Review - Cloud Atlas

An exciting and beautiful cluster fuck of a film whose most inspiring success may be that in the end it really does mean something. Bravo.

This Just in iPhone 5 Cannot Take Pictures Underwater

   After a thorough investigation this afternoon I have come to the conclusion that the iPhone 5 apparently cannot take underwater pictures after all.

Late last night, after what seemed like a forever wait, I finally received in the mail my brand new iPhone 5!  It's sleek design and slightly-longer-than-the-4 upgrade is EXACTLY what they said it would be, and I could not be happier with my purchase.  Much like a kid on Christmas morning I spent the next several hours of the night testing out the phones newest features, and I have to tell you, it is even better than advertised, so you can imagine my anticipation of getting out to the river the following morning to really see how the new phone worked.

Eventually I made it to my bed and slept for maybe one hour before my new iphones alarm woke me, telling me excitedly that it was RIVER TIME!  So i packed up my things: snorkel, tube, floaties, and iphone, and headed down the the water for an early morning photo shoot!  It was a beautiful day already as the sun began to break through the new Autumn clouds over head, and the water was flowing and high from recent rain storms to the north so I knew that I was going to get some really great underwater shots with my new iPhone, I can't tell you how sure I was that this was going to work.  So imagine my surprise when just two hours in the water with my iphone totally destroyed it somehow!  None of the pictures saved, the screen went all black and the water seems to have just flowed right into the case and flooded the whole system, it's ridiculous!  I don't mean to tell the people at Apple how to do their jobs but, I mean, this is lousy!  And I almost feel like not buying anything Apple ever again if they don't get it together and make a phone that can take a little bit of water all up in it!


Really though, I feel almost bad telling the guys at work about how poorly the iphone 5 did in its first day underwater, they seemed so excited for me to try it out, but I'm going to have to!  I reordered another phone so Hopefully this one will work a little bit better.

I think just to be sure I am going to test out the Under Tires Motor Vehicle Weighing Station app the guys told me about before I take it back to the river.

On the Art of Bustin a Sag

In this first section of my twelve part thesis on the Art of Bustin' a Sag I will attempt to outline for the reader the "do's and don'ts" or rather the "busts and bust nots" of Bustin' an idealized sag. The further intent of this first chapter will be to define the attributes and inculturation of the sag as seen through the history of human development. I will be answering the outstanding questions of appropriateness and tastefulness, as well as speaking briefly on the on going debate of "how low is too low" (for which there are several differing schools of thought which will be looked at in depth in chapters 8 and 11 respectively)
In this first section, also, I will attempt to avoid the discussion of the Art of the Sag in women's fashion, and stick strictly to that of Men's as they do exist as two distinctively different phenomena. Women tend to err not on the side of the lowering of the pants but on the lifting of the thong or panty to make it more visible above the pant. This being said, the rules for which I will place forward as the definitive style guide for the Art of Bustin' a Sag can be used for both men and woman when referring to the dimensions and proportions of the most acceptable sag.
To bust the appropriate amount of sag the belt should be rested firmly atop the start of the shaft of the penis in the front and just about half way down the meat of the buttocks in the back. Anything more than this should be seen as excessive and okay for ridicule, maximum offenders being those who allow the entire length of the penis to be above the start of the belt which almost always results in the "long torso tiny legs" conundrum depending on the endowment of the buster of the sag (see chapter 4). Also the buster of the sag should only wear colorful boxer shorts or possibly playful boxer briefs, but never tighty whities, unless shirtless and cut like young markymark. If not cut like young markymark then the fact that you are even wearing tighty whities should never, I stress NEVER, be let known to the public in any way shape or form. The boxers should always be clean and freshly laundered for maximum puffiness, and also sagged though not to the extent of the pants. Boxers should be sagged to just below the hipbone to reveal the "Usher line" in the front, and the "back dimples" in the rear. If the buster of the sag is without these physical attributes then the general rule should be as follows: complete coverage of the pubic plane in the front and not a trace of crack in the back.

Fear and Loathing and Randy Newman's Land of Dreams

I live everyday with fear.
I live with big fears, like my family being murdered or my loved ones being humiliated, and I also live with small fears, like my shoe lace breaking while I am out walking far away from home.  Then there are my "Fears on Reserve,"things like, how am i going to feed my children, how am I going to pay the mortgage and my student loans, and also what will I do if I get sick? Far off fears for a young up and comer like myself, but they exist somewhere, which brings my to my greatest fear of them all, the fear of the day in which I first have to dip into these reserve fears.
   Fear and I live in very close relation.  Not close like brothers, and not close like first cousins, but more like some far off cousin who lives in some obscure country town that every once in a while is damaged by a hurricane and when you see it on the news you think; "oh hey, i have a cousin that lives in that town, i should call on my cousin."  But the truth is I go several weeks on end without even thinking of these far removed cousins of mine (except for maybe the one with the shoe laces, but I walk a lot at my job) and when i do hear news of some hurricane which damaged the town my cousins live in, and I do make contact with my cousins I can't help but obsess over them and over how wretchedly distant to their needs that I have been.
   I should call on them every morning when i wake and i should pray on them every night before sleep.  They should be always in my thoughts, everyday, always.  I should invite them over for the week and show them how i live my life.  I should never leave their side, show them what i eat for breakfast, how I get to work, what I do when i get there, and after I get off how I relax.  show them the shows I like to watch, the Art I like to look at, read aloud to them the books I am reading, and play them the music I like to write.  Talk to them at lengths about the concepts I have been contemplating and the projects I would like to complete.  Sit down and listen through my Favorite Randy Newman albums together, all the way through in silence the first time, and then repeating the ones we thought the most about, and discussing how they work and where they exist in the world of ourselves.
   This week it would be LAND OF DREAMS, an album that aches terribly to be genuine, and must be the closest Randy Newman ever came to offering a truthful collection of songs as a memoir of some kind, if only every song weren't off set by some curmudgeonly cynical barrier.  Oscar Wilde said something once about how if a person were ever to live a life giving complete expression to every thought and feeling without self criticism and fear, then that person could change the world, and return it to an ideal.  LAND OF DREAMS was Randy Newmans shot, and he backed away, he seemingly gave into that fear of himself which holds all of us from something.  The first three songs on side one are the opening to a stunning memoir "Dixie Flyer" "New Orleans Wins the War" and "four eyes" begin with birth and move through a confusing childhood ending with a viscous scene of children spewing abuse at a recently abandoned and bespectacled child.  Its dripping with terrifying production and violent story telling, the song leaves you waiting for the boys redemption, but the following few songs leave the narrative behind.  As if Randy sensed that he might be letting too much of himself seep into his work, the next few tracks all are drenched in mainstream Pop shielding, like armor he deflects the listener with hooky radio hits filled only with Jimmy Buffet tinged emptiness.  Some are quite lovely songs but much like Cyranos refusal to publish his poems, and his kept distance from Roxanne he uses flowery language not to bare his soul, but to further mask his true self which he finds too grotesque to be loved by anyone at all. When we get too close to our truths we refract into jokes, poems, and bad art along with other accepted forms of release.
      This is the curious thing beginning side two of LAND OF DREAMS.   This time out we find that Randy has switched the subject of the story from himself to that of a young African American boy growing up in California.  The first group of songs mirror those on side one but this time slight differences, their families still struggle but this time the other children pick on the boy for being black and small rather than being Jewish and four eyed, eventually leading to life in a gang.  But in the end it is the discovery of music that brings both boys some sort of release which we find out in a hilarious when taken out of context Randy Newman rap song, "Here comes the MasterMan and BabyJ."
   But it's  really not until the very last song on the album that Randy comes back to the type of power he started out with.  The song is titled "I Just Want You To Hurt Like I Do" and it's a daring song by one of musics most brazen songwriters for sure.  This song is pure truth hidden within a parody.  Verse one is a man speaking to his only son on the day he is prepared to run out on his family, the boy puts his head on his fathers shoulder and the father gives this simple reason for going: "I just want you to hurt like i do, honest i do."  This is a ballsy refrain from a detestable narrator only saved by knowing the type of songwriter Randy Newman is, and assuming he finds some kind of humor in the idea.  He has said before that the idea for the song came about from watching the music video for "We are The World" and this point comes home in the second verse where he is no longer speaking to his child and family to to the world as a whole.  He takes to a stage and speaks to the public saying

"its a rough rough world/ its a tough tough world/ things don't always go as we planned/ but there's one thing we all have in common... I just want you to hurt like I do"

here he is speaking the truth, straight to the soul of every man and woman, but he also is speaking as an Artist and for other Artists with the publics ear.  Creating this kind of Art is a selfish act, writing sad songs for sad people, or writing true songs for people who only want to escape from the truth from time to time, and most of all for expecting for the public to want to hear about those things, especially when coming from a strictly personal point of view.  The Artist needs the public to survive, needs someone to buy what they are selling, so that means that they must be willing to put themselves on the line completely, inside and out.  Randy comes to terms with these things by lampooning the artists who attempt this type of honesty, if he can cover his tracks by playing it as a joke on someone else in the room, then he is not immediately to blame.  And this comes from his fear of being seen as the wrong kind of joke.  As being seen as someone who tried to be genuine and failed, thats how he accounts for the other seven songs on the album, the radio songs, the jokes, and the stabs at the mainstream.  Here he reminds the world that those other songwriters are fools, and knowing that fact is the thing which makes him a true Artist.
   The Art instinct is in everyone and the Art impulse has the power to drive one truly mad with not a desire to, but a need for creating Art.  Like a need for liquids, or a need for warmth from the cold.  It has been said that the worst artists intend something grand from their work, whereas the best artists simply create work, and you can see it in the product every time. Fearless Art is not the most complicated, and rarely is it conceptual because fearlessness isn't motivated by the intellect, it's triggered by the impulses.  For this reason anything over thought or over wrought will come out over made and superficial every time.
 
On the second listen that final song is always played several times.  It lends itself to the type of relationships I've cultivated with my company, whom I've played off many times as some sort of playful allegory (for what i have no idea)  What I do know is that I cannot let these things bully me into a life which I cannot imagine, but to allow my path to present itself through perseverance and sincerity. To look forward not with FEAR of how ill get through life, but with EXCITEMENT to find out how exactly I'll do it.

Looper Reels.

Today I experienced something in a movie theatre which I can honestly say that I have never experienced before. The film skipped.
   It didn't stop rolling, it didn't break free and burn up in a dramatic tangled display of light and billowing black smoke, it simply skipped, maybe three times, froze for half an instant on Bruce Willis's drooping cheeks, and continued through the rest of the film. It was a brief and confusing instant, fleeting in every sense, and really had no effect on my enjoyment of the movie at all, it was great, but in that microscopic moment I found myself staring at the wrinkles on that great big cheek and I thought for the first time in my movie going life that I am, in fact, not watching a film, but I am watching a digital projection of a movie.  This is the future of movie going but in the here and now, and I am sitting in the front row with a big stupid smile on my face soaking in every lie. It looks great, it sounds impeccable, and until this moment I seriously never gave it a first or second thought as being at all a different experience than seeing movies as a younger me. But the truth is, the movie going experience is not at all the same as we remember from yesteryear. Long gone are the days of fixed lengths of film rolled into continual loops and measured in inches, clacking away behind the backs of the crowd. Today what I felt behind me was not the presence of a FILM as a tangible, definable object but more an abstract concept. A series of numbers representing information.
   The truth is that the moment we arrive at the theatre long absent signs from film history are transmitted into our psyche, from repeated representations of movie projectors, camera tripods and film canisters printed on tickets, on posters, and on 80 oz. soda cups to often forged vague resemblances of stars, like a sock puppet in a trench coat and a fedora watching a plane fly off into some clouded distance, or Joseph Gordon Levitt with a smushed nose and a fabricated tough guy brow sitting across the table from the real deal John McClane.
    Levitt puts forth an impressive physical and educated performance, and it's not long before you forget about his natural look, his sleek approachable features which young girls swoon for and Mothers find unthreatening, have absolutely nothing to do with the sophisticated sleaze of Bruce Willis's god given, road tested movie star mug, and even that does not much to mimic but still owes everything to the gentle grimace which the sock puppet really only attempts to parody. We see Levitt, we think Willis, we imagine Bogart, and suddenly the present has substance. We see Reels, we think Stars, we imagine Hollywood, and suddenly we are taking part in History. As they say early in the film, and of course I paraphrase, "don't you realize that the movies you kids are watching are just copies of other movies?"
    Of course they don't, at least not yet, this is a bit of knowledge that only comes from age and experience, something that may seem less and less important in the age of the internet. The age of instant gratification, instant and constant entertainment, and easily attainable information and technology. like digital cameras, and digital projectors. Where once, magnificent shadows were cast upon the wall through film stock, now a projector creates from data. Where once, man fought for his right to create and experience life, now man fights to preserve memories from the past. Memories which never existed in the real world, but were only represented internally and expressed in the action of the present. Like the 1s and 0s or what have you of the digital world. They come to life on screen as a stream of sequential images and sounds and maps of color and texture, they inspire rises and falls and genuine shock and excitement and horror, but then a finite ending, a place where it stops. We are no longer reanimating an existing still image, and giving it new life, we are now simply reliving the same bombardment of sensations, tailor made to cause subliminal representations of emotions based upon preconceived concepts of living, and a working knowledge of history. It's the difference between studying a film, and experiencing one. In the later, the building blocks don't matter as much as the impression.

    In the movie the young Loopers use BLUNDERBUSSES, loud and shocking weapons that create an instant of devastating chaos. But only at close range, and not at all with precision. While the older and more experienced characters arm themselves and their armies with "gats." Weapons of precise ability and long range, they represent a fine point to the broad stroke of the Blunderbuss. When a Gat takes a life it alters the time line for all who follow and redirects mankind, whereas a Blunderbuss has no power to change the future, and only effects the lives of those who are meaningless. It's impressive and it's cool, but it's not an affecting presence in the long term. Though both do hold the ability to inspire.
    I struggle still though my own broad strokes as I attempt to scribble down a few thoughts from this experience, and can only hope to someday look back and see the purpose, use these created and filed away memories with a more pin point and practiced hand for some kind of greater good if such a thing exists. This is a hero's story, or a villains if the story should head that direction. Because men do not make Super Heros, they only make decisions based on previously encoded concepts of right and wrong, selfish and not, and of the importance of the idea of a greater good. We look to history for answers to these questions, we recall older men or older films and act accordingly, so that future men can make future decisions based on the ones we've made in the present. So that when the past is sitting across the table from the future it can see the folly of its ways, and find a path worth following, or something like that... but for now, im glad to see that in the year 2044 they still listen to Warren Zevon on the radio.