbandub, Hale, the Itchyworms, Updharmadown, and the Dawn. all the performances were brilliant, if only for providing the audience with an undeniably good time.
18.8.06
comfortable tunes and a famous frog
over the past few posts, i must have let on that, at some point in my life, i was, and probably still am, a total metalhead.
this is true. up to a point.
but it's also true that i listen to a lot less of it these days, have a lower tolerance for things that go crash and bang and chug and growl and roar and scream almost all the time, and now only take it in limited doses of HevyDevy music.
of late, almost a week now, methinks, i've been listening to Outerhope, but it wasn't until last night that i realized how deeply the music has sunk into my world.
i first heard hair of them 'bout a month ago, when i heard a band called "Outerhope" would be playing at the First Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards Unmasking event, and checked-out their online samples. i was thoroughly pleased by the light Sesame-Street-esque sample from Learning to Rollerskate. promising. very much so. could be just the kind of good tunes i'm looking for--i thought. oddly, however, catching the tail-end of their gig at the Unmasking left no impression on me, so for a while, they slipped into the feral, lose-your-things -here and never-find-them-again clutter at the back of my mind.
last Sunday i found their CD plugged into a listening station over at Tower Records. remembering my rather pleasant experience with Learning, i decided to give it a go. and so, though i'd not intended to purchase anything, i found myself pulling my wallet out at the cashier with the CD, Strangely Paired, in my other hand and, eventually, walking out of the shop with it. (legally, to avoid any possible confusion that may arise from my abbreviated account.)
i haven't been listening to it non-stop the way i used to whenever i'd take to some good tunes, but it has been on my spinner on and off over the past few days, and it has permeated my brain, soaked-up my soul, and pretty much tinged everything with oddly placid, if somewhat sentimental and nostalgic, shades of, well, pink and ecru.
that's a good thing.
Outerhope are siblings Michael and Mikaela Benedicto, whose fluid, whimsical and nostalgia-inducing music is reminiscent of the day-dreamier side of Belle & Sebastian.
it's hard to pick-out faves from the playlist, but if i really had to, i suppose i could say i've taken a shining to Learning, Morning After, Another Daybreak, and the "bonus track", Final Hour (with A Shortcut Through Mushrooms).
this isn't quite as groundbreaking as, say, updharmadown's fragmented and is only unique and different when taken within the larger context of most other bands out there on the local scene today (and even then, many will probably think otherwise), but Strangely Paired is nontheless a beautiful collection of refreshingly sweet yet unsaccharine, comforting if slightly melancholy tunes that will be on my spinner for a long time to come.
*
and now the famous frog:
i love The Daily Show, and i love the muppets, so how could i not post this as soon as i found it?
can also be viewed directly through youtube, the most fatally effective productivity-fucker i've discovered thanks to our broadband to date.
this is true. up to a point.
but it's also true that i listen to a lot less of it these days, have a lower tolerance for things that go crash and bang and chug and growl and roar and scream almost all the time, and now only take it in limited doses of HevyDevy music.
of late, almost a week now, methinks, i've been listening to Outerhope, but it wasn't until last night that i realized how deeply the music has sunk into my world.
i first heard hair of them 'bout a month ago, when i heard a band called "Outerhope" would be playing at the First Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards Unmasking event, and checked-out their online samples. i was thoroughly pleased by the light Sesame-Street-esque sample from Learning to Rollerskate. promising. very much so. could be just the kind of good tunes i'm looking for--i thought. oddly, however, catching the tail-end of their gig at the Unmasking left no impression on me, so for a while, they slipped into the feral, lose-your-things -here and never-find-them-again clutter at the back of my mind.
last Sunday i found their CD plugged into a listening station over at Tower Records. remembering my rather pleasant experience with Learning, i decided to give it a go. and so, though i'd not intended to purchase anything, i found myself pulling my wallet out at the cashier with the CD, Strangely Paired, in my other hand and, eventually, walking out of the shop with it. (legally, to avoid any possible confusion that may arise from my abbreviated account.)
i haven't been listening to it non-stop the way i used to whenever i'd take to some good tunes, but it has been on my spinner on and off over the past few days, and it has permeated my brain, soaked-up my soul, and pretty much tinged everything with oddly placid, if somewhat sentimental and nostalgic, shades of, well, pink and ecru.
that's a good thing.
Outerhope are siblings Michael and Mikaela Benedicto, whose fluid, whimsical and nostalgia-inducing music is reminiscent of the day-dreamier side of Belle & Sebastian.
it's hard to pick-out faves from the playlist, but if i really had to, i suppose i could say i've taken a shining to Learning, Morning After, Another Daybreak, and the "bonus track", Final Hour (with A Shortcut Through Mushrooms).
this isn't quite as groundbreaking as, say, updharmadown's fragmented and is only unique and different when taken within the larger context of most other bands out there on the local scene today (and even then, many will probably think otherwise), but Strangely Paired is nontheless a beautiful collection of refreshingly sweet yet unsaccharine, comforting if slightly melancholy tunes that will be on my spinner for a long time to come.
*
and now the famous frog:
i love The Daily Show, and i love the muppets, so how could i not post this as soon as i found it?
can also be viewed directly through youtube, the most fatally effective productivity-fucker i've discovered thanks to our broadband to date.
17.8.06
bibliohunter-gatherer
i love foraging for books at secondhand bookshops more than actually hunting for them. more than simply looking for particular titles, i like browsing whatever they have at the shops, opening books that catch my eye to see what they might reveal to me. and it's more than simply the less prohibitive prices secondhand bookshops offer.
the wonderful thing about secondhand books is that they have stories to tell beyond that which they were originally intended to.
sometimes, it's only in the way a book is worn, which tells you this one has been sitting unread and collecting dust on a shelf for ages, or that that one is constantly being taken down, perhaps packed in luggage to be opened in foreign lands...
sometimes it's something, anything, written on one or more of the pages. sometimes cryptic, such as my favorite one, written in a bold hand on the top of the front page of my copy of Samuel Delaney's The Einstein Intersection: 2.99 F CWW. sometimes mundane, such as the finely scripted note on the top of a page in my Ballantine edition of Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan: check: [number] carpentry apprentice. or mysterious, or even promising, such as the scripted name Roger Zelazny i found on the title page of a paperback copy of Roger Zelazny's Sign of Chaos, which may or may not be an actual autograph. even juvenile attempts at line editing the main body of text, or the circles that mark the discovery by the previous owner of exciting new words, or the notes in the margins, senseless, sensible, legible or otherwise, all these have their own charm.
sometimes it's something you find lost within the book's pages, such as the photograph of a child i found stuck between the pages of T.H. White's The Once and Future King, and a faded airline ticket stub in another book i can no longer remember.
occassionally, it tends towards romantic (not that way, but simply in the way it exhibits a connection between people, producing something that is poignant and sweet), such as the note scribbled beneath the family tree in my Bantam Spectra ed of John Crowley's Little, Big: a note that starts Dear Aunt [name that may or may not be Ivy], continues with a personal message expressing the gift-giver's gratitude and how she will always value her Aunt, and ends with Love, [name that may be Kris or Kim or something else entirely]. The note is dated "Fall 1991", and this is somehow so impossibly appropriate it almost beggars belief.
more than simply collecting books for the books themselves [as my library has grown such that i could never possibly hope to read it all within my lifetime, nor, to be honest, would i really want to], i feel i am taking part in the greater experience of human life, that elusive something that connects all people to all other people, by rescuing these books and the secrets they keep from total anonymity.
also, i like imagining i have grand reasons for the things i do, when really, though i'm hardly a rhyme, i do tend to things without reason.
the wonderful thing about secondhand books is that they have stories to tell beyond that which they were originally intended to.
sometimes, it's only in the way a book is worn, which tells you this one has been sitting unread and collecting dust on a shelf for ages, or that that one is constantly being taken down, perhaps packed in luggage to be opened in foreign lands...
sometimes it's something, anything, written on one or more of the pages. sometimes cryptic, such as my favorite one, written in a bold hand on the top of the front page of my copy of Samuel Delaney's The Einstein Intersection: 2.99 F CWW. sometimes mundane, such as the finely scripted note on the top of a page in my Ballantine edition of Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan: check: [number] carpentry apprentice. or mysterious, or even promising, such as the scripted name Roger Zelazny i found on the title page of a paperback copy of Roger Zelazny's Sign of Chaos, which may or may not be an actual autograph. even juvenile attempts at line editing the main body of text, or the circles that mark the discovery by the previous owner of exciting new words, or the notes in the margins, senseless, sensible, legible or otherwise, all these have their own charm.
sometimes it's something you find lost within the book's pages, such as the photograph of a child i found stuck between the pages of T.H. White's The Once and Future King, and a faded airline ticket stub in another book i can no longer remember.
occassionally, it tends towards romantic (not that way, but simply in the way it exhibits a connection between people, producing something that is poignant and sweet), such as the note scribbled beneath the family tree in my Bantam Spectra ed of John Crowley's Little, Big: a note that starts Dear Aunt [name that may or may not be Ivy], continues with a personal message expressing the gift-giver's gratitude and how she will always value her Aunt, and ends with Love, [name that may be Kris or Kim or something else entirely]. The note is dated "Fall 1991", and this is somehow so impossibly appropriate it almost beggars belief.
more than simply collecting books for the books themselves [as my library has grown such that i could never possibly hope to read it all within my lifetime, nor, to be honest, would i really want to], i feel i am taking part in the greater experience of human life, that elusive something that connects all people to all other people, by rescuing these books and the secrets they keep from total anonymity.
also, i like imagining i have grand reasons for the things i do, when really, though i'm hardly a rhyme, i do tend to things without reason.
16.8.06
Sago in the Cabinet
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari) is one of those movies i've always wanted to see, but never imagined i'd ever get the chance to, despite the fact that all these silent films are getting a new lease on life on DVD. i certainly never thought i'd get to see it on the big screen.
i once saw teeny bits of it on TV, teeny tiny bits, but enough to thoroughly whet, nay, positively soak my appetite.
last night, i got to see it. on the big screen. wow.
made by Robert Wiene in 1919, and with more-or-less 80 years of history (with the requisite period underground due to little things like World War II and Nazi censorship), the most appropriate one-liner i can think of for the film, oddly enough, comes from a bit in a Mad Magazine book published in the 60s or 70s called Inside Mad (or was it Mad Power?) that took a sharply satirical look at society, pop culture and the trend for trends in America at that time. still too young to appreciate the full satire but old enough to understand a bit of the irony in words, the line stuck with me through my formative years, and remains with me today, such that Kabinett recalls it perfectly: Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari is so far out, it's in!
of all the old black and white films i've seen, Kabinett, imho, has dated the least despite being one of the earliest examples of cinematic art currently available for perusal. certainly, the ouroborosian tale of madness will strike modern viewers as nothing new, the acting will likely not appeal to modern sensibilities, the dialogue is simplistic and stilted, unnaturally fragmented, and, after all, it is a silent film; while the story itself may have been groundbreaking in its day, the modern viewer will probably recognize all the twists and turns and get the sense that, yes, it's all been done.
but so what? if you're going to do something that's been done, do it different, and Kabinett definitely does things different.
the lack of "special effects" as a modern viewer will recognize it is itself refreshing, because the whole film is a special effect, one that effectively conveys all the movie was meant to, delivering a sharp, unignorable flavor even, i'm sure, to the most jaded palate. given the film's utterly mind-fucking outre approach to the subject matter, Kabinett remains as relevant a work of art today as it was over 80 years ago, when it helped fuel the trend for German Expressionist films.
and yeah, all that has been said before. with over 80 years of history, the movie's been picked apart and criticized, loved and hated a hundred times over by critics and film-connoiseurs much more worthy than i'll ever be. but i bet none of them have ever seen the film scored live by Radioactive Sago Project.
that's right: Das Kabinett has been given a solid dose of Urban Gulaman. if that sounds strange to you, rest assured, the results were glorious. Sago's music was perfect, providing disjointed oddness, sullen menace and utter violence alternately and in combination with every single note of their performance.
in retrospect, it was probably a good deal Sago was asked to score Das Kabinett and not another; any other film would probably have drowned under the oppressive power of Sago's semi-improv, arthouse jazz/prog-rock madness, but Das Kabinett's visual power does better than hold its own. the result was a thoroughly effective, far out blend of images and music.
the only thing i have any reservations about with the whole production is the narration. i can't decide whether i liked it or not. certainly, i agree that deadpan was the only way to go, so that the full effect of the movie's images and Sago's music can be wrought on the audience, uninhibited by anything quite so sickly melodramatic as the cue-card text being read with feeling. nontheless, i can't seem to swallow the flat dictation that was the result. i can't help thinking that maybe Lourd De Veyra would have done a better job, but then again, his stoned-style deadpan may have been a disservice to the whole thing.
as it is, the flat, schoolmarm delivery of the narrator neither detracted nor added to the experience. which may or may not have been a good thing.
overall, it was an awesome production, and i'm glad i decided at the last minute not to miss it.
the Goethe-Institut Manila's 3rd German Silent Film Festival continues for the next 3 Tuesdays at Greenbelt 1 Cinema 1, with Tabu on Aug 22, music by Bo Razon; The Golem on Aug 29, music by Drip; and Sept 5, Asphalt, music by Cynthia Alexander. only 50 bucks a pop, i strongly suggest checking it out.
it would be great if the Festival could spark a new trend in modern art: silent films with live music. that would, imho, be uber-cool.
*
after such an experience, i often feel restless, needing something to wind down the energy i'm left with, and last night, i did it by spinning the DVD of The Omega Man, the 70s film adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend.
i haven't read the book, but from what i know about Matheson's work, the film has a different take on the material. as far as i know, the underlying question, the main speculative theme, if you will, of the book was that X-files staple line, How do you define normal?: Robert Neville is the last living man, but with everyone else changed, what, exactly, does that mean?
but that, even if it were true (which i'm not committing to having not read the source material), seems beside the point, a fact the filmmakers may have recognized when they decided to change the title to The Omega Man, while still acknowledging its literary basis. the film, ergo, must be allowed to stand on its own.
the film allows the aforementioned question to fall by the wayside (though allowing it to surface at key points in the film), and instead focuses on the struggle of the last remaining recognizably human characters against a dominant force that is decidedly inhuman.
the result is a dark view of the "future" where humanity faces the fact of being, quite possibly, obsolete, but with the only alternative being hardly any better.
Robert Neville serves as the last bastion of that obsolete humanity, with his home recalling, for modern viewers and readers, the lair of V from Alan Moore's V for Vendetta. though recognizable as "one of us", an ordinary man that is more human than heroic (despite the shoot-em-up opening sequence), Neville is the subversive element, the last remaining rebel against a change that has already left humanity behind.
in the end, the movie is also a morality play, the apocalypse being the direct result of man's folly, and, if he suffers, then it's his own fault. Robert Neville's apotheosis, hinted at by the final frame of the film, does little to absolve humanity of that fact. this thematic focus also serves to date the film, throwing it back to those days when pop culture was obsessed with that sort of morality, harking to the days when the threat of annihilation through global conflict was foremost in the modern mind.
i'll say more when i've read the book, which, given the stacks currently barricading my bed, may yet be a long way off.
i once saw teeny bits of it on TV, teeny tiny bits, but enough to thoroughly whet, nay, positively soak my appetite.
last night, i got to see it. on the big screen. wow.
made by Robert Wiene in 1919, and with more-or-less 80 years of history (with the requisite period underground due to little things like World War II and Nazi censorship), the most appropriate one-liner i can think of for the film, oddly enough, comes from a bit in a Mad Magazine book published in the 60s or 70s called Inside Mad (or was it Mad Power?) that took a sharply satirical look at society, pop culture and the trend for trends in America at that time. still too young to appreciate the full satire but old enough to understand a bit of the irony in words, the line stuck with me through my formative years, and remains with me today, such that Kabinett recalls it perfectly: Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari is so far out, it's in!
of all the old black and white films i've seen, Kabinett, imho, has dated the least despite being one of the earliest examples of cinematic art currently available for perusal. certainly, the ouroborosian tale of madness will strike modern viewers as nothing new, the acting will likely not appeal to modern sensibilities, the dialogue is simplistic and stilted, unnaturally fragmented, and, after all, it is a silent film; while the story itself may have been groundbreaking in its day, the modern viewer will probably recognize all the twists and turns and get the sense that, yes, it's all been done.
but so what? if you're going to do something that's been done, do it different, and Kabinett definitely does things different.
the lack of "special effects" as a modern viewer will recognize it is itself refreshing, because the whole film is a special effect, one that effectively conveys all the movie was meant to, delivering a sharp, unignorable flavor even, i'm sure, to the most jaded palate. given the film's utterly mind-fucking outre approach to the subject matter, Kabinett remains as relevant a work of art today as it was over 80 years ago, when it helped fuel the trend for German Expressionist films.
and yeah, all that has been said before. with over 80 years of history, the movie's been picked apart and criticized, loved and hated a hundred times over by critics and film-connoiseurs much more worthy than i'll ever be. but i bet none of them have ever seen the film scored live by Radioactive Sago Project.
that's right: Das Kabinett has been given a solid dose of Urban Gulaman. if that sounds strange to you, rest assured, the results were glorious. Sago's music was perfect, providing disjointed oddness, sullen menace and utter violence alternately and in combination with every single note of their performance.
in retrospect, it was probably a good deal Sago was asked to score Das Kabinett and not another; any other film would probably have drowned under the oppressive power of Sago's semi-improv, arthouse jazz/prog-rock madness, but Das Kabinett's visual power does better than hold its own. the result was a thoroughly effective, far out blend of images and music.
the only thing i have any reservations about with the whole production is the narration. i can't decide whether i liked it or not. certainly, i agree that deadpan was the only way to go, so that the full effect of the movie's images and Sago's music can be wrought on the audience, uninhibited by anything quite so sickly melodramatic as the cue-card text being read with feeling. nontheless, i can't seem to swallow the flat dictation that was the result. i can't help thinking that maybe Lourd De Veyra would have done a better job, but then again, his stoned-style deadpan may have been a disservice to the whole thing.
as it is, the flat, schoolmarm delivery of the narrator neither detracted nor added to the experience. which may or may not have been a good thing.
overall, it was an awesome production, and i'm glad i decided at the last minute not to miss it.
the Goethe-Institut Manila's 3rd German Silent Film Festival continues for the next 3 Tuesdays at Greenbelt 1 Cinema 1, with Tabu on Aug 22, music by Bo Razon; The Golem on Aug 29, music by Drip; and Sept 5, Asphalt, music by Cynthia Alexander. only 50 bucks a pop, i strongly suggest checking it out.
it would be great if the Festival could spark a new trend in modern art: silent films with live music. that would, imho, be uber-cool.
*
after such an experience, i often feel restless, needing something to wind down the energy i'm left with, and last night, i did it by spinning the DVD of The Omega Man, the 70s film adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend.
i haven't read the book, but from what i know about Matheson's work, the film has a different take on the material. as far as i know, the underlying question, the main speculative theme, if you will, of the book was that X-files staple line, How do you define normal?: Robert Neville is the last living man, but with everyone else changed, what, exactly, does that mean?
but that, even if it were true (which i'm not committing to having not read the source material), seems beside the point, a fact the filmmakers may have recognized when they decided to change the title to The Omega Man, while still acknowledging its literary basis. the film, ergo, must be allowed to stand on its own.
the film allows the aforementioned question to fall by the wayside (though allowing it to surface at key points in the film), and instead focuses on the struggle of the last remaining recognizably human characters against a dominant force that is decidedly inhuman.
the result is a dark view of the "future" where humanity faces the fact of being, quite possibly, obsolete, but with the only alternative being hardly any better.
Robert Neville serves as the last bastion of that obsolete humanity, with his home recalling, for modern viewers and readers, the lair of V from Alan Moore's V for Vendetta. though recognizable as "one of us", an ordinary man that is more human than heroic (despite the shoot-em-up opening sequence), Neville is the subversive element, the last remaining rebel against a change that has already left humanity behind.
in the end, the movie is also a morality play, the apocalypse being the direct result of man's folly, and, if he suffers, then it's his own fault. Robert Neville's apotheosis, hinted at by the final frame of the film, does little to absolve humanity of that fact. this thematic focus also serves to date the film, throwing it back to those days when pop culture was obsessed with that sort of morality, harking to the days when the threat of annihilation through global conflict was foremost in the modern mind.
i'll say more when i've read the book, which, given the stacks currently barricading my bed, may yet be a long way off.
11.8.06
yeesh.
just found out my profile pic apes billy howerdel's bigtime:
admittedly, he has the better pic. he is, after all, much cooler than i am.
yes, that was meant to be funny.
admittedly, he has the better pic. he is, after all, much cooler than i am.
yes, that was meant to be funny.
9.8.06
test: lovely Paz
just wanted to try this out. besides, i love Paz Lenchantin.
this video, for those who didn't know, was directed by David Fincher, responsible for the uber-cool Se7en.
check out the bit where she ties her hair up. Paz rocks.
you can also view the vid directly from youtube.
*
it's official, Jeff VanderMeer's Shriek is out in the US. but is it, as most local bookshops appear to be in-tune with the US market, out here? i'm sure we'll hear from someone out there soon enough. hint hint.
8.8.06
The New Banner
no, no, i've not gone commercial. yet. it's not as if i'm in that kind of "sell-out-able" position in my career.
however, i have been a fan of Devin Townsend since Steve Vai opened the world up to his pipes (or laid his pipes open to the world... or something like that) on his successful/abortive band project called, appropriately enough, Vai.
in one album and one album tour, Vai successfully encapsulated the typical metal-band lifecycle (complete with vocalist-lead guitarist clash of egoes leading to the break-up; sans reunion, however) with arguably brilliant (i mean, i think so, anyway) and a-typical metal. but i digress. now little Stevie Vai has grown-up, and has Favored Nations and his own live-tour band called The Breed, the Dev has HevyDevy Records and his own bands the Devin Townsend Band and Strapping Young Lad and gets to do his own twiddling-with-his-toys thing, and all is right in the world. all madness in its right place.
anyhoo, i've been a fan of Devin Townsend since, oh, i'd say about 1994, but it wasn't until i was in college that i really got in deep with his own stuff, Vai being, well, Vai, and not Devin Townsend.
i love everything the Mad Canadian has done. he's the metal mad scientist, crafting amazingly dense sonic landscapes that may seem like solid impregnable walls of "amps-at-eleven" sound, but turn-out to be intricate Celtic weavings of instrumentation... still impregnable, but not necessarily solid and exponentially more interesting.
incidentally, his ubermetal monster, Strapping Young Lad (SYL), inspired me to call meself by me current handle, skinnyblackcladdink (sbd). there ya go. you learn something new every, well, now and then.
These days, i'm not as much of a metalhead as i used to be, though i still bang my head to the appropriate beat. and when i do break out the metal, i make sure i do it right and pull-out all the stops with Devin Townsend's stuff.
none o' that panzy ass crap they slap together and throw on the radio these days.
geez, that all sounds faintly beer-commercialish.
so anyway, the new SYL album's out. The New Black will most likely not be available locally, of course, and i'll need to scrounge up me resources to pull a copy off the global aether, so to temporarily appease my need to connect with the music and the band, i've broken out the old DT stuff, popped a CD from the DT catalogue (i'm listening to Mr Townsend's Infinity as i type this), and, yes, pulled the banner off the official site and popped it into the code.
i'm trying it out to see if it fits. for the moment, i think i rather like it.
*
in other news.
today is Titus Groan's (the character's, not the book's) birthday, which means Jeff VanderMeer's Shriek: An Afterword is due for release in a few hours.
hurrah Titus, wherever you are.
and here's to Mr VanderMeer as well. fingers crossed we see his book on our shores.
however, i have been a fan of Devin Townsend since Steve Vai opened the world up to his pipes (or laid his pipes open to the world... or something like that) on his successful/abortive band project called, appropriately enough, Vai.
in one album and one album tour, Vai successfully encapsulated the typical metal-band lifecycle (complete with vocalist-lead guitarist clash of egoes leading to the break-up; sans reunion, however) with arguably brilliant (i mean, i think so, anyway) and a-typical metal. but i digress. now little Stevie Vai has grown-up, and has Favored Nations and his own live-tour band called The Breed, the Dev has HevyDevy Records and his own bands the Devin Townsend Band and Strapping Young Lad and gets to do his own twiddling-with-his-toys thing, and all is right in the world. all madness in its right place.
anyhoo, i've been a fan of Devin Townsend since, oh, i'd say about 1994, but it wasn't until i was in college that i really got in deep with his own stuff, Vai being, well, Vai, and not Devin Townsend.
i love everything the Mad Canadian has done. he's the metal mad scientist, crafting amazingly dense sonic landscapes that may seem like solid impregnable walls of "amps-at-eleven" sound, but turn-out to be intricate Celtic weavings of instrumentation... still impregnable, but not necessarily solid and exponentially more interesting.
incidentally, his ubermetal monster, Strapping Young Lad (SYL), inspired me to call meself by me current handle, skinnyblackcladdink (sbd). there ya go. you learn something new every, well, now and then.
These days, i'm not as much of a metalhead as i used to be, though i still bang my head to the appropriate beat. and when i do break out the metal, i make sure i do it right and pull-out all the stops with Devin Townsend's stuff.
none o' that panzy ass crap they slap together and throw on the radio these days.
geez, that all sounds faintly beer-commercialish.
so anyway, the new SYL album's out. The New Black will most likely not be available locally, of course, and i'll need to scrounge up me resources to pull a copy off the global aether, so to temporarily appease my need to connect with the music and the band, i've broken out the old DT stuff, popped a CD from the DT catalogue (i'm listening to Mr Townsend's Infinity as i type this), and, yes, pulled the banner off the official site and popped it into the code.
i'm trying it out to see if it fits. for the moment, i think i rather like it.
*
in other news.
today is Titus Groan's (the character's, not the book's) birthday, which means Jeff VanderMeer's Shriek: An Afterword is due for release in a few hours.
hurrah Titus, wherever you are.
and here's to Mr VanderMeer as well. fingers crossed we see his book on our shores.
3.8.06
investigations
in memory of an old friend from my pre-blogger days, Jonesy the Cat, and in response to the passing of a friend's feline companion, Tuna, i've started an on-line investigation.
tell your friends. spread the word. send in accounts of your own experiences. i'd greatly appreciate any help anyone can offer.
this is, fyi, a search for truth, and nothing more. whatever the consequences of that search will be revealed as the investigation progresses.
and just so we're clear, no, i have no idea what i may be getting into.
tell your friends. spread the word. send in accounts of your own experiences. i'd greatly appreciate any help anyone can offer.
this is, fyi, a search for truth, and nothing more. whatever the consequences of that search will be revealed as the investigation progresses.
and just so we're clear, no, i have no idea what i may be getting into.
2.8.06
Doom of the Earthcrawling Bibliophile
damn.
last monday, i got bluffed by a salesperson into panic buying Theodora Goss' In the Forest of Forgetting and Cory Doctorow's Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town from Powerbooks. all she had to say was "it's the last day of the sale" and i bit. total kneejerk. there were no signs up in the shop; that should probably have clued me in to the fact that it wasn't the last day but an early start to a month long sale. yes, it has happened to me before. doesn't help that this time i've got a credit card...
worst thing about that is that now i should probably stay away from the place for the rest of the month. at least.
still, i can't really complain. past couple days, i've been feeling like a real charity case. Mitch bought me coffee monday night, and last night two of me best mates, Paeng and Eman, bought me dinner. set to be a pair o' real high rollers in this here world, those two, in their own different ways.
i could say i'm ashamed of being such a frickin' parasite (which i am, too, just a bit). but i'm far more pleased that these people are all genuine friends of mine, and i'm happy they're around to make things easier for a rightfully starvin' writer like meself.
i haven't yet gotten a ticket on my metaphorical rocket, but these people make me feel a bit like Vincent Freeman must have felt when he finally got to leave earth behind...
*
just wanted to mention here that Paul's just started Project: No Relation over on his blog, which promises to be one of the most interesting things to hit the Blog Multiverse since i started meddling with its metasubstance myself.
last monday, i got bluffed by a salesperson into panic buying Theodora Goss' In the Forest of Forgetting and Cory Doctorow's Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town from Powerbooks. all she had to say was "it's the last day of the sale" and i bit. total kneejerk. there were no signs up in the shop; that should probably have clued me in to the fact that it wasn't the last day but an early start to a month long sale. yes, it has happened to me before. doesn't help that this time i've got a credit card...
worst thing about that is that now i should probably stay away from the place for the rest of the month. at least.
still, i can't really complain. past couple days, i've been feeling like a real charity case. Mitch bought me coffee monday night, and last night two of me best mates, Paeng and Eman, bought me dinner. set to be a pair o' real high rollers in this here world, those two, in their own different ways.
i could say i'm ashamed of being such a frickin' parasite (which i am, too, just a bit). but i'm far more pleased that these people are all genuine friends of mine, and i'm happy they're around to make things easier for a rightfully starvin' writer like meself.
i haven't yet gotten a ticket on my metaphorical rocket, but these people make me feel a bit like Vincent Freeman must have felt when he finally got to leave earth behind...
*
just wanted to mention here that Paul's just started Project: No Relation over on his blog, which promises to be one of the most interesting things to hit the Blog Multiverse since i started meddling with its metasubstance myself.
1.8.06
rescued
Mabel couldn't get out of hospital duty last night, which is alright since we'd already gone out the night before, but it still left me all by my lonesome on the night of my birthday.
so instead of hitting the town with, as my cousins would put it, my 'S.O.', i was all set to spend the last few hours of my birthday with Audrey 3.0 (my laptop) and the cast of Monty Python for company (my brother had finally gotten around to lending me his DVD copy of Holy Grail. can't wait to get down to it), maybe settle down for some serious writing later...
i'd been denying how pathetic that would be to myself all day, and was really starting to cozy up to the idea when a friend called me up and took me out for coffee.
even though we had the coffee al fresco on a miserably wet night, chatting it up with a good friend was still cozier than laughing like a loon by myself, no matter how hilarious John Cleese and Co. can be.
so thanks, Mitch, for saving me from being stuck in Compleat Losersville.
so instead of hitting the town with, as my cousins would put it, my 'S.O.', i was all set to spend the last few hours of my birthday with Audrey 3.0 (my laptop) and the cast of Monty Python for company (my brother had finally gotten around to lending me his DVD copy of Holy Grail. can't wait to get down to it), maybe settle down for some serious writing later...
i'd been denying how pathetic that would be to myself all day, and was really starting to cozy up to the idea when a friend called me up and took me out for coffee.
even though we had the coffee al fresco on a miserably wet night, chatting it up with a good friend was still cozier than laughing like a loon by myself, no matter how hilarious John Cleese and Co. can be.
so thanks, Mitch, for saving me from being stuck in Compleat Losersville.
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