Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Reassurances
So I'm pretty sure "True Blood" is not very good. I'll continue watching (largely because the old lady is into vampire fare), but I'm starting to question Alan Ball's vision. The show is riddled with tonal irregularities. Often the acting is awkward. Tara is especially irritating. Almost every actor is unable to affect an accurate Southern accent. Aside from the occasional Bill/Sookie scene, the show is largely bad. I'm holding out a shred of hope but am not optimistic.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Portland, OR
Following a weekend in the Twin Cities for a chum's wedding, I made my way to Portland to stay with my most famous friend, Sean McGrath. The inspiration for the trip was the opportunity to see the rare thing that is a North American Nick Cave show at the Crystal Ballroom. So I dropped a chunk of change on a plane ticket (it was a good thing I was able to consolidate the two trips...) and the ticket at face value that Tony Tonucci and J-Bone picked up the instant they went on sale (yeah, I still owe you the $35, Mark).
Now I'm poorer.
But I digress. I flew in Sunday, hung out with my boy, went to a play, inadvertently squirted clumpy hot sauce in Antigone's eye as a result of my untold strength, and fell asleep.
Monday, I got pumped. I ate lunch with some of the Austin boys at Greek Cusina, spent entirely too much money at Powell's, drank at $5 pitchers at Rocco's, supped with Sean and friend, and then embarked on a mission to the Crystal Ballroom. As we neared the venue, my excitement was almost causing nausea*. We met up with Noocher and Steenburgen (Sean getting to use the ticket that a certain clamato lover didn't deem worthy of putting off motorcycle repairs to be able to afford a plane ticket to Oregon for) at the bar near the club, where I claimed my ticket, and we all headed off through the labyrinth to get into the club.
*This nausea was probably complicated by the worrisome chance that we were possibly going to be able to get our way backstage as a result of the opening act (Ghost Writer) having been from Austin and knowing one of the other gents we were with. Honestly, much like Mark's younger brother having run into Tom Waits on the beach in Hawaii and electing not to speak a word to him, I, too, feared the worst: that we'd get backstage and Nick Cave would say something that would destroy me. Alas, much to my relief/disappointment, the opportunity did not present itself...
When we stepped into the ballroom, it quickly became evident that despite the fairly impressive surface appearance of the club's interior, the floor was going to collapse and we were all going to die. At least we weren't going to die seeing Great White in Providence. The impending death was an easy one to reconcile.
While the volume levels were more than appropriate during the Ghost Writer set, it took two songs of blaringly unintelligible instrumentation for it to become clear that the Nick Cave set was going to shatter ear drums. Now, I've heard others say that the Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds shows they saw were also very loud, but this was borderline obscene. For the opener, "Night of the Lotus Eaters", all that was discernible was vocals and then racket. By the third song, everyone's sense of hearing had been so thoroughly defeated that some instruments were able to bear themselves out and emerge from the sludge.
Now sound issues notwithstanding, the show was outstanding. The tracks off the new album played great, and since the nature of the album is so much more of a rocker, I'd have to say I'm glad I saw them first on this tour, where Nick's presence came out in full force at the mic. Particularly affective were "We Call Upon the Author" and "Today's Lesson", which stuck out as being (at the very least) slightly more intelligible than some of their couterparts. Just as importantly, they played many of the classics that I desperately wanted to hear. "Deanna" fucking rocked. "The Weeping Song" played just as well as it does on Live Seeds, which is saying quite a lot. Nick Cave belted out "Red Right Hand" to the delight of his followers, while Mick, Warren, and Co. firmly had his back. And when I was sure during the fourth song into the encore that I'd miss out on some "Stagger Lee" action, Nick busted out his cocksure strut, put on his best badass front, and killed each and every person in the crowd, showing he was just as bad a motherfucker as Stag could ever be.
Even with the shoddy sound, Cave's stage presence more than made up for the fact that I thought my ear drums were actually going to explode during the third song of the encore, which I can't even remember the name of because I'm now brain damaged. Regardless, the show was great in spite of the sound.
As for what happened afterward, it's probably not a good idea to relate what else happened while in PDX. There was a travel scare, as Mark and Jeremy coincidentally ended up in line behind me at the security checkpoint only to have one of them get stopped for something (non-narcotic) being in their bag by accident that was a felony pre-9/11. Luckily, they were let through (hell, they'd gotten through the Austin airport without a flag being raised leading me to believe that the ABIA security is the most lax in the world) without said item and boarded their plane with about twelve seconds to spare.
I had my own travel snafu, as minutes before my plane landed in Austin at 10:28 pm, the power in the main terminal went out, and our plane, which was the first to land after the outage, sat on the tarmac for--no shit--over an hour and a half, while they restored power to our wing. Of course, every other plane that landed after us was able to go to their gates and deplane (deboard? Des Plaines?), but if there's one thing that my experiences at ABIA have taught me it is that I do not matter to them at all.
Now I'm poorer.
But I digress. I flew in Sunday, hung out with my boy, went to a play, inadvertently squirted clumpy hot sauce in Antigone's eye as a result of my untold strength, and fell asleep.
Monday, I got pumped. I ate lunch with some of the Austin boys at Greek Cusina, spent entirely too much money at Powell's, drank at $5 pitchers at Rocco's, supped with Sean and friend, and then embarked on a mission to the Crystal Ballroom. As we neared the venue, my excitement was almost causing nausea*. We met up with Noocher and Steenburgen (Sean getting to use the ticket that a certain clamato lover didn't deem worthy of putting off motorcycle repairs to be able to afford a plane ticket to Oregon for) at the bar near the club, where I claimed my ticket, and we all headed off through the labyrinth to get into the club.
*This nausea was probably complicated by the worrisome chance that we were possibly going to be able to get our way backstage as a result of the opening act (Ghost Writer) having been from Austin and knowing one of the other gents we were with. Honestly, much like Mark's younger brother having run into Tom Waits on the beach in Hawaii and electing not to speak a word to him, I, too, feared the worst: that we'd get backstage and Nick Cave would say something that would destroy me. Alas, much to my relief/disappointment, the opportunity did not present itself...
When we stepped into the ballroom, it quickly became evident that despite the fairly impressive surface appearance of the club's interior, the floor was going to collapse and we were all going to die. At least we weren't going to die seeing Great White in Providence. The impending death was an easy one to reconcile.
While the volume levels were more than appropriate during the Ghost Writer set, it took two songs of blaringly unintelligible instrumentation for it to become clear that the Nick Cave set was going to shatter ear drums. Now, I've heard others say that the Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds shows they saw were also very loud, but this was borderline obscene. For the opener, "Night of the Lotus Eaters", all that was discernible was vocals and then racket. By the third song, everyone's sense of hearing had been so thoroughly defeated that some instruments were able to bear themselves out and emerge from the sludge.
Now sound issues notwithstanding, the show was outstanding. The tracks off the new album played great, and since the nature of the album is so much more of a rocker, I'd have to say I'm glad I saw them first on this tour, where Nick's presence came out in full force at the mic. Particularly affective were "We Call Upon the Author" and "Today's Lesson", which stuck out as being (at the very least) slightly more intelligible than some of their couterparts. Just as importantly, they played many of the classics that I desperately wanted to hear. "Deanna" fucking rocked. "The Weeping Song" played just as well as it does on Live Seeds, which is saying quite a lot. Nick Cave belted out "Red Right Hand" to the delight of his followers, while Mick, Warren, and Co. firmly had his back. And when I was sure during the fourth song into the encore that I'd miss out on some "Stagger Lee" action, Nick busted out his cocksure strut, put on his best badass front, and killed each and every person in the crowd, showing he was just as bad a motherfucker as Stag could ever be.
Even with the shoddy sound, Cave's stage presence more than made up for the fact that I thought my ear drums were actually going to explode during the third song of the encore, which I can't even remember the name of because I'm now brain damaged. Regardless, the show was great in spite of the sound.
As for what happened afterward, it's probably not a good idea to relate what else happened while in PDX. There was a travel scare, as Mark and Jeremy coincidentally ended up in line behind me at the security checkpoint only to have one of them get stopped for something (non-narcotic) being in their bag by accident that was a felony pre-9/11. Luckily, they were let through (hell, they'd gotten through the Austin airport without a flag being raised leading me to believe that the ABIA security is the most lax in the world) without said item and boarded their plane with about twelve seconds to spare.
I had my own travel snafu, as minutes before my plane landed in Austin at 10:28 pm, the power in the main terminal went out, and our plane, which was the first to land after the outage, sat on the tarmac for--no shit--over an hour and a half, while they restored power to our wing. Of course, every other plane that landed after us was able to go to their gates and deplane (deboard? Des Plaines?), but if there's one thing that my experiences at ABIA have taught me it is that I do not matter to them at all.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Missing Paul
Obviously, he hadn't been very active in Hollywood for about a decade, but I think everyone will miss Paul Newman. He was so charismatic. He seemed so amiable. His wide smile lit up the screen like no one else.
He embodied cool both on screen and in real life and managed to do what few in Hollywood have done, maintaining a marriage for 50 years with Joanne Woodward.
While his roles later in life garnered more than their share of critical attention, it was the slew of iconic starring roles in films such as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Harper, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Slap Shot, The Verdict, Absence of Malice, The Hustler, and The Sting that emblazoned him into the collective consciousness. He made bold choices, repeatedly chose the part of anti-hero, routinely made those difficult characters easy to love.
I really enjoyed just about everything Paul Newman did and would probably rate him as my favorite actor ever, so it is today that I guess I have to hang my head and lament the fact that we've seen the last of Paul Newman on the big screen and the last of his generous philanthropic ways in the real world.
While his family mourns their loss, I can do no more than wish them well and hope that he went out without the pain we would associate with the cancer that ultimately beat him. We are all sorry for your loss and cannot possibly imagine how you feel.
He embodied cool both on screen and in real life and managed to do what few in Hollywood have done, maintaining a marriage for 50 years with Joanne Woodward.
While his roles later in life garnered more than their share of critical attention, it was the slew of iconic starring roles in films such as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Harper, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Slap Shot, The Verdict, Absence of Malice, The Hustler, and The Sting that emblazoned him into the collective consciousness. He made bold choices, repeatedly chose the part of anti-hero, routinely made those difficult characters easy to love.
I really enjoyed just about everything Paul Newman did and would probably rate him as my favorite actor ever, so it is today that I guess I have to hang my head and lament the fact that we've seen the last of Paul Newman on the big screen and the last of his generous philanthropic ways in the real world.
While his family mourns their loss, I can do no more than wish them well and hope that he went out without the pain we would associate with the cancer that ultimately beat him. We are all sorry for your loss and cannot possibly imagine how you feel.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Touching bases
So I'm in the midst of a week in which I'll be away from the computer for most of my time. Posts will come sparingly.
When I return, I'd imagine that the Royals will not still be riding a winning streak (seven and counting), the Chiefs will more than likely still be winless and well on their way to my revised prediction of 0 - 16. I'll also have entries about "Dreams from My Father", Burn After Reading, a Nick Cave concert in Portland, and other mishmash.
Be prepared.
When I return, I'd imagine that the Royals will not still be riding a winning streak (seven and counting), the Chiefs will more than likely still be winless and well on their way to my revised prediction of 0 - 16. I'll also have entries about "Dreams from My Father", Burn After Reading, a Nick Cave concert in Portland, and other mishmash.
Be prepared.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
House 5.01
As the writers'-strike shortened fourth season ended (spectacularly, I might add), House lay in a bed having risked his own life to try to save Amber, Wilson's girlfriend, who had been critically injured in a bus accident after coming to House's drunken aid. Wilson stood at the door of the room House was lying in, having lost his love, and turned and walked away.
When we are re-introduced to the story, Wilson is returning to close up shop, having taken two months of bereavement leave to try to come to terms with Amber's death only to come to the conclusion that he needs to leave.
In addition to Wilson's pending departure, Thirteen's worst fear was confirmed with a positive test for Huntington's in the finale, and she finds herself confronted with the case of a mid-30's career woman whose presence allows for Thirteen to project all of her issues onto the patient.
These two things propel the narrative for the premiere.
Where the episode would at first seem to be fairly typical "House" fare for the first 40 minutes or so, the final segment is outstanding, complete with a sincerely apologetic House assuming blame for Amber's death and repenting to Wilson, who serves as the only affective humanizing force in House's life. The truly great moment of the episode is Wilson's revelation of the true reason he's leaving the hospital--a moment so shocking in it's bluntness that you actually feel sad for the largely unsympathetic House.
The ramifications of the final two minutes of the episode seem like they could pervade House's entire life and dramatically restructure the nature of the show, much like the exodus of House's team at the end of the third season forced the show in a different direction for the fourth season.
I am on edge waiting for the second installment of the fifth season.
At least Tivo means I can rewatch this in the mean time.
When we are re-introduced to the story, Wilson is returning to close up shop, having taken two months of bereavement leave to try to come to terms with Amber's death only to come to the conclusion that he needs to leave.
In addition to Wilson's pending departure, Thirteen's worst fear was confirmed with a positive test for Huntington's in the finale, and she finds herself confronted with the case of a mid-30's career woman whose presence allows for Thirteen to project all of her issues onto the patient.
These two things propel the narrative for the premiere.
Where the episode would at first seem to be fairly typical "House" fare for the first 40 minutes or so, the final segment is outstanding, complete with a sincerely apologetic House assuming blame for Amber's death and repenting to Wilson, who serves as the only affective humanizing force in House's life. The truly great moment of the episode is Wilson's revelation of the true reason he's leaving the hospital--a moment so shocking in it's bluntness that you actually feel sad for the largely unsympathetic House.
The ramifications of the final two minutes of the episode seem like they could pervade House's entire life and dramatically restructure the nature of the show, much like the exodus of House's team at the end of the third season forced the show in a different direction for the fourth season.
I am on edge waiting for the second installment of the fifth season.
At least Tivo means I can rewatch this in the mean time.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Over before it began
I don't really know how much energy I can spend writing on the Chiefs.
Really, Whitlock, who I don't always agree with and isn't necessarily the greatest writer in the world, says what I want to here.
Honestly, I can't say whether or not I have ever seen a professional team play this poorly.
In any sport.
I'm a Royals fan.
I still stand by that statement.
The Chiefs are a joke in every aspect of the game. Well, except for punting. Dustin Colquitt is for the third straight season the team MVP. Bernard Pollard seems to be the only defensive player to have showed up to play for the second consecutive week.
I can safely say that I'll be glad to be spending next Sunday in airports rather than watching the Chiefs make me question my existence.
Clark, do what's right. Fire Carl Peterson. Don't wait. Do it now. Don't stop there, though. Fire Herm, too.
Really, Whitlock, who I don't always agree with and isn't necessarily the greatest writer in the world, says what I want to here.
Honestly, I can't say whether or not I have ever seen a professional team play this poorly.
In any sport.
I'm a Royals fan.
I still stand by that statement.
The Chiefs are a joke in every aspect of the game. Well, except for punting. Dustin Colquitt is for the third straight season the team MVP. Bernard Pollard seems to be the only defensive player to have showed up to play for the second consecutive week.
I can safely say that I'll be glad to be spending next Sunday in airports rather than watching the Chiefs make me question my existence.
Clark, do what's right. Fire Carl Peterson. Don't wait. Do it now. Don't stop there, though. Fire Herm, too.
An Open Letter to the Barack Obama Campaign*
I hope this comment finds its way into the right hands.
I was reading "Dreams from My Father" this morning, listening to music, and was struck by a moment of unadulterated brilliance.
The campaign seems to be a bit stagnant right now. McCain seems to be gaining ground, and it would seem to be less and less related to a Convention bump as time passes. The Palin nomination, despite the fact that her qualifications and more importantly her job performance are questionable at best, seems to have captured much of the momentum. The Republicans are brazenly airing ads stating that she is a maverick because she was against the Bridge to Nowhere without being held accountable for the dubious nature of that claim. And people are eating it up.
It would seem the campaign needs to be reframed.
I believe it can be done through ads--not your typical political ads, either.
The concept came to me this morning in a vision of sorts.
The image of Barack Obama doing the work of the everyman. Living the life of the average American. Working on the assembly line in a factory. Helping an elderly person carry their groceries into the house from their car. Doing things that blue-collar middle Americans can and do every day of their lives. All of these things could be set to an epic post-rock score of someone like Explosions in the Sky or Sigur Ros.
For too long, the Democrats have allowed for the Republican Party to claim the working man as their voting block when that means the working man is voting against his best interests.
An ad campaign of wordless ads set to grand, sweeping music would be refreshing in both its departure from the tiresome malaise of the political ad and its framing of the candidate as an able-bodied everyman, connecting him to his rightful base of working, middle- and lower-class America.
It can show America he really is the man for the job without even having to say a word.
*I sent this to the campaign through their website as well.
I was reading "Dreams from My Father" this morning, listening to music, and was struck by a moment of unadulterated brilliance.
The campaign seems to be a bit stagnant right now. McCain seems to be gaining ground, and it would seem to be less and less related to a Convention bump as time passes. The Palin nomination, despite the fact that her qualifications and more importantly her job performance are questionable at best, seems to have captured much of the momentum. The Republicans are brazenly airing ads stating that she is a maverick because she was against the Bridge to Nowhere without being held accountable for the dubious nature of that claim. And people are eating it up.
It would seem the campaign needs to be reframed.
I believe it can be done through ads--not your typical political ads, either.
The concept came to me this morning in a vision of sorts.
The image of Barack Obama doing the work of the everyman. Living the life of the average American. Working on the assembly line in a factory. Helping an elderly person carry their groceries into the house from their car. Doing things that blue-collar middle Americans can and do every day of their lives. All of these things could be set to an epic post-rock score of someone like Explosions in the Sky or Sigur Ros.
For too long, the Democrats have allowed for the Republican Party to claim the working man as their voting block when that means the working man is voting against his best interests.
An ad campaign of wordless ads set to grand, sweeping music would be refreshing in both its departure from the tiresome malaise of the political ad and its framing of the candidate as an able-bodied everyman, connecting him to his rightful base of working, middle- and lower-class America.
It can show America he really is the man for the job without even having to say a word.
*I sent this to the campaign through their website as well.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Nuggets While Internetting
Here are a couple of things I stumbled across while dinking around to take my mind off of the disappointment that I am now suffering at the hands of that fickle Hurricane Ike that has left Austin merely breezy after forecasters predicted a 100% chance of rain today...
Sarah Palin is a liar. About sports.
Also, does anyone else have a problem with the McCain ad airing during sporting events (maybe other times, too) painting both of them as mavericks that states the Palin was against the Bridge to Nowhere? Seriously. Just bold-faced lying in a nationally televised ad is brazen to say the least.
Another bit from With Leather: this one should appeal to fans of the Kansas City Chiefs and crazy-dancin' D-backs.
What is wrong with the world today?
The first three paragraphs here should explain to you why I'm rapidly losing my mind. And Rany also addresses the Kila Konundrum here.
And I'll end this by stating that the instant I get home today, I'll be watching the tivoed Iowa/Iowa State game. Go Hawks*!
*It's really been hard to see such a quick demise of a solid program. Iowa is only 3 1/2 years removed from finishing the season ranked 8th in the country (Drew Tate's sophomore year, capped off by an Orange Bowl victory over the Chris Leak-helmed Florida Gators with that dramatic last second bomb to Holloway--I think that's who caught that ball). Then we suffered through two progressively worse seasons under Tate and last season in which Ferentz's team was unwatchably bad and should have been sitting at home during bowl season. It's really shocking to have seen a team led by a guy pegged to be a head coach in the NFL every year fall so hard so fast. I will say that Ricky Stanzi moved the ball with confidence last week, something that Jake was unable to do. Maybe he'll be the key to reversing the hard times they've fallen upon...
And then I came across this, totally by chance while clicking on a link to an article on FoxSports. I don't think I've ever been weirded out more than I just was when I saw my friend Sean's visage on an ad on my browser.
Sarah Palin is a liar. About sports.
Also, does anyone else have a problem with the McCain ad airing during sporting events (maybe other times, too) painting both of them as mavericks that states the Palin was against the Bridge to Nowhere? Seriously. Just bold-faced lying in a nationally televised ad is brazen to say the least.
Another bit from With Leather: this one should appeal to fans of the Kansas City Chiefs and crazy-dancin' D-backs.
What is wrong with the world today?
The first three paragraphs here should explain to you why I'm rapidly losing my mind. And Rany also addresses the Kila Konundrum here.
And I'll end this by stating that the instant I get home today, I'll be watching the tivoed Iowa/Iowa State game. Go Hawks*!
*It's really been hard to see such a quick demise of a solid program. Iowa is only 3 1/2 years removed from finishing the season ranked 8th in the country (Drew Tate's sophomore year, capped off by an Orange Bowl victory over the Chris Leak-helmed Florida Gators with that dramatic last second bomb to Holloway--I think that's who caught that ball). Then we suffered through two progressively worse seasons under Tate and last season in which Ferentz's team was unwatchably bad and should have been sitting at home during bowl season. It's really shocking to have seen a team led by a guy pegged to be a head coach in the NFL every year fall so hard so fast. I will say that Ricky Stanzi moved the ball with confidence last week, something that Jake was unable to do. Maybe he'll be the key to reversing the hard times they've fallen upon...
And then I came across this, totally by chance while clicking on a link to an article on FoxSports. I don't think I've ever been weirded out more than I just was when I saw my friend Sean's visage on an ad on my browser.
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