Wednesday, February 06, 2002
A few words about the current state of cinema. February and March are the best times to make fun of the putrid state of things, because it's generally when all the putrid things are released... Chris Klein starring in "Rollerball," the remake of a 1975 amazingly cool and intelligent flick starring Sonny Coreleone himself. But Klein is no James Caan. He's not even a Scott Caan. There's a reason this increding hacking loogie of a movie was delayed for several months. [uber-sarcasam begins] I predict Rebecca Romijn-Stamos (who shares a birthdate with my brother) for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar in 2003. [uber-sarcasam ends] It comes out on February 15, and lucky you who have entertainment budgets, you don't necessarily have to see the movie starring the remarkably stupid "American Pie" alum and remarkably hot Mrs. "Uncle Jesse" from "Full House" (which tells you something about her intelligence). Because on the same day, "Collateral Damage" comes out, the worst title for a movie since "Domestic Disturbance" (which was that Travolta movie that no one, literally no one, saw). I know what the term means but I can't help but associate it with taxes, for some reason. "Collateral" stars Arnold "Please Like Me Again" Schwarzenegger. We'll see who wins the box office that weekend. I propose this: NEITHER MOVIE GETS ANY MONEY. NO ONE GOES to see ANYTHING. Thank you. This rant has been brought to the Movie Snob Council and by viewers like you.
posted by Colin at 1:42 PM
Friday, February 01, 2002
I'm listening to my sole Tom Waits album tonight ("Beautiful Maladies"). It's been several weeks since I bought this CD but I've only listened to it once. I really really like it, it's just that I've been busy doing other useless things (like going to work). I kept thinking "I'll listen to that Tom Waits CD tonight" as I drove to work or as I ate lunch at work, etc. but I kept forgetting. Doesn't that just get your goat all steamed up? Man. I'm no longer working at Tower Records for those of you who might be interested to know. My employment there was 'terminated.' What's worse: 'fired' or 'terminated?' Example: "The Terminator was set on fire(d)." I am not going to go into detail as to WHY I got fired. Suffice it to say that I did not get along with some of my co-workers and this is the apple core of the matter, constant reader. They were sour grapes anyway, said the fox. Minimum wage was not working for me, and it wasn't going to get any better... I'll find another job. I'm talented. I'm good enough, smart enough, and a fair amount of people still like me. Some even LOVVVVVVVVE me. Wouldn't you like to know who? Speak up, sonny. My ears are what they used to me. I can hear clearly now, the pain is gone.
posted by Colin at 1:44 AM
Thursday, January 17, 2002
Sara: you have not yet denied you were camped overnight to see the first showing of "On the Line" starring Lance Bass from *NSync and Jerry Stiller from "Seinfeld." Guess it must be true...
posted by Colin at 6:21 PM
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I work at a music store now. I won't name names, but it rhymes with 'Tower.' For the most part, the people there are decent, and it's not a bad job, and they don't crack the Minimum Wage Whip too loudly or too hard. We are limited as to what we can play in the store, unlike Blockbuster Music, where I used to work. The problem with Blockbuster Music was that any CD in the entire store could be played. Any customer, for that matter, could listen to any CD in the store. But such freedom resulted in a) the employees fighting over what was played in the overhead playlist; b) the customers listening to a huge pile of CDs - and never ever leaving/buying anything. So we at Tower only have a hundred or so CDs to listen to. There's a lot of decent stuff, a few really good CDs. The Strokes, "Is This It," for example: a great CD from 2001. But...ocassionally, someone will put the Creed CD on. I don't know if someone actually LIKES Creed. I can't see this being the case, as no one seems that mentally ill. So, when that occurs, I will repeatedly throw myself down a flight of stairs in a hope to break my neck. I use the small (very small) flight of stairs in the backroom; it's steeper. I can stand a lot of things - but Creed makes my spinal cord try to escape. Back at Blockbuster Music, I had to listen to "Jagged Little Pill" many many many many many times. To the point where I'd catch myself humming it outside of work. Even though I had clearly decided I hated this CD... WHY, WHY I ASK YOU can we not have classic albums in the playlist? The Best of the Songbooks by Ella Fitzgerald? The Beatles' "Revolver?" "All Things Must Pass" by the sadly deceased George Harrison? "Popular music still sucks. God regrets the error." -Ted Rall, editorial writer/cartoonist. Meanwhile, I'm playing the "I Am Sam" soundtrack quite a bit. I understand the movie isn't good at all...
posted by Colin at 6:15 PM
Wednesday, December 12, 2001
I've really got to learn to write short little blog entries, instead of making each into gargantuan productions starring Ben Affleck and Kate Beckinsale. Meanwhile back on the ranch, back on the satellite, back on the farm, back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, the birthday of my monologue page came and went. Sara's best friend, we'll call her "Molly," was disturbed that my page had a "birthday," implied that it was birthed. (Meaningless Tangent: the birth process is disturbing, in itself, in my opinion; I saw a recent PBS special where they followed a woman's pregnancy and at the end, when she was giving birth (shown graphically, of course), her husband was there, and her mother was there, and HER FATHER was there. Husband and mother, I can understand, but her dad? He was watching. Not outside, pacing, where he should be. Watching. Dude. Eh.). "Molly" suggested 'anniversary,' but I stuck with calling it a birthday. Someone (nice someone) sent me $20! And I posted a picture of Tiffani Amber-Thiessan (aka 'Kelly Kapowski' on "Saved by the Bell") after deciding that a dedication to anyone else would just sound cornball. I happened upon some "Saved by the Bell" Barbie-sized dolls on Ebay, while searching for good Kelly pictures. I decided that someday, I need a Screech doll. Mint in box. Never been touched by human hands without sterilized gloves. And then I'll bring it to Antiques Roadshow in 2050.
posted by Colin at 9:19 PM
Wednesday, November 14, 2001
I wasn't exactly enthusiastic when my friends presented me with the option of going to Chuck E. Cheese's for dinner, with them. After all, the slogan does not claim that it is "where a 25-year-old can be a 25-year-old;" their slogan is that it's where a kid can be a kid. And I like children to be quiet, sleeping, and/or cute. Not running around, shrieking, on dangerous mozzarella highs, in danger of banging their heads on blunt/sharp objects. Such children account for most of the population of Chuck E. Cheese, if you remove the sour parents and haggard employees. And, that night, us. But it was for a good cause, as they were giving a percentage of their proceeds to the relief effort -- and we found free-token coupons on the official website. Upon arriving, the first thing I noticed was that it was very well-lit. All Chuck E. Cheeses that I remember (from my youth) were very darkly-lit, which probably accounted for many a scrape and bloodied brow. Darker than your average Round Table Pizza. They probably didn't even bother with having an "Accident Free for [so many] Days" sign in the employee lounge. But then again, it's probably only one single Chuck E. Cheese that I remember. And I was a Bullwinkle's man (boy) myself. They had a secret grotto where Jay Ward's cartoons would play constantly and I would go there to escape the noise. (I haven't really changed much......... What was I talking about? Oh, that's right. Oh, I kid. There aren't any cartoons in Chuck E. Cheese. And I would not watch them if they did. The huge singing heads are scary enough. I don't need those characters to be animated. Thankfully, the giant singing heads were silent when we arrived, despite our words of encouragement. They would however occasionally turn their heads slightly and blink. We sat down to eat plain cheese pizza. We figured that was the safest route, considering the inevitable mediocrity. There are a lot of excellent pizzerias in the city of Portland but I am here to tell you that Mr. Charles Earnest Cheese does not make good pizzas. They can best be described as round and warm. If you get nothing else from my website, I hope you get this. And after we finished, we split up the tokens. My housemate Steve gravitated towards their version of Whack-A-Mole (but with alligators) and proceeded to set new records. My housemate Kevin was drawn to the air hockey. And I was pulled by an irresistible vacuum-like force to the Pro Pitch machine. How to describe it? A (ragged) piece of canvas with a picture of a baseball catcher on it and a hole. The purpose of the game: to throw tennis balls through the hole in the canvas, as many times as you could within so-many seconds. To an ignorant outside observer, this would appear to be your usual run-of-the-mill carnival throwing-game. But this game had a strong manly voice and it called to me. It was my voice of every father I've ever had (one). It was the voice of destiny. I plugged tokens into this machine like a man possessed, trying to break my personal record each time I would set a new one. I hardly did anything else for the next hour, trying out different techniques like a man possessed. (but never underhand). I quickly began to sweat. When I ran out of tokens, I hit up my friends like a man possessed (by crack). I can't remember such an arcade-related pursuit since the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles arcade game in 1992. I didn't earn many tickets via this game; I kept track of them by the way. I loved having all of the tickets in my pocket. It made up for all my skeeball failures in my life (I hate that game so so much). We all went home with candy sticks (which is all we could "afford") and I enjoyed them very much. Like a man possessed. P.S. I am so concerned with quality when it comes to my website, that I actually CALLED this Chuck E. Cheese at 10:20 pm PST in order to know the name of that machine. I had to ask a human being, "what's the name of that game where you throw balls through the canvas?"
posted by Colin at 11:30 PM
Thursday, November 08, 2001
I saw this blank *NSYNC greeting card at my local Fred Meyer (tm) supermarket and couldn't help but to think of you, Blog. Let's look at these five boys from Boston, shall we? We shall. The one on the far left (I think his name is Theo) obviously arrived late for the photo shoot; he has a gambling problem. His right leg (not pictured) was amputated by Dr. Giggles after Theo lost $50 million from betting against the mob. His leg is CGI in their first feature film ("Syncworld") due out this Christmas, and you'll notice he doesn't dance anymore. The next one was bought from Toys R Us for $49.95. No one knows what happened to the real Gunther. FUN FACT: the medallion worn on his necklace means "waffle." Moving on - the medallion worn by Justin Timberlake represents his recently-mangled gentialia, a result of a "Britney accident." He got "too fresh," according to Britney's people. You would probably have the same dour expression if you were him, considering. Upon arriving in some of the more isolated and shoddy hotel room, they other Nysncers use his head to scrub the gunk off the bathtub. Moving on to "Billy Big Mouth" Bass......hahahahahahahahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha! I'm okay, I'm really okay, I'm okay, I just...mmph! Hahahahahahaha! The secret lovechild of Hillary Swank and Chad Lowe, ladies and gentlemen! This is the reason cousins should marry! I think this must have murdered the real Bass and replaced him when the Nsyncakteers were assembled for the first time. Lastly, Gordon there apparently used the wrong kind of laundry detergent. I thought he looked vaguely embarassed about it - but then I discovered that this is the only facial expression he possesses. If that wasn't worse enough, I read in "Seventeen" that his thumb was bitten off by Christina Aguilera and he's constantly trying to put it back on. Just when you think you know boy band, eh? I've decided that this will be my life's mission. This is the picture that will expose and revitalize American pop ("Pop," the hot new single from 'Nsync, buy it at Amazon.com!) culture. The truth will set you free! Join us! Oh, the things I could tell you about O-Town and the Backstreet Boys! There are people who would like to see me silenced forever - be careful who you show this to. Power to the people. Note: this essay was first written for my friend, Sara, who camped overnight to be the first person to see "On The Line" starring Lance Bass, some other guy from NSync, and Dave Foley. Really. She really did. I'm not kidding. Really. Really not not kidding.
posted by Colin at 3:51 PM
Monday, October 22, 2001
I’m house sitting right now. In general it’s very nice. I don’t have to pay any rent, the basic household bills are covered, and I get a whole huge place to myself. But there is one major problem with this arrangement — the tree. The tree grows right outside the front door. Driving past the house it is lovely to look at. It has red berries, large and small, as well as bright yellow pollen springing from the tips of branches. In living here, however, the tree has become my nemesis. The large berries create a mine field around the front door. One misstep and the soles of my shoes take days to recover. The little ones are unavoidable, making it inevitable that I will smash them and trail them into the house. I sweep and vacuum to no avail. They are everywhere. The pollen drops from the tree all day long, smearing the morning paper, and mingling with the evening dew, leaving a yellow cast on my car. If it were my house, the answer would be simple. The tree would have to go. I’d plant a fern there perhaps, or an evergreen tree, a plant that never drops anything on the front deck, not even leaves. But alas, it is not my house. I am only it’s caretaker through the autumn, probably the worst season to battle this menacing tree. And so I wince each time I come or go, or even step out to get the paper. Damn that tree.
posted by Sara at 10:14 PM
Tuesday, October 16, 2001
There is a billboard a few miles from my house. It's an advertisement for popsicles. It features a woman wearing a fuzzy white halter-top leaning over an ice floe, with popsicles stuck in it. (to quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up). She is gazing at the assortment of flavors (orange, red, yellow), hungrily, with half-lidded eyes, her lips parted slightly. You don't have to be Freud here. This woman really really loves popsicles. What marketing genius thought this up? "Frank, what do we need to sell popsicles?" "Breasts." "Good. Go with that." It must have been something like that. Sex sells. It's no secret. I keep expecting to see a TV commercial starring the same woman slowly unwrapping then enthusiastically devouring the popsicle. Maybe it exists in Europe. They say they're much less uptight about sex in Europe. On the same day when I decided to write about this billboard (it's posted at least three different places around Portland), I saw another notable sign of an entirely different type. The Spirit Mountain Casino, a huge gambling complex near the Oregon coast, uses the line "Luck Happens," in their advertising: commercials and signs and billboards with examples of good and bad luck. A billboard has a genie emerging from a can of beans. Anyway - there is a sign on a bus stop near my house - it says "You Just Missed It." An example of bad luck, you see. But I think this sign could inadvertedly cause a peron, teetering on the edge of sanity, to drop off the edge. "The bus stop is talking to me!" Think about it. Won't you?
posted by Colin at 4:42 PM
Sunday, October 07, 2001
A few weeks ago, I had to go to my former college campus to pick up a check for some work I did for the Publications department, during the New Student Orientation. The freshmen were everywhere and the fact that these kids were born in the mid-1980's made my head spin. A friend of mine (we'll call him Rudolph) who works full-time at the college, upon being asked about the class of 2005, remarked: "They're young!" I observed a mother and her daughter walking towards the student center, the mother was constantly spouting advice as the daughter wore a visibly eroding mask of patience. While standing in line (behind several freshmen making sure their respective financial accounts were in order), I saw several females that seemed to be blatantly flaunting their sexuality. One might as well have been on a Parisian catwalk rather than the first floor of the Templeton Student Center. If it had been nighttime, I would have been able to see the glow of hormones bouncing off various forms. Oh, the sudden freedoms. Believe me, going to LC is like a constant MTV Spring Break, except with a large population of constantly-recruiting hippies ('long-hairs'), raincoats and fleeces instead of bikinis and tequila t-shirts, an eclectic array of musical tastes (Phish, Cat Stevens, Built To Spill, etc.) and thankfully no Carson Daly in sight. So really, it's nothing like MTV Spring Break at all. Man, it's cold in here. I need those Bob Cratchit gloves with the holes for the fingers. Ever tried typing with full mittens? "It will be revealed that the only reason the mitten was invented was because something cute was needed to rhyme with kitten." -In The Year 2000, Late Night with Conan O'Brien.
posted by Colin at 3:48 PM
Saturday, September 22, 2001
We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
posted by Colin at 3:09 AM
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I watched the TV special tonight, "America: Tribute to Heroes." For those for you wise enough to stay away from TVs, this was the two-hour commercial-free telethon, raising money for those devastated by last week's terrorist attacks, with every imaginable Hollywood celebrity in attendance. Tom Hanks and Bruce Springsteen, two living breathing icons of Americana, introduced the events. George Clooney gazed at us with his usual smirk while still managing to be serious. Tom Cruise stumbled over the lines being fed to him. Standing next to Will Smith, Muhammad Ali spoke in his quiet sad intelligent way. Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino, and Adam Sandler were shown (among other notables) manning the phones. Openly Canadian Celine Dion sang "God Bless America," managing to restrain from thumping her chest. Jim Carrey is also Canadian, but he wasn't subjected to reciting the "America the Beautiful" lyrics. That was left to a disheveled brown-suit wearing Clint Eastwood. Mariah Carey sang. I'm glad she stopped. People would have asked for their money back if she kept singing. There was also good music, including a genuinely emotional Springsteen singing "My City In Ruins. U2 sang from London. Neil Young sang "Imagine." Jon Bon Jovi sang a subdued acoustic version of "Livin' on a Prayer" [or is it 'Living' now?] with a fiddle/violin accompaniment. The evening ended with Willie Nelson singing "America The Beautiful" along with the entire celebrity contingent (like the red carpet at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion). And I'm sure this was a very good idea on paper and the producers had the best intentions. But many of the celebrities simply stood, looking awkward. There was a couple milliseconds of John Cusack chewing gum furiously. Penelope Cruz-Cruise looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. Some sang. Kelsey Grammer and Cuba Gooding Jr. were among the few actually singing and looking they were meaning the words. Some sang without much enthusiasm, stopping and restarting. Dan Rather quoted these lines from that song, while speaking with David Letterman, and broke into tears. For good reason. "O beautiful for patriot dream / that sees beyond the years / thine alabaster cities gleam / undimmed by human tears." For what it's worth, there's something happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear. There's a man with a gun over there. Telling me I got to beware.
posted by Colin at 2:48 AM
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
"And the battle's just begun / There's many lost, tell me who has won / The trench is dug within our hearts / And mothers, children, brothers, sisters / Torn apart." (from the U2 song, "Sunday Bloody Sunday). "Imagine there's no countries / It isn't hard to do / Nothing to kill or die for / And no religion too / Imagine all the people / Living life in peace..." (from the John Lennon song, "Imagine"). I've kept thinking that I should write something very much in-depth about IT. But for the most part, I'm speechless. Thoughts and prayers and hope.
posted by Colin at 10:52 PM
Saturday, September 08, 2001
I am not a mean or malicious person. I don't usually go out of my way to put down other people. But I have recently found the saddest, cruelest, most pathetic corner of the web. It's not as much like watching a train wreck (and not being able to look away); it's more like watching a constant stream of increasing violent and depressing train wrecks (and not being able to look away). On the website, poetry.com, they have a section where you can view real-time poetry contest entries, a new poem appears every 20 seconds. I'm sure the majority of persons submitting poems have no idea their poems show up here - http://www.poetry.com/latestpoem.asp - their 20 seconds of "fame." Most poems seem juvenile in origin and center upon three major subject: love/unrequited love/heartbreak; depression; and god. I understand that many find writing poems to be therapeutic, and that's fine, good, more power to you, but it feels so inane - all these kids writing from their "no one knows what I'm feeling" perspectives, but their work is nearly identical to everyone else's: one of the sad (but certainly not unique) tragedies of adolescence. I kept expecting to see something written by Jewel. Some of them could have been produced by a machine: they feel rhythmically similar. There are often typos, 'your' instead of 'you're, 'could of' instead of 'could have.' Often, the author puts words in CAPS (or capitalize the first letter of each word) in order to pound home their point. I expect that some of these poems were written on the spot - just thrown together quickly. Why do they enter these poems in this contest? Do they really think that their words are insightful, beautiful, filled with revelations on the human condition? I don't know. You would have to ask them.
I tune in to this address occasionally, to see if I will read a good poem. Many of my friends have stressed to me that I will never see a good poem on this site. EVER. I could not end this Blog entry without mentioning some specific examples. But you will not blame me. One poem featured the lines: "your nose perfect / as perfection" and later, "your nails long / as the teeth of vampires." A female from Kentucky submitted a poem, "A Man with the Beard" - except it was first written by famous 19th century limerick writer, Edward Lear. Another poem submitted was entitled "Purified -- A Sonnet," even though it was 13 lines long - a sonnet is 14 lines. If that wasn't enough, these were the first lines: The first drop falls down atop my forehead / No birds are flying now, not even doves, / I am alive while all the rest are dead." (ARGHHHH!). As my friend, we'll call him Roy, said to me, "no wonder no one respects poetry, it's so easy to write bad poems..."
Also: do NOT enter your poems in any contest at poetry.com. The sponsoring publishing company runs a scam. A legal scam, but it's nevertheless a scam. All reasonable entries to the 'contest' are published in a dictionary-sized volume of poetry by Watermark Press/the International Library of Poetry, which of course, you can buy for about $50, as they prey on people's emotions. They lure students and others into thinking they are poets when all they really want to do is sell them products. They sell mugs and plaques emblazoned with your poetry. To quote an article from the website, Jacksonville.com, about Poetry.com: " 'It's a back-door approach to selling books or plaques,' said Robin Rukab, a spokeswoman for the Division of Consumer Affairs in Jacksonville. It's a pretty lucrative business, critics argue, preying on people's emotions, insecurities and vanity without regard to artistic value. Ostracized in literary circles, the books the company publishes typically can't be found in regular bookstores or libraries." Beware of this site. For many different reasons.
posted by Colin at 3:59 PM
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I learned how to drive in the mid-west, where a smile and a wave allow you to merge into even the worst snarls. I’m good at it; I have a sweet smile and a cute accompanying wave that have served me well even in Chicago. While in college I became more aggressive as I survived the infamous New York drivers, but nothing prepared me for driving in Southern California. Nevertheless, I packed up my little car and drove down to visit my best friend in L.A. On my way into town I was grateful when the traffic slowed us to 20 mph. Sure, I wasn’t getting anywhere, but the driver’s insane stunts, and the SUVs’ habit of riding the center line, was less terrifying at that speed than the same things were at 80 mph. I did find one kind driver, clearly transplanted from Des Moins, Iowa, who let me merge and use my wave, but I was promptly cut off by a maintenance truck with loose rakes that I was sure were going to fly at me and skewer my friendly flapping hand. Once I arrived at my destination and pried my trembling hands from the wheel, I thankful parked my car. My friend who lives here will be handling the driving from here on out, and I’ll just close my eyes and try not to envision yard equipment flying at me at 80 mph.
posted by Sara at 1:13 PM
Sunday, September 02, 2001
I was going to go to church this morning. I dutifully got up when my alarm clock went off. I showered and even shaved my legs so I could wear a skirt and look nice. And then I proceeded to eat the slowest breakfast of my life. I meticulously poured syrup into each square of my waffle. I conscientiously balanced sips of orange juice with sips of English Breakfast tea. And after dividing my vegetarian sausage links into symmetrical bites, I looked at the clock and noticed mass had already started. I know God doesn't mind. I wasn't going for Him anyway. I was supposed to be going for me. I'm new to the area and I wanted to meet people. My theory is they have to be nice to me at church. I do want to meet people, but the mental and emotional risk-taking was just too much for me this morning. If someone at church, in defiance of my theory, were to be dismissive of me, I don't think my ego could stand it. It has already been battered and bruised by job-hunting. Better to stay at home with my computer and my veggie links.
posted by Sara at 12:16 PM
Thursday, August 30, 2001
My housemate Steve and I once spent the better part of a week quoting a movie back and forth to each other. Because I am a movie buff and a fanboy to the nth degree, I quote many movies ad nauseam. These include -- but are not limited to - Jaws, The Exorcist, The Star Wars Trilogy, and Godfather I & II. For the couple weeks after I saw "The Outsiders," I once used "Stay gold, Ponyboy" as an all-purpose phrase, like 'aloha.'
However, the movie we were quoting was a movie from the mid-1980's, but nevertheless great. Some of the college freshmen that are currently invading my alma mater were most likely born the same year it was released. Three exponentially-bad sequels, more than one console video game, and an animated series followed. Yes, I am speaking of the classic of contemporary cinema, The Karate Kid, starring Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita. In all seriousness, it really is a well-constructed movie. It probably inspired thousands, if not millions, of young scrawny teenagers to take long good hard looks at the maintenance-men working in their respective apartment buildings. Another percentage probably went all the way: inspired karate (ka-rat-tay) lessons, but first being 100% sure that the dojo' wasn't run by an evil sensei who advocated killing your opponents -- or at least maiming them.
It is the little things that make "The Karate Kid" great. Steve and I have our favorite lines. Steve does an uncanny impression of Daniel LaRusso's tantrum towards his bike, after he is forced off the road by the Cobra Kai members. I am very fond of Ali's (Elisabeth Shue's) squeaky come-on to Daniel during the high school Halloween dance, "Help, help, my flower needs water!" The most recent time I watched it (with my friends present) I slo-mo'ed the moment where Ali and Daniel kiss for the first time. The first "innocent" kiss, outside the Golf N' Stuff waterslides, lapses quickly into a full French kiss, complete with tongues. And take the infamous villain character of Johnny, Daniel's nemesis (please). Throughout the course of the movie, Johnny kicks Daniel's ribs in, blackens his eye, throws him down a hill, and nearly puts his foot through Daniel's chest. But after Johnny is vanquished by the "Crane Kick" and Daniel is celebrating his come-from-behind victory, he is the one to hand Daniel the trophy, shouting over the tumult, "you're alright, LaRusso!" I have always theorized that this was because they wanted to show Johnny as a victim of the evil sensei, Johnny wasn't such a bad fellow after all -- or maybe the actor whined.
An online acquaintance of mine, when I told her I was writing about "The Karate Kid" responded with " ......why on God's sweet earth....?" It came to me in the shower. If you understand the connection, you are my comrade, you are my brother (or sister). Squish. Just like grape.
posted by Colin at 12:02 PM
Monday, August 27, 2001
Hi. I'm Sara, the Starbucks-loving "partner in crime" Colin referenced. You may know me from such classic Blogs as "The weather out here in California never changes." It was another perfectly sunny day today, in case you were curious. I am looking after an iguana named Emerald and he loves all the sunshine. In the afternoon he gets to go outside, where he lounges in a chair by his little pool. When he is toasty warm and has absorbed all the heat little lizard body can, I put him in the kiddy pool. He doesn't usually swim -- he just stands, a happy, puffed up lizard, and pompously watches the dragonflies bob by. When he has tired of that entertainment he scrambles out of the pool and goes looking for adventure. He stomps around the herb garden, leaving a minty tingle in the air, occasionally stretching his neck out to snack on random leaves in his path. He seems endlessly fascinated by the offerings of the yard. Day after day, he explores as if he as never seen it before. He doesn't have the same wonder at the adventure offered by the inside of the house. Even under-the-bed and in-the-closet have lost their previous thrill. But somehow, the garden is always special. Perhaps it's the squawking birds, which test his alertness in away that the TV fails to do. Or perhaps it’s the way the cat occasionally tries to hunt him, before being shooed off be anxious humans. But even a quiet day in the yard beats the most raucous indoor day in Emerald's world.
posted by Colin at 11:03 PM
Sunday, August 26, 2001
On June 15, 1996, the First Lady Of Song, Ella Fitzgerald died. The next day, I went to work at Blockbuster Music in Mtn.View, Calif., where I was working for the summer. While on my lunch-break, I listened to the Ella Fitzgerald CD, "Oh, Lady, Be Good! Best of the Gershwin Songbook." And I was immediately hooked. The first track on the CD is "Fascinating Rhythm" and when it begins, her voice is so soft it's almost inaudible, and it builds, a beautiful voice flowing effortlessly over the words, amazing articulation, and I fell in love. It made me regret that her death "inspired" me to look into her music, because I would have loved to experience the delicious rush that comes whenever I hear new music that I love for the first time, when she was still with us. My name is Colin and I love jazz. And I was first attracted to vocal jazz: the considerably more mainstream of the two definitions. I have created a specific mp3 playlist of instrumental jazz for when I'm falling asleep at night. I find it extraordinarily calming, the familiar rhythms floating up and echoing through my room, as I lie, curled up in my bed, thinking about those dear to me and listening, while at the same time allowing myself to drift down into dreams, anticipating the twists and turns of Miles Davis' trumpet - a particular favorite. Jazz: Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Stan Getz. I like to call it: chaos from order, while simultaneously, order from chaos. I understand that jazz, especially instrumental jazz, is an acquired taste. Many of my passions make people raise their eyebrows my direction: baseball, 1970's and 1930-1940's cinema, comic books, and jazz. That isn't the complete list of my passions, by the way. And I'm not a jazz-snob...I like all sorts of music. But I am also quite indebted to the mp3 revolution (as I like to call it) for turning me on even more to jazz.
posted by Colin at 3:01 PM
Monday, August 20, 2001
A lot of strangers used to instant-message me, via the ungainly program AOL Instant Messenger. This was mainly because I put my screenname on the main page of my website. It has since been removed. The people that visit my visit can email me if they have any questions. I have never felt especially good about using a product by American Online, but ever since they became a huge conglomerate, I probably use things they own every day, without even knowing it. But I still won't go into a Starbucks. Especially since they're probably owned by AOL-Time Warner too. They're that evil. (Sara, my partner in crime, likes Starbucks). Anyway, a couple weeks ago, a person wrote me, having found me randomly, not through my website. This always makes me immediately suspicious. As did the cutie-pie font this girl was using. The person started by asking "ASL?" - which (if you do any conversing online) you know means 'age, sex, location.' In an attempt this abbreviated question, I have put that information in my profile, but I told her anyway: 25/m/Portland, OR. I should have stopped the conversation right there. I don't often ENJOY these random people sending me messages - what on earth attracts them to me? I don't promise naked JPGs of Justin Timberlake in my profile, do I? (god no). Even my screenname is uninteresting! Unswayed to my silence, she continued: "do u have a pic?" "Um, no," I typed back. "Why not?" "I don't show up in photographs." "Why not?" "Because I'm the undead," I said, giggling to myself. After inquiring as to whether or not I was a freak ("I'm not. I'm sorry, you'll have to look elsewhere."), she ended the conversation soon after. I was very glad.
posted by Colin at 3:29 PM
Saturday, August 18, 2001
The weather out here in California never changes. That's part of the reason I like it -- endlessly pleasant weather and eternal sunshine to buoy any of my bad moods. What could there be to complain about? But, this morning, as I looked at the weather around the country, I saw that it was storming back in Illinois. I don't like storms; I'm not one of those romantics who revels in their beauty. I lay in bed, trembling, as the thunder shakes my walls and the lightning turns my room into a macabre disco. But, I miss that fury. It reminds me that no matter how snug my house, how cozy my bed, I am still subject to forces of nature. I should fear those storms, just like all the other animals. My terror reminds me that despite my oh-so-organized human self-centeredness, there are things beyond my control.
posted by Sara at 12:41 PM
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"You've got to laugh once a day. That's what I tell people. Remember a day without laughter is like a day without sunshine. And a day ithout sunshine is like -- night." -Steve Martin, 1977. He was in his early thirties when he said this, playing a show where he mentions (several times) that the audience paid $4 to see him. A joke? Steve Martin turned 56 a few days ago. I have a friend who is a very big fan of Martin's. He said that he wished Steve Martin would live to be 'a gazillion and 56 years old.' I remarked that a Steve Martin that was several million millenia old would be a very sad thing. 'You can never have too much Steve Martin," he (we'll call him -- Roy) said. I said he would become a sad and confused figure -- if he lived to be very old. Look at Katharine Hepburn. I love Katharine Hepburn's movies. But when I see pictures of her on the front of tabloids, while waiting to buy my groceries -- it's a very sad thing.
There's a contest sponsored by the the Portland Post Office and the Maruoka-cho Cultural Foundation (our sister city?) - I'm thinking about entering it. The contest is called "A Brief Message from the Heart." The theme of this year's contest, in it's 9th year, is "A Letter To Life" and the grand prize is a cool grand. The catch? Besides the fact there will be a gazillion entries? The catch is that it must be 25 words or less. How few words is 25 words? Well, if you don't include this CURRENT sentence, the rest of this paragraph is a whopping 85 words. We're talking TWO really tight SENTENCES! Three, four haikus tops! I guess there's some sort of tradition involved, and that's the reason it's so short. But it's hard to say anything profound, humorous, sincere in 25 words. Especially because I tend to overwrite.
posted by Colin at 2:01 AM
Thursday, August 16, 2001
I used to work in a large building for a company that will remain nameless, among literally hundreds of other persons. Yes, I was a nameless numbered drone, doing over the over-the-phone technical support, chained to a phone by my headphone cords. Several months before I quit, there was a 'Town Hall' meeting in the morning, wherein employees could ask the Head Manager Person questions. Attendance was required, which was just fine with me: anything to get away from the cold-undecorated cubicle for a few minutes. At this meeting, several persons brought up the need for there to be a shelter on one side of the building for those who are smokers, as relief from the often-extreme Portland elements. Apparently, the company DOES plan to build a shelter for said-group. The person that brought this up and those persons in the audience that voiced their agreement -- are apparently worried about catching a nasty cold from the rain and cold and sleet. They would be under the weather for a few days maybe, and that would be horrible. You think a cold is uncomfortable and painful and frustrating? Try cancer. This is not to say that persons like myself that don't smoke should treat cancerstick-wielding butt-littering nicotine addicts as second-rate citizens. If they don't want to get cold and wet while sabotaging their lungs, that's their right. But the more and more I think about it, the more and more ridiculous it seems. Did these people recognize the irony of this situation? Are they simply embittered because it is IRRITATING to stand out in the rain? I'm willing to bet if I was to return to the place of business -- there still would be no shelter. It was just that kind of place. This rant has been brought to you by my head and whysanity.net. Have a nice day. Don't smoke.
posted by Colin at 3:25 PM
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My name is Colin and this is my Blog. Purrrr. She likes being scratched behind the ears. And so does my Blog. HA! I kid. What you will find on this blog: commentary on the human condition, commentary on the condition of my mind (as it is or isn't working at full power), the occasional quote that I enjoy, and miscellaneous mutterings and mumblings...imprisoned in this dark castle where the ghosts moan every night, attempting to drive me mad and wanting me to join their haunted desperate undead lives, I tell you. But sir, I am not MAD! Hm. Not sure what just happened. What you will NOT find in this blog: because I consider myself to be a person that is a few marbles short of a deck, there will be no rhyme and reason to this thing. I will also not use the blog as a therapist, I'm not going to be talking about my personal relationships with those dear to me. For one thing, reading such things make me nervous, not to mention my writing them myself... This is not to say that I beshrew any and all such efforts. If it's therapeutic to write out your daily trials and tribulations for other people to read - then I'm all for it. Where was I? Oh, yes. Right here. Wherever you go... As they say.
posted by Colin at 2:16 PM
