'Guru The Mad Monk' - 19??
Story in Brief: Guru is in charge of the spiritual health of his island community. He is also a judge and warden of a prison. He has the power to give last rites and execute the punishment. Unfortunately for those who look to Guru for help, Guru is mad and out for himself. When it's time for Guru to be replaced, well, he doesn't take to the thought well...
Thoughts:
This is the first film by Andy Milligan I've ever seen. I've read about him for years, how his productions were cheap, movies strange. None of this seemed like a bad thing as many of the films I enjoy are described as such. So what did I think?
This film is a nightmare. I mean that in good and bad ways. It's bad because the movie is cheap and awkwardly acted by many of the participants. The effects are cheap, the film used was probably cheap, the actors were likely cheap, the script was probably cheap as well. It is a cheap movie. It is so cheap that it does start to take on the feel of a dream, a nightmare, a strange world were things don't play out correctly, but you know you'll be safe at the end.
There's a trailer for this movie and an interview with a gentleman that worked on some of Andy's last films. He's politely disposed towards the Andy he knew, an Andy near the end of his career and life, but admits those films were garbage. He also notes he hasn't seen most (any?) of Andy's earlier work, including the movie on the disk. Strange.
Video: The video is full frame and heavily damaged. The colour is faded. Considering the cheap nature of the film it's unlikely it's managed to survive this long anywhere else in a better copy. On the positive side, I didn't notice any digital problems, so it was mastered well.
Sound: Again, this is probably as good as it gets. It's not good and it's often tinny, but that's likely more a problem with the recording of the film when it was made as opposed to a problem with the print used.
Not recommended. It's only $10 but if you're curious, try renting it first. If you are a fan of Andy Milligan films, you probably already own this, so never mind my opinion. This is not the sort of movie the average person would be able to watch, let alone finish.
04 August 2007
A Bedtime Story from Uncle Steve
All tucked in dere? Okay, tonight I’ll tell ya da story of Goldylocks and da Tree Bears. Tree. Yeah, Tree. Wun, Two, Tree. Got it? All right den.
Once upon a time dere were Tree Bears; a Papa Bear, a Mama Bear and a Baby Bear. Papa Bear liked to drink and would yell at Baby Bear dat he was an accident. When he would say dat, Baby Bear would cry and Mama Bear would slug Papa Bear. But he didn’t really mean it and mosta da time dey all got along just fine.
Every morning after making breakfast, da Bears would go for a walk. Papa Bear needed da exercise to work off his beer gut. Baby Bear needed the exercise ‘cause he had the childhood obesity from too much sittin’ ‘round playing video games and such. Mama Bear didn’t need the exercise so much but she knew if she didn’t go with ‘em that they wouldn’t actually go for the walk, they’d just get outta sight of the house, sit down and come back in a half-hour. So, off dey went.
While dey was gone, Goldylocks stumbled upon dere house. She wus out camping with a bunch of her friends and wus lookin’ for the bathroom. She’s onea dem gals that just can’t ‘go’ in the middle of the forest ‘cause she’s scared that a bug or an animal are gonna crawl into her nether regions while she’s takin’ care of business. Why woulda bug or an animal head upstream is what I don’t understand.
Now Goldy is onea dem broads that drinks so much that she passes out at parties and guys take advantage of the situation. She’s simple, got blond hair and a big rack so she attracts attention. At eight in the morning, she’s still drunk, that’s how drunk she gets. When she stumbles on the Bears house, she mistakes it for a Ranger station and in she goes.
Once da pressure is off, she realizes she’s hungry. She sees the Bears porridge sitting there cooling and heads for it. She tries Papa Bear’s porridge but he likes it with Tabasco sauce and it was too hot for her. She tries Mama Bear’s porridge but Mama Bear has a canker sore that the heat bothers so her’s was ice cold from the ice cubes in it so that was no good either. Baby Bear’s porridge had cooled off just right and she ate it up.
Now dat she ate, she got tired again and headed for the bedroom. Papa Bear’s bed was no good ‘cause he’s got a rock hard mattress ‘cause of the support he needs for his bad back. Mama Bear’s bed was all filled with pillows and junk so that was no good. She fell into Baby Bear’s bed and wus soon fast asleep.
Dat’s when da Bears come home. They walk in and immediately see da dere house has been invaded; dere’s toilet paper dragged from the bathroom to da kitchen, the breakfast is all messed up and dere’s a trail of knocked over furniture dat leads to the bedroom. When dey get dere, Goldy is still fast asleep. Baby Bear’s been crying dis ‘hole time ‘cause he’s scared and Mama Bear’s is all worked up ‘cause Baby Bear’s crying and Papa Bear’s mad ‘cause of all dis yelling. So he climbs up on the bed, bones Goldy to death and den dey eat her.
Da Moral of the Story is: If you drink so much dat you wander away from your friends dat are looking out for you, you might get screwed up so bad dat you die.
Night kids. I gotta cold Pabst waitin’ for me downstairs.
Once upon a time dere were Tree Bears; a Papa Bear, a Mama Bear and a Baby Bear. Papa Bear liked to drink and would yell at Baby Bear dat he was an accident. When he would say dat, Baby Bear would cry and Mama Bear would slug Papa Bear. But he didn’t really mean it and mosta da time dey all got along just fine.
Every morning after making breakfast, da Bears would go for a walk. Papa Bear needed da exercise to work off his beer gut. Baby Bear needed the exercise ‘cause he had the childhood obesity from too much sittin’ ‘round playing video games and such. Mama Bear didn’t need the exercise so much but she knew if she didn’t go with ‘em that they wouldn’t actually go for the walk, they’d just get outta sight of the house, sit down and come back in a half-hour. So, off dey went.
While dey was gone, Goldylocks stumbled upon dere house. She wus out camping with a bunch of her friends and wus lookin’ for the bathroom. She’s onea dem gals that just can’t ‘go’ in the middle of the forest ‘cause she’s scared that a bug or an animal are gonna crawl into her nether regions while she’s takin’ care of business. Why woulda bug or an animal head upstream is what I don’t understand.
Now Goldy is onea dem broads that drinks so much that she passes out at parties and guys take advantage of the situation. She’s simple, got blond hair and a big rack so she attracts attention. At eight in the morning, she’s still drunk, that’s how drunk she gets. When she stumbles on the Bears house, she mistakes it for a Ranger station and in she goes.
Once da pressure is off, she realizes she’s hungry. She sees the Bears porridge sitting there cooling and heads for it. She tries Papa Bear’s porridge but he likes it with Tabasco sauce and it was too hot for her. She tries Mama Bear’s porridge but Mama Bear has a canker sore that the heat bothers so her’s was ice cold from the ice cubes in it so that was no good either. Baby Bear’s porridge had cooled off just right and she ate it up.
Now dat she ate, she got tired again and headed for the bedroom. Papa Bear’s bed was no good ‘cause he’s got a rock hard mattress ‘cause of the support he needs for his bad back. Mama Bear’s bed was all filled with pillows and junk so that was no good. She fell into Baby Bear’s bed and wus soon fast asleep.
Dat’s when da Bears come home. They walk in and immediately see da dere house has been invaded; dere’s toilet paper dragged from the bathroom to da kitchen, the breakfast is all messed up and dere’s a trail of knocked over furniture dat leads to the bedroom. When dey get dere, Goldy is still fast asleep. Baby Bear’s been crying dis ‘hole time ‘cause he’s scared and Mama Bear’s is all worked up ‘cause Baby Bear’s crying and Papa Bear’s mad ‘cause of all dis yelling. So he climbs up on the bed, bones Goldy to death and den dey eat her.
Da Moral of the Story is: If you drink so much dat you wander away from your friends dat are looking out for you, you might get screwed up so bad dat you die.
Night kids. I gotta cold Pabst waitin’ for me downstairs.
02 August 2007
Won't Somebody Think of the Children?
I went to Best Buy yesterday and, as it's been awhile since my last visit to Best Buy, I found a number of things that interested me that got purchased. I got carded buying a video game.
That was weird. I don't believe I've ever been carded for a video game before. I didn't see the display on the register to see what question it asked the employee (it looked like something along the lines of 'does the customer look...' moreso than 'is the customer...'). I don't believe I look too young to purchase a M rated game (17 or older).
I'm not disappointed in the employee or the company for having this in place. The employee was very friendly and I have no problem showing my ID to prove I'm the old man that I am. If this is the price I have to pay in order for people who have NO clue about video games to feel safe that 'mature' games are been kept away from children, I can handle that.
So, if that's the case, why didn't I get carded for the R rated movies I bought? The register said nothing about those. In theory, if I was a 16 year old trying to get into a R rated movie in the theatre, I would be carded and prevented entry (in theory anyway). Why was I carded for a video game and not a movie with the 'same' rating? There are thousands of R rated movies with all sorts of 'adult concepts' in them and a relative handful of M rated video games. So, why the difference?
Video games are more interactive? It's one thing to see these things on a screen but another to 'participate' in them. I don't think the difference is that significant. I could be wrong but, going back to the comparison between movies and games, the greater percentage of movies must create a larger influence.
Is it because that 'video games are for kids'? Just like comic books are for kids, huh?
Like kids can afford comic books... what hooey...
That was weird. I don't believe I've ever been carded for a video game before. I didn't see the display on the register to see what question it asked the employee (it looked like something along the lines of 'does the customer look...' moreso than 'is the customer...'). I don't believe I look too young to purchase a M rated game (17 or older).
I'm not disappointed in the employee or the company for having this in place. The employee was very friendly and I have no problem showing my ID to prove I'm the old man that I am. If this is the price I have to pay in order for people who have NO clue about video games to feel safe that 'mature' games are been kept away from children, I can handle that.
So, if that's the case, why didn't I get carded for the R rated movies I bought? The register said nothing about those. In theory, if I was a 16 year old trying to get into a R rated movie in the theatre, I would be carded and prevented entry (in theory anyway). Why was I carded for a video game and not a movie with the 'same' rating? There are thousands of R rated movies with all sorts of 'adult concepts' in them and a relative handful of M rated video games. So, why the difference?
Video games are more interactive? It's one thing to see these things on a screen but another to 'participate' in them. I don't think the difference is that significant. I could be wrong but, going back to the comparison between movies and games, the greater percentage of movies must create a larger influence.
Is it because that 'video games are for kids'? Just like comic books are for kids, huh?
Like kids can afford comic books... what hooey...
31 July 2007
Rules/Lessons from the water park:
1) If you are a female and can be in any way referred to as attractive, you will get looked at/admired/leered at in the water park, no matter how demure your swimming costume. Even men who normally would be very respectful of a lady, or would at least try to be subtle about ‘checking out’ a female, will lose that restraint at a water park. There is too much flesh on display. It can’t be helped; it’s instinct.
2) Put on sunblock. Then put on more sunblock. If you are swimming all day, refresh the sunblock as the day goes on. Not doing this can lead to sunburn. It did for me at least.
3) If you are a female and are in any way could be referred to as attractive and choose to wear a two piece bathing suit, you will get looked at by men. Again, it’s a flesh thing; if you show that much of it, the eyes will come.
4) While I lack a strong level of physical fitness, I am not grotesquely overweight. If I stand up straight I can almost pass as merely pudgy as opposed to having a beer gut. I’m sure the sight of my pasty belly doesn’t draw the ladies but I don’t think it’s overly off-putting either. Men really only have the option of trunks. If the gut is big enough, wear a shirt. I saw many that took this option during my trip. Saves on the sunblock as well.
5) If you are a female that has reached a certain age or weight or … sagginess, do not wear a two piece bathing suit. You’ll still draw the eye but not in a good way. A mother and daughter wearing matching bikinis is a dangerous thing, especially if the daughter is of a legal age. It’s less cute at that point and more asking for trouble. Think first. Consider what people might think about your choice of outfit. If you decide you don’t care what people think, you cannot be offended when they think it. Or stare.
6) There is no rule 6!
7) If you decide to wear an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini, people should be allowed to sing at you.
2) Put on sunblock. Then put on more sunblock. If you are swimming all day, refresh the sunblock as the day goes on. Not doing this can lead to sunburn. It did for me at least.
3) If you are a female and are in any way could be referred to as attractive and choose to wear a two piece bathing suit, you will get looked at by men. Again, it’s a flesh thing; if you show that much of it, the eyes will come.
4) While I lack a strong level of physical fitness, I am not grotesquely overweight. If I stand up straight I can almost pass as merely pudgy as opposed to having a beer gut. I’m sure the sight of my pasty belly doesn’t draw the ladies but I don’t think it’s overly off-putting either. Men really only have the option of trunks. If the gut is big enough, wear a shirt. I saw many that took this option during my trip. Saves on the sunblock as well.
5) If you are a female that has reached a certain age or weight or … sagginess, do not wear a two piece bathing suit. You’ll still draw the eye but not in a good way. A mother and daughter wearing matching bikinis is a dangerous thing, especially if the daughter is of a legal age. It’s less cute at that point and more asking for trouble. Think first. Consider what people might think about your choice of outfit. If you decide you don’t care what people think, you cannot be offended when they think it. Or stare.
6) There is no rule 6!
7) If you decide to wear an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini, people should be allowed to sing at you.
29 July 2007
Checking in
Let's see: Had nothing simple to say for a bit. Been on vacation a bit. Been recovering from said vacation since. Am now swarthy, sunburned and in my glasses. Hopefully most of that will be switching back to normal soon. I don't mind the swarthy so much.
Yesterday I was at a wedding and then over to the East Side to catch up with friends, one of which I hadn't seen since his dad's funeral this past winter. I'm glad I did. For one, because it was fun, and also because I hate having a layer of friends that I only see when something good (wedding) or bad (funeral) happens. This was just hanging out and the request came at the perfect time as opposed to days where I'm triple booked. How can I have nothing to do for a stretch and then, suddenly, everyone wakes up one morning looking for me? Instant popularity. Weird.
Transformers - thumbs up
Simpsons - thumbs up
More reviews to come. I found a batch of old DVD reviews I did before this blog was even a thought and I might repurpose them here. I haven't checked to see if they still amuse in any way yet.
Eitherway, I haven't forgotten about you. More to come.
Yesterday I was at a wedding and then over to the East Side to catch up with friends, one of which I hadn't seen since his dad's funeral this past winter. I'm glad I did. For one, because it was fun, and also because I hate having a layer of friends that I only see when something good (wedding) or bad (funeral) happens. This was just hanging out and the request came at the perfect time as opposed to days where I'm triple booked. How can I have nothing to do for a stretch and then, suddenly, everyone wakes up one morning looking for me? Instant popularity. Weird.
Transformers - thumbs up
Simpsons - thumbs up
More reviews to come. I found a batch of old DVD reviews I did before this blog was even a thought and I might repurpose them here. I haven't checked to see if they still amuse in any way yet.
Eitherway, I haven't forgotten about you. More to come.
11 July 2007
What are you?
As humans I think we always work to define the world we see around us. Each of us defines it a little differently due to our unique experience on the planet. Sometimes we accept the definitions of others in our perception of the world. Take this definition if you like.
Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?
As I believe I’ve mentioned before, everyone has an interest, a something that fascinates them to a degree that they are eager to devote time to it, whether it’s flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever. In every hobby group I’ve seen, been near or been part of, I’ve seen enthusiasts and snobs.
The enthusiasts are generally fun people. They enjoy their hobby and can talk about it at some length given the chance. Often they can be so enthusiastic that they can talk you into investigating their hobby at length, even if you previously had no interest in it. They may not make you one of them, but you can respect their energy for their hobby, seeing how it matches your energy for your hobby. Sometimes they can be a bit boring because they won’t notice their energy for their hobby doesn’t match your energy for their hobby and they talk about it too much. They focus on the happier aspects of their hobby rather than the negative but they are often not blind to the negative. On the whole, they are a positive group.
The snobs are generally annoying people. They are not bad people but something in their personality causes their expressions regarding their hobby to come out twisted. They want the best for their hobby, whether it is flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever, but very rarely find the best. They often note the problems with the physical manifestations of their hobby or the other people that also participate in that hobby, noting how they are doing it wrong. They use their critical thinking skills, which is a good thing, but often express their concerns in a manner that is more critical than helpful. Their reaction to their hobby may cause you to wonder why they bother with their hobby as it seems that they get no joy out of it. Their expectations for their hobby are sometimes not realistic. On the whole, they are a negative group.
Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?
Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?
As I believe I’ve mentioned before, everyone has an interest, a something that fascinates them to a degree that they are eager to devote time to it, whether it’s flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever. In every hobby group I’ve seen, been near or been part of, I’ve seen enthusiasts and snobs.
The enthusiasts are generally fun people. They enjoy their hobby and can talk about it at some length given the chance. Often they can be so enthusiastic that they can talk you into investigating their hobby at length, even if you previously had no interest in it. They may not make you one of them, but you can respect their energy for their hobby, seeing how it matches your energy for your hobby. Sometimes they can be a bit boring because they won’t notice their energy for their hobby doesn’t match your energy for their hobby and they talk about it too much. They focus on the happier aspects of their hobby rather than the negative but they are often not blind to the negative. On the whole, they are a positive group.
The snobs are generally annoying people. They are not bad people but something in their personality causes their expressions regarding their hobby to come out twisted. They want the best for their hobby, whether it is flowers or cars or baseball or comic books or whatever, but very rarely find the best. They often note the problems with the physical manifestations of their hobby or the other people that also participate in that hobby, noting how they are doing it wrong. They use their critical thinking skills, which is a good thing, but often express their concerns in a manner that is more critical than helpful. Their reaction to their hobby may cause you to wonder why they bother with their hobby as it seems that they get no joy out of it. Their expectations for their hobby are sometimes not realistic. On the whole, they are a negative group.
Are you an enthusiastic or a snob?
02 July 2007
Fresh Fiction - Wrapup
That was an experiment and, from my perspective, it was rather fun. The primary part of the experiment was the speed with which it was written. Normally I construct the entire story and start releasing it as a section is completed or once it is entirely complete. I wrote the first segment over the course of a couple days. It was completed Wednesday and uploaded that Friday. That rapid turn-around time was interesting to try to accomplish.
My question to you the reader (all three of you): what do you think happened? We really have so little data to go on but what happened? Why did it happen? Do we really know? All questions I find too appropriate for life in the past week.
Anyway, as regards this story, we might be able to answer some of those questions eventually. I'm working on it anyway (that's the other part of the experiment). Janie and Psmith's story together has ended but it may not be the end of the story.
Thanks!
My question to you the reader (all three of you): what do you think happened? We really have so little data to go on but what happened? Why did it happen? Do we really know? All questions I find too appropriate for life in the past week.
Anyway, as regards this story, we might be able to answer some of those questions eventually. I'm working on it anyway (that's the other part of the experiment). Janie and Psmith's story together has ended but it may not be the end of the story.
Thanks!
28 June 2007
Fresh Fiction For Friday - Final (Blog Entry #100)
There was a pause.
She was unable to understand the pause. It seemed to be lasting forever but part of her brain argued that only seconds had passed since her statement. Still he did not speak, had no response for her. How long did it take to think of saying “Me too?” His eyes had widened in surprise and his jaw had loosened, his mouth remained closed but his jaw had definitely dropped as part of his surprised, but yet he had no verbal response for her. Why not?
Finally his lips moved. They twitched, he moistened them and then managed to speak. “No you don’t.”
She shook as if slapped across the face. “How… how can you say that?” Janie questioned. Tears escaped her, threatening to make the dance floor a slip hazard. Her knees grew weak; were it not for his physical support, she may well have collapsed.
His mask of calm returned to his expression. “My apologies, I did not express myself as clearly as I normally strive to do. The emotion you are experiencing is not romantic in nature but is a reaction, a sign of appreciation for the small part I have been able to play in your recovery. I have been able to provide you with a level of stability and you feel that my continued presence will only increase your stability. I must inform you that this is not the case. There are others that also need my assistance and, at some point, I will have to depart you in order to assist them. Does that clarify my earlier statement?”
They continued dancing. Janie stared ahead blankly at his collar, trying to stem the flow of her tears. His words felt so meaningless. Quietly at first, but with increasing strength, she found words. “How? How do you know how I feel? When have you ever asked me what I feel? I thought I understood how you felt for me. Even when you were being strict with me when I wouldn’t be strict with myself, I always felt an underlying kindness. You did everything I asked to help me and would never let me further harm myself.” Expressing this drained her. She attempted to lean in, rest herself on her shoulder to regain strength but he held her upright, supporting her in this regard but denying her the comfort of further contact. This resistance further confused her. “How can you tell me that you don’t love me?”
He stopped their dancing. Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand and directed her gaze upward to meet his own. “This is what you feel?” he inquired. She smiled a watery smile at him. Further words failing her, she nodded, shaking loose trapped tears. His voice was still calm but had an added gentleness when he spoke again. “If that is the case, then I am afraid I must tender my resignation from your employ.”
He released her chin which allowed it to droop in shock. A thought occurred through her haze of confusion. “Are you quitting because you couldn’t date an employer?”
“While I do indeed feel that way, it is not my motivation in leaving your service.” He stepped back so that he could bow slightly to her. “Goodbye.” With that completed, he walked away.
Janie watched as he strode away, her heart begging him to stop and walk back to her. He did not. As he disappeared into the crowd, she lost sight of him. She tried to call after him but her voice betrayed her, emitting as a whisper rather than a shout. “No, please, don’t go.” There was no way from him to hear her over the music and his lack of return seemed to prove that he had not heard her emotion filled whisper. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you have no feelings at all.”
She was unable to understand the pause. It seemed to be lasting forever but part of her brain argued that only seconds had passed since her statement. Still he did not speak, had no response for her. How long did it take to think of saying “Me too?” His eyes had widened in surprise and his jaw had loosened, his mouth remained closed but his jaw had definitely dropped as part of his surprised, but yet he had no verbal response for her. Why not?
Finally his lips moved. They twitched, he moistened them and then managed to speak. “No you don’t.”
She shook as if slapped across the face. “How… how can you say that?” Janie questioned. Tears escaped her, threatening to make the dance floor a slip hazard. Her knees grew weak; were it not for his physical support, she may well have collapsed.
His mask of calm returned to his expression. “My apologies, I did not express myself as clearly as I normally strive to do. The emotion you are experiencing is not romantic in nature but is a reaction, a sign of appreciation for the small part I have been able to play in your recovery. I have been able to provide you with a level of stability and you feel that my continued presence will only increase your stability. I must inform you that this is not the case. There are others that also need my assistance and, at some point, I will have to depart you in order to assist them. Does that clarify my earlier statement?”
They continued dancing. Janie stared ahead blankly at his collar, trying to stem the flow of her tears. His words felt so meaningless. Quietly at first, but with increasing strength, she found words. “How? How do you know how I feel? When have you ever asked me what I feel? I thought I understood how you felt for me. Even when you were being strict with me when I wouldn’t be strict with myself, I always felt an underlying kindness. You did everything I asked to help me and would never let me further harm myself.” Expressing this drained her. She attempted to lean in, rest herself on her shoulder to regain strength but he held her upright, supporting her in this regard but denying her the comfort of further contact. This resistance further confused her. “How can you tell me that you don’t love me?”
He stopped their dancing. Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand and directed her gaze upward to meet his own. “This is what you feel?” he inquired. She smiled a watery smile at him. Further words failing her, she nodded, shaking loose trapped tears. His voice was still calm but had an added gentleness when he spoke again. “If that is the case, then I am afraid I must tender my resignation from your employ.”
He released her chin which allowed it to droop in shock. A thought occurred through her haze of confusion. “Are you quitting because you couldn’t date an employer?”
“While I do indeed feel that way, it is not my motivation in leaving your service.” He stepped back so that he could bow slightly to her. “Goodbye.” With that completed, he walked away.
Janie watched as he strode away, her heart begging him to stop and walk back to her. He did not. As he disappeared into the crowd, she lost sight of him. She tried to call after him but her voice betrayed her, emitting as a whisper rather than a shout. “No, please, don’t go.” There was no way from him to hear her over the music and his lack of return seemed to prove that he had not heard her emotion filled whisper. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you have no feelings at all.”
26 June 2007
Disillusionment
Well, what a difference a few hours makes.
The early coroner's reports are pointing to Benoit killing his wife and son before hanging himself.
I should have better words for this. All I have is shock and disappointment. There may be a 'reason' for this but I cannot see one that makes sense of this.
I won't take down last night's post as it was written in good faith, before the details were known, and is a snapshot of my feelings at that moment.
Right now I'm just mad that I wasted tears on him.
Later.
The early coroner's reports are pointing to Benoit killing his wife and son before hanging himself.
I should have better words for this. All I have is shock and disappointment. There may be a 'reason' for this but I cannot see one that makes sense of this.
I won't take down last night's post as it was written in good faith, before the details were known, and is a snapshot of my feelings at that moment.
Right now I'm just mad that I wasted tears on him.
Later.
25 June 2007
Thumb Across the Throat
No matter what your interest is, there are performers that are your favourite. More often than not, they are people you’ll never meet in real life but you read their work, listen to their music, watch them act or whatever it is they do on a regular basis. You’re a fan. You feel a connection to these people that, really, you don’t know. At the same time, you do know them but you don’t. What happens to them in real life shouldn’t matter to you that much. Sometimes it does.
Chris Benoit, his wife and one of their young sons is dead. Chris had just turned 40 about a month ago. I can’t ever remember meeting him. I know I had the opportunity to cheer him in person more than once. I even have a faint memory of being excited to see him perform live the first time. When was that? A WCW house show in 1997, 1998? Can’t remember. It’s probably not important.
Benoit was one of the performers I became specially fond of when my interest in wrestling revived in the mid-90’s. He was one of a crew of relatively smaller sized performers that displayed a unique talent in the ring. They were truly fascinating to watch and many still are: Rey Mysterio Jr, Eddie Guerrero, Chris Benoit, Chris Jericho and I would be remiss if I didn’t include the Chairman, La Parka. Rey’s half a step away from crippled, Jericho is currently retired, Parka’s still wrestling in Mexico, Eddie died a couple years ago and now Benoit’s gone.
When Eddie died it was a surprise and yet it wasn’t. Eddie had a history of problems and injuries. While he’d been good for so long, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to have it catch up with him. Benoit didn’t really have that history. He had neck problems but what little information there is currently doesn’t point to his passing being related to his wrestling history and the injuries that accumulate from that.
Chris wasn’t a flashy wrestler. He didn’t talk well. He was hard nosed, technically minded and just gave off this feeling that he had no quit in him. His first nickname was the Crippler, earned after ‘breaking’ Sabu’s neck. Being Canadian he was later called the Wolverine, a name I could certainly get behind from my comic book perspective. He was a member of the Four Horsemen for years. He was a guy that I always thought should succeed based on his skill and was afraid he never would. A few years ago, at Wrestlemania XX, we all cheered as he won the Heavyweight Title. Eddie Guerrero, also a champion at the time, came out to celebrate with him. For a moment, all was right with the world.
Tonight’s RAW is the first I’ve watched since, well, since Eddie died. It’s all about Benoit, moments from his career, his friends speaking well of him and it fills me with joy and sadness all at the same time. A few matches ago I verbalized a Benoit cheer and it almost made me cry.
Chest chops. The Diving Headbutt. The Sharpshooter. The Thumb across the Throat taunt. The Crippler Crossface finisher.
Like I said, I remember met Chris Benoit. I can’t claim to have spent time with him or called him family or any of the things that would make his passing that much more real. I am a fan of his. And I miss him already.
Rest in peace Chris Benoit.
Chris Benoit, his wife and one of their young sons is dead. Chris had just turned 40 about a month ago. I can’t ever remember meeting him. I know I had the opportunity to cheer him in person more than once. I even have a faint memory of being excited to see him perform live the first time. When was that? A WCW house show in 1997, 1998? Can’t remember. It’s probably not important.
Benoit was one of the performers I became specially fond of when my interest in wrestling revived in the mid-90’s. He was one of a crew of relatively smaller sized performers that displayed a unique talent in the ring. They were truly fascinating to watch and many still are: Rey Mysterio Jr, Eddie Guerrero, Chris Benoit, Chris Jericho and I would be remiss if I didn’t include the Chairman, La Parka. Rey’s half a step away from crippled, Jericho is currently retired, Parka’s still wrestling in Mexico, Eddie died a couple years ago and now Benoit’s gone.
When Eddie died it was a surprise and yet it wasn’t. Eddie had a history of problems and injuries. While he’d been good for so long, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to have it catch up with him. Benoit didn’t really have that history. He had neck problems but what little information there is currently doesn’t point to his passing being related to his wrestling history and the injuries that accumulate from that.
Chris wasn’t a flashy wrestler. He didn’t talk well. He was hard nosed, technically minded and just gave off this feeling that he had no quit in him. His first nickname was the Crippler, earned after ‘breaking’ Sabu’s neck. Being Canadian he was later called the Wolverine, a name I could certainly get behind from my comic book perspective. He was a member of the Four Horsemen for years. He was a guy that I always thought should succeed based on his skill and was afraid he never would. A few years ago, at Wrestlemania XX, we all cheered as he won the Heavyweight Title. Eddie Guerrero, also a champion at the time, came out to celebrate with him. For a moment, all was right with the world.
Tonight’s RAW is the first I’ve watched since, well, since Eddie died. It’s all about Benoit, moments from his career, his friends speaking well of him and it fills me with joy and sadness all at the same time. A few matches ago I verbalized a Benoit cheer and it almost made me cry.
Chest chops. The Diving Headbutt. The Sharpshooter. The Thumb across the Throat taunt. The Crippler Crossface finisher.
Like I said, I remember met Chris Benoit. I can’t claim to have spent time with him or called him family or any of the things that would make his passing that much more real. I am a fan of his. And I miss him already.
Rest in peace Chris Benoit.
22 June 2007
Fresh Fiction For Friday - Fifth Fragment
They spun. Her heart lept. She smiled. “And you said you were rusty,” she teased.
“I don’t believe I said any such thing,” noted her dance partner. “I said I was out of practice.”
“Isn’t that what rusty means?”
“I am not so out of practice that I qualify for ‘rusty’.”
He dipped her. His expression remained blank while hers grew brighter. “What are you like when you are in practice?” she breathed.
They rose up from the dip. “Better than this I expect.” He felt the need to change the subject and did. “I do wish you had told me of your plan for this evening. Had I known this was the expectation I would have dressed myself better.”
Janie scoffed at this concept. “Oh please. You wake up in the morning dressed better than most of the people here.”
“When have you ever seen me wake up?” he questioned.
Her expression dimmed. “Why did you have to say that? You know I didn’t mean that literally. It was just meant to be a compliment on your clothes. Tonight’s not supposed to be about my… problems.”
“Your problems are why you hired me. It is my job to be concerned with them,” he stated.
“But not tonight,” she enthused. “Tonight we’ll dance and you’ll keep me away from the bar.”
He raised an eyebrow at these words. “Really? You desire to not drink tonight?”
She nodded and smiled as her eyes watered. Rather than look at him, she found herself staring at her shoes. The sternness of his expression had softened into one that started to look pleased, almost happy. She so rarely saw him like this and knowing she was responsible for this made her heart race. While she had already provided her response to his question, she repeated it verbally to emphasis it. “Yes. Help me not drink tonight.”
“Very well.” Still staring at the ground, she could hear how his expression had further softened. It called to her mind the early days of their relationship when she had a desire to change but no ability in herself to do so. He had been so stern, so forceful, so direct in his desire to assist. The pain of withdrawal had been intense and he could very well have locked her away in her room to sweat things out. He had not done so. He had soothed. He had encouraged. He would help her in any way possible apart from letting her relapse. Through the pain of that experience she had a clear memory of him sitting at her bedside, holding her hand and smiling at her. Now they were on the dance floor, he was holding her as they danced and she just knew he was smiling at her to some degree. “I will do what I can to assist you to reach this goal.”
“I know you can do it,” she responded softly. She felt very warm. Finally she found the strength to look at him again. Her vision lacked clarity and she quickly realized it was due to the tears in her eyes. “I love you.”
“I don’t believe I said any such thing,” noted her dance partner. “I said I was out of practice.”
“Isn’t that what rusty means?”
“I am not so out of practice that I qualify for ‘rusty’.”
He dipped her. His expression remained blank while hers grew brighter. “What are you like when you are in practice?” she breathed.
They rose up from the dip. “Better than this I expect.” He felt the need to change the subject and did. “I do wish you had told me of your plan for this evening. Had I known this was the expectation I would have dressed myself better.”
Janie scoffed at this concept. “Oh please. You wake up in the morning dressed better than most of the people here.”
“When have you ever seen me wake up?” he questioned.
Her expression dimmed. “Why did you have to say that? You know I didn’t mean that literally. It was just meant to be a compliment on your clothes. Tonight’s not supposed to be about my… problems.”
“Your problems are why you hired me. It is my job to be concerned with them,” he stated.
“But not tonight,” she enthused. “Tonight we’ll dance and you’ll keep me away from the bar.”
He raised an eyebrow at these words. “Really? You desire to not drink tonight?”
She nodded and smiled as her eyes watered. Rather than look at him, she found herself staring at her shoes. The sternness of his expression had softened into one that started to look pleased, almost happy. She so rarely saw him like this and knowing she was responsible for this made her heart race. While she had already provided her response to his question, she repeated it verbally to emphasis it. “Yes. Help me not drink tonight.”
“Very well.” Still staring at the ground, she could hear how his expression had further softened. It called to her mind the early days of their relationship when she had a desire to change but no ability in herself to do so. He had been so stern, so forceful, so direct in his desire to assist. The pain of withdrawal had been intense and he could very well have locked her away in her room to sweat things out. He had not done so. He had soothed. He had encouraged. He would help her in any way possible apart from letting her relapse. Through the pain of that experience she had a clear memory of him sitting at her bedside, holding her hand and smiling at her. Now they were on the dance floor, he was holding her as they danced and she just knew he was smiling at her to some degree. “I will do what I can to assist you to reach this goal.”
“I know you can do it,” she responded softly. She felt very warm. Finally she found the strength to look at him again. Her vision lacked clarity and she quickly realized it was due to the tears in her eyes. “I love you.”
15 June 2007
Fresh Fiction for Friday - Fantastic Fourth Fragment
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
They had arrived at a ballroom this evening as opposed to the normal dance club. “A little,” he admitted.
“Are you pleased?” she checked.
This made him pause. The question did not make sense to him. What difference would his being pleased or not make? Eventually he responded “I am not displeased.”
A smile lay claim to her face. She calculated the double negative to be a positive. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gentle music washed over them as they were directed to their table. There was the occasional look or rushed whisper as they walked. Janie understood all of it without hearing them. ‘Is that?’ ‘It can’t be.’ ‘What is she doing here?’ She didn’t care. Let them wonder. Let them gawk and stare. Tonight was not about them.
Upon reaching the table, Psmith pulled her chair out for her. She smiled at him and accepted this offer. This was good. It all felt so right, so … ladylike.
Psmith stood at her right side, his hands clasped behind his back. After a moment of observing the scene before them, he spoke. “Well now, this is a distinct variation from our normal night out. It is still dancing, just a different sort of dancing.” He stopped speaking. Janie looked up at him with a gentle smile on her face. She did not speak. After a prolonged pause he coughed gently and continued. “I must admit that I am unclear as to how the process functions in this establishment. There may be a dance card required. It may well be that all a gentleman will need to do is approach and ask in order to dance with you. Alternatively, I may need to act as an intermediary. If that is the case, do you see anyone you would like to have approach? The gentleman standing by that pillar on the other side of the room looks nice. Shall I approach him?”
Janie continued to observe him despite the uncomfortable position in which she need to place herself in order to do so. “No thank you,” she stated.
“Does that mean you have someone in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Whom would that be?”
She smiled. “You of course.”
This comment generated a pause in the conversation. Psmith terminated the pause with “Me?” She nodded. “You wish to dance with me?”
“That’s the reason I wanted to come here,” she noted. A thought occurred to her and she quickly added “You can dance, can’t you?”
“I am versed in the terpsichorean arts,” he stated, straightening his stance even further. “It is not a skill I am often called upon to utilize. I am quite out of practice.”
This statement did nothing to perturb her. “That’s okay. I’ve no idea what I’m doing at all so you’re still ahead of me.” She offered her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
He visibly pondered these statements. After this consideration he took her hand. “Perhaps it will be fun at that.” She beamed with joy.
They had arrived at a ballroom this evening as opposed to the normal dance club. “A little,” he admitted.
“Are you pleased?” she checked.
This made him pause. The question did not make sense to him. What difference would his being pleased or not make? Eventually he responded “I am not displeased.”
A smile lay claim to her face. She calculated the double negative to be a positive. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gentle music washed over them as they were directed to their table. There was the occasional look or rushed whisper as they walked. Janie understood all of it without hearing them. ‘Is that?’ ‘It can’t be.’ ‘What is she doing here?’ She didn’t care. Let them wonder. Let them gawk and stare. Tonight was not about them.
Upon reaching the table, Psmith pulled her chair out for her. She smiled at him and accepted this offer. This was good. It all felt so right, so … ladylike.
Psmith stood at her right side, his hands clasped behind his back. After a moment of observing the scene before them, he spoke. “Well now, this is a distinct variation from our normal night out. It is still dancing, just a different sort of dancing.” He stopped speaking. Janie looked up at him with a gentle smile on her face. She did not speak. After a prolonged pause he coughed gently and continued. “I must admit that I am unclear as to how the process functions in this establishment. There may be a dance card required. It may well be that all a gentleman will need to do is approach and ask in order to dance with you. Alternatively, I may need to act as an intermediary. If that is the case, do you see anyone you would like to have approach? The gentleman standing by that pillar on the other side of the room looks nice. Shall I approach him?”
Janie continued to observe him despite the uncomfortable position in which she need to place herself in order to do so. “No thank you,” she stated.
“Does that mean you have someone in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Whom would that be?”
She smiled. “You of course.”
This comment generated a pause in the conversation. Psmith terminated the pause with “Me?” She nodded. “You wish to dance with me?”
“That’s the reason I wanted to come here,” she noted. A thought occurred to her and she quickly added “You can dance, can’t you?”
“I am versed in the terpsichorean arts,” he stated, straightening his stance even further. “It is not a skill I am often called upon to utilize. I am quite out of practice.”
This statement did nothing to perturb her. “That’s okay. I’ve no idea what I’m doing at all so you’re still ahead of me.” She offered her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
He visibly pondered these statements. After this consideration he took her hand. “Perhaps it will be fun at that.” She beamed with joy.
11 June 2007
Did some math. Was surprised.
I took a look at the computer mouse that 'Flipper Sr.' displayed to me. It was round, semi-clear, semi-silver and appeared to have eyes imbeded in it. "Looks like a Cybermat," I noted before turning to walk away.
This statement caused him to examine it further. Having apparently come to a mental conclusion about my statement, he chuckled. "I suppose it does." He then extended the chuckle to me. "You're very focused."
We had conversed enough about Doctor Who in the past that I guessed he would get the reference and obviously had. By now I was back in my office, thinking about sitting down. "Yeah, well, I've been swimming in that sea for..." Quickly I did math. I first started watching Doctor Who when I was 8 and now I'm 33 so that makes...
I didn't sit down. "25 years now." Good grief! I have friends younger than that!
This is my silver anniversary with Doctor Who. I'd say I deserve a present but the show's been back on TV for 3 years now and, really, I'll take that. More episodes please! At least another 25 years worth...
This statement caused him to examine it further. Having apparently come to a mental conclusion about my statement, he chuckled. "I suppose it does." He then extended the chuckle to me. "You're very focused."
We had conversed enough about Doctor Who in the past that I guessed he would get the reference and obviously had. By now I was back in my office, thinking about sitting down. "Yeah, well, I've been swimming in that sea for..." Quickly I did math. I first started watching Doctor Who when I was 8 and now I'm 33 so that makes...
I didn't sit down. "25 years now." Good grief! I have friends younger than that!
This is my silver anniversary with Doctor Who. I'd say I deserve a present but the show's been back on TV for 3 years now and, really, I'll take that. More episodes please! At least another 25 years worth...
08 June 2007
Fresh Fiction For Friday - 3 (Free?)
Wearily she wiped the sweat from her brow as she continued to exert herself on the stepper fitness device. She knew the time she had remaining was limited as she only exercised during the brief periods when Psmith was not with her. While he had often encouraged her to exercise whenever she wanted and would not have observed her doing so if she had asked him, she felt uncomfortable sweating with him so nearby. It didn’t feel right. Psmith was so cool that she couldn’t picture him sweating. She had tried to do so and could not. Somehow, she felt that he would find a way to talk himself out of it.
The machine beeped loudly to inform her that the cycle of exercise was complete. Eagerly she climbed down and began her post workout stretching. Her everything hurt but in such a good way. She did her best to focus on the stretching and nothing else; to think past the good pain for the form of the stretching. Nothing could stop her now.
Nothing could stop her apart from herself. What was that noise? It disrupted her focus. It was a rustling, crinkling sound not unlike… tissue paper. It was tissue paper! As she leapt to her feet, her muscles eagerly informed her of the stupidity of this movement. All the same, she made herself go to the sound of the tissue paper: the island in the kitchen. This is where Psmith was calmly rooting around in a package. Her package! “What are you doing going through that?” she cried.
Psmith whirled around in surprise at the suddenness of the volume from her. After the moment faded, his expression was left with a mild confusion. “I go through every package that enters this suite. I go through our food. You should be well aware of this as it is one of your orders. It is part of your rehabilitation.”
She spoke quickly. “I take it back. Cancel the order, for this package anyway.”
“By your order you cannot cancel that order.” His eyes narrowed. “What is so special about this package that you do not want me to investigate it as the others, hmm?” Carefully, he raised the item from the box in order to look under it.
Angrily she snatched the blue dress from his hand, for the moment not caring if she damaged it. Surprise returned to his expression, providing her with the opportunity to claim the box as well. She crammed the dress back in the container as she stomped off towards her room. Stomping hurt her legs and made her even more upset.
As this new shock wore off, Psmith returned to a state of confused crankiness. “I do not understand what is the problem. I have faithfully investigated every package that has passed this way, some with garments of a secretive nature, without complaint or concern. Why should this item cause such a reaction?”
In the doorway of her room she paused. With tears in her eyes she exclaimed “It was meant to be a surprise!” She punctuated her displeasure by slamming the door behind her.
Psmith stood there and pondered this. He considered it backwards and forwards. Just for fun, once her considered it sideways to see if it would help. It did not. The result of all this pondering was a deep sigh. “I cannot wait until she gets older and starts to make some sense.” He wandered into the kitchen proper. “At least the package was clean.”
The machine beeped loudly to inform her that the cycle of exercise was complete. Eagerly she climbed down and began her post workout stretching. Her everything hurt but in such a good way. She did her best to focus on the stretching and nothing else; to think past the good pain for the form of the stretching. Nothing could stop her now.
Nothing could stop her apart from herself. What was that noise? It disrupted her focus. It was a rustling, crinkling sound not unlike… tissue paper. It was tissue paper! As she leapt to her feet, her muscles eagerly informed her of the stupidity of this movement. All the same, she made herself go to the sound of the tissue paper: the island in the kitchen. This is where Psmith was calmly rooting around in a package. Her package! “What are you doing going through that?” she cried.
Psmith whirled around in surprise at the suddenness of the volume from her. After the moment faded, his expression was left with a mild confusion. “I go through every package that enters this suite. I go through our food. You should be well aware of this as it is one of your orders. It is part of your rehabilitation.”
She spoke quickly. “I take it back. Cancel the order, for this package anyway.”
“By your order you cannot cancel that order.” His eyes narrowed. “What is so special about this package that you do not want me to investigate it as the others, hmm?” Carefully, he raised the item from the box in order to look under it.
Angrily she snatched the blue dress from his hand, for the moment not caring if she damaged it. Surprise returned to his expression, providing her with the opportunity to claim the box as well. She crammed the dress back in the container as she stomped off towards her room. Stomping hurt her legs and made her even more upset.
As this new shock wore off, Psmith returned to a state of confused crankiness. “I do not understand what is the problem. I have faithfully investigated every package that has passed this way, some with garments of a secretive nature, without complaint or concern. Why should this item cause such a reaction?”
In the doorway of her room she paused. With tears in her eyes she exclaimed “It was meant to be a surprise!” She punctuated her displeasure by slamming the door behind her.
Psmith stood there and pondered this. He considered it backwards and forwards. Just for fun, once her considered it sideways to see if it would help. It did not. The result of all this pondering was a deep sigh. “I cannot wait until she gets older and starts to make some sense.” He wandered into the kitchen proper. “At least the package was clean.”
03 June 2007
No One goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline
While dealing with the reasons why we didn't enjoy 'Spider-Man 3' as much as we should have, one of my primary discussion points is that it didn't feel like there was enough Spider-Man spread throughout the movie. I do understand that there was a Spider-Man fight of some significant length near the end of the movie and I understand the concept of building to your payoff but this was more of a pacing problem in my opinion, something caused by adding the Venom storyline to a movie that didn't originally feature the character.
You must meet expectations. People expect to see Spider-Man in a Spider-Man movie. Marvel publishes three primary Spider-Man comics a month, twelve months a year. In the space of 36 comics a year, you can afford to have a couple that focus more on Peter Parker or show events through the eyes of a different character. In fact, if simply for the sake of variety, you need to change things up in order for those books to stay fresh every month. When there's one movie every three years, it's a different combination of events.
No one goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline. No one goes to McDonald's for a gourmet meal. No one watches American Idol for the death-metal songs. No one watches 'A Night at the Opera' for the singing, it's all about the Marx Brothers.
Despite it being a neat moment from a number of different perspectives, no one goes to a Spider-Man movie to watch Peter Parker dance. It's not that you can't go beyond the expectations but you must at least meet them. McDonald's could serve gourmet food but if the quality of the fries suffered because of it, would people be happy? No. If the monster wrestling in a Godzilla movie is awesome and the human love interest story was good, well, that would probably be the best Godzilla movie ever.
If you want to do something new in the entertainment world, to mix things up in a long running series so that you're not just repeating yourself, at least bring the basic stuff you promise in the title. When you have a movie called 'Werewolves on Wheels' there should be more than a few seconds of a Werewolf on a motorcycle.
Or is it just me?
You must meet expectations. People expect to see Spider-Man in a Spider-Man movie. Marvel publishes three primary Spider-Man comics a month, twelve months a year. In the space of 36 comics a year, you can afford to have a couple that focus more on Peter Parker or show events through the eyes of a different character. In fact, if simply for the sake of variety, you need to change things up in order for those books to stay fresh every month. When there's one movie every three years, it's a different combination of events.
No one goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline. No one goes to McDonald's for a gourmet meal. No one watches American Idol for the death-metal songs. No one watches 'A Night at the Opera' for the singing, it's all about the Marx Brothers.
Despite it being a neat moment from a number of different perspectives, no one goes to a Spider-Man movie to watch Peter Parker dance. It's not that you can't go beyond the expectations but you must at least meet them. McDonald's could serve gourmet food but if the quality of the fries suffered because of it, would people be happy? No. If the monster wrestling in a Godzilla movie is awesome and the human love interest story was good, well, that would probably be the best Godzilla movie ever.
If you want to do something new in the entertainment world, to mix things up in a long running series so that you're not just repeating yourself, at least bring the basic stuff you promise in the title. When you have a movie called 'Werewolves on Wheels' there should be more than a few seconds of a Werewolf on a motorcycle.
Or is it just me?
01 June 2007
Fresh Fiction for Friday - Further
She emerged from her room moaning and holding her head. Entering the suite proper she shuffled towards the expansive couch and comfy chairs, looking for sympathy. “Why does my head hurt so bad?”
The gentleman sighed, raising his eyes just enough from the crossword puzzle in the newspaper to observe her. “You are hung-over from drinking too much,” he stated. “This is why your head hurts. Are you familiar with the concepts of cause and effect?” Looking pitiful, she shook her head no, stopping only to wince. With a sigh of exasperation, he put down his pen and newspaper. “To recap, because you drink so much every night, the effect is that you wake up the next morning hung-over, forgetting that we had a conversation regarding cause and effect the day before, as well as the day before that, as well as nearly every morning since I’ve been in your employ.”
“Not every morning?” she checked, looking for a silver lining.
“Some days you do not wake until the afternoon,” he noted coolly.
She pouted. “But Matt…”
This statement was very quickly terminated by a hard look and a sharp retort from the gentleman on the couch. “Ms. Van Howell. To you my name is Mr. Psmith, the P being silent as in ptarmigan and Ptolemy. If you must insist on a certain familiarity, you may refer to me as Psmith. You have yet to earn the right to refer to me by my first name. I believe your continued hang-overs are evidence of this. Have I been clear?” She nodded. She shuddered under the coldness of his statements towards her. There was something in his British accent and deep voice that made his words feel that much sharper. “I am glad. The light breakfast you prefer has been prepared. The coffee is fresh.”
“Thank you.” A thought proceeded. “No special secret hang-over cure?”
Psmith was once again working through the crossword puzzle. “That is correct. Resolving this problem so quickly for you is retarding your progress in this regard. For you to learn, you will have to suffer so that you will understand the effects of what you are doing.”
“But I have suffered, lots of times before I hired you to help me with my issues. Can’t that count? You know I’m trying,” she pleaded. He looked up from his puzzle. She lacked the normal ammunition of her feminine wiles what with her bed scrambled hair and the smeared remains of yesterday’s makeup twisting her features. It was the hint of light in her eyes that caught his attention. At this point in the day her eyes were normally dull and lifeless but today they held some life and she used that life to plead with him. “Please Mr. Psmith?”
He returned his gaze to the puzzle. “How very wise of you to utilize my correct nomenclature. I will… consider your request.”
She smiled, brightening her expression despite her current physical state. She knew him well enough to know that this response meant yes unless she did something to change his mind. “Thank you Mr. Psmith.”
He continued with his puzzle, his pen rapidly moving over the paper as the squares were filled in. “Certainly. Go take in some breakfast it gets cold.”
She resumed her walk, heading for the kitchen. “Also, thank you for getting me home alone last night, Mr. Psmith.”
“You are quite welcome. I am glad to see you make the progress you desire in this regard.” As she entered the kitchen, he placed his pen and completed puzzle on the table before him. He rose to make the cure she had requested.
The gentleman sighed, raising his eyes just enough from the crossword puzzle in the newspaper to observe her. “You are hung-over from drinking too much,” he stated. “This is why your head hurts. Are you familiar with the concepts of cause and effect?” Looking pitiful, she shook her head no, stopping only to wince. With a sigh of exasperation, he put down his pen and newspaper. “To recap, because you drink so much every night, the effect is that you wake up the next morning hung-over, forgetting that we had a conversation regarding cause and effect the day before, as well as the day before that, as well as nearly every morning since I’ve been in your employ.”
“Not every morning?” she checked, looking for a silver lining.
“Some days you do not wake until the afternoon,” he noted coolly.
She pouted. “But Matt…”
This statement was very quickly terminated by a hard look and a sharp retort from the gentleman on the couch. “Ms. Van Howell. To you my name is Mr. Psmith, the P being silent as in ptarmigan and Ptolemy. If you must insist on a certain familiarity, you may refer to me as Psmith. You have yet to earn the right to refer to me by my first name. I believe your continued hang-overs are evidence of this. Have I been clear?” She nodded. She shuddered under the coldness of his statements towards her. There was something in his British accent and deep voice that made his words feel that much sharper. “I am glad. The light breakfast you prefer has been prepared. The coffee is fresh.”
“Thank you.” A thought proceeded. “No special secret hang-over cure?”
Psmith was once again working through the crossword puzzle. “That is correct. Resolving this problem so quickly for you is retarding your progress in this regard. For you to learn, you will have to suffer so that you will understand the effects of what you are doing.”
“But I have suffered, lots of times before I hired you to help me with my issues. Can’t that count? You know I’m trying,” she pleaded. He looked up from his puzzle. She lacked the normal ammunition of her feminine wiles what with her bed scrambled hair and the smeared remains of yesterday’s makeup twisting her features. It was the hint of light in her eyes that caught his attention. At this point in the day her eyes were normally dull and lifeless but today they held some life and she used that life to plead with him. “Please Mr. Psmith?”
He returned his gaze to the puzzle. “How very wise of you to utilize my correct nomenclature. I will… consider your request.”
She smiled, brightening her expression despite her current physical state. She knew him well enough to know that this response meant yes unless she did something to change his mind. “Thank you Mr. Psmith.”
He continued with his puzzle, his pen rapidly moving over the paper as the squares were filled in. “Certainly. Go take in some breakfast it gets cold.”
She resumed her walk, heading for the kitchen. “Also, thank you for getting me home alone last night, Mr. Psmith.”
“You are quite welcome. I am glad to see you make the progress you desire in this regard.” As she entered the kitchen, he placed his pen and completed puzzle on the table before him. He rose to make the cure she had requested.
27 May 2007
30 Years of Big Budget Popcorn Flicks
I suppose I spent the 30th anniversary of 'Star Wars' in an appropriate manner: I lined up for a movie. It was one of that movie's 'descendants', the latest 'Pirates of the Caribbean' movie. Short review: its a bit long but I only really noticed the length once and then things picked up so I forgot all about it being long. It's a lot of fun.
I've expressed my general disinterest in 'Star Wars' previously but must touch on it again. It's the deification of the original trilogy as some masterpiece that eludes me. 'Star Wars' was nostaglia when it was released in 1977, just like Lucas' first big film, 'American Graffiti'. It is the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers newspaper strips come to life in ways that special effects couldn't replicate in the 1930's and 1940's. It is good old fashioned space opera, a throwback after films like '2001: a Space Odyssey'. In and of itself, none of these are bad things. I just don't understand why Lucas should be a genius because he got enough of a budget to spend some on effects.
Anyway, one of the things 'Star Wars' locked in was the big event popcorn movie. The historical epics of old were cast aside for good natured action movies that hoped you wouldn't think about them too hard. 'Jaws' started the concept and 'Star Wars' made it a trend. It is in from that mold that the 'Pirates' movies come from with big action, awesome heroes and villains and complicated plots that sometimes manage to hold together despite themselves. The third 'Pirates' movie is full of jockeying for position and each character has a plan that they're trying to make work, even if it means temporarily betraying a friend. It is quite fascinating to watch.
I may not be the first person to make this next declaration but I'll say it anyway: The 'Pirates of the Caribbean' trilogy is what the 'Star Wars' prequels wanted to be. They are densely plotted, action packed films with a central romantic story at it's heart. It's not hard to start imagining the pirate ships in space rather than water. The variation is that the effects are better in the 'Pirates' movie and there is chemistry between the romantic leads in the 'Pirates' movies. The 'Pirates' trilogy is also has the generation spanning popularity that 'Star Wars' once had as well as being immune from criticism insomuch that bad reviews will not halt people from seeing the movies.
To be fair, there are also no expectations for the 'Pirates' trilogy. It came from nowhere to be as popular as it is. The 'Star Wars' prequels had heavy expectations based on the fact that we knew where the films had to go from the evidence in the original trilogy and when they failed to meet the expectations of years of fan dissection of the original movies, the backlash became impressive.
All I know is this: during all of these movies, I always have a moment when I daydream about a big screen 'Doctor Who' movie. Perhaps I could be a space pirate in that. Oh, wait, the show already did that in 1969. Nevermind.
I've expressed my general disinterest in 'Star Wars' previously but must touch on it again. It's the deification of the original trilogy as some masterpiece that eludes me. 'Star Wars' was nostaglia when it was released in 1977, just like Lucas' first big film, 'American Graffiti'. It is the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers newspaper strips come to life in ways that special effects couldn't replicate in the 1930's and 1940's. It is good old fashioned space opera, a throwback after films like '2001: a Space Odyssey'. In and of itself, none of these are bad things. I just don't understand why Lucas should be a genius because he got enough of a budget to spend some on effects.
Anyway, one of the things 'Star Wars' locked in was the big event popcorn movie. The historical epics of old were cast aside for good natured action movies that hoped you wouldn't think about them too hard. 'Jaws' started the concept and 'Star Wars' made it a trend. It is in from that mold that the 'Pirates' movies come from with big action, awesome heroes and villains and complicated plots that sometimes manage to hold together despite themselves. The third 'Pirates' movie is full of jockeying for position and each character has a plan that they're trying to make work, even if it means temporarily betraying a friend. It is quite fascinating to watch.
I may not be the first person to make this next declaration but I'll say it anyway: The 'Pirates of the Caribbean' trilogy is what the 'Star Wars' prequels wanted to be. They are densely plotted, action packed films with a central romantic story at it's heart. It's not hard to start imagining the pirate ships in space rather than water. The variation is that the effects are better in the 'Pirates' movie and there is chemistry between the romantic leads in the 'Pirates' movies. The 'Pirates' trilogy is also has the generation spanning popularity that 'Star Wars' once had as well as being immune from criticism insomuch that bad reviews will not halt people from seeing the movies.
To be fair, there are also no expectations for the 'Pirates' trilogy. It came from nowhere to be as popular as it is. The 'Star Wars' prequels had heavy expectations based on the fact that we knew where the films had to go from the evidence in the original trilogy and when they failed to meet the expectations of years of fan dissection of the original movies, the backlash became impressive.
All I know is this: during all of these movies, I always have a moment when I daydream about a big screen 'Doctor Who' movie. Perhaps I could be a space pirate in that. Oh, wait, the show already did that in 1969. Nevermind.
25 May 2007
Fresh Fiction for Friday
She leaned forward, laughing energetically. The fluid in her glass slid forward as well, balancing precariously on the lip of said glass, threatening to spill. In her amusement, she never noticed, nor did she notice it teeter in the opposite side of the glass when she leaned back. Continuing to laugh, she rested her free hand on the leg of the fellow that caused her mirth. Calmly, the gentleman standing over her leaned down and removed the hand from the leg. The young lady, still amused, did not notice. Her entertaining companion shot a dirty look in the direction of the kill-joy, hoping to prevent any further interference on his part. For the gentleman’s part, he remained expressionless under the gaze. There was nothing to indicate that The Look had in any way proved effective as a corrective act. As a result, he gave up on dealing with the handler and returned his attention to the handlee.
It was difficult to continue communicating his clever comments over the clamor of the crowd in the club but her continued chortling indicated that he was succeeding. At the same time, he realized that she had drunk quite a lot of wine tonight and that this could be the primary source of her mirth. It was indeed possible that he could be reciting the phone book in order to receive the same response from her. If this was the case, tonight would indeed be a special night. A grin played about his lips as she laughed once again. He was in.
Having identified all this, he decided it was time to play his hand. It was late, he noted, and the day had been a long one. Perhaps, he suggested, it was time to call it a night. He could easily and gladly transport her home. What did she say to that?
Calmly, still lacking expression, her handler rested his hand on her shoulder. This contact seemed to activate her. While she concurred with his assessment regarding the lateness of the hour, she politely but firmly rejected his generous offer. At the same time, an evening spent in his company had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, so perhaps they could do this again soon.
She rose suddenly and he stumbled to his feet to join her. In a manner that he could only describe as polite, she reached across the table to hug him, barely making contact between them. For a moment, he considered trying to sneak in a kiss but, before he could act on this theory, she was gone. He stepped to follow her but her handler gave him a glance that froze him in his tracks. In a flash, they were lost in the crowd outside the VIP section of the club.
Insanity! The plan was foolproof. He’d gotten her drunk. She was known to be a ‘party’ girl. He’d asked to take her home. It was a formula that had been successful for so many before him, so why not him?
It wasn’t the plan for the plan was good. It wasn’t the girl for she was easy. It was the handler. It was his fault!
How had this handler stymied him? It was not through muscle for he was not abundant in that area. It was not with height for he was average in that regard. It was not with words for he hadn’t spoken to either of them all night. Perhaps it was hypnotism? She had reacted rather oddly to that touch on her shoulder. Yet, that failed to explain why he had done nothing to resist the power of the handler.
That was exactly it; his power. The handler’s presence had been so strong that he had derailed the plan completely. It had been the briefest of glances yet it had accomplished so much.
It occurred to him that now was not the time to ponder these things. Perhaps it was not too late to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He quickly made his way to the edge of the balcony, casting his eyes on the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her.
His heart raised. There she was! His heart sank. She was at the coat check room, right next to the exit. There was no way for him to get through the busy crowd in time to reach her. As he watched, she wandered out the door, closely followed by her handler as he shrugged on his tan trenchcoat.
Then they were gone.
It was difficult to continue communicating his clever comments over the clamor of the crowd in the club but her continued chortling indicated that he was succeeding. At the same time, he realized that she had drunk quite a lot of wine tonight and that this could be the primary source of her mirth. It was indeed possible that he could be reciting the phone book in order to receive the same response from her. If this was the case, tonight would indeed be a special night. A grin played about his lips as she laughed once again. He was in.
Having identified all this, he decided it was time to play his hand. It was late, he noted, and the day had been a long one. Perhaps, he suggested, it was time to call it a night. He could easily and gladly transport her home. What did she say to that?
Calmly, still lacking expression, her handler rested his hand on her shoulder. This contact seemed to activate her. While she concurred with his assessment regarding the lateness of the hour, she politely but firmly rejected his generous offer. At the same time, an evening spent in his company had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, so perhaps they could do this again soon.
She rose suddenly and he stumbled to his feet to join her. In a manner that he could only describe as polite, she reached across the table to hug him, barely making contact between them. For a moment, he considered trying to sneak in a kiss but, before he could act on this theory, she was gone. He stepped to follow her but her handler gave him a glance that froze him in his tracks. In a flash, they were lost in the crowd outside the VIP section of the club.
Insanity! The plan was foolproof. He’d gotten her drunk. She was known to be a ‘party’ girl. He’d asked to take her home. It was a formula that had been successful for so many before him, so why not him?
It wasn’t the plan for the plan was good. It wasn’t the girl for she was easy. It was the handler. It was his fault!
How had this handler stymied him? It was not through muscle for he was not abundant in that area. It was not with height for he was average in that regard. It was not with words for he hadn’t spoken to either of them all night. Perhaps it was hypnotism? She had reacted rather oddly to that touch on her shoulder. Yet, that failed to explain why he had done nothing to resist the power of the handler.
That was exactly it; his power. The handler’s presence had been so strong that he had derailed the plan completely. It had been the briefest of glances yet it had accomplished so much.
It occurred to him that now was not the time to ponder these things. Perhaps it was not too late to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He quickly made his way to the edge of the balcony, casting his eyes on the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her.
His heart raised. There she was! His heart sank. She was at the coat check room, right next to the exit. There was no way for him to get through the busy crowd in time to reach her. As he watched, she wandered out the door, closely followed by her handler as he shrugged on his tan trenchcoat.
Then they were gone.
24 May 2007
Shoot Some Golfs
One of the problems with being a crummy golfer, as I am, is that you plan every shot with failure in mind. I don’t approach a 100 yard shot expecting to loft a casual shot onto the green; I smack at it with my 3 Iron hoping that it gets some air and doesn’t skip across the ground like a rock on water. As a result, when I do succeed, it’s an accident and I over achieve, often sending a ball flying over the green.
I’m not going to detail the 9 holes George and I played last Saturday. The most interesting golf story to tell is that of the perfect shot you made and the most tedious golf story to hear is the story of the perfect shot that someone else made. As a result, I’ll not detail my drive on the 14th hole that went far and true. It felt good. Every round of golf needs that hit, the one that feels good. If you don’t get one shot like that, there’s no incentive to keep playing.
I believe it was Mark Twain that noted ‘Golf is a good walk spoiled’. It’s not a concept I can totally argue with especially considering the frustration I have expressed on occasion on the course. At the same time, golf is a good excuse for a walk and I can use all the excuses for exercise that I can get. You may not have noticed but I can be a bit lazy.
I’m not very good at skipping rocks on water either.
I’m not going to detail the 9 holes George and I played last Saturday. The most interesting golf story to tell is that of the perfect shot you made and the most tedious golf story to hear is the story of the perfect shot that someone else made. As a result, I’ll not detail my drive on the 14th hole that went far and true. It felt good. Every round of golf needs that hit, the one that feels good. If you don’t get one shot like that, there’s no incentive to keep playing.
I believe it was Mark Twain that noted ‘Golf is a good walk spoiled’. It’s not a concept I can totally argue with especially considering the frustration I have expressed on occasion on the course. At the same time, golf is a good excuse for a walk and I can use all the excuses for exercise that I can get. You may not have noticed but I can be a bit lazy.
I’m not very good at skipping rocks on water either.
11 May 2007
Sleep = Good
I’d forgotten how my attitude to sleep changes when I’m on 3rd shift.
When I’m working 1st shift, sleep happens when there is time for it. I know I need sleep because a lack of it makes me cranky and dumb. Given the opportunity, my body would choose to sleep from 02:00 – 10:00. As a result, going to sleep at 22:00 – 23:00 in order to wake up at 05:30 is not a natural choice for me but my body did figure it out eventually. The weekend is often a time to catch up a bit on my sleep, sometimes even to the point of curling up on the couch while Spongebob or Oddparents is on and taking a little nap. It’s not that I find those shows boring but that I’ve seen most of them so I’m not struggling to watch them as I doze off, afraid I’m going to miss something.
When I’m working 3rd shift, sleep is a necessity. In fact, I feel I need more of it to survive the night. I do not tolerate myself dozing off at work so the more sleep I get, the better. The first week or so was no problem; I got home, ate a little something and would pass out on the couch watching the Muppet Show before waking up enough to go to bed. After that, I started over-sleeping, sleeping for 10 or 11 hours straight, waking up tired and grumpy. I started setting the alarm on non-busy nights to stop this. In the last week or so, I’ve started under-sleeping, not unlike being on 1st shift and only getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep a day. I keep myself busy during the weekend nights, afraid that I wouldn’t nap but sleep and be unable to sleep during the day. That would just lead to a screwed up sleep schedule during the week.
Long term that plan isn’t viable. There’s stuff I have to do during the day and, if I was going to stay on 3rd shift, I’d probably try to learn how to sleep in chunks of time, get up to do stuff and sleep more, rather than sleeping all at once. My buddy the cop does that and it seems to work for him. Luckily, this shift isn’t a long term plan. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this is my last night on 3rd. Hooray! Now my friends will no longer be scared by emails I send at 03:00, at least until the next time I stay up too late drinking…
Speaking of which, don't post drunken comments on people's MySpace pages in the middle of the night. It's like writing down all the stupid stuff you say when you're drunk so you can see how dumb you really are at that moment. And no one wants that. Well, except me because I think it's funny. That's just me I guess.
When I’m working 1st shift, sleep happens when there is time for it. I know I need sleep because a lack of it makes me cranky and dumb. Given the opportunity, my body would choose to sleep from 02:00 – 10:00. As a result, going to sleep at 22:00 – 23:00 in order to wake up at 05:30 is not a natural choice for me but my body did figure it out eventually. The weekend is often a time to catch up a bit on my sleep, sometimes even to the point of curling up on the couch while Spongebob or Oddparents is on and taking a little nap. It’s not that I find those shows boring but that I’ve seen most of them so I’m not struggling to watch them as I doze off, afraid I’m going to miss something.
When I’m working 3rd shift, sleep is a necessity. In fact, I feel I need more of it to survive the night. I do not tolerate myself dozing off at work so the more sleep I get, the better. The first week or so was no problem; I got home, ate a little something and would pass out on the couch watching the Muppet Show before waking up enough to go to bed. After that, I started over-sleeping, sleeping for 10 or 11 hours straight, waking up tired and grumpy. I started setting the alarm on non-busy nights to stop this. In the last week or so, I’ve started under-sleeping, not unlike being on 1st shift and only getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep a day. I keep myself busy during the weekend nights, afraid that I wouldn’t nap but sleep and be unable to sleep during the day. That would just lead to a screwed up sleep schedule during the week.
Long term that plan isn’t viable. There’s stuff I have to do during the day and, if I was going to stay on 3rd shift, I’d probably try to learn how to sleep in chunks of time, get up to do stuff and sleep more, rather than sleeping all at once. My buddy the cop does that and it seems to work for him. Luckily, this shift isn’t a long term plan. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this is my last night on 3rd. Hooray! Now my friends will no longer be scared by emails I send at 03:00, at least until the next time I stay up too late drinking…
Speaking of which, don't post drunken comments on people's MySpace pages in the middle of the night. It's like writing down all the stupid stuff you say when you're drunk so you can see how dumb you really are at that moment. And no one wants that. Well, except me because I think it's funny. That's just me I guess.
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