I know I said I was done blogging, but I'm posting this here simply because I'm posting it pretty much everywhere I can think of:
Inception is Chris Nolan's masterpiece. It's one of the best movies I've seen in years. It's like some unimaginable hybrid of Blade Runner and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, two other movies I love. This movie should not work, but it works masterfully. It's everything a movie should be. I can't wait to see it again and again and again and again.
I'd hoped I'd enjoy it, but I wasn't prepared to flat out love it like I did. Nolan really brings it all together in this film; big ideas, big visuals, great performances, flawless pacing, even a wonderful score. To use a cliche, Inception is a game changer. Don't miss it.
Here's the thing: I just don't have any interest in blogging anymore.
Part of it is that my responsibilities at work have changed. And part of it is that, since I've owned a Droid, my internet habits have changed. These days I check the 'net more frequently, but for far shorter durations. Mostly I just check e-mail and Facebook, which I use to keep track of a few friends. But when it comes to sitting down and writing something, I really don't have the attention span or the time these days.
A huge part of it, though, is that when I started blogging (a loooong time ago), the blogosphere was my escape from a terrible marriage to a psychopath. That marriage ended over a year ago, and as time has passed I've gotten over the shell-shock and found my way more and more back into normal life.
So if you know me in real life, or if you know my real name, please feel free to send me a friend request on Facebook. To be honest, I ignore the majority of the ones I get unless their from people I actually know. I tend to assume that they're spam otherwise. So please include in the note that you knew me through this blog, that way I won't just click ignore and be done with it.
This blog will probably die the slow death of non-renewal. But who knows, I might start up again sometime. Meanwhile, be good and be happy and be safe.
I didn't realize when I posted my last item that I'd go this long without blogging again. I have been busy, true. But there have been a number of things I thought I'd like to write about and just haven't found time.
A dear friend of mine had a massive heart attack a few weeks ago. She's alive and OK, but it was a very serious situation. A lot of ideas and reactions bounced around in my head and I thought I'd write something for the blog about it, if only to try to sort through my own thoughts. I never did. It probably would have been something to the effect that life absolutely 100% kicks ass, and none of us know when the end is coming, so we need to each be fully alive as much as possible. Life can be a bitch ... but, man, it beats the fuck out of the alternative.
Not that everything I've wanted to blog about has been heavy stuff. My son and I made it to King's Dominion and rode Intimidator 305. Dude, that roller coaster totally brings the awesome:
Intimidator 305 just rules. As do all the coasters at King's Dominion. Volcano might just be the best roller coaster I've ever ridden.
I've seen a buttload of movies I've wanted to review, too ... but, again, haven't had the time or motivation. Disney's Oceans was very good ... Kick Ass was thoroughly mediocre. Lots of other movies fell somewhere in between those two extremes. Maybe I'll write reviews if I get the bug to do so.
Oh, and Gov't Mule, my favorite band, is finally touring in the states again and coming back to Richmond this summer! So I got that going for me, which is nice.
I might be away from the blogosphere for a while yet ... lots going on and lots I'm looking forward to. But, meanwhile, if I'm not around, it's because I'm out and about, enjoying the awesomeness of life.
After years of delays, the most recent Splinter Cell game was released today. You might be aware that I'm a hardcore fan of this video game franchise and have awaited today's game release with less than perfect patience.
The game is getting favorable reviews from just about everyone. Here's an example:
Everything about this game is different; game-play, pace, controls, etc. This game revolutionizes Splinter Cell the same way the first Splinter Cell game revolutionized stealth gaming early last decade. I downloaded the demo a little more than a week ago, and my first reaction was negative. The changes to the title are sweeping and massive. But I finally got used to the reboot and ended up pretty happy with it. So, of course, I got my copy of the game when it came out today.
I'm maybe an hour into the single player campaign and so far there has been one very shocking plot twist. An important element of the Splinter Cell story has been changed, and it's changed everything we thought we knew about the main characters. I really enjoy the slowly revealing story of Splinter Cell, and I'm hoping that these changes won't amount to a bad case of shark jumping.
This is the year's first major game release, complete with midnight sales, major fanfare, etc. And, of course, lots of internet hype and controversy. So I'm going to avoid the internet entirely for a few days. I don't want to have this game's story ruined for me. I don't even want to risk it, so during the couple of days it'll take me to finish the campaign, I'm not going to be around.
I'll be back with a full Splinter Cell: Conviction review in a few days.
I kinda see relationships as a matter that's almost separate from the two people who share the bond. It's like the relationship itself becomes a third body, something bigger and different and often even disconnected from either of the two people themselves. When things work out, that third entity is a wonderful thing. A positive force, even for the people around the two people who are involved. But, of course, any relationship can become destructive. A relationship at it's worst is like a tumor shared between two people; a cancer eating them both.
A year ago, such a relationship ended for me. It was scary, and I wasn't even sure I'd survive the separation. Now, I look back on that as the kind of fear someone might feel before a dangerous operation. Sure, it's going to hurt ... but once it's over, in spite of the pain, your real life as a more complete and healing person can begin. It's hard to believe going in, but at some point you'll think "My God in Heaven, how did I ever live that way for so long?"
All of this is on my mind because of a conversation with a friend the other night. He observed that I'm a far happier, healthier, better balanced man now than I was a year ago. And I'm much better off than I was while I was still involved in that destructive, malignant relationship. My friend knew my former spouse, he knew the things I was putting up with and generally keeping quiet about. He knew what I was hiding from the people around me, and why, and how thoroughly fucked up it had all become. It was during that recent conversation that I realized that the one year anniversary of that life-saving separation was some time during the first week of April. And this song is selected specifically to mark that anniversary. (Lorna, you wanted "catharsis" from my lyric posts. Well, this one is all about it.)
I took a drive today. Time to emancipate. I guess it was the beatings that made me wise. I'm not about to give thanks, Or apologize.
I couldn't breathe, holding me down, Hand on my face, pushed to the ground, Enmity gauged, united by fear, Force to endure, But I will not forgive.
I seemed to look away. Wounds in the mirror waved. It wasn't my surface. Most defiled.
Head at your feet, fool to your crown, Fist on my plate, swallowed it down. Enmity gauged, united by fear, Tried to endure What I could not forgive.
Saw things Saw things Saw things Saw things Clearer Clearer Once you Were in my Rear View Mirror.
I gathered speed from you fucking with me. Now once and for all, I'm far away. I can hardly believe, Finally the shades are raised.
So I got a call from my sister, who asked if I had any interest in going to see Rob Thomas. My gut reaction was heck yeah! Rob Thomas is a hero of mine! He's contributed so much to my life! Then she explained that ROB Thomas is the lead singer of Matchbox 20. I was thinking DAVE Thomas, founder of Wendy's Old Fashioned Hamburgers. Who, as it turns out, is dead. I'm gonna need a Frosty to get over this.
But in all fairness, I think anyone would have been confused. This, according to Google Voice's transcription service, is the message my sister left ... and it contains more than one unclear point:
"I mate. I'm great with Rob Thomas."
Yeah, OK, that's fine. But you and Rob get a room, I don't need to hear about it.
What is up with hardcore sports fans using the first person plural? "We beat this team," "we won that game," etc. I love rock and roll as much as anyone loves sports, but I'm not crazy enough to refer to my favorite bands that way. "We just put out a great album! We won a Grammy! Our third Grammy! Three-peat, baby!!" Etc.
You'd never see a group of enthusiastic music fans storm the stage after a particularly good concert in order to tear the PA down, either. And no matter how well my favorite guitarist performs, I've never felt compelled to go home and set my sofa on fire afterward.
I'll never understand sports culture. Maybe it comes down to this: Music is an enhancement for life ... sports is a substitute for life.
If you've never seen the video for The Prodigy's Smack My Bitch Up, you need to know that
It's probably among the greatest music video of all time, in spite of the fact that
it's also the most awful music video of all time, and
it relies entirely on a gimick, and
it is THOROUGHLY AND COMPLETELY NOTSAFEFORWORK due to the copious drugs and blood and violence and nudity and bigotry. And vomit and sex and hookers and vampires. And sugary snacks, which promote tooth decay. And homophobia and cursing and jaywalking and blasphemy and explosions and doo-doo and exploding doo-doo and non-filtered cigarette smoking and red meat and Jesse James's freaky, tattooed Nazi strippers and flatulence and misogyny and non-recyclable styrofoam cups just strewn about everywhere. Also I think I saw an obscene finger gesture in there, too.
But if you insist on watching this wonderful, horrible, mind-rotting video ... and if your mom says it's OK ... then help yourself below. But don't say I didn't warn you.
The lyric I'm posting it for isn't really a lyric at all, and if I tried to set it in text it would be something like "Aaaaaahhh, aaaaah-aaaaaaahhh, AAAAAHHHHHH..."
The vocal part I'm referring to is the vaguely middle-eastern sounding female vocal in the middle of the song. I LOVE that vocal part. It's right up there with Pink Floyd's Great Gig In The Sky*. I friggin' LOVE it, man. It gives me a special feeling. It gives me chills. It makes my nipples throb. In fact, it makes them throb to the beat of the song. Alternating left to right. Which causes all the blood in my body to rush to my nipples and makes me get light headed and fall over and just lay there and twitch. And I twitch to the beat of the song. Which probably causes my cholesterol to skyrocket.
A note to those of you who know me in real life: good luck getting that image out of your heads.
*The Pink Floyd vocal part goes something like "Aaaaaahhh aaaahhh OOOOOHHHHH aaaahhhhhh (belch) ooooooh..." etc.
Eddie Izzard is one of my ten favorite comedians and one of my seven favorite transvestites. Here, he explains World War II ... well, fancifully ... but probably more thoroughly than the way our kids are learning about it these days. As a bonus, you'll learn about the Cold War, Pol Pot, and the cunning use of flags.
Lorna expressed an interest in the inspirations behind the particular lyrics I post rather nondescriptly here at F.O.D., and I guess it makes sense to contribute a few notes toward a personal memoir when I post this junk. Sooooo...
This post is really the result of having remembered a fairly funny (and off color) story tonight when Sirius Lithium played a favorite old Toad The Wet Sprocket song. It's a misheard lyrics story, I'll get to it in a second. But first, the real lyrics:
Won't you come down, Help me stand. There is healing In your hand.
Here's an old clip of Toad performing Come Down on the Letterman program; it's a damn good, catchy little pop rock song, and I insist that you take a moment and enjoy it. Really, no, go ahead. Enjoy it. It's on me. I want you to enjoy it. I want you to vicariously experience with me this moment of mild, innocuous, affable rock and roll. Is that too much to ask? Please, just listen to the damn song; maybe tap your toes, snap a finger or two. We'll resume in three and a half minutes or so.
There, was that so hard? Neat little ditty, huh? And now you and I have "shared it" in a virtually meaningful way. See, I feel like we're so much closer now. Like I know you better, and you know me, too. Like we're friends in a more real way now. Really, like you and I share a connection now. Like I could tell you anything. Like I could tell you that about twenty five minutes ago, right before I started writing this blog post, I took an Ambien and a Vicodin. Which might explain the sudden surprising change in direction somewhere in the previous paragraph. But this is where we are now, and that's really fine, two old friends like you and me. We've been through worse than this together. Remember that time we irresponsibly mixed our prescription drugs and listened to Toad the Wet Sprocket perform on Letterman? Good times, man! And you're the kind of friend I can have those times with. Ours is the kind of friendship where we can have anything! Which is why, like, you would be totally comfortable sending me money in the mail. And that's what friendship really is. Friendship is about trust and music and unmarked twenty dollar bills. And Vicodin. Man, you're such a true friend. I'll e-mail you my mailing addy later.
OK, now the funny story I promised you:
I was (and still am) a big fan of the band (Toad the Wet Sprocket, remember?) and I bought the album when it first came out. I was still married to my first wife at the time. One day we were in the car and I was playing the song, and my wife said "You know, this is a pretty good song, in spite of the disgusting lyrics."
Double You Tea Eff??
I knew the song pretty well at that point and couldn't figure out what about the lyrics was so disgusting. So I asked, and as it turned out, she'd misheard the line "There is healing in your hand." She thought he was singing "There is semen in your hair."
It never occurred to her that the line as she understood it would have no context in the rest of the song. She just thought, I suppose, that the song made a brief mention, out of the blue, of an unpleasant alternative hair care treatment.
My first wife was actually an attractive woman. Clearly, I hadn't married her for her brains.
But, listen, we really need to get back to the subject of all that money you offered to mail me. I do appreciate it. Stacks of unmarked twenties are my favorite. I'll get back to you on it, but the Ambien is starting to overrule the Vicodan and I'm starting to have a hard time conce
I know I'm a little late writing about this, but better late than never. I've read only a little about it because I've been marginally interested. To be honest, I'm not really much of a Wii fan, and this thing sounded like Wii stuff at first blush.
But this is more than the Wii experience. Have you heard about Project Natal for Xbox 360, and the down-right chilling way it's going to change video games?
That rumbling sound you might have felt is Philip K. Dick doing pirouettes in his grave.
The real thing (above) is so damn creepy that the parody (below) just pales by comparison.
And it might even get worse than that. I hadn't considered the possibility that Milo, in his quest for power, might eventually threaten to delete my achievements!
So now I guess I am going to have to see the new Tron movie. Purely as defensive research.
What a tool. What a weasel. What a complete and total douchebag.
No surprise that he tried to mention as many religions as possible. But by the time he includes "believers and non-believers alike," Obama's Easter Weekend message isn't a message at all. It's just rambling PC nonsense.
In case you're unable to read between the lines, here's his real message: "Hi, I'm Barack Obama, and my approval ratings are circling the drain. And I sure do want everybody to like me again! Have a nice day!"
All politicians are dickheads, of course, but I don't think I've ever seen such an utterly soulless, gutless, nutless twerp as this guy. He makes it pretty clear what is real religion is: Orthodox Lawyer. I've really never felt such disdain for a President before. Honestly, I wouldn't piss on this clown if he were on fire.
So there's my Easter message. Nope, it's not as lovey dovey as the President's, but I think it's superior to his in at least one way: I've actually expressed a conviction.
Here's one for the coast, The people with the most, The pretty, pretty folks, the west coast folks.
...Your heaven is a lie. Just some shit that I don't buy.
...Here we go again, It's never gonna end, We're all so sick of California songs. We know you love L.A. There's nothing left to say. Please, no more California songs.
I don't care if the "hip" world mocks Billy Joel. I think the guy has written some great songs, and Pitchfork and Death Cab For Cutie (or whomever is trendy at the moment) can all kiss my ass.
The guy has written some awesome lyrics, too:
Once I used to believe I was such a great romancer. Then I came home to a woman that I could not recognize. When I pressed her for a reason, She refused to even answer. It was then I felt the stranger kick me right between the eyes.
Well, we all fall in love, But we disregard the danger, Though we share so many secrets, There are some we never tell. Why were you so surprised that you never saw the stranger? Did you ever let your lover see the stranger in yourself?
I'm softening on Sarah Palin now that she seems to have accepted and embraced her role as just a conservative cheerleader and not a legitimate PotUS candidate. As long as she stays out of the way of serious GOP contenders, I'm all for her presence at tea parties and events. People like her. She gets people energized about voting. Nothin' wrong with that. Kinda...
Sarah Palin told thousands of tea party activists gathered in the Nevada desert that Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid will have to explain his votes when he comes back to his hometown...
The Tea Party Express had expected between 5,000 and 10,000 people. About 8,000 people were at the event as of 2 p.m., according to an estimate from Metro Police spokesman Jay Rivera. Traffic at one time was backed up about five miles from Searchlight.
I love the idea of that repugnant, officious little prick Harry Reid losing his Senate seat this fall. But don't get me wrong; I have basically no faith in the American public to vote on the issues and make their decisions based on logic, history and pragmatism. People decide who to vote for based on popularity and trends. That's how we got in this mess in the first place.
So here's hoping that the trend toward Harry Reid resentment continues.
All the kids, they hold a grudge, Their minds are logged on to the net, and All the kids, they hold a grudge, you failed them and they won't forget it. All your cred won't save you from the kids. We saw what you did. You're all wrong and all the kids are right.
Please excuse me while I roll around in the floor and giggle with glee for about half an hour.
Click the pic or click here for a front seat simulation video.
This is essentially the same coaster as the legendary Millennium Force and Japan's Steel Dragon 2000. Matter of fact, this thing has a drop that's actually a foot higher than Millennium Force. So take that, Cedar Point.
Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy. I wasn't sure if there'd be an amusement park visit this year or not, but of course it's unavoidable now. I must go there. I must ride it. I must make the Intimidator 305 my bitch.
I've had several busy days. Over the last few days I've bought a car (not this one, but one just like it), saw two pretty good movies (one with my son and one on my own) and chopped down a cedar tree (not this one ... in fact, nothing like that one). None of these things were related. Each of them may provide blogging material later in the week.
I've never been on a railroad, as many times as they pass me by. I've never crashed in the desert or seen a rodeo. I don't know much about the world wars or Vietnam. I've yet to read about Uncle Tom. Never climbed a real rock or seen Colorado.
Am I the son I think I am? Am I the friend I think I am? Am I the man I think I wanna be?
I've never had a day where money didn't get in my way. I've never listened to much Elvis. And I can't remember a warm December.
Am I the son I think I am? Am I the father I think I am? Am I the man I think I wanna be?
I am here for my sanity, Sanity, I am here for you. Whether or not I'm walking in, Whether or not I'm walking out, I'm always here for you. I am here. I am.
A lesson I have to keep relearning the hard way: The secret to satisfaction isn't to try to get the things you want. Rather, it's to learn to want the things you've got.
