The Next Six Years and Four Months

SHOCKED! read my face.

i was adding The Boondocks 3-disk first series to my netflix queue, and i was denied. was it that i wasn't cynical enough? too P.C.? nope, my impulsive "add to queue" clicking had reached its limit of 500 movies. funny thing is, i was kinda pissed off.

but 500 movies is a bit ridiculous. let's go to the chalkboard:

i've been a subscriber since february 2004, and in my diligent watching, i have received about 210 disks. over the 32 months, that calculates to be in the neighborhood of six and a half movies a month or a movie every five days (note: that is unacceptable; need to bring that ratio below four.)

so if i continue on this viewing trend, and do the impossible- add no films in the future, including new released- it would take me 76 months to get through the current queue, or roughly six years and four months.

2013!

Note: according to Passage 11 of St. Clair's Zen of Stars, 2013 is the year in which "indigo kids (born 1959-1999) are lead to a new earth." new earth? like that show Earth2? but what about my queue? and what about anyone over 54?

so i did a little house cleaning, removed some favorites that i should buy (Twin Peaks, Season 1) and a few i'd seen in theaters (V for Vendetta) and a few that i'm embarrassed were on there in the first place (Constantine. worse, it was floating around 275. i don't want to watch that tonight and i probably won't in three years' time.)

all in all i cleared out 33 choices. then promptly added four more. which will be coming to a television near me, on a new earth, in 2314 days.

Po-Mo Pop-Eye

just as there are two sides to every schwartz, so goes post-modernism. there has been many discussions over what we as a culture have gained and lost by sacrificing our signs and symbols and by erasing an object's significance. madonna has long been a purveyor of such petulance; from her "like a virgin" video to being crucified on her current tour no judeo-christian iconography gets off easy.

speaking as an atheist, i think what she does is marvelous. by weakening a symbol it questions faith and the supporting religion. therefore calling into question ones own beliefs, which the church does not do enough of.

the "is nothing sacred" argument is exhausted. so today's sermon (if i am permitted to employ such a word) focuses on the non-sacred being used in a post-modern, revisionist manner. images that are appropriated later to represent something new entirely. these images are utilized mainly on t-shirts: a cultural movement's litmus test.

as "bling" has invaded our culture, there has been a growing number of shirts depicting cartoon characters from yesteryear blinging. notably popeye (I've seen image at right a half dozen times). why popeye i must ask? his cultural value has plummeted since his peak in the 1970s, and he was a poor old sailor man. what about scrooge mcduck? yes he was an aristocrat, but he literally swam in a pool of gold! he may not have had the ripped forearms, but he has a bulldozer to move his coinage!

and then there is this revisionist image of michael jordan (right. literally titled "michaeljordanblingbling.jpg" when i pulled it from a site). he's wearing his six championship rings, which he won with the chicago bulls. whereas this image was intended to be a display of jordan's victories and prowess on the court, the image is now courted as a symbol of his wealth. the meaning behind the rings is insignificant. it's the wearing and flaunting that has been deemed paramount. forget the accomplishments, let's see the ice! (I suppose the same can be said of an engagement ring.)

but i saw the clincher this morning as a woman was ambling toward me wearing this on her chest (recreated):it was a bit disconcerting to see ol' ernesto subjected to the same treatment as, well, señor frog. i wasn't offened. just reminded that any image can be dissassociated with it's original and intended meaning, especially when t-shirt sales are involved.

The Kaptain and the Great Embarrassment

Oh the pleasure of cracking open a new CD. there literally is a new CD smell: all warm and plasticky. i get the bulk of my music online from eMusic, so its a special treat to unwrap the packaging, struggle to get the sticker residue off and finally pull out the disc, refracting an RGB stream of light into your eyes.

with that being said, today was new release tuesday and with it came Elton John's The Captain & The Kid as well as the Scissor Sisters' Ta-Dah, both of which i picked up along with the new TV on the Radio and Justin Timberlake (if you claim you don't like him, you're lying to yourself.) i will say that while i had little intention of buying it, i buckled under the pressure and snatched up Elton's latest. what intrigued me about the record was that it was/ is supposed to be a demi-sequel to 1975's Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy. How wrong I was.

Elton John has always been a musical guilty pleasure. much like early Rod Stewart, who wrote and recorded great roots rock before it was tainted in the late seventies obsession with super-stardom and slick record production (Rod, I'm talking about anything pre-Atlantic Crossing)

so i was practically raised on Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (1973). and i'll assert that Tumbleweed Connection (1971) might be in my top 20 of all time albums. I mean he released such an amazing string of records (all lyrically dominated if not written entirely by Bernie Taupin) thru Captain Fantastic that i feel he rivals any of the great 70s songwriters. James Taylor and Paul Simon sound like a whinny, over-privileged respectables next to the blue collar kiss-offs like "My Father's Gun" and "I've Seen That Movie Too."

so the last three records Elton has put out have received critical acclaim, mostly heralded as a return to form, and the tracks are once again penned by Taupin. (RS gave them all **** 1,2,3) i've largely ignored them as most great rock stars (and elton was most certainly that) have [musically] aged poorly (U2 i'm looking in your direction).

gone are Elton's "Bitter Fingers" and his search for a "Meal Ticket" and in it's place are ten glossy, over produced songs that suspiciously reek of broadway musical in the making. hell, even dylan has a broadway show on the horizon (cringe!), and this is an obvious effort by Elton and Taupin to assert their [second] entry to the stage (after the failure that was Lestat.) they've created enough characters over the years (they even reference rocket men. double cringe) that if you spit-shine those old tunes, i'm sure some underwhelming playwright could string the songs into a narrative. even the title track of the new album is a reprise of the last 30 years and concludes with an updated "Capt. Fantastic" riff.

the results: far from fantastic.

it was the dust that made the earlier record great. but it's not even the polish that is throwing me. it's the lyrics and melody which actually sound like a joke david brent (ricky gervais) on The Office would sing:

Nostradamus said, "I predict
The world will end at half past six"
But he didn't say exactly when.

it could almost be a verse out of "True Love on the True Love Highway."

so who holds the embarrassment card. he for releasing this, or i for laying down $9.99? be careful what you wish for. i guess i should have foregone that new CD smell. i want the dust back.

crescendos

i was on the subway home tonight, and i was considering putting together a mix of all the songs that reach great crescendos. but i thought the final result may have too many peaks and troughs. part of the enjoyment of a record is arriving at the final apogee. the lull in the middle, only to reach one final and grandiose climax. i'm sure a porno star could tell you that a lifetime (or an hour) of perpetual climaxes would weaken the effect of one great peak.

tonight- actually a few songs ago- i sat down in suitable mood for a melancholy monday and put on Antony and the Johnson's I Am Bird Now. the opening track "Hope There's Someone" concludes with a rhapsody of voices and piano intermingling and cascading over just a few notes at various octaves. the chorus lasts for nearly a minute and is so overwhelming that you start to hear other voices within the cacophony. familiar voices. speaking in tongues. trapped behind the sound; looking for emancipation (or maybe comprehension.) and i strained my ears to concurrently grasp what they're saying and listen to the music as well. but in the end i cheated both. and the song was over before i was able to choose sides. but it was a fascinating experience. one that doesn't happen often enough, only happens when you're alone and when you're least expecting it.

disillusioned / disappointed

UPDATE: well, the old master caved.
i left work yesterday, eager to catch a glimpse of the empire state building (and snap a photo of it), and was disheartened to see that it was in fact illuminated with red white and blue lights.

the "tribute in lights" also emanated from the financial district, shooting skywards and lambently setting the low-strung clouds aglow. i find the "tribute" quite elegant and may serve as one of the greater tributes to the twin towers. however, the comparatively cheesy ESB should have remained extinguished and allowed the towers to shine.

This Just In: Clean Shoes A Must At New Memorial

Way to go Georgie. Wipe dem feet on the US flag. Sad, really.



thanks to wonkette.com

returning to the empire state

traveling home last night after an exhausting weekend where i witnessed my grandfather's 21 gun salute at fort snelling national cemetery as well as my other grandfather's 84th birthday. i think i saw about 40 of 45 people in my extended family for an extended period of time. i think i just told britt that it was like experiencing 5 christmases back to back.

but i got in to newark airport around 11 pm and looked across the tarmac to see the empire state building, lit up in all yellow. while i was physically and emotionally drained, i was delighted to see the old icon and invigorated knowing that i needed to only get to the other side of it and i'd be home. you can see the building from our roofdeck, it's a few miles away but its a treat knowing it's so close.

i was also pleased to see it lit in a simple yellow (at, right. not my photo). one would assume that it- by default- would be lit in it's nearly customary (and tiring) red white and blue scheme, incorporating a patriotic, september 10th bravado- which is the ornamentation that is employed on most national holidays. (for st. patricks day it is green, christmas red and green. easter it was purple yellow and green to mimic a dyed egg.)

i view the building nightly as i work ten blocks from it and i'm always curious who the lighting designer is, if the presentation is by committee or one person. personally, i think it looks best all white: classic. with a bit of cloud cover, the building radiates a smokey mystifying appearance. nearly mythological. in the week preceding the 75th anniversary of the completion of the ESB a few months ago, they didn't light the crown in order to display what NYC was like prior to construction. it was impressive as the city took on a darker and quieter persona, not quite so grandiose.

leaving the airport, i took a bus into manhattan then hoped into the cab that would carry me back to brooklyn. as the cabbie and i cruised down 4th avenue, i looked up to see the empire again (it's domineering nature makes it hard not to look at). and the building had gone dark. it was now a few minutes after midnight, and the eleventh had commenced. out of respect, the building had extinguished its lights; an homage to its fallen siblings.

after the temporal realization, i looked again and noticed that the only lights left on were a small ring of white that encircled the spire. a sort of halo floating above the city. all the other buildings were lit as usual for they needn't make a statement. the empire was once again quite and reflective.

perpetual smiles

m. ward creates endless bliss whilst listening. find out for yourself.