Get off my lawn.

The great NW summer weather seems to have finally come around, so lately I've been able to break-out the bike and hit Burke-Gilman. I'm sure all the Tour de France nerds think I look pretty goofy on a mountain bike, cruising down a paved road. But they are Tour de France nerds, so I'm not losing sleep over it. As much as I enjoy getting out to ride, I have noticed one glaring omission of trail etiquette: side-by-side riding. I understand that it's nice to chat it up with your friend while on a bike, but the width of the trail really doesn't allow for it. When I try to pass two double-wide chatty Cathy's on a hill, but have to yield to an oncoming rider, being forced to downshift and fall back, losing all my momentum...that's no good. Next time I see two people doing this side-by-side business, the one on the outside is going to become the unlucky recipient of a clothesline. Ultimate Warrior style.

Recently checked my email for the first time in about a month. Yeah, a little behind on that. Facebook has become my main medium for correspondence. So my email ends up accumulating a lot of dust. Of the two-hundred or so pieces of junk I sifted through, there was one particularly interesting email. It was from WWU Libraries. They claim that I have yet to return a couple of movies (Lost Patrol and The Man Who Came To Dinner - two from old-Hollywood) I checked out from them two years ago. This claim is completely false (I returned everything). More surprising is the fact that this is first I've heard about any unreturned items in the two years since leaving Bellingham. Oh right. I'm getting charged $16. To the WWU Libraries, I say thus:

I owe you many a thanks. During the years I didn't have cable television, I pillaged you and discovered a world of cinema I did not know existed. You made me appreciate countless films of brilliance; films that most people couldn't be payed to watch. In this way you helped me realize my intelligence and become a snob. For this, I am eternally grateful. But as to the money I "owe", you shall not see a dime of it. Eat me.

Watched Gran Torino again. First time since it came out in theatres. Perhaps a little too heavy-handed (bad guys are completely one-dimensional and the ending gets too obvious with the symbolism) to be considered a "great" film, but there's still something about it that I love: Clint Eastwood - the biggest badass of all time. Even as a dying old man (albeit an incredibly racist, dying old man), he is one mean dude. There aren't really any of his ilk left in Hollywood - the kind of actor that isn't necessarily physically imposing but can still make you say "that is just not the guy to fuck with." Get yourself a PBR and throw one back for Eastwood.

What the hell is Adrian Brody doing in the new Predator movie?

Read The Reivers by William Faulkner. Here's a brief account of my history with Faulkner: The Sound and The Fury - practically unreadable; As I Lay Dying - "My mother is a fish." Big gulps, huh? All right! Well see ya later; Absalom, Absalom! - difficult as all hell, but worth the effort (there's no shame in using Wikipedia or SparkNotes). So it should be apparent that I've had a tumultuous relationship with the esteemed author. Yet, I continue to come back to his works. This is in part due to being a literary masochist, as well as simply trying to add notches to my bookshelf (what up, ladies). The Reivers, however, isn't like the majority of Faulkner's novels - it's accessible. The story is more or less linear and doesn't employ the advanced literary techniques he was famous for, such as the shifting stream-of-consciousness. Because of this it has been marked as one of Faulkner's minor works by English professors who subsist off teaching courses on antiquated and indecipherable texts and is consequently overshadowed by his other books. Though it should be said that even an "easy" Faulkner novel still takes more work to get through than most contemporary popular fiction. The man displayed a heartless affinity for parenthetical statements; not only numerous, but of an incredible length. It's funny that in now searching through the book I'm having trouble finding a good example of this issue. (Rest assured, I will find one and post it as a followup.) Anyways, if you want a well-constructed adventure, this one is as good as any. Stolen cars, backwoods horse races, gold-toothed professional sluts: it's the goods.

Also just wrapped up Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Unless I'm mistaken, this was his first foray into Young Adult literature. I'd say it was a successful venture. Though more optimistic than not, there is enough strife in the story for it to feel genuine and earned - something today's generation of pussies (Clint Eastwood's words, not mine) wouldn't know anything about. My only complaint is that Alexie's attempts at adolescent humor occasionally come across awkwardly. It's the old-people-trying-to-sound-youthful shtick. And it's painful to read. Big Sherm, go talk to M.T. Anderson. He knows how it's done.


CURRENT FAVORITE

The Sounds - Dying to Say This to You

Back in the early-00's, there was an interesting resurgence of an 80's phenomenon: new wave. It was almost as if everyone burned out on the brooding rock music that filled the airwaves during the late-90's, collectively deciding to shut up and dance. From this retro-movement emerged some okay bands like The Killers and some less okay bands like The Bravery. In my opinion, this stuff was hot for a minute but was ultimately superficial gimmickry and lacked substance - like much of what characterized the 80's.

Of all the new wave revivalists, The Sounds were one of the better acts. With them, it wasn't just dumb fashion and shitty keyboards. They were The Clash playing Blondie songs with New Order's gear. And while they did look the part, they brought the energy to back it up - much of which was channeled through the spitfire vocalist, Maja Ivarsson. When I saw them live 5-6 years ago, she had this sassy charisma that was way hot (I said it, I meant it), holding down the stage better than the average knuckle dragger. Probably the most entertaining live band I've seen to date.

Now I'd be lying to you if I said Dying to Say This to You was better than Living in America - which was a cold hard bitch with a penchant for the dance. But I can still say it's really, really good. Maybe as good. And it avoided the sophomore slump. Catchy, infectious, brazen...honestly, this music doesn't require much description to appreciate. But it will definitely have you moving your head in ways you once thought impossible.