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.

Grade Report

School this quarter is heartless. Specifically, my architecture course. So my assessment of the arts will be brief.

Entertaining and at times engrossing, but the rabbit hole doesn't run quite as deep as it did in American Gods. (B)














My main question is how these people had the money to eat/drink/sleep out (what seems to have been) every single night. The writers didn't appear to have been writing that much...so I guess they were just trust fund kids? Oh, and reading about it over and over again gets tiresome. Lost generation, indeed. (B-)










Awesome. Nothing more needs to be said. Other than I shouldn't have slept on it. (A)

MLB postseason picks back up tonight: Yankees vs. Rangers. Phillies vs. Giants on Saturday. Forgot how great playoff baseball was. Sad to see Bobby Cox leave the game on loss, even though I used to hate the Braves as a kid because they were so damn good - that combination Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine and John Smoltz has to be one of, if not the most dominant starting rotation of all-time. And even though the Twins got swept by the Yankees in the ALDS this year, enjoy the diddy below. It's titled "Don't Call Them Twinkies" by The Baseball Project - which features Craig Finn of The Hold Steady on vocals and some other dudes from various outfits including R.E.M. The track has some great references to our national pastime's rich history.

If the embedded player isn't working, you can listen to the song here. It's a lot to ask, I know.

A New First

Went to my first baby shower on Saturday. If I'm not mistaken, that's an event traditionally reserved exclusively for the ladies. Luckily, Josh and Emily are post-punk parents, breaking down gender barriers and allowing a fine cuisine that included a platter of Top Pot donuts - straight bangin'. Hope my bear themed onesie and blanky weren't too wuss. Give the kid a couple of years to grow into this beast. It (or something similar) will be waiting for him.


Realized I went to Caleb and Lacey's baby shower a few years ago. Whoops.

Decided that the film version of The Last Picture Show is better than the book. While the book is good, Peter Bogdanovich directs better than Larry McMurtry writes - at least in this case.

Checked out a couple of vegan cookbooks from the library. One awesomely titled Veganomicon. Not waving any flags yet. Really just want to acquire more skill in the kitchen. Hoping there's some practical recipes to be found - not a bunch of stuff you have to shop at co-op markets for. Further hoping one can find tempeh at QFC (cue laugh track). To the haters: (1) would like to see what you're benching, and (2) beef doesn't put muscles on your chin.

Watching the second season of Extras. Endless hilarity. (Episode with David Bowie is brilliant.) One of the best theme songs too.

Studying for a quiz in my Architecture course. Who would have thought learning about building houses was so dry? Contractors, perhaps. I suppose not everyone gets to be Frank Lloyd Wright.

Listening to this winner. It goes out to anyone who's spent cheese they really shouldn't have on those must-have records. My days of blowing all my tips at Silver Platters have come and gone. But that warm fuzzy feeling I got from tearing off the plastic on something that hits the ears' sweet spot...priceless. When I eventually lock down the daily grind, I'll be back scrounging in the bins. Can't deny the dig.

Da Bears and other assorted goods

Enjoying some bro-man-dude time with Monday Night Football. Green Bay and Chicago. I've always been a Bears fan. This can first be evidenced from an elementary school class picture where I can be seen posting up hard on the Big Toy, decked out in Bears gear (I'll have to track this one down). I don't know what it is about them. I was too young to remember their prominent years with Jim McMahon and William "The Refrigerator" Perry. Though I do remember Ditka coaching. And I put in serious time on the original Tecmo Bowl for the NES, breaking off huge runs with Walter Payton. There is just something captivating about that navy blue and orange.

The Bears' Famous Invasion of Sicily
by Dino Buzzati

Another cool thing involving bears - this one in the form of an Italian children's book. I use the word "children's" hesitantly, because there's a lot of text, filled with words like "incredulously" and "bivouacked". Add the presence of advanced concepts like national history, cultural/individual identity and a narrator who can be a tad misleading and this one might end up beyond the scope of the ragamuffin who is content with booger nourishment. So feed them another Curious George. Keep this essential read for yourself.

B Is for Beer
by Tom Robbins

Another "children's book". Well, only if you consider the story of a six-year-old girl who gets drunk and then receives a visit from the beer fairy appropriate for that age range. Regardless of how you want to categorize it, in addition the magical journey detailing the glorious combination of grains, barley and hops, Robbins examines a kid's difficulty to make sense of the complicated and contradictory adult world. The fact that its written as if it were for young'uns is rather funny, considering most adults who drink beer (myself included) couldn't even begin to explain the process in which it is made. But yeah, this one's pretty unique.

The Last Picture Show
by Larry McMurtry

Ever hear old people talk about the past with wistful romanticism? A time when innocence prevailed; Leave It To Beaver was an accurate representation of life. I never really bought into it. Moreover, after reading McMurtry's tribute to his home, Texas a.k.a. "God's Country", it's clear that even people back in the day were teeming with deviance. Kids drank. Kids fought. Kids fucked. And I'll be damned if a couple of them didn't take an impromptu road trip down to Mexico in order to bang a pregnant whore and watch mixed species pornography. All of this before the existence of a Bret Easton Ellis novel.


CURRENT FAVORITE

A Tribe Called Quest - The Love Movement

Tribe has been an all-time favorite of mine for quite some time now. Since I was about 14 - which is when this, their final album, came out. Giving it a few retrospective listens, it's clear that it doesn't exactly warrant swansong status. (But the competition is tough, sharing a body of work with genre classics like The Low End Theory and Midnight Marauders.) Still, there are a number of feelgood jams here. Bottom line: you can't go wrong with smooth beats and butter rhymes.

Prarie Sludge

Sounds like Neil Young jamming with dudes from Sleep and Earth. Drive the herd, catch the vibes. Seriously though, this is good.

Observations and musings

Seahawks home opener: Testosterone was a given. Though there were a surprising amount of Snookies flossing Tatupu jerseys, as well as grown men drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. The other surprise was that the Seahawks actually looked good.

Jordan Young in 2010 displays flashes of Jordan Young circa 2003/2004. My sides are a little sorer for it.

A Confederacy of Dunces: Could be the funniest book ever. But the parallels between Ignatius J. Reilly and myself are the source of much distress (Proud owner of a worthless liberal arts degree which fosters an archaic and unhealthy ideological worldview that ultimately leads to misanthropy and cripples the ability to function socially and/or professionally within the greater commonwealth. He also lives with his mom.).

Boneshaker: An entertaining read. Felt like the author, Cherie Priest, watched 28 Days Later and played Fallout 3 before writing it. Unfortunately, a lack of character development and sequences of terrible dialogue keep it from being anything "literary". But who really cares about that? Maybe the guy in the paragraph above. So it gets my approval.

Found out my cat - The Murph - has liver disease. To diagnose the specific type would require an ultrasound and subsequent biopsy. Ultimately, the treatment is a daily regiment of medicine, regardless of which strain it might be. Having already been through force-feeding The Murph pills for prior ailments, we (my family) are deciding to forgo the diagnosis and treatment; better that his remaining days are peaceful, rather than living in fear of having things shoved down his throat.

Facebook. On one hand, it's the main way in which I stay in contact with my friends. But thanks to the voyeuristic nature of social networking, that permeable barrier between "friend-of-friend"...I end up unintentionally seeing things that are detrimental to my psychological and emotional well-being. Things that make an individual not into the cardio drive up to the local middle school to run five miles on a track at 7 o'clock at night. There might be a sad metaphor to be found in a guy running 20 laps with hopes of trying to escape/forget something. Good thing I don't pay those literary devices any mind. My legs, however, are in definite pain today.

Here's to brighter days. Don't have to be straightedge to enjoy this one. Love seeing my friend Kevin launching off the monitors. And goddamn those drums sound good.

Have 12 minutes to kill? Sure you do.

Supergroup featuring members of Mogwai, Electric Wizard and Iron Monkey - so obviously I'm jonesin'. Don't worry, this one doesn't bite. Grab some headphones and chillax.