Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Good background noise

Charles in Charge: perhaps the most ridiculous show that television has ever produced. It's loaded with wacky moments, winsome smiles, and a bodacious blonde girlfriend (in every season, methinks). It's also almost NEVER funny, but when one laughs, one does so embarrassed for the 1980s and Scott Baio. Tragically, I remember the day when I thought it was "cool."

Are we watching anyway? You betcha! I find that when a program requires no brain cells, it makes for good background noise. Still, some questions arise: Who hires a college-age male to babysit their children? At what point did those hairdos make sense, and to whom would they be alluring, save perhaps a wild bison? These and more mysteries await the intrepid viewer of creepy Charles in Charge.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Tears have been shed... pajamas donned.

So our cat, the Queen, the Lovely, the Chub-chub, the inimitable crazy, the Mona, has been extradited --(we hope temporarily)-- and we're flying our flag at half mast. We've emptied a little tin of cookies from work and broken into a Christmas basket of junk food from the Plaza Hotel management. Tears have been shed. Pajamas donned. Oh, and we're watching the X-files. This truly is the day the music died.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Having your patience slammed repeatedly produces dramatic tension...

We went to see Eragon ---spoilers follow--- last night, and despite my usual attempts to expect next to nothing of a film I got my hopes up. I only wish I could say I wasn't disappointed. To the credit of the film-makers, (most likely the CGI wizards) the dragon, Sephira? was nothing shy of adorable at first and then alternately austere, menacing, coolly majestic, and convincingly scaly and serpentine. I even liked her voice (Rachel Weisz). There are even a few moments where due to my inherent geekdom I thrill at the thought of having a dragon for a soul mate. What Eragon primarily suffers from is the Harry Potter syndrome, that is, the movie translation of the books is hurried, stilted, and therefore embarrassingly undramatic. With so much plot to cram into the typical two hours, there are few moments where we can "absorb" the rustic charm of the token village, brood alongside a villain, or become truly elated at the "pinnacle" (intended or not) of the film.

The grand champion of fantasy films at this point, Lord of the Rings, manages to choose character-building moments at crucial points in the film. We see very little of Boromir in terms of actual screen time and yet he dies in quite a serene and stirring crescendo toward the end of the film. Though I've seen it now at least ten times I can't help but tear up. Conversely, the titular character of Eragon almost expires in a stunningly overplayed aerial duel with a hammy (and unsurprisingly creepy) "shade" sorceror, and yet I really didn't blink an eye.

No doubt some would say I'm being unfair. After all, Lord of the Rings took a much longer time to conceive and by an accomplished philologist, instructor, and well, a highly intelligent Brit. Eragon was conceived by a 15 year-old (or so I'm told) and as seems likely an American. One story had a touch of history, of legend, of poetry to it. The other has easily recognizable conventions and sometimes silly names. Naturally the film-makers couldn't be blamed for the tremendous differences in dramatic quality their films would produce. Yet, Peter Jackson's insistence that the production design for the Lord of the Rings be conceived with a pseudo-documentary realism, (that is, Elves really did exist, Sauron and the ring, etc. were more than just the wondrous products of a refined intellect) seems to have produced a conceivably "real" style of dress and architechture. In Eragon only the dragon seems "real."

Likewise the performances in the latter are less moving, more plastic. Numerous times in the movie I'm reminded that I'm actually watching a movie. No fantasy film worth its salt can really survive unless it's inured me into the emotional reality of its characters, enchanted my senses, enthralled my sensibility into believing in dragons, etc. Few tears are shed; however, numerous grimaces, growls and grunts issue forth. In this film as in many of its peers the villains are tragically more convincing (or at the very least "moving") than its heroes. Sad to say, despite a roster of at least a couple of noteworthy actors the aforementioned immersion never took place. Most disappointingly, John Malkovich is incredibly goofball. His slow drawl took me back to Mice and Men, and I was more worried he was going to headlock someone and love them to death than to wreak havoc and darkness on some poorly outfitted resistance. Not threatening, certainly not intense, unless you think having your patience slammed repeatedly produces dramatic tension.

Likewise, if you're looking for the delicious dialogue of LOTR, you'll have to go home and watch the DVD. This movie has some moments of charm, even charisma, but they are few and far between. The rest is more often than not derivative ("there were... complications") and vapid.

However, if you're looking for a musical score that attempts to cue every emotional moment (perhaps desperately trying to buttress weaker moments) you'll get one. I expect a perfect musical score (especially one that will invariably become domineering) to mesh with the cinematic visuals. I shouldn't notice it trying to elevate my emotional resonance. Not so here. The score (as with a number of other elements of the film) tends to sound cheap: overdone here, under-finessed there---something one expects of a "B" movie. Truthfully, it's a waste to have spent this much time writing about it.

In conclusion (though I'm far from done) I'd say that the film-makers should have backed up, closed the author's eyes and reduced the plot and savored the high points, (er... or point), like Sephira. I would have attempted to find actors who had at least a meager love for the book, though I doubt anyone on THIS movie reads Eragon once a year, or is part of the fan club. If they were, they would have tried to make a film that honored the book, instead of a flick that fitted the book inside of it, regardless of how it mangled the pages.

At one point during this awkward movie, I actually whispered to my wife, "When is this movie going to be over?" As such, using my usual standards for the quality of a movie, I'd say wait for the dollar theater, but not for the rental (unless you have a large group). Waiting to rent the DVD may be too much money.

Friday, December 15, 2006

A room full of silk flowers

It's been ages since I wrote anything, and for once I have good reason: I'm busy. I do not mean to say that I have no time to write, only that once I've crossed our lil' apartment's threshold after a long day of walking through tunnels, sweeping a perpetually dirty floor and organizing a room full of silk flowers--(try doing that and still feeling macho at the end of the day! hah!) I don't feel inclined to put my weakened fingers through further punishment. (The carpal tunnel I was gifted with through video gaming exacerbates the fun of operating a broom, perhaps the simplest of tools). Nonetheless, I feel I owe it to moi, sole proprietor and visitor to this, the last serenely isolated corner of cyberspace, to keep on 'a keepin' on.

Honestly, I admit I look forward (faintly) to the random reply of a stranger and the even still more unlikely comment from a friend/acquaintance/pseudo-relative, etc. So, if you're out there, say something!!! :)

In addendum, I should explain the foregoing reference to silk flowers via update. Since August of this year I've been working for LDS Floral Services (a la Temple Square) as a materials handler. 1) I do not design the floral arrangements, and if I were to try, several women of various sizes and athleticism would turn into martial arts warriors with pink hair and pummel me. 2) Floral Services is an indoors operation. We put lights and decorations galore on those towering Christmas trees that exist in a climate-controlled environment. The most we fear from nature on a regular basis is spiders and gravity.

One of the abnormalities arising from said position is that we're sometimes obliged to organize a malevolent quotient of silk flowers from time to time, and must venture deep into a crevice of the LDS Conference Center known only as 4M. Cue the "bwah bwah bwaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" and violin accompaniment here. It is a room designed with the sole purpose of dulling the senses, diminishing will, and instigating rubber-band volleys into its grey gloom. Time has no meaning, color no bounds. What is a peach lily in one spot turns red-orange in another; all variety of hues of every color imaginable (even those you dare not consider) exist in one warped rainbow mass of shelved silk flowers. If you linger too long... they stare back at you. Furthermore, the ruling class in Floral Services is despicably right-brained, so the flowers ebb and flow, radiating from one grouping to another. In short, the place is sheer madness, and we're lucky we made it out alive. Going back is always, ALWAYS a last resort.

Here's to hoping I won't be a "flower boy" forever.

Captain Redguy, signing off.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Innovative self-cheerleading

In response to the not-so-anonymous :) I wish to clarify that the higher being with which I am familiar doesn't desire anyone to be in a state of denial but on a course of aspiration and progression, and while I am one who questions the dubious outcome of "fake it till you make it" I realize that the road to "perfection" requires some innovative self-cheerleading, even self-hypnosis in a case as self-aware as mine.

And artist or no, I'm concerned that I not even begin to set my self apart so as to justify my considerable penchant for selfish languor or cantankerous ruin. Having different challenges I find myself resorting to unusual strategems in order to conquer and even momentary victories only reveal a new (and simultaneously old) series of trenches.

Naturally, the cycle will only end once I assume my right to choose my path instead of allowing the wind to toss me to and fro (James 1:6).

Nonetheless, a whopping thanks for your ever kind and generous commentary.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Melancholy and other forms of madness...

Since I have no reputation there's little to stop these mini-diatribes from turning lunatic, lewd, malicious, etc. except that I wonder if there's not some record being made in heaven. My thoughts are already sometimes black, and if I were to double their darkness by loosing them here it would be catastrophic to my dwindling spiritual ego and reverse any residual accolades remaining were I to repent.

It's funny that I'd always had a peripheral understanding of agency, of right vs. wrong and yet never discerned the devilish grins swimming in my melancholy and other forms of madness.

I keep wishing both that I had never gotten myself so mired and that I had some uniquely sympathetic earthly soul who could share in the comprehension of my utter stupidity. :) Lest I become too much like the adversary, who wishes that all become miserable like unto himself I'll forego furthering the aforementioned.

Le sigh. Let's hope I find better days.

Friday, June 16, 2006


Are there any other retail workers out there? Specifically, are there any other sufferers of retail labor? Sad but true the blogosphere probably has a host of whiners, rant-and-ravers, etc. but I have to say my whimsical piece about the absurdity of being a cog in the machine.

Such absurdity emerges in its most banal when for the hundredth time I've recommended the M&M two for a dollar special to a diabetic; as I'm unfazed by a monolithic wall of cigarettes peering back at me with cancerous fatality; when I can't end a conversation without saying, "Thank you! Have a nice day!" and so on.

Customer service wouldn't irk me if I could while away more than a few minutes conversing with the talky spinsters, the charming college-goers, the winsome moms and spit-fire fathers instead of scuttling them the moment they have their receipt. Lines in retail/grocery shouldn't be divided based on the number of items but more on the mood of the individuals. Doubtless the conversationalist line would have fewer patrons, but that's as it should be since we'll have to talk longer anyway. You'd have a robotic high-speed register clerk at your "I left the iron on, water boiling, my teenage daughter and a mangy, tattooed guitarist together on the couch" line, so they could hear "Hello. Receipt. Thanks for coming!" and rocket to put out whatever fires were plaguing them in due time. There's also the line for cigarette buyers, which would boil down to little more than a dispenser that would require them to show their I.D.--here the receipt, a bag, and perhaps even "Hello" would be moot considerations--more intrusion than adequate customer service.

I suppose retail in general is aggravating because it, like the DMV, the post office, the airport, etc. is little more than a people processor: managers tend to think more in numbers than faces (customer service anymore boils down to "Ka-ching!" instead of courtesy and community--call me a cynic) and the store's geography itself is meant to induce superfluous purchases rather than to provoke warmth or to foster happiness.

Granted, this may be more of my malcontented bile issuing like a deluge onto the already encrusted sickness of cyberspace, but I've reached my ceiling of empty courtesy. I'm taking back humanity, one Walgreens at a time. LOL.

Seriously, it seems to me that like our politicians--thank you, George Carlin--Walgreens, if indeed it is a grey hulking machine sucking people in and spewing them out minus a prescription and a few 4x6s worth of money, is only symptomatic of us as a whole, both collectively and individually. I can't blame the corporate machine; whether acting as a component or penniless opponent I still have to take action. No one robs us of our agency, our fresh air, our love, or our enduring happiness but us. Doubtless I have yet to fully embrace that lesson, simple though it is.

Now, lest I lose the inertia momentarily granted by thoughts not entirely my own, I'll tear myself away from parasitic technology and try doing something truly productive. Adieu.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Devilish carrots

I've come to realize the reasons why sin is so attractive (at least from a personal perspective)--or at the very least, why it is so addictive in contrast with righteousness. I say so at great personal cost because I may betray my deepest inadequacies to the discerning reader. Thankfully, this is one of the last unvisited bastions of the internet.

Sinful behavior (and for the non-religious this would best be labeled "dumb" behavior, since to the believer that's really what sin boils down to anyway) creates a vacuum hollowed out by regret, shame, sorrow, misery, etc. The individual thus suffering from such will then desire some kind of reprieve, and due to the harrowing nature of the aforementioned conditions will typically not have the patience needed for more enduring relief.

Righteousness, on the other hand, is deeply fulfilling and while not always immediately (nor intensely) gratifying, doesn't create a vacuum but new substance/sustinence--new challenges and horizons, (even revelations?). To clarify, much of righteous behavior involves ritual immersion and patient, concentrated effort, and more often than not, little to no adrenaline. (This is not to say that there is no chemical emission involved in spiritual transcendence, only that the experience promotes peace as opposed to aggression.) Therefore, a person isn't compelled to continue doing righteous deeds as they are with sinful practice, since righteousness is the only course that offers true satisfaction as opposed to a piecemeal gratification, the proverbial devilish carrot on the primrose path.

I say all of this not because it is new to the religiously educated or spiritually discerning, but because it is new to me, a person of spiritually meager intelligence. Over and over again I'm reminded of how little I know.

Monday, April 24, 2006

Back from hiatus...

Hiatus sounds too Hollywood; or maybe I wish it did. A lingering part of me wishes I was hob-knobbing with the big studio moguls, hopeful starlets, and otherwise fulfilling lifelong aspirations of having my imagination finally mean something financially important. Well, whether it's self-imposed reprieve or slothful negligence I've repented and returned to you, welcoming oblivion of cyberspace.

Sad but true, my motivations for writing here ---I've come to realize--- were primarily because I thought someone was paying attention. Now that I'm almost certain no one does, I should just really say things like I mean them. I'm not suggesting that anything I've said previously was remotely untrue. Rather, I won't have to mince the spicier elements for the benefit of persons for whom my respect demands a modicum of delicacy.

Granted, since this is still a "public" venue, I'll not share my deepest sentiments, but I'll feel less obliged to spare people's feelings about punk music. :)