May 2009 Archives

It's Frobuary 2, YOMHC 0x42!

i guess it's what i asked for. i look kinda goofy but it makes me look taller/thinner so i guess that's the tradeoff.

i saw the new star trek. spoilers follow.

i liked it, and i liked it a lot.

i had not seen any trailers, i didn't follow any of the pre-production stuff, or anything. i read a couple threads on slashdot before and after.

the dorks on slashdot make a lot of noise about how it's unfaithful to roddenberry's vision, and there are giant plot holes, and how it makes no sense that kirk gets command of the flagship at so young an age, and it doesn't make sense how stupid the romulans are, or how lame the villain is, and so on. all wonderfully valid points, but...

the movie was great. it was fun. it was engaging. i laughed out loud when "sabotage" burst out of the theater's speakers. whooooooeeeee! jj abrams was making this movie just for me. hops nudged me and said: that guy's dressed in red, he's going to die. sure enough, he did. ha!

when chekov opened his mouth and spilled out the most outrageous russian fake accent ever: ha ha ha!

the movie was alive. not stiff and boring and stillborn like all the TNG movies we've had to suffer through. it's the inheritor of STIV, my favorite of the movies. it's not about science, it's not even about fiction. it's about fans getting to spend a couple hours with people they love, kirk and spock. and though the new spock isn't really spock, fascinatingly, the new kirk is kirk, in spades. the closing shot of him on the enterprise bridge, his posture, his grin, all shatner. his swagger throughout the movie, his anger, his aggression -- kirk!

people whine about the "reboot" of the film, that now jj has erased all the "canon" of trek. who cares? trek had written itself into a corner and all we were getting was crap.

for example, the scene in "nemesis" where inexplicably picard rides around in a dune buggy. okay, sure, there were comparable inexplicable action scenes in this trek, but the point is in this trek they worked. the picard trek was so wrapped up in old-dude stodginess that such a seen seems forced and out of place. when kirk is running unecessarily away from an ever-increasing slew of monsters on some hoth-like ice world, it's silly, and pointless, and hilariously fun. and it's not in the least bit forced.

the original trek certainly was about ideas, and that's often what made episodes so painfully bad. likewise with the first two seasons of TNG. episodes that are so embarassingly unwatchable precisely because they were faithful to gene's vision of a hippie future of peace and love.

we got 4 excellent seasons of TNG to explore these themes, and about the same number of excellent DS9 seasons. but the movies -- the good ones, the ones with kirk and spock that weren't directed by shatner, weren't about gene's vision so much as nostalgic time spent with old friends.

and that's what the new trek does so brilliantly well (and what everyone on slashdot misses). the old guard of trek, the hippie vision of gene, the moral conundrum speechifying by picard, the kill now agonize later speecifying of ds9 -- those have had their run. the trek movies are about the fond memories, and in-jokes, explosions, and kirk grinning, swaggering, and kicking the shit out of bad aliens.

and this movie has all that, and the fans, and the non-fans, and everyone except my mother is loving it.

socrates never left athens.

"I'm waiting again," I said.

"The hell you are," said Victor, "your beer's right in front of you."

"You know what I mean," I said. I leaned back in to the booth, at the same time extending my arm, far, far out form my shoulder, stretching my reach much farther than it should have gone, to grasp the handle of my stein, and bring my beer back to my lips.

"I've found my way back into my rut," I said. "I thought I was done with ruts."

"You'll never be done with ruts," said Victor. "Ruts are what define you."

"I suppose that's true," I said.

"You don't need to suppose it," said Victor, "I'm telling you."

"Yeah, you're telling me. I get into ruts so I can regulate and dispense with the day-to-day crap of getting by. So I can ignore the sleeping, and the eating, and the working, and get on with the living. Focus on the stuff that really matters in the long term."

"Matters?" said Victor. "What do you mean matters?"

'You know," I said. "Matters."

"You mean the stuff that will make your life worthwhile?"

"Yeah," I said. "The stuff that matters."

"I've been wondering," said Victor. "I've been wondering about the stuff that matters. What if the sleeping, the eating, and the working is the stuff that matters?"

I took another sip of my beer and said nothing. I'd been wondering the same thing, myself. Well, maybe not in those terms. No, as a matter of fact, not at all in those terms. Victor had suggested a possibility of meaning -- he'd identified something that mattered, whereas I... me, I'd come up with nothing. I didn't wonder whether the quotidian stuff was what mattered, I worried instead that nothing mattered.

I'd consumed a little too much nihilist art, I think. Seen one too many nihilist movies, read one too many nihilist screeds. In the end, nothing matters, and since the now is just a step on the road to the end, nothing mattered now, either. And if it didn't matter, whether it was the product of the rut, or the rut itself, what purpose was there in doing it?

"Have you ever seen Solaris?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Victor.

"The Russian one?" I asked.

"No," said Victor. "The Clooney one."

"Yeah, they're both good," I said, "but the Russian one troubled me more. At the end of it, I thought that the hero had decided that a fantasy life -- a life separate and distinct from the utterly real -- was preferable to real life. In his real life, he didn't love his wife. It was only when she was a facsimile that he began to love her."

Victor said nothing, but stared back into me. I continued.

"The movie ended without answering any questions, without happiness or peace of mind or even continuity for the characters. And it made me wonder: what's the point of it all?"

"The movie?" asked Victor.

"Yeah, the movie, and life itself -- as it's portrayed in the movie. So pointless, and unmoving, and seemingly endless. And we travel through it without knowing what we want until it's gone."

"Or you do, at least."

"Yeah, maybe it's just me. Just me and Tartovsky."

"Or just you. Just because Tartovsky filmed it doesn't mean he felt it."

"But that's my point, see," I said. "What's the point of a film like that? Or a nihilist screed? Art is supposed to take me someplace, to transport me to another man's reality. I'm supposed to visit a foreign mindscape. Why must it be one that is devoid of meaning, lacking any comforting illusion of order and purpose? Don't I get enough of that in my own reality?"

"Maybe," said Victor, "such art is calibrated for people who don't get so much of it in reality."

"Maybe," I said. "But it's so self-reinforcing! Nihilist art only reinforces itself. Unless I can refute it -- that is to say, unless it has been a total failure in exposing reality -- all it can do is serve as a downer. As a downer, it makes me reflect more on the pointlessness of life, and the more I reflect on that, the less likely I am to make any positive changes, or bother to try to change the world -- and the more nihilistic life itself becomes."

"That's like... uh... cosmic, man," said Victor.

"Don't I know it," I said. "And that's why I'm still waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"I don't know," I said. "But it's coming. And it's big. And I can't do anything until it arrives. I have to hold perfectly still, to prepare, or things won't be right and it won't arrive."

"I know exactly what you mean," said Victor.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. "My beer's totally empty, and I've been waiting this whole time for a refill."

in addition to all these monkey farming snakes on this mother loving plane, i'm sick and tired of fitness testimonials that go on and on about how sore the trainee became the day after their workout, or, worse, on their way home.

look, jagovs, welcome to saint toad's personal training center. you come over to my place and i will hit you repeatedly in the face with a bottle of fortified wine. just to show that i'm an attentive trainer, i will tailor the workout specifically to you: if i like you, you'll get the niepoort, and if i don't like you, you get the taylor fladgate. if you're really lucky, you'll get the don fino, which is empty.

i guarantee that you will be very, very sore the next day.

only $500/hr, sign up now, space is limited.

i just realized, i have two languishing facebook friend requests that i'm not going to accept. they've been stewing there for months because i don't know how to delete them. that's not the funny part.

this is: one's from avi, the other's from ravi.

har de har de haw har!

the russian one:
+ moody
+ engrossing
+ have only seen once, with multiple interruptions
- hairy legs on the dead woman
+ floating candles
+ no answers

the clooney one:
+ clooney
+ mcelhone
+ soundtrack
+ color palette
+ skinny guy with the beard, yeah, mm, yeah? ok?
- omg twist at end!
- some answers
+ saw with mom, mom hated it even though it had clooney.

(CONTENTS DELETED, ARGH.)

they've got this wonderful show, "world have your say," where they bring on some guests, choose a topic, and open up the phone lines for people all over hte world to prove that people all over hte world are stupid, and that stupidity is not confined to any particular continent or ethnic group.

today's topic was assisted suicide. one guest was australia's own doctor death. for the opposition, they had an australian "right to life group". now, intolerant and closed minded as i am, i had no need to hear the actual discussion so i went and took a shower while they talked. the very fact that the anti-euthanasia group had "right to life" in their name told me everything i needed to know. the notion that by the time i reach a cancerous old age, i am incapable of deciding to cede my "right to life" is not only offensively presumptuous, but also just plain grammatically false. the (arguably false) notion of "rights" exists to protect those who cannot protect themselves, but if i, in full possession of what small faculties i have, cannot choose between ending and continuing my life, i never had any "rights" to my life in the first place.

in any case, that wasn't the best part.

some dude from africa called up and said that when his parents died, his grandmother survived them, and the local superstitions interpreted these events as his grandmother putting a curse on them and killing them, using her midichlorians or something. it was hard to sort out the details (the host had to ask for clarification of his point), but i think he was using this to argue against assisted suicide. or for. does it make any difference? he was surrounded by people who honestly believe that when someone outlives their children, it's because they've personally killed them with their magic schwartz ring.

all righty then.

anyhow, it's both infuriating and sad, and it's often how i start my day -- getting riled up about overseas idiots spouting off on the beeb. i guess it's good in the sense it shows i still care about stuff.

for the past couple of days, a sharp, pungent stench has been hovering around the vanity/bathroom area of my apt. the first time i smelled it i had just been for a run and thought i was smelling my sweaty self. but the next day i smelt it when i got out of the shower.

today, while sitting on my thinking chair, i realized: right next to my feet was a homemade woven animal hair bathmat. i picked it up and sniffed it, and it smelled like a wet, sweaty goat, which is hardly unsurprising, because i am pretty sure that's exactly what it is.

well, goats prefer the great outdoors, and that's where it's hanging out now. the stinkiest thing in my apt now is me, which is the way it should be.

for what it's worth, current favorites:

favorite winery: acacia
favorite port producer: niepoort
favorite scotch distillery: bruichladdich
favorite brandy distillery: germain-robin
favorite american whiskey distillery: anchor
favorite coffee roaster: me
favorite brewery: no clear winner!
favorite place: california (note that CA wins on wine, beer, brandy, and whiskey. in your face, france and germany!)
favorite belay device producer: petzl (okay, this one goes to non-CA)
favorite multinational corporation: vibram (score 1 for italy!)
favorite local restaurant: here's where it all falls down. grilled steak, kamut, eggplant, and a bottle of acacia pinot noir: nobody can do it better than i can myself.

Yesterday evening, hops and i went to a very nice garden party at the home of my (i think i've got this right now) cousin once removed. Oh heck, the Mexicans and the Indians really have a better system, if we were both from Mexico he'd just be my cousin. Of course, then he'd be my cousin with swine flu, but I digress.

To begin again: my mother's cousin, who lives within 30 minutes of me, threw a fabulous garden party and invited me. Hops and I attended.

Right off the bat it was clear that my second cousin (or whatever) really knows how to party: they were serving Rombauer chardonnay, which is our favorite chard so far (though we haven't given many chardonnays a fair shake). Also, tasty pinot noir, a bar tender, a really nice spread of cheeses, cold cuts, roasted veggies, and the like -- which I didn't get to graze much of because I found myself stuck in the unfashionable end of the backyard, but I'll get to that.

My cousin and his wife are lawyers, and most of the attendees at the party were lawyers who wanted to talk to other lawyers about lawyer stuff -- or about gardening, since this was a garden party. I am interested in and knowledgeable about many things, but lawyering and gardening really aren't among my interests. But the weather turned nice for the party, the view from their yard is unbelievable, and the pinot noir and mini-sangwiches were free, so i was pretty happy.

we found ourselves in the lower part of hte back yard, on the astroturf, at a little table, when a woman approached and struck up a conversation. she turned out to be my second cousin once-removed's across the street neighbor. And to my great relief, she admitted she was not a lawyer. Soon enough, her husband arrived, and was a lawyer. I pointed out that I had thought I was going to find two people at the party who weren't lawyers, and hops said that this couple was two people who weren't lawyers, which is technically true, which we all know is the very best kind of true.

We spent the next several hours chatting with these folks, and with my cousin's son (i give up trying to name the relation) who i like to pretend is near my age, because he's under 30. i feel bad that i haven't spent more time with my bay area relatives -- it's been nearly 2 years since we've seen these folks. In any case, that's something for me to work in in days coming.

Our new friends from across my cousin's street were/are super friendly. They (well, she) wanted us to come see their backyard, which was not nearly so well arranged as my cousin's, but which afforded a wonderful view in the opposite direction. Eventually, as the party officially came to a close, the wife went back to her house, got out on her balcony, and shouted for us to come over. Ha! So we did.

In their back yard, they had a view of the rolling oakland hills (whereas my cousins have a view of pretty much the entirety of san francisco, marin, the golden gate, and its copious fog -- a view that must be seen to be believed). they also had two things (technically four) that my cousins do not have: one dog and three chickens. We got a tour of the nether regions of the backyard, which included a grassy area. the grass was transplanted from my cousins' yard when the cousin removed his grass to put in astroturf.

now, i had worn to this party my vibram fivefingers, because i'm stubborn and those are teh only shoes i'm going to wear from now on, unless it's raining heavily (people think they are "water shoes" and i guess they are but that doesn't mean they're waterproof) which it wasn't. i also wore shorts because again, i'm stubborn, i get uncomfortable in long pants, and i really only have one pair of long pants to my name, and they were dirty. so there i was in my water shoes, so called, my shorts, in tall grass, surrounded by mosquitos. today, i have at least 6 giant raised bites on my right leg, you know, all over the stunningly painful running muscles, plus a good number of bites on my left calf, and a whopper on my right forearm. i think i narrowly escaped head bites.

i could not sleep last night on account of the itching. sigh.

the friendly neighbors gave us 3 eggs from their 3 chickens (1 and a half chickens lay 1 and a half eggs in 1 and a half days, they told us, then asked us: how many days does it take for 1 chicken to lay an egg? (they seemed impressed that we knew the answer. that's an old one!)) and i scrambled them up this morning. tasty, fresh eggs, even though hops sat on them when she got in the car. each of the eggs had the chicken's name penciled on it (so awesome!) and each of the egg shells was a totally different color -- including one that was decidedly green.

after dropping our eggs off in the car (where they would later be sat upon by hops, in case you missed that detail the first time i mentioned it), we went back to say our farewells to my cousins, and second cousins, and my once-removeds.

oh: an aside: one of the things that was really odd last night was being asked repeatedly: "how do you know the Flanders?" (where "Flanders" is an anonymity-preserving stand-in for the last name of my cousins). "Flanders" also happens to be my mother's maiden name, and my grandparent's last name, and generally, not a name that i hear bandied about and so correctly pronounced as i did frequently last night. my reply was, "i am one!", after which i had to try to explain the family tree, which led me to think i shouldn't use this as my reply, but then i kept on forgetting that because it was really a good answer to the question even if it was difficult to justify and people kept on walking off before i was done charting the tree. Even our friends the across-the-streeters kept hilariously referring to my cousin as my father's cousin, though i corrected them dozens of times. Har!

By this time we were well past the "everyone leave" hour so we finally had a chance to chat with both my cousin and his wife. she said that as one gets older they feel the need to reach out more to family, which really concerned me, because, as i said, i was feeling exactly that need, and logically that meant i was getting older. sigh.

in all, we had a great time, and i found out that she might read this blog, which frightens me greatly, because i sometimes use naughty words which, though my mother also reads this blog, i'm sure she mentally blocks out to maintain a nice mental image of me, whereas my cousin's wife probably just thinks i'm a foul-mouthed lout, which, to be fair, isn't far from the truth. but i'm a foul-mouthed lout who runs barefoot, so it all kind of balances out.

i suspect and hope we'll be seeing more of my bay area familiespeople. i suspect because my cousin's wife said she'd be rustling us all together, and i hope because i reckon i'll do it if she doesn't, on account of i really ought to.

but for now, i've got to go get some calamine lotion for my legs. argh.

i think there are more people reading this junk than i thought there were.

if so, i apologize for everything so far, and in advance for everything that is yet to come.

SORRY.

It's Frobuary 4, YOMHC 0x41!

A lot closer to the kinda-military-ish cut i wanted. Barber still needs a little more practice but since I don't mind looking goofy everyone is more or less happy.

Another super short summer haircut just in time for a rainy weekend. Huzzar.