Literary Gibberish

I arrived at my place of employment this morning to the sounds of dripping water and visions of soaked books.

Apparently our roof has been leaky since the building, but rather than replace it the county has been repairing it piecemeal for years. Last week another crew came in to “fix” the roof and after some significant overnight rain the section above the reference area finally gave up the ghost. At least the torrents of water missed most of the super-expensive reference books. Our Civil War collection was not quite as lucky.

After a week or so of radio silence due to vacation and no internet access, the Fun ‘n Games is back! We submit to you 99 Blocks, an interesting take on the classic game of Tetris. Instead of lining up blocks to make the disappear, the blocks stay on the screen and the highest tower wins. If you see a block coming that doesn’t fit, you can discard it by using the “c” key but you only get 99 blocks so each discard lowers your potential ceiling.

Guaranteed fun for your Friday - so head on over and play to your heart’s content!

OK, we’re back to our regularly scheduled cynicism this afternoon. I couln’t pass up the chance to put this dandy bit of video editing in front of a few more eyeballs. Using their own words against each other, John McCain and Sarah Palin debate each other for the future opportunity of heading the Republican presidential ticket. Enjoy.

Feeling fairly confident of a Democtratic victory around 8 PM last night I began rehearsing in my mind the snarky witticisms with which I would open my gloating victory post. But after staying up to hear Barack Obama’s pitch perfect victory speech I was left with no lingering animosity and only warm fuzzy feelings about the direction our country is heading. A true breath of air after the last eight years.

While I do try to keep the blog a generally politics-free zone, I don’t think my personal leanings are any real secret. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to hear a president speak and immediately reveal that he understands nuance, has grasped the magnitude of his position and has a clear and inspiring vision for the country. So if you didn’t stay up past midnight to hear the speech and you didn’t tivo it, do yourself a favor and watch the whole thing. Invoking Lincoln and evoking Dr. King, change has indeed come to America and not a moment too soon. Yes we can.

Part 1

Part 2

Did you ever want to be a cow boy or girl? Do you crave the satisfaction of herding things into smaller and smaller spaces? Well then Shrink is the game for you. You are a assigned to shrink the outer box around the bouncing squares until it reaches a predetermined size. What these squared did to deserve such cramped confinement we may never know, but it’s not our job to ask.

Move the outer boundaries of the square by pressing the arrows and the sides constrict accordingly. The only catch? If the moving squares inside touch a wall while you’re moving it the jig is up and you have to start back over. Squares get faster, smaller and more numerous as the game goes on so perfect your technique early and become a master of Shrink.

As my close associates (and attentive readers of this blog) know, I heart Thomas Pynchon. I heart him in all his obfuscationist, unravelably dense glory. So I take joy in both the photo and the news to be had below. First, the news - looks like our inimitable author is planning a new book. According to this LA Times Blog post, a 400 page “noir detective story…with lots of psychedelia as background.”

My initial reaction? Woo Hoo! Although I never latched on to Against the Day enough to finish, I still have plans. I read Mason & Dixon as a recent college graduate with nothing to do but drink good beer, watch bad TV and read huge novels.  The advent of parenthood has made it far more difficult for me to read these beasts. The new novel, according to rumor, is to be much shorter and hopefully something I can finish in under a year.

My next reaction? This could be poppycock. The Times’ post gives reason to hope that this is indeed true, but a Pynchon novel a mere two years after his previous one puts us in unfamiliar territory. Let’s keep our fingers crossed people.

And, to keep the blog visually interesting, I embed the photo that the Times’ author dug up from flickr user bjohnson. That pretty much says it all:

At least twice weekly I am reminded of the scene from Airplane when we hear that memorable phrase “Oh stewardess, I speak jive.” The stewardess in question needed a certain patois translated for her into plain English. My co-workers often seek similar translation from yours truly. You see, friends, I happen to speak nerd. The truth is, I dabble - a sort of liason between the normal world and the realm of videogames, comic books, anime movies and command line computer users.  Two brothers in engineering, a childhood of videogames, a college roommate who traded VHS tapes of Japanese anime by mail - let’s just say I have some experience in the field. So in some ways I felt right at home reading Juno Diaz’ The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.

In other ways I was, as the saying goes, out of my element. The story of Oscar Wao is both familiar and fantastical. We meet Oscar as a Dominican Adolescent. An overweight adolescent, who as I suggested earlier is deeply involved in the overlapping worlds of science fiction, video games and alternate reality. Oscar is painfully awkward, desparately lonely and eternally in search of, shall we say, female companionship. Complicating this is Oscar’s nationality. You see, Oscar is Dominican, a people who’s males our narrator makes clear pride themselves on their libidinous prowess.

Indeed our narrator is just one such libidinous Dominican male. And the Dominican angle is where Diaz lays it on thick, heaping overlapping layers of meaning on to Oscar’s ample framed body and just as frail psyche. Politics, social commentary, economic disparity, violence and power all rear their heads as we follow Oscar from the projects, to college, to his prominent Dominican Relatives back home. Overshadowing the story are Oscar’s inimitable, once-beautiful, mother and the Baddest of all Baddies for the Dominican characters, Dictator Rafael Trujillo.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is a story of dislocation and a bittersweet love song to a country and a people. Trujillo and Oscar’s indomitable mother are just as much the subject of the book as Oscar himself. Through the histories of these three individuals Diaz traces what it means to have and lose your nationality, he lays out the puzzle of being a minority among minorities, and he serenades us about a flawed but beautiful country forgotten and abandoned by Americans - Diaz’ primary audience. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao does not - as the title and cover art confirm - end well for Oscar. But the book is a satisfying read, for who among us has not had his or her life shaped by tragedy. Plus, you just might learn something about Klingons, The Watchmen, or the Dominican Republic.

Settling into a chilly Friday October evening at the Walter household, we put on a random horror flick, available from Netflix’s instant viewing feature, entitled Timber Falls (2007). The description promised something about creepy backwoods folk with a religious agenda terrorizing hikers—nothing to get all hot and bothered over, but we thought it might provide some mild thrills and, I must admit, I was curious about the religious bent. Within minutes we had declared the film less than sub-par, but stuck with it, stubbornly, for another twenty minutes or so before tossing it aside and putting on an old favorite, The Amityville Horror (1979), a film which, after countless viewings, continues to deliver the creeps and the heebie jeebies and all those other Friday night fright delights. Sadly, this experience—being sorely underwhelmed by the efforts of the modern horror genre and looking to the past for comfort—is an all too familiar one. As Halloween looms near, the subject of this post, then, will be a listing of some of my favorite films of the season. I only hope it can be a sort of guide, a helpmeet, if you will, to make this most ghoulish time of year even more special for you and your loved ones. Making a list is always a tricky affair, and I have a hard time ascribing “all-time-favorite-totally-awesome-number-1” status to anything, so what follows is simply a list of films, in no particular order of preference.

Halloween (1978). Ok, ok, if I was forced to pick a favorite, I think this would be the one. I watch this film a couple of times a year, and I never tire of it. Much like The Amityville Horror, it shows us that less is more, and that so much of film rests in the storytelling. Halloween was made on a shoestring budget, but it doesn’t really show because there aren’t many things in the film that call for a big budget—there is simply a simple story with a few characters that unfolds over the course of one afternoon and evening in a small town and yet manages to concern itself with, well, Pure Evil! Well acted, sublimely paced, and full of inspired cinematography, I absolutely love this film! There are scenes that still make me jump, even after all these viewings. Part of what I adore about Halloween is that so much of it takes place in the daylight, where the perfectly mundane becomes perfectly terrifying. My favorite example of this is when Jamie Lee Curtis, looking out the window, thinks she sees a man standing amongst the laundry hanging on the line. Doing a double-take, she decides there is no one there, but then the camera cuts back and we see that it is indeed Michael Myers, the dreaded escaped mental patient, simply standing there plain as day. My heart skips a beat every time, and I know it’s coming! Watch the Halloween Trailer.

A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984). This is one of those films I saw as a young child that scared the crap out of me! For one thing, Freddy Krueger is a monster’s monster, to be sure, complete with burned-up face and razor blade fingers. And something about that red and green striped sweater is so freakin’ sinister! Unlike Halloween’s daytime haunts, Elm Street’s terrors truly go bump in the night, as Freddy preys on the fears running rampant through children’s nightmares. Pretty frightening stuff, even now that I’m all grown up. This was Johnny Depp’s first role, in case you were wondering. I’m a big fan of Wes Craven in general, and find most of his films to be a good bit smarter than a lot of their contemporaries. He’s always concerned with psychology and the interplay between what is real and not real, or real and perceived. Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994) is a fascinating continuation of the Nightmare story, where Freddy begins infiltrating both the dreams and reality of the actor who played the girl in the first film. Craven plays himself in the film, revealing that Krueger plagues his dreams as well, and that the only way to attempt to control Krueger and the evil he represents is by capturing him/it in a story—a technique as old as time itself. See Wes Craven discussing the film New Nightmare. Other favorites by Wes Craven: Scream (1996), The Serpent And The Rainbow (1988), Shocker (1989).

Just about everything by Dario Argento. Really, just about everything! Argento’s films are full of a particular ambience, flamboyance even, that helps set them apart from a lot of other similar Italian films I’ve seen. His recent efforts have not been as memorable as the films he’s most famous for from the 70’s, but they’re still fun. At their best, his films are full of rich and vibrant colors, elaborate sets, kitsch, fantastical music (much of which is composed and recorded by Argento’s own band, the Goblins), and plots as twisted and twisty as they come. Argento does gruesome torture and grisly death really, really well! All are done, however, in the context of the film and are often quite artsy, so that the point of viewing the horrific event becomes not so much the viewing of the horror, nor the horror itself, but more so the almost magic-show nature of the staged technique. My chief complaint with so much contemporary horror is its inherent torture-porn quality. This is not that. My favorite Argento: Suspiria (1977), Deep Red (1975), (these first two are likely available at most video rental stores, should you wish to check out this Italian icon), The Bird With The Crystal Plumage (1970), Opera (1987, featuring my favorite Aregento terror—sewing needles taped to the lower eyelids, forcing the victim to keep their eyes open or else endure much pain upon closing them… wicked!!), Tenebre (1982). I should note that I saw Tenebre some years ago on television, and it was this introduction to Dario Argento that caused me to begin a quick slide down a steep and slippery slope. I had watched horror movies as a kid, but the discovery of Argento and Italian giallos opened up a whole new can o’ worms, so to speak. If you’re looking for a good Halloween night movie, I highly recommend any of the above! Catch a clip of Argento’s classic Suspiria here.

Another director I’m fascinated with is George Romero. He has shunned Hollywood and success in order to make his films his way in his hometown of Pittsburgh, often employing friends and family members along the way. His zombie films offer fine social commentary, interesting special effects (it’s nice to watch a film and think, ok, with five gallons of corn syrup, red food coloring, carrots, a pot roast or two, some ground beef, chicken bones, and string, I could do that!), and enough post-apocalyptic warning that they ought to be shown in schools ‘round the country! It is interesting to see a theme carried across a body of work—Romero has made five zombie films to date: Night Of The Living Dead (1968), Dawn Of The Dead (1978), Day Of The Dead (1985), Land Of The Dead (2005), and Diary Of The Dead (2007). All are fine films, but my favorites are Dawn and Land. Dawn takes place in a shopping mall and is at times truly funny. It is worth noting that Dario Argento shares a production credit on this film, and edited the Italian release of the film. Land Of The Dead, set much later, sees the effects of widespread zombism and the government’s self-preservation methods of walling-off their remaining cities, protecting those who can afford to stay within the walls. The film also shows some humanization and socialization of a group of zombies, as they begin to work together to break down the walls surrounding the city. While chiefly known for Night Of The Living Dead, Romero has written and directed some other fine films as well which deal not at all with the undead. My favorites of his non-zombie fare: The Crazies (1973) and Bruiser (2000). The Crazies may be my favorite Romero film, actually. None of Romero’s films are particularly scary or horrific, but zombies eatin’ brains is enough for the genre, I suppose.

The Last Broadcast (1998) is a mockumentary about the Jersey Devil. The film is a “documentary” attempting to solve the bizarre events that occurred when the hosts of Fact Or Fiction, a cable-access investigative journalism show, ventured into the New Jersey Pine Barrens to do a report on the fabled Jersey Devil. They had employed the aid of a psychic who may or may not have been a charlatan, things went horribly wrong, people died, and now our filmmaker is trying to sort out the “facts” through interviews and recreations. This is a really fun film that is also, at times, pretty spooky! It predates The Blair Witch Project by a year.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968) pretty well sets the tone for Spawn-of-Satan films. More thriller than horror movie, perhaps, it’s still a good supernatural tale that’s a real nail-biter, full of twists and turns that’ll have you second-guessing everybody and everything. Exquisitely paced, you can’t help but get caught up in Rosemary’s plight!

I could go on for pages and pages, but I’ll leave off with some honorable mentions:
Jaws (1975–one of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen!), They Live (1988), Candyman (1992), The Shining (1980), It (1990), The Creature From The Black Lagoon (1954), The Wicker Man (1973), The Exorcist (1973), and, because it’s a list of favorites and not greats, Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988).

What’s the scariest movie you’ve ever seen?

OK people, the fun ‘n’ games are back after a brief hiatus. I had initially planned a triumphant return, posting a half dozen or so games but with the economy the way it is, I figured we don’t need a global loss of productivity on that scale this afternoon.

So instead I bring you the humble but entertaining Assembler.

This one’s pretty easy to grasp and most of the levels aren’t too bad. There are some tricky ones though so never fear. All you have to do is set the green-tinted object (usually a box of some sort) into the outlined green box on the wall. Do so by clicking and dragging the various boxes, beams, etc. around the room until you can set the green one in its place. Nothing to it. Happy assembling and we’ll be back soon…

It’s generally understood that in polite conversation one does not stray into the murky waters of either politics or religion. It’s generally understood that large swaths of the so-called “blogosphere” rely on just these topics as their raison d’etre. In an attempt to split the difference, here are a few interesting links that are somewhat related to this election that I keep hearing about.

First, the (somewhat) practical. Glassbooth is a “nonprofit organization that is creating innovative ways to access political information”. More specifically, it’s a site that allows you to prioritize your interest in general issues, take a quiz on specific questions and returns a result on who your ideal candidate might be. Full disclosure: it turns out I’m some sort of radical leftist who chums around with domestic terrorists - my ideal candidate (84%) is Cynthia McKinney. Besides the quiz there are some other interesting features letting you explore what the candidates postions, records, etc. are on all the major issues.

Now for the less practical, but more fun tidbits. Please find here a cut-outable, foldable, Barack Obama paper toy. And, of course, the visual:

In the spirit of non-partisan fairness I searched for similar effigies of both Senator McCain and Governor Palin but, alas, came up empty. If you, dear readers, have any more luck than I in such a quest, please post links in the comments. In the interest of equal representation I suggest that you assemble the following, as it would probably be just about as absurd a figure as the “Killa from Wasilla” in the Oval Office.

For the past several months my wife and I have been devouring HBO’s popular, though still under-the-radar, series The Wire, with an appetite we have never before had for an American television show.  I have been hesitant to attempt writing a post for this series, fearing that, among other things, I would simply be unable to synthesize anything coherent out of my many and sundry thoughts other than rambling and unsubtle praise.  Having just finished season four, and before starting the fifth and final season, I thought I’d give it a try.  Before proceeding, let me state that this is quite simply the finest American television I have ever seen.  I qualify, “American,” because The Wire does not trump some of my favorite British whoppers, namely Sandbaggers and Prime Suspect (both will be given their own treatment in future posts, don’t worry!), but it stands alongside them bravely and proudly, something I thought I’d never see from our side of the pond!  Ironically, two of the stars of the series are British; go figure.

Each season of The Wire deals with a season-long story arc, and characters and plots are continued throughout subsequent seasons as well, so it really pays to watch this show from the very beginning.  As the name implies, each season has something to do with the Baltimore Police Department and a wiretap, whether or not the tap is really the main concern of the season’s story.  The seasons’ subjects are, in order: drug trafficking in the inner city, corruption in and on the docks, politics and the mayor’s office, the public school system in the inner city, and the press.  The Wire delves deep into these institutions, examining, without hesitation, their corruption and poverty, offering us a grim picture of a contemporary city in decay, rotting from within, and everywhere, it seems, on the verge of collapse.  Hmm, perfect pick-me-up fodder for a Friday night, Walter…. I just want to watch a spot of tele.  Fret not, gentle viewer, The Wire, while bringing itself to the proverbial Brink, manages not to throw itself, and You, over the edge.  It does teeter there perilously….

One message is consistent and clear throughout each season of The Wire: the war on drugs, as it is being fought in Baltimore, specifically, but presumably throughout the nation, is no longer relevant and effective, if indeed it ever was.  It is a battle lost, and it is time for a new strategy.  The Wire does not presume to offer any rosy plans for reconstruction and renewal, however, and we thank it for that– this is no fantasy, after all.  There are no easy answers to any of these questions.  When we are given something radical or ambitious, its faults and inadequacies are quickly pointed out.  In the third season, a police lieutenant nearing retirement decides that the way to meet the unrealistic statistical demands of his superiors regarding lower violent crime is to legalize drugs by establishing a blind-eye zone within his district, affectionately dubbed “Amsterdam” by the police and referred to by the corner kids, who have no idea what, much less where, in the world Amsterdam is, as “Hamsterdam.”  The plan goes swimmingly at first—beefing crews no longer beef, junkies can get their fixes in peace, and everyday Baltimore citizens can step out on their stoops to get their morning papers without wading through throngs of, well, not-so-everyday Baltimore citizens.  It takes a very short time, however, for the dream of Hamsterdam to become a nightmare, situated somewhere along the 13^th or 15^th levels of the firey bowels.  Throughout The Wire we are often witnessing the deleterious ends of quick fixes, if not more so the results of inaction in the lives of, to steal a phrase from some people who have probably never seen the show, those left behind. 

Bleak, depressing, outraged, desperate—The Wire is all of these, but its ability to confront and acknowledge these existing situations in Baltimore (read: Inner City, USA) in a way that is all at once dramatic and plot-driven without being overly dogmatic is really astonishing.  The result is downright entertaining.  It’s even truly funny at times, lots of times!  The show’s stark sociology is ultimately humbled by incredibly good writing, and this, after several long introductory paragraphs, sorry, is really what I’d like to say about The Wire:  Politics and agendas aside (the slightest research into the show’s creators, David Simon and Ed Burns, will reveal said politics and agendas), these people can spin some quality yarn!  Wonderful genre elements of Greek tragedy, the Western, the Police Procedural, Film Noir, Naturalism and Realism, good old fashioned Postmodern fiction-chasin’, among many others, are at play in these stories.  David Simon was a journalist for the Baltimore Sun for a number of years, so it’s no surprise he can write, but it is a surprise to me that the journalist can work so well in the dramatic arts.  It probably helps that many episodes are written or co-written by fiction writers, chiefly among them crime novelist George Pelecanos, also a producer for the series, but including others such as Denis Lehane and Richard Price.

A testament to the quality of writing in The Wire is the cast of the most wonderfully drawn characters ever to have graced my television screen.  This is difficult territory here, because I don’t want to spoil anything for potential viewers of the program, but know that you will meet people the likes you haven’t seen since Radar and Hawkeye!  There are good guys and bad guys, but sometimes the bad guys are good and a lot of times the good guys are bad.  There are sinister cops, stupid cops, sinister drug dealers, stupid drug dealers, smart cops, smarter drug dealers, even smarter cops, and a junkie named Bubbles.  Bubbles is The Wire’s Greek chorus.  There is a duster-wearing, sawed-off-toting vigilante named Omar.  Omar robs drug dealers.  Omar is terrifying.  Omar does not use foul language.  Omar lives by a strict moral code.  Omar is awesome.  The Wire is a predominantly black cast, and it is interesting to see the diversity of African Americans represented in such a large and all-encompassing way—it’ll make you think twice about contemporary black roles in mainstream television.  It’s subtle, but it’s yet another institution The Wire levels its eyes on.  I digress.  While each season introduces a new set of characters with its respective storyline, and some characters are short lived, there is a core cast who we get to know very well throughout the run of the show.  Some are likeable, some are despicable, some are despicable for several seasons and then show a slight bit of humanity in the face of their long history of inhumanity (fascinating!), but all are incredibly complex and well-wrought, and, for the most part, very well acted.

This brings up another interesting Wire tidbit.  Many of the actors in the show are non-actors, but more interesting, they are often former employees or practitioners of the very Baltimore institutions the show is representing.  One of the Homicide detectives was the former police commissioner for Baltimore.  A school principal really is a school principal.  A school superintendent in the show was in real life the Baltimore city council president.  A particularly ruthless “muscle” for a drug dealer in the show served real time in prison for drug-related violence in their pre-Wire life in Baltimore.  Perhaps most fascinating is the character of The Deacon, played by real life Baltimore drug lord Little Melvin Williams.  The list goes on.  Why, Walter, your research talents are unparalleled!  Nope, there are some nice special features on a few of the discs, though not nearly enough for my needs, but all of which are worth watching.  The Internet will provide you with a lot of interesting info as well, though I must caution against this:  I ran across a couple spoilers, even whilst diligently watching for them!  I’ve already mentioned the show’s creator, David Simon, worked at the Baltimore Sun for a number of years, but it is interesting to note that the show’s co-creator, Ed Burns, was a Baltimore City Police Homicide detective for ten years or so and also taught middle school in Baltimore City.  What does all this mean, aside from the fact that the former police commissioner can’t act worth a hoot (but he sure seems authentic)?  It makes me think these people know what they’re talking about, for one thing, but knowing this adds yet another human element to an already incredibly human drama and elevates it way above its devices.  A Homicide detective, standing over a body in the street, saying, “God I love this city,” is ironic, bitter, disturbing, morose, etc., a good scene in a hip police story.  Knowing that that man, in real life, was the commissioner of police in that real city, gives the scene a wisp of lingering realism that, however subtle, is unsettling to say the least. 

One bit of criticism I will level at The Wire (say it ain’t so!) is that the arc of each season’s plot is not so much an arc as a rise to a precipice and then a swift and decisive plunge off of that precipice.  So far (I have yet to watch the fifth and final season), each season’s final episode has concluded with a rather to-be-expected montage, set, and gag me here, to music!!  I suppose you have to wrap things up a little in order to have viewers make the leap of faith to return to the show in its next season, especially when watching in real time, I have no problem with that.  It does seem, however, that The Wire takes some particular exception to this notion, and therefore chooses to proceed with business as usual until the last seven minutes of the final episode of season X, whereupon they deliver the goods and it’s curtains until the next season’s slow crawl up the plot hill.  I’m being a bit harsh, but it’s only out of love and respect, and because I’d like for these seasons to go on for, I don’t know, about 52 episodes or so.  One a week, that would do me just fine.

Criticism aside (yep, they get off that easy), let me conclude by saying, as subtly and gently as I can… Watch this show!  It really is as wonderful as I say it is!  Each episode starts with an epigraph.  I leave you with one of my favorites:

“Thin line ‘tween heaven and here.”  –Bubbles

Well, another Banned Books Week is almost *ahem* in the books. This year it passed with little fanfare and people actually checked out both Ulysses and Tropic of Cancer! The book about Gay Penguins stayed on the display.

In Lieu of your traditional Fun ‘n’ Games this Friday, I’ll recommend taking this quiz over at the Guardian to test your banned books kung-foo. Googling and other various forms of research are allowed. Only a perfect score gets you accolades and beware of scoring anything less than 60%. The good folks at the Guardian will treat a 7/12 score with disdain, suggesting that your ignorant cretin-ass may be the kind of stunted intellect who just might vote for Sarah Palin ¹

And, while we’re here, check out this LA Times article about Obscene in the Extreme, a new book by Rick Wartzman about the controversy over John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. You can also head on over to ALA’s list of frequently banned books for the past several years and a nice primer on Banned Books Week basics.

That’s it for this week. Remember, watch out what you read and if they don’t think like you they’re against you!
^{1 Hey, they said it, I didn’t}

Sometimes you just want to blow stuff up. Here at Literary Gibberish, we understand that. And so we bring you this Friday’s game - Deconstruction. There’s even less to this game than most we post here. Your job is to lay waste to the girders, blocks and assorted building materials that have been meticulously stacked by others. The only trick is not getting yourself crushed in the process. Place your charges using the shift key, detonate them with CTRL. The arrows keys move your little construction worker and close proximity to the explosion or flying debris will kill the little fella.

So blow stuff up, bob and weave. Make known your reign of terror to building materials everywhere and we’ll see you next week.

Well, here we are, it’s the year 2008 and we still don’t have our flying cars, personal robots or time travel. What a rip-off! At least now you can pretend like you have your own robot. Drag-and-drop the commands across the top into the boxes on the right. When you’re finished, hit start and he will obey your every whim. The idea is light up his little noggin’ whenever he stands on a blue square. Lighting all blue squares completes the level and you move on to achieve greater glory.

This game starts easy, walking you through basic commands but gets tricky quick. You only have a limited number of commands, so use them wisely. Or, if you’re not interested in completing the level, use them to program your little buddy to dance “the robot” for you. Oh, the irony!

Anyway, eventually you end up having to program subroutines using the f1 and f2 commands so you’re even tricked into a little lesson in computer science when you thought you were just having fun. But it’s fun anyway and good for future human robot relations. Program away little buddies and enjoy your weekend.

In a work-related ¹ fit of enthusiasm today, I did something I’ve been wanting to do for quite some time. I built a bootleg light-box to take nice pictures of small objects. Turns out this is something easier than I had even thought and the results are better than I expected. It’s always a good day when you can exceed expectations. To wit - this small sculpture given to us upon the pending birth of our first child:

And, on a lighter note, this 3″ Batman figure that came from the bottom of a Cheerios box:

All you need is a camera, a cardboard box, some tissue paper and a bright light source. I actually used the sun coming in through a window this morning. Oh yeah, you need to head on over to the site where I found directions for this nearly free contraption.

So what are you waiting for? Take the plunge and start taking great looking pictures of all your household trinkets! You can also take a look at a few more in my Flickr set from this morning’s photo session.

^{1 Our Children’s Librarian, fresh off a training session at the State Library, came in this morning with the idea to do a photo inventory of all our puppets, stuffed animals, and various story time props so the other libraries in the system can see what’s available for their programs. I jumped at the chance to use work time to jury-rig my apparatus and make sure we got the job done right.}

Wow. Just came across this from the LA Times. David Foster Wallace was an enormous, if frustrating, talent and frequently published fascinating non-fiction to go along with his acclaimed fiction tomes. An influence on this blogger ¹ and countless others this is quite a loss. Maybe more on DFW later - just thought my dear readers ² should know. That is all.

^{1 The footnote deal is mostly homage to Wallace’s nonfiction narrative technique
2 Yes, all half-dozen of you}

Were you one of those kids who always tried to fit the proverbial square peg into the round hole? Well fear not! Bloxorz provides you the satisfaction of trying to get the square peg into the square hole. As always, there are a few caveats. You move the square peg with your arrow keys and the block moves end-over-end as you gleefully navigate the levels you are created. The goal is to stand the block up so that it falls into the hole and thus, completes the level.

There are various switches that manipulate the level, and if any part of the block falls off the board the whole thing goes to hell and you have to start the level from scratch. This game involves a fair grasp of spacial perception and if you are one of those people who instantly grasped the concept of parallel parking you stand to do fairly well. If not, well, don’t you think it’s time to learn to parallel park? I mean really, people.

Enjoy the blocky goodness and here’s hoping this week’s offering doesn’t infuriate my fellow sidewhites blogger quite as much as last week’s.

A few months back, Jonathan Miles published a quirky, popular title called Dear American Airlines. Frankly, I did not enjoy it - maybe it was my mood that week - but the opening is instructive in describing how I feel about Comcast Communications this fine day. As I try to keep this blog reasonably family oriented¹ I can’t actually publish here most of the first several pages of either Dear American Airlines, or my thoughts, dreams and wishes for the upper echelons of Comcast’s management. Suffice it to say that my feelings (and those of Miles’ protagonist) are expletive laden screeds worthy of the most dire Biblical prophet in calling down doom upon incompetent nincompoops down through the third generation.

In brief, we tried to downgrade our cable television service to the most basic package at the end of July. The first time, our Internet service got knocked out and the cable channels remained. When we got the SEPTEMBER cable bill still being charged at the higher rate, I again called to downgrade cable service. Yesterday the tech came to our house, downgraded our cable service, and apparently knocked out our Internet again.

I’m convinced this is some sort of practical joke the good folks at Comcast play on their customers with the temerity not to pay for the high dollar digital package with HBO, Showtime and dozens of other channels that broadcast the same three movies constantly for three-week stretches. I mean, why pony up for 340 channels of dreck when a mere 26 will do?

Suffice it to say, the issue is still not resolved. We are currently scheduled to wait for a tech to come to our home between the hours of 8:30 and 11 AM tomorrow. My unanswered question - ok, one of many - to Comcast was why do we have to be there for a tech to come fix something he broke on an initial visit that did not require our presence? The whole experience has been so frustrating that after spending my second hour on the phone last night I finally informed the dull-witted goon who was “assisting” me that I wished to cancel all services with the company. His response? ² “I’m sorry sir, if you want to cancel your services you’ll have to call back tomorrow when that department is open.”

Dear Comcast Communications,

I would like to suggest that in the future you …[CENSORED]…and I hope that you will
[CENSORED]… in the meantime, your management should consider [CENSORED] and I hope that barnyard animals [CENSORED] … In closing, may cannibals [CENSORED] your [CENSORED] while dancing happily on the ruins of your corporate offices as they slurp turtle soup from Bill Slowsky’s blackened shell. I think what I’m trying to say is - you suck,

Sincerely,
Me

^{1 Disney porn notwithstanding, of course
2 After several more delightful minutes of on-hold music}

Hamlet 2 offers a terrifically funny title and an interesting enough plot: A failed actor finds himself teaching drama to stereotypically disinterested students in a Tucson, Arizona high school.  When faced with the school board’s decision to cut the drama program, the teacher decides to write an original piece of theatre, a sequel to Hamlet, named, appropriately, Hamlet 2, to be put on as a fundraiser.  Foibles and pitfalls a-many are encountered along the way, but the film ends with the teacher and his student cast putting on their highly controversial play (musical, really) to the consternation of some, the delight of a few, and the bewilderment of all.  The makings of a delightfully quirky, irreverent indie, no?  NO!  Hamlet 2 is awful.  Just plain awful.  Nothing is less funny than that which is supposed to be funny being not funny.  And that is precisely what this film is: not funny.  The jokes come so far apart in this sleeper that one almost forgets the events leading up to the punch line. 

A general sense of tepidity permeates everything in the film.  The story’s characters are flat all around, and are not aided in the slightest by bored, insignificant acting.  The troupe of high school players is full of stereotypes—the gay teacher’s pet drama (literally) queen, the religious goody-goody, the disinterested hoods, the gum-smacking chicas, the silent girl, the druggie, etc.  This is all fine and dandy, but nothing is made of these stereotypes, cynical or meaningful, they are simply there, lacking depth and gravity.  Our protagonist, played by Steve Coogan, is pretty good at physical comedy, but falling down time and again will only get you so far.  His wife and roommate are one-dimensional glitches in the storyline, popping up just enough to refresh our memories as to who they are and where they belong, but falling short of any further meaningful development. 

Tongue-in-cheek silliness, slapstick, absurdity, and depravity are all fine devices, some of my favorite really, but the film fails to capture any of these in their fullness, leaving us, well, yawning and not laughing.  What could have been really dark, cynical black comedy is instead watered down for the masses and left floating on the surface.  Hamlet 2 bills itself as a parody of a tragedy.  The problem is that nothing is really tragic enough to make parody necessary or even reasonable.  Attempts at irreverence and offense come off equally tame and lame, which is quite surprising given that one of the film’s writers has writing and production credits on many South Park episodes.  I’m sure that some of the most conservative religious zealots out there might find their hearts burning at the portrayal, in the play-within-the-film, of Jesus as a sexy, fit, time-travelling dude’s dude, but then again, probably not.  In fact, they probably aren’t even watching the film.  I want something that might offend me, thank you, regardless of how difficult that might be.  It’s the thought that counts!

About that Jesus comment.  The plot of our protagonist’s play, Hamlet 2, has Hamlet hopping aboard a time machine at the end of Bill Shakespeare’s original in order to travel back through time to stop Gertrude from drinking the poison that kills her.  In his travels, he meets Jesus, who joins in the time-tripping, and the two are able to confront and reconcile with their fathers.  And, he makes it back in time to save Gertrude.  All of this is set to ridiculously funny musical numbers like “Rock Me Sexy Jesus” and “Raped In the Face,” stealing tunes and imagery from the likes of Elton John, Star Wars, and Grease.  The ten minutes or so of this part of the film are incredibly funny, but, sadly, not worth the wait.  I would much rather have seen a feature-length film of this sub-plot, a la the likes of such Troma classics as Class of Nuke ‘Em High and Tromeo and Juliet.

Amidst these shenanigans, we’re reminded of our earlier let-downs.  The tough guy school official who attempts to shut down the play is seen watching with a sense of realization and self-discovery as Hamlet and Jesus confront their respective fathers and the pain caused by their strained relationships.  We know, then, that this guy must have some unresolved issues with his own father, which helps to explain his hardened temperament.  The film feels the need to spell this out for us, though, when later the character says, “I was abused as a child.  I have issues with my father too,” or some such dreck.  The movie is full of qualifiers such as this, leading me to wonder if there is some definitive shift in what is found humorous by youngsters these days.  Did the writers have such a lack of faith in their audience that they felt the need for these explanations?  Is the act of calling attention to the joke funnier than the joke itself, as in the “That’s what she said…” phenomenon?

Perhaps it is simpler than that– ok, Walter, you didn’t like the movie, that’s that–  but I’m still suspicious of larger, more sinister, forces at work.  The death of irony, for instance, or fear of being offensive or vulgar (I haven’t seen Tropic Thunder, but when freakin’ Ben Stiller gets mud slung at him, something’s up, yo!).  I don’t know.  I’m a paranoid if I’m anything, and I’m straying into territory not easily covered in the remainder of this post, but the exposure to those ninety minutes of utterly vapid wasted time (ok, I did like the musical/play) ticked me off and got me to thinking.  Mainly I’m thinking I wish we hadn’t been with friends, ‘cause I would have walked out after about twenty minutes!  What a stinker!

Ever since Dr. James Naismith first dreamt up a game that required players to throw a ball into a basket, Americans - and increasingly the world - have been obsessed with the game of basketball. Ever since Tiger Woods won the Masters Golf tournament by 12 strokes at the tender age of 21 the world has been obsessed with golf. It therefore stands to reason that Bucketball may well be the next global sensation.

Combining elements of basketball and golf, you goal is to get the ball in the bucket. A subtle concept to be sure. The game starts off innocently enough, a simple toss to a low lying bucket. Gameplay is easy to figure out - the colored ball goes in the correspondingly colored bucket and you launch by holding your mouse over the ball and left-click to charge the throw. But like golf, the hole locations can get tricky, and like basketball you’d better not put the ball in the wrong basket. Otherwise you’ll find your shot being forcefully rejected a la Dikembe Mutumbo (you’ll just have to imagine the insouciant finger wagging).

There’s not much more to it than that folks. A snarky observer comments that I’ve been on a “real ball kick” lately. So it goes, but we here at the blog hope this offering entertains, enlightens and amuses if only for a brief while. Now get to playing!

Thanks to Jay is Games for the find!

There’s an entire generation who grew up on videogames who are now translating their formative experiences manipulating pixels on a screen into more time honored hobbies. Generally, while I appreciate a Super Mario quilt as much as the next nerd, I tend not to obsess over such trinkets. I have, however, found one such item that I covet in the fully realized, Biblical sense from which the Hebrews were forbidden by the Almighty hisself.

And so I call all the knitters among you my readers to deliver me this knitted trinket. Your remuneration will be unending gratitude for saving my eternal soul from the sin of covetousness and ample photo documentation of baby Zeke rockin’ the hat in this webspace. I know an offer like that is irresistible, so here’s where you can find out how to make it, here’s everything you need to know about Katamari, and here’s the photo. Now get to work!

Saddle up for another exciting flash game for your Friday! Here’s another one that’s easy to understand but not so easy to master. All you have to do is direct the colored balls that drop from the sky to the right side of the board. Green to the left, blue to the right and grey to either side.

But, of course, there’s more. You get more points the closer the ball lands to the middle of the screen. Point areas range from 5 to 100. You can also bounce balls up to five times to increase the point multiplier. Don’t let the balls drop, or land on the wrong side or you lose a life. Lose too many and the game’s over. As the game progresses you get a few more power-ups but the idea stays the same.

We’re embedding the game this week a) because the site that hosts it gives out code to do so and b) because the site that hosts it is a little obnoxious in terms of advertising noise. As always, let us know if you love, hate, or can take-or-leave this fine game in the comments.

I imagine when Conan approached me about posting to his fine blog my thoughts concerning the intricacies of the art of film and filmmaking, he had, perhaps, in mind more lofty philosophical queries than those surrounding, say, caped crusaders and teenage surfer vampire dudes.  I admit, and even tried to warn you in my first post, that my tastes run the gamut from the very lowest of brows to the (somewhat) higher, even, at times, reaching for that which might be called High Art (whatever that means, right?).  So, to throw a dog a bone and attempt to salvage what remains of my good name among the sidewhites.com administration, I bring you some artsy mind-fodder concerning a fine Belgian film entitled Aaltra.

Aaltra concerns two neighbors in rural northern France, one blue collar, the other white collar, who detest one another.  When the office worker is summoned by his boss to be in his office in Paris in half an hour or face termination, he races in his car to catch the next train, only to be cut off by his neighbor, pulling out of his field in a huge, and slow, piece of machinery.  The man cannot get around the farm machinery, misses his train, and consequently loses his job.  Oh, and when he returns home he finds his wife in bed with another man!  At his wits’ end, he races across his neighbor’s field, confronts him, and the two begin pummeling one another furiously.  In the midst of their pugilism, a huge piece of the farmer’s harvester breaks off and falls on the two men.  They wake in the hospital, still bitter with one another, and both without the use of their legs.  What ensues is nothing less than outright hilarity, of the blackest pitch, as the men begin their lives anew from the confines of their wheelchairs and embark on a journey across Belgium all the way to Finland, to the headquarters of the harvester’s manufacturer, Aaltra, in order to demand compensation for their suffering.

The film is shot in black and white, and beautifully so.  Every frame is stark and at times alarmingly realistic.  There is nothing soft in this story whatsoever, and the visual aesthetic confirms this beyond any doubt.  It is suggested in reviews that part of this harsh style is due in large part to lack of budget, but I really cannot imagine this film in anything but the concrete, hardened images in which it is presented.  It’s a grey world after all, kids, no matter what Disney tells you. 

Aaltra easily brings to mind one of my favorite French Fatalists, Samuel Beckett.  The simple plot of two men wheeling themselves across Europe to confront a faceless entity is so plagued by the insanity and futility of itself that it becomes farcical.  Only, this is no farce.  These men exist.  And they are paraplegic.  One of Beckett’s famous one-liners is “I can’t go on.  I go on.”  This is a fitting mantra for these brothers-in-chairs, as, throughout their journey, they are confronted with situations which would make the most even-keeled amongst us lay down and cry like a baby.  For instance, while attending a dirtbike motocross (our whitecollar protagonist is a motorcycle enthusiast), the two men park themselves by the front gate, right up against the fence, affording themselves the best possible view.  Someone from the track comes along and tells them they have to move, as they are “killing the dream.”  I reiterate, this is dark humor.  Another scenario finds our protagonists abandoned on the beach as high tide is rolling in.  Unable to wheel themselves out of the sandy mire, we watch as the water rises to just about chin level, where it halts, and one man says to the other, “I think it’s going down now.”  It’s ok to laugh out loud; I did.

The brilliance of this film, and what makes it impossible not to laugh, is that these men, who were complete jerks before their accident, remain complete jerks in the wake of the accident.  The reason they are left alone on the beach is that they swiped a bottle of hooch from the kind family who had picked them up in their RV and proceeded to drink themselves into a stupor, in front of the kind family’s children and their idyllic sand castles.  There is no grand soul searching here, no Nicholas Sparks-esque feel-good revelation, only the grim, black and white, even, reality that what is, simply, is.  Their unfortunate condition does not give these men license to treat others the way they do.  And yet they do.  It might help explain some of their bitterness, but we’ve already seen them act just as bitter and nasty before the accident!  Various people throughout their journey attempt to help the men, out of, we presume, some great self-imposed moral imperative to help those in need.  You know, just like the good Book says.  Don’t worry, they are all taken advantage of.  All of this, as with Beckett’s plays, seems imbued with a sense of the apocalyptic, only, through the simple act of going on, the apocalypse becomes livable.  It is not surmountable, but, somehow, less harmful, endurable.  Just as the waiting around does not kill Vladimir and Estragon, consequently the universe does not weaken the wills of these men to the point of suicide.  It maims them, for sure, but they go on.  In fact, they manage by the end of the film to find themselves in Finland!

I won’t spoil the ending here, only I will say that there is much more of the same.  Aaltra is at times morose, always unequivocally irreverent, and often laugh-out-loud funny.  It’s razor-sharp, and will have you thinking about the ins and outs of what defines a handicap, what determines cruelty, and the nature of best intentions.  If you deal with a chronic health condition or know someone who does, you may see aspects of yourself or that relationship in some of these characters.  Seek this film out (Netflix has it on their “watch now” feature)—I already want to see it again!

While we’re on the subject of the macabre here at Literary Gibberish, what with the vampires and such, here’s another offering that reminds us that life does not always come up roses - even for the kiddies.

Like so many of our beloved fairy tales, The Dangerous Alphabet works on several levels. Young children, the title’s ostensible demographic will no doubt be delighted by pictures of monsters and scary spaces. As the reader gets older - or, we hope, wiser - he or she will begin to register the downright sinister nature of these passages. And we do well to remember the words of Judge Richard Posner, “Violence has always been and remains a central interest of humankind and a recurrent, even obsessive theme of culture both high and low.” Such pages as “J is the joke monsters make of their crimes” and “N is for Night and Nothing and Never” accompanied by chilling illustrations of children chained to walls and being marched through the underground are not necessarily for the faint of heart.

But for those willing to wallow through, there is an abbreviated bildungsroman. A brave young lad shepherds his sister through the underground, past pirates and to the other side where their presumed father waits, with a newspaper and languid grin. It’s almost as if his children have come through nothing more dastardly than a sunny swim in the pond.

It doesn’t take much inspection to decide that this is really a book for adults disguised as one for children. But look again and you might just come full circle. After all, it’s the kids who have the adventure and it’s through their eyes that we see the world. The father waiting for them at the end is a mere prop. Who’s to say he’s even their father. Maybe he’s a stranger waiting to ferry them to ever deeper circles of their imagined underworld.  It’s all in how you look at things, and the duo of Neil Gaiman and Chris Grimbly give us different ways to see. Ultimately The Dangerous Alphabet is a book that can be savored by all but the most timid reader with it’s grim letter assignations and illustration that will alternately delight, horrify, amuse and intrigue. So run, don’t walk, to your nearest library or bookstore to take a peek at this fine work and by all means watch out for “Piracy, blunt or discreet” on your way!

We stumbled on a new Fun ‘n Games website this week - whirled.com. Among the offerings at this fine webspace is Filled, a highly playable game that you can dally about with for a few minutes or lose yourself in a zenlike maze of bubbles and bouncy balls for quite some time longer.

As with most of the games we offer for your enjoyment in this space, game play is simple and engaging. The object is to fill 2/3 of the playing area by clicking on the screen and creating inflated spheres. They inflate at a steady rate until you release the mouse or one of the bouncing balls hits it. You can move them around the screen while they inflate, and once you let go, gravity takes over.

You only get a certain amount of lives, so don’t let the bouncing balls pop too many of them! The game starts at a leisurely pace with a mere two bouncing enemy balls but the levels build quickly and it gets ever harder to fill up that 2/3 of the screen.

Play on dear readers and happy weekend!