Monday, December 22, 2003
Working the Network
I'd like a Media Dietician to introduce me to David Byrne for a project I'm working on. Any takers? Email me at the usual place, listed to the left. And thanks in advance! I promise not to abuse the privelege.
'Tis the Season to Be... AWOL XVII
Tomorrow, I head home for the holidays. That means that Media Diet may be quiet until I get back to Boston. That doesn't mean that Media Diet is dead (long live Media Diet!). It just means that it's resting. Worst case scenario: Media Diet will be back up and running Dec. 29 or so.
May you and yours have the happiest of holidays.
May you and yours have the happiest of holidays.
Pieces, Particles XIII
The following stories spotted recently in print publications might be worth a look. Heads and decks, only. Heads and decks.
Ad Reinhardt, Newspaper Cartoonist: The Abstract Double Agent by Richard B. Woodward, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
A DVD Face-Off: The Official Vs. the Homemade by Emily Nussbaum, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
In the age of participatory TV, why settle for the studio-approved commentary?
For These Pioneers, It's One for the Road by Peter DeMarco, The Boston Globe, Dec. 21, 2003
Trip is history, though unofficial
Lost? Hiding? Your Cellphone Is Keeping Tabs by Amy Harmon, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
On the Web, an Amateur Audience Creates Anti-Bush Ads by Phoebe Eaton, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
A contest to create television commercials inspires 1,000 grass-roots directors.
With History of Firsts, Duo Gunning to be Last by Donovan Slack, The Boston Globe, Dec. 20, 2003
Ad Reinhardt, Newspaper Cartoonist: The Abstract Double Agent by Richard B. Woodward, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
A DVD Face-Off: The Official Vs. the Homemade by Emily Nussbaum, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
In the age of participatory TV, why settle for the studio-approved commentary?
For These Pioneers, It's One for the Road by Peter DeMarco, The Boston Globe, Dec. 21, 2003
Trip is history, though unofficial
Lost? Hiding? Your Cellphone Is Keeping Tabs by Amy Harmon, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
On the Web, an Amateur Audience Creates Anti-Bush Ads by Phoebe Eaton, The New York Times, Dec. 21, 2003
A contest to create television commercials inspires 1,000 grass-roots directors.
With History of Firsts, Duo Gunning to be Last by Donovan Slack, The Boston Globe, Dec. 20, 2003
The Movie I Watched Last Night LXXXV
Chinatown
I can't believe I haven't reviewed this movie for Media Diet yet. I've certainly watched the 1974 neo-noir enough. An awesome southern California story of incest, economic development, and backstabbing in the hardboiled Raymond Chandler mold. A young Jack Nicholson, cast as a wise-cracking private eye, stars opposite a languid Faye Dunaway. Water rights, boardroom politics, governmental nepotism, populist activism, and the occasional slugfest all add up to a dark, classic film. One of my favorites.
I can't believe I haven't reviewed this movie for Media Diet yet. I've certainly watched the 1974 neo-noir enough. An awesome southern California story of incest, economic development, and backstabbing in the hardboiled Raymond Chandler mold. A young Jack Nicholson, cast as a wise-cracking private eye, stars opposite a languid Faye Dunaway. Water rights, boardroom politics, governmental nepotism, populist activism, and the occasional slugfest all add up to a dark, classic film. One of my favorites.
Friday, December 19, 2003
Read But Dead XXIII
The Grolier Poetry Book Shop in Harvard Square, only one of two stores dedicated to poetry in the United States, may have to close. If the owner doesn't raise the money she needs to pay the bills, the store could shut up shop as early as the end of January. Right now, Grolier is offering a 15% discount on all titles. Say, isn't Christmas just around the corner? Give the gift of poetry.
Corollary: Event-O-Dex LXXXIX
Friday, Dec. 19: The Anchormen, the Operators, Nice & Easy, and Asian Babe Alert join forces for a Handstand Command showcase at the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain. Tonight is the Anks' last show ever. Maybe.
Update: We even rate a photo in the listings section of the Boston Phoenix this week.
Update: We even rate a photo in the listings section of the Boston Phoenix this week.
Rock Shows of Note LXXIX
Last night, after practice with the Anchormen, Jef and I went to the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain for the Weekly Dig holiday party -- and a Big Digits show. Scarfing some free, but cold pizza, we hung out with Mac, TD, their new drummer -- who may debut at a show with Buffalo Tom at the Middle East in January -- Paul, and other friends. Around 10 p.m., Big Digits took the stage.
This might be the best show I've seen them put on. TD, as hype guy, was all over the place, exacerbating a bad mic connection and at one point, taking a backward tumble into some stacked-up chairs. Mac was in fine form, delivering his rapid-fire and razor-sharp lyrics over the samples and beats he'd prepared. The two played about three new songs for the first time, and I was excited to hear more of the lyrics -- words about science fiction, database management, relationships gone awry, and more. "Traveling through Time" may be a favorite new song, with its dramatic and hammy chorus.
I picked up a copy of their new CD, which sports cover art by one Ron Rege, Jr., and I look forward to their shows with live percussion. If they can actually incorporate live drumming into their stage show, it could be quite awesome indeed. Many of our friends left to hit the Q Division party, but Jef, being slightly ill, headed home -- as did I, to bed and rest.
This might be the best show I've seen them put on. TD, as hype guy, was all over the place, exacerbating a bad mic connection and at one point, taking a backward tumble into some stacked-up chairs. Mac was in fine form, delivering his rapid-fire and razor-sharp lyrics over the samples and beats he'd prepared. The two played about three new songs for the first time, and I was excited to hear more of the lyrics -- words about science fiction, database management, relationships gone awry, and more. "Traveling through Time" may be a favorite new song, with its dramatic and hammy chorus.
I picked up a copy of their new CD, which sports cover art by one Ron Rege, Jr., and I look forward to their shows with live percussion. If they can actually incorporate live drumming into their stage show, it could be quite awesome indeed. Many of our friends left to hit the Q Division party, but Jef, being slightly ill, headed home -- as did I, to bed and rest.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Workaday World XLIII
Today's the last day I'll be working out of the Boston Fast Company offices located in the scenic Scotch & Sirloin building on the edge of the North End. For the next few weeks, I'll be camping out two floors up, crouching in a corner of The Atlantic until I move to New York. Tim has already begun tearing down the walls and other things he designed and built into the space, which the magazine has occupied since 1997. I was going to take pictures of all the empty work spaces to capture some images of emptiness and abandonment, but wouldn't you know it, the batteries in my camera are dead. We're all probably better off.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
From the In Box: Books Worth a Look XX
In response to my earlier post about his most recent book, Cory Doctorow emailed me a 21,000 word story entitled "Human Readable" early this morning. Subject line: More didactic SF.
I had to close loop with him to make sure I hadn't offended the man! Turns out that "0wnz0red," the story I described as "polemical," is the "most critically successful thing" Cory's ever written. Just goes to show what I know. Weakest link? Greatest thing.
I had to close loop with him to make sure I hadn't offended the man! Turns out that "0wnz0red," the story I described as "polemical," is the "most critically successful thing" Cory's ever written. Just goes to show what I know. Weakest link? Greatest thing.
Take That, Big Apple IV
This past weekend, a friend of a friend who runs a moving company came by my Magazine Street abode to give me an estimate on the move to Brooklyn. Today, I arranged the move-in date with my landlord on that end. Soon, I'll secure the street parking needed for the truck in Cambridge. The move is coming together!
Update: You can even apply for a moving van permit in Cambridge online.
Update: You can even apply for a moving van permit in Cambridge online.
Corollary: Workaday World XLII
They may have taken the water cooler away, but I just learned that if you run the kitchen sink tap for a really long time, the water's almost as cold as ice water. The bigger issue, really, is the lack of on-site coffee. I got a large hazelnut with cream and sugar -- cake in a cup! -- from Dunkin' Donuts this morning, but since then, my caffeination has been little. Not sure I like that.
It's an Ad, Ad, Ad, Ad World XXIX
Peter Carlson, writing for the Washington Post, expresses appreciation for those little ads in the New Yorker.
Monday, December 15, 2003
Sites for Sore Eyes IV
Glenn Gaslin is now contributing to a new groupblog called Big Action!. So far, entries touch on telekinesis, Disney, Santa Claus, and Battlestar Galactica. Plenty of popcult goodness for your frequent reading.
And continuing the relocation trend, Matt has launched a new blog entitled Blue Room. Some choice quotelets: "I've got a head full of trademarks," "My brain hurts," "Marooned indoors," and "The founders of Kindercore records are suing their business partners."
Indeed. "Your honor, then he called me twee." Objection!
And continuing the relocation trend, Matt has launched a new blog entitled Blue Room. Some choice quotelets: "I've got a head full of trademarks," "My brain hurts," "Marooned indoors," and "The founders of Kindercore records are suing their business partners."
Indeed. "Your honor, then he called me twee." Objection!
Workaday World XLII
T-minus three to the closure of the Boston office of Fast Company. This morning, the refrigerator was taken away, and I just spied a guy removing the coffee machine. The sink is full of ice, and I'm left wondering: Wherever shall I get my coffee for the next three days? File under: You know your office is closing when...
Books Worth a Look XX
While watching the final installment of Angels in America on HBO last night, I finished reading Cory Doctorow's new collection of short stories, A Place So Foreign. Published in September by Four Walls Eight Windows, it collects nine stories originally published in magazines such as Science Fiction Age and On Spec between 1998 and 2002. In the interest of full disclosure, at one time, I'd hoped to acquire the collection for Highwater Books, but it didn't come together; I think Cory found a better home.
Some of the book I'd read before -- "Craphound" and "The Super Man and the Bugout" -- but a lot of the stories were new to me and a wonderful corollary to Cory's novel Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. My favorites? "Craphound" because it held up over the course of five years and for its interstellar love of thrift sales and flea markets turned tale of true friendship. "All Day Sucker" for its new -- and perhaps more realistic -- take on computer-assisted memory and intelligence. "To Market, to Market: The Rebranding of Billy Bailey," a delightfully snarky approach to sales and marketing, shades of Tom Peters' Brand Called You and Naomi Klein's No Logo. And the closer, "The Super Man and the Bugout," for its lefty redux of the superhero icon.
While the stories are what shine here, two other aspects come into play. One is how Cory's personality and interests emerge through the text -- he knows of which he writes, and his interest is that of a true fan and geek. The other is the value of his introductory snippets. I haven't read a book in quite awhile in which the author's notes explain where a story came from -- and further explain who the author is by way of the stories. We get a lot of solid, edge-riding science fiction in this collection, but we also get a lot of Cory: the collecting bug, his reading history, knapsack theory, his voracious appetite for information, Disney, his writing process, his parents political history, and his own activist politics.
All that said, the story that hit me the weakest is also the most recent and political in the volume. Admittedly the first short story he wrote himself since he started work for the EFF, it's not as polemical as his current in-process work, Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town -- which just hit a somewhat strident stride in recent email previews -- but occasionally, the social and political theory and practice underlying his thinking overshadows the narrative. I would encourage Cory not to drop the political and social messages, but perhaps to better weave them into his stories so they're more transparent -- and perhaps digestible. If recent segments of Someone Comes to Town are any indication, his future work may get bogged down in political exposition. In this collection, however, that is not the case.
Get this book. Put it in your knapsack. Read it on the train.
Some of the book I'd read before -- "Craphound" and "The Super Man and the Bugout" -- but a lot of the stories were new to me and a wonderful corollary to Cory's novel Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. My favorites? "Craphound" because it held up over the course of five years and for its interstellar love of thrift sales and flea markets turned tale of true friendship. "All Day Sucker" for its new -- and perhaps more realistic -- take on computer-assisted memory and intelligence. "To Market, to Market: The Rebranding of Billy Bailey," a delightfully snarky approach to sales and marketing, shades of Tom Peters' Brand Called You and Naomi Klein's No Logo. And the closer, "The Super Man and the Bugout," for its lefty redux of the superhero icon.
While the stories are what shine here, two other aspects come into play. One is how Cory's personality and interests emerge through the text -- he knows of which he writes, and his interest is that of a true fan and geek. The other is the value of his introductory snippets. I haven't read a book in quite awhile in which the author's notes explain where a story came from -- and further explain who the author is by way of the stories. We get a lot of solid, edge-riding science fiction in this collection, but we also get a lot of Cory: the collecting bug, his reading history, knapsack theory, his voracious appetite for information, Disney, his writing process, his parents political history, and his own activist politics.
All that said, the story that hit me the weakest is also the most recent and political in the volume. Admittedly the first short story he wrote himself since he started work for the EFF, it's not as polemical as his current in-process work, Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town -- which just hit a somewhat strident stride in recent email previews -- but occasionally, the social and political theory and practice underlying his thinking overshadows the narrative. I would encourage Cory not to drop the political and social messages, but perhaps to better weave them into his stories so they're more transparent -- and perhaps digestible. If recent segments of Someone Comes to Town are any indication, his future work may get bogged down in political exposition. In this collection, however, that is not the case.
Get this book. Put it in your knapsack. Read it on the train.
The Movie I Watched Last Night LXXXIV
Jesus' Son
What an amazing sleeper of a film! When this came out in 1999, it didn't hit my radar at all, and with its cast, I'm surprised. Billy Crudup, Samantha Morton, Denis Leary, Jack Black, Dennis Hopper, and Holly Hunter all star to varying degrees in this adaptation of a cycle of interconnected short stories by Denis Johnson. Johnson himself cameos, and despite all the star wattage, no one actor steals the show. Jumping back and forth in time, largely because of the narrator and antihero's narrative forgetfulness, Jesus' Son is a story of love, loss, abuse, confusion, and yearning. Morton's character reminds me of a young Jodie Foster a la Taxi Driver, and her pairing with Crudup's antihero makes for a frustrating love story. As many personal problems as I may develop, I can't imagine coping with everything in the midst of drug addiction. Visually, the movie has several bright moments, including a scene in which Crudup's rounder follows a man who seems "lucky" to a laundromat and another in which he initially mistakes an abandoned drive-in theater for a cemetery. An extremely impressive movie directed by Alison Maclean. Almost all of the characters are wandering directionless, and even when they find an anchor -- Morton's Michelle or the Mennonite songstress -- they cast adrift again. Well worth renting!
What an amazing sleeper of a film! When this came out in 1999, it didn't hit my radar at all, and with its cast, I'm surprised. Billy Crudup, Samantha Morton, Denis Leary, Jack Black, Dennis Hopper, and Holly Hunter all star to varying degrees in this adaptation of a cycle of interconnected short stories by Denis Johnson. Johnson himself cameos, and despite all the star wattage, no one actor steals the show. Jumping back and forth in time, largely because of the narrator and antihero's narrative forgetfulness, Jesus' Son is a story of love, loss, abuse, confusion, and yearning. Morton's character reminds me of a young Jodie Foster a la Taxi Driver, and her pairing with Crudup's antihero makes for a frustrating love story. As many personal problems as I may develop, I can't imagine coping with everything in the midst of drug addiction. Visually, the movie has several bright moments, including a scene in which Crudup's rounder follows a man who seems "lucky" to a laundromat and another in which he initially mistakes an abandoned drive-in theater for a cemetery. An extremely impressive movie directed by Alison Maclean. Almost all of the characters are wandering directionless, and even when they find an anchor -- Morton's Michelle or the Mennonite songstress -- they cast adrift again. Well worth renting!
Sunday, December 14, 2003
Workaday World XLI
I'm in the office today, packing up seven years of office sediment to ship to the Fast Company offices in New York. I've also been separating out personal items and books to ship home -- and then to be moved to Brooklyn when I relocate early next year. The range of emotions I'm feeling today as I pack and get organized is interesting. Seven years is a long time to work somewhere, much less to be in the same office building.
Now the wind is picking up outside as the sky darkens. Boston has yet to get the winter storm we've been warned about for the last few days, and I'm curious when the snow will start. Just before I left the house this morning, I got an email page that American forces had captured Saddam Hussein. Folks have already taken the TV from the office, so I missed Bush's address, but it struck me as I took the T into town that I wasn't really clear on why capturing Hussein was a goal.
Didn't the military action start because of Sept. 11, Osama Bin Laden, and Al Qaeda? Isn't this action in Iraq a convenient spillover to make good on what Bush's father started when he was president? I suppose it's a good thing Hussein has been caught, but it's difficult for me to feel an upswell of patriotism or support for this. I sense no victory. And it'll be interesting to see how Bush uses this as his re-election campaign gears up. Will this be positive propaganda that bolsters Bush's case for the presidency? Or will new news come out in the wash, recontextualizing the capture as the days progress?
OK, time to get back to packing. I'm almost done. Three more days in the office. Then, onward.
Now the wind is picking up outside as the sky darkens. Boston has yet to get the winter storm we've been warned about for the last few days, and I'm curious when the snow will start. Just before I left the house this morning, I got an email page that American forces had captured Saddam Hussein. Folks have already taken the TV from the office, so I missed Bush's address, but it struck me as I took the T into town that I wasn't really clear on why capturing Hussein was a goal.
Didn't the military action start because of Sept. 11, Osama Bin Laden, and Al Qaeda? Isn't this action in Iraq a convenient spillover to make good on what Bush's father started when he was president? I suppose it's a good thing Hussein has been caught, but it's difficult for me to feel an upswell of patriotism or support for this. I sense no victory. And it'll be interesting to see how Bush uses this as his re-election campaign gears up. Will this be positive propaganda that bolsters Bush's case for the presidency? Or will new news come out in the wash, recontextualizing the capture as the days progress?
OK, time to get back to packing. I'm almost done. Three more days in the office. Then, onward.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Event-O-Dex XC
Saturday, Dec. 20: The third annual Bazaar Bizarre will take place at the Dilboy VFW in Davis Square in Somerville. Besides the stellar roundup of punk crafts vendors, the bazaar will also feature Sleazy Santa, Theremin Christmas carols performed by Jon Bernhardt, Punk Rock Mary Kay, Punk Rock Aerobics DJ'ing, as well as Jonny Heaven (Spoilsport), Arto Payaslian (Mishima USA), and Emily Arkin (The Operators) -- and more! Shop 'til you drop.
Monday, December 08, 2003
Nervy, Pervy XXII
From the Reading Pile XXIV
I am now a contributor to Zine World again. Materials can be sent for consideration to the address to the left. Here are the reviews I've submitted for the forthcoming issue of the reader's guide to the underground press.
Aprendiz #2: The True Story of a N.Y. Tattoo Apprentice.
Not every painter or cartoonist can be a tattoo artist, and not every tattoo artist can self-publish a comic book as awesome as this. Adam's art reminds me of a streetwise Jim Mahfood crossed with the psychedelia of Andy Ristaino, and his panel design is amazing. The comic details the terms-and tribulations-of his apprenticeship, his co-workers, how the job affects his personal life, and dealing with customers who are a "little flipped." Quite impressive. Adam Suerte, 335 Court St. #16, Brooklyn, NY 11231. [$3.95 US 28M :10]
Dwelling Portably (May 2003).
Published since 1980, this old-school typewritten zine focuses on shared, mobile, improvised, underground, hidden, and floating living quarters. This issue addresses cook stoves, water sterilization, improvised toilet paper, dental care, Chicago, and retrofitting truck trailers and vans. Comprising how-to tips and tactics submitted by readers, the folksy zine also includes a handful of news clippings, primarily from the Pacific Northwest. Also includes a two-page review roundup and back issue index for May 1999 to December 2000. P.O. Box 190-D, Philomath, OR 97370. [$1 16S :16]
Film Geek #9 (Winter/Spring 2003).
Almost a year in the making, this issue of the B-movie fanzine runs hot and cold. Despite a rambling editorial, strung-together article on movies made in New Jersey, and a questionable conspiracy theory about fascist propaganda in "Rocky Jones, Space Ranger," several articles impress. Billy Anderson's appreciation of the Colonial Theatre, Robert Freese's comprehensive look at disaster movies, and the seven pages of movie reviews make me want to track down lost landmarks and redo my Netflix queue. Alan Fare, P.O. Box 501113, Tulsa, OK 74150, . [$1 28S :15]
Lucky #2.5.
Drawn in a more realistic style a la Jessica Abel by way of Jordan Crane and Dave Kiersh, Gabrielle's new series of minis is also more realistic in its narrative and verbose in its dialogue. The main character, ostensibly Gabrielle, loses a sketchbook before boarding a plane, takes in some art, vacations with friends, sells comics on the street, and takes an impromptu yoga class. The pacing is excellent and the overall tone is gently bittersweet. Gabrielle Bell. [$3 US 36M :16]
The Nightmares of the Pawn #1-2.
While the small typeface and photocopied cut-and-paste collage nature of this zine poses a challenge to reading, there's some fine personal, poetic, and political writing in this example of small-town self-discovery. Jeremy touches on road construction, wage slavery, freedom, misleading memories, half-hearted holidays, self-improvement, suburbia, love, agism, patriotism, televangelism, and creativity. The addition of short fiction and a resource directory broaden the zine's scope, but I'd like to read Jeremy's political prose poems without the cluttered layout. Jeremy, N16343 Old Highway 13, Butternut, WI 54514. [$1.15 US, or trade, free to prisoners, 24XS :10]
Paper Rad: Wish You Were Here (2002).
Having just read the Comics Journal's package on the Fort Thunder arts community in Rhode Island, this post-Thunder collective comic is an appropriate read. Printed on multicolored paper, this anthology featuring Leif Goldberg, Ben Jones, P. Shaw, and Jim Drain-and perhaps others-touches on education, computers, trolls, robots, Garfield, musical dogs, pirates, and P. Shaw's cast of characters. The book, thicker than many Paper Rad editions, is a good introduction to the cute brut school of cartoonists. Paper Radio, P.O. Box 913, Providence, RI 02901. [$5 82M :20]
Rabid Transit: A Mischief of Rats.
The Ratbastards are a collective of writers specializing in what some term interstitial or slipstream fiction, or fabulation. Launched at Wiscon, this five-story chapbook includes work by Victoria Elizabeth Garcia, David J. Hoffman-Dachelet, Douglas Lain, Nick Mamatas, and Haddayr Copley-Woods. The latter three stand out, with ex-Soft Skull Press staffer Mamatas' blogosphere redux of Joan of Arc and Copley-Woods fragmenting perspective of statues and stone shining as most notable. Velocity Press, P.O. Box 28701, St. Paul, MN 55128. [$5.50 US, $6 Canada/Mexico, $6.50 elsewhere 56S :36]
Travel Report SPZ-24K10: Southeast Asia and Japan (Winter 2001-2002).
Marchette and Frank are active in the Monday Adventure Club, which celebrates the four-day work week by exploring the world. This zine collects the couple's email missives from Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Japan, , as well as a CD-R of video footage. The writing, aimed at friends, tends toward the chatty narrative rather than the descriptive or informative, but the zine features several highlights: fables about mountains, meeting author Oum Sophany, a gay mall, and the story of Nang Nak. Citizens of Xee, P.O. Box 45636, Seattle, WA 98145. [$3 US/Canada/Mexico, $5 elsewhere, or trade 44M+CD-R :31]
Aprendiz #2: The True Story of a N.Y. Tattoo Apprentice.
Not every painter or cartoonist can be a tattoo artist, and not every tattoo artist can self-publish a comic book as awesome as this. Adam's art reminds me of a streetwise Jim Mahfood crossed with the psychedelia of Andy Ristaino, and his panel design is amazing. The comic details the terms-and tribulations-of his apprenticeship, his co-workers, how the job affects his personal life, and dealing with customers who are a "little flipped." Quite impressive. Adam Suerte, 335 Court St. #16, Brooklyn, NY 11231. [$3.95 US 28M :10]
Dwelling Portably (May 2003).
Published since 1980, this old-school typewritten zine focuses on shared, mobile, improvised, underground, hidden, and floating living quarters. This issue addresses cook stoves, water sterilization, improvised toilet paper, dental care, Chicago, and retrofitting truck trailers and vans. Comprising how-to tips and tactics submitted by readers, the folksy zine also includes a handful of news clippings, primarily from the Pacific Northwest. Also includes a two-page review roundup and back issue index for May 1999 to December 2000. P.O. Box 190-D, Philomath, OR 97370. [$1 16S :16]
Film Geek #9 (Winter/Spring 2003).
Almost a year in the making, this issue of the B-movie fanzine runs hot and cold. Despite a rambling editorial, strung-together article on movies made in New Jersey, and a questionable conspiracy theory about fascist propaganda in "Rocky Jones, Space Ranger," several articles impress. Billy Anderson's appreciation of the Colonial Theatre, Robert Freese's comprehensive look at disaster movies, and the seven pages of movie reviews make me want to track down lost landmarks and redo my Netflix queue. Alan Fare, P.O. Box 501113, Tulsa, OK 74150, . [$1 28S :15]
Lucky #2.5.
Drawn in a more realistic style a la Jessica Abel by way of Jordan Crane and Dave Kiersh, Gabrielle's new series of minis is also more realistic in its narrative and verbose in its dialogue. The main character, ostensibly Gabrielle, loses a sketchbook before boarding a plane, takes in some art, vacations with friends, sells comics on the street, and takes an impromptu yoga class. The pacing is excellent and the overall tone is gently bittersweet. Gabrielle Bell. [$3 US 36M :16]
The Nightmares of the Pawn #1-2.
While the small typeface and photocopied cut-and-paste collage nature of this zine poses a challenge to reading, there's some fine personal, poetic, and political writing in this example of small-town self-discovery. Jeremy touches on road construction, wage slavery, freedom, misleading memories, half-hearted holidays, self-improvement, suburbia, love, agism, patriotism, televangelism, and creativity. The addition of short fiction and a resource directory broaden the zine's scope, but I'd like to read Jeremy's political prose poems without the cluttered layout. Jeremy, N16343 Old Highway 13, Butternut, WI 54514. [$1.15 US, or trade, free to prisoners, 24XS :10]
Paper Rad: Wish You Were Here (2002).
Having just read the Comics Journal's package on the Fort Thunder arts community in Rhode Island, this post-Thunder collective comic is an appropriate read. Printed on multicolored paper, this anthology featuring Leif Goldberg, Ben Jones, P. Shaw, and Jim Drain-and perhaps others-touches on education, computers, trolls, robots, Garfield, musical dogs, pirates, and P. Shaw's cast of characters. The book, thicker than many Paper Rad editions, is a good introduction to the cute brut school of cartoonists. Paper Radio, P.O. Box 913, Providence, RI 02901. [$5 82M :20]
Rabid Transit: A Mischief of Rats.
The Ratbastards are a collective of writers specializing in what some term interstitial or slipstream fiction, or fabulation. Launched at Wiscon, this five-story chapbook includes work by Victoria Elizabeth Garcia, David J. Hoffman-Dachelet, Douglas Lain, Nick Mamatas, and Haddayr Copley-Woods. The latter three stand out, with ex-Soft Skull Press staffer Mamatas' blogosphere redux of Joan of Arc and Copley-Woods fragmenting perspective of statues and stone shining as most notable. Velocity Press, P.O. Box 28701, St. Paul, MN 55128. [$5.50 US, $6 Canada/Mexico, $6.50 elsewhere 56S :36]
Travel Report SPZ-24K10: Southeast Asia and Japan (Winter 2001-2002).
Marchette and Frank are active in the Monday Adventure Club, which celebrates the four-day work week by exploring the world. This zine collects the couple's email missives from Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Japan, , as well as a CD-R of video footage. The writing, aimed at friends, tends toward the chatty narrative rather than the descriptive or informative, but the zine features several highlights: fables about mountains, meeting author Oum Sophany, a gay mall, and the story of Nang Nak. Citizens of Xee, P.O. Box 45636, Seattle, WA 98145. [$3 US/Canada/Mexico, $5 elsewhere, or trade 44M+CD-R :31]
Friday, December 05, 2003
Workaday World XL
It's snowing in New York, and there's a winter storm watch in effect for Boston -- we're supposed to get six inches of the flaky white stuff overnight, perhaps. Just now, coming back into the building, I saw a man sprawled out on the concrete in front of the lobby. He'd taken a spill and was covered with blankets. People gathered around him, and coming sirens announced that medical help was on its way. It looked like he'd split his head open, as a thin pool of blood spread slowly on the concrete. Scary stuff. If it's snowing where you are, be careful.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Nervy, Pervy XXI
If you're an NYU film student and you'd like to pursue a project with erotic undertones -- or overtones, for that matter -- be sure to keep the sex R-rated. A student interested in filming a live sex act in front of classmates was told to remain tame. While the university contends that it has long had an unwritten policy requiring student films to follow industry standards, the Washington Square News criticizes the action in light of no documented guidelines.
I can understand the concern with staging the sex act in front of a class, but I wonder: Had the student wanted to film the project elsewhere -- still turning it in for class -- would this hubbub have happened? Regardless of your stance on free speech, artistic development, and public-private behavior, public copulation is still public copulation. And there are laws against that, aren't there?
I can understand the concern with staging the sex act in front of a class, but I wonder: Had the student wanted to film the project elsewhere -- still turning it in for class -- would this hubbub have happened? Regardless of your stance on free speech, artistic development, and public-private behavior, public copulation is still public copulation. And there are laws against that, aren't there?
Pulling the Plug XII
According to the New York Daily News, the historic Greenwich Village cabaret, the Bottom Line, has been ordered to shut down. For about 30 years, the night spot has featured such musicians as Dr. John, Bruce Springsteen, and Christine Lavin. Now the club owners have been required to shut up shop. Their landlord, New York University, wanted to raise their monthly rent from $11,250 to $27,000 -- and has sued for almost $200,000 in back rent.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
Environmentally Challenged
New York City, of all cities in the United States, should have a solid recycling program. But it doesn't. Not only did Mayor Michael Bloomberg suspend plastic and glass recycling for up to two years in 2002, even though paper and metal recycling is supposed to continue, my new workspace in the New York office doesn't come complete with a recyling bin.
The New York Post reports that the interruption in service hasn't been a success financially -- and now that plastic recycling has started again, the city is beginning to enforce the laws somewhat.
So, if paper recycling never ended, shouldn't my cube have a recycling bin? Paper-intensive offices should recycle that paper.
The New York Post reports that the interruption in service hasn't been a success financially -- and now that plastic recycling has started again, the city is beginning to enforce the laws somewhat.
So, if paper recycling never ended, shouldn't my cube have a recycling bin? Paper-intensive offices should recycle that paper.
Monday, December 01, 2003
Event-O-Dex LXXXIX
Friday, Dec. 12: A Very Special Scrapple Midnite X-Mas show featuring multimedia wunderkind Travers will celebrate the holidays at the Coolidge Corner in Brookline. Special guests include Cathy Cathodic, as well as members of Neptune, Devil Music, and Plunge into Death.
Friday, Dec. 19: The Anchormen, the Operators, and Asian Babe Alert host a Handstand Command showcase at the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain. This will be the Anks' last show ever. Maybe.
Friday, Dec. 19: The Anchormen, the Operators, and Asian Babe Alert host a Handstand Command showcase at the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain. This will be the Anks' last show ever. Maybe.
Friday, November 28, 2003
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Humor Me XI
Newspaper publishing trade magazine Editor & Publisher recently considered the success of The Onion. Seth Porges considers the brand's extensions, forthcoming premium (read: paid) content online, and the publication's history -- go, Badgers!
When media humor brands such as The National Lampoon and Mad continue to falter and flail, it's good to see the Onion continue to grow like kudzu.
When media humor brands such as The National Lampoon and Mad continue to falter and flail, it's good to see the Onion continue to grow like kudzu.
Virtual Book Tour 3
I didn't participate in the Virtual Book Tour this go, and I missed mentioning it while it was underway.
If you missed it, too, and would like to catch up, see what Meg Hourihan, Christine Selleck, Josh Greenberg, James McNally, Geoffrey Long, Shannon Okey, Matt Haughey, and Heather Champ have to say about Ethan Watters' book, Urban Tribes.
There, just a week-plus after the fact. Such are these days.
If you missed it, too, and would like to catch up, see what Meg Hourihan, Christine Selleck, Josh Greenberg, James McNally, Geoffrey Long, Shannon Okey, Matt Haughey, and Heather Champ have to say about Ethan Watters' book, Urban Tribes.
There, just a week-plus after the fact. Such are these days.
Read But Dead XXII
Vanguarde Media, publisher of Savoy, Honey, and Heart & Soul, has folded.
Thanks to Romenesko's Media News.
Thanks to Romenesko's Media News.
Subway Soundtrack V
The MBTA has delayed plans to crack down on and restrict buskers performing on the city's public transportation platforms. Citing security concerns, the MBTA intends to limit live subway music to acoustic instruments -- no amplifiers, no drums, no brass, and no woodwinds. Additionally, the plans call for buskers to be "neat in appearance," wear photo ID, and pay $25 for an annual performance permit.
It's true. I think the solution to the problem, if there is a problem, is to ensure that the MBTA's PA system works well first. I can never understand what the agents are saying when the system is used, and it's not because of buskers. The speakers sound like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons even when a station is dead silent. Musicians such as Tracy Chapman who got their start in the subway are speaking up against the proposal. As did Roland Tumble last night at Park Street. Tumble's one of my favorite performers, and if the plan goes into effect, I'll miss his grouchiness and beautiful blues guitar.
Joe Pesaturo, the MBTA spokesman, has said that the musicians drown out the public address system and that "if people can't hear those messages, then we have a problem." Critics of the new rules countered that no one can understand the messages, which at times are muffled and distorted, even when musicians aren't playing.
It's true. I think the solution to the problem, if there is a problem, is to ensure that the MBTA's PA system works well first. I can never understand what the agents are saying when the system is used, and it's not because of buskers. The speakers sound like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons even when a station is dead silent. Musicians such as Tracy Chapman who got their start in the subway are speaking up against the proposal. As did Roland Tumble last night at Park Street. Tumble's one of my favorite performers, and if the plan goes into effect, I'll miss his grouchiness and beautiful blues guitar.
Games People Play XIV
While in New York last weekend, I went to a GameStop with Steve so he could sell some used Gamecube games and pick up the new Rogue Commander. While there, I picked up a couple of used games for my Playstation -- yeah, I'm a bit slow on the uptake for consoles. In any event, I snagged an Atari Classics, which features Tempest, and Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. And for the last two nights, I've played video games until my hands hurt.
While the Atari games are a bit awkward to play using the standard Playstation controller, I've been enjoying being Bam Margera. But, just as when I got into Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2, I'm all about the cheats. Thanks to Cheatstop, Ace Cheats, and Game Winners, Bam now has perfect balance, is always "on," and bleeds when he falls. What fun!
I still can't find the secret tape in the Foundry though. But I think I know where it is.
While the Atari games are a bit awkward to play using the standard Playstation controller, I've been enjoying being Bam Margera. But, just as when I got into Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2, I'm all about the cheats. Thanks to Cheatstop, Ace Cheats, and Game Winners, Bam now has perfect balance, is always "on," and bleeds when he falls. What fun!
I still can't find the secret tape in the Foundry though. But I think I know where it is.
Read But Dead XXI
Just in time for my move to New York City, long-running zine store See Hear is shutting up shop. While I used to love going to the St. Mark's icon and dropping mad cash on zines, comics, and underground newspapers, proprietor Ted Gottfried has almost always been plagued by complaints in the zine community. Doesn't accept their zines, people say. And if he does, he never pays them their consignment, they add. I'll miss See Hear -- we need more zine stores and infoshops -- but I guess this means that the folks who have money coming to them will never get it now.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Books Worth a Look XIX
Instead of catching up on reviews of the books I've read since June, I'm going to change my book-review policy. As editor of Media Diet, I can do that. No longer shall I review every single book I read, publishing review roundups every month. From now on, I shall only review books I really think beg mention -- perhaps bundling like-themed books in topical reviews, as I am about to do today. Of course, I might change the policy again in the future, but I think it's safe to say I'm not going to grandfather in the books I read in July, August, September, October, and November any time soon. Better to look ahead than behind and all that. Without further ado, the new-school approach to book reviews:
Little Lit: It Was a Dark and Silly Night edited by Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly (Raw Junior, 2003)
I cannot compare this volume to its two predecessors -- Little Lit and Little Lit: Strange Stories for Strange Kids -- because I haven't read them. In fact, I've totally ignored and dismissed them. Why? One, children's books are expensive and pretentious enough without donning the mantle of a postmodern comic book. Two, most comics are childish enough; there's no need to resort to children's book trappings to tap into the youth market. Yet, considering Little Lit III in the light of Spiegelman's adaptation of Joseph Moncure's Wild Party and Peter Kuper's redux of The Metamorphosis (reviewed below), perhaps this is another way for comic books to enter the book trade. The roundup of creators clearly indicates such: Lemony Snicket, Neil Gaiman, J. Otto Siebold, and Spiegelman hisself. Regardless, when I can buy a Siebold softcover for $6.99 (20 pages) or an issue of Tom Strong for $2.99 (36 pages), the economics of this book ($19.99 for 50 pages), parenting, and the children's book market strike me as most mercenary. The Snicket and Richard Salas pairing, however, bodes well for the read. Salas' dark yet dainty artwork, paired with Snicket's intelligent morality tale (there are two lessons in this nine-page piece) work quite well together. It may even be arguable that Snicket nudges Michael Chabon out of the slot reserved for the first postmodern fiction author to script a comic book (Chabon penned a piece for JSA All Stars #7 in January). The offering by Siebold and Vivian Walsh is their basic fare, only shorter and with more word balloons (add another moral lesson). William Joyce shines with his Winsor McCay-meets-R. Sikoryak bit of visual fabulism. The four-page Basil Wolverton reprint is a nice touch, Joost Swarte is beautiful in such a large format, Patrick McDonnell stretches himself slightly, and Barbara McClintock and R. Sikoryak add nice puzzle parts (Yum! Interactive books!). All in all, not a bad read. Still, children don't need children's books-cum-comics to get into comics, and the adult comic as children's book reeks as postmodern pretense. Like Dan Zanes' children's records, are they for you -- or your children? Better to buy your child a proper kids' book -- or an edition of Blab, Raw, or (harf!) Taboo.
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, adapted by Peter Kuper (Crown, 2003)
I had my doubts about this hardcover graphic novel, novella, novellette, or short story -- whatever -- and I'm still not sure whether I'd rather read Kafka's original text illustrated by Kuper or this comic adaptation. Regardless, Kuper, cofounder of World War III magazine and Atonio Prohias' successor as artist-writer for Mad's Spy Vs. Spy, adds some refreshing aspects to the existential tale even if he doesn't totally improve on it. Opening with an introduction in which Kuper pairs Kafka's turn-of-the-century considerations with Winsor McCay's Sunday funny-page surrealism, the book retells the story of a traveling salesman turned dung beetle -- and his family's reaction. Largely a story of economic survival, as well as existential angst, the book includes several pleasant cartoony moments, including the Richard Salas-esque p. 44; nice Robert Crumb nods on pp. 65, 66, and 75 (keep on truckin'!); and some pleasing panel placement on pp. 27, 48, 49, 58, 70, and 72 (not to mention the typography on p. 42). While I'm not sure the tome rates its pricy format ($18 for 80 pages), it's substantially better than most new-schol Classics Illustrated fare. For Kafka completists, Kuper fans, and adult comic readers who seek a gateway to literature. If you haven't read Kafka's original story recently, do so -- now. Just as I did William Hope Hodgson's House on the Borderland after reading Richard Corben's adaptation.
Little Lit: It Was a Dark and Silly Night edited by Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly (Raw Junior, 2003)
I cannot compare this volume to its two predecessors -- Little Lit and Little Lit: Strange Stories for Strange Kids -- because I haven't read them. In fact, I've totally ignored and dismissed them. Why? One, children's books are expensive and pretentious enough without donning the mantle of a postmodern comic book. Two, most comics are childish enough; there's no need to resort to children's book trappings to tap into the youth market. Yet, considering Little Lit III in the light of Spiegelman's adaptation of Joseph Moncure's Wild Party and Peter Kuper's redux of The Metamorphosis (reviewed below), perhaps this is another way for comic books to enter the book trade. The roundup of creators clearly indicates such: Lemony Snicket, Neil Gaiman, J. Otto Siebold, and Spiegelman hisself. Regardless, when I can buy a Siebold softcover for $6.99 (20 pages) or an issue of Tom Strong for $2.99 (36 pages), the economics of this book ($19.99 for 50 pages), parenting, and the children's book market strike me as most mercenary. The Snicket and Richard Salas pairing, however, bodes well for the read. Salas' dark yet dainty artwork, paired with Snicket's intelligent morality tale (there are two lessons in this nine-page piece) work quite well together. It may even be arguable that Snicket nudges Michael Chabon out of the slot reserved for the first postmodern fiction author to script a comic book (Chabon penned a piece for JSA All Stars #7 in January). The offering by Siebold and Vivian Walsh is their basic fare, only shorter and with more word balloons (add another moral lesson). William Joyce shines with his Winsor McCay-meets-R. Sikoryak bit of visual fabulism. The four-page Basil Wolverton reprint is a nice touch, Joost Swarte is beautiful in such a large format, Patrick McDonnell stretches himself slightly, and Barbara McClintock and R. Sikoryak add nice puzzle parts (Yum! Interactive books!). All in all, not a bad read. Still, children don't need children's books-cum-comics to get into comics, and the adult comic as children's book reeks as postmodern pretense. Like Dan Zanes' children's records, are they for you -- or your children? Better to buy your child a proper kids' book -- or an edition of Blab, Raw, or (harf!) Taboo.
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, adapted by Peter Kuper (Crown, 2003)
I had my doubts about this hardcover graphic novel, novella, novellette, or short story -- whatever -- and I'm still not sure whether I'd rather read Kafka's original text illustrated by Kuper or this comic adaptation. Regardless, Kuper, cofounder of World War III magazine and Atonio Prohias' successor as artist-writer for Mad's Spy Vs. Spy, adds some refreshing aspects to the existential tale even if he doesn't totally improve on it. Opening with an introduction in which Kuper pairs Kafka's turn-of-the-century considerations with Winsor McCay's Sunday funny-page surrealism, the book retells the story of a traveling salesman turned dung beetle -- and his family's reaction. Largely a story of economic survival, as well as existential angst, the book includes several pleasant cartoony moments, including the Richard Salas-esque p. 44; nice Robert Crumb nods on pp. 65, 66, and 75 (keep on truckin'!); and some pleasing panel placement on pp. 27, 48, 49, 58, 70, and 72 (not to mention the typography on p. 42). While I'm not sure the tome rates its pricy format ($18 for 80 pages), it's substantially better than most new-schol Classics Illustrated fare. For Kafka completists, Kuper fans, and adult comic readers who seek a gateway to literature. If you haven't read Kafka's original story recently, do so -- now. Just as I did William Hope Hodgson's House on the Borderland after reading Richard Corben's adaptation.
Nervy, Pervy XX
Wait, Ben Brown is now fiction editor for Suicide Girls? Cool beans.
Double wait, Ben also has interns? And so does Justin Hall? Methinks Media Diet should have an intern. OK, so who wants a banana?
Double wait, Ben also has interns? And so does Justin Hall? Methinks Media Diet should have an intern. OK, so who wants a banana?
Monday, November 24, 2003
Take That, Big Apple III
So this past weekend was the start of my big hunt for housing in New York City. I flew down Friday morning to work out of the New York office of Fast Company. That morning I was concerned about weather because it was cold and raining in Boston. Once we hit 10,000 feet, the plane broke through the clouds and into sharp sun, and the front that was moving over Boston fizzled to clear and clean on our way south to New York.
I went down Friday instead of Saturday, as per my original plan, to participate in Friday Fun, an afternoon team screening of Shattered Glass. After the movie, we repaired to a nearby bar south of Houston, the very bar in which Jeff Smith, the creator of Bone, bought me a beer early this summer.
As the night progressed and people began to head home, Jenn and I headed to the subway to go back uptown toward the office. She was to meet up with her boyo and some friends, and I had to get back inside the building to snag my suitcase and laptop before heading to Ryan's sublet on the upper west side to crash for the night. Even though I'd gotten a magnetic key card to the floor we're on, I was a little nervous that I'd get hassled by security. But because I was still on the guest list for the day, I got in no worries. And that meant that I got to Ryan's place, ate, and hit the hay in good season. Phew! I'd pictured myself wandering the streets without a change of clothes -- and my laptop out of reach. Yikes.
Saturday morning, I got up and surfed the subway by 9:15 in order to find my way to Brooklyn in time for my first appointment. Despite one misstep once I was across the river -- I got confused once I got off the 7 and onto the G -- I made it to Greenpoint in good time. A quick walk down Manhattan to Nassau -- call that misstep No. 2, as I could have stayed on the G one more stop to Nassau -- and I was at the realtor's office, just as she was arriving to open up. I did some initial paperwork, we discussed what I was looking for again, and off we went in her car, her smoking a cigarette and me clutching my bag to my chest. (She wasn't the most attentive of drivers.)
Most of the apartments she showed me, while in my price range, weren't even close to what I was looking for location wise or quality of living wise -- one place even included a refrigerator stocked with a stick of butter, mold spots, and a sickening stench -- but I did like one place not far from the Cooper Projects (one of hip hop's earliest wellsprings), so near the end of our time together, I asked her to take me back so I could keep it firmly in mind during my later appointments. Then she remembered another spot -- did I want to see it? Of course. So off we went.
Now, I don't know why she didn't think of it sooner, and I'm amused that I almost didn't even know it existed, but the place is amazing. Five blocks from the G train. Nice building. On the edge of a park. Has a view of the Manhattan skyline from the kitchen. Sports a sunny yellow kitchen. The bathroom is bright blue. There's a neat glass dividing wall between the kitchen and living room that looks like an ice cube staircase (Pengo, anyone?). Reasonable rent. And it includes ample space for books. Wow. Perfect. But do I decide now or keep looking at other places with other people?
I chose the latter because my next appointment was all of two blocks away. The third floor of a house owned and lived in by the landlord and his family. He's super cool. Manages the grocery store around the corner. Ample space. New kitchen and bath. An office off the bathroom. And a totally flexible living situation: no fee, no security deposit, no lease. Month to month; he just wants a long-term tenant he likes and trusts. Double wow. What to choose? I knew that I didn't want to keep looking at places lest one of these go away. I also knew that I needed to get some finances sorted before I could actually seal either deal. So I went back to stand on a street corner near the realtor's to think.
It was there that she, the realtor, saw me. "What are you doing?" she said. "I'm thinking," I replied. "And I think I'd like to look at that last place again. Can I see it?" She couldn't show me because she was off in her car to another appointment, but she took me back to the office so someone else could show me. I still liked it, I wanted it, and I still needed to get my money house in order. We went back to the realtor, I chatted with the owner, and he agreed to let me go to a bank to get settled and return to get things sorted. (He also agreed to let me pay by personal check instead of cashier's check or money order, which was awesome.)
Off to the bank I went. The first realtor I met had said there was a Fleet near the Graham stop on the L line. Not only was the L line not running -- I already knew that because another realtor had called earlier in the day to warn me -- but there wasn't a Fleet in sight once I got to Graham. So I walked and walked and finally found a bank ATM I could use to make the transfer. That done, I called my later afternoon appointment to cancel, headed back to the train -- and Greenpoint. (At this point, I was in Williamsburg.) Still thinking, tormented, I called the home owner and the realtor to ask how big the apartments were square foot-wise. Turned out the place with the view of the skyline wasn't smaller (one of my concerns), so I headed to the park to sit and make my usual pro-con lists.
Ben Franklin made pro-con lists. And so do I. I sat in the park, considered the floorplans I'd drawn of the two apartments, made my pro-con lists and mulled. Mull, mull, mull. Like cider. Then it was decided. View of the skyline and ice cube kitchen it was. Back to the realtor, paperwork filled out, checks written, receipts gotten, lease and rider read and signed. Done. Just now, I called the realtor to see how my credit check turned out -- good, good -- and I can expect the lease to be finalized by the end of the week.
Looks like I have a new place to hang my hat -- in Brooklyn, not Brookline. Not that I live in Brookline now, mind you, but, you know. As Strecker says, "Words, words, words." Now that I've got a foot in both cities, my stride stretches more than 200 miles. Harf!
I went down Friday instead of Saturday, as per my original plan, to participate in Friday Fun, an afternoon team screening of Shattered Glass. After the movie, we repaired to a nearby bar south of Houston, the very bar in which Jeff Smith, the creator of Bone, bought me a beer early this summer.
As the night progressed and people began to head home, Jenn and I headed to the subway to go back uptown toward the office. She was to meet up with her boyo and some friends, and I had to get back inside the building to snag my suitcase and laptop before heading to Ryan's sublet on the upper west side to crash for the night. Even though I'd gotten a magnetic key card to the floor we're on, I was a little nervous that I'd get hassled by security. But because I was still on the guest list for the day, I got in no worries. And that meant that I got to Ryan's place, ate, and hit the hay in good season. Phew! I'd pictured myself wandering the streets without a change of clothes -- and my laptop out of reach. Yikes.
Saturday morning, I got up and surfed the subway by 9:15 in order to find my way to Brooklyn in time for my first appointment. Despite one misstep once I was across the river -- I got confused once I got off the 7 and onto the G -- I made it to Greenpoint in good time. A quick walk down Manhattan to Nassau -- call that misstep No. 2, as I could have stayed on the G one more stop to Nassau -- and I was at the realtor's office, just as she was arriving to open up. I did some initial paperwork, we discussed what I was looking for again, and off we went in her car, her smoking a cigarette and me clutching my bag to my chest. (She wasn't the most attentive of drivers.)
Most of the apartments she showed me, while in my price range, weren't even close to what I was looking for location wise or quality of living wise -- one place even included a refrigerator stocked with a stick of butter, mold spots, and a sickening stench -- but I did like one place not far from the Cooper Projects (one of hip hop's earliest wellsprings), so near the end of our time together, I asked her to take me back so I could keep it firmly in mind during my later appointments. Then she remembered another spot -- did I want to see it? Of course. So off we went.
Now, I don't know why she didn't think of it sooner, and I'm amused that I almost didn't even know it existed, but the place is amazing. Five blocks from the G train. Nice building. On the edge of a park. Has a view of the Manhattan skyline from the kitchen. Sports a sunny yellow kitchen. The bathroom is bright blue. There's a neat glass dividing wall between the kitchen and living room that looks like an ice cube staircase (Pengo, anyone?). Reasonable rent. And it includes ample space for books. Wow. Perfect. But do I decide now or keep looking at other places with other people?
I chose the latter because my next appointment was all of two blocks away. The third floor of a house owned and lived in by the landlord and his family. He's super cool. Manages the grocery store around the corner. Ample space. New kitchen and bath. An office off the bathroom. And a totally flexible living situation: no fee, no security deposit, no lease. Month to month; he just wants a long-term tenant he likes and trusts. Double wow. What to choose? I knew that I didn't want to keep looking at places lest one of these go away. I also knew that I needed to get some finances sorted before I could actually seal either deal. So I went back to stand on a street corner near the realtor's to think.
It was there that she, the realtor, saw me. "What are you doing?" she said. "I'm thinking," I replied. "And I think I'd like to look at that last place again. Can I see it?" She couldn't show me because she was off in her car to another appointment, but she took me back to the office so someone else could show me. I still liked it, I wanted it, and I still needed to get my money house in order. We went back to the realtor, I chatted with the owner, and he agreed to let me go to a bank to get settled and return to get things sorted. (He also agreed to let me pay by personal check instead of cashier's check or money order, which was awesome.)
Off to the bank I went. The first realtor I met had said there was a Fleet near the Graham stop on the L line. Not only was the L line not running -- I already knew that because another realtor had called earlier in the day to warn me -- but there wasn't a Fleet in sight once I got to Graham. So I walked and walked and finally found a bank ATM I could use to make the transfer. That done, I called my later afternoon appointment to cancel, headed back to the train -- and Greenpoint. (At this point, I was in Williamsburg.) Still thinking, tormented, I called the home owner and the realtor to ask how big the apartments were square foot-wise. Turned out the place with the view of the skyline wasn't smaller (one of my concerns), so I headed to the park to sit and make my usual pro-con lists.
Ben Franklin made pro-con lists. And so do I. I sat in the park, considered the floorplans I'd drawn of the two apartments, made my pro-con lists and mulled. Mull, mull, mull. Like cider. Then it was decided. View of the skyline and ice cube kitchen it was. Back to the realtor, paperwork filled out, checks written, receipts gotten, lease and rider read and signed. Done. Just now, I called the realtor to see how my credit check turned out -- good, good -- and I can expect the lease to be finalized by the end of the week.
Looks like I have a new place to hang my hat -- in Brooklyn, not Brookline. Not that I live in Brookline now, mind you, but, you know. As Strecker says, "Words, words, words." Now that I've got a foot in both cities, my stride stretches more than 200 miles. Harf!
Rock Shows of Note LXXVIII
Because of my trip to New York, I missed almost all of the International Pop Overthrow power-pop festival this past week. But I did get home in time to drop off my luggage, call my parents, and head over to T.T. the Bear's in Cambridge for the event's final evening last night. I arrived just in time to catch the last few songs by School for the Dead, a clever and catchy foursome from Northampton. Their third to last song featured some awesome vocal harmony breakdowns, and the last tunes, including the wonderful "Omnivore," an ode to vegetarianism, made me wish I'd gotten home sooner. I'll have to listen to more.
Then, Fooled by April, which made the claim of being the headlining act for the entire series. Harf! Their front man reminded me of the elder Hanson brother, and their guitarist -- by far the most fun member to watch -- looked like one half of Junior Senior. More tuneful in their power pop, the band performed well but had neither the edge nore the friendly humor of School for the Dead. I'd wager they take themselves more seriously, too. Kudos to Andrea and everyone else involved in bringing the IPO to Boston. Or the Boston area. It's local shows like this that I'll miss once I move.
Then, Fooled by April, which made the claim of being the headlining act for the entire series. Harf! Their front man reminded me of the elder Hanson brother, and their guitarist -- by far the most fun member to watch -- looked like one half of Junior Senior. More tuneful in their power pop, the band performed well but had neither the edge nore the friendly humor of School for the Dead. I'd wager they take themselves more seriously, too. Kudos to Andrea and everyone else involved in bringing the IPO to Boston. Or the Boston area. It's local shows like this that I'll miss once I move.
The Movie I Watched Last Night LXXXIII
Playing catch up on a week-plus or so:
The Devil Commands
In this hour-long 1941 yawner, Boris Karloff plays a scientist who discovers that radio waves can transmit the thoughts and voices of dead people. When his wife dies, his experimentation turns to the macabre -- well, more macabre -- as he and a dimwitted assistant (the Igor to Karloff's Dr. Julian Blair) unearth corpses to power some sort of radio from beyond. Modeled after a medium's session in which people sit around a table and link hands, the transmitter is created when corpses are capped with a monitor helmet of Blair's own making. There's a nice scene in which Blair debunks a medium a la Harry Houdini, but -- just like Houdini -- Blair enlists her in his efforts to reach out to his wife beyond the veil. For the most part, the movie is light on shock or suspense, but the final scene in which the transmitter goes out of control, Blair's wife's voice is the strongest, and the lab is disturbed by a supernatural tempest is well worth building up to. Fine for fans of Karloff, Houdini, and radio. Rather dull otherwise.
American Graffiti
"Where were you in '62?" I was -11 years old, as George Lucas' early work was initially released in 1973. It's a fine film, sort of a '70s-style Dazed & Confused as a circle of high school friends contemplate their next steps following graduation. Richard Dreyfuss' character develops the most as he wrestles with staying at home instead of going to school -- even getting entangled in the Pharoahs, a cartoony gang of hoodlums. Ron Howard and Cindy Williams -- fancy that -- play a cute couple debating breaking up as Howard's character plans to go to school and date other people to prove their love. Even featuring a drag race scene, the movie is a redux of, oh, so many JD films of the '50s and '60s. Good boy goes bad. Nerd becomes lover. Hard-hearted hotrod hunk goes gentle. And in the end, everyone gets theirs. Even a surprisingly cast Harrison Ford. Did this role get him Star Wars? Go figure. Oh, also look for a nice cameo by Wolfman Jack, the mysterious voice behind the voiceover radio show -- and resulting top-40 soundtrack. Weird, another radio movie. Is this a trend?
It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World
It's made in 1963. It's cast sports such comedy luminaries as Spencer Tracy, Milton Bearle, Sid Caesar, Buddy Hackett, Ethel Merman, Mickey Rooney, Stan Freberg, Jimmy Durante, Don Knotts, and Buster Keaton. How can it feel so freaking long at almost three hours? And how can it be so dreadfully unfunny? What a wash! I had such high hopes for this movie, and I had to watch it in two sittings I got so bored and distracted. A shame, really, as the plot's not too bad for the time. A bunch of random people learn of a buried treasure at the same time and then race to discover it themselves -- kind of like Rat Race, which I haven't seen. But for the most part, this movie is dismissable. That said, I did thoroughly enjoy the beach movie-inspired scene in which Dick Shawn and Barrie Chase exhibit some of the most uncomfortable and disturbing go-go dancing I've ever seen. Rent the DVD for that scene alone. While Jack Davis did draw the poster for the movie, this is not a Mad magazine film. That would be Up the Academy, which was so bad, Mad pulled all mentions of its involvement before release.
Shattered Glass
Huh. The Fast Company editorial team went to watch this as a group Friday afternoon because it's a journalism movie. And even though I work in journalism and fall easy prey to films featuring editors, reporters, writers, newspapers, and magazine -- go figure -- I don't think this is a very good movie. It's certainly not a very good journalism movie. The writers and directors don't dig very deep into Stephen Glass' psychosis, and the narrative basically retells his tale and little else. What I liked: Steve Zahn as Forbes.com's Adam Penenberg, who first uncovered Glass' fabrications; Hank Azaria as Michael Kelly, even if he looked nothing like him; the editorial meeting scenes in which Glass pitched his pieces; and the sequence in which Hayden Christensen's Glass asked Peter Sarsgaard's Chuck Lane -- then editor of the New Republic -- for a ride to the airport after he'd been fired. I would have liked more exploration of Glass' inner workings, particularly given his romanticization of high-profile, high-minded, and high-impact journalism. Yet despite that romanticization, he focused on producing a product of high quality while ignoring the process entirely. For a "full" list of Glass' fabrications, check out Rick McGinnis' Tissue of Lies. He even includes the fake Web site Glass created for Jukt Micronics.
The Devil Commands
In this hour-long 1941 yawner, Boris Karloff plays a scientist who discovers that radio waves can transmit the thoughts and voices of dead people. When his wife dies, his experimentation turns to the macabre -- well, more macabre -- as he and a dimwitted assistant (the Igor to Karloff's Dr. Julian Blair) unearth corpses to power some sort of radio from beyond. Modeled after a medium's session in which people sit around a table and link hands, the transmitter is created when corpses are capped with a monitor helmet of Blair's own making. There's a nice scene in which Blair debunks a medium a la Harry Houdini, but -- just like Houdini -- Blair enlists her in his efforts to reach out to his wife beyond the veil. For the most part, the movie is light on shock or suspense, but the final scene in which the transmitter goes out of control, Blair's wife's voice is the strongest, and the lab is disturbed by a supernatural tempest is well worth building up to. Fine for fans of Karloff, Houdini, and radio. Rather dull otherwise.
American Graffiti
"Where were you in '62?" I was -11 years old, as George Lucas' early work was initially released in 1973. It's a fine film, sort of a '70s-style Dazed & Confused as a circle of high school friends contemplate their next steps following graduation. Richard Dreyfuss' character develops the most as he wrestles with staying at home instead of going to school -- even getting entangled in the Pharoahs, a cartoony gang of hoodlums. Ron Howard and Cindy Williams -- fancy that -- play a cute couple debating breaking up as Howard's character plans to go to school and date other people to prove their love. Even featuring a drag race scene, the movie is a redux of, oh, so many JD films of the '50s and '60s. Good boy goes bad. Nerd becomes lover. Hard-hearted hotrod hunk goes gentle. And in the end, everyone gets theirs. Even a surprisingly cast Harrison Ford. Did this role get him Star Wars? Go figure. Oh, also look for a nice cameo by Wolfman Jack, the mysterious voice behind the voiceover radio show -- and resulting top-40 soundtrack. Weird, another radio movie. Is this a trend?
It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World
It's made in 1963. It's cast sports such comedy luminaries as Spencer Tracy, Milton Bearle, Sid Caesar, Buddy Hackett, Ethel Merman, Mickey Rooney, Stan Freberg, Jimmy Durante, Don Knotts, and Buster Keaton. How can it feel so freaking long at almost three hours? And how can it be so dreadfully unfunny? What a wash! I had such high hopes for this movie, and I had to watch it in two sittings I got so bored and distracted. A shame, really, as the plot's not too bad for the time. A bunch of random people learn of a buried treasure at the same time and then race to discover it themselves -- kind of like Rat Race, which I haven't seen. But for the most part, this movie is dismissable. That said, I did thoroughly enjoy the beach movie-inspired scene in which Dick Shawn and Barrie Chase exhibit some of the most uncomfortable and disturbing go-go dancing I've ever seen. Rent the DVD for that scene alone. While Jack Davis did draw the poster for the movie, this is not a Mad magazine film. That would be Up the Academy, which was so bad, Mad pulled all mentions of its involvement before release.
Shattered Glass
Huh. The Fast Company editorial team went to watch this as a group Friday afternoon because it's a journalism movie. And even though I work in journalism and fall easy prey to films featuring editors, reporters, writers, newspapers, and magazine -- go figure -- I don't think this is a very good movie. It's certainly not a very good journalism movie. The writers and directors don't dig very deep into Stephen Glass' psychosis, and the narrative basically retells his tale and little else. What I liked: Steve Zahn as Forbes.com's Adam Penenberg, who first uncovered Glass' fabrications; Hank Azaria as Michael Kelly, even if he looked nothing like him; the editorial meeting scenes in which Glass pitched his pieces; and the sequence in which Hayden Christensen's Glass asked Peter Sarsgaard's Chuck Lane -- then editor of the New Republic -- for a ride to the airport after he'd been fired. I would have liked more exploration of Glass' inner workings, particularly given his romanticization of high-profile, high-minded, and high-impact journalism. Yet despite that romanticization, he focused on producing a product of high quality while ignoring the process entirely. For a "full" list of Glass' fabrications, check out Rick McGinnis' Tissue of Lies. He even includes the fake Web site Glass created for Jukt Micronics.
The Restaurant I Ate at Last Night XXVII
While in New York City over the weekend to hunt for housing, I ate at a couple of interesting restaurants. Friday night, after stowing my possessions at a colleague's sublet on the upper west side, I hit City Diner, a 24-hour eatery, around 10 p.m. Nothing fancy, it's your basic all-day diner. I ordered the corned beef reuben with fries and a Corona. The sandwich was served open face, which always irritates me. "It's not a sandwich!" But the food was good and the people watching fun. Besides they have a $2 fried egg sandwich, so if the early-morning or late-night munchies hit you -- and you live in the area -- it's a quick stop for sustenance. $2 fried egg sandwich. Yum.
Saturday night, my friend Steve, who writes for the New York Post, and I headed to Gabriela's at 93rd and Amsterdam. Neither of us had eaten much all day -- me, only coffee -- so we were looking forward to some solid Mexican food. And we weren't disappointed. I ordered the chicken burrito, which was well prepared and not overly large. The entrees come with your choice of sides, but if you select beans and rice, it doesn't really feel like a side dish at all. Regardless, good food, pleasant atmosphere, and attentive staff. Worth checking out.
And last night, before catching my flight back to Boston, Steve and I walked to a high-end grocery nearby. Called something like Zapato's or Zapata's -- my googling isn't finding anything applicable -- it's reportedly always crowded and has a load of gourmet food and fine produce. We picked up some cheese, bread, prosciuto, garlicked olives, and cheese-filled gnocchi. Back at the ranch, we prepared some plates, mixed martinis, and settled in for a quiet urban picnic. Then it was back on the street, in a cab, and on the plane home.
Update: But how were the pickles? Glad you asked. I didn't have a pickle at Gabriela's, but the pickle at the City Diner was no great shake. The Search for the Perfect Pickle continues.
Saturday night, my friend Steve, who writes for the New York Post, and I headed to Gabriela's at 93rd and Amsterdam. Neither of us had eaten much all day -- me, only coffee -- so we were looking forward to some solid Mexican food. And we weren't disappointed. I ordered the chicken burrito, which was well prepared and not overly large. The entrees come with your choice of sides, but if you select beans and rice, it doesn't really feel like a side dish at all. Regardless, good food, pleasant atmosphere, and attentive staff. Worth checking out.
And last night, before catching my flight back to Boston, Steve and I walked to a high-end grocery nearby. Called something like Zapato's or Zapata's -- my googling isn't finding anything applicable -- it's reportedly always crowded and has a load of gourmet food and fine produce. We picked up some cheese, bread, prosciuto, garlicked olives, and cheese-filled gnocchi. Back at the ranch, we prepared some plates, mixed martinis, and settled in for a quiet urban picnic. Then it was back on the street, in a cab, and on the plane home.
Update: But how were the pickles? Glad you asked. I didn't have a pickle at Gabriela's, but the pickle at the City Diner was no great shake. The Search for the Perfect Pickle continues.
Music to My Ears L
Let Them Sing It for You is a nifty Web app that allows you to type in lyrics -- and then stitches together an audio piece that features different singers and musical groups singing the lines for you. If the system can't find a word you entered, it encourages you to help it find an example that it can add to the audio dictionary. Fun stuff, shades of NAG and Eigenradio.
Thanks to Memepool.
Thanks to Memepool.
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