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May 30, 2003
Eulogy for a Fox
No, not Marnye. This Fox was a Volkswagen car, mine from 1990 until today. It was my first and only car (so far), and was with me through a large chunk of my life. An entire Chinese zodiac cycle, in fact.
I first drove to Smoky Mountain High School in this car. I drove to my first date in this car (and most subsequent ones, actually). I never got laid in the backseat, though. The original NC license plate, "LT RULES," hangs on my wall (there was no "Y" in my name yet).
I drove from North Carolina to Los Angeles in the Fox, via New Orleans, a city I remember fondly even though I'm no longer in touch with the person I stayed with at that time. I was introduced to Blackened Voodoo beer there. I remember the first bumper sticker I put on the car, a souvenir from Disney/MGM's Star Tours ride.
I treated the car quite badly. No-one ever told me you're supposed to change the oil every 3000 miles. It held up a long time given that I did almost no maintenance on it unless it broke. When I cleaned it out not long ago, I found stuff that had probably been there since high school.
In December, the transmission got thrown out of whack, and I paid around $500 to get it fixed. A week later, it broke in a different way. The engine had been on death watch with "bad rings" for over a year by that point, so I decided enough was enough. I hope Goodwill can make some money selling the parts.
Hard not to feel it was the end of an era looking at the Fox leaving on the back of a tow truck, with bumper stickers telling the story of its life: Nader 2000, Support Senator Kelly, WWF, Batman, Brevard College, Smoky Mountain High School, Genitorturers, Melvins, American Whore, NRDC. Proud Parent of a Demon, and the Star Tours banner still hanging in there.
Ah, memories. Time to go get another vehicle now.
Who do I have to blow to get a mention from Luke Ford?
For those who don't know, Luke Ford is a freelance journalist who attends damn near every gathering of journalists that ever takes place in LA ever, then writes about it on his site. Never ever ONCE has he mentioned my attendance at any event.
Maybe he's worried people will confuse us. After all, he's a conservative Australian Jew, and I'm tall with weird hair.
Anyway, he and I were among the first to arrive at the mediabistro.com event earlier. We discussed porn and New Age stuff, then he started trying to hit on one of the hosts, I think. Can't say I blame him. Luke called me a camera whore, for posing in front of the camera of others. He's absolutely right on that score. But then he left to go to another event, and that one is all you'll see written about on his site.
These events are apparently places where unemployed journalists show up to network (and eat stale chips and pretzels, plus nuculer -- not nuclear, mind you -- orange popcorn). If they're all unemployed, though, what's the benefit of networking? People seemed mad that I was there despite being gainfully employed [NOTE TO EVERYONE: I CANNOT HIRE YOU. The one time I was actually in a position to get someone hired, no-one applied. So there]. This one was supposed to celebrate the site's new affiliation with nerve.com's personals, of which I've been a member for a while. I came to meet people. Ideally single people.
One woman that approached me to engage me in conversation immediately started being rude, and giving out her phone number to everyone except me. Whatever.
When I heard that one of the door prize winners was Christian Cooper, though, that rung a bell. Christian gave me my first ever journalism work, at the Daily Trojan. I reintroduced myself. He now works for the Grammys, and pointed out another ex-Trojan in attendance -- K.T. Wiegman (now married, possibly with a different last name), who dated my roommate and still has one of his CDs which she doesn't want. K.T. was overweight and punk looking last time I saw her -- now she's neither. Works for AOL. On the other hand, last time I saw her I was skinny and non-punk looking -- now I'm neither. The powers remain in balance. Good to see her; soon I will introduce her to the chaos that is the Colonial House Alumni Association.
I did get to talking to someone I found quite attractive, with a great sense of personal style, looks, and brains. Then I checked out her online personal when I got home, and it says she's in a relationship, looking for friends. Damn. Unless she's just saying that to throw people off. I usually find that if women have an inkling you're hitting on them and they aren't available, the word "boyfriend" gets dropped into conversation constantly. Then again, I was cruelly led on once by a coworker, possibly unwitting but I think she had to know at some point.
I hope this new lady is in fact available, but who knows.
Posted by LYT at 8:31 PM | Comments (0)
May 29, 2003
Review Update: Revolutions
Gregory and I worked long and hard (huh-huh!) on this SUMMER MOVIE PREVIEW, so read it already. I wrote the essay; both of us wrote the capsules. Free DVDs and LYT-shirts to anyone who can guess correctly which capsules are mine and which are G's. Bear in mind that from time to time we steal one another's catchphrases for our own amusement.
Note: All opening dates are for San Francisco as of press time, and may not apply anywhere else.
I have the power! Not.
Weather's warm in the daytime, very little wind...and the power goes out for my entire block anyway, traffic lights included. For four freakin' hours. Right after I bought a bunch of TV dinners.
I could stand for temperatures to remain a little higher after dark, though. It sucks dressing for heat during the day, only to find yourself stranded away from home with insufficient clothing the moment the sun goes down.
I'm liking the gym again. Body seems to be remembering its routines and getting back in gear. The gym's a bit pretentious, like Ivan Drago's gym in Rocky IV. But the equipment's always in good shape, and the music doesn't suck in truly redundant fashion like at the Hollywood gym (I never want to hear Rage Against the Machine's "Renegades" again as long as I live).
Li'l Matrix tidbit
If you never plan to play the video game, here's a transcript of a climactic conversation from it which hints at what's to come in part 3.
Posted by LYT at 7:41 PM | Comments (0)
May 27, 2003
Dead Letter Office
Maybe I should delete emails more often. I have so many archived at work -- bad habit I picked up from a former boss and a former program which deleted the old ones automatically.
I was looking for something else and came across some from Marnye, most ending with her beseeching me to come to Phoenix. They're such immediate and vibrant messages, it feels like I can just hit respond and get back to her.
I also think of her any time I drink beer from a can -- I have a tendency to drink out of the side of my mouth, which obsessed her to an unnatural degree.
There will be an LA wake soon -- details are being figured out. And yeah, maybe someday soon I'll return to lengthy tirades about other things.
Almighty Then
Holy fucking god. Bruce Almighty did $86.4 million?
Even you Matrix Reloaded haters out there need to concede that it's by far the more deserving film when stacked up against Jim Carrey's blandest, safest comedy yet.
The new 'do -- hair today
Just got finished completing my new-look hairdo. There are familiar elements from before (can't be too unrecognizable, as that's bad from a marketing standpoint), but I'd have to say this might just be the most artistic hair I've ever had. Anyone could take a photo of my head and hang it in a gallery as art, even though it wasn't their idea.
If you're at the media bistro party Thursday night, you'll see it then. Meanwhile, I'm going bowling with some porn stars. Happy memorial day.
Sects and violence
Tom Tomorrow's pal Bob Harris has a great little piece on the difference between Mid-East Islamic sects HERE.
Whoa, again
A really good pro-Matrix 2 review that actually delves into the philosophy behind it (what a concept!)
http://www.corporatemofo.com/stories/051803ma
Posted by LYT at 7:36 PM | Comments (0)
May 21, 2003
It can't rain all the time
Especially in Phoenix. I like Phoenix as a town. I've been wanting to do a road trip there for some time now. But not like this. I feel like a movie cliche. If the journey me and former NTLA copy-editor Broos Campbell just took were a movie, it'd be augmented with perfectly accurate flashbacks during the 6-hour drive, and Marnye would be played by, I dunno, Brittany Murphy? She was always a fan.
I think Broos got a little exasperated by the fact that I didn't drive much over the speed limit. That, plus the usual jitters over having your car driven by someone else caused him to drive the whole way home. Fine by me, so long as that's what he wants. Like most successful copy-editors, Broos is an endlessly patient man who only gives you the slightest hint of how much you're getting on his nerves.
We stayed with our old colleague "Latino Heat" Tony Ortega and his beautiful wife Fatima, and I instantly seized the bed, forcing Broos onto an air mattress but with the promise that situations would be reversed the next night. Broos' mattress deflated during the night. By the second night, though, he had laid down some less dubious bedding and refused my offer of the bed. The first night, we drank most of Tony's pussy-ass lo-carb beer, and played video games, notably a racing game that kept freezing up, and The Two Towers, which I did fairly well at for a beginner. Thankfully, Tony has no kids yet, so the concept of a late night with the guys isn't an alien one, as it was to most of my UK family. (Tony and Fatima are likely to have beautiful kids, though, if they ever want them. Trust me.)
The next day we went to see the New Times office, which was quite a stunner to us because it's in a historical building (formerly a "colored school") in an adobe style with mucho cacti outside and a fountain shaped like a rattlesnake. New Times owns the whole building, which it never did in LA. Working out of my tiny apartment, it can be easy to forget what the atmosphere is like.
Gradually, other friends began arriving. All at once we got Dan, Elana, Bill, and Steven. I was the only one who wanted to go to the viewing ceremony before the service, but Dan agreed to drive me there in time, even though he had no plans to look himself. Jewish tradition is opposed to displaying the body, or so I'm told.
Rick of course was there, looking as shaken as I've ever seen him. I can't fully comprehend his pain, but I have been in situations where I've been expected to be everyone's rock no matter how I felt, and I know that many of us looked to Rick in that same fashion, as captain of the ship. Now his own personal rock was cruelly snatched by fate, and the stress was showing. I hope we were able to shoulder any small part of that burden for him. Rick was a man who believed in me when few in his position would have, and I believe he will come out of this long dark metaphorical tunnel.
Looking at the body. The last dead body I saw was my grandmother's. Her funeral was not open-casket; cremation was her wish. So her body had not been prepared; I saw her yellow corpse on a mortuary slab, and finally got a glimpse of the devastating rot that had set in on her gangrenous foot (a result of smoking, by the way, which in part explains my vehemence against it). Seeing that body had made it real. I kenw the spirit had left the vessel. I needed to see Marnye's body for the same reason -- as my earlier post testifies, I was in denial, and getting stomach pains. I needed to feel that pain more tangibly.
Marnye's body was prepared, and looked like her, but not. On the one hand, I almost thought I saw the chest rising and falling with breath. On the other, this body looked like that of a sick person, which it never did when she was alive, except to her very closest confidants (though even that's speculation). Right as I got up to look, "Margaritaville" came on the PA system. Incongruous for a chapel. Turns out Rick and some friends made a compilation from the CDs they found in Marnye's apartment. It was beautiful synchronicity.
Still, I had been trying to find a song that reminded me of her, on a tear-inducing level. I had tried Britney Spears' "Born to make you happy" which both she and I agreed was an unheralded gem. Nope. But then, as I walked back from the body to read the blow-ups of recent Bite Me columns, I hear Alanis Morrisette asking "How 'bout getting off these antibiotics?...Thank you frailty, thank you disillusionment...How 'bout unabashedly crying your eyes out?" That was it. That was perfect. Niagara Falls. That will be Marnye's song to me.
One thing that became clear that I never knew before, just from talking to folks, is how much in pain Marnye was from all her physical ailments that for the most part I never knew she had. I assumed she drank because she was in the journalism game, like all of us...but I think now that it was to beat the pain and stay functional. I'd do the same.
Two summers ago, at one of Broos' parties, towards the end of the night (both of us had had many beverages), Marnye told me she had to fix me up with someone soon, then teared up and said "because I have breast and cervical cancer! But I'll find you someone, don't worry." It was typical of her to even frame her own life-threatening ailments beside the trivial issues of someone like me. She asked me to keep it a secret, which I did until the word got around anyway. But the next day, I emailed her asking if it was for real, and saying, basically, "If you weren't kidding, then for god's sake don't lie down for it. Fight this with every breath." She told me not to worry, that she was planning on being old and gray.
The minister who performed the service was popular -- fairly secular stuff, except for one or two religious opinions which he prefaced by saying they were simply opinions. Still, at least one cynical former colleague sighed afterwards that it was "too religious"; apparently even mentioning the afterlife is too much. When a friend told him not to worry, that he didn't have to live eternally, the colleague simply said "Thank god! Now let's go toast the ghost." Crude? Maybe, but Marnye would've approved, I think.
She also would've approved of "moderate teetotaller" Gregory doing tequila shots. We drinkers can be right bastards at bringing straight-edge folks down to our level. Boo hoo.
There's more, but I'm tired right now. Check back on this post later for more adventures in funeral-going.
[written later]:
First off, I want to offer an unqualified apology to anyone who may be offended by my candid thoughts on seeing my friend's dead body, or anything like that. She meant the world to me, too, and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. As with eulogies, though, there's a bit of a "damned either way" process that goes something like this:
- If you prepare a speech, people may think you're too composed for the occasion and be upset.
BUT
- If you don't, your speech may be scattershot, random, and include the first thoughts that come into your head, some of which may offend others present.
At the funeral, I did hear some people critiquing the eulogies on these very grounds. We're all welcome to our opinions of them, naturally. But I would urge anyone not to rush to judgment.
I did not speak at the service, mainly because I love public speaking, and am good at it, but given the way I look and my love of the spotlight I probably come off as self-promotional, or at least theatrical. Whether Marnye loved that or not, and I have a feeling she did, I didn't want the audience to feel in any way like I was using a spotlight to my advantage. I considered saying something after Rick told us all that she would have wanted that, but time ran out. Besides, I have this forum to say what I feel.
The wake afterwards featured some food -- mini beef sandwiches in horseradish sauce, crackers n' cheese, chips n' salsa, and insalata caprese. Decent, but not exactly a real meal. Beer and wine were on the house, though I think mai-tais and tequila shots would've been more appropriate. Funnily enough, tequila was Marnye's drug of choice, but she actually admitted to me not long ago that she didn't like the taste. I'd have thought she would at least have gotten used to it, or picked a tastier shot.
Broos and Steve were overjoyed that you can smoke in bars in Arizona. Enjoy it while it lasts, fellas. Actually, a lot of the air in Phoenix smells like cigarette smoke. And all the pollution from LA blows inland -- skies on the drive across the desert were smoggier than in Hollywood.
There was a baby present, and I'm damn sure the baby turned to me and winked, on his/her (I'm not sure which) way out. I was not drunk enough yet to be hallucinating. Was it a sign? Maybe (more on signs later).
Me and Steve and Gregory (Gregory, btw, cut short a vacation in the UK to come. Marnye might not have expected that, as she hated to inconvenience, but would certainly have been flattered) followed Tony and Fatima to a place called Chuy's, where we had tacos and such. Got some fried fish in me to absorb the tequila and Guinness. We reconnected with Rick and friends at the hosue of another NT guy named Steve.
Flashback -- after New Times LA closed, I made Tony and Fatima a going away/wedding gift of a short film in which I spoofed a New Times staff meeting, impersonating all my colleagues. Marnye had loved it, though after watching my portrayal of her cursing up a storm while beating up Gregory, she had turned to Rick and asked "Do I really swear that much?"
Anyway, Susan, Jack, and Ron had not seen this video, and Susan had specifically requested we watch it, so we did. None of them killed me, thank goodness. Everyone who watches the film tends to think I did a great impression of everyone else, but that theirs is off-base. Still, they all want copies now.
After that we watched another video -- one of Marnye sky-diving. It was a cheesy vid clearly made by the skydiving people, and no doubt hard-marketed to everyone who does the jump, but all the pompous captions about taking flight that open the movie suddenly took on a new poignance vis-a-vis soaring above the mere mortals. Afterwards, Rick told us she had been very sick that day. In keeping with her usual pattern, however, she did not look it at all.
We all turned in around midnight, though I don't think Rick slept -- he had to go to Michigan alongside the casket and the family for a second funeral. Using Tony's ungodly slow dial-up internet connection at home, I received a film review from one of our writers, and disseminated it to the chain (took about four tries, though, as the machine kept timing out).
Did breakfast at a nice downtown place the next day with Gregory, Broos, and Fatima. Gregory drove back with us to L.A., and the drive was mostly uneventful, save for our uncanny ability to miss every single exit that had a restaurant on it, thereby missing lunch and eating an earlybird dinner at Del Taco in Indio around 4:45 p.m.
Broos dropped me and Gregory off in Burbank, where G's car was. We drove out, and at the cashier booth, after paying, Gregory uttered what seemd like a random comment to the girl in the booth, "May I see your ring?"
It was the same design as the one on Marnye's hand when she died. I'm not kidding.
Was it a sign? Who knows, but as Gregory said, "I'll take it." (the sign, that is, not the ring.)
I probably forgot a thing or two that I may put in later posts, but there, essentially, you have it.
Posted by LYT at 7:33 PM | Comments (0)
May 17, 2003
Rivers in Egypt
I'm still going back and forth between shock and denial over Marnye's death. I'm hoping that going back and forth between Phoenix and L.A. for the memorial will make it sink in.
Those of you visiting this site for the first time, please do stop by the message board (see link at top of this page) to post your thoughts if you get a moment. I started an official "Marnye thread" under the "LYTrules" heading there. This blog program doesn't allow comments on each post, as many others do -- that's why I have the board.
Would also urge people to keep checking back at LAexaminer.com -- some really nice memorial posts have been showing up there recently.
And now, on a lighter and unrelated note, HERE'S A LINK to the official website of the world's first inflatable church. Yes, it's for real. Fucking jackasses.
[Due to the fact that this post has become a spam magnet, it is now closed to comments. Speak up on the Message Board if you have somnething to say.]
Posted by LYT at 7:31 PM
May 14, 2003
MARNYE OPPENHEIM
When New Times LA first ran an ad advertising for a film critic, I submitted my clips through the mail. On the advice of a more doggedly determined friend of mine, I decided that what I really should do was go to the New Times office with more clips, and just sit down until someone agreed to see me. This I did. The person who agreed to see me was Marnye, who politely took my clips. Three months later, I would be working alongside her.
At first, I wore reasonably conservative (for me) clothes to work, but when Marnye came in wearing a tube top with the word "fuct" on it, I knew I could be more myself. At that time, she was basically the main office assistant, with chief responsibilities being (a) the dirty work no-one else would do, and (b) providing snacks for our Monday morning editorial meetings. She had a mouth on her like nobody's business, commonly addressing friends and foes alike as "Fucking Jackass," but an astute mind behind the attitude. I think in at least one way we were kindred spirits -- she was smart enough to play the intellectual, but would much rather get down and dirty and vulgar.
Not many people remember that "Bite Me" didn't originate with Marnye -- it was originally an insufferably boring feature that even the LA Times probably wouldn't run. Once Marnye came in, it was simply a direct transcription of the way she talked to people in bars anyway, and it read wonderfully. (I have to wonder if Dave Attell's Comedy Central show "Insomniac" wasn't in the least bit inspired by her column somehow.)
I partied with Marnye many times. She could outdrink most guys, punch people really hard (I actually punched back, which I think she respected), and would occasionally get exhibitionistic, much to the joy of most onlookers! Talk about living fast, dying young, and leaving a good-looking corpse -- that she did. But she had so much left to do, and that's what's fucked up about all this.
Marnye had a book she was planning to write. Her recent move to Phoenix was to be a learning experience that would propel her even higher into the popular consciousness. She was going to start several other columns in addition to Bite Me. She had a very good shot at ultimately winning some awards for her writing. She survived two types of cancer, only to die from a damn seizure.
I don't know if there's an afterlife. I'm often afraid there isn't. If there ain't some kind of reincarnation, well, then, there's no justice, because this soul, while touching the lives of so many, was nowhere close to its full potential.
Marnye wasn't much older than I am, and I've never had a friend this young die. Last summer, in France, I lit a prayer candle for her in Notre Dame cathedral for her fight against the big C. That was a fight she won, only to get suckerpunched by fate this morning.
I apologize for the degree that this piece is is any way about me -- this is all about her. Anywhere she'd go, it was always all about her, not because of any arrogance on her part (though there was some, mostly a put-on), but because people were drawn to her, and if they weren't, well, she'd go to them. Though she sometimes secretly worried about what other people thought of her, she never acted like it, and I mean that as the highest of compliments.
If you wanna toast her memory, shots of Tequila Blanco would be most appropriate, as that was her drink.
I was a better person for knowing her, and I know many others can say the same.
MARNYE'S LAST "BITE ME" COLUMN
CATHY SEIPP'S TRIBUTE TO MARNYE
READER EULOGIES AT LAEXAMINER.COM
(possibly more to come; stay tuned to this post)
Posted by LYT at 7:29 PM | Comments (0)
May 13, 2003
He is a Golden god
The new Marilyn Manson album came out today. As probably the biggest MM fan I know, I'm sure my valuable opinion on this matter is sought. So that you know where I'm coming from, here are my brief assessments of his previous work:
Portrait of an American Family -- I didn't care for the very first track I heard on it (Wrapped in Plastic), but then the video for Get Your Gunn played on MTV, and I saw them open for NIN. Quickly grew to love the disc.
Smells Like Children -- I loved this EP from the getgo, and am fortunate to own one of the very first pressings, featuring soundbites not ultimately cleared by the legal department. If one must do a remix disc, this is the way to do it.
Antichrist Superstar -- I liked Tourniquet right away, but took a while to fully warm to the rest. Now I like it a lot.
Remix & Repent -- decent stuff, nothing outstanding
Mechanical Animals -- I was very taken aback by this at first; Manson sounding like Prince and Bowie? However, I now think it's his best album. "Coma White" is a contender for best Manson song ever. ("Man That You Fear" from Antichrist Superstar is way up there too)
The Last Tour on Earth -- I don't own this. Manson live minus the visuals sounds utterly pointless.
Holy Wood -- a big disappointment, to this day. It's Manson going through the motions. Any competent band could've made it, and possibly one or two incompetent ones.
So now we have The Golden Age of Grotesque. It's a shame the original cover, featuring Manson in Mickey Mouse ears, is no more (lawyers had a talk with him, no doubt). But this album is great! All the songs are catchy -- at the risk of offending MM fans, he's actually proven to be a pretty good pop songsmith. The words aren't much, and I suspect may be partial self-parody; every song is either about "I'm different from you, so fuck you" or "my ex-girlfriend is a shallow bitch" (If I were Rose McGowan, I'd be cringing).
Included with the first run of this disc is a DVD of a short film by Manson entitled Doppelherz (Double Heart). It's home video shot in a David Lynch style, overdubbed with a mornoic voiceover by MM, in which he repeats pseudo-profound statements over and over, like "Being equal means adding or subtracting, and I've always hated math." He also adopts a "dumb guy" cadence like Lenny in Of Mice and Men. It's very irritating. Only at movie's end do we get an indication that it's all a stupid put-on, as end titles state that the audio is a suicide note addressed to his "feline companion" recorded on "April 1."
Ha ha, as my mom would say. Self-parody is one thing, but this joke is at the expense of your fans, Brian. They're the only ones who'll sit through this self-indulgent claptrap, joke or not.
Anyway, buy the album, but no need to rush out and get the version with DVD. All-told, it's pretty good pop-industrial. The shock has all worn off, but the songs are pretty good. And with song titles like "Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety Zag," how can you go wrong?
Posted by LYT at 7:27 PM | Comments (0)
May 12, 2003
Reloading
So now ultimate pushover Harry Knowles has declared himself underwhelmed by The Matrix Reloaded. I'm amazed at all the naysayers, especially given the vast number of people who were prepared to defend every minor apparent inconsistency in the Star wars prequels, or love Lord of the Rings despite its faults. Matrix Reloaded is a better part 2 than Attack of the Clones or Two Towers, and I'm prepared to defend it against all comers. I'm gonna deal in some spoilers here, but it's time to take on some of the popular criticisms so far.
Criticism #1: The stuff in Zion is boring -- let's get to a fight!
Sure, if you don't like the characters, who'd want to see them just hang around and chill out? But if you do, can you begrudge them that? You think heroes never have a private life? These are soldiers on shore leave, folks: of course they're going to dance, and get drunk, and fuck, and have moments with their families -- this stuff adds character, but if all you're looking for is dumb action, I guess it doesn't work. I've been waiting 4 years to see Zion, and once I do, I wanna hang out there a little bit.
Criticism #2: Neo's supposed to be a god now -- how come he doesn't use his power?
WRONG. Neo can reshape the Matrix according to his will, when he focuses -- but he CANNOT reshape another sentient being within it against that being's will. He tried, with Agent Smith -- and the result was that instead of destroying Smith, he made him 100 times more dangerous. That's why he doesn't do that again. Healing Trinity works because (a) he can manipulate bullets and (b) she doesn't fight his hands being inserted into her computer avatar form.
Criticism #3: If Neo can fly, why bother to stand and fight?
Video game analogy time. Take a game like Tekken. Certain moves require you to power up, and when you get hit in the face, you have to start over. It's made VERY CLEAR in Matrix Reloaded that, while he has the usual minor levitation skills common to all participants in Hong Kong wire-fu movies, in order to really fly, Neo has to first throw down a shockwave that launches him into the air. He can't do this if 50 Agent Smiths are hitting him.
Criticism #4: The Oracle says all legends of vampires, angels, werewolfs, etc. are based on rogue Matrix programs. So how come we never see vampires or werewolves?
Duh. She only says it's reports of these things that are based on rogue programs, not that there are ACTUAL werewolves, etc. Implicit in that is that stupid people who see weird stuff imagine it to be supernatural when it isn't, necessarily. The precedent for this is set in the Animatrix short wherein a "haunted house" is actually a glitch in the Matrix. What the Oracle is actually doing is setting up the Twins, who have powers an onlooker might otherwise ascribe to ghosts or angels.
Criticism #5: The Matrix world is fun, but the real world sucks. Why do we have to stay in the real world?
Same reason superheroes take off their costumes sometimes. You have to get a sense of what's at stake. You don't care that they have Battletech-style mechas in Zion that may see action later? You don't like the notion of anti-gravity ships evading sentient robot squids? What sort of sci-fi fan are you? Besides, one of my colleagues has a theory that the real world may not be so "real" after all (explanation for this would reveal a spoiler even Time magazine hasn't given away, so I won't either).
I've only seen this movie once, and find these answers to be self-evident. I guess it doesn't matter so much even if everyone hates it -- the final chapter has been made, and will come out regardless. But don't assume the film is stupid because YOU didn't get it.
Posted by LYT at 7:26 PM | Comments (0)
May 11, 2003
More Food for Thought on England
In my last coupla pieces on the trip, I didn't mention the food. English food is much-maligned, and like English teeth that's often an unfair caricature. True, the UK has traditionally not been much for spices, but that's changing -- a recent survey turned up the news that chicken tikka is now England's favorite dish. This is a shocker on the same level as the one we had a few years back when salsa overtook ketchup as the number one national condiment.
Fish and chips is a fabulous and simple concept that seems astonishingly hard to duplicate over here. The batter needs to strike a delicate balance between crunchy and chewy, and breadcrumbs are not allowed unless the fish in question is plaice. Closest we have to English chips are the fries at In 'N' Out burger, though traditional chips are four times as thick. In 'N' Out is the only major US chain to cut their potatoes fresh, which makes a huge difference.
The Tudor Farm Inn or whatever it was called had a definite Thai influence in some of its dishes, which is not as common there as here. Mid-Asia cuisine like that of India and Pakistan has a major foothold, but far-East not quite so much. California cuisine is pretty much unheard of, though I did introduce my mom to the joys of seared rare tuna in Nicoise salad.
English desserts and candy can blow your mind. There's a reason for those stereotypical bad teeth. Hot liquid custard is a favorite garnish, and frresh fruit crumbles (think a mix between crisp and cobbler) are a staple. I consider it best to avoid weird raisin things like bread-n-butter pudding and spotetd dick, but that's cuz I hate raisins.
As for candy, I brought a shitload of it home with me. Some of the popular ones over there have had inferior knock-offs here -- Maltesers are like Whoppers, only good; Bounty bars are like better versions of Mounds; but some have no anology. Aero is a chocolate bar with a bubble texture, Flakes are crumbly chocolate sticks that fall apart on you, and Crunchie bars are pretty much indescribable, but great.
All that said, though, on the way down to Dorset, we stopped in a pub for lunch and I had the Sunday roast beef meal. This epitomizes everything they say bad about English food. When I think roast beef, I think prime rib, not thin gray slices of papier mache. Veggies with it were similarly bland. I liked the Yorkshire pudding; my grandmother told me it was originally devised by poor families who wanted kids to fill up on it soi as not to eat too much meat, which was expensive.
Curiously, this kind of mainstream UK fare may be bland, but English mustard is like wasabi. My very first published work, a poem entitled "I Hate Mustard," is a homage of sorts to that particular product.
George Bush, evil hypocrite..again
So now we're going forward with tests of tactical nukes, including bunker busters with a yield 6 times that of the Hiroshima bomb. These are weapons of mass destruction by any definition of the term. Why, therefore, can we still be considered good guys if we're pursuing them? Didn't we just have a war to stop others from getting them?
Moral clarity my ass.
I...hurt myself...today
I ache.
Maneuvering between seated and standing positions is tricky. Raising arms above head hard. Fully straightening right arm damn near impossible.
Yes, I went back to the gym to have session two with a personal trainer. I think this one was actually quite dubious, for reasons I shall list below:
1 -- in the middle of first weightlifting exercise, I ask him if maybe we should've done some stretching first. He replies that it doesn't matter; studies have shown that stretching has no effect on the likelihood of injuring oneself. The fact that my trainer is radically flying in the face of years of established exercise science is puzzling, but I let it go.
2 -- He tells me that the brand of protein shake I like, which includes soy protein and wheatgrass and is sugar free, is uselessly low in protein and I'd be better off eating five candy bars. Just coincidentally, though, there's a much better protein shake that would work for me, and it's available in the gift shop! How 'bout that?
I tell him a cynic would say he's merely shilling for his employer. he gets all huffy and says I can believe what I want to believe, but he drinks this stuff three or four times a day and just look at him! He also says most companies lie about the vitamin content of their shakes because the FDA doesn't regulate them, but these shakes I can buy at the gym are 100% guaranteed (against what? Me taking it to a lab and chemically analyzing its consistency?)
3 -- He tells me not to drink fruit juice because it contains too much sugar. Gee, and all those animals and primitive tribesmen for whom fruit is a staple diet look so fat and unhealthy.
4 -- He has promised a customized meal plan that was supposed to be based on foods I like and even suggest reasonable menu options at fast food places. The plan I get does neither. It does feature Oreos (though it calls theme "creme-filled sandwich cookies"), which contain ultra-awful transfats, for some bizarre reason. I never said I liked Oreos (though indeed, who doesn't?).
5 -- This one is in hindsight. Last time I met with the guy, we did a series of ab-stretches that were designed to get my body and mind working in unison. He told me then that I wasn't ready for weights. This time, we do weights, and we do balls-out, push-to-the-limit sets with them. Given that I haven't lifted weights in many months, that's a really bad call likely to do more harm than good. Muscle pain is not in and of itself a "good" thing. "No pain, no gain" is a bit of a myth. "No strain, no gain" would be a better quote.
I think my last personal trainer was more trustworthy, which may be because I wrote checks directly to her and not to a big corporate gym that hires shills. You folks tell me what you think, based on my description.
Maybe now I'll start watching SNL again
Chris Kattan, the insecure monkey-faced midget who likes to pick fights with minimum wage employees that can't talk back, is finally leaving Saturday Night Live in order to concentrate on making horrible, horrible movies.
You know, I could really wish ill on this guy, but he's gonna screw his life up all by himself.
Well, it made me laugh
Rapper Ol' Dirty Bastard, who last tried to legally change his name to "Big Baby Jesus" has now renamed himself again. The artist formerly known as Russell Jones now wants to be called...Dirt McGirt.
GENIUS!
Proof that cats are evil
Posted by LYT at 7:22 PM | Comments (0)
May 4, 2003
Li'l bit more on England
I knew I'd forget some things in my first account. One of the exotic foreign beers that's gaining popularity over there is...Budweiser. They get a bit taken aback when I tell them I buy that at the supermarket just because it's cheap. Still, always gives me a good excuse to recite the old Paul Hogan joke about American beer being like making love in a canoe..."Fuckin' close to water!" Lucy's hubby Steve agrees with me that it's like "pop." (I use the word soda, but hey.)
Movies run on UK TV uncut, and often letterboxed. So late at night, after the oldies were all in bed, I caught up on a couple of older Oscar winners -- Good Will Hunting and Girl Interrupted. I now know for a fact that my initial instinct NOT to see Good Will Hunting when it came out was correct, but what was funny was I got my Mom to watch it with me, and she, being a professional psychologist, was able to critique every single ridiculous aspect of Robin Williams' character. I was drunk on my Grandfather's prescription whiskey, making this, despite all the times I imbibed over there, actually the only occasion of drunkenness for me. And yes, my grandfather drinks whiskey once a week for his arthritis on the advice of his doctor. The trick is he's not supposed to drink much more any other time. (So we don't misunderstand, he offered to share -- I didn't go around stealing old peoples' medication, if that's what you're thinking.)
I mainly wanted to see Girl Interrupted for Angela Bettis, whom I sort of know, and she's good in her small role, but I think she needs to diversify and play some non-crazy people too. Funny that one of Winona's first lines in the movie is something like "Ever steal something even though you had the money?" And I don't really think Angelina Jolie was acting at all. I liked the movie's temporal shifts early on. Didn't care much for Whoopi Goldberg, but then I hardly ever do these days.
And, in other site news
"Republicans hate porn. Enough said" has caught up to tie with the previous frontrunner, "Pro-Life*..." as a liberal T-shirt slogan. Someone needs to make these.
I'm gonna close out this poll soon, so any last minute votes, make 'em now!
Posted by LYT at 7:20 PM | Comments (0)
May 3, 2003
fun with the poem program/LYT in the UK
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LYT in the UK
Before I start to forget, I should probably try to commit some memories to paper, or at least cyberspace.
England is a country very different from here. Sideburns are still in fashion, especially if you’re short, middle-aged, and have a roly-poly physique. But they’re called “sideboards”; dunno why. The term “sideburns” originates, as far as I know with U.S. Civil War General Burnside, who popularized the stylized cheek hairs, initially called “burnsides.”
The beer’s different, too. More like bitter fruit juice, noncarbonated, and goes down real easy. Plus you don’t have to tip the bartender. On the other hand, I’ll never again complain about L.A. bars closing at 2 a.m., because British pubs close at 11 p.m. ALTHOUGH…technically, they can serve alcohol after they’re closed; they just can’t let anyone in. So if you’re still there, the bar owners can, at their discretion, let you stay and drink all night, in what’s called a “lock-in.” Fascinating.
Lasagna is made without the annoying American addition of curd cheese (i.e. ricotta or cottage), and served with chips, like everything else. Chips are usually hand cut, not frozen like here. But lest I sound too pro-Brit here, let me emphasize one big problem I have while there – low ceilings. Most British buildings of any vintage were made for midgets, apparently.
My usual airline of choice for flying to the UK is Virgin Atlantic – they were the first airline I’m aware of to show uncut movies on multiple channels on individual TV screens. The logic is presumably that kids will undoubtedly be traveling with parents or guardians (not always true – I flew often as a kid), but it’s not too hard for a kid walking the aisles to spot the images on someone else’s screen, which could be anything from Steve-O snorting wasabi lines and puking his sinuses clean to Jennifer Connelly doing the double-dildo assfuck for heroin money. Just a warning for concerned parents.
Anyhow, they now have 52 movies on demand on any given flight, which you can pause, fast-forward, and rewind at will, so the captain’s dumb-ass announcements won’t cause you to miss anything. The downside is that in order to do this, they need black boxes at various positions along the floor to facilitate the streaming, and guess which space gets sacrificed? Yup, LEGROOM. Virgin Atlantic is a bit like British pubs in this regard anyway, assuming people are shorter than they actually are. I had picked out my seat on an online chart that made it look as if no-one would be in front of me, but the chart lied.
Also I sat next to a stereotypical unwashed Frenchman. (That “Nous sommes tous francais” picture is coming down as soon as I find a good replacement.) My choices of inflight entertainment included “Jackass the Movie” and the Danny Boyle zombie flick “28 Days Later,” which isn’t even out here yet (just saw the trailer for it in front of X-2; worst trailer ever! Does the flick a big disservice). Tried to watch “The Magdalene Sisters” (also not out here yet) but found I was too tired for such heady drama.
Arrived at Heathrow, the next morning. They tell you Heathrow’s in London, but it isn’t really. It’s surrounded by meadows and green hills for miles and miles. So it was a long drive back on a motorway (six-lane) through such countryside with my Mom to get back to her place in Essex. Many of the fields were bright yellow, apparently due to a plant known as “rape.” Not much was achieved that day, as I recall. I did get to hang out some more with the mom’s new BF, by the name of Brian. He seems good – passive enough in demeanor not to agitate her into combat mode all the time, but with enough will to hold his own when need be. It’s a balance previous would-be stepdads haven’t had before. Also he collects toys, which is always a plus.
Friday, we made the drive to Gloucester to some place called something like The Tudor Farms Inn. Though rain had been forecast, no-one thought to bring an umbrella, but fortunately the rain was light, by LA rain standards anyway. We bought an umbrella at a charity store in gay rainbow colors.
When we arrived at the Inn, all of us thought it was pretty damn small for a place to gather together the entire Graham clan. But there was free porn on the TV, and a bar/pub area on the lobby with two beers on tap (not much, but an equivalent place here would’ve had none), so it’s all good.
Bit by bit, the family arrived. I had been told to expect that my grandparents might be substantially older looking than I remembered, but apart from a bit more white hair and the fact that my grandfather now requires a cane (all self-respecting old men should have one – my college roommate used to tell me he looked forward to being old so he could have a cane. Weirdo.), they looked much as they always have to me. Although I was taken aback later in the weekend when I saw some older photos of them to realize that they once looked quite different, even in my lifetime. My grandfather’s always been mostly deaf, but hearing aids keep improving to offset any deterioration, it seems.
A few words in general on my UK family. At least one or two do embody the stereotype regarding Englishmen and teeth. But my God, the women in our family are fucking beautiful. Sorry fellas, they’re all taken. A casual snapshot I took of my (same-age) cousin Lucy looks like a Calvin Klein ad (maybe I’ll post it later for the guys to enjoy). My younger cousin Hannah looks like Avril Lavigne. Most beautiful of all, perhaps, is one-year-old Zeta, a mixed-ethnicity child who seems like the easiest-going toddler I’ve ever encountered.
You guys who frequent the message board know my uncle (off)Pat. He’s one of three. There’s also Tony, a very decent and quirky guy who’s had a very unfortunate life; and Mike, who has single-handedly kept me from negatively stereotyping Born-Again Christians for most of my life, mainly because he truly believes the part about not judging, and letting your actions speak louder than words (his words can be loud, but usually only in the service of telling really bad jokes, a trait he’s passed on to his son Simon). This may also be a cultural difference – Christians, even zealous ones, in England seldom come across as irritatingly as the Religious Wrong here.
What was most different about this gathering is that in the past I had always been part of the youngest generation there. That has changed. Not only does Tony have children in their teens, but Pat and Mike are both grandfathers now. The downside, gathering-wise, to all this is that no-one wants to stay up late (or if they want to, they can’t, because they know the progeny won’t comply).
I didn’t really meet my cousin Lottie’s new man Paul (though the age difference between the two did startle me, I must admit, though surely not as much as it must have startled her parents initially!). When it comes to spouses newly in the fold, however, I must say I was very impressed with the ones I did talk to. Lucy’s man Steve feels like he’s been in the family forever (testimony to his character – when I first met him, I was bald, wearing a dress, and had black paint on my face. He took it totally in stride, and I’ve never forgotten that), as does Simon’s wife Bel (to understand their relationship a bit, go see “Bend it Like Beckham”).
My cousin Zoe’s likely husband-to-be, also named Luke and also a writer, likewise made a very favorable impression on me. He was clearly very nervous, as would anyone meeting the girlfriend’s entire family, but I think he got on OK by the end.
I shared my quarters with Tony and his son Alex, but Alex quickly moved out, complaining that we snore too much. There was space for him elsewhere, though unfortunately it was due to his older brother Joel not having been able to make it. Joel in recent years has been suffering from a condition similar to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and was too worn out and sick to travel after having been forced to work on Saturday.
The night of the big family feast, speeches were given. One reverent one by Mike, one brief one by Pat while presenting his gift, along with about 70 paper airplanes that were flung around the room all night (my grandfather, you see, was a pilot prior to being a vicar), and one irreverent-cum-sentimental one by me. Oh, and let’s not forget my gift, which I hadn’t talked about publicly yet. A glass paperweight with a 3-D laser scan of my head inside. If you live in LA, you can get these done at the Farmer’s Market, 3rd and Fairfax. They’re not cheap, but you only turn 80 once.
Here’s the text of my speech, approximately (this is what I have written down, but I improvised some):
“It’s hard to know what to say about a man almost 3 times my age – except maybe ‘Hey – you’re still breathing, right?’
So when the chance came along to say something here tonight, I had to think long and hard, because the last thing you guys wanna hear from me is a load of sound and fury signifying nothing, since one of Grampy’s sneezes has me beaten on all three counts.
Seriously, what can I say? I tried to think of the parallels between us, character traits that might have been passed down. I watch a lot of movies, and he…uh… helped save the world from Nazis. Wait, no parallel there. OK – I live in a country where competition is practically a religion, and he’s, y’know, competitive and religious.
The more I think about it, though, it occurs to me that what we have in common is presence. Either of us, when we enter a room, you know we’re there. And at the same time, I know from attending one or two of his sermons that he can address the entire room as if he were talking casually to a friend, and you guys can be the judge of me, but I think I have that too.
I can’t claim, as he can, to have been through war and come out of it dedicating my life to preaching peace. As some of you may know, I do speak out publicly against warmongers, which isn’t necessarily the most popular position right now. Along with Grampy, I’ve also been known to change my mind from time to time. I probably don’t speak out as loudly on the issues as he has, but then again, I’M NOT DEAF!
But on a more frivolous note, I should also mention that one of the best religious exclamations I’ve ever heard came from Peter Graham’s lips, and it’s stuck with me to this day: “Praise the Lord for burnt parsnips!”
BUT: Much as Grampy might like to think so, this day is not all about him.
The Catholics have it that St. Peter was the rock on which Jesus’ church would be built, but our Peter’s ministry was built on a different rock, one by the name of Sylvia.
See, I asked myself this question: Would I rather be a preacher, speaking out to a faithful audience each week on subjects near and dear to my heart, OR would I rather raise four children, cook and clean all day, and be generally less noticeable than my more forceful spouse?
I’ll take the first option, please. The other one sounds too hard.
But she sure does make it look easy, doesn’t she? I mean, Granny may occasionally express frustration with such strong profanity as ‘Oh, blow!’ but for the most part, I’m racking my brain to recall any time she’s been anything but the eternal optimist. Now, that can bug the heck out of you at times – as a cynical teen, I surely didn’t know what to make of it.
But the longer you live, and the further away you get from where you once were, or in my case what you once were, the more you appreciate the constant things, and the more I realize the old truism that home is the place where, when you go there, they always have to take you in, and they’re always glad to see you.
And that’s Granny’s house. Always has been, always will be. Here’s to both of them.”
Went and stayed with the grandparents following the weekend. Briefly considered cutting my stay with them short to visit London, shop, and check out one of my favorite places, The London Dungeon ( a wax museum of medieval torture, unfortunately turning more and more into a theme park ride nowadays). Then I realized it’d be really lame and shallow of me to ditch the relatives for some stores, and changed my mind. This meant the birthday money my Mom gave me in UK currency would probably not be spent.
But it was. I decided that a good way to spend it would be to buy rain gear, since the British, unlike stupid Angelenoes, are always prepared for bad weather. So I got waterproof pants and a coat, and now need fear El Nino no more (doesn’t mean I have to like it, though; it was raining torrentially again yesterday, and this is friggin’ May!).
The remaining cash went to Duty Free liquor, though I had an awkward amount, so I ended up getting several single-serve bottles of scotch, and still had about 1.50 left. Hit the TGI Fridays on the way to the departure gate – ‘How much for a half-pint of Murphy’s?’ ‘1.50’
There ya go.
Watched “The Magdalene Sisters” on the return flight. Tried to watch Ken Loach’s “Sweet Sixteen,” but couldn’t handle the thick accents. Maybe they’ll subtitle it here.
Want more insight from the trip? Ask me specific questions. I’ve typed enough here, but I’m sure I forgot or neglected someone or somebody. Maybe Pat can add his thoughts to the mix, if any non-family members want to hear.
From bad to verse
Following a link at Ken Layne's site, I came across a PROGRAM which turns any web page into a poem.
Here's what it created with the LYTrules main page:
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by
Luke at 4:18 2003 Save soulOur favorite fanatical movie
network Apparently they were
under the merchandise Rants & Reviews | Photos | page.
Had a ferocious case of food poisoning this past couple of days, and no, it wasn't due to my poor housekeeping. There's a restaurant to blame. Don't remember the name, but it's an Italian place beside Subway opposite Tower Video on Sunset. Don't eat there.
The upside is that I learned I can vomit on cue, much like paralyzed WWE star Darren Drozdov. Using sense-memory techniques, one need only imagine a finger down the throat.
I'm not sure Stanislavsky ever had that particular notion in mind, but talk about your method!
(blog program seems glitchy right now, so updates may be sketchy in the immediate future)
Posted by LYT at 7:15 PM | Comments (0)
May 1, 2003
Save Ian's Soul
Our favorite fanatical right-wing movie critics at Movieguide don't want to see one of their most-liked stars burn in hell.
From the review of X2
"Ian McKellen as Magneto also has the kind of panache that a movie villain must have to hold the audience’s attention. His sarcastic asides are deliciously droll. We encourage MOVIEGUIDE® readers to pray for this talented actor so that he may see the errors of his homosexual ways and come to Christ. If God can raise Christ from the dead, then surely He can help and has helped homosexuals overcome their sins."
(account of my UK trip coming, I promise.)
Posted by LYT at 7:13 PM | Comments (0)