Monday, September 29, 2008
Dubliners
If Dubliners is so "boring", then why are there 16 exclamation points in the story "Eveline" alone?
An Email Exchange Between a Mother and Son (In regards to a youtube video I made)
From: Mom
To: Son
Subject: Re: Frig movie
> > Date: Monday, September 29, 2008, 11:17 AM
> > Hi
> > Check the lighting. You have great expressions, but
> they
> > are lost by darkness on your face.
> > Love you!!!!
> > Mom
From:Son
> To:Mom
> Sent: Monday, September 29, 2008 10:33:19 AM
> Subject: Re: Frig movie
> what movie are you refering to?
From: Mom
To: Son
> Subject: Re: Frig movie
> Date: Monday, September 29, 2008, 5:50 PM
> HI
> It was on u tube. Looks like you were in your dorm room.
> Don't mean to be critcal, just advice.
> Mom
From: Son
To: Mom
Sent: Monday, September 29, 2008 4:05:19 PM
Subject: Re: Frig movie
OOOH yea! Yea, it was shot on the camera inside the laptop. I cant really control the exposure on it, but thanks!!!
From: Mom
To: Son
Hi
Well, you can put a light clser to you or above you.
Love, Mom
I hear Speilberg's mom was a pain in the ass while he was in college too!!!!!!
But he got better!!!!!!!!!!
Mystery Team Trailer!
http://www.mysteryteam-movie.com/
Its awesome! I also saw the first five minutes of the movie at Derrick's Street Legal show a month ago. It's super freaking tight.
Its awesome! I also saw the first five minutes of the movie at Derrick's Street Legal show a month ago. It's super freaking tight.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Post Rock
I need to start an instrumental post rock band just so I can name our first album "An Existential Crisis Jeff Foxworthy Underwent While Writing a new 'You Might be a Redneck' Routine."
Zeitgeist Update
Seems like these days if you say "unbelievable" out loud, everyone in the room will start thinking about Sarah Palin.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Exerpts from Alternate Universe John Dolphin's Livejournal
-dating a girl named Liz. She's the greatest.
-the beard is coming in nicely, I'm really happy with it.
-work is going really good.
-going to the mountains this weekend. Should be fun.
-Hung out with Marcus. He's doing well.
-Took my Pug Wilson to the vet. Test results came back...negative!!!!!!
-The season premiere of 30 Rock was amazing!!! Oh my god this is going to be a good season.
-Had a great time putting my penis in a vagina last night.
-the beard is coming in nicely, I'm really happy with it.
-work is going really good.
-going to the mountains this weekend. Should be fun.
-Hung out with Marcus. He's doing well.
-Took my Pug Wilson to the vet. Test results came back...negative!!!!!!
-The season premiere of 30 Rock was amazing!!! Oh my god this is going to be a good season.
-Had a great time putting my penis in a vagina last night.
Mr Brightside
Whenever I hear this song, I want to go back in time and bang a girl who liked this band a lot. She was the sister of the girl I really liked at the time, but looking back, the sister was hotter and easier.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
New Facebook
I think liking the new Facebook is the new hating the new Facebook: not worth joining a group about.
Monday, September 22, 2008
wte 6
John Townsend
Writing the Essay Section
9/4/08
Exercise 6
I am afraid I might shit myself. I am one of two people riding an old, rickety E train downtown, six stops more stops until I’m home. Terror accumulates with each successive stop; the closer to home I die, the more tragic the irony. My traveling companion is a six-foot tall black man in a Tupac shirt. He could fit basketballs in his biceps and six baseball bats in each of his legs. A red Doo-rag covers his awful smelling Corn Rows (though I might just be smelling the results of a homeless man who forgot to go before he left the house). I am a white kid in a red American Apparel sweater and checkered Vans. I have a Jew-fro.
More than anything I try to avoid his eyes; I pretend to be studying at the subway map to my left, though really I have my peripheral vision working overtime on this man, vaguely chronicling his every move. This is the kind of man who tells you a long, detailed monologue before he kills you, a monologue with Biblical allusions that heavily involve sheppards. This man is the 21st Century black Travis Bickle. This man looks dangerous. The train finally stops at West 4th Street and I bolt.
I have only walked a block when it hits me: I am a Racist. Sure, he was a scary looking man. But after forcing myself to reevaluate the ride, I realize he was almost completely motionless the entire time; I doubt he even recognized my presence. And yet I still cannot deny the sheer fear I felt sitting on the same train as him. I am also puzzled by how in addition to fear, I had an overwhelming sense of fury toward this guy, as if I were really mad that he was forcing me to question the immediacy my death. Was I afraid of this man because he looked dangerous, or was I afraid of him because he looked Black?
A day later I walking to class through Washington Square Park, still worrying heavily about what kind of underlying bigotry might lie within me, when a “blast” from the past walks by me. He is about 8 feet tall: 6 feet of actually man, 1 foot of spiked green hair, and 1 foot of black platform boots. Chains circle his crotch and safety pins penetrate his skin. He is a pale white guy, and I am seriously afraid of him. He looks like he would tell you Anarchy is the only logical form of government, but then falls asleep every time he opens his copy of Anarchy in Action which he is this close to returning to his friend who works in a used record store. He is walking toward me. As he continues to come closer to me, I find myself not only getting more scared, but angrier, the same way I felt on the subway.
Writing the Essay Section
9/4/08
Exercise 6
I am afraid I might shit myself. I am one of two people riding an old, rickety E train downtown, six stops more stops until I’m home. Terror accumulates with each successive stop; the closer to home I die, the more tragic the irony. My traveling companion is a six-foot tall black man in a Tupac shirt. He could fit basketballs in his biceps and six baseball bats in each of his legs. A red Doo-rag covers his awful smelling Corn Rows (though I might just be smelling the results of a homeless man who forgot to go before he left the house). I am a white kid in a red American Apparel sweater and checkered Vans. I have a Jew-fro.
More than anything I try to avoid his eyes; I pretend to be studying at the subway map to my left, though really I have my peripheral vision working overtime on this man, vaguely chronicling his every move. This is the kind of man who tells you a long, detailed monologue before he kills you, a monologue with Biblical allusions that heavily involve sheppards. This man is the 21st Century black Travis Bickle. This man looks dangerous. The train finally stops at West 4th Street and I bolt.
I have only walked a block when it hits me: I am a Racist. Sure, he was a scary looking man. But after forcing myself to reevaluate the ride, I realize he was almost completely motionless the entire time; I doubt he even recognized my presence. And yet I still cannot deny the sheer fear I felt sitting on the same train as him. I am also puzzled by how in addition to fear, I had an overwhelming sense of fury toward this guy, as if I were really mad that he was forcing me to question the immediacy my death. Was I afraid of this man because he looked dangerous, or was I afraid of him because he looked Black?
A day later I walking to class through Washington Square Park, still worrying heavily about what kind of underlying bigotry might lie within me, when a “blast” from the past walks by me. He is about 8 feet tall: 6 feet of actually man, 1 foot of spiked green hair, and 1 foot of black platform boots. Chains circle his crotch and safety pins penetrate his skin. He is a pale white guy, and I am seriously afraid of him. He looks like he would tell you Anarchy is the only logical form of government, but then falls asleep every time he opens his copy of Anarchy in Action which he is this close to returning to his friend who works in a used record store. He is walking toward me. As he continues to come closer to me, I find myself not only getting more scared, but angrier, the same way I felt on the subway.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The David Mamet Children's Theatre
Last night I went with my girlfriend to a production of Cinderella at the David Mamet Children's Theatre. While I have no children of my own, I had long wanted to attend the Theatre, despite mixed reviews of past productions Seven Dwarves and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
They say great revivals force you to look at old stories in completely new lights; the same can be said of David Mamet's Cinderella. Mamet has morphed what was once a story of a girl going to a ball into a cutting social commentary on how greedy and success driven our contemporary society has become.
The fast-paced and cynical dialogue was a bit hard to follow at times, and a few audience members around me complained that Cinderella was portrayed as a "selfish cunt".
While I felt like the underlying tones of anti-semitism were a bit complexing and uncalled for, I really liked the show, and hope to attend the Theatre's upcoming production of the Little Mermaid.
They say great revivals force you to look at old stories in completely new lights; the same can be said of David Mamet's Cinderella. Mamet has morphed what was once a story of a girl going to a ball into a cutting social commentary on how greedy and success driven our contemporary society has become.
The fast-paced and cynical dialogue was a bit hard to follow at times, and a few audience members around me complained that Cinderella was portrayed as a "selfish cunt".
While I felt like the underlying tones of anti-semitism were a bit complexing and uncalled for, I really liked the show, and hope to attend the Theatre's upcoming production of the Little Mermaid.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Deerhunter's Microcastle Review (as seen in Outback Steakhouse's Quarterly Magazine)
So a couple months ago, a friend of a friend set me up with my first big break: reviewing an album of my choice for Outback Steakhouse's quarterly magazine. It was a really amazing opportunity, and I am glad to say that here is the fruit of that opportunity:
My roommate sent me a link to Deerhunter's new album a while ago, and I've been loving it ever since. It's easily going to be one of my favorite albums of the year. It is simply amazing.
In order to explain my feelings for Microcastle, I am going to give a track by track analysis of what makes each song so good, in an easy to understand manner.
"Intro"
The opening track to Microcastle is reminiscent of walking into an Outback Steakhouse. Much as the scents of other customers food establishes the meal about to ensue, "Intro" is filled with sounds that will be explored later in the album. And just like walking into the Outback Steakhouse, you can't exactly pinpoint why, but you just know you are getting into something incredible.
"Agoraphobia"
The second track is the Bloomin Onion of the album. You have finally sat down, your waiter has arrived with a smile on her face, and BAM! sweet, sweet succulence is shoved down your throat. You almost can't believe how beautiful things have gotten in such a short span of time. It ends, and you actually think you might cry; not now maybe, but you know in your heart that someday, someplace, it will happen, and it will surprise no one.
"Never Stops"
If "Agoraphobia" is the Bloomin' Onion, "Never Stops" is the Outback Steakhouse's Pink Lemonade-unbelievably juicy, quench thirsting and refreshing. You don't think so much beauty could come to you so quickly. It suddenly becomes clear that this is a place you will want to be coming back to.
"Little Kids"
The fourth track, much like the Tassie's Buffalo Wings, is purely delicious, though a little spicy for some.
"Microcastle"
The beginning of "Microcastle" is a little slow and boring. It brings to mind the time spent waiting for a Top Shelf Patron Margarita. But once the drums kick in, the song becomes the musical equivalent to a Top Shelf Patron Margarita: thrilling, pounding, and uplifting.
"Calvary Scars"/"Green Jacket"/"Activa"
The three songs that follow "Microcastle" evoke the same feelings felt at the beginning of that song. Only instead of waiting for a Top Shelf Patron Margarita, these three songs are reminiscent of waiting for one of the Outback Steakhouses entrees. Boredom settles in.
"Nothing Ever Happened"
From the depths of boredom comes this savory track. Full of life and capable of inflicting sensory overload, no piece of music in recent memory has come this close to replicating the experience of indulging in a Chargrilled Ribeye.
"Saved By Old Times"
It only takes five words to aptly describe "Saved By Old Times": Outback Steakhouse's Key Lime Pie.
"Twilight at Carbon Lake"
The final song on Microcastle bears a strong resemblance, in both tone and ambiance, to standing in the parking lot of the Outback Steakhouse. Within seconds, the memories of the night come pouring back. The pure magic of the night becomes palatable. All the little portions-the bloomin onion, the ribeye-wander through your memory, until the only logical conclusion is tears.
My roommate sent me a link to Deerhunter's new album a while ago, and I've been loving it ever since. It's easily going to be one of my favorite albums of the year. It is simply amazing.
In order to explain my feelings for Microcastle, I am going to give a track by track analysis of what makes each song so good, in an easy to understand manner.
"Intro"
The opening track to Microcastle is reminiscent of walking into an Outback Steakhouse. Much as the scents of other customers food establishes the meal about to ensue, "Intro" is filled with sounds that will be explored later in the album. And just like walking into the Outback Steakhouse, you can't exactly pinpoint why, but you just know you are getting into something incredible.
"Agoraphobia"
The second track is the Bloomin Onion of the album. You have finally sat down, your waiter has arrived with a smile on her face, and BAM! sweet, sweet succulence is shoved down your throat. You almost can't believe how beautiful things have gotten in such a short span of time. It ends, and you actually think you might cry; not now maybe, but you know in your heart that someday, someplace, it will happen, and it will surprise no one.
"Never Stops"
If "Agoraphobia" is the Bloomin' Onion, "Never Stops" is the Outback Steakhouse's Pink Lemonade-unbelievably juicy, quench thirsting and refreshing. You don't think so much beauty could come to you so quickly. It suddenly becomes clear that this is a place you will want to be coming back to.
"Little Kids"
The fourth track, much like the Tassie's Buffalo Wings, is purely delicious, though a little spicy for some.
"Microcastle"
The beginning of "Microcastle" is a little slow and boring. It brings to mind the time spent waiting for a Top Shelf Patron Margarita. But once the drums kick in, the song becomes the musical equivalent to a Top Shelf Patron Margarita: thrilling, pounding, and uplifting.
"Calvary Scars"/"Green Jacket"/"Activa"
The three songs that follow "Microcastle" evoke the same feelings felt at the beginning of that song. Only instead of waiting for a Top Shelf Patron Margarita, these three songs are reminiscent of waiting for one of the Outback Steakhouses entrees. Boredom settles in.
"Nothing Ever Happened"
From the depths of boredom comes this savory track. Full of life and capable of inflicting sensory overload, no piece of music in recent memory has come this close to replicating the experience of indulging in a Chargrilled Ribeye.
"Saved By Old Times"
It only takes five words to aptly describe "Saved By Old Times": Outback Steakhouse's Key Lime Pie.
"Twilight at Carbon Lake"
The final song on Microcastle bears a strong resemblance, in both tone and ambiance, to standing in the parking lot of the Outback Steakhouse. Within seconds, the memories of the night come pouring back. The pure magic of the night becomes palatable. All the little portions-the bloomin onion, the ribeye-wander through your memory, until the only logical conclusion is tears.
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