El Burro Volador

Forgive the pun, I am helpless before that particular compulsion at times.  I’d like to catch y’all up on some of the movies I have seen recently.

Miami Vice – I didn’t seek this out because of my fondness for the 80′s tv show, which I have never seen.  No, I was intrigued because of director Michael Mann, whose previous directing credits include Heat and Collateral and who, as you might imagine, has a reputation for excellence when it comes to these gritty crime sagas.  Personally, I always find that the  endings of his movies are botched, but enjoy the first 80-90% immensely.

I’ll never know how he did with Miami Vice, as it became perhaps the third or fourth movie I have ever deliberately stopped watching midway through.  Jamie Foxx and Colin Farrell have so little chemistry as partners that one almost suspects they performed separately in front of blue screens and were edited together, and there wasn’t an abundance of action or any comedy to distract the viewer from the inadequate acting.  Awful, just awful.

Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist – This, on the other hand, is a suitably charming teen comedy.

The Assassination of Jesse James – Superb, but be warned.  It moves slowly and draws on the psychology of its characters to provide most of the drama.  This makes it a less than ideal choice for people in need of a shoot ‘em up western.  This finely-etched, understated drama benefits immensely from the skills of its two lead actors.  Brad Pitt excels in his portrayal of the famous outlaw, and Casey Affleck turns in possibly his finest performance yet as the ill-fated Robert Ford.

I thought I’d talk about how my diet is going after one week.  So far, I have lost eight pounds.  This is just about the most dramatic weight loss I have ever experienced, and I haven’t even been to the gym, yet.  Some details:

First, I have increased my water intake from about 40 oz. a day to 50-60 oz., so probably a pound or two of that initial loss is water weight – my body is not retaining any water, to judge by my increased need for trips to the latrine.

An important thing to do when you are on Atkins is to focus on the good foods you get to eat and the ways you get to flout conventional nutritional wisdom.  If you focus on what you can’t eat (and there’s lots) then you are screwed.

Accordingly, let me talk about breakfast.  I typically scramble a couple of eggs with cheese and hot sauce (I always use Cholula brand, it is more flavorful than Tabasco).  If you like things hot, you will find hot sauce to be one of your go-to condiments on Atkins.  Then, I fry the eggs in butter, mostly because I can, but also because it is delicious to do so.  I cook up some bacon or sausage to go with them, as much as I feel like, which is usually three to four strips or links as the case may be.  Seriously, I eat this for breakfast each day and still manage to lose a pound on average.

Lunch is less stellar, but has more variation.  The quickest option is hot dogs without buns, and with only mustard as a condiment.  Although all hot dogs are to some extent the product of black magic, I find the hellbound sorcerors at Nathan’s make the most delicious hot dogs, and since you are not paying for buns or condiments anymore, you can afford to spend a little extra to taste what they sold their souls for.  My favorite lunch, though, is tuna fish (you can use as much mayo as you want: it’s not restricted in any way – though I don’t find extra mayo all that appealing).  Again, no bread, I just eat it out of a bowl with the same fork I used to mix it.  I usually accompany it with another secret Atkins weapon, the only crunchy thing you can have on this diet and my substitute for potato chips – pork rinds.  I know they have long been tagged as a white trash food, and that the idea that pork has a rind is in itself kind of disturbing, but they aren’t that different texture-wise from puffed corn (like Cheetos), and if you get the really spicy ones, they also help you hit those increased water-intake levels.  Finally,  I am beginning to mix in the occasional salad here in week two.  This is just fresh spinach leaves with an oil-and-vinegar dressing (Newman’s is good).  It is like eating yardwork, but it provides fiber, which is otherwise in short supply on the diet.  Although I didn’t think of it when I was at the store, some parmesan cheese sprinkled on these might make them a good deal more tolerable (and bacon bits, egg, or ham, or shredded cheese instead of parmesan).

Dinner is sometimes hamburgers (bacon cheeseburgers, actually) sans buns and any condiment save mustard or hot sauce (if you’re a Mayo-on-burgers person you could do that to, I guess), sometimes half of a rotisserie chicken from the local supermarket deli, and is about to be livened up further with the addition of pork chops, salmon burgers, and even a couple of NY Strip steaks to the menu, courtesy of a surprisingly supportive Pop (it may have helped that he found out about my diet on the eve of his monthly trip to Costco where he buys meat in bulk).

So I am eating delicious foods and losing weight at a ridiculous pace.  I have already reduced my official status from “frickin’ porker” to “fatty”, and I hope not to stay there for long, either.

And here is the stuff that I have cut from my ipod playlist.  Thank you for indulging me; I know that Rebekah, for one, finds the playlist posts boring, and I wonder if all my readers agree – I could keep this stuff to myself, I have plenty to write about these days.

What’s Out

“Follow Me” by Uncle Kracker – This song is kind of catchy, but ultimately I find its lyrics a combination of trite and morally reprehensible.  The trite: “I swim through your veins like a fish in the sea”.  The reprehensible: “I’m not worried about the ring you wear / ‘Cause as long as no one knows then nobody can care” – beautiful sentiment, that.

“Higher” by Creed – I don’t like Creed.  I’m thinking this is a fossil from the times when Ty and I shared this computer.

“Introduction” – this is the track from Let the Music Take You Home where Seamus Kennedy is introduced.  Seems like a pretty cheap cut to me, especially since my player’s always on shuffle, so as soon as the track ended it would jump to someone who is most likely not Seamus Kennedy.

“Never Again” by Nickelback – You must be truly cursed as a songwriter if you can take something as awful as domestic violence for your subject and still produce a song with this little humanity or pathos.

“On My Own” from Les Miserables – I am not really all that susceptible to musicals and showtunes, although there are some that I quite enjoy.  Songs like this, however, the workaday numbers where it just feels as though a big slab of characterization or plot has been set to music because it’s a musical and they kind of have to, leave me cold.

“Shame On You” by the Indigo Girls – As previously discussed, I am not a huge fan of the Indigo Girls, though their songs “Galileo” and “Get Out the Map” appear to be safe for now.

“Spread the Glory” by Chris Thomas King – The only bad song on an otherwise stellar blues album.  Kind of a mellow, “elevator music” feel to it.

“Surf City” by Jan & Dean – When I saw this track nestled into the playlist, I gave a wry grin.  As the song which provoked my famous petulant outburst, I almost felt a nostalgic affection for it.  I decided to give it a listen, see if my jets had cooled.  Ten seconds after I’d clicked “play” I was clicking “delete”.  There’s just something about this song that makes it anathema to me.

“From My Head to My Heart” by Evan & Jaron – Who the #$@% are Evan & Jaron?  A cursory listen reveals the likely donor of this particular playlist entry, the lyrics are just redolent of Ty and his hangups.

And there we have it, at least for the present.  I continue to mold the playlist, however, so stay tuned.

Yes, the softer side of my music collection has been emerging in the latest stack of cds I’ve unearthed in my quest to fatten up the ipod playlist.  I’ve continued to swing a mean axe on the cutting side as well, so I thought I would give y’all an update on the process.

What’s In

Is This It - I’ve had The Strokes debut album laying around for awhile, as I am not much into the whole much-hyped indie band scene.  I played it, liked it for its NYC garage-punk aesthetic, and tossed it on the playlist.

The Best of Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs – Mom had given me this for a birthday a couple years back, and I had enjoyed it but never put it on my computer.  Don’t know why, these guys are hilarious!

Dr. Hook, Greatest Hits – This is actually one of two “best of” cds that I have for these guys, and the other one, focusing as it does on their early work with Shel Silverstein (yeah, Where the Sidewalk Ends Shel Silverstein, who wrote a lot of their early stuff) is much better, but this one is ok too.

Ultimate Air Supply – It is kind of embarassing to admit that I have an Air Supply cd.  Back when I was dating April, I even went to see them in concert with her and her friends.  It was unintentionally hilarious, as these consummate nancy-boys tried so hard to rock in their live show.  Don’t bother, guys, you’re at your best singing ballads.  Anyhow, I imported just under half the tracks on this cd, the rest being too wussified even for me.

O, Yeah!, Disc 2 – This is an Aerosmith hits collection, and I have only found the second disc.  It was a welcome addition, however, containing some good tracks by one of the greatest rock bands of all time.  The perpetually cool Run D.M.C version of “Walk This Way” is of course the cherry on this particular sundae.

Rock of Ages, Disc 1 – The first part of The Band’s essential live album is perhaps the weaker half, which is impressive considering that it has gems like “Stage Fright”,” The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”, “Across the Great Divide”, and “Rag Mama Rag”.  Strikingly honest folk-rock.

The Dutchess – Hoo boy, first Air Supply and now Fergie?  My macho points are just taking a beating here.  Once again, I found myself paring about half this cd away before clicking the “import” button.  Sometimes I can’t resist the bouncy rhythms and playful rhymes of these songs, though.

This Is Hip, Disc 2 – Just in the nick of time!  The music snob in me can absolutely get behind this collection of blues from John Lee Hooker.  And it’s pretty masculine stuff, focusing on the tough, growling side of  one of my favorite bluesmen.  I wish I had found disc 1, though, as I recall it has “TB Sheets” on it.

Goodbye Alice in Wonderland - And here we are with Jewel.  Well, I did say this was my softer side, I guess.  Although it more or less bombed commercially, this album is not that bad.  I gave it a careful listen before importing it, and ultimately judged 10 of the album’s 13 tracks to be playlist material.  Jewel is truly a fine lyricist and really gets across as wistful and discontented on this record, which pretty clearly documents the personal turmoil leading to the end of her pop career.  I wonder how her country album is…

Mr. & Mrs. Smith, soundtrack – This was a strong soundtrack comprised largely of updates and covers of famous love songs, most of which are quite good.  It is leavened by quirky 80′s hits like “Love Stinks” and “Tainted Love”, as well as a nice instrumental piece and other odd bits, like the surprise highlight of the album, “Mondo Bongo” by Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros.  The only objectionable tracks were a version of “Baby, Baby” a song which I’ve just never been able to quite like, and Atreyu’s cover of “You Give Love A Bad Name”, which was so inferior to the original as to be completely pointless.

Whew!  That went a bit long.  Maybe I’ll get around to the cuts tomorrow…

It’s time to put a stop to the importunate emails and death threats from our neighbors to the south, who have been clamoring for more stories about Clementine.

Yesterday there was a pretty stiff winter storm here – not a blizzard, quite, but the worst of the year nonetheless.  Clementine, a very spoilt dog, trotted obediently to the back door yesterday morning, ready to do her morning potty run.  I slid the door aside to reveal the cold snowy expanse of the back yard, accompanied by a blast of frigid winter air, whereupon Clementine skittered back behind me.  I laughed, but left the door open and looked at Clem expectantly – the snow hadn’t really piled up near the door, maybe an inch or two, and it seemed like a quick trip might be doable.  Clem looked back at me anxiously, then skittered another couple inches backward.  I resigned myself to cleaning up a little yellow puddle and slid the door shut.

Several times throughout the day, Clem wandered to the backdoor, even groaned plaintively as though she wished to go outside, but always made herself scarce when that cold air blew into the room.  At some point, however, the snowfall stopped, and the more ambitious denizens of the neighborhood emerged to shovel their driveways.  One of them let his big shaggy dog out into the snow, where it bounded around gleefully barking to all the other dogs in the neighborhood.  Including Clementine.  The small terrier instantly interpreted this as a challenge to her dominion over the fenced-in yard which no other dog can get into.  She shot furiously to the back door, yapping maniacally.  This prompted her bemused keeper to pad into the kitchen and open the door, anticipating another abject flight from the wintry cold.

When the door opened, our yard’s small berserk defender sprang out into the snow, which was now chest height for her, and plowed across the back patio.  While I stood there aghast, Clem plunged off the patio and into the deeper snow in the yard proper.  Now up to her neck, she forged onward to the back fence still yipping her fierce, fierce challenge to the big, goofy-looking dog who sported, unconcerned, around his shoveling masters.

When she reached the back fence she rose up on her hind feet, still covered in snow up to her middle, and apparently settled in to bark until all potential invaders left the field.  My head was filled with visions of my tiny frozen dog as an impromptu icy gargoyle, a small vigilant statue against the fence, and I called for her to come back.  As usual, Clem ignored me, her canine pride was involved.  Thinking quickly, I went to the cupboard and unscrewed the lid on the jar of peanut butter, scooping a small dab onto one finger.  Waving this enchanted digit while I called overrode Clem’s warrior instincts, and brought her barreling back through the snow and into the kitchen for the presentation of her commendation for bravery.  She arrived spattered with winter, and as I dusted her off with one hand I pondered once more the consequences of loving the fragile, crazy things of this world.

Well, they closed the mines early today when the snow began to pile up in the elevator shafts.  They don’t always do this; last blizzard we were trapped down there for a few days.  It wasn’t so bad, really, except for the overseers wandering around and saying “Might as well get in some overtime while you’re down here, eh?”

‘Bekah closed up shop early, too, which I thought for a happy hour or so meant that we would stay home all afternoon cuddling and watching movies, but it soon occurred to us that she should go ahead and drive to her house-sitting post before the weather got any worse.  This made me very sad until I realized that I could play more Guitar Hero while the Guitar Hero-loathing Duck was gone, so now I am just the regular amount of sad.

Recent developments have raised the surreality quotient around here.  For one thing, Rebekah has been dog/house sitting for a week now, which entails her sleeping elsewhere.  Although the overprotective pet owners she does this for pay her well for her time, it has the effect of bachelorizing me and orphaning the cats (though not Clem, who is her own support network), since Rebek is home for maybe two hours a day.

The absence of our home’s bright, shining center makes the cats incredibly clingy.  As I write this, Cleo is draped across my shoulders, a position she crawled into, with much scrabbling on her part and many muttered imprecations on mine.  She has been preceded this morning by Gypsy, whose awkward attempts to snuggle are rendered poignant by the fact that neither of us really like each other.

I too have decayed at an alarming rate, like a building abandoned in the jungle one week and discovered as a vine-choked ruin the next.  I’ve stopped shaving, stopped sleeping, and the last time I saw my pants was when Clem ran off with them two days ago – since then I’ve just been wrapping a towel around my waist before I go to work each day, but how long I can keep this up is anyone’s guess.

In addition, I am embarking on a new career.  Like most new careers, it will involve extensive making of good impressions upon potential employers/clients.  Now, I am pretty insecure about my appearance, mostly due to my weight.  While I was merely “soft” at my wedding, I have steadily let myself get heavier in the years since, until recently I’ve found myself parked firmly in “frickin’ porker” territory.  I decided that this had to change if I was going to possess the necessary aura of confidence to win new clients, so I started a diet.

I have tried various formulas for weight loss before, but none have ever worked as well for me in the long term as exercise and the Atkins diet, so that is what I’ve gone back to.  I’ll probably post more about it in a couple days, assuming ‘Bekah comes back and halts the our slide

I recently finished Washington Irving’s Sketchbook, and have begun digging into the Bourne Ultimatum.  It will be the last Bourne novel for me; though I understand that the character was franchised out to veteran hack Eric Van Lustbader in an attempt to cash in on the popularity of the movies, I have no interest in going beyond the original three books.

As I begin this latest Bourne book, I find myself musing about, of all things, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.  It has always been a reflex to compare the two, ever since they emerged from the relative obscurity of playing bit parts in early Kevin Smith movies to be illuminated by the same lightning bolt of genius, Good Will Hunting, which they starred in and co-wrote.

Since then, both of their careers have gone in different directions.  Damon has accrued a series of increasingly impressive roles as a “serious” dramatic actor, and Affleck has…well, continued to act in various movies while being connected romantically to a number of famous beauties.  You can pick your own winner, I suppose.

Ultimately, though, their careers converged again in 2002 when each played a secret agent of literary fame – Affleck portraying Jack Ryan in Sum of All Fears, and Damon as Jason Bourne in The Bourne Identity.  In this particular comparison, there can be no doubt who fared better.

Affleck got the chance to play perhaps the most famous secret agent in American fiction, but he had to fill the shoes of recent predecessors in the role Harrison Ford and Alec Baldwin, both of whom excel him in charm and acting ability.  Moreover, his costar, Morgan Freeman, likewise overshadows him, which is never good.  Throw in a lousy script and you have the kind of bomb that can kill off one of the more successful book-to-film franchises in history.

Damon took on the role of a famous agent in Jason Bourne, but did not have any previous theatrical releases to contend with.  He was able to show a surprising degree of sincerity in playing a black operative stricken with amnesia – really an implausible role, but one which he was able to make real enough for moviegoers with his convincing performance.  His vehicle was filled out with very good actors as well, like Chris Cooper, Brian Cox, and Clive Owen, but they were used more appropriately as foils and villains, and never overshadowed Damon’s protagonist.

The end result is that Affleck wound up looking like a third-rate version of Alec Baldwin (a niche previously filled by William Baldwin), while Damon created the most memorable secret agent since Connery’s Bond.

Y’know, I really meant to write more about the zoo – Rebek and I had such a tranquil, wonderful time there.  It seems as though this world’s stream of sorrows is hastening me ever onward, though, and I am forced to pass by a golden afternoon of peace and joy to chronicle the latest reversal of our past good fortune.

I finished preparing our tax return yesterday.  Now, in past years Rebekah and I were unusual for our relative lack of concern about this most dreaded season of the fiscal year.  In the years when I was a lowly college student and she an under-appreciated nurturer of our nation’s youth, we became accustomed to receiving a small refund check from the government.  It was like a benediction from the great befuddled powers-that-be, telling us “hey, we know you’re pitching in as best you can, go ahead and keep your money”.

This year our circumstances changed.  While ‘Bekah continued to be an unsung hero at her school, I briefly held a place in the lowest caste of the educator’s profession, the reviled and wretched “untouchables” of our public schools.  When substitute teaching didn’t pan out, I went to work for the McCulloch Sulfur Mines, and this is where our trouble started.

You may be familiar with the practice of being paid “under the table” which is to say, paid with no paper trail for the government to follow, which usually results in the recipient of such payments being able to under-report or omit that income from his taxification by the government.  Well, that is not how my company works.  Mr. McCulloch, you see, he does his withholding under the table.  Which is to say, he takes money out of our pay checks for taxes, then doesn’t tell the government anything about it, instead pocketing the money and laughing when the government comes after us.

As a result of these new arrangements, ‘Bekah and I have been politely requested to pay the government approximately twice the money we have in our savings account.  Now, we will earn enough money between now and April 15th to make up the difference, but it means that the current balance in our checking account has to meet all of our expenses for the next couple weeks, including all of those lovely first-of-the-month expenses for April.

But, hey, as the old song says, keep on the sunny side, so I feel compelled to mention one possible benefit of these developments.  For much of the last year, I have been drifting miserably through life, my ambition spent and my resolve fragile and fading.  Well, there were signs recently that I might be coming back to life, and this latest affront has spurred the process along.  I am taking up the yoke again, and am confident that before too long my herculean powers will have vastly improved our lot.  Stay tuned.

It has been a little while since last I inflicted the nerdiness of my Dungeons and Dragons campaign upon you, faithful readers, and I thought tonight might be a decent opportunity to toss out a few more tidbits.

One of the coolest and simultaneously most stressful parts of running a campaign is the big void left where your main characters will be.  It is understood that the other players will be creating these characters, and you have to make room for their vision.  This can be tough, especially if you’re as controlling as I am.  Ultimately, I am growing as I try to find just the right balance between my own ideas and those of my friends.

Knowing that the story was set in a “high fantasy” milieu (think magic swords, Tolkienesque elves and dwarves, etc.), and in a sort of metropolis, helped shape the characters, as did the understanding that investigation and social interaction would occupy as prominent a role as monster slaying and combative showdowns.  My good friend Ezekiel responded by making a suave, dashing rogue and itinerant tale-teller named Trellan Moontryst, whose primary contribution to the party is savoir-faire.  The narrative, I decided would be loosely molded around Trellan’s quest to reclaim the mystic legacy of his gypsy forebears.

Jon and Dylan each chipped in characters “on the run”.  Jon’s alter ego, Erasthmus, is forced to stay on the move by the otherworldly taint in his blood which has given him both an unnatural appetite and aptitude for wickedness.  His struggle to stay sane and human makes up a large part of our saga’s psychological drama.  Dylan’s character, Kaerdin, flees instead from the nefarious associations of his villainous family as he seeks a better, cleaner life.

In the week before we started in earnest, I wrote almost twenty pages of fiction in an attempt to get the paths of these wandering hero types to cross, and then… well, that’s about enough nerdery for this evening, I think.  I’ll resume this again in a while, once I’ve dealt with more of the mundane cataclysms which are once again shaking the pillars of heaven in these parts.