Thanks to Blogger, I can still post to my blog, even though my site is down. Yay!



So everything went down this morning at about 6:45 am. Everything. I called my ISP only to get the message: "We're sorry, but we cannot take your call due to an emergency in the building..." Uh oh. So I'm a little concerned that I'm going to be down for a long damned time. I mean, what if their building burned to the ground? Sigh. On the bright side, I'm glad they're just my ISP and not my hosting company. Losing my connection is one thing, but losing my data would freak my shit out. Yeah, I have backups, but still.



I'm actually here to share a bit from an Onion article on bicycle safety:

"Always wear a helmet. If this makes you uncomfortable, think of the helmet as a crown and yourself as King Dorko."

I've got the new Bridie on repeat. It's fantastic. Moody, carefully-crafted. Takes a couple listenings to get under your skin, but once it's there, it's permanent. Anyway, there's a song called Salt, and the hook is: "I don't want to go no further, you can if you want to." And I thought: ooh, what a sexy little teasing thing to say. Then it dawned on me...Bridie doesn't do a lot of lust songs. So I listened more closely, and sure enough, it's about eedjits getting lost in the Outback. Well, it's still a sexy little teasing thing to say. I think I'll use it one of these days.

Every once in a while, you meet someone special. Someone that makes you laugh. Someone brilliant, verbose, vulgar, delightful. It's these moments that make me think: "My mother was gay, why the fuck can't I be gay too?!?" If I ever meet a man like the woman I just met, he is mine.

Kitty had a bit of an Aussie fest last night. Okay, not a "bit" of one. A major, full-on, Aussie OD. Two CDs arrived from Chaos Music, and I went on a little shoppie with Janie (who's blog will soon be getting an overhaul courtesy of yours truly). The result:

David Bridie, Act of Free Choice

My love affair with Neil Finn continues.

Powderfinger's Oddysey Number Five

Yes, I bought it.

The latest project is live. Thanks Paul for helping out in more ways than one--but I never got access to their CGI so I couldn't run anything anyway. I made do like my momma taught me. Thanks Skip and Jo Ann for the opportunity! Sheesh...this is sounding like an Oscar speech. It's just a website, for heaven's sake.

Quick hint to those who send help requests like "I can't print" or "I'm locked up": the less you tell me, the less I care! Jeezus, it takes ten freaking emails to get anything out of some people. Luckily, most of them are in the same office, but believe me it DOES piss me off if I have to go to someone's station because they are unable to communicate. I think I'll change this one's wallpaper to "too stupid to use a computer."

It's Oscar Time!

I decided to hop a bus home today, and was musing quietly to myself about getting home and watching the end of a movie where uttering "steak and kidney" has a salutory affect on Sean Pertwee, when I glanced up to find hanging from a lamppost a most helpful banner declaring that March is Kidney Month. "Get informed," said the banner, "get tested." So I tested a bit, and discovered that yes, I do indeed have kidneys! Thank goodness for Kidney Month, or I might never have known! For heaven sakes, I hope April is Spleen Month, because I've never been able to figure out that bugger.

When people grudgingly admit Courtney Love has a point, they begin with "I'm not into Courtney or anything..." Well, I am. I think she kicks butt, and her latest campaign has been a long time coming. This woman will change the music industry for the better. Go Courtney!

Packing Pavement. The Tampa Tribune explains in visual language why I walk. Via Anil.

I think I'm a little too-well ranked with Google. But I like it.

Power outages are surreal.


We just got power back in the complex after about six hours. At first, some hall lights were on, but they gave out after a few hours on battery. All the radio stations are in "Sunday mode"--mostly recorded and no news. Finally, I trudged into work to log in and see if there was news online. Nothing. But it was good to go somewhere I could turn on a light switch. Something about a lack of electric seems apocalyptic. Is it the end of the world? Did the [insert current nemesis] drop the Big One?



Nope, just a squirrel in the transformer.

Happy Birthday MeFi!

Sometimes you just have to laugh.

This is me, blogging because I don't want to get here early. I hate sitting around waiting for things to start. And I hate being late. It's a fine line I walk. The conference sounds fun enough. Maybe it will convince me to make more use of Dreamweaver.

C'mon, is a last-minute bidding war too much to ask for?

One of the most brilliant and thoughtful posters on MeFi finally has a blog. Steven, it's about time.

Today's assignment: figure out what to do with a Palm IIIc. Sound easy? HAHAHA! Maybe for all you Outlook users. Where I work, we eschew Outlook for the much more secure Novell GroupWise. It is a nice program. But Palm requires extra software to synch to it. In fact, the damned thing doesn't like anything we use in our office. It's a paperweight. On the other hand, the boss' nifty HP Pocket PC synchs to our stuff, and can even voice record in the field. So what's the problem? Management heard other districts were using the Palm. I think we can reason with them. They're reasonable people. Also, I mentioned to the Chief in passing that I was about to snap the Palm in half.

Drool. Oh, how I wish I were there. But of course I didn't think about it. I rarely think about getting my butt out to the things that might benefit me. I'm not such a good traveller, and I'm not rich. But this, if I had thought two minutes ahead, is very applicable to work. I should be there. Ah well, looking on the bright side--I mentioned it to bossman and next year I will be there. 'Scuse me while I get on a mailing list.

My jealousy over the life theme song is deepening. My friend Dawn got War, and her sweetie got the theme from Shaft, which--if you ask me--is pretty much the ultimate theme song. Jeeze. I think I'm gonna find a song I like and just change my birthdate.

Because the world never runs out of wonderful men, I present Sean.

Okay, after watching two episodes, I will officially admit I'm hooked on The Lone Gunmen. Great, that makes three tv shows I watch. Luckily, Voyager is over in a few weeks.

Dammit! No fair! Ally got a cool song!

When going through photo albums to get rid of them, it's a good idea to go through the whole thing.



When my father died, I took his two photo albums from his apartment. Mostly filled with pictures of strangers, I hadn't done anything with them. I finally decided to go through them completely, remove the pictures I wanted (I think those sticky-paged photo albums are barbaric), and toss the rest. In front of one were many pics of the Phoenix Zoo, some with Dad, many of some friends of his I didn't know. Then a lot of blank pages. I didn't think there was anything else in the album, but I double-checked. In the back pages I got a surprise. About four pages of me and my siblings. One sweet pic of my brother and sister holding a newborn me. Lots of pics of the grandkids. Here's a favorite--my sis as a toddler:

"I hope this letter finds you getting along O.K. Dawn said you are having your treatments. I pray that they are helping. And I'm thinking every day Phyllis and thank God that Marlene is there helping you and being such a good friend. Building friendships, as you and Marlene have over the years, is one of life's blessings."

On my booklist: Bowling Alone

"In a groundbreaking book based on vast new data, Putnam shows how we have become increasingly disconnected from family, friends, neighbors, and our democratic structures-- and how we may reconnect."

Well, that sucks. Supposedly, the theme song for my life is Roy Orbison's Pretty Woman. Roy Orbison has got to be the single most creepy singer that ever lived. Want to find out how much your theme song sucks? Try This Day in Music and find the #1 song in the U.S. or U.K. on the day you were born. Thanks to Chris for the link. I think.

This ad scares me. I'm thinking that if you click, you're taken to a Snow Crash-type page where subliminal messages immediately indoctrinate you into a cult. Or kill you. Maybe it's a government experiment. In any case, I'm not clicking it.

The following anecdote should forever clarify my relationship with phones. Summary: it's not good.



When my friend Kelly moved a while ago and I memorized his new number, I thought to myself: "Oh, we have the same prefix, 238." The last time Webvan delivered, they said they tried to call me, but couldn't get through. I figured it was them. A few days ago, my friend Janie said the same thing. I was a little worried, but figured it was a glitch.



Then Anna called this morning: "I tried to call you a while ago," she said, "but you gave me the wrong number. I had to call my mom." Her mom had wisely taken my number back in the days before I lost the piece of paper where it was written.



"No shit!" I replied, kind of amazed. "So what is my number?"



"You're kidding."



"No, I really have no idea. I don't call myself."



"You got the first three digits wrong. It's 243."



"Oh. Wow. I guess I'd better write that down. Thanks!"



For those of you who now think I'm a complete idiot, I'm really not. I'm Fred Murray.

HANDS OFF! Okay, so I don't have a .org...but I don't want to see a lot of friends lose their web identities. Now, will someone kindly make these people some decent buttons? I thought about putting one up, but they all suck.

I'm always appalled at couples that pry into one another's privacy. I'm not alone. I simply cannot fathom for a moment being in a relationship where someone read my email. As far as I'm concerned, he could even get his own damned computer. Yeesh. ::shudder::

Dammit. I got totally busy today and forgot I wanted to do something special for Matthew's birthday. So now, I have to settle for a lame cop-out. Here goes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATTHEW! GET TOASTED AND DANCE NAKED ON A TABLE! AND GET VIDEO! AND SEND IT TO ME!

I will not keel over and die...I will not keel over and die...



I think I'm gonna keel over and die.



I've been walking home twice a day along the waterfront. It's about a 30-minute walk, and I was starting to think that was a little long. No, I didn't run it. I thought, hey, since I've been walking a lot, surely it's time to get on my bike! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Did I mention I'm gonna keel over and die? What's the advantage of taking 10 minutes to get to work if it still feels like 30 minutes? And worse yet, the bike is downstairs, so I have to ride it back. Yeah, yeah, I'm an out-of-shape wimp. Sue me.



Keel. Over. Die.

Uh, wow. Link via Anil.

Simple



It started in 1998 with The Overspent American. I'd had periods of purging before, and had given thought to simplification, but this book was the catalyst. It opened my eyes to our consumerist nation, and freed me to find what was truly important.



I followed closely with Your Money or Your Life, a book I've read more than once--each time incorporating another idea.



The Purge has become a joyous ritual for me. Each time I get rid of another pile of stuff, I feel more free to be myself--to concentrate on the things I actually love.



But it's been about more than things. It's been about the reasons behind them. And I'm not talking blind consumerism here.



For example, before I moved into the new apartment, I had the revelation that I hate to cook. Nonetheless, I'd been cooking because everyone cooks. I had all these gadgets, pots, pans, utensils, that I almost never used, and I didn't like it when I did. Thus, out they went with the next purge.



This time, it's books. My mother loved books. I think she envied them--she wanted to write but wasn't any good at it. Books were a symbol to her of all she strived for but couldn't have. So here I am with a ton of books on my shelves. Yes, I like to read, but I don't read anything more than once unless it's reference or nonfic. The subjects are telling as well. There's a lot of occult reference that my family would have loved. I even used to be interested, but I'm really not any more. I've pared down a lot recently, but now the final pruning occurs. Bet I get down to one little shelf of books I actually use.



Simplicity isn't just about getting rid of stuff. It's about getting rid of old ideas imposed by outside sources. What's left is what I love.

JellyBath. While I'm not so sure about the price tag, I think I have to try this at least once.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a feminist.

Imposter! Yep, I'm saying I don't think this is the SMC. I posit this accusation for a number of reasons:

• The article isn't as clever as usual.
  
• "SMC" totally ignored the quality of the dialog in the movie.
  
• He also ignored James Gandolfini's performance, as well as everything else that was delightful about The Mexican.
  
• He's miffed that Brad & Julia didn't have more screen time together? Come on.
  
• This is the first time SMC and I have ever disagreed so completely.
  

I live next to a train station. Right next to a train station. Yet I don't hear the trains. That should give you some idea of how fucking loud my neighbor's music was at 2:30 am. Rattling my walls and giving me a headache. Did I get up, get dressed, and go yell at them? Hell no. I've learned through many years of apartment living that some people are too stupid to deal with directly. I waited for some other brave soul to do it, and today, I file a complaint. This is the type of place where if you get so many, you're out. I'll also check to see if the complex has a number I should call, or if I should just say fuggit and call the cops.



For those of you who are thinking I'm a nark, and my actions will get some poor sop thrown out--you're right, and that's the idea. I have absolutely no sympathy for someone that oblivious. Frankly, unless my upstairs neighbors are brilliant in some way and making tremendous contributions to the planet, I don't think they belong here. Not in the complex, but on the planet. If it doesn't add, it subtracts.

File under: Cool Beyond Belief. Neil Gaiman has a blog.

You know how cats seem to have an uncanny sense for knowing who is allergic or just hates them, then making a bee-line for that very person?



Well, once again, the Baby Brigade is camped outside my office door. It happens whenever one of my beloved co-workers procreates, usually the first time they bring in the baby. Mind you, this is a big office, with yards and yards of hallway. Why I get targeted I have no idea. It was a bit of a surprise this time. I had the door closed, and when I opened it to run an errand, I discovered a hoard of people outside. At least they weren't making a lot of loud, annoying cooing noises.



How can I be such a curmudgeon? Why don't I like children? Oh, gimme a break. I don't have to like children. I have almost no maternal instinct, and only in rare moments do I even think the little monsters cute. Mostly, I think they're noisy. But my real reasons run deeper than that. I truly, truly believe there are too many of us on this planet. Of course, everyone has the right to his or her opinion. While I feel strongly about overpopulation, I would of course never interfere with someone else's breeding instinct, nor would I insult their children, etc., etc. I won't be out bombing any fertility clinics, no matter how much I disagree with their mission. On the other hand, folks with five kids are not among my friends. Also, I find as I get older, I get less tolerant. That's probably a bad thing, but there it is.

Big Brother (not the government, but my actual BB) said cool on publishing his letter. Just a note--I had to change my first name in this letter. Not because I'm afraid to tell everyone what my first name was at birth, but because I'm afraid someone will actually use it. For various reasons, I find that intolerable. Nope, not gonna explain that. Anyway, here's my bro's wonderful letter:




October 1,1964

6.5 on the Richter scale

Epicenter: 15 Miles S.W. of Olympia Washington



Early in the morning, Dorn is the first one down the stairs, as he reaches the bottom, a light comes on. There is his Mom, pale, very pregnant, in a cheap, pink, quilted, bath robe. She is saying behind her, into the dark living room, "My water broke".



Dorn doesn't know or care what that means. Dad steps out of the shadows. The next two minutes are a blur to Dorn. Mom and Dad talking, he doesn't understand. Zenna races down the stairs, screams at Mom, "Dorn came in and shook my bed to try and wake me up! I'm tired of this! You've got to do something!".



Mom says, "It was an earthquake and I have to go to the Hospital". Zenna and Dorn understand at once.



And so came Catherine Lourene Crawford.



Dorn never understood the responsibility of Catherine. He invented "put-put", which was pushing her bassinette around at high speed. Unable to stand up, Catherine would prop herself up on her elbows and stare over the edge of the bassinette, much like a puppy, pretending she is flying out of the window of a car. Dorn soon grew to resent this
responsibility, because he was told to do it constantly, but he did it. Because she truly loved it, and he really loved to hear her laugh and see her smile.



Circa 1972



Dorn offers to take 7 year old Catherine into Lents Park, near where they now live in Portland, Oregon. He sends Catherine down to the swings, he retreats to the hill 50 feet above her and lights a roach left over from Longview. Two hits, a glance, a stare, and a small, sickly, seven year old with a bright smile and beautiful strawberry hair, it was then that he realized he truly loved his little sister. And he always had.



Whoever you are, Catherine, whatever names you may give yourself, you will always be those moments in time.... I can't forget.



Love you always,


Brother-O-Yours,


Dorn

"If the automobile had followed the same development cycle as the computer, a Rolls-Royce would today cost $100, get a million miles per gallon, and explode once a year, killing everyone inside."

Some things I never get tired of. Violet Crumble candy bars. Sunny days. Television specials about the career of the incomparable Ray Harryhausen. If you think you've never heard of him, mosey on over to the site. I'll bet you've seen his work. If not, you've certainly seen the progeny thereof.

A "weblog" in the oldest sense of the word, Midnight Factory is just tons and tons of great links. Watch out for the tri-color rabbit.

Maybe I shouldn't tell. Well, I won't tell entirely. Let me just say, there's a trick to this.

Have you heard the word of the Force? If you live in New Zealand, here's something to think about when you're filling out your census forms. I'd do it. Link via Jerwin.

I'm getting into a bad habit. When I find a really cool link or interesting story, I've started putting it over at MetaFilter instead of here. But not everyone that comes here reads MeFi. I've been cheating my readers! All three of them! Ahem. So, without further ado, here are a couple cool things I found:



Baby Think It Over.


Teens care for a lifelike doll programmed to do all the things a baby does--including waking them up in the middle of the night. "It's a seven-pound, computerized contraceptive!"



Happy Elvis Day!


The Oregon Legislature considers a bill to make January 8 Elvis day. Considering Portland is the home of the 24-Hour Church of Elvis and a beloved (and weird) street performer named Elvis, this is somewhat fitting. Of course 62% of respondents surveyed on this story say it's a waste of the Legislature's time. I suppose it is...but it's better than when they decided on our State Waltz.



I'm just wondering if I'll get the day off.



Okay, back to work.

Oh, did I mention that I haven't heard from my brother in a couple years? The fault is, of course, mutual. I have his address around here somewhere. Neither of us is good at keeping in touch.

I just got the sweetest email. My brother--who has never had an email addy--wrote me a long, weepy (for me anyway) treatise. I'll put it here if he lets me. I'm glad he finally has an address where I can reach him. Being a letter and phone hater, email is really it for me. Also, my brother is at his best when he's writing. Articulate and artful, he's always a joy to read. I hope I can share his letter.

What a hoot! And what a great soundtrack. Brother is a musical comedy based on Homer's The Odyssey. Three escaped convicts meet the Depression-era equivalents of the Cyclops, Sirens, etc. George Clooney uses a very good imitation of Clark Gable in his portrayal of Ulysses Everett McGill. His sidekicks, Pete and Delmar, are played very nicely by John Turturro and Jim Blake Nelson. Nelson's performance is particularly good when you realize it's one of his few lead roles--he does more work behind the camera as a writer and director.

So many film makers get a little cred under their belt, then proceed to make a film that over-reaches (see Magnolia). This setup was ripe for an over-reach by the Coens, but they resisted. Brother is one of their best films to date--a fun romp and a spot-on adaptation of a classic work.

So, your director is Julian Schnabel, a world-famous artist, and you're an editor. Apparently this setup was a little too intimidating for the editor of Before Night Falls. While I would certainly rate the movie as a good one, it had rambling moments, angular fantasy scenes, and botched continuity that made the plot difficult to follow.

But worse, I have a second bone to pick with this film. I'm getting pretty damned tired of seeing gay men die of AIDS in films. The plot has become so rampant, so endemic, that it has become a morality play. If you're gay, this is what you get. I take exception to that. Yes, it's the true story of the Cuban writer, Reinaldo Arenas. So choose another subject. It isn't that he wasn't worthy, but we've had enough. I'm sure Schnabel, whom I believe is gay himself, did not intend for his work to give the impression of punishment for some transgression--it is only when the film is taken in the context of the industry that this hammer hits home.

End rant.

And as a final side note: having Johnny Depp play two parts was stupid. It didn't work. Don't do it again.

Whoo...guess I was angrier about that film than I thought. It isn't irredeemable, and I would recommend it as a renter. You will definitely learn a great deal about Cuba (at least from one perspective), and about a writer who's voice is little-heard in this country.

This story of two siblings re-discovering one another is a true character drama. The plot is a slice-of-life, and the real interest is in watching these multi-faceted people unfold before your eyes. I can't say there's anything new here, but I did enjoy the performances. Laura Linney is wonderful as always. She is particularly effective in a number of scenes where she's alone, often in the car, thinking about whatever has just happened. Without dialog, she conveys volumes. Matthew Broderick, whom I usually avoid, is fun in his role as the irritating boss that we've all had.

This is another renter, but I'd put it near the top of the rental list.

Ah, Quills. What a pleasure of a movie. What a joy. What sheer delight. What incredible creepiness.

Quills is a fictional account of the Marquis de Sade's time in an insane asylum. The only flaw in this remarkable film--and this is only my personal take--is that the people I wanted to see naked didn't get naked, and the people I didn't want to see naked did. Like I said, that's merely my personal preferences. And I'm mostly joking.

I haven't yet seen Pollock (though I had a great dream about Ed Harris last night--ahem--sorry), but I suspect that Rush is my pick for Best Actor. His portrayal of the Marquis was magnetic and flawless. Supporting roles by Kate Winslet and Joaquin Phoenix shined so brightly it is hard to call them "supporting". This was more of an ensemble piece, both in screen-time and in the intricate bonds created between these fascinating characters. I should include Sir Michael Caine in the ensemble as well--he and his young wife are just as enslaved by the influence of the Marquis, though a bit more to the side.

Beautfully plotted, written, and executed--do not miss this film.

Obscene interior design. Don't worry, the figures have been carefully blocked out so we can concentrate on the crimes of design. Porn is one thing, but these people are...perverted! Link via MeFi.

The dream show I definitely can't afford to see. Neil Finn and Johnny Marr (among others). Dammit!

I know, I know, I should let my crushes simmer for a while before I move on to the next one--but Joaquin wouldn't wait.

When flipping channels for whatever reason, I keep finding myself stuck on a local public access program which seems to broadcast continuously on channel 28. Mostly in Japanese, the Moshi Moshi Project teaches Japanese to school children. It's the ultimate in public access--silly people doing silly things. You gotta see these guys sing (and dance, sort of) about drinking milk. Oh no...as I type that very segment is coming on again. In any case, what I've learned so far is that the Japanese language has a lot of syllables. They add syllables like the French add vowels. I've also learned that I will never speak Japanese.

I think I'm going through an X-Files phase.



BTW, you can get to the rest of the section by hitting the little "crush" button after the write-up.

Any Portlanders out there? Pop over here and check out the Movie Marathon post. Join us if you can, we'd love to see you!

The Mexican, part deux. Kel and I find ourselves in agreement. We often do. Never expected the movie blog to be Siskel and Ebert.

Is it okay to post the same thing to two different blogs? Well, if it isn't, too bad. The movie blog is a little young, and I wanted everybody to see this, just 'cuz:

Wong Kar-Wai is one of my fave directors. The Onion posted an interview, but screwed up a font tag, so it doesn't display. Ingenius, guys. Trying to push print subscriptions? Anyway, contrary to all things legal and nice, I swiped the text, fixed the tag, and put it up for your reading pleasure.