This is a story in three(ish) parts.
As some of you might know already, two weeks ago I helped save a dog from getting run over.
I was the first car stopped at a light on Fountain, which is two lanes each way (which is also east/west street of the Fountain and Fairfax intersection, after which the Afghan Whigs named a song). I looked out to the right and saw a small dog on the curb. It was stumbling around and, at one point, threw up. It then continued to stumble into the street and in front of my car, with no sign of stopping.
The light turned green and, obviously, I didn't move. The dog was headed for the next lane and at this point I realized that if I didn't get out and stop him, he was liable to get run over. Thankfully, the guy in the car next to me had noticed the dog, too. We both put our cars in park and got out -- the honking had already begun. It actually didn't last too long, though, as the cars behind us realized something was going on when we both got out of our cars.
We tried to get the dog to turn around on its own, but it wasn't having it. So the other guy picked the dog up and we headed to the curb. The guy put the dog down and went back to his car, which was perfectly fine. The problem is that there was nothing stopping this dog from going right back out into the street. So while the other guy left (and freed up a lane of traffic, at least), I hung out there with the dog, preventing it from going anywhere, and trying to find somewhere to stick it so that it couldn't get into the street.
A woman two cars back from me suddenly yelled out "I'll take him! I'll take him!" This was music to my ears. I picked him up and headed towards her car. She got back in and opened the passenger side door and I stuck the little guy into the passenger seat. The woman said she'd take him to the vet, and I pointed out that he had tags, although they didn't say who owned him, just that he had all his shots.
Last week I went to Whole Foods. On my walk from where I parked to the store, I pass a couple of homeless men (as happens in Los Angeles). One of them stopped me and, after a bunch of stammering, finally found the courage to ask me if I'd buy him some food. I told him I'd be right back, went into Whole Foods, and got him a turkey sandwich, chips, and water.
A few hours ago, I was at the gas station, filling up my car. Two women and a little girl in a stroller were headed down the sidewalk in front of the gas station. The one woman was older, maybe late 40's, early 50's. The other woman, who seemed to be the little girl's mom, was probably in her early/mid-20's. I saw the older woman nod in my direction and say something about "water."
The younger woman came up to me. She explained that she is living paycheck to paycheck and that she went to her job today, but her check wasn't there like it was supposed to be. She said she's raising her daughter by herself because she left her abusive husband. She said she just wants to get her daughter some juice or water.
I told her I didn't have any money and was using my card to buy the gas (my debit card, to be perfectly honest). As a bleeding heart liberal, this is something of a standard line. I very rarely give anyone money because I don't know what they'll do with it. I will, however, buy them food. She asked me if I could buy her some juice or water with my card.
We went into the gas station and I told her to grab something. She picked out a bottle of apple juice. I bought it for her, she thanked me, and went back to her little girl and her friend, who also thanked me.
My life has, for the past year (and more), been much more difficult than I ever would have predicted. I could go into details, but I won't, because that would undermine the entire point of this. Because while every day might bring me closer and closer to living paycheck to paycheck, I don't have a small child that I have to raise by myself. And I'm not a homeless man trying to work up the courage to ask someone to buy me food. And I'm not a sick dog, stumbling into traffic.
So, yeah -- maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. It's probably a good idea to listen.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Satan Reports Snow Flurries: Kyle Drank Too Much
Your mileage may very on the "too much" part of that title.
I have no been blessed with many physical gifts. I have really bad eye sight. I have horrible sinuses. I'm very tall and very thin, the exception being my ever expanding spare tire. I have an odd nose. I have crazy teeth (and crazy in a bad way). I have high cholesterol even though I'm a vegetarian. I was born with a hole in my chest. I am frail like a bird, but without the upside of being able to fly.
But I do have a few choice vegetables in my genetic stew. One of those is my ability to drink.
Sure, I understand that being able to consume a relatively large amount of alcohol in a single evening is generally frowned upon, and with good reason. Being good at drinking makes it really easy to,well, drink. It drives Nicole nuts, in fact, because I seem to be able to drink without worry, as I never, ever get hangovers. I don't think I've gotten sick from alcohol since 2000.
Again, that's not necessarily a good thing, because once you discover you're good at something, you tend to do it more often, and while I might not get sick like most people, excessive drinking is still going to do damage that I can't see. And yet, drinking to me is like riding a bike. Again, unlike most people, I don't really have to worry about building a tolerance; it's just always there.
There is a method to my madness, though. As I mention in the book I wrote about him, one of the few pieces of direct advice my grandfather ever gave me was that I should only mix my alcohol with water, and nothing else. He told me that it was the sugary mixer which would ultimately make me sick. And, as far as I can tell, he was right.
Along those lines, I decided that I should mainly only drink one thing. Not long ago, I cut out beer all together, mostly in an effort to combat the ever expanding spare tire I mentioned earlier. And while I do enjoy red wine from time to time (more on that in a minute), and I will indulge in one of my wife's margaritas on Cinco de Mayo, I basically drink one alcoholic beverage and one alcoholic drink only: Jack Daniels.
You would be surprised how handy this has been. Jack Daniels is universal. I have, quite literally, had people take a liking to me simply because I ordered Jack Daniels. It is just as welcome in the RV lot at a NASCAR event as it is at Sky Bar in Hollywood. In my experience, it is quite possibly the most all American beverage we have, more so than Coca-Cola or Ovaltine. I have met an amazing assortment of people because of Jack Daniels, and if there's an upside to my ability to drink, it is that: meeting a wide variety of people.
But all of this is set up, really, for the main story.
As I mentioned before, I do drink red wine from time to time. I am frighteningly good at drinking wine. Many are the times when Nicole and I will split a bottle of wine, then open a second bottle, of which Nicole will have one glass and I will have the rest. It's actually become something of a running joke with us, the fact that I can put away wine like it's, well, water. I suppose that was my first mistake.
This past Saturday night, after a long, hard day at work, I decided to have some wine (sadly, I was very low on Jack Daniels). It being Saturday night, Nicole decided to have a cocktail herself, but had gone with her drink of choice, a vodka tonic. So the newly opened bottle of wine was left up to me alone -- although we do have the fancy air sucking gadgets that let you keep wine after you open it.
Anyway, over the course of the evening, I made a proclamation regarding the fact that I can just drink wine like it's going out of style. And, clearly, the wine heard me.
I finished the bottle, of course, because that's what I do. Nicole went to bed and shortly thereafter I joined her.
And then I got up to go lay on the couch and watch TV, because I just didn't feel right...
...and then I went into the bathroom and hung out on the floor next to the toilet.
The nausea would come and go, and every time I thought I was ready to hurl, it subsided. But every time I thought I was ready to go to bed, it would rear its ugly head. The cats thought this was all very strange.
In the end, it was 3:45 by the time I was able to crawl into bed. My alarm went off at 8:15 for work. And, for the first time in years, I experienced a hangover. I think Nicole (when I told her later) was just as surprised as I was.
Maybe my age is finally catching up with me. Or maybe it was a fluke. Either way, I'm pretty sure I never want to feel the way I felt Sunday morning ever again. I'd honestly forgotten what it was like.
Clearly, I'm going to have to behave myself in Boston this weekend.
I have no been blessed with many physical gifts. I have really bad eye sight. I have horrible sinuses. I'm very tall and very thin, the exception being my ever expanding spare tire. I have an odd nose. I have crazy teeth (and crazy in a bad way). I have high cholesterol even though I'm a vegetarian. I was born with a hole in my chest. I am frail like a bird, but without the upside of being able to fly.
But I do have a few choice vegetables in my genetic stew. One of those is my ability to drink.
Sure, I understand that being able to consume a relatively large amount of alcohol in a single evening is generally frowned upon, and with good reason. Being good at drinking makes it really easy to,well, drink. It drives Nicole nuts, in fact, because I seem to be able to drink without worry, as I never, ever get hangovers. I don't think I've gotten sick from alcohol since 2000.
Again, that's not necessarily a good thing, because once you discover you're good at something, you tend to do it more often, and while I might not get sick like most people, excessive drinking is still going to do damage that I can't see. And yet, drinking to me is like riding a bike. Again, unlike most people, I don't really have to worry about building a tolerance; it's just always there.
There is a method to my madness, though. As I mention in the book I wrote about him, one of the few pieces of direct advice my grandfather ever gave me was that I should only mix my alcohol with water, and nothing else. He told me that it was the sugary mixer which would ultimately make me sick. And, as far as I can tell, he was right.
Along those lines, I decided that I should mainly only drink one thing. Not long ago, I cut out beer all together, mostly in an effort to combat the ever expanding spare tire I mentioned earlier. And while I do enjoy red wine from time to time (more on that in a minute), and I will indulge in one of my wife's margaritas on Cinco de Mayo, I basically drink one alcoholic beverage and one alcoholic drink only: Jack Daniels.
You would be surprised how handy this has been. Jack Daniels is universal. I have, quite literally, had people take a liking to me simply because I ordered Jack Daniels. It is just as welcome in the RV lot at a NASCAR event as it is at Sky Bar in Hollywood. In my experience, it is quite possibly the most all American beverage we have, more so than Coca-Cola or Ovaltine. I have met an amazing assortment of people because of Jack Daniels, and if there's an upside to my ability to drink, it is that: meeting a wide variety of people.
But all of this is set up, really, for the main story.
As I mentioned before, I do drink red wine from time to time. I am frighteningly good at drinking wine. Many are the times when Nicole and I will split a bottle of wine, then open a second bottle, of which Nicole will have one glass and I will have the rest. It's actually become something of a running joke with us, the fact that I can put away wine like it's, well, water. I suppose that was my first mistake.
This past Saturday night, after a long, hard day at work, I decided to have some wine (sadly, I was very low on Jack Daniels). It being Saturday night, Nicole decided to have a cocktail herself, but had gone with her drink of choice, a vodka tonic. So the newly opened bottle of wine was left up to me alone -- although we do have the fancy air sucking gadgets that let you keep wine after you open it.
Anyway, over the course of the evening, I made a proclamation regarding the fact that I can just drink wine like it's going out of style. And, clearly, the wine heard me.
I finished the bottle, of course, because that's what I do. Nicole went to bed and shortly thereafter I joined her.
And then I got up to go lay on the couch and watch TV, because I just didn't feel right...
...and then I went into the bathroom and hung out on the floor next to the toilet.
The nausea would come and go, and every time I thought I was ready to hurl, it subsided. But every time I thought I was ready to go to bed, it would rear its ugly head. The cats thought this was all very strange.
In the end, it was 3:45 by the time I was able to crawl into bed. My alarm went off at 8:15 for work. And, for the first time in years, I experienced a hangover. I think Nicole (when I told her later) was just as surprised as I was.
Maybe my age is finally catching up with me. Or maybe it was a fluke. Either way, I'm pretty sure I never want to feel the way I felt Sunday morning ever again. I'd honestly forgotten what it was like.
Clearly, I'm going to have to behave myself in Boston this weekend.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Kyle's Blog about Buffy the Vampire Slayer
It occurred to me that the two blog entries that have gotten the most feedback were the one about Pearl Jam and the one about zombies. This makes sense, of course, as most of my "followers" are friends who've I've known for some time. The fact that they're friends means that chances are good they like zombies. The fact that I've known them for some time means that chances are good they enjoy my strolls down memory lane just as much (well, that's probably not possible) as I do.
So, in the interests of creating a Super Blog, I'm going to write about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I came a little late to the Buffy party. In fact, the first original airing of an episode that I watched was on December 8th, 1998 -- and before you think I'm a complete freak, I got that date from IMDB. I do remember the episode, though: "The Wish." It would be an odd episode for me to delve into the show, as it a) took place in an alternate reality and b) was written by a writer whose eventual ascension to show runner would mark a bleak period in Buffy's history.
But anyway...
I was in grad school in 1998. The band I was in at the time had made an ill fated attempt at a tour over our winter break and, once that was over, I was pretty much left with nothing to do. It should also be noted that I was in Ohio at this point, so wrap your brain around the idea of having nothing to do in December in Ohio. Suddenly, you realize that the Shining could have taken place there.
The fledgling WB network was showing a bunch of repeats of Buffy during this time, but they were pretty scattered. The local video store, however, had some videos that Fox Studios had released, featuring two episodes each of the first season of Buffy. I think I rented one of them before I went out and bought all three (which have since been replaced by DVDs). By the end of Ohio University's winter break, I was hooked. Actually, I was pretty obsessed.
Why was I obsessed? What was it about this show that sucked me in? At the beginning, I honestly don't know. I think it had to do with the fact that I was pretty lonely, and the show featured a group of friends, almost all of whom seemed like people I would like to hang out with. I could relate to Xander, the guy who always felt like he didn't really belong, even in that group, as he was the only one with no abilities. It probably helped that my first season of the show also happened to be the first season with Faith, but I'll save my Eliza Dushku digression for another time.
Later, I think the quality of the writing really got to me. While eventually I would begin to notice the patterns that the show would fall into, during those first few years it seemed like they were willing to try anything. There was a certain bravery to the storytelling that I didn't see in other shows. And, hell, I'm a sucker for the supernatural. So, yeah, it's easy to see why I became a bit neurotic about the show.
Sadly, for as much mocking as I took from my friends, they all ended up becoming enablers. Over the course of the next year and a half of grad school, "Buffy Nights" at the house I was living at grew larger and larger. For a misanthrope like myself, it offered me the added bonus of being able to socialize without having to go anywhere. Whereas I was once the guy who kept talking about his band all the time, I soon became the Buffy guy (who only stopped talking about his band because it broke up). And, of course, I became the Angel guy, too.
When I left Ohio, I took my Buffy obsession with me. The only friends I made in Atlanta that I didn't import in from Ohio were others who loved Buffy. Suddenly, a new Buffy night was born, this time in the South. At one point I even went so far as to leave my own apartment to watch the show, although it was just to walk across a parking lot to another apartment. I was also pretty active online and found myself wasting hours and hours of time reviewing, discussing, and debating the in's and out's of every episode.
Next, I moved to Los Angeles, and, as is befitting of Los Angeles, I started watching the final season of Buffy (and the penultimate season of Angel) by myself. The internet became my sole source of interaction when it came to Buffy. The upside, though, was that I was now living in the city where the show was made. I actually got to meet Joss Whedon, Amber Benson, and Michelle Trachtenberg at a signing for the Buffy musical CD. That wasn't something that would have happened in Ohio.
By this point, of course, the show was releasing its earlier seasons on DVD, so I was now stocking up on those. I also bought an Xbox specifically because it was the only system that had the Buffy video game. These are all things that would come in useful when I hosted my very last Buffy night, during the finale.
But Kyle, you're saying, you've said that you watched Buffy all alone in Los Angeles? Well, I did, except for the finale, when three people I had never met before in my entire life flew all the way to Los Angeles to watch Buffy with me. Could there be better icing on the cake of this story? I don't think so.
They were people I'd known for a while online. One of the bonuses of living in Los Angeles is that people are willing to come visit you for the most minor of reasons, because you actually live in an interesting city. So while these three, fine people were coming to watch the end of an era with me, there were some added bonuses. I don't know that they would have flown out to watch the finale with me if I were still living in Ohio.
Two years later, with my Buffy library full stocked, I began the process of indoctrinating Nicole. Now, Nicole has always been a dork, so it wasn't that hard to get her started. It got a bit more difficult when Angel started, because then she had to go back and forth between the two, and suddenly her commitment to catching up doubled. But she was a trooper, and while I doubt she'd consider the show to be her favorite, she did enjoy it. It was also really cool for me to go back and watch it all with someone who'd never seen it before.
One of these days, when I have a job that pays more, I'll finally give in and buy the complete series box set. I think, perhaps, I should have a party then, as it would make a fitting bookend.
Maybe I'll invite Nicholas Brendon. I did rent him an apartment once.
So, in the interests of creating a Super Blog, I'm going to write about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I came a little late to the Buffy party. In fact, the first original airing of an episode that I watched was on December 8th, 1998 -- and before you think I'm a complete freak, I got that date from IMDB. I do remember the episode, though: "The Wish." It would be an odd episode for me to delve into the show, as it a) took place in an alternate reality and b) was written by a writer whose eventual ascension to show runner would mark a bleak period in Buffy's history.
But anyway...
I was in grad school in 1998. The band I was in at the time had made an ill fated attempt at a tour over our winter break and, once that was over, I was pretty much left with nothing to do. It should also be noted that I was in Ohio at this point, so wrap your brain around the idea of having nothing to do in December in Ohio. Suddenly, you realize that the Shining could have taken place there.
The fledgling WB network was showing a bunch of repeats of Buffy during this time, but they were pretty scattered. The local video store, however, had some videos that Fox Studios had released, featuring two episodes each of the first season of Buffy. I think I rented one of them before I went out and bought all three (which have since been replaced by DVDs). By the end of Ohio University's winter break, I was hooked. Actually, I was pretty obsessed.
Why was I obsessed? What was it about this show that sucked me in? At the beginning, I honestly don't know. I think it had to do with the fact that I was pretty lonely, and the show featured a group of friends, almost all of whom seemed like people I would like to hang out with. I could relate to Xander, the guy who always felt like he didn't really belong, even in that group, as he was the only one with no abilities. It probably helped that my first season of the show also happened to be the first season with Faith, but I'll save my Eliza Dushku digression for another time.
Later, I think the quality of the writing really got to me. While eventually I would begin to notice the patterns that the show would fall into, during those first few years it seemed like they were willing to try anything. There was a certain bravery to the storytelling that I didn't see in other shows. And, hell, I'm a sucker for the supernatural. So, yeah, it's easy to see why I became a bit neurotic about the show.
Sadly, for as much mocking as I took from my friends, they all ended up becoming enablers. Over the course of the next year and a half of grad school, "Buffy Nights" at the house I was living at grew larger and larger. For a misanthrope like myself, it offered me the added bonus of being able to socialize without having to go anywhere. Whereas I was once the guy who kept talking about his band all the time, I soon became the Buffy guy (who only stopped talking about his band because it broke up). And, of course, I became the Angel guy, too.
When I left Ohio, I took my Buffy obsession with me. The only friends I made in Atlanta that I didn't import in from Ohio were others who loved Buffy. Suddenly, a new Buffy night was born, this time in the South. At one point I even went so far as to leave my own apartment to watch the show, although it was just to walk across a parking lot to another apartment. I was also pretty active online and found myself wasting hours and hours of time reviewing, discussing, and debating the in's and out's of every episode.
Next, I moved to Los Angeles, and, as is befitting of Los Angeles, I started watching the final season of Buffy (and the penultimate season of Angel) by myself. The internet became my sole source of interaction when it came to Buffy. The upside, though, was that I was now living in the city where the show was made. I actually got to meet Joss Whedon, Amber Benson, and Michelle Trachtenberg at a signing for the Buffy musical CD. That wasn't something that would have happened in Ohio.
By this point, of course, the show was releasing its earlier seasons on DVD, so I was now stocking up on those. I also bought an Xbox specifically because it was the only system that had the Buffy video game. These are all things that would come in useful when I hosted my very last Buffy night, during the finale.
But Kyle, you're saying, you've said that you watched Buffy all alone in Los Angeles? Well, I did, except for the finale, when three people I had never met before in my entire life flew all the way to Los Angeles to watch Buffy with me. Could there be better icing on the cake of this story? I don't think so.
They were people I'd known for a while online. One of the bonuses of living in Los Angeles is that people are willing to come visit you for the most minor of reasons, because you actually live in an interesting city. So while these three, fine people were coming to watch the end of an era with me, there were some added bonuses. I don't know that they would have flown out to watch the finale with me if I were still living in Ohio.
Two years later, with my Buffy library full stocked, I began the process of indoctrinating Nicole. Now, Nicole has always been a dork, so it wasn't that hard to get her started. It got a bit more difficult when Angel started, because then she had to go back and forth between the two, and suddenly her commitment to catching up doubled. But she was a trooper, and while I doubt she'd consider the show to be her favorite, she did enjoy it. It was also really cool for me to go back and watch it all with someone who'd never seen it before.
One of these days, when I have a job that pays more, I'll finally give in and buy the complete series box set. I think, perhaps, I should have a party then, as it would make a fitting bookend.
Maybe I'll invite Nicholas Brendon. I did rent him an apartment once.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Kyle's Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (movie) Review
Spoilers, of course.
I really liked it. I also had a few issues with it, but the stuff that I liked overshadowed most of what I didn't.
But let me go backwards for a second.
I'm not a fan of the film version of "Order of the Phoenix." It felt...un-Harry Potter to me. Part of it was the opening scene. It didn't feel like something from the world of Harry Potter. It took place out in the open, during the day, in the modern world, and Dudley looked ridiculous as a wannabe gangsta. And, of course, all of what I just mentioned stood in contrast to how it played out in the book. While I don't care if films make changes, this one hit the wrong tone. In the book, it's night time and the park is deserted. It's HARRY who picks the fight with Dudley, and it's after Dudley's gang has left. That's a particularly important key, too -- that it's Harry who is the aggressor, at least initially. And, of course, it's key that it takes place at night. But none of that was in the opening scene of the movie, and I have absolutely no idea why.
So I was a little thrown off by the beginning of the movie, as I already didn't know what to expect from David Yates (or new screenwriter Michael Goldenberg), and that opening didn't thrill me. Soon, we were in the Ministry of Magic, which didn't look particularly magical, unless shiny black surfaces are supposed to be magical. Again, I don't expect scenes in the movies to look like they do in my head, but this was a great departure.
It would take a while for me to feel like I was back in the film world of Harry Potter in "Order of the Phoenix," so the movie never felt natural to me.
I felt completely submerged just seconds into "Half-Blood Prince."
The difference was unbelievable. While I felt the co-mingling of the real, Muggle world and the magical world was jarring in the last film, it felt totally natural in this one. Maybe it was the return of Steve Kloves as screenwriter. Maybe Yates just felt more comfortable this time around. Whatever it was, the site of Harry sitting at a small diner and flirting with a waitress didn't seem at odds to me with what I expect from a Harry Potter movie. This was a wholly new, non-magical moment, and it felt perfectly fine.
Oh, and the opening with the aftermath of the Dumbledore/Voldemort fight was great.
I am a 12 year old girl when it comes to Harry Potter, both the books and the films. If there's one thing I've loved most about the movies, it's how quickly they've pushed headlong into the Ron/Hermione relationship. I could watch an entire movie about that relationship, and I practically did when I saw this one. I thought it was handled perfectly.
That leads me to one of the strengths of the movie this time around: every scene seemed important. Kloves had to cut a lot out, but made good use of what he kept. He had all of one Quidditch scene in the film, yet it then led to Ron dating Lavender, which, of course, led to much teen angst. It's much more involved in the book (and does involve Quidditch), but Kloves managed to pair it all down and still keep the important bits. Ron and Lavender are together for much longer in the book, too, but Kloves makes good use of Ron's poisoning to end that relationship and set up more Ron and Hermione moments -- and, of course, do some back peddling later so as not to jump the gun. All very good stuff.
The Harry and Ginny bits were handled well, too, I though, although it got buried towards the end. Yes, the rather suggestive and awkward moment when she ties his shoe was, well, rather suggestive and awkward, but having her take him to hide the book was a nice way to get them together on a level that only they would appreciate. I thought Hermione relating to Harry that Ron was fine with the pairing was forced, though, particularly given when it was done. I think it was added at the last moment, when it should have waited until the next movie (or not at all -- Ron could just off handedly say he'd given them his blessing, but didn't have to like it).
I'm kind of shocked that people keep talking about how dark this movie is (which it is to a flaw as far as style is concerned -- the washed out looked started to grate on me after a while), as it's easily the funniest of all the HP movies. Yes, a lot of the humor was drug related (all three of the main characters acted like they were on drugs at various points in the movie), but I'm fine with that -- people are funny when they're on drugs. And, hey, Ron's poisoned when he drinks alcohol, so maybe there's a lesson there.
For perhaps the first time, an HP movie actually pointed out to me a flaw in an HP book. Rowling was always very careful in her books to include a stand alone plot, one that would be introduced and (relatively) resulted by the end of the book. She would then fill the continuing stories in around it. "The Half-Blood Prince" has easily the weakest of any of the stand alone plots in the series. It's also impossible to translate, as the entire point is to make Harry like a character he doesn't like (without knowing it). I've read complaints about how the whole Half-Blood Prince aspect of the movie is glossed over, but, honestly, it was probably annoying to include. It's ultimately unnecessary and I'm sure, had the book had a different title, would have been dropped completely.
In fact, the Half-Blood Prince angle becomes even more irrelevant considering how little they said about the prophecy in the last movie. It doesn't matter that Snape is the one who overheard Trelawny's prophecy, at least not in the movie, because that was never explained. The idea that Voldemort picked Harry to be his nemesis never comes up. And while that's a great storyline, I can understand why it didn't make the cut for a film.
As funny and as "squee" inducing as the movie was, I did have a few problems with it, although all but the last are minor.
I was not a fan of the "attack on the Burrow" scene. For one, I hate that Hollywood dictates that all scripts must be formulaic, and this scene felt like "we need an action beat here." I would have thought, that given all the money that's been made off of these films to date, they could branch out a bit and not stick to the Hollywood formula. A friend that I saw the movie with said he was glad it was there, because up until that point the movie was entirely about teen angst. And while I'm clearly biased, I do think his opinion was in the minority. I think most people were perfectly happy with the teen angst. Besides, I thought the scene with the necklace added some tension.
If the goal, however, was to show that the Death Eaters were scary, there were plenty of bits from the book that could have been used. The films have a long history of explaining things through newspaper articles, so a series of moments involving the deaths and kidnappings (which they showed in the very beginning) interspersed with newspaper clippings would have done a good job of explaining the situation.
Beyond that, I think my big problem with this scene is that it didn't do anything. It had no baring on the film at all. Even worse, all of the Weasleys just stand there as their house burns -- um, aren't you people freaking wizards? Didn't we just watch Dumbledore practically put a house back together in two minutes at the beginning of this movie? Why would the Burrow burn down with so many wizards there?
My biggest issue with the movie was -- as it is for many people -- the ending. As I said earlier, I have no misconceptions about scenes in the movie looking like the scenes in my head, and I'm fine with that. But Dumbledore's death didn't just look wrong, it played out wrong, simply on a character level.
Harry never reacts.
In the book, Dumbledore freezes Harry (using a spell that Malfoy had used at the beginning of the book, which they kept for the movie, in theory as foreshadowing), who is unable to do anything but watch what happens. This makes sense, as Harry has show himself to be a pretty impulsive guy (and rightfully so). In the movie version, not only does Harry just stay completely quiet, he does so a Snape's behest! That would be the same Snape that Harry has never, ever trusted. It is completely out of character for Harry. Even worse, the way it's staged in the film would make it impossible for the Death Eaters to get so far ahead of Harry after Snape kills Dumbledore, as opposed to in the book where Harry collapses on the ground after Dumbledore dies, and has to recover and go after them, running through pitched battles to try to follow Snape.
I was also rather disappointed to see how heavy handed Dumbledore's death scene was. I loved the fact that Snape just acts in the book -- he doesn't bemoan the situation, doesn't get all squishy faced, he just walks out, sizes up what's going on, and kills Dumbledore. It's pretty perfect.
Of course, there are no pitched battles for Harry to get past to try to catch up with Snape. Up until this point in the movie, they'd done a great job of inter cutting Malfoy's story with Harry's story, so I have to wonder why they couldn't have set up the arrival of the Death Eater's before Harry and Dumbledore returned. It certainly would have increased the tension.
The fact that no one is fighting the Death Eaters does raise this question: why do they run away? They've just infiltrated Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore. Why not just take the place over? In the book, they run away because they're fighting the Order of the Phoenix. One of them is killed. So, in the movie, why do they run? It doesn't really make any sense.
And, let's face facts, the battle at the end would have at least LOOKED cool.
I also thought it ended a bit abruptly. While I thought the scene with the students and faculty dispersing the dark mark in the sky was really touching, I never felt like Harry was really upset. The scene in the tower at the end just felt tacked on.
Does it bother me that there was no Bill and no Fleur? Nope. Does it bother me that there wasn't more Remus and Tonks? Nope. Do I wish they'd explained the Horcruxes (and their possible locations) a bit better for fear of getting expositional Hermione for a solid five minutes in the next movie? A little. But I'm fine with all of that. If I want all of that, I'll read the books -- which I did and which I do.
No, in the end I just felt like Dumbledore's death scene was out of character for Harry, and those are things that always bother me -- and the logical missteps (no, seriously, why did they run away?).
Still, this is my second favorite of the six movies, which says a lot, considering how worried I was after the last one.
I really liked it. I also had a few issues with it, but the stuff that I liked overshadowed most of what I didn't.
But let me go backwards for a second.
I'm not a fan of the film version of "Order of the Phoenix." It felt...un-Harry Potter to me. Part of it was the opening scene. It didn't feel like something from the world of Harry Potter. It took place out in the open, during the day, in the modern world, and Dudley looked ridiculous as a wannabe gangsta. And, of course, all of what I just mentioned stood in contrast to how it played out in the book. While I don't care if films make changes, this one hit the wrong tone. In the book, it's night time and the park is deserted. It's HARRY who picks the fight with Dudley, and it's after Dudley's gang has left. That's a particularly important key, too -- that it's Harry who is the aggressor, at least initially. And, of course, it's key that it takes place at night. But none of that was in the opening scene of the movie, and I have absolutely no idea why.
So I was a little thrown off by the beginning of the movie, as I already didn't know what to expect from David Yates (or new screenwriter Michael Goldenberg), and that opening didn't thrill me. Soon, we were in the Ministry of Magic, which didn't look particularly magical, unless shiny black surfaces are supposed to be magical. Again, I don't expect scenes in the movies to look like they do in my head, but this was a great departure.
It would take a while for me to feel like I was back in the film world of Harry Potter in "Order of the Phoenix," so the movie never felt natural to me.
I felt completely submerged just seconds into "Half-Blood Prince."
The difference was unbelievable. While I felt the co-mingling of the real, Muggle world and the magical world was jarring in the last film, it felt totally natural in this one. Maybe it was the return of Steve Kloves as screenwriter. Maybe Yates just felt more comfortable this time around. Whatever it was, the site of Harry sitting at a small diner and flirting with a waitress didn't seem at odds to me with what I expect from a Harry Potter movie. This was a wholly new, non-magical moment, and it felt perfectly fine.
Oh, and the opening with the aftermath of the Dumbledore/Voldemort fight was great.
I am a 12 year old girl when it comes to Harry Potter, both the books and the films. If there's one thing I've loved most about the movies, it's how quickly they've pushed headlong into the Ron/Hermione relationship. I could watch an entire movie about that relationship, and I practically did when I saw this one. I thought it was handled perfectly.
That leads me to one of the strengths of the movie this time around: every scene seemed important. Kloves had to cut a lot out, but made good use of what he kept. He had all of one Quidditch scene in the film, yet it then led to Ron dating Lavender, which, of course, led to much teen angst. It's much more involved in the book (and does involve Quidditch), but Kloves managed to pair it all down and still keep the important bits. Ron and Lavender are together for much longer in the book, too, but Kloves makes good use of Ron's poisoning to end that relationship and set up more Ron and Hermione moments -- and, of course, do some back peddling later so as not to jump the gun. All very good stuff.
The Harry and Ginny bits were handled well, too, I though, although it got buried towards the end. Yes, the rather suggestive and awkward moment when she ties his shoe was, well, rather suggestive and awkward, but having her take him to hide the book was a nice way to get them together on a level that only they would appreciate. I thought Hermione relating to Harry that Ron was fine with the pairing was forced, though, particularly given when it was done. I think it was added at the last moment, when it should have waited until the next movie (or not at all -- Ron could just off handedly say he'd given them his blessing, but didn't have to like it).
I'm kind of shocked that people keep talking about how dark this movie is (which it is to a flaw as far as style is concerned -- the washed out looked started to grate on me after a while), as it's easily the funniest of all the HP movies. Yes, a lot of the humor was drug related (all three of the main characters acted like they were on drugs at various points in the movie), but I'm fine with that -- people are funny when they're on drugs. And, hey, Ron's poisoned when he drinks alcohol, so maybe there's a lesson there.
For perhaps the first time, an HP movie actually pointed out to me a flaw in an HP book. Rowling was always very careful in her books to include a stand alone plot, one that would be introduced and (relatively) resulted by the end of the book. She would then fill the continuing stories in around it. "The Half-Blood Prince" has easily the weakest of any of the stand alone plots in the series. It's also impossible to translate, as the entire point is to make Harry like a character he doesn't like (without knowing it). I've read complaints about how the whole Half-Blood Prince aspect of the movie is glossed over, but, honestly, it was probably annoying to include. It's ultimately unnecessary and I'm sure, had the book had a different title, would have been dropped completely.
In fact, the Half-Blood Prince angle becomes even more irrelevant considering how little they said about the prophecy in the last movie. It doesn't matter that Snape is the one who overheard Trelawny's prophecy, at least not in the movie, because that was never explained. The idea that Voldemort picked Harry to be his nemesis never comes up. And while that's a great storyline, I can understand why it didn't make the cut for a film.
As funny and as "squee" inducing as the movie was, I did have a few problems with it, although all but the last are minor.
I was not a fan of the "attack on the Burrow" scene. For one, I hate that Hollywood dictates that all scripts must be formulaic, and this scene felt like "we need an action beat here." I would have thought, that given all the money that's been made off of these films to date, they could branch out a bit and not stick to the Hollywood formula. A friend that I saw the movie with said he was glad it was there, because up until that point the movie was entirely about teen angst. And while I'm clearly biased, I do think his opinion was in the minority. I think most people were perfectly happy with the teen angst. Besides, I thought the scene with the necklace added some tension.
If the goal, however, was to show that the Death Eaters were scary, there were plenty of bits from the book that could have been used. The films have a long history of explaining things through newspaper articles, so a series of moments involving the deaths and kidnappings (which they showed in the very beginning) interspersed with newspaper clippings would have done a good job of explaining the situation.
Beyond that, I think my big problem with this scene is that it didn't do anything. It had no baring on the film at all. Even worse, all of the Weasleys just stand there as their house burns -- um, aren't you people freaking wizards? Didn't we just watch Dumbledore practically put a house back together in two minutes at the beginning of this movie? Why would the Burrow burn down with so many wizards there?
My biggest issue with the movie was -- as it is for many people -- the ending. As I said earlier, I have no misconceptions about scenes in the movie looking like the scenes in my head, and I'm fine with that. But Dumbledore's death didn't just look wrong, it played out wrong, simply on a character level.
Harry never reacts.
In the book, Dumbledore freezes Harry (using a spell that Malfoy had used at the beginning of the book, which they kept for the movie, in theory as foreshadowing), who is unable to do anything but watch what happens. This makes sense, as Harry has show himself to be a pretty impulsive guy (and rightfully so). In the movie version, not only does Harry just stay completely quiet, he does so a Snape's behest! That would be the same Snape that Harry has never, ever trusted. It is completely out of character for Harry. Even worse, the way it's staged in the film would make it impossible for the Death Eaters to get so far ahead of Harry after Snape kills Dumbledore, as opposed to in the book where Harry collapses on the ground after Dumbledore dies, and has to recover and go after them, running through pitched battles to try to follow Snape.
I was also rather disappointed to see how heavy handed Dumbledore's death scene was. I loved the fact that Snape just acts in the book -- he doesn't bemoan the situation, doesn't get all squishy faced, he just walks out, sizes up what's going on, and kills Dumbledore. It's pretty perfect.
Of course, there are no pitched battles for Harry to get past to try to catch up with Snape. Up until this point in the movie, they'd done a great job of inter cutting Malfoy's story with Harry's story, so I have to wonder why they couldn't have set up the arrival of the Death Eater's before Harry and Dumbledore returned. It certainly would have increased the tension.
The fact that no one is fighting the Death Eaters does raise this question: why do they run away? They've just infiltrated Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore. Why not just take the place over? In the book, they run away because they're fighting the Order of the Phoenix. One of them is killed. So, in the movie, why do they run? It doesn't really make any sense.
And, let's face facts, the battle at the end would have at least LOOKED cool.
I also thought it ended a bit abruptly. While I thought the scene with the students and faculty dispersing the dark mark in the sky was really touching, I never felt like Harry was really upset. The scene in the tower at the end just felt tacked on.
Does it bother me that there was no Bill and no Fleur? Nope. Does it bother me that there wasn't more Remus and Tonks? Nope. Do I wish they'd explained the Horcruxes (and their possible locations) a bit better for fear of getting expositional Hermione for a solid five minutes in the next movie? A little. But I'm fine with all of that. If I want all of that, I'll read the books -- which I did and which I do.
No, in the end I just felt like Dumbledore's death scene was out of character for Harry, and those are things that always bother me -- and the logical missteps (no, seriously, why did they run away?).
Still, this is my second favorite of the six movies, which says a lot, considering how worried I was after the last one.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Insert Title of Song About Los Angeles Here
So evidently there's a downtown Los Angeles now. I know. Who know? I always thought the phrase "downtown Los Angeles" was an oxymoron.
But, no, there it is, with people and everything. It's where I work now, at least part time, until I run out of funds and need to beg for full time work. Three days a week (the next three, to be exact), I get in my Matrix and drive from West Hollywood to downtown L.A. I commute now, which is something I've never really done before. I mean, I've never worked from home, but in Los Angeles, driving local streets for ten minutes does not a commute make. There must be highways and gridlock for a commute to be real.
Discovering this new section of the city (I'm not joking, either -- I can count on one hand the number of times I'd been downtown before I started this job) has gotten me thinking about Los Angeles. I've lived here for just over 7 years now, which ranks it 11 years behind Kent, Ohio, for places I've lived in order of length. The previous high had been 5 years, held by Athens, Ohio, home of the fightin' Bobcats of Ohio University.
People always ask me if I like living in Los Angeles, and I do. I like being in a big city. I might be something of a misanthrope, but I like having the option of doing things. I like knowing that all of my favorite bands will play somewhere in this city at some point. I like knowing that even the most obscure indie movie will at some theater. And god knows I like the weather, because I absolutely abhor the cold. Sure, I'd like to see it rain more than once every three months, but I'll give that up to avoid three to five months of solid grey.
If I'm really honest, the biggest thing that Los Angeles has going for it is the fact that it's in California (which, granted, isn't what it used to be, but I'm sure it will get better once we legalize marijuana and let everyone have equal rights). Nicole and I got married up in the Bay area on perhaps the most perfect of days, with perfect weather. Back when we both had jobs, we'd take periodic trips to Palm Springs for a little R&R and it wouldn't even cut into our work weeks. We can actually drive to Las Vegas if want. Flying to Vegas or San Francisco requires more time waiting for the plane than it does sitting on the plane. I've been told there are even mountains around here some place.
Sure, the smog is disturbing, and I'd be lying if there weren't times, during fire season, that this city doesn't take on a post-apocalyptic glow, but I actually like that.
There are just as many reasons to hate this city. The commute I mentioned above wouldn't be quite so bad if the people in this city had any idea how to drive, and keep in mind that I lived in Atlanta for two years, so I know bad driving when I see it. There's a deep sense of entitlement that runs through many sections of this city, just as there's a deep anti-establishment feeling that, upon scrutiny, is entirely for show. I would say that's one of the number one complaints about this city, the fact that it's so shallow, and there's no denying that things like art, intellect, talent, etc. -- it all becomes a product here. That might not be so different than anywhere else in our country, but it seems to be spotlighted more here, probably because we broadcast everything. We did give the world such luminaries as Paris Hilton, Ryan Seacrest, and E! Entertainment television. TMZ does stand for Thirty Mile Zone, after all, and where do you think that thirty mile zone is, Cleveland?
But those are the people and things that get all the headlines. It's not a reflection of the city, or at least shouldn't be. When I first moved here, I lived in Little Armenia, just up from Koreatown, just down from Thai Town. We currently live around the corner from an area I once heard called the "Borscht Belt," from an old Jewish man who seemed to know what he was talking about. And what is there to say about West Hollywood? Most of the businesses around here decorate in rainbow colors.
There are worse places to hang your hat.
If there are two problems, two REAL problems with the City of Angels, they are these:
1) It's too expensive and chaotic to raise a family here, unless you absolutely have to. Being a newlywed, this is the kind of thing I think about a lot. Nicole and I both know we're going to have to move outside the city when we start a family, not just because L.A. Unified schools get less and less money every year, but because we simply could never afford a place big enough to house ourselves, our stuff, our cats, and kids. We're kind of on a three year plan in that regard.
2) I'm on the other side of the country. I might have spent 7 years in Los Angeles, but the 26 that preceded those were all spent on East Coast time. Nicole and I got married out here because she has a big family and I don't have a whole lot of family or friends. But 99% of them lives on the other side of the mighty Mississippi, and that can make things hard from time to time. I miss a lot of things -- I miss a lot of people -- because I'm so far away. And while I'm generally a stubbornly independent person (see: misanthrope above), there are times I wish I could see certain people. I find that this will probably be a stronger feeling as I get older and once Nicole and I have kids. But, hey, on the flip side, I'm just as far away from Hawaii.
I've noticed, recently, that people online are beginning to copycat a true original: the "Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video." So far I've seen them for Detroit and Oakland. Neither of them are as funny as the Cleveland one (or its sequel, which actually might be better). Adult Swim went a step further and, inspired by the flags that individual sections of Tokyo have, created "New U.S. City Flags." There's one for Cleveland, Los Angeles, AND Atlanta, the three cities nearest and dearest to my heart. You can check them out here.
The Cleveland flag reads "At least it's not Baltimore." The "Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video : 2nd Attempt" features the catch phrase "We're Not Detroit."
In that spirit, I would suggest the following for my second hometown: "Los Angeles: Not As Bad As You Think."
I will now go and sit by the pool.
(That's a lie, actually, as a) it's 11:13 at night and b) the pool on the roof of my apartment building is being resealed. But, you know, I have a pool on the roof of my apartment building, so I don't think I can really complain.)
But, no, there it is, with people and everything. It's where I work now, at least part time, until I run out of funds and need to beg for full time work. Three days a week (the next three, to be exact), I get in my Matrix and drive from West Hollywood to downtown L.A. I commute now, which is something I've never really done before. I mean, I've never worked from home, but in Los Angeles, driving local streets for ten minutes does not a commute make. There must be highways and gridlock for a commute to be real.
Discovering this new section of the city (I'm not joking, either -- I can count on one hand the number of times I'd been downtown before I started this job) has gotten me thinking about Los Angeles. I've lived here for just over 7 years now, which ranks it 11 years behind Kent, Ohio, for places I've lived in order of length. The previous high had been 5 years, held by Athens, Ohio, home of the fightin' Bobcats of Ohio University.
People always ask me if I like living in Los Angeles, and I do. I like being in a big city. I might be something of a misanthrope, but I like having the option of doing things. I like knowing that all of my favorite bands will play somewhere in this city at some point. I like knowing that even the most obscure indie movie will at some theater. And god knows I like the weather, because I absolutely abhor the cold. Sure, I'd like to see it rain more than once every three months, but I'll give that up to avoid three to five months of solid grey.
If I'm really honest, the biggest thing that Los Angeles has going for it is the fact that it's in California (which, granted, isn't what it used to be, but I'm sure it will get better once we legalize marijuana and let everyone have equal rights). Nicole and I got married up in the Bay area on perhaps the most perfect of days, with perfect weather. Back when we both had jobs, we'd take periodic trips to Palm Springs for a little R&R and it wouldn't even cut into our work weeks. We can actually drive to Las Vegas if want. Flying to Vegas or San Francisco requires more time waiting for the plane than it does sitting on the plane. I've been told there are even mountains around here some place.
Sure, the smog is disturbing, and I'd be lying if there weren't times, during fire season, that this city doesn't take on a post-apocalyptic glow, but I actually like that.
There are just as many reasons to hate this city. The commute I mentioned above wouldn't be quite so bad if the people in this city had any idea how to drive, and keep in mind that I lived in Atlanta for two years, so I know bad driving when I see it. There's a deep sense of entitlement that runs through many sections of this city, just as there's a deep anti-establishment feeling that, upon scrutiny, is entirely for show. I would say that's one of the number one complaints about this city, the fact that it's so shallow, and there's no denying that things like art, intellect, talent, etc. -- it all becomes a product here. That might not be so different than anywhere else in our country, but it seems to be spotlighted more here, probably because we broadcast everything. We did give the world such luminaries as Paris Hilton, Ryan Seacrest, and E! Entertainment television. TMZ does stand for Thirty Mile Zone, after all, and where do you think that thirty mile zone is, Cleveland?
But those are the people and things that get all the headlines. It's not a reflection of the city, or at least shouldn't be. When I first moved here, I lived in Little Armenia, just up from Koreatown, just down from Thai Town. We currently live around the corner from an area I once heard called the "Borscht Belt," from an old Jewish man who seemed to know what he was talking about. And what is there to say about West Hollywood? Most of the businesses around here decorate in rainbow colors.
There are worse places to hang your hat.
If there are two problems, two REAL problems with the City of Angels, they are these:
1) It's too expensive and chaotic to raise a family here, unless you absolutely have to. Being a newlywed, this is the kind of thing I think about a lot. Nicole and I both know we're going to have to move outside the city when we start a family, not just because L.A. Unified schools get less and less money every year, but because we simply could never afford a place big enough to house ourselves, our stuff, our cats, and kids. We're kind of on a three year plan in that regard.
2) I'm on the other side of the country. I might have spent 7 years in Los Angeles, but the 26 that preceded those were all spent on East Coast time. Nicole and I got married out here because she has a big family and I don't have a whole lot of family or friends. But 99% of them lives on the other side of the mighty Mississippi, and that can make things hard from time to time. I miss a lot of things -- I miss a lot of people -- because I'm so far away. And while I'm generally a stubbornly independent person (see: misanthrope above), there are times I wish I could see certain people. I find that this will probably be a stronger feeling as I get older and once Nicole and I have kids. But, hey, on the flip side, I'm just as far away from Hawaii.
I've noticed, recently, that people online are beginning to copycat a true original: the "Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video." So far I've seen them for Detroit and Oakland. Neither of them are as funny as the Cleveland one (or its sequel, which actually might be better). Adult Swim went a step further and, inspired by the flags that individual sections of Tokyo have, created "New U.S. City Flags." There's one for Cleveland, Los Angeles, AND Atlanta, the three cities nearest and dearest to my heart. You can check them out here.
The Cleveland flag reads "At least it's not Baltimore." The "Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video : 2nd Attempt" features the catch phrase "We're Not Detroit."
In that spirit, I would suggest the following for my second hometown: "Los Angeles: Not As Bad As You Think."
I will now go and sit by the pool.
(That's a lie, actually, as a) it's 11:13 at night and b) the pool on the roof of my apartment building is being resealed. But, you know, I have a pool on the roof of my apartment building, so I don't think I can really complain.)
Friday, July 10, 2009
Kyle's Pearl Jam Odyssey, Part 2
My tools of nostalgia come in two forms: comic books and music.
This isn't to say that I can't be transported to the past by other things, like a particular movie or a toy or a cartoon. Those things work on me, just like they work on everyone else. But I have such a ridiculous memory that nostalgia is never ending for me and, thus, it's main components in my life revolve around things that I still enjoy. I don't still watch cartoons (not on a regular basis, anyway). I don't buy GI Joe's every Christmas with the money my grandparents sent me. The nostalgia that such things offers me ends at a certain point in my life. That isn't true for comic books and music.
Interestingly enough, my awareness of both came right around the same time. I bought my first comic in 1985, although I had read the three issues of the Gold Key Star Trek series that my brother owned before then. The first full album that I remember wearing out was R.E.M.'s "Lifes Rich Pageant," which came out in 1986, although the first album I ever bought was, appropriately enough, Michael Jackson's "Thriller," but, to be fair, I probably listened to three songs from that album over and over again before quickly becoming bored with it.
A side note, of course: I discovered R.E.M. through "Lifes Rich Pageant," and I only discovered that album because my brother played me "Superman," because he knew I'd recently started reading comic books. I then devoured the rest of that album and could probably name every song, in order, and say which side of the tape it was on (that would be the "Dinner" side or the "Supper" side).
The fact that I still read comics and I'm still crazy for music means that I still have a running dialogue of my life. I have mixes that date back, in general, to the 80's, and specifically starting with 1990 (my "Best of 1990" mix is the first in a continuing series).
What does all of this have to do with Pearl Jam?
Well, my normal level of nostalgia is higher than most. But when I have a big, life changing event either hitting me or coming towards me, I start to get really nostalgic. A little less than a year ago, I was going through some massive life changes, so I decided to look back into my past. And there was Pearl Jam, like some poor, forgotten dog, waiting by the road for me to return.
I went out and got everything they'd done since I'd last listened to them. I knew that I was no longer that angry, angsty twentysomething that had abandoned them all those years ago. I was curious, though, to see if the band that I had last listened to when they were in a state of flux, had settled down, settled in, much the way I had.
I decided to take it two albums at a time.
First up, was the previously maligned "No Code."
It was pretty obvious to me when I listened to "No Code" of why I had been so turned off of it way back when. The Neil Young influence that concerned me all those years ago can really be felt throughout this album. No offense to Neil Young, but he's not really my thing. The album is incredibly uneven, too, as if Pearl Jam were determined to push off the 90's alt. rock label that had been stuck on them, but weren't exactly sure how to do that. More so than "Vitalogy," even, this was an album about transition.
There are also some gems on the album, but gems I would never have appreciated back in 1996. I'm rather found of (the unfortunately titled) "Smile," but punk rock Kyle would never have admitted as much. But "Hail, Hail" is the only track that really rocks it out without getting cheesy in parts. Still, I felt like I'd missed a pretty pivotal moment in the band's evolution or, perhaps more importantly, I missed the fact that they were evolving, that maybe they were turning into something as good as what came before.
"Yield" is a pretty good argument that Pearl Jam rules.
There is exactly one song on "Yield" that I don't enjoy ("Pilate," for those who wonder). Sure, "Brain of J." is similar to some of their older rockers, but it's just so damn catchy. The chorus to "Given to Fly" is perhaps the most dynamic thing they've recorded since "Corduroy." I'd actually been a fan of "Do the Evolution" for some time before this -- it was basically the only Pearl Jam song I knew that wasn't off of the first three albums. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my favorite song, "MFC," which is just complete gold.
While I was still on the fence after "No Code," "Yield" had sold me on Pearl Jam. I could actually say that I was a fan again. And I still had three albums yet to hear, not including bootlegs and rarities collections!
And evidently they were going to re-issue (and remix) "Ten"...
This isn't to say that I can't be transported to the past by other things, like a particular movie or a toy or a cartoon. Those things work on me, just like they work on everyone else. But I have such a ridiculous memory that nostalgia is never ending for me and, thus, it's main components in my life revolve around things that I still enjoy. I don't still watch cartoons (not on a regular basis, anyway). I don't buy GI Joe's every Christmas with the money my grandparents sent me. The nostalgia that such things offers me ends at a certain point in my life. That isn't true for comic books and music.
Interestingly enough, my awareness of both came right around the same time. I bought my first comic in 1985, although I had read the three issues of the Gold Key Star Trek series that my brother owned before then. The first full album that I remember wearing out was R.E.M.'s "Lifes Rich Pageant," which came out in 1986, although the first album I ever bought was, appropriately enough, Michael Jackson's "Thriller," but, to be fair, I probably listened to three songs from that album over and over again before quickly becoming bored with it.
A side note, of course: I discovered R.E.M. through "Lifes Rich Pageant," and I only discovered that album because my brother played me "Superman," because he knew I'd recently started reading comic books. I then devoured the rest of that album and could probably name every song, in order, and say which side of the tape it was on (that would be the "Dinner" side or the "Supper" side).
The fact that I still read comics and I'm still crazy for music means that I still have a running dialogue of my life. I have mixes that date back, in general, to the 80's, and specifically starting with 1990 (my "Best of 1990" mix is the first in a continuing series).
What does all of this have to do with Pearl Jam?
Well, my normal level of nostalgia is higher than most. But when I have a big, life changing event either hitting me or coming towards me, I start to get really nostalgic. A little less than a year ago, I was going through some massive life changes, so I decided to look back into my past. And there was Pearl Jam, like some poor, forgotten dog, waiting by the road for me to return.
I went out and got everything they'd done since I'd last listened to them. I knew that I was no longer that angry, angsty twentysomething that had abandoned them all those years ago. I was curious, though, to see if the band that I had last listened to when they were in a state of flux, had settled down, settled in, much the way I had.
I decided to take it two albums at a time.
First up, was the previously maligned "No Code."
It was pretty obvious to me when I listened to "No Code" of why I had been so turned off of it way back when. The Neil Young influence that concerned me all those years ago can really be felt throughout this album. No offense to Neil Young, but he's not really my thing. The album is incredibly uneven, too, as if Pearl Jam were determined to push off the 90's alt. rock label that had been stuck on them, but weren't exactly sure how to do that. More so than "Vitalogy," even, this was an album about transition.
There are also some gems on the album, but gems I would never have appreciated back in 1996. I'm rather found of (the unfortunately titled) "Smile," but punk rock Kyle would never have admitted as much. But "Hail, Hail" is the only track that really rocks it out without getting cheesy in parts. Still, I felt like I'd missed a pretty pivotal moment in the band's evolution or, perhaps more importantly, I missed the fact that they were evolving, that maybe they were turning into something as good as what came before.
"Yield" is a pretty good argument that Pearl Jam rules.
There is exactly one song on "Yield" that I don't enjoy ("Pilate," for those who wonder). Sure, "Brain of J." is similar to some of their older rockers, but it's just so damn catchy. The chorus to "Given to Fly" is perhaps the most dynamic thing they've recorded since "Corduroy." I'd actually been a fan of "Do the Evolution" for some time before this -- it was basically the only Pearl Jam song I knew that wasn't off of the first three albums. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my favorite song, "MFC," which is just complete gold.
While I was still on the fence after "No Code," "Yield" had sold me on Pearl Jam. I could actually say that I was a fan again. And I still had three albums yet to hear, not including bootlegs and rarities collections!
And evidently they were going to re-issue (and remix) "Ten"...
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Kyle's Pearl Jam Odyssey, Part 1
And yet, it was Nirvana that got me into grunge.
My senior year of high school, our school newspaper, "The Colonel," (for which I was a writer) maintained a long standing tradition of allowing seniors to leave things to underclassmen -- a will, of sorts, which is kind of creepy, if you really think about it. But, of course, it was also one of the most anticipated issues of the year, as everyone wanted to read the inside jokes they're older friends had left for them.
Aside from a bunch of strange things (honestly, I would KILL to have that issue in front of me right now, but I've been drinking) I left in my pseudo-will (like "17 out the window," which I left to my friend Tony, a reference to me throwing all of his cigarettes out a car window), I ended my entry with something along the lines of "Eddie, my life." See, I was leaving Eddie Vedder my life, because, at the time, I felt that he (and his band) had saved mine.
Now, to clarify, I should mention that I've never been suicidal, so Pearl Jam's music (and Vedder's lyrics) didn't literally save my life. But they had a huge impact on me. I was (and still am) a fairly neurotic person. There are genetic, environmental, and chemical reasons for this. And while Pearl Jam might have brought out a lot of the bad parts of my neurosis (the obsessive parts), they also gave me comfort. There was emotion to their music, and much of that emotion matched mine. No, my mom never remarried and waited until my real father was dying before telling me that my step-dad wasn't my real dad. No, I was never institutionalized and scratched letters into the walls of my cell. And no, I never spoke in class today. But the alienation, the angst -- that feeling that you FELT things to an extent that made it impossible for you to co-exist in this world -- I knew that feeling only too well. And the fact that Pearl Jam made music about that made me feel less alone.
And, really, is there anything we want more, as teenagers, than to feel less alone?
I owned "Ten" on tape. To this day, I can't listen to any of it without thinking about driving around Kent, Ohio and it's surrounding areas in my '72 Ford Pinto (you heard me) and blasting it out of the one speaker in the dashboard. At the end of every weekend night, I would drive home alone and listen to "Black" because I was a teenage boy who wanted to be in love, and never was.
I was the lead singer in a band in high school -- yes, the lead singer. We were called oral groove (yes, we neglected to capitalize it, e.e. cummings style). If you were at my wedding a few months ago, you would have run into three of the four other members of that band, that's how big of an influence being in oral groove had on my life. We covered "Porch." And we actually did a decent job of it, to be perfectly honest.
I joined the Ten Club and got a holiday 7" in the mail. I think I still have it, actually.
I bought "Vs." on vinyl because it was released a week before the tape and CD versions and because I owned a record player. I also bought the tape and got one of the ones that was labeled "Five Against One" instead of "Vs." I did a lip sync rendition of "Animal" in my drama class for extra credit. My good friend Rob (guitarist in oral groove) and I reviewed the album for the aforementioned high school newspaper. I was thrilled by the production values, as it sounded more raw than "Ten," although I doubt I was really able to articulate as such back then.
It was around that time that "Vs." came out that I started getting into the bootleg aspect of being obsessed with a band. My very first bootleg tape for Pearl Jam was called "Small Club" and it was pretty amazing. There was a song on there that they never released and I remember playing it for my friend Jeremy (drummer in oral groove) in my dad's van and saying I was playing it specifically for him because I knew he'd never heard it before. I failed to realize that the song was about date rape or, at least, that by dedicating it to Jeremy I was implying something about his social activities. I knew it was about date rape, I just thought that he'd be the one most interested in hearing a new Pearl Jam song, as I think most of my friends, at that point, had grown a bit weary of my obsession.
Christmas of my senior year, I finally got a CD player. The first CD I ever bought was the single for "Go" which featured the unreleased track "Alone," which is still one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs.
The summer before I left for college, I bought a bootleg CD that featured a bunch of live songs that would end up on Pearl Jam's third album. It was something like $40, but I couldn't help myself. I put it on a credit card that was also in my parent's name, but I was already away at school by the time they got the bill, so they were only able to bitch me out over the phone instead of in person.
I was in a friend's dorm room, smoking pot, when I heard the first single from "Vitalogy," "Spin the Black Circle." I called my own room and sang the chorus into my voicemail so that I wouldn't forget it. When the single was finally released, I borrowed a friend's car to drive to a mall just so I could get that two song CD -- even though both songs would end up on the album.
Again, I bought the vinyl version first because it was released two weeks before the other formats. I loved it from the start. It was crazy and weird and I'm sure at one point I probably decided that I was either "Nothingman" or "Tremor Christ"("Tremor Christ" ultimately being the better song). It wasn't an easy album, by any means. But it was a great one, and I listened to it constantly.
A funny thing happened over the course of those three Pearl Jam albums, though. And it was, in large part, because of them that I would eventually drift away. I had read a lot of articles about Pearl Jam -- I'd even recorded every single minute of their pirate radio broadcast. And in that time I began to investigate a lot of the bands they would refer to on a regular basis. One of those band was called Fugazi.
Suddenly, I had discovered punk rock. My world would become very different because of this.
Dutifully, long the hardcore Pearl Jam fan I was, I bought the first single off of "No Code," which was "Who You Are." For angry, bitter punk rock guy (which I now was), "Who You Are" did not sit well with me -- it did not sit well with me at all.
And thus would begin a very long period of estrangement between myself and the band that had, just a year earlier, meant everything to me...
My senior year of high school, our school newspaper, "The Colonel," (for which I was a writer) maintained a long standing tradition of allowing seniors to leave things to underclassmen -- a will, of sorts, which is kind of creepy, if you really think about it. But, of course, it was also one of the most anticipated issues of the year, as everyone wanted to read the inside jokes they're older friends had left for them.
Aside from a bunch of strange things (honestly, I would KILL to have that issue in front of me right now, but I've been drinking) I left in my pseudo-will (like "17 out the window," which I left to my friend Tony, a reference to me throwing all of his cigarettes out a car window), I ended my entry with something along the lines of "Eddie, my life." See, I was leaving Eddie Vedder my life, because, at the time, I felt that he (and his band) had saved mine.
Now, to clarify, I should mention that I've never been suicidal, so Pearl Jam's music (and Vedder's lyrics) didn't literally save my life. But they had a huge impact on me. I was (and still am) a fairly neurotic person. There are genetic, environmental, and chemical reasons for this. And while Pearl Jam might have brought out a lot of the bad parts of my neurosis (the obsessive parts), they also gave me comfort. There was emotion to their music, and much of that emotion matched mine. No, my mom never remarried and waited until my real father was dying before telling me that my step-dad wasn't my real dad. No, I was never institutionalized and scratched letters into the walls of my cell. And no, I never spoke in class today. But the alienation, the angst -- that feeling that you FELT things to an extent that made it impossible for you to co-exist in this world -- I knew that feeling only too well. And the fact that Pearl Jam made music about that made me feel less alone.
And, really, is there anything we want more, as teenagers, than to feel less alone?
I owned "Ten" on tape. To this day, I can't listen to any of it without thinking about driving around Kent, Ohio and it's surrounding areas in my '72 Ford Pinto (you heard me) and blasting it out of the one speaker in the dashboard. At the end of every weekend night, I would drive home alone and listen to "Black" because I was a teenage boy who wanted to be in love, and never was.
I was the lead singer in a band in high school -- yes, the lead singer. We were called oral groove (yes, we neglected to capitalize it, e.e. cummings style). If you were at my wedding a few months ago, you would have run into three of the four other members of that band, that's how big of an influence being in oral groove had on my life. We covered "Porch." And we actually did a decent job of it, to be perfectly honest.
I joined the Ten Club and got a holiday 7" in the mail. I think I still have it, actually.
I bought "Vs." on vinyl because it was released a week before the tape and CD versions and because I owned a record player. I also bought the tape and got one of the ones that was labeled "Five Against One" instead of "Vs." I did a lip sync rendition of "Animal" in my drama class for extra credit. My good friend Rob (guitarist in oral groove) and I reviewed the album for the aforementioned high school newspaper. I was thrilled by the production values, as it sounded more raw than "Ten," although I doubt I was really able to articulate as such back then.
It was around that time that "Vs." came out that I started getting into the bootleg aspect of being obsessed with a band. My very first bootleg tape for Pearl Jam was called "Small Club" and it was pretty amazing. There was a song on there that they never released and I remember playing it for my friend Jeremy (drummer in oral groove) in my dad's van and saying I was playing it specifically for him because I knew he'd never heard it before. I failed to realize that the song was about date rape or, at least, that by dedicating it to Jeremy I was implying something about his social activities. I knew it was about date rape, I just thought that he'd be the one most interested in hearing a new Pearl Jam song, as I think most of my friends, at that point, had grown a bit weary of my obsession.
Christmas of my senior year, I finally got a CD player. The first CD I ever bought was the single for "Go" which featured the unreleased track "Alone," which is still one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs.
The summer before I left for college, I bought a bootleg CD that featured a bunch of live songs that would end up on Pearl Jam's third album. It was something like $40, but I couldn't help myself. I put it on a credit card that was also in my parent's name, but I was already away at school by the time they got the bill, so they were only able to bitch me out over the phone instead of in person.
I was in a friend's dorm room, smoking pot, when I heard the first single from "Vitalogy," "Spin the Black Circle." I called my own room and sang the chorus into my voicemail so that I wouldn't forget it. When the single was finally released, I borrowed a friend's car to drive to a mall just so I could get that two song CD -- even though both songs would end up on the album.
Again, I bought the vinyl version first because it was released two weeks before the other formats. I loved it from the start. It was crazy and weird and I'm sure at one point I probably decided that I was either "Nothingman" or "Tremor Christ"("Tremor Christ" ultimately being the better song). It wasn't an easy album, by any means. But it was a great one, and I listened to it constantly.
A funny thing happened over the course of those three Pearl Jam albums, though. And it was, in large part, because of them that I would eventually drift away. I had read a lot of articles about Pearl Jam -- I'd even recorded every single minute of their pirate radio broadcast. And in that time I began to investigate a lot of the bands they would refer to on a regular basis. One of those band was called Fugazi.
Suddenly, I had discovered punk rock. My world would become very different because of this.
Dutifully, long the hardcore Pearl Jam fan I was, I bought the first single off of "No Code," which was "Who You Are." For angry, bitter punk rock guy (which I now was), "Who You Are" did not sit well with me -- it did not sit well with me at all.
And thus would begin a very long period of estrangement between myself and the band that had, just a year earlier, meant everything to me...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Zombie Blog
I am a fan of the supernatural. In fact, I pretty much believe anything and everything, mostly going on the idea that I have not seen and done everything in my life, so I have no reason to believe I can say, with 100% certainty, that something doesn't exist, particularly since humans have a limited range of senses. I am somewhat pragmatic about it, though; I don't believe a unicorn is going to show up and grant my wishes.
Anyway, of all the monsters and fiends in the Halloween pantheon, I probably come down in favor of zombies. I think it's their versatility that I like so much. You can go a number of different routes when it comes to the walking dead, from comedy to horror. I also like the fact that zombies are creepy, something which most modern day horror movies tend to gloss over completely. Creepy is something aspire to -- slasher flicks are not, and have never been, creepy, which is why they are boring and stupid.
Nicole is currently reading "World War Z," a book I very much enjoyed even if it did make me insanely jealous (although I got about two pages in before accepting the fact that I would never, ever have been able to write such a thing).
So, the other night, Nicole and I got to talking about zombies (do any of you wonder why I married this woman?) and I aired a few of my grievances on the matter. Now, gentle reader, I will share those with you.
See, when the main character is rescued in "28 Days Later," one of his rescuers tells him that the outbreak started in England, and soon spread to New York. We have seen, however, that symptoms of infection happen almost immediately. So, how did this disease get to America? England's an island, for god's sake!
This, of course, led us to do re-enactments of the infected boarding airplanes. "Excuse me, sir, would like some peanuts?" "Gaaarraaah!" And then he vomits blood.
Good movie, though. The sequel was crap, because the same flaws were blown up really big (unless the infected know how to operate pass keys). Also, never put children in zombie movies. They ruin them every time.
Anyway, of all the monsters and fiends in the Halloween pantheon, I probably come down in favor of zombies. I think it's their versatility that I like so much. You can go a number of different routes when it comes to the walking dead, from comedy to horror. I also like the fact that zombies are creepy, something which most modern day horror movies tend to gloss over completely. Creepy is something aspire to -- slasher flicks are not, and have never been, creepy, which is why they are boring and stupid.
Nicole is currently reading "World War Z," a book I very much enjoyed even if it did make me insanely jealous (although I got about two pages in before accepting the fact that I would never, ever have been able to write such a thing).
So, the other night, Nicole and I got to talking about zombies (do any of you wonder why I married this woman?) and I aired a few of my grievances on the matter. Now, gentle reader, I will share those with you.
- I don't want to know why they exist. The greatness, to me, of zombies is that there IS no explanation. Hell, Romero himself just gave one in passing and, honestly, I thought it was the worst part of "Night of the Living Dead." If the dead are rising from the grave, the last thing you have time to do is ponder their origins.
- I absolutely hate the idea that zombies are some kind of disease, and that they multiply by biting people and turning them into zombies. I hate it. I want my zombies to be the dead rising from the grave, not rabid dogs. If I commit suicide rather than face down the zombie apocalypse, I should then come back as a zombie. The whole "it bit me and now I'll become one" thing doesn't even hold true to the basic premise, considering that (and I'm just guessing here) all those bodies coming out of the ground? Probably haven't been bitten by anything. No, they're zombies because they're dead.
- If the "Dawn of the Dead" remake had one, great contribution to the zombie mythology, it's the idea that zombies are not inherently slow. Sure, some of them should be as slow as molasses. But if the idea is that you become a zombie as soon as you die, then you would turn before rigamortis sets in, in which case you should be able to run around just like you did before you died. It is understandable, though, that old corpses should not only be very slow, but pretty easy to knock down.
- Zombies are simply carnivores. The idea that zombies want brains (and, now that I think about that, where did that come from? I don't remember that coming from anything Romero did) is a bit on the nutty side. Why are they eating people when they're already dead and don't need sustenance? Well, that's working under the assumption that they're just dead, when, in reality, they clearly aren't. They are something else; they're the walking dead, the undead. They are re-animated corpses that have a different purpose than, say, a cadaver. I'm just as fine with them not having motivations for their actions as I am with not knowing how they came to be. In fact, I prefer it (and Bubba would like to point out that trying to determine any of this is a bad idea).
See, when the main character is rescued in "28 Days Later," one of his rescuers tells him that the outbreak started in England, and soon spread to New York. We have seen, however, that symptoms of infection happen almost immediately. So, how did this disease get to America? England's an island, for god's sake!
This, of course, led us to do re-enactments of the infected boarding airplanes. "Excuse me, sir, would like some peanuts?" "Gaaarraaah!" And then he vomits blood.
Good movie, though. The sequel was crap, because the same flaws were blown up really big (unless the infected know how to operate pass keys). Also, never put children in zombie movies. They ruin them every time.
Friday, July 3, 2009
The King Is Dead; Long Live the King
Obviously, the idea of pop culture and, more specifically, pop stardom has been on my mind as of late. I've also been thinking a lot lately about the cultural significance of Michael Jackson, but let me step aside for a second.
When talking about Michael Jackson, I have no choice but to divide his life into three, distinct phases. There's the first phase, when he was the cute kid who lead the Jackson5. There's the second phase, when he was the most dominant musical force of the 80's. And, sadly, there's the third phase, when he became the circus sideshow and possible predator that has caused the news of his death to carry so much baggage.
Again, you have to wonder what would have happened had Jackson disappeared in the early 90's.
Perhaps the single most important thing that Michael Jackson ever did was to break the pop music color barrier. For those who don't remember, non-white musicians were ostensibly treated as separate but equal on MTV before Jackson came along and MTV, at the time, was the cutting edge of the music world. Radio stations were just as bad. If you weren't white, it meant your music would only get played on R&B and soul stations. The idea of a black pop star was completely foreign and, to be honest, fought against for years and years.
Look at it this way: is Elvis really more appealing and/or less frightening than any of the musicians whose music he "covered" (I say that with tongue in cheek)? Of course not, particularly in an age before gangsta rap. Mainstream America was just afraid of black people, and more so black men than women.
So how did Michael Jackson break that barrier? Or, how did he manage to do it when so many other talented artists did not?
Well, Jackson was unique. Aside from his enormous talent, he had been introduced to the American consciousness as a cute little kid, about as non-threatening as anyone could imagine. He and his brothers sang catchy, rather insubstantial songs about love. There was hardly any edge to the Jackson 5 at all, save for their clinically insane father. Mainstream America could feel comfortable with the Jackson 5, which meant they felt comfortable with Michael Jackson.
When Jackson launched his solo career, he was given the benefit of the doubt, which is more than most black musicians were given at that time. He already had an image in place, one that appealed even to people who still harbored racist feelings. They felt like they knew him and, on top of that, they found him both completely non-threatening and, in many ways, completely non-sexual. He was a thin, small, asexual performer, and that made it easier for mainstream America to accept him.
Jackson was the exact right person at the exact right time to break that barrier. And he became a huge pop star as a result...
...not unlike a certain current Commander In Chief.
I'll refrain from my usual Barack Obama diatribe (I was a supporter from before he even announced he was running, so I'm very clearly biased), but he was also uniquely positioned to be the first non-white president of the United States.
On one hand, there's the specific time when Obama was elected. Never has there been a moment in this country's history when it was so ready to take a chance on something new. I felt bad for Hillary Clinton (to a certain extent), but I knew that Obama had to win NOW. Four years from now the country will have shifted again and people won't be quite so willing to change the paradigm. In that respect, Obama, like Jackson, has a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Then there's the fact that Obama's mother was white and he was raised by his white grandparents. I was always fascinated by that aspect of his story and how certain segments of the population grasped on to it, some literally claiming that it was okay to vote for him because he was "half-white." Entire sections of this country justified their vote because Obama wasn't from an entirely African family something that, to this day, blows my mind. But it was the simple fact that this justification existed for them that allowed them to cast their votes, and, in variably, helped Obama win.
The irony, of course, is that Obama didn't walk around with a sign that said "my mom is white" when he was growing up; he would have been discriminated against just the same.
Again, though, Obama was uniquely positioned to break that barrier, just as Jackson had been. And the hope, of course, is that a flood of talented, non-white people will be able to follow him, just as the case was for Jackson.
And I think that's why the world couldn't hold the two of them at once. The GOP may use it against him, but Obama IS a rock star. Even now, months after his election, I see bumper stickers, comic books, and posters with Obama on them. I wore my Obama t-shirt just the other day, and I see other people doing the same thing. Because that merchandise isn't just about one election, it's about an entire movement.
Michael Jackson changed both the culture of America and the pop culture of America, but eventually his moment passed. Obama has done much the same thing. Let's hope Obama's influence lasts as long and has the same impact.
Two years after Elvis died, Michael Jackson released his first solo album. Perhaps we can look at it as the first "King" passing along the torch to the next, and in some ways making amends for what he had done to earn that title. And just as the passing of that torch expanded our culture, the transition of the "King of Pop" to America's first rock star president will hopefully have an even greater impact, both on the U.S., and the world.
When talking about Michael Jackson, I have no choice but to divide his life into three, distinct phases. There's the first phase, when he was the cute kid who lead the Jackson5. There's the second phase, when he was the most dominant musical force of the 80's. And, sadly, there's the third phase, when he became the circus sideshow and possible predator that has caused the news of his death to carry so much baggage.
Again, you have to wonder what would have happened had Jackson disappeared in the early 90's.
Perhaps the single most important thing that Michael Jackson ever did was to break the pop music color barrier. For those who don't remember, non-white musicians were ostensibly treated as separate but equal on MTV before Jackson came along and MTV, at the time, was the cutting edge of the music world. Radio stations were just as bad. If you weren't white, it meant your music would only get played on R&B and soul stations. The idea of a black pop star was completely foreign and, to be honest, fought against for years and years.
Look at it this way: is Elvis really more appealing and/or less frightening than any of the musicians whose music he "covered" (I say that with tongue in cheek)? Of course not, particularly in an age before gangsta rap. Mainstream America was just afraid of black people, and more so black men than women.
So how did Michael Jackson break that barrier? Or, how did he manage to do it when so many other talented artists did not?
Well, Jackson was unique. Aside from his enormous talent, he had been introduced to the American consciousness as a cute little kid, about as non-threatening as anyone could imagine. He and his brothers sang catchy, rather insubstantial songs about love. There was hardly any edge to the Jackson 5 at all, save for their clinically insane father. Mainstream America could feel comfortable with the Jackson 5, which meant they felt comfortable with Michael Jackson.
When Jackson launched his solo career, he was given the benefit of the doubt, which is more than most black musicians were given at that time. He already had an image in place, one that appealed even to people who still harbored racist feelings. They felt like they knew him and, on top of that, they found him both completely non-threatening and, in many ways, completely non-sexual. He was a thin, small, asexual performer, and that made it easier for mainstream America to accept him.
Jackson was the exact right person at the exact right time to break that barrier. And he became a huge pop star as a result...
...not unlike a certain current Commander In Chief.
I'll refrain from my usual Barack Obama diatribe (I was a supporter from before he even announced he was running, so I'm very clearly biased), but he was also uniquely positioned to be the first non-white president of the United States.
On one hand, there's the specific time when Obama was elected. Never has there been a moment in this country's history when it was so ready to take a chance on something new. I felt bad for Hillary Clinton (to a certain extent), but I knew that Obama had to win NOW. Four years from now the country will have shifted again and people won't be quite so willing to change the paradigm. In that respect, Obama, like Jackson, has a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Then there's the fact that Obama's mother was white and he was raised by his white grandparents. I was always fascinated by that aspect of his story and how certain segments of the population grasped on to it, some literally claiming that it was okay to vote for him because he was "half-white." Entire sections of this country justified their vote because Obama wasn't from an entirely African family something that, to this day, blows my mind. But it was the simple fact that this justification existed for them that allowed them to cast their votes, and, in variably, helped Obama win.
The irony, of course, is that Obama didn't walk around with a sign that said "my mom is white" when he was growing up; he would have been discriminated against just the same.
Again, though, Obama was uniquely positioned to break that barrier, just as Jackson had been. And the hope, of course, is that a flood of talented, non-white people will be able to follow him, just as the case was for Jackson.
And I think that's why the world couldn't hold the two of them at once. The GOP may use it against him, but Obama IS a rock star. Even now, months after his election, I see bumper stickers, comic books, and posters with Obama on them. I wore my Obama t-shirt just the other day, and I see other people doing the same thing. Because that merchandise isn't just about one election, it's about an entire movement.
Michael Jackson changed both the culture of America and the pop culture of America, but eventually his moment passed. Obama has done much the same thing. Let's hope Obama's influence lasts as long and has the same impact.
Two years after Elvis died, Michael Jackson released his first solo album. Perhaps we can look at it as the first "King" passing along the torch to the next, and in some ways making amends for what he had done to earn that title. And just as the passing of that torch expanded our culture, the transition of the "King of Pop" to America's first rock star president will hopefully have an even greater impact, both on the U.S., and the world.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
An Evening With Grant Morrison
Last night was kind of surprising, but in a pleasant way.
Actually, let me just do this: mild mannered, modest, not remotely pretentious, somewhat shy.
Those are the ways I would describe Grant Morrison. No, really. For a guy who has become something of a rock star on the comic book scene, he was anything but. More often than not, when asked a question, he would start talking and his eyes would drift down the floor, as if he wasn't comfortable being stared at by the 30 or so people fortunate enough to take part in the Q&A. He didn't wear sunglasses, he didn't have on leather pants, and there were no drugs being taken. He just seemed like a nice guy who has a unique way of telling stories -- and, evidently people like it.
And they REALLY like it. His new Batman and Robin book is #1 and the hardcover collection of Final Crisis, a series that seemed to draw just as much ire as praise among comics fans, is holding its own with the top selling manga collections, something that only Watchmen has been able to do up to this point. In other words, Morrison's name sells books -- it sells a lot of books, which would explain the giant line out the door at Meltdown Comics last night.
As a general statement, it was interesting to see how many non-comic book readers are enjoying his Final Crisis collection, given that one of the main criticisms of the book was that it required a doctorate in both literature and comic books to decipher. I think, however, that non-comic book readers are more inclined to go with Morrison's non-traditional storytelling techniques because they haven't spent years reading traditional comic book stories. In some ways, the non-comic book reader is actually more open to what Morrison does than the comic book reader.
But, as Peter David would say, I digress...
Because I'm taking a comic book class at Meltdown (Meltdown U. every Wednesday night!), I got to be one of the chosen few who was allowed into the back room of Meltdown (where the gallery is) for the Q&A before the signing. The entire thing was recorded, so I would expect to see clips of it online in the near future.
Clive Barker has the host, of sorts, and a perfect choice. Barker is most commonly known as the guy who created Hellraiser, but he's better known as a core writer of the "dark fantasy" genre. He's also a Brit who moved to Los Angeles and he happens to be gay. All of that would come into play over the course of the hour or so of the Q&A.
It should be pointed out that, for whatever reason (I don't know if it's a health issue or what), Clive Barker has a very quiet, very raspy voice. The sound guy had to turn up the mic all the way whenever he spoke, to the point where it was equal parts Barker's voice and equal parts fuzzy noise coming out of the speaker. On top of that, Grant Morrison has a fairly thick Scottish accent.
One of my fellow Meltdown students got there late, and had to stand in the back. His review: "I couldn't hear the one guy and I couldn't understand the other guy."
Fortunately, I was in the front, so I had an easier time.
A few highlights:
Personally, I thought it was fantastic. For all the references to Morrison as a pompous ass or a rock star or the leader of a cult, he came off as a very nice guy with very little ego. He's just a guy who loves comic books and wants to tell interesting stories that can't be found anywhere else. Seeing him live went a long way to explaining why it is that so many creators seem to be friends with him, while so many readers seem to think he's the devil.
Now, back to work on that petition I mentioned...
Actually, let me just do this: mild mannered, modest, not remotely pretentious, somewhat shy.
Those are the ways I would describe Grant Morrison. No, really. For a guy who has become something of a rock star on the comic book scene, he was anything but. More often than not, when asked a question, he would start talking and his eyes would drift down the floor, as if he wasn't comfortable being stared at by the 30 or so people fortunate enough to take part in the Q&A. He didn't wear sunglasses, he didn't have on leather pants, and there were no drugs being taken. He just seemed like a nice guy who has a unique way of telling stories -- and, evidently people like it.
And they REALLY like it. His new Batman and Robin book is #1 and the hardcover collection of Final Crisis, a series that seemed to draw just as much ire as praise among comics fans, is holding its own with the top selling manga collections, something that only Watchmen has been able to do up to this point. In other words, Morrison's name sells books -- it sells a lot of books, which would explain the giant line out the door at Meltdown Comics last night.
As a general statement, it was interesting to see how many non-comic book readers are enjoying his Final Crisis collection, given that one of the main criticisms of the book was that it required a doctorate in both literature and comic books to decipher. I think, however, that non-comic book readers are more inclined to go with Morrison's non-traditional storytelling techniques because they haven't spent years reading traditional comic book stories. In some ways, the non-comic book reader is actually more open to what Morrison does than the comic book reader.
But, as Peter David would say, I digress...
Because I'm taking a comic book class at Meltdown (Meltdown U. every Wednesday night!), I got to be one of the chosen few who was allowed into the back room of Meltdown (where the gallery is) for the Q&A before the signing. The entire thing was recorded, so I would expect to see clips of it online in the near future.
Clive Barker has the host, of sorts, and a perfect choice. Barker is most commonly known as the guy who created Hellraiser, but he's better known as a core writer of the "dark fantasy" genre. He's also a Brit who moved to Los Angeles and he happens to be gay. All of that would come into play over the course of the hour or so of the Q&A.
It should be pointed out that, for whatever reason (I don't know if it's a health issue or what), Clive Barker has a very quiet, very raspy voice. The sound guy had to turn up the mic all the way whenever he spoke, to the point where it was equal parts Barker's voice and equal parts fuzzy noise coming out of the speaker. On top of that, Grant Morrison has a fairly thick Scottish accent.
One of my fellow Meltdown students got there late, and had to stand in the back. His review: "I couldn't hear the one guy and I couldn't understand the other guy."
Fortunately, I was in the front, so I had an easier time.
A few highlights:
- Mark Waid was in the audience. Waid is famous for his encyclopedic knowledge of comic book history. At one point, Morrison was talking about the Silver Age, when the DCU originally came up with the idea of multiple earths. Morrison couldn't remember when this idea originally appeared and asked the audience for help. Waid yelled out something like "You're just fucking with me, now!" It was pretty funny. And, of course, Waid knew the answer. Morrison then asked him what he was wearing that day and who he was there with.
- Someone in the audience asked about the lack of gay characters in comics (he was very forceful about this) and why Morrison and Barker thought that was, considering Morrison has created gay characters and Barker has tried to bring gay characters into the comics he's written (he mentioned getting resistance from Marvel on that front 15 years ago). Both mentioned that part of the problem is that there are so few gay writers because the comic book industry tends to put out an anti-gay vibe, in general.
- Along those lines, Barker made a really great point. He said that relationships in mainstream, superhero comics are generally awful, and treated more as a vehicle for violence than as a vehicle for real love. To paraphrase Barker, "maybe we should be thankful there aren't more gay characters in comics."
- Morrison said he had pitched an Authority OGN to DC that takes place in the future where everyone but one guy is gay. Part of the story would involve the fact that the infant universe that powers the Authority's ship has now grown into an adolescent universe, and it's horny. So they'd have to take it out past the boundries of reality to let it frolic with other teenage universes. Personally, I'm starting the petition for that book.
- Morrison is now of two worlds, or at least two countries. He bought a house in Los Angeles. He and Barker compared notes on moving from Europe to Los Angeles and how Los Angeles is a much different creature than most people think. There will be a blog on my thoughts on that in the near future.
- Morrison was in town, specifically, for meetings with movie studios, although he couldn't say which ones and for what. He also mentioned that he enjoys the creative process of comics much more because it's so much more direct (amen, brother).
- Morrison concedes the fact that a decent group of people found Final Crisis confusing. He made no excuses for it, aside from saying that he told the story he wanted to tell. Someone asked him if he looks back on it with any regret, particularly given all the art problems that came about. He said he doesn't look at it that way because he just doesn't think like that -- which makes him a better person than me.
- There is a lot of jumping around in Final Crisis, and plenty of points where Morrison gives you point A and point B, but lets the reader figure out the straight line in between on their own. The only specific question asked about this, though, was incredibly telling. A person in the audience referred to the Supergirl/possessed Mary Marvel battle in Final Crisis. I actually had to look this up when I got home, but the gist is that the two of them, stuck in battle, fall into a building. A word balloon comes out of that building that says "Yukk" and then Mary Marvel comes flying out, clearly having been punched by Supergirl.
- The question, then, was "what happened to cause Supergirl to say 'Yukk?'" Yeah, THAT was the question. Of all the things to wonder about in Final Crisis, this person latched on to the most suggestive moment in the whole comic because we comic book fans love our underage girl on girl action. Morrison started off by saying he wanted to leave that up to the reader's imagination. And then he added: "I don't know. I wasn't there." Which was freaking hilarious.
- Apparently, Morrison gets up every single morning and has a boiled egg and toast. And then it's on to the writing. But every single morning, it's a boiled egg and toast. And I guess making a boiled egg is a very delicate process.
- There was a lot of talk about Wonder Woman, as Morrison freely admitted that he didn't have a handle on the character in Final Crisis. He said he wanted to break the characters down to their roots, but when he got to Wonder Woman's roots, he didn't know how to handle it. Specifically, the bondage stuff got in the way. He talked about the fact that a lot of the original Wonder Woman stories centered on Wonder Woman being in control, placing the men in bondage in a way that was clearly meant to be sexual.
- He's currently sifting through some thoughts on a Wonder Woman story, because he feels like it's hard to make Wonder Woman that strong, sexually dominate character without objectifying her. He mentioned that the Alpha Male in the DCU, Superman, is allowed to get married and have sex and all that jazz, but Wonder Woman, the Alpha Female, never does. It's an interesting point: how do you tell the story of a sexually dominate woman in a comic book that isn't pandering to an adolescent male fan base?
- Clive Barker said he read Final Crisis five times before he understood it all. He said he made a map.
- Morrison said that living in Los Angeles has had an affect on his recent work. I'm interested to see that. Actually, I can already see that in Batman and Robin.
Personally, I thought it was fantastic. For all the references to Morrison as a pompous ass or a rock star or the leader of a cult, he came off as a very nice guy with very little ego. He's just a guy who loves comic books and wants to tell interesting stories that can't be found anywhere else. Seeing him live went a long way to explaining why it is that so many creators seem to be friends with him, while so many readers seem to think he's the devil.
Now, back to work on that petition I mentioned...
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Death By Pop Music
I don't believe that there are "creative people." I believe that everyone has the ability to create in what ever medium is most appealing to them, I just think that accessing that ability is easier for some than it is for others. I won't deny that there's a certain level of talent that has to be there, but I think terms like "creative genius" are thrown around to haphazardly.
I'm not one of those people who buys into the "he was just too brilliant to live" theories. There are plenty of completely sane people producing incredible works of art. You don't have to be crazy to create, and I don't believe that the fires of creation eventually burn out those who channel it on a regular basis.
To get more specific, I don't believe that Michael Jackson's talent killed him, anymore than I think that Elvis' talent forced him to take all those drugs. Kurt Cobain wasn't trying to blow the creative parts of his brain out the back of his head, he just wanted to die.
So why is it, then, that so many pop stars end up dead at a young age?
The easy answer, of course, is that the pressures of fame are too much for them. That's generally the Cobain theory (aside from the one where it's Courtney Love who killed him). It's also easy to see that being rich and famous would allow for easier access to the various substances that eventually due a lot of these people in.
But if there is a fire burning, I don't think it's some undefinable "creative" fire that they people had within them. No, I think the fire is popular culture, and these poor saps were caught playing in it for too long -- and many of them had already been doused with gasoline to begin with.
Pop culture is an entity in and of itself, a living, breathing creature that, more often than not, dictates to society more than society dictates to it. Pop culture knows us better than we know ourselves. It knows when it's time for boy bands again, so it creates them. It knows when bell bottoms can make a comeback, and it gives them to us. Pop culture will decided who is on top and for how long. It can make mediocre artists into leaders and force the best of us to die penniless and alone.
Jim Morrison was a below average poet and a mediocre singer with addiction problems who was fortunate enough to go to school with Ray Manzarek. I say "fortunate," because that's the word for it. Fortune -- pop culture -- smiled down on Morrison because he was the pop icon the world needed at that moment. He might not have been the one we wanted, might not have been the best one available, but pop culture makes these decisions without consulting us.
Was a child star from an abusive family really the best choice to break the color barrier in pop music? Was a momma's boy from Mississippi really the best choice to open the flood gates of rock n' roll? And yet that's who we get and we gorge ourselves on their music and the great beast uses them up until there's nothing left and then, if they're lucky, they finally die, many after living for years as shells of their former selves.
Pop culture is a bitch.
I wonder if Michael Jackson or Elvis or John Lennon would still be with us had they been able to break from pop culture. Had they, as someone suggested to me, gone the J.D. Salinger route, would they still be around? Would they be living happy, relatively anonymous lives in obscurity? Or was their fate determined from the start, once pop culture got its hands on them? Was there any way that Kurt Cobain could have survived?
I doubt it, and it makes me wonder who might be next.
I'm not one of those people who buys into the "he was just too brilliant to live" theories. There are plenty of completely sane people producing incredible works of art. You don't have to be crazy to create, and I don't believe that the fires of creation eventually burn out those who channel it on a regular basis.
To get more specific, I don't believe that Michael Jackson's talent killed him, anymore than I think that Elvis' talent forced him to take all those drugs. Kurt Cobain wasn't trying to blow the creative parts of his brain out the back of his head, he just wanted to die.
So why is it, then, that so many pop stars end up dead at a young age?
The easy answer, of course, is that the pressures of fame are too much for them. That's generally the Cobain theory (aside from the one where it's Courtney Love who killed him). It's also easy to see that being rich and famous would allow for easier access to the various substances that eventually due a lot of these people in.
But if there is a fire burning, I don't think it's some undefinable "creative" fire that they people had within them. No, I think the fire is popular culture, and these poor saps were caught playing in it for too long -- and many of them had already been doused with gasoline to begin with.
Pop culture is an entity in and of itself, a living, breathing creature that, more often than not, dictates to society more than society dictates to it. Pop culture knows us better than we know ourselves. It knows when it's time for boy bands again, so it creates them. It knows when bell bottoms can make a comeback, and it gives them to us. Pop culture will decided who is on top and for how long. It can make mediocre artists into leaders and force the best of us to die penniless and alone.
Jim Morrison was a below average poet and a mediocre singer with addiction problems who was fortunate enough to go to school with Ray Manzarek. I say "fortunate," because that's the word for it. Fortune -- pop culture -- smiled down on Morrison because he was the pop icon the world needed at that moment. He might not have been the one we wanted, might not have been the best one available, but pop culture makes these decisions without consulting us.
Was a child star from an abusive family really the best choice to break the color barrier in pop music? Was a momma's boy from Mississippi really the best choice to open the flood gates of rock n' roll? And yet that's who we get and we gorge ourselves on their music and the great beast uses them up until there's nothing left and then, if they're lucky, they finally die, many after living for years as shells of their former selves.
Pop culture is a bitch.
I wonder if Michael Jackson or Elvis or John Lennon would still be with us had they been able to break from pop culture. Had they, as someone suggested to me, gone the J.D. Salinger route, would they still be around? Would they be living happy, relatively anonymous lives in obscurity? Or was their fate determined from the start, once pop culture got its hands on them? Was there any way that Kurt Cobain could have survived?
I doubt it, and it makes me wonder who might be next.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)