Aside from the fact that the sun isn't quite out as of yet, I expect today, Friday, will be a nice day. It's the end of a long, difficult week -- yet another -- and despite the fact Kaia's back in SF and I'm back in NYC, I'm looking forward to the weekend.
It's strange coming home to an empty apartment; more importantly, I wouldn't mind coming home to an empty apartment if I knew she was elsewhere nearby. Knowing she's not within a subway, bus or cab ride's distance is the really shitty part of the whole equation. But given the near future's plans for this summer, knowing this temporary situation is about to change -- for the better, and permanently -- is worth our patience.
In the meantime, I've got shitloads to do since I missed a couple days this week due to the holiday, so I'll probably be buried in paper this weekend. Considering it's supposed to be rainy and bleak, I doubt very much I'll miss running around with my other half. It will definitely be strange not having her around to make me laugh or to make laugh, and even when it's crappy and rainy outside she always manages to make me smile no matter what, so whether it's rainy or beautiful out, not having her there will make the weather sort of inconsequential.
There isn't much news beyond that to address; we've been attempting to settle back into our "normal" routines -- or irregular ones, if you're keeping score -- and both of us have been trying to get sleep and back on the clock vis-a-vis work and life. The problem is that since we're an integral part of one another's lives, that re-emergence is difficult, to say the least. It's a bit like the lyrics from Peter Gabriel's "Washing Of The Water." The song, which comes from his album "Us," is a confession about his break-up with Roseanna Arquette. While we're not broken up, every time she and I part company for a matter of weeks or months, we both sense that same sort of loss inherent in a long absence, which in many ways mirrors a break-up. Of course we don't have the same sense of emotional loss that break-ups incur, but not having your best friend there with you after having her there every minute of every day is jarring and an experience I'm glad to say will soon be coming to an end.
My apologies for today's dark, less-than-uplifting observations; for the most part, it's easy for me to look beyond the half-emptiness of the glass and see it as half-full. And this situation, despite the immediacy thereof, is actually a "half-full" one. However, as of the short term and how we each feel, that glass is half-empty for sure and we both are looking forward to when it's not just half-full but spilling over.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Cloverfield on DVD : Spoilers Ahead...
So after all the hype, speculation and hush-hush viral marketing, what's there to discuss? Despite the proclivity of some to obtain vid-camera-captured copies of theater showings of movies and upload them to the masses online, after months of Kaia and I both salivating over the opportunity to see Cloverfield on one of our televisions, we finally were able to obtain a advance copy of the actual DVD. While there were some slight negatives, the truth is that, given the tense times in which we live -- especially those of us who live in New York City -- the film was absolutely a keeper.
Set in "modern day" New York, the film begins by establishing that what's being shown on the screen is actually the video recording found in the area formerly known as Central Park. Since a lot of what the film is about has been leaked, it's clearly an ominous beginning to a roller-coaster ride.
The video commences with a couple, Rob and Beth, filming one another in various states: her naked in bed after, presumably, a night of intimacy, and then the couple discussing their planned venture to Coney Island.
The next -- immediate -- cut is to some friends doing some shopping for a bunch of people coming by that night for a farewell party for the aforementioned Rob. Turns out Rob has gotten a job as Vice President -- a mighty achievement, if the revelers are to be believed -- and he's off the next day to Japan.
Suddenly we are at his farewell party where 40 or so people are gathered to send him off via a surprise good luck party, and after a bit, a huge noise and a thud interrupts the festivities. Looking through the eyes of the camera, it seems like something has hit a building nearby and created some sort of major explosion somewhere a bit further downtown. As the partygoers ascend the roof to get a closer look, more explosions begin rocking the downtown area and panic ensues. Soon after, as the entire crowd hits the stairs to get to the street, the explosions continue -- as one guest asks in the background if this is a terrorist attack -- and then the real chaos begins. People running everywhere, screams and overall panic grip the entire city as seen through the single lens, and the attack continues, only now, at street level, it is clear that something huge -- 30 or more stories high -- is actually decimating the city, block by block. The creature -- which resembles a giant bat on steroids atop bulging legs -- is causing destruction and attracting the attention of the military, who are firing at it with everything short of nuclear weapons. The destruction ramps up and the intensity does as well, to the point that much of the remainder of the second act is spent with the protagonists on the run to avoid the huge creature and human-size offspring that it seems to emit.
Without giving away any further details, the film isn't a true horror film in the "Halloween" mold. There isn't much sit-and-wait suspense; there's no let-up in the intensity or the attacks. The protagonists find themselves in a subway station (underground, at Spring Street) and attempt to make their way north after the Brooklyn Bridge is destroyed. Thereafter, they're attacked by the miniature offspring of the giant creature. As they attempt to escape the City and the chaos, one by one they are picked off by the circumstances by which they have found themselves in.
This film might very well represent a true picture of post-9/11 horror; much of the panic and the destruction is reminiscent of that day in our recent history. If one was to really reach for comparison, the giant creature and its offspring might have some sort of direct correlation to our modern history with respect to extremist Muslim terrorism. But more likely this film represents a unique perspective on what feels extremely real, if only because it depicts characters that react and find futility in a situation that mirror how we might react and that we, if we were in their shoes, would find ourselves in.
Granted, there's been no monster attack chewing up and destroying the entire city; there is no impromptu military HQ or full medical triage center on the main floor of Bloomingdale's at 59th Street; and for certain, Central Park is known as Central Park and not Cloverfield. However, given a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief, this movie goes from rollicking, entertaining scare to an intense, disturbing episode in one possible future.
Incidentally, one of the reasons we waited to see this film via legit DVD was because we wanted to enjoy the experience and the breadth of special effects featured therein. The CGI and the creativity of JJ Abrams, Screenwriter Drew Goddard and Director Matt Reeves are nothing short of amazing. Due to the creative nature of the "one camera" storytelling, there are some creative twists and omissions that let your imagination fill in the details. However, the CGI depicting the creature and its offspring is riveting, and the city-wide destruction is incredibly detailed and absolutely realistic. Moreover, what we see and hear on screen is so over-the-top it's hard to not be pulled into the action as if we're experiencing the events depicted in the film rather than simply watching them on a screen.
I would recommend, incidentally, anyone interested in watching this film do so in a completely dark environment with no interruptions and with the sound as loud as it will (comfortably) go. The immersive, all-encompassing of this film deserves and demands it. More importantly, when watching this film, disconnect your phone and don't plan on stopping the ride until the director decides it's time for you to get off. You'll be glad you obeyed.
No question this film is as much a phenomenon as it is an 84-minute motion picture. However, if you view it without judgment or preconceived notions about the marketing and the hype, this is one film you may not love but one film you will not soon forget. It's a solid 8.5 or 9 out of 10, whether or not "horror" or "sci-fi" are your kind of films. It's easily one of the best movies I've seen over the past 18 months, and that's definitely saying something...
For those planning to get the film on DVD, note that in addition to a slew of extras -- a director's commentary, deleted scenes, some outtakes and 2 (!) alternate endings -- the fact is that the behind-the-scenes look at how the movie was created (eg CGI, sets, etc.) are as fascinating as the movie is captivating.
And knowing the creature is nicknamed "Clover" by the film's crew and that the area "formerly known as Central Park" is where the camera is eventually located suggests that Central Park was re-christened Cloverfield.
Told you there were spoilers ahead... ;-)
Enjoy...
Set in "modern day" New York, the film begins by establishing that what's being shown on the screen is actually the video recording found in the area formerly known as Central Park. Since a lot of what the film is about has been leaked, it's clearly an ominous beginning to a roller-coaster ride.
The video commences with a couple, Rob and Beth, filming one another in various states: her naked in bed after, presumably, a night of intimacy, and then the couple discussing their planned venture to Coney Island.
The next -- immediate -- cut is to some friends doing some shopping for a bunch of people coming by that night for a farewell party for the aforementioned Rob. Turns out Rob has gotten a job as Vice President -- a mighty achievement, if the revelers are to be believed -- and he's off the next day to Japan.
Suddenly we are at his farewell party where 40 or so people are gathered to send him off via a surprise good luck party, and after a bit, a huge noise and a thud interrupts the festivities. Looking through the eyes of the camera, it seems like something has hit a building nearby and created some sort of major explosion somewhere a bit further downtown. As the partygoers ascend the roof to get a closer look, more explosions begin rocking the downtown area and panic ensues. Soon after, as the entire crowd hits the stairs to get to the street, the explosions continue -- as one guest asks in the background if this is a terrorist attack -- and then the real chaos begins. People running everywhere, screams and overall panic grip the entire city as seen through the single lens, and the attack continues, only now, at street level, it is clear that something huge -- 30 or more stories high -- is actually decimating the city, block by block. The creature -- which resembles a giant bat on steroids atop bulging legs -- is causing destruction and attracting the attention of the military, who are firing at it with everything short of nuclear weapons. The destruction ramps up and the intensity does as well, to the point that much of the remainder of the second act is spent with the protagonists on the run to avoid the huge creature and human-size offspring that it seems to emit.
Without giving away any further details, the film isn't a true horror film in the "Halloween" mold. There isn't much sit-and-wait suspense; there's no let-up in the intensity or the attacks. The protagonists find themselves in a subway station (underground, at Spring Street) and attempt to make their way north after the Brooklyn Bridge is destroyed. Thereafter, they're attacked by the miniature offspring of the giant creature. As they attempt to escape the City and the chaos, one by one they are picked off by the circumstances by which they have found themselves in.
This film might very well represent a true picture of post-9/11 horror; much of the panic and the destruction is reminiscent of that day in our recent history. If one was to really reach for comparison, the giant creature and its offspring might have some sort of direct correlation to our modern history with respect to extremist Muslim terrorism. But more likely this film represents a unique perspective on what feels extremely real, if only because it depicts characters that react and find futility in a situation that mirror how we might react and that we, if we were in their shoes, would find ourselves in.
Granted, there's been no monster attack chewing up and destroying the entire city; there is no impromptu military HQ or full medical triage center on the main floor of Bloomingdale's at 59th Street; and for certain, Central Park is known as Central Park and not Cloverfield. However, given a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief, this movie goes from rollicking, entertaining scare to an intense, disturbing episode in one possible future.
Incidentally, one of the reasons we waited to see this film via legit DVD was because we wanted to enjoy the experience and the breadth of special effects featured therein. The CGI and the creativity of JJ Abrams, Screenwriter Drew Goddard and Director Matt Reeves are nothing short of amazing. Due to the creative nature of the "one camera" storytelling, there are some creative twists and omissions that let your imagination fill in the details. However, the CGI depicting the creature and its offspring is riveting, and the city-wide destruction is incredibly detailed and absolutely realistic. Moreover, what we see and hear on screen is so over-the-top it's hard to not be pulled into the action as if we're experiencing the events depicted in the film rather than simply watching them on a screen.
I would recommend, incidentally, anyone interested in watching this film do so in a completely dark environment with no interruptions and with the sound as loud as it will (comfortably) go. The immersive, all-encompassing of this film deserves and demands it. More importantly, when watching this film, disconnect your phone and don't plan on stopping the ride until the director decides it's time for you to get off. You'll be glad you obeyed.
No question this film is as much a phenomenon as it is an 84-minute motion picture. However, if you view it without judgment or preconceived notions about the marketing and the hype, this is one film you may not love but one film you will not soon forget. It's a solid 8.5 or 9 out of 10, whether or not "horror" or "sci-fi" are your kind of films. It's easily one of the best movies I've seen over the past 18 months, and that's definitely saying something...
For those planning to get the film on DVD, note that in addition to a slew of extras -- a director's commentary, deleted scenes, some outtakes and 2 (!) alternate endings -- the fact is that the behind-the-scenes look at how the movie was created (eg CGI, sets, etc.) are as fascinating as the movie is captivating.
And knowing the creature is nicknamed "Clover" by the film's crew and that the area "formerly known as Central Park" is where the camera is eventually located suggests that Central Park was re-christened Cloverfield.
Told you there were spoilers ahead... ;-)
Enjoy...
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Don Henley Was Right...
"The more I know, the less I understand."
Those words, proferred by Don Henley in his pathos-heavy "End of The Innocence" album, definitely apply these days. However, his use thereof concerned, if memory serves, divorce and love in the song "The Last Worthless Evening." For me, these words apply to the increasing stupidity of America as a nation, and, in tandem, my inability to believe we manage great strides in achieving new degrees of stupidity each day. And thereafter, the two paths diverge; in fact, contrary to Mr. Henley's last worthless evening, mine would be watching The Jerry Springer Show sandwiched by two Montel Williams shows, all of which focus on sex-change children born from interracial marriages. That wouldn't simply be worthless; that would be enough to inspire me to throw myself from a tall, tall building.
Several items formed the impetus for my observation regarding our increased stupidity; the first was this, a story about a Randolph College field trip. Randolph College is located in Lynchburg, Virginia; the class, entitled "American Consumption," observes various facets of American culture and then, subject by subject, observes each facet by taking a field trip. This particular field trip, however, brought the students to the Chicken Ranch.
For those not in the know, the Chicken Ranch isn't a food establishment -- it's a whorehouse.
I'm not exactly sure how, if I was a parent of a student on the trip, I'd react; however, unless Randolph College is a free educational experience, I'd be seriously pissed. I have no moral opposition to prostitution per se. It's legal in Nevada, so even if some of the students wanted a very up-close-and-personal look at some of the employees of the Chicken Ranch, so be it. But I'd gravely question why I was sending my child to a school that would encourage students to take a peek behind the curtain. In other words, are we actually going to start encouraging the youth of society to consider stripping and/or legalized prostitution as viable sources of income? I recall a story in which a Florida high-school guidance counselor was fired because he encouraged women in a soon-to-be graduating class several years ago to consider stripping, and that incredible lapse in judgement was nothing compared to an administration official okaying a trip to see hookers. If my son or daughter was dumb enough to be enrolled at Randolph College, I think I'd tell people he or she was actually clinically retarded and was a refuse collector in Wichita rather than admit he or she was attending a college that sent students to a whorehouse. I would lie about where he or she was going to school not to protect his or her self-esteem, but (sic) my reputation.
Again, to reiterate, I have nothing against the ho's ;-) It just seems like this is another example of our culture slowly but surely inching closer to Idiocracy. It's one thing to hear about one adult's dumb decision when it comes to a bunch of kids; it's another when institutions of higher learning seemingly are managed, if one can call it that, by a bunch of shitheads.
Next up on the Asshat agenda is a story of unrequited love, loyalty, sadness, and music...it's the story of a Spanish taxi driver by the name of Jordi Bassas Puigdollers. Mr. Puigdollers -- Pug for short -- is a life-long, obsessive Debbie Gibson fan. Not only has he started up a Debbie Gibson fan club, he's traveled all over the place to see her concerts, attended her personal appearances, and has recently followed her to her hotels and visited her home. So it's, of course, no surprise that Ms. Gibson, aka Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack, filed a restraining order against Pug. What's even more interesting is that he's been barred from being within 100 yards of her, except at concerts.
First of all, how much money is this guy making as a cab-driver to be able to follow Debbie Gibson all over the country? Second, if she was able to get a restraining order, why is this shitbird still permitted to attend her concerts? Third, if you were going to throw your life away stalking someone, wouldn't you try and stalk someone that was a) attractive; b) talented; c) worth stalking; and d) not lame? If you're a loser and opt to head to the US to stalk someone, don't follow Pug's example; make it someone interesting. Some good choices are Carmen Electra (duh), Stephen Hawking (it's not like he's going to be able to run away and hide behind the gates of his mansion) or James Caan (it worked for Kathy Bates).
Personally, if I were Ms. Gibson (aka Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack), I'd be thrilled someone actually gave a shit that I was still alive and not doing dinner-theater in Lincoln, Nebraska. Granted, I'm not being entirely fair to Ms. Gibson; I'm sure she's a nice person and doesn't deserve to be called a Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack. However, um -- she's washed up, she doesn't have any more talent than those six-year-old beauty pageant contestants (think Jon Benet Ramsey, only alive) and she's being stalked by someone who might very well possess more talent than she does. But it's creepy -- who wants to be stalked by a taxi driver halfway around the world named Puigdollers? To me, that sounds like something you find growing on your undercarriage, if you know what I mean. Plus, every time I think "obsessed taxi driver," I think DeNiro in the mohawk putting bullets into anything moving -- Harvey Keitel, etc. -- and John Hinckley Junior (and that whole Jodie Foster/Ronald Reagan thing). Now I'm sure Pug didn't stop to think of the company he's keeping, but short of Jeffrey Dahmer, are those names -- Travis Bickle and John Hinckly Jr. -- the kind of people you would aspire to be among? No, unless your name is Pug and you think Debbie Gibson is worth stalking.
In short, stupid people stalking worthless former celebrities says a lot about where we're headed as a culture, if not at the very least where we are. Yikes.
However, if we really want to understand just how fucked up and moronic we've become as a nation, we need look no further than Commerce City, Colorado, the home of Joseph Manzanares. Congratulations are in order for Mr. Manzanares and his girlfriend, who -- four years ago -- had a child (Editor's Note: Mr. Manzanares is currently 19 years old, which would make him 15 at the time he fathered his -- presumably -- first child. Lovely). Unfortunately, Mr. Manzanares and his girlfriend disagree on one very important topic: the gang in which the child will be raised.
Apparently, Mr. Manzanares is a member of a gang called the "Westside Ballers" and his girlfriend is a member of the Crips (Does anyone else sense an imminent "West Side Story" fanfare about to break out?).
Beyond the main problem, ie that these clearly moronic individuals successfully procreated, what makes it even worse is that Mr. Manzanares got so irritated about his child's eventual gang choice that he confronted his girlfriend -- at her job at Hollywood Video -- and threatened her. So he was sentenced to a year of probation for the threats (as well as knocking over some movie posters and a computer).
One can only hope that, years from now, the happy couple will likely be celebrating their lives together at the tender of age of 42 as great grandparents and will recall how silly they behaved in their youth as they fought over the Crips, the Bloods, the Westside Ballers and the LA Kings. And then they'll go out for a rumble on the West Siyeeeeed in the SPC and they'll both, sadly, be killed in the skirmish with the cops.
Nothing beats a storybook ending, except maybe a good Jerry Springer Show brawl as the credits roll.
This should be a lesson to us: two people whose combined IQ's are below 100 should not be permitted to procreate. If the Supreme Court says it's okay to execute people who are clinically mentally disabled, why should those who are marginal idiots be allowed on the streets? If the statement "Smart people have smart children" is true, it would follow that empty-headed half-wits from the middle of nowhere are going to breed kids that're dumber than rocks.
And we wonder why they're tearing down libraries to build overcrowded prisons.
The more I know, the less I understand.
Abso-fuckin'-lutely.
Those words, proferred by Don Henley in his pathos-heavy "End of The Innocence" album, definitely apply these days. However, his use thereof concerned, if memory serves, divorce and love in the song "The Last Worthless Evening." For me, these words apply to the increasing stupidity of America as a nation, and, in tandem, my inability to believe we manage great strides in achieving new degrees of stupidity each day. And thereafter, the two paths diverge; in fact, contrary to Mr. Henley's last worthless evening, mine would be watching The Jerry Springer Show sandwiched by two Montel Williams shows, all of which focus on sex-change children born from interracial marriages. That wouldn't simply be worthless; that would be enough to inspire me to throw myself from a tall, tall building.
Several items formed the impetus for my observation regarding our increased stupidity; the first was this, a story about a Randolph College field trip. Randolph College is located in Lynchburg, Virginia; the class, entitled "American Consumption," observes various facets of American culture and then, subject by subject, observes each facet by taking a field trip. This particular field trip, however, brought the students to the Chicken Ranch.
For those not in the know, the Chicken Ranch isn't a food establishment -- it's a whorehouse.
I'm not exactly sure how, if I was a parent of a student on the trip, I'd react; however, unless Randolph College is a free educational experience, I'd be seriously pissed. I have no moral opposition to prostitution per se. It's legal in Nevada, so even if some of the students wanted a very up-close-and-personal look at some of the employees of the Chicken Ranch, so be it. But I'd gravely question why I was sending my child to a school that would encourage students to take a peek behind the curtain. In other words, are we actually going to start encouraging the youth of society to consider stripping and/or legalized prostitution as viable sources of income? I recall a story in which a Florida high-school guidance counselor was fired because he encouraged women in a soon-to-be graduating class several years ago to consider stripping, and that incredible lapse in judgement was nothing compared to an administration official okaying a trip to see hookers. If my son or daughter was dumb enough to be enrolled at Randolph College, I think I'd tell people he or she was actually clinically retarded and was a refuse collector in Wichita rather than admit he or she was attending a college that sent students to a whorehouse. I would lie about where he or she was going to school not to protect his or her self-esteem, but (sic) my reputation.
Again, to reiterate, I have nothing against the ho's ;-) It just seems like this is another example of our culture slowly but surely inching closer to Idiocracy. It's one thing to hear about one adult's dumb decision when it comes to a bunch of kids; it's another when institutions of higher learning seemingly are managed, if one can call it that, by a bunch of shitheads.
Next up on the Asshat agenda is a story of unrequited love, loyalty, sadness, and music...it's the story of a Spanish taxi driver by the name of Jordi Bassas Puigdollers. Mr. Puigdollers -- Pug for short -- is a life-long, obsessive Debbie Gibson fan. Not only has he started up a Debbie Gibson fan club, he's traveled all over the place to see her concerts, attended her personal appearances, and has recently followed her to her hotels and visited her home. So it's, of course, no surprise that Ms. Gibson, aka Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack, filed a restraining order against Pug. What's even more interesting is that he's been barred from being within 100 yards of her, except at concerts.
First of all, how much money is this guy making as a cab-driver to be able to follow Debbie Gibson all over the country? Second, if she was able to get a restraining order, why is this shitbird still permitted to attend her concerts? Third, if you were going to throw your life away stalking someone, wouldn't you try and stalk someone that was a) attractive; b) talented; c) worth stalking; and d) not lame? If you're a loser and opt to head to the US to stalk someone, don't follow Pug's example; make it someone interesting. Some good choices are Carmen Electra (duh), Stephen Hawking (it's not like he's going to be able to run away and hide behind the gates of his mansion) or James Caan (it worked for Kathy Bates).
Personally, if I were Ms. Gibson (aka Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack), I'd be thrilled someone actually gave a shit that I was still alive and not doing dinner-theater in Lincoln, Nebraska. Granted, I'm not being entirely fair to Ms. Gibson; I'm sure she's a nice person and doesn't deserve to be called a Washed-Up-No-Talent-Hack. However, um -- she's washed up, she doesn't have any more talent than those six-year-old beauty pageant contestants (think Jon Benet Ramsey, only alive) and she's being stalked by someone who might very well possess more talent than she does. But it's creepy -- who wants to be stalked by a taxi driver halfway around the world named Puigdollers? To me, that sounds like something you find growing on your undercarriage, if you know what I mean. Plus, every time I think "obsessed taxi driver," I think DeNiro in the mohawk putting bullets into anything moving -- Harvey Keitel, etc. -- and John Hinckley Junior (and that whole Jodie Foster/Ronald Reagan thing). Now I'm sure Pug didn't stop to think of the company he's keeping, but short of Jeffrey Dahmer, are those names -- Travis Bickle and John Hinckly Jr. -- the kind of people you would aspire to be among? No, unless your name is Pug and you think Debbie Gibson is worth stalking.
In short, stupid people stalking worthless former celebrities says a lot about where we're headed as a culture, if not at the very least where we are. Yikes.
However, if we really want to understand just how fucked up and moronic we've become as a nation, we need look no further than Commerce City, Colorado, the home of Joseph Manzanares. Congratulations are in order for Mr. Manzanares and his girlfriend, who -- four years ago -- had a child (Editor's Note: Mr. Manzanares is currently 19 years old, which would make him 15 at the time he fathered his -- presumably -- first child. Lovely). Unfortunately, Mr. Manzanares and his girlfriend disagree on one very important topic: the gang in which the child will be raised.
Apparently, Mr. Manzanares is a member of a gang called the "Westside Ballers" and his girlfriend is a member of the Crips (Does anyone else sense an imminent "West Side Story" fanfare about to break out?).
Beyond the main problem, ie that these clearly moronic individuals successfully procreated, what makes it even worse is that Mr. Manzanares got so irritated about his child's eventual gang choice that he confronted his girlfriend -- at her job at Hollywood Video -- and threatened her. So he was sentenced to a year of probation for the threats (as well as knocking over some movie posters and a computer).
One can only hope that, years from now, the happy couple will likely be celebrating their lives together at the tender of age of 42 as great grandparents and will recall how silly they behaved in their youth as they fought over the Crips, the Bloods, the Westside Ballers and the LA Kings. And then they'll go out for a rumble on the West Siyeeeeed in the SPC and they'll both, sadly, be killed in the skirmish with the cops.
Nothing beats a storybook ending, except maybe a good Jerry Springer Show brawl as the credits roll.
This should be a lesson to us: two people whose combined IQ's are below 100 should not be permitted to procreate. If the Supreme Court says it's okay to execute people who are clinically mentally disabled, why should those who are marginal idiots be allowed on the streets? If the statement "Smart people have smart children" is true, it would follow that empty-headed half-wits from the middle of nowhere are going to breed kids that're dumber than rocks.
And we wonder why they're tearing down libraries to build overcrowded prisons.
The more I know, the less I understand.
Abso-fuckin'-lutely.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Back To Now
Well, despite the fact it's been awhile since I last stopped in to say howdy, it's been a non-stop party-boat to Crazy Central. Come to think of it, that's pretty much an accurate description of my daily ride to "today," regardless of whether I'm reporting on life's absurdities, calamities, happiness and good times. But I digress...
Earlier this month -- ten days ago, to be precise -- the party came together. And holy shit on a shingle, did it come together... We had a big -- not huge -- crowd that kept it going 'til well after 3AM, and despite the location being a new venue and me unsure as to how everything would go down, everything did go down, for the most part, as we expected. Not only did everyone seem to have fun, despite a minor bump here or there -- everyone went home happy, tired, exhausted and with smiles on their faces. And that, more than anything else, is the reason why I bother with these mongo soirees in the first place.
On top of that, Kaia had come in for the party but also for the dual purposes of us celebrating my birthday, St. Patrick's Day, and to look for an apartment. It's one thing to do telephone and internet searches -- she's been dealing with brokers and real estate people for several months now -- but doing so in New York is the only real way to pull the trigger, so to speak. She's seen a few -- and I've accompanied her on about half of her jaunts -- and there are some decent places. The real question isn't so much where, ie what neighborhood, she wants; it's more of an issue of the apartment itself. So having, ostensibly, an entire city in which to poke around and look is a bit daunting, if not doable, task. So we'll continue. I 'spose the bottom line is that as of sometime this summer she'll be officially changing zip codes, and inasmuch as we both love San Fran, knowing we'll be able to spend time with one another is the main thing.
Speaking of San Fran, we're heading West -- together -- late Friday to spend Passover on the other coast with her family. I'll probably be heading back East late Monday or early Tuesday and be jet-lagged a bit next week, but it'll be worth it. We won't have much play-time but I love that city ("Put Your Hands Up For Detroit" -- either you dig or you don't) and it will be nice. The only hard part is the travel, but I don't mind it much, and more importantly, work-wise I'll only be out for a couple days and I'll keep up online. Between that and the fact the Blackberry -- both voice- and e-mail wise -- keeps me in touch with 95% of my clients, I should be relatively sane come next Wednesday.
Other than that, we've both been working hard and despite our best intentions, we've basically found ourselves in to have dinner and spend our time together rather than running around the City. We managed a visit to Mercer Kitchen over the weekend -- one of our usual haunts -- and actually saw Zach Braff (a regular Mercer guest, from what I hear) floating around outside. Despite Kaia's assertions to the contrary, I kept telling her that I was under the impression ZB was dating Anne Hathaway, so she decided to bet me dinner at our current favorite NYC restaurant. Sure enough, right after we agreed to the bet, I did a bit of peeking on my Blackberry to confirm the news, as I remembered seeing a picture of Anne Hathaway with her boyfriend, aka Zach, at some fashion show or benefit (perhaps a combo thereof). Sure enough, I came across a blog post proclaiming "Anne Hathaway's douchebag, check-bouncing boyfriend LOOKS A LOT LIKE Zach Braff."
Shit.
After I realized I was wrong, I quietly lamented -- while Kaia loudly and proudly gloated over -- the fact that information isn't anything if it isn't timely... ;-)
Then again, I realized it wasn't that big a deal -- I get to take my other half to dinner at our favorite place. Wow, that's a kick in the ass ;-)
In other news, there's very little else to report...lots of work, lots of hang-time, lots of computer issues at the office with which I've had to contend, and lots of smiles. Like Billy Joel once observed, "I'm warm from the memories of days to come."
Tomorrow is another day. But not until today's finished.
Earlier this month -- ten days ago, to be precise -- the party came together. And holy shit on a shingle, did it come together... We had a big -- not huge -- crowd that kept it going 'til well after 3AM, and despite the location being a new venue and me unsure as to how everything would go down, everything did go down, for the most part, as we expected. Not only did everyone seem to have fun, despite a minor bump here or there -- everyone went home happy, tired, exhausted and with smiles on their faces. And that, more than anything else, is the reason why I bother with these mongo soirees in the first place.
On top of that, Kaia had come in for the party but also for the dual purposes of us celebrating my birthday, St. Patrick's Day, and to look for an apartment. It's one thing to do telephone and internet searches -- she's been dealing with brokers and real estate people for several months now -- but doing so in New York is the only real way to pull the trigger, so to speak. She's seen a few -- and I've accompanied her on about half of her jaunts -- and there are some decent places. The real question isn't so much where, ie what neighborhood, she wants; it's more of an issue of the apartment itself. So having, ostensibly, an entire city in which to poke around and look is a bit daunting, if not doable, task. So we'll continue. I 'spose the bottom line is that as of sometime this summer she'll be officially changing zip codes, and inasmuch as we both love San Fran, knowing we'll be able to spend time with one another is the main thing.
Speaking of San Fran, we're heading West -- together -- late Friday to spend Passover on the other coast with her family. I'll probably be heading back East late Monday or early Tuesday and be jet-lagged a bit next week, but it'll be worth it. We won't have much play-time but I love that city ("Put Your Hands Up For Detroit" -- either you dig or you don't) and it will be nice. The only hard part is the travel, but I don't mind it much, and more importantly, work-wise I'll only be out for a couple days and I'll keep up online. Between that and the fact the Blackberry -- both voice- and e-mail wise -- keeps me in touch with 95% of my clients, I should be relatively sane come next Wednesday.
Other than that, we've both been working hard and despite our best intentions, we've basically found ourselves in to have dinner and spend our time together rather than running around the City. We managed a visit to Mercer Kitchen over the weekend -- one of our usual haunts -- and actually saw Zach Braff (a regular Mercer guest, from what I hear) floating around outside. Despite Kaia's assertions to the contrary, I kept telling her that I was under the impression ZB was dating Anne Hathaway, so she decided to bet me dinner at our current favorite NYC restaurant. Sure enough, right after we agreed to the bet, I did a bit of peeking on my Blackberry to confirm the news, as I remembered seeing a picture of Anne Hathaway with her boyfriend, aka Zach, at some fashion show or benefit (perhaps a combo thereof). Sure enough, I came across a blog post proclaiming "Anne Hathaway's douchebag, check-bouncing boyfriend LOOKS A LOT LIKE Zach Braff."
Shit.
After I realized I was wrong, I quietly lamented -- while Kaia loudly and proudly gloated over -- the fact that information isn't anything if it isn't timely... ;-)
Then again, I realized it wasn't that big a deal -- I get to take my other half to dinner at our favorite place. Wow, that's a kick in the ass ;-)
In other news, there's very little else to report...lots of work, lots of hang-time, lots of computer issues at the office with which I've had to contend, and lots of smiles. Like Billy Joel once observed, "I'm warm from the memories of days to come."
Tomorrow is another day. But not until today's finished.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Casino Royale...with Cheese
For anyone who hasn't seen the latest James Bond film, Casino Royale, be warned: there are spoilers ahead, so if you haven't seen it, avert your eyes.
Avast ye mates...prepare to come about.
----------------------------------------------------
So the past several weeks have been a bit of a blur.Avast ye mates...prepare to come about.
----------------------------------------------------
Between having a birthday and all the requisite activity and excitement that that brings, coupled with the typical huge workload and the various other facets of my day-to-day life, and planning a party at a new venue, it's been a tad crazy.
That's when I managed to get ahold of a copy of the Blu-Ray version of Casino Royale.
So I finally fired it up and, on first view, I'm at once both really impressed and really disappointed.
First, if you're a regular visitor herein -- and if you are, you have my sincerest apologies -- you will likely recall I chose the recent Daniel Craig film "Layer Cake" as a "Worth Viewing" suggestion.
Now, having seen "Casino Royale," Mr. Craig's first foray as James Bond, I stand by the "Layer Cake" recommendation and can mostly recommend "Casino Royale," albeit with some reservations.
"Casino Royale" is a re-do on several levels. First, it's what is ostensibly a remake of a previous James Bond film featuring George Lazenby, a one-hit wonder as Bond, that was made for all the wrong reasons. That film was one of the first examples of the conflicts between factions looking to own the Bond franchise. Despite all the Bond films featuring a basic formula of hot women, hot cars and cool, breezy action, there's been so much behind-the-scenes politics, bullshit and in-fighting that it sometimes suggests that the behind-the-scenes Bond action might be more interesting than some of the action committed to film (eg Moonraker, Never Say Never Again).
Second, instead of picking up where Die Another Day (the last film) ends, this one returns to the days before Bond had the famed "Double-O" status. In other words, this film begins with Bond not having a license to kill. Of course, the notion of a license to kill is complete crap; as soon as you're handed a firearm by a governmental agency, you've got a license to kill. But that's neither here nor there. For continuity's sake, and for the sake of re-telling and revamping the entire Bond saga, this film at once goes back to the future. Meaning -- the film wants to go back to the time before Bond is a Double-O agent, but it's set in the present. Cell phones, computers, the Internet (Google)...it's all there. The fact that Bond's been a Double-O for 40+ years is a non-issue. That whole "suspension of disbelief" thing must always accompany the viewing of a Bond film, and for this one, it's more crucial than a tub of popcorn.
Speaking of this film, it has it all -- a slew of yummy women, lots of tension, some eye-popping stunts, and a visceral good vs. bad dichotomy that only James Bond films can present with a straight face, so to speak. This one pits Bond against a Banker-To-The-Terrorists named Le Chiffre in a high-stakes poker game.
Yep, that's the showdown -- a poker game.
Now granted, this isn't the same cavalcade of Riker's Island rejects that you see sitting around a poker table on ESPN2 at 3AM; these people are wearing tuxedos and look like they're respectable members of society. Problem is, one of them's a bad guy.
Okay, so on the surface it seems shallow, even for a Bond film. The thing is, if you accept the fact that this film's premise is less sophisticated than the patent for "Crazy Straw," you'll be fine.
Once you get by that, what you have is a pretty solid film. My main apathy regarding this film, prior to a moment of it even being filmed, was that I think Pierce Brosnan was a perfect James Bond. I'll always regard Sean Connery as THE Bond, but Pierce was really the ideal Bond. He was the most able example of the spy who could withstand a barrage of enemy gunfire, an impending doomsday clock ticking down and the possible destruction of the free world -- and look like the only concern he had was that his hair looked good while he was saving the world from assured annihilation. So when they replaced him -- suddenly -- with Daniel Craig, I was less-than-thrilled.
But the truth is Daniel Craig makes a good Bond. He looks athletic enough to be taken seriously as Bond, and he rarely had more than three consecutive sentences so he was plenty quiet and methodical on-screen, which the post-Roger Moore Bond should assuredly be. And as far as gadgets and goodies, this movie was light on the fluff and the only real toy crucial to the film is the Aston Martin DB-S.
Anyhoo...some points of contention... There's a scene in which 007 flips the Aston Martin during a high-speed car chase. Um...unless the Aston's reaching speeds of 180+, there's almost no way a driver can flip that sucker unless he hits a one-wheel speed-bump (which is probably how the feat was accomplished in the first place). It looks fantastic on-screen -- very dramatic and very cool -- but as someone who's driven cars at high speeds, I can't really get past the fact that it's complete bullshit. For the "here's a better way to have accomplished the same thing," why couldn't the bad guys have planted a land mine or something similar on the road instead of laying out a prone, tied-up Vesper Lynd across the road? I guess drama and excitement bely and defy the rules of physics, natch.
Very cool scene...just wish it was physic-ally possible. Which it most likely isn't.
The other scene was the opener...Bond confronts a rogue/corrupt double-O agent at the film's inception (not quite a fellow agent as this film opens with Bond not yet having attained the famed double-O status himself). The confrontation is very mild-mannered -- for you serious Bond fans, think back to Dr. No where Bond waits in his dark hotel room for the assassin to show himself and then, once his six shots are emptied into what should be Bond's sleeping figure in bed, he closes the bedroom door and puts a bullet into his would-be assassin. So this scene was pretty much a direct rip-off of that Dr. No sequence.
No problem -- I don't mind a lack of originality when it comes to Bond. Tradition and a nod to past glory and all that -- no problem. Problem is -- after the fellow agent aims his pistol at Bond and pulls the trigger to find his gun is empty, Bond shows him the magazine to the weapon and says "I know where you keep your gun." Unfortunately, it's hard to believe an agent who has kill clearance for a secret service (for England or the US or Upper Volta, it doesn't really matter what nation) would holster his/her weapon and not notice there was no magazine or, if there was a magazine, that said magazine was empty. In other words, rather than show your opponent the magazine filled with bullets, better to simply show a handful of bullets and say something similarly clever, like "You should be more careful to make sure you're drawing a loaded weapon." This scene could and should have been a lot more impactful but I kept going back to it because it didn't really work. And considering this was Bond's last pre-Double-O mission should have made the entire thing work properly instead of sorta-kinda-not really.
Overall, this was a pretty solid film. The locations and the photography, as per usual, were better than what you see on National Geographic, the Travel Channel and Discovery HD combined. The characters are, for the most part, somewhat two-dimensional -- another typical Bond staple -- and the acting was at least solid, if not great.
But overall, the main thing I couldn't really get by was the fact that this entire film was based on a showdown between good and evil that takes place at a poker table. Even if a true blue-blood Bond fan like me could get by the comparison of this poker showdown to the impotent, ridiculous video-game showdown between Connery's Bond and Klaus Maria Brandauer in Never Say Never Again, the thing is that there's no spy or agent who would willingly accept an assignment where he has to play poker against the bad guy when -- duh -- the guy is out in the open. Send two burly guys with guns and a little Jewish guy with a warrant, put the bad guy in a cell, inject him with sodium pentathol and you get all the info you need. Why pony up the $15 million for the poker-game buy-in? Why bother with all the bullshit? Toss the full-house tension and get the answers you need (the theoretical point of why this whole poker game was played was to cut off Le Chiffre's financial base -- which in theory was actually his terrorist cronies' money -- and thereby forcing him to cooperate with the British Secret Service/MI6).
Among the other lowlights were the preliminary chase sequence between Bond and some terrorist/arms dealer in an African country. Bond chases a bad guy through a construction site and the guy he's chasing is so lithe and athletic he practically bounces up, around, over and/or through the construction site. In fact he DOES bounce. He swings, he arcs, and he glides through the air. The only thing missing was a tutu or tights, a pair of Capezios and a big bulging turtle shell shielding his camel-toe. And trust me, that would not have made the movie any better.
It just seems to me that if you're a bad guy working for a government (or for a rogue agency within the confines of a government or an African nation) and you're carrying a gun, you're not going all Baryshnikov and channeling the mighty Gazelle as you evade someone wanting to kill you. It makes for interesting chase sequences but it belongs on Broadway or at The Met, not in the middle of a construction site chase sequence in a James Bond film.
The highlights, by the way, were numerous. Judi Dench is always solid, and here, as M, she is spot-on. Eva Green and Jeffrey Wright (as, respectively, Vesper Lynd and Felix Leiter) are both very talented and acquit themselves very well. And Daniel Craig was and is a respectable Bond. I still would prefer Pierce Brosnan as Bond, but now I know how people who voted for John Kerry feel.
Consequently, this film turned out far better for Pierce Brosnan supporters than did the nation after John Kerry's defeat. Then again, that's not saying much.
Incidentally, one thing I noticed about this film was it was inordinately long (it took longer to watch this film than read this critique thereof). Clocking in over two hours (where most modern films rarely exceed 95 minutes) says a lot. But whereas quality films like "Goodfellas" clock in at well over two (and sometimes three) hours, this film kept going and twice I caught myself wondering "When is this thing going to end?"
Truth be told, this was a solid first outing and I'm glad I saw it, and considering the high-def quality of the print (not to mention the sound and the visual effects), it was pretty impressive. I just wish they'd thought this through a bit more thoroughly, and I hope the next film winds up showing evidence of thought that results in a better product on-screen and less excitement, bullshit and politics off-screen.
Monday, March 24, 2008
And Then You See This...
Some of the concepts, ideas and thoughts tossed around in these pages are sometimes regarded as highbrow, elitist, and/or sophisticated in nature. That isn't to say that I am any of those things -- especially sophisticated -- but some of these aforementioned concepts refer to self-determination, the contemplation of the individual's role within modern society, and the difficulties inherent within a world defined by more than one world religion and the willingness of each, if not both, to fight until the other is no more. Throw in the increasing proliferation of technology and nuclear material and the tenuous balance that was struck sometime in the mid- to late-80's has slowly unraveled, not merely evidenced by 9/11 but every day since.
However, after one manages to make it through the Big Politics pages -- the internation section, where we read about new US soldiers killed in Iraq, where we read about Hamas continuing its efforts to destabilize the so-called Peace Process, where we read about President Chavez's latest efforts to entertain the world through his bucket-headed diplomacy -- we deign to review the local sections and read about our fellow man. We read articles like this.
First and foremost, anytime one comes across a story like this, it can't help but leave some sort of scar on the soul. Reading about man's inhumanity to man, at least to me, never fails to repulse. As I get older -- and I suspect this applies to most -- it takes more to repulse me. Of course, the above-linked article was far more than sufficient.
The fact that children were participating in this disgusting exercise in the first place doesn't anger me as much as it reminds us of the bumper-sticker wisdom of the cliche "Stupid people raise stupid children." Frankly, I don't know much about Alton, Illinois (except for an episode of "Good Eats" when host Alton Brown visited that particular town strictly based on its name, natch). However, this type of incident, I am certain, could occur anywhere there are cruel, inhuman, pathetic, unworthy human beings -- if one is to refer to the perpetrators as such -- and geography, citizenship, nationality and/or ethnicity draw no boundaries around such behavior, cruelty or despicable, inhuman activity.
In an interesting parallel to the "Movies You Never Saw" piece which appeared herein within the past week, in the movie "Thank You For Smoking," William H. Macy as a senator from Vermont asks Aaron Eckhart, Big Tobacco's most gifted lobbyist, about how he'll react when/if the latter's son turns 18 and decides to smoke cigarettes. His response was "If he decides he wants to smoke, I'll buy him his first pack." The assembly groans, and his response is "Look, there's no point in putting a poison label on cigarettes. Everyone knows they're dangerous, so labeling them, at this point, is ludicrous. It's not about labels, it's about education. If I've done my job as a parent, then my son will not be interested in smoking cigarettes. It's my job as his father to look after his well-being, not a label or a Senator or the government." I've taken some liberty vis-a-vis paraphrasing here, but I believe my rendition of same is accurate. If you'd prefer, visit Drew's Script-O-Rama and read through the script yourself.
Now, while comparing these examples -- one absolutely real and the other completely fictional -- to one another isn't quite appropriate. My point in doing so is this: this type of behavior is a by-product of stupid, inhuman people. The children involved in this incident -- younger than 18 years of age categorizes them as such -- will not grow up to be compassionate, caring people. They will grow up as felons, a product of the penal system. They will not be products of intelligent, compassionate people. That isn't necessarily a fair statement, by the way; intelligence and compassion are not mutually exclusive. However, the adults within the construct of this particular situation are neither intelligent nor compassionate. And their behavior -- cruel, despicable, repulsive, downright inhuman -- merit equally repulsive treatment by the penal system.
On some level, should one even question why this type of behavior occurs? Exceeding the speed limit by, say, three miles an hour is a violation of the law, but at some point we as a society move past the violation of law and into another realm entirely, which is the violation of human behavior. Running into a bank with a gun and stealing money because a desperate man or woman has no food with which to feed his family is one thing; shooting someone merely for entertainment or as a result of the power that comes with the wielding of a gun is another.
So in this particular situation, treating a mentally-disabled woman -- a woman who was carrying a child, inexplicably -- as a human being never occurred to these individuals. Stealing her state benefits was not sufficient.
They threw things at her for entertainment. They poured chemicals on her which burned her skin, sometimes to the bone.
They fired bb guns in her direction.
They forced her to eat little or nothing. They fed her less frequently than most people feed their family dog.
They took her clothes from her and, in doing so, they robbed her of her dignity.
And by continuing to do these things to this woman -- this human being -- they let her die. Naked, hungry, alone and as less-than-human.
It seems to me that we as a society and as a world need to focus less on legislating proper behavior, policing our language and not violating each other's "civil" rights and more on actually being human beings and educating our children accordingly. It's easier to laugh, denigrate or attack that which is different from us, but while the post-Imus world chides people for referring to black people -- some black, some white -- by the word "nigger," why is it that we worry more about the use of that word and less about its cause, or, even more importantly, its effect? How can a word -- nigger -- be so awful that we refer to it as the "N" word and yet hear its intended recipients use it without a moment's thought or after-thought? The hypocrisy is deafening in its silence. Why do we worry more about some scraggly, aged white man using that word -- or a similar one -- and ignore its use by young urban black men in entertainment and their every-day lives?
It's not about behavior or proper, appropriate conformation to rules and ascribed beliefs. It's about treating each other with dignity and respect, as human beings, and not needing laws or rules or guidelines as to how to go about doing that.
This incident shows (sic) just how far we've come -- and, more appropriately, just how far we have yet to go.
However, after one manages to make it through the Big Politics pages -- the internation section, where we read about new US soldiers killed in Iraq, where we read about Hamas continuing its efforts to destabilize the so-called Peace Process, where we read about President Chavez's latest efforts to entertain the world through his bucket-headed diplomacy -- we deign to review the local sections and read about our fellow man. We read articles like this.
First and foremost, anytime one comes across a story like this, it can't help but leave some sort of scar on the soul. Reading about man's inhumanity to man, at least to me, never fails to repulse. As I get older -- and I suspect this applies to most -- it takes more to repulse me. Of course, the above-linked article was far more than sufficient.
The fact that children were participating in this disgusting exercise in the first place doesn't anger me as much as it reminds us of the bumper-sticker wisdom of the cliche "Stupid people raise stupid children." Frankly, I don't know much about Alton, Illinois (except for an episode of "Good Eats" when host Alton Brown visited that particular town strictly based on its name, natch). However, this type of incident, I am certain, could occur anywhere there are cruel, inhuman, pathetic, unworthy human beings -- if one is to refer to the perpetrators as such -- and geography, citizenship, nationality and/or ethnicity draw no boundaries around such behavior, cruelty or despicable, inhuman activity.
In an interesting parallel to the "Movies You Never Saw" piece which appeared herein within the past week, in the movie "Thank You For Smoking," William H. Macy as a senator from Vermont asks Aaron Eckhart, Big Tobacco's most gifted lobbyist, about how he'll react when/if the latter's son turns 18 and decides to smoke cigarettes. His response was "If he decides he wants to smoke, I'll buy him his first pack." The assembly groans, and his response is "Look, there's no point in putting a poison label on cigarettes. Everyone knows they're dangerous, so labeling them, at this point, is ludicrous. It's not about labels, it's about education. If I've done my job as a parent, then my son will not be interested in smoking cigarettes. It's my job as his father to look after his well-being, not a label or a Senator or the government." I've taken some liberty vis-a-vis paraphrasing here, but I believe my rendition of same is accurate. If you'd prefer, visit Drew's Script-O-Rama and read through the script yourself.
Now, while comparing these examples -- one absolutely real and the other completely fictional -- to one another isn't quite appropriate. My point in doing so is this: this type of behavior is a by-product of stupid, inhuman people. The children involved in this incident -- younger than 18 years of age categorizes them as such -- will not grow up to be compassionate, caring people. They will grow up as felons, a product of the penal system. They will not be products of intelligent, compassionate people. That isn't necessarily a fair statement, by the way; intelligence and compassion are not mutually exclusive. However, the adults within the construct of this particular situation are neither intelligent nor compassionate. And their behavior -- cruel, despicable, repulsive, downright inhuman -- merit equally repulsive treatment by the penal system.
On some level, should one even question why this type of behavior occurs? Exceeding the speed limit by, say, three miles an hour is a violation of the law, but at some point we as a society move past the violation of law and into another realm entirely, which is the violation of human behavior. Running into a bank with a gun and stealing money because a desperate man or woman has no food with which to feed his family is one thing; shooting someone merely for entertainment or as a result of the power that comes with the wielding of a gun is another.
So in this particular situation, treating a mentally-disabled woman -- a woman who was carrying a child, inexplicably -- as a human being never occurred to these individuals. Stealing her state benefits was not sufficient.
They threw things at her for entertainment. They poured chemicals on her which burned her skin, sometimes to the bone.
They fired bb guns in her direction.
They forced her to eat little or nothing. They fed her less frequently than most people feed their family dog.
They took her clothes from her and, in doing so, they robbed her of her dignity.
And by continuing to do these things to this woman -- this human being -- they let her die. Naked, hungry, alone and as less-than-human.
It seems to me that we as a society and as a world need to focus less on legislating proper behavior, policing our language and not violating each other's "civil" rights and more on actually being human beings and educating our children accordingly. It's easier to laugh, denigrate or attack that which is different from us, but while the post-Imus world chides people for referring to black people -- some black, some white -- by the word "nigger," why is it that we worry more about the use of that word and less about its cause, or, even more importantly, its effect? How can a word -- nigger -- be so awful that we refer to it as the "N" word and yet hear its intended recipients use it without a moment's thought or after-thought? The hypocrisy is deafening in its silence. Why do we worry more about some scraggly, aged white man using that word -- or a similar one -- and ignore its use by young urban black men in entertainment and their every-day lives?
It's not about behavior or proper, appropriate conformation to rules and ascribed beliefs. It's about treating each other with dignity and respect, as human beings, and not needing laws or rules or guidelines as to how to go about doing that.
This incident shows (sic) just how far we've come -- and, more appropriately, just how far we have yet to go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
