12.31.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 12:34 pm by Gregory
Of course that headline is far from original, but it does perfectly suit this day, this “last” day of “2006″ (whatever that means).
Everyone I know seems to be Doing Something Tonight. This ranges from Renaissance fun in the so-called Heartland to dutiful SoCal face-time. But me?
I have the day, and evening, totally off!
Mind, this could be grounds for Sadness.
But it isn’t.
It’s not that I don’t care (as most people say);
It’s that I don’t mind.
Looky here: Tonight at the Orange County Fairgrounds (here’s the link, although it will change: http://ocnye.com/), some of my ’80s faves will be clogging up the stage: Thomas Dolby (who is billed very low; that’s what one gets for vanishing from the scene for a decade and a half; but they’re in for a sweet surprise); Violent Femmes; etc. etc. In this case, “etc. etc.” are the reasons I don’t mind missing the thing: I like Debbie Harry but have well outgrown Blondie (as has she!); Romantics, Tubes, Tommy Tutone, Knack, that lot — have seen the last of that rather redundant bunch, and don’t feel the need for the novelty right now; English Beat; Berlin — good local L.A. acts indeed, but living here one gets them quite a bit anyway. And then a bunch of things I really don’t know about or care about (WAY too many of these things). Since I saw and met the Femmes last year at Amoeba, and Dolby twice this year, and the vastly entertaining Colin Hay is always around, I think my nervous system is adequately retuned to the music of my younger youth, thank you, good night.
Which leaves me to me: I may just hang around my stupid, noisy-ass-neighbor extortion-apartment and play “Auld Lang Syne” on a variety of instruments — as is my wont.
Besides, I have the authority to declare the “New Year” holiday entirely arbitrary, for the calendar most of the world uses is named after me.
You know what I may do: I may go see one last movie on the film-journo card I used to receive from a certain glorious cinema chain. I never realised how much I valued that thing and those people until this year when it didn’t show up.
And I really wouldn’t mind being dead. I don’t say this in some melodramatic or suicidal way — only in that life is so damned stupid (especially in this country), and I no longer have a taste for it. Faking it, really.
Happy New Year.
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12.30.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 5:44 pm by Gregory
Okay, back in L.A. — and the SADNESS here is HUGE!!!!
One’s best efforts seem quite useless in conquering it; the place literally sucks.
(Note: I am not, by contrast, saying that other portions of “America” — whatever that is — are somehow “better” — but this place definitely SU-SU-SU-SU-SUCKSSSSSS!!!!)
Some of the local cinema community has dropped me, too — which I can only take as a sign to leave.
Outsider.
You know how, in the past — many, many, many times — I have complained about this place and declared that I’M LEAVING! - ?
Well — I’d like to thank Thomas “Dolby” Robertson for the subject line (the gun bit is his — and Hollywood’s — as well) — this place really is Poison City. I know it very, very well — and am sick of any attempt at Humanity As Most Humans Know It being killed by it, by being here.
*Sigh.*
Now I no longer consider it a matter of wanting to leave — so much as really no longer being able to stay.
Not wanted nor needed here.
L.A. sucks too much.
This is not to disparage some of the fine people here (many of whom can’t stand it either, but still pretend, for whatever reason) — without whom “life” would have been altogether intolerable. I thank them.
And I disthank the people who SUCK.
And may the wind blow. This place certainly does.
Think about this as you devour the products: For whose houses and lives are you, Media Consumer, personally paying?
In an attempt to keep this raft afloat, my special New Year’s Gift to the populace will be posting up on the site the Greatest Song, Greatest Movie, Greatest Book and Greatest Television Series of All Time.
(And — even though most people don’t know what an “album” is anymore — I also happen to know — really — what The Greatest Album Of All Time is. And hell if I’m telling anybody. You really would never ever guess. Rolling Fucking Stone obviously does not know. But I know. If anybody ever guesses — on ONE guess — I’ll send ‘em $100 cash via FedEx.* Ha.)
(*This is not technically a contest; this is an insult to a music industry that keeps spurting out shit.)
Otherwise out there, it’s just the usual redundant blather about the same annual miasma we’re all going to forget about in two weeks anyway. (Gotten all hopped up over Gay Cowboy Movie or Ralph Fiennes Feels Emotionally Distraught And Runs In The Desert Again Movie lately? Didn’t think so.)
Up yours, Hollywood; we’re doing things My Way Now.
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12.27.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 11:17 pm by Gregory
Am away on holiday. Is manic. But fluidly manic. Somehow everything has fit together. I am supposing that I am correct in supposing that this is due to my Highly Effective Person ability to roll with the changes. Other people wet their pants. I just go, “Oh, this now?” and grin at the multiple, increasingly terrible (relative to the potential at hand) discomforts, as I know it’s all a dream anyway.
Before I claim some well-earned sleep, a few verbal snapshots:
Amongst dear (and quite unexpecting) friends, got to show off on bodhran with some excellent musicians in an Irish pub. This was fun at very near its purest.
I overheard a child, viewing Cheaper by the Dozen 2, say, “Mom, is this the same world as ours?”
Saw Happy Feet with Mom and little ones. Fourth time for me. We all enjoyed it very much, and tap-danced afterward.
Unlikely time for much cinematic else.
I discovered anew that while SoCal is definitely Stupidland, other parts of this (one particular) country (among many) should be called Boringland.
A young relation told me I look like Michael Caine.
Most people around here look like constipated Marines.
The heavy grey clouds are nice, though.
I have seen The Lego.
Something created and/or owned by George Lucas has popped up every couple of hours.
I read what “Snoop Dogg” said about James Brown, and now I know that “Snoop Dogg” is a total moron.
(One of my friends said, “I seriously thought that Rap would be merely a passing fad.”)
James Brown and I shook hands this year, but I guarantee you that shaking hands with me is not usually a promise of a hasty death.
I never cared about Gerald Ford while he was alive (and thus did not shake his hand ever, and am not about to start now).
I can hear geese honking. No, not in my head. In the world.
I feel love in my heart, and it’s surprising the hell out of me.
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12.25.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 9:33 am by Gregory
Today, allegedly, is the day that a rather popular and mythic religious icon was born.
Well, happy birthday.
I had an utterly beautiful and completely unexpected Christmas Eve. It was actually extremely happy.
Meanwhile, I note with some sadness that:
JAMES BROWN, THE GODFATHER OF SOUL
has shuffled off to The Great Groove In The Sky.
His iffy antics aside, I am sooo happy that I went out of my way to meet him, however briefly, this year.
You know why?
Because:
I FEEL GOOD.
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12.24.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 12:05 am by Gregory
Could it be?
Possibly.
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12.23.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 5:07 pm by Gregory
Heh. No Grinch nor Scrooge here, but on Solstice Night, under the auspices of some great cineastes, and in an almost completely packed house, I did view for the first time on the big screen (most of) It’s a Wonderful Life — leading to my not-terribly-charitable take on it:
A very enjoyable and cleverly scripted Inspirational movie that amicably passes the time but fails to acknowledge the terrible tragedy of a lifetime of crushing compromises adding up (Angelic Visitation or otherwise) to an essentially brainwashed commitment to eternal mediocrity and its inescapable (if mostly unacknowledged) bitterness.
I enjoyed the film more than ever, and yet could not help thinking: Maybe some towns are simply supposed to die.
Yeah, I know – how nasty of me. But frankly, I wouldn’t want to live in Bedford Falls or Pottersville under any circumstances.
The reality is, if someone pulls a prank that sends Charleston-mad revelers splashing into a swimming pool beneath a dance floor, fun is not had; vicious lawsuits are filed. I have never seen such impish fun allowed in America.
Good on George Bailey for standing up to the corporate slime (I can tell you plenty about corporate slime), however I think he and that soft-focus chick sorely missed their golden opportunity to get the hell outta Dodge — or, similarly, to dodge their way out of hell.
Anyway, an entertaining and very, very nice movie — and ultimately primarily another Hollywood fantasy to screw with earnest people’s heads en route to the bank.
Speaking of which, I haven’t seen most of this year’s Big Deal holiday movies yet, but have seen enough to provide some fresh reviews soon — providing that everything else fits into the schedule (which it won’t).
And Life? Don’t talk to me about Life. (Heh.) I realise that — John Corbett aside — people really, really hate it when single white guys opine spiritually — but the accumulated evidence suggests to me that Life is pretty much a bad joke: Hopes will be dashed; Dreams will be slain; Friends will be lost; Your money will be stolen from you very unfairly unless it is your only focus in life, in which case your soul will be torn from you (but probably fairly); Whomever you fancy will not fancy you back; Somebody you find loathsome and irritating will take great pains to illustrate that they want you (on their shelf); The people you love and need will ignore you entirely; and Everybody else will vanish up their own digestive tracts.
Meanwhile: The Rich Will Become Richer; The Poor Will Become Poorer; The Great Forests Will Be Destroyed; The Seas Will Be Poisoned; Horrid People Will Continue To Run Things; and [Your Miserable Punch-Line Here].
To some extent, this is the prolonged L.A. exposure talking, but I’ve been to much prettier places where people choose to be almost equally unpleasant (and there are uglier places in both regards), so really I think I have bottomed-out or topped-off or whatever you’d like to call it, geography notwithstanding. It’s a sad sacrifice, but it seems to me now most practical to expect people to be stupid and horrible — then whatever niceness (if any) happens to come your way is essentially a bonus. Humility and dedication are good, but they don’t enter into this particular equation.
I don’t buy that the world would be significantly different without George Bailey in it. His false, forced humility is dysfunctional-bordering-on-sickening. I have given this matter much thought.
And…it’s cool. He can jump off that bridge if he likes, but I eventually opted against it without so much as a peep from any Clarence. Years ago, when I lived in Silver Lake, I beheld there a bumper sticker (which I’ve probably quoted here before): LIFE BECAME MUCH EASIER WHEN I GAVE UP HOPE (paraphrased).
Honestly, yeah, that is pretty much it.
Incidentally or perhaps relatedly, check out the video currently up on the site’s main page. It takes a minute or two to load, but anyone who likes holiday tunes with the phrases “old slut on junk” and “cheap lousy faggot” in them should be well pleased.
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12.19.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 12:22 pm by Gregory
The site and the Glögg will be luxuriating in forty-eight (well…presently fifty-two) hours of stasis until our only planet marks this seasonal transition.
Be sure to return for a Big Holiday Treat.
Blessings.
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12.17.06
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 11:44 pm by Gregory
Over the past couple of nights, I took a bit of a break from watching films on the big screen (this may have been a record year for me in that regard; with gracious thanks to the providers of many glorious entertainments, new and just as happily not new), and viewed instead a VHS copy of The Man With the Golden Gun — which I deem to be thousands of times more enjoyable than the new Bond film, thus setting myself tidily apart from the rest of humanity. But really, it is strange to me, this “Keep it real!” attitude toward patently unreal entertainment. If I want “real,” I’ll go walk across a parking lot and have homeless people shout at me. Not everything for me need be escapist fare (unlike Happyness, for instance, I found Home of the Brave to be genuinely moving) — I just find the mentality very alien: that somehow what’s onscreen must correlate to the limitations of one’s own senses and value-system, in order to be considered (to use the all-time #1 adjective of non-critics) “good.”
Anyway, it’s that time of year again, and I thought I had gotten off easy — hell of a backlog, but at least I’ve seen strong work like The Queen and Little Children and etc. And I stand by Tideland as the overall top film of the year (not in numbers, simply in je ne sais quoi)…and then…here comes Guillermo del Toro…with…a different movie about a troubled little girl and her fantasy world.
Damn.
Well, who knows if I’ll manage to juggle finances, friends, relatives, travel, holiday cheer and portable bone-density scanners (j/k!), but it is safe to say that the site’s 2006 awards will not be tabulated until January.
Amazing quote this evening from del Toro: “Who is the target audience for this film? The answer is: FUCK YOU! What is the budget? The answer is: FUCK YOU! How much will it fucking make on fucking opening weekend? The answer is: FUCK YOU!!!” (paraphrased, but very, very close; it was an awesome display).
With sincere apologies to any children who happen to be reading this thing and have never heard the fuck-word before — even though it is responsible for your very existence.
Anyway, let’s answer some mail before it becomes Monday, shall we?
From Matt, Zodiac unlisted, somewhere (it would seem) in Illinois, America?
Your review of “pursuit of happyness” was so bad. I loved it along with the several hundred others in the theater. Your biasness against the this kind of movie and Will Smith really shows through. Also your express personal belief that a person shouldn’t pursue materail goods or be in a stock broker type job given his situation is wrong to do in the review. You should be subjective, that’s what a journalist would do which film critics are supposed to be. Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t make it wrong. You let that effect your viewing of the movie. The rest of your reviews are no prize either. You’re a really negative, pathetic person.
Erm…okay. I think that speaks for itself. Thanks, Dubya…I mean, “Matt.”
The author of this repeating fun one now calls him/herself “10012416,” does not comply with my vital Zodiac request, and appears to be transmitting from Milton, Queensland, Australia:
Your website is appealing. Be encouraged to do the work of the Lord.
…with a side-dish of (no kidding):
cheap maltese puppy for sale
Until further clues are found, I am forced to assume that The Work Of The Lord has more to do with puppy commerce than I first assumed. Whatever.
Here’s the return of Sampaguita:
I know I should probably let this go, but I’m a little bit amazed that my IP address apparently has me showing up as a Virginian when I am actually from the San Gabriel Valley (precisely in that nebulous area bordered by the 10, 60, 605 and the 57) in Southern California. (And for the record, I’m a Taurus.)
As regards your notes about publickly voicing your opinion: I appreciate your opinions more than most– even though I don’t always agree with you. And yeah, you do come across as one of the most sober critics I’ve ever read (seriously)…eccentric, to be sure, but definately sober.
Well, thank you for clarifying matters (Is he being sarcastic? Isn’t he? Who can tell???). These IP-lookups are pretty weird. Like most things (and people) these days, they don’t seem to be geographically-rooted, but rather form a sort of complex network of digital mold-spore-type information-onslaughts.
You’re kind of nearby, though, which means that it’s probably kind of cold-like where you are, too, huh? (Me, I love it. I feel — and act — like I’ve been stuck in a kiln for the past several years. This is a relief.)
And you’re a Taurus, which is a lovely sign but indicates that we probably shouldn’t mate.
As for my opinions and sobriety (we’ll soon cover these topics more exhaustively with a large, epistolary triple-header, coming up below), there are a few things to be said. For convenience (even though they’re not all explicitly related), I shall number them:
1. I have no agenda to cause anybody to agree with me; rather, I write (often about cinema) because it excites and illuminates me, and sharing the fruits of this labour (and buddy, until you’ve stayed up writing until dawn for several years in a row, only to have brainless, spineless “editors” — no offense to the couple of good ones — wreck your work and lace it with errors and then send it out so hobbled into the public sector, you may not quite know everything about labour), has, over time, given me a handle on the world (and, probably, vice-versa). Pity that my past several years have been more often than not wretchedly unhappy ones — which in turn colours the work (which is why I have restrained myself from fiction for the while; I don’t particularly like Dostoyevsky either, so nyah-nyah-nyah and doodie-doodie on him and his depressing old shite) — or maybe it’s not a pity at all; in a country caught in the stranglehold of Dubya and Roeper, somebody has to prove that they have a fucking spine with a brain attached to it.
2. But really, if anybody and/or everybody disagrees with my various opinions, that’s fine with me. Opinions change anyway, plus I’m simply not one of those rabid, venomous film-geek guys who sincerely believe that their views are law. I just happen to enjoy this dance (among many others), so from slightly-after-toddlerhood onward, rather than sinking hoops, I have written thusly. Those shits who formerly paid me for it off the sweat of strippers, prostitutes and plastic surgeons (their ads, silly) added a bit of dubious notoriety for a while, but again, those were ghastly years — and now, as John Cleese wonderfully put it, “I could be arguing on my spare time.”
3. Sobriety and I are essentially one and the same. Strictly in terms of alcohol, I honestly never learned why anybody likes alcohol. I certainly don’t. Hurts your body, wastes your money, makes you feel lousy. Weird! But beyond very-near-teetotalism (I only sip to help other people feel comfortable), I’m pretty sure that my sobriety, as such, stems from growing up sad and confused; you don’t let go of the wheel when nobody else has a clue how to drive. Is my objective in life to be the wordiest and most pretentious of movie-jocks? Nah. It’s just that, unlike a Terminator 3-lovin’ kid like Scott Foundas, I forgot to blow the right people (or, for that matter, anybody), so my self-indulgent verbiage (which is practically industrial wr