One of many advantages of insomnia is the fascinating television programs that you come across. This morning I watched transfixed as Sharon Stone explained to me in her sultry voice the Science of Beauty on Discovery HD Theater. Apparently women at the peak of their fertility cycle can pick the hottest guy without even seeing him, simply by smelling his BO. Isn't that awesome?
Here's how it worked: scientists took precise body measurements of men, checking for symmetrical, masculine features. Then they had these men wear t-shirts for two days and asked that they avoid strenuous physical activity, strong-smelling foods, and alcohol. Finally, they presented the t-shirts to ovulating women. They discovered that the women consistently selected as most appealing the scent of the shirts worn by men whose features are most symmetrical. Damn natural selection.
I wish I had a grant to do this kind of research.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Hot Fuzz + Grindhouse
I saw two fun movies in April that I never got around to writing about - Hot Fuzz and Grindhouse. Now that I think about it, I still haven't written a meaningful review of Pan's Labyrinth either. Yikes, that's getting to be a while ago now. Damn, I'm behind. And not in a good way.
Anyway, my April movie outings rocked! Hot Fuzz is the perfect spoof of a cop buddy movie. There were a few bits that dragged, but on the whole the filmmakers nailed the genre. This film works both as a comic send-up of every cliche you can think of, but also as a genuine action flick. Yarp!
Grindhouse was a total gas. Go with a friend, grab a box of popcorn, and prepare to get bloody! The first installment, Robert Rodriguez's Planet Terror, was the better of the two features. First off, va-va-voooom! Rose McGowan was smokin in that movie. What was I saying..? Oh ya. The movie delights in goofy, gross-out situations made famous by those classic 1970s splatter exploitation films. And are there any filmmakers alive who care more about what happened culturally during the seventies than Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino? I don't think so. Why aren't they featured on I Love the 70s?
Tarantino's offering, Death Proof, had hot cars, more hot babes, and the incomparable Kurt Russell. But somehow it fell a little flat. Whenever Russell wasn't on screen, the movie sagged. That said, it was still fun, and Russell's presence was menacing and comical and crackling with energy. It might have been better if Death Proof had been the warm-up to Planet Terror, rather than vice-versa, because anything after the mayhem in that movie is bound to seem like a letdown. I wonder why they ordered the films the way they did?
Anyway, my April movie outings rocked! Hot Fuzz is the perfect spoof of a cop buddy movie. There were a few bits that dragged, but on the whole the filmmakers nailed the genre. This film works both as a comic send-up of every cliche you can think of, but also as a genuine action flick. Yarp!
Grindhouse was a total gas. Go with a friend, grab a box of popcorn, and prepare to get bloody! The first installment, Robert Rodriguez's Planet Terror, was the better of the two features. First off, va-va-voooom! Rose McGowan was smokin in that movie. What was I saying..? Oh ya. The movie delights in goofy, gross-out situations made famous by those classic 1970s splatter exploitation films. And are there any filmmakers alive who care more about what happened culturally during the seventies than Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino? I don't think so. Why aren't they featured on I Love the 70s?
Tarantino's offering, Death Proof, had hot cars, more hot babes, and the incomparable Kurt Russell. But somehow it fell a little flat. Whenever Russell wasn't on screen, the movie sagged. That said, it was still fun, and Russell's presence was menacing and comical and crackling with energy. It might have been better if Death Proof had been the warm-up to Planet Terror, rather than vice-versa, because anything after the mayhem in that movie is bound to seem like a letdown. I wonder why they ordered the films the way they did?
Monday, May 28, 2007
Footnote
A couple of months ago I told the tale of my daughter's trampoline. Sadly, the fourth trampoline was extremely short-lived - the damn thing BROKE! It only lasted a month or so. She was bouncing on it and the weld on two of the legs gave way. That could have been tragic! I hate to contemplate what could have happened. Our neighbor, whose back door is near the trampoline, saw the twisted metal and actually did fear the worst for a few hours. Then he saw Daphne walking around the house in a torpor.
I disassembled it a few weeks ago, and we ordered a fifth from the web - a standard spring model, rather than one with those nifty straps. We couldn't find another one like that. Oh well. Long story short, number five up, and my daughter is happy again. And it seems to be working ok so far. The materials and construction seem sturdy, but then again, I thought that about the last one.
I disassembled it a few weeks ago, and we ordered a fifth from the web - a standard spring model, rather than one with those nifty straps. We couldn't find another one like that. Oh well. Long story short, number five up, and my daughter is happy again. And it seems to be working ok so far. The materials and construction seem sturdy, but then again, I thought that about the last one.
Friday, May 25, 2007
City of the Dead
Last week I spent time in Savannah, Georgia and Hilton Head, South Carolina. I'd never been in the South, unless you count Florida, which somehow seems separate from what I think of as "the South." Probably because of its drug lords, theme parks, retirees, and crazy Cuban expatriates. And Katherine Harris.
I went south to attend my cousin's wedding, who last Saturday married a fine young gentleman from Georgia, whom she met in college. He seems a kindly, if somewhat reserved chap. To his credit he smiles broadly and warmly and often, which are always handsome features in a person. I wish them well in all their future journeys! At the very least, I hope that they need never again endure the maudlin drunkenness of groomsmen.
Hilton Head Island, where we stayed, is not a real remnant of the Old South - there is nothing historical about the place. It is a giant gated community set in the midst of golf courses and surrounded by docks berthing sea-faring luxury fishing boats. Truly, a creation of leisure, affluence and modern technology. The island did have one thing to offer, however: I got a chance to ride a rented bicycle on a lovely day, and its natural beauty was arresting.
Across the South Carolina border, perhaps an hour from Hilton Head, lies Savannah. This is a city steeped in American History. Walking its streets one can almost reach back to colonial times and even back to the Old World and our European heritage. The city was fought over during the Revolutionary War, and one macabre tour guide intoned solemnly that it is "difficult to take more than a few steps in Savannah without stepping over someone's bones."
On the urging of my mother, while in Savannah, I made the pilgrimage to Bonaventure Cemetery to see some of the artifacts represented in the book Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil. I never read the book, but I did see Clint Eastwood's film version. The cemetery was made famous by an iconic statue within that appeared on the cover of said book.
Incidentally, the so called "Bird Girl" statue has since been removed from Bonaventure. People couldn't resist the urge to paw at this wistful, serene figure, and apparently it began to rapidly deteriorate. It can now be seen in an art museum in downtown Savannah.
The cemetery is not gigantic, but its moss-covered live oak and its secluded location make it a remarkable place. Savannah had a large Jewish population from the earliest days of its history, and the cemetery possesses a sizable division for the Jews interned there. And one simple stone marks the spot where the ashes of 344 victims of the Holocaust are buried.
The remains of some of Georgia's most famous citizens lie in Bonaventure. But the most entertaining sites to visit are certainly the graves of Johnny Mercer and Conrad Aiken. Aiken was a poet whose stone is actually a bench, inviting people to sit and have a martini with him (one set of visitors were doing just that on the very day we went!). His epitaph reads "Cosmos Mariner, Destination Unknown" and beside that, "Give My Love To The World." As for Johnny Mercer, you may not know the name, but he wrote some of the indelible songs of the mid-20th century.
If it seems I have written a lot about the cemetery, it is because history holds a fascination for me that is awakened in such places. I find myself imagining the lives of the names on the stones, how they lived and died, their funerals, and even their subsequent visitors. In no way is this better illustrated than in the story of Gracie, a girl who died at the age of six in 1889. The daughter of a wealthy and successful hotelier, she was the delight of the guests who stayed at her father's inn. She was stricken with pneumonia and died, and her grieving father commissioned a statue of her to mark her grave. It is a vivid portrait: its cherubic, angelic face undimmed by more than one hundred years. A moving tribute of a family's love for a life cut short.
Before I embarked on this trip, I got into an argument about the South with some friends of mine. They were intent upon berating the denizens of that region as red-state, ass-backward hicks. What bears remembering is that Republicans win 55-45, 60-40 in those states, and Democrats win 55-45, 60-40 in the so-called "blue" states of the North. We're not as different as some people want to believe. One can find fascinating people and culture and history almost anywhere!
That said, I did have two experiences that can only be described as surreal. The first was while taking a tour in Savannah. We entered the Sorrel Weed House, where a man from Youngstown, Ohio gave our tour. He asked the group, "are you Lee fans or Sherman fans?" Most of the small crowd seemed dumbfounded by his question, but I quipped, "I am a fan of neither!" Astonishingly, the mark of the Civil War is still felt in the South, so much so that it compels a young man from the North to claim allegiance to a long-dead general of an unhappy conflict. I would love for someone to explain this phenomenon to me.
The second experience was even more bizarre: at the wedding, there was an all-black rock/soul band that played covers of "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Play that Funky Music White Boy." The all-white crowd danced gleefully to both songs. Oye. Maybe I should have passed on the vodka cranberries and went for the Southern Comfort.
I went south to attend my cousin's wedding, who last Saturday married a fine young gentleman from Georgia, whom she met in college. He seems a kindly, if somewhat reserved chap. To his credit he smiles broadly and warmly and often, which are always handsome features in a person. I wish them well in all their future journeys! At the very least, I hope that they need never again endure the maudlin drunkenness of groomsmen.
Hilton Head Island, where we stayed, is not a real remnant of the Old South - there is nothing historical about the place. It is a giant gated community set in the midst of golf courses and surrounded by docks berthing sea-faring luxury fishing boats. Truly, a creation of leisure, affluence and modern technology. The island did have one thing to offer, however: I got a chance to ride a rented bicycle on a lovely day, and its natural beauty was arresting.
Across the South Carolina border, perhaps an hour from Hilton Head, lies Savannah. This is a city steeped in American History. Walking its streets one can almost reach back to colonial times and even back to the Old World and our European heritage. The city was fought over during the Revolutionary War, and one macabre tour guide intoned solemnly that it is "difficult to take more than a few steps in Savannah without stepping over someone's bones."
On the urging of my mother, while in Savannah, I made the pilgrimage to Bonaventure Cemetery to see some of the artifacts represented in the book Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil. I never read the book, but I did see Clint Eastwood's film version. The cemetery was made famous by an iconic statue within that appeared on the cover of said book.
Incidentally, the so called "Bird Girl" statue has since been removed from Bonaventure. People couldn't resist the urge to paw at this wistful, serene figure, and apparently it began to rapidly deteriorate. It can now be seen in an art museum in downtown Savannah.The cemetery is not gigantic, but its moss-covered live oak and its secluded location make it a remarkable place. Savannah had a large Jewish population from the earliest days of its history, and the cemetery possesses a sizable division for the Jews interned there. And one simple stone marks the spot where the ashes of 344 victims of the Holocaust are buried.
The remains of some of Georgia's most famous citizens lie in Bonaventure. But the most entertaining sites to visit are certainly the graves of Johnny Mercer and Conrad Aiken. Aiken was a poet whose stone is actually a bench, inviting people to sit and have a martini with him (one set of visitors were doing just that on the very day we went!). His epitaph reads "Cosmos Mariner, Destination Unknown" and beside that, "Give My Love To The World." As for Johnny Mercer, you may not know the name, but he wrote some of the indelible songs of the mid-20th century.
If it seems I have written a lot about the cemetery, it is because history holds a fascination for me that is awakened in such places. I find myself imagining the lives of the names on the stones, how they lived and died, their funerals, and even their subsequent visitors. In no way is this better illustrated than in the story of Gracie, a girl who died at the age of six in 1889. The daughter of a wealthy and successful hotelier, she was the delight of the guests who stayed at her father's inn. She was stricken with pneumonia and died, and her grieving father commissioned a statue of her to mark her grave. It is a vivid portrait: its cherubic, angelic face undimmed by more than one hundred years. A moving tribute of a family's love for a life cut short.
Before I embarked on this trip, I got into an argument about the South with some friends of mine. They were intent upon berating the denizens of that region as red-state, ass-backward hicks. What bears remembering is that Republicans win 55-45, 60-40 in those states, and Democrats win 55-45, 60-40 in the so-called "blue" states of the North. We're not as different as some people want to believe. One can find fascinating people and culture and history almost anywhere!That said, I did have two experiences that can only be described as surreal. The first was while taking a tour in Savannah. We entered the Sorrel Weed House, where a man from Youngstown, Ohio gave our tour. He asked the group, "are you Lee fans or Sherman fans?" Most of the small crowd seemed dumbfounded by his question, but I quipped, "I am a fan of neither!" Astonishingly, the mark of the Civil War is still felt in the South, so much so that it compels a young man from the North to claim allegiance to a long-dead general of an unhappy conflict. I would love for someone to explain this phenomenon to me.
The second experience was even more bizarre: at the wedding, there was an all-black rock/soul band that played covers of "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Play that Funky Music White Boy." The all-white crowd danced gleefully to both songs. Oye. Maybe I should have passed on the vodka cranberries and went for the Southern Comfort.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Ketchup
Wow, keeping up with the blogosphere is a lot of work! I took a week off and I find that I'm woefully over-matched by the mountain of data that has appeared. I hate to miss anything! I don't know how I'm going to find the time to get up to speed on all of the news-sites and blogs I frequent. How do other people do it? I'll try my best to get up-to-date.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Seen on the Interstate
On the road between Hilton Head, South Carolina, and Savannah, Georgia, I spotted this billboard:
I've studied the sign many times. I'm wondering what it means.
I've studied the sign many times. I'm wondering what it means.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Somewhere In My Soul There's Always Rock And Roll
The handsome devil over at LLTK "tagged" me, and now I must write out the following assignment: List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.
I've actually been trying to think of a topic befitting an inaugural post - I need to christen a new "Stuff and Things" category on music. This seems as apt as any. So here it is! Thanks TK! On to the music...
Teenage Fanclub - In My Mind, Man-Made. The drony, mellow sound of TFC has a hypnotic, dreamy appeal. I was immediately captivated the first time I heard this song two years ago. It still draws me in every time I listen.
The Lanes - No Not Lately, Five Acts to Follow. I totally dig The Lanes! And not just because Mikey is one-fourth of the Strummones. I've been grooving on the Dutch Maniac's sound for more than ten years, and his latest album features his usual witty, smart pop sensibility. I keep coming back for more of this song: a rich tapestry of sounds and thoughts.
R.E.M. - Strange, Document. Never mind that this song is a cover of a cover of a cover. The classic three-chord progression never gets me jumpin much higher than this. Somehow Mike Stipe's whiny vocals seem perfectly suited to this sing-a-long rocker. And since I mentioned the Strummones, maybe we should add this tune to our set as an interlude. I think it could be a crowd-pleaser!
Elmer Bernstein - Main Title And Calvera, The Magnificent Seven Soundtrack. My daughter has been rehearsing this stirring score since January for her school's spring concert. She's got it stuck in my head! Luckily it is a truly great piece. She plays the flute, which accompanies the main melody. But now, after all of that, I find that the night of the concert I'll be out of town! Dammat, I'm so bummed. Her school puts on only two concerts a year, and I am loathe to miss either of them. They are so spirited and engaging. A lot like this title theme.
Robert Gordon - Flying Saucers Rock n Roll, Robert Gordon with Link Wray. I have a secret passion for 50s rockabilly, the real original punk rock. Gordon's 1978 tribute album was an unforgettable introduction to this music at a young age. And while every song on this album kicks complete ass, this song has it all: fast, raw, sexy, and fun as hell!
XTC - Are You Receiving Me? Go 2. I've been rekindling my love affair with this brilliantly quirky band. They always had a wry, cutting edginess. This song defines early 80s new-wave at its best: a lapel-grabbing pop hook coupled with cynically tongue-in-cheek lyrics.
Junior Murvin - Police and Thieves, Police and Thieves. Jimmy Cliff was the first reggae I ever heard. It was at the very tender age of eight. I remember being mildly intrigued, but I didn't really "get" the music until a few years later, when I heard the Clash's recording of this Junior Murvin hit. At first I didn't realize that their version of this seminal track was a cover. But I soon learned that they were standing on the shoulders of a giant. And thirty years after it was put to vinyl, Murvin's original is still as poignant as ever.
That was fun, I'll have to do it again sometime. And now to pass the torch. While I am uncertain as to whether I actually have seven readers, I tag the following unfortunates: Amanda, Rocky, GeistX, DAV, Patty, Basil, and Winter Crow. And if there happen to be other readers out there lurking in cyberspace, feel free to weigh in! I'd tag you too if I knew you were there.
I've actually been trying to think of a topic befitting an inaugural post - I need to christen a new "Stuff and Things" category on music. This seems as apt as any. So here it is! Thanks TK! On to the music...
Teenage Fanclub - In My Mind, Man-Made. The drony, mellow sound of TFC has a hypnotic, dreamy appeal. I was immediately captivated the first time I heard this song two years ago. It still draws me in every time I listen.
The Lanes - No Not Lately, Five Acts to Follow. I totally dig The Lanes! And not just because Mikey is one-fourth of the Strummones. I've been grooving on the Dutch Maniac's sound for more than ten years, and his latest album features his usual witty, smart pop sensibility. I keep coming back for more of this song: a rich tapestry of sounds and thoughts.
R.E.M. - Strange, Document. Never mind that this song is a cover of a cover of a cover. The classic three-chord progression never gets me jumpin much higher than this. Somehow Mike Stipe's whiny vocals seem perfectly suited to this sing-a-long rocker. And since I mentioned the Strummones, maybe we should add this tune to our set as an interlude. I think it could be a crowd-pleaser!
Elmer Bernstein - Main Title And Calvera, The Magnificent Seven Soundtrack. My daughter has been rehearsing this stirring score since January for her school's spring concert. She's got it stuck in my head! Luckily it is a truly great piece. She plays the flute, which accompanies the main melody. But now, after all of that, I find that the night of the concert I'll be out of town! Dammat, I'm so bummed. Her school puts on only two concerts a year, and I am loathe to miss either of them. They are so spirited and engaging. A lot like this title theme.
Robert Gordon - Flying Saucers Rock n Roll, Robert Gordon with Link Wray. I have a secret passion for 50s rockabilly, the real original punk rock. Gordon's 1978 tribute album was an unforgettable introduction to this music at a young age. And while every song on this album kicks complete ass, this song has it all: fast, raw, sexy, and fun as hell!
XTC - Are You Receiving Me? Go 2. I've been rekindling my love affair with this brilliantly quirky band. They always had a wry, cutting edginess. This song defines early 80s new-wave at its best: a lapel-grabbing pop hook coupled with cynically tongue-in-cheek lyrics.
Junior Murvin - Police and Thieves, Police and Thieves. Jimmy Cliff was the first reggae I ever heard. It was at the very tender age of eight. I remember being mildly intrigued, but I didn't really "get" the music until a few years later, when I heard the Clash's recording of this Junior Murvin hit. At first I didn't realize that their version of this seminal track was a cover. But I soon learned that they were standing on the shoulders of a giant. And thirty years after it was put to vinyl, Murvin's original is still as poignant as ever.
That was fun, I'll have to do it again sometime. And now to pass the torch. While I am uncertain as to whether I actually have seven readers, I tag the following unfortunates: Amanda, Rocky, GeistX, DAV, Patty, Basil, and Winter Crow. And if there happen to be other readers out there lurking in cyberspace, feel free to weigh in! I'd tag you too if I knew you were there.
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