Fav Film: UP
Fav On-Going TV Show: Flashfoward
Fav TV Mini-Series: Torchwood-Children of Earth
Fav. Helene Quote: "Dad, you so silly!"
Fav. Martha Quote: "..." with raised eyebrow over beautiful blue eyes
Fav Book: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Fav. Late Night Snack: Spoonful of Peanut Butter
Fav. On-Going Comic Series: The Walking Dead
Fav. Comic Mini-Series: Blackest Night
Fav Song: You're Ex-Lover is Dead by Star
Fav PS3 Game: Uncharted 2
Fav PSP Game: Final Fantasy Dissidia
Fav DS Game: Retro Game Challenge
Fav PC Game: Captain Forever
Fav Ipod Touch App: Spider
Fav. Thing to Watch at 5AM: The Prisoner (1960)
Fav Family Event: NC trip in the summer
Fav Tech Development: The Dawn of the Net-Lets (netbooks meet tablets)
Fav Starbucks: 49th street and 16th in Hialeah
Fav Online Troup: Mega64
Fav Podcast: Tie - 1UP Yours and Rebel FM
Fav Late-to-the-Party Moment: Discovering how great Fallout 3 is...
Fav Tea: White Pear by rEvolution
Fav. Coffee: Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha
Fav. Socks: Beige Dress Socks
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Seven Stages of Man according to Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Prequel to Prisoner Review
This is a confession of sorts. My daughter Helene loves Ice Age. She watches it repeatedly, ad infinitum, without any indication of ever tiring. All of this is fine, a whim that most parents indulge, but the problem is that she hasn't really seen Ice Age...well, not completely.
What she has seen is our abridged, edited version. If you're familiar with the movie, there is a scene where the saber-toothed tigers attack the village, and the mother flees with the baby, eventually sacrificing herself for the baby. This scene, which is a critical plot point that illuminates one of the main characters, is conveniently, repeatedly, ad infinitum, without hesitation omitted. As parents, we have decided that it is too much, that she doesn't need to know yet that parents can, and eventually will, die. So whenever we get to that scene, we skip to a more appropriate part.
I could easily hide behind the shield of trying to be a good father, one that protects his child from the hard facts of the world until the little one is ready to handle them. That's the easy way. The difficult path begins by acknowledging the fact of what I'm doing, censoring, which is something I would never do in any other circumstance, something that I loathe on a deep, personal level. But for some reason, as a parent, I will.
There is another confession here. The other night when Martha was in class, Helene was watching her perennial favorite while I was answering work email, and I forgot to skip the scene. The only reason I knew this was because she grew extremely quiet, which is an obvious tell that something is up. When I noticed the silence, I looked at her and saw that she was completely focused on what was on the screen. I then looked up and noticed the village being attacked and quickly forwarded the film...but it was too late. Helene knew something was askew, something I had done had altered the film. She knew that there was information missing and that there was something else to the world of the film that I, her father, was hiding. The proverbial gig was proverbially up.
So now every time we watch the film, she wants to see more, trying to trick us up into not fast-forwarding the film, and now asks tough questions that I have to dance around. She's getting older and making more connections, like where is the mother that was at the beginning of the story, is she ok? All this forces me to ask my own tough questions: What is the role of those in power? In the original Prisoner, there is the metaphor POP, which can be interpreted in two ways: Protect Other People or Power Over People. When do the lines between those two blur over? Where are the distinctions?
There is a final confession: It doesn't bother me that I don't know the answer to these questions; it bothers me that I might have stopped asking...
What she has seen is our abridged, edited version. If you're familiar with the movie, there is a scene where the saber-toothed tigers attack the village, and the mother flees with the baby, eventually sacrificing herself for the baby. This scene, which is a critical plot point that illuminates one of the main characters, is conveniently, repeatedly, ad infinitum, without hesitation omitted. As parents, we have decided that it is too much, that she doesn't need to know yet that parents can, and eventually will, die. So whenever we get to that scene, we skip to a more appropriate part.
I could easily hide behind the shield of trying to be a good father, one that protects his child from the hard facts of the world until the little one is ready to handle them. That's the easy way. The difficult path begins by acknowledging the fact of what I'm doing, censoring, which is something I would never do in any other circumstance, something that I loathe on a deep, personal level. But for some reason, as a parent, I will.
There is another confession here. The other night when Martha was in class, Helene was watching her perennial favorite while I was answering work email, and I forgot to skip the scene. The only reason I knew this was because she grew extremely quiet, which is an obvious tell that something is up. When I noticed the silence, I looked at her and saw that she was completely focused on what was on the screen. I then looked up and noticed the village being attacked and quickly forwarded the film...but it was too late. Helene knew something was askew, something I had done had altered the film. She knew that there was information missing and that there was something else to the world of the film that I, her father, was hiding. The proverbial gig was proverbially up.
So now every time we watch the film, she wants to see more, trying to trick us up into not fast-forwarding the film, and now asks tough questions that I have to dance around. She's getting older and making more connections, like where is the mother that was at the beginning of the story, is she ok? All this forces me to ask my own tough questions: What is the role of those in power? In the original Prisoner, there is the metaphor POP, which can be interpreted in two ways: Protect Other People or Power Over People. When do the lines between those two blur over? Where are the distinctions?
There is a final confession: It doesn't bother me that I don't know the answer to these questions; it bothers me that I might have stopped asking...
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
cut-up bio
Cut-Up of MySpace Bio
from fortunately
all openly on printed self
life no longer able to be himself.
Cats, silly, are the same for many posts in all
think for a lifetime
consider that he doesn't
Insert years from cats mainly
the words are mainly all he has
life doesn't think about lives
doesn’t think about written words
that are fond of life
bonded, focused on miscommunication
lives in too many words
Numena Theory = himself
communication blessed all studied, printed lifetimes
written on this paper
he loved blessed words
that fortunately encountered him
for real
from fortunately
all openly on printed self
life no longer able to be himself.
Cats, silly, are the same for many posts in all
think for a lifetime
consider that he doesn't
Insert years from cats mainly
the words are mainly all he has
life doesn't think about lives
doesn’t think about written words
that are fond of life
bonded, focused on miscommunication
lives in too many words
Numena Theory = himself
communication blessed all studied, printed lifetimes
written on this paper
he loved blessed words
that fortunately encountered him
for real
Monday, August 31, 2009
lexi-prints 1
July 2009 - Chapel Hill, NC
While wifey was snapping pictures away during our trip to see some friends, I tried to do the same with some words.
A spattered rust pattern at a suspicous distance from a urinal in Wilson Library CH
Two individuals talking; one versed in conversation, the other socially awkward.
A sign that mocks the title Speed Bump, defiantly renaming itself a Speed Table.
An alley that screams allusions to Thermopyle, the hot gates.
A street infected by the plague of consumerism.
An art exhibit that reminds me that the parting gift from the Industrial Revolution is that all Art can only be -from here on out- collage, a permutation of objects, repeating itself over and over, ad infinitum...ad nauseam...leaving us completely, eternally -from here on out- and utterly fucked...
An 18th century Mater Dolorosa, wood and fabric, whose pained expression is more than I can bear, more alive than I will ever be.
An early sketch of Hercules Strangling Cerberus by Giulio Romano, one head under arm and the third with his crotch.
While wifey was snapping pictures away during our trip to see some friends, I tried to do the same with some words.
A spattered rust pattern at a suspicous distance from a urinal in Wilson Library CH
Two individuals talking; one versed in conversation, the other socially awkward.
A sign that mocks the title Speed Bump, defiantly renaming itself a Speed Table.
An alley that screams allusions to Thermopyle, the hot gates.
A street infected by the plague of consumerism.
An art exhibit that reminds me that the parting gift from the Industrial Revolution is that all Art can only be -from here on out- collage, a permutation of objects, repeating itself over and over, ad infinitum...ad nauseam...leaving us completely, eternally -from here on out- and utterly fucked...
An 18th century Mater Dolorosa, wood and fabric, whose pained expression is more than I can bear, more alive than I will ever be.
An early sketch of Hercules Strangling Cerberus by Giulio Romano, one head under arm and the third with his crotch.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
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