t.a.'s blog
value
i did the math
and learned a very important
fact about myself:
i am 1,000 times less important
than Alex Rodriquez.
if you translated out net human value,
as measured in current dollars,
he would be over one mile tall
to my mere 5-foot-11-and-three-quarter
inches.
no wonder he cannot hit
in October
while i have no problem
doing my 1,000-times-less-meaningful job
well.
Holly Hunter - Saving Grace: the easy way out
The idea of salvation seems to be one of the most prevalent in Western society. Here in America, salvation in one form or another dominates creative endeavors: the list of characters in movies who need to find salvation is huge, almost from the beginning of cinema. Chaplin's characters were looking for salvation from the pressure of being at the bottom of society. Bogart, in his first major role, The Petrified Forest, is as bad as they come but still finds a glimmer of hope to maybe end his life a bit better than he lived it. Pulp Fiction, with Butch the runaway boxer and Sugar the petty thief, presented two very different, and very odd, roads to personal salvation.
And on television, no character has been sent in search of saving grace more than the troubled cop. Hence the name of the new Holly Hunter vehicle, "Saving Grace". Anything with Holly Hunter is worth seeing, of course, and a weekly television show is just a promise of delight. The hope is that this tired old formula is given a fresh look by Hunter and creator Nancy Miller.
"Tired old formula" certainly sums up Hunter's Grace at the beginning: smoking, drinking, sleeping around, wild and careless, with her life and the lives of everyone around her. Until she kills a man while driving and drunk. Which is when the angel appears and offers her one last chance. The premise of the series, of course: Grace is given one last chance and fights against it as hard as she can, but the angel appears to be even more stubborn than she. That remains to be seen.
But the formula is old and well-used. We see it over and over again, the lost soul struggling to come to terms with life via God's grace. But it's always pretty much the same god, the Judeo-Christian (and to my mind, Muslim) "Father in Heaven" god, occassionally with a bit of Jesus thrown in (for most writers and directors, however, that seems to take things a bit too far). Given that the vast majority of Americans believe in that god to some extent, that's understandable. It's familiar, a storyline viewers love and watch. It's safe, too; even a tobacco-chewing angel is acceptable, because, after all, he's got a heart of pure gold.
Robert Earl Keen under the stars
Last weekend was "The Bite of Oregon". I believe these events are held all over the country, local restaurants sampling their wares to raise money for charity. Here in Portland the proceeds go to the Special Olympics, and the food comes from all over the state.
Of course they have more than just food. There is all kinds of entertainment, and The Bite is big enough in Portland that they bring in some terrific names. Saturday night was Dr John, Sunday was Patty Smith, but I went Friday night: Todd Snider and Robert Earl Keen.
The cost? $7. That's it. 4 hours of music, a kick-ass fireworks show, and only 7 bucks. Wow.
That was close
This domain expired a couple of days ago, and I did not have the money to renew it. Thank the goddess that Namecheap places expired domains in limbo for a while. I was able to reclaim my baby once I'd deposited my paycheck this morning. If I had lost "subboy.net" I would have been devastated.
the Hernandez Bros in Seattle: an introduction to Love & Rockets
This article by Seattle writer Paul Constant appeared originally in the April 2007 edition of the Progressive
In Seattle, there's a neighborhood called Georgetown that the mysterious forces of Real Estate and Art have conspired to label the Next Big Thing, though right now it's still humble, a mix of singlefamily houses and abandoned factories slowly being repurposed into galleries and condos. There's pretty much one block of commercial interest — a cozy coffee shop, a coming-soon sign for a button-making store, and a record store (literally, it sells vinyl) that shares space with a bookstore called Fantagraphics Books, owned by the graphic novel publisher of the same name. Every single title that Fantagraphics has in print is on sale at the store. Works by Robert Crumb and Chris Ware stand alongside archived comics collections like Krazy Kat and Popeye. The thirty-year-old publisher uses the space to celebrate the work of its artists, and it devoted a weekend recently to the twenty-fifth anniversary of a comic book by brothers Gilbert and Jaime Hernandez.
On February 11, fans packed Fantagraphics's new store for a panel discussion with the Hernandez brothers. People in their sixties who had never abandoned the counterculture joined with teenagers in their awkward Goth-pop styles. In a comic book culture rarity, there were at least as many women as men, and the ethnic mix was diverse, especially for Seattle.
A quick glance around the shelves of the bookstore showed that the brothers have created about a third of the store's stock. Fantagraphics's publisher, Gary Groth, who has a reputation for being the angriest man in comics with his hyperliterate, splenetic rants about the sad state of publishing, seemed downright star-struck as he conducted an interview with the brothers. As they reminisced, it became clear that there were many times, due to lack of funds, when the partnership nearly came to an abrupt end.
No regrets, no surrender
Summer 1980. I was 23, almost 24. I had finished four years in the Air Force, stationed in England, and my engagment to an English girl was over. This was a good thing for both of us, although her breaking it off because God had spoken through a church member and said to do so — not so much. (This woman regretted her own marriage to a man I thought quite nice, and she said she had disobeyed God in marrying him and didn't want Maureen, my fiancee, to make the same mistake.)
Real Politic, Zen Politic
Zen Buddhism, to me, as I am currently learning about it, means being present. Being aware of what is here, now; reality as experienced in this moment. This moment, of course, changes every ... well, moment. That's Buddhist teaching, too, the transient, contingent nature of experienced reality.
It's a tricky business. It was easier, in my youth, to be born again. Religion is simpler; you obey the rules, do as you are told. It seems complex at times not because religion is complex but because life is — and overlaying an insufficient framework is like putting a dam in a river: something's gotta give.
and what are we without Craigslist to provide for us?
I am now truly a part of Seattle: I own Ikea.
I did not buy retail, either; I bought my Ikea desk via Craigslist. This is not as cool as paying retail, but at least I was able to take up space on Seattle's crowded roadways. And given the sheer amount of Ikea product available through Craigslists — at least one-third of the furniture being offered seems to be from Ikea ‐ I think this is as accepted a means of becoming an Ikean as anything else. It worked for me; I paid $50 for a $60 desk and a $30 add-on unit. This is why we have Craigslist, of course (I hear tell we also have it to simplify the process of procuring cheap sex, but I'm too chicken to ever find out).
And what of the woman who sold me the desk? As we were making arrangements for me to come over and get it, she said she'd be in all day — although she was going to Ikea later in the day.
Ikea: lifestyle statement | addiction
Sucky shopping trip parable
so, yesterday, i went to buy
a monitor for my computer.
(did i need a monitor for my computer?
do i need a computer?
jeez, what century are you from?)
i had the directions
from Google maps,
only in this case, Google maps
could not have been more wrong
had they sent me on a freighter to Taipei.
but after an hour of driving
down every possible road
that could not lead to Fry's,
i asked the woman at the gas station
and 10 minutes later —
2 miles north of where Google maps
said to go —
i was there.
i really hate it
(to paraphrase Annie)
when life becomes such an obvious moral lesson.
Leukemia takes Bobby "Boris" Pickett
Bobby "Boris" Pickett, the ultimate one-hit wonder, has died at age 69 of leukemia. I have heard this song my whole life; it's possible this is one of the most-heard songs of my life. It's a fun song and will probably be with us for the next hundred years.
That it was leukemia that took him is especially striking to me. This disease, of which my brother and father are survivors, has recently also killed actor Bruno Kirby and, in the three minutes I've been writing this, 18 unknown Americans.