They come in threes

After James Brown and Gerald Ford died I asked my father: "who's the third? They always die in threes. Who's the third famous individual?" Well, I have my answer. I can't tell you how pleased I am that Saddam Hussein is dead. Not gleeful, just pleased that one of the world's foremost mass-murdering maniacs went shuffling out of life with no fanfare. I'm sure a shiver went down the spines (assuming they have spines) of more than a few tin horn thugocrats the world over when the news went across the wire. Now if we could just go get them, too. Quick, the kitchen light just came on and they haven't scurried out of the reach of our boot just yet. I vote we go after this cockroach next.

......

I'm leaving home tomorrow. It's back to G-boro to begin preparing for the week after next when classes begin. I don't want to think about it, but I have to; so much has to be done before then it makes my brain hurt. Still another 9 days of freedom. I shall treasure them.

Children and ponies

Nothing says 1943 like a goat pulling a miniature wagon. I suspect all of the proper horses and wagons were off whupping Fascism. This is from a charming collection of mid-20th century ephemera involving children and small ponies. I got this link from an acquaintance of mine, local journalist/writer Eddie Huffman (Eddie's the only person I know who's written for Rolling Stone magazine and met James Brown). Really neat stuff, if you're like me and enjoy looking at old photographs. These pictures are from the now defunct town of Cliffside, North Carolina. Go take a look at some of their other galleries and see if you notice what (or who) is missing. I'll give you a hint: they're not honkies.

There is a photo of my sister like this, taken when she was about 12 months old, sitting atop a pony while the photographer's assistant supports her from behind. I'll have to dig through the photo albums to find it, but when I do I'll have it up here for the world to see in all of its clumsy glory.

......

I hear from an acquaintance who works at the West End theater in Burlington that they're going to move to a new location near University Commons. The current location, according to my source, is falling apart (I haven't been to West End since late Summer). Seats in the theaters are covered with trashbags - I assume to hide areas where the fabric is torn - and the aisles are littered with all manner of debris and filth. No word yet on what is to become of the current location, but I'll wager that another theater company will come in and buy it up (which would be good, West End needs some serious competition). If I was a wealthy man I'd buy it, turn it into a two or three theater establishment, and show older films for half the price.

Rooms of gloom

Let us compare our Christmas hauls. My Christmas haul:

- Firefly
- Steve McQueen movie collection (six films)
- The Indiana Jones trilogy
- A western (cowboy) shirt
- A sweater (which is pretty much required each Christmas)
- A pair of Jeans
- Candy galore
- Kari Byron

What did y'all get?

Being at home is mighty depressing. My room is devoid of everything that made it my room, save for my bed, and I don't really find it all that comfortable anymore. More and more I find myself thinking that "home" is where the stuff is, not where the heart is, and all of my stuff is in Greensboro. I'm anxious to get back to G-boro and have some peace and quiet. Lord knows there'll be a whole mess of crap I'll have to straighten out before the Spring semester can begin; buying books, looking up class times and class locations on UNCG's notoriously awful and byzantine website, straightening out my weekly GA work schedule, and meeting with the director of the Temple. Now that I think about it, Greensboro doesn't feel like home either.

I hate the 21st century and being an adult.

He's the king of 'em all y'all

James Brown liberated humanity from the tyranny of the chord change. I can't remember who said that, but it pretty succinctly sums up what James Brown did. Unemcumbered by the chains of overproduced music, James got down to what was really raw and real. When I think "funk" or "soul" I immediately think James Brown - his body produced funk and soul like some of us produce carbon dioxide.

Long live Soul Power.

And merry Christmas.

Take a tater and wait

C. brought my Christmas gift by today. A Korean war era army backpack full of Playboy magazines from the 1980s and 90s. He found them in an abandoned house out on highway 54, 'twixt here and Chapel Hill, at a house he calls the "ghost house." It's visible from the road only in winter, obscured in all other seasons by trees. Apparently there are still hundreds of issues still there, waiting to be uncovered by some adventurous pervert (unless of course you are one of those individuals who actually "reads" Playboy for the "great articles," which stopped being "great" about forty years ago). I can't say I enjoy Playboy. Not only do the women look fake, but the ladies in the 80s and early 90s issues have terrible hairstyles. And I don't understand that old man's obsession with airbrushed, vapid blondes. Archaeologists are going to uncover this in 1000 years (after the machine wars, of course) and conclude that we were a boring lot. Still, it's a great gift; the backpack is way cool and the magazines are good to have for irony's sake.

I remember my first encounter with Playboy. I was in elementary school, at my friend's house. I was probably 9 or 10. He took me down into the cellar to show me his old man's pornography collection that dated to the 1970s. For pre-pubescent boys, these sort of things only hold a mysterious fascination, there isn't anything in it that is overtly sexual; it is merely the fever that later becomes the plague. In 4th grade we'd had sex-ed, which seems now to be rather early for sex-ed, but I remember vividly the 1960s-era reel-to-reel they showed us featuring the mechanics of male and female genitalia. Oh the sniggers.

But anyway, it wasn't long after sex-ed that I followed my friend down into the basement to his father's pr0n stash. He produced a few copies of Playboy, which he seemed rather familiar with, and directed my attention to a page featuring crowds of nude women. In retropsect I think it must have been some sort of nudist hippie freak out from the early 70s. All I can remember thinking was, "Good God! That's what girls look like without clothing!" Afterwards we had Capri Suns, which are so damn hard to get the straws into, and played Oregon Trail.

Ah, those were the days.

..........

Tomorrow is the family Christmas get-together in which chili is traditionally served with festive napkins and cider. Gifts will be opened and HD Christmas programs will be watched on the big screen. Someone will be enlisted to clean up the wrapping paper, but it shall not be me. My extended family has a secret santa tradition in which we draw names from a hat and then buy gifts for the person whose name we drew. I had to buy gifts for my aunt this Christmas. This, as you may have gathered, is not easy. I had to enlist the help of my mother. When it was all said and done I wound up buying a snowflake broach and some earrings, which I'm not proud of. It does not speak of any particular thoughtfulness or creativity. Bah! I don't think single 24 year-old men should be made to buy things for 40 something married women they are not romantically involved with or related to by blood. It's hard enough buying things for m'lady B, who ostensibly didn't want anything for Christmas to begin with.

All I'm saying is that buying gifts is nuts. If only we could ransack abandoned homes for gifts. In the future, those of you buy gifts for me, just go digging through some mouldering ruins and bring me the most poetic or meaningful piece of detritus you find. I'll be happy.

...call the poliiiice...!

I just picked up all of the Ren & Stimpy production music; that is, all of the stock music they used in the television show. Think 1940s/50s style compositions that sound like they belong on "Leave it to Beaver." 109 tracks. I downloaded it here, which is a brilliant little blog.

I watched Ren & Stimpy religiously as a kid. My cousins and I never missed it. Ren & Stimpy is the only animated television program I can remember being a regular event. Not even the Simpsons was as religiously adhered to. After watching many of the episodes again I find myself laughing just as hard as I did then. I also wonder what was up with Nickelodeon. Ren & Stimpy is not a children's show; the themes often cross the line from absurd into disturbing and demented. This is perhaps most evident in my favorite episode, "Stimpy's Fan Club." I would have the video clip for you, but it's been removed from Youtube because Viacom is a bunch of insipid little monkeys:

Ren: I... I was nice today. NICE to all of those insipid little monkeys, answering their STUPID letters. My hands... DIRTY!
(Scrapes his hands.)THE DIRT WON'T COME OFF!
(screams)
Ren: President! What a joke. President! President of what? HIS fan club! How they love him! Look at him, lying there asleep. The idol of millions... (whipering)is a FOOL!
Ren:(sing-song) Lying silly little fool.
Ren: How easily I end the force... with these hands! These DIRTY HANDS! AND WITH THESE HANDS I HOLD THE FATE OF MILLIONS! They think he's a god, but he's as mortal as we. I KNOW! Just one quick TWIST... then it's over. Just one!
(moving toward Stimpy)
Ren: Just... AAAAH! IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN! MY BRAIN! MY HOT, STINGING BRAIN!
(He screams and falls unconscious)

These were the sort of things I imbided on a weekly basis while watching Nickelodeon in the early 1990s.

One of the few videos Viacom hasn't removed yet, an equally disturbing scene from "Rubber Nipple Salesmen." I love the way they've animated the anthropomorphic horse-man, especially his mouth, which is hilarious to watch.

Suntory time

Engrish for December 20, 2006.

Some Japanese ephemera for this fine hump day.

Misora Hibari, Eri Chiemi, and Yukimura Izumi

This is a cute excerpt from a film released in 1950s Japan entitled "Janken Musume." Three Japanese songbirds singing musical numbers on a rollercoaster. Eri Chiemi, I believe she's the one in red, sang a version of Pee Wee King's "Tennessee Waltz" which I'm desperately trying to find.

Yasujiro Ozu on trains & automobiles

A collection of clips from the director's films featuring movement on trains and cars. Great views of pre and post-war Japan. As another commenter has put it, these are patient images. Wonderful stuff if you love old films.

Suntory ads with Akira Kurosawa and Francis Ford Coppola

This is the same whiskey company that Bill Murray's character in "Lost in Translation" does commercials for. You will note the similarities between these commercials and the parody in the film. That Francis Ford Coppola's daughter, Sofia, wrote and directed "Lost in Translation" is no mere coincidence - these commercials inspired the film. In the last two ads, note how Akira likes to inspect samurai helmets while getting crunked. Man, I could have totally rolled with that guy. But seriously, this commercial was made after a very sad period in Kurosawa's life, after an attempted suicide.

Tennessee Waltz

I wasn't able to locate the version of "Tennessee Waltz" I was looking for, but here's a new group of Japanese gals performing it in a distinctly asian sounding style. For me, this is the ultimate in cultural weirdness. Globalization, you gotta love it.

Update: No, I take it back. This is actually weirder.

Podunk Christmastime

Unusually warm Christmas season, this. We didn't have a winter last year, and it seems we won't have one this year either. I've spent more money this Christmas than any other, which normally wouldn't be a whole lot for me, but now that I'm slaving away for the history department I can lavish my family and hangers-on with gifts.

My parents seem to have lost all shame where it comes to Christmas decorations. They used to be opposed to displaying lights on the house, save for an electric candle in each window that faced the road. Over the last few years this has gradually eroded away. Last year it was those dangly icicle type lights; this year they've added a wreath of multicolored lights and a swirly fake Christmas tree also composed of multicolored lights. I suppose it's for the benefit of the CHILD, who loves to look at Christmas lights, but I'm not too fond of it.

There's a house near here with a strange assortment of Christmas decorations, including a nativity scene, flashing santa sled, and sundry multi-colored lights that blink. Off to the side are two strange lawn ornaments I initially thought were part of the nativity scene; a donkey and what appears to be a statue of a hunched black man in overalls, but not at all like a lawn jockey. After having passed by this statue several times I have come to the tenative conclusion that it represents a slave or some sort of "Sambo" type black man. I would have pictures of it, but I don't have my camera.

......

I picked up the following meme from a friend of a friend. It works thusly:

1. Open your music library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, Mp3 player, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie.

Here's how my soundtrack worked out:

Opening Credits: "Stay Free" - The Clash.

Waking up: "Intermezzo (Carmen Suite)" - Bizet. This tune is actually perfectly suited to the job of conveying "waking up." It has a calm, slowly building sort of feel that reminds me of Grieg's "Peer Gynt."

First day at school: "Freedom Train" - James Carr. "I'm gonna ride this freedom train, I ain't gonna live this way again." Thinking back to my days in grade school, all I really wanted to do was break free from the other kids and do my own thang. So, I suppose it's fitting.

Falling in love: "Play Gypsy Play" - Leon Redbone. Quite the love theme.

Fight song: "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" - Mission of Burma. Perfect.

Break-up song: "Cappuccino Rosie" - Jason & The Scorchers. This song is really about a man's infatuation with a coffee house gal, but I suppose it's sufficiently abrasive to convey break-up-ish-ness.

Prom: "Love Parade" - The Undertones. I never went to the prom, so I suppose this is about what I did instead. "Love Parade" is fairly sarcastic, angry stuff. The backup vocal sarcastically croons "What's perfect? What's perfect but love?" Come to think of it, I probably was at home listening to the Undertones on prom night.

Life: "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues" - Chris Thomas King. "Life" is so broad, but I suppose this conveys the period in which I drifted around the country like a hobo, looking for work and recovring from the shellshock I received in the Great War. But hey, it's a damn fine song and conveys a lot of the loneliness I encountered in high school and college.

Mental breakdown: "Electrolite"- R.E.M. A song written as a farewell to the 20th century and as an homage to L.A. "20th Century go to sleep. Really Deep. We won't blink," has an element of alienation I really dig.

Driving (more like biking): "Funky Walk" - Dyke and the Blazers. Oh my God. That song is one of the tightest grooves. I can see myself moving at a high rate of speed to this song, or simply walking in a funky fashion.

Flashback: "Little Wing" - Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix wrote this song about his mother Lucille, who died when he was a child, so it has that flashback feel. There is a shimmering aspect to the sound, a slight tremolo, that sounds like what it looks like to think about the past. If that makes sense.

Wedding: "Someday Someway" - Marshall Crenshaw. "You've taken everything from me, I've taken everything from you, I'll love you for my whole life through."

Birth of child: "What is this thing called love?" - Frank Sinatra. Not exactly sure how this would work, but it has a wonderful brooding quality to it.

Final Battle: "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" - The Clash. A good fight song, but I would have wanted something with a little more force to it.

Death Scene: "Exquisite Dead Guy." I laughed hard when this song came up. It fits perfectly.

Funeral Song: "Dancing on the Ceiling." You can't go wrong with Sinatra. Such a pretty song. The first line, "The world is lyrical," always appealed to me.

End Credit: "Walking in Memphis" - Marc Cohn. YES! This is the perfect closing song. It's such a bad song, but it's also great for so many reasons. Just something about this tune that I find so appealing. "But boy you've got a prayer in Memphis."

Pottersville

Saw It's A Wonderful Life on the big screen at the Carolina Theatre the other night (I don't approve of that spelling of "theatre," btw, but that's how they spell it). It's a treat to see it in an old 1920s-era movie theater (Side note: the Carolina Theatre sells beer for consumption during movies). Wonderful Life has one of my favorite scenes in all of film, in which Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed are on the phone at the same time talking to Sam Wainwright. The interaction between the two of them in that scene is wonderful, and ever since I was little it had an impact on me. Let's not mince words, this is a moving film. But unlike similar films it doesn't slip into schlock. And the actors can pull it off convincingly, too. But this was probably the first time in my life in which I (and my cousin) watched the movie with a critical eye, instead of a misty one.

My cousin and I noticed the roles of blacks in this film; they are limited to the periphery like so many other films of the period. They are either maids or Pullman operators. The only time blacks don't appear on the sidelines of the action in menial roles is when Bedford Falls is transformed into Pottersville. In Pottersville we find a Fats Waller type character jamming at Nick's bar - which, while depicting another stereotypical black role, is certainly better than schlepping someone's bags around. The subtext, I think, is clear: In Bedford Falls, the racial order is clearly defined. But in the immoral world of Pottersville, in which the social order of Bedford Falls has been thrown out of whack, blacks don't adhere to the roles they otherwise would be relegated to. In Pottersville, blacks and whites mingle in the clubs and dance to "black music" performed by black entertainers.

I'm not saying Capra was advocating keeping blacks down, I'm just saying his work reflects the mentality of the period.

I'm perhaps more perturbed by what seems to be a cop-out on the writer/director's part at the end of the film. Throughout the movie, we are told about economic justice and repeatedly reminded of how much of an evil old capitalist Mr. Potter is. Despite all of Potter's crimes against the people of Bedford Falls, there is no justice in the end. The truth about Potter's theft is not revealed; nor does George Bailey get a mob together and march on the Potter residence, torches in hand. SNL did a great skit about this, the transcript of which is here. I searched all over youtube for a video of the skit, but it's not there. If somone could find me a vid of this skit I would be their best friend forever.

And man, that Pottersville was a happening town! Bars, gambling, cathouses, dime-a-dance clubs - it's a Tom Waits song waiting to happen! As we were filing down the aisle towards the exit, I mentioned to my cousin rather loudly that Pottersville was a much more swingin' place than Bedford Falls and that I'd prefer to live there. An older man next to us piped up and said to his wife, "See, honey? That guy liked Pottersville better, too!"