a book, a film, a fight

Again, let's keep it brief.

It had a been about five years since I'd last read a Murakami novel and had forgot much of what to expect. I was quickly reminded what makes this guy so exceptional: his creation of seams to the surreal within a familiar world in a manner that, for lack of better words, makes sense. And if it doesn't make sense it's still engaging, which is probably due to Murakami's ability to convey isolation, loneliness, longing and any other synonym better than most authors - making feelings palpable through text is a skill few have. He's one of a kind. And this isn't even his best work. (B+, and in case you can't read the title, it's Sputnik Sweetheart)




I was finally able to track down a copy of this from the library that didn't appear as if someone had resurfaced it with a belt sander. It was worth the wait. I'm a pretty outspoken supporter of the Coen brothers, going so far as to crown them the best directors in contemporary American cinema. So I may be a little biased when I say that this is the greatest directorial debut I have ever seen. Every aspect here has an experienced polish. First try and the Coen's nailed their signature exploration of dark tendencies of human nature. Out-of-place injections of humor notwithstanding. (A-)

And what you've all been waiting for...

Call me a nerd, but I was rejoicing this last Saturday when Cain Velasquez dethroned Brock Lesnar as the UFC heavyweight champion. I called this a while a go but saw some footage of Lesnar training and started to second guess myself - the dude looks like the body that Krang operates (TMNT reference). But Velasquez turned the match into that old biblical parable of David vs. Goliath: size isn't necessarily indicative of victory. Take note: he didn't win with a lucky shot. He beat Lesnar with with well-placed, technical striking - straight T.K.O. He also survived some precarious situations: getting caught against the fence and being put on his back - a position no prior opponent of Lesnar had been able to get out of (save for Frank Mir with a fortunate kneebar on a then inexperienced Lesnar).

So I'm dedicating this one to the first Mexican American heavyweight champion in combat sports. It might seem ridiculous coming from a graham cracker such as myself. Whatever. I've been mistaken for Mexican on multiple occasions. So it's all good. One love.