I love Vancouvria. Though only disseminated via You Tube, It's a lot funnier than the IFC's Portlandia in my utterly objective and unarguable opinion.
Episode 1 of Season 2 has been released by the Vancouvria folks. It's great!
"Big City Survival Class" shows how Vancouverites who are terrified of crossing the Columbia into Portland are cured of their fears. Sort of. Have a look, and laugh.
Seemingly I shouldn't be too scared of Portland, judging from the final few minutes of the video showing photos of the Vancouverites making their post-therapy field trip to the Mysterious Land across the bridge.
I ride a skateboard.
OK, a longboard, but that's an intimate relative of what's shown in one of the photos. I also have no problem with naked bike riding. Or naked anything, for that matter. And I usually wear a "hoodie" sweatshirt that bears a close tye-dyed resemblance to an item of clothing that repels two Vancouverites.
Here's me.
And here's a scene from "Big City Survival Class."
However, I will admit to being clueless about how to ride Portland mass transit, especially light rail and streetcars. Back in my Portland State University days, the 1970's, I was adept at riding Tri Met buses.
Now I'm almost as wary of the MAX light rail system as the Vancouvria guy who thinks "M" stands for murder. Watching Portland news from the safety of our rural south Salem home, we regularly see reports of muggings, beatings, and other mayhem on MAX.
So far as I remember, though, none of these involved a gray-haired senior citizen wearing a colorful tye-dyed hoodie with "Neskowin" emblazoned across the front. I should be OK if I ever dare to set foot on MAX.
Keep up the creative energy, Vancouvria. I look forward to the rest of your Season 2 episodes. There's got to be an episode focused on Washington's recently-passed laws that legalize marijuana and gay marriage, especially since Oregon hasn't legalized either.
In September I correctly anticipated that marijuana tourism would be coming to Washington state from Portlanders and other Oregonians. Sounds like a great way for Vancouvria to show that their town is cooler than Portland -- in a few ways.
Not Salem though. This is the comment I left on the latest Vancouvria You Tube video.
Us residents of Salem, affectionately known as So-lame to locals in the know, are afraid of visiting BOTH Portland and Vancouver. We've heard there actually are people on the sidewalks downtown in those cities. Scary! I'm used to a pleasingly boring and deserted downtown. Also, reportedly noise comes from restaurants and other night spots after 11 pm in Portland and Vancouver because people are inside... still awake! Super scary.
Gorgeous! Both the guys and gals. Take your pick. Who do you respond to the most after hearing Call Me Maybe?
The split screen version is my favorite. The troops in Afghanistan did a terrific job mimicing the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders. Whoever shot the video was highly skilled also.
I wanted to put genuine profanity in the title of this post. But my sense of cyberspace propriety stopped me. Until now...
Fuck you, DirecTV! Fuck you, Pac 12 Network!
May you and your progeny (assuming corporations have progeny, but aren't they people too?) endure eternal torture in whatever hell is reserved for heartless, greedy, uncaring bastards who put their own selfish interest above the needs of others.
Like me.
I've been annoyed with DirecTV for several months. Virtually every other "cable" provider has worked out an agreement with the Pac 12 Network. But not DirecTV. So I've been missing Oregon and Oregon State football games I wanted to see.
In addition, the vast majority of games, and those with the most conference or national title implications, will instead be televised by the ESPN family of networks and ABC Sports, FOX Sports and FSN, FX, CBS Sports and CBS Sports Network, NBC Sport and NBC Sports Network, and several other regional services, all of which are available on DIRECTV.
Oh, really? You liars!!!
If Oregon doesn't beat Oregon State this Saturday, it's already-slim national championship hopes will be flushed completely down the BCS toilet. Ditto for its conference title hope, since Oregon has to win and Stanford has to lose this weekend for that to happen.
So DirecTV is screwing me and other subscribers out of being able to watch one of the most important Pac 12 football games of the season. There's no Pac 12 Network deal in sight.
I need to be temporarily adopted by a Comcast customer. From noon to four pm this Saturday. I've had all of my shots. I'm housetrained. I don't bite (anyone but DirecTV and Pac 12 Network employees). I'm not finicky (just put some chips and dip in my bowl).
Or I guess I could find a sports bar. I don't drink much, but I could make an exception this Saturday. That drunk screaming Fuck you, DirecTV! at the television would be me.
I'll be happy with whoever wins the football game. But DirecTV is the big loser regardless. Football fans in Oregon are going to remember your uncaring mendacity for a long, long time.
I enjoy going to your showings at the Grand Theatre, but usually they're a bit of a downer. After all, economic inequality, pollution, environmental degradation, and other socially significant subjects aren't exactly smile-inducers.
But happiness is. I hugely enjoyed learning about what contributes to happiness from experts in psychology, and also seeing happy people in action.
Here's some themes from the movie that I remember.
Flow. Yeah, flowing with life is the way to go. There was quite a bit of talk about flow, losing yourself in an activity to such an extent there's minimal difference between you and what you're doing. In other words, your focus is on the here and now, not the there and then.
I recall that during a narration of what flow means, the screen briefly showed a skateboarder sliding down a handrail. Being a geezer skateboarder/longboarder myself, my inner dude said right on.
Along this line, I'll take this opportunity to premiere my own cinematic creation, the considerably less entertaining You Tube video that I filmed, directed, and starred in on the very afternoon before I watched The Happy Movie: "Big Stick longboarding, senior citizen style."
Description:
Risking my iPhone, I Kahuna Big Stick my way down a trail one-handed, videoing my marvelous 64 year old longboarding technique. Note the (accidental) cinematic effect at the end, where my dark glasses reflect my longboard rolling back down the slope toward me. Oscar for short subject, please!
This is an example of flow. I really enjoy longboarding because when I do it (up to four miles now), I'm really just doing it. Since I've only been into longboarding for about three months, my skills, and lack thereof, require me to focus pretty intensely on what's coming up on the trail.
A rock, twig, broken pavement, sudden steep spot -- those sorts of things are a bigger deal to beginner me than they would be to a young dude or dudette who grew up with a skateboard as almost a bodily appendage. So I can't let my mind wander, enhancing a sense of flow.
Pleasingly, "The Happy Movie" showed examples of people who are still flowing with activities that they're experts in. Like a Brazilian surfer of indeterminate age (fifties?) who spoke movingly of what it means to him to become part of a wave on his board.
Compassion and service. Most of us wouldn't consider caring for the dying in a Calcutta center run by the Mother Teresa organization to be happiness-inducing. But the movie showed a man who had happily been there for over a decade, giving food and drink to the terminally ill, cleaning their sores, replacing their bandages.
He was a Catholic, yet didn't emphasize the religious side of his service. He felt good helping others. I had the feeling that he'd be doing the same thing even if there wasn't a theological justification for his compassion.
This is borne out by studies which show that everywhere around the world, among believers and nonbelievers alike, people enjoy helping other people. Along with helping animals and the environment. Meditation was discussed in the movie, the sort of compassion-centered "may all be happy" meditative exercises favored by Buddhism.
Wishing other people good, even your enemies, makes you happy. I need to remember this the next time (which will be soon, believe me) I read or hear someone making a political assertion contrary to mine that deeply irritates me.
I guess a place to start would be a minimalist compassion meditation like, "May those fucking idiots who haven't a clue be happy... and also wake up to the correct political point of view, which just happens to be mine, as soon as possible."
Hey, got to start somewhere.
Being social. I was surprised to hear in the movie that Japan is the least happy industrialized country in the world. The scenes of Japanese life, which admittedly were chosen to make that point, certainly reflected that. Japanese people seemingly are still heavy on the "workaholic" side of the scale, with too many leading emotionally isolated lives.
By contrast, a divorced woman in Denmark (I believe it was) is shown living happily with her child in a shared housing setup -- where families have individual living spaces, but share cooking, child care, and other duties.
She spoke about how great it was to only have to cook dinner for everybody once or twice a month, rather than prepare an evening meal for her own family every day. Plus, the social support she got from like-minded housing companions meant a lot to her.
Okinawa was presented as an interesting counter to nearby Japan. On that island people still live close to the earth, gardening for the pleasure of it, as well for the need of it. Relating to nature isn't the same as relating to humans. However, happiness is enhanced by feeling close to the natural world, just as being with other people makes us happy.
(Usually. I've been at some social gatherings that made me yearn for an isolation cell in a penitentiary.)
The Okinawans appear to have a marvelously age-integrated culture. Instead of the young doing their thing, and the elderly theirs, different generations rarely meeting, "The Happy Movie" showed Okinawa children and elders dancing and playing together.
If you ever have a chance to see the film, do it. Likely it'll make you happy. I agreed with almost everything I saw in the movie. Except perhaps, the oft-heard admonition that once people attain a decent standard of living, getting more material stuff doesn't make them happier.
Huh?
Getting the iPhone 5 after being stuck with an iPhone 4 for ages (OK, two and a half years, but it felt like eternity) has made me really happy. Being able to upgrade my aging 13 inch MacBook Pro laptop to a retina display model would make me even happier.
Are you listening, Apple? How about contributing to an increase in the world's happiness level by releasing a 13 inch Retina MacBook Pro at the same time as the rumored iPad Mini this month?
I've emailed customer service. I've had the Pac-12 channel finder notify DirecTV that I want to see every Oregon and Oregon State football game this season, not just the ones on channels (like ESPN) DirecTV does offer.
Four weeks ago I blogged about how DirecTV's excuses for shutting its subscribers out of the Pac-12 Network were annoying.
They're much more annoying now.
Last Saturday I missed the Oregon State-Arizona game, which, when I read about it in the freaking newspaper the next day, turned out to have been tremendously exciting. Also, tremendously satisfying for us Oregonians, since OSU pulled out a win with a touchdown in the last few minutes.
I've read the DirecTV statement that they're ready to offer the games once they get a "fair deal" from the Pac-12 Network. Well, I'm sure the Pac-12 Network is a greedy corporate bastard, just as DirecTV is.
But other "cable" systems, like Dish, DirecTV's satellite competitor, have managed to work out a deal with the Pac-12 Network that they found acceptable. So this holier-than-thou talk about fairness isn't cutting it with me.
Next Saturday I'm slated to miss another important Oregon State game against Washington State that's only being televised on the Pac-12 Network.
DirecTV customer service said in an email to me, "the vast majority of games, and those with the most conference or national title implications, will instead be televised by the ESPN family of networks and ABC Sports, FOX Sports and FSN, FX, CBS Sports and CBS Sports Network, NBC Sport and NBC Sports Network, and several other regional services, all of which are available on DIRECTV."
Hey, DirecTV: that's a lie.
Oregon currently is ranked #2 in the country; Oregon State #14. Both are undefeated. Thus every football game they play, every one, has important conference and national title implications.
So show the games!
Work out a deal with the Pac-12 Network like your competitors have. Every day you don't is another day that your subscribers who are Pac-12 fans are cursing you when, once again, they miss a game that is important to them.
I'm about to tell the DirecTV Corporate Office what I've just said in this blog post. Click here to express your own feelings. (Or the link at the top of this page, if that one doesn't work.)
Obviously DirecTV isn't getting a strong enough message from its disgruntled subscribers, or they'd have done the same sort of Pac-12 deal that Dish and others have accepted. (At the moment, reports are that no deal is in the works -- deeply irritating.)
I like DirecTV, so I'm reluctant to cancel and jump ship to the Dish Network. But if this ridiculous pissing match with the Pac-12 Network goes on much longer, I'm going to be seriously tempted to say goodbye to DirecTV.
The sports page informs me that next Saturday's Oregon-Fresno State game only will be televised on the new Pac-12 Network. I want to watch the game. But paternalistic DirecTV doesn't feel that I should.
Today, once again, I contacted DirecTV, saying that one of their Important Subscribers, namely, me, wanted the pissing match between them and the Pac-12 Network to be resolved. Pronto! Before Saturday.
I got an annoying email response from a customer service rep. My reactions to the annoyances are in italics.
Dear Mr. Hines,
Thank you for writing about the Pac 12 Sports Network. I see you are one of our loyal customers, and we would like you to know that we appreciate your business.
Believe me, I don't feel very loyal at the moment. I switched to DirecTV from Dish after Dish dropped CBS shows, such as our must-see Survivor, over a contract dispute. So I'd drop DirecTV in an instant if we had a viable cable alternative. But since we live in the boonies, I'm stuck with satellite.
I know that this channel is important to you.
Wow, very astute. Must be the frequent complaining I've been doing via email and Twitter ever since I realized that DirecTV wasn't going to carry the Pac-12 Network at the start of football season.
We have been in discussions with the Pac 12 Conference Commissioner and Pac-12 Networks representatives for several months and hope to reach an agreement that will be fair for both those customers who want to receive Pac 12 programming and those who do not. For the latest information on channel additions, please visit our web site at www.directv.com/pr.
Pardon my self-centeredness, but I don't give a rip about DirecTV customers who don't want to get the PAC-12 Network. I'm forced to pay for lots of channels that I never watch, but other subscribers do, so why can't those other subscribers pay for a channel that I will watch?
In addition, the vast majority of games, and those with the most conference or national title implications, will instead be televised by the ESPN family of networks and ABC Sports, FOX Sports and FSN, FX, CBS Sports and CBS Sports Network, NBC Sport and NBC Sports Network, and several other regional services, all of which are available on DIRECTV.
First, I don't believe this "vast majority" stuff. But maybe you're right. What's annoying is your assumption that I should only be interested in games with "conference or national title implications." I guess this means DirecTV won't have any OSU games, since likely the Beavers will suck this year and have no chance at the Pac-12 title. Still, I'd like to watch them when I want to. So don't tell me which football games I should be interested in, when the Pac-12 Network will be televising all of them, to my understanding.
Our goal is to always strive to provide our customers the very best TV experience at the most reasonable cost, and so we would hope to provide Pac-12 Networks to the fans whom most want it without burdening non-sports fans with an unreasonable additional expense.
OK. So do it. I'd be happy to pay 80 cents a month more for the Pac-12 Network. I leave that much in the tip jar at a coffee house when I buy a 16 ounce caffeine fix and a whole grain bagel. Just cut the crap with all that talk about "goal" and "hope." Simply do it! Sign a deal with the Pac-12 Network.
I appreciate the opportunity to assist you.
And I appreciate the opportunity to sarcastically criticize you.
Whatever happened to the adage "the customer is always right"? I know that DirecTV is getting lots of pressure from subscribers to add the Pac-12 Network. Yet nothing has happened so far.
Aside from subscribers jumping ship to another TV provider. Keep it up, DirecTV, and you'll learn how loyal to you your avid Pac-12 sports fans are. My prediction: not much.
Note: if DirecTV still doesn't have the Pac-12 Network by this weekend, check out a Washington State fan's humorous suggestions for what else you can do other than watch football. Such as Go to Michael's with your wife to get scrapbooking materials.
Yikes! Scary! Hope I don't have a nightmare about that tonight.
Speaking of nightmares, the Pac-12 Network is encouraging DirecTV subscribers to give their satellite service a fright by signing up with a competitor who does carry the network. Good for them. I suspect the Pac-12 Network is just as greedy as DirecTV, but my sympathies are with the Network, since I want to be able to watch every Pac-12 game, not just the ones DirecTV thinks I should want to watch.
Saturday the OSU Beavers and Oregon Ducks start their football seasons. But us DirecTV subscribers won't be able to watch the Beavers on the Pac-12 network unless DirecTV works out a deal to get the channel.
Do it, DirecTV!
It wasn't long ago that we lost Comedy Central and other channels because of a corporate pissing match with Viacom. It was a pain in the butt to try to find The Colbert Report, Daily Show, and other necessities of life on Hulu or wherever.
Don't screw us DirecTV subscribers again with a Pac-12 Network dispute.
If you're a DirecTV subscriber in Pac-12 land, head over to the Pac-12 Network channel finder to see if the channel is available to you yet. If it isn't, use the handy "I want it!" feature to send DirecTV a message. I just did.
Things are looking fairly positive for us football fans who have DirecTV. But pressure still needs to be put on DirecTV. They need to work out a deal BEFORE this weekend, not after.
Back in 2006, after extensive watching/reading research, I concluded that Jack Reacher, ex-MP hero of the terrific book series by Lee Child, was tougher than Jack Bauer, terrorist battling hero of the terrific TV series "24."
In an unarmed mano-a-mano, you’d have to bet on Reacher. He’s 6’ 5” and about 250 pounds. Puny Bauer and his pussy martial arts moves would barely get Reacher warmed up.
I fondly remember one Reacher bar fight which began with him calmly sitting at a table. He’s confronted by half a dozen guys out to give him a bad time. Reacher suggests that they should take a hike. Their leader says, “If we don’t, what are you going to do?”
Reacher then describes in exquisite detail what will happen. “You and I are going to go out to the parking lot. You’re going to take a swing at me and I’ll break your jaw. Then you’ll take another swing and I’ll break your right kneecap. After that, I’m going to come back inside and finish my beer." Which, of course, is exactly what happened.
Bauer can handle himself in any sort of situation, but almost always he’s got a gun in his hand. In the last Lee Child book I read, “One Shot,” Reacher dispatches four well-armed guys (who seriously deserved to be dispatched) with just a knife. Bauer maybe could do that too, but he’d have to work at it harder than the other Jack.
Having read every novel Lee Child has published so far, I'm enthused about the Jack Reacher movie scheduled for release in late December, 2012.
But Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher? Horrible casting mistake.
Maybe good for the box office, but no way is Cruise a believable Reacher to anyone, like me, who is intimately familiar with Reacher's (admittedly fictional) personality, demeanor, and overall macho'osity.
I'll try to keep an open mind, though.
Cruise might pull it off. He's just so damn small. And lacking the blunt brute force of Jack Reacher. Still, I can visualize Cruise's acting having the requisite cockiness. I just finished Lee Child's "The Affair," which I believe is the most recent Jack Reacher novel.
Loved it. The passages where Reacher deals with some tough southern rednecks are classic. Excerpts:
I looked at the alpha dog and said, "This is your plan?"
He didn't answer.
I said, "Four guys? Is that all?"
He didn't answer.
...I said, "It's a shame one of you isn't bigger. Or two or three of you. Or all of you, actually."
No answer.
Reacher advises them to rethink their plan and come back with dozens of guys, a big overwhelming force. Ending with: "I'll be here. Whenever you're ready." Later, they do come back. In a disappointing way for Reacher.
"Six of you?" I said. "Is that it?"
No answer.
"That's kind of incremental, isn't it?" I said. "I was hoping for something a little more radical. Like the difference between an airborne company and an armored division. I guess we were thinking along different lines. I have to say, I'm kind of disappointed."
Naturally it turns out that Jack Reacher was right. Six big rednecks was nowhere near enough manpower to defeat Reacher. However, he did get a little blood on his newly bought shirt. Not his own, of course. That irritated him.
But didn't interfere with his diner "date" with the awesomely beautiful woman who serves as sheriff of the small town. Jack Reacher never loses a fight. Or a woman he wants to bed. He's the toughest and coolest Jack.
For sure. Don't blow it, Tom Cruise. Us Jack Reacher fans will never forgive you if you do. Sadly, the trailer for the Jack Reacher movie isn't encouraging. Cruise just doesn't have the Reacher vibe.
Thank you, HBO. Thank you, Aaron Sorkin. Someone needed to say this -- no, scream it -- on nationwide TV.
The United States isn't the greatest country in the world.
Last night my wife and I watched the premiere of a new HBO series, "The Newsroom." Jeff Daniels plays a news anchor who can't take the bullshit anymore during a panel discussion and tells it like this country is.
Thanks to GQ.com, here's a transcript of the terrific mini-speech from How to Write an Aaron Sorkin Script, by Aaron Sorkin.
A song in a musical works best when a character has to sing— when words won't do the trick anymore. The same idea applies to a long speech in a play or a movie or on television. You want to force the character out of a conversational pattern. In the pilot of The Newsroom, a new series for HBO, TV news anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) emotionally checked out years ago, and now he's sitting on a college panel, hearing the same shouting match between right and left he's been hearing forever, and the arguments have become noise. A student asks what makes America the world's greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until...snap.
Will It's not the greatest country in the world, professor, that's my answer.
Moderator [pause] You're saying—
Will Yes.
Moderator Let's talk about—
Start off easy. First get rid of the two noisemakers.
Will Fine. [to the liberal panelist] Sharon, the NEA is a loser. Yeah, it accounts for a penny out of our paychecks, but he [gesturing to the conservative panelist] gets to hit you with it anytime he wants. It doesn't cost money, it costs votes. It costs airtime and column inches. You know why people don't like liberals? Because they lose. If liberals are so fuckin' smart, how come they lose so GODDAM ALWAYS!
The use of inappropriate language has a purpose—the filter's off.
And [to the conservative panelist] with a straight face, you're going to tell students that America's so starspangled awesome that we're the only ones in the world who have freedom? Canada has freedom, Japan has freedom, the UK, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Australia, Belgium has freedom. Two hundred seven sovereign states in the world, like 180 of them have freedom.
The fact-dump that's coming now serves several purposes. It backs up his argument, it reveals him to be exceptional (what normal person has these stats at their fingertips?), but mostly it's musical. This is the allegro.
And you—sorority girl—yeah—just in case you accidentally wander into a voting booth one day, there are some things you should know, and one of them is that there is absolutely no evidence to support the statement that we're the greatest country in the world. We're seventh in literacy, twenty-seventh in math, twenty-second in science, forty-ninth in life expectancy, 178th in infant mortality, third in median household income, number four in labor force, and number four in exports. We lead the world in only three categories: number of incarcerated citizens per capita, number of adults who believe angels are real, and defense spending, where we spend more than the next twenty-six countries combined, twenty-five of whom are allies. None of this is the fault of a 20-year-old college student, but you, nonetheless, are without a doubt, a member of the WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period, so when you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about?! Yosemite?!!!
[Cell-phone cameras are everywhere— people are tweeting and texting away.]
Now we slow down and get a glimpse into his pain. The oratorical technique is called "floating opposites"— we did, we didn't, we did, we didn't... But rhythmically you don't want this to be too on the money. You're not just testing the human ear anymore; you want people to hear what he's saying.
We sure used to be. We stood up for what was right! We fought for moral reasons, we passed and struck down laws for moral reasons. We waged wars on poverty, not poor people. We sacrificed, we cared about our neighbors, we put our money where our mouths were, and we never beat our chest. We built great big things, made ungodly technological advances, explored the universe, cured diseases, and cultivated the world's greatest artists and the world's greatest economy. We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn't belittle it; it didn't make us feel inferior. We didn't identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn't scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered. The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one—America is not the greatest country in the world anymore.
To resolve a melody, you have to end on either the tonic or the dominant. (Try humming "Mary Had a Little Lamb" right now, but leave off "snow." You'll feel like you need to sneeze.) So Will ends where he started. Then, just to acknowledge that he just sang an aria— which is unusual in the course of a normal conversation—he turns to the moderator who'd been needling him and casually asks...
Will [to moderator] Enough?
Here's a You Tube video that shows part of Will's truth-telling at the beginning. I sure wish we had more politicians who talked like this. They might not get elected, but I'd vote for them.
Personally, I wasn't turned on by seeing porn star Ron Jeremy featured on the home page, but my male eyes quickly turned leftward (natural for me) to an image of Sasha Grey -- another former porn star who supports the animal side of both humans and animals.
PETA enticed my throbbing attention deeper into the site with...
PETA is not new to the world of adult entertainment. In fact, we've been collaborating with some of the most legendary XXX stars for years. Thanks to the availability of .xxx domain names, we can now house all our adult content in one spot. Stick around and take a look at some of PETA's most sizzling ads of all time.
Since I'm a big fan of Storm Large, I wish I could obey her Twitter tweet.
My good friend Amy just got engaged, and..no pressure, boys...but this is how the fuck you do it. http://vimeo.com/42828824
However, I'm already married.
And my proposal to Laurel some twenty-three years ago was horrible, compared to how the marvelously creative guy who put together this lip-sync'ed marvel did it. Very Portlandia'ish.
When I proposed to Laurel, it was so half-assed Laurel wasn't sure what I was saying. "Are you asking me to marry you?", she said. "Yes," I told her. Not exactly the stuff romance novels are made of.
Oh well.
I'm happy this woman got to enjoy such a great proposal. The look on her face (in the corner of the video) as she watches the dancers is wonderful. Congrats to Isaac Lamb and his bride-to-be. You showed me way up, Isaac.
Good for you.
According to the Oregonian, your video has gone viral (gotten 1.4 million hits already) and national TV interviews await you. Couldn't happen to a better couple, judging by the six minutes I've known you via the video.
When I came across mention of a real-life Barbie on my Twitter feed, naturally my curiosity was aroused. I've always thought Barbie was hot (though my most ardent attraction is to a more mature, yet similarly curvaceous comic strip character, Blondie).
A 21-year-old girl, who has become an internet sensation in her home country of Russia, claims on her blog to be the most famed woman on the Russian-language internet.
Valeria Lukyanova's doll-like features, long blonde hair and 'perfect' body make her look like a real life Barbie.
In fact, with her tiny waist and large breasts, she bears such a resemblance to the famed plastic doll that cynical web users have been speculating about whether or not she is real.
After careful Googling, I've concluded that, yes, Lukyanova is for real. At least, as real as a Barbie-in-the-flesh produced by gobs of makeup and, most likely, plastic surgery can be.
Her Facebook page has so many photos and videos of her, it's difficult to believe that Lukyanona is purely an artifical creature. She's undeniably beautiful. Yet also a bit creepy, when she's in her full-on Barbie look.
When my daughter, Celeste, got married, I wasn't the dancing fool that I am now.
By "fool," I mean that my dancing is more fun for me than it is artistic to look at; also that I now feel foolish for not having started to take ballroom lessons earlier than my wife and I did, because we really enjoy dancing.
If I had my father-daughter wedding dance to do over again, I'd love it to look like this one. I think I could handle most of the moves this fellow gray-haired guy throws out on the dance floor so engagingly.
His daughter is enjoyable to look at also. Congratulations father and daughter. You've brought smiles, and likely some joyful tears, to many people.
Last Friday my wife and I went to see the Oregon Symphony in Salem even though we don't like classical music. Or, usually, symphonies.
But Storm Large, Portland's rock goddess, was singing along with the symphony in "The Perfect Storm" show that moved to the Schnitzer Concert Hall this weekend. Which also featured rock violinist Aaron Meyer in the first part of the program -- another amazing performer.
Large was on her best behavior during her sultry lounge-singer sort of performance. She noted this near the end of her show, saying something like "Salem, I bet you were wondering what you were going to get tonight. But look! I didn't curse once. And I wore underwear!"
She was dressed elegantly in a slinky black dress, nicely made up in glittery eye shadow, her blonde hair neatly coiffed. But anyone who saw her sing on Rock Star SuperNova back in 2006 knows that Large has a whole other way of being "Ladylike" (her original song).
Storm Large's versatility is hugely impressive. Like Lady Gaga, she can play sophisticated nightclub singer or down-and-dirty rocker. I forked out for center seats, six rows back, in Willamette University's Smith Auditorium.
Good choice.
I loved being able to clearly see Large's expressive face. Not to mention her attractive body. In 2011 she took the place of Pink Martini's lead singer, China Forbes, who had vocal cord surgery. Here's a video of her singing with Pink Martini in her sophisticated style.
And then there's "8 Miles Wide" from her show Crazy Enough. Hint: she's not talking about the Grand Canyon, but rather, um, a intimate bit of womanly geography.
Friday night Large said she had a "kink" for love songs.
Especially for love songs about relationships that end badly. Even better... love songs about relationships that start badly. I loved her honest, pleasingly cynical, yet still hopeful attitude toward love. Yeah, it hurts. But oh so good.
A big audience pleaser was her unique rendition of "Hopelessly Devoted." Large said the original singer (Olivia Newton-John in Grease, I assume) got it all wrong. Large told us that if she was jilted by a jerk, she wouldn't be sitting on a swing, softly singing about the break-up.
The guy would be duct-taped in an empty warehouse, his head over a toilet, getting what he deserved.
Her emotionally honest approach to love is even more bluntly revealed in Large's wonderful "I Want You to Die." Great lyrics. Note to self: If you're ever reborn and somehow are on the edge of fulfilling your karmic desire to have a romantic relationship with a reincarnated Storm Large, don't!
For obvious reasons.
Storm Large is a fascinating personality. Seeing her perform close-up Friday night, I could tell that a complex, intelligent, highly engaging woman was singing beautifully with the Oregon Symphony.
In an interview with Rosie O'Donnell, Large talks about her childhood, her mentally ill mother, and forgiveness. Honest. Real. Super talented. That's Storm Large. Portland, and Oregon, is fortunate to have her.
I have a mountain bike. But I shun mountains, because they are so up'ity. Flat or downhill... that's my ideal bicycling terrain.
Since we live in the hills of rural south Salem, this constrains my interest in bike-riding. But after watching "Motherfucking Bike," I was (almost) inspired to join the motherfuckingbike movement -- not that I have any idea what it is.
However, from the video I seem to be too old to join the two-wheeled non-motorized hipsters.
And my 63 year old sense of propriety -- what's left of it -- wonders if the lyrics to Motherfucking Bike are just a bit inflammatory, feeding in as they do to the stereotype of anarchist bicyclists ignoring traffic laws and claiming to own the road.
Of course, what else would you expect from from a video called Motherfucking Bike?
Here's the lyrics.
I rise in the morning, and greet the day pull out the bike and I'm on my way The transportation shows I care Every turn of the pedal - cleans the air Greener than green, I'm saving the planet just like my friends Daryl, Sean, Toby and Janet no greenhouse gas, a tiny carbon footprint up your ass I'm on a motherfucking bike
Sharing my aggression is what that I do Every day I'm riding the 'Tour de Fuck You' Banging on hoods and kicking in fenders a right-of-way-aholic on a permanent bender Running red lights at the fat intersection Cutout seat protects my erection You like the bird, in my hand? Take two from a motherfucking track stand on my bike I'm on a motherfucking bike I'm on a motherfucking bike
Skinny-ass pants, the 'stache is fat the canvas kicks, the ear-flap hat Got no gears so you best not dis me yeah bitch, it's a motherfuckin fixie Middle of the street is where you're gonna find me a shitload of traffic backed up behind me Critical Mass is a Facebook "like" I'm on a motherfucking bike I'm on a motherfucking bike (horn and bell solo)
Today my wife, Laurel, and I got our first look at big-time children's dance competition. We spent most of the day watching the Los Angeles regionals of The American Dance Awards, held in Lake Elsinore, California at Lakeside High School.
Our four-year old granddaughter apparently was the youngest contestant, dancing in two six-and-under categories (small group tap and small group jazz).
We loved every moment of the dancing.
My daughter was fearful that we'd get bored with the all day competition. Early on she slipped me her car keys, figuring that Laurel and I would want to head someplace else while we waited for our granddaughter's dances, scheduled for 12:45 and 4:25 pm.
No way.
Aside from a lunch break, we were glued to our seats in the auditorium. After almost every performance I'd say things to Laurel like: "Wow!" "Amazing!" "Unbelievable!" "That looked professional!" "So cute!" and other exclamations of wonderment.
The dancers, mostly girls but also some boys, ranged in age from four to twenty-one. Their energy, skill level, enthusiasm, charisma, and overall watchability was exceptional. We expected to see some good dancing.
What we got was great dancing.
However, in case any parents of certain eight and under girls were sitting behind me, I want to explain why I laughed (not very loudly, but almost uncontrollably) during some of their performances. I wasn't laughing at their dancing, which was terrific.
What almost brought tears of hilarity to my eyes was the sight of little girls doing a highly credible impersonation of Tina Turner shaking it.
Now, I'm old enough to have seen Tina Turner perform in person at the Winterland in San Francisco sometime in the late 1960's. At least I think that's where it was. Much of the 60's is a brain-blur to me, for reasons that should be obvious.
Young people can get a taste of Turner on You Tube, which includes being able to watch Beyonce perform "Proud Mary" at a Tina Turner tribute in a fashion that does Tina proud.
Today I was awestruck at how little girls just a few years older than my granddaughter could dance so Tina Turner/Beyonce'ish -- complete with "big girl" makeup, costumes, and pouty demeanor. At first my mind bounced back and forth between wow, that's so wrong! and wow, that's so right!
It didn't take long for me to settle in on so right!
The little girls clearly were enjoying themselves. They were getting to play dress-up on a big stage in front of an appreciative audience. They obviously had practiced long and hard. There wasn't anything remotely lewd or sexual about their dancing.
I just kept thinking, "Wow, you've come a long way, baby." Back in my California childhood days, few kids danced at all. We were forced to learn some square dancing during P.E. in high school, all prim and proper.
Nobody would have believed that in 2012, girls eight and younger would be made up with lots of eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick, then shake their child bodies in glittery, skimpy outfits like twenty year-olds at a nightclub. But, hey, why not?
The kids I watched today were having fun. No matter what their age, it looked to me like the music they were dancing to, and their dance moves, were what they wanted to do. Sure, their dance instructors did most or all of the choreographing. They know, though, what appeals to children nowadays.
Hip-hop culture, and it's jazzy variants, seemingly has spread to every dancing age group. I say, great. The dances I watched today brought smiles and energy to my social-security eligible body. Keep it up, kids.
If you want to dance like Tina Turner, go for it. Even if you're five years old.
When I first heard about "The Artist" (2011) I thought, "This is a movie that I should like, but won't." Black and white. Almost entirely silent, as regards speaking. French actors/director. An homage to films of the 20's and 30's.
I figured "The Artist" would be one of those films my wife and I go to at Salem Cinema because it's an artsy, indie movie that's getting a lot of attention. Afterwards we'd look at each other and say, "What was that all about?," then go home and watch something genuinely enjoyable on TV, like The Colbert Report.
Wrong. I was so wrong.
Last night we went to see "The Artist" with some friends. Loved it. Not only is it one of the best movies I've ever seen, it's one of the most memorable. There are quite a few scenes in it that I hope I'll never forget, and likely never will.
Go see it, if you're able to. If not, put the movie on your Netflix queue, now.
What grabbed me the most about "The Artist" was the incredible performances by the lead actors, Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo. Their faces are so wonderfully expressive. Their movements, equally so. Watch videos of the trailer and other clips. You'll see what I mean.
Words are important to me. As they are to everybody. We use so many of them every day, speaking, writing, reading. Yet...
"The Artist" showed how so much can be expressed in wordless bodily ways, either with or without accompanying words. Great actors like Dujardin and Bejo know how to do this. I was amazed at how easy it was to follow the plot of this movie with very few silent movie captions shown on the screen.
As with art, so with life. Do we really pay attention to body language, our physical surroundings, the sights, sounds, smells, and such which surround us every waking moment of every day?
And do we freely express ourselves as we respond to all this sensory stimulation?
How much do we hold in, repress, keep under control? Sure, few of us are as engagingly attractive as Dujardin and Bejo. But everybody can let loose what is within through smiles, frowns, gestures, laughter, tears -- whatever feelings beg to be let loose from the emotional cage we often keep ourselves cooped up in.
A few days ago my wife and I took part in a two-hour meeting where everybody was upset about something or other. It wasn't pleasant. Yet it was satisfying. I got to express myself in ways I hadn't been able to before through emails and phone conversations.
I was pissed at how I'd been treated by some other people. Before the meeting started we were warned by the facilitator to "self soothe" if our feelings got too intense, to use "I" messages rather than accusatory language -- all that good counseling stuff.
When my turn came to say what I wanted in the five minutes allotted to me, the facilitator interrupted me partway through. "Too intense." "Too much energy." "Too much body language."
At the time I tried to look contrite.
But at the moment, as now, I actually felt good that what I was feeling within me was being expressed so vividly to other people. If I'd felt OK with the crappy way I'd been treated by some members of the group, then I would have acted all calm, positive, and huggie-feely. I didn't though. What other people saw was what there was: irritation, dissatisfaction, a desire to change things for the better.
In "The Artist" the main characters go through lots of ups and downs. They don't keep their emotional reactions to these roller coaster rides of life a secret. They're expressed marvelously in ways both subtle and in-your-face.
I'm inspired. To do the same. To let what is within be shared without more freely, openly, energetically. Without words. With words. Whatever. However.
Not crazily; not hurtfully; not aggressively. Honestly.
Life is too short to be lived within cages of our own making. Dujardin's character, George Valentin, gambles on a self-financed silent film just as "talkies" are about to take over the movie industry. He fails at the box office. And succeeds as an artist, as a man, as a human being.
My wife and I live in Salem, a.k.a. "So-lame," Portland's dowdy, plain, uncool neighbor to the south. We wish our city could be half as ravishingly interesting as Portland is. No, one-tenth as interesting.
Heck, give us any little slice of Portland and we'd devour it hungrily. (Salem just got it's first Trader Joe's store, eons after Portland, Corvallis, and Eugene got theirs. We still don't have a true vegetarian restaurant, much less a vegan one.)
We watched every episode of Season 1, chuckling only episodically. It kept seeming like Portlandia was on the verge of being a spot-on laugh-worthy satire of Portland's cultural quirks, but the cable series never got there.
Portland is weird in many wonderful ways. Once in a while Portlandia manages to successfully satirize those quirks, such as in the opening episode where a hipster couple grill their restaurant server about how happily the chicken they're considering ordering was raised.
Problem is, most of the time Portlandia is absorbed in its own self-reflective cinematic weirdness. It's sort of satirizing itself, which isn't funny. Meaning, typically the sketches don't make fun of some green/ environmental/ progressive/ cultural Portland excess, but are over-the-top in their own right.
Like, in the most recent episode, the mayor asking the main characters to form a baseball team, which they do in a wholly unrealistic manner. Or the sketch where the stars are chefs getting photographed for a magazine story, and start posing in increasingly bizarre ways.
What's that got to do with Portland? It was good acting, but ultimately uncomedic -- except in a "that was really weird" sense. Again, Portland's weirdness is getting lost in Portlandia's own weirdness, causing the original premise of the series to be forgotten.
Watching the first episode of Season 2, I feel that everything I said before still applies. Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein, the couple who appear in various guises throughout Portlandia, would start off with a promising sketch premise.
Greenies who consider they can pickle anything. Outdoorshumans who arrive at an air mattress-friendly river over-prepared for white water. A nightspot "mixologist" who is way too into the intricacies of cocktail preparation.
In each case I was prepared to laugh at the humor in the situation. Playing the sketch more subtly, not desperately milking it for laughs, that would have been much more comedic than -- as noted above -- steadily ratcheting up the ridiculousness until the original premise got lost in excessive craziness.
The only part of the first episode that got my wife and me laughing out loud was the scene in a southern California restaurant where Armisen and Brownstein just want some simple food, and the waiter (oops, "server") keeps leading them through complicated menu options.
I wish every sketch in Portlandia could be played like this one was. Most viewers could identify with the situation, having encountered similar trendy restaurants and best-friend servers. The dialogue was just slightly on the zany side of believable, not on the outer limits. I could easily visualize something like this ordering disaster actually happening.
But otherwise my wife and I kept asking each other, "Is that supposed to be funny?" For us, it wasn't. Hopefully Portlandia will find its groove in later episodes. Portland deserves to be made fun of.
Damn you, Showtime! Last year I cancelled your half of our HBO/Showtime subscription, because you didn't have on anything we liked to watch.
But last night we took advantage of DirecTV's offer to see Showtime premieres for free. And already we're hooked on "House of Lies."
What's not to like about cynicism, sex, money-grubbing management consultants, dysfunctional relationships, and other reflections of reality? About halfway through the first episode, my wife said "This is our kind of show."
A quick review of some early reviews, here, here, and here, indicates that our enthusiasm isn't universally shared. Well, we're used to liking TV shows that others don't have the good taste to appreciate. (We still miss "Cop Rock.")
Keep it up, Showtime. Given all the explicit sex on the show, that shouldn't be difficult.
Stick with the stop-action scenes that some find corny. Stick with the profanity that offends delicate ears. Stick with the depiction of corporate CEO's as uncaring about the public good (the most unarguably truthful aspect of the show).
My wife and I will be laughing with you. And, damn you Showtime!, paying another $13 a month, or whatever it is, for the privilege of feeding our love of cynicism.
Here's a promo that gives a feel for House of Lies; it starts after the 30 second intro.
[Update: "House of Lies" already is changing my life. Can't tell if it is for the worse, or for the better. That's the beauty of this show. Cynicism promotes a so what? moral ambiguity.
In my usual quasi-neurotic fashion, this afternoon I was mulling over the pros and cons of taking the last few pieces of a tasty tofu dish at the LifeSource Natural Foods deli area. A woman was standing beside me, spooning mashed potatoes into her container, seemingly glancing at how I was steadily depleting the tofu.
I considered leaving a few pieces for her, even though there barely was enough tofu for my wife and me to eat tonight. Then "House of Lies" came to mind. I thought, Screw it.
If it's OK for Don Cheadle to go to a strip club, pick up a dancer, persuade her to pretend that she's his wife during an important dinner meeting with a corporate client, and then get into a fight with the prospective client after the stripper gets it on with the guy's wife in the women's restroom, after which she tells her husband that sex with the stripper is way better than with him, which understandably puts the guy in a foul mood -- then damn it, I should be able to take the last few pieces of tofu at a deli without feeling like a sinner.
After I did just that, the woman said to me, "That tofu is really good. I bought some earlier today." Great decision, Brian, I told myself. It would have been stupid to sacrifice my tofu-desire when my fellow shopper didn't even want any. Plus, I enjoyed living on the edge, just like the characters in "House of Lies" do.
Today, taking the last pieces of tofu. Tomorrow, who knows how wild and even crazier I may become, spurred on by the example of "House of Lies."]
It's been quite an entertainment week for us. Fresh from seeing Cirque du Soleil's tribute to Michael Jackson at the Rose Garden, last Tuesday we headed to the Pearl District for Cavalia -- a horse show unlike any other.
There's a connection between Cirque du Soleil and Cavalia: Cavalia's artistic director, Normand Latourelle helped Cirque du Soleil get off the ground and was bought out by the Cirque founders. This helps explain why the Cavalia experience is so similar to the magical atmosphere of Cirque du Soleil.
Well, the parking lot wasn't anything special. But the sight of the gigantic tents housing Cavalia was. I believe the main tent is one of the largest in the world. (All photos taken in dim light with my iPhone 4, which explains the quality of the pics.)
We splurged on Rendez-vous VIP tickets. Good choice. Before the show started we got to gorge on "free" food and drinks in the Rendez-vous tent. Plus, shop for Cavalia-themed merchandise.
There were plenty of vegetarian choices for us. Pesto pasta, asparagus, hummus/pita bread, salad, and more. Plus good wine served up generously. Along with private VIP bathrooms so we Rendez-vous'ers didn't have to mingle with the plebeian Cavalia-goers when a call of nature was sensed.
Speaking of nature...
We got to Portland early to miss the worst of the late afternoon freeway tieups. Laurel headed to Whole Foods while I trekked to Powell's on Burnside, a Bookstore Wonder of the World. Browsing the new non-fiction section I ended up buying David Abram's "Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology."
Also, Abram's first book, because I could tell I was going to enjoy "Becoming Animal" a lot. I started reading "The Spell of the Sensuous" while sipping a latte in Powell's Books coffee shop, waiting for Laurel to meet me.
The book was an excellent pre-Cavalia mood primer. Abrams starts off "The Spell of the Sensuous" with:
Humans are tuned for relationship. The eyes, the skin, the tongue, ears, and nostrils -- all are gates where our body receives the nourishment of otherness. This landscape of shadowed voices, these feathered bodies and antlers and tumbling streams -- these breathing shapes are our family, the beings with whom we are engaged, with whom we struggle and suffer and celebrate. ...The simple premise of this book is that we are human only in contact, and conviviality, with what is not human.
Such is what Cavalia is all about, the horse-human relationship.
Those who expect something else, like the people who left unjustifed "Much of the show was boring" comments on a Yelp review of a Cavalia show in Burbank, are going to miss out on a full Cavalia experience.
My wife and I are decent horse riders, she more than me. So we probably were better suited than many in the audience to appreciate the astounding skills of both the humans and the horses in the show. The intimate communication between horse and rider/trainer was obvious, yet often difficult to discern explicitly, it seemed so natural.
Case in point: the woman in the second act who engages in a spectacular display of equine choreography with six horses, standing on the sandstrewn Cavalia stage with just her soft voice and a flexible "stick" to control the horses.
A dog trainer would be hard pressed to get six border collies to do what the stallions (or geldings) were accomplishing with seeming ease. Three would circle in one direction, while the other three would circle the other way. Then one horse would break out of the pattern and do something different.
There's also quite a bit of non-horse performing in the show, probably because the horses need a break now and then. Some of the acrobatics and dancing didn't seem to have much connection with anything horse'ish, but that was fine with me.
Again, this isn't Cirque du Soleil. The non-horse stunts aren't the core of Cavalia. When a bunch of stallions gallop by after an acrobatic interlude, the energy of the show ramps up again.
After it was over, we Rendez-vous ticket holders got a tour of the stables. The horses were being fed, so most had their heads down, munching away, which made my iPhone photography kind of difficult.
(Note: if you also get a chance to walk through the stables, make sure you know how to turn your camera's flash off. It was irritating to see some people flashing away in horse's faces, even though they were repeatedly told "no flash photography.")
Each horse has its own quite-cushy stall. Here's Laurel gazing into one.
We saw a young woman braiding manes. She does a great job. That'd be a cool thing to put on a resume, "Mane braider for a touring horse show."
I didn't know horses got into postures like this. This young horse cozied up to the wall of its stall just like our dog does. Serena loves to curl up on her back, with her paws pressed against something solid.
When I came to a stall where the occupant was standing up and posing nicely, I had to take advantage of the opportunity.
Bottom line, Portlanders: go see Cavalia. It'll be in town until December 4. You'll enjoy it even if you aren't a super horse-lover, but it'll mean more to you if you are.
Here's some You Tube videos of Cavalia. Enjoy the two-dimensional experience, which naturally isn't the same as being there.
Last observation: quite a few Burbank complainers thought the Cavalia seating was very uncomfortable. We don't agree. The folding seats have backs, and they aren't painful "buckets" like some Yelp commenters said. Cavalia is a Canadian show. Probably the seats were designed for normal human bodies, not oversized/overfed American butts.
Last Friday we braved a few snow showers in Portland to reach the Rose Garden, where we had tickets to see Cirque du Soleil's "Michael Jackson The Immortal World Tour." Here's my five word review: Wow, Wow, and more Wow!
This show is special. It isn't like a good movie where you enjoy it a lot, but the impact of the flick fades quickly. I'm still affected by this magical production.
It starts strong, and builds from there.
Eventually I felt immersed in an almost other-worldly experience. Understand, I'm not at all religious. But "Michael Jackson The Immortal World Tour" has moments that can only be described as deeply spiritual -- though not at all godly.
Some performances in the show are manly powerful. Others are womanly delicate. This reflects the dual nature of Michael Jackson. And, heck, of ourselves, whatever our yin/yang blend is.
I came away from the show with several life insights affirmed and strengthened. Diversity, creative self-expression, pushing the personal edge, daring to be different, acting confidently -- this is a big part of what life is all about.
Maybe the entire part. Michael Jackson showed this; so does the Cirque du Soleil tribute to him.
My wife and I decided to blow some of our Social Security income on VIP tickets. If you're considering doing the same, my advice is do it, if possible. But not for the rather cheesy gift bag, which is the only non-seating VIP benefit we got, aside from "free" parking.
On the positive side, I'm pretty sure that we and our fellow VIP'ers had the choicest seats in the arena. This alone is worth the extra VIP cost, in my utterly subjective opinion. We were seated near the runway that projects out from the main stage, about two-thirds of the way down (that is, closer to the end of the runway than the beginning).
Perfect, because much of the show takes place on the runway.
We had great views of the performers, close enough to clearly see their expressions, costumes, makeup, athleticism, dancing ability, and hot bodies. Sure, images of them were projected onto a screen above the stage, but that isn't as good as seeing the performers up close and personal.
I don't know if my wife heard all of my frequent "I can't believe it!" and "Wow!" utterances, since we were wearing earplugs. This is another theme of the show, one shared with all Cirque du Soleil productions: what we human beings are capable of doing, and being, is far beyond the everyday normal.
That's inspiring. Most of us can't run away and join the circus. But everyone can be all that he/she can be, which probably is quite a bit more than what we allow to be expressed.
One of the most mind-blowing performances was by champion pole dancer Felix Cane, who also was high on my personal hot body ranking. I can't begin to describe what Felix can do with a tall pole. Her body and athletic ability border on the miraculous.
(Note: my wife questions whether Felix Cane is the woman we saw in the show. I'll agree that the pole dancer at the Rose Garden performance seemed shorter than Felix. But the moves in this video look just the same as what the dancer we saw did. And Felix is listed in our program.)
Only about six hours left until the premiere of "Salemia," an event that has been eagerly awaited in Oregon's capital -- by those involved with the film, at least -- since the notion of a response to "Portlandia" was birthed from the fertile comedic mind-wombs of local filmmakers Mike Perron and Dave Jenkins.
(Check out Part 1 of an Q & A interview by Emily Grosvenor with Mike and Dave on her Desperately Seeking Salem site.)
After shamelessly sucking up to Mike and Dave through a series of fawning blog posts, and stammering through an audition last February at a "Salemia" casting call, I was thrilled to get a small role as a crusty transient, the precise smallness of which will be revealed at the premiere this evening -- 7:45 pm, Grand Theatre, advance tickets available at Travel Salem or Salem Cinema.
Checking out recent Twitter tweets from "Salemia" cast members, it's obvious that a certain amount of utterly understandable nervousness is in the air, or more accurately, the minds of amateur actors having yin/yang emotional anticipations:
It'll be wonderful to see myself in the film It'll be horrible to see myself in the film
Well, what I've learned from my involvement with "Salemia" is that being concerned with wonderful and horrible is a creative process downer.
As a writer/author, I knew this already. But my brief acting experience in front of a camera hammered home that lesson in a fresh fashion. Driving home after the filming on a cool, rainy April day, my inner critic kept telling me You could have done better; why didn't you do/say X instead of Y?
After awhile I told my alter (or super) ego, Shut the fuck up! Sure, I would have liked to do some things differently, to relive certain filming moments. But moments never can be redone or relived. Life only happens once.
To look back is to miss the present moment. Art is about what's happening now, fully expressing what is present in that happening moment.
And not only art: life as a whole. For example, I'd love it if Salem was a cooler, hipper, more energetic and interesting place than it is. "if's" aren't reality, though. Only "is" is (at the risk of sounding like BIll Clinton).
What we have to deal with is what can be expressed now. Our only choice is how fully to engage ourselves.
My old friend, synchronicity, paid a visit this morning as I was reading "How to Believe in Nothing." Here's a story by author Michael Misita that resonated with my inner aspiring actor, as also with my inner aspiring liver of life.
Expressing one's self can be frightening for most people. I remember an acting class I attended many years ago in New York City. The two actors on stage were doing one of the most boring scenes I had ever witnessed. It wasn't the fault of the material they were performing; it was them.
"What do you think you're doing up there?" the teacher asked them.
After a long pause, one of the actors shyly suggested, "Acting?"
We all laughed.
"We're trying to be real," added the other actor. "I don't want to over-act."
"What do you people think real is?" the teacher inquired. "Certainly not the behavior most people display in their everyday lives. Out there, everyone is repressed, and you think that is an example of real life? As actors, it is our responsibility to express ourselves in a way that everyday people do not because they are too self-conscious. You're not here to be self-conscious. A little over-acting would do you a world of good and hold your audience's attention a whole lot more. They don't pay to come to the theater or go to a movie to see what they can see in their everyday lives. They come to the theater to feel something. They come to see someone express themselves in a way they feel they cannot. Everyone wants to express himself but almost everyone is deathly afraid to do it."
There was momentary silence in the room, then the teacher said, "Now, start the scene again, and for God's sake, give it some life. Take some chances, show some passion, stop playing it safe. Express yourselves!"
Great advice. Mike and Dave have done just that with "Salemia." Kudos and congratulations to them. May all Salemites be inspired to follow in their creative footsteps and do as advised above:
Take some chances, show some passion, stop playing it safe. Express yourselves!
This is what Salem needs. Heck, this is what we all need.
If you live in the Salem, Oregon area and enjoy going to plays, check out the Willamette University Theatre offerings. For a long time my wife and I had season tickets to Pentacle Theatre, but we came to yearn for edgier, less predictable plays.
Belatedly, we discovered Salem Repertory Theatre; unfortunately, just before SRT went out of business. Liking the SRT style (basically, anything goes), we were enthused with the first Willamette University Theatre production we went to, "Aquitania."
I didn't understand it, which I assumed meant that it was a deep, thought-provoking, mind-blowing play. Regardless, I'd rather be confused by a play than be bored by it.
"Smash" is the kickoff to Willamette University Theatre's (WUT) new season. It's based on a George Bernard Shaw novel about socialism. Up until intermission I didn't understand Smash very well either. But that's one reason intermissions exist.
So a woman can explain to her significant other (a.k.a. confused husband) what is really happening in the play.
In my defense, there are a lot of words in Smash.
I had the feeling that (1) the playwright, Jeffrey Hatcher, wanted to get a lot of thoughts across in a limited time, and (2) the WUT actors wanted to express those many thoughts rapidly in believable English accents so the audience members would be immersed in a flow of oft-complex verbiage which would carry them along in more of a feeling than thinking drama consciousness vessel.
Or maybe my brain just wasn't working very well during the first act.
Support for that hypothesis is found in the fact that when we walked into the lobby at intermission and I told my wife "This play is really hard to make sense of," she replied, "What are you talking about?"
Laurel agreed with me that the rapid-fire English accents could be tough to decipher at times. But in quick succession she cleared up a number of questions that had me baffled through much of Act 1.
(My wife is a retired psychotherapist, so it isn't surprising that she could pick up on narrative subtleties or obvious'ties which eluded me.)
For example...
Q. Why doesn't Henrietta recognize the husband, Sidney, who left her at the altar, post-marriage, when all he's done to disguise himself is grow a mustache? A. She does! Didn't you get this? She obviously recognized him, but she didn't want anyone else to know this.
Q. Why did Henrietta say that would-be socialist Sidney disappeared because he was abducted, rather than speaking the truth: that he left her at the altar because he feared that marriage would dilute his pro-socialist zeal? A. What did I just tell you?! Henrietta can't let on to her father, or anyone else, that she recognizes Sidney, so the abduction story was made up.
Intermission went on in this vein.
I was pleased to have Smash explained to me, but my male ego was pretty much, well, smashed by the time Act 2 started.
I started to worry about my general ability to understand human interactions, but then rationalized away that anxiety by telling myself that most people in my life don't have English accents, and they don't talk as fact as the WUT actors.
Embarassingly, after the play was over my wife -- rather gleefully -- got to explain to me what "Smash" alluded to, after I'd expressed my meta-perplexity about the title of the play.
The lesson for me here, which I'll take to heart, is to read the entire Director's Notes before a play starts, instead of using the restroom. (Or ideally, getting to a play early enought to do both.)
Laurel had remembered reading that Hatcher wanted to show how becoming too "preachy" about a social cause can be as off-putting as a Jehovah's Witness at your door. Yes, socialism or semi-socialism or slight-socialism has a lot of pluses. However, trying to smash those who resist what you're advocating usually isn't the best way to influence people.
My wife and I both thoroughly enjoyed Smash (me, especially after I understood it, more or less).
We were impressed with the fine acting of each and every member of the cast. I thought Josh Rice did a particularly good job playing Sidney, though the dramatic expressiveness of Margaret Smith, who played a girl's school headmistress, also was hugely entertaining.
It was refreshing to be exposed to a play that we'd never heard of, yet was about a subject that is as topical today as it was back in the late 1800's: how to change the world without being a total asshole about it.
Maybe this will wake up sleepy Salem, the Oregon blandburger stuck between the spicy buns of Portland and Eugene:
Salemia, our response to IFC's Portlandia, will premiere at the Grand Theatre (191 High Street NE) on Wednesday, October 19, 7:45 pm -- as part of the Salem Film Festival.
Check out the You Tube teaser/intro, which features an absolutely perfect theme song by a local band, Axolotl Daydream.
(Oh, by the way, just in case you don't notice, my name appears at the 43 second mark, not that I'm into self-promotion, leaving aside this self-serving blog that I've devoted myself to for eight years; also, there is no connection between the words "Brian Hines" and the large bicycling butt shown above my name, which, thankfully, does not belong to me.)
Yeah, "Bring You Down" marvelously captures the Salem vibe. I'm too geezer'ish to understand most of the lyrics to the song, but I could decipher these lines:
No, I don't want to bring you down. Sometimes, there's no place else to go.
You nailed it, Axolotl Daydream (whose band leader is TIm King). That's Salem! It tries hard to be an interesting, creative, energetic, stimulating, forward-looking city, but almost always it disappoints.
Which won't be the case with "Salemia," I'm betting. Filmmakers Mike Perron and Dave Jenkins are talented enough to be immune to Salem's Blah Witch curse.
But what if, against all odds, they aren't? What if "Salemia" turns out to be boring? Well, the film will still be a great success, because it will have wonderfully reflected its subject matter.
So come out and cheer/boo Salemia on October 19 at the Grand Theatre. No reason not to, Salemites, since there isn't much else to do in this town on a Wednesday night.
Me, little blogger Brian, is going to explain why the Oregon Ducks, ranked #3 in the country for a frustratingly brief time this 2011 football season, lost ignominiously to the LSU TIgers last Saturday.
(The final score 40-27, doesn't reflect how badly the Ducks were dominated by the Tigers.)
My qualifications for this feat?
I've never played organized football at any level. I watch a lot of college football on TV but haven't gone to a live game for decades. I know next to nothing about the intricacies of play calling, defensive and offensive strategizing, all that X's and O's stuff.
But I know what I feel. And watching the Oregon - LSU game a few days ago left me feeling that the Ducks offense has caught a serious case of uncertainty.
Last season the Ducks were like a hurry-up-offense force of nature. I could feel the power, the confidence, the attitude of you can't stop us. Once the offense got rolling, the speed with which they ran plays obviously disconcerted the opposing defense.
I could tell how quickly the Ducks were playing by how often, and how much, I needed to press the "back six seconds" button on my DirecTV DVR after pressing the "forward 30 seconds" button after a play was called dead in order to avoid announcer blather; usually a college team takes almost exactly 30 seconds to get the next play underway, but with the Ducks I'd usually have to rewind to catch the beginning of the play.
But at the end of last season, especially in the BCS Championship game, and notably last Saturday, quarterback Darron Thomas habitually engaged in start-and-stop behavior that struck me as seriously disruptive to the offensive flow.
Everything would look fine as the Duck offense lined up for a play. I'd think, "Quick, run the play, keep the pressure on." But instead:
Thomas would look toward the sideline. Then quite a few Ducks would get out of their stance and do the same thing. Thomas then would jog up to various players, apparently whispering "this now is the play" words in their ears. Or maybe he was telling them what kind of pizza he planned to eat after the game. I don't know.
Regardless...
This got really old after a while. I didn't keep track of how often the Ducks failed to run their usual speedy offense, but it was a high percentage of the plays. I'd watch the play clock and realize that this supposedly hurry-up offense was taking almost the entire time available to them.
So what's the point of all this (1) get-ready-for-the-play, then (2) get-out-of-the-ready-for-the-play stance, followed by (3) talk-it-over-while-the-LSU-defense-calmly-looks-on?
It made the Duck offense look more than a little ridiculous, especially when after all this hemming and hawing the play would net a whole two yards, or whatever.
Whoopee. (I believe the Ducks had less than 100 yards rushing for the entire game.)
Now, I don't really know what Thomas and the rest of the Duck offense are doing when they stand up, look over toward the sideline, and apparently peer at the strange cards held up to indicate the play.
Back in the old days, I recall, quarterbacks called the play in the huddle, usually on their own. Then the offense would break the huddle, get in their stances, and run the play.
Sweet and simple. Also, clear and confident.
My impression of the Oregon Ducks football team, v. 2011, is that it's become too obsessed with cuteness. Not exactly in an appearance sense, though there's some of that too (the uniforms worn in the LSU game didn't project a sense of macho toughness, but rather isn't this a slimming look?
LSU, like other SEC teams, and like big powerful teams from other conferences that regularly beat up the Ducks in crucial games, simply outmuscled and outplayed Oregon.
Razzle-dazzle, running backward to go forward, carrying the ball in one hand, fancy option fakes/handoffs -- the Ducks were really cute. But especially now that other coaches are deeply familiar with Oregon's offensive style, cuteness isn't going to cut it.
I hope the Ducks offense gets back to its previous version of smash-mouth football. Oregon won't ever look like a southern or mid-west team filled with 300 pound muscled human hunks of corn-fed beef. The Eugene vibe is too organic for that.
But most of the time, at least run your damn plays without looking like you're changing your mind. Less cute and more cutthroat, then maybe you'll go 11-1 this year.
I have a plan to fix soccer ("football," in the non-United States world). I'm uniquely qualified for this, because I know next to nothing about soccer, and until today I'd never watched an entire match on TV without fastforwarding through the boring parts.
Which for me, has been every part except for the thirty seconds before and after a goal was scored, which means I'd end up watching just a few minutes of a 90 minute match.
But this afternoon I got drawn into watching the entire Japan vs. USA 2011 Women's World Cup final, all 120 minutes of the regular and overtime period. The overtime ended with the match tied 2-2, at which point my DirecTV recording ended.
I'd forgotten to add on some extra recording time. So I didn't know the final outcome until I headed to New York Times online and learned that the United States lost 3-1 on penalty kicks.
I'm glad my DVR recording of the match didn't include the penalty kick portion. Through the first 12O minutes of what I consider the "real" match, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed watching the play, even though I didn't really understand the strategy and subtleties of what was going on.
However, the overall flow and rhythm of soccer, the ebb and flow of the different teams' attacking and defending styles -- that started to make a certain amount of sense to my neophyte soccer-watching brain.
So up to that point the soccer gods, and soccer-promoting associations, should have been pleased. I'm the sort of fan that soccer needs to attract if it's going to grow in the United States: someone who has been mildly interested in soccer, but never before to the extent of watching an entire match.
The penalty kick decider really turned me off, though. It just seems like the wrong way to choose a victor, in much the same fashion as deciding who won a basketball game by a free throw contest would be.
Except, even more so.
Watching the soccer match, I was struck by how wonderfully teamcentric this sport is. Yes, the star players were focused on by the announcers. But if I hadn't been told who they were, it would have been difficult for this nearly-blank slate soccer viewer to identify them.
In soccer it isn't possible for a player to make the equivalent of a 99 yard touchdown run, or a fast break dribbling sprint that ends in a slam dunk. (At least, seemingly this would be extremely rare.) Almost always it takes a team to score a goal, whereas in other sports individiual prowess is a much bigger factor in who wins a game.
Thus it seems horribly wrong to spoil 120 minutes of gripping talented teamwork by the United States and Japan by having the match decided with four freaking penalty kicks by single players facing a single goalkeeper.
Shannon Boxx, the first American shooter, was thwarted by a kick save from Ayumi Kaihori. That seemed to unnerve and deflate the United States. Carli Lloyd ballooned her kick. Kaihori made another save on Tobin Heath. Only Wambach had the poise to make her penalty kick for the Americans.
...With a chance to earn a victory that once seemed beyond reach, the Japanese midfielder Saki Kumagai put her hands on her hips, stretched her arms and put her shot into the top left corner.
It seems to me that who wins a sporting event should be decided by a method that meshes with the overall vibe or style of the sport. Team sports should be decided in a team fashion, not by individual players missing or making a shot by a matter of inches.
I heard one of the announcers speak of a "golden goal." This reminded me that, not very long ago, soccer matches which ended in a tie went to a sudden death overtime where whoever scored the first goal was the victor.
Sure, Wikipedia informed me that problems with the golden goal method led to it being replaced by the penalty kicks approach. From my admittedly soccer-uninformed newbie perspective, I find the whole penalty kick thing deeply unsatisfying and discordant.
How would fans of American football feel if games that were tied after the end of regulation and an overtime period came to be decided by field goal kickers trying to score from the forty-five yard line?
Fans would say, "Hey, let the teams play it out. Why should just a couple of players decide the outcome? That isn't right."
Well, that's how I feel about the victor of soccer matches being determined by whether a goalie guesses correctly to dive to his/her right or left. That's just a crappy way to end an otherwise entertaining, hard fought match.
Boot the penalty kicks, soccer. This potential fan would like you a lot more for it.
I bet there's nothing like the Oregon Country Fair anywhere else in the United States. Heck, maybe the world. It's a celebration of what made the 60's so magical: freedom, creativity, love, expressiveness, community, caring.
Sure, the magic faded (I was at Altamont, the 1969 antithesis to Woodstock: nasty and murderous). But every year it lives on in a beautiful rural setting in Veneta, outside of Eugene, for a weekend in July.
Here's some photos from opening day 2011, Friday. My wife, Laurel, and I had a great time. The weather was perfect. Per usual, the Fair staff and volunteers did an amazingly competent organizational job.
After parking in a big grassy field, it doesn't take long to realize that you're walking to the fair with an unusual cast of characters.
Not being an aggressive photographer (I don't like asking people to pose), when I saw other cameras pointed at an appealing subject, I grabbed mine also.
One of Laurel's first stops was a cookie booth. The guy in the antlers sold her three yummy cookies. This trash area featured a recycling guru. I never saw him move from his cross-legged position on a barrel. Impressive. He gave expert advice on where to put various items of litter: napkin, paper plate, cup, food remnants.
I got lunch at the Nearly Normal's booth. Laurel chose Tofu Palace. After getting her plate we sat down in a cool, straw-strewn area behind the booth. Great dining experience.
Which included music. And views of towering trees. Laurel wondered what the squirrels and other wildlife think about having their home invaded by thousands of people every year. My guess: Far out, man!
While Laurel shopped at her favorite cap and t-shirt booth for what seemed like eons, I had plenty of time to observe the passing throngs of people dressed in astoundingly diverse ways. These were two musician entertainers who stopped to play a while.
This little girl was super cute. She could use some work on her spelling, but her singing was charming. I put a buck in her tip hat, even though the sign said I didn't have to.
In the past my wife and I haven't dressed up when we came to the Oregon Country Fair. This year, though, we were drawn into a mask booth, along with lots of other people. We tried on quite a few masks, waiting to hear an inner voice that said, This is you!
Laurel went with a basic black cat look, which she accessorized with some yellow head dress fixings she found at another booth. This dog sculture sure seems to approve of her mask choice.
I embraced my inner African chieftain. Or whatever... I wanted head feathers that would harmonize with my beard and hair. I never thought about how the dangling wood thingies would feel, though, bouncing against my cheeks as I walked around for hours and hours. Well, sacrifices must be made for one's art.
I enjoyed the fair more after getting masked up. A photographer with a fancy camera even made a point of getting a close-up of me. Turnaround is fair play, given how many photos I've taken of weirdly dressed people at the fair.
Parades erupt periodically, making their way down the tree-shaded paths between the booths. The best way to describe them is... indescribable.
It's difficult to tell the difference between weirdly dressed parade participants and weirdly dressed fairgoers. These were the latter. I think. Reality gets blurry after a few hours at the fair.
In a semi-quiet corner of the fair, we came across this guy talking on his cell phone. His sign said: "Druid. Shaman Consultations. Poems Crafted. Mantic Arts. Spinal Healing." I wasn't aware of the light beaming on him until I got home and looked at my photos. Hey, maybe he really is a druid shaman.
The booths are wonderfully colorful. If there's a more beautiful outdoor fair, with higher quality and more interesting wares for sale, I'd sure like to know about it. But I don't think the Oregon Country Fair has much competition.
There were quite a few "stilt" walkers using a high-tech looking gadget that I don't know the name of.
Free hugs! The price was right. The girls were huggable. They attracted quite a bit of business while I watched.
Including a walking tree. Only in Eugene...
The drumming circle gets me entranced.
Partly because the dancers are entrancing.
Laurel found these younger females equally easy to look at. The girls were super-cute together, big sister and little sister, I assume. Probably reminded Laurel of her growing-up years (she's the youngest of three sisters).
Walking back to our car, I was struck by this woman's striking costume. How do people know where to buy this stuff? Guess I don't frequent 20-something stores and resale shops.
But at least now I've made a start on my own Oregon Country Fair persona. I need a chieftain staff. And a (fake) lion skin cloak.
Today I wore my 2011 Oregon Country Fair t-shirt (individually tie-dyed). Tomorrow I'll wear it again. Got to keep the 60's alive. Fitting, since I'm 62.
Yesterday I survived -- no, thrived -- my audition for a part in "Salemia," Salem's answer to "Portlandia" -- an Independent Film Channel series that casts a quirky eye on lifestyles in the city that is an hour drive to the north and lightyears distant on a Hipness Distance Scale.
After the casting call went out, I got excited about appearing in a video series that will poke both gentle and finger-in-the-eye fun at our excessively boring city. (There's some controversy over how to pronounce "Salemia." To me, it has to be Sa-lame-ia.")
But then I remembered all the times I'd watched aspiring dancers audition for So You Think You Can Dance. And how the judges would ridicule those whose dancing skill self-evaluation was wildly out of whack with reality.
I thought I could act. What if I was so wrong, the Audition Meisters threw me out of the room after a cursory look, leaving me to tearily skulk my way out of downtown Salem's IKE Box past other auditioners who'd be thinking, "there but for my talent, goes me."
I'm happy to report that none of my fears came to pass. Mike Perron and David Jenkins were exceedingly polite, friendly, conversational, and most of all, funny. They're a comedic odd couple, with the emphasis on odd (in the very best sense of the word).
One of them would have an idea about a Salemia sketch. Then the other would run with it, carrying it onward into deeper humor territory. These guys are good. I mostly sat across the table from them, my eyes darting back and forth from witty gibe to clever observation and back again, like I was at a Comic Tennis Match.
Robin, David's wife, womaned the audition sign-up table. After mine was over, I couldn't resist talking with her, hoping she'd offer up some insights into her husband. She told me that he was pretty much always that way, seeing the humorous side of wherever he looked.
That's a great talent.
Life can be tough: unforgiving, painful, hard to deal with. Being able to smile and laugh at the right moments (wrong ones too) helps us to handle what we're rather not be dealing with.
Such as, a overly boring city. Named "Salem." I'm looking forward to the production of Salemia. Even more, to watching the episodes. If I get a part, great. If not, I'll cheer Salemia on from my blogger sidelines.
(Though hopefully Mike and Dave will realize that my many years of blogging have enabled me to support my Inner Actor by drawing on the emotions of those writing experiences, notably including outrage, intense outrage, and outrageous outrage. Along with, egocentric opinionating, ridicule, and self-aborption.)
Watching the most recent episode of Portlandia last night, I kept thinking, "Salemia could be a lot better." Here's the main reason:
Portland is weird in many wonderful ways. Once in a while Portlandia manages to successfully satirize those quirks, such as in the opening episode where a hipster couple grill their restaurant server about how happily the chicken they're considering ordering was raised.
Problem is, most of the time Portlandia is absorbed in its own self-reflective cinematic weirdness. It's sort of satirizing itself, which isn't funny. Meaning, typically the sketches don't make fun of some green/ environmental/ progressive/ cultural Portland excess, but are over-the-top in their own right.
Like, in the most recent episode, the mayor asking the main characters to form a baseball team, which they do in a wholly unrealistic manner. Or the sketch where the stars are chefs getting photographed for a magazine story, and start posing in increasingly bizarre ways.
What's that got to do with Portland? It was good acting, but ultimately uncomedic -- except in a "that was really weird" sense. Again, Portland's weirdness is getting lost in Portlandia's own weirdness, causing the original premise of the series to be forgotten.
Salemia can learn from Portlandia's failings.
There's plenty to laugh about in Salem. I should know, having lived here for thirty-four years. No need to conjure up jokes when a city is filled with can you believe this? quirks that beg to be highlighted satirically.
That's my three word review of the Bellydance Superstars "Bombay Bellywood" show that my wife and I saw last night at Salem's historic and marvelously restored Elsinore Theatre (a beautiful place that matched the gorgeous'osity of the dancers).
I love belly dancing. Whenever I can, I watch a live performance. These superstars lived up to their name for me. The two hour show was the most riveting display of belly dancing I've ever seen, or may ever see.
Yes, I readily admit that my male eyes were nearly popping out of my head during some of the most sensual, sexy, and scintillating performances.
But at the same time, I was fascinated by how natural it looked for women to be dancing with each other, and really, for each other -- not just for men (even though the times one woman danced to the beat of the excellent tabla player were the most erotic moments of the show for me).
Browsing through the Bellydance Superstars web site, I came across a review called "Belly dancing celebrates the beauty of femininity."
I LOVE BELLY dancing! I have always regarded it as a divine dance that celebrates the sacred feminine. Belly dancing requires balance, grace and strength, yet it is accessible for every woman regardless of age, weight or ethnicity.
Now, before you get your feminist panties in a bunch, belly dancing is not a dance to seduce men. That's a western-cultural misperception. To the contrary, belly dancing is one of the oldest-documented dances, and it was created by women, for women.
...Moria Chappell, 31, is one of Superstars' amazing dancers. She recently spent an afternoon with me, sharing her passion about this womanly art.
Q: Moria, many people have misperceptions about belly dancing. What are your thoughts on that?
A: It's a women's art. You dance more for yourself than anyone else. The audience can watch and be inspired. It's a sense of appreciation for women's bodies. It's a very different standard. It's a celebration of curves and how to move in a women's body.
Belly dancing is decidedly a woman's dance, so bringing it to the public sphere gives women a chance to be women in a place of power.
I can testify to that, since I was powerless to take my eyes away from the stage during the entire Bombay Bellywood show (the only thing that came between me and the dancers from our center section, Row K seats was the wide David Crosby'eque gray hair of the guy who sat in front of me, but at least he wasn't also tall).
Every dancer was transfixing, but one stole the stage in my utterly subjective Wow! opinion. Meera.
She wasn't the sexiest dancer. She didn't have the most beautiful body. I don't even think she was technically much better, if at all, than other lead dancers in the show.
What she had was an inexpressible presence, a quality shared by the other Bellydance Superstars standouts. Skill and technique can only take a dancer so far, as the movie "Black Swan" demonstrated. Beyond that, some inner essence propels an artist onward.
Meera had it. She clearly was the most proficient classical Indian dancer, and the show's Bollywood expert. More importantly, she had a certain more.
Which was expressed on her face with every move. I loved how she could go in an instant from an engaging smile to a pouty compression of her lips, and then into another expression that somehow resonated perfectly with each beat of the music.
Less attractive to me, yet undeniably intriguing, was the only male dancer, the androgynous Samir. A few times I've seen men belly dance and this never seemed right to me.
It didn't last night either, though his contortionist abilities elicited a different sort of Wow! in my psyche.
Last night my wife and I watched the first episode of IFC's Portlandia with more than a little city-envy. Portland is just way hipper, greener, progressive, and energetic than our sleepy Salem.
I can't begin to imagine what a comparable Salemandia TV series would be like. All I know is that it'd be boring.
Comparatively, I have to admit. Meaning, Salem has the geographical misfortune of being located between two of the most interesting cities in the United States, Portland and Eugene.
So the yawn with which we Salemites describe our town is a relative evaluation, not absolute. Case in point: I just got back from a vegan potluck gathering, which shows that some people in Salem are as culinarily cutting edge as Portlanders are.
At the potluck I talked with a youngish (late twenties?) girl about Portlandia and what it's like for someone her age to live here. She said, "Recently I lived in Grants Pass for six months, so that colors how I look at Salem. I'm much happier here, though admittedly it's nothing like Portland or Eugene."
She then made an interesting point which I hadn't thought of before during my thirty-three years of Salem living.
"I like Salem because it forces me to be more creative than I'd be in a more with-it city. If I want to be with fellow vegans, I need to organize a group, or otherwise reach out. In Portland there's lots of alternative lifestyle options right at hand; here, often you have to fashion them yourself."
Good point.
I then told her, mistakenly it turns out, that since the first episode of Portlandia showed a newly arrived girl about her age being stripped of a nose ring and earrings (too San Francisco'ish), she'd have to give up her own piercings and earrings if she moved to Portland.
However, upon a second watching of that scene, I realized that the girl's piercing got the Portland hipster OK, so I was only half right.
My other favorite scene in the Portlandia premiere (which had some decided cinematic rough spots) was at the restaurant where an excruciatingly ecologically conscious couple is grilling their server about how humanely the chicken they're thinking of ordering was raised.
I used to be a member of an India-based, guru-centered meditation system which was strictly vegetarian. So much so, we weren't supposed to eat cheese made with animal rennet.
I didn't think it was a big deal if I ate some specks of cow hoof, or whatever rennet is made of, but sometimes I'd be at a restaurant with fellow disciples who considered this to be horrible karma.
So they'd grill the hapless waiter or waitress while I looked on in embarrassed quasi-horror. "Does the cheese on your pizza contain animal rennet? What brand is it? Please go and check, we can't eat anything that isn't purely vegetarian."
Thus I found the Portlandia restaurant scene entirely believable, up to a point. (I never knew anybody who took a drive to check out a cheese source, but the group I was part of did put a lot of effort into analyzing the vegetarian vs. animal rennet ingredients of every major cheese producer in the United States.)
My favorite line in the show was, "Portland is the city where young people go to retire."
Being retired myself, though old, I'm entirely on board with the Portlandia lifestyle of getting up at eleven and, maybe, working a few hours a week at a coffee shop. Only difference is, I don't work at a coffee house; I drink the brew and blog there.
Otherwise, aside from a lack of piercings and failure to ever attend Clown School, I could easily be a happy resident of Portlandia.
(The Portland Oregonian asked readers to write their own reviews of the show. I looked over some of them. Here's one I liked from "Valdez":)
I think this show is HILARIOUS! I thought it was a fairly spot on parody of the city that I live in and love so much. Come on, you guys don't know the various characters in this show?
The bike nazi guy that I saw in the previews/web exclusives is my best bud at work -- a guy that while riding his bike will scream at cars and kick them if they get too close or invade his "space." My wife has a friend that went to CLOWN SCHOOL. And all the hot chicks really do wear glasses!
My wife and I used to drive out to Corbett to buy chickens from our own personal chicken farmer, taking great solace in the well-being and "happy lives" the chickens led - before we ate them! ha ha ha
This show cracks me up. The "put a bird on it" stuff is SO true, too! I posted the advance Hulu exclusive on Facebook and ALL of my friends thought it was hilarious. Good job Fred and Carrie! Thanks for exposing Portland's funny idiosyncrasies in a fun and hip way. LOVE THE MUSIC, choices, too!!!
My wife and I watched "Black Swan" at Salem Cinema a few days ago.
Most movies fade from my mind in much less time, but this engrossing flick has stuck with me as I ponder the question that often pops into my mind as the closing credits of an artsy film start to roll:
What the fuck was that all about?
Now, I considered substituting "#@$!*&" or "f__k" for the fully expressed word, but this would be at odds with the main meaning Black Swan left with me. In short...
Questing for perfection ultimately leads to a decidedly imperfect life.
When we got home after seeing the movie, I fired up my laptop and read Roger Ebert's review. Since he's my favorite reviewer, and I admire his personal philosophy of living (as expressed through Ebert's entertaining blog), it pleased me that we were on the same Black Swan meaning wavelength.
The tragedy of Nina, and of many young performers and athletes, is that perfection in one area of life has led to sacrifices in many of the others. At a young age, everything becomes focused on pleasing someone (a parent, a coach, a partner), and somehow it gets wired in that the person can never be pleased. One becomes perfect in every area except for life itself.
Thumbs up to that. This resonates with a post I recently wrote on my other blog, "Dance, and live, like nobody (even God) is watching."
Lots of people believe that God or some other higher power is watching everything they do, along with knowing all that they think and feel. This is much more anxiety-producing than wondering if other dancers are dissing your moves. But there's a commonality between secular and religious "dancing."
In both cases, there's no need to worry about what you look like to someone else. What's important is how you look (or feel) to yourself. You can't dance well, in life as a whole or on the hardwood, if you aren't confidently enjoying what you're doing.
Dance. Like nobody is watching.
In Black Swan, Nina drives herself crazy -- literally -- because she's fallen under the spell of being A Perfect Ballet Dancer. The head honcho of her ballet company, Thomas, wants to cast her as the lead in "Swan Lake."
After watching part of Nina's audition, he tells her that if all she had to dance was the White Swan persona, she'd have the part. But now he wants to see her Black Swan, which requires her to project a darker, more sensual, sexier, edgier Nina.
The rest of the movie is an intense, sweaty-palmed, edge-of-the-seat exploration of how an artist's commitment to perfect technique needs to evolve into a higher form of art. A philosophically inclined reviewer of the movie interpreted this as the distinction between Nietzche's Apollonian and Dionysian art.
Could be. I don't know, not being much into Nietzche. Or, art.
However, we're all artists of a sort, since daily, hourly, minutely, and momently we're creating our own lives. The basic question Black Swan raised for me is whether we do this mechanically, logically, detachedly, and drivenly -- or flowingly, intuitively, absorbedly, and relaxedly.
Either way could lie madness (at the extreme, as Nina manifests; mild to moderate craziness is a more likely side effect of overdosing on Artistic Expression).
All I can say is that perfect sweet little Nina's transformation into the sultry decidedly flawed Black Swan moved me deeply. I was inwardly cheering her on, even as it became more and more obvious where she was being led.
More accurately, where she was taking herself. In one passionate scene, Thomas and Nina get it on during a private rehearsal. She lets herself go, sexually. Then Thomas turns away, barking "You were letting me seduce you. You need to be the seducer!"
And so she does, with fascinating consequences.
Rather than letting bitchy Perfection rule her life, driving her crazy with endless "You can do better than that" criticizing, Nina dives into the deep end of her artistic pool, where alluring yet dangerous Imperfection lurks below the surface.
I left the movie applauding her choice.
Yet I understand why people are afraid of leaving the shallows. I'm also torn between staying mostly neatly, cleanly dry in the wading pool of life, and getting drippily, messily wet in the boundless sea where the Wild Things prowl.
White Swan. Black Swan. In a way we're all auditioning for the part Nina sought. It's up to us to decide what we're willing to sacrifice, or embrace, to express our inner artist.
Bristol Palin, Sarah Palin's daughter, is a mediocre dancer. I've watched every episode of Dancing With the Stars this season, so I can testify to that. She's been in the bottom two many times, saved only by viewer votes -- not the judge's scores.
Last night Bristol made it into next week's final (top three will compete) by beating out Brandy, a far superior dancer. Brandy got 57 points from the judges on Monday, the competition night, including perfect 10's for her Tango, while Bristol got 53.
What bugs me -- a lot -- about the viewer voting is that Tea Party types appear to have hijacked it in a fraudulent manner for purely political ends. The rest of the blogosphere also is ticked off about this, for good reason.
When I went to vote for Jennifer Grey Monday night by phone after watching the recorded episode fairly late in the evening, I got a message that voting could only be done on the ABC web site now.
OK. I dutifully clicked on the "vote" button and was met with a request to register. I entered my real email address, along with other genuine information, and got to cast five votes.
I played the Dancing With the Stars voting game fairly.
But there's been a concerted effort by Tea Party types to make a political statement by elevating Bristol Palin into the finals (or even the championship, a dreadful thought) through fraudulent voting.
By fraudulent, I mean that ABC clearly intends that one person get five votes. Or at least, that one real email address gets five votes. However, the Jezebel web site has revealed "How Palin conservatives are cheating the DWTS voting system."
It's been alleged that the Tea Party's "Operation Bristol" is keeping the teen mom in the competition. However, the real conspiracy is that her conservative supporters have figured out a way to exploit ABC.com's email-voting feature, allowing infinite votes.
While Bristol Palin denies any Tea Party conspiracy theories, there's no denying that conservatives have been pushing for votes for Bristol, using blogs and Twitter to start a movement.
But what isn't widely known is the evidence—via message board comments on some conservative sites—that this mobilization involves fixing this (albeit meaningless) election through a technical snafu on ABC's website, which allows Palin's supporters to cast an infinite number of email votes:
Here's a hint: They don't have to be VALID email addresses to register them with ABC.com, there is apparently no validation process. The just have to be formatted like a valid email address, and you must use a valid zip code and a birthdate that makes you old enough to vote. I'm voting like a democrat, all night long…
No, it doesn't have to be a valid email address – I had one of my anonymous ones [email protected] that I used, and then just did the sign-up process all over again with [email protected] and it worked.
Got my 80 votes in online…took 2 hours. I am beat
I only got 42 in, I have some catching up to do!
Lord have mercy, I voted for 3 hours online! I got 300 in.
It doesn't bother me that conservatives are voting for Bristol Palin, even though she's a worse dancer than almost everybody who has been eliminated from Dancing With the Stars this season.
What irritates me, big time, is that the show's producers and ABC decided to make a political statement by featuring Bristol and her mother, Sarah, in a mid-term election year. (Sarah is shown in the front row at many of the competitions, and she's also featured in background stories about Bristol.)
This vitually guaranteed that Dancing With the Stars would morph into politics-centered viewer voting by Tea Party zealots. Many, if not most, could care less about the show, Bristol Palin, or dancing.
For conservatives, enjoy the fun of finally, at last, getting a taste of what it’s like to be a Democrat. You can vote as much as you want. You can vote using all sorts of names. You can vote all day. You can’t get paid to vote, because you aren’t really a Democrat, silly, but you can get as close as you can possibly get without being in a union or taking part in ACORN.
Dancing With the Stars made a big mistake in allowing political activism to take over an entertainment show in a fraudulent manner. I've lost all confidence in the DWTS voting system, and now view the finale as a joke.
My only reason for watching will be to see how many people in the audience boo if Bristol Palin wins the Mirror Ball trophy, which she has an excellent chance of doing given how Tea Party folks are willing to cheat in order to stack the voting for a bad dancer.
I've bemoaned the lack of support for the arts here in sleepy Salem, Oregon, but I guess I need to do more moaning at the guy I look at in the mirror every day, since my wife and I haven't been taking much advantage of Willamette U's cultural opportunities.
For a long time we had season tickets to Pentacle Theatre. Then we gave those up and started going to Salem Repertory Theatre productions, which were more modern, edgier, and thought-provoking. Unfortunately, we discovered SRT shortly before it shut down for lack of support.
That won't happen to the Willamette University Theatre Department, I assume, which is good news.
Because the production of "Aquitania" was highly enjoyable: great acting, singing, set design, and costuming. Best of all, while driving home I said to my wife, "I liked the play a lot, but I didn't really understand what was going on."
Which was the point of the play, so I guess in a way I did get it.
"Aquitania" messes with your mind, being set in a mythical (yet also real) place, where the characters deal with magic (and also reality), drifting back and forth through time (unless the whole play is the dream of the young girl playing a board game, who also is the heroine who learns from the girl what she once knew but has to remember again).
I recycled my program in a box in the theatre lobby, so I'm unable to praise certain actors by name. I'll simply give special kudos to the three beautiful singers and whoever played Gano, the bad guy. All captured my attention whenever they walked on stage, for excellent high-talent reasons.
Curious about the origins of "Aquitania," and why a Google search didn't turn up much info about the play, I learned that it is the creation of Stephen Legawiec, who founded the Ziggurat Theatre Ensemble to "explore the relevance of myth and ritual to a contemporary audience."
Legawiec is the author of -- wow -- 26 plays. Judging from "Aquitania," which is both intellectually challenging and artistically pleasing, he's a deeply creative guy. Hopefully Legawiec is still creating (the last production of Ziggurat was in 2007).
Ah, tomorrow looks like a great football day here in rural south Salem. It'll probably be raining, which makes for an outdoor chore-free afternoon. Plus, both the Beavers and Ducks football games are televised.
Oregon State vs. Louisville and Oregon vs. Portland State University -- here I come! All I have to do is fire up my HD DirecTV, which gets jillions (more or less) of channels for the billions of bucks (or so it seems) I pay for programming every month.
Oh. Forgot. DirecTV doesn't carry a certain channel.
Comcast SportsNet Northwest, which happens to be the freakin' channel I need to see the Ducks roll up, over, and through the PSU Vikings. Most likely. Hey, sports miracles do happen.
I've been through this frustration before, when DirecTV dropped the Versus sports channel, leaving me to listen to an OSU-Arizona game on a tinny-sounding radio. Versus is owned by Comcast, so we've got the same cast of characters playing out the current Comcast versus DirecTV pissing match.
In this instance it sure looks like Comcast is the bad guy. The head of the Sports Fan Coalition says this in "Comcast is holding Trail Blazers fans hostage, you could be next."
People in Portland love their beer. At last count, Portland had more breweries than any other city in the country. But Portlanders also love their Trail Blazers. The city has one of the most passionate fan bases in the NBA. Yet, for the last few years they've been getting a raw deal. And not just at the hands of the Lakers.
Comcast is the biggest villain in Portland right now.
...In 2007, the Trail Blazers signed a 10-year, $120 million agreement with Comcast, giving the company the rights to show Trail Blazer games on Comcast Sports Network. Not surprisingly, Comcast then jacked up the fees for other cable and satellite carriers in the region to show Blazers games. In effect, Comcast is forcing customers to switch to Comcast in order to see Blazers games. (Comcast has signed agreements with local cable carriers who don't compete with Comcast.)
Nevermind that Blazers fans in rural areas can't even get Comcast service (or local cable service) if they wanted to.
Yeah, that's me. A fan in a rural area.
I'm not a big Blazers fan, but I like to watch college football and other sports. Out here in the boonies there isn't any cable TV. Just satellite. And Comcast is demanding an excessive amount for SportsNet NW in an obvious attempt to get new subscribers.
Except, of course, lots of people in Oregon can't subscribe to Comcast because it isn't available. Nonetheless, Comcast says "screw them; they can listen to the Blazers, Ducks, and Beavers on a tinny radio."
Oregonian sports columnist singles out the same evil-doer in the SportsNet NW access battle: Comcast.
Canby serves as a case study of why the Trail Blazers made a major blunder three seasons ago when they gave Comcast exclusive rights to broadcast their games on Comcast SportsNet Northwest.
Before Comcast showed up Canby Telcom had televised Blazers games for years without an issue. The relationship between the franchise and the cable company was just fine until the Blazers signed a 10-year, $120 million agreement to give exclusivity to Comcast.
That move threatens to rip apart the fan base at the seams.
Because Comcast moved in, hiked rates for the channel, and used the Blazers as if they were a crow bar to pry non-Comcast customers from their satellite and cable providers.
The Federal Communication Commission mandates that Comcast make the channel available to all competitors, and so it is -- just not at a price many can stomach.
I moved to Salem from Portland in 1977. We bought a house in town that had cable. Every Trail Blazers game, so far as I remember, was shown. For no extra charge. I became a big fan, watching the 1977-78 team win the NBA championship.
Times have changed. Greed is dominating Comcast's corporate decisions.
The Trail Blazers management has asked the FCC to force Comcast to make their games available to subscribers of other programmers like DirecTV and Dish Network. But they're locked into a stupid ten year agreement that gives Comcast the right to televise most Blazers games, but doesn't contain an ironclad requirement that the feed be shared with DirecTV, Dish, et. al.
So I'll be watching the Beavers tomorrow, not the Ducks. Nor PSU. This would be a big televised stage for Portland State to play on -- Vikings vs. Ducks in Autzen Stadium -- but lots of Oregon sports fans won't be able to see them.
I'll send some curses Comcast's way when the PSU - Oregon game starts at 3:15 pm. Maybe if enough people emit sufficient negative energy, it'll jolt the money-mad Comcast execs out of their irritating "let them watch ESPN" attitude.
Sometimes great performances on So You Think You Can Dance touch a deep emotional chord with me. Last night my wife and I started to make our way through some recorded episodes. We came to Alex and Twitch's astounding hip-hop dance, "Get out of your mind!"
We watched it twice. Today I saw it twice more, having been able to find it online. You'll probably have to wait for an ad to finish before seeing the video, but believe me, you need to wait. Then, enjoy.
What's amazing is that Alex is an accomplished ballet dancer. Hip-hop seemingly would be way out of his comfort zone. But he nailed this piece, both creatively and emotionally. The audience went wild, and the judges said it was one of the best performances ever on the show.
I loved the notion of a psychiatrist jumping up, hitting his patient with a clipboard, and rocking out to "Get out of your mind!" Sanity is so overrated. I'll take Alex and Twitch's craziness over sensible sobriety anytime.
To be able to just let go like that, on a stage with many millions watching live television, terrific! This is where dance melds with philosophy, broadly speaking, as so many art forms do.
I kept recalling the performance today. How Alex gets off his therapeutic couch and dances his way to mental health by saying fuck it. Which is what the actual lyrics to "Get out of your mind" (by Lil' Jon) say a lot.
The version of the song played on So You Think You Can Dance was considerably cleaned up. Here's the original of some lyrics heard on the performance:
Grab dat bottle, twist dat cap Hold it in the air and tip it back I'm drunk as hell, I'm off Patron I really don't dance but I'm in the zone Move bitch get out the way I'm runnin' over nigga's like a runaway train I grab my beer, you do the same Shake that shit and make it rain!
I don't give a fuck! I don't give a fuck! --- FUCK IT! I don't give a fuck! I don't give a fuck! --- FUCK IT! I don't give a fuck! I don't give a fuck! --- FUCK IT! Lets fuckin' lose it!
Get outta your mind! (x3) Fuck that shit! Get outta your mind! Get outta your mind! (x3) Fuck that shit! Get outta your mind!
Cheap therapy. Not recommended for everyone, but, hey, if it works for you, it works.
Last year, after a long absence, we returned to the 60's and had a great time at the Oregon Country Fair in Veneta (outside of Eugene). Friday we fired up our Prius and hybrid'ed our way down I-5 again, hoping the mid-90's heat wouldn't mess up our mellow.
It didn't.
Shortly after we parked our car and started walking across grassy fields (double entendre entirely appropriate), we came across a purple-tailed horse. I instantly felt at home. And wondered what it would have been like to come to the fair in my LSD-taking days. (I would have named the horse "Trippy," for sure.) Our first stop was at the Golden Avatar booth just inside the entry gate. We ate here last year and loved the vegetarian Indian food. This is an outpost of a Eugene restaurant that we need to start frequenting. I mean, look at that plate! I instantly got the munchies without any extra herbal encouragement. This was the $9 vegan plate, a cornucopia of different tastes. While Laurel was browsing a clothes booth (the Country Fair abounds with shopping opportunities of all sorts), I decided to stand by a beautiful sloping tree, point my camera at the passers-by, and press the shutter button whenever the fancy struck me. I liked the plethora of gray-haired guys roughly my age who weren't acting their age. This couple were visions in green. Well, she had less green on than he did, but that didn't take away from her viewability. With the weather so warm, the scantily clad women-watching possibilities were rich this year. The artistry of the Oregon Country Fair organizers (which must include a great number of talented volunteers) is hugely impressive. The natural wood art is a constant source of delight. We found our way to the Main Stage where young and old alike were rocking out to an unknown (to me) band.
The crowd was kept cool by a welcome stream of water. Just past the Main Stage we came to a Herbal Shakes food booth that isn't in evidence at the corn dog and curly fries dominated Oregon State Fair. I found it interesting that even a barefoot, leaf-clad girl still has her cellphone close to ear. Laurel made a stop at a richly colored organic orange juice bar. Nothing like freshly squeezed orange juice on a hot day. I lucked out: Laurel took a few sips, then decided she wanted something less intensely flavored. Me, I liked the "intense." Over in a less crowded section of the fair some kids were playing chess with kid-sized pieces under the shade of a marvelously mossy tree.
This musical group was pleasant to listen to. Around almost every corner in the meandering Oregon Country Fair woodsy layout we came across talented musicians entertaining visitors. Whimsy abounds. Thankfully, just before we were going to head to the exit a quirky Country Fair parade passed by. The guy on the left wasn't part of the official action. But then, there isn't much "official" when it comes to the Oregon Country Fair.
The parade was great to watch coming... And going.
Just before we left, we got some slices of carrot cake and cups of coffee to sustain ourselves for the drive back to Salem. A member of a musical group who we'd heard (and enjoyed) earlier in the day passed by our seating spot. She seemed to epitomize the hang-loose, have-fun vibe of the Fair.
I've enjoyed the two World Cup soccer matches that I've watched on TV. Naturally they've both featured the United States team -- when they played England and Slovenia -- because I'm only interested in soccer on the rare occasions when the game means something to my national interest.
By "enjoyed," I mean that I followed the tips I shared in How to enjoyably watch hockey and soccer on TV.
(1) Record the event.
(2) Press "Play."
(3) Then -- this
is really important, because life is short and you don't want
to waste it on meaningless stuff -- immediately press the fast forward
button repeatedly until it is at the fastest speed where the score being
shown is still readable.
(4) Wait a while until you see the score
has changed. Could be a long while, even at fast forwarding
speed.
(5) Press "Play."
(6) Rewind/go back to fifteen
seconds or so before the goal was scored.
(7) Watch the goal. Say
"Nice, "Cool," "Crappy goalkeeping," or whatever else pops into your
head.
(8) Repeat 3 through 7 until the game is over.
(9)
Turn the TV off, content that you've watched hockey or soccer in the
most efficient and enjoyable fashion if you're part of the 99% of
humanity (in the United States, at least) who couldn't care less about
the sports but sometimes want to act like they do, sort of.
This has enabled me to get the gist of the U.S. team's World Cup matches in considerably less time than the 90 minutes they last. Usually I fast forward until I see that a goal has been scored, then watch a minute or so before and after this rare event.
Given that the U.S. matches have been 1-1 and 2-2, it doesn't take me long to feel like I'm doing my patriotic duty to (halfheartedly) show some interest in my country's team.
Anyway, I have no idea what's going on in between the goal-scoring. A bunch of guys move the ball up and down the field with their legs, heads, and chests in some sort of mysterious fashion which isn't interesting to me.
Which brings me to my second tip: to appreciate soccer more deeply than the shallow way I've been watching the World Cup, I think it's necessary to embrace a philosophical world view that is at odds with how most Americans see things.
As an aid to getting into this frame of mind, I recommend watching some European films of the existential variety.
The kind that you can imagine Jean Paul Sartre positively reviewing. The kind where the closing credits come on and you slump in your seat with a despairing What the #@$%&! was that about? running through your head. (The original version of "The Vanishing" comes to mind.)
We Americans tend to like order, rules, and easily understood morality. Football (our kind, not soccer) and basketball have discernible plays/strategy. When an infraction is noted by a referee, the reason is clear -- even if not agreed with by a player or fan.
Contrast this with the United States vs. Slovenia World Cup match, where I watched more of the event than the tips above called for since I found the controversy over the disallowed goal that would have won the game for the U.S. was so fascinating.
The referee, Koman Coulibaly, never gave a reason for blowing his whistle. Unless he decides to speak up we'll never know what sort of foul he believed he witnessed, since soccer doesn't require the ref to explain himself, or even indicate which player was responsible for the no-no that cost the U.S. a win.
So in soccer the players run around in a seemingly quasi-random fashion for 90 minutes, often accomplishing nothing, no goal at all by either side, with arbitrary decisions by a laconic referee frequently determining the outcome of the match.
Wonderfully existential.
But frustrating to observe for those with a typical American mind set. Consider this marvelous quotation about the disallowed goal attributed to the president of FIFA, the international soccer organization.
"In perhaps every other sport, an explanation of a decisive play would
have been provided. But Sepp Blatter, the president of FIFA, has ignored
calls for video replay and has decided against putting additional
referees on the end line, saying he did not want technology to rule the
game. He has also said that he likes the debate that follows matches,
believing that uncertainty and subjectivity boost the sport."
Yes, c'est la vie. Or as we put it, "shit happens."
It's a universal attitude. But for Americans, it's something to be resisted, fought against, a temporary unwelcome situation. For the international soccer culture, it's the way things are, no big deal.
My wife and I have watched every episode of "Lost" during its six seasons -- which got increasingly confusing the past few years, and not because of our early senility. As Wikipedia puts it:
At the heart of the series is a complex and cryptic storyline that
spawns numerous unresolved questions.
Yeah, no kidding.
Even after we finished watching "The End" episode last night, Laurel and I looked at each other and engaged in our traditional post-Lost viewing interchange: "Jeez, what was that all about?" "I have no idea."
We aren't Lostaphiles. We don't obsess over details of the show or study Lostpedia ("currently 6,897 articles dedicated to ABC's hit TV show Lost").
We just got drawn into the series early on and kept on watching even when we'd given up all hope that the mysteries of the island would ever be revealed in a satisfying way that made sense.
My biggest fear all along was that the Lost writers would conclude the series with something like "it was all a dream." The finale came close enough to this dreadful cop-out of an ending to leave me disappointed.
Well, halfway. Emotionally I liked the ending.
As churchless as I am (evidence: my other blog), I was happy to see the main characters reunited in some sort of afterlife after they'd earned the right to move on from some sort of purgatory into some sort of further post-death evolution.
(With "Lost," it's hard not to use terms like some sort of a lot, because nothing is ever clearly defined.)
However, I would have preferred a less religious'y finale.
When we got to the last fifteen minutes of our DVR recording and I saw that everybody was assembling in a church with stained glass windows, I got a sinking feeling that the writers had gone with a rather predictable feel-good wrap up that wouldn't offend our nation's Christian masses.
Granted, for some reason the church had a display of the symbols for all of the world's major religions (including Taoism, which to me is more of a philosophy than a religion).
But the notion, as explained by someone who was a writer for the show, that we have soulmates with whom we must connect in a certain fashion before we can bust out of purgatory and enter The Light strikes me as a trite fusion of theological dogmas and New Age woo-woo.
The conceit that the writers created, basing it off these religious philosophies, was that as a group, the Lostaways subconsciously created this “sideways” world where they exist in purgatory until they are “awakened” and find one another. Once they all find one another, they can then move on and move forward.
In essence, this is the show’s concept of the afterlife. According to the show, everyone creates their own “Sideways” purgatory with their “soulmates” throughout their lives and exist there until they all move on together. That’s a beautiful notion. Even if you aren’t religious or even spirtual, the idea that we live AND die together is deeply profound and moving.
Moving, yes. Profound, no.
After six years of busting my butt watching the show (by which I mean, sitting on a soft couch), I expected much more of a mind-blowing ending. Instead, I felt like I'd been presented with a cuddly white Shih Tzu to hold on my lap.
"Aw, it's so cute!" That was how the finale of "Lost" struck me: heartwarmingly adorable. I wanted Oh, my god! I can't believe it!
Instead, as the closing credits rolled I wasn't sure what to believe.
I understood that the main characters had been reunited in death so they could move on to a better afterlife. But when their crashed plane was shown on the beach with no living people around, both my wife and I felt this meant that everybody had died instantly, and the whole six years of "Lost" episodes had taken place in a purgatory of some sort.
However, I was disabused of this notion in a seemingly credible Lost Finale Explained blog post.
THEY WERE NOT “DEAD THE WHOLE TIME”
I don’t know why people are having trouble understanding this, as it is CLEARLY explained in the final minutes of the finale episode by Christian Shephard (Jack’s dad). The original Oceanic 815 plane crash happened. Everything on the Island through seasons 1-6 happened. The “flash sideways” universe introduced in season 6 was a sort of stop-over point between life and afterlife (referred to here as the “purgatory universe”).
Each person in this “purgatory universe” created a reality for themselves based on their lingering issues in life – that which they could not “let go” of. For Jack it was Daddy issues; Kate, the guilt of murder; Sawyer, the quest to find “Sawyer” and be a better man; Sayid, the unrequited love of Nadia; Charlie, looking for something “real” in his hollow life of fame, etc…
Everyone was still attached to their Earthly concerns (we’re getting very Buddhist here, bear with me) – but when they made contact with those people they’d met on the Island, they remembered the journey and growth they had experienced because of the Island, and could finally understand the connections and “purpose” brought into their damaged lives by being there. With that greater understanding of themselves, they were each ready to “leave” or “move on” to the next phase of existence – i.e., the true afterlife.
Well, I'm ready to move on to other TV shows. "Lost" started out as an adventure filled with gripping mysteries. When it became apparent that the writers weren't going to resolve mysteries, but merely pile more on, I began to lose interest in "Lost."
The final episode didn't do anything to rekindle my once vibrant enthusiasm for the show. It began strong and ended up weak, like so many other series.
Somehow my wife and I have missed out on seeing a Cirque du Soleil performance in our sixty-something years. Last night we remedied this hole in our life experience by driving up to Portland in an unseasonably cold rain to see Kooza.
After deciding to make this an early birthday present for Laurel, I had to decide whether to fork out $250 ($125 each) for the Tapis Rouge option. Browsing some Cirque du Soleil reviews, I saw that that some people loved it. Others thought it was a waste of money.
Our conclusion: loved it!
An emotional reaction which, I'll have to admit, came easier to me knowing that we didn't pay anything for Tapis Rouge. The reason owed to my originally buying Tapis Rouge-enhanced tickets for the 4 pm performance yesterday.
A few weeks after I ordered them, I got a phone call from an exceedingly pleasant and competent Cirque du Soleil employee who had an admirably appropriate French accent. I felt like I was talking with the maitre d' at a high class restaurant.
He apologized for the inconvenience, regretting that he needed to inform me that not enough people had signed up for Tapis Rouge at Friday's 4 pm performance, so it wouldn't be available.
However, he would be pleased to cancel our order and give us tickets to the 8 pm show with Tapis Rouge thrown in at no cost. Would this be acceptable? Absolutely, I told him. Getting back to Salem at midnight was worth $250, for sure. This was a classy move by a guy who works for a classy outfit.
I say this because we weren't disappointed by any aspect of our Cirque du Soleil experience -- and neither Laurel or I are shy about complaining. From picking up our Tapis Rouge'd tickets at Will Call, which earned us free close-in parking, to zipping out of the crowded parking lot much more quickly than we expected, we give Portland's Kooza four thumbs up.
We got to Cirque du Soleil a few minutes before seven. Even though the show started at eight, there already was a pretty long line of eager Kooza-goers waiting for the doors to open.
A small band of Tapis Rouge'ians had a shorter wait outside of our special tent. Promptly at seven we entered the VIP world behind the blue curtain. After getting an ID tag on a ribbon to wear around our neck that distinguished us from the common folks, a glass of champagne was proffered -- which I happily accepted. Along with an offer from a woman to take a photo of Laurel and me, which we picked up at intermission.
After that we enjoyed the other eats and drinks. All complimentary, of course, using "complimentary" in the sense of pay $125 then everything is free. The vegetarian food offerings were limited, but tasty. We had no problem filling our plates with fruit, melted cheese/mushroom toasted bread, and other appealing animal-free snacks.
The Tapis Rouge tent has its own shopping area, naturally. Laurel was attracted to a few classy clothing items, until she looked at the prices. I got a two-CD set of "Solarium Delirium" for a reasonable $15, music inspired by the Cirque du Soleil repertoire. (I listened to some of it today: nice in the European techno/world beat style that I like.)
We headed to our seats about 7:45. I won't attempt to describe Kooza, which is pretty much indescribable. Some people have done their best on Yelp, so you can check out their reviews. (A 2008 Kooza show in San Jose has more reviews, as does a 2009 show in San Francisco.)
I found it deeply moving. And that wasn't just the champagne talking. Kooza shows how human artistry, creativity, and athleticism can be expressed at a very high level -- often literally, as with the tight-rope performers and Wheel of Death (a.k.a. "gerbil wheel") guys.
Watching the show, I had a strong urge to dress up in a crazy looking outfit and do something dangerously artistic. Unfortunately, no ideas came to mind, which explains why I was sitting in the audience and not standing on stage.
At intermission we strutted by the hoi polloi waiting in long lines for their cokes and bags of popcorn, flashed our badges, and returned to the good life in the Tapis Rouge tent. I was poured a glass of red wine, then filled a plate with various sweets. Laurel said, "I could get used to this."
For sure.
Naturally Tapis Rouge'ians have their own restrooms, albeit high-end porta-potties. Reading reviews of shows in other towns, long restroom lines at intermission was a complaint of quite a few women, so this is another plus of going the VIP route if you can afford it.
The reviews I read left me with a few questions that do nothing to temper my enjoyment of my show, but still have me wondering...
Are the people picked from the audience to take part in an act actually chosen randomly? There's theorizing that these are plants, as some people claim to have seen the same audience members on stage at different shows.
When a mistake is made -- a tightrope walker slipped attempting a trick, grabbed the wire with his hands, made his way back up, and then retried the trick successfully -- is this part of the show? As above, some people have seen the same oops occur at the same point in an act repeatedly.
Well, my feeling is that I went to Kooza to be amazed. Also...fooled, in a sense. The show projects a fantasy world marvelously effectively. If there are some fantasies within the fantasy that I couldn't recognize, more power to the Kooza creators.
We'll be back next time Cirque du Soleil comes to Portland. And likely in the Tapis Rouge tent again. A few times a year it's fun to irrationally splurge.
(Though if you add up the value of Tapis Rouge benefits -- parking, wine, food, dessert, souvenir photo, no bathroom lines -- the cost approaches the sphere of rationality.)
Having watched the Academy Awards for many years, this gray-haired observer of countless Oscar presentations feels qualified to say, after watching the 2010 show...
Bring back the vibe of the good old days: wilder, crazier, less structured, more unpredictable. Somehow this year I felt like a lot was missing from the Academy Awards even though it ran three and a half hours.
When Sean Penn walks onto the stage to give an award and is utterly well-behaved, something is wrong. When Steve Martin, the original "wild and crazy guy," is reduced to 99% reading of scripted lines and 1% spontaneity, something is wrong.
When the camera quickly pans away from the single show of genuine social outrage (during the acceptance speech for best Documentary won by makers of a film about Japan's cruel slaughter of dolphins) -- a guy holding up a placard with a save-the-dolphins text message number -- something is wrong.
When the dance/music numbers are ho-hum, and there's no real hilarity, just some mild chuckling moments, something is wrong. When the hugely talented Sasha Baron Cohen is banned from the show because it was feared his Avatar spoof could ruffle James Cameron's feathers, something is wrong.
That said, I found the 2010 Academy Awards to be pleasant and entertaining, as the Oscars show always is. I just frequently thought, as I sat through the 210 minutes, about memorable moments that I remember from past years.
These sorts of uncontrolled moments don't happen much any more, because the Academy apparently prefers bland over real.
Sad.
Hollywood is filled with talented actors who make us feel things we've never felt before. But the Academy Awards has turned into a predictable "I've seen this before" show.
Sorry -- this tip is being conveyed too late for today's Vancouver Winter Olympics hockey final. But there will be more hockey and soccer games coming up on TV.
Here's how I've found is absolutely the best way to watch them:
(1) Record the event.
(2) Press "Play."
(3) Then -- this is really important, because life is short and you don't want to waste it on meaningless stuff -- immediately press the fast forward button repeatedly until it is at the fastest speed where the score being shown is still readable.
(4) Wait a while until you see the score has changed. Could be a long while, even at fast forwarding speed.
(5) Press "Play."
(6) Rewind/go back to fifteen seconds or so before the goal was scored.
(7) Watch the goal. Say "Nice, "Cool," "Crappy goalkeeping," or whatever else pops into your head.
(8) Repeat 3 through 7 until the game is over.
(9) Turn the TV off, content that you've watched hockey or soccer in the most efficient and enjoyable fashion if you're part of the 99% of humanity (in the United States, at least) who couldn't care less about the sports but sometimes want to act like they do, sort of.
It's not easy watching the Vancouver Winter Olympics from my couch. I've undergone a lot of struggles the past few weeks, or however long the Olympics has been going on (seems like forever).
Just in case NBC presents gold medals for TV viewers, I wanted to state my case for one.
(1) My wife doesn't care about sports in general, and the Olympics in particular. This means that when I sit down to watch my DirecTV recording of the evening broadcast, which runs 3 1/2 to 4 hours, at regular intervals I hear "Is it over yet?"
This disturbs my deep concentration on some important aspect of an event, such as skier Lindsey Vonn's beautiful face and attractively toned body. I lose my focus for a bit, but soon am back in fine TV viewing form with a "Not quite!" (an honest statement, since not quite is vague enough to encompass three hours more).
(2) Ignorance is TV watching bliss, but difficult to achieve. I'm having to be on my TV viewing game for much more than just the evening hours. Living in Oregon, we're in the same time zone as the Olympics. But in NBC's wisdom -- for capturing ad dollars -- the big events aren't shown live.
The results are reported in real time, though.
Thankfully, the news web sites I most frequently browse through the day, New York Times and Google News, don't splash big headlines about who won an event in an easily noticeable fashion.
However, MSNBC has done this.
I clicked on this site recently, saw a large "Lindsey Vonn wins..." and immediately fled for a safer zone of the Internet. That evening I sat down to watch the super-G confident that Vonn had won the gold medal. It was a surprise to find that she got bronze. A close "spoiler" call, no thanks to MSNBC.
A more painful spoiler came when my wife, who probably was hoping to make me speed faster through the women's slalom so she could watch something she wanted to on TV, saw an image of Vonn as she was passing by and said "I heard that she fell down."
Great.
Laurel, a woman who has never paid attention to a sporting event in her life, somehow remembered a crucial bit of Olympics news and ruined the suspense of one of the more exciting races.
Of these sorts of "I shall endure" tragedies should my gold medal for TV viewing be fashioned.
(3) My wife and I like different parts of the NBC coverage. My Winter Olympics watching wouldn't have the high degree of difficulty that it does if Laurel and I were on the same page during the infrequent moments when she actually sits down to look at the TV while I am.
I mean, since my wife doesn't like sports, you'd think that she'd be bored by all of the Olympics. If that were the case, she'd be limited to her "Is it over yet?" queries.
But it turns out, NBC be damned, that the need to fill four hours of evening coverage, when there's only about one hour of actual sporting performances to show, causes me problems.
NBC loves the human interest side of athletes, while I couldn't care less about the setbacks an ice skater has had to overcome, or the touching relationship between a bobsled competitor and his dog.
One night I was happily using the 30 second skip button to zip through a boring background piece on an American female snowboarder when I heard, "Hey, that's the most interesting stuff to me."
Dutiful husband that I am, I went back to the start of the piece and wasted several minutes of my life learning about this girl's travels around the world, who her best snowboarding friends are, and something about her fashion sense (can't remember any details; boredom tends to erase memories from my mind).
(4) The thumb of my right hand is at risk of a repetitive stress injury. Like I said, it isn't easy to lay on our couch and watch a recording of the Winter Olympics.
I'm pretty fit -- do a lot of Tai Chi, dancing, weightlifting, dog walking, and stairmastering -- but I wasn't prepared for the vast amount of fast-forward button pushing that would be necessary to view the Vancouver games.
I feel like my thumb has bonded with the fast forward button on the DirecTV remote control.
Between the ads, promotions for other NBC shows, background human interest stories on athletes (see #3 above), and boring events such as cross-country skiing, I do much more skipping than watching during a four hour recording.
Seemingly this would shorten the duration of my wife's "Is it over yet?" Unfortunately, NBC has persisted with its irritating habit of breaking up events so the most interesting outcomes aren't shown until the very end of a broadcast.
Being retired, I can stay up late. But I also like to watch the evening news, as does Laurel, so this introduces another complexity into my Winter Olympics TV watching.
When the evening broadcast runs from 8 to 12, and the local news runs from 11 to 11:30, even if I fast forward like crazy I can't watch the entire news (including sports) and also see the final Olympics events on NBC before our usual bedtime at midnight'ish without knowing who won them.
So people who talk about "couch potatoes" don't understand what I go through to watch the Winter Olympics. This is tough work. I definitely deserve a gold medal for TV viewing.
NBC, email me and I'll let you know my address where the medal can be sent. If a commemorative t-shirt comes with the medal, I'm a large.
Interesting analysis of male-female differences in a New York Times story about cable channels Spike (aimed at guys) and Lifetime (aimed at gals). Here's the conclusion of "Damsels in Distress, Bozos in Heat":
Fresh off of seeing Avatar last night in mind-blowing 3-D, I'm hoping that President Obama will rock my psyche in a different -- but related -- way next Wednesday when he gives his first State of the Union address.
Fight for what you believe and take on the freakin' bad guys!
This is one of the Avatar good guys, Jake. He was a crippled paraplegic soldier who regained his kick-ass capabilities when his mind was melded with the artificially created body of a Na'vi lookalike.
The Na'vi are the indigenous people of Pandora. Slender. Graceful. Intelligent. Attuned to nature. Spiritual. Blue.
Which makes them a lot like Obama.
Hugely likable, but with a flaw: when the scheming, greedy, selfish, money-hungry corporate bigwig who wants to pillage Pandora's astounding natural resources for a rare mineral sends in his hired guns to blast away the Na'vi, they don't know how to fight back effectively.
Jake does. He's fearless. He's willing to dare anything to protect the people (and Na'vi babe) whom he's grown to love after getting a crash course in Pandoran culture and lifestyle.
Including how to ride large nasty-looking winged creatures who, he's informed by his Na'vi guide, Neytiri, have to choose you before they can be ridden.
Jake asks, What's the sign of being chosen? Neytiri replies: One tries to kill you.
Here's a lesson for Obama. You aren't going to be able to win a battle against bad guys by playing nice, searching for middle ground, hoping for the best. You've got to put your (political) life on the line by standing firm for what you value.
After some brutally painful failed attempts, Jake manages to tame his dragon-like winged creature and uses it to fight the Pandora plunderers. (Earth, apparently, has been totally environmentally wrecked, so humans have set out to despoil other planets.)
Watching "Avatar," I found myself deeply inspired and sometimes almost moved to tears. Seeing people/Na'vi manifest marvelous courage, fearlessness, and commitment to saving a planet (earth-sized moon, actually) brought out a lot of emotion in me.
I haven't felt that way about Obama and the Dems since the 2008 campaign. I want to, again.
But currently this cartoon reflects the depressing status of the party that controls both houses of Congress and the presidency. Clueless. Wimp'ish.
I was pretty sure that Avatar was going to have a happy ending (which it does). The movie's politics are undeniably progressive and I couldn't believe that director James Cameron would leave me in a downer mood when the closing credits came on, given the philosophy he wanted to express in the film.
After exchanging a greeting in the language of the native Na'vi
population, Oprah asked Cameron if he's a spiritual person. After all,
the Na'vi greeting "I see you" is a phrase with a deeper meaning more
akin to "I understand who you are."
"I guess I must be, because this film represents a lot of ideas
and feelings I have as an artist," he said, going on to highlight his
movie's "environmental message and the idea that we are all connected
to each other as human beings."
Obsessed with what he termed "nature's imagination," Cameron said "Avatar" was his "attempt to bottle that."
Well, Obama and his family saw the movie while they were in Hawaii last month. I can only hope that he imbibed some potent Avatar juice and is ready to channel his Na'vi warrior spirit during the State of the Union address.
No punting on the one-inch line, Mr. President. Push your legislative and political agenda across the goal line. That's what you were elected to do.
This humorous one-minute video exposition on the Balls Beer approach to health care reform echoes that theme. Obama, chug a cool one. And grow some.
After the first episode of Survivor Samoa I hated Russell Hantz, this season's evil genius. Watching last night's finale, I almost (but not quite) hoped he'd win.
At the end of this post you'll find a comment interchange between me, Brian, and Tucson -- a regular commenter on my blogs and a fellow Survivor fan. Since this interchange occurred on a post unrelated to the show, I wanted to copy it to this post-finale pondering about Russell's unexpected second place finish.
Tucson and I ended up in basic agreement with a thoughtful NPR blog analysis by Linda Holmes: Russell blew it, because he thought Survivor was all about strategizing and scheming, not interpersonal relationships.
(Short version of Holmes' post is here; long version is here. It's must reading for Survivor geeks.)
Russell was an inveterate liar and jerk on the show. Question is, what's he like in real life? If he was acting on Survivor, it was a masterful performance. But I tend to think that Russell really is as unappealing a guy as he appeared to be.
And that he lied about being a rich oil company executive along with many other things. My Googling of "Russell Hantz" didn't turn up any evidence that he's a highly paid successful businessman.
However, I did find some well-deserved skepticism that Russell is who he claimed to be. Way back in September there was talk that Russell's bio was a lie. Seemingly he doesn't own any property in the part of Texas where he lives. And his "oil company" has a zero online presence.
When someone typed in the address of Hantz Tankering Service, which is the name of his company, aerial photos show a nondescript rural residential road. Methinks Russell is a fake.
Here's the interchange between Tucson and me:
---------------------------------------------
Tucson: At least Russell didn't win Survivor. There must have been a teeny bit of consolation in that.
Brian:
I'll confess, rather guiltily, that I actually was rooting for Russell
to win Survivor. At least, I ended up feeling that he deserved to win.
I didn't like him, but I came to respect his abilities to scheme,
manipulate people, and understand interpersonal dynamics.
It was a surprise to me that Natalie won. To my wife also.
Taoistically, she played a "yin" game. (And she also looked good in a
bikini.) I don't think she deserved to win, given the coattails
argument. However, it could be argued (and it was) that she simply
played a more subtle game, while Russell's was extremely overt.
I'm glad Russell won the $100,000 Best Player prize. He grew on me
over the season. Once in a while I'd even find myself liking the guy.
it was nice to see his wife appear on the results hour. I'd been
curious about what she would be like.
Tucson: I
disagree that Russell played the game well as evidenced by the fact
that he didn't win. I give him credit for finding the immunity idols
and his strength of will in the final immunity challenge. In the end,
the human factor plays a part and Natalie succeeded in that department
while using Russell well. Even during the reunion show Russell was
completely ungracious and without class.
Brian: Tucson,
good points. By "playing well" I meant that Russell's strategic vision
was outstanding. His summary of that at the final Tribal Council was
terrific, how he played this person against that person for this
reason. He had that part down.
But I agree with you that he overplayed that aspect. Russell assumed
that the jury members would value strategizing above all else,
forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings.
I suspect that Russell won their heads, and Natalie won their hearts
(the viewer reactions echo this, since Russell was more popular among
people who watched him from afar on TV rather than putting up with him
on the island).
Tucson: "Russell
assumed that the jury members would value strategizing above all else,
forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings."
Exactly. This is what the bartender guy summarized so well in the
final tribal council. Up to that point I was sitting on the fence
between Russell and Natalie. The bartender's (can't remember his name)
comments struck me as eloquent in that moment and I saw a change in
Russell's demeanor after that little speech. I think he knew then that
he didn't have it in the bag.
I was continually surprised that people in the game did not seem
very perturbed by Russell's brazen, cocky attitude. I realize that it
was mostly revealed to the audience and his "good old boy" side to the
players, but some of the smarter ones caught on pretty quick.
Nevertheless, he did play a smart strategic game and he would be a
formidable competitor in the dog eat dog world of business. I'll give
him the 100 grand but not the million.
One thing about Russell that I do admire was his ability to keep his
spirits and competitive attitude up during the bad weather when
everyone was shivering, suffering and complaining. Not one negative
peep or complaint from him. He almost seemed to enjoy and thrive in it.
I am just happy to see that utter ruthlessness does not always pay
off. I think all winners of Survivor have had to resort to scheming,
betrayal and manipulation as a necessary part of the game, but most
seemed to have some level of regret or remorse about it. Not in
Russell's case however.
Whatever. It's just a TV show, but one that can teach a lot about human nature.
Whether or not someone has a philosophical bone in their body, he or she likely will enjoy "This Is It" -- a documentary featuring rehearsal footage of Michael Jackson preparing for a monumental concert tour.
I do have philosophical bones. And they loved this well-reviewed movie as much as the non-pondering side of me.
Over on my other blog I opined that "This Is It" is a great movie. Also, a terrific philosophy. We're always waiting for It to arrive in the future, or wondering what happened to It in the past.
Meanwhile, life -- It -- keeps yelling "Here I am! Here! Now!" in the present moment. But often we don't have ears to hear it.
This is the main message that I got from the movie. Your results may differ. Side effects may vary.
Regardless, I heartily recommend going to see "This Is It" while it's still playing in a theater with a big screen and Dolby sound (it won't be the same on your TV, believe me). If nothing else, you'll get an impression of Michael Jackson that will be different from whatever you had before.
My wife and I left the theater feeling that Jackson was a genuinely nice guy. Previously I'd put him in my mental box of "weird tortured artists" with strange peccadilloes, like young boys.
This sort of typecasting doesn't reflect the rich complexity of people.
I don't like it when right-wingers sum up our president with one word: he's a socialist. Nor did I like it when my fellow progressives said about George Bush: he's an idiot. (I'd point out that he got a MBA from the Harvard Business School, which idiots can't do.)
I've been surprised at some highly negative comments about Michael Jackson in response to my other blog post about the movie. One guy said that he was selfish. However, it's estimated that Jackson gave over $500 million to charitable causes.
"Selfish," or any other term, can't come close to summing up a human being. Each of us is unsummable. There's no way to add up any set of qualities and arrive at a total that equals Me. Or You. Or Anybody.
Sure, Histories 'R Us to a large extent. We're creatures of our past.
In the movie Michael Jackson carried the record of his plastic surgeries on his face. And reflected his astounding musical career with every note he sang and step he danced. But what really grabbed me as I watched "This Is It" was...
It. The moment. The here-and-now of Jackson captured on film. Which produced a corresponding feeling of It in me.
Michael Jackson had sung the songs -- "Billy Jean," "Beat It," "Black and White," and so on -- that were to be in the show countless times. But the rehearsal footage showed how Jackson was able to seemingly sing them for the first time, every time.
This unscripted documentary showed me a side of Jackson that hadn't been very apparent to me in all the other times I'd seen him perform onscreen: how his music was him, and he was his music.
Now. Always now.
At one point he tells the musicians and other performers that they'll need to wait for his cue before moving to a certain part of a song. Because he was feeling the music say pause -- it's marvelous how Jackson moves between movement and stillness -- and only he knew how to listen to the saying.
I had the sense that if Michael Jackson hadn't died, and "This Is It" had gone on its 50-date tour, almost every performance of a song would have been subtly different.
He was a highly creative artist. Jackson was creating life at each and every moment. We can quibble with his choices, his creations, his art work. But the movie is a reminder that for each of us, no matter what we do or who we are...
This
Is
It.
(Richard Corliss of TIME has an interesting review of the movie. So does Roger Ebert.)
I've been envious, and more than a little irritated, at Corvallis since I learned that Trader Joe's chose to open a store there rather than in much larger Salem.
"What does Corvallis have that Salem doesn't?" I'd wonder. And quickly answer, "Major university. More highly educated people. A progressive, creative vibe."
Still, I hadn't spent much time in Corvallis recently. So to get a look at a town that Trader Joe's loves more than Salem, I said "sure" when Laurel suggested we go to the 2009 Fall Festival in Corvallis' central park.
Comparing it to the Salem Art Festival, I found the atmosphere hipper, cooler, more creative, and less up-tight.
As soon as we parked and walked a few blocks to the festival, I had an opportunity to try out the zoom on my camera when we passed by the music stage. An attractive beginning to what ended up being a very pleasant couple of hours.
We couldn't quite see these garden sculptures fitting into our yard. Maybe if we had a vegetable garden...
I think this art form was called Crow Dancing. It had a Tai Chi'ish feel to it, partly because of the yin-yang black-white outfits.
The crows fought at times.
The posture of the woman in black definitely looks like Tai Chi -- "snake creeps down." It's difficult to go that low. I was impressed.
Some of the food options were considerably healthier and tastier than what the Salem Art Festival offers, thanks to Nearly Normal's cuisine. I loved my falafel. Sitting down to eat it, I was struck by the difference in the length of the lines of people waiting for a fruit smoothie (short) and ice cream (long).
The Amazing Vend-a-Matic was fun to watch. Quirky and creative. I'm not exactly sure what people got for their $2 -- except entertainment from a black-gloved hand that snaked out of a slot in the box (plus a postcard).
Wow, that was fun, listening to the Oregon State-Arizona football game today on my tinny-sounding Radio Shack portable radio.
Since I wanted OSU to win, the game was crappy. And my mood wasn't made better by realizing this morning that DIRECTV has dropped the Versus channel where the game was on.
I should sue for bait and switch.
Back in January I changed from DISH to DIRECTV after getting irritated at losing the local ABC affiliate (KATU) when DISH and Fisher Communications got into a pissing match over an increase in programming charges.
I even got all lovey-dovey with DirecTV after making the move.
If you're thinking of getting rid of DISH network because it no longer has a favorite local station (like Portland's KATU, in our case), don't hesitate to jump to DirecTV.
That's what I decided to do,
and after five days of experience with DirecTV -- the installer came
last Thursday -- I'm wondering why I didn't dump DISH sooner.
DIRECTV drops the Versus channel. Which means no Oregon State-Arizona game. DIRECTV blames Comcast, which owns Versus.
DIRECTV was already paying Comcast more than any other non-Comcast distributor to air Versus — and now Comcast is demanding an overall rate hike of 20% on top of that. Comcast also forces DIRECTV to make Versus available to a much larger portion of our customer base at our own expense than they require from other TV providers — most notably, DISH Network. We simply cannot accept these unfair and outrageous terms. All we're asking from Comcast is equal treatment.
If you are a DirecTV customer, you are most likely aware
that VERSUS’ contract with the satellite provider expired on August 31.
Throughout our discussions, VERSUS made fair and reasonable offers to DirecTV –
simply asking them to carry the network at a comparable level of distribution as
they had for several years, at the same market price that other operators are
currently paying. Yet, despite our good-faith negotiations, DirecTV chose to
remove VERSUS from its programming lineup and deny millions of passionate sports
fans access to our comprehensive coverage of the sports they love.
Here's how I score the blame game: DIRECTV 0, Versus/Comcast 0. They're both losers, and I couldn't care less about who did what to whom, or why they did it.
Just give me the programming that was available when I signed up for DIRECTV, and now isn't. Pretty damn simple.
With the DISH vs. Fisher Communications dispute, a commenter on one of my blog posts said that the supposedly outrageous 82% rate increase Fisher was demanding amounted to eight cents a month per subscriber.
I suspect this DIRECTV vs. Comcast/Versus battle is over a roughly similar amount (though there's also another issue involved here).
It's interesting how neither side talks about actual cost numbers, just percentages. Probably this is because big corporate egos are fighting over a few cents, while DIRECTV customers get screwed as the CEOs play their petty games.
I accepted DIRECTV's offer to express my concerns by emailing them.
I didn't realize that DirecTV wasn't offering Versus any more until I saw a big ad in today's newspaper urging people to switch from DirecTV if they want to see football games like today's Oregon State vs. Arizona -- which is only on Versus. Great. I switched to DirecTV from Dish because Dish was in an argument with Fisher Communications about its ABC affiliate in Portland. Now DirecTV is doing the same thing.
Look: we subscribers would rather pay a few cents more per month and be able to watch what we want to watch. DirecTV bills itself as offering a large choice of sports programming, but now you shut off a major sports channel. Doesn't make sense. I hope you get your act together soon, or you're going to lose customers just like Dish Network did. --Brian
Tonight I got a marvelously impersonal email response from DIRECTV customer service: it was a copy of the exact page on their web site where I was invited to express my concerns -- incuding this identical line.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us at [email protected]
Thanks, but no thanks. I'm going around in circles. I just hope the contract negotiations with Versus/Comcast aren't.
Watching the first episode of "Survivor Samoa" last night was bittersweet.
Sweet, because my wife and I are huge Survivor fans. We've seen each episode of every season, so naturally we were looking forward to the fresh drama that plays out as twenty contestants try to outwit, outplay, and outlast each other.
Bitter, because this was the most disturbing Survivor show I've ever seen. Plenty of jerks, assholes, and liars have competed for the winner's prize of one million dollars. But nobody like Evil Incarnate Russell Hantz.
Usually it takes a while for a contestant to warm up to truly despicable behavior. Hantz, though, was off and running with the devil right from the beginning.
As Dr. House always says, “everybody lies.” And most “Survivor” contestants end up lying or leaving. This is not a Miss Congeniality contest.
But starting your “Survivor” journey with lies about being a firefighter who lost a dog while suffering through Hurricane Katrina? Then dumping out all the water from your tribemates' canteens? After making alliances with all the women in your tribe, most of whom you call “dumb-a**” girls? And the one not girlish woman you call an “old lady”?
Russell H.: “I plan on making it as miserable as possible for everybody.”
To me, the guy looks like a genuine piece of shit. If he's play-acting a role that isn't his real personality, he deserves an Academy Award.
Regardless, deceit is part of the Survivor game. Every hard-core fan of the show knows this. And applauds it. I love watching a good liar.
However, Russell Hantz elicited other feelings in me. Disgust. Irritation. Anger. And not just at Russell. At the producers of Survivor also. They're promoting the heck out of his evil'ness.
That bothers me, as it bothered this commenter on a People blog about Survivor Samoa:
I will not watch a show that promotes this man as the main focus of the show when he should not have been cast at all. He is sick and dangerous and that is not why I watch Survivor. You touched the surface a little bit at least, Stephen. What he does is not game play or strategy, it’s an outlet for his psychotic tendencies. I can watch horror movies for that. I am insulted that the Survivor producers and casting directors think the American public want to see that. I wanted to see so much more last night, but you’re right. I only got to see him. What a joke.
I just hope he goes out fast so I can watch Survivor again. He said he wants to prove how easy Survivor is to win. Well, yeah Russell, anybody could do what you’re doing. Someone, I think Jeff, said he was “charming”? What edit were you watching? There is nothing charming about him from his fat belly to his fat head. He is disgusting and does not deserve this chance that millions of people would do anything for. Get him off Survivor contestants and no more like him please.
The United States is suffering from chronic incivility.
It's evident everywhere, from Congressman Joe Wilson yelling "you lie" at our President, to Serena Williams cursing a line judge at the U.S. Open, to Kanye West usurping a MTV Video Music Award winner's acceptance moment.
And here comes Survivor Samoa, elevating super-jerk Russell Hantz to super-star status. CBS features him all over the show's web site, billing him as "The Biggest Villain in Survivor History."
Probably true.
If a network is out for ratings, it makes sense to go for the sensational jugular vein, making viewers bleed with cries of Ugh! I can't believe Russell acted so nasty!
Yet something bothers me about Survivor's producers choosing to feature Russell Hantz at this time, when our nation is struggling to stay on the civilized side of the boundary between intense debate and crazy ranting.
Jeff Probst, who oversees the contestants on Survivor, writes in his blog:
A new star has most definitely been born. He stands about 5 feet tall and when he slips that buff on top of his head, he transforms into a pirate, missing tooth and all. He was discovered on Survivor, the greatest reality show of all time, his name is Russell Hantz and in addition to being absolutely captivating on television, he writes and delivers some of the greatest material ever heard in 20 seasons of Survivor.
As long as Russell is on the show you are going to be talking about him and I am going to be writing about him. Instead of protesting like you did last season about my infatuation with Coach, why not try “riding the horse in the direction it’s going.” ‘Cause trust me, that is the direction this blog is going.
Yeah, I believe you, Jeff. The nastier and more outrageous Russell Hantz gets, the more CBS is going to like it.
But I'm not.
I'll be visualizing assholes like Russell watching him on TV, their feet up on a beer-stained cushion, yelling "hey, woman, where's my fucking dinner?!," chuckling at his sexist demeaning insults, and thinking with their few brain cells, That mean motherfucker is kicking some ass!
If you don't watch Survivor, it looks like you'll be able to follow the plot line of the current season via Wikipedia.
I sure hope that soon, very soon, it shows that Russell Hantz has been voted off the island.
My wife and I love "So You Think You Can Dance." It was sad to see the current show come to an end last night with Jeanine's triumph.
(How does someone 18 dance so well? Partial answer: she started when she was three.)
Being philosophically minded, I enjoy the more profound sub-texts of the show as much as the overt dancing.
Now, having just written "profound sub-texts," I guess I've got to come up with some -- since like most bloggers I tend to write first and think afterwards.
Wednesday night, for the first time I voted for a couple of the contestants. Usually we watch a recording several days later, but the finals were too much of an attraction to wait for. I picked up a phone and punched in the numbers for Evan and Jeanine.
Evan is a great example of the sometimes-true adage, nice guys finish last. This is a fascinating subject, which, not surprisingly, has earned its own Wikipedia page.
Of the twenty finalists, Evan clearly was the nicest guy. Including the gals. He was regularly criticized by the judges for being too bland, too non-assertive in his partner dancing, too reluctant to let his personality blaze forth on the dance floor.
I liked Evan. I didn't think he was the best dancer, but I voted for him because I wanted to see the heads of the judges explode if he ended up winning.
One of their greatest compliments after a dance performance is, "That was so dirty!" Meaning, sexy, passionate, dangerous, edgy.
What this points to, philosophically, is Yin-Yang.
People may claim allegiance to light, truth, love, and God, but most of us also are attracted to dark, false, hate, and Devil. We distrust one-sided nice guys or gals as being out of balance.
There is, of course, a lot of sexuality percolating in this sub-text of So You Think You Can Dance. Jeanine oozed it. Janette did. Brandon did. Evan didn't.
The Wikipedia article discusses evidence pro and con on the question, "Are women attracted more to nice guys or bad boys?" Whichever, it's clear that dancing judges are much more inclined to get in bed with the latter.
So are voters. Jimmy Carter was our nicest guy president in recent memory. And also one of the most vilified (or at least disrespected). Bill Clinton, a classic bad boy president, is still highly popular.
Because he appeared to be real in a way that Carter wasn't. Which is unfair, just as Evan's being dissed for his nice-guy persona also is.
If someone is genuinely nice, that's their real. However, this also is reality: most people enjoy some dark-side spice with their life, not unalloyed bland sweetness and light. This is what doomed Evan.
He deserves a lot of credit for getting to the final three. It just wasn't surprising that Evan failed to make it to the So You Think You Can Dance winner's circle.
Nice guys have a lot going for them. On the dance floor, though, niceness only gets you so far.
Here's an example of going beyond -- way beyond -- nice into Oh, yeah! joy. This video makes me feel great every time I watch the terrific boogie-woogie dancers.
Click the "HinesSight" button and you can search my three blogs: HinesSight, Church of the Churchless, and Salem Political Snark
Welcome to HinesSight
Salem Political Snark My local political rants are now made on this badass blog. Check it out. Dirty politics, outrageous actions, sleaze, backroom deals — we’re on it.
Twitter with me Join Twitter and follow my tweets about whatever.
Church of the Churchless Visit my other weblog, Church of the Churchless, where the gospel of spiritual independence is preached.
Welcome to HinesSight. If this is your first visit, click on "About this site--start here" in the Categories section below.
Brian: I'll confess, rather guiltily, that I actually was rooting for Russell to win Survivor. At least, I ended up feeling that he deserved to win. I didn't like him, but I came to respect his abilities to scheme, manipulate people, and understand interpersonal dynamics.
It was a surprise to me that Natalie won. To my wife also. Taoistically, she played a "yin" game. (And she also looked good in a bikini.) I don't think she deserved to win, given the coattails argument. However, it could be argued (and it was) that she simply played a more subtle game, while Russell's was extremely overt.
I'm glad Russell won the $100,000 Best Player prize. He grew on me over the season. Once in a while I'd even find myself liking the guy. it was nice to see his wife appear on the results hour. I'd been curious about what she would be like.
Tucson: I disagree that Russell played the game well as evidenced by the fact that he didn't win. I give him credit for finding the immunity idols and his strength of will in the final immunity challenge. In the end, the human factor plays a part and Natalie succeeded in that department while using Russell well. Even during the reunion show Russell was completely ungracious and without class.
Brian: Tucson, good points. By "playing well" I meant that Russell's strategic vision was outstanding. His summary of that at the final Tribal Council was terrific, how he played this person against that person for this reason. He had that part down.
But I agree with you that he overplayed that aspect. Russell assumed that the jury members would value strategizing above all else, forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings.
I suspect that Russell won their heads, and Natalie won their hearts (the viewer reactions echo this, since Russell was more popular among people who watched him from afar on TV rather than putting up with him on the island).
Tucson: "Russell assumed that the jury members would value strategizing above all else, forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings."
Exactly. This is what the bartender guy summarized so well in the final tribal council. Up to that point I was sitting on the fence between Russell and Natalie. The bartender's (can't remember his name) comments struck me as eloquent in that moment and I saw a change in Russell's demeanor after that little speech. I think he knew then that he didn't have it in the bag.
I was continually surprised that people in the game did not seem very perturbed by Russell's brazen, cocky attitude. I realize that it was mostly revealed to the audience and his "good old boy" side to the players, but some of the smarter ones caught on pretty quick.
Nevertheless, he did play a smart strategic game and he would be a formidable competitor in the dog eat dog world of business. I'll give him the 100 grand but not the million.
One thing about Russell that I do admire was his ability to keep his spirits and competitive attitude up during the bad weather when everyone was shivering, suffering and complaining. Not one negative peep or complaint from him. He almost seemed to enjoy and thrive in it.
I am just happy to see that utter ruthlessness does not always pay off. I think all winners of Survivor have had to resort to scheming, betrayal and manipulation as a necessary part of the game, but most seemed to have some level of regret or remorse about it. Not in Russell's case however.
Whatever. It's just a TV show, but one that can teach a lot about human nature.