Uniquely absorbing

Don't start playing the Demo of Auditorium unless you've got some time to waste.

Jeffery Lewis Video

Sometimes something is just so good, the only thing to do is tell others. Thanks, Bobby!

I think maybe chance works better in a situation like music because music exists over a period of time, and you don't maintain constantly; you can't refer back from one area to another area. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

wholw

digital rendering by veach st glines — 2008

They think it was a gesture, a protest against abstract expressionism ... or just a pure act of destruction—vandalism ... but, it was poetry. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008; discussing his 1953 work: Erased De Kooning Drawing)

The Sacred Book of the Werewolf

The Sacred Book of the Werewolf by Victor Pelevin

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars

The world works in a mysterious and incomprehensible fashion. Wishing to protect frogs from children's cruelty, adults tell children not to crush them because that will make it rain - and the result is that it rains all summer because the children crush frogs one after another. And sometimes it happens that you try with all your might to explain the truth to someone else, and suddenly you understand it yourself. (pg 316)

...the American film The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen...gathered together all the supermen of the nineteenth century. (There is)...nothing original about it. An economy based on brokerage gives rise to a culture that prefers to resell images and concepts created by others rather than creating new ones. (pgs 11-12)

...if someone says something memorable to us, we almost always repeat it in conversation with other people, regardless of whether what was said was stupid or clever...mind is simply a tennis racket you can use to keep bouncing the conversation from one subject to another for as long as you like. We give people back the ideas and opinions that we have borrowed from them - reflecting them from another angle, giving them a different spin, sending them into a vertical climb.

Let me remark modestly that my simulated thought almost always turns out better than the original... Who serves all these shots? One of the people?...

I'll have to wait until I have a conversation on this subject with some intelligent person. Then we'll see which way I drive the ball. That's the way I've been discovering the truth... (pgs 136-137)

Portland OR — Reasons (#4)

Non-walmartization

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number four.

There are three Wal-Marts for 2.1 million residents of this city and its two dozen suburbs (the suburbs in Washington don't count because of reason number ten). There are some big-box stores (positioned near the Washington border, again see #10) and of course there are chain stores and chain restaurants and chain fast-food joints...my point is more about the gestalt of the consumer mindset (of which 'only 3 Wal-Marts' is merely the grabber).

The abundance and diversity of: green-grocers, vinyl record shops, cafe's, small businesses, independent stores, boutiques, art galleries, antique malls, vintage/retro-clothing stores, diners, used CD stores, non-franchise restaurants, et cetera — contrasted against the relative paucity of empty store fronts — indicates this consumer mindset is extremely vibrant. The nine-months-out-of-the-year, weekend-craft/art/food/music market is the flagship of this rare but fantastic mindset.

Every time I've moved, my work has changed radically. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

Review of the working copy: Public Enemies

Got invited to screen a big-budget film scheduled to be released next Spring. It was something I'd never done, so after IMDB'ing keywords on the invitation (1930's gangster film) and coming up with: Public Enemies, directed by Michael Mann, and starring more than a dozen well known actors and actresses (Johnny Depp is Dillinger, Christian Bale is Melvin Purvis), we hastily rsvp'd our acceptance of the invitation.

We arrive 1/2 hour before the time we were told to be there and stood in line for 90 minutes.

It took 30 more minutes to pack the 500+ of us into non-stadium theater seats that were uncomfortable in 1984.

Five more to explain the few things that were yet to be fixed in this working copy (the sound is not finished, some special effects are missing, the sky and colors are not 'punched up' yet, blah blah).

Two hours and fourty minutes later, I'm handed a sheet of paper with questions on it:

• What was the first thing you thought when the movie was over?
  Fuck, it's hot. I'm glad it's finally over, now all I have to do is get this stupid paper filled out.
• Did you know before watching this film that Dillinger was shot outside a theater in Chicago?
  Ahh, yeah, This is—like—the fifth movie to re-tread this same ground. But I'm sure there are some sixteen year old fans of Pirates of the Caribbean and The Dark Knight that will learn it next spring.
• At the beginning of the film did you know that Billy Crudup was J. Edgar Hoover?
  (This makes me think the director knew long before he began filming that Billy wasn't right for the role) I didn't know who he was until someone called him by name; why didn't you get Toby Jones?
• Rate the following list of actors and the roles they were playing; five is best, one is worst.
  Most got a three. Johnny was sadly, bad, and got a two (I think Robert Downey Jr. would have killed the role). Giovanni Rabisi (only in the film for ten minutes) got the only four.
• Would you recommend this film to your friends?
  Even if you chop an hour off of this huge turd, I doubt it.
• What did you think of the ending?
  Besides, "Yay it's finally here?' It was waaay muddled.
• What were the best things about the film?
  The settings and costumes were accurate and well staged, the shoot-outs and chase scenes were realistic, it hits all the "historically accurate" points that have already been hit before.
  
• What were the worst things?
  I saw two earring holes in Dillinger's left earlobe (make-up and continuity both get an F); Stephen Dorff, Leelee Sobieski, Emilie de Ravin, and Lili Taylor, were each in it for about two whole minutes (some didn't even have lines!)—what an amazing waste of talent. The script was awful-terrible: when placing words in people's mouths why not have them say interesting things?
  

Overall I know that Mr Mann is capable of some good films, like: The Insider, Heat, Manhunter, and Collateral. I also know he's directed some quasi-shite: Miami Vice, Ali and the Keep.

This may be enjoyed by younger viewers who have not seen Warren Oats' Dillinger (1973), or John Tirney's Dillinger (1945), because they adhere to the creed: "if it was made more than ten years ago it's not worth seeing," and they'll be satisfied with mediocre dialog and so-so acting.

There is little to no profanity (weirdly missing), not much blood (just a little), and no nudity in the film (the only sex scene is 15 seconds of Depp and Marion Cotillard, Dillinger's girlfriend, in bed clothed). This must have been intentional in order to get a PG13 rating; the target audience is high schoolers.

I will see it again in 2010, on DVD, because I'm interested to see how much polish that turd gets.

Michael Mann, Public Enemies, Film, Johnny Depp, Christian Bale

...dogs begin to smell her...

At times, my mind combines a memory with something happening in the present and I get a mini-eureka moment.

A few nights ago, out with my paramour singing karaoke (yep, guilty pleasure #43) someone with too much of the king of Belgian beers in him, begins a male pop-standard krooner (a song any low-voice can belt out at zero-dark-thirty after driving is no longer an option). He sang as I read the screen over his head:

When the dogs do find her
Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow
To find it - to find it - to find it
When the dogs do find her
Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow
To find it... to find it... to find it

Where ya going for tomorrow?
Where ya going with that mask I found?
And I feel, and I feel
When the dogs begin to smell her
Will she smell alone?

And I recall assisting on a death investigation decades ago, in Georgia, where a husband murdered his wife, drug her body out into a copse of trees behind their housing complex, camouflaged it with a small quantity of leaves and twigs, and then continued his daily routines. He called in-laws (this is pre-cellphones) asked to speak with her, informed them she'd left after an argument and would turn up there soon, '...tell her I apologized and she should come home...'.

Kids found the body after a few days. He confessed. Part of the end of his statement is paraphrased here:

I couldn't leave her in the house anymore...the smell was gettin too bad...the dog was always sniffin at the door to the room. ...figure I'd be able to buy me some time if I put her outside.

What were your plans in regard to the time you were buying by putting her outside? (An effective interrogation technique when a pause gets too long: frame a question using previously stated words.)

I wasn't. ...didn't think bout nothin. I need some time to find a plan.

Did you find a plan?

No, you guys showed up before I had a chance to.

[Name] it's been more than a week since then, (another technique: always avoid saying 'since the murder' or 'killing' or even 'death') you went to work, talked with people, all kinds of things; in all that time you didn't come up with any idea of what you were going to do?

Well. I knew I needed to do somethin soon. But I thought I'd have more time.

I learn from wiki, today, that Scott Wieland of Stone Temple Pilots allegedly wrote the lyrics to Plush after reading a San Diego newspaper article about a woman's body in the woods. The song was recorded in 1992. The crime I reference above occurred in 1990.

Is this just another example of nothing new under the sun, or, every idea that can be thought has already been thought? Or, in this case, acted out and said?

The artist's job is to be a witness to his time in history. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

Plush, interrogation technique, Murder, Stone Temple Pilots, investigation

NIGHTMARE

This was a first for me. Although I've had a few memorable nightmares as a child and a couple scary dreams as an adult; never something like this:

I wake up (I'm on my back) and look to my right. There is a short boy, maybe seven years old, standing next to the bed; less than three feet away from me. In the darkness, I can clearly see his outline, darker than the white section of wall which separates the darker closet door and the darkest open bathroom doorway. Someone has entered my house, my room, my sleeping personal space without me hearing them...I scream a no-word holler. He freezes (he may have been walking toward the bathroom). I roar again. Trying for maximum volume, maybe I'll scare him away. He winces a little. I shout, "who are you!?" (I'm beginning to sit up). He moves away maybe an inch or two. Louder, again, "who are you!!?" and lunge with both hands for his throat.

I wake up. My pointing fingers have just hit the wall. My eyes feel like they were already open and I sit back on the bed as the thought: 'I just bellowed awfully loud, everyone must be awake,' is buried by the knowledge my voice feels un-strained, in fact, it feels un-used at all. My heart is racing. Not a creature is stirring, not even the cat. My focus centers on the bathroom, where the familiar dim glow of a nightlight incongruously bumps my now-obvious dream memory of 'the darkest doorway'.

That little ghost almost scared the piss out of me—I'll bet my going for his throat gave him a bit of a pause, though.

Portland OR — Reasons (#5)

Get-around-ability

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number five.

Many cities have some of these effective, "green", and positive transportation qualities, and some have many of them, but only Portland has all:

• Fully integrated metropolitan-suburban bus system.
• Major light-rail system connecting many eastern, western, and northern suburbs (growing to the south).
• Trolley-cars covering the downtown area.
• Extensive bicycle paths, lanes, and secure parking areas (some covered). A very "bicycle/alternative transportation (alt-trans) friendly" environment.
  
• Bicycle racks on the front of most buses and inside all train cars.
• Laws permitting/promoting alt-trans on most public streets and sidewalks (skateboards, roller-blades, Segways, scooters, etc.).
• A convenient international airport connected to every transportation system.
• A huge fair-less downtown zone where all public transportation is free.
• No sedan chairs and footmen, which is a shame, but there are always bicycle carts downtown (at all hours).
  

Ideas of...relaxed symmetry have been something—for years—that I've been concerned with because I think that symmetry is a neutral shape as opposed to a form of design. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

Altruistic Evil

Altruism is defined as a selfless act of kindness. While saying altruistic kindness is rhetorically redundant (like free gift or rhetorical redundancy), the term altruistic evil is an oxymoron, used in an overt attempt to draw attention to the paradox (e.g. cold fire).

The first step is to determine when an act can be labeled as altruistic. When doing so, there is but one hurdle: identifying the elusive absence of self-benefit.

When searching for a perfect example, invariably, Mother Theresa’s name arises. I posit that although her actions were without material gain, she was motivated by a self-imposed duty to her deity and–like any religious zealot’s–her sights were always on receiving an “ultimate reward,” (which the faithful believe is received after death). Altruism was, consequently, not present.

Ten years ago, when Ted Turner made a magnanimous gift of one billion dollars, the term altruism was used. This wasn't altruism. Besides obvious tax benefits, anyone who blares their own horn (at the time, CNN–his own international media company–touted his largess incessantly) clearly intended to profit socially, politically, and historically.

The best example of altruism is a hypothetical one: A non-suicidal atheist, with no life insurance, dives on a grenade to save the lives of the men in his foxhole. Although the atheist’s death is not a requirement, his belief that the grenade is going to detonate is.

Selfishness, commonly used to define the opposite of altruism, is a bland and ineffective term. The best label for committing selfless acts of unkindness is: Altruistic Evil. At first glance, one may think most acts of unkindness are selfless acts. That's untrue. I suspect almost every act of evil is committed with self-gratification as the primary raison d'être.

Suicide bombers, kamikaze pilots (the 11 Sep 01 pilots have joined their ranks), Nazi concentration-camp soldiers, the reverend Jim Jones, Hitler, Pol Pot, The Son of Sam, Jeffery Dahmer, the dude who tossed the aforementioned hand-grenade; whomever one envisions as the embodiment of the antithesis of the insurance-less atheist in the foxhole–their motivations can almost always be labeled: duty, loyalty, greed, self-aggrandizement, or martyrdom.

I qualify this with the addendum that many evil people (possibly, many of those listed above) were irrational or insane and although it may be argued that killing because ‘your neighbor’s German Shepard told you to’ qualifies as selfless–I contend that any action taken to please one’s inner voices qualifies as the ultimate in selfishness...even if one is too much of a snapperhead to recognize the voices are internal.

The best examples of evil altruism are hypothetical: An apolitical atheist adds a lethal poison to the machinery near the beginning of a food supply; without knowing the destination of the food, with no specifically identified targets, and with no chance of being caught. Then, the poisoner never tells anyone. Or... A wallet is found on the ground (no matter if it's empty or contains someone's life savings) and the person who found it, drops it in a dumpster without opening it.

It could be argued that the ‘thrill factor’ is sufficient personal benefit to disqualify these as selfless acts of unkindness. (Possibly a similar thrill of accomplishment which motivates computer-virus designers and their older hacker-cousins.) But, couldn't the grenade-diver's training or conditioning have influenced his decision to "take the biggest-possible-one for the team" be loyalty? And if the three seconds–between diving and boom–was filled with self-pride, then, was it altruistic? Also, is death a viable measuring stick?

To measure altruistic evil you also have to determine intent. Just like loyalty, duty, honor, and martyrdom disqualify ones actions from being altruistic; carelessness, negligence, apathy, and accidental acts lack sufficient malice to qualify as evil.

I realize there is, really, no conclusion to be made here. In fact, as I typed these paragraphs, I came to the conclusion that I have no real point to make. Except this: a word exists that defines an act that, arguably, can not exist. And its opposite, also, seems impossible.
evil, Mother Theresa, altruism, Ted Turner, altruistic

Harvest Festival

My paramour Pam
a native of this great land
whom I think is grand

I don't give any thanks today.

For non-North American readers: today is a national holiday called Thanksgiving, which many Red-White-and-Blue (read: Republican-Caucasian-and-Bluecollar) citizens celebrate by giving thanks to an invisible creator-deity for bestowing them with the wonderful land on which they have formed a country. When they give thanks, they blithely fail to recognize the uncounted millions of murders and deaths their ancestors committed and orchestrated to "clear the land" of the indigenous people that previously occupied it. When I attempted to discuss this with my mother, she replied, tersely, "I don't choose to think of it in that manner." Way to go mom; way to stick to your ancestors guns. (There's a joke in there.)

The woman I love is of the Tohono O'Odham nation (pronounced: Toe-OH-no OhOh-dAHme). Although I've never been comfortable celebrating many, or most, holidays—especially those usurped by religious nutters (who I call 'prazy folk')—I find the thought of celebrating North American Thanksgiving (or Columbus Day)...both lovingly referred-to in our house as: indigenous death days...like a Brit celebrating US Independence Day, the French celebrating Cinco de Mayo, or an Aboriginal native celebrating Australia Day.

Bottom line: It isn't always a party when the bully wins.

Teachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards again and again, and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy: 1492. The teachers told the children that this was when their continent was discovered by human beings. Actually, millions of human beings were already living full and imaginative lives on the continent in 1492. That was simply the year in which sea pirates began to cheat and rob and kill them. — Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions (1973)
thanksgiving, harvest festival, don't celebrate, indigenous death day, 1492

fortunate fortnight

digital rendering by veach st glines — 2008

Portland OR — Reasons (#6)

Bookstores

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number six.

A conducive climate exists here, literally and figuratively, for a proliferation of bookstores. The desire to escape the dreary autumn-thru-winter weather—inside a book—has given rise to a plethora of new and used bookstores. The best and favorite are the Powell's stores, of which there are at least five (the largest of which covers a city block x 4 stories tall). Also, there are dozens of specialty stores (used paperbacks, comics, etc.), a few national chains (Borders, B. Dalton), and a wonderful library system.

Are we foolish to be so elated by books in an age of movies and television? Not in the least, for our ability to read, when combined with libraries...makes us the freest of women and men - and children. — Kurt Vonnegut, Palm Sunday (1999)

Jobs

Following in the footsteps of Mr Allen—of Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons—who enjoys Vonnegut and (accordingly) has, maybe, the best esoteric name for a personal-blog (with Shouting to hear the echoes, still, the best in the non-esoterica category *wink*), I provide my list of jobs:

• St Johns Elementary - brooms, buffers, mops, toilet brushes, and incinerator duty.
• Peru Country Club - cart/club rental and cleaning, pro shop sales, spying on the lifeguard in the red one-piece, listening to the radio, stealing orange soda all day and playing in the evening for free.
• Peru Animal Hospital - assist with surgeries, clean runs and cages, clean everything, learn not to use abrasive cleaner on metal, gain insight into: I may not want to become a veterinarian.
  
• Essex Wire (weekend midnight shift) - injection mold presses (hot and boring), cardboard box construction; learn to despise: solely-for-a-paycheck jobs and the zombies who've done them for so-long they hate any spark of intelligence (brains!).
• Mississinewa Lake State Park - lawn mowers, tractors (learn to drive a stick), garbage truck detail, public-park latrine duty, paint brushes, chain saw, back hoe, weed-eaters, poison ivy; "Lefty" Graf's obsession with road-side cleanup.
• The Chocolate Factory - sandwich preparation, ice cream cones, robbed by a con artist; learn to despise: retail food service jobs, juvenile employees (all of them) and customers (all of them).
• Milwaukee Metal Products - brake-press operator (bending metal); erase any doubt about how to become a zombie.
• McKinley Marina - fee collection boat ramp, gas-jockey on a pier, security guard.
• infantryman - clean (everything is always dirty), type, drive, run (a lot), exercise, set up/tear down equipment, practice to use large killing machines (some of the machines themselves are large; some are small but the killing is large), practice to use equipment to protect from getting killed (large and small); learn to unequivocally despise every aspect of being a soldier (bar none).
• militarypoliceman - clean, type, drive (sometimes, really fast), run (less), exercise, give traffic citations, supervise some fucknuts, break-up fights, investigate petty dumbass-soldier crimes, practice using killing machines (one-on-one sized), practice using equipment to protect from getting killed (also small), help a small handful of people who needed it; learn there's too much soldier-stuff in MP-stuff.
• bodyguard - type, drive (rarely, really fast), run (again, little less), help babysit a couple of over-privileged grown adults and reinforce their pampered lifestyle; learn to despise snobs and elitists—even while protecting them from harm.
• criminal investigator - type, drive (mostly slow), run (much less), supervise some good people (and, still, some fucknuts), investigate serious felonies/deaths/thefts, incarcerate hundreds of bad to very-bad people, help thousands of people who needed it; learn "this bed's just right".
• artist - pens, inks, paper, canvas, brushes, computer screen & mouse, paint, giclee prints; learn peace of mind is blissful and the flow of creating gives me peace of mind.
• (updated Jun 2012)  newspaper carrier - insert, load, drive (very slow), bag, throw; groundhog day never ends; realize the depths I will go to pay bills/stay with the one I love.  
• (updated Oct 2014)  rental car driver / cleaner - drive, clean, vacuum, wash, rinse, repeat. Bills caught up = quit.
• (updated Oct 2022)  census-bureau clerk - call-center recruiter, data input, remind myself how miserably-bad government work is, and how miserably-terrible at least half the people in the world are; after catching C-19 = quit.
  

Synecdoche, New York = must see

Charlie Kaufman has just become one of my favorite directors.

The writer of such wonderfully bizarre films as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which he also produced) and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind has now accomplished a filmic-feat with very few peers: Synecdoche, New York — a work of existentialist art which transcends all accurate description.

You could read any two-dozen of these articles on MQRE about it and still be unprepared for the complex, phenomenal, accomplishments of Philip Seymour Hoffman (whom I suspect will win an Oscar), Samantha Morton, and Emily Watson.

If you are not highly entertained by films which challenge your thought processes, this film is not for you. Since Kaufman wrote, directed, and produced (his first in the director's chair) it is more complex, more convoluted and more cram-filled with metaphor and allegory than his previous films. Think Adaptation (one of his) meets American Spendor, with the intimacy of Requiem for a Dream and the humor of Being John Malkovich (also, one of his).
Synecdoche, NY, Charlie Kaufman, film, Philip Seymour Hoffman, movies

Portland OR — Reasons (#7)

Voting Simplicity

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number seven

Step one: register to vote (like in every state).
Step two: receive ballot in the mail along with booklets detailing all propositions (including pro/con arguments)...about two weeks before election day.
Step three: fill ballot out.
Step four: seal ballot in your preprinted security envelope, sign outside of envelope, and place it inside another envelope.
Step three: mail ballot; or drive to polling station and drop it off at a drive-thru (and save the cost of a stamp); or if you have questions or need assistance you can take it inside and vote in a booth. I mailed mine. This is the easiest, most comfortable way to vote. I can't understand why every state doesn't have this capability.

True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country. — Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)

Why do you live there?

          Most people rarely contemplate the place they call HOME—even less question it.  Many people move away from someone else, while others move to be with a loved one.  We are transferred by our employers (members of the military expect it).  We move to attend university and when obtaining a new job.  Retirees move to live closer to their children or grandchildren.  Elderly move to warmer climates.   Recreational vehicle residents pick-up and go because they can do it fast and the weather is nicer in that direction.  Gamblers relocate to where it's legal.  Farmers flee to get the seeds out of their bones.  Victims of cataclysms depart because they've got no homes.  Homeless vagrants jump-town because the police don't know them there, yet.  Upgrade-moves are made when more elbowroom can be afforded; downgrade-moves, when that space is no longer needed.  The world moves to The City because they have a need to be crushed, in a good way; and leave once they realize getting crushed—even voluntarily—can be unpleasant.  Porn stars gravitate toward the San Fernando Valley, white supremacists to Idaho and bicycle enthusiasts move to Portland (platinum rated since 2003 by LAB).

          Many people never move.  Ever.  They were born in the same hospital as their momma, went to school seven blocks over, graduated, got married, and their children were born there too.  They still are friends with the same people they pushed down at recess.  They drive out of their neighborhood, but only to the nearest market.  And they say, "A one-hour drive?..there better be front-row seats."

          Why do you live where you do?   Do you aspire to move to fulfill a dream or goal?  Have you always loved your environs?  If not, where do you want to move?

more about moving:

before looking for an apartment in Vermont

sometimes it is all ahead of you 

Portland OR — Reasons (#8)

Art Theaters

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number eight.

Cinema 21, Bagdad Theater & pub, Hollywood Theater, Living room Theater, Laurelhurst Theater, Clinton Street Theater, Mission Theater & Pub, St. John's Theater & Pub—that's eight art theaters. There are also several dozen cinemaplexes throughout the greater PDX-metro area (some devote an occasional screen to foreign/art-house films, one seems to dedicate half of it's screens on a constant basis to art & inde films).

...I want to stay as close on the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center ... big, undreamed-of things—the people on the edge see them first. — Kurt Vonnegut, Player Piano (1952)