Holy shit!

Bruce McCulloch has a website!

Well, maybe it's not that exciting...

Aw, fuck it.

Okay, I went ahead and ordered the damn Maya Deren DVD. I looked around the company's website a bit more, and I figured I'd give them a shot.
Don't make me regret this, you goddamned hippies (I'm assuming they're hippies. "Reconfiguring reality"?)

Poems that I like

I should also mention that I love the song "Poems," on Nearly God.
This one makes me sad.
This one I admire...

...okay, fuck that.
I would really love to get a DVD copy of Maya Deren: Experimental Films. But the only ones who seem to sell it are the distributors, who I find shady for some reason. I mean, their website is kind of low-rent. And, how come they're the only ones who have it? I don't know if I'm cool with giving them my credit card info...
How frustrating, for I would truly love this collection.

Dream Diary #1

Oh, fuck. A dream diary? Jesus...
Anyway, I had this dream once where I was eating Kentucky Fried Chicken, in the restaurant; I pick up another piece and take a bite out of it. As I tore the skin away, it revealed a row of teeth. Further investigation revealed I was, in fact, eating a deep-fried human jawbone. Curious. I think I woke up at this point, but only vaguely disturbed. It's strange that such a gruesome image didn't really upset me at all. Perhaps more curious is the fact that I chose to share this dream with the young lady who had spent the night. We had only recently started dating, and I can't tell you why I thought this was important information for her.
We broke up a few weeks later; which, I'm certain, was completely unrelated.

Because you asked

The civil war general Stonewall Jackson died of pneumonia when he was 39. Delerious from his fever, his last words were: "Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees."

When will I learn? Oh yes... never.

When you mix different liquors in the same drink you will be, at best, extremely drunk or, at worst, sick.
I know this. I have experienced this many times over. Yet. Yet yet yet yet yet, whenever I am offered an aforementioned hetero-alcoholic drink, I always always always say yes. Earlier this year, or last year (who knows), I was at an obnoxious club with some friends. Now, I've recently started drinking scotch-whisky (my favorite brand is Bells, if you're wondering), so when I went to the bartendress I thought I'd branch out and order a scotch-whisky and coke. After her cute, little brain finished pinballing around the inside of her skull, she leapt into action and poured a shot of whisky, followed by a shot of scotch into a glass, topped with coke. Now, this was very wrong. I knew this. I knew that this was not the sort of concoction any sort of reasonable person who values their faculties to the slightest degree should consume. Nevertheless, I paid the poor thing, and took my drink. And there my memories cease.
A lesson learned, perhaps? A-ha, ho ho, hee hee. Last night. My usual order of scotch and coke (well, I did learn something...). Gasp! There was only half a shot of scotch left! "How about," suggested the kindly bartender. "I top it off with some whisky?" Good Lord, no! sez my brain. "Sure," sez my mouth. Nooo! cries out my brain. "Shut up," sez my body as I start to drink. Help me, gurgles my brain, I'm drowning! "Glad he's out of the picture," sez the rest of me.
Next morning, I open my eyes, and my brain says "No." And that's why I stayed in bed until 2. Tonight, I will hopefully stick to my usual, reliable poisons, and hopefully my brain will permit me to function to some degree tomorrow. I've learned my lesson. I swear!

Atanarjuat

Goddamn, I just saw this movie and it was fucking amazing. I rented it because I am a critic whore, and I'm always interested in Aboriginal film. That being said, it sat around for a while as, good reviews or no, a three hour film is a three hour film. Nonetheless, I was riveted.
I thought it was brilliant on two levels; first, as an authentic document on Inuit life. Now, I'm kind of assuming at the authenticity, as I have never lived the traditional Inuit lifestyle, but it sure felt accurate. It had some neat details that worked into the narrative, such as the fact that women were very dependent on men for food. During the course of the story when the male and female protagonists are separated, her survival is at stake unless she takes up with another man. Very wrenching stuff.
Now, authenticity is all well and good, but I didn't rent a documentary, and sure enough the story is wonderfully satisfying on almost a fairy tale level. There is good and evil, revenge, betrayal, sacrifice, romance, redemption. But none of it feels forced or tacked on, as it is woven into Inuit culture, so it feels very real. It is simply masterful storytelling. Initially, I found the film interesting simply as a travelogue on this way of life, but I was surprised how involved I became in the story. Great stuff.

Larceny!

I don't normally like to steal links from other blogs, but this is simply too funny.
Thank you, everlasting blort.

***Update! 04/02/05! No! You maniacs! You blew it up! They took away the link! Why? Oh, fuck, why? So, yeah, forget this post. I don't know what the link above will lead you to, so I take no ownership of it. Goodbye, "they shot him in the fucking head," goodbye.***

Get with the program

I just read a fascinating article in the Guardian about people who deprogram cult members. What I found most interesting is that the author spoke to some cult-leaders to get their perspective. You get this sense that there's this tug-of-war, with the deprogrammers charging the cults with being money-grubbing control freaks, only to be accused of the same thing by the cult- leaders. I don't know, I'm all for freedom of religion, but I get nervous when a group refuse to let any outsiders know what they're up to. Say what you want about mainstream Christianity, but they tell you exactly what they're about, often obnoxiously so.
Also interesting: the deprogrammers website; it's a database of active cults. Good to know, I think.

The future is now

So I came to work an hour and a half early today, because I am a shithead as well as a dick, so I decided to do some Christmas shopping. In so doing, I have learned that music tapes are well and truly dead. This may seem pitifully obvious to most, but I was rather surprised.
You see, I have a friend currently living on an army base in Afghanistan, of all places, with only a walkman for company. For Christmas, my original plan was to make her some mix tapes which was torpedoed as the tape deck on my stereo is on the fritz. Plan B was to purchase some tapes for her, which has proved... troubling.
New music stores simply do not carry tapes anymore, which I did not expect, somehow. Granted, I have not attempted to buy a new tape of music in over ten years, but I thought there might be some analog stalwart out there. It turns out the only venue for music tapes is used CD/book stores, however the snag there is that you will only find the most atrocious crap ever inflicted on the public (David Lee Roth, anyone?). So, sorry, my desert-dwelling friend; I guess there's just no room for poor old tapes in our high-tech, fast paced world.
(Cue sad violin music, as Music Tapes shuffles off into the sunset, ala the Incredible Hulk TV series).

The H. is O.

My goodness, two comments; things are getting a little out of hand here. They will only get crazier, as I drunkenly promised to tell a friend the secret location of this blog (what a hideous word). For some reason, my code of ethics demands that in the cold light of sobriety I honor every inebriated promise. Why? I don't know.
In fact, many years ago I not only drunkenly agreed to invest 70.0 in my friends' fledgling screen printing business, I signed a drunken contract to that effect, on a napkin. I learned a valuable lesson about lending money to friends, and investing in companies that you know for a fact are run by lazy, incompetent drunks. That's one to grow on.
So, hello, my friend. This is it, so shut up about it.

I know, I'm a dick

I don't want to sound like too much of a dick, but I'm not sure about that marine who lost a finger to save his wedding ring. I mean, yeah, it's a sweet idea, but come on, it's just a ring. Now I should say that I count myself among the unwashed unwed, but I would think that a hypothetical spouse would rather have a husband with all his digits intact, than a husband with jewelry. I know, I know, the ring symbolises the eternal bond of your love that you share with the stars for ever and ever and ever etc. But it's still just a ring! It only has significance because we attribute significance to it. A finger, though, is truly irreplaceable, and in my experience rather useful. Losing a wedding ring in no way negates the marriage or the feelings behind it; it is a symbol. A finger is real, and tangible and if I were in that womans' place I would want my significant other free from harm, end of story.
But of course, I am a dick.

Cold Mountain

The other day I finally caught Cold Mountain on DVD. Spoiler spoiler spoiler.
I like it right up until the fucking ending. I mean, seriously, I think it is now against the law to do a film where the protagonist is not shot at the end! I've talked about this previously, but come on, people. What's the point? He traveled all that way, went through all that shit, fucked Nicole Kidman and then died. What are they trying to say? It's just really lazy storytelling, I think; why bother actually concluding the story when you can just kill Jude Law and voila! Pathos, tragedy, romance. Done and done.
Is it too much to ask for a non-mainstream film to have a happy ending? I know it's terribly unhip, but can we just try it once?

Science Corner

As a licensed neurosurgeon and snake-oil salesman, I have always had an interest in arcane medical disorders. And here's one now: Alien Hand Syndrome.
It involves these kinds of seizures where your arm starts acting independently of the rest of your body. Yow! Apparently your hand will tear at your clothes, grab your other arm, one guy was driving and his hand tried to drive him off the road.
Apparently it's caused by some injury to the brain, but some theorize that it could also be the work of a second consciousness trying to assert itself. Fucked! It must be exciting for the second consciousness, though; you spend you're whole existence buried in someone elses' consciousness, and then one day- woohoo! I have a hand! I'm-a gonna grab some clothes, grab-a the hand. What's this? A steering wheel! Out of my way! I'm driving!
Frankly, the sitcom potentials are endless.

Those kooky artists

Ever hear of Henry Darger? He was an odd fellow; a bit of a loner. A janitor, kept to himself...
Oh yes, he also wrote a 15000 page novel, and painted several hundred accompanying murals. If you haven't heard of his novel, titled incidentally: "The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion," it's because it is as yet unpublished. It was discovered in his basement apartment by his landlord, after his death. He's apparently quite famous in art circles, as an undiscovered and troubled genius.
I really like the idea of this; that out there are thousands and thousands of eccentrics plugging away at their opus' (opi?), and their giant murals. Obviously, Mr. Darger was not overly concerned with fame or fortune, or human contact of any kind by most accounts. He just needed to tell his story, to bring his vision to reality. I kind of envy that discipline.

Potemkins' Legacy

History is a creeping, fanatic obsession of mine; for example, have you ever heard of Grigory Potemkin? He was a general and aristocrat under Catherine the Great, and apparently was a pretty important guy. He accomplished all kinds of stuff, and most importantly, he was very big on the monarchy.
Fast forward to our modern age, and what is the name 'Potemkin' best known for? A quick google search reveals it is a) The Battleship Potemkin, a film about a mutiny on a battleship, named for Potemkin, during the communist revolution. Although considered a classic film, it was directed by Sergei Eisenstein, it is also basically communist propaganda.
He is also known for b) the potemkin village; basically, he built fake villages to fool Catherine the Great into thinking that the Russian peasants were happy and succesful. This is apparently a metaphor in common usage today, although it is also probably false. He never actually built any fake villages; it was probably a rumor started by his rivals.
So you're Potemkin, you work your whole life for Russia. You lead armies, start some towns, maybe you fuck Catherine the Great. What's your legacy? Cheating your queen, and communist propaganda. That's gotta suck.

Pirates!

Travelling over seas? Better check the piracy report!
Shiver me timbers! How marvellous that such a thing exists.
Tired of being being boarded? Considered the latest in anti-piracy technology!
Avast, I want some of that shit for my apartment.
If you think yacht pirates are too wimpy, try some truly vicious pirates. Radio pirates!
If you like that, me hearties, join the crew!
Old school! Learn about pirates back in tha day!
Like pirates, me buckos? Fucking eat one!
Little swabbies getting on your nerves? Put them to work!
Arrrrr, matey. I am fucking bored.

Issues!

I am pro-choice.
I find the whole abortion debate very strange, because the two sides aren't really arguing the same thing. The pro-life side is saying "abortion is WRONG," while the pro-choice side is saying "well, yes, maybe, but it should still be a choice." I mean, it's 'pro-life' and 'pro-choice'; it's not 'pro-life' vs 'anti-life.' I don't consider myself 'pro-abortion.' But pro-lifers are always going on about when is a life a life, and whether or not it's murder, but that doesn't really seem relevant. I'm willing to concede that, yes, it probably is murder, but I don't think a child being raised by someone unfit to raise them is necassarily a better option. It's just too complicated to reduce to a black and white, good/bad equation.
That being said, I think the pro-lifers need to rethink their tactics. Even if I was against abortion, I'd be hesitant to consider myself 'pro-life.' There's a bit too many pro-lifers who are pretty willing to throw fake blood around, show gruesome photos, present bizarre doll baby props, and, oh yes, shoot people. I just don't think that covering a baby doll with fake blood and screaming at teenage girls outside of clinics is the best way to convey any opinion.

Things that I find disturbing

I am always vaguely unsettled when women refer to sex as 'delicious,' or 'yummy,' or any other descriptive term normally reserved for food. I cannot articulate why it disturbs me, it just does.
For the first time in a long time I stayed home on a Saturday last night. I caught Saturday Night Live for the first time in quite a while, as well. As luck would have it, it was the infamous Jude Law/Ashlee(y?) Simpson episode, previously unseen by me. I thought Mr. Law was rather droll, although i already knew that, having seen 'I heart Huckabees.' I have this weird thing, though, whenever I see people being embarrassed; I just find it unbearable. When Ms. Simpsons' rather unfortunate second performance came on, I had to change the channel. I can't really explain why I find it so hard to watch; perhaps it simply dredges up my own vivid memories of humiliation. I have similar problems when I watch the Oscars; some of those speeches are just brutal. Get off the stage!