TwoBusy: Things

March 16, 2009

Things

1. In what I can only presume will quickly prove a tragic error in judgment, your pal and mine PetCobra has invited me to join The Justice League the world-renowned staff of the guys at DadCentric. He's also asked me to commit to a 2x/week schedule of posting — and yes, I can hear you all laughing about that already.

Shut up.

2. I got a job! Sort of. What I got, to be honest, is a contract job that will last somewhere from 6-8 weeks, with a theoretical start date of next Monday. The pay is mediocre, but insofar as that mediocre still kicks the hairy, dimpled ass of unemployment any day of the week... I'll take it.

The toughest part, for me, will be the fact that this will take place at a decidedly business-casual environment... and I'm not really a business casual kind of guy. Think of me as a Yugo: a poorly-designed, completely unreliable, exhaust-belching nightmare with two speeds: full-on suit or casual.

My fear is that this might force me to buy a pair of khakis. Which could, theoretically, entail me going into a Gap or Banana Republic in a capacity other than that of carrying things for TheWife and making smart-ass comments about the club-friendly soundtrack. (You haven't enjoyed retail shopping until you've spent 20 minutes in a chain clothing store with me miming club dancing - replete with platinum-caliber white man's overbite - three feet behind you the entire time.)

I have a baaaaaaaaad feeling about this.

3. Jonniker had a babyker! But you know that already. Right? If not, feel free to pay her a visit and coo with wonder and awe at the small mammal she created.

4. Speaking of women's issues (note the smooth segue? That's why DadCentric called me up to the majors to the minors to the carnival circuit...) I was thrown a curveball recently when someone who will go unnamed (oops) referred to me in an e-mail as "little lady."

And did so because she was under the impression that I am, in fact, a little lady.

(To be fair, she figured out her error before I could pick my jaw up off the floor and correct her. But I guess that's the inherent danger in picking a stupid gender-neutral online pseudonym. Anyhow, no harm done. Although I do feel pretty. Oh so pretty.)

5. On a completely different note, I saw two (2) movies on NetFlix last week that I enjoyed thoroughly, and considering how I've badgered bored provided you with vast entertainment in re: previous viewing disasters, I thought I'd share a couple of positive reviews.

The first is an older British film called A Matter of Life and Death, which features David Niven in what can only be described as a very Heaven Can Wait-type thing. It was pretty damned fantastic, and all thanks for steering me towards it must be ascribed to The Velvet Blog, who hooked my interest a couple of months ago by posting the movie's opening scene... which I can, in all honesty, tell you is one of the most incredible opening scenes for a movie I've ever witnessed, and which affected me just as strongly the second (and then third) times I watched it.

The second... well, okay: it's Hamlet 2. And I cackled hysterically all the way through it. And now find myself singing "Rock Me, Sexy Jesus" to my kids on an almost daily basis. It's just wrong, wrong, wrong, and I don't know that I could have enjoyed it more.

6. I just got a call from the contract job place — they want me to take a drug test before I begin, which is a first for me. Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up horse tranquilizers.

7. Since I haven't creeped you the fuck out with a video in a while, I thought I'd leave you with the following exercise in good times by Idaho, one of my all-time favorite bands and a song/video that, personally, I find haunting in all kinds of fascinating ways. Enjoy!

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Shut up.

I have a baaaaaaaaad feeling about this.

3. Jonniker had a babyker! But you know that already. Right? If not, feel free to pay her a visit and coo with wonder and awe at the small mammal she created.

And did so because she was under the impression that I am, in fact, a little lady.

6. I just got a call from the contract job place — they want me to take a drug test before I begin, which is a first for me. Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up horse tranquilizers.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

A Winged Victory for the Sullen: A Winged Victory for the Sullen
My 2011 album of the year. Achingly gorgeous neo-classical compositions designed to leave you on the verge of tears. I've been listening to it almost non-stop for months; you should do the same.
Hammock: Longest Year EP
There are few things more frustrating than trying to describe the gorgeous, evocative and profoundly atmospheric post-rock music of Hammock without A) resorting to clichés that, while not necessarily inaccurate, do little to accurately describe the listening experience; or B) having the musical vocabulary to adequately describe just what it is about these lengthy, largely wordless compositions that hypnotizes and moves me so profoundly. So I'll just say: imagine a film. No words; just images. Flashing, semi-grainy images of someone from your past — impossibly beautiful, vibrant and full of life. Someone lost to you forever. Imagine that feeling, of love and impossible longing and desperate, hopeless desire to recapture that moment and make it last forever. Now hunt down the title track to this EP, close your eyes, and listen. And you will know: this is the music for that feeling.
Peter Gabriel: New Blood
Man, what a disappointment this turned out to be. I've been a fan of Peter Gabriel's for more than 20 years, and while his post-Passion albums have been uneven at best... I was thrilled when I heard that he was re-recording some of his best songs with an orchestra. I grabbed it on the day it was released, tossed it in my trusty CD player, and... um... didn't love it. So I listened to it again. And again. And again. And now, after four full listens, I've concluded: this isn't music I can love. I mean, some of the songs work pretty well (generally the quieter ones — San Jacinto, Mercy Street and Wallflower are fairly lovely), but as a whole the album comes off as more of a compositional exercise than an attempt to create songs of real and lasting beauty. It's a crime, really, because the great strengths of Gabriel's music have always been rooted in his ability to marry thoughtful lyrics to passionate vocals and complex, deeply-emotional music that supports the first two elements. But here? The lyrics and vocals (and PG is, admittedly, still in very fine voice) are subordinated to overly-busy arrangements that rob the music of the very things that make it so extraordinary. It's a disappointing discovery, and to be completely honest the best thing about this album is the fact that it's forced me to go back to the original executions and appreciate, with a freshened perspective, just how wonderful they are.
Low: C'mon
A tremendous and much-appreciated return to form for this legendary Duluth, MN slowcore trio, and a welcome reminder of why they are both one of the very best and most interesting bands in the world. From the gorgeous, chilly-yet-warm harmonies of married folk Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk to the impeccable sense of atmosphere and dynamics that have always defined their finest work as a heady blend of atmosphere, melancholy and quiet beauty... it's all here. Look: just give a listen to "Especially Me" or "Try To Sleep" and tell me you're not charmed, moved and completely hooked. I defy you.
The Cure: Disintegration (Deluxe Edition) (3CD)
Why spring for the 3-CD deluxe edition, even if this is one of the greatest albums ever recorded? Three reasons: 1) Because the original album has been remastered, and now sounds better than ever — the bass is now audible, and the songs now offer a crystalline clarity that bring the aching beauty of Plainsong and Closedown to new levels. 2) The 2nd disc, which offers demos of most of Disintegration's songs, offer a fascinating glimpse into Smith's creative process. 3) The 3rd disc is a live album, and its version of Pictures of You is, simply, astonishing. One note: even better than springing for this? Is having @MrLady do it for you. I highly recommend that approach.

Reading is Fundamental

Daryl Gregory: Raising Stony Mayhall
Man, Daryl Gregory is an interesting writer. This is a zombie novel, but it's utterly unlike any other zombie novel I've read (and let's be clear: from The Angels Are The Reapers to World War Z and Breathers, there's a wiiiide range of very good ones out there). Why? Because our title character is a part of the Living Dead community — and he's as rich and fully realized a character as you'll ever come across: an individual loved by his family, first hidden from and then feared by the world, and desperately curious to explore and understand his nature. What, exactly, is he? How is it possible that he was born dead, is and has always been composed of unliving tissue... and yet still grew up? Gregory couples this greatly realized characterization with a compelling plot that follows Stony from his "childhood" on an Iowa farm to a growing Living Dead underground community to prison and revolution and beyond — and the result is a truly compelling read that blends some fascinating questions with a sense of fun and engagement that never wavers. This is a worthy follow-up to Gregory's "The Devil's Alphabet," and while neither of these two novels quite matches the dizzying heights he reached with his stunning debut, "Pandemonium," it's still a terrific read that deserves your attention.
Dennis Lehane: Moonlight Mile
When an author returns to a series years after abandoning it, it's frequently a journey fraught with peril. All too often, they seem to lose their handle on the characters and unique tone that made their earlier work so fun and successful, and you finish the book kind of wishing they'd never gone down this road. Having said that, I was grateful to discover that Dennis Lehane's return to Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro in "Moonlight Mile" is an energetic and very successful reintroduction of the deeply sardonic (and funny) dialogue and dark & twisty plotting that made his early novels such an incredible pleasure. It's been more than a decade since Lehane left them behind to move on to "Mystic River" (still one of the best things I've ever read)... and when we rejoin Patrick and Angie, we discover that a decade has passed in their lives, as well. They've grown older (and possibly a little wiser), just another couple in Boston doing their best to make ends meet — when suddenly they find themselves launched into a search for Amanda McCready, a 16yo girl who a dozen years previously was the missing girl at the heart of Lehane's wonderful "Gone Baby Gone" (as well as Ben Affleck's outstanding film adaptation of the same). What happens from that point forward is nothing if not tremendously satisfying, and while as a novel this may not reach quite the same dizzying heights of some of Lehane's other work... it's an absolute, uncompromising pleasure and a welcome reminder of why we fell in love with his writing and these characters in the first place. Great, great stuff.
Emma Donoghue: Room
Yeah. It's every bit as good as you've heard. And every bit as lovely, heartbreaking and tragic, too. The idea is brilliant: Jack is five years old, and has lived his entire life in Room. With his Ma. And with occasional, after-dark visits from Old Nick — who, Jack doesn't realize, is the man who years ago kidnapped and imprisoned a then-19yo girl in Room. As far as Jack is aware, he, Ma and Old Nick are the only real people in the universe. Everything else - what he sees on TV and what little he can view through the tiny skylight at the top of room - is make-believe. I could say more to describe what happens, but really... there's no way I'm going to give anything away. I'll just say, instead, that Donoghue does an impossibly masterful job of creating an entirely believable 5-year old boy who might have been born and raised in such an environment — and who might react to the things he experiences in the way that Jack ultimately does. Every piece of this story has the ring of absolute truth, and that (more than anything else) is what helps to define it as one of the most haunting things I've read in a long, long time. Highly, highly recommended.
Greg Olear: Fathermucker: A Novel
I wanted to like this. I really, really wanted to like this. The concept sounded terrific: a SAHD in an upper-middle class enclave in upstate NY is told, during the course of a playdate, that there is suspicion his wife is having an affair. The idea is pure gold — a setting and a cast of characters impossibly ripe for comedy, plus an opportunity to add some emotional depth via the very troubling idea of a beloved wife (in an imperfect marriage) who may be quietly shattering our protagonist's heart. Unfortunately... the execution fell far short of my expectations. Let me be clear: Olear can write — he knows how to craft language and put together an interesting story. And he certainly does a credible job of recreating the vast wilderness of SAHM/D life in the 'burbs. But in terms of really delivering on either the comedic or tragic implications of the story... it fails. Problem 1: it's not funny. At all. And the fact that Olear clearly has the ideas and chops to deliver on a strong comic premise - and yet, consistently, fails to do so - became an ongoing source of frustration for me as I went through the book. I'll put it this way: a full-length comic novel that makes you smile and/or laugh a grand total of once? Is not a very successful comic novel. Problem 2: it offers multiple opportunities to broaden into really emotionally resonant territory, both as a function of exploring the wife's possible infidelity and in exploring the emotional impact of having a child on the autism spectrum (Asperger's, in this case) on a marriage. And yet, every time it starts moving in that direction... Olear instead veers into a machine-gun spatter of pages-long paragraphs listing people who attended a playdate and how they interact with and/or screw around with each other (or some other, similar tactic). It's as if he's hoping that if he dances realrealrealfast, no one will notice that he's not ready or willing to write with anything approaching real emotion. All of which leads me to this conclusion: I've read far, far worse books this year... but none that made me feel more frustrated or actively angry for not being better. (Disclosure: I was sent this book by the very kind people at Fathermucker's publishing house, whose name I can't think of right now. Thanks and sorry — I really wanted to enjoy this a lot more than I did.)
Warren Fahy: Fragment
Remember back when Michael Crichton was cranking out blockbuster-movie-plots-disguised-as-novels and every review was pretty much the same? The details varied from book to book, but almost without exception you'd read a review and learn that he'd put together a book with a propulsive plot, a bunch of surprises and thrills, lots of technical and/or scientific detail to show off all the research he did, and little doubt that the characters and dialogue were anything more than paper-thin. Well, Crichton is gone — but with Fragment, Warren Fahy makes a solid attempt to recreate the Crichton model... for better and for worse. The novel is basically built around the same initial concept as King Kong: a tiny, remote island out in the middle of nowhere in the South Pacific is discovered — and is quickly found to be inhabited by all kinds of fascinating monsters. Boatloads of energetic scenes of people getting shredded by the aforementioned monsters inevitably ensues. Fahy's Crichton-esque take is to cast this island and its bizarre inhabitants as an ultraviolent evolutionary offshoot, where billions of years of isolation have resulted in the creation of all kinds of horrifying and efficiently bloodthirsty inhabitants, including (most memorably) the spiger, which basically looks like a 15-foot long hybrid of a spider and a tiger (it even has orange stripes). Sounds promising, right? Until you realize that Fahy has failed to back up this premise with things like "believable characters" or "dialogue" or "depth." Which leaves us with a passable beach or airplane read... and not much more.