Low cloud moving cross the sky

It’s good to know on a cloudy day that the sun is still up there shining.

And no George Clooney, either

I won’t go into any details*, but let me just say that I spent over six hours in the emergency room last Wednesday, and it was no fun at all. Remind me not to complain about car troubles again—medical troubles are far, far more nerve-racking! But all is well, nothing to report, I am a paragon of health. Bring on the leftover pumpkin pie and order me another four-day weekend, stat.

*Okay, if you want a little detail, you can read this.

Showdown at the Woodley Cafe

The night was dark. I was slouching through town, feeling unfamiliar in a crowd of strangers, trying to forget myself amid the crush trying to get noticed. I needed a stiff drink, there was definitely a stiff drink out there who was head over heels for me, and I knew there had to be a place where we could get acquainted. I walked into the nearest bar ’cause the farthest one was too many steps away.

Then I saw them, three goons that weren’t looking for trouble because trouble had heard they were looking and skipped town on the next Chinatown bus. That was trouble’s mistake, because everybody knows the Chinatown bus is as likely to leave you by the side of the road with your luggage on fire and soaked with antifreeze as drop you on a stinking street corner with a chopstick up your nose and a wonton up your ass. But never mind that. Back to the goons. It was like the Dating Game in one of Chuck Barris’s cocaine-fueled fever dreams: Bachelor #1 was probably the one they called the Kid, his innocent face all smiles after beating the latest murder rap with the help of a few guys named Ben Franklin. Bachelor #2 looked like he dug his bivouac next door to the Unabomber and made his own moccasins out of Ted Nugent’s hide. And Bachelor #3, well, he was the softspoken one, which means he might ask your opinion of Freddy Adu but shiv you even if he agreed with your take on the kid. I knew I should have kept on walking past that dive but then I caught their eye and it was too late to leave early.

The Shiv gestured to a seat next to him and I had to sit down. At that moment the waitron cashed in her years of training and asked for drink orders.

“What Scotch do you have?” the Shiv asked, and I hoped for my own sake she had whatever swill he was hoping to swig.

“We got Jack Daniels,” she responded, and then I knew it was all over for her and me both.

Then the Kid leaned forward. “They say you got quite an arm.”

“Do they,” I responded, playing it cool. If things went my way I might have a chance at getting out of there without it being feet first. “I wonder if they know what they’re talking about.”

Unabomber looked up from his half-sized glass of beer. I wondered if I was dressed as Dorothy because that bar was sure starting to look like Oz. “You see this nose?” He pulled a giant plastic nose out of his pocket and slammed it on the table.

Now I knew I was in crazytown but I thought it best not to point that out to the natives. “Yeah, I see that nose.”

“You beat the Kid at arm-wrestling, you get the nose. You lose, Shiv here gets yours.”

“Simple proposition,” I remarked. It might have confused the teetotaling waitron but it was crystal clear to me. “Let’s go for it.”

I clasped hands with the Kid and we planted our elbows on the table. At first, he was holding back on me, I could tell, letting me wear myself out early and then he could swoop in for the kill. So I kept it low-key, not showing off, knowing that the longer it went the more likely I would keep one of my favorite facial features. Actually, who am I kidding, I’m not a huge fan of my nose but I wasn’t ready to give it up for adoption to that bunch of jokers.

Time was ticking by and the Kid was looking a little less confident. I didn’t have him yet, though. I just kept my eyes on that nose and hoped that my arm didn’t leg out. At last I saw him start to crumble like Big Dig concrete, and finally I banged his arm to the table harder than Woody Hayes punched out Charlie Bauman in the Gator Bowl.

For a minute it was quieter than a room full of people sleeping through Elvis Costello’s North. Then I stood up, picked up the nose, and gave a salute. I figured I’d hit the road before their patience ran thin like Gene Keady’s combover. “Here’s to otolaryngology,” I said, picking up my drink and draining it in one shot.

That was one hell of a night in Washington, D.C.

Notes: cross-posted to Costello-l; visit here for a couple more pics!

Movie review: The Prestige

It’s been a long time since I went to a movie and walked out immediately wanting to see it again. (Maybe Kung Fu Hustle?) This was one of them. I’m not going to go into plot details, because there are a lot of surprises and I don’t want to spoil any of it. But I will tell you that this was one of the best constructed plots I’ve seen, every performance was excellent (due to my various biases I’m obliged to spend a whole paragraph later on one particular actor; see below for that), and there wasn’t a single moment where I looked at my watch. I also ended up thinking about it for the rest of the weekend, which is rare because I often slip into an irrational funk after seeing movies.

(By the way, over here I promised Frantix at some point that I’d deliver my verdict on The Departed, but in truth I was so lukewarm about that movie that I couldn’t really motivate myself to write a review. That is review enough, I think. Well, while I’m on the subject, I’ll just say that the performances were excellent, but the plot was botched in the last quarter of the movie and therefore I was terribly disappointed. Leo deserves Oscar consideration, though.)

In a rare girly moment for me, I must confess that this movie led me to believe that the best job in the world is probably designing costumes, and this film was a showcase for some great ones. There’s nothing like the Victorian era for waistcoats, ascots, corsets, and hats of various shapes and sizes. I wonder what the line-item in the budget was for top hats, for example. Christian Bale should be firing his agent, because he got majorly shortchanged by being stuck in prison greys for a large portion of the proceedings. I also loved the set dressing. Can you imagine being in charge of something so major, in that everything you do is on display and captured forever on film, but so minor, in that few people probably ever notice the vases on the shelf behind a character while he’s talking? It’s kind of mind-blowing when you think about it.

And now, the promised/threatened paragraph on Hugh Jackman. The first thing to say is that he has appeared in some of the most awful flicks that have ever been imposed on humanity (here of course I’m talking about Swordfish and Van Helsing, yikes). The next thing to say is that I’m nonetheless incredibly biased in his favor because of the X-Men movies. (That’s 1 and 2; let’s imagine that 3 was scrapped after Bryan Singer left.) But after that full disclosure I think it’s safe to report that the dude can act. Even in some very tense emotional scenes, he really pulled it off. Look, I got through almost the whole paragraph without mentioning that there is a shirtless scene (insert fangirl swoon here).

But I’m tiptoeing around the major points of discussion because I want you to see the damn movie, not read my effusive ramblings on it. Go. Go, already, if only so I can discuss the plot with you afterwards. And buy an extra ticket for me so I can go again.

Drop the thesaurus, pal

That word doesn’t mean what they think it means.

Wow

So the Democrats actually managed to do it. I’m amazed, surprised. When I went to bed on Tuesday night they were calling the House for the Dems, but it didn’t look like the Senate was going to happen. And that seemed to be confirmed on Wednesday, when the two states without a firm result turned out to be Montana and Virginia. I knew better than to think of Virginia as a blue state, after growing up there. But it actually happened! The change I’ll be happiest to see is one that seems minor, but could very well have a huge impact: now that each party controls a branch of government, I expect the media to stop playing GOP lapdog and give the Democrats the voice that they’ve been denied for the last six years. With Democrats controlling committees, they’ll regain some control of what the media reports. What a relief that will be after watching the media treat every despicable piece of GOP spin like actual news.

The other result that is close to my heart is in South Dakota. If voters in one of the most conservative corners of the country can vote down an anti-abortion law, then I can truly believe that this country leans pro-choice. Perhaps that’s asking for too little, but at this point even the smallest hint of affirmation means a lot. Way to go, South Dakotans!

Blogger says: no birthday for you!

My post wishing Sashe a happy birthday, posted on the exact day and everything, has just disappeared. I have just spent the last half hour saving all my damn posts, in case the whole thing goes up in smoke someday. Fellow bloggers, if you have any interest in posterity, I guess this proves you don’t leave it up to Blogspot.

Autumn almanac

Thought I’d share the pics I took this past Sunday on a bike ride. This first one is looking downstream at the Charles River, with the Prudential Center visible in the center.

Thanks to the lovely and talented Erin giving us windproof vests, 45F is not too cold to go cycling, for the record! And thanks to the National Weather Service’s wind chill index, I can confirm that when you’re riding 20 mph in 40 degree weather, it feels like it’s below freezing. Hardcore, baby.

This is the Weeks Footbridge looking downstream, with both the Hancock tower and the Pru visible in between the yoogly concrete high-rises.


And the third pic is looking upstream at the same bridge.

For once, the Luddites are right

I’ve had my head down for the last few days trying to keep the workload at bay, but I thought I’d pop in long enough to comment that America is doomed. Of course I’m talking about electronic voting machines, which are not even a good idea in theory (does no one see the crucial need for an actual paper trail?) and a total nightmare in practice. I direct you to Ars Technica and Time magazine for hair-raising discussion.

I also have been gritting my teeth and scrunching my eyes shut over all the hoopla about the Republicans supposedly losing their grip on power—not because I wouldn’t want to see it happen, but because indulging in any exuberance before the actual results come in is, well, irrational. It’ll be bad enough if the supposed rout doesn’t happen, I don’t want to compound the pain by feeling giddy and expectant for this next week. Would anyone care to join me in this soundproof room?

Finn newz

This is rapidly becoming unbalanced in favor of Finn things, but anyway I just found Tim’s blog on MySpace. It’s kind of funny to see him writing on that site, it just seems like such a breathless teen hangout with all the emoticons, but hey, what do I know. I also am a little unsure of that first single, which seems excessively happy. (Watch the vid on YouTube) I’m going to have to offset it by listening to Nine Inch Nails or something.

I also heard that Neil’s finished recording his album at Real World in the UK—I’m just glad it isn’t taking him six years to do it, as it always does for the most habitual denizen of Real World.

OMG Neil r0x0rs!!1!!
Current mood: abliquafregious

Wheels on fire

The old Civic has had two incidents of running hot in the last four months, both of which seemed to be fixed by throwing money at it. But it did it again today. It already has a new radiator and a new thermostat—unfortunately the next thing to consider is damn expensive (head gasket). Maybe it’s time to buy a new car this weekend. Ten years and 164,000 miles is a good run for a car, isn’t it? But... I am so not in the mood to deal with car-buying schmack. And the new Civics are so damn ugly.

Newspaper reporters spoiling all the fun

Because TJ was scarred by watching Midnight Oil jump around in dorky coveralls, here’s a far more stylish video from Tim Finn.

Soup du jour

• Happy Birthday to Anne and Judy!


• Only two more days until the Fantasy NBA draft, and I am completely without inspiration. All I know is, I don’t care how high Kobe is ranked, I’m not picking his ass.


• I feel like my head is carrying around 100 good ideas but I can’t get a single one down on paper (or screen).


• Here is a very good picture to look at when feeling frustrated.


• In another rock and roll moment, Midnight Oil tried to burn down Alan Thicke’s talk show in 1984. Am I the only person who remembers Alan Thicke?

How soon one forgets the sticky floors

Tonight Steve and I were driving by Newbury Comics, and it launched a series of memories of seeing Neil Finn do an in-store performancethere, and the concert at the Paradise later that night, and it snowballed into recalling all the Finn-related concerts we’d seen here: that Paradise show in summer of 2002, one at Avalon the following February of 2003, and then the Finn Brothers in 2004 and 2005. It’s about time to have another visit, I think! But the Paradise one might always be the best to me. The venue is so small, the farthest away you can get from the stage is probably 20 feet. Even the annoying chick in front of me trying to push backwards the whole time couldn’t bring me down. Ah, GA shows are to love, and to hate.

There’s something so special about knowing that the guy standing in front of you on the stage came from the other side of the world and is probably losing money on the tour because he had to fly all his gear, but dammit, he’s in front of me right now playing his heart out. And Neil’s stage persona is half perfectionist, half laid-back dude screwing around. I don’t know how to explain it; it makes for the best shows. I love seeing Elvis Costello live, but not as much, because the venues are always large and so much more impersonal. Plus, 70% of the people are there to hear the hits, or discuss stock trades, and don’t really give a damn. At Finn shows that bunch of jackasses is closer to 10% or less of the crowd, I’d say.

In April 2001 Neil played several shows in NZ with a bunch of musician friends, and it was broadcast over the web. I was glued to the computer and that tiny, grainy window onto something that was happening thousands of miles away. I snapped the screenshot you see here; more are available at somethingsofinn.com (follow the left sidebar: Neil Finn > Live Shows > 2000-2003, scroll down to 6 April 2001). That experience is yet another reason why I can say, with a minimum of irony and cynicism, that the Internet changed everything. For the better.

How long til the next tour, Neil?

Cleanliness is next to craziness

So I’ve been spending my Columbus Day hanging out at home, cleaning various things around the house. My hopelessly overstuffed email inbox, the bathtub, the kitchen counters—hell, I just dusted the toaster, for heaven’s sake. And since cleaning doesn’t require much brainpower, I’ve been pondering whether or not spending time dusting my toaster means I’m crazy.

I’m reminded of the scene in Sex, Lies, and Videotape when Andie MacDowell’s character is seen scrubbing various surfaces in her kitchen, obsessively shining the faucet on the sink. Clearly this is a shorthand way of explicating her inner turmoil: she tries to restore precise order and cleanliness to the outside world as her inner world is being buried under giant dust bunnies and growing various species of mildew. So whenever I put on the rubber gloves (whose package always has a well-manicured smiling woman on it—shouldn’t it show a person, lightheaded from bleach fumes, trying not to hurl while clearing out the shower drain?) I start thinking about being crazy.

Am I crazy? I would much rather have things clean than dirty. I sincerely wish my whole house were a giant dishwasher-like device whereby I could walk outside, flip a giant lever, and come back in an hour to a sparkling, steamy, and well-nigh sterile environment. Although, think of the water bill. Then again, no one could accuse me of being obsessively clean. I’d rather wait until things get really dusty or dirty and then it’s so much more satisfying to see their transformation back into shiny things you might actually want to touch or walk on or whatever. That seems like a reasonable desire to have in one’s life. If I weren’t overwhelmed by liberal guilt at the thought, I might even pay someone to clean things for me once in a while, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ponder my possible state of insanity. So perhaps my behavior fails the crazy test, where I ask myself whether it’s affecting my life to the point where other people notice, or it harms my relationships, or I find myself curled into a fetal position when I realize that the mold on the bathroom ceiling spells CHENEY/HANNITY 2008. If that’s crazy, then I suppose the whole world is right there with me, and thus the asylum has become the whole world.

Have you ever noticed how much dust accumulates on desk chairs? It’s downright frightening. Remind me not to look down while I’m writing these posts.

Paging Stevie Wonder

I wish I had another person on my staff so I didn’t have to do the work of two people.
I wish Al Gore had been inaugurated in January 2001.
I wish JetBlue flew to WAS and not just IAD.
I wish the zipper on my briefcase wasn’t broken.
I wish the workweek was only four days long.
I wish all of my peeps still lived in the area.
I wish difficult decisions were more easily made.
I wish the people who live above me would stop stomping everywhere they walk (how do they not have shin splints by now??).
I wish X3 hadn’t sucked so much.
I wish people did what was asked of them occasionally, and not just what they felt like doing.
I wish politics in this country weren’t so mean-spirited and partisan.
I wish I had more time to be creative.
I wish I had a more cheerful blog entry to foist upon my dear readers!

Snorklewacker on Wheels

This morning—which was a Sunday, I might add—Swami and I got up at 6:30 to make it downtown in time for the Hub on Wheels ride. It’s a charity bike ride that starts at City Hall Plaza and tours the Emerald Necklace parks and cemeteries: Fenway, Jamaica Pond, Arnold Arboretum, Franklin Park, Forest Hills Cemetery, and the Neponset River. Then the ride swings up along the coast and back to City Hall.

It was a blast! We took the 30-mile loop (the longest route was 40) and managed to avoid crashing into any of the thousand other riders who were out there. Support was great: cops at every intersection, snack stops, and arrows indicating the route. (This was a real pleasure here in the town with virtually no street signs.) There was a blue heron near Longwood, standing in a stream and staring at all of the people crazy enough to go cycling at the crack of dawn in iffy weather; lots of patient motorists waiting for us to pass by (and of course a few impatient ones); the completely impressive JFK Library, which I had never seen before, much less cycled by; a Navy ship in drydock; and incredible views of Boston and the harbor from several angles. Sorry I don’t have pics, though, because it was a little too wet to risk the camera.

The only question mark was, as I mentioned, the iffy weather. It showered on and off on us a few times, and it wasn’t anything close to warm, but at least the real rain held off until after. (And then it freaking poured.) But next year, I gotta try for the full 40 miles. Hm, this is turning into a cycling blog, isn’t it?

Dancing out with the moonlit knight

My undying gratitude goes to Brent for sending me a link to this video on YouTube:


Even with my overdeveloped sense of irony, I can’t resist loving early Genesis. But I won’t blame the rest of you for giggling through the vid, especially if you make it to the part where Peter Gabriel starts playing the flute. Knights of the Green Shield stamp and shout!

This week in WTF-land

Okay cats and kittens, here’s the latest list of things that are irking my jive.

Location, location—what was the third thing again?
My place of employment is engaged in a half-hearted (and half-witted) attempt to relocate from the place it’s been for the entire 33 years of its existence. The current prospects are: 1) a lovely, spacious, modern building in the heart of the Square that’s close to all kinds of stuff and actually has room for everyone on staff; or 2) a cockeyed, ramshackle dog of a building that is about 40% of our current size and perhaps 20% as charming—if you keep one eye closed and a bottle of vodka handy. But the hard fact here is that option 1 isn’t even a true prospect, because there’s no money to pay the lease that would come with it. I wish I’d never seen it in the first place, just to have my hopes raised and then summarily squashed flatter than hammered shit. And to the university whose name we bear, I ask: Where is the love, comrades? How about offering us a space that’s larger than Khrushchev’s shoe?

PeopleSoft and Safari: Can’t we all just get along?
So I’ve never been able to access PeopleSoft with Safari, for no damn good reason. Now I get a memo stating that as of next week, PeopleSoft will no longer work with Internet Explorer. They claim it’ll work with Safari, but then they reveal that it’ll work only with Safari 2.0. Which I don’t have. Which I’d have to buy Tiger to get. Can someone remind these chuckleheads that the whole point of web-based interfaces is a little concept called interoperability? Platform-freaking-independence? Land of the free and home of Steve Jobs? Ah, never mind, I didn’t want to view my paycheck anyway.

Expletives available upon request
It’s been almost a year since I left my last post and moved “up” to manager, and my former position is still vacant. One year doing the work of two people. At this point I’m tempted to tie the Chicago Manual of Style around my ankles and jump into the Charles. And why, why are there no scholars/authors who know how to properly construct a bibliography? I know, it’s esoteric knowledge, but at least pretend you care. Maybe spell “USSR,” or Stalin’s first name, correctly once in a while.

Happy Birthday, Kaskasero

I know it’s almost over where you are, but here in EDT it’s just getting started. I hope your day has been bitchin! Have a big plate of calamari tempura on me.