So here is the list of the albums I listened to the most in 2008. Feel free to blast away in the comments, that's what makes it fun after all. One note, while I did buy Metallica's Death Magnetic and after giving it a good week of dedicated play I have never gone back to it. The production sucks, the songs meander all over the place, the lyrics suck, and I've come to the conclusion that I am simply over Metallica. I've come to terms with this and I encourage you to do the same. Oh well, we'll always have Kill 'em All and Master of Puppets.
In no particular order...
Panic at the Disco - Pretty. Odd.
The album really wasn't that odd. It is essentially one big homage to the Beatles and ELO. But the band make the songs sound fresh and it is probably the most cheerful album I've heard all year.
Best tracks: Nine in the Afternoon, Northern Downpour, Pas de Cheval
Nine in the Afternoon
Alanis Morissette - Flavors of Entanglement
I already wrote about this album here. This was Alanis best since her breakthrough Jagged Little Pill and proved that an unhappy Alanis is the best type there is.
Best Tracks: Straitjacket, Not as We, Tapes
Not As We
The Offspring - Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace
This is my pick for best comeback album of the year. It isn't flawless, and the latter couple of tracks could easily be outtakes from Green Day's American Idiot, but after shoveling a decade's worth of shit onto the airwaves, The Offspring finally came back with a rock album that had some teeth. Hopefully it won't be another 10 years before we get another one from them as good as this one.
Best Tracks: You're Gonna Go Far Kid, Nothingtown, Let's Hear it For Rock Bottom
You're Gonna Go Far Kid
Fall Out Boy - Folie a Deux
Fall Out Boy have always (unfairly) been slagged for the poseur-riffic antics of bassist Pete Wentz when the truth is the band has consistently put out solid albums. Folie a Deux is their most ambitious to date and it succeeds more often than it fails. The band has always excelled at clever wordplay (even if the songs rarely make sense) and at least half the tracks benefit from playing at a decibel level usually reserved for 747's on takeoff. Folie a Deux is no exception. True that the guest stars like Elvis Costello and Debbie Harry, among others, are all but unrecognizable under the sonic assault, it is still an album well worth hearing even if they don't always reach the heights the band is reaching for. But they have got to retire the nonsensical song titles.
Best Tracks: I Don't Care, Sliding Headfirst into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet, Tiffany Blews
Sliding Head First Into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet
O.A.R - All Sides
O.A.R. has been around for years on the jam band circuit but this is their most mainstream album yet. The songs are tight but there are serious musical skills under the hood. Only one song is over 6 minutes long but it's a foregone conclusion that these songs will be stretched to breaking point live. In some cases, like the stunning The Fallout, I would have been happy if they had continued for at least 10 minutes more. High praise indeed.
Best Tracks: Our Town, Shattered, The Fallout
This Town
Alkaline Trio - Agony & Irony
More laid back than previous releases, Agony & Irony takes a bit to grab you but once it does it's hard to stop listening to it. A perfect album for the winter months, the lyrics are somber, the songs are not happy but there is an honesty there that is missing from a lot of rock releases.
Best Tracks: Calling all Skeletons, Do You Wanna Know, Love Love, Kiss Kiss
Most of us at one time or another have used drugs. Whether it's alcohol, nicotine, pot, or even just aspirin we have sought out chemicals to change the way our body feels. Like most people my age I have dabbled in illegal drugs from time to time. Nothing too heavy, I don't need all of my fingers to count the number of times I have smoked pot, but I HAVE sought to alter my consciousness with drugs beyond the standard alcohol. I was never a big fan of pot so I didn't feel the need to go any deeper in the experimentation of drugs. But I've never really been OPPOSED to it either. Once you make a choice to try one I think it opens up the possibility that one day you could see yourself trying others.
Hell, I'm sipping on a particularly delicious bloody mary while I write this and fighting the strong impulse to get the cigarettes out of the freezer and fire one up. Having "quit" smoking a couple of years ago I do nevertheless slip from time to time. Now instead of throwing the smokes away after a night of hard partying I put them in the freezer where they stay mostly fresh and I don't waste another $5 the next time the urge strikes to flirt with lung cancer. My addiction to cigarettes is nothing to do with physical and everything to do with mental. I can go weeks without a cigarette but the moment I get in a particular frame of mind, or get more than 2 or 3 drinks in to a night of drinking, a near overwhelming clanging refrain begins ringing in my head :WE NEED SMOKES. Sometimes I can ignore it, sometimes I don't bother. It's irritating but I've mostly made my peace with it and just try not to fall into the REALLY bad old habits.
I spent a few weeks in the winter of 2002 when I was a functioning alcoholic. My girlfriend had just moved out of state, I was laid off from an extremely lucrative contract position, and I was having a serious case of "I need to make a fucking change." I was going through a bottle of vodka a day, not to mention the beer chasers, and it all culminated in one brutal night of misjudgement and a final burnout of an admittedly seriously dysfunctional relationship. And it was the wake up call that I needed to stop acting like a fucking idiot.
The point is, I know what it is like to rely on drugs to get through the pain of life.
Which brings me, in an admittedly long winded way, to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. What starts as an incredibly funny (to me) escapade through the desert and Las Vegas with our main characters Raoul Duke (or Hunter S. Thompson) and his attorney stoned out of their skulls on all manner of drugs, ends up an indictment of the drug culture for being just as empty a response to the madness of the world as living clean and playing by the rules.
I have done no research on this book beyond simply reading it so I don't know how much of it is true and how much is made up. This is my first Hunter S. Thompson book and I really have little knowledge of the man beyond knowing what books he wrote and the Terry Gilliam film adaptation of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I intend to read up on him after completing this review but I wanted to get my thoughts down without being unnecessarily influenced one way or another by the "truth".
The book doesn't have a plot so much as a random series of events that are being filtered through a seriously burned out mind. Over several days Raoul Duke and his attorney attempt to cover a motorcycle race in the desert outside of Las Vegas called the Mint 400 and following that infiltrate the National District Attorney's Convention, all while ostensibly trying to find the "American Dream". The pair slash and burn their way through Vegas, trashing hotel rooms, terrifying the locals, destroying their rental cars, and ingesting enough drugs to put down a platoon of Marines. Through it all the pair are absolutely riled with conspiracy theories and paranoia that everyone is coming after them for their shenanigans.
By describing an extreme look at the consequences of drug use, Thompson forces you to look at your own foray into the world of drugs and altered consciousness. What starts as funny becomes depraved and shocking, but how many of us haven't had a night in our past where the wheels came off and we just rode a drunk or a high until its' devastating conclusion? There is plenty of time the next day for regret, but when you are in the moment and in the grip of a serious binge the consequences seem far away and impossible to recognize.
Reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was cathartic for me to revisit my own experiences with out of control behavior and be thankful that I have left that time in my life behind. Whether it was his intention or not, Thompson made me remember why one of my favorite platitudes is "There but for the grace of God go I."
I am a pretty big music freak and this is my Best of 2008 Music list. Before you all go running for the hills I'm happy to say it's not quite what you think.
No, we (meaning I) are going to do things a bit differently this year. I'm not just going to list my favorites (although I will in a later column). Nope, this is the list of the top 5 songs that according to Itunes I listened to the most from the 2008 crop. There is no hiding, no trying to bluff that I've been listening to some avant-garde navel gazer with a xylophone and a bag of marbles singing twee songs about daisies and whatever twee xylophone bands write about when they are not busy boring the ever loving shit out of me.
I tried linking to the music video for the tracks listed when it was available. Unfortunately, due to the draconian lengths the labels will go to in order to insure their artists are seen by as few people as possible I have had to resort to live tracks or music only tracks. So don't take the poorer quality of these You Tube clips as indicative of the studio version of the song. Besides, you are getting full length free previews and that's a damn sight more than the 30 second clips on Itunes so you really can't complain can ya?
1. Saints of Los Angeles - Motley Crue (29 times) - Saints of Los Angeles
This is not surprising. The song was the best the Crue has done in years and my kids requested it constantly. Believe me, the only thing missing from this song are the sprightly voices of an 8 and 12 year old singing "We are, we are the saints we signed our life away!" Luckily I can provide that myself in the comfort of my own home. Fun fact, not only is Saints of Los Angeles number 1 on this list, it is the number 5 most listened to song out of my entire 4,500 track library! Not bad for a bunch of ex-drug addict deviants and a lead singer that can't sing more than 2 words in a row on stage without hyperventilating.
If you think it's crazy You ain't seen a thing Just want until we're going down in flames
The best song on a hell of a good album. Alanis finally found her anger again and this song perfectly encapsulated the frustration of being in a relationship that is imploding through mixed signals.
Conclusions you come to of me routinely incorrect I don't know who you're talking to With such fucking disrespect
Alanis' music had gotten a bit cuddlier of late with more of a "love everyone" vibe. This new album brought back the woman scorned she-bitch that we all met way back on You Oughta Know and it's her best in years.
I'm a big Alkaline Trio fan, and while a lot of the long timers have dissed them for writing poppier music of late, I really don't see that big a change from their earlier stuff. The lyrics are still some of the best out there and the chugging guitars never cease to lend the right melancholy to the somber sentiment. Sure, it's ready made for the Hot Topic set but these guys are more on the ball then the typical mallrat pop-punk.
It's only just begun It's been fun We were blind, deaf and dumb There's a party in my closet Calling all skeletons
4. Hell Yeah - Rev Theory (11 times) - Light It Up
Not the most original band by any stretch of the imagination but what Rev Theory lacks in inventiveness they make up for with an earnest approach to the material. Hell Yeah is a big slab of dumb rock that gets better the louder it gets and a chorus that is built to shake arenas. Sometimes that is all you want in a song. Witness these riveting lyrics:
Gimme a "hell" (Hell!) Gimme a "yeah" (Hell Yeah!)
5. Into the Nightlife - Cyndi Lauper (10 times) - Bring Ya to the Brink
Every now and then a good pop dance song grabs me and this was the one this year. While the critics and sheep have been falling all over themselves praising Katy Perry for this year's pre-fab-every-song-sounds-the-same cookie-cutter-dance-schlock, veteran Lauper released a solid collection of dance tracks that were all but ignored by everyone. Into the Nightlife is the best on the album.
I'll take ya till you're all spun up And in love Into the nightlife
So that's it. The numbers don't lie. I'll be back later (probably) with part 2 of the Best Music of 2008 According to TylerDFC. I know y'all are on pins and needles.
"Jews with swords". That is what Michael Chabon wanted to name this book according to his afterword. And the title would not be far off. "Gentlemen of the Road" tells the tale of Zelikman, a German Jew, and Amram, an African Jew, and their various adventures in 1000AD Europe. We first meet the 2 in a tavern, staging a fight to con the oblivious drunk patrons out of some coins. No sooner are they about to abscond with their money then they are found out and have to high tail it out of town. But not before being asked to escort a boy to his uncle's fortress by an elderly fellow who unfortunately gets dead when the townspeople discover they've been conned and catch him with an arrow meant for our heroes.
With that the tale is off and running and doesn't slow down until the final page. There is action, drama, romance, intrigue, and all those other things the publishers would like me to relay to you readers.
What sets "Gentlemen of the Road" apart from similar adventure potboilers is that I needed a dictionary (preferably from 1000 AD) to figure out what the hell half of the descriptions were describing. Chabon writes the novel as if he were living in that time as well. This can take a bit of getting used to and the jarring mix of a familar tale told with archaic wordplay can be slow going.
However once you get past the first couple of chapters you figure out to stop dwelling on not understanding every third word and just going along with the flow. It's not a complicated plot so it isn't too difficult to just blow past the jargon but you still can't help but think you are missing something. The writing style brings to mind classics like "Count of Monte Christo" and "Treasure Island" and to be honest would make an incredibly entertaining movie. Each chapter ends on somewhat of a cliffhanger and keeps you reading even when you should be turning out the light and going to sleep.
It doesn't compete with "The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" or "Wonder Boys" but "Gentlemen of the Road" is a fun (and short) book that Chabon fans should seek out.
I'm a Kevin Smith fan. I know the guy has his detractors but I've liked everything he's done, even Jersey Girl. I've seen his DVDs An Evening With Kevin Smith and the follow-up Evening Harder and the guy knows how to tell an anecdote that's for damn sure.
Those anecdotes are where Silent Bob Speaks really shines. The book is a collection of columns Keven Smith wrote for Arena Magazine, Details, New Jersey Monthly, and Film Comments. They range from amusing to hilarious. Unsurprisingly, the really funny stuff is when Kevin is dishing on his experiences with various actors and actresses. Of particular note is his animosity toward "Greasy Reese Witherspoon" and his plan for revenge is so moronic and juvenile it is near brilliant.
As a writer, Kevin is no-holds-barred with his opinions. He writes how he speaks which makes for an incredibly easy read. At times he loses his unique voice, especially the chapters in which he interviews Ben Affleck and Tom Cruise. It's pretty funny when he writes about his unabashed love for Affleck and how Cruise completely brings him under his spell.
What it does not go into is the apparent curse that Kevin brings to his interviewees. It wasn't long after these pieces were published that Affleck had a run of failed movies and, well, we all know what happened to Cruise's stature.
Aside from the behind the scenes dirt he also offers a few personal pieces about such diverse subjects as his experiences with fat-buster drug Xenical, and his wife posing nude for a painting. He ends the book with an unpublished essay on the San Diego Comic-Con. It's hilarious and brings new meaning to the phrase "tongue in cheek".
Silent Bob Speaks is a fun book for the fans, a fast read, and includes some hilarious bits, mostly at Kevin's expense. His self-deprecation is own full display and it would almost get grating if it also didn't come off as completely honest. If anything I have a bit more respect for the man now then I already did. He knows the kind of filmmaker he is, and he is happy to keep making the movies he wants to make. They cost little and he has enormous freedom to keep doing what he wants to do. Not a bad gig.
I rarely buy hardback books on day of release. The only exception to the rule is Neil Gaiman. When I was younger I was a Stephen King Constant Reader until I started to become Constantly Disappointed. I bought all of sai King's books the day they came out and then went home and devoured them. A quick glance to my book shelf reveals 3 King books unread (Lisey's Story, Duma Key and Blaze)and I really have no idea when I'm going to get to them. It' s not a question of not having time, I make time to read. But there is just no motivation to tackle them. Now that The Dark Tower is over everything he is releasing since his "retirement" just feels like epilogue. I will defend the man to the day I die for The Eyes of the Dragon, IT, The Shining, and The Stand but he just doesn't do it for me anymore.
Which brings me to Neil Gaiman. I first came upon him like a lot of people it seems, through Good Omens, his collaboration with Terry Pratchett. From that point forward I began reading all the Gaiman works I could get my hands on. There is nothing quite like the sheer joy of finding a new writer and in short succession I went through Neverwhere, Stardust, and Sandman. I still remember to this day where I was when I finished American Gods (I played hooky from work to finish it and spent the afternoon in the garage getting more and more drunk on Captain and Coke and nicotine) and his short story collection Smoke & Mirrors contains some of my favorite short stories by any writer. This is long and rambling way of saying I'm a fan and I bought The Graveyard Book when it came out. I would have finished it sooner but I was half way through Terry Pratchett's Making Money and had to finish it first.
In the afterword to The Graveyard Book Gaiman says the novel owes a debt to Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book. I can see that. But there is another more recent work that I think was at least subconsciously influencing Gaiman: Harry Potter.
There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.
This opening line of the book sets the tone and hooks you immediately. On the night his entire family is murdered by the man Jack, a toddler unknowingly escapes to a nearby graveyard. The ghosts of the graveyard protect the child and raise him as their own until he grows to adulthood. The child, given the name Nobody Owens, is granted the Freedom of the Graveyard and gains most of the powers of the ghostly inhabitants. But outside of the graveyard, the killer Jack still seeks for the child that got away and won't give up until he finished the job.
The novel is broken into separate chapters, each one a short story that reveals part of a larger story arc. As in Harry Potter, it starts when Nobody (shorted to Bod) is 4 years old and each chapter finds him a few years older. As his age increases, so does the danger until he is forced to use all of his knowledge and powers of the graveyard to defeat the man Jack and stop an ancient prophecy from claiming Bod's life.
Like all of Neil Gaiman's works, there is a poetry and ease of language to a lot of his descriptions and dialogue. I was consistently surprised by the story as things never go quite how you expect them to. Unlike JK Rowling's style, Gaiman allows his story to breathe with details that end up not having anything to do with the overall plot. I am a fan of Rowling and enjoyed all of the Harry Potter books, however characterization is her weakness and every event in those books has some connection to the overall story. There is a chapter in The Graveyard Book in which the ghosts leave the graveyard to dance with the living people of the village and it is a beautifully rendered scene that has no purpose to the overall story. It's a "throwaway" scene that helps to round out the characters even more and is haunting, beautiful and heartbreaking all at the same time.
There are many touches like that and some action scenes barely described that it really makes you wonder why Gaiman didn't write a longer work than this slim 300 page novel. I'm not a fan of this new mandate that any story worth telling is certainly worth telling in a trilogy but in this case I wanted more. The Graveyard Book is beautifully written and deserves a place on your shelf next to Gaiman's best.
When not editing LC's drivel over at www.rufkm.net to insure readability(and contributing my own) I tend to hang out at Pajiba.com. There is a contest going on right now between various members of the site to read 100 books in a year starting Sept 1, 2008. Am I a bit late? Yes. Will I hit 100 books by Sept 1, 2009? Not a damn chance. However, I read a hell of a lot so this isn't too much of a stretch. Maybe this way I'll stop surfing the internet pointlessly when bored. Probably not but it's nice to have goals.
I wish I could take credit for this. I don't know who wrote it. But it is hilarious and worth sharing so here you go. Click the video, then sing along with the alternate lyrics below.
What would Sarah Palin do If she were here right now, She'd run for VEEP And wink at you That's what Sarah Palin would do.
When Sarah Palin was in the pageant, Vying for the crown, Her Alaskan beauty told all in sight Wasilla was best town.
When Sarah Palin became the gov, Stopping wasteful pork, She fired the chef and sold the plane With Trig en route by stork.
So what would Sarah Palin do If she were here today, I'm sure she'd hunt a moose or two, That's what Sarah Palin would do.
I want a voice to speak for me One to replace my brilliant Hillary
And I just want Congress To end partisan gridlock
For Chuck Heston I'll join the NRA too 'Cause that's what Sarah Palin would do.
And what would Sarah Palin do, She'd leap o'er the Bering Strait Shoot Putin dead while aiming true, That's what Sarah Palin would do.
When Sarah Palin travelled through time To the year 3010, She debated godless aliens Saving Christian truth again.
And when Sarah Palin rebuilt the White House, She captured John Wilkes Booth 'Cause Sarah Palin unblinkingly reps A-mer-i-ca
So let's vote Republican, And trounce celeb Obama And we'll elect that old guy too, 'Cause that's what Sarah Palin'd do.
And we'll elect that old guy too, 'Cause that's what Sarah Palin'd do, That's what Sarah Palin'd do.
The biggest bomb of the summer has come home and I’m surprised to say I loved it. Be warned that this IS a kid’s movie so if you are incapable of enjoying movies aimed at that demographic don’t bother. For anyone else, Speed Racer is an amazing ride. This is the Wachowski Brothers first film (not counting V For Vendetta which I still suspect they ghost directed) since The Matrix Revolutions and I’m happy to report that beneath the stunning visuals there is a solid movie.
Speed Racer follows titular adolescent race car driver Speed Racer (Emile Hirsch) and his family as they are courted by a nefarious race promoter. During the race sequences multiple cars careen around the track spinning all over the road, jumping over each other, and trying to survive race tracks that are right out of a video game. These sequences are fully computer animated and they look like it. The cars don’t have as much weight as they should, which is about the only bad thing I can say about the race scenes. These races are absolutely spectacular and in high definition the visuals will cause your jaw to drop multiple times.
In fact the entire movie is worth owning simply for the visuals alone. I’ve never seen a better picture on my television than Speed Racer on Blu Ray. If you have a player I cannot recommend renting this one enough. The movie is over 2 hours long but I was never bored. Some of the humor is juvenile but the drama is played well, the plot is interesting, and the way the whole thing is cut together kind of has to be seen to be believed.
This one definitely deserves a second chance at home.
Kingdom of Heaven – 2005 (Blu Ray)
The poster child for Fox meddling now has a Ridley Scott approved director’s cut and the movie is well worth seeing. 20th Century Fox had notoriously cut out over an hour of Scott’s epic film about the defense of Jerusalem by Christian knights in the 1300’s from Muslims attempting to reclaim the city. It came out right after Return of the King and Fox marketed it heavily as a action heavy fantasy story. In actually, it is much closer to Braveheart.
The movie follows Balian (Orlando Bloom) a simple blacksmith who learns he is the descendant of a renowned knight (Liam Neeson) and travels to Jerusalem to defend it from Muslim invaders.
The movie is long but very well acted and beautifully shot. Jeremy Irons, David Thewlis, Eva Green, and a nearly unrecognizable Brendan Gleeson are just a few of the well known actors here. For most of the 3 hour running time there is not a great deal of action and we see both sides, Christian and Muslim, as the machinations of war begin to unfold. To Scott’s credit the muslim “invaders” are presented very even handedly, not as villains. After all, they were attempting to reclaim a city that the Christians had stolen from them 100 years before, which they in turn had taken from the Romans. The final battle as the knights attempt to hold Jerusalem is breathtaking and easily on par with anything in the Lord of the Rings movies.
Highly recommended for fans of historical epics like Braveheart and Gladiator.
Baby Mama – 2008
Baby Mama a pretty generic romantic comedy that is buoyed by Tina Fey and Amy Poehler and the enormous chemistry the two long time SNL veterans share on screen. Kate (Fey) is a 37 year old career woman and her biological clock has gone off big time. Learning that she is unlikely to be able to conceive naturally she turns to a surrogate service run by Chaffee Bicknet (Sigourney Weaver). There she is hooked up with Angie (Poehler), a white trash surrogate-to-be that agrees to carry Kate’s baby for the $20,000 fee. All manner of hijinks ensue.
There is very little in this movie that comes as a surprise. When Greg Kinnear is introduced as the love interest you can see exactly how it is going to play out. That said, Baby Mama is enjoyable and there are several solid laughs to be had. Well worth watching for fans of Poehler and Fey and an inspired extended cameo from Steve Martin.
Hilary Swank stars as Katherine, a college professor and former minister who has since lost her faith. Now she spends her time travelling the world debunking miracles. Kind of like Indiana Jones without the artifacts. On her newest case, she is called to the town of Haven , LA., a hot bed of religious fervor caused by the town river turning to blood overnight. Seems the biblical plagues of Egypt are hitting the quiet town and the townspeople want Katherine to find out what is going on. Here she meets the superstitious locals that are blaming the plagues on Loren, a young girl that lives in the swamp, saying she is the devil’s emissary.
The Reaping is a largely entertaining thriller that unfortunately suffers from a right turn at the end that derails the entire production. I can only compare it to riding a good, yet unremarkable roller coaster. Everything is going fine, you are enjoying the ride ok, when suddenly the car flies off the track and you run into a brick wall. Then before you can get out of the wrecakage a rescue worker hits you in the head with a hammer. The twist in The Reaping is fine on its’ own, actually it’s pretty clever. The problem is that once you are looking back on the movie as a whole it the plot holes add up rapidly. Not to mention the larger theological implications that are impossible to go into without spoiling the movie entirely.
NOTE: The last 10 seconds are just stupid. If you do see this one I recommend turning it off when the car ride starts after the finale. 2/5
The Orphanage(2007)
It’s not often we get a good and scary ghost story that doesn’t involve horrific violence and scenes of dismemberment and torture. Hell, it’s not often we get a horror movie lately that doesn’t turn one’s stomach with the violence. That is why the Guillermo Del Toro produced The Orphanage is so refreshing. This Spanish made movie takes its' scares seriously and will have you on edge the entire time you are watching while keeping the gore to an absolute minimum. This is a haunted house story where the haunters are largely unseen and extremely spooky sound effects take center stage.
Laura and Carlos buy the seaside orphanage where Laura spent part of her youth with plans to turn it into a home for developmentally disabled children. One day she is visited by a creepy social worker named Benigna and not long after her son, Simon, goes missing. Laura becomes convinced that her son is still alive and as increasingly strange events continue to unfold, Laura and her husband, Carlos, slowly unravel the mystery of the orphanage.
This is one of the drop dead scariest movies in quite a while. Sharing much in common with Del Torro’s own highly recommended The Devil’s Backbone, the movie never lets up the tension and even the most mundane of activities are sinister and frightening. There is one quiet scene half way though when Laura is speaking to her husband in the middle of the night after he climbs into bed. As the scene wears on something begins to not feel right. There is no music, no sudden cuts, just a foreboding that settles in. Then Laura hears something in the bathroom, sees the shadow of someone beyond the door, the door knob slowly turns and I spill my popcorn all over my couch.
If The Orphanage stumbles, it is only with the questions that are left when it is over. There may be some lost in translation moments here because the movie is Spanish with English subtitles. There is no dub, so be warned if reading is not your thing. Personally, I can’t stand English dubs and much prefer watching a film in its’ intended language but I know many people do not. That said, minor plot issues aside The Orphanage is well worth your time if you love old school ghost stories like The Changeling and The Shining.
4/5
Dark Blue(2002)
My copy of this movie crapped out around chapter 22 and didn’t start up again until chapter 28. Luckily this is one of those movies that features a big scene at the end where one character recaps what has happened so even though major characters were killed I still could follow along.
Kurt Russell stars as Edwin, a corrupt cop in LA on the eve of the Rodney King verdict in 1991. Edwin and his partner Chase (Scott Speedman) are assigned an investigation into a convenience store robbery that begins to uncover far more than initially suspected. There is little here that fans of cop melodramas haven’t seen before. The cast is solid, with Ving Rhames and Brendon Gleeson along of the ride as well. I’ll be honest, I got this one because Kurt Russell is in it and I just hadn’t seen it yet. Russell is a hell of an underappreciated actor and has starred in some of my favorite movies (The Thing, Escape from New York , Big Trouble in Little China). This is not his best work, but it is entertaining and a different character from the ones he usually plays. Recommended for Kurt Russell fans and gritty police drama completionists.
I hold Appetite for Destruction in the highest regard, and put the Use Your Illusion albums in my list of the top 20 all time greats. No such list currently exists, but if it DID, Appetite would be #1 and the Illusion double album would be in there somewhere. My point is I loved those drunken rude-ass sons o' bitches. And it pains me to say that Guns N’ Roses is dead. The monstrosity that exists in name only as a monument to the massive ego of Axl Rose is but a hollow shell of the past glory the baddest mother fuckers on Earth once bestowed upon all of us eager metal heads.
It is doubtful another debut album will ever hit as hard as Appetite for Destruction. The entertainment world has simply changed far too much for that to happen. What I can promise you is Guns N’ Roses will NEVER release an album that comes close to achieving what Appetite for Destruction achieved. And on some level I have to think that Axl Rose knows this which would explain the endless tinkering with his magnum opus, Chinese Democracy. This monstrosity is rumored to have cost Geffen Records upwards of $13 million dollars. An absolutely mind blowing amount in an age when anyone with a smattering of talent can crank out a full album in a home studio for under $15k in start up cost.
Rumors are running rampant again that the album is finished and heading to stores this fall. The story last week was that Axl’s management were trying to distribute the album exclusively through either Best Buy or Walmart. I don’t know about you, but when I think of a don’t-give-a-fuck-band that plays raw and raunchy hard rock I can’t think of a better entity to push their albums then pro-censorship Walmart.
It was announced earlier this year that a new Guns N' Roses track called "Shackler’s Revenge" will be featured prominently on the upcoming videogame Rock Band 2. This is the only solid evidence pointing to a release but at this point who can honestly tell. More importantly, DOES ANYONE CARE? If the below tracks are any indication those that are looking forward to Chinese Democracy with breath held are about to become an even smaller minority. And dead. Seriously, it's just a damn rock album, you're turning blue for Christ's sake.
I have no idea what version of the songs I have. They sound finished and polished to me. From what I understand there are about 80 songs that could make up Chinese Democracy, and those 80 have been remade about 200 times each. Axl’s vocals fluctuate between passable and screechy godawful and every track I’ve heard features a drum machine in one capacity or another. None of these songs are great, some are better than others, but NONE top a single song the band has done before. That is with the notable exception of Axl’s horrific experiment into industrial music, "My World", featured as the closer on Use Your Illusion II. That song sucks in so many ways just listening to it can get you arrested for soliciting prostitution.
I should note that I have listened to these tracks at least twenty times each. I'm not trying to bag on the songs, more than anything I would love for Democracy to set the world on fire. If you can get your hands on these tracks, and honestly it's not all that hard, I recommend listening to them on head phones. Axl's choice to go with a wall-of-sound style production drastically reduces the fidelity of the tracks on anything other than headphones.
Chinese Democracy
This track opens with Axl hooting like a monkey. Honestly, I have no other way to describe it. This is followed by a cluster of unintelligible voices all talking on top of itself. An electronically fuzzed out guitar riff comes in over wind noise followed by Axl’s trademark caterwaul.
The song is not bad, but I have no idea what he’s singing about. I believe one of the lines is:
sitting in a Chinese stew, to view my disinfatuation
Incidentally, spellchecker assures me "disinfatuation" is not a real word.
This is easily his best song and at best it’s a Nine Inch Nails B-side. It's a song that seems to be going somewhere but never quite arrives. The whole thing is build up and makes for a frustrating experience.
Better
This one leaked to the Internet for the first time last year so "Better" could nearly be called a single. At least it’s familiar. This version is different from the one that released last year and is still just as musically schizophrenic. This song changes beats and music style so often it’s like a mini-album all by itself.
If the War
Spanish flamenco guitars give way to 70’s funk that would feel right at home in a Barry White Burger King commercial. Axl’s voice is stretched to the breaking point and actually crosses over into headache inducing toward the end. My dog cries when I play this song.
IRS
"IRS" perfectly captures the major problem with all of these tracks. There are some good ideas, and some good music, but the presentation is a complete mess. There is just way too much going on. I’m sure Axl prefers to call the production “layered” but I’m going to just call it "chaotic". That said, this track does rock pretty hard. I dig it despite the flaws.
Madagascar
Another song we’ve heard for years now. Probably the best song to date that is unfortunately brought down completely by the never ending and overwrought sound clips. Then there is the ponderous horn and string section and backing vocals courtesy of Axl. Maybe it's just me, but nothing irritates me more than a singer that provides their own backing vocals on tracks. It's just diva antics, pure and simple.
Worst of all is the recycling of the famous Cool Hand Luke quote used effectively at the beginning of the band's own "Civil War". Here it is a painful and embarrassing reminder of past glories of a band that burned out too soon and now limps along as a solo project with a grandiose name.
Riyadh & the Bedouins
I actually like this one. It sounds like Led Zeppelin but is fairly catchy. This is one of the few songs that comes closest to capturing the old Gun N' Roses sound. It would fit just fine as a throw away track on Use Your Illusion II.
Silkworms
An electronica/industrial rip off that makes Axl’s aforementioned travesty "My World" sound like "Head Like a Hole" by comparison.
That's it. Obviously a full release would include material none of us has heard. As it stands, if the above are the tracks released (and I would bet "Silkworms" is a demo that never sees the light of day) the completed album could be a respectable hit. Will it recoup the reported $13M it costs to make it over the last 18 years? Hell, no. But at this stage, I would just settle for the damn thing to be GOOD.
But I know what Axl Rose would have to say about my doubts.
Every four years everyone and their dog pretends to be intensely interested in track and field, swimming and gymnastics for a few weeks when the Summer Olympics come around again. Every morning I go to work to find that everyone around me has suddenly become an expert on the balance bar, diving, throwing the javelin and anything else Bob Costas said last night that they can remember well enough to repeat.
And every morning - without fail - someone comes up to me, breathless, wide eyed and gushing:
"Did you see the Olympics last night?"
Never mind that my answer to that question every morning is "no". People like to make small talk at the office and as such they rarely think about what they're saying before they say it. Every Monday people ask me how my weekend was, even though we both know they don't really care, and if I were to say "It was terrible, my car was repossessed" they're not going to sit there and listen to my whole story and offer me a ride to work every day.
I have nothing against the Olympics. If there's one thing the world needs more of it is sanctioned events where all the nations of the world and their citizens can enjoy fellowship regardless of race, color, politics or nationality. It brings people together. I get it and I am all in favor of it, even if it means enjoying the proceedings with a hint of Fascism in the air.
It's just that I am endlessly fascinated by the Human Condition, as in what makes us do what we do. I take pride in the accomplishments of our athletes and certainly wish them all the best, but I have absolutely no interest in any of the sports played at the Olympics, and chances are neither do you. The difference is I have no intention of pretending I'm interested in any of it just because its on every night.
I guess that if you let it be, the following is a morbid contrast: The way athletes of all stripes put a thousand times more dedication into what they do than 99 percent of the rest of us will ever put into anything, while we just sprawl on the couch gawking, and then show up to work Monday talking like we're the superstar just because we got to see it.
Sure, I am being cynical but this isn't really about the Olympics, it's about people. I just find it interesting how most of us will do absolutely anything to bring something meaningful into our lives - except when it means doing it ourselves. I'm not saying anybody can run out and become an Olympian or anything else in particular, I'm just saying that I observe every day people who spend their whole lives doing pretty much nothing with their free time but you can tell they really want something great to happen to them.
Everyone has dreams and hopes and things they've always wanted to do with their lives and they aren't always things we deserve or are likely to achieve. But of course the purpose of having goals and dreams has more to do with the steps you take to get there than anything else. Dedicating yourself to a challenge is all about building yourself as an individual; hard work builds character and makes you a more interesting person.
Which explains why most of the people I know are so boring. Not bad people by any means, just boring. Did I watch the Olympics last night? No, and here's a question for you. If you woke up tomorrow and there were no television, what the hell would you do with the rest of your life?
Hey, I go through this every time the Olympics come around. I have to repeatedly explain to the same boring people that no, I am not nor have I ever been interested in men's gymnastics and I am not going to fake it now just so we'll have something to talk about around the water cooler.
Let's face it - that's the true distillation of my diatribe.
If there were suddenly no television, most people would assume they did not have anything to do or anything to discuss - except maybe the irony of being forced to talk about something other than television because there is no television. There's nothing wrong with entertainment, God knows we all need it. But it is depressing how many of us forfeit out own lives to sit around in a dreary fishbowl, watching someone else live theirs. For far too many people, life is like being inside an ant farm, smug in the assumption that everything outside is the entertainment.
Well my friend, the joke's on you.
And in my mind with this Olympics the joke is on all of us. The Chinese fooled us all. They used a lot of forced labor to ready the city for the games, and god knows where the buried all the homeless people. They used machines and environmental trickery to fake two weeks of sunny days in one of the most pollutes cities on earth. They rendered the Opening Ceremonies partially in CGI. The same night had a pretty girl lip synch the high point of the evening while the ugly chick sang behind the curtain.
And they replaced their women's gymnastics team with cyborgs all designed to look like ten year old girls. (So where was Sarah Connor in all this?) Maybe this is all why the Olympic Mascot is some sort of friendly...devil..thingy...in hell.
But don't listen to me. Seriously. I am just getting this off my chest same as I will for the Winter Games in two years. I just like to bitch about things. It is both my gift, and my curse.
Maybe your hobby is rotting on the couch in front of the television and mine is rotting in front of my computer excoriating people who spend their time on the couch rotting in front of the television.
Fair enough. Just call this column How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Box.
Just remember though - two weeks from now when the only fucking thing you can remember about the whole Olympiad is something about the Kindergarten Gymnastics Squad and that dude what's-his-name the swimmer who won, like, 800 medals or something...don't say I didn't already call you out.
Am I the only one who hears Morgan Freeman's voice everywhere now? I don't mean in the form of a paranoid delusion - although that's entirely possible since like most people I am inherently dissatisfied with my life but have no plan whatsoever to resolve this.
No, I mean that every time I turn on the television, I hear Morgan Freeman's soothing, avuncular voice assuring me that everything is going to be just fine, provided I just buy something because he is telling me to. I can't say I ever have bought anything because Morgan Freeman told me to, but I can tell you that if I were going to buy something based entirely on the effect of someone's hypnotic vocalizations it would probably be Morgan Freeman.
Think about it for a moment. The world of commercial voice overs was once the domain of struggling actors who just needed a paycheck in between gigs because studios only wanted big names headlining movies. The problem is, why would I want to buy something from an anonymous voice that is unfamiliar to me? How many times have you thought:
"I would love to lease a Lexus for $600 a month, go to the Home Depot and spend five thousand dollars on my house or drink a gallon of orange juice in the middle of the night but I just don't trust the strange person who is telling me to do this."
There was a time many years ago when you could trust your television. The Magic Box would never lie to you - anything it told you to do or think or buy was a lock and you could bet that you'd never regret your decision. But these are complex times and I don't know about you but I can no longer trust the anonymity of the average television voice over person to point me to the right brand of weed killer.
Sure, I know it will be deadly to weeds. But will it be deadly enough? I just...don't...know. No one can. Thankfully, high powered Hollywood A, B and C list talent has begun to squeeze the no-talent hacks of the acting world out of the voice over business. Soon the day will come when Oscar winning actors are waiting tables in Los Angeles, and I will never have to see or hear another scumbag out of work actor again!
But I digress.
But is this really better? With big names crowding the Celebrity Voice Over market these days, who among them can you trust? Between Tom Selleck, Kiefer Sutherland, Sam Waterston and Christian Slater, how can I be sure I am getting the best possible paid endorsement of a random product by a famous person I have never met that is available?
In other words, now that the celebrities have replaced the amateurs, who is going to replace the amateur celebrities? Who is the One Celebrity Voice Over Voice I can trust above all others? Which one of these disembodied stars whom do not know can I trust the most?
Excuse me for not wanting to buy anything from a war criminal.
Gene Hackman? No, I saw Crimson Tide. Nobody who tried to kill Denzel Washington and blow up the world is getting my money.
And then there's Morgan Freeman. He was on the Electric Company! He's the Compassionate Black Man in every movie who shows the lead character the value of believing in yourself, not giving up, seeing the goodness in others or builds you a high tech armor plated urban assault vehicle!
Even when he's the villain he's not all that bad. Remember Hard Rain? Oh, you don't. Well, trust me, he starts out bad but deep down inside he's still lovable old Morgan Freeman. He'd never do anything wrong. He'd never hurt anybody.
I trust him, and so do you. And this is why he's the king of Celebrity Voice Overs. But I reCently realized something as I listened to his work on those Visa Olympic ads - you know the ones, with the heartwarming narratives, magical background scores and sepia toned CGI super slo-mo? Yes, you've seen them. And maybe you realized the same thing I did when I saw them.
If Morgan Freeman Didn't Say it I Don't Believe it.
That's right. Morgan Freeman is some sort of lovable cross between Walter Cronkite and Sidney Poitier without the massive chip on his shoulder. He should anchor all three major newscasts. When the President has bad news he should send Morgan Freeman out in his place to tell us the Dow has dropped 8,000 points, gasoline is $6 a gallon and a comet the size of Texas is about to strike the earth, destroying all life as we know it.
People would just shrug and say: "Aw, shucks. He's such a nice guy. I don't mind."
Maybe Bin Laden could have him tape some spots. God knows Osama could use the PR boost and while I'm as patriotic as the next guy, if Morgan Freeman said 'Death To America', I just might have to walk outside and kill someone.
And I bet they wouldn't object when I told him why he must die.
"Aw, shucks. He's such a nice guy. I don't mind. Just...not in the face."
Tell me the sky is blue, roses are red or water is wet. If you're not Morgan Freeman then I am sorry but you're just plain full of shit. I don't believe you. You're a liar; in fact you're worse than a liar:
You're a damn dirty liar.
So here's what I want you to do. I want you to run to the window right now. Go on, go to the window but wait till you've finished reading this so you know what to do. I want you to fling open the window, lean out and scream as loud as you can:
"IF YOU'RE NOT MORGAN FREEMAN YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT. AND ADDITIONALLY, I'M MAD AS HELL AND I'M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANY MORE."
Go on, I'll wait.
See? Didn't that feel better? And when your neighbor, or the cops, or your neighbor the cop comes to your door ready to kick your ass just show them this. In no time, you'll be sitting around drinking mouthwash together, having a grand old time. And why?
There was a time in Germany when uttering such a thing aloud about certain people would ensure that you were dead before morning. There was a time in Russia - as recently as last night I understand - when the same was true.
So needless to say, by the time you read this I will in all likelihood be dead. Don't let it be in vain; tell the world my story for the world must know.
It all started three years ago when I went hiking with a girlfriend in a slightly remote area. We were having a relatively decent time chatting and enjoying the scenery. I was actually pretty optimistic about things, as to this day this is one of the most unpleasant people I've ever met yet we were having a terrific time. Well, one way or another we got on the subject of who our personal heroes were.
This is one of those questions that sooner or later in a relationship a woman will ask you and to your ears it sounds like she's kidding - because nobody but your girlfriend ever asks you stupid shit like that - but she's completely serious. And foolishly, you answer facetiously.
You're not alone. I said William Shatner.
Not sure whether I was being honest, she asked me why, and of course I said 'because he was Captain Kirk, T.J. Hooker and Denny Crane.' (The 'duh' implied in my inflection which was also unwise). Before anything unpleasant could happen, I asked her in return and she said...
"Oprah Winfrey."
She didn't just say Oprah, she conspicuously thought about it for a moment, waited until she had reached the top of the small hill she was climbing just ahead of me and she stopped at the apex. There she stood, right between two trees, sun over her shoulder, one foot perched upon a small stone. The benign purr of a nearby brook danced in my ears, and the wind kissed the trees like the gentle touch of a distant lover.
My memory may be slightly fuzzy but I could swear a small bird landed on her other shoulder - opposite from the sunbeam - as she placed her hands on her hips and gazed skyward. Her back arched slightly and her mouth became a slit. Like leaves from a dying tree, the words flowed from between her slightly parted lips and seemed to float in the air for a moment as though pulled forth by eternity, transformed into milk and honey and dispersed to the ages like an ancient spirit released from aeons of torment.
"Oprah Winfrey."
Oh ha ha, it sounds intolerably cheesy now but trust me, that's exactly what happened and I'll fight anyone who says it isn't. Frightened by this but not knowing what else to say, I uttered the first thing that came to mind:
"Oprah is Evil and Must Be Stopped."
It was at that very moment I thought - for just a flash - that I was going to die. They'd never find my body, it was too far out, too far up. The animals would take care of things long before the police could find a shred of evidence. Trust me, if you lie there long enough without breathing there'll soon be nothing left of you but your social security number. I kid you not - if lasers could have come from her eyes I'd have been a cloud of water vapor. She leaned forward slightly and hissed:
"Very funny. Men like you are the reason we need Oprah. She's intelligent, beautiful and empowering. She brought herself up from nothing to become the most powerful woman in the world." Yes, as I recall, many cult leaders hail from meager beginnings and this they use to ensnare the humble to their cause. Just because you're on television doesn't mean you can be trusted. Just ask that crazy guy with the ponytail who sells the exercise equipment.
You wouldn't believe the number of women I know who have turned out to be secret members of the Cult of Oprah. You'd think that women had never had anyone to look up to before now. Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, Marie Curie, Harriet Tubman...Princess Leia Organa...apparently these women weren't wealthy or ubiquitous enough to merit admiration.
No, only Oprah can tell you what to think and how to feel, and if the men in your life tell you you're paying too much attention to Oprah they must be discarded...disposed of...or worse.
I was sitting at work with a friend of mine - a woman who is notorious for having a poor self image and I noticed her purse was lying open and inside was a self help book that had made Oprah's book list the previous weekend. I don't remember the name - Finding Yourself, Helping Yourself, Helping Finding Yourself, Finding Happiness Through Letting GoOf Yourself, Letting Go By Finding Happiness In Yourself, some shit like that.
This is one of those gals who only date men who treat her like shit, are fifty pounds overweight and can't stand to look in the mirror and punish themselves by eating...you know the story. I'm not making light of it, I am just pointing out that she's typical. This was clearly yet another quick fix for her:
"I'll read this 200 page self help book with the extra large type and $39.95 price tag because Oprah told me to, and six months later when I finally finish it I'll magically feel better."
Naturally it didn't work but at the time I pointed out to her that self esteem comes from with in and isn't something that can be given to you - and that role models are people you have to physically spend time with, not just put on your Windows Wallpaper so they can grin at you when you come to work every morning because they're $39.95 richer and you're a bigger failure than you were even yesterday.
Again, I thought I was going to die. I was standing on the 90th floor of the World Trade Center and that plane was about to hit me right between the eyes. She didn't kill me but it wasn't for lack of desire for having slighted Frau Oprah. And for the record, she's worse than ever today. Not Oprah, the Girl at Work.
Well...both, really.
Then there's Oprah's Bitch, Doctor Phil - that corn fed hack who feeds people shovel after shovel full of hug-yourself feel good pabulum designed - like crack - to make you feel great for a while but keep you just damaged enough to continue coming back to him for help, thinking all the while it is your fault you're not feeling any better. Back in the day this is what they used to call a 'snake oil salesman'.
Yeah, go ahead and give him a nickel. It'll change your life. Just let me know if you want to be buried face up or face down.
And then there's the James Fey incident. Remember that? Oprah descended from Mount Harpo with yet another Holy Book Club Selection in Her hand, clothing torn, hair windswept, a single gossamer Tear teetering agonizingly in the corner of an Eye, and She Spake unto we huddled masses Her Almighty Will. This time it was James Fey's 'A Million Little Pieces', a gut wrenching tale of overcoming something by finding something within something and blah-blah-blah.
Upon her command, millions of her Obedient Servants sprang forth from the bowels of suburbia like locusts and made the book an instant best seller overnight. J.K. Rowling couldn't get arrested for a while, because Oprah's Almighty Book Cult, which had long stopped promoting fiction and started pushing weak kneed self-help bric-a-brac was in full swing. Any drunken hack who happened to hit it off with Mrs. Stedman could sell a million copies while the next Dostoevsky could be...well, in a gulag somewhere, I guess.
But why encourage people to read truly great books, when they could read something that just made you cry so hard you'd never notice through your tears how badly written it truly was?
And then the book turned out to be at least in part fake. And it wasn't the first one. Had Oprah failed? Was she losing her touch? Was she a fake too?
I'll be honest with you - Oprah's done a lot of good for some people but from the perspective of the Non Afflicted, something has always bothered me about her. It's the way that even in the beginning she pushed herself as one of us - someone who was just trying to figure out how to be a better person, and wanted to share it with all of us. She had a conversational presentation whereas the other leading talk show host of her day - Phil Donahue - was something of a cross between a completely humorless David Letterman and Sam Donaldson in a white wig.
But Oprah never really was one of us - despite her humble beginnings. There was always something about her that implied that the reason she was trying to help you was because she was just an itty bitty bit - just a little bit better than you.
Oprah needs to fix you, sort of the way you'd treat cockroaches if you didn't have the guts to kill them but instead felt the need to train them to accept your table scraps on command. With a single wave of your arm they'd scurry from the walls, humbly accept your bread crumbs, and then with another, obediently disperse when your dinner party guests arrived, picking up their filth behind them.
And who knows...if you needed them to kill for you, maybe...just maybe...they'd do that too.
And for more than one generation of Americans who think the answers to life are inside the television Oprah has given more and more of us reason to sit and be coddled by the warm fuzzy glow of high calorie cathode rays than find a path to enlightenment within ourselves.
You know the biggest difference between television and books? Television - for all its merits - flings ideas at you like a rabid electronic monkey hurling poo and you sit there gurgling at it with all the immediacy of a puppy chasing its tail. Books on the other hand - good ones at least - are the blood and sweat of a single author just as he put them to paper and they retain their relevance throughout the ages. They rip feelings from you, impart intellectual sustenance to you, awaken parts of your mind you didn't know were there and before you know it you're creating ideas independently and thinking for yourself.
The difference is, it takes work. Effort. That's right. Self improvement takes work, people and it's painful and it will suck. It's supposed to. Nothing worth doing that is meant to change your life is ever going to be easy or pleasant. And while it doesn't hurt to have help it's something that you ultimately have to do yourself. Oprah can't tell you what to do, and neither can Doctor Phil, James Fey or anybody else.
Resist Oprah, my friends. Turn away the Kool-Aid and Just Say No. Awaken your mind, turn off the television and learn to think for yourselves. Tell the world what I have said here today. Pass it on and don't let my words die with me. You can become a better person, but you have to do it yourselves.
Oh God...what's that? No...not yet...I've still so much to say...no...you'll never take me alive...oh...you're not here to keep me alive. Well, that's a good point. Still though, it is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done...oh...what? You've heard that one? I'll admit I'm a little surprised, I wouldn't have expected Dickens to be on Oprah's list...
Very well...do your worst...wait...who's there? You? Can it be? Dear God someone's come to save me...I'd never have dreamed in a million years there was anyone powerful enough to challenge Oprah...but...
It's strange how the older you get, you start to notice the 'little' things in life. It isn't unlike watching a movie or reading a book several times, and seeing something you hadn't noticed before even though you're repeating the same activity.
Likewise with life, if you're unfortunate enough to get into a rut for long enough you will eventually begin to take note of such things. You begin to notice your own peculiar little zeitgeist of boredom.
So it is with furniture. There is a point in the lives of most normal middle class people where you've graduated (or otherwise left) college and find yourself living on your own for the first time. At this point all the furniture you own is probably borrowed, found in an alley or courtesy of the grocery store down the street.
At some point, you enter a phase of life where things evolve and before you know it you're doing things like opening a checking account, investing in real estate, showing up at work on time and even - hold on to your hats - buying your own furniture.
Little by little all of the old remnants of your life pre-financial solvency diminish and fade away but this takes time, to be sure. I'll be honest here - I am a homeowner but furnishing it has never been a priority. I have decent furniture, it's just that it is almost all second hand and by that I mean things my parents once gave me, or friends unloaded on me after getting married and realizing they now had three queen size beds and four sets of bookshelves.
They are nice enough things but they are nonetheless second hand. Not to mention that when I look at the furniture in my living room the stuff doesn't exactly all match. Seriously, there are more woods in here than a golf bag. But I am the type of guy who likes things simple, functional and efficient. I'd like to have a house full of kick ass furniture, hardwood floors, pictures on the walls and a space age stainless steel kitchen but I am in no way willing to go into debt to get it.
When the television I have finally explodes, I'll get a new one. When the bookshelf I have collapses then I will replace it. And when the Orkin man shuts the bathroom door where I keep the litter box and eight hours later the cat decides to use the couch...
...I will grudgingly but finally get a new couch. Trust me, like the blood on Macbeth's hands or the shame you felt after taking home Samantha Dogface after the bar closed last Saturday night - some things just cannot be washed out.
This brings me to the subject of this post.
I was over at a friend's house this weekend watching some football. This is a good friend but nonetheless the sort of person who is still using the same filthy furniture from the year after college some fifteen plus years later and thinking nothing of it. This isn't my problem of course but when I mentioned the incident with my couch and that I would soon be purchasing a new living room set I was informed that my friend was considering the same thing and that I would be welcome to his existing sectional.
Normally this is the sort of generosity would be appreciated but this time no sooner than the words had left his mouth I felt something...a pang of some sort in my stomach. It felt something like the time back in college when you ate that Hamburger Helper out of your friend's dorm room fridge. You knew full well it had been in there for three weeks but at this stage in your life you're pretty much thumbing through the Universal Rolodex of Bad Decisions and dialing every number at random.
It wasn't twenty minutes before that first stomach cramp arrived and you knew you were going to be spending the night in the emergency room with a tube in your arm.
Well, this is how I felt when my friend said 'You're welcome to my sectional when I get my new stuff'. I leaned back in my chair, peered into the living room and took in said sectional. Remember what I said - good friend but the sort of person whose home still looks sort of like a frat house. The carpet looks like it's moving, the floorboards along the walls all have fur, the microwave looks like someone cooked a hamster in it and if I sent a swab from the bottom of the refrigerator to the CDC in Atlanta I'd be arrested for biological terrorism.
Similarly, the couch in question (along with just about everything else in the living room) was covered with a very visible film of cigarette smoke, beer stains, and dog snot from the pair of eighty pound pooches that also share the house.
And let's not forget the body oil stains from where people's arms, legs, bare backs and God knows what else have been in constant contact with this never-been-cleaned biohazard over the course of its unfortunate existence.
Full disclosure: I do sit on this thing when I am over there but it is just to be polite. You have to respect a friend inviting you into his home but you don't have to approve of the accommodations. Just the thought of putting this monstrosity in my living room made my skin crawl and the fact that my friend would assume I wanted it sort of...well...
Insulted me.
I keep a pretty damn clean home - in fact most of the time it is probably nearly as clean as the day I bought it. I'm not saying the place is going to win any awards - I told you about my admittedly Spartan tastes. But even though the walls are still bare after three years and it is only slightly better furnished than a Howard Johnson's it sure as hell is CLEAN. And let's not forget - I mentioned I had to get rid of my own couch because the cat pissed on it, and my pal turns around and offers me something that looks like it was fished out of an empty lot in Upper Ninth Ward New Orleans and transported here tied to the top of a Chevy Impala.
There's only one couch in America I'd like to own less.
Are you serious? Is this what you think of me? Are you high? Pluck the saddest character out of any Charles Dickens novel and ask him where he'd like to sleep tonight - on this couch or a storm sewer and you know what his answer would be?
Well actually I am pretty sure the answer would be "You have sewers?!?"
But you get my point. Don't worry though, as I said this is still a friend of mine so I politely declined, although I am sure the look on my face gave away what I was thinking. But there's no reason to go there with people. There just isn't a polite way to inform someone that the toilet upstairs is actually cleaner now that you've used it.
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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
time. At this point all the furniture you own is probably borrowed, found in an alley or courtesy of the grocery store down the street.
