Friday, September 28, 2007

The Tannhauser Gate

I neglected to mention something: I am moving to L.A. in 2 weeks.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Feel My Body Getting Cold

"911"-- Wyclef Jean and Mary J. Blige

Today we're talking about the marriage of violence, death and narrativized passion, particularly as it manifests itself in popular music. For a variety of reasons, I think that Americans are most familiar with a Spansh-inflected, border-accented version that owes a considerable debt to our romance with the iconoclastic western hero. But there are examples, of course, from every cultural tradition; they're all awesome, but I must confess that I like the ones where someone dies the best. Even if that death, pace the Wyclef video above, is only metaphorical. Listen to Mary growlingly demand that "someone... call 911...tell them I just been shot down." Chills, family.

Anyway, here are a couple of musical treats for "Tell Me 'Bout It Tuesday," a new feature here at the Get Down. What's currently occupying mental real estate in your part of town, family?

"Seven Spanish Angels" -- Willie Nelson and Ray Charles

"Death Letter" -- Son House

"El Paso" -- Marty Robbins

"Ode to Billie Joe" --Bobbie Gentry
*bonus points for inspiring a film (directed by Max Baer Jr -- best known to you losers as Jethro Bodine) that starred a weirdo trifecta of Glynnis O'Connor, Robby Benson, and James Best. Coo, coo, coo!

Monday, September 24, 2007

Finally. Googling Myself Pays Off

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...In which I get quoted

Trailing Clouds: Immigrant Fiction in Contemporary America

Prudence Peepers asks, "Who's that making that nasty noise?"

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usRussian Viggo says "dis muthafucka right here..."

I sold my soul to David Cronenberg for Dead Ringers. You might think that I would have given it for The Fly, but I didn't see that until I moved to Japan years later. But I do thank Mr. Cronenberg for instigating what has become a 15 year lust thing for Jeff Goldblum. Thanks for nothing, David!

I made Brigitte go see the latest Cronenberg flick with me, and family... Please! Go! See! This! Movie!

This recommendation is primarily for Orlando, Fergus, and Special Agent Chen. Orlando, because he was the first person to whom I expressed [what turned out to be ill-founded and mistaken] dismay about Viggo Mortensen's encroaching decrepitude (to the point that I started referring to Eastern Promises as Viggo Mortensen: The Oldening); Fergus, because 'Go is straight up killing it in those suits in this picture and so Fergus needs to step his tailor game up; and Chen because she likes a crackhead movie review [by the by, my crackhead review of this year's RenFest will be along as soon as I upload the (few) photos I took].

This film gets 4 bitchcakes out of 5, people.
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It would have gotten the full monty, but Naomi Watts was wasted in this. Her part could have been played by anyone. I defy you to say that about any of the other principals, though.

Now go see this movie before I press your face in cookie dough and make gorilla cookies, sucka.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

The Spook Who Came In From the Cold

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usMI-5

...if there's anything I can't stand, it's badly written characters on tv shows that could do, should do, so much better. There is truly so much drama in the LBC, family. So whatever, I've added MI-5 to the list of shows I blitz through on dvd, and things were going well -- or at least, they were trippingly along amusingly -- when, inevitably, the hang up of some wack broad rears its ugly head.

The show, obviously, is about Her Majesty's Secret Service. And I wouldn't even be talking about it here, because the show ain't even that great (at least, 4 episodes into season 1 it ain't) except for this super irritating narrative turn wherein the main spook's girlfriend is finally told that he's a spy. She gets all up in her feelings and starts pulling bitch move after bitch move. How did this trick get vetted?! For fuck's sake! First of all, the girlfriend has a 5 year old daughter, Maisie, with whom the main spook (honestly, I can't even be bothered learning these fools' names) has developed a close relationship. Yeah, that's great. Whatever.

First of all, when the girlfriend starts freaking out and is all "Oh My God, I can't believe you didn't trust me holy moly why didn't you tell me everything all you've ever said is a lie this is about trust blah blah blah," I was like HO, SIT DOWN. It's not like we're talking about his not telling you about that trip to Cancun in '95 where he and his best friend got like, totally loaded on Coronas and "wrestled," ok? He's a fucking spy. That shit is supposed to be secret! That's the nature of the fucking business! He should have trusted you why? Look at how you're acting now! Then, it's all "what's your real name I can't believe you've been lying to me all this time you have to tell Maisie the truth she deserves to know." Now, I've moved past HO, SIT DOWN and have started yelling BITCH, PLEASE. Good thing I'm offering 'em half price. Your five year old needs to know that the dude you've been screwing is a spy? In what world is that a wise move? This is not like telling the kid that Santa must have just run out of time before hitting your house this year -- this is like telling your kid that Daddy is Santa. And meaning it. Fuck outta here with that noise.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Wow. Fuck All Y'all

Sometimes, the blogosphere really depresses me.

People just say some nasty, low-down, ill-informed, sad shit sometimes.

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Saturday, September 15, 2007

Sing Below Inveterate Scars or, Why Didn't Someone Tell Me (pt. 6)

This looks just like my old landlord

There is a scene during the penultimate episode of the third season of Wire in the Blood in which our "hero," clinical psychologist Dr. Tony Hill, sits down to share a meal with a woman he's recently met on a plane. The scene is played in such a way as to highlight its excruciating banality...which is absolute genius you see, because the woman that Tony is sharing this meal with is delusional. She's broken into his house and prepared a lovely meal for the two of them, but the charming domesticity that she fabricates is wholly the product of her own mind. This woman, Patricia, imagines that she and Tony have a relationship and she behaves and thinks accordingly. It's an absolutely pitch perfect scene for several reasons, but the most important of which is this: much of the tension in the series arises from Tony's woeful lack of social skills. So there's a moment when Tony is deciding whether or not to indulge Patricia in her fantasy before having her hauled down to the pokey/insane-o 'sylum, and then...he just decides, "ah, fuck it. I'm eating." Everything we've seen of Tony thus far assures us there is very little chance that he will ever enjoy this kind of intimate moment in any other fashion. I realize that I'm not conveying the brilliance of this moment adequately, but oh my goodness, people! Someone else start watching this show! When you have to make the decision between another lonely meal at home and eating with what amounts to a sympathetic stalker -- a Canadian one, no less -- when you even reach the point in your life when these two options actually seem equally viable...READERS, I QUIT THIS BITCH. I almost fell off the couch watching this episode(it's called "Nothing But the Night", by the way). So good. When Tony looks at that chick and the food she's made and tells the looney bin operators to wait half an hour and then come get her? Lawd Jesus. This show just got bumped up to A-1 with a bullet.

People, this show has been killing me. Or rather, Robson Green has been killing me. Brigitte and I have been watching it [semi] obsessively since I happened upon the dvds at the library. Apparently, Green's character has got something akin to Asperger's syndrome (it's interesting to note, however, that the conceit behind Hill's allure -- and that of another fictional detective, Adrian Monk -- is some sort of mental disabilty that, having ordered viewers' expectations, largely disappears after the first season. But I digress --), and while I have no idea whether Green accurately captures the essence of interactions with an Asperberger's sufferer, he is definitely capturing something. What's tender and evocative and poignant in the first season, however, becomes something rather different in the third series. Anyway, I've already said too much. Just go watch the damn show.

Also, Robson Green looks just my very first Minneapolis landlord. Fergus, back me up here: doesn't that dude look just like Josh? That is effed up.

Hudson-Hatton Nuptials 8/25/07

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I'm so happy to see you

I'm so happy to see you
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Back from more than three weeks on the road, children. Hawaii was lovely, and so is my new sister-in-law. Portland wasn't as deeply wack as I left it, but it's still chugging along in the crapstacks stakes.

More to come. Including pictures of Brian, Orlando, Bernadette, and Tina!